Secrets Don't Sink, page 12
Darren appeared on the front porch and ushered me into the grand foyer.
“I was starting to wonder if you were going to stay in your car all night.”
“It was warm, and I was dreading the cold,” I lied. “Holy moly. You can’t buy this on a small-town newspaper salary. You can’t even rent it.”
He threw back a faux humble chuckle of the wealthy. “Family money. Come on; I have pasta and Bolognese sauce going. Hungry?”
The quiche was still digesting, and nerves had sapped the remainder of my appetite. “Uh, sure. Yeah, sounds great.” White lie number two.
Darren led me into a large chef’s kitchen, where a bottle of Merlot sat on the counter. He uncorked the bottle and poured the wine into a crystal decanter labeled with an Irish Waterford sticker.
“Have to let it breathe a bit.”
“I don’t usually drink red, so I doubt I’d notice the difference.”
“Oh, you’ll be able to taste the difference, even if you aren’t certain why. It really opens up the flavors.” He lifted the lid from the simmering pot on to cooktop. “Mmm, so good. You’re going to love this.”
He grabbed two glasses by their stems in one hand, and with the other, he picked up the decanter. He jerked his head. “Follow me.”
“Can I help you?”
“Nope,” he called over his shoulder.
We proceeded through the family room, a cozy area with overstuffed slipper chairs in blue and cream colonial striped fabric surrounding a large fireplace with a stately American cherry mantle. The next room, an atrium with large windows and tropical plants, was muggy despite fluffy snowflakes falling just on the other side of the glass. A gray wicker sofa topped with a thick smoky-blue cushion and cream linen throw pillows fringed in woven seagrass was the centerpiece, flanked by matching glass-topped wicker tables. In front of the settee was a coordinated coffee table, also in gray wicker, with a glass overlay. The only decorative items were a Wedgewood vase containing dried white hydrangeas and a coffee table book featuring lighthouses.
“This is my favorite room in the house. These door panels fully open to the backyard and pool area.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Sit, please, and I’ll pour the wine.”
I sank into the plush cushion. My inherent klutziness made red wine and white pillows a particularly bad combo. Darren poured the ruby liquid into a wide-mouthed goblet until it was about a quarter-full. He handed it to me and poured it into his own glass.
“Thank you for coming tonight, Audrey. I really didn’t like the way our last conversation went, and I despise loose ends.”
“I appreciate your wanting to talk and clear the air. I didn’t particularly enjoy the conversation either.”
He swirled his wine. “When my mom, Maddie, got sick, I felt helpless. Having money convinces a person they’re insulated from tragedy, but no amount of money could’ve saved her. Sure, it gave us access to treatments and facilities the average person couldn’t afford, but in the end, it didn’t matter. Since then, I find myself constantly in a state of risk assessment and aversion.” He paused to sip. “I’m sorry I got mad the other day. I know I come across as controlling. Whether you realize it or not, that’s my way of trying to protect you.”
“I’m pretty self-sufficient. I hope in the future you’ll give me a little more credit.” I pursed my lips.
“I’ll try, but it’s important to me you know where I’m coming from. Often the way things land, well, I know my approach can lead to my intentions being misconstrued.
“It goes to show how messed-up things can get when there’s a communication failure. Like today, for example.”
He crooked his head. “What happened today?”
“I went to see Renee Washburn.” I drank a sip of the merlot, pulled the glass back, and swirled it. “Huh. That’s surprisingly good.”
His jaw clenched and released. “I thought she hated you.”
“Who? Oh, Renee? She does, she did. I don’t know; she’s at least willing to engage in conversation with me now.”
Darren blinked rapidly. “Conversation about what?”
“Holden and I–”
“Holden Villalobos?” Clench.
“Yes. We went to talk to Renee this afternoon to give our condolences and ask some questions. The Washburn place was an absolute mess, by the way, as was she. I don’t think she’s showered since the day Marcus died.”
“What questions?” Clench.
