A Stranger in Wynnedower (24 page)

Suddenly the patter
changed to a deluge. Lightning lit the room, and thunder rumbled right on top
of it.

Now, that was Jack all
over.

The next day, Rachel
stayed in the attic later than usual. The weather system that brought the rain
had swept in with cooler air and she was making good use of the break in the
heat.

On her hands and knees,
half-under a dust shroud and searching for her lost pencil, a noise stopped
her. She took a quick peek. Helene or Jack? No one was in sight. Only mounds of
sheet-covered furniture. Jack was in the house, of course, but he usually
stomped, except for those times early on when he was getting used to her being
around and thought he was sneaking up on intruders.

Was it her imagination?
If so, then why did goose bumps rise on her arms and why did she stay in
hiding?

Because her brain stem tingled,
and she paid attention.

A creak. A bump. Not
her imagination, then. Someone was here. Why didn’t they call out? Why didn’t
she?

Carefully, Rachel
maneuvered her body under a sheet until she was hidden beneath the body of a
high sofa. Dark, awkward pathways twisted between chair legs and around low
aprons on bureaus, so she didn’t try to go further.

Not Jack. Jack would
know she was here somewhere and would have bellowed as he usually did. The
happier Jack was, the louder he was.

A nearer noise. Heat
rushed up her chest, neck and face like a sudden fever.

She held her breath.
Dust tickled her nose. A speck of it caught in her throat.

No coughing
. Rachel squeezed her eyes shut.
No sneezing
.

Not Helene. Back on
that first day when she’d been trapped in Jeremy’s room, someone had paused
outside the door. That had been Helene, she was sure of it. But this wasn’t.
What about those looters and intruders Jack was always warning about? Could
this be one of them?

The rubber toe of a
large sneaker pushed under the draped sheet only inches from her arm. Sweat
broke out around her hairline. She was paralyzed by a fear she didn’t
understand.

No one had reason to
harm her. Someone was merely looking for something. She should call out. She
lifted her face, trying to breathe without making noise. She’d look foolish if
she spoke now, but this was ridiculous. Still, she stayed low and quiet.

The shoe moved on.

She heard the wooden
squeak of a step. Something brushed against the furniture drapes. The intruder
was moving away, hopefully toward the stairs.

She detached her
fingers from their death grip on a chair leg. Foolish, that’s how she felt.
Probably, the man hadn’t even known she was here.

The light went out.

She stopped breathing.

No more creaks. Was he
waiting, thinking the dark would flush her out?

She held back, but
heard nothing more. Cautiously, she put her head out, then her shoulders, and
tried to wrench herself around soundlessly. Finally, out from under the
furniture and in the aisle, she trembled. There was no choice. She had to turn
the light back on.

Heart pounding, she
crawled until she was near the overhead light, then stood and grabbed for the
string. She pulled it, prepared to defend herself immediately.

No one.

Someone had come
upstairs and, not finding her, had turned off the light before leaving? How
tidy. Why hadn’t he called out?

David Kilmer?

Her stomach flipped.
She gripped a chair back so hard her fingers hurt.

Why not? He was a
strange character.

But in the house?

Who else?

She moved softly but
quickly to the stairs.

No one lurked in the
stairway or hallway.

If Kilmer was the
culprit, then he would have one goal in mind: Helene.

A stalker, that’s what
he was.

Rachel reached the
nursery door. She paused to drag in a calming breath, then knocked. Could he
have gotten inside Helene’s rooms?

She whispered,
“Helene?”

The wood was rough
against her cheek as she pressed her ear to it, straining to hear. Was Helene
in danger?

Was she, Rachel,
over-reacting?

The subtle groan of the
stair treads from the main staircase warned her, but not quickly enough for her
to move away. That’s how Jack came upon her knocking on his sister’s door after
he’d been very clear about leaving her alone.

He glowered. Dark
emotion transformed his face back to the rude, abrasive bully she’d first met.
She didn’t feel anger in return, but bereft, as if she’d lost something
precious. Guilt, too. Not for this, but because she deserved to feel guilty for
so much more.

“I asked you to leave
her alone. How complicated was that, that you couldn’t respect such a simple
request? I answered your questions, I invited you to remain in my home, not
only as a guest, but out of respect for your wishes, I arranged employment. You
wanted a place to stay while you waited for your brother.” His face was a rich
maroon. “But you couldn’t respect my request about my sister.”

Of course, he was
angry; he didn’t know that Helene had already reached out to her. She could
explain. “You might be surprised, but your sister makes decisions. She decided
to‒”

“My sister has made her
decision, with my full support, which is more than I can say for you and your
brother.”

He moved as he talked,
walking quickly down the stairs. She’d been judged and dismissed. She followed
him.

“Jack, please wait. Let
me explain.”

He stopped abruptly.
“It’s time for you to leave.”

“But…but–” she
stammered. “What about the inventory? What about your trip?”

“I apologize for making
it your concern.”

His sudden calm, the
regret in his voice, alarmed her more than his anger had.

“I did lean on you. I’m
sorry for that.” He walked back up a few steps. “I didn’t do you any favor by
letting you wait here for your brother. My mistake. Let him live his own life.”

He turned and was gone.
He left her on the stair landing, abandoned, embarrassed and ashamed for
feeling that way. What had become of her independent life? When had she ever
needed anyone except Jeremy?

If she did as Jack
ordered, she was going back to it—to that self-sufficient, but lonely life.

