"She's very good," Wolfe said without realizing he had spoken aloud.
"The best," Roz agreed. "She has clients who come here from all over the country. Every young girl dreams of having her bridal portrait taken by Caroline, and we have expectant mothers making appointments with us for their unborn child's first-year pictures the minute they discover they're pregnant."
Wolfe glanced over his shoulder, checking on Caroline's whereabouts as she padded barefoot across the wooden floor and introduced herself to her first two clients of the day—a mother with a toddler in tow and an elderly gentleman barely restraining the friendliness of his
springer
spaniel. Caroline bent on one knee in front of the little boy who, judging by his size, was probably no more than three.
"Hello, Justin, I'm Caroline. My, you're a big boy. Your mother told me that you like bugs. . .spiders and flies and scorpions. Did you know that I have a whole box filled with bugs in my studio?"
The curly-headed child grinned and said, "You've got bugs?"
"Dozens of them."
"You got a scorpion?"
"At least three of them." Caroline held out her hand to the toddler. ''Would you like to go with my friend Roz.. .you and your mommy. . .and see my scorpions?"
The child jumped up and down, then tugged on his mother's hand. "Let's go now, Mommy. Go see the bugs."
While Roz led mother and child into the studio area used primarily for shots of babies and children, Caroline made her way to her next customer. She sat down on the sofa beside the old man, then leaned over and let his dog sniff the back of her hand. Immediately the spaniel wagged his tail and lifted his front paws onto Caroline's knees.
"Hello, old boy," Caroline said as she rubbed the dog's ears. "What's his name?" she asked the owner.
"Freddy."
"Well, Freddy, you're a sweetie, aren't you?" She glanced at the pet's master. "Mr. Dalton, do you mind if I give Freddy a doggie treat?"
"I don't mind at all. Freddy's like me, he's getting up there in years and one of the few pleasures left to him is eating." Mr. Dalton laughed good-naturedly and patted his potbelly.
"Sandy—" Caroline motioned for the plump redheaded gofer "
—will
take you and Freddy outside in the garden, and when I finish with little Justin Payne, I'll join y'all. If you'd like coffee or tea or if Freddy needs a bowl of water, then you just tell Sandy." Caroline dipped into the deep pocket of her baggy blue slacks and pulled out a bone-shaped dog treat. She waved it under the dog's nose. He caught a sniff and snapped it up immediately.
As soon as Mr. Dalton and Freddy disappeared down the corridor that led to the garden at the back of the studio, Caroline motioned to Wolfe. "There's only one door in and out of the children's studio, so if you guard that door, no one can get to me."
"Is that your subtle way of telling me to stay out of your way while you're working?" Wolfe asked.
"You catch on fast," she replied.
He walked behind her down the hallway, past the curtained alcoves young clients used to change clothes and into the large, colorfully decorated room she used as the children's studio. After scanning the area and noting only one window, which overlooked the enclosed garden courtyard where Sandy entertained Mr. Dalton and Freddy, Wolfe closed the single entry door and leaned back against it.
He watched as she maneuvered the lighting, first setting up what he later learned from Roz was a 350-watt diffuser fill light to the front right of the squirming Justin Payne.
"Roz, place that quartz key light behind him while I get the metal deflector in place." Caroline made a funny face at Justin, who had his hands filled with an assortment of plastic bugs.
Caroline and Roz worked tirelessly as a team, each in perfect timing with the other. Roz maneuvered the child with expert ease, returning him to a posed position time and again while Caroline checked lighting and angles as she snapped picture after picture of her energetic subject.
Wolfe couldn't take his eyes off Caroline as she worked. Her face glowed with enthusiastic zeal, and any fool could see how much she loved what she was doing. She and the camera became one, joined into a single entity capable of producing photographic masterpieces. If Aidan Colbert had done nothing else of any consequence in his life, he could take some credit for having helped this incredible young woman achieve her goals.
Bubbly, blond Kirsten, the other studio gofer, brought in lunch for two on a tray and placed the tray on Caroline's cluttered desk. "Crab cakes," she said. "Enjoy." Her smile flirted with Wolfe, but he purposefully ignored the girl.
When he pulled a chair up to the other side of the desk, Wolfe glanced at Caroline, who gave him a condemning glare.
"What?" he asked.
"Did you have to be so rude to Kirsten?"
"I wasn't rude," he said. "If I'd been rude, I would have told her that she was wasting her time with me. I have no interest in eighteen-year-old girls."
"Oh, I see. No point in encouraging her." Caroline opened the lid on the food container. "Tell me, just what age bracket does interest you?"
