Six

Here comes a candle to light you to bed, Here comes a chopper to chop off your head.

— Anonymous

Annie sat beside Jefferson Banning back in the drawing room after dinner, listening to him tell her yet another story. He’d had her laughing almost to the point of tears all through dinner, telling story after story, many with the punch line showing himself as the butt of the joke. She’d been enjoying herself so much that when the Peevers family said their chilly good-nights right after dessert, she could smile at them and sincerely wish them a good evening.

“... so there I was,” Jefferson was saying now, “knee-deep in bubbles, reading the directions again, and finally figuring out that I’d used dishwashing detergent instead of dishwasher detergent before I left the apartment to pick up a pizza for dinner. Big difference between the two products, if you’ve never tried it, believe me.”

“It was really that bad?” Annie asked, still chuckling over Jefferson’s description of the wall of suds that had nearly met him at the door when he got back from the shop with his pepperoni and double cheese pizza.

“Remember, I wanted to do it right, so I filled both cups inside the dishwasher to the brim with the stuff. Annie, honey, Vesuvius was a smaller eruption. I was still shoveling mountains of suds out of the kitchen an hour later, when my mother phoned to ask how I was doing my first night alone in my new bachelor pad. I swear the woman had this radar that alerted her every time her little darling screwed up.”

“What did you tell her?” Annie asked, holding her coffee cup just below her mouth and taking a quick look at Grady, who didn’t seem to think the story funny at all.

“I told her everything was just great, of course,” Jefferson said, then winced comically. “That’s when she told me she was calling from the car phone and she and Dad would be knocking on my door in five minutes, bringing me a housewarming gift.”

“Busted!” Annie said, shaking her head.

“Not really,” Jefferson said. “They were bringing me Mrs. Bateson, the family housekeeper, along with a huge picnic basket holding dinner for four. Mrs. B had the floor mopped up in no time—she’d brought a mop and bucket along with some other stuff, which I’d neglected to buy. Remember, I was fresh out of college. To me, having my own place meant I should have the world’s coolest stereo, a couch, a bed, a lava light, and that’s about all. So I was trying to clear the mess with bath towels. Lots of bath towels. And, since the pizza was already cold, besides having fallen out of my hands in my shock when I’d walked into the kitchen, the roasted chicken was pretty neat, too.”

“Do you always land on your feet?” Annie asked, as Grady got to his feet and walked over to pour himself a drink. He’d been drinking water all night, said no to coffee or an after-dinner drink, but now he was pouring himself a neat scotch. For some reason she didn’t want to investigate, this made her mood even brighter.

“Most times, I do,” Jefferson admitted. “Except, when Dad retired from the practice to sit on the federal bench, and my brother and I split up the practice between us, I drew the short straw and got Archie. Personally, I think Grey cheated, but I’ve never been able to prove it, and he refuses to testify under oath.”

Maisie came back into the room after having excused herself to repair her makeup, and Jefferson stood up quickly, saying he had to leave, as he was taking depositions in a civil case the next morning.

Looking to Maisie, who was making a beeline for the lawyer, and then to Jefferson, a big strong man who just now looked a little hunted, Annie also rose, saying, “Of course.”

She’d stretched out her leg at one point during dinner, only to come into contact with Maisie’s panty-hose-clad foot as the secretary reached out under the table to play footsie with Jefferson. Annie knew it had to be the lawyer, because he had the strangest expression on his face, as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t figure out exactly what. Maisie, who had been just about sitting on her spine across the table, straightened up for a moment, smiled knowingly at Annie. But by the time the second course was being served, she was sliding down again, obviously ready for another round of her little game.

Annie put out her hand, and Jefferson took it. “I can’t thank you enough for such a wonderful evening. I had been worried how it would go, being with the family for the first time, but you made it all so easy. Even enjoyable.”

Grady grumbled something under his breath, crossed one leg over the other, and sipped his scotch.

“Grady?” Jefferson said, turning to him, so that Grady stood up, took the lawyer’s hand. “I guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other these next few weeks, if Archie has anything to say about it. It can be a real bitch—excuse me, Annie—playing pawn to his king, but it pays the bills.”

“I’m pretty sure it does more than pay the bills, Jefferson,” Grady said, his smile wide, his tone friendly. “What do you guys get an hour? Six, seven hundred?”

“Higher,” the lawyer said, “and, sometimes, the odd free vegetarian meal as a bonus. Call me, and we’ll set up a golf date, all right? Maisie? It’s been... an experience.”

“Of course it has, honey,” Maisie chirped, preening. “It always is.”

Then Jefferson took his leave, and Annie didn’t think he’d noticed that Grady was still a little white around his mouth, and that there had been a small tic in his left temple as the two shook hands.

