Chapter 11

I ran into the empty corridor and rushed toward the nearest stairs. In this vast house a dozen people must be moving about, summoned by the clamor, yet corridors and rooms seemed ominously empty. As though only I could hear that terrible, shrilling alarm.

It was coming, I realized, from the direction of the art gallery at the other end of the house. When I reached the lower hall, I saw light from the offices cutting through an open door, and I ran past Myra’s desk into Ross’s office. He was there, and so was Jarrett Nichols, but if either of them heard that terrible ringing, they gave no sign.

Ross, fully dressed, lay slumped across his desk, while Jarrett, in a terry robe, stood beside him, a sheet of notepaper in his hand. He stared at me as I came into the room, and I had never seen him look so desperately grim.

“I just found him.” As he spoke, Jarrett thrust the sheet of paper beneath an engagement book on Ross’s desk. “Sharon, I’m afraid he’s gone. I’m going to try mouth-to-mouth. Help me get him out of that chair.”

Together we managed to lower Ross to the floor. I was too numb and unbelieving to do anything but what I was told. Jarrett scribbled a number on a pad and handed it to me.

“Call this doctor,” he ordered, and knelt beside Ross’s prostrate body.

I hardly knew what I was doing as I dialed the number. And all the while the hideous clamor of the alarm bell seemed to go on and on. Then, just as a sleepy voice answered on the line, the sound stopped with an abruptness that left the silence ringing.

Since I was using Ross Logan’s name, there was no question but that the doctor would come as soon as he could get here. I set the phone down just as Jarrett looked up at me.

“It’s no use,” he said. “He’s gone.” He rose and went to Ross’s desk, where papers lay scattered.

Still numb with shock, I knelt beside my husband and touched his shoulder, half expecting him to respond to me. His expression was contorted, as though he had died in a moment of great distress. Only a short while ago I had loved this man, depended upon him, and trusted him. Yet during the last days, even the last hours, all that had gone out of me, and kneeling here beside him, I could feel nothing. It was only numbness, of course. Feeling would come later—a sense of loss and sorrow.

Jarrett had begun to gather and stack the papers across which Ross had fallen. “Before the police come,” he said.

I echoed the word dully. “Police?”

“He died unattended. The doctor will report this.”

“Then should you touch his desk? Won’t the police want everything left as it was?”

He paid no attention, but took an empty folder from a drawer, thrust the stack of papers into it.

“Remember,” he said, “you know nothing about these.”

I came to life a little. “I don’t understand. Why are you putting Ross’s papers away?”

“It’s only for the time being. I can’t explain everything now, Sharon. It’s too complicated. I’ll tell you later.”

“Tell me now. Tell me what happened to Ross.”

Without answering, Jarrett went to the phone, and a moment later he was talking to the police. Next he telephoned the gatehouse and spoke to the guard who was posted there. When he’d questioned him about the alarm, he explained that Mr. Logan had had an accident.

“Why did the alarm go off?” I asked when he hung up.

“They don’t seem to know. Sit down, Sharon—you’re looking shaky.”

He was clearly shaken himself, for all his control, and when I didn’t move he picked up the folder of papers and carried it into his own office.

Almost without thought, I went to the desk and drew out the sheet I’d seen Jarrett slip beneath Ross’s engagement book. Something was wrong here, and I had to know what it was. I could tell as I folded it into the pocket of my robe that the note was on Poinciana note-paper. There was no time to examine it, however, before Jarrett was back.

“Gretchen must be told,” he said. “This shouldn’t be done by phone, but I can’t send you, Sharon.”

“I’ll go,” I said. “I can manage.”

There was no need. Even as I spoke, Gretchen burst into the office, still in pajamas, a gown clutched about her.

“What’s happening?” she demanded. “The alarm woke me and I went down to the gallery. But no one was there, so I turned it off and came along here.”

“It’s your father, Gretchen,” Jarrett said.

