Нора Робертс - Red lily

“Nobody’s asking you to worry. I’ve been taking care of myself for a lot of years now. I’m not so stupid, or so pig- headed that I’m not concerned about what’s been going on. But I’m also smart enough to consider that maybe I’m the last push. Maybe I’m what’s going to finish this. Roz talked to her, Harper. Next time maybe there’ll be answers that tell us just what happened, and what needs to be done to make it right.”

“Next time? Listen to yourself. I don’t want her touching you.”

“It’s not your decision, and I’m no quitter. Do you know me so little you’d think I’d just, yes, Harper, and trot along like a nice little puppy?”

“I’m not trying to run your life, goddamn it, Hayley. I’m just trying to protect you.”

Of course, he was. And he looked so aggrieved, so frustrated, she had to sympathize. A little. “You can’t. Not this way. And the only thing that you’re going to accomplish by making plans around me that don’t include talking to me first is piss me off.”

“There’s a news flash. Just give me a week then. Just do this for a week and let me try to—”

“Harper, they took her child away. They drove her mad. Maybe she was heading there anyway, but they sure as hell gave her the last push over the edge. I’ve been part of this for over a year now. I can’t walk away from it.”

She lifted her hand, stroked the bracelet she continued to wear. “She showed me this. Somehow. I’m wearing what was hers. You gave it to me. It means something. I have to find out what that is. And I, very much, need to stay here with you.” She softened enough to touch his cheek. “You had to know I’d stay. What did your mother say when you said you were going to tell me to go to Stella’s?”

He shrugged, walked back to the terrace rail.

“Figured that. And Stella, I imagine said the same.”

“Logan agreed with me.”

“I bet he did.” She moved to him now, wrapped her arms around him, rested her cheek on his back.

He had a good, strong back. Working man, prince of the castle. What a fascinating combination of both he was. “I appreciate the thought, if not the method. That help any?”

“Not so much.”

“How about it’s nice that you care enough about me to try to boss me around?”

“It’s not bossing you around to—” He broke off with a curse and a sigh when he turned to see her grinning at him. “You’re not going to budge.”

“Not an inch. I think some of the Ashby blood, even as diluted as it is in me, must have stubborn corpuscles. And I want to be a part of finding the answers to all this, Harper. It’s important to me, maybe more important now that I’ve shared a kind of consciousness with her. Boy, that sounds pretty woo-woo, but I don’t know how else to say it.”

“How about she invades you?”

Her face sobered. “All right, that’s fair. You’re still mad, and that’s fair, too. I guess I don’t mind knowing you’re worried enough about me to be mad.”

“If you’re going to be reasonable about this, it’s just going to piss me off more.” He laid his hands on her shoulders, rubbed. “I do care about you, Hayley, and I am worried.”

“I know. Just remember I care about me, too, and worry enough to be as careful as I can be.”

“I’m going to stay with you tonight. I’m not budging about that.”

“Good thing that’s just where I want you. You know . . .” She slid her hands up his chest, linked them around his neck. “If we start fooling around, she might do something. So I think we ought to test that.” She rose on her toes, played her lips over his. “Like an experiment.”

“In my line of work I live for experiments.”

“Come on inside.” She stepped back, caught both his hands in hers. “We’ll set up the lab.”

LATER, WHEN THEY lay turned toward each other in the dark, she brushed at his hair. “She didn’t seem to be interested this time.”

“You can’t predict a ghost who should be haunting an asylum.”

“Guess not.” She snuggled closer. “You’re a kind of scientist, right?”

“Kind of.”

“When scientists are experimenting, they usually have to try more than once, maybe with some slight varieties, over a course of time. I’ve heard.”

“Absolutely.”

“So.” She closed her eyes, all but purring at the stroke of his hand. “We’ll just have to try this again, at some opportunity. Don’t you think?”

“I do. And I think I hear opportunity knocking right now.”

She opened her eyes, laughed into his. “They don’t call that opportunity where I come from.”

DAVID TURNED THE map upside down, and ran a fingertip down a line of road. “We’re like detectives. Like Batman and Robin.”

“They weren’t detectives,” Harper corrected. “They were crime fighters.”

“Picky, picky. All right, like Nick and Nora Charles.”

“Just tell me where I turn, Nora.”

“Should be a right in about two miles.” David let the map lay on his lap and shifted to enjoy the scenery. “Now that we’re so hot on the trail of the mysterious jewels, just what are we going to do if and when we find out where the bracelet originally came from?”

