When they pulled into the garage at Stoneview, there wasn’t any light on in the cottage.

“Wait. I’ll walk you to the house,” Brian told Robyn.

“No need. I know the way. I’d rather say goodbye here.” She surprised him by giving him a lingering kiss on the lips. Then she turned away quickly and disappeared into the shadows of the overhanging trees planted along the walk.

Brian headed in the opposite direction toward the cottage. He was only halfway there when Robyn’s scream cut through the air like a knife.

Calling her name, he streaked toward the back of the house. When the porch light came into view, he saw her. She was standing at the bottom of the back stairs, shivering and staring at the screen door.

A huge funeral wreath hung there.

The flowers and leaves were dead.

Death at Stoneview was printed on a tattered black banner.

Stoneview Estate

Leona Karr

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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With thanks to Joan Biederman, a gracious

and generous lady who inspired this novel.

With affection to Scott McClane,

a very special and talented friend.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

A native of Colorado, Leona (Lee) Karr is the author of nearly forty books. Her favorite genres are romantic suspense and inspirational romance. After graduating from the University of Colorado with a B.A. and the University of Northern Colorado with an M.A. degree, she taught as a reading specialist until her first book was published in 1980. She has been on the Waldenbooks bestseller list and nominated by Romantic Times for Best Romantic Saga and Best Gothic Author. She has been honored as the Rocky Mountain Fiction Writer of the Year, and received Colorado’s Romance Writer of the Year Award. Her books have been reprinted in more than a dozen foreign countries. She is a presenter at numerous writing conferences and has taught college courses in creative writing.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Robyn Valcourt—Living in a house of secrets became a terrifying nightmare. She trusted only one man to rescue her.

Brian Donovan—Would his investigation bring justice to a kidnapper and murderer? And when he revealed his identity to Robyn, could she forgive his lies?

Lynette Valcourt—The party for her one-hundred-year-old house sets the scene for disaster.

Heather Fox—The murdered nursemaid whose spirit seems unable to let go of Stoneview Estate.

Nick Bellows—Was he more than a caretaker and friend to the murdered nursemaid, Heather Fox?

Todd Parker—He wanted a deeper romantic relationship with Lynette’s beautiful granddaughter, Robyn.

John Parker—Was the influential lawyer responsible for a carefully guarded secret?

Becky Sheldon—A determined young girl with her own agenda.

Contents

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 One

“Isn’t that a grand idea, Robyn? A birthday party for a one-hundred-year-old house?”

Robyn Valcourt searched her sixty-five-year-old grandmother’s expression. She had to be kidding! “A birthday party, for a house?”

“Why not?” Lynette answered readily. “Houses take on the spirit of the people who live in them. I think it would be fascinating to honor lives that were lived under the same roof.”

Robyn wasn’t so sure, maybe because she didn’t share her grandmother’s feelings about Stoneview. Robin hadn’t found anything warm and appealing about the old mansion when she’d come to live with her widowed grandmother as a teenager. As a child of parents in the foreign service, Robyn had bounced all over the world, living in one embassy after another. After her parents were killed in a plane crash in southern France, she’d gratefully accepted her grandmother’s invitation to come and live with her at Stoneview for her last two years of high school.

The estate encompassed thickly wooded areas and a wide expanse of shoreline along Lake Chataqua, Maine. Historians speculated that an ancient glacier was responsible for digging out the lake bed and scattering enormous boulders near the estate, giving Stoneview its name. In the shadow of tall red oak trees, the mansion stood rather aloof in the center of landscaped grounds sloping down to the water.

From the moment Robyn had stepped through the front door of the house she’d fought a foreboding sense of uneasiness. Large rooms on the main floor were somber and dark, with heavy stone fireplaces and thick-beamed ceilings. A warren of shadowy halls and stairways connected the main floor with the basement, the second floor bedrooms and the attic.

When she was a girl, unseen presences had seemed to lurk in the shadows as Robyn passed through echoing rooms and halls. She imagined muffled, threatening whispers following her as she hurried down the stairs from her bedroom to the warmth of the kitchen and adjoining breakfast room at the back of the house.

Her grandmother’s excitement about bringing back the people who had lived there off and on for the last hundred years failed to strike a positive note with Robyn. She pretended an interest in the weird idea that she didn’t feel.

Robyn was on spring break from her teaching duties at a private women’s college in Portland, Maine. They were sitting on the terrace of her grandmother’s winter home in Florida, and Robyn was enjoying the brush of warm, tanning sun upon her winter-pale skin. Hot-pink shorts were a delightful change from her professional wardrobe of tailored suits in subdued shades of green and beige, which toned down the fiery shades of her chestnut hair. They’d been talking about the family mansion, Stoneview, when her grandmother excitedly revealed her latest brainstorm.

“We’ll invite members of the families who have lived in the mansion since it was built in 1905. I’ve already begun the process of tracking down addresses.”

Robyn silently sighed. Lynette Valcourt’s years as the wife of a foreign diplomat had trained her well. When Robyn’s grandfather died shortly after they had retired to Stoneview, Lynette’s social life had been sharply curtailed. The vibrant, vivacious woman had been put out to pasture much too early, and it was clear to Robyn that her grandmother had already eagerly begun organizing the whole affair. Her silver-white hair, professionally styled, enhanced her strong features and highlighted dark blue eyes. Lynette’s energy level was that of a much younger person, and her tendency to dominate everyone and everything had not faltered during the years.

“We’ll try to contact a living descendent of each family, and send out invitations for a centennial birthday celebration,” she told Robyn.

“Do you think there will be enough guests to make it all worthwhile?” Robyn asked, playing devil’s advocate.

Lynette gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “We’ll include special people in the area who have been connected with the estate through the years. Stoneview has been the setting for a good many community projects, you know. People can wander around the place and see what changes have been made to the house and grounds. We can have the affair catered, and arrange for something special like a fireworks display on the lake for the evening.