She looked at him, and then at me, saw the direction of my eyes, and came around the desk. Her cry was one of true anguish as she dropped to the floor and tried to rouse him, calling to him, pleading for him to answer.

Jarrett raised her gently and took her to a chair. “You have to face this, Gretchen. We’ve called Dr. Lorrimer, and the police as well. And I’ve notified the gatehouse. They don’t know who set off the alarm. Guards are searching the grounds now. Shall I phone your rooms for Vasily to come?”

Gretchen stared at him blankly, emotion draining out of her. “Vasily’s not there. He must not have come to bed at all last night.” She broke off, trying to get herself in hand. “Tell me what happened.”

I still wanted to know that myself, and I sat down beside Gretchen.

“Your father called me on the phone just a short time ago and asked me to come here at once,” Jarrett said. “He told me it couldn’t wait until morning. So I came as fast as I could—and found him slumped across his desk. I’d barely stepped into the office when the alarm started. Sharon heard the ringing and came. She called the doctor, while I tried to revive him. I don’t know what happened, Gretchen. He may have felt a heart attack coming on when he phoned me. He was upset about something.”

Gretchen started to speak, and he stopped her.

“Before anyone comes—is there anything you know about this?”

A strange question to ask, I thought, as I saw her bristle.

“What should I know? You’re the one who upset him badly with that row you had. You and—and her. He’s had nothing but pain and disappointment from Sharon!”

That hadn’t been the way she had talked to me about her father in the library. But now she was growing excited.

“He’s had too much from both of you! And I’m going to tell the doctor that. Believe me, I am!”

Jarrett answered her quietly. “You’ll need to get yourself in hand, Gretchen, before anyone comes. You know as well as I do how explosive anything that’s said here now can be. It won’t help if you fly off with wild charges. What we need to know is the truth. If there is something you know about this, you’d better tell us now. About what shocked him and brought on this attack.”

She shrank into her chair, her anger evaporating. “I don’t know anything about it. How should I?”

I wondered uneasily about Jarrett’s insistent probing. Was she trying to protect Vasily in some way by accusing us? Her husband—who had every reason to quarrel with Ross—would be in the clear if we were to blame. Now, at least, the detectives would be called off from their investigation of Vasily, and he would no longer be held to a grim bargain by Ross Logan.

Jarrett went to the coffee maker in a corner of the office and brought us each a cup of hot coffee. I warmed my hands around the china cup, wondering if the chill would ever go out of me. Nothing would ever be the same again. Not for me, not for Gretchen, or even for Jarrett. Allegra would be saved from the fate that had awaited her. Strange that Ross’s death should bring hope to so many people. But I couldn’t deal with that now. I couldn’t even assimilate the fact that he was dead. At any moment he would surely open his eyes and take up his life as the strong, dynamic man we had all known. It was he who should be giving orders in this crisis, not any of us.

The sheet of notepaper seemed to burn in my pocket, but I dared not take it out and examine it, though I had a strong feeling that it would tell me something—something that ought to be known, and which Jarrett had instinctively tried to hide.

As though the intensity of my thoughts touched him, he set down his cup and went casually to Ross’s desk, where he moved the engagement book an inch or two. I saw him freeze for an instant. Then he looked directly at me. I stared back, willing myself not to let my eyes falter, while unspoken accusations leapt between us.

Gretchen suddenly began to cry. She wept like a child—wildly and with abandon, and I wished that I could cry in the same way. During the last few days I had seemed to weep easily and often. Yet now, when there was terrible cause, no tears came.

Jarrett let her cry. He left the desk to stand before me. “Give it to me,” he said softly. “It doesn’t concern you.”

Once more, I managed to meet his eyes. “I will not,” I told him.

The gray, shaken look was still upon him. “Be careful of the damage you may do,” he told me. “It will be better for everyone if you burn that note without reading it.”

Were these Ross’s last words that burned in my pocket? What damning things might he have written? But I didn’t know yet what I would do with the note—except that I couldn’t do as Jarrett asked. It was time for the terrible secrets that had haunted this house to come into the open. That one thing I knew.

