Kiss Me If You Dare (15 page)

I waited on the curb with the weeping Ms. Rigg, watching as Denton stepped over the metal and peered with caution over the rain-soaked rocks to the ground below.

A shake of his head. “Simon. Call 9-1-1.”

Simon nodded and hurried up the drive.

“Oh, Professor! Is she dead? Is she really dead?”

Ms. Rigg’s hysterical sobs broke through my coldhearted observation. I put an arm around her. “Come on, let’s get back indoors.”

“Oh, my Jane! My Jane!”

I shushed her with soothing tones as we made the climb to Cliffhouse. Portia stayed below with Denton and Dagger. Gwen, Maize, and Koby consoled us as we stepped into the house.

“Come on, let’s get you to the parlor,” I said and helped Ms. Rigg get situated on the settee. “Gwen, please grab a blanket from the linen closet upstairs. Maize, put on hot water for tea, if you would. And Koby,” I patted the spot next to Ms. Rigg, “would you sit with her while I try to find out what’s happened?”

Koby took a seat and Ms. Rigg leaned on his shoulder as if she were accustomed to leaning on others. I knew better.

“Jane. My Jane,” she murmured.

I stood, ready for my mission.

“I didn’t know Jane except for today,” Koby said softly to Ms. Rigg, “but I really liked her smile.”

I paused at the door, looking back.

“My Jane knew how to smile. That she did.” Ms. Rigg burst into a new round of sobs.

I hurried away, somehow feeling that I should be mourning as well—but not for Jane. I shook my head to clear my thoughts and walked down the hill in the drizzle. A police cruiser was parked at the base of the drive, a burgundy-and-cream City of Del Gloria logo on the doors.

I met Portia and Dagger on their way back up to the house.

“I wouldn’t go down there if I were you,” Portia warned with a shake of her head.

“Thanks,” I said and kept walking.

Denton and a uniformed officer stood near the guardrail. Passing cars slowed to gawk in curiosity. A sedan arrived, angling next to the cruiser. A man in a trench coat stepped out and joined the men on the opposite side of the rail. I paused at the curb, not certain I wanted to involve myself in another death. At least this one couldn’t be blamed on me.

I made the approach, picking up Denton’s flustered voice.

“Maybe I was too hard on her. I don’t know. I couldn’t have her stay for supper when she was being rude to my other guests.”

The newest arrival nodded his head, but didn’t sound convinced. “Could have been her last straw, I suppose. But why set the purse down, then jump? Wouldn’t a woman take her purse with her when she goes?” He studied the scene, moving like the victim prior to her fall. “What do you think? Would you leave your purse?” The man turned to me, as if he’d sensed my arrival.

Flustered by his question, I stared down the cliff, watching a vehicle cross the sand toward the body, which was still hidden from my view by the ledge. A few more steps and the corpse would be in full, gory sight. I stayed rooted to the spot. “Umm . . . I guess if I was going to jump off a cliff, I wouldn’t even have brought a purse with me. I would have left it in my car or—” I swallowed at the whole gruesome thing, “—or whatever.” My voice trailed off.

“That’s what I was thinking.” He stretched out a hand toward me. “Detective Larson. And who are you?”

My eyes grew wide. “Uhhh, Alisha Braddock.”

“I thought you looked familiar. The Rooftop Heroine.” He gave a snort. “Well, Ms. Braddock. What do you think happened here?”

The question took me by surprise. “Well . . .” I made it up as I went along. “Maybe she was just getting in her car to leave when she saw someone she knew, and, I don’t know, came down the hill to talk to them. Then they pushed her over.”

“Good theory.”

I hated to tell him that dead bodies and I went back a long way.

Detective Larson looked at the uniformed officer. “Why don’t you go in and get statements from the others.” The detective turned to Denton. “I’m calling this one a murder. Don’t leave town.”

He hoisted a sturdy leg over the guardrail. He was at the double yellow line down the center of the blacktop when he stopped and looked back at me. “Same goes for you, Ms. Heroine. Don’t plan any trips ’til I figure out what a stolen ladder and a dead blackmailer have in common.”

Blackmailer? It sounded like Jane had figured out an easy way to get a raise in her allowance. But as a wealthy benefactor who’d already doled out money to cover my tracks, Denton probably considered Jane a mere nuisance, not a threat to my safety.