“We’ll ask everyone to bring memorabilia, photos and stories to share,” she continued. “Maybe we could even think about writing a history of Stoneview Estate.”

The use of the pronoun “we” made it clear Lynette expected her granddaughter to devote time and energy in carrying out the preparations for the affair.

Robyn felt as if she’d been thrust on a runaway train with no way to stop it—or get off! A chill touched her body despite the warm Florida sunshine. Maybe stirring up the past wasn’t such a great idea. She remembered how the malicious murmuring of high school classmates had ruined the newly decorated bedroom her grandmother had prepared for her arrival.

Her first day, she’d been sitting in the cafeteria with three other girls.

“Really, Robyn, I don’t know how you can live in that place after what happened,” one of them said with a grimace.

“Doesn’t it give you the shivers?” asked another.

“You couldn’t pay me enough to have a sleepover there,” one girl agreed.

Robyn had looked blankly at the three of them. “What are you talking about?”

Instead of answering, they’d just groaned and rolled their eyes.

When Robyn repeated what they had said to her grandmother, Lynette dismissed the matter in her usual dogmatic manner.

“This lovely house had four families living in it before your grandfather and I bought it. I’m sure lots of happenings have taken place under this roof, good and bad. The past is past,” she had said firmly. “I don’t want to hear any more nonsense about it.”

Lynette didn’t know her granddaughter if she thought that put an end to the matter. As soon as Robyn had the chance, she went to the Chataqua town library. As she scanned the computers of the local Chataqua Sentinel, her search paid off. She found what she was looking for.

“Kidnapping and Murder at Stoneview Mansion.”

Robyn’s breath caught as the headline leaped out at her from the front page. Her heartbeat quickened as she read the account. An adopted infant girl of Darrel and Sybil Sheldon had been snatched from the nursery on the second floor of the Stoneview mansion. After a large ransom had been paid, the baby was left on the doorstep of a local doctor, James Donovan, but that same night, Heather Fox, the nursemaid of the baby, was found murdered on the lawn of the estate. She’d been strangled.

Robyn stared at the photo of a fair-haired young woman, Heather Fox, smiling as she held up a baby for the camera. Robyn could tell from the background that the nursemaid had been standing in front of the garden gazebo, not far from where her body had been discovered. Robyn had shivered as if a cold draft had touched her skin, and wondered if she’d ever be able to pass by that spot again without being reminded of a strangled woman lying there.

“The tragedy has nothing to do with you,” Lynette had lectured when Robyn confronted her with the newspaper account. “It’s over and done with!”

Robyn had wanted to believe her grandmother, but when they’d stripped the old wallpaper from her bedroom and discovered her room had once been the nursery, the nightmares began. She’d jerk awake in the middle of the night, hearing sounds of a baby crying. Robyn would stare into the shadows, every nerve ending vibrating with an awareness that danger still lurked there. Once, she’d run from the room, trembling, but her grandmother had dismissed her behavior as childish. As a result, Robyn suffered her torment in silence. More than anything she wanted to please her grandmother.

Robyn knew her grandmother’s habitual strong Scotch “nightcap” insured her an uneventful, peaceful night’s sleep. Although Robin wasn’t into drinking as a teenager, one time she’d secretly fixed herself a similar bedtime drink. Her hopes that the liquor would knock her out were foiled even before she consumed half of the glassful. Terribly sick, she’d spent the night in the bathroom, and the next morning had to lie to Lynette about her bedraggled appearance.

Later, when Robyn went away to college and eventually became a professor of romance languages, she was too embarrassed to tell her grandmother that she’d like to change bedrooms when she came back for visits.

Even now, a twenty-six-year-old adult, she hesitated to express any disapproval of her grandmother’s ideas. Appearing to be anything but a confident woman in charge of her own life was out of the question for Robyn. Her parents had expected it—her grandmother demanded it!

“We need to get the invitations sent as soon as possible,” Lynette declared, either unaware or totally ignoring her granddaughter’s lack of enthusiasm. “By the time I return to Stoneview in June, we should know which families will be staying in the mansion. We can arrange for lodging in Chataqua for the remainder of the guests.” She paused. “I think the first week in July would be a perfect time for the celebration, don’t you?”

Robyn knew the question was purely rhetorical. As far as her grandmother was concerned the matter was settled. The possibility that she might not be ready and willing to drop all her summer plans and help carry out the festivities wasn’t worthy of consideration.

Robyn silently sighed. No wonder I don’t have a life of my own, she thought. During the school year, the responsibilities of her teaching position demanded total dedication. Every romantic relationship she’d hoped to nurture had died in the bud, smothered by too many other obligations. Several eligible men had shown some interest in dating her, but about the third time she broke a date, it was bye-bye.

“We’ll need to mail the invitations as soon as possible,” Lynette said as she laid out a timetable for all the preparations.

“Getting current addresses may not be all that easy,”

Robyn protested once again. “What about the descendants of Hugo Koleski, who built the house?”

“Well, several branches of the family lived on the estate until the lumber mill closed in about 1955. I believe that when the property was sold, all the Koleski family moved away.”

“Maybe they went back to Poland?”

“We’ll have to find out.”

“What about the other three owners of Stoneview, before you and Grandpa bought it? How will you track them down?”

“Don’t worry. I have friends in high places who have access to public records. I’ll make some calls,” Lynette assured her, as if that took care of the matter. “After I locate someone in each family, I’ll send you the addresses. In the meantime you arrange to have the invitations printed, and be ready to send them out.”

“Are you sure about this, Grandmother?” Robyn could not stifle a growing apprehension that such a reunion might dredge up dangerous and conflicting emotions. She didn’t know how to explain to her grandmother that on some deep level she sensed there were remaining energies in the house that should be left untouched. Even if she tried to verbalize such intuitive feelings, Robyn knew her grandmother would dismiss them with open disgust.