“You don’t like him,” Annie said, the moment Jefferson had gone. “Why?”

“I don’t know Banning well enough either to like or dislike him, although Maisie might want that job, right, Maisie? Now, Miss Kendall, what do you say we get us some air? Not you, Maisie,” he added quickly, as the secretary looked as if she wanted to join them. “You go on upstairs and get on the Internet, get me that information I asked for.”

“Oh, honey, I’m impressed. You’re so sexy when you slave-drive. You’ll get your information when I get to it, as usual,” the secretary said, looking down, frowning at the sight of the fingertips of one hand as she held it out in front of her. “I must do my hair, and give myself a manicure. Definitely.” She looked at Grady once more. “Priorities. It’s how I make your world go around so smoothly, honey.”

“Maisie,” Grady said, as Annie laughed, shaking his head in defeat. “Just once, won’t you humor me, let me think I’m your boss and you’re my employee?”

“Ha! Yeah, right. I’ll think about it, honey,” Maisie answered, then turned and walked out of the room, her backside twitching as she navigated in her high-heeled shoes.

“She can’t even make a decent cup of coffee, but we’d fall apart without her. Now, let’s get that air, all right?” Grady said, taking Annie’s elbow in preparation for walking her toward the French doors that led out onto a patio and the gardens beyond. Maybe he thought she wouldn’t go with him otherwise, or maybe he thought she couldn’t find the French doors on her own. Not that it mattered, because Annie rather liked the feel of his hand on her bare flesh.

She decided not to push Grady any more about Jefferson, even if it could be fun, and instead turned the conversation to her new “relatives” and what he might think about them.

“Your relatives?” Grady asked after she’d asked her question. “Jumping the gun, aren’t you? According to the game plan of this ridiculous house of cards Archie’s building, isn’t that still to be proved?”

“You know I can’t prove it,” Annie said, keeping her voice low even as they walked across the patio and down the steps to the garden. “But this is method acting, immersing myself in the role, living the part twenty-four-seven. All the best actors do it.”

“Probably all the best con artists, too,” Grady remarked, stopping to break off a white rose, strip it free of thorns, then hand it to her. Surprised, and rather touched, she took it, held it under her nose to sniff the fragrance. “Because normal people don’t answer personal ads where someone is asking you to audition to be their long-lost heir.”

Annie tipped up her chin, tossed the rose into the shrubbery. “And how do you know that? There could be dozens of us out there, finding our way home through the personal ads.” Then she let her chin drop. “Okay, okay, so that’s a stretch. It isn’t like us long-lost heirs have a club or anything, attend regular meetings, pay dues, even plan bus trips to the casinos in Atlantic City. But it could happen. Just because it isn’t happening in this case doesn’t mean it never does. Now, tell me what you think so far about the family. Remember, you did say we’d be working together.”

“I said that? Oh, I don’t think so,” Grady answered as they walked along, out of the garden, and out onto the wide sweep of lawn that stretched acres in front of them in three directions. The huge grounds had been well landscaped with a small boxwood maze, with small stands of trees here and there, with several seating groups, and not one but two gazebos. The whole place looked like something out of a planned English country estate. Not that Annie was paying much attention to the dusk-dim scenery at the moment.

Grady Sullivan was maddening! An extremely maddening man. Smart mouth, smart smile, too-smart twinkle in his gorgeous green eyes. The funny thing—not ha-ha funny, but weird funny—was that, handsome as Grady was, Jefferson Banning was even more handsome. Bordering on the gorgeous, when you got right down to it.

And yet she already knew she could only ever look at the handsome lawyer as a friend, someday maybe even a good friend. Whereas—to think “lawyerly”—she couldn’t look at Grady and his too-long sandy hair, the laugh lines around his eyes, the fullness of his smile, without wanting—now using Maisie’s terminology—to jump his bones.

She really hated that about Grady Sullivan.

Annie kicked at a stone that had dared to mar the plush green grass. “No, you didn’t say that. What you said was that I’m to stick to you like glue so you can baby-sit me, save me from my own idiocy.”

“I don’t think I used quite those words, but that sounds good. Which means, by the way, that I don’t want you dashing off to some love nest with our friendly lawyer.”

“Oh yeah? For the month, or ever?” Annie asked, because she couldn’t help herself.

Grady stopped walking, turned to her, took both of her hands in his. He was so much taller, and the sun had nearly disappeared, so that she had to look carefully to try to read the expression on his face.

“What?” she all but exploded after he just stood there, staring at her for long, uncomfortable moments. He just stood there, looking at her as if she were some new species of crawling insect or something, and rubbed his thumbs over the back of her hands, which sure wasn’t helping matters.

“I don’t know,” he said at last, shaking his head. She could hear the confusion in his voice, see it in his eyes. Along with another emotion that once again had her knees daring to do an impossible bend-over-backwards routine. “I make it a rule never to mix business with pleasure. I sure don’t get romantically involved with nutcases.”