“I wonder why Mrs. Broderick isn’t here?” I asked. “She should have heard the alarm, like the rest of us.”

Gretchen looked up woefully. “She left last evening with Susan to visit a sister in Boca Raton. She told me they would come home today.”

For the first time I missed the presence of Ross’s efficient housekeeper. But at least others of the staff were about, including the reliable Albert, who had chauffeured me only yesterday afternoon. He came in, bringing with him the doctor—a slightly stooped, elderly man, with an air of authority. Ross would have had his personal physician for a long time, and he would be the best.

Dr. Lorrimer began his examination at once, and a few moments later the local police arrived. In charge was Lieutenant Hillis, a quiet, youngish man, with sandy hair that had begun to thin. He was clearly respectful of these august surroundings, yet hardly awed by them. I sensed a strength in him that would probably get results without any barking of orders.

He explained that it would be necessary to ask a few questions of those present. Dr. Lorrimer informed him with an air of complete assurance that the cause of death was heart failure, making his findings very clear. Undoubtedly he was aware that no questions must be left hanging for police or press to pick up. His patient had had heart difficulties for years, he pointed out. He had been warned repeatedly that he must avoid disturbing emotions, avoid any overtaxing of his strength. Apparently he had driven himself hard last night, working past midnight without rest. The expected penalty had at last been exacted. All this was news to me. Not once had Ross mentioned any trouble with his heart.

Gretchen had stopped crying and sat curled up in her chair, her legs under her, and I knew she listened intently to every word. As we all did. Because of so many guilty secrets? I wondered. I was sure that Jarrett and Gretchen did not believe that Ross’s death had come about so simply as Dr. Lorrimer claimed, though not one of us was going to dispute his words. In spite of her threat that she would blame Jarrett and me for upsetting her father, Gretchen said nothing now.

Lieutenant Hillis informed us of what would happen. An autopsy would be performed, after which the body would be released to the family.

Jarrett nodded. “It’s better that no questions about Mr. Logan’s death be left unanswered. May Mrs. Karl and Mrs. Logan go back to bed? I’ll stay as long as you need me.”

The lieutenant agreed readily. There would be time later in the day for more questions, if they seemed necessary.

Dr. Lorrimer had been watching Gretchen, and he spoke to her gently. “I’ll see you up to your room now and give you something to help you sleep. You mustn’t stay alone at this time. Where is your husband?”

Before she could answer, the telephone rang shrilly and Jarrett picked it up. His reply was curt. “Don’t let anyone past the gates. Tell them I’ll come out and make a statement shortly.”

The press, of course, I thought. The media! This would be no quiet, private death. The news line of the world would hum furiously for days, weeks, and we would be given no peace unless Jarrett set up the barricades.

Before the doctor could repeat his question about Gretchen’s husband, Vasily himself appeared in the doorway, pausing a moment to take us all in before he went to his wife. He looked properly grave and regretful, and had apparently heard what had happened. However, I was beginning to know him a little by this time, and I suspected that he could barely conceal the mood of elation surging up inside him. It was there in the very spring of his step, in the brightness of his eyes. Vasily would always think first of himself.

“Darling,” he said. “This is all too terrible. I came as soon as I heard.”

She sprang from her chair and let herself be folded into his arms. I noticed that she didn’t demand to know where he had been.

“Good,” Dr. Lorrimer said. “I’ll go with you to your bedroom and give her something to help her sleep. You must stay with her now, Mr. Karl.” Then he turned to me. “Are you all right, Mrs. Logan? Would you like—?”

I reassured him quickly. “I have a prescription I can take if I need it.” After all, I had been through two deaths recently. I was well prepared, wasn’t I?

He gave me a slightly doubtful look, as though he feared some delayed reaction in me, and I spoke again quietly.

“I really am all right.” It was strange how calm I could manage to be, and a little frightening. Had I lost all ability to feel?

