“Mick invites me to church every week. When we clear up this newest case, I’m going to surprise him and go,” Drew said.

Rissa beamed in his direction. “That will make me very happy.” She stood and started toward him. He met her halfway, and she gave him both of her hands.

He pulled her into a brief embrace, and Rissa relaxed and enjoyed the closeness of him. Being held in his arms made her feel secure and safe. It was the kind of caress she would have given to anyone who had rededicated his life to God. But she knew it signaled something more. She not only found security in Drew’s arms, but peace as well. Was she ready for what was developing between them?

THE SECRETS OF STONELEY:

Six sisters face murder, mayhem and mystery while unraveling the past.

FATAL IMAGE—Lenora Worth (LIS#38)

LITTLE GIRL LOST—Shirlee McCoy (LIS#40)

BELOVED ENEMY—Terri Reed (LIS#44)

THE SOUND OF SECRETS—Irene Brand (LIS#48)

DEADLY PAYOFF—Valerie Hansen (LIS#52)

WHERE TRUTH LIES—Lynn Bulock (LIS#56)

IRENE BRAND

Writing has been a lifelong interest of this author, who says that she started her first novel when she was eleven years old and hasn’t finished it yet. However, since 1984 she’s published more than thirty contemporary and historical novels and three nonfiction titles. She started writing professionally in 1977 after she completed her master’s degree in history at Marshall University. Irene taught in secondary public schools for twenty-three years, but retired in 1989 to devote herself to writing.

Consistent involvement in the activities of her local church has been a source of inspiration for Irene’s work. Traveling with her husband, Rod, to all fifty states and to thirty-two foreign countries has also inspired her writing. Irene is grateful to the many readers who have written to say that her inspiring stories and compelling portrayals of characters with strong faith have made a positive impression on their lives. You can write to her at P.O. Box 2770, Southside, WV 25187 or visit her Web site at www.irenebrand.com.

Irene Brand
The Sound of Secrets

Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to Irene Brand for her contribution to THE SECRETS OF STONELEY miniseries.

“Because thou hast made the Lord, which is my refuge, even the most High, thy habitation; there shall no evil befall thee, neither shall any plague come nigh thy dwelling. For he shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways. They shall bear thee up in their hands, lest thou dash thy foot against a stone.”

—Psalms 91:9–12

I want to dedicate this book to the five

other authors with whom I’ve worked on

THE SECRETS OF STONELEY

continuity series—Lynn Bulock, Shirlee McCoy,

Lenora Worth, Terri Reed and Valerie Hansen.

It’s been a pleasure to work with them.

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

PROLOGUE

Illuminated by the faint light of a half moon, Blanchard Manor resembled a phantom house. Swept inland by a brisk wind from the turbulent Atlantic, thick fog shrouded the stately mansion with wispy white tendrils. The faint scent of seaweed blended with the pungent fragrance of spruce trees. It was a peaceful night and quietness reigned on the promontory. Presumably the inhabitants of the mansion had long since gone to bed.

A man stealthily opened a side door of the mansion. He paused briefly to survey the moonlit scene before he strode purposefully toward the gazebo at the edge of the manicured lawn. Stopping once, he looked upward at the house, wondering if his daughters were sleeping. He climbed the steps into the gazebo, questioning how long he would have to wait. Not long, he thought. His expected visitor wouldn’t be late when her financial future hung in the balance.

A figure, swathed in a hooded raincoat, approached the gazebo and hesitated in the shadow of an ancient, sprawling maple tree before entering the small, wooden structure. Soon the wheedling tones of the woman were muffled by the man’s strident, angry voice.

The argument intensified, and two faces appeared at a window in the mansion. Kneeling with their arms folded on the sill, the sisters strained their eyes to discover the identity of their father’s mysterious visitor. Finally, Ronald Blanchard’s voice rang out loud and clear in the stillness of the night.

“If you ever darken my doorstep again, I’ll have you killed.”

A shaft of moonlight swept across the lawn and highlighted the figure of a tall, powerfully built man with his hand lifted as though to strike the woman. Was he holding a knife? A cloud covered the moon and the gazebo was again plunged into darkness.

The man stormed angrily across the lawn and disappeared into the house, but what had happened to the visitor? A door slammed downstairs, leaving the two sisters alarmed and troubled. They returned to their beds, but not to sleep. Would there ever be an end to the troubles that plagued the Blanchard family?

ONE

With misgiving, Nerissa Blanchard strapped two bags on the luggage carrier and looked longingly around her trendy apartment. How she dreaded the upcoming visit to her family’s home in Stoneley, Maine! It wasn’t as if she’d been away for a long time. She had made two quick trips to Blanchard Manor in the past two months.

Since moving to New York City four years ago, the days that Rissa spent away from the exciting metropolis felt as barren as if she’d been stranded on a desert island. And this trip was also unwelcome because Rissa definitely didn’t want to be involved in her twin’s wedding.

But what else could she do? Portia had called a few days ago and insisted that she needed Rissa’s help to complete her wedding plans.

She couldn’t disappoint her sister—they had always been inseparable, and now she would be sharing her twin with Stoneley Police detective Mick Campbell. Rissa hadn’t gotten used to the idea yet, but she wanted her twin to be happily married. Drew Lancaster, Mick’s sometimes partner, a man she preferred to steer clear of, was her real reason for avoiding the wedding. However, she was determined to be Portia’s maid of honor in spite of the fact that Drew would be Mick’s best man.

She had only met Drew once—no more than a few hours during her last visit to Maine—so why did thoughts of the man infiltrate many of her waking hours as well as her dreams? Rissa couldn’t understand. No one was less likely to fit into her life than a small-town cop without a literary thought in his head. Wrapped up in her career, especially the new play she was writing, she had almost succeeded in putting Drew out of her mind. If only Portia’s fiancé hadn’t picked Drew to be in the wedding party!

Rissa begrudged every minute she had to spend away from the city, but she and Portia had always been there for each other. There was no way she could refuse to help her twin plan the biggest day of her life.

As she finished dressing, Rissa put aside her personal problems and considered the latest news from home—another reason she dreaded going to Stoneley. She had believed all of her life that their mother, Trudy, had died in an automobile accident when the twins were only three. But their father had finally admitted to faking his wife’s death to spare his daughters the grief of knowing that their mother had sunk into a severe case of postpartum depression following the birth of their youngest sister. This new development in the family’s dysfunctional history was almost more than Rissa could bear, especially since their mother had escaped from the mental institution almost eight months ago. No one had heard from her since then.

Rissa took a last look in the mirror, satisfied with her appearance. She loved the old-world feel of her newest outfit—a long, black velvet tuxedo jacket and pants complemented by a frilly, open-necked white cotton blouse. She put on a pair of black-and-white leather-and-suede flats and pulled her long, curly black hair behind her left ear, fastening it securely with a silver clip.

Hoping that the newest family revelation would be handled by the time she arrived at her Maine home, Rissa locked the door behind her and took an elevator to the parking area in the basement. She ran her hands approvingly along the side of the sleek, navy-blue Porsche that she’d bought over a year ago. Except for Portia, who never questioned anything Rissa did, the family hadn’t hesitated to give an opinion that she was foolish to spend so much money on a car that she seldom used. No one knew better than Rissa that getting around in the city was best done by subway, but when she wanted to go outside the city, she liked the freedom of owning her own car.

Hoping she wouldn’t have to be away more than a week, Rissa pulled out of the garage and began her journey. Because she preferred to travel at night, long after rush hour, once on the interstate, the trip to Stoneley would pass quickly. After she started northeast and was out of the heaviest city traffic, Rissa inserted a CD containing the theme music of her off-Broadway play, Memories of the Past, which had become a smash hit. The miles passed quickly as she listened to the musical scores and plotted her next play.

Daylight found Rissa within fifty miles of her destination, and she reveled in the beauty of the quiet countryside. A misty sunrise highlighted the villages where powerboats were leaving secluded harbors for the turbulent fishing waters of the Atlantic. A solid mass of spruce trees crowned the bluffs to the west. When she passed through marshlands, black ducks and green herons took wing at her approach.

In spite of her love for the city, a thrill of pride in her native state swelled in Rissa’s heart. The coast of Maine was rugged, powerful and breathtaking. God must have given an extra portion of His time to this area when He created the world.

Rissa hadn’t told her family that she was making a night drive to Stoneley, so when she was within twenty miles of home, she pulled into a rest stop to call them. Her oldest sister, Miranda, answered the phone.

