Nightsong (15 page)

“Feel badly?”
Her voice rose in distress. “How am I
supposed
to feel when you accuse my husband of….”

“Your late husband.”

“My
late
husband,” she grated. “…of committing a crime. Mark was proud of his work. He would never,
never
have done anything to threaten his career.” She shook her head defiantly. “You’re wrong. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Doesn’t it, Elleny?” Phillip turned the car onto the driveway and guided it to a stop beside the house. He turned to her, placing his arm along the back of the seat in a confident gesture. Inwardly he was a tangled knot of apprehension. “Doesn’t it coincide with all the unanswered questions you have about him? You said yourself that he was unpredictable and moody, wild at times.”

“Those are your words, Phillip, not mine. Even if I said anything like that, it was in a totally different context.” She braced her shoulder against the car door and made a valiant effort to decipher just one thought from the jumble in her mind.

“All right. I won’t quibble over descriptive terms.” He held up his hand, palm out, obviously unconvinced, but unwilling to argue the point. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I know this is a shock, Elleny.”

“It matters very much! And if we’re going to quibble over words, try substituting betrayal for shock and you’ll come closer to how I feel right now. How could you, Phillip? How could you say, or even think, such a thing? Mark was your friend. You must have known him well enough to realize he wouldn’t do anything so deceitful.”

Phillip clenched his hands into fists and then slowly, finger by finger, relaxed the tension. “I didn’t know Mark at all, Elleny, I never even met him.”

“But you told me….” Her protest trailed into oblivion as she saw the answer in his face.

“I had to tell you something. Believe me, if I’d known any other way….” He glanced at the tension showing white at his knuckles. Then his eyes, dark with apology, returned to hers. “I didn’t have a choice, Elleny. It was a necessary lie.”

She absorbed his statement slowly as the warm color drained from her face. Phillip had lied.
Lied. Lied.
The thought gained momentum and went whirling, round and round and round until she felt dizzy and sick. How could he? And why? She opened her mouth to confirm what her heart hesitated to accept. “You lied to me?”

Her whisper wrenched his expression to lines of regret. “Yes.”

She found the door handle through a growing mist of anger and jerked it to open the door. Phillip grabbed for her arm, but she freed it with one steady, straightforward look.

“Elleny, just listen. There is an explanation.”

“I doubt it, Phillip. I truly doubt it.” She stepped from the car and vented her emotion with a fierce push against the door. It slammed shut with a loud, metallic clank that effectively ended the discussion.

Phillip, however, had no intention of letting it end. As Elleny approached the kitchen door, he was close at her heels. Catching her just as her hand closed over the latch, he took her elbow and spun her to face him.

“We have to talk about this, Elleny. It isn’t going to go away.”

“I don’t want to talk to you. You’d only lie to me again.” She stared hard into his face and knew the depths of anger that ran so perilously close to loving. She fought to walk the tightrope of emotion without falling on either side. “Just leave me alone. I can’t even think right now. Maybe later I’ll know what questions to ask. Maybe I’ll have decided how much I can believe of what you tell me.”

His eyes darkened to ebony, his mouth tightened to match her anger. “What I told you about Mark is true, Elleny. You can hate me for being the one to tell you, but that won’t alter the facts. Mark is the one who lied to you. Mark is the reason I lied to you.”

“I don’t believe that.”

Phillip stiffened as if she’d landed a blow to his mid-section. “You might at least give me the benefit of the doubt.”

“I’ve been doing that all along. Why should I give you another opportunity to prove I was wrong?”

The air snapped and crackled with the strain of too much emotion. Her brown eyes battled his for endless, agonizing seconds before he spoke.

“When you’re ready to listen, you can let me know.” Phillip spun on his heel and walked away from her.

She hesitated, still angry, yet feeling an inexplicable need to mend the hurt. Impatiently, she shrugged it aside, but her eyes followed him and would not be dissuaded.

She hated him.

She loved him.

She wanted to listen to him.

She never wanted to talk to him again.

