Tell Me Your Secrets

At the end of three days, I knew each one of the players as well as I knew the characters on Secrets, maybe even better. But I’d rejected plan B. How was I supposed to find out anything with Rossi Investigation’s biggest intimidation factor dogging my every step?

I turned to Cole and put on my most confident smile. “I’m going to be able to do this.”

He pulled to a stop in front of an opened wrought iron gate that bore the name McKenzie Ranch. Then he turned to me. “I don’t doubt that. Pepper has told me a lot about you. But if you want help, Pepper and I are a phone call away.”

I felt tears prick behind my eyes. “Thanks. But I think I have a better chance of learning something if I do this alone. My sister would be able to do this. If I’m anything at all like her, I can, too.”

Cole gave me a brief nod, then guided his car through the gate and up the winding driveway. When we rounded the last curve and the hacienda came into view, I gave a little gasp.

The Hacienda Montega was listed in every book that chronicled historic homes in California. In addition to being an excellent example of Spanish architecture, the house had a mysterious and colorful history. I’d done some research on it that went beyond Pepper’s report. What I’d discovered was that the mistresses of the hacienda had a tendency to die young. Not even Cameron’s father’s wives had escaped. James McKenzie’s first wife, Sarah, hadn’t died, but she’d still been young when she’d run away with Sloan Campbell’s father. Of course, I’d tucked that little piece of information away for a possible story line. Then James’s second wife, Elizabeth, had passed away shortly after they’d adopted Cameron.

But there was a lighter and even more colorful side to the history, too. Originally built by Don Roberto Montega on the occasion of his marriage to the Spanish Countess Maria Francesca in the eighteenth century, the hacienda had eventually fallen into the hands of a silent film producer who’d only owned it a year before he’d lost both the hacienda and the land to a professional gambler named Silas McKenzie.

And the rest was history, as they say. Silas had married, mended his gambling ways and turned to his first love, raising Thoroughbred horses. From the looks of the hacienda, the stables and the other outbuildings, he must have had a knack for it. James, the current owner of the estate, was his grandson.

All of the pictures I’d seen paled in comparison to what I was looking at now. The main part of the house rose three stories with a bell tower at its center that thrust up another two. The colors were so intense—those golden stones, the reddish-orange tiles on the roof against a bright blue sky. My gaze swept along the arches and stone pillars that framed the courtyard, then rose to the lacy ironwork that fanned each one of the windows on the second and third floors. Flowers bloomed everywhere, crowding the paths bordering the walks, and spilling out of terra-cotta urns.

Beatrice McKenzie Caulfield, the sister of James McKenzie, the aging patriarch, was responsible for the flowers. I ran through the information I knew about her. She was renowned for her gardening skills and was a frequent participant and speaker at garden shows. In addition to that, she’d run the Hacienda Montega for the past twenty-five years since the untimely death of Elizabeth McKenzie. Beatrice was also the mother of Austin Caulfield, Cameron’s cousin, who’d taken over her job in her absence.

Cole pulled to a stop in front of the courtyard. Inside, I could see a fountain shooting sparks of light back at the sun.

“It’s beautiful,” I said.

“That it is,” Cole agreed. “Does it trigger any memory?”

I glanced at him in surprise.

“Get used to the question, Brooke. The moment you step out of the car, you’re Cameron McKenzie, suffering from amnesia. Are you ready?”

I drew in a deep breath and pushed open the door on my side of the car. “Ready.”

My step didn’t falter once as we walked up the path past the fountain to the huge wood door of the house. Cole knocked. I counted to ten, and Cole had raised his hand to knock again when the door swung open to reveal a small, brown-skinned woman who was as wide as she was tall. She stared at me for a moment, but even as she tucked the towel she was holding into an apron pocket, her face brightened into a smile that was almost as wide as her girth. “Ms. Cameron, Ms. Cameron, you’re safe!” She grabbed my hands, drew me over the threshold and enveloped me in a warm hug.

For a moment, she held me tight and I caught the scent of vanilla. Then she drew back, studied me at arm’s length, then pulled me in for another hug. “They said you’d be back. Mr. James and Mr. Sloan—they weren’t worried. But I…”

When she released me, I saw tears in her eyes. This had to be Elena Santoro, the woman who’d been the housekeeper and cook for the McKenzies for more than forty years. According to Pepper’s information, much of the job of raising Cameron had fallen on her shoulders after Elizabeth McKenzie had died.