“Good morning,” Rissa said. “I’ll be home in a half hour. You can warn Andre that I haven’t had any breakfast!”

“Rissa! You surely didn’t drive all that way alone, and at night! It isn’t safe,” Miranda said, giving her usual unsolicited advice—as she always did—to her younger siblings.

“But I made it!”

She had expected a long lecture on the subject, but Miranda said, “We haven’t had breakfast yet. Something terrible happened here last night. Be careful!”

Rissa held the phone away from her ear. Miranda had hung up on her! What could possibly be wrong at Blanchard Manor to cause her always socially correct sister to be rude? She had hoped that this short visit would be more peaceful than previous ones, such as when her family had been under suspicion in the murder of Garrett McGraw, a private detective her sister Bianca had hired to learn about their mother’s death. Sensing that wouldn’t be the case, Rissa sighed, joined the flow of traffic on the highway and headed for home.

Despite the sadness that had infiltrated the house as long as Rissa could remember, her heart swelled when Blanchard Manor came into view. She gazed fondly upward at the huge stone mansion with its castlelike facade, though she dreaded what new trouble had descended upon the Blanchard family.

Rissa punched in the security code at the gate and started toward the house.

Aunt Winnie, her father’s sister—the only mother Rissa could remember—never failed to be standing on the small porch, waiting expectantly when she returned home. Aunt Winnie was waiting, but she wasn’t her neat, usual self. She still wore her pajamas and robe, and her hair obviously hadn’t been combed since she’d gotten out of bed.

Instead of driving to the six-car garage at the side of the house, Rissa swung her Porsche into the circular drive and stopped abruptly. Leaving the door ajar, she ran toward her aunt as Miranda and Portia stepped into view, leaving the huge, wooden stained-glass door open.

“What’s happened?” she asked.

“Come inside, dear,” Winnie said as she leaned forward to kiss Rissa’s cheek. Rissa’s shoes clacked noisily on the marble-floored foyer. Inside the spacious hallway, her eyes were drawn toward the walnut staircase supported by heavy, ornate balustrades—a sight that had welcomed visitors to Blanchard Manor for years.

With an anxious glance at Ronald’s office, Winnie motioned toward the room to the right of the hallway.

“Let’s go to the living room,” she murmured, and they walked quietly into the room that hadn’t changed much in appearance since Rissa could remember.

Her sisters and Aunt Winnie sat on the twin settees grouped around a large coffee table.

“What’s happened?” she repeated when the door closed behind them.

Winnie motioned for Rissa to sit beside her.

“I’ve been sitting all night,” Rissa said, leaning against the closed door. “I’ll stand for a while. Don’t keep me in suspense—what’s wrong?”

“There was a terrible scene in the gazebo last night,” Miranda said.

“Terrible? What do you mean? Has someone else been killed?” Rissa demanded, irritated that they seemed to be beating around the bush.

“I don’t think so,” Portia answered. “We couldn’t see in the dark, but I checked as soon as daylight came. There wasn’t a body in the gazebo. The woman must have gotten away.”

“It happened about midnight,” Winnie said. “Ronald was in the gazebo with a woman. He shouted at the top of his lungs and woke the entire household. There must have been a terrible argument. I don’t suppose anybody slept after that.”

“Another woman? What’s happened to Alannah, his latest flame?”

With a disgusted sniff, Miranda said, “Oh, she’s still around, unfortunately. This definitely wasn’t a romantic tryst.”

“That’s right. He threatened the woman’s life if she shows up here again,” Portia said. “Father didn’t come upstairs after that, but spent the night in his office.”

A disturbing thought popped into Rissa’s head and fearful images built in her mind. “But he is all right, isn’t he?” she asked hesitantly.

“I’ve listened at the keyhole a few times,” Miranda answered. “He’s muttering and pacing the floor like a madman, and it sounds like he’s kicking the furniture when it’s in his way.”

Was her father deranged, too? Her mother had experienced serious postpartum depression. Now that Rissa’s psychiatrist had prescribed an antidepressant for her, Rissa feared that she had inherited her mother’s instability.

What if her father’s mind was also unbalanced? Dr. Pearson, her psychiatrist, had assured Rissa that she had only a mild case of clinical depression and had prescribed a low dose of antidepressants to combat her symptoms. But recalling some of Ronald’s temper displays, and his uncaring attitude toward his six daughters, she wondered if her condition was worse than the psychiatrist had diagnosed. And her grandfather, Howard, had Alzheimer’s. What chance did she have against such odds? Would she eventually lose her mind?

Rissa had chosen a Christian psychiatrist, one who counseled her patients with Biblical teachings along with traditional treatment. During the therapy sessions, Rissa often felt as if she were a child again in her Sunday school class at Unity Christian Church. Upon Dr. Pearson’s advice, Rissa had memorized a few Bible verses that she called to mind anytime she became depressed. The doctor had insisted that a daily dose of Scripture would be an added benefit to her medication.

Rissa suddenly realized that her aunt had spoken to her twice and that her sisters were staring at her in concern. She forced a slight laugh.

“Sorry! I’ve had a long night. What did you say?”

“We waited to have breakfast with you,” Aunt Winnie said. “Are you ready to eat?”

“Sure. Give me a minute to run upstairs and freshen up.”

“I’ll bring your luggage,” Portia said.

“Put it in our bedroom. I’ll wash my hands and face and then join everyone in the dining room.”

During breakfast Rissa forced an upbeat manner as she chatted with her aunt and sisters, answering their questions about the success of Memories of the Past.

“We saw a glowing review in the local paper,” Miranda said. “‘Hometown Girl Makes a Splash in the Big Apple.’ If an article makes it into our paper, you can be assured that the news has spread nationwide.”

“I am pleased with public reception to my play,” Rissa said, smothering a yawn. “My agent encouraged me to start working on another one right away, so I’ve been busy writing a new one.”

“Now that Portia will be moving back to Stoneley, won’t you be lonesome in the big city?” Aunt Winnie asked. “Why don’t you come home? Seems to me you could write as well here as in New York.”

“I could never be lonely in New York. It is my home now,” Rissa said. “Coming to Stoneley seems like the end of the world. I can’t imagine anything that would entice me to live here again.”

“It isn’t a good thing to forget your roots,” Miranda scolded, and Rissa knew she had sounded a little supercilious. She didn’t mean to be that way and decided she would have to work on her attitude. But her relatives who had never lived in the city couldn’t understand how life on the fast track had changed her priorities.

Missing her youngest sister, Rissa asked, “Has Juliet already gone to work this morning?”

“She’s in Florida on a business trip and will be gone for a week or two,” Winnie explained.

“Tough luck,” Rissa said, with a humorous uplift of her carefully tweaked brows. “Having to leave Maine for a trip to Florida this time of year must have been a real sacrifice.”

“Well, it was in a way,” Portia said. “She didn’t want to leave her boyfriend behind.”

Rissa had been introduced to Brandon De Witte, whom Juliet had met recently. It must have been love at first sight because the romance seemed to be moving forward rapidly.

After breakfast Rissa took a shower, went to bed and slept until noon. When she was awakened by a knock on the door by her aunt, who announced that lunch was ready, she dressed hurriedly in black silk pants and a hot-pink long-sleeved blouse. A pair of metallic leather flat shoes completed her outfit. She brushed her hair over her shoulders and went downstairs to the news that her father had finally come out of his office, gone to his bedroom, dressed and left for his job as the steel-hearted CEO of Blanchard Fabrics. The women ate lunch alone.

“Do you suppose I can see Grandfather this afternoon?” Rissa asked as they finished the light lunch of crab soup, raw vegetables and cherry torte.

“According to Peg, he isn’t having a good day,” Miranda said. “She said she would let you know when he’s lucid.”

“I don’t know what we would do without Peg,” Rissa said of the sweet-natured nurse who took care of their grandfather round the clock. “Does she ever take a day off?”

“I could count on one hand the time she’s been away from the house during the past five years,” Winnie said. “But it’s her fault—we’ve tried to get her to take more time off. She says she doesn’t know what else she would do.”

“She doesn’t have any family in this area at all,” Miranda said. “She specializes in long-term care and lives in the homes of the families she helps. She apparently doesn’t have a place of her own.”

“Well, we’re fortunate to have her,” Rissa said.

When Winnie rang for the maids to clear the table, Rissa said, “I need a walk along the seawall. Portia, why don’t you walk with me to the bluffs? After all, the main reason I’m here is to help plan your wedding. We can make plans as we walk.”