Wolfe lifted the coffee mug off the tray. "Definitely over twenty-five."
"How old are you?" she asked.
"Thirty-six."
"
Hrnm-mmm
."
"Too old?" he inquired.
"For what?"
"For someone twenty-seven?"
Caroline blushed. "I'm twenty-seven, or at least I will be on Thursday."
"Yes, I know."
"You're not too old." She immediately averted her gaze, concentrating on the food before her.
He'd never been particularly adept at playing games with women, certainly not a lighthearted flirting match like the one he'd just exchanged with Caroline. But with her, he felt different. With her, he
was
different.
While sipping his coffee, he glanced around her office, taking note of the photos on the walls, personally significant portraits confined to her private space. There were three shots of Brooke Harper and the same number of Fletcher Shaw. Two pictures of Roz, each capturing a vulnerability that surprised Wolfe. And dispersed among the other framed photographs were half a dozen shots of Lyle Jennings at various ages, from a chunky teenager in a baseball uniform to a majestic shot of him in his minister's garb. Glass-enclosed shelving lined the wall space on either side of the unused fireplace. Wolfe surveyed the contents. Clocks of various kinds and sizes. A couple of sculptures. And on a shelf by itself, a small 35 mm camera.
Wolfe set the mug on the tray, shoved back his chair and stood. As if drawn to the object by some magnetic force, he walked across the room for a better look at the little black camera. He peered through the glass, then lifted his hand as if to touch the object. Was this what he thought it was? Could it actually be the camera Aidan Colbert had bought Caroline for her thirteenth birthday?
He sensed rather than heard her when she came up behind him. She was so close he could smell the sweet scent of her delicate perfume.
"That was my first camera," she said, a trace of nostalgia in her voice. "It's my most prized possession."
"An inexpensive 35 mm camera is your most prized possession?" Inclining his head slightly, he glanced back at her.
"Yes. You see, it was a gift."
He nodded, afraid to speak, uncertain he wouldn't blurt out some sentimental hogwash that she couldn't possibly understand.
"Someone very special gave it to me for my thirteenth birthday." She opened the glass door, reached inside and removed the small camera. "My love for photography began with this camera. Taking pictures with it opened up a whole new world for me."
Wolfe swallowed hard. Had his insignificant little gift, purchased in London on a whim, actually done so much for the young Caroline?
"Who gave you the camera?" he asked.
"Someone very important to me." Caroline sighed. "A man I know only as David. He's been my benefactor since my stepfather died. He knew Preston and has sort of looked out for me for that reason. I have no idea who he is or what he looks like or how old he is. But in my heart, I see him as my knight in shining armor."
Wolfe watched silently as Caroline placed the camera back in its honored spot. When he glanced at her again, he noticed the tears glistening in her eyes and the slight tremble in her hand. Realization hit him like the blow of a sledgehammer.
"You're infatuated with this man," he said.
"Yes, I know. But it's a harmless infatuation. My David has made it abundantly clear that we can never meet."
My David.
She referred to him in the same possessive way he thought of her.
My Caroline.
"What if you could meet him? What would you say? What would you do?" Wolfe asked.
Would you run into his arms? Would you tell him that you love him?
"That will never happen," she said. "The only place I'll ever meet my David is in my dreams."
Chapter 7
So,
you think searching through this old place might turn up a clue?" Roz asked
"It's worth a try," Caroline said. "Wolfe and I agree it's possible the key fits something other than the doors."
Wolfe stayed at Caroline's side, constantly alert to the surrounding stimuli. Every sound. Every sight, especially things he caught in his peripheral vision. He even took note
of
the odors, having learned long ago to use all his senses when safeguarding his life and the lives of others. There was no way to know for certain when another strike would be made against Caroline or from what direction a second attempt on her life would come. Everyone was suspect. The postman whistling as he delivered mail across the street. The taxi driver picking up a fare half a block away. The woman planting flowers along her sidewalk two houses up.
Lyle Jennings came around the side of the house on Sheffield Street, paused and took a deep breath. His freckled face was slightly flushed from having run around the entire yard, back and front.
"The back door's locked," Lyle said, huffing a bit from exertion. "No windows open or broken and no one in sight out back."
"Thanks," Wolfe said, then held out his hand for the door key. "Roz, you take Caroline to the end of the porch and stay there until I have the door completely open."
"Aren't you being overly cautious?" Caroline asked. "What are you expecting—someone to jump out and grab me?"
"That's a possibility." Wolfe removed his tinted glasses. "But I was thinking more along the lines of an explosive device being triggered when the front door opens."
