Текст книги "Legacy"

Автор книги: Jeanne Stein

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

CHAPTER 22

A CHIRP FROM INSIDE BRINGS ME BACK—BACK TO consciousness, back to the computer.

An instant message: HU R U?

I reply: FRIEND OF GLORIA.

Jason’s answer comes scrolling back: WOT FRND?

My fingers tap out: SOME1 TRYING 2 HLP HER.

Jason: PRUV IT.

Me: GLORIA HIRED ME.

Jason: 2 DO?

Me: FIND OUT WHO REALLY KILLED YOUR DAD.

There is a pause here, so long I break it by typing: JASON, R U STILL THERE?

Finally, I get a response: CAN WE MEET?

Me: THE SOONER THE BETTER.

Jason: NOT 2DAY. 2MORO MORN?

Me: WHR & WEN?

Jason: 9 A.M. LESTAT’S? KNO IT?

The character name I know, any Anne Rice fan would. A place with that name? I type: NO.

Jason replies: COFFEE SHOP. ADAM’S AVE.

A coffee shop named Lestat’s? And I’m being invited there? Oh, the irony. I type back: C U @ 9.

I’m ready to log off when one more message comes back: DON’T TELL ANY1.

I have to smile at Jason’s dramatic parting shot. I suppose he doesn’t want his stepmother to know he’s consorting with the enemy. Which begs the question: why is he?

I’ll get the answer tomorrow morning.

My thoughts shift back suddenly to Sandra. Now that I understand she’s the source of this—whatever it is—I have to know how she’s doing it. If it’s not a spell, what? Power of suggestion? Can she tap into my sexual psyche and feel the hunger? At this moment, the image of her in my head is powerful enough to make me tremble. Is there a way to block those message receptors?

Words from the book spring unbidden: How best to protect yourself from werewolves? Stay away from them.

The office phone rings and I glance at the caller ID. Then at my watch. Yikes. I snatch up the receiver, “Sorry, Mom. Time got away from me. I’m on my way.”

She laughs. “Good. We’re giddy with excitement over here. Our lives are about to change. Yourlife is about to change. Hurry, Anna. We’re waiting for you.”

Giddy with excitement? Change my life? My mother is not one for hyperbole but here she is, sounding for all the world like a spokesperson for Publishers Clearing House. Is there a goofy-looking guy with bad hair and a toothy grin holding balloons and a big cardboard check lurking on our front porch?

“You didn’t enter a sweepstakes, did you?”

Again, the silver lilt of her laughter. “Better. I’m not going to tell you anything else. You need to come home. Now.”

“Okay. On my—”

But she’s already rung off.

Weird. Very weird.

CHAPTER 23

MOM, DAD AND TRISH RUSH OUT OF THE FRONT door and spill down the porch steps like lemmings over a cliff. I’ve barely gotten out of the car before I’m surrounded. They crackle with excitement. I feel it on my skin. Little electric shocks like static from a light switch.

“Whoa.” I hold up both hands. “What’s going on?”

Mom recovers first. She puts an arm around Trish’s shoulders. “Anna, you won’t believe what happened today.”

“A lawyer came,” Trish interjects, hopping around like an eager puppy.

“With news,” my dad adds.

“From France,” Mom says.

“We’re going to live there,” Trish says. “All of us.”

“In a château,” Dad says.

“Oh, Anna,” my mom gushes. “It’s so wonderful. We’ve inherited a winery.”

A winery?

It takes some doing, but I finally get my family corralled and back up the porch steps and into the house. They never stop babbling. All three. All at once. I’ve never seen my parents so animated. Trish? She’s jumping up and down.

I scoot them over to the couch and hold up a hand. “Sit.”

They do, still chattering like agitated squirrels.

“Quiet.”

The prattle dies away, leaving me staring at three glowing faces, bright with expectation and anticipation. They’re waiting for me to ask questions. I hardly know where to begin.

“You said a lawyer came here? Today?”

