Deception (6 page)

Munching the cookie, she walked back to the kitchen. If Willene wasn’t too busy, she might show Connor around the house. A kettle of chicken-and-dumplings was simmering on the stove, but there was no sign of the cook. Connor checked the patio that fed off the north side of the kitchen, but it was empty, and the door to Willene’s room was firmly shut. There wasn’t a sound in the old house to indicate anyone was inside.

A second plate of cookies had cooled on the counter, and Connor took another. How many years had it been since she’d tasted homemade peanut butter cookies? It didn’t bear to count them. She went back into the hall. It seemed a strange floor plan until Connor realized that at one time the kitchen had been completely separated from the house, connected only by the hallway. She followed the hall to the west side of the house, checking the knob of a closed door. When it opened readily, she stepped inside what appeared to be an indoor garden. The room was all block glass, mirrors, and plants, accessed through an entrance hall which was a series of full-length mirrors. Her own reflection stared at her again and again and again.

Connor felt the hair on the back of her neck tingle. She reached a hand up to rub her neck, and the gesture echoed down the hallway of mirrors. “Christ,” she whispered. Her image spoke silently back to her. She forced her feet forward past the mirrors.

The ceiling soared to a peak with glass panels covering one side. Ferns hung from wicker baskets, interspersed with the pink and red blooms of begonias and impatiens. The sound of a fountain caught her ear, and she followed it to find water cascading into a pool. Hand-painted tiles were just above the watermark, and in combination with the white walls, the red-brick floor and flowers gave the room a tropical, Mexican air.

It was a strange room, not in keeping with the rooms she’d seen. She walked out and closed the door behind her with a sense of relief.

Determined to see the rest of the house, she went down the hallway and made her way back to the dining room. With fine oriental carpets, candelabra, polished tables, chairs, and sideboard, this room was restrained elegance. There was nothing of the foreign lushness she’d found in the garden room. The dining room fed into the living room, and she once again found traditional furniture, much of it dating back to when the house had originally been furnished. Antiques, and all so carefully maintained.

Across the main hallway was the library, wall-to-wall books with a fireplace. A large leather chair and small table were placed before it, an open book on the table. The chair was so obviously masculine that Connor assumed it was Clay’s. She walked to the book, surprised to find that it was a work of fiction, a children’s book.
The Secret Garden
was a novel she’d loved when she was nine or ten. Perhaps Renata had been in the library reading, tucked into her father’s chair. But how long had it been since the children had visited the country home? Willene had implied that it was many months. The cook had mentioned how glad she was for full-time employment once again.

Connor returned the book to the table and went on to explore the rest of the house. Between the library and the back hall was a locked room, one that Connor automatically took to be the master bedroom. She knew the downstairs suite of guest rooms was on the north side of the living room, and directly above those rooms were her own, set up in an identical pattern. There were more bedrooms and baths upstairs, and an enormous playroom on the third floor. Sally had said the third floor was positively spooky. Remembering the blinds closing like a wink, Connor felt a slight shudder. The third floor wasn’t a place she wanted to explore, at least, not for a while.

“Mainly they use the third floor for storage. It’s like a big ballroom, with light gleaming off the old wood floors and walls and ceilings, but it’s still dark in there,” Sally had said with distaste. Like everything else in the house, the third floor was cleaned whether it was used or not.

With the lay of the house firmly in her mind, Connor walked to the back stairs. Peeking in the kitchen, she found Willene bent over the oven. The smell of cornbread wafted out, and even after the cookies, Connor felt a rumble of hunger. Willene was a woman to be guarded against—her cooking was irresistible.

“Smells wonderful,” Connor said. “I helped myself to a few cookies.”

“I put a plate on the porch railing for Jeff and Old Henry. They enjoy a bit of sweets,” Willene stood up, her face flushed from the hot oven. “The house to your suiting?”

Connor laughed. “It’s a beautiful place. A little big for my taste, though. Sally must stay busy.”

“She does, and when it’s needed, Mr. Sumner has other help come in. I expect he’ll have to do that if the children are going to be here a lot.”