Gretchen glanced at me with eyes that were faintly accusing before she allowed Vasily and the doctor to help her from the room. More than anything else, I was aware of Jarrett’s stillness as he watched them go—a stillness that covered whatever he was thinking.

No one asked aloud the question that must have been in Gretchen’s mind, as well as in Jarrett’s and mine. Where had Vasily been, and how had he heard what had happened? Apparently, since everything seemed clear cut and settled about Ross’s death, this was not a question that Lieutenant Hillis had any need to ask.

But even as it stirred in the silence of our minds, Vasily came back to us through Myra’s empty office.

“I should have explained,” he said quickly. “I have been in Allegra Logan’s company all evening. When I went to see her earlier, I found her very much upset. So I stayed until the nurse got her to sleep. It must have been nearly two in the morning, and afterwards I dozed in her living room for a while, lest she waken and be upset again. I heard the alarm go off, of course, and I was awake when one of the guards came to tell us what had happened. I instructed Miss Cox to say nothing to Allegra until a member of the family could tell her. Then I came straight to the house.”

He looked from Jarrett to me as though his words carried some barely hidden triumph, and then hurried after his wife and the doctor. No one said anything.

The medical examiner and further police entourage were arriving, and Jarrett came over to me.

“You needn’t stay for any of this. Let me take you up to your room.”

The last thing I wanted was to be alone with Jarrett Nichols. Not until I knew the contents of that note. He looked quite capable of taking it from me by force if he chose.

I jumped to my feet with a suddenness that caused Lieutenant Hillis to stare at me. “I just want to be by myself!” I cried. “I know the way to my room!”

I ran into the hall, and heard Jarrett coming after me. One of the guards had posted himself near the door to the offices, and I rushed up to him.

“Please take me upstairs. Mr. Nichols has to stay with the police, and—and I feel a little dizzy.”

He was the man called Steve, who was usually posted in the gallery. He showed quick concern. “Of course, Mrs. Logan. I’ll get her upstairs all right, Mr. Nichols. And I’ll call one of the maids to come and stay with her. Everyone’s up by now.”

Jarrett nodded grimly and went back to Ross’s office. I clung gratefully to Steve’s arm, discovering that I really did feel uncertain about where I put my feet. On the way I thought of one question to ask.

“Were you in the gallery when the alarm went off?”

“Yes, Mrs. Logan. This was my night to be on duty. When it rang, I ran through the gallery and out the far door. I didn’t even stop to turn off the alarm, because searching at once was more important. But I couldn’t find anyone.”

When we reached my room, I refused to let him call a maid, thanked him, and sent him away.

Safely inside, I went through the now familiar ritual of checking and locking my doors. After a moment of hesitation, I went through Ross’s room and locked his door to the corridor as well. Ysobel watched me, smiling warmly from her place on the wall. Before I returned to my room, I stood for a moment looking up at her.

“I don’t know who has won, or who has lost,” I told her.

Back in my room, with the connecting door closed, I dropped onto the chaise longue and stretched out. The lamp beside me gave light for reading, and there was just one thing I must do at this moment.

I unfolded the notepaper I had thrust into my pocket and saw that it had been typed, and then signed with one of Gretchen’s curious little signature faces. This one displayed zigzagged teeth—the sign, Ross had told me, that indicated displeasure or bad news. There were only a few lines.

Dad:

If you send Vasily away, I will

tell Jarrett what I know about

you and Pam.

That was all, but it had clearly been enough. Ross must have read the note and reacted with a heart attack that had killed him. Yet he had first summoned Jarrett, and perhaps we would never know why. He had been working alone over papers that Jarrett had not wanted the police to see. Had he actually meant to show Jarrett the note from Gretchen and perhaps discount it? Or had he felt the attack coming on, called for help, and then been overcome before Jarrett could get there? He must have fallen across his desk with the note from Gretchen close at hand, and Jarrett had found it.