“You can’t go walking in those clothes,” Miranda said, casting a disdainful eye at the garments that had set Rissa back several hundred dollars. “This isn’t New York City. You’d better take off that fancy outfit and dress for the weather up here. Remember, it’s still April, and you know that we often have snow this time of year.”

Rissa winced a little at the censure in her sister’s voice. Miranda didn’t understand that in this house, she had to have something tangible, like her city clothes, to remind her that there was another life waiting for her.

“Snow! Don’t tell me it’s going to snow.”

“No,” Portia said. “The weather forecast is for thunderstorms, but it’s still cold outside.” Turning to Miranda, she continued, “I’m sure she didn’t intend to walk in those clothes,” taking up for her twin as she always did. “Our heavy coats and boots are in the hall closet upstairs, sis. I’ll go get them.”

The twins rarely wore matching clothes anymore, but when they left the house in the jackets they had worn when they’d been teenagers, they looked like two peas in a pod. Although the calendar said it was April, and bright sunshine blanketed the estate, the brisk wind from the ocean reminded them that winter hadn’t given up yet.

Portia shuddered when they walked past the gazebo. “I thought Father had killed someone here last night. Who could he be threatening?”

“A better question is ‘Who’s threatening him?’ Most of the time, he’s a stranger to me. I often feel as if we not only grew up without a mother but without a father, too. He never has any time for us.”

“Or for anyone except his latest paramour.” Portia sighed. “He’s still dating Alannah Stafford, and I don’t think she has any intention of letting him go.”

“I’d hoped he had dumped her by now. But let’s forget unpleasant things. Let’s talk about that wonderful fiancé of yours.”

“He is wonderful! If anyone had told me six months ago that I would be in love and looking forward to not only having a husband but a daughter, too, I wouldn’t have believed them. After breaking up with Tad, I didn’t think I would ever trust another man, but Mick is so good for me, and I love Kaitlyn, too. I’ve always wanted a family of my own.”

“Well, you must have gotten all of the maternal genes. I can’t imagine myself being a mother. I like little kids, although I haven’t seen one yet that I wanted to take home with me. But I’m happy for you. When’s the wedding?”

“We haven’t set a date yet. We’re planning a small church wedding with just three attendants. Kaitlyn wants to be a flower girl, and of course you’ll be my maid of honor. As I told you, Mick asked his friend, Drew Lancaster, to be the best man. You remember Drew, don’t you?”

Staring straight ahead so Portia wouldn’t detect that she had more than a casual interest in Drew, Rissa said, “Yes, I met him during the investigation into Garrett McGraw’s death.”

A frigid gust of wind staggered the sisters as they walked arm in arm. Rissa had grown accustomed to a slightly milder climate and the strong blast chilled her to the bone.

Portia seemed less daunted by the strong gale, and she continued, “I wanted your help in choosing the dresses we’ll wear. We’ve never had the same tastes, and I need your input. We’ll have to shop in Portland—there are no bridal shops in Stoneley.”

“The logical thing would have been for you to come to the city to shop for your bridal attire. There won’t be as much choice up here.”

“I know, but Mick wants to keep the wedding simple. He’s a little put-off with the Blanchard wealth and social standing anyway, and I don’t want him intimidated by an expensive wedding. Detectives make a good salary, but he has a daughter to care for…and kids are expensive.”

“And where will you live?”

“Mick has an adorable little cottage overlooking the ocean. It’s small, but he’s adding another bedroom and a bathroom for us.” Portia looked quickly at her twin. “I’ve wondered if I’m leaving you in the lurch since I won’t be paying my share of the rent. You like the apartment so much—I hope you won’t have to give it up.”

“Don’t worry about that. The profits from my show will easily make up for your share of the rent.”

A tremor in her voice, Portia said, “It’s hard for me to imagine that you and I won’t be living together anymore. We’ve always been inseparable. Now I’ll be staying in Maine with a husband and a daughter, and you’ll be in New York by yourself. I wish you’d move back to Maine.”

Although Rissa had been having similar thoughts about being separated from Portia, she laughed nonchalantly. “Do you think I could ever be happy in Stoneley again? There probably aren’t more than a half dozen people in this area who have even seen a Broadway show, let alone have any idea of what it takes to write and produce one.” She shook her head, realizing that she sounded pretentious again. “I’ll miss being with you, sweetie. But you and I have to go our separate ways now. I need to be around people who understand me and my purpose in life.”

“I know! But it will be different,” Portia murmured.

“Very different! While I was driving last night I got a little nostalgic. I remembered so many things about us. Being a twin is wonderful. When we were little, I never bothered with a mirror. If I wanted to know what I looked like, I looked at you. And do you remember the time I wanted a new hairstyle, and while you were asleep, I cut your hair to see how I would look with short hair?”

“Do I remember? That’s the first time we ever had a fight. And I thought Aunt Winnie was going to spank you.” They both giggled remembering the experience.

With a grimace, Rissa said, “Instead of spanking me, she cut my hair, and she didn’t know any more about styling hair than I did. After I saw what you looked like, I’d made up my mind I didn’t want short hair, but I got it, anyway. Even now, I dread going for a trim—I’m afraid I’ll hate it like I did my first haircut.” They both giggled.

“And I never had any trouble buying a gift for you—I just bought something I liked.”

“But we didn’t always choose the same kind of clothes,” Rissa commented.

“That’s because we’re not entirely identical—we are separate people.”

“Well, it’s been a great ride while it lasted.”

“Oh, don’t talk like it’s all in the past, sis. Surely we’ll have more fun times together.”

“Count on it!” Rissa agreed. “I’ll leave your room in the apartment the way it is now—mess and all,” she added with a grin because Portia’s room was always cluttered. By contrast, in Rissa’s bedroom, everything had its place. “It will be ready whenever you want to bring your family to visit.”

They came to the end of the cliff walk. “Let’s go back through the spruce forest,” Portia said. They turned to cross Bay View Road but paused when they saw a police cruiser approaching.

“Well, well!” Rissa said with a teasing glance at her sister. “Here comes that wonderful man now.”

Portia shook her head. “That isn’t Mick. It’s his partner, Drew.”

The large cruiser slid to a halt and the window lowered before Rissa got control of her emotions.

“Hello, ladies,” Drew said in a deep-timbered, composed voice that Rissa remembered all too well. He was ruggedly handsome with short, chestnut-brown hair and assessing dark eyes that were presently flickering with amusement. “I think I need to visit an optometrist—I’m seeing double.”

Bending forward until her eyes were on a level with his, Portia said, “Oh, you tease. This is my sister, Rissa.”

“It’s great to see you again, Rissa.”

“Same here,” Rissa replied evenly, having regained her composure. “I understand we’ll have the responsibility of keeping the bride and groom cool, calm and collected during their wedding.”

“So I’ve been told, but who’s going to keep us from being nervous?”

“We’ll have to lean on each other,” Rissa answered, irritated because she was enjoying this good-natured bantering. But her smile faded when she thought about Drew’s small-town position—he could never be husband material. Like oil and water—city and small town wouldn’t mix. She was determined to put him out of her mind.

“What are you doing out here?” Portia asked. “Not on official business, I hope.”

“Actually I am. We had an anonymous tip about an altercation between a man and a woman here in the gazebo last night. The message came from a cell phone and we couldn’t trace the call. Mick was busy on another case so he sent me to investigate. What do you know about it?”

Rissa cleared her throat and pulled on her left earlobe, one of their secret communication codes. Portia looked at her quickly, having gotten the message that she shouldn’t give out any information.

“Nothing happened that should concern the cops,” Portia said. “Just a family matter—and I’m sure that Father wouldn’t want any publicity about it. He’s seen about all the police and reporters he wants to during the past few months.”

“Well, I’ll take a look anyway, if you don’t mind. Is the gate locked?”

“No, it shouldn’t be. During the daytime, it’s usually open for the help and delivery service to come and go,” Rissa said.

Putting the cruiser into motion, Drew said, “Enjoy your walk.”

He had intercepted the secret message that passed between the two women. Mick had mentioned that the twins were super close. He hoped his buddy wasn’t making a mistake marrying a twin who might keep secrets from her husband. Not that Drew was in the market for a wife, but he didn’t think he would want to marry a woman who was identical in appearance to her sister, even if she were as pretty as Rissa. And considering the shady circumstances involving the Blanchards now, he had better steer clear of any personal involvement with any of them.

“Do you suppose he’ll find anything that might cause more trouble for the family?” Rissa asked anxiously as Drew drove away. “I’ve experienced all of the crises I want in the past few months.”

