Because You're Mine(36)

He grinned. “I’d like to have seen her face when she saw you. My mother looked a bit like the gal in that picture. The Kavanagh men seem to chase after the skirts who resemble her, and you’re a dead ringer.”

She poured the coffee into cups and put them on a silver tray. She wished she could put her shoes on. It was going to be a long afternoon.





Sixteen


The silence in the parlor was as suffocating as the inky darkness outside the window. Alanna sneaked a glance at her watch. It wasn’t even nine. She stifled a yawn and wondered where Barry’s parents were going to sleep. Maybe they were expecting to sleep in her room. If so, what would she do if Barry expected her to move into his room? She was worn out from the grilling Patricia had put her through and only wanted to fall into oblivion, not deal with what had happened between them earlier in the day.

She still needed to talk to Barry about his mother’s misconceptions.

Patricia stood. “I think we’ll head for bed.” Without offering any acknowledgement to Alanna, she held out her hand to her husband. “Come along, Richard.”

He rose obediently, but his gaze lingered on Alanna. She wished she could believe he saw her only as his new daughter-in-law, but after Grady’s comments and Patricia’s rage, she wondered if he saw her as a schemer as well.

“Where are they staying?” she asked Barry.

“They have a suite in the tower wing,” he said. “You haven’t been over there yet.”

“Is there room for my band there?” Not that her in-laws would welcome her intrusion.

He shook his head. “It’s just one bedroom, living room, bathroom, and small kitchenette. A self-contained suite.”

There was so much of this huge place Alanna hadn’t seen. She was going to have to go exploring at the first opportunity. The big old house whispered of secrets, and she suddenly couldn’t go to bed without clearing the darkness from her brain. She needed her nightly walk. Mostly, she just wanted out of the oppressive atmosphere his parents had brought with them.

She stood. “I believe I’ll take a stroll.”

Barry was pulling out his laptop, but he paused to glance up. “I’d better go with you.”

“You should be getting your work done. I’ll be fine. I won’t go by the lagoon.”

He frowned. “Put on bug spray. The mosquitoes will carry you off.” He put his nose back toward the computer screen.

Through the screen door she could hear the crickets and katydids and some other sound she couldn’t identify. Barry had once said something about tree frogs. Perhaps that was the strange, almost musical tone she heard.

She spritzed herself with the bug spray she found on a shelf in the entry, then flipped on the porch light. Almost at once, moths and other flying insects raced for the dim glow. She stepped through the creaking screen door onto the porch. The moistness of the night breeze touched her skin with a refreshingly clean touch.

She paused on the top step while her eyes adjusted to the dark ahead of her in the yard. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea, at least not without a flashlight. She wouldn’t be able to see her hand in front of her face. She started to retreat for a flashlight when the moon came out from behind the clouds and touched the trees and shrubs with a faint glow.

Good. The thought of going back inside didn’t appeal. She stepped down onto the brick walk and walked along the flowerbeds in front of the mansion. In the night, she couldn’t see the peeling paint or crumbling brick. She could almost imagine she was a Southern belle strolling the yard in her hoop skirt.

She heard the sound of a motor, then headlamps swept the grass before the vehicle stopped in the laneway. She paused and strained to see in the dark. The lights went out, a door opened, and a man emerged from the shadows. She took a step back until he drew near enough that she recognized the police investigator, Detective Adams.

“Is there something new in the case, Detective?” she asked, brushing a mosquito from her arm.

He stopped two feet from her. “I hear Jesse Hawthorne is coming to work for you.”

“Righto. As our percussionist.”

Adams switched his toothpick to the other side of his mouth. “I want you to keep an eye on Hawthorne. See if he’ll open up to you. Trust makes people want to confess sometimes.”

“He doesn’t remember,” she reminded the detective.

His teeth flashed white in the dark. “So he says. I’m not sure I buy it. And why did he even take drumming lessons? Our psychologist says sometimes people deal with guilt by taking on the persona of the one they killed. He might be trying to become Liam Connolly.”

Chills rippled down her back and gooseflesh rose on her arms. “That would make him flipping crazy.”

“Like I said, keep an eye on him. If he’s really trying to slip into your husband’s shoes, he’ll cozy up to you.”

“Could someone else have planted that bomb?” she asked. “Just before my wedding, you mentioned Jesse might have enemies. Maybe someone was trying to kill him.”

The detective shrugged. “I’m checking out every angle. He was fired for sexual harassment. The victim might have hated him enough to hire someone to snuff him out.”

Acid burned her throat. A man like that lived while Liam had died. Life wasn’t fair. “You have to find out who did this.”