No wonder he had looked so shaken when I’d walked in. No wonder he had thrust the note out of sight, meaning to retrieve it later, and had been so deeply disturbed to discover that I had taken it from its hiding place. Now I remembered with more understanding that moment in the belvedere when Gretchen had torn up a picture of Pam. If she knew something about her father and Jarrett’s wife, then Pam must have been a sore subject with her, and when I praised the picture, she had reacted by tearing it up.

This note, certainly, was something that must be kept private at all costs, so Jarrett needn’t worry about what I would do with it. Somehow, the typed words gave me no sense of shock concerning Ross. There had been previous hints now and then about Pam, though I’d never paid much attention to them. I had no doubt that Ross would have gone after any woman who appealed to him, regardless of whether she was the wife of a man he needed and trusted above all others.

A man he dared not lose?

That was the point, wasn’t it? That Jarrett must not know? Yet how could he not have known? He was anything but obtuse, anything but trusting and simple, and he had grown up the hard way, subjected to the harshness of life at an early age. Even more important now were Gretchen’s actions. Surely she must guess that her note had brought on her father’s heart attack—which would account for Jarrett’s earnest questioning of her, and also for her defensive accusations against Jarrett and me. She might have been stirring up a smoke screen.

A sudden knocking brought me up from the chaise longue in dismay. The knock sounded again, and I had to respond.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Jarrett,” he said. “I must talk to you, Sharon.”

I couldn’t face him now. Not with this knowledge about his wife so newly in my hands. “No,” I said. “Not any more tonight. I’ll talk with you in the morning. You needn’t worry—I won’t do anything. You can have the note back then.”

“I’m sorry,” he insisted, “but it’s necessary for us to talk. Not only about Gretchen’s note. In the morning everything will explode around here. I’ve made a statement, shut off the phones, but tomorrow the world will move in on us. We have to talk together now. You are Mrs. Ross Logan. You have responsibilities.”

I pulled my robe more closely about me, feeling not only the chill of this Florida night, but the coldness inside me, the coldness of fears that were all too ready to possess me. I took several deep breaths to steady myself and went to unlock the door.

Jarrett came into the room, looking even more weary and grim. But not beaten. At least he would be here for all of us to depend upon. And as Ross had trusted him, so must I. Until I had good reason not to. I gestured him toward a chair and went back to the chaise longue, drawing a crocheted throw over me. I felt utterly, achingly tired, yet far from ready to sleep.

He ignored the easy chair I’d motioned him toward, and pulled a straight desk chair around, to sit astride of it, his arms resting on its back as he faced me.

“I’ve read Gretchen’s note,” I said. “I can’t blame her for trying to save Vasily by accusing us. But she must know now that her note is what shocked her father into a heart attack. That will be a heavy load for her to carry.”

“I didn’t come here to talk about that. Except to ask you to burn the note.”

I shook my head listlessly. “Not yet. Perhaps I’ll give it back to Gretchen.”

“To punish her?”

I wasn’t sure about that. I wasn’t sure about anything.

He looked at me long and steadily, and I was reminded somehow of a boxer who was still in the ring. Perhaps it was his slightly crooked nose, that might once have been broken when he was young, that made me think of a pugilist—and that stubborn chin.

“What I want to talk about,” he went on, “concerns the papers Ross was working on, and which I put into a folder and locked in a drawer in my own office. You were concerned that I seemed to be concealing something. I am. And I want your promise to say nothing about this.”

“How can I give you a promise when I don’t understand what I’m promising?”

“That’s why I’m here now. To explain a little. It’s very complex, both in the ramifications and in the reasons that lie behind what Ross was trying to do. He wanted to keep me from finding out, because he knew I’d oppose him. But he couldn’t get away with that. It was Yakata, the man who came here from Tokyo to see him, and whom Ross went to meet in Palm Beach yesterday, who gave things away. I began to suspect, so I searched for the evidence. Because what he intended has to be stopped without any publicity.”

“What do you mean?”