They look at each other, and then Dad and Trish both look to Mom, making her the official spokesperson. She takes a deep breath and plunges in.

“Yes. He came to see me first yesterday at school. Asked me some questions. Mostly about my grandmother and her side of the family. I told him she died when I was young and my memories are vague. I gave him her maiden name and her place of birth. He wondered about my mother. I told him she died many years ago and as far as I know, we have no relatives left on that side of the family except us. He asked to make an appointment with your father and me this morning. Said he had some details to check, but he was fairly certain he’d have some good news for us when he saw us again.”

She can sit still no longer. She jumps up and starts pacing. “Well, he showed up this morning and presented us with a thick portfolio of documents. He went through the papers one by one. There were birth records and death certificates. A family tree. Photos of my grandmother and hermother taken almost a century ago. In France. There’s a will. The will of a great uncle I didn’t know existed. An uncle who owned a great deal of property in France, including a working winery. An uncle who evidently has no living relatives left to inherit his estate.”

She stops pacing, turns to face me, and her face is once again wreathed in as joyful a smile as I’ve ever seen. “Wait until you see the pictures. It’s unbelievably beautiful. There’s a château on the property and a staff that’s worked for the family for decades. They’re waiting to meet us. We can go anytime. It’s ours, Anna. All of it.”

I was born a cynic, and becoming a vampire didn’t temper my natural inclination to distrust anything that looks too good to be true. If anything, it’s worse. So it’s hard not to say, “Are you all crazy? People don’t inherit property in France out of the blue. It’s got to be some kind of scam.”

But I can’t say it out loud. I don’t want to be the one responsible for eradicating the pure joy I see on the faces of the people I love most. It would be like stomping on a kitten.

My dad, who knows me too well, stands up and puts an arm around my shoulders.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he says. “It’s too good to be true. I did my homework. I have business contacts in France, you know. I had them check out the lawyer. He’s legitimate. Got a prospectus for the winery. It’s well-known. Exports product to the United States. The château has been renovated and well maintained. It’s fully furnished and staffed. I’m telling you, Anna, there’s nothing bogus about this. Sometimes people really do get lucky.”

He opens his other arm to Trish and Mom. They join us in a kind of awkward group hug. “I think this calls for a celebration,” he says. “Let’s get dressed up and go to Mister A’s. Champagne on me.” He plants a kiss on Trish’s forehead. “Ginger ale for you, ma petite chère.”

That does it. Now my fatheris speaking French? I’m sick. With shock. With apprehension. My father may be right. This might be legitimate. I sincerely hope it is. The realist in me screams there’s a better chance it’s not.

CHAPTER 24

I LEAVE MY FAMILY, PROMISING TO JOIN THEM downtown in an hour. I know as I speak the words that I’ll not be staying for the celebratory dinner. Once again, too many ways to give away the fact that I’m no longer human. I can fake it when I eat with them at home by taking small helpings and spreading the food around my plate. I’ve been known to sneak into the kitchen and dump a napkin full down the garbage disposal.

Can’t do that in a restaurant. Especially one famous for large quantities of food, to say nothing of platter-size steaks. It’ll be impossible to pretend. I’ve used the late lunch excuse too many times already to have it sound credible, especially since my mother specifically asked me for dinner tonight. No, better to come up with another reason for leaving before dinner.

Damn it, David. If you were home the way you should be, I could ask you to call me and say there’s a fugitive who needs apprehending. Give me an excuse.

Makes me realize how completely I’ve cut myself off from the few friends I had before the change. I can think of no one else to call and ask the favor. No one to rescue me.

Shit.

When I get back to the cottage, I shower and fluff dry my hair, then stand naked in front of my closet to decide what to wear. My wardrobe is limited. Jeans. Black, navy, tan. A few pairs of linen slacks with matching blazers (court attire). A few skirts, assorted blouses. One simple silk sheath, black, V-neck, narrow waist accented by a wide belt.