Sitting there in the warmth of the Florida sun, Robyn sought to deny an insidious warning rippling through her consciousness like the far-off rumble of a deadly storm.

AS SHE FINISHED OUT the school year, swamped by the closing demands of her classes and preparations to be away from her town house for the summer, Robyn had little time to think about Stoneview. She was department head of the romance languages department, and the high percentage of foreign students in the small college in Portland, Maine, put extra demands upon her time and energy. Although she found teaching gratifying and was pleased she could put her mastery of languages to good use, she realized she had let her life settle into a tedious routine. But her summer plans to explore some new and untried avenues for her personal development had to be shelved.

The hope that her grandmother would either lose interest in the project or come up short with addresses of the former occupants had been in vain. When the names and addresses arrived, Robyn had indulged herself in a brief period of childish rebellion, and ended up mailing them nearly three weeks later.

As she dropped them into the mailbox, she clung to the hope that her grandmother’s brainstorm might somehow be derailed.

Maybe nobody would come.

DETECTIVE BRIAN J. Donovan hated hospitals, especially when the innocent victim of a robbery and assault was an elderly man who had cashed his social security check, then stopped at a sleazy pool hall and bar to have a drink. A couple of druggies had waited for him, beaten him up and left him unconscious in the alley.

Police files were filled with such cases. Brian knew the chances of getting any solid leads from the victim were slight. At the age of twenty-eight, he’d seen enough selfish brutality to last a lifetime. There was an angry stiffness about him as he strode up to the hospital admittance desk.

“Evening, Detective.” The pretty nurse smiled as her appreciative glance passed over his tawny hair, brown eyes and athletic build. “You’re out late. The sun will be up in a few hours.” Her voice took on a flirtatious tone. “If you’re still around, I might offer to fix you some breakfast.”

Brian smiled, recognizing the intimacy in her invitation, but he’d learned to maneuver around such overtures, especially on the job. “I’ll take a rain check,” he answered lightly.

“Promises, promises,” she said, sighing. “What can I do for you tonight?”

Brian glanced at his notebook. “An elderly man, Joseph Keller, was brought in about eleven o’clock. Assault and battery.”

After checking her computer, she nodded. “Room 209. Condition stable.”

“That’s good. Thanks.” Brian knew the first few hours after an incident were the most productive in getting a line on criminal perpetrators. After that, imagination often took over and filled in the gaps. He reached the room just as a male nurse was coming out.

Brian flashed his badge. “Detective Donovan. Any chance I can spend a couple of minutes with Mr. Keller?”

“I just gave him a sedative, so you’d better make it fast,” the young man warned. “He’s beat up pretty bad. A tough old guy. Fought the thugs off pretty good, but they got his wallet.”

“Any other personal effects?” Brian asked. “Forensics might be able to get some fingerprints if the muggers went through his pockets.”

“He didn’t have much. There are a few things in the bedside drawer.”

“Thanks.” Brian eased inside the room and approached the bed quietly. “Mr. Keller?”

Even though the man’s prone body clearly showed his advanced age, there was a sharpness in his glare. Dark eyes in a bruised and scratched face narrowed as he stared at Brian. His voice was raspy and breathless as he croaked, “What the hell do you want?”

“We want to find the thugs who did this to you. I’m Detective Donovan.”

“You get my money back?”

“We’re going to try our best, Mr. Keller. Can you tell me what happened?”

He closed his eyes for a long moment and then looked at Brian as the words came painfully slow. “The bastards came up from behind. Dragged me into the alley. Went through my pockets. Knocked me out.”

“Can you tell me what they looked like?”

The Adam’s apple in his skinny throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “Hoodlums. Young and white. Too dark to see much.”

Brian closed his notebook. Unfortunately, the old man’s description was too generic to be of value. “If you remember anything else, Mr. Keller, just call me.” He laid his card on the bedside table. “You take care of yourself.”

“If I’d been younger I’d have shown them a thing or two,” he rasped, and his slack jaw tightened a little. “Was a heavyweight boxer in my prime.”

“Really?” Brian smiled at the old man. “How about that?”

“Plenty of money and women, too.” He gave Brian a grin. “Owned the biggest estate on Lake Chataqua.”

“Lake Chataqua, Maine?” Brian’s eyes narrowed.

“Yep. Owned the Stoneview Estate, I did. You know it?”

“Yes, my father had a medical practice in Chataqua until I was almost seventeen, and we moved to Boston.”

Just the name Stoneview instantly brought a hot anger surging through Brian. His father’s professional reputation had been ruined by a kidnapping and murder that had taken place at the estate during Brian’s senior year in high school. As the family doctor for Darrel and Sybil Sheldon, his dad had attended their newly adopted baby and the ill-fated nursemaid, Heather Fox. When the missing baby showed up on Dr. Donovan’s doorstep, and the nursemaid he’d befriended was found strangled, ugly speculations had targeted Brian’s father as a likely accomplice. The police failed to turn up any leads to the ransom money or the parties responsible for the nanny’s death.

When insidious suspicions destroyed his father’s reputation and the town turned against him, Brian had felt the backlash in his own life. His father decided to uproot the family, and in the move, Brian had lost touch with all his high school friends. His boyhood had been a happy one, living in the house where he’d been born, hanging out with his buddies and growing up with a sense of belonging. He’d never recovered from the isolation of the move, and had tried to protect himself from that kind of loss ever again by becoming pretty much a loner.

“You must have heard of me,” the injured man insisted. “Heavyweight boxer? Made big money, I did.”

Joe Keller. Suddenly, the name snagged a memory. Brian remembered that a lawyer friend of his father, John Parker, had bought the Stoneview Estate cheap from a prizefighter whose career had hit the skids. Before Joe Keller had sold it, he’d rented the place out as a questionable resort until the authorities closed it down for suspected gambling. Obviously, the fighter’s good fortune had gone downhill since then. Brian found it hard to believe this wasted old man had once been a force in the boxing ring.