“It was nothing illegal, but certainly something that would let down the best interests of the United States. Japan needs oil. So do we. Ross would have seen to it that millions of barrels needed here would go into the hands of an element in Japan that would profit from it mightily. So would Meridian Oil. Not the government of Japan, but a few sleazy businessmen there who are interested only in profit.”

“But there’d have been an enormous scandal when it came out. And it would have to come out, wouldn’t it?”

“I don’t know. Not for a while. I’d have kept it quiet if I could.”

I had enough strength left for indignation. “To protect Ross?”

“No. I told you it was a complex matter. If the stock of Meridian Oil plunged, it would mean not only catastrophe for the charitable foundations—not all of which are self-sustaining—and a collapse of all the good they do, but disaster for millions of stockholders as well.”

“Stockholders!” I put scorn into the words.

“Don’t be stupid, Sharon. Stockholders aren’t only corporations, some of which might go under with disastrous results. They are also people—individuals—who have invested their money, trusted in the integrity of Meridian Oil. There are times when the truth can cause more havoc than it mends.”

As might have happened if Jarrett had faced the truth about his wife and Ross Logan? I wondered.

“Perhaps there are times when the truth ought to come first,” I said grimly.

“I wish I knew how to make that simple choice, Sharon.” There seemed no sarcasm in his words, but only weariness and a deep sorrow.

“Ross must have known that he had a great deal to lose if this came out,” I said.

“He was ready to gamble. He fooled himself into thinking he could handle anything that happened and ride it through. That he was powerful enough to do as he pleased.”

“And wasn’t he?”

“That was his delusion. Allegra could tell you. She understood. Oh, not about this deal, but about what he was trying to prove. It was always the same thing. He wanted to show that he was as powerful and clever a man in his own right as Charles Maynard Logan had ever been.”

“But—but that’s childish,” I protested. “Ross was a great man.”

“Deep-seated motives often go back to the child in us. Any psychiatrist can tell you that. A great many of the world’s problems come straight from the childish self-delusions of men in power. You’ve only to look at history. You’ve only to listen to the screaming of today’s headlines. The madness, the ferocity, the crying out for vengeance. By men. This is the way that wars are started. The child in such men can be enormously dangerous.”

“What will happen now?”

“None of this will come out, if we choose to keep it quiet. It hasn’t gone far enough yet. Yakata and his pals must be told that the deal is off. They have no legitimate hold on Meridian, and I can take care of this myself. It’s not something that’s been brought up before the board. Ross was acting in a completely clandestine way. By the time anyone could have tried to stop him, the whole thing would have been too far along to be halted without an even bigger scandal. That’s why he was trying to keep it from me. That’s why he was working late hours to accomplish what he needed to do before I could take any action to oppose him.”

“He was trying to prove something to you, too.” I didn’t put it as a question. I was beginning to understand just a little the love-hate relationship that must have existed on both sides between Ross Logan and Jarrett Nichols. Ross would have needed him desperately in all sorts of ways, yet how bitterly he must have resented such a needing. Jarrett was no ordinary aide-de-camp. All too often he must have been the brain behind whatever was accomplished, and that was the weight Ross had been trying so recklessly to escape. His growing compulsion to prove himself—evident in his life with me too—had begun to verge on the unbalanced.

“Perhaps he was stopped just in time,” I said, and felt chilled by the sound of my own words. As though Ross had been deliberately stopped. I went on quickly, veering away from implications I didn’t want to make. “I mean for his own sake, as well as everyone else’s. What might have happened if he’d lived could have been worse than anything he dreamed of. Or are we being callous? About Ross’s death, and about something called truth?”

Jarrett shook his head. “Only realistic. It’s tragic to have to recognize how many people will be saved by what has happened to Ross.”

Myself among them, I thought, and winced at the silent admission. There was a great deal I was going to have to examine inside myself in the coming weeks.

“You can count on me,” I said at last, and my voice was empty of emotion.

Jarrett didn’t leave at once. Instead, he sat staring at me with so searching a look that I closed my eyes. I didn’t want him to see all those things that I wasn’t yet ready to face in myself.