“I don’t suppose there’s anything to find and Father won’t talk. But it does worry me. Mick doesn’t say much, but I know he isn’t satisfied about the death of that P.I., Garrett McGraw. Although he’s convinced that the police don’t have all the facts, the case is closed.”

They walked home in silence.

Rissa’s impression of Drew Lancaster was that he would be a hard man to fool. Judging from the way his pleasant expression had stilled and become serious, he had obviously caught her warning signal to Portia. Would he interpret it as proof that the Blanchards had something to hide? Whatever the family had under wraps, Rissa figured that this detective wouldn’t stop until he found out what it was.

TWO

Drew Lancaster’s cruiser was parked near the gazebo, but he wasn’t in sight when the twins approached Blanchard Manor from the woods. As they rounded the corner of the house, they saw the detective strolling along the driveway leading from the house to Bay View Road. He stared intently at the ground. Portia pulled Rissa into a secluded nook where they could watch Drew without being seen. He wore a dark brown leather jacket over his neat tan trousers. Tall and muscular, Drew carried himself with a commanding stance of self-confidence.

He had a camera slung over his shoulder and, as they watched, he stopped suddenly, lifted the camera and snapped several photos of that spot. He checked the screen of his digital camera, and, ostensibly satisfied, he moved on, with his eyes still watching the ground before him. Portia turned worried eyes on her twin when he stooped and picked up an item.

“I didn’t check out the driveway this morning. What do you suppose he’s found?” she whispered.

Rissa shook her head.

The sound of a car coming up the hill reached their ears and soon their father’s Jaguar came into view. He was driving at his usual breakneck speed. He honked the horn angrily when he saw Drew. He swerved quickly and Drew jumped several feet to avoid being accidentally run down.

The twins exchanged troubled glances and reached the garage just as Ronald wheeled his Jaguar into his parking place and stepped out of the car, his eyes blazing with fury.

Although he was just a few years shy of turning sixty, Ronald was still as handsome and vigorous as he had been in his youth. Jerking a thumb toward Drew, he demanded, “What’s he doing here?”

“Good to see you, too, Father,” Rissa muttered sarcastically, but if Ronald heard, he ignored her.

“He said someone called about the commotion in the gazebo last night,” Portia said.

His dark face irate, he lifted his arm as if he might strike her. Rissa choked back a terrified cry. Although Ronald had never displayed any love or tenderness toward any of his six daughters, she’d never known him to lay a hand on any of them.

“Did you call that boyfriend of yours?”

“No, I didn’t,” Portia gasped and stepped closer to Rissa.

“What did happen in the gazebo, Father?” Rissa asked, attempting to deflect his displeasure from Portia.

Ronald’s eyes glowered down at his twin daughters, but he lowered his hand.

“None of your business,” he said, before he brushed by them and entered the house.

He was detained when a firm hand grabbed his shoulder. Rissa couldn’t imagine that Drew could have so quickly covered the distance from where her father had almost run him down to the front of the house. Ronald turned furious eyes on Drew, but he couldn’t break the ironclad hold on his shoulder.

Drew’s eyes were blazing with fury. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, but it held an undertone of cold contempt. “You’re driving a little reckless this morning, aren’t you?”

“It’s my own property. I can drive as fast as I want to.”

“Yes, you can, but you probably won’t like it if I charge you with wanton endangerment.”

“You wouldn’t dare! I could have that badge of yours in a hurry if you make such a charge.”

“I doubt that, Mr. Blanchard. You might not know it, but you don’t have the influence in this community that you once had.” He removed his hand. “I’m warning you—don’t try to interfere with our investigation.”

Without any apology to Portia and Rissa, Drew walked purposefully to his car and drove away. What could he say to them? Their father was probably a murderer, or at best, he had a lot of explaining to do.

Turning frightened eyes to her twin, Portia said, “Would he have hit me?”

“I don’t know what to think,” Rissa said, putting an arm around Portia, unable to reassure her sister when her own suspicions were rampant. “Let’s go inside.”

Through the rearview mirror, Drew saw Rissa and Portia follow their father into the house. Small footprints going from the gazebo and back again proved that whoever the woman in the gazebo had been, she had not been killed. He had followed steps from the gazebo to the spot where the woman had left her car. He’d snapped pictures of the tire tracks, but the rain last night had all but obliterated them. And it looked as if Ronald had swerved to drive across the tracks when he’d come home. Fortunately, Drew had already taken a picture of them. But what could he do with the clues he had found? He glanced at the key chain he’d picked up. There was no key on the chain attached to a porpoise in flight—a relatively common item found in gift shops. Could this key chain provide any new leads in the string of incidents that had involved the Blanchards for the past few months?

His partner, Mick, was in a quandary—trying to work on cases in Stoneley without causing trouble for Portia or her family. And now that he’d seen Rissa Blanchard again, Drew was in the same fix. Throughout the weeks since he had met her, he’d tried to convince himself that Rissa wasn’t as fascinating as he’d thought at their first meeting. Now he wasn’t so sure.

But he and Mick were cops first. Whatever their feelings toward the Blanchard twins, they were committed to upholding the law. He only hoped that they could do their job without bringing disaster upon Rissa and her sisters.

Drew rounded a curve and pulled to one side of the road. He locked the car and walked along a trail that took him toward the bluffs behind Blanchard Manor. From this point he had a bird’s-eye view of the house and the crystal-blue waters of the Atlantic. Rissa’s heritage! He cringed when he considered how ridiculous it was for him to think about pursuing a relationship with her. She would probably laugh in his face if he asked her out.

And who could blame her? Rissa had been born with the proverbial silver spoon in her mouth. He, on the other hand, not only came from a poor family, but a dysfunctional one, as well. He lived from month to month on his salary, trying to help his mother support his two younger sisters. Financially he had nothing to offer any woman, and physically? To look at his strong body, no one would ever suspect the secret that prevented him from seriously dating any woman, let alone someone as special as Rissa.

The house was quiet when the twins returned and Rissa figured everyone was trying to rest after the commotion of the previous night. Portia went into the library to find Web sites for wedding consultants in Portland. Rissa went upstairs to the room she and Portia had always shared. Her memory was hazy about her life before they had moved to this house, which happened soon after their mother had died—or disappeared, as her father had recently revealed. She did have a hazy recollection of her mother rocking her to sleep a few times. Rissa was deeply immersed in her memories when Portia entered the room.

“I can’t believe that our mother is still alive,” Rissa said. “Let’s go over again what Father said about it. I was so shocked that I don’t remember everything he said.”

“He had faked our mother’s death so we wouldn’t have to know that she was suffering from postpartum depression. The best I can understand, she’s been in a mental institution all of these years—when we thought she was dead—but she disappeared from there about eight months ago. No one seems to know where she is now.”

“Could she have been the woman in the gazebo last night?”

“Surely he wouldn’t tell our mother that he would kill her if she ever came to the house again!” Portia’s brown eyes, so like Rissa’s own, were full of pain.

“At this point, I’m willing to believe almost anything about our father.” Rissa took off the boots she’d worn for their hike and stretched out on the canopied twin bed.

Almost immediately a knock sounded at the door. “Come in,” Rissa invited.

Peg Henderson, Howard’s private nurse, peered around the half-opened door.

“Welcome home, Rissa,” she said, her sky-blue eyes brimming with friendliness. Peg had become a fixture in the Blanchard household since Ronald had hired her to take care of his father, who was suffering from Alzheimer’s.

Sitting up, Rissa said, “Seems like I’ve spent more time here the past few months than I’ve been in the city. I’m going to wear my welcome out.”

“I doubt that,” Peg said with a bright smile.

“How’s Grandfather?”

“He’s having a good afternoon. He saw you out on the lawn and asked to see you, so this might be a good time to visit. His lucid periods don’t come often or last very long.”

Rissa hadn’t been able to talk to her grandfather at all the last time she’d visited Stoneley, so she quickly slid off the bed and tucked her feet into her metallic leather slippers. “I’ll come right now.”

She chatted with Peg as they climbed the steps to her grandfather’s rooms on the third floor, wondering how the nurse could remain so serene and sweet-natured when she had to deal with Howard’s mood swings on a twenty-four-hour basis. Except for a few times when she temporarily left Howard in the care of Sonya Garcia, the longtime Blanchard housekeeper, Peg seemed content to stay with her patient. She did have a luxurious combination living-and-bedroom suite adjacent to Howard’s, because the Blanchard family did all they could to make her life pleasant.