“What about your family, Joe?” Brian asked. “Have the authorities notified anyone about what happened to you tonight?”

“No one to notify,” he answered in a tight voice.

Brian checked the bedside drawer, which the nurse had said contained Joe’s personal effects: a pitiful pile of change, a lighter, half pack of cigarettes and a white envelope. Not much to go on.

“If anyone handled any of these things besides you, we may be able to match some fingerprints,” Brian told him hopefully.

“Just mail that envelope for me,” Joe said tiredly. “Tell ’em I’m not up to that kind of shindig. It’s an invitation. A hundred-year-old birthday party for a house. Doesn’t that beat all?”

Brian didn’t answer. He removed the invitation and bagged the envelope with everything else. After leaving the hospital, he drove to his small apartment in a modest Boston neighborhood. Since most of his time was spent on the job, or working out at a nearby gym, the apartment was hardly more than a place to sleep and eat. Occasionally he enjoyed feminine company, but never for very long.

His telephone was blinking with a couple of messages. The only personal one was from his mother, asking him to call. His parents had moved to sunny New Mexico several years earlier after his father had retired from medical practice. The dark cloud that had forced Dr. Donovan to give up his practice in Chataqua had never dissipated. The unsolved kidnapping and murder seemed to lodge in the doctor’s mind like a curse, and even moving across the country had not seemed to help.

Brian returned his mother’s call, and she told him that she was really worried about his dad. “Nothing seems to be physically wrong, but he’s slipping into a deep despondency and brooding about the past. He’s dredging up everything that happened in Chataqua.” Her voice wavered. “It breaks my heart.”

“I know, Mom. He probably has too much time on his hands.”

“He’s not interested in making new friends or taking up a new hobby. You know how stubborn he can be.”

Brian tried to console her as much as he could, but there was very little comfort he could give her. It was a damn shame that what had happened eleven years ago could still destroy the last few years of his father’s life.

Too keyed up to sleep, Brian slumped down in his chair, sipping a beer and staring out the window. His thoughts centered on the unexpected encounter with Joseph Keller, and the invitation the boxer had received. What kind of nonsense was that? A birthday party for a damn house!

Even as Brian dismissed the idea, a startling possibility presented itself. The urge to investigate the crimes that had cast suspicion on his father had always been at the back of Brian’s mind during his career as a detective. As long as the matter remained in Cold Case files, Brian knew no one was going to spend any time or energy on it. As he thought about the invitation that had come into his possession, he began to realize he’d been handed a viable undercover identity.

Joseph Keller wouldn’t be attending the celebration at the Stoneview estate, and no one would be going to represent him. Brian could accept the invitation as a distant relative of Joe Keller.

For a welcomed guest at the Stoneview mansion, Brian knew, on-the-spot investigation would be possible. Attending the event would be invaluable, not only because of access to the crime scene, but because of contact with people who might have pertinent information that had gone unnoticed when the crimes occurred.

He knew he’d never get official approval. The department was stretched just covering day-to-day investigations. This undercover job would have to be done in secret and on his own. He had vacation time coming, and the opportunity to spend it at Stoneview was worth the gamble. He checked the calendar. The celebration was less than three weeks away, and he ought to be able to get free from his duties about ten days before that.

As Brian weighed the deception from all perspectives, the advantages made his decision an easy one. His mother had pleaded with him to do something to help, and what better thing could he do than try and clear his father’s name once and for all?

He decided to wait until the next morning before making a decision, but the idea was only more firmly planted in his mind the next day.

He read the invitation again carefully, filled in the requested information and boldly identified himself as a distant relative of Joseph Keller. In a place for comments, he expressed his pleasure in representing the Keller family at the “one-hundred-year-old birthday celebration.”

With deliberate deception, he signed his name “Brian Keller.” In most undercover situations it was better to use a familiar first name than to suddenly try to relate to a brand-new one, he knew. Besides, most people in Chataqua had known him as Buddy Donovan during his school days.

Brian sealed the envelope, affixed the proper postage, and early the next morning mailed the RSVP to a Ms. Robyn Valcourt at the designated return address.

Finally, he’d get the answers he sought—no matter what.

Chapter Two

Brian arrived in Chataqua a little more than a week before the festivities at Stoneview were scheduled. The bustling small town hugged the northern side of a large lake, and impressive homes like Stoneview overlooked the water on the opposite side. Brian had been on Chataqua Lake numerous times when he was growing up, but he’d never set foot on the exclusive Stoneview property.

He wandered briefly around the town, visiting familiar places of his childhood. Brian remembered his disappointment at having to move away just as his high school baseball team was competing for the state championship. He’d helped bring home a regional trophy the year before, and had never replaced the friendships or sense of belonging in the unfamiliar Boston school where he’d graduated.

When he met people in the bustling resort town he’d known in his youth, he gave them every chance to challenge his assumed identity. None did. Brian wasn’t surprised. He’d been called Buddy Donovan instead of Brian. He’d been a tall, skinny, sun-bleached-blond teenager when he’d moved away. He was still tall—six feet—but training at the police academy had totally changed his physique. His face had filled out, and a recent dye job had turned his hair a dark brown. He was fairly confident that he could engage in his undercover investigation without worrying about recognition. His father was the one who had known the Sheldons and Heather Fox, the murdered nursemaid. In the years he’d been away, Brian had never had any social contact with the families of past or present residents of the Stoneview estate.

After mailing the invitation response to Robyn Valcourt, Brian had learned she was Lynette Valcourt’s granddaughter, an unmarried professor of romance languages at an exclusive women’s college in Portland. A child of parents in the diplomatic service, she’d come to live at Stoneview two years after Brian’s family had left Chataqua, so they had never met. Brian pictured her as very staid, distant and bookish, a product of a class-conscious society.