I choose the dress and slip it over my head. It’s body hugging and soft against my skin. I have no way of knowing how I look in the dress, I bought it after becoming, but I know how it makes me feel. Slinky. Sexy. The skirt is midthigh length. I pair it with a pair of three-inch strappy Jimmy Choos. I bought them because the lady at the shoe store said I had pretty feet and trim ankles and they show them off. The skirt is short and the heels high.

All this for an evening with my folks?

Of course not.

I can’t fool myself any more than I can change what I’m feeling. My blood is on fire. This prolonged anticipation is almost unbearable. The incongruity of what I’m thinking does nothing to mollify the mounting passion.

I make no attempt to understand or explain it. In fact, I can let myself enjoy it. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this kind of anticipation.

My hands skim the contours of my body, the silk cool and liquid and sensuous beneath my fingers.

This dress is for what happens afterthe evening with my folks.

This is for my evening with Sandra.

And since after tonight it will be over, why not enjoy it?

CHAPTER 25

MISTER A’S OCCUPIES THE TOP FLOOR OF A building on Fifth Avenue. From Thanksgiving to New Year’s, the entire building is decorated from top to bottom with Christmas lights. It’s a gaudy over-the-top holiday display that’s become a San Diego tradition. For the first time in years, it makes me smile. When my brother and I were growing up, we had a family tradition of our own: drive through Balboa Park to see Santa and his reindeer, then come to dinner here to see the lights.

I haven’t had dinner at Mister A’s in years. As far as I know, neither have my parents. That Dad should choose this restaurant to celebrate shows what Trish’s existence has given back to the family.

There are three businessmen waiting with me for the elevator to the restaurant. If I wondered how I looked in the dress, any doubts are dispelled by the lingering, hungry looks I get from them. They’d like to see me on the menu, I think, served on a bed of—it wouldn’t matter as long as it was a bed.

My father does a comic double take when I walk in. He stands when I approach the table and holds out a chair. “I almost didn’t recognize you,” he says.

“I’ve never seen you in a dress, Aunt Anna,” Trish says. “I didn’t know you owned one. Especially one like—”

“Okay,” I hold up a hand. “Enough. So you don’t often see me in a dress. Isn’t this supposed to be a special night?”

“Anna is right,” Mom says. “And I, for one, think you look beautiful. You should dress up more often. When we get to France, we’ll go on a shopping spree. For you and for Trish.”

“I’d love a dress like that,” Trish says eagerly, eyeing my cleavage.

“Oh, no,” Mom says, laughing. “You’re much too young. I’m sure Anna and I can find something more appropriate for a teenager. Imagine, Anna, what shopping in Paris will be like.”

It hits me then that they expect me to go to France with them. I stare at my mother. Maybe I’m misinterpreting her intention.

No.

It was in her voice, and it’s right there in the way she’s looking at me—with an expression that says no one in her right mind would pass up an opportunity to live in a château in France. I can’t believe I didn’t see this coming.

Worse, my dad and Trish are both looking at me the same way.

My shoulders tense.

I can’t let them think for one moment that my going with them to France is a possibility. And yet—

Do I want to fight this fight tonight?

No. I won’t ruin this evening any more than I have to. I put on a bright smile. “You all look pretty spiffy yourselves.”

My mother is wearing a cream-colored silk pantsuit with a blouse of warm rose. Dad is wearing Hugo Boss, charcoal coat and slacks, white shirt, burgundy tie. Trish is lovely in dark slacks and a hand-knitted rainbow-hued angora sweater.

I’m not the only one who went all out for the evening.

Mom and Dad grin at the compliment; Trish touches the collar of her sweater as if self-conscious. “You don’t think this sweater makes me look, you know, weird?”

I laugh. Typical teenager. “Why would you think it makes you look weird?”

“Well, it’s bright.”

“Bright is good. Bright is happiness and excitement. You three could light the city of San Diego tonight with your luminescence.”

Trish giggles.