When they reached her grandfather’s sitting room, Rissa summoned her nerve to go inside. In her most depressed moments, she had often wondered if she would someday be like her grandfather.

But Howard greeted her with a smile that was reminiscent of how she remembered him as a child. She rushed to his side and knelt beside him. If it hadn’t been for him and Aunt Winnie, Rissa would have grown up without any affection. There was never any doubt that Howard loved his granddaughters and that they were welcome in his home. If Winnie hadn’t intervened with gentle discipline, Howard would have spoiled all of them.

“I love you, Grandfather,” Rissa said hurriedly, for she wanted to take advantage of this lucid moment to let him know how much she appreciated what he had done for her. His trembling hand ruffled her long, curly black hair and moved slowly to her cheek.

“How’s my big-city girl?”

“Busy, as usual,” she answered. “The show is more popular than I’d ever hoped for. Tickets are sold out several months in advance, and I’m working on a new play.”

“You’ve got the Blanchard drive, girl. You’ll go a long way.”

“But I feel very weak sometimes. I could sure use your help making decisions.”

Peg cleared her throat, and when Rissa looked up, she shook her head. Perhaps Peg had sensed something she hadn’t, because suddenly Howard’s expression changed. Her grandfather was gone, and in his place was a senile old man whose eyes darted around the room. He stood up, and Peg was at his side immediately, encouraging him to sit down.

He clenched his teeth in anger and tried to push Peg aside, but she tenderly overpowered him and settled him in the chair again.

“Where’s Ethel?” he shouted. He turned his tormented eyes toward Rissa. “Have you seen my wife?” he cried piteously.

Her heart breaking over the torment he must be feeling, Rissa said softly, “No, Grandfather, I haven’t seen her today.”

“I want her,” he cried. “Where’s Ethel?”

His eyes, once so full of life and warmth, were devoid of any kind of expression.

In a soft voice, Peg said, “I think you’d better go now.”

But Rissa wasn’t ready to leave. She took her grandfather’s cold, trembling hand and looked around the room, wondering what she could do to encourage him. On a nearby table she was surprised to see the Bible Howard had once carried to church. On the same table was a tray holding a large number of prescription bottles. Rissa remembered that her psychiatrist had told her that the Word of God could be a good supplement to her medication. Maybe it would work with her grandfather.

“I’d like to read to him from the Bible—maybe that will help calm him.”

“It would be better if you’d leave now,” the nurse insisted.

The nurse had the final authority on Howard’s care, but Rissa begged, “Please, Peg, let me read a few verses to him.”

Reluctantly Peg agreed. “All right, but sometimes he becomes quite violent after he’s come to himself for a few minutes. I want to spare you that, but perhaps having you read to him will calm him.”

Howard had had the reputation of being a cutthroat businessman and had been feared by many in the local community. Although he’d doted on his granddaughters, he’d been a hard man in dealing with others. But Aunt Winnie had told the sisters that Howard had once been an active member of the church and had never missed Sunday worship.

His heart had seemed hardened against God as long as Rissa could remember, and she was concerned about her grandfather’s eternal security. Considering his age and physical condition, he could die anytime. It worried Rissa that her beloved grandfather might go into Eternity unprepared to meet God.

She picked up the Bible, hardly knowing what to read, but she turned to the Psalms—a place where she often found comfort. But she must not choose anything to distress her grandfather. She glanced at Psalm Twenty-seven and decided that would be acceptable.

Rissa sensed Peg’s displeasure and she prayed silently that what she was doing would penetrate that wall of spiritual indifference Howard had erected between himself and God. She had memorized favorite passages in this psalm as a part of her therapy, so she didn’t have to keep her eyes on the printed page all of the time. Her grandfather didn’t take his eyes off her face as she read, but his eyes were expressionless.

“‘The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?…One thing have I desired of the Lord, that will I seek after; that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to behold the beauty of the Lord, and to enquire in His temple. For in the time of trouble He shall hide me in His pavilion: in the secret of His tabernacle shall He hide me; He shall set me upon a rock.’”

Rissa had no idea whether her words had penetrated the solid wall that blocked Howard’s mind. She laid the Bible back on the table then leaned forward to kiss her grandfather’s cheek. He lifted his hand and his feeble fingers caressed her cheek.

“Ethel,” he murmured, and Rissa lifted startled eyes toward Peg, baffled by the amazement in the caregiver’s eyes.

“Does he often mention my grandmother?” Rissa whispered as she moved away from Howard’s chair.

“Once in a while he does.” The nurse laid her hand on Rissa’s shoulder and squeezed it gently. “It was good of you to read to your grandfather.”

“Thank you for giving him such good care. Let me know when he feels like having me visit again.”

“Yes, I will, but it doesn’t happen very often.”

Before she went to her own room, Rissa stopped before the large portrait of Ethel Blanchard hanging at the end of the second-floor hall. She had been a petite woman, as Rissa was. But her grandmother’s hair had been red and her eyes hazel, unlike Rissa’s dark eyes and hair. The twins looked like their father, something Rissa had often resented because Ronald had so little affection for them. But she was pleased that something had caused Howard to see a resemblance of his wife in her today.

At dinner, Rissa related her brief visit with her grandfather to Winnie, Portia and Miranda. Ronald had refused to dine with the rest of the family and ate his meal alone in his office.

When she mentioned that Howard had called her Ethel, Winnie exclaimed, “I’ve always thought you favored my mother—not so much in looks but in disposition.”

“Does that include me, too?” Portia asked.

“No, the few traits that you and Rissa don’t share are the ways I could tell you apart when you were little.” Winnie laughed slightly. “I’m sorry, Rissa, but some of them are negative qualities.”

“Such as?”

“The way you frown too much, like you’re doing now, or how you’re often impatient. And you’ve always been easily distracted and more melancholy than your sisters.”

Rissa closed her eyes, confused by this unexpected assessment from her aunt. Winnie should have added that Rissa didn’t take criticism well, either, because her aunt’s words had cut like a knife.

Perhaps Winnie feared she had upset Rissa, because she gave her a hug. “But don’t let that bother you. It’s the endearing qualities that I notice most. The tenderness and love you have for your sisters, especially Portia. Your determination to follow a project through to completion no matter how difficult it is. The gentle ripple of your laughter when you’re truly happy.”

“Enough, Aunt Winnie,” Miranda cried. “You’ll swell her head. She already has an overabundance of pride.”

Rissa joined in the general laughter, determined not to be offended by Winnie’s negative words. Obviously the family didn’t know that her inner self was often at war with the calm, confident exterior she displayed to others. How long could she keep her depression diagnosis from her family?

After her long drive the previous night and the traumatic events that had greeted her, Rissa thought she would go to sleep as soon as she got in bed, but her mind was too active. Shivering from the cool breeze wafting into the room from the bay, Rissa got out of bed and closed the window. A flicker of lightning and a rumble of thunder alerted her to the approaching storm. She hurried back to bed and covered her head, aware that Portia was already asleep, breathing deeply.

Rissa had always been afraid during thunderstorms. When she was a child, she’d often run to Portia’s bed when bad weather had hit. By sheer self-will she had stopped doing that when she was a teenager. But the fear remained. That was one of the reasons she had gladly changed the coast of Maine for the asphalt jungle of New York.

She seldom woke up when a storm raged around her apartment in the city, because most of the time she couldn’t separate flashes of lightning from the street lights and neon signs. And the steady traffic along her street tended to cover the peals of thunder.

Rissa had discussed the fear of storms with her psychiatrist, telling her that it was storming the night her mother had died in a car accident. Because she had been only three at the time, Dr. Pearson doubted that she actually remembered the event. She suggested instead that, because Rissa had repeatedly heard about the bad weather the night her mother had died, she had learned to associate storms with thoughts of her mother.

Rissa delved into her memory for one of the verses she had memorized as a talisman against fear. A message of assurance from the Thirty-fourth Psalm came to mind.

I sought the Lord, and He answered me and delivered me from all my fears.

Rissa repeated it over and over until her pulse ceased racing and her body stopped trembling. Strengthened by the Word of God, and knowing that such fear was inconsistent with her Christian faith, Rissa got out of bed, intending to face her phobia.

She walked to the window, pulled back the curtains, lifted the windowpane, determined to experience the full force of the storm. She heard the unleashed power of the waves splashing against the coast. Wind howled around the turrets of Blanchard Manor, and leafless limbs on the oak and maple trees snapped like gunshots. In the intermittent flashes of lightning she saw that the spruces on the lawn overlooking the ocean were bending low from the force of the wind.

