Deception (8 page)

“Stay the thirty days and the entire fifteen thousand is yours. And I won’t ask anything else.” He held out his hand. “You have my word.”

Connor looked at the outstretched palm. The man was as slippery as an oiled snake. She put her hand in his and shook. “I hope your handshake is more reliable than your word.” She started walking back to the house.

“Wait a minute. I should tell you the whole thing now.”

Connor’s anger was cooling. She’d agreed to stay for thirty days. And she’d agreed to do her best. In order to do so, she had to know the facts. “What am I dealing with?”

“It all started with my wife’s death,” Clay said. Anguish passed over his face, and he turned abruptly away. “It was horrible, especially for Renata. She worshipped her mother.”

“Death is never easy for a child. Especially a sudden one.” She hesitated, then decided to press on. “Willene said Mrs. Sumner wasn’t sick. How did she die?”

“Talla died in the barn.”

“I see.” Connor stood beneath a half-bare pecan tree watching Clay Sumner struggle for words. Renata’s fear was more understandable. “Did she take a fall, or did one of the horses catch her with a hoof?”

“It wasn’t a horse.” He grew suddenly very still. “My wife hanged herself. From the rafters of the barn.”

“My God,” Connor whispered, thinking back immediately to Renata’s face at the barn. “No wonder the child is so terrified.” She looked at the house, visible through the green leaves of the pecans. “When I drove in here, I sensed something sad.” She shifted so that she could see the weathervane on the barn. “It’s such a beautiful place.”

“I believe you can help Renata,” Clay said. “And Danny, too. He seems normal, but he’s like his sister’s shadow. He can’t grow up like that.” He walked to stand in front of her and put his hands on her shoulders. “I know it might not make any sense to you, but when Richard told me about you, I knew you were the one who could make a difference for Renata. I believe that still.”

Connor’s reaction was against all logic. She felt his hands on her shoulders, the fingers firm, and she saw the need in his eyes. Clay Sumner was a compelling man.

The warmth of his fingers went through the cotton of her blouse. His eyes seemed to see only her. “Okay,” she agreed, without even intending to speak.

“If she doesn’t get over her fear, she’s going to lose any chance at a real life,” Clay said. “She can’t grow up being afraid of everything.”

“And you think if she conquers the barn, she can put her other fears to rest?” Connor stepped backward, forcing Clay to drop his hands from her shoulders. When the breeze struck the places he’d touched, she felt suddenly cold.

“Partly. And I think she can learn from you that she has to go on with her life. You have that about you, Connor, a sense of survival, of enduring the worst and surviving.”

“I’d wondered what Richard told you. Obviously a lot more than he told me about you,” she said softly. “I don’t make a habit of dragging my past around with me.”

“He told me about your mother and brother, yes. He said your brother died instantly in the car accident, but that your mother lived for months.”

“Ten. It was a terrible way to die.”

“Richard said you were nineteen, and that you held your father together.”

“Richard really did fill out my credentials for sainthood, didn’t he?” she asked. Her voice had thickened with emotion and she shrugged.

“Renata has to learn that … to continue, to get on with her life. Day after day she sits in the house. She has to learn it!”

“First she has to want to …”

The shriek wafted on the gentle breeze, a lone, childish cry of pain that wrenched Connor’s heart.

“Renata!” Clay rushed past Connor, running toward the house as fast as he could.

The scream came again, holding on a high-pitched note before breaking into sobs. Connor didn’t think she’d ever heard anything so lonely in her entire life. She ran after Clay.

She found them in the library, Renata sobbing in her father’s arms. “Daddy, don’t leave. Daddy!” she cried against his chest, her voice choked with panic. The children’s book was on the floor, pages bent.

“What is it?” Connor asked Willene, who hovered over the sobbing child. Danny stood in a corner, his eyes wide with worry.

“The book,” Willene said carefully. “Renata came in here to get something to read, and she found the book on the table.”

“It’s a children’s book,” Connor said.
“The Secret Garden
. I read it when I was a child. There’s nothing in it …”

Willene held a finger to her lips and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Ms. Talla was reading it to the children the night she died. It was Renata’s favorite, a special gift from her Uncle Harlan. Seeing the book, and being in this house, has upset Renata. It’s too much for one day.” She shook her head. “And how did that book get down on that table, anyway? I cleaned in here myself.”