“You should be happy, too.” Mom reaches over and touches my hand. Then she takes it in both of her own and rubs gently. “You are so cold, Anna. Do you feel all right?”

Crap. I didn’t move fast enough. I forget at times to avoid skin contact. I pat her hands with my left and gently pull my right from her grasp. I fold my hands on my lap and nod. “I’m fine.”

She doesn’t look as if she believes me, but she picks up the thread of her conversation and adds, “This is a new beginning for all of us.”

There. No possible way I could misinterpret that. I have to say something. I open my mouth, but the maître d’ chooses that moment to announce that our table is ready. I’ve been granted another reprieve, however brief, to keep from breaking their hearts. That’s the big break. The small one will come when I tell them that I’m leaving before the first course.

We take our seats at the table, the server places our napkins in our laps (Trish giggles unpretentiously and charmingly at that, too), and the sommelier approaches with a wine list. Dad waves it away and asks about champagne choices. He’s given several that sound foreign and expensive. Not surprisingly, Dad orders real champagne, not a domestic clone. The sommelier bows away with a smile of approval and snaps his fingers for the servers to begin their preorder hovering with the rituals of water pouring, silverware straightening and candle lighting.

Trish watches it all with the curiosity and delight of one who has spent the better part of her life dining at McDonald’s. It’s a joy to see. I can only imagine her reactions to the marvels awaiting her in France. I’m struck by sudden and intense sadness that I will not be there to share in her journey of discovery.

If there is a journey of discovery. I’m still concerned that this is some elaborate hoax and when it comes to light, the disappointment will be as bitter as the excitement now is sweet.

“Anna?”

Mom’s voice pulls me back.

“What’s wrong? You have the strangest look on your face, and you’re wringing that napkin like it’s someone’s neck.”

Not a bad analogy. If this does turn out to be a hoax.

I refold the napkin, place it beside my plate and try to smile. “Just thinking of work.”

“Work?” Mom echoes. “Why would you be thinking of work tonight?”

God. I steel myself to say it. “I’m really sorry, but I’m not going to be able to stay for dinner.”

Three voices say, “Why not?”

“It’s a job. David and I are heading up the coast to Del Mar. There’s a guy we’ve been trying to grab and this is our chance. He’s been seen hanging around a local watering hole.” I make a sweeping gesture with my hand. “That’s why this getup.”

Trish leans forward eagerly. “Could I go with you? I’d love to watch you in action.”

Mom and Dad both make gasping noises. Dad says, “I’m afraid that’s not a good idea, is it, Anna?”

Before I can answer, Mom says, “Absolutely not, young lady.” She half turns in her seat so that we’re eye to eye. She’s angry. Her voice quakes with it. “I can’t believe you’re leaving us tonight of all nights. This is a family celebration. You aren’t going to need that job much longer. The sooner you tell your partner you’re quitting, the sooner he can find a replacement. Call him. Tell him something came up and you can’t make it.”

Her vehemence catches me off guard. Suddenly I’m plunged right back to the time before Trish when we were never able to get together as a family without the inappropriateness of my work becoming a hot topic of conversation. Saving Trish masked it for a while, but I didn’t realize until this moment how close to the surface the acrimony still boils.

Trish is stirring in her chair. She’s gone pale, her expression anxious, as if afraid that Mom’s displeasure will be turned on her. That the negative turn the evening has taken is somehow her fault.

Mom sees it, too, and reaches over to take Trish’s hand. “I’m sorry, honey. Anna and her Dad and I should discuss this in private. I have no right to ruin our evening.”

She doesn’t look at me as she adds, “Well, if you must go, Anna. We’re sorry you’re not going to share in what promises to be a wonderful meal. There’ll be plenty of family time when we’re in France, though.”

Dad stands up and comes to hold my chair for me as I prepare to leave the table. He squeezes my shoulder and kisses my cheek.

“Come by the house tomorrow. We’ll talk. We have plans to make.”

The lump in my throat prevents me from answering. I smile at Trish and she looks back with eyes wide and wet. I manage to croak, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Trish. Promise.”