In preparing for his undercover deception, he’d pored over every scrap of information recorded in the police files at the time of the crimes. He went over and over every detail, trying to come to terms with one inconsistency that kept nagging at him. The timing of the nursemaid’s murder seemed wrong. Heather Fox had not been killed the night the baby was snatched, as would be expected if she was trying to protect her charge. Instead, the ransom had been paid and the baby returned when the nursemaid was found strangled on the estate grounds a day later. Why then and not earlier?

More than ever, he was determined to use this unexpected opportunity to conduct his own “on site” investigation, and clear his father’s reputation once and for all. His agenda was to interact with the people who had been involved, and follow up any clues that came to light or might have been missed in the original investigation. Since he had no idea of the current situation at Stoneview, he’d have to play it by ear and hope for the best.

Instead of renting a car in Chataqua, he decided to approach Stoneview by water in a small rented motorboat. It was midafternoon when he steered it across Chataqua Lake toward the large white mansion built on a slight rise on the opposite shore. Landscaped lawns and gardens were bordered by thick forested areas that provided a natural privacy for the estate, isolating it from other homes on that side of the lake. As he came closer, Brian saw two people standing near the boathouse and cement pier.

Good, he thought. This might make things easier.

He wasn’t looking forward to walking up to the house and presenting himself, cold turkey, at the door. As he cut the motor and eased the craft toward the dock, both the man and woman turned around, watching him.

A muscular, middle-aged fellow in workman’s clothes peered at Brian pugnaciously from under the brim of his straw hat. The bullish air about him didn’t invite unexpected social calls, and the young woman beside him seemed equally guarded. She must have been in her early twenties, Brian guessed. Her hair was the color of reddish-brown fall leaves, and she was wearing pale green slacks that hugged her shapely figure.

Could this be the granddaughter?

Brian’s preconceived idea of a bookish college professor took an instant dive. Such an appealing feminine body and delicate features certainly didn’t match the mental picture he’d had. Still, there was something about the way she held herself that warned him she was, indeed, Robyn Valcourt. He had the impression from their body language that she’d been instructing the man about some task.

Brian offered a friendly wave as he walked toward them, and without waiting for any response, quickly introduced himself.

“Hi, I’m Brian Keller. My great-uncle is Joseph Keller. I responded to an invitation to the birthday celebration,” he added. “Regretfully, Joe is too ill to come.”

“Joe Keller, the fighter!” The man’s ruddy face lost its glower as he broke into a wide smile. He looked to be somewhere in his early forties, with sandy hair, bushy eyebrows and ruddy features. “Well, I’ll be. My dad was one of Joe Keller’s biggest fans. Pa was working at one of the neighboring estates when Keller lived here. They were about the same age. He won a pile of money on Joe’s fights. Lost a pile, too,” he admitted with an even broader smile.

“Is that so?” Brian laughed with him.

The man stuck out a callused hand. “Nick Bellows.”

“Nice to meet you, Nick. I’ll have to tell Joe about his secret admirer.”

There was nothing of Nick’s open-armed friendliness in Robyn Valcourt’s manner when Nick introduced her as “Miss Valcourt.” She simply nodded and gave him a cool, “Hello.”

Even though she was better looking than Brian had imagined, her distant manner didn’t surprise him. Obviously, his inopportune arrival had put her on guard.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Valcourt,” he responded politely. “I’ve been looking forward to visiting Stoneview.”

“And you’ll be coming back for the celebration, Mr. Keller?” she asked politely, but in a tone that clearly emphasized the affair was more than a week away.

“Yes, of course.” Brian glanced innocently toward the house, which was approached by a long red cement sidewalk from the water’s edge. “Joe has some very fond memories of this place. I was hoping you might not mind if I had a look around before the busy day.”

“We’re on a tight schedule,” she answered quickly.

“I understand. A big event like this must take a lot of planning.”

She gave him a fleeting smile as if she appreciated his recognition of the hard work that went into a centennial celebration.

“We’ve got plenty to do before then,” Nick agreed as he waved an exasperated hand toward a two-story boathouse, where large doors had fallen inward and crushed the two boats inside. “Look at that, would you?”

“Wow, what happened?” Brian asked, hoping to keep the conversation going while he figured out how to get past Miss Robyn Valcourt’s resistance.

“A blasted ice storm last winter!” Nick swore. “Strong winds whipped everything in sight. All the custom-made repair parts have finally arrived. Tore the boathouse doors right off their hinges. Don’t know how I can get it ready in time.” He directed this last sentence to Robyn, and added, “You’ll have to explain to your grandmother that I’m not a miracle worker—especially with all the other stuff I’ve got to do.”

“Maybe I could help out some way?” Brian suggested smoothly. “My plans are to just hang around Chataqua, waiting for the big day. My dad and I built a cabin a couple of summers ago. I learned to use a hammer and saw pretty good. I’d be glad to have something to do.”

Nick raised a questioning eyebrow at Robyn. “Sounds good to me.”

“We wouldn’t want to impose,” Robyn said smoothly, a firm dismissal in her tone.

“I wouldn’t have offered if that were the case.” Brian gave her his best people-management smile.

“What kind of business are you in, Mr. Keller?”

“Oh, I have my fingers in quite a few projects. I’m an independent business analyst—on vacation.”

“He could bunk with me in the cottage,” Nick suggested. “We’ve got that extra room, and you were just saying that we might have an overflow from the house.”

“I don’t know, Mr. Keller—”

“Brian,” he quickly corrected.

The way her blue eyes, clear and deep as a summer sky, measured him, he knew he’d made a mistake moving into familiarity so soon. He’d have to be more careful. Undoubtedly, she was used to fending off people.

She turned to Nick. “Grandmother is planning a fireworks display on the lake in the evening. Getting the boathouse in shape is a priority.”

“Along with a dozen others,” Nick muttered.