Elena rubbed the heel of her hand against her cheeks. “I was worried. I shouldn’t have.” For the first time, she seemed to notice Cole at my side.

“Ma’am.” He nodded at her and withdrew his license from his pocket. “I’m Cole Buchanan of Rossi Investigations. Ms. McKenzie here was mugged in San Francisco a little over a month ago, all her ID was stolen, and she’s been suffering from amnesia ever since. If the rest of the family is home, perhaps you could let them know we’re here, and I could explain everything all at once?”

“You were mugged?” She reached out a hand, hesitated and then dropped it. “You’ve lost your memory?”

“Yes. Hopefully, it’s only temporary. But when I woke up in the hospital, I couldn’t remember anything—who I was, where I should go….” Seeing the concern in her eyes, I felt a little twinge of guilt, but it didn’t seem to be interfering with my ability to lie. “I hired Mr. Buchanan’s security firm to help me find out who I was, and they finally did.”

“How awful.” She did take my hands then and squeezed them briefly.

“The family?” Cole prompted.

“Yes. But only Ms. Beatrice is here. Mr. Sloan went to Kentucky to pick up a horse and Mr. James is in Los Angeles, having his yearly checkup. Mr. James will be back later today, but Mr. Sloan isn’t expected back until tomorrow. Mr. Austin is in Saratoga Springs with Ms. Linton at the races. But Ms. Beatrice is in her office. I’ll get her.”

Elena bustled away down the hall. For the first time I had time to glance around the huge foyer. The hacienda’s interior was no less impressive than its exterior. The floor was covered with honey-colored tiles that offered a nice contrast to the gleaming dark wood of a staircase that swept up to a landing, then split off in two directions to the balconied second level. In the center of the foyer stood a round carved oak table, nearly the size of the one I imagined Arthur had gathered his knights around. On top of it stood a huge crystal vase filled with flowers.

Elena led Beatrice McKenzie Caulfield around the side of the table. My first impression was that Beatrice would have made a great snow queen. Her hair was nearly white, and fell straight and long from a center part almost to her waist. Her eyes were a pale shade of blue, her skin porcelain. Even her clothes were pale. She wore light tan work pants and a shirt in a soft material that seemed to flow as she walked toward us. Her white canvas shoes made no noise as she approached. She was a tall woman, slender, with an ethereal kind of beauty that reminded me of Tennessee Williams’s Southern women. Blanche Dubois—but stronger. Colder. I had a feeling that Beatrice would hold her own very well against Stanley Kowalski.

I also had the distinct impression that Beatrice Caulfield had been studying me just as thoroughly as I’d been studying her. When she stopped in front of me, she was the one who broke the silence. “Cameron?”

The word with its question mark came out in a soft voice that somehow matched the rest of her.

“Ma’am,” Cole began to tell my story about the accident and my memory loss.

Beatrice interrupted. “Why were you in San Francisco?”

“I don’t remember,” I said. It was amazing how memory loss came in handy. “Do you have any idea why I might have gone up there?”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

Cole continued, telling the part where I came to Rossi Investigations and hired them to find out who I was. He’d nearly finished when a large black cat appeared around the side of the oak table, walked toward us and halted at Elena’s feet.

“Hannibal, aren’t you happy to see your mistress?” Elena asked.

The cat stayed right where he was, and the look he gave me was not friendly. Did that mean he knew on some cat instinct level that I wasn’t Cameron? Here was a complication that I hadn’t counted on. Pepper and Cole had warned me there’d be more than one.

Elena scooped Hannibal up and held him out to me.

The cat responded by hissing loudly and taking a swipe at me with his paw.

“Evidently, he’s forgotten you already,” Beatrice remarked.

“Don’t you pay any attention to him, Ms. Cameron,” Elena hurried to say. “The two of you were thick as thieves. He just needs some time to get used to you again.” She set Hannibal down, and he shot off like a bullet.

I wished that it was as easy to read Beatrice as it was to read the cat. The woman had registered very little emotion at seeing me, but she hadn’t shifted her gaze from me once during the time that Cole had talked. I found it impossible to tell from her eyes, but I had a feeling that she didn’t harbor any warm feelings for Cameron. Definitely a snow queen, I thought.