Mom doesn’t acknowledge my leaving. Dad resumes his place at the table. Trish follows me with her eyes.

There’s a fissure, cold and brittle as ice, forming in my chest. It expands until my heart aches from the pressure.

I shouldn’t have worried so much about breaking their hearts. I should have worried more about breaking my own.

CHAPTER 26

I SPOT WILLIAMS’ TAIL FOR THE FIRST TIME WHEN I leave Mister A’s.

The guy is seated at a table not far from ours. He has a forkful of salad halfway to his mouth when I sweep past him. I doubt I’d have noticed him at all except that in one second, he’s arisen, pulled some money out of a pocket and slammed it down on the table before whirling after me.

His action pushes the sadness out of my head, at least for the moment, and jump-starts my internal warning system. Every probe I send out, though, returns nothing. The guy’s human.

The concerned server follows after him, inquiring if anything was wrong and asking if he’d like his dinner boxed to take home.

He answers an abrupt “no” to each question.

To make it more embarrassing for him, when the elevator appears, the outside glass elevator to the parking lot, he has no choice but to step in with me.

Once the doors close, I can’t help it. I laugh out loud.

This isn’t the first time that Williams has had a mortal tailing me. It’s not that surprising. If the guy was good (and up until now, he has been), there’d be no telltale vibe for me to pick up on. A vampire can shut down the conduit that prevents thought transference, but there’s always the chance that distraction can cause the wall to slip. I’d be able to detect another vampire the second it did. Other supernaturals, like shape-shifters, project telepathic signatures that are stronger still.

So, here I am, in the elevator with the mortal who is supposed to be shadowing me, laughing like a crazy woman.

To his credit, he laughs, too.

“I figured you’d be spending the evening with your family,” he says. “Guess I blew it.”

“I guess you did.” I turn and hold out my hand. “I’m Anna. You know that, though, don’t you?”

He takes my hand. His grip is firm and dry and warm as only a mortal’s can be. He doesn’t pull his hand back or comment on the fact that mine is as firm, but cold as death.

He knows that I’m a vampire.

“Tom,” he says in reply. “Well, Anna, it’s been a pleasure. I imagine I’ll be replaced as soon as I tell Williams how I botched it tonight.”

I watch his reflection in the glass of the elevator. He’s tall, stands at ease, his broad shoulders filling out the well-tailored coat he’s wearing. His face is strong featured without being arrogant. Lined, as if he’s spent a good deal of time in the sun. The expression reflected in his dark eyes and gently smiling mouth is one of quiet strength touched with amusement. He senses that I’m checking him out though he can’t see me in the glass.

“Are you a private detective?”

He nods.

“How do you know Williams?”

“I used to be a cop.”

I let a moment go by while I weigh my options. What’s that old saying about the devil you know being better than the one you don’t?

“Why don’t we make a deal.”

He raises an eyebrow. “What kind of deal?”

“I think we should let things stand. I won’t tell Williams if you don’t.”

“Yeah? How is that going to work?”

I shrug. “The same way it’s been working. I’ll go about my business and you go about yours. I’ll pretend this never happened.”

He chuckles. “You’re not going to try to lose me the first chance you get?”

“Why should I? You’re supposed to watch me, right? Not interfere?”

He lifts one shoulder. “My instructions are to keep you in sight. Report who you meet with. I figured it was some kind of family thing. Williams’ family since it came from him.”

The way he says it makes me wonder what family he’s referring to. Williams is a vampire married to a mortal. That this man knows about vampires means that Williams must trust him. Maybe Tom is a relative of his mortal wife.

The elevator stops. We step into the cool night air and are greeted by the valet. He takes both our tickets.

“May as well wait together for our cars,” Tom says.

“Does that mean we have a deal?”

He smiles. “Care to tell me where you’re headed from here?”

I look up at him, turning up my own smile a notch. “Now what fun would that be? Let’s see how good you really are.”