“You’ll be all right,” he said with strange conviction, and started for the door.

The ringing of the telephone stopped him. I got up to answer it, and found that my legs were no longer shaky.

It was the nurse, Miss Cox, on the line. “I’ve been trying to reach Mr. Nichols. But no one seems to know where he is, so I’m calling you. Mrs. Logan is awake and she’s listening to the radio, as she sometimes does at night when she can’t sleep. News programs. I’m afraid …”

I broke in. “Mr. Nichols is here now. We’ll come right down and talk to her. I don’t think we should disturb Mrs. Karl. Try to distract her until we get there.”

“Allegra?” Jarrett asked as I hung up.

“Yes. She’s awake, and Coxie is afraid of what she may hear on the radio.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Jarrett said. “You needn’t come.”

I was already getting a coat from the closet, flinging it on over my robe and gown, thrusting my feet into shoes. “I can’t sleep anyway, and perhaps I can help.”

Some of the tension seemed to leave him and he smiled wryly as he held out a hand. “Thank God Ross married you,” he said.

I wasn’t sure whether I could agree to this sentiment, but I took his hand, accepting his strength, and let him pull me along as we hurried through the house. Outside, the golf cart stood beside the door, and I climbed into the seat beside Jarrett. The sound of its starting seemed to shatter the night, and a guard came running toward us. Jarrett waved to the man, and we went off toward Coral Cottage, shortcutting across the lawn. The cart had been equipped with head lamps, and there was no difficulty about finding our way in the dark.

Coxie came to the cottage door, a vast relief on her face. “You’re just in time! I couldn’t keep her away from the radio any longer.”

We went into the bedroom together, to find that Allegra was sitting up, dwarfed by the huge pillows around her, her face looking almost young and eager in the softened light. She greeted us with lucidity, and I sighed in relief. It would be too hard to get through to her if she were living in the past again.

She reached out with a thin, still graceful hand and switched off the radio. “You’ve taken your time about getting here,” she said. “Ross is dead, and I’ve been waiting for someone to come and tell me what happened.”

I could hear the catch in Jarrett’s breath. “We didn’t want you to hear it that way. We hoped you’d sleep straight through the night. The moment we knew you were awake, we came.”

“Thank you. Though I thought it might be Gretchen. But I expect she’s having a bad time right now. His dying will make everything easier for her, but she loved him a great deal. I suppose I loved him too. Once. At least, I loved the little boy and young man he used to be. I haven’t loved the man he became for a long while.”

For just an instant I felt an unfamiliar sympathy for Ross. Then I remembered what he’d been doing to Allegra, and I pulled a chair close to her bed.

Surprisingly, she reached out to pat my hand and then looked up at Jarrett.

“I wish you had been my son. You’d have been worthy of Charlie. Tell me whatever you can.”

Jarrett explained that Ross had had a heart attack, and that there were police formalities, which would soon be over. Then the funeral could be arranged for.

“Keep it private,” Allegra said.

Jarrett agreed. “Of course. As far as we can. That will suit you, won’t it, Sharon?”

I could only nod, remembering that it had been Ross who had taken the details of that other terrible funeral out of my hands. Now others would help me again, but I would be expected to make decisions. Or would I? Gretchen must be consulted tomorrow. Today. It was really her wishes and Allegra’s that must be considered. I didn’t even know if I had any wishes.

We stayed with her for a little while until she grew weary and let us go. Then we returned to the cart.

“She’s a marvel,” Jarrett said. “That was a lot easier than I ever expected. I might have known that she can still come to grips with reality when she has to. And when she’s not being drugged.”

We rode back toward the house, where lights still burned aplenty. As we passed the spreading shadow of the great banyan tree, a slimmer shadow detached itself and came toward us. Jarrett braked the car, and in its lights Brett Inness emerged. She wore slacks and a jacket, and for once her hair was not wound in a knot on top of her head, but hung to her shoulders, caught back by a clasp.

