Chapter 23 #2
“Hello, Ms. Weston.” The female voice was familiar. But not in a good way. Brenda Fellsworth.
“This is Thomas Briscoe’s niece.”
“Mrs. Fellsworth, yes. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Are you?” Gone was the faux politeness Brenda had adopted with Victoria before. Now sarcasm and destain dripped from her tone. “My loss is your gain, it seems.”
“Mrs. Fellsworth, I—”
“Save it for court, Ms. Weston.”
Court?
“I’m calling to tell you to stay away from my uncle’s estate. Don’t touch the money, the house, anything that is rightfully ours.”
“Mrs. Fellsworth, Thomas did will his—”
“That’s preposterous. Clearly, he was out of his mind, and you took advantage of him. Our lawyers are securing an injunction right now. You can’t touch any of it, and we’re taking you to court.”
“But—”
The line went silent. Brenda had ended the call.
“That was the niece?” Cillian’s eyebrows pressed together as he watched her. “She threatened you?”
Victoria slid the phone into her coat pocket and gripped the shoulder strap of her purse.
“She says she and her brother are going to take me to court, and in the meantime, they’re securing an injunction that will prevent me from accessing Thomas’s house or money.
Not that I have any desire to touch his money anyway. ”
“So they don’t have the injunction yet.”
She looked up at him. That tone made her uneasy, as did the glint in his eyes. “Why does that matter?”
“Because we can still go to the house right now.”
“Why would we do that?”
“This Brenda and her brother clearly don’t want you there, which must mean there’s something they don’t want you to find. Maybe her brother is the one I chased away that night when the office was ransacked. I need to check what kind of car he drives.”
Victoria blinked. “But we can’t.”
“Why not?”
“First, lawyers are getting an injunction to prevent me from doing so and second, which is actually the first consideration,” she glanced back toward the house as she lowered her voice, “Detective McCully threatened to arrest us for interfering in a police investigation.”
Cillian followed the direction of her gaze, then brought his focus back to her.
“In case you’ve forgotten, the detective is going to lock you up for murder if we don’t find out who really killed Thomas.
He’s building a case against you, Vicks.
He’s not looking at anyone else. And he won’t unless we force him to. ”
She pressed her lips together. Could Cillian be right? But even if he was, the risk that McCully would arrest her for interference was also a genuine concern. She was caught between a rock and a hard place.
“You may be willing to trust the detective to figure out you’re innocent.” Cillian’s grim tone pulled her back to his hard expression. “But I won’t take that chance. I will not let him lock you up again.” The fierce protectiveness in his dark eyes made the words seem like a promise.
Her heart squeezed behind her ribs. She could only nod, her throat too tight for speaking.
He touched her shoulder, giving her a gentle squeeze through her coat. “I’ll meet you there.” He turned away and headed for his jeep on the other side of the driveway.
She watched longer than she should have. Especially since McCully could be observing her.
She threw a glance at the house as she rounded her car to the driver’s side.
McCully seemed busy with the officers, examining the porch and steps.
She managed to start her car with numb fingers and drove, following Cillian to Thomas’s house about twenty minutes away.
She tried not to heed the discomfort as the heater began to return warmth to her fingers. And she tried to ignore her thoughts, the way they turned constantly toward Cillian. To the support he’d given her with McCully by his protectiveness and, then, through his hand holding hers.
It had felt more natural now than when she’d been a teen girl.
Then, she’d been so overwhelmed with all her senses firing at his touch, so concerned that she wasn’t experienced enough for a boy like him.
The first time he’d held her hand, she had been sure she wasn’t putting her fingers in the right place, and her hands were probably too cold or clammy.
His touch had felt incredible, like nothing she’d ever experienced, but overwhelming and uncomfortable at the same time.
When he’d taken her hand now in front of the detective, it was as natural as if they’d been holding hands for the sixteen years they’d been apart.
It was as if they were a team, facing life together and strengthening each other with understanding, compassion, and the courage that comes from knowing one is not alone.
The butterflies that had tickled her belly proved the attraction hadn’t dimmed, but there was also a connection that felt so much deeper.
A rap on her window made her jump.
Cillian leaned down and waved at her through the glass.
She peered out the windshield at the sunlit mansion. When had she stopped her car in Thomas’s driveway? Hopefully, her autopilot brain was a skilled driver.
She unlocked the door and exited her car, scanning the empty curves of the driveway. “Looks like we’re the only ones here this time.”
“Good. We can really go over the place.” Cillian fell in step beside her, clearly slowing his stride so as not to outpace her. Though his barely restrained eagerness showed in his energetic movements.