Back and forth her confusion circled, never settling, never defining exactly how she felt. She wanted to hear his explanation, knew she had no choice but to listen.... But not now. Not until she could sort through what he’d told her already. Not until she’d had a chance to deal with the realization that Phillip had deliberately, intentionally lied to her, that he was not,
could not
be the man she’d believed him to be.

No, she couldn’t listen to his explanation until she’d had a chance to think.

At the moment she wasn’t prepared to accept anything he might say.

The latch beneath her hand turned, the door opened, and she pivoted to face her son’s bright smile. “Hi, Mom. What ‘cha doing?”

“Hello, Hotshot.” Her hand ruffled his hair, her gaze drifted to the angry set of Phillip’s shoulders. A.J. tugged at her sleeve, demanding attention she was too distracted to give.

“Come on, Mom.” He
took her hand and pulled insistently. “Come see what I made at school.”

With a sigh that somehow worked into a smile she knew was unworthy of the name, she followed her son inside and closed the door.

Time, she thought. She simply needed a little time.

* * * *

The evening passed in a blur of routine. Elleny went through the motions, doing the same tasks she did every evening. Eventually the methodical process of habit restored her powers of reason, and she began to assimilate not only what Phillip had said to her but how she felt about it.

And she didn’t feel good. She had gleaned a wide range of emotions during that brief discussion but far too few facts. Piecing together a puzzle without all the parts was impossible.

Still, by the time she had bathed A.J. and tucked him into bed, her mind had sorted the questions and channeled her anger into a quieter, more lethal calm.

Phillip had said there was an explanation. Now she was ready to hear it. She was ready to find out who Phillip really was and why he had upset her world.

Determination carried her from the house to the foot of the stairs below his studio. She stopped there, a victim of memory and the sudden, crushing ache of fear. Until that moment she had felt only anger, concentrated only on his betrayal. But now she was afraid. Deeply, intensely afraid of losing a future she’d just begun to savor and a past that was the foundation of her present.

Phillip could take it all away.

Maybe he already had.

She placed one foot on the bottom step and looked up, trying to recover her courage. The door opened and Phillip stood in the doorway, his body becoming a bulky shadow, indistinct in the light of the room behind him.

“Elleny?” He moved onto the landing, and she could distinguish the color of his dark red sweater, the lean fit of his jeans. She couldn’t see his expression, but she sensed his restlessness, felt his hesitancy as if it were her own.

“Here,” she answered, and moved up the stairs toward him.

“I was watching for you.”

She stopped on the step below the landing. “Were you so sure I would come?”

“I was sure you wouldn’t make a final judgment without hearing all the facts.”

It was an awkward beginning, she thought, but at least it was a start. “So, tell me the facts, Phillip. And I mean everything.”

He rubbed his jaw in unmistakable reluctance, glanced into the studio, glanced at her. “Why don’t we go inside?”

Elleny didn’t budge. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Damn it, Elleny! Don’t make this more difficult….” He clamped off the rest of the sentence, turned, and strode into the studio.

She followed slowly, acknowledging his point, reminding herself to remain on the offensive and away from the personal. After closing the door, she leaned against it and resolutely kept her gaze from straying to the bed.

“You’re not an artist.” She made the statement with a confidence born of all the nagging little suspicions that had bothered her from their first meeting and had been confirmed by his accusations about Mark. Then she braced her palms flat against the wood behind her and waited for him to deny it.

He stood in the middle of the room, feet apart, hands on hips, facing her with a gentle expression that was curiously at odds with his defiant stance. “No. The best painting I’ve ever done is the outside trim on my house in Massachusetts.”

She didn’t smile. Nor did he expect her to. “I’m an insurance investigator, Elleny. I’m co-owner of Smith-Kessler, a private firm specializing in insurance fraud and claims that require extensive investigations. I was hired to find a painting by an artist named van Warner. Ever heard of him?”

Her forehead creased with thought, but she wasn’t trying to remember the name.

The full weight of realization closed around her like a suffocating darkness. Phillip wasn’t who she’d believed him to be. He’d just admitted it. And still she shook her head in rebuttal, wanting to pretend it wasn’t true.