A peal of thunder ricocheted across the roof of the house. A streak of lightning zigzagged across the sky, so bright that for an instant the room was illuminated as if it were daylight. Rissa stumbled backward from the window in terror and slammed it shut.

I sought the Lord, and He answered me and delivered me from all my fears.

Straightening her spine, Rissa stepped in front of the window and stared belligerently into the darkness. Seeing the humor of the situation, she laughed slightly.

“This is ridiculous. What am I trying to prove? Get back in bed and go to sleep, silly,” she ordered herself. That was easier said than done. It was futile to lie down when she was wide awake. Taking a flashlight from the nightstand, she looked around the room for something to read but she found nothing.

She sat in a chair near the window, and as the storm continued to rage around Blanchard Manor, she remembered people in the Bible who were afraid.

The psalm she’d been quoting tonight had been written by King David, perhaps one of the bravest men in Biblical history, yet he had often been afraid. I sought the Lord, and He answered me and delivered me from all my fears had been written when David had feigned insanity to escape from King Abimelech.

Jesus had often stilled the fears of His disciples, especially during tempests on the Sea of Galilee. Paul, the apostle, had known fear during many stormy incidents in his ministry, but he had never failed to trust God’s power to deliver him from those fears.

The wind and thunder ceased and all was quiet in Blanchard Manor and in Rissa’s heart, but in the distance she heard another storm approaching. Her thoughts drifted from the Bible to one of Shakespeare’s dramas. Her favorite of the Bard’s work was Richard III. A year ago in New York she’d had the privilege of seeing the drama presented onstage by a troupe of traveling English actors and actresses. Richard had been a wicked man and had feared no one. Determined to claim the English crown, he had ordered the deaths of several competitors.

At the end of the presentation, Richard had been unhorsed in the conflict near Bosworth Field when the armies of Richard and the Earl of Richmond had engaged in combat. Richard had staggered onstage, his armor clanking, fear evident in his trembling body, as well as in his voice. Terror-stricken, he’d shouted, “A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!”

Thrilled as always when she thought of the play, Rissa had an overwhelming desire to read the saga again. Although she didn’t know why, the family had always been interested in Shakespeare’s works, and she was sure she could find a copy in the library. Carrying the flashlight, Rissa opened the bedroom door quietly. She descended the walnut staircase stealthily to keep from awakening the family. With her foot on the bottom step, she paused, feeling ill at ease.

One of the tall double doors into the library was ajar and she heard footsteps in the room. She turned off the flashlight, plunging the hallway into darkness. Considering the strange episode in the gazebo the night before, she decided it was wise to find out who else was awake before she went into the library. Rissa wasn’t the only sister afraid of storms, so one of them may have come downstairs to read. She started to call out to see who was in the library, but she hesitated. Who would be reading in the dark?

A flash of lightning illuminated the hallway briefly and Rissa listened intently. Again she heard a sound—as though something was being pulled across the library floor. A tingle of panic rippled up and down her spine. She instinctively turned and ascended three steps. But one of her sisters might be in trouble! In spite of her fear, she had to see what was going on.

A cold knot formed in Rissa’s stomach. With her heart thumping madly and her body quaking with fear, she moved forward until she stood in front of the library doors. Her hand trembled as she pushed one of the doors wide open and peered around it into the room. She was momentarily blinded by a flash when a gunshot pierced the quietness of Blanchard Manor. Tiny pieces of wood fell on her head as the door she was hiding behind splintered by a bullet. Rissa choked back a frightened cry, knowing that she had to get away, but she stood frozen in the doorway. A thump sounded inside the room, followed by absolute silence.

Rissa held on to the heavy door to keep from falling. No one moved inside the room.

Was she dreaming? When she was on the first medication prescribed by Dr. Pearson, she’d experienced nightmares. But since she’d changed to a milder prescription, that problem had been eliminated. Rissa knew she wasn’t dreaming now. But could her mind be playing tricks on her? She stuck her head around the door again just as a brilliant flash of lightning seared the heavens and made the library as light as day. A figure stood in the room facing away from Rissa, but when she gasped, the person, wearing a black mask, turned to face her, pointing a gun at her. Lightning flashed again, illuminating Rissa’s face, and although she had no idea who was standing in the library, the shooter had surely had a good look at her.

The figure headed toward her and fear lent speed to Rissa’s feet as she leaped across the hallway, dodged into the living room and slammed the door. Leaning against the door, gasping for breath, she heard footsteps fleeing toward the back entrance of the house.

Rissa knew she had witnessed a crime of some sort and she might be in grave danger. When she heard the back door close, she cracked the living-room door an inch and peered into the hallway. She listened to see if the gunshot had awakened the rest of the family. Apparently not. Except for the faint rumble of thunder fading into the distance, she heard nothing.

Should she go into the library and see what had happened? Had some member of her family been killed? She needed help, and she knew the only place to find it.

I sought the Lord, and He answered me and delivered me from all my fears.

God, what should I do?

THREE

In spite of her terror, Rissa realized that someone might be lying injured or dead in the library. Some member of her family may be bleeding, needing help, because who else would have been in the library at this time of night? The gate and the house were always locked at dusk and no one could enter by the driveway without the security code or by being admitted by someone in the house.

Perhaps she should summon help, but to prove she had overcome her fear, Rissa was determined to straighten out the situation alone. Squaring her shoulders, she headed toward the library door. On the library threshold her determination faltered. Fear gnawed away at her confidence.

She listened intently, but she heard nothing inside the room. No movement. No breathing. Nothing, except the ticking of the mantel clock.

He answered me and delivered me from all my fears.

No matter how many Scripture verses she repeated, Rissa knew she would never generate enough courage to go in the library alone. Who should she wake to go with her?

Miranda was the most likely one to ask for help, because her oldest sister could always handle any crisis inside the house. Her mind fluttering with anxiety, and clutching the banister for support, Rissa ran upstairs as fast as she could, her bare feet slapping on the cold stair treads. Pausing before Miranda’s door, she lifted her right hand and knocked.

“Who is it?” Miranda’s voice came from the other side, proving that she wasn’t lying on the library floor.

Turning the knob on the door, Rissa said, “It’s me—Rissa.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Something has happened in the library.”

“What?”

“I think somebody has been shot.”

Miranda tossed the covers to one side and grabbed a robe from the foot of the bed. “I thought I heard a shot,” she said anxiously, “but the storm was so violent about that time, I decided I’d been mistaken.” She rushed toward the door. “Who’s been shot?”

“I don’t know. Somebody was pointing a gun at me, and I was afraid to go in alone.” As they hurried downstairs, in a half whisper Rissa explained why she had gone to the library and what she had heard.

Miranda paused. “The shooter may be still in the library. We’d better call Father.”

“I don’t think anyone is there now. I heard someone leaving by the back door, and it was quiet in the library after that.”

With Miranda beside her, Rissa felt her courage returning, and she stepped to the door of the library and felt along the right wall for the light switch. Her hand hovered over the switch briefly. Her fears surfaced again. Did she want to know what had happened in the library? If there had been a murder, the shooter had gotten a clear view of her face. Because she was a witness, would she be the next victim? Reaching into the depth of her spiritual reservoir, Rissa took a deep breath for courage and flipped the switch.

Rissa and Miranda entered the library together. They stared wordlessly at the body of a woman—a stranger—lying on her back beside the fireplace with blood oozing from a hole in her chest and spreading over the black jacket she wore. Clinging to one another, the two sisters moved into the room. Miranda knelt on the floor and checked the woman’s wrist and throat for a pulse.

“She’s dead.”

Rissa had never been this close to anyone who had recently died, and to her, the woman seemed to be asleep, although an agonized expression was on her face.

“How could a stranger have gotten into this house tonight?”

Miranda spoke in a tortured whisper. “I’m not sure she’s a stranger.” Her golden-brown eyes held a faraway look in them as she stared upward at Rissa.

Stunned by Miranda’s words, Rissa took a sharp breath and stared wordlessly. Miranda laid her hand on the woman’s cheek and sifted a few strands of the soft hair through her fingers.

“She looks like Mama,” Miranda said.

Rissa took a closer look at this woman who might be her mother. A few weeks ago their sister Bianca had been given a picture by her now-boyfriend, Leo Santiago, of Trudy Blanchard and Leo’s mom, a friend of hers. Rissa had been amazed at how much her youngest sister, Juliet, resembled the woman in the picture. And this woman on the floor did look remarkably like Juliet.

“Shouldn’t we call the police?”