Finally, Beatrice turned to Cole. “Would you like something to drink, Mr. Buchanan? Iced tea?”

Cole smiled. “That would be great.”

Beatrice had Elena serve us tea on a patio off the kitchen that offered a view of the gardens and the stables in the distance. She was a good hostess and a good listener. By the time we were finished with our drinks, Beatrice knew pretty much everything that had happened to me in the weeks I’d supposedly been missing—everything we wanted her to know.

Finally, she rose. “James will be home late this afternoon. He knew that you’d be back, but I’m sure it will ease his mind to find out that he was right.” Then she turned to Cole. “Mr. Buchanan, if you’ll leave a card? My brother may wish to speak with you.”

Cole took a card out of his pocket and handed it to her.

She turned to me. “Make yourself at home, Cameron. I have work to do in the greenhouse.”

I waited until she left before I said to Cole, “Do you think she bought it?”

“I think the jury’s out. One of the things that we talked about is that while people may believe you’re Cameron, they may suspect you’re faking the memory loss. Do you want me to hang around until James gets here?”

“No.” I drew in a deep breath and let it out. “I feel like I’ve been given a little reprieve, not having to explain everything to James and Sloan right away.” I was really a bit apprehensive about Sloan and happy that I wouldn’t have to face him until the next day. In spite of that I managed a smile for Cole. “I’m going to do a bit of exploring and try to get to know my sister a bit better. I’ll be fine. Really.”

I walked Cole out to the door and waited until he brought my duffel from the car. In spite of my words, my stomach did a little flip as he pulled away. But in addition to apprehension, I also felt a little thrill of excitement. The adventure was about to begin.

3

A HALF HOUR LATER, I was restlessly exploring Cameron’s bedroom. Elena had taken me up right after Cole had left, and before I could shut the door, Hannibal had dashed in, leaped onto the bed and enthroned himself on the pillows as if he were staking out a claim.

Before I’d let Elena return to the kitchen, I’d asked her one of the questions that Cole and Pepper and I had decided we needed to know—a question no one had bothered with because Cameron had never been reported missing. Where was each of the cast of characters on the day that Cameron had disappeared? Once I had the information, I was to phone Pepper and then Rossi Investigations could check out the alibis. Since Elena had been able to give such an accurate rundown of everyone’s whereabouts when Cole and I had arrived, I’d figured she’d be a good source. And she had been. James and Sloan had been at the ranch that day. Miss Beatrice had been giving a speech at a flower show in San Diego about an hour’s drive away. Mr. Austin had been with the Lintons in Las Vegas. There’d been no censure in her tone, but I sensed that Elena didn’t entirely approve of Austin’s whereabouts.

Thanks to Cole’s and Pepper’s coaching, I knew who the Lintons were. Marcie Linton was my personal assistant. I’d hired her on about six months ago. Shortly after they’d met, she and Austin had started dating, and they’d since become engaged. Marcie had introduced Austin to her brother, Hal, and the trio had been very close ever since.

Cole had also learned that Hal represented a group of developers who wanted badly to get their hands on a strip of McKenzie land that ran along the Pacific. So far, James had rejected all offers. Evidently, McKenzies didn’t part easily with their land.

Once Elena had left, I’d ignored Hannibal, and embarked on the first step in my plan—learning more about my sister. Her bedroom was large and airy with two large floor-to-ceiling windows that opened onto small balconies. In decor the room was feminine—Cameron favored pastels—but it wasn’t frilly. The walls were ivory; the rug was an Oriental in muted shades of rose which were picked up in the bedspread and in the upholstered furniture.

In a small alcove, there was a couch—not a love seat, but a full-length couch, one I could imagine stretching out on and reading—or perhaps taking a nap. I tested it, and to my surprise, Hannibal jumped off the bed, ambled over and aimed a glare at me.

In spite of Elena’s assurances that cats had short memories and he just needed a little time to get to know his owner again, I couldn’t help thinking that Hannibal knew more than he was letting on. “Okay,” I said. “Maybe you can sense I’m not Cameron. But I’m trying to find out what happened to her. So we’re really on the same side here.”