Caroline gasped. Roz grabbed her hand and tugged. Lyle ran toward the porch, then bounded up the steps.
"Come on. Let's do what he says." Lyle came up behind the two women, placing one hand on Caroline's back and the other on
Roz's
shoulder.
"Please be careful," Caroline called to Wolfe as Lyle led her and Roz to the far end of the wide front porch.
Wolfe felt fairly confident that the door was clean, but he wasn't willing to take any chances with Caroline's life. He slipped his glasses, which corrected his slight nearsightedness, into the inside pocket of his sport coat, then checked the door thoroughly, inserted the key and unlocked the door. He waited for a couple of minutes, then turned the doorknob. Once the door stood wide open, he motioned to the others. Caroline came to him immediately and they entered the house together.
"What's the matter, Rev, the tension too much for you?" Roz asked Lyle. "You're as white as a sheet."
"I suppose I am, but then I have enough sense to realize the danger in this situation," Lyle said. "Of course, you're not the least bit afraid, are you? A wild woman like you, with a tattoo on her leg and holes pierced in various body parts, fives for excitement. Tell me, Ms. Thrill Seeker, if a bomb had exploded just then, would that have given you your kicks for the day?"
"Oh, bite me, Lyle. You're such an uptight, goodie—"
Caroline stopped in the foyer, turned around, put her hands on her hips and yelled, "For heaven's sake, will you two give it a rest. If y'all can't get along while we're here, then one of you can go sit in the car."
"Sorry." Roz breezed past Lyle, her nose upturned as she entered the foyer. "Are you sure that guy—" she hitched her thumb backward in Lyle's direction "—is a blood relative of yours?"
"If we can proceed—" Wolfe looked from Roz to Lyle, who stood in the open doorway "—then I suggest Caroline and I search down here and in the basement and you two try upstairs and then the attic."
"Remind me again what we're looking for," Roz said.
"Anything that requires a key to open," Wolfe told her. "Before we leave, we'll try it on all the doors again, just to be sure, but my guess is that Caroline's key doesn't open a door. I think it's a key to a drawer, a trunk, a box. . . something like that. I had Caroline take several snapshots of the key and we've sent them to Dundee headquarters. If it fits any type of standard lock, our lab should be able to identify some definite possibilities."
"Let's get with it," Roz said. "I have a hot date tonight, so I need to go home in time to get ready."
"Who's the unfortunate man?" Lyle asked.
"Lyle, that wasn't very nice." Caroline frowned, but Wolfe noticed her lips twitching and knew she was on the verge of smiling.
Roz narrowed her gaze, glanced pensively at Caroline and grimaced. "Well, actually, my date is with Gavin Robbins. Gee, Caroline, I hope you don't mind. I mean, you did say that you weren't going to see him anymore and—"
Caroline laughed. "You're more than welcome to Gavin. But Roz, honey, I think you could do better. Gavin's a
goodlooking
charmer, but if you get serious about him, he'll break your heart."
"Amen," Wolfe said under his breath. Caroline certainly had figured out Gavin's true nature without any warnings from a friend. He couldn't help wondering if Roz were half as astute.
Caroline glared at Wolfe. Had she heard his quiet comment?
"Get serious about him? Not me." Roz stared pointedly at Lyle. "I'm the quintessential good-time girl, just in it for fun."
"One of these days, you'll have to pay a price for having all that fun," Lyle said.
Roz made a face at Lyle, then stuck out her tongue. He just rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and headed up the stairs. Before he made it to the landing, Roz caught up with him. Wolfe could hear them mouthing off at each other as they tramped along the upstairs hallway.
"What is it with those two?" Wolfe asked.
"They're opposites who don't attract," Caroline said.
"Or maybe opposites who do attract and are fighting the attraction?"
"Hmm-
mmm
. Maybe." She reached out and laid her hand on Wolfe's arm. "You don't like Gavin Robbins, do you? Why? You don't even know him."
"Sorry about my comment," Wolfe said. "You're right, I don't know him, but I have pretty good instincts when it comes to people, and my gut reaction to Robbins was negative." Wolfe glanced at Caroline's hand resting on his arm. "I'm glad you saw through his gentleman facade."
Caroline's fingers tightened around Wolfe's arm. Their gazes met and locked. He jerked away from her abruptly, unnerved by the powerful sexual urges she ignited within him.
Dammit
, man, this isn't just any woman. This is your sweet little Caroline!
Ah, but that was the problem—she
was
his sweet Caroline. But she was no longer a little girl.
"Where do we start?" she asked, obviously willing to overlook his blatant rudeness.