“I’ll do that while you go upstairs and get Father, Aunt Winnie and Portia. They should be told before the cops get here.”

Rissa took the steps two at a time. She woke Winnie and Portia first. She walked rapidly down a short hallway to the left at the top of the staircase and knocked on her father’s door. No response. She knocked several times and then dared to open the door. What if he was also dead? She turned on a light. But Ronald wasn’t in his bed.

Had her father been the masked man behind the gun? She dismissed the thought as silly—why be masked in his own house?—as she hurried downstairs and entered the library right behind Winnie and Portia.

Winnie stared at the corpse and she murmured, “It could be Trudy. Even allowing for the changes the years would have made, I think it’s her.”

Rissa put her arm around Portia and held her tight. Portia’s dark eyes were lackluster with disbelief.

“Ronald will know,” Winnie said. She looked toward the hall and the staircase. “Did you wake him?”

Rissa lifted her hand to her lips and she began to shake as dreadful pictures built in her mind. “He wasn’t in his room—his bed hadn’t been slept in.”

“Oh, no!” Winnie said. “Don’t even think it. Ronald wouldn’t do this!”

“Ronald wouldn’t do what?”

The four women pivoted almost as one toward Ronald, who stood in the doorway. Standing close together they completely hid the body.

“Where have you been?” Winnie asked. “Rissa said you weren’t in your room.”

“I was reading in my office. I came out when I heard steps running down the hall and Winnie speaking.”

The sound of sirens approaching the house caused rivulets of fear to cascade along Rissa’s spine.

“What’s wrong?” Ronald demanded. “What are you hiding? Step aside.”

Winnie looked at the three sisters and nodded. The shock of discovery hit Ronald full force when his family obeyed his command. His mouth dropped open, and he stared, complete surprise on his face. Any suspicion that her father had killed this woman fled Rissa’s mind immediately. Her father wasn’t a good enough actor to have feigned this shock. But would the police believe it?

Ronald dropped on his knees and in a voice barely above a whisper, he cried, “Oh, Trudy, Trudy, have I lost you again?” He took an emerald-green silk scarf from the woman’s neck and lifted it to his lips.

“We were in Milan on our honeymoon when I bought you this scarf because the color matched your eyes,” he said in a reverent tone that Rissa had never heard him use. “Have you kept it all of these years remembering, too?”

He cradled his wife’s lifeless body in his arms, heedless of the fact that her blood was spreading over the front of his custom-made suit.

“I’ve never seen Father like this before,” Rissa whispered to her sisters.

“Neither have I,” Miranda agreed. “I remember when Mother died—well, left—so long ago. I thought he was glad to be rid of her, but he must have loved her.”

The rise and fall of the siren came louder, then ceased suddenly as the police cruiser pulled to a halt in front of the manor. Portia rushed to the front door and struggled to open it. Mick Campbell entered first and Portia threw herself into his arms. Drew Lancaster stepped around them and quickly surveyed the scene.

“What’s happened? Who is this woman?” he asked.

Sensing Drew’s strength and compassion, Rissa hurried toward him, hands outstretched. “Oh, Drew, please help us. We think this is our mother.”

Drew turned his eyes from the crime scene and grasped Rissa’s hands. Portia was sobbing wildly in Mick’s tight clasp as he whispered comfortingly to her. Drew wished he had the right to comfort Rissa in the same way, but he could do nothing except squeeze her fingers gently and release her.

“I am here to help you,” he said softly. Even in the midst of this tragedy Drew experienced a sudden desire to always be at Rissa’s side when she needed him—a lofty aspiration for a penniless cop.

FOUR

Detective Mick Campbell, a ruggedly handsome, brown-haired man, released Portia and stepped farther into the room.

“Ladies, you’ll have to leave the room until we make our investigation,” he said. No one moved and he stepped closer to the grieving Ronald.

“Mr. Blanchard, you and your family need to leave the room. We’ll take care of things here.”

“No! No!” Ronald shouted. “I want to be alone with my wife! Leave me.”

Peg and the housekeeper, Sonya, crowded into the doorway, both dressed in their nightclothes, and Mick threw up his hands in exasperation.

“Don’t anyone touch anything—this is a crime scene! Will someone tell me what happened?”

Rissa expected Miranda to speak up as she usually did, but a glance at her older sister convinced her that Miranda was totally devastated by the “second” death of their mother. Miranda had been ten when their mother had “died” and she would probably mourn this death more than any of the other Blanchard daughters.

Clearing her throat, Rissa said, “Miranda and I found the body—I’ll tell you what I know.”

“Very well,” Mick said. “Wait for me in the hall, and I want the rest of you out of here so we can process the crime scene.”

Her face pale with terror, Winnie said, “Let’s go upstairs to my sitting room.”

Reluctantly the women left the room, and Rissa, noting the determined expression on Mick’s face, felt as the Christians must have felt when they’d been thrown to the lions. She didn’t want to implicate anyone in the household, but she would have to tell the truth.

Mick took Ronald’s arms and tried to help him up. “We’ll take care of things here, Mr. Blanchard.”

But Ronald clung to Trudy. Ronald, in his late fifties, was a tall, powerfully built man and Mick must have thought he needed help to evict him from the room. He took an iron grip on Ronald’s left arm and motioned to Drew, who stepped to Ronald’s side and grabbed his other arm. Ronald lashed out at them with his feet, without results, and the two detectives pulled him off of the body of his wife.

“I’ll let you see her again before we take her away,” Mick said as they steered Ronald toward the door, “but you must leave now.”

Cursing violently, in a fit of anger Ronald jerked free of their restraint and bolted down the hallway to his office.

Drew walked with Rissa to the living room.

“Sit over here, Rissa,” Drew said kindly, pointing to a leather couch. She sat down gratefully, because she wasn’t sure how much longer her legs would hold her.

She felt momentary panic as Mick walked into the room. Perhaps understanding her fear, Drew sat on the couch beside her and took her hand.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said. “Just tell us what you saw and heard, then you can go to your family. As soon as the forensic team gets here, we’ll dust the room for fingerprints and any other evidence. We may have to cordon the room off for a day or two depending on what we find.”

In a composed voice, she explained that she couldn’t sleep and had come downstairs to get something to read.

“I’ve always been afraid of storms,” she said. “It’s always scarier upstairs, so I decided to come down to get a book to read. I heard a sound in the library when I got to the foot of the stairs. I turned my flashlight that way and I saw that the door was ajar. I thought it was one of my sisters until I realized that whoever was in the room didn’t have a light on. I went to investigate and when I pushed the door wider, somebody shot at me.”

Tears blinded her eyes and choked her voice as she dropped her head into her hands. Rissa felt Drew’s comforting hand on her shoulders.

“Do we have to continue this now, Mick? She’s not able to talk any longer.”

“I’m sorry, but we need to get your account while it’s still fresh in your mind. For over three months now, we’ve had serious problems involving people at Blanchard Manor. We have to get to the bottom of this. The whole family may be in danger.”

Rissa lifted her head and sniffed. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to tell you what else I know, which isn’t much.”

Drew handed her several tissues from the box on a nearby table. She patted the tears from her eyes and blew her nose.

Rissa straightened her back and continued, “I still couldn’t see anybody, until a bright flash of lightning lit up the room. The man was heading for the door, pointing the gun at me.”

“Did you recognize who it was?” Mick said.

She shook her head. “He had on a mask.”

“But did he see you?” Drew asked anxiously.

“Yes, I’m sure of it. My face was in full view. He…”

“Are you sure it was a man?” Mick interrupted.

Surprised at his question, Rissa answered, “Why, no, I don’t know that. Whoever it was had on dark clothes and the mask hid the features, so it could have been a woman.”

Her slender fingers tensed in her lap.

“Then what happened?” Mick asked.

“I ran across the hall and into the living room and locked myself in. When I heard footsteps running down the hall toward the back door, I went to get Miranda and we entered the library together.”

Rissa was regaining her composure, and she considered how much more she should say. She didn’t want to reveal anything that might throw suspicion on any member of her family. They’d had enough trouble.

“Was the gate locked tonight?” Drew asked.

“As far as I know. Miranda disarmed the security system and opened the gate when she called you so you could get in.”

A car swung into the circular driveway, and Mick said, “That’s the forensic team. That will be all for now. Go ahead and join your family. But you can’t go back to New York until we get some answers to what happened here.”

Eager to know how her two sisters and Aunt Winnie were handling the death of her mother, Rissa started upstairs to the sitting room on the second floor. But she felt momentary panic when she heard Mick say, “Drew, see if the back door is open or if there’s been any forcible entry. If there’s no sign of a break-in, we can confine our investigation to the residents of the house.”