Connor checked the clock on the kitchen wall. It was almost ten, but she had a few moments to talk with Willene. The old woman was sharp as a tack, and though she was hired help, she loved Renata and Danny. If anyone could give her a clue to dealing with the children, it would be Willene. “I’m a little apprehensive about meeting Danny and Renata.”

Willene stood up straight and turned to face her. “They’re children. Nothing to be worried about.”

“I’m not worried, exactly; I want to handle this right. How are the children? Is there anything I should know?”

Willene shrugged. “Like most others. Willful and strong if they want something, but basically sweet, especially Danny. Renata has her mother’s looks but her father’s ways. Danny is kind and gentle. I worry about him.”

“How should I handle them?” Connor asked. “I want to get off on the right foot. I realize that Mr. Sumner wants me to teach them to ride, but he’s viewing the horses as a way of instilling discipline, isn’t he?”

Willene lifted her eyebrows. “You’re smart to catch that one.”

“Not really. It’s a familiar pattern.” Connor pulled out a chair at the kitchen table. “It hardly ever works, though. The discipline has to come from the parent. The best I can hope for is to teach them respect.”

“Not a bad lesson.”

“Their mother, was she a firm woman?”

Willene turned back to the oven. “Sakes alive, my corn-bread’s cookin’ too fast.” She picked up a potholder and opened the door. When she stood up, her face was beet red. “Cup of coffee?”

Connor nodded. Willene put two cups on the table and filled them from an old dripolater which was on the back burner of the stove. The cook pulled out a chair and took a seat at the table.

“Ms. Talla didn’t have to be firm, people just gave her her way. She had Mr. Clay wrapped around her little finger. Even the children. It was as if everyone was afraid that the least disagreement with her wishes would result in some terrible tragedy. Mr. Clay even gave up his riding.” She sighed. “Folks around here tried hard. All of us.”

“She was ill?” This was another unexpected turn. Connor had assumed, just based on Clay’s behavior, that he’d have a robust, healthy wife, a woman who pursued life with the same force he did. Certainly she’d died, but Connor had never thought it was a long-term condition or a congenital weakness. She’d thought it was an accident.

“Not sick. Never sick a day in her life, but just …” Willene stopped. “It’s not my place to talk about the dead.”

Connor thought a moment. Willene wanted to talk, but she wanted Connor to drag it out of her. Now wasn’t the time. Connor was more interested in getting a handle on the children than learning the peculiarities of the departed Talla Sumner. “But the children obeyed her?”

“Danny worshipped her. Renata refused to go up against her. No reason for her to. Those two were like peas in a pod.”

“Talla?” It was an odd name.

“Tallulah was her given name. Tallulah Bienville, from one of the very oldest families in Mobile. They were here even before the Sumners. Almost before the Indians. When Mr. Clay married her, he joined two old and powerful families.”

Connor laughed. “This is the most obsessed place I’ve ever been. Jeff asked me this morning where my people were from. It was as if he waited to pass judgment on me based on where I’d been born.” She laughed again.

Willene didn’t smile. “He probably was.”

“Well, I held back with the information. I’d rather be viewed as a woman of mystery.” Connor looked at her watch and stood. “Good grief, the morning is gone. I’d better clean up. The children will be here soon.”

“Mr. Clay said to have lunch ready at noon. Does that suit you?”

“Perfectly. The children can meet the horses, and me, and then we’ll get better acquainted over chicken-and-dumplings.” Connor helped herself to another cookie, took a small bite, and then asked the question that had been at the back of her mind. “If Mrs. Sumner wasn’t sick, how did she die?”

Willene put her hands flat on the table. “Depends on which version of the events you’re listening to.” She kept her gaze on her hands.

Connor felt the skin along her arms prickle. “What do you mean?”

“Some say it was a terrible accident. Some say it was fate.” The cook looked up at Connor, her mouth set in a grim line. “Some say it was justice. But if you’re wanting details, you’d better ask Mr. Clay.”

“I will,” Connor said slowly. She held the half-eaten cookie in her hand. “It sounds serious.”

“It was, and it you’re going to make any headway with those children, you need to know the truth of it. Clay Sumner owes you the truth.”

“I’ll see that he tells me,” Connor said. She left the kitchen and took the stairs to her rooms two at a time.