“I know.”

“With an extra hand, it’s more likely to get ready in time. I’m not even sure I could manage clearing out the debris by myself,” Nick insisted.

“All right, then. We accept your offer, Mr. Keller. If you don’t have other plans?”

“No, my time is my own,” he assured her. “Spending a few days at Stoneview will be more than a pleasure.”

AS ROBYN LEFT THE MEN and started walking up the long sidewalk to the house, she could feel them watching her. She kept her head up and her carriage straight. If Nick hadn’t been running on overload, she wouldn’t have even considered accepting the offer of this stranger. With a dozen “have-to-dos” in the house and grounds waiting for his attention, an extra pair of hands would be a godsend. Her grandmother would have a fit about letting a guest move in with them more than a week before the party, but Lynette wasn’t in charge, Robyn reminded herself.

For weeks, her grandmother had been making plans and giving orders—from a distance, of course. At the moment, Lynette was in the Bahamas. She had decided at the last minute to attend a “divine socialite wedding-of-the-year” that she vowed “just couldn’t be missed.”

Even Lynette’s loyal hired cook and housekeeper, Olga Dietz, was rebelling at all the extra work. She was a sturdy German woman in her forties who had been with Robyn’s grandparents since their duties at the German embassy almost twenty years ago. Her husband had died before the Valcourts moved to Stoneview. Mrs. Dietz had never quite become “Americanized,” and her stubborn manner kept Lynette from trying to dictate how to run the kitchen and supervise the day help.

Every telephone call from Lynette brought more instructions about engaging the right caterers, photographers, florists, entertainers, and getting the house and grounds in perfect condition.

It wasn’t as if she couldn’t handle the responsibility, Robyn reminded herself. She could. She knew it, and her grandmother knew it. But the truth was that at some deep level she was utterly sick and tired of being reliable, capable and dependable. Robyn longed to get in her car and head north to the oceanside resort where she’d planned to spend her summer vacation. But even as the desire crossed her mind, she knew she’d never do it. Such irresponsible action would be unthinkable. What she didn’t need was an early guest to complicate matters. Under different conditions she might have been more hospitable, but at the moment she wasn’t in the mood to handle any unexpected demands. Already she was having second thoughts about agreeing to accept Brian Keller’s help.

On some intuitive level, she sensed he was going to be a disruptive force. His manner seemed sincere, but there had been a pure masculine energy about him that she didn’t trust. His clinging white T-shirt accented the breadth and hardness of his chest, and tight jeans followed the shape of his long muscular legs. Dark brown hair was nicely layered, and everything about him seemed calculated to impress any female within a fifty-mile radius. Robyn chided herself for even noticing.

She purposefully made her way through the dark halls of the house to the library. After sitting down at a massive walnut desk, she turned on the computer to view the full agenda waiting for her attention, and put Brian Keller firmly out of her mind….

NICK AND BRIAN WORKED well together. They were both tired and sweaty when they climbed a circular iron staircase to the second floor of the boathouse, which had been made into a recreation room, complete with comfortable furniture and a refreshment bar. Fortunately, the devastation of the winter ice storm last January had been confined to the lower level, and the party room had been spared.

“When the Valcourts bought the house from the Sheldons, this was a workout room with exercise equipment, and they remodeled it into a party room. I liked it better the other way,” Nick told him as he walked over to a small refrigerator. “Beer or water?”

“Water, thanks.”

“Beer for me.”

He handed Brian a bottle of water and popped the cap on his beer. After taking a deep swig, he dropped down in a large leather chair opposite the couch where Brian was sitting.

“How long have you been at Stoneview, Nick?” Brian asked in a relaxed, chatty tone.

“Too long,” he answered bluntly as he lit a cigarette. “I came here with the Sheldons when they bought the estate, mainly because I’d been their caretaker at their previous home. And when they up and sold Stoneview, I decided to stay on and work for the Valcourts. I like the cottage and the lake, and most of the year there’s not much that has to be done. It’s a pretty neat place to live.”

“You must feel kind of possessive of it.”

“I guess ruts get comfortable after awhile,” he admitted. “And I like having the run of the place. Old lady Valcourt travels a lot, and the granddaughter has her own town house where she teaches. The Sheldons were easy to work for, too.”

“So you were here at Stoneview when the unfortunate tragedy happened?” Brian asked casually, hoping he wasn’t moving too fast. The fact that Nick had brought up the topic of the Sheldons was a welcome surprise. It gave him hope that if Nick was in a reminiscing mood, he might share some valuable on-the-scene insights that didn’t get into the police reports.

“Oh, you heard about that, did you? Yep, I was here.” Nick nearly emptied his bottle of beer before he added, “The police were all over the place. Asked a lot of questions, but, hell, I didn’t have anything to tell them. I’ve never made it my business to know what goes on in the big house. Not with the Sheldons. Not with the Valcourts. I keep to myself.” Nick drank more of his beer. “I couldn’t tell them anything.”

Or wouldn’t? Brian wondered silently. Something about Nick’s denial rang false. He’d bet anything that little got past those sharp eyes of his. Before Brian could come up with a comment that might encourage more confidences, Nick changed the subject. Brian had to content himself with waiting for another time when, perhaps, Nick had more beer under his belt.

“We can’t do much more until I check the lumber-yard, and order more material and hardware.” Nick finished off his beer. “Let’s call it a day.”

Brian nodded in agreement, and as they made their way out of the boathouse, he told Nick, “I have a backpack and small bag in the boat. I was thinking about spending a few days at one of those resorts on the lake, but this is a whole lot better.”

Nick seemed to accept the explanation without question. After Brian retrieved his bags, they made their way around the house to a small cottage at the back of property where a wooded area met an access road. A curved driveway led past the small house to a four-car garage, and a tree-lined walk led to the back door of the mansion. Another wide sidewalk circled the house to the front entrance.