“Questions about Marcus and who might’ve wanted him dead. We’re hoping there’s information hidden somewhere in the house, but that place was disgusting.” I took a large slug of the merlot. “I really like this. It’s warm and smooth, without any bitterness.
“Information on what?”
“Huh? I gotta say, I don’t usually drink red wine, but this is delicious. Did I say that already? I think I did.” I smiled at him. “Oh, shoot. I hope my teeth aren’t purple. Are my teeth purple?” I bared my teeth.
Darren sighed and shook his head. “You said you hoped there might be information in their house. What information?”
“Whatever prompted all the wild claims Marcus made on his blog.”
“Wild claims?” Clench.
“About the Chattertons. Ooh. I’m a lightweight. I’m starting to feel a little foggy.” I put my fingertips to my temple.
“Do you believe there’s any truth to these claims?”
His eyes had deepened to sapphire in the dim light. A shock of hair fell into his face, and I fought the urge to tuck it behind his ear.
“You’re cute, you know that?”
He blinked.
“Hard to say about those whacky theories. He’s dead, so there’s that. By the way, Darren, this is probably the best wine I’ve ever had. I said that already, didn’t I?”
“Were you there when I called you? Was that the meeting you were in?” He used aggressive air quotes when he said the word meeting.
“No, we’d left Renee’s about forty-five minutes prior to your call.” I shifted on the sofa, which wasn’t as comfortable as when I’d first sat. The cushions no longer felt plush but claustrophobic. The temperature in the room rose in contrast to the snow piling on the outer windowsills. I fanned my face to cool the warmth spreading upward from my neck.
“What I meant was, were you there with Holden? When I called, were you with him?”
“We grabbed a bite to eat to discuss our conversation with Renee.” I fanned my face more intensely. “It’s warm in here. Does it feel warm in here to you?”
Darren glowered. “Your face does look a bit flushed. You seem…uncomfortable. Why don’t you go to the powder room and grab a cool washcloth while I check on the sauce.” He left without waiting for a response. It was a command, not a suggestion.
Setting my glass on the table, I struggled to hoist myself off the sofa. When I got to the living room, Darren stood at the stove glaring into the Bolognese pot. I cleared my throat to get his attention, and he lifted his head.
“Am I going the right way?”
“Keep going and turn right. It’ll be down the hall on the left.”
I followed his directions and found myself in a long corridor. Glossy white wainscoting lined the hallway, an elegant accent to the dusky-blue walls and precisely hung mahogany-framed family portraits.
The first photo featured Darren with his parents. About fifteen or sixteen at the time, Darren bore a striking likeness to his father, handsome and polished with those same piercing blue eyes. His mother had coloring similar to mine, although her ashy blonde hair was paired with crystal blue eyes.
The next photo was the trio at his graduation from MIT. Darren beamed with the optimistic excitement of someone ready to take on the world.
Several of the other photos appeared to have been taken at large family reunions. In the six months I’d known him, he’d never mentioned any relatives other than his parents.
Itchiness on my neck and face cut my snooping short. I clawed at my skin, which elicited nearly orgasmic relief. I opened the powder room door and turned on the light to illuminate my reflection.
“Oh, my gawd!”
“Audrey? What’s wrong?”
Darren found me staring in horror at the mirror. Red splotches and white welts covered my neck and face.
“Hey, Audrey.” His sarcasm dripped like venom. “Any chance you’re allergic to red wine?”
Chapter Fourteen
Three hours and a whole lot of Benadryl later, I was released from the ER. I came out to the waiting room where my worried sister and sort-of-date were sitting.
“How are you?” Darren rubbed the back of his neck.
“Exhausted. Hey, Viv, thanks for coming.”
She rose to give me a hug. “Was this payback for the drowning thing? Don’t ever scare me like that again!”
My feeble laugh was lost in my sister’s hair. “I’ll try not to.”
“What did the doctor say?” Darren’s face sagged, his shoulders slumped, and his eyes were red with dark circles.