Connor tied the ribbon in her hair, pulling it back from her face. She wore gray riding breeches, a turtle neck, and her boots. Although she wasn’t giving a lesson, she wanted to make sure the children understood her role. As part of that picture, she intended to greet them at the barn. She hurried down the stairs, boots clattering, and onto the back patio.

She was leaning on the paddock rail when the Volvo wagon pulled up. Renata was in the front seat with Clay, and Danny in the rear. Connor unhooked her heel from the rail and walked to the car. She was more nervous than she’d imagined she would be, but she attributed that fact to Clay. She scanned the occupants of the car quickly.

Renata was a small girl, delicate in every feature. Dark brown eyes looked out from beneath straight black bangs. Her ivory skin was almost translucent, and her gaze was fixed on the barn. Her hands gripped the dashboard of the car.

“Good morning, Renata.” Connor stopped about five feet from the car and spoke into the open window. The girl did not respond.

A tall, gangly boy climbed from the back seat. He gave both occupants of the front seat a worried look.

“Good morning, Danny,” Connor said. She liked him immediately.

“Good morning, Ms. Tremaine,” Danny answered. He edged to the car and opened his sister’s door. “Come on, Renata. Don’t be an idiot.” He gave Connor a nervous look. “Renata’s afraid.”

The girl sat in the car, hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her gaze never wavered from the barn.

“Do you like horses?” Connor asked Danny. She wanted to give Renata a chance to compose herself. She tried to catch Clay’s eye, but he was hidden in the dim interior of the car.

“I do, I think.” Danny stepped forward. “Renata says she hates them, but she doesn’t know. She’s never been around them before.” He bent quickly and reached into the car to touch his sister’s shoulder. “Come on, Renata. Daddy said you didn’t have to go in the barn, but you have to get out of the car. Remember, you promised.”

“Get away from me!” Small hands flailed at her brother. “Don’t you
dare
touch me. No one touches me!”

“Renata.” Clay’s voice was a command. “Calm yourself. We won’t be having any of your tantrums today. That’s over.”

“I hate horses!” Renata looked up at Connor. “I hate you. Go back to California. Get out.”

The child’s voice was icy cold, and terribly composed. Connor almost took a step back, but she caught herself in time. In her days at Pacific Heights Stables, she’d seen some haughty, spoiled, and arrogant children, but nothing that compared with the venom of Renata Sumner.

“Your father has hired me to teach you and your brother to ride safely. You can do that whether you like horses or not, or whether you like me or not. It’s always more fun, though, to learn something you like. It’s up to you.”

“If it were up to me, you wouldn’t be here,” Renata answered calmly. “I’ve been
told
by my father that I’m to obey you.” She got out of the car. “See how well I mind.” She leaned against the fender and looked up into Connor’s face. “But I won’t ride a stupid horse, and I won’t go into that barn, no matter what you say.”

“Renata will do exactly as you tell her,” Clay said, stepping around the front of the car. He took Renata’s hand. “Her mother hated horses, and Renata developed a dislike before she even really knew what a horse was. But my girl isn’t afraid of anything.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Are you?”

“No. I’m not afraid of anything.” She looked at her father and for a second her face was touched with a childlike quality.

“She’s afraid of the dark,” Danny said loudly. “Especially out here, in the woods.”

Connor tried to ease the situation with a smile. “This isn’t exactly the woods, you know. There’s a phone and hot water and electricity. We aren’t stranded.”

“I hate this place,” Renata said softly. “I want to go back to town.” She turned toward the car, but Clay’s firm grip on her shoulder stopped her.

“You agreed to look at Ms. Tremaine’s horses, Renata. You can’t go back on your word.”

Renata turned to him, her face bloodless and the first hint of tears in her eyes. “Not the barn. You promised,” she said, her young voice barely a whisper. “Daddy, you promised I wouldn’t have to go there today.”

Connor watched as the little girl’s chest heaved. She was fighting for control, and she was losing.

Clay knelt down so that his eyes were level with his daughter’s. “We talked about this, Renata. There’s nothing to be afraid of, sweetheart. I’ll be with you. Ms. Tremaine and Danny are here. Let’s just walk to the door.” He tightened his grip.