Nothing. Julianne found nothing on the Internet about an artist from Promontory Island. How else could she research? Entering the first and last letters of a name was too vague for the search engine to turn up anything but millions of possibilities to wade through. She’d searched specific names like Spirit Inn, and other geographical places nearby, trying to narrow down the numbers, but…nothing. And she assumed there were many artists who lived or had lived on the island, not just the mysterious H____H, if, in fact, those were the right letters. K and R still might be right, after all.
What could fit? She logged on to a baby-name site and scoured the lists for combinations of H, K and R. Hank. Harper. Heath. Hersh. Hitch. Homer. Hugh. Hutch. She wrinkled her nose. She didn’t know why, but she thought the artist was a woman. There was a certain delicacy to the lines.
So…women’s names. Hannah. Heather. A short list.
The double-H names, then: Heath, Hersh, Hugh and Hannah. But those were all first names, not last. Too many possibilities for last names.
She drummed her fingers on the mouse pad and frowned at the monitor. If the asking price hadn’t been so high, she wouldn’t have been so curious. But to charge over twenty dollars for what amounted to a hand-drawn postcard made her wonder.
She really had way too little to do.
She logged off the Internet, played a few hands of solitaire then shut down the computer. Time for dinner. How would their conversation be tonight? Tense? Relaxed? Stilted? Would they begin to share information? Most likely he would draw information out of her, and she would be left empty-handed. She figured he revealed nothing accidentally. But she’d lived for too many years with secretive men not to have figured out when she was being ignored or patronized.
Julianne headed into the dining room then came to a quick stop inside the door. Only one place setting.
Mrs. Moody swept into the room.
“I’ll be alone?” Julianne asked.
“Mr. Zach had to leave.”
“The island?”
“Yes.” She set down the tray, then moved a bowl of beef stew and basket of bread onto the tabletop.
“I didn’t hear the helicopter.”
“He went by boat.”
Julianne mulled that over. She hadn’t considered he would travel much by boat, but she should have. “When will he be back?”
“He wasn’t sure.”
“Tonight?”
“No. Tomorrow afternoon at the earliest. May I get you anything else?”
Answers. “When he’s not going to be here for dinner, I’d really prefer to eat with you and Mr. Moody,” she said. “I get lonely here all by myself. I’d appreciate your including me at the kitchen table.”
“All right.”
“And I’d like to be given some tasks to do. I’m not used to sitting on my hands. It’s a big house. Surely I could help.”
Mrs. Moody nodded. “I’ll find something.”
“Thank you.”
“Enjoy your dinner.” She left, as ghostlike as always.
Maybe she wasn’t real, Julianne thought, grinning at the fanciful idea. Stir-crazy, that’s what she was becoming. And she probably had months more of this ahead of her?
She finished the delicious meal and returned the dishes, then washed them. The piano called her. At least that was something positive. Her skills were sharpening, even if the selection of music was skimpy.
After an hour of playing Brahms and Handel—well out of her comfort zone—she wandered down the hall to the media room, looked behind her, then walked past it to the next door. She wrapped her hand around the doorknob to Zach’s locked room, the inner sanctum, the forbidden place. The knob didn’t budge.
She almost thumped a fist on the wooden door. What is in there? Why the big secret? She couldn’t imagine Jamey sending her to someone who was breaking the law, not given her past, so what could it be?
Julianne heard footsteps from upstairs, as she had the other night. Mrs. Moody’s steps were too ethereal for them to be hers, yet they also seemed too quiet to belong to Mr. Moody, or any man.
This time the person continued to walk at a steady pace, reaching a spot and turning around, repeating the steps.
Julianne glanced in both directions, listened for any sound indicating the Moodys were nearby, then she crept down the hall and made a right turn toward one of the guest rooms. The sound overhead increased slightly in volume.
She tiptoed the rest of the way, to the bottom of the stairs, toward the other tower room. Louder, heavier footsteps, although not truly loud nor heavy, except in comparison. Someone was in the tower room.
Elspeth?
Julianne laughed nervously, then clamped a hand over her mouth. Perspiration glued her sweater to her body. She tried the door handle. Locked.
As if she would’ve opened the door and gone up the stairs. Right.
The sounds stopped, then something scraped along the floor. She jumped, pressed her back against the stone wall, cold seeping inside her, slithering through her entire body. Another scrape, then silence. Complete silence.
Outside, the dogs began to howl. Julianne shoved away from the wall, hurried down the hallway, turned and raced past the locked chamber, the media room, the living room. Across the entry, through the dining room, into the kitchen.
She zoomed up her stairwell, and into her room. She shut the door, leaned against it. Okay. O-kay. Her feet slipped out from under her a little. She dug in her toes. Caught her breath. Closed her eyes.
The dogs howled again. She felt her way to the window, knelt on the seat and peered outside. Darkness greeted her, not even silhouettes of trees or rocks, because clouds blocked the moon.