“He said I was lucky, but next time I might not be. Even though this initial reaction was hives, the second exposure can be deadly. I guess my juvenile penchant for sweet whites has been saving my life all these years.” I gave a self-deprecating laugh.
Darren’s frown deepened. “Audrey, I…” He struggled to find his words. “I’m sorry. If I’d known, I’d never….”
I rested my hand on his forearm. “It’s not your fault.”
“Your car’s still at my house.” He ran his hand stiffly through his hair and shuffled his feet on the tile floor.
“I’ll bring her by in the morning.” Viv turned to me. “Do you have your keys?”
“Yeah, they’re in my purse.”
“Double check.”
She held out her hand like a schoolmarm who’d caught me passing notes or chewing gum. She was taking a page from my own playbook.
“Is this really necessary?”
She gestured with her fingers like Bruce Lee telling an opponent to bring it on. I sighed in resignation and dug around until I located them at the bottom, along with a foil gum wrapper, a Chapstick missing its lid, and a hairband knotted with flaxen strands. Vivienne picked through the garbage in my palm, plucked the keys, and jerked her head toward the parking lot. She was attempting to control the situation, but her petite stature tempered her ability to intimidate.
I turned to Darren. Our dinner conversation not only hadn’t ended on a high note, it hadn’t even included dinner.
“Thank you for all your efforts tonight, for getting me to the hospital, and for staying here to wait for me. Sorry about the Bolognese.”
“I couldn’t let you die of anaphylactic shock in my bathroom. Will I see you in the office tomorrow?”
“I’ll be there in the morning and then I planned to go see a guy about a knife around noon.” I yawned, the Benadryl taking effect.
“What guy? What knife?”
“Peter Chatterton donated a knife to the museum that was his great, great, uh great? Grandfather’s. I think. Or was it great, great, great, great, great, great…” My words slurred.
“Alright, time to get you home.” Vivienne placed her arm around my shoulders.
As she led me away, I feebly waved in Darren’s direction.
“That was…weird,” she said, opening the door for me.
The Benadryl had fully kicked in, leaving me groggy and confused. “What was weird?”
“What he just said to you. Under what circumstances would he let someone suffering an allergic reaction die in his bathroom?”
I squinted at my sister, rapidly losing the battle to stay conscious. “I don’t think he meant it that way. He’s a nice guy, he just has mommy issues.”
Vivienne grunted. “Seems to be a pattern with you.”
As I succumbed to the drowsiness, my final thought was unfortunately, she was right.
The buzzing on the nightstand was like a jackhammer to my throbbing head. I accidentally knocked the phone onto the floor and, as I stretched to grab it, toppled over the side of the bed. I answered without looking to see who it was.
“Hello?”
“What’s going on over there? Are you doing jumping jacks? You sound like you’re dying.” It was Holden.
“Didn’t you hear? I almost did.”
“What do you mean?” His tone went from playful to serious.
“Turns out I’m allergic to red wine. Or something in red wine. LBT? No. LGBT? No, that’s definitely not it. And I know it’s not BLT.” I giggled.
“Audrey!”
“Hey now, chill! I had a long night, and my head is killing me.”
“I’ll chill when you tell me what happened. Did Darren hurt you?”
“No! Well, not on purpose, anyway. Things were going okay at first. He talked about his mom and how losing her turned him into a control freak. He got strangely intense when I told him about going to see Renee, although it was hard to tell whether he was mad about that or you being there with me. He doesn’t like you much, I don’t think.” I yawned and stretched my arms over my head, cradling the phone between my cheek and shoulder.
“The feeling’s mutual. Tell me about the dying part, please.”
I managed to lift myself off the floor and stumble into the kitchen, where I turned on the coffee maker. “Well, he opened a bottle of Merlot to go with the pasta he was making.”
“Wine, huh, and he cooks?”
“Yes. Are you jealous?”
Holden laughed. “Not at all. Trust me; I can cook.”
“Prove it.”
