French Silk(92)

"Until I'm indicted, I shouldn't have to worry about defending myself. The judicial procedure—"

"Screw procedure! Talk to me!"

"Mr. Cassidy?" The wavering voice came from Mary Catherine, who was hovering in the dining-room archway. "Why are you shouting at Claire? You're not going to take her away, are you?"

"Of course not, Mama!" Claire exclaimed.

"Because I really can't let you take her."

Claire moved quickly to her mother's side and placed an arm around her shoulders. "Mr. Cassidy and I were just … debating something."

"Oh."

Where was Harry? Claire asked herself. Why wasn't she with her mother? "Everything's fine, Mama. I promise. Are you feeling well?"

Mary Catherine formed a tremulous smile. "We're having stuffed pork chops for dinner. Doesn't that sound delicious? I must ask them to trim all the fat off Aunt Laurel's. That's the only way she'll eat pork, you know. Otherwise she gets indigestion. Oh, forgive me, Mr. Cassidy, for discussing such an indelicate matter in mixed company."

Cassidy cleared his throat. "Quite all right."

"Aunt Laurel wants to get some cuttings from the rosebushes here to plant in the courtyard. Wouldn't that be lovely, Claire Louise?"

"Yes, Mama. Lovely."

Mary Catherine walked past Claire to the coat tree near the door, where Cassidy's sports coat was hanging. She removed something from the pocket of her skirt and slipped it into the breast pocket of the jacket. Without acknowledging her strange action, she continued the conversation. "Claire dear, your face is flushed."

"It's hot outside."

"Are you perspiring, dear? That's not at all ladylike. Perhaps you should take a bath and change before dinner."

"I plan to, Mama. I was just on my way up."

"You work much too hard. Aunt Laurel and I were talking about it this afternoon over tea. You really should take care." Mary Catherine stroked her cheek lovingly before drifting upstairs and out of sight. The instant they heard her bedroom door close, Cassidy moved to the coat tree and reached into the breast pocket of his coat.

"Well, I'll be damned."

"What is it?" He held up a gold fountain pen.

"Is it yours?"

With a rueful smile he said, "I noticed it missing the afternoon I arrived, after I'd left my jacket hanging here for a while. I figured somebody had stolen it, although I couldn't imagine who would want to. It isn't an expensive pen, but valuable to me because it was a gift from my folks, and both of them are deceased."

Claire pressed her fingertips against her lips and turned her back to him. She leaned against one of the tall, narrow windows that flanked the front door, resting her forehead against the glass, which had retained some coolness during the sweltering afternoon.

Cassidy moved to stand close behind her. "Hey, it's no big deal, Claire."

His voice was soft, gentle, confidence inspiring. When he placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him, she was tempted to rest her head against his chest as she had the window. It would be a tremendous relief to finally unburden herself and tell him everything. "Oh, Cassidy, I wish…"

"What?" he probed gently.

She rolled her head across her shoulders. Naturally she couldn't say what she really wanted to, so she said instead, "I wish it weren't so hot. I wish it would rain. I wish we were finished here so I could go home and restore my office and home, which I'm certain the police left in shambles."

She bit her lower lip to stop tears of frustration and fear. "I wish I'd never heard of Jackson Wilde. I wish you'd have told me about your fountain pen. I could have explained days ago."

"I got it back and that's all that matters. Forget it."

But she couldn't forget it and felt compelled to explain her mother's actions. "See, sometimes Mama takes things. She's not stealing because she doesn't realize she's doing anything wrong. She's just 'borrowing.' She never fails to return whatever it is she's taken. It's harmless and innocent, really."

"Hush, Claire." He pushed his fingers up through her hair and whisked a kiss across her lips. "I believe you."

But when he ducked his head for a deeper kiss, she pushed him away and gazed into his eyes. "No, you don't, Cassidy." Suddenly they were no longer talking about her mother or the fountain pen. Claire slowly shook her head. "You don't believe me at all."





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Chapter 18

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Yasmine left before dinner. The empty place at the table aroused curiosity, which Claire satisfied without going into details. "Yasmine had an appointment in New Orleans tonight, but she's making a quick round trip. She'll be back early tomorrow morning."

Leon was excited about the photographs he'd taken that day. His enthusiasm, heightened by several glasses of excellent dinner wine, prompted him to wax eloquent throughout the meal. He lavished his captive audience with ribald stories about the famous and would-be famous who frequented Manhattan's ever-changing hotspots.

"Of course it's not like in the old days when Studio 54 was in its heyday," he remarked wistfully. "It's a shame that, what with AIDS and drug awareness, no one really parties anymore."