Back to Baltimore?
Really?

In the end, it was
simple. She’d been uninvited.

Rachel threw her
suitcase on the bed. She stomped around her room sweeping her belongings out of
the drawers and tossing them onto the bed where they landed helter-skelter.

Ingrate. Hot-headed
brute
.

She was re-folding the
garments she’d scattered across the bedspread when she realized she was missing
an important point—the whole reason she’d been knocking on Helene’s door.

The intruder.

Not only should she
tell Jack about the intruder in the attic but also about David Kilmer, even if
the delay made her look bad. She could hardly damage Jack’s opinion of her more
than she already had.

Half-hearted packing
finished, Rachel zipped the suitcase and set it on the floor. She could manage
it down the stairs, but before she left Wynnedower she had a few things to tell
Mr. Jack Wynne. He was going to listen whether he wanted to hear it or not.

He was in the dining
room, but he wasn’t painting. The easel was turned away. The brush lay idle on
the palette alongside the drying paints. Jack was staring toward the far
windows, away from the gardens, across the green expanse of lawn which
stretched to the edge of the woods. His arms were crossed and his shoulders
appeared slightly hunched. His painting smock was on the floor where it lay
entangled with the disarranged drop cloth.

Regret tugged at her
heart. “Jack,” she whispered.

His arms uncrossed. One
hand went to his thigh, the other combed roughly through his hair. Without
turning, he asked, “Are you still here?”

“It took me a few
minutes to pack.” Whispers were gone. Her temper tried to hijack her voice. It
didn’t quite succeed because sadness outweighed it. “You didn’t expect me to
leave my belongings behind, did you?”

He stood and faced her.
Despite his rigid posture, his voice was soft and polite, as if to a stranger.
“No. I’ll carry your suitcase down.”

 “I can manage my
suitcase. I wanted to thank you for helping me out when I needed it and there’s
something I need to tell you before I leave.”

Beyond the three walls
of windows the sun was setting in a final blaze of gold. It cast the distant
trees into dark silhouette. The sunset touched Jack’s hair and brushed his
shoulders. It passed him with the speed of light and warmed her face with its
last rays. Jack followed in its wake, crossing the room.

Rachel waited,
paralyzed by the swift change in Jack’s mood. As he moved toward her, she stood
her ground. His eyes pulled her in, then left her, drawn to a point behind her.

May said, “Mr. Wynne, I
need you. Something’s wrong with Miss Helene.”

Jack touched Rachel’s
shoulders. “Don’t leave,” he ordered, and followed May.

Stunned, she didn’t
move, and in the waning light outside she saw a dark figure running across the
lawn into the black area of trees.

She walked into the
central hall. She paused.

The air felt different.
A gentle current brushed her face.

Rachel ran through the
central hall, past the library, through the vestibule and into the
conservatory. The cardboard patch lay on the floor. She stopped and turned
slowly back toward the French doors. Wide open. An unlikely oversight in this
house.

Rachel shoved the
cardboard back into its spot, flipped the door lock closed and vowed to return
with the appropriate key to lock the French doors, but first she had to get
upstairs.

The nursery door was
open, and voices drifted through to the hallway. The room was empty. The trio
was in the next room, and that door was also partway open.

This room was furnished
with comfy furniture, a flowered overstuffed chair, a rocker with a ruffled
padded seat cushion, and a table covered with a cross-stitched cloth. Framed
family photos hung on the wall. A row of dolls sat on a shelf. These were quick
impressions of the room as she moved through it directly to the next.

Helene was sitting on
her bed. Jack and May blocked most of Rachel’s view.

Jack said, “What upset
you? You need to tell me.”

Helene wrung her hands
while casting repeated glances at the window.

“Jack, I think I know.”

“How could you?” He
turned to face Rachel. His expression was as guarded his voice.

“I met David Kilmer.”

Everything stopped. She
took the next step.

“He’s been here on
Wynnedower property. Helene may have seen him.”

May gasped.

Facing Helene, Jack
asked, “Did you see David Kilmer?”

Helene did nothing for
a very long moment, then nodded at Jack. She placed her pale hand on his cheek
and nodded again.

“I didn’t know, but now
that I do, I’ll make sure he goes away, that he stays away from here. Do you
believe me?”

“Yes.” It was a thin
sound. She reached her arms up and put them around his neck, laying her cheek
against his chest.

“Feel better now?”

She nodded.

“May will stay here
with you. I’m sorry Kilmer bothered you tonight.”

Helene frowned and started
to shake her head, but before Rachel could puzzle it out, Jack had ushered the
two of them smoothly from the room. If Helene had worries, she’d have to share
them with May.

“Come with me,” Jack
said.

He moved fast. She
slowed. No need to rush only to be yelled at again. To be fair, her fate was
her own fault, but she wasn’t a Ping-Pong ball subject to his whims.

She came to a halt in
the central hall. “Jack, stop.”

He did.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve
told you about David Kilmer before. I told him to go away, that if he didn’t I
would
tell you. But then other things happened, and I didn’t. I just didn’t.”

“How did you meet him?”

“He came to me soon
after I arrived here. He claimed to be Jeremy’s friend, but all he really
wanted was to know where Helene was. He said he wanted to know she was safe,
and he’d go away.”

“And you told him.”

“I told him to go away
and stay away, and that’s all. When I realized Helene was actually here, I got
worried. I was checking on her earlier today when…well, when…you know. You came
along.”