She felt silly at her unexpected shivering. She wanted to go home—or rather to wherever her new home was going to be. She wanted to eat at a Mexican restaurant and taste the salted rim of a limey margarita, to dance at a loud and crowded club, to shop for something frivolous, like long, gaudy earrings and fake-jewel-encrusted sandals.
And this was only day seven.
Mrs. Moody set a can of paste wax and a few rags in Julianne’s hands the next morning and pointed her to the living room. Zach had showed her how to put a CD in the stereo in the media room then turn switches to get the music to other rooms, so she piped tunes into the living room while she worked. The Rolling Stones gave her a good beat to polish wood by. Every so often one of the Moodys poked their head in the room. Determined to win them over, she invited them to dance, received a slight smile and shake of the head in response, then off they would go again.
She cherished those small smiles. One of the things she’d realized about herself over the past few months when she’d been a waitress, while also being a spy, was that she accommodated people well because she liked to be liked, although she hadn’t been a particularly good waitress. Her distraction level was too high to remember the details that good servers recall and do well.
However, she felt different with Zach. She wanted to push him for details, because she wanted to understand him. And she nudged Mr. and Mrs. Moody because they intrigued her, as well.
After lunch Mr. Moody announced he was taking the boat to the mainland to pick up Zach. Mrs. Moody always took an hour’s rest after lunch. Julianne was at loose ends. She’d finished the polishing, had checked her e-mail. Maybe she would take a walk with the dogs.
She went to her room for her jacket, spotted Archie and Belle scampering across the bluff, and wondered again why they’d howled last night—if it was them. She hurried downstairs to catch up with them, then decided to take dog biscuits as a get-to-know-them bribe. As she closed the biscuit tin she heard a thump, not from directly overhead but farther away. The tower room again?
Daytime seemed a better—safer?—time to explore the bumps in the night. She eased down the hallway, stopping out of habit at the locked door. This time the knob turned.
Startled at the door popping open, Julianne went rigid as she contemplated her next move. Mrs. Moody should be in her room for another forty-five minutes or so. Julianne looked both ways then pushed the door open farther with her fingertip. She peered inside.
The large room looked like a command center. Several computers, monitors and printers sat on desks. A white-erase board was filled with the same kind of codes Julianne had been entering in the computer for Zach. Heart pounding, she stepped into the room. Photos were tacked on three walls, people of all ages and race. There didn’t seem to be a unifying element tying them together, at least not physically. Straight ahead were just a few photos, thumbtacked to a wall covered in cork. To her right many were on display, maybe a hundred. To her left she counted thirty-two. Broken into categories, she decided, but for what?
She zeroed in on one photo. The woman looked familiar. Julianne took another step forward, then another, drawing closer. The woman was in her early twenties, and beautiful—
The same scraping sound from overhead jarred her again. Panicked at the thought of being caught, she hurried out of the room and closed the door quietly, her hands—her whole body—shaking. She moved away from the room, but not toward the tower, ducking into the media room instead where she dropped onto a couch and sat quivering.
What was Zach involved in? Did Jamey know?
What could all those photos represent? Who was the woman? Why would she be familiar? Why did a helicopter come and go? Why was he so mysterious?
Why had he said he was keeping her in the dark for her own protection, not his?
Agitated, she decided to go for a walk, not with the dogs, after all, but into town, the distance giving her time to calm down. She almost ran down the road then realized she hadn’t left Mrs. Moody a note saying where she’d gone. Although she carried her cell phone, she didn’t want to awaken the housekeeper, so she ignored her breach in etiquette and would apologize later.
As Julianne hit the bottom of the hill, a speedboat was headed away from the island. Lil strolled up from the dock, a bag in her hands. She waited for Julianne to join her, then they walked to If You’re Desperate together.
“Mail,” Lil said, holding up the bag.
“Are you the postmistress here, too?”
“I’m authorized.” Lil studied her. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Julianne laughed, the sound wobbly. “Maybe.”
Lil’s brows lifted high.
“Just noises. Creaky old castle stuff.” She looked away. “Do you believe in ghosts?”
“I haven’t had any personal experience.”
Everyone shut doors in Julianne’s face by not really answering questions. It was frustrating. “How long have you lived here?” she asked Lil as they stepped into the store.
“A couple of years.”
Julianne would have expected it to be longer. “Why here?”
“Why not here?” She smiled just a little.
“Do you make a living?”
“As much of one as I need to.”
Julianne sighed. “I guess I need to stop asking questions.”
“You do seem overly curious.”
“I have a naturally curious personality.”
Lil laughed. “Yes. Have a seat. Can I get you something?”
She realized the knots had almost loosened in her stomach. “Anything sweet.”
“Freshly baked oatmeal-and-chocolate-chip cookies.” She slid two on a napkin in front of Julianne. “Was there something in particular you wanted?”
“I was wondering if you carry books or magazines?” She took a bite of cookie and savored it.
“Got a few books but not for sale. More of a lending library. You’re welcome to borrow some.” Lil pointed to a shelf behind Julianne then opened the bag of mail and started sorting.