“Knowledge is power.” Harper shrugged. “Something like that. And I’ve had enough of sitting around waiting for something to happen. The jeweler said it came from the Hopkins estate.”

“Cream cheese.”

“What? You’re hungry?”

“Cream cheese,” David repeated. “You spread it on smooth and thick. ‘My girlfriend really loved the bracelet. She’s got a birthday coming up soon, and since it was such a hit with her, I wondered if you had any matching pieces. Something from the same estate? That’s the Kent estate, isn’t it?’ Guy practically fell over himself to give you the information, even if he did try to sell you a couple of gaudy rings. Ethel Hopkins did not have flawless taste. You should’ve sprung for the earrings, though. Hayley would love them.”

“I just bought her a bracelet. Earrings are overkill at this point.”

“Your right’s coming up. Earrings are never overkill,” he added when Harper made the turn. “About a half mile down this road. Should be on the left.”

He pulled into a double drive beside a late-model Town Car, then sat tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as he studied the lay of the land.

The house was large and well-kept in an old, well-to-do neighborhood. It was a two-story English Tudor with a good selection of foundation plants, an old oak, and a nicely shaped dogwood in the front. The lawn was trimmed and lushly green, which meant lawn service or automatic sprinklers.

“Okay, what have we got here?” he queried. “Established, upper middle class.”

“Ethel’s only surviving daughter, Mae Hopkins Ives Fitzpatrick,” David read from the notes he’d taken from the courthouse records. “She’s seventy-six. Twice married, twice widowed. And you can thank me for digging that up so quickly due to my brilliant observation of Mitch’s methods.”

“Let’s see if we can charm our way in, then get her to tell us if she remembers when her mother came by the bracelet.”

They went to the door, rang the bell, and waited in the thick heat.

The woman who opened the door had a short, sleek cap of brown hair, and faded blue eyes behind the lenses of fashionable gold-framed glasses. She was tiny, maybe an inch over five feet, and workout trim in a pair of blue cotton pants and a crisp white camp shirt. There were pearls around her throat, whopping sapphires on the ring fingers of either hand, and delicate gold hoops in her ears.

“You don’t look like salesmen to me.” She spoke in a raspy voice and kept a hand on the handle of the screened door.

“No, ma’am.” Harper warmed up his smile. “I’m Harper Ashby, and this is my friend David Wentworth. We’d like to speak with Mae Fitzpatrick.”

“That’s what you’re doing.”

Genetic good luck or, more likely, a skilled plastic surgeon, Harper thought, had shaved a good ten years off her seventy-six. “I’m pleased to meet you, Miz Fitzpatrick. I realize this is an odd sort of intrusion, but I wonder if we might come in and have a word with you?”

The color of her eyes might have been faded, but the expression of them was sharp as a scalpel. “Do I look like the simpleminded sort of woman who lets strange men into her house?”

“No, ma’am.” But he had to wonder why a woman who claimed good sense would believe a screened door was any sort of barrier. “If you wouldn’t mind then, if I could just ask you a few questions regarding a—”

“Ashby, you said?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Any relation to Miriam Norwood Ashby?”

“Yes, ma’am. She was my paternal grandmother.”

“I knew her a little.”

“I can’t really claim the same.”

“Don’t expect so, as she’s been dead some time now. You’d be Rosalind Harper’s boy then.”

“Yes, ma’am, her oldest.”

“I’ve met her a time or two. First time being at her wedding to John Ashby. You have the look of her, don’t you?”

“I do. Yes, ma’am.”

She slid her eyes toward David. “This isn’t your brother.”

“A family friend, Miz Fitzpatrick,” David said with a full-wattage smile. “I live at Harper House, and work for Rosalind. Perhaps you’d feel more at ease if you contacted Miz Harper before you speak to us. We’d be happy to give you a number where you can reach her, and wait out here while you do.”

Instead she opened the screen. “I don’t believe Miriam Ashby’s grandson is going to knock me unconscious and rob me. Y’all come in.”

“Thank you.”

The house was as neat and well-tended as its mistress, with polished oak floors and muted green walls. She let them into a generous living room that was furnished in a contemporary, almost minimalistic style.

“I suppose you boys could use a cold drink.”

“We don’t want to put you to any trouble, Miz Fitzpatrick,” Harper told her.