“Oh, I will.” His smile was nearly audible through the phone. “Audrey, for a journalist, you sure have a tough time getting to the climax.” He gasped and chortled. “Of the story! I meant the climax of the story.”
“You did that on purpose.”
“I swear, it just came out.”
“Wait! I got it. TPT! Shoot, no. LTP! I think that’s it. It’s a protein in grape skin. I don’t react to white wine because it’s made without the skins. Red wine is fermented with the skins. Anyway, the next thing I know, I’m roasting. My face is on fire. I thought I was just uncomfortable with his questioning. Nope, full-blown hives outbreak.”
Holden paused a beat. “I’m not gonna lie; I’m kinda glad you had an allergic reaction to your date.”
“Rude. I’m not allergic to him. Besides, it wasn’t exactly a date.”
“Audrey, he invited you to his house, made you dinner, and broke out the wine. It was a date.”
I grabbed a mug from the cupboard, popped a cup into the machine, and pressed the brew button. “Things were already going south before my face turned the color of a stewed tomato.”
“What do you think his objection might be to your talking with Renee? I understand him being unhappy about spending time with me, but she’s your ex’s widow who also isn’t your biggest fan.”
I grabbed creamer from the fridge and poured in significantly more than one serving.
“That’s putting it mildly. I thought it was odd, too, but I guess my involvement in a murder case freaks him out, and he’s worried about my safety. The other day he got upset because I’d left my phone in the car and had missed several calls and texts from him. Frankly, I’m surprised he didn’t insist on staying here last night to keep an eye on me while I slept.” Leaning against the counter, I took a tentative sip. “Although, I doubt Viv would have let him. She’s not his biggest fan either.”
“I knew I liked that girl.” He paused. “Do you have protection?”
“Excuse me?” I sputtered and choked on my coffee.
“I swear, I’m not purposely dropping the double entendres.”
“Would you care to clarify, then?”
“I meant protection, as in a gun.”
“No, I don’t have one, haven’t ever touched a real one. I’d probably shoot myself in the foot.”
I purposely neglected to mention my father had tried to teach me to shoot a BB gun when I was seven. The kick-back had caused my arms to flail, my index finger to grab the trigger, and BBs to rain upon us. That day I’d learned several curse words and experienced my first silent treatment. I’d never gone near anything resembling a gun since.
“I don’t blame Benson for being worried about your safety. I’d feel a lot better if I knew you could defend yourself. Barring putting you under police protection, or having me stay with you, getting you trained to shoot is the best way. Although, it seems you’re more a threat to yourself than anything.”
“I’d be offended if I didn’t know how true that statement is. Taking the night shift to keep an eye on me while I sleep wouldn’t go over well with your fiancée, I suppose.”
He ignored the bait. “What’s your schedule today?”
“Viv’s gonna drop me off at my car, which is still at Darren’s house, then I’m headed to the office for a bit. I thought I’d drive to Peter’s house around lunchtime.”
“Does he know you’re coming?”
“I figured catching him off-guard might give me an advantage in getting my foot in the door.”
Holden grumbled to himself. “I want to go with you, but I have a meeting from ten until two. I don’t like the idea of you going there alone.”
“I’ll be fine. He’s just a grouchy old rich dude, right?”
“Call me as soon as you’re done. I’ll have my phone on silent, so you won’t be interrupting anything. Even if I don’t answer, leave me a voicemail to let me know you’re okay. I’ll take you to the gun range after my meeting.”
“I can’t imagine I’m gonna like it.”
“You’ll never know until you try.”
“Are we still talking about guns?”
“Don’t forget to call when you leave Peter’s.”
I gripped the steering wheel as I drove out of town under a bright midday sky. Sunlight glinted off icy patches, but a trough of artic wind blew south from the Fraser River Valley, keeping temperatures well below freezing. The roads were mostly bare and wet, but I’d had enough encounters with black ice not to trust my eyes. Fresh snow blanketed cluttered yards, giving a pristine cloak to rusty vehicles which had stopped functioning long before.