"The kitchen, then the laundry room and the pantry," he said. "After that we'll walk from room to room and look for anything that locks with a key."
Wolfe tried not to think about the past, tried not to remember the only other time he'd been inside this house. One cold December night nearly fifteen years ago. Fresh snow falling. Christmas lights blinking all over town. On his way down the hall that night, he had passed the living room, noticed the decorated tree and the presents stacked high underneath. Preston Shaw had been sitting behind his desk in the study when he looked up and saw Aidan Colbert standing in the doorway. He'd jumped out of the chair and come forward, his expression one of outrage at first, and then when he'd realized the intruder in his home was an executioner sent by the Peacekeepers, fear etched his classic features.
David wondered how he could now enter that same room. . .with Caroline? He wasn't the man he had been then, not by appearance nor identity. And there was no way Caroline could know he was the man who had executed Preston Shaw. But God help him, he knew who he really was and what he'd done that night.
There would be no way to avoid going into Shaw's study. Wolfe knew he had no choice but to walk through the door, Caroline at his side, and confront the demons from his past without letting on to her that anything was wrong. But Caroline would be forced to relive that night again, too. Perhaps he could persuade her to stay just outside the door while he searched the room. But if she insisted on coming into the room with him, then he would be her protector, her strong shoulder to lean on if she needed one. However, not by word or deed could he dare let on that he was familiar with any of the intimate details concerning what had occurred in that room when a twelve-year-old child had come face-to-face with her stepfather's killer.
*
*
*
"We have one last room on the first floor to check before we head down into the basement," Caroline said. She had deliberately left the study for last, dreading to go in there again. It had been difficult enough when she'd opened up the old house a few weeks ago and forced herself to enter Preston's study for the first time since the night he was murdered. How could she possibly go in there again?
"If you'd rather not go into the study, you can wait out in the hall where I can see you, while I check for a lock of some kind," Wolfe told her.
"You know about what happened that night, don't you? Fletcher must have explained to you how his father died."
"When a Dundee agent takes on a case, the persons involved are thoroughly investigated and a dossier put together on them as quickly as possible," Wolfe explained. "I have copies of the police report concerning Mr. Shaw's death, as well as old newspaper clippings. So, yes, I'm aware of the fact that Preston Shaw died in that room." Wolfe glanced up the hall at the open door.
"Do you have a report on me?" Caroline asked. "If you do, then you know that I had a nervous breakdown that night, after I called the emergency number. I saw the killer. . .was in the room with him. . .but later I couldn't identify him. I was helpless because I was upset and confused. And my memories were fuzzy. A murderer is probably out there now, walking the streets a free man, because I couldn't give the police a good description of him."
"You can't blame yourself for something you weren't a part of."
"If what Preston wrote in the letter he hid away in the safe is true, then he wasn't killed by some burglar. He was assassinated because he had information that was dangerous to someone very powerful. Don't you understand—the man who shot Preston was a professional killer. So tell me this, why didn't he kill me, too?"
Tears pooled in her eyes. That same old
unan-swerable
question still haunted her. More so now than ever—now that this new evidence had been discovered. She turned away from Wolfe and hurried down the hall toward the study, feeling as if somehow she could solve the mystery only in the room where it had begun.
"Caroline!"
Wolfe was running after her. She could hear his heavy footsteps, could sense him drawing nearer and nearer. But she couldn't stop, couldn't wait. She raced into the study, halting in the middle of the room, at approximately the same spot where Preston had lain sprawled on the floor. She gazed down at the scuffed, dusty wood and could almost see the bloodstains that had, in reality, been removed years ago. Suddenly she looked up and saw a large, dark figure near the door. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. Moisture coated the palms of her hands. Tremors racked her body.
He was going to kill her. Shoot her the way he had shot Preston. She couldn't escape. And there was no one else in the house she could call for help.
A child's chilling screams echoed inside Caroline's head. The room began to spin around and around. She desperately wanted to find that poor, pitiful screaming child, but how could she? Her feet seemed glued to the spot and her vision was beginning to blur.
Wolfe had seen that look on Caroline's face before. The sheer terror. The fear that she was going to die. Salty bile rose in his throat. His stomach knotted painfully. He couldn't bear seeing her this way. Remembering. Reliving that moment when the two of them had gazed into each other's eyes on a snowy winter night so long ago. Over the years, his nightmares had been filled with that ungodly moment when a little girl had thought he was going to kill her. He had gone over that moment in his mind again and again, and each time he had thought about how ironic it was that he, of all people, had put that kind of fear into
a
child. Aidan Colbert, who had killed his own father to stop him from murdering a child.