Was some member of her family responsible for her mother’s death? She entered the sitting room where her sisters and Aunt Winnie talked in muted tones. Aunt Winnie and Portia sat on the love seat across from the fireplace, while Miranda paced the floor.

“I still say it was just an act,” Miranda declared. “He’s hated her for years for cheating on him and getting pregnant with Juliet by another man. Why would he be so sad over her death now? Knowing that Mama wasn’t dead would throw a wrench in his plans to marry Alannah.”

Rissa was totally surprised at this revelation, but she wasn’t as shocked as she might have expected. The things she’d learned about her heritage the past few months had prepared her for anything. Speaking calmly, she reminded them, “She wasn’t his wife. He divorced her years ago.”

“Ronald never hated Trudy,” Winnie said. “He may have hated what she did to him, because no one likes to be betrayed. But I agree that I’m skeptical about his overt grief. That just isn’t like my brother.”

Rissa looked around the small room and its two floral chairs facing a small fireplace where gas logs threw out a ray of heat. She remembered her childhood days when natural logs burned in the fireplace and she and Portia had played in the room while Aunt Winnie had done needlework. Suddenly she wished they could go back to those days when they’d felt safe, even if their family relationships hadn’t been harmonious.

“What do you think, Rissa? Was he surprised?” Portia asked, startling her out of her reverie.

“I’ve never seen him carry on like that before, either, but I do think he was surprised to find her. I watched him closely when he came into the room, and he was caught off guard.”

“Enough about Ronald,” Winnie said. “What did they ask you?”

“Just to tell them what I saw and heard. The forensics people are here now—that’s why they let me leave. Isn’t it terrible to get our mother back and lose her at the same time? Are you sure it was her?”

“I didn’t get a very close look before Ronald came in, but as far as I could tell, it was Trudy,” Winnie responded, a faraway look in her eyes. “It’s been years since I’ve seen her, and twenty years in a mental institution would change anyone. She was a beautiful woman, and I could still see traces of that beauty on her face.”

Rissa suddenly realized that her legs were trembling and she dropped into a chair near her aunt. The silence in the room was broken only by the noise of the abating storm. She had always wished that she could remember her mother, and it was shattering to have finally seen her after she was dead.

She scanned the faces of her aunt and sisters, wondering what emotions they had experienced at the sudden return of their mother. The only positive point in tonight’s tragedy was to know that their father hadn’t killed his wife the night before in the gazebo. But since he had threatened to kill the woman he had met, it seemed to Rissa that the web of suspicion and intrigue had drawn more closely around her family.

The door at the end of the hallway was open when Drew investigated it, but he found no sign of forced entry. He called one of the forensics crew to dust the door for prints. With a high-beamed flashlight, he checked the hallway for anything the intruder might have dropped. He found nothing.

While the forensics team worked, Drew helped them by taking numerous pictures of the room and hallway. Mick made a pencil sketch of the area, focusing on arrangement of the furniture. It seemed as if nothing was out of place, so there must not have been much of a scuffle. Was it possible the woman had been killed elsewhere and later brought to the mansion to intimidate the Blanchards? But the coroner estimated that the body hadn’t been dead more than two hours, which would have been about the time that Rissa had heard the shot.

Mick removed the deceased’s scarf, which was spattered with blood, and put it in a plastic bag. They collected some strands of hair and the bullet from the splintered door, but when six women had entered the room after the woman had been killed, any one of them could have caught their hair on those splinters.

When the crime scene investigators and the coroner left, Drew went to Ronald’s office and tapped on the door. “Mr. Blanchard, you can come to the library now.”

Ronald swung open the door and brushed past Drew without a word. He paused on the threshold of the library, but he seemed to have his emotions under control. He stood beside his wife, and his expression grew hard and resentful as he looked down at her.

“We have to remove the body now,” Mick said. “Which funeral home do you want us to call?”

“I’ll take care of that,” Ronald said.

“You can call whoever you want, but the body has to be taken for an autopsy before the mortician touches it. We’re staying here until the body is taken away, and this room will have to be locked until we’re sure the investigation is complete.”

“There’s no key for this door.”

“We’ll see that it’s locked,” Drew said. “We don’t want anyone in here. That means family as well as outsiders. The door will have to be repaired anyway, so we’ll put a lock on it tomorrow. Which mortuary do you want?”

Ronald swung toward Drew with his right hand uplifted, his nostrils flaring with rage, his eyes blazing. Drew stiffened and he steeled himself to resist the man’s attack, but Ronald turned away and slowly lowered his hand.

He let out a long, audible breath. “Carson Brothers Mortuary,” he muttered in a harsh, raw voice. Turning on his heel, he left the library, and Drew heard the office door close.

“Whew!” he said, with a tense look at Mick. “That was close! Now what?”

“One of us should stay here tonight to be sure no one comes into this room until we put a lock on the door. We may have missed some vital piece of evidence.” Mick walked to the door and looked at the place where the forensics team had dug out a bullet. “We have to find the gun that matches the bullet we found. I hate to call anybody out at this time of night to guard the place.”

“I’ll stay,” Drew said. “I’m uneasy about the family anyway. Something’s wrong in this house, and I don’t think any of them are safe. I’ve got a Thermos of coffee in my car, and I’ll hole up here to protect the crime scene.”

When they walked out into the hall, Rissa and Portia stood at the head of the stairs. Mick motioned to Portia and she hurried down the steps to him. Giving them a private moment, Drew walked upstairs and Rissa invited him into the sitting room where Winnie and Miranda waited.

“Mick and I don’t want you to be alone,” he said to the women. “We need to watch the library until we can put a lock on the door. I’m going to stay in the house tonight, so you can go to bed now and get some rest.”

“We’ll prepare a room for you, Mr. Lancaster,” Winnie said. “We have an empty guest room on this floor.”

“Not tonight. I’ll stay in the library, but if we decide that you need some continued protection, I may take you up on the offer.”

Rissa walked down the stairs beside Drew. Portia kissed Mick goodbye and the twins went into the living room. Drew went to Mick, who waited beside the front door. In a low voice, he said, “I don’t like to involve the family in this, but who else would have had a motive or opportunity to commit this murder?”

“We have to remember that the murdered woman has been gone for twenty-some years. She may have collected several enemies during that time and one of them might have followed her to the Blanchard property.”

Realizing that Mick didn’t want to implicate his fiancée’s family, Drew said, “I’ll spare you as much of this investigation as I can. I don’t intend to do much sleeping tonight, so I’ll try to get Mr. Blanchard’s story.” He patted the small recorder he carried in his pocket. “We don’t have to make public anything that doesn’t have any bearing on the case.”

With a worried sigh, Mick said, “We’re cops first and foremost, so I’ll have to forget my emotional ties to this family. We’ve sworn to uphold the law no matter who’s involved.”

“At times like this, I sometimes wish I hadn’t taken that vow. The women of this family are too kind and gentle to have to deal with such a nightmare.”

“I know what you mean, buddy! Watch your back,” Mick warned as he let himself out of the house. Drew turned the lock and walked down the hallway to Ronald’s office.

He knocked quietly several times, pausing for a short interval between each knock. Fearful images flashed through his mind. Had Ronald killed his wife and then taken his own life? Would Rissa be deprived of both father and mother in such a short time?

Feeling desperate, he knocked vigorously.

“Who is it?” Ronald shouted.

“Detective Drew Lancaster, Mr. Blanchard.”

“Can’t you leave a man to his grief? The door’s not locked.”

With a sense of relief and some apprehension, Drew turned the knob. Slouched in a leather chair, Ronald stared at him with belligerent eyes. “What do you want?”

Drew almost apologized for intruding, because the man did look wretched, but from what he’d heard of Ronald Blanchard, he had no respect for anyone he could intimidate. He paused when he was close enough to look Ronald squarely in the eyes.

“I want some answers about this murder. If you give the right answers, I won’t intrude on your grief very long.” His sarcastic tone hinted that he doubted if Ronald was truly grief-stricken.

“Anything to get rid of you and your kind! What do you want to know?”

“For starters, I’d like to know where you were when the murder was committed.”

“I was in this room, sitting in this chair. It happens to be my favorite spot in the whole house.”

“Why did it take you so long to get to the library? From what Rissa reported, it must have been at least ten minutes from the time someone shot at her before she and Miranda went into the library.”

“I didn’t hear a shot.”

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