Jarrett switched off the motor. “Hello, Brett. You’ve heard what has happened?”

“Yes.” In the bright shock of intense light all color seemed to have been washed from her face. “There was a news broadcast that I heard because I couldn’t sleep.”

How few of us seemed to have slept through this night.

“How did you get in?” Jarrett asked.

She seemed to draw herself up with a touch of that hauteur she could assume so well, and she ignored me completely. “Why shouldn’t I come? He was my husband once, and Gretchen’s father. It’s possible that she may need me now.”

“I merely asked how you got in,” Jarrett said. “Guards have been placed at every entrance—even the beach tunnel.”

“Of course. But I do have a key, and the guards were given orders by Gretchen long ago to let me in whenever I pleased to come. You know I’ve visited Allegra often.”

Jarrett nodded, but I sensed his suspicion toward this woman and her motives. “Why tonight? Gretchen will have been sedated by now. What can you do?”

She seemed suddenly forlorn and lonely, standing there, and I remembered that all this had belonged to her, as Ross’s wife. And she was still, as she’d said, Gretchen’s mother.

I spoke for the first time. “You may want to be with Gretchen in the morning. You’re welcome to spend the rest of the night at Poinciana. Can we take you up to the house?”

“Thank you,” she said with dignity. “I’ll walk. I can certainly find my way.”

Jarrett gave me a long look, but he had nothing more to say, and we went on toward the house. I was aware of a lightening of the sky out over the Atlantic. Dawn was not far away. When we stopped, Jarrett came around to help me down from the cart, and he still looked quizzical and a little surprised.

“What will happen to me now?” I asked, the momentary authority I’d assumed with Brett already dissolving. “Where will I go? I don’t know where I belong any more.”

“That will be up to you, won’t it?” Jarrett said. “You took charge quite capably just now. So of course that’s what you’ll continue to do.”

I shook my head wearily as we went in through a side door. “I’m not in charge of anything.”

“Of course you are. You’re mistress of Poinciana now. Ross left it all to you. I’ve seen his will.”

Once more, my knees betrayed me, and Jarrett steadied me with his arm. His words had shocked me, and I couldn’t absorb their full meaning at once. This was something I’d never thought about at all. Ross was Poinciana.

Jarrett helped me up the stairs to my room and came in for a moment to make sure I’d be all right. The sometimes hard, life-weathered look was gone from his face, and his eyes were kind.

“When you came here,” he said, “I took it for granted that you’d married what Ross Logan stood for, and all that he could give you. I know I was hard on you in my judgment. Now I can understand better that you were frightened and needed to be looked after.”

I let Jarrett help me off with my coat. “I know what you thought. You never troubled to hide it.”

“I’m sorry. But I think you’ll manage now, though it won’t be easy. Get to bed, Sharon. You’re tired enough to sleep. I’m almost that tired myself. Don’t think about anything. It can all wait until much later today.”

He let himself out the door, and I felt grateful to him, as I’d never felt before. Grateful for his talking to me so honestly. Grateful because he had let me glimpse his own torment and moments of not being sure. He would help me if he could. And I would need all the help I could get. There were those in this house who had hated me—and now that might be even worse.

Soon the sun would be up, but I must sleep now and do as Jarrett had said—think about nothing.

At once as my head touched the pillow, I thought of Ross, and felt a pang of loss for something I’d never really had. And something of sorrow for him, too, because all that he’d been, the good and the bad, had come so suddenly to an end.

I thought curiously as well of Brett Inness. How long had she been on Poinciana grounds? Had she come here, perhaps, before Ross had died? And I thought of Gretchen’s note. For the first time, I questioned it. Had she really written it? Was it even possible that someone else had copied her simple method of note writing? Perhaps someone who wanted to hide behind Gretchen might have done that very thing. But such suppositions were beyond me now.

When sleep caught me, I went out completely, and I heard nothing at all for a good many hours into the new day.