The Sound of Secrets

“I know, but Mick wants to keep the wedding simple. He’s a little put-off with the Blanchard wealth and social standing anyway, and I don’t want him intimidated by an expensive wedding. Detectives make a good salary, but he has a daughter to care for…and kids are expensive.”

“And where will you live?”

“Mick has an adorable little cottage overlooking the ocean. It’s small, but he’s adding another bedroom and a bathroom for us.” Portia looked quickly at her twin. “I’ve wondered if I’m leaving you in the lurch since I won’t be paying my share of the rent. You like the apartment so much—I hope you won’t have to give it up.”

“Don’t worry about that. The profits from my show will easily make up for your share of the rent.”

A tremor in her voice, Portia said, “It’s hard for me to imagine that you and I won’t be living together anymore. We’ve always been inseparable. Now I’ll be staying in Maine with a husband and a daughter, and you’ll be in New York by yourself. I wish you’d move back to Maine.”

Although Rissa had been having similar thoughts about being separated from Portia, she laughed nonchalantly. “Do you think I could ever be happy in Stoneley again? There probably aren’t more than a half dozen people in this area who have even seen a Broadway show, let alone have any idea of what it takes to write and produce one.” She shook her head, realizing that she sounded pretentious again. “I’ll miss being with you, sweetie. But you and I have to go our separate ways now. I need to be around people who understand me and my purpose in life.”

“I know! But it will be different,” Portia murmured.

“Very different! While I was driving last night I got a little nostalgic. I remembered so many things about us. Being a twin is wonderful. When we were little, I never bothered with a mirror. If I wanted to know what I looked like, I looked at you. And do you remember the time I wanted a new hairstyle, and while you were asleep, I cut your hair to see how I would look with short hair?”

“Do I remember? That’s the first time we ever had a fight. And I thought Aunt Winnie was going to spank you.” They both giggled remembering the experience.

With a grimace, Rissa said, “Instead of spanking me, she cut my hair, and she didn’t know any more about styling hair than I did. After I saw what you looked like, I’d made up my mind I didn’t want short hair, but I got it, anyway. Even now, I dread going for a trim—I’m afraid I’ll hate it like I did my first haircut.” They both giggled.

“And I never had any trouble buying a gift for you—I just bought something I liked.”

“But we didn’t always choose the same kind of clothes,” Rissa commented.

“That’s because we’re not entirely identical—we are separate people.”

“Well, it’s been a great ride while it lasted.”

“Oh, don’t talk like it’s all in the past, sis. Surely we’ll have more fun times together.”

“Count on it!” Rissa agreed. “I’ll leave your room in the apartment the way it is now—mess and all,” she added with a grin because Portia’s room was always cluttered. By contrast, in Rissa’s bedroom, everything had its place. “It will be ready whenever you want to bring your family to visit.”

They came to the end of the cliff walk. “Let’s go back through the spruce forest,” Portia said. They turned to cross Bay View Road but paused when they saw a police cruiser approaching.

“Well, well!” Rissa said with a teasing glance at her sister. “Here comes that wonderful man now.”

Portia shook her head. “That isn’t Mick. It’s his partner, Drew.”

The large cruiser slid to a halt and the window lowered before Rissa got control of her emotions.

“Hello, ladies,” Drew said in a deep-timbered, composed voice that Rissa remembered all too well. He was ruggedly handsome with short, chestnut-brown hair and assessing dark eyes that were presently flickering with amusement. “I think I need to visit an optometrist—I’m seeing double.”

Bending forward until her eyes were on a level with his, Portia said, “Oh, you tease. This is my sister, Rissa.”

“It’s great to see you again, Rissa.”

“Same here,” Rissa replied evenly, having regained her composure. “I understand we’ll have the responsibility of keeping the bride and groom cool, calm and collected during their wedding.”

“So I’ve been told, but who’s going to keep us from being nervous?”

“We’ll have to lean on each other,” Rissa answered, irritated because she was enjoying this good-natured bantering. But her smile faded when she thought about Drew’s small-town position—he could never be husband material. Like oil and water—city and small town wouldn’t mix. She was determined to put him out of her mind.

“What are you doing out here?” Portia asked. “Not on official business, I hope.”

“Actually I am. We had an anonymous tip about an altercation between a man and a woman here in the gazebo last night. The message came from a cell phone and we couldn’t trace the call. Mick was busy on another case so he sent me to investigate. What do you know about it?”

Rissa cleared her throat and pulled on her left earlobe, one of their secret communication codes. Portia looked at her quickly, having gotten the message that she shouldn’t give out any information.

“Nothing happened that should concern the cops,” Portia said. “Just a family matter—and I’m sure that Father wouldn’t want any publicity about it. He’s seen about all the police and reporters he wants to during the past few months.”

“Well, I’ll take a look anyway, if you don’t mind. Is the gate locked?”

“No, it shouldn’t be. During the daytime, it’s usually open for the help and delivery service to come and go,