Rain trickled down my face as I watched the detective’s bulky shape cross to the lawn. A car pulled off the road and parked next to him, marring the wet grass with its tracks. A woman got out of the white midsize. As the detective talked with her, she bent inside the vehicle and emerged with an umbrella and a camera outfitted with a monster lens.

I swung around and caught Denton’s gaze. Maybe I was mistaken, but he looked as busted as I felt. Sherlock Holmes over there was on to us.

I stepped toward my host uncle. “What are we going to do?”

He pulled me to him and held on to me like he’d be sorry to ever let me go. “You heard him. You have to stay here.”

I nodded into his shoulder, an ache climbing from my chest to my throat. “What did he mean about Jane being a blackmailer?”

He pulled me tighter. His chest heaved and I thought for a minute he might be crying.

“She found out that you’re really Patricia Amble. From your notebook, as you suspected. She looked into your background, then held the information over my head.” He lowered his voice as the detective and his aide looked our way. “I paid her to keep it quiet.”

I pushed away and searched his eyes. “Why would you do that?”

“I didn’t have a choice. She threatened to expose you . . . and she had other information that would have disgraced my family.”

“Oh. You mean that thing about being your half sister? So what if she was? You could survive it.”

He shook his head. “She’s always wanted DNA testing to prove she was blood . . . that meant exhuming my father’s body. Based on the results, I might have been forced to turn over half my inheritance. So to let my father—and his good name—rest in peace, I’ve been paying her a healthy sum every month. But when she found out about you, she claimed grounds for a raise.”

“When I first met Jane, Ms. Rigg denied the ambassador was Jane’s father.”

“Knowing Ms. Rigg’s background, I’m not sure she can accurately say who Jane’s father was. But she saw in my father an opportunity to raise her child in America, and she convinced him he was the responsible party. When I was growing up, Ms. Rigg lived in my house and rubbed my father’s mistake in my mother’s face day after day. My mother was gracious. She took pity on the Irishwoman and her child and allowed them to stay, despite the torment she lived with every moment.”

“But you did have a choice. We always have choices. There had to be a better option than feeding Jane’s greed. Why not just do the testing?”

“That’s not what I chose. Perhaps you would have handled it differently.” His eyes squeezed closed for a brief moment. “I wanted to give her time to change her mind. But it’s too late to change things for Jane now.”

I nodded and watched a drop of rain roll down his face.

The investigators crossed to us. We stayed back as the camerawoman snapped photos of the red leather pocketbook and area around it. She leaned near the cliff’s edge for aerial views of the body.

The detective bagged the purse. “My wife’s tells her life story.” He dangled the clear plastic in the air. “I wonder what I’ll find inside this one.”

“Thank you, Detective. Anything you can turn up will be a great comfort to Ms. Rigg.” Denton touched the back of my elbow and steered me gently up the hill toward the house.

With a damper thrown on our holiday, I expressed my condolences to Ms. Rigg, bid my teammates goodbye, and headed up to my room. I tried to read, but the plight of Edmond Dantès only depressed me. Now that he had his treasure, he was bent on seeking revenge against those who stole his life from him. Somehow his transformation from victim to perpetrator grated on me.

I put the book down and picked up my journal. I wrote down the events from the past several days as well as outlining today’s tragedy. Finished, I set my pen on the bedside table.

The pages made a fluttering noise as I flipped through them in review. I couldn’t imagine ever looking back and having my life make sense to me. It seemed more like a spoof on a Three Stooges episode than a story with a plot. As much as I’d been going to church, attending Christian-based courses, hanging out with good people, and tossing up prayers now and then, I still lacked the faith that God could actually take this warped, wretched human being and make her life count. If God’s intent was to use me as an instrument to attract slugs from beneath rocks, then things were right on track. Maybe I just had to accept the humble role I’d been assigned.

My thumbs twiddled. I flipped onto my back, and stared at the canopy above. Maybe it was time I faced facts. Portia was right. There wasn’t going to be a phone call. It was practically December. I’d been in Del Gloria six months. In Rawlings, two towns ago, I’d only lasted a little over four months. And Port Silvan, the last town, was only a notch more than three. That made Del Gloria more home to me than either of the others. So, the question wasn’t really would Brad ever call. The question was, did I really want Brad to call?