“Thanks.” She wandered over to look at the titles. Now that she knew she wouldn’t get information out of Lil no matter how hard she tried, she wondered what to talk about. “How much rain should I expect during the winter?”
“Enough to keep you housebound quite a bit. You’ll probably want to take the boat over and do some shopping for reading material, and anything else that might help keep you occupied.”
Out the window Julianne spotted a boat headed to the dock. Zach and Mr. Moody. She could hitch a ride back up the hill with them…
Her heart began to race. Would Zach know what she’d done?
She needed to calm down or he, with his above-average observation skills, would know she was guilty of something.
“Is there mail for Zach?” she asked Lil, figuring if she had something to do, she could stop thinking about what she’d done. “I could take it to him.”
Lil grabbed a couple of envelopes. “I’ll walk with you.”
Zach waved as they approached. He met them halfway as Mr. Moody got into the Jeep and waited.
“I walked down,” Julianne said before he asked. She paused, getting caught up in those bright blue eyes keying on her, making her nervous. “I, um, could use a ride back.”
“Sure.” He studied her in the same way Lil had, then he glanced at the older woman. “How’s everything?”
“Good.” She passed him the mail. “You?”
“Not bad. Anything new?”
“Nothing,” Lil said. “Nothing at all.”
Something passed between them, something tangible, like a private code given and received, and an understanding. Julianne felt left out. Did it have something to do with all those photos tacked on the wall in the secret room. Was Lil in on it, too—whatever it was?
Julianne stared at the back of Zach’s head as they rode to the castle. He held himself stiffly. In profile she saw his jaw clench and release, clench and release. He didn’t even seem aware of her, he’d sunk so deeply into himself. An urge to hug him, to comfort him, swept through her. She wanted to reach out and stroke the back of his head, down his neck, across his shoulders.
She wanted to bring him peace.
And she felt overwhelmingly guilty about having gone into his sanctuary, even as she struggled to remember where she’d seen the woman in the photo.
Julianne was not a devious person. She’d always believed herself trustworthy, but entering a room she’d been told specifically to stay out of proved she couldn’t be trusted, after all. It shocked her.
After they climbed out of the Jeep, Zach left her without a word. Confused, and a little hurt, she followed but he was already out of sight. She wandered into the living room. On the piano bench was a package, wrapped in brown paper and tied with a string. She looked around. Was it for her?
She untied the string. Inside the bag was a stack of sheet music of all kinds—Disney tunes, country, movie music, rags, old standards. Her eyes stung. She’d broken his trust, and he’d bought her sheet music.
She drew the package against her chest, her heart pitter-patting, warming her. Should she tell him what she’d done? Yes. She needed to be an adult and take responsibility for her actions. After dinner, she decided, when he was well fed and relaxed.
In the meantime she would sort through the music and choose something to practice.
“Julianne.”
Zach stood in the doorway.
“Zach!” She hurried toward him. “Thank you so much. You have no idea—”
“Come with me, please.”
His expression was one she hadn’t seen before, not exactly emotionless, but definitely cool. Distant. She followed him down the hall. He stopped at the door to his secret room, turned the knob and pushed it open, waited for her enter. Her pulse thundered in her ears.
He knew. Somehow he knew.
She made her feet move, and entered the room. He shut the door quietly behind them. Too quietly. Tension filled the air like a living thing. Accusation came from every pair of eyes in every photo on the walls.
“I asked one thing of you, Julianne. One. To stay out of this room. You disobeyed.”
“I was going to tell you tonight. I—”
He made a gesture, silencing her.
“Your trespassing has consequences, huge ones. Far reaching.” He shoved his hands through his hair. “I can’t believe you put me in this spot.”
“I don’t even know what all this means,” she said, sweeping the room with her gaze, again trying to make sense of the photographs. She wondered if he had a camera in the room, if that was how he’d known.
She took a step toward him, then it struck her who the woman was. She sought the photo again. She’d seen the woman on television last month, a kidnap victim who’d been brutally murdered.
She took a few steps back. Fear struck her, lodging her heart in her throat. She shook her head. “I’ll…I’ll leave the Prom. I’ll find my own way.” She kept moving toward the door. Where could she go? How could she get off the island?
His eyes narrowed. “You recognize someone on the wall.”
“No, I—”
“You do.” He moved, blocking her exit. “Who?”
She shook her head again.
“Don’t compound the damage you’ve done with more lies.”
She pointed. “Her, all right? Her.” She tried to inch her way around him.
“You’re afraid of me,” he said, as if surprised. As if she had no reason. “You think I had something to do with her kidnapping? Her murder?”
“Did you?”
“No. And you’re just going to have to trust me on that.”
“How can I?”
“Because I say so.”
“Because you say so?” An almost hysterical laugh escaped her, small and shaky. “I’m sorry I violated your trust, but—”
“Sorry? Yes, I’m sure you are, and about to become more so.” He put a hand under her chin and lifted her face toward him. “Because now you have to marry me.”