“Meaning you’ll never kiss Archie? That... that seems reasonable,” Annie said, her voice coming out a little squeakily, much to her disgust.

“Damn, but you’re a pain in my backside,” Grady said, and the next thing Annie knew he was kissing her, and she was kissing him back for all she was worth.

There hadn’t been a cloud in the sky when they’d come outside, but suddenly Annie thought she heard thunder. She certainly could see the flash of white-hot lightning behind her closed eyes and feel the hot wind of an impending storm rush over her body, heating it inside and out.

He slanted his lips first one way, then the other, teasing her with his mouth, his tongue. His arms held her tightly, closely, but gently enough that she could free her own arms and wrap them around his neck as she pushed her body closer, closer.

The thunder crashed again, the sound sharp, like the breaking of glass.

Grady lifted his head, looked back toward the house, his muscles even more tense than they had been. “What was that?”

Annie, realizing what she had been about to say yes to, even before he’d asked, stepped back, ran a hand through her curls. “What was what? I didn’t hear anything.” Only the mental boom and blast of thunder, and the too-fast beating of her heart. That’s all.

Grady pointed, even as he took her hand and started back toward the house at a trot that, thanks to his long legs, had her running to keep up. “There, on the second floor,” he said. “See it? Third window from the left corner. It’s broken.”

Annie, still trying to catch her breath after Grady’s stirring kisses, and not at her best in three-inch heels, dared to take a quick peep upward as she ran. “Where? Oh, there. Ohmigod! There! That’s Archie’s rooms!”

She stopped, shocked, and Grady left her where she stood, running ahead, seemingly trying to set a new world record for the hundred-yard dash. Annie took two deep breaths, bent to take off her shoes, and set off after him.

Everyone in the house must have hit the second-floor hallway at the same time, some coming from their rooms, Annie and Grady having run up the front stairs.

“I heard a crash,” A.W. said, tightening the sash on what had to be the ugliest smoking jacket this side of any of the tuxedos worn at last year’s Grammy awards.

“He must have fallen, broken a hip,” Mitzi declared, still holding the book she’d been reading when she heard the crash, her index finger marking the page on the closed book. Annie could see the title: How to Be Your Own Financial Advisor. Interesting.

Junior and Daisy ran down the hallway, Junior’s mouth smeared with Killer Red lipstick, Daisy’s hot pink fur-trimmed peignoir looking as if she’d put it on backwards.

“Any special reason you’re just standing here?” Grady asked, as the four all but hugged either side of the hallway to let him past.

“Well, Dickens isn’t here, and...” A.W. shut his mouth and shrugged. “He locks his door, all right? Dad locks his door to keep us out at night. Dickens has the only key.”

Grady spat out a word that made Annie flinch, although it was sort of suitable, considering that Archie was, after all, the toilet-paper king. He then added, “Did anyone check the door? Are you sure it’s locked?”

“Dad wouldn’t like it if...” A.W. began, then shut up once more. Annie began to wonder if the man ever completed a sentence.

“I knocked one night,” Junior supplied helpfully, “and he sent me a note the next morning telling me one more stupid mistake like that and he’d have me neutered, then mount what he’d sliced off and hang it in the foyer of the plant. We don’t disturb Dad at night, Mr. Sullivan. Believe me.”

“I phoned Dickens’s room a few moments ago,” Mitzi said, in a voice that made this sort of lunacy sound almost reasonable. “I’m sure he’ll be here in his own good time. It’s not as if we can hear Archie crying out in pain.”

“Figures. The butler has his own telephone. I’m only surprised the bastard doesn’t have an unlisted number,” Grady said, and Annie nearly laughed out loud. But this was too serious for laughter. Archie’s window was broken, and it was terribly quiet in his rooms.

“Maybe he can’t call for help!” Daisy exclaimed as if reading Annie’s mind (now there was a frightening thought!). The blonde grabbed on to Junior, nearly climbing him as if he were a tree. “We only got back from dinner about a half hour ago, and we didn’t hear anything then. But then we heard a crash, didn’t we, Junie? A big crash! Maybe he’s fallen into a mirror and sliced his head off. Oh, Junie, maybe he’s dead!”

There was that swear word again, muttered under Grady’s breath, but Annie was sure she was the only one who’d heard it either time. “Look, we’re wasting time here,” she said, stepping past Grady, who appeared to be prepared to launch himself against the door, breaking it down. “How about I try the knob, okay? It could be open.”

It wasn’t, and Grady stepped as far back as he could, turned to one side, and prepared to run across the hallway, knock the door down. Annie privately thought he’d break his shoulder on the first try, as this was an old house, and it was a thick, solid door, but the look in Grady’s eyes didn’t lend itself to her wanting to point that out to him.