As Nick opened the cottage door, he waved Brian inside. “Home sweet home. You’ll have to excuse the mess.”

Brian could see what Nick meant—a neat housekeeper he was not! The small living room opening off of the front hall showed signs of careless bachelor living. Clutter was everywhere. Books, cups, newspapers and a few discarded pieces of clothing were scattered about on the furniture and floor.

Nick chuckled, a bit red with embarrassment as Brian surveyed the room. “Didn’t know I was going to have company.”

“Not company,” Brian assured him.

“Well, I haven’t had much of that,” Nick admitted. “Kinda like it that way. I was never one to need a bunch of people around. Me and my Siamese cat are loners, although I think lusty Sinbad has sired more than his share of litters.” He laughed. “I swear, every house up and down the lake has a Siamese cat or two sunning on the doorstep.”

Even as he spoke, a large, beautifully colored seal point Siamese sauntered in from the kitchen and rubbed against Nick’s legs.

“I know, it’s chow time, old fellow,” Nick said affectionately. “He’s eleven years old, would you believe? Heather, the nursemaid, got him when he was a kitten and after she was killed, he disappeared for a while. About six months later, I found Sinbad on my doorstep. He’s been with me ever since. I think Heather would like it that way.”

There hadn’t been much in the police reports about the murdered nursemaid. Maybe Nick would fill out the picture a little? “Were you and Heather friends?”

“Just employees of the same family. The house staff kept pretty much to themselves.”

“Why is that?”

He shrugged. “Who knows? I suppose the owners wanted it that way. Come on, I’ll show you where to bunk.”

There were two small bedrooms on the second floor and a nice-sized bathroom. The clutter visible through the open door of the front bedroom made it obvious that it was Nick’s.

In contrast, the back bedroom was clean, neat and rather sterile, like a motel room. Brian was pleased to see he had a good view of the back of the mansion in case he needed to do some night prowling to check out the premises.

“Why don’t you hit the shower first, Brian, and I’ll get something going for supper?”

“Sounds good.”

“You may change your mind when you taste my cooking.” He turned to leave, and then stopped. “Oh, by the way, after dinner I’m supposed to bring chairs down from the attic and set them up in the basement recreation room. The old lady wants to set up a kinda cabaret down there. How about giving me a hand?”

“Sure, be glad to help,” Brian offered readily.

Perfect! He wanted to make use of every chance he got to familiarize himself with every inch of the house and grounds. All in all, the situation was better than he’d anticipated. He had the opening he needed to the premises, and he intended to take full advantage of it.

As he quickly showered and changed into a pair of brown corduroys and an open-neck sports shirt, his thoughts centered on the attractive Robyn Valcourt and the obstacle she might be in his investigation. Obviously, she wasn’t the kind to give him free run of the house. Keeping her from being suspicious of his deception might be his greatest challenge.

For supper, Nick fixed a simple meal of eggs, fried potatoes and steak. The kitchen was surprisingly orderly and clean compared to the living room and the glimpse Brian had had of Nick’s bedroom. The two men ate in companionable silence. Sinbad threaded their legs with hopeful anticipation, even though he’d already consumed his can of food. Nick fondly nudged him away and scolded him for being such a moocher.

After they’d cleared the table and stacked dishes in a small dishwasher, Nick said, “We’d better get a move on. I’d like to get to bed before midnight.”

They entered the house through the back door, and as if Nick knew where to find Robyn this time of evening, he led the way down a wide, echoing hall until they came to double doors opening into the library. Most of the room was in shadows except for one far corner, where a radius of light highlighted a large desk.

Robyn was sitting at a computer, and from a half-eaten sandwich and a drink on the desk beside her, Brian suspected she’d had her dinner on a tray.

She gave the men a questioning glance, and quickly finished the entry she’d been making before greeting them with a lift of her reddish-brown eyebrows.

“Brian’s volunteered to help me collect chairs for the recreation room,” Nick told her.

“Oh?” She studied Brian in a calculating, measuring way, as if suspicious of his Good Samaritan role.

He couldn’t blame her. She must be used to hangers-on trying to manipulate her and her money. He applauded her caution. In police work he dealt with too many victims who failed to be wary when it came to strangers invading their lives.

He felt a little guilty as he lied, “Joe would want me to help out. He has fond memories of this house, and I know he’s going to love hearing about it. I bet there’s been a lot a changes in it since he lived here.”

Robyn’s forehead smoothed slightly. “I’m sorry he isn’t well enough to come. Maybe we can telephone him and let a few people say hello to him?”

Was her suggestion an innocent or a calculating one? Had she already become suspicious of his premature arrival?

Brian knew that if this smart lady really put her mind to it, tracking down Joe Keller in the hospital or nursing home wouldn’t be all that difficult.

“I’ll certainly tell him people asked about him,” Brian said, sidestepping her suggestion.

“Well, let’s get on it,” Nick urged. “I knew we should have stored the extra chairs in the basement. I told Mrs. Valcourt lugging them up and down from the attic was a waste of time.”

“I agree, Nick. Grandmother got used to having a lot of paid help when she lived abroad.”

“Well, turning the rec room into a cabaret for one evening is going to demand a lot of extra work.”

“I know. If the boathouse is usable, some of the crowd will head there for drinks and dancing, but others will probably stay downstairs in the rec room.” She turned off the computer and rose to her feet. “I’ll check the arrangement of the tables while you bring down the chairs.”

“Why don’t you leave some of that for the extra hired help?” Nick frowned. “When are they coming?”

“Two days before the affair. Grandmother thought that would be early enough.”

Nick grumbled something inaudible.

“I know.” Robyn smiled at him. “That’s what you get for working miracles every time she comes up with one of her ideas, Nick. She knows you’ll come through for her.”

“Maybe not this time,” he threatened, but there was little conviction in his tone. “Well, come on, Brian, let’s get at it.”