He didn’t look convinced.

I didn’t have much experience with cats, but I’d handled horses who’d been initially skeptical of my abilities as a rider. The key was never to let them sense your weakness.

I turned to examine the bookcase next to the couch. There, I discovered a variety of books from Shakespeare’s Sonnets and well-thumbed copies of classics like Pride and Prejudice and To Kill a Mockingbird to a thriller about a diamond heist that had recently made the bestseller lists. I’d just read it myself, and I wondered in how many other things my sister’s taste and mine might coincide.

From the Queen Anne desk and a delicately hand-carved chair, I assumed she liked antiques. I’d never had the time to hunt for them, but I could appreciate their beauty. On the other side of the couch, I discovered a silly-looking red fox perched on top of an embroidered footstool.

When I picked it up to take a closer look, Hannibal made a growling sound deep in his throat.

I was intimidated enough to put the fox back on the stool, and I turned my attention to the small cabinet. Inside I found a bottle of brandy, a cache of chocolate and a bag of cat tidbits. Had I uncovered the secret to how Cameron and Hannibal had become “thick as thieves?” Selecting one of them, I turned back to the cat.

“Is this what you’re hounding me for?”

He moved closer and I gave him the treat. He hadn’t been on my list of the players at the hacienda, but if Cameron had kept treats for him right beside her chocolate…

“Look. I’m going to be here for a while, so you’d better get used to me. And I’m not going to steal anything from your mistress. She’s my sister.”

Hannibal blinked just as if he’d understood what I’d just said.

“We’re not enemies. Really. I’m beginning to like her. She has good taste—even in chocolate.”

Her cache was made in Switzerland.

Hannibal had no comment. I opened the cabinet, and this time I took out a treat for both of us. As he ate his, I took a bite of chocolate and turned my attention back to the room. Truth told, I not only liked Cameron’s taste, I envied it. Since moving to Los Angeles, I’d pretty much buried myself in work, and I hadn’t yet taken the time to make my apartment my own.

I investigated Cameron’s closet next while Hannibal stood in the doorway to keep watch. What I found was that any possible similarities between my sister and me came to an end when it came to clothes. First off, her closet wasn’t a closet. It was a whole room that opened off the larger bed-sitting-room area. My bedroom in my apartment wasn’t any larger. One wall housed drawers, cupboards, shoe racks and shelves. Along the other hung Cameron’s clothes, neatly arranged and sorted into pants, shirts, jackets, suits and dresses.

If you are what you wear, Cameron McKenzie was a fashion queen. I like clothes, too, but I bought mine off the racks, and Cameron’s all came from designer showrooms. No bargains from Wal-Mart here. So far Jimmy Choo shoes were something that I’d only seen on TV shows. My twin owned four pairs. Way to go, Cameron.

Insatiably curious, I’d searched through drawers and found she had a taste for gold, expensive lingerie and short nightgowns. I’d even tested her scent—something exotic and French that probably cost more than what I spent on a month’s rent.

But it was the bathroom that gave me the biggest surprise about my sister. The best description I could come up with was that it was like a little slice of paradise. There was a skylight situated so that sun, rain or starlight would be visible from the tub. There were gleaming marble tiles, a shower with frosted glass doors, brass faucets, and enough plants hanging and bursting out of pots to make one think of Eden.

I was aware of all that as I stood in the doorway, but my eyes never left the tub. Surrounding it on a wide ledge were glass bottles in various hues, filled no doubt with scents and oils and creams. And I counted twelve candles. The tub itself sank into the floor and it was big enough for two. I couldn’t help wondering if it had ever been used that way. Cameron and Sloan? My sister definitely had a sensuous side.

That shouldn’t surprise me. So did I. At least I was pretty sure I did. I just hadn’t had much time to indulge it—or perhaps, I hadn’t had much of a reason to indulge it. Cameron had her very attractive fiancé.

Turning, I moved back into the bedroom and began to pace. Bottom line, after an hour in my sister’s bedroom, I’d learned she had excellent taste in decor, expensive taste in clothes and the money to indulge it, and a passionate side to her nature—all of which I admired and envied her for.

To top it off, she was going to be heir to half of her father’s kingdom—worth millions of dollars.

Compared to hers, my life seemed rather mundane.