Grady was saved from possible physical harm by the arrival of Dickens, who was dressed in knife-pleated black slacks and a black turtleneck sweater that hugged his flat midsection. Although, at first glance, he looked immaculate, Annie noticed small colored stains on his cuff, and the smell of oil paint hung around him. Clearly the man was off duty at this hour, and just as clearly he appeared to be less than happy he’d been disturbed.

“I was concentrating on my latest painting,” he announced, looking at Annie, seemingly aware of her scrutiny. “Everyone should have a hobby. Now, if you’ll all just stand back?” He looked at the small crowd in the hallway, then extracted a key from his pocket and inserted it in the keyhole.

Grady waited only until the key turned in the lock, then pushed Dickens out of the way and stepped up to the door, a pistol Annie had somehow missed as she’d run her hands up and down his back appearing in his right hand. “Nobody comes in until I give the all clear, understand?”

Considering the fact that A.W. had stepped behind his wife at the sight of Grady’s weapon, and that Daisy had fainted dead away in Junior’s arms, Annie didn’t think Grady had much to worry about if he was afraid a hysterical gaggle of loving children might try to trample him to get to their dearest, darling daddy.

Grady pushed the door back slowly and carefully, then stepped inside more quickly than Annie could imagine. The weapon was now held in both hands as he stretched his arms out in front of him, fanning them back and forth with each sharp turn of his body, just like in the movies.

Then the door closed, softly, and Annie and the Peeverses and Dickens were left in the hallway. They all seemed to have mutually agreed to have a moment of silence, just in case Archie had gone to his final reward. The silence was deafening, and then unexpectedly shattered.

“What’s going on? Why are you all standing out here?”

Mitzi shrieked, Annie flinched, and the imperturbable Dickens turned and bowed to Muriel Peevers. “Your father may have met with a misadventure,” he said, then added, “or Mr. Sullivan is in the process of making a total ass of himself and getting himself fired. We are awaiting his reappearance to be sure.”

Muriel pulled the edges of her wilting-lilac-dyed chenille robe close against her thin breast even as she attempted to shield everyone’s view of her inexpertly rolled pink curlers with her other hand. She suddenly looked small and lost and very afraid. “Daddy could be hurt?”

“A window broke,” Annie said, putting an arm around the shaking woman, trying to comfort her. “We really don’t know if anything’s wrong. Mr. Sullivan is just being careful, doing his job.” She said those last words while glaring at Dickens, who only shrugged and began picking at a bit of dried paint on his sleeve.

The door opened and all conversation stopped as Grady reappeared. “He’s all right,” he said first, looking at Annie. “Shaken up, but all right. You can go in, but don’t touch anything. Dickens?” The butler came to attention. “He wants you to call Dr. Sandborn.”

“He needs Sandy? Oh, God—Daddy!” Muriel cried out, rushing forward so quickly that Annie couldn’t stop her. The rest of the Peevers clan followed her, leaving Annie and Grady alone in the hallway. She watched as he replaced his weapon in the shoulder holster beneath his suit jacket. He rubbed a hand over his face, almost as if he was scrubbing it clean.

“So?” she asked at last. “Are you going to tell me what happened? Did he fall? Is he all right?”

“That would depend,” Grady answered. “He was on the floor next to the bed, his face as white as a sheet. Just cowering there, his hands over his head, his knees drawn up, his backside stuck in the air. Not a pretty sight, I can tell you. He was shaking so badly I knew he was breathing, so I quickly checked the dressing room and bath, but he’s the only one in there. I put him in a chair because he won’t get back into bed. Not that I can blame him. Poor old Archie. He’s had quite a shock.”

“Why?” Annie tried to look past Grady, but the anteroom was so large, and the the bedroom itself even larger, and darker, that she couldn’t see anything but the glowing white-blond of Daisy’s hair in the light of the single lamp that had been lit.

“Take a look,” Grady said, “but like I said to the others, don’t touch anything.”

Still looking at Grady, Annie slowly walked into the antechamber, then passed by the deep red velvet curtains and fully into the bedchamber.

There was Archie, slumped in a chair beside the fire, Muriel kneeling at his feet, holding his hands.

There was Junior, his arm tucked protectively around Daisy, his hand low enough to squeeze her bottom, which he was doing.

There was A.W., looking at Mitzi.

There was Mitzi, her mouth pursed and twisted to one side, looking at Archie’s bed.

Annie looked at Archie’s bed, too.

And saw the short, deadly crossbow arrow stuck into the headboard, just above the pillows.

Annie, her stomach turning over inside her as all the little hairs on her arms and legs prickled and stood up straight, borrowed Grady’s swear word and used it herself.