“It doesn’t matter, I suppose. I had hoped that Mark might have mentioned the name.” Phillip watched Elleny’s pale composure and wished the next few minutes were behind him. “Mark stole the original painting and substituted a copy he’d forged. It was a good forgery that went undetected for over a year, but eventually the theft was discovered and the search began. It continued unsuccessfully for a couple of years before the case file was turned over to me.”

“And that’s when you appeared on my doorstep to lie your way into my life.” Cold shivers ran the length of her spine, and she was grateful for the support of the door behind her. “Why was it necessary to set up such an elaborate cover, Phillip? Did you really need to pose as an artist, an old friend of Mark’s, a great admirer of Jesse’s work ... my lover?”

He took a protesting step toward her, but she discouraged him with an icy smile. “You told me that first Sunday afternoon you were committed to seeing this through. I thought you meant a commitment to your talent, of course. But how could I have known any differently?”

“And if you had, Elleny? What then? Would you have let me conduct an investigation?” He raked his fingers through his hair in exasperation. “You know you wouldn’t have given me the time of day, much less the opportunity to find the van Warner.”

“And expose Mark as a
notorious criminal
in the process? No, Phillip, I wouldn’t have given you even one of the opportunities you’ve had. And you did take advantage, didn’t you? You courted me with such convincing sincerity that I actually believed I was in love with you. I even thought you showed a true affection for my son. Mark’s son.” The tilt of her chin was dignified, but the betraying quiver of her lips gave her away. “You’re quite an actor, Phillip. If you hadn’t told me, I never would have guessed you were only interested in a stolen painting.”

Phillip had alternating impulses to shake some sense into her head and to convince her of his sincerity with hushing kisses. He responded to neither, knowing she needed to be angry with him until she could accept the truth and turn her anger toward Mark, where it belonged. He crossed his arms over his chest and waited. Silence came and lingered like a winter chill. He knew the precise second her challenge faltered.

“If you’re waiting for me to deny your indictment, Elleny, you’re going to be disappointed. I did come here with the full intention of deceiving you, but I didn’t mean to get personally involved. If I’d had any idea that falling in love with you was one of the hazards, there isn’t a chance in the world I would have taken this case. I do love you, Elleny, totally against my better judgment.”

“Is that supposed to make everything all right? Are you trying to make me feel better, is that it?”

“I am trying – God knows why – to explain to you the circumstances that brought and kept me here in Cedar Springs.” He moved closer to her, determined now to have his say. “Mark stole that painting, Elleny, and he hid it somewhere in this town. I haven’t found it yet, but I will. With your help or without it and regardless of how I feel about you, I’m going to prove Mark’s guilt.
He
lied to you.
He
deceived you. If he hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here.”

Elleny bit her lip and stared at Phillip. He was forcing her to weigh what she knew of Mark against what she knew of Phillip. One man who could not defend himself against a man who did an excellent job of defending his actions. It wasn’t fair. Why had he put her in this position? Why did she have to choose whether to believe memories formed a lifetime before or the statements of a flesh-and-blood man? A man she’d thought she loved.

“All right,” she said. “Let’s suppose for a minute what you say is true. Why would Mark forge a painting and then substitute it for the original? And if he did steal the painting, how do you know he didn’t sell it?”

“He couldn’t have sold that particular painting without leaving some sort of a trail. It was too well documented. It would have surfaced somewhere, sometime in the search. Besides, he had to have taken it during the year before he died, and that didn’t leave him a lot of time to get rid of it.” Phillip held her gaze, not allowing her the privilege of hearing only what she chose, but insisting that she hear and accept every word.

“As for his motivations,” Phillip continued, “I can only make an educated guess. Mark’s first gallery showing occurred at least a couple of years before you met him, and it wasn’t a success. Probably he got the showing more because of Jesse’s reputation than his own ability, but nonetheless that exhibit was panned by Bernerd Thayer, a noted critic
and
the owner of an impressive collection of artwork. The review was worse than discouraging—didn’t Mark ever mention Thayer’s name to you?”