But my purpose here wasn’t about me, I reminded myself. I was here to learn all I could about Cameron and just why she might have disappeared on that day five weeks ago.

Moving to the window, I focused on what my next move should be. I’d fully expected to spend my first day on the ranch meeting all the major players that I would have to convince that I was Cameron without a memory. With Sloan and James away, I was out of plot line. The view from Cameron’s bedroom was the same as the one Beatrice, Cole and I had had on the patio, and my eyes were drawn to the stables. If Sloan had been here, I would have asked him for a tour and perhaps gone for a ride. It had been so long since I’d been on a horse.

But that might not be my best move. I was suffering from memory loss. So it might look strange if I walked down to the stables and asked someone to saddle up a horse. My gaze moved to the hills that bordered the valley the ranch sat in on the east and the west.

But I could ask for a car. After all, I was Cameron McKenzie, home after an absence of five weeks. Memory loss or not, I might be interested in driving around to see if something, anything stirred a memory.

It certainly beat sitting here in Cameron’s room with a cat who seemed to value me only for my ability to provide food. Elena would know whom I’d have to speak to. I hurried to the door, opened it, and then glanced back at Hannibal. He was back on the bed, sitting on his throne. “Coming?”

He made no move.

“See you later,” I said as I let myself out and shut the door.

ELENA HAD GIVEN ME the keys to an SUV that was parked right outside the kitchen. It had a McKenzie Ranch logo on the side, and anybody who needed to run an errand could use it. On impulse and out of curiosity, I’d driven up onto the bluff that formed a natural boundary on one side of the valley the ranch lay snuggled in. The road was unpaved and rough in spots. When I’d gone as far as I could with the SUV, I’d parked it and walked another half mile along a path that wove in and out of boulders until I’d reached the top.

All around me as far as I could see, lay the vast stretch of land that the McKenzies could lay claim to. I knew from the maps that Cole and Pepper had shown me that the shores of the Pacific were blocked by more hills behind me, but the estate extended all the way to the sea. Below me the ground sloped gently before it dropped off sharply into the valley below. Since I have a problem with heights, I was careful not to go near the edge. My view of the hacienda itself was still blocked by some of the boulders that dotted the bluff, so I walked farther along the narrow path to get a better look.

The wind had picked up, and to the west I could see huge dark clouds racing in from the Pacific. Thunder growled in the distance, and lightning split the sky.

Shades of Wuthering Heights, I thought. Not a good omen. Then I resolutely turned my back on the approaching storm and walked onward until I had a good view of the flat stretch of land in the little valley below.

From this vantage point, I could see everything that I hadn’t been able to see from the patio or Cameron’s window. Behind the hacienda there was an Olympicsized pool and a pool house surrounded by trees and terraced gardens. Fanning off from that I could see orange groves, tennis courts and what must be Beatrice’s greenhouses.

If Beatrice was responsible for all of that, my hat was off to her. The stables, along with the training and riding rings and what was probably once the original carriage house, were a short distance away. Here and there, I caught glimpses of a stream twisting like a silver snake in and out among trees which grew thicker in some places than in others.

And this was only the ranch land. The entire McKenzie estate, I reminded myself, included that prime undeveloped real estate along the Pacific Coast. All I could think was Wow!

Far below me, a truck pulling a horse trailer drew up in front of the largest of the stable buildings. A second later, two men climbed out and the larger of the two, the driver, went immediately to open the trailer door. Even at this distance, I could tell that the horse he led out by a tether was magnificent. Huge and black, the animal reared up as if he just had to stretch after being cooped up. I grinned, thinking that I’d felt the same way myself just a short time ago.

Then, instead of leading the horse into the stables, I watched the man leap up onto the horse’s back and ride him bareback across the nearest field. Admiration and envy streamed through me as rider and horse took the first fence and began to make their way toward the very hills I was perched on.

I let my gaze sweep the estate again as I struggled to identify the other emotions tumbling through me. Excitement and pride that all of this belonged to my twin sister. Reading Pepper’s report and studying the photos had whetted my curiosity. Now, seeing the hacienda, the land, from this vantage point was making Cameron even more real to me. But I wanted to know more. I needed to know everything. Obviously, we shared a love of horses, and hers had been easily nurtured here.