“It was there this morning,” Connor said. “I came in to look around, and it was there, before I saw you in the kitchen.”

“Well, it wasn’t there yesterday. I’d never have left it when I helped Sally dust the room. I knew the children were coming and all.”

Renata’s sobs had lessened, and she hiccupped softly, her forehead buried against her father’s neck.

“That’s what that child needs,” Willene said under her breath. “A little attention and some cuddling. From her father. That’s what she needs more than anything in the world.”

Connor felt Clay’s gaze on her and she looked at him. Renata was curled in his arms, exhausted by her emotional outburst. Over the top of her head, Clay’s eyes held a deep torment. “Stay,” he said.

Connor wasn’t sure if he said the word or mouthed it. But she heard the request clearly.

“I’d better get back to the barn and take care of the horses,” she said. “I’m sure Mr. Sumner would like some time alone with the children.”

“Yes,” Willene picked up the book and tucked it under her arm. “I’ve chores in the kitchen, too.” She took Connor’s arm as they walked into the hall. With great care, Willene closed the door.

“If they’d had their pa after Ms. Talla’s death, things would never have gotten to this pass. Children need their parents, Ms. Tremaine. They can’t be neglected or bad things happen. As it was, though, Mr. Clay was all set to run for the governor’s seat.”

“I’m sure Mr. Sumner didn’t intentionally neglect his children.” After the session in the orchard with Clay, Connor knew Clay would do almost anything for his kids.

“Intentions aren’t the measuring cup for results.” Willene blinked her eyes and turned slightly away. When she spoke again, her voice had softened. “Mr. Clay had been working hard. Ms. Talla knew what was expected of her. There were times I thought she wanted it more than him. Then there were times … Anyway, the race was a shoo-in. They were so young and attractive. Mr. Clay was so full of ideas and ways to move this poor ole state forward.”

“Mrs. Sumner’s death must have ruined that.” A family suicide would be a death blow to a political career, especially in such a conservative state.

“He fought it. He ain’t no easy quitter, not when it’s something he wants. He went down kickin’, I’ll give him that. He wanted it bad, and he fought for it until he saw that he just wasn’t going to be governor and withdrew. It nearly broke him. He’d held himself together after the terrible thing with Ms. Talla just to run for governor. When they took that away from him, it was like he had nothing left.”

“What happened after that?” Connor was curious despite herself.

“Oh, he stayed down at the town house, working night and day. He was a man possessed, ignoring his children and his family responsibilities. He built up his law practice and took up a few … hobbies.” Willene frowned. “Wasn’t much place in there for the children. They stayed with him some, with his mother, with Ms. Talla’s mother. Of course, there were always servants to see after them, but no one really to care.”

Connor had seen it before, a situation where parents could afford everything except the time for the kids. Nothing money could buy was a good enough substitute. She didn’t say anything, but she understood a little better the anguish on Clay’s face. She gave him credit for knowing he’d made a terrible mistake. At least he was trying to change matters.

“How long ago did Mrs. Sumner die?”

“Two years. Mr. Clay shut down the house here and locked up the barn. It nearly made me sick. I’d worked here for the past forty years, on and off, but mostly on. I came here as a girl, younger than Sally, and stayed. My folks live over by Youngneck Road, and then I moved just down to Havens Road.” A series of emotions crossed her face in rapid succession. “When I was a young woman, frisky and likin’ to preen, I walked to work each morning. I know it’s hard to believe, but I was a pretty little thing.” She patted her wide hips. “Times were different then for young folks. Simple pleasures made for simpler hearts. Sin wasn’t everywhere you looked. If I could give Renata and Danny one week of my childhood, I think it would heal them right up.”

Connor patted the older woman’s hand. “It might at that.”

“You’re thinking about leaving, aren’t you?” Willene caught her hand and held it. “You didn’t bargain for this, I know. I wondered if Mr. Clay had been straight with you. I somehow thought he hadn’t told you the whole story.”

Connor hesitated. “Mr. Sumner assumed that a mutual friend had filled me in on all the details of … Mrs. Sumner’s death.”