I blew at a speck of dust floating over my head. The most honest answer I could come up with was no. No, I didn’t want Brad to call. I wanted to stay right where I was. Finish the project. Finish college. Start appreciating life just the way it was, however messed up. Start being grateful for those who cared about me and wanted me in their lives. Denton, Portia, Celia, Maize—there was a whole list of them.

But even as I named off those closest to me here in Del Gloria, I couldn’t shut out the faces of those I’d left behind in Port Silvan. My grandfather and Great-Grandmother Olivia, my cousins Joel and Gerard, Melissa Belmont and her kids. Even Samantha, Brad’s sister. And—my heart did a flip-flop before resuming its natural rhythm—Brad. Especially Brad. Tears crept from my eyes as I tried to block his face from my mind. But there it stayed, etched forever in my memory. Today, instead of the jovial Brad with his crinkly eyes, his face seemed sad. I imagined myself holding his head in my arms, as if to say goodbye. He opened his lips to whisper something to me . . .

The world flashed white. I sat up, stricken. What had I just seen? Was it memory or imagination?

Brad’s face burned itself to the back of my lids. Even with my eyes open, no matter where I looked, his face was just a blink away. His eyes followed mine, as if to accuse me.

Why did he look at me like that? He sent me away. I should be angry with him, not the other way around.

I raced out of the bedroom, seeking a distraction. Anything to get away from the guilt that washed over me at the thought of Brad.

Downstairs, Denton sat in the parlor, alone. A single lamp lit the room, the daylight long gone. I tiptoed to a chair beside him. He glanced up, acknowledging my arrival, then stared at the floor again.

“You okay?” I asked, shaken that the Unshakeable Professor Braddock might actually have felt a speed bump on his smooth road.

He gave a deep sigh. “It’s so hard when you can look at someone else’s life and know exactly what they should do. Then they don’t do it. And they wind up dead.”

I nodded in agreement. “But it’s not your fault. Jane was going to do what Jane was going to do.”

His eyes blazed into mine. “I was thinking of you, Patricia.”

So I was Patricia tonight. Not the obedient Alisha. “I don’t get it. What exactly should I be doing that I’m not already?”

“Put the past behind you. Stay here with me.”

“I’ve been doing that. I did that.”

He glanced at my hands in my lap. “Look at your fingers. They want to go. They want to run. Don’t let them. Make them stay.”

I stilled my fidgeting. “I saw something tonight. A memory, I think. Of Brad.”

He stared without saying anything.

“I was holding Brad’s head in my arms. He looked so sad. He was whispering something to me. And then—” I closed my eyes in concentration. “That’s all I can remember.” “How did seeing his face make you feel?”

“Guilty. Like I’d left him.” I gave a sigh of exasperation. “But he’s the one who wanted me to come here.”

Denton nodded. “You did the right thing coming here. Now carry it through.”

“I used to be so angry with Brad for sending me away. Now I feel guilty because I left him. What changed? Why do I feel differently today?”

Denton’s palms turned up as he explained. “Whether you realize it or not, Jane’s death has had a profound effect on your mental state. It’s bound to bring up memories of another episode.”

My throat constricted. “What do you mean, another episode?” My voice was barely a whisper.

He shook his head, almost in annoyance. “Remember for yourself. It’s not my place to tell you things your mind isn’t ready to handle.”

“Tell me. I can handle it.”

“No. Don’t ask me again.”

I raised my arms in frustration. “I hope torturing your patients isn’t something they taught in your doctoral program.”

“You’re not my patient. You’re my niece.”

“I’m not your niece. I’m nothing to you. I’m a boarder, a housemate, an acquaintance. That’s all.”

He breathed out, staring at the floor. “You’ve become so much more to me these past months. So much more.” I panicked at the sincerity in his voice. What did he mean? More like a real niece? More like a daughter? More like . . . what?

I stood. “Where’s Ms. Rigg?”

“Resting.” He got to his feet. “I hope you’ll be willing to help with her duties until she’s able to work again.” “Of course.” I gave a nod. “I’m calling it a night.”

“Sleep well, Patricia.” His voice haunted me as I dashed up the staircase.

18

I paced my room the next morning. Denton had asked me to help with Ms. Rigg’s duties. But that meant I’d have to face him again. My feet tapped a rhythm across the wood floor, onto the plush rug, then again on the wood floor as I mulled the matter.