The stairway to the attic opened off of the back hall and rose to a third floor that spanned the width of the house. At one end was an enclosed storeroom, apparently filled with items like folding chairs that were used from time to time.

The rest of the attic looked like a garage sale gone berserk. Barrels, trunks, metal lockers, pictures, stored furniture and miscellaneous discards of all kinds covered every inch of floor space.

Was this the accumulation from all the five families who had lived in the house? Brian wondered. The nursery and nanny’s room had probably been stripped before the Valcounts bought the house. Were any of Heather’s personal effects stored in the boxes that were stacked throughout the attic?

Brian wanted to question Nick about the possibility, but he knew he had to wait. Rushing things could land him out of the house on his ear. He mentally made a note to make a personal search of the attic at the first safe opportunity.

As they started bringing chairs down to the basement, Brian was surprised at the spaciousness of the recreation room. Not only was there a full bar, but a nice-size dance floor, complete with a large jukebox that would have made any antique dealer drool.

“Does it still work?” Brian asked, peering at the layered 78 rpm records.

He was startled when Robyn unexpectedly came up behind him and plugged in a cord. Instantly, the machine glowed with gaudy colors and blinking lights. As she touched a selection, one of the 78 rpm records dropped smoothly into place.

He laughed when the bouncy notes of “Chattanooga Choo Choo” filled the room. Robyn swayed slightly in rhythm with the music, and he was startled by the relaxed sweetness of her mouth and the dreamy softness in her eyes. Soft wisps of gingery hair highlighted her smooth complexion, and long seductive curls caressed her cheeks. One thing he knew for certain—every ounce of Robyn Valcourt’s supple body was aching to dance!

Boldly, he reached out, took her hands and twirled her in a complete spin before she had a chance to protest. He eased her into position and grinned at her. “Shall we dance?”

Without giving her an option, he quickly initiated some easy jitterbug steps. Not only did she follow him, but even challenged him to match some intricate patterns of her own. She threw back her head and laughed at his expression of surprise. By the time the record ended, both of them were breathing heavily and laughing.

Nick shook his head. He’d been watching them with an expression of disbelief on his face. “What is it with you two?” he chided impatiently. “Are we going to get this place ready or not?”

Brian watched Robyn’s countenance suddenly lose its effervescence. Tense lines immediately replaced the smile curves around her lips. She looked a little like a child who’d been caught shirking her duties. He wanted to say something, but didn’t know what might be appropriate. He couldn’t take a chance on ruining this unexpected connection with her.

“What about it, Brian?” Nick demanded. “Are you going to help or not?”

“Sure thing,” he answered smoothly. He wondered if Nick’s irritation was really about work, or if he was jealous of Robyn’s attention. “Thanks for the dance,” he told her, and then turned to follow Nick up the stairs.

ROBYN HAD LEARNED dances of different kinds the year her parents were stationed in France. Embassy kids attending the same school had access to a jukebox and indulged in a lot of impromptu parties. Unfortunately, after Robyn came to live with her grandmother her social life had not included many dances. In secret, she’d enjoyed the private pleasure of spending time in the rec room, playing the jukebox and dancing by herself.

As she caught her breath, she realized what a delight it was to be actually dancing with a smooth, easy-moving partner whose gentle but firm touch guided her with such persuasion. When he’d twirled her away from him in a dizzying spin, and then brought her back to him, she’d let herself lean shamelessly against him. She had abandoned herself to the joy of the music and the harmony of their bodies moving together.

Nick’s critical remarks had quickly dissipated the release and exuberance she’d felt while dancing. As she caught her breath, she realized that it might be a little embarrassing to be around Brian Keller after what had happened.

“I need some air,” she said as she brushed back some moist hair clinging to her forehead.

The sky was slightly overcast as she left the house by the main door. Clouds passing in front of the moon sent flickering shadows through branches of tall oak trees and across the lawn. The quiet seclusion of the vine-covered gazebo beckoned her. Sitting down on one of the small benches, she kept going over in her mind the disturbing way she’d reacted to Brian Keller.

It was the darn music. That’s what had made her forget herself. She certainly hadn’t been trying to make time with Joe Keller’s relative. Even now she flushed, remembering the intimate way he had smiled at her. He must have known how much she enjoyed dancing with him. Had he deliberately exploited the situation? Something about him just didn’t ring true. She wanted to know a lot more about him before she let herself accept Brian Keller at face value. He was too damn sexy. And I’m too damn lonely.

The admission was lost when her ears suddenly were assaulted by a high-pitched wailing. The noise was too abrasive for an infant’s cry, and yet that’s what it resembled.

What on earth…? Cautiously, she stepped out of the gazebo. As her gaze swept the expanse of lawn and nearby landscaped areas, she couldn’t see anything that might be responsible for the strange cry.

She stiffened as she remembered the newspaper photo of the murdered nursemaid standing in front of the gazebo, holding the kidnapped baby, in about this very spot.

Robyn waited for the spine-tingling sound to come again, and when it did, she forced herself to turn in that direction. She caught a flicker of movement in a nearby landscape planting of shrubs, trees and rocks.

As she came closer, two baby-blue eyes stared at her out of the darkness. At the same moment, wailing that could have been an infant’s cry filled her ears again. She froze and then backed up as a rustling in the middle of the planting increased. Her breath caught when a shadowy form took shape.

Then she laughed in embarrassment. The blue eyes belonged to Nick’s old cat. She hadn’t seen him around the last few times she’d been at Stoneview.

The Siamese must be about eleven years old now, Robyn thought as he began stroking her legs with his sleek, arched back. She bent down and petted him.

“What’s the matter, old fellow? What are you doing, wandering around and wailing? Chasing away evil spirits?”

Even as the words left her mouth, she wished them back.

The cat had been lying in the same spot where Heather’s body had been found. Was his high-pitched wailing for the mistress that had been slain there?

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