“He can hardly speak of it,” Willene said. “ ‘Course, he never had to, everyone else was more than willing.” She shook her head. “Seems like he blames himself.” Her dark eyes, behind her glasses, locked on Connor. “It ain’t my place to judge, but maybe he should. More men ought to. The longer I live, the more I see that men go about their business, doin’ their important work. If Mr. Clay had looked at Ms. Talla a few times, he’d have seen she was suffering. But that’s a man. They never get the blame.”

“I’d better check the horses.” Connor stepped away from Willene. The expression on the older woman’s face was sad, almost tormented. Willene had been as much a part of the household as any blood member. She’d suffered like all the rest. The tragedy of Talla Sumner’s death was two years old, but it was as fresh and bitter as if it had happened only hours before.

“I’ll be at the barn,” Connor said, as she walked out the door. Clay Sumner had deceived her, but not as grandly as she’d deceived herself. She’d known that the money was too good for a simple teaching/training job. She’d known it all along.

She took her time walking down the path that wove through the pecan trees and past several beds of brilliant salvias, petunias, and lavender.

Tinker was in the paddock, and she caught the mare and walked her into the barn. An afternoon ride would help her think. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimness of the barn, but when she did, she found Jeff forking shavings into a wheelbarrow. He moved slowly to the first stall on the west side.

“I thought the horses would get more air here,” he said. “They like to look out and see what’s going on.”

“Thanks.” Connor hesitated. Maybe Jeff could give her an objective view of the past. “Jeff, have you worked for the Sumners long?”

“Ten years or so.” He paused, leaning on his pitchfork, perfectly willing to take a break from his work. “I found Mrs. Sumner’s body.”

The remark was so startling, so unexpected that Connor felt her eyes widen. “What happened?”

He shrugged, moving the muscles of his chest beneath his T-shirt. “Nobody really knows. There’s been lots of suspicion, but no hard evidence.”

“You found her?”

“I came in early to throw some feed to the horses, and there she was, hanging from a rafter. There was a tack trunk under her feet and her heels were hitting against the side of it, just tapping. One of her slippers had fallen off, and the other was just barely hanging on.” He put the pitchfork against the stall and walked closer to Connor.

The pupils of his eyes were dilated in the darkness of the barn. Connor shifted closer to Tinker, her hand automatically stroking the horse’s neck. “How horrible.”

“It’s funny, but I remember how her toenails were painted red. I’d never known Ms. Talla to paint her toenails.” His smile was slow, wolfish. “I knew a lot about Ms. Talla. She was a woman who found what she liked and took it. She didn’t give a damn for the consequences.”

Jeff was only an arm’s reach away. He was watching her, waiting to see the impact his words had on her. For one unreasonable second, Connor wanted to run. She wanted to hitch up her trailer, load her horses, and leave, scattering what was left of Clay Sumner’s fifteen thousand dollars out the window as she drove away.

Her breath was short. “Why would someone who was terrified of horses come to the barn to kill herself?”

Jeff shrugged again. “Talla wasn’t afraid of the horses, she just hated them. The more beautiful they were, the more she despised them. At any rate, she must have been doped out of her mind that night, else why would she walk off a tack trunk with a lunge line around her neck?”

“Had she been ill in some way? Feverish?” There had to be some better reason. As far as Connor could see, the woman had had the major ingredients for happiness—two healthy children, a husband, security, social standing.

“Mrs. Sumner had a fever all right,” Jeff said, nodding. “She burned with it. Wasn’t nothin’ the doctors could cure, either. Wasn’t but one thing could soothe Ms. Talla’s itch, and she knew where to find it.” He grinned.

Connor could feel her heart beating beneath her shirt. Would Jeff dare imply he was sleeping with Talla Sumner if it wasn’t true?

“She’d come out to the barn sometimes, late at night. She’d walk down the aisles, looking at the horses, her dark eyes alive with hatred. She hated this place.”

“I thought Mr. Sumner told me that he’d quit riding.” Connor’s fingernails pressed into her palms. Tinker, excited by her anxiety, side-danced away from her.

“He wasn’t riding. But he kept a few horses here, one or two he’d grown fond of. After Ms. Talla died, though, he gave the horses away. Willene knew the folks who took them.” He shook his head. “Willene never misses a trick. She acts like your favorite granny, but she’s always watchin’. Those fancy horses going off to dirt farms, that was a waste. I coulda sold them for a profit.”