“Why don’t we split up inside so we can cover ground more quickly?”
He glanced at her. “Good idea.”
Relief released a smidgen of the tension balling her stomach. She needed time and space away from him. He was muddying her thoughts, and her feelings, far too much.
As soon as they entered the foyer, she pointed toward the hallway. “Why don’t you take the office and the other rooms down that hallway?” She would just as soon not relive the experience they’d had there. “I’ll go to the second floor and look at the bedrooms.”
“Sounds like a plan. Meet you back here.” Cillian smiled like a boy about to play hooky before he spun away and strode quickly up the hall.
She shook her head, a smile finding her lips, too, as she took the staircase that curved along the wall.
Cillian was still incorrigible when it came to bending rules or adventuring. Though he would likely say this didn’t qualify as an adventure.
At the top of the stairs, she looked to the left and then right along the carpeted balcony. Two doors lined the wall around the bend to the left and four to her right, two of those located beyond the second staircase.
Thomas’s bedroom was the second door to her right, but she didn’t know what the other rooms were.
She would start with the room where she had first met Thomas.
Vibrantly patterned antique Indian carpet cushioned her steps as she walked to his bedroom along the balcony.
She paused by the closed door and took in a long breath. Then she reached for the knob and opened the door.
“You’re not what I expected for a physical therapist. I suppose I’ll see you one more time.”
Thomas’s voice sounded in her memory at the same time she saw him propped up in his bed, the ornate bedspread covering his legs.
She blinked, and the memory vanished from her vision, hot tears filling her eyes instead.
Perhaps she shouldn’t have come to his room, the location of those first visits when he was recovering from surgery, where they’d started to become friends.
But if his office was a target for someone looking for information or evidence Thomas may have had, his bedroom was an equally possible hiding place.
She straightened her shoulders and stepped inside. Tabling her memories, she tried to remain objective and detached, while still accessing what she knew about Thomas.
Where would he have hidden something important in his room? Something he hadn’t wanted his family or even Mrs. Kline to discover. Perhaps the armoire?
She crossed the room to the beautiful, antique armoire made of dark wood carved with an elegant design. The doors squeaked slightly as she pulled them open.
Clothing greeted her—shirts and sweaters on hangers, sorted by color, all infused with his familiar scent.
Moisture pooled in her eyes again.
She reached for the wool, burgundy sweater, running her fingers over the fabric.
His favorite sweater—the one she’d always complimented him on when he’d worn it, since it had suited his skin tone so well.
She sniffed. She wasn’t here to walk down memory lane. And it wouldn’t do for Cillian to come upstairs and find her weeping.
She scanned the armoire. Nothing appeared out of place. Shifting the clothing to one side, she ran her fingers along the back wall that was too dark to thoroughly inspect.
No bumps or hidden wires met her touch.
She conducted the same tactile search along the bottom of the interior.
Apparently, hidden compartments weren’t as common in real life as in the murder mysteries she’d read since she was a teenager.
She had told Cillian she watched them on TV, but she had only seen a few such programs. She still preferred books to TV but telling him that would have only encouraged him to think she was controlled by her father’s preferences.
The armoire was not proving helpful. Perhaps the dresser drawers would hide something?
She closed the left door.
“What are you doing here?” Ryan Briscoe glared at her, standing exactly where the door had been. Much too close.
Her heart stopped, then took off at superspeed. “I could ask you the same question.” She lifted her chin.
She should have said something calmer and less confrontational. Cillian might be having a negative effect on her.
Anger lit Ryan’s eyes, and his fists flexed at his side.
But letting him see fear would only make him more aggressive.
“You have no right to be here. This is our house. It rightfully belongs to us.”
Victoria tried to pull in enough oxygen through her nose to calm her system and help her think of the best response. “I suppose that will be for the courts to decide.”
His nostrils flared as he took a step closer. “Oh, it’s already decided. You aren’t welcome here.”
She needed to deescalate this situation. Now. “I understand you’re upset. You’ve lost your uncle, and I’m sorry for that.” She stepped around him, headed for the door.
He grabbed her from behind, gripping her upper arms.
She gasped and tried to pull away.
He slammed her shoulder into the wall.
She spun toward him, but he pinned her back against the wall, pushing her hard into the wood paneling.
“You can’t do this. I won’t let you do this.” Spit flew from his mouth as he leaned in, his hands grinding her into the wall with a strength she couldn’t resist.
She forced herself to meet his gaze. Fear bolted through her at what she saw.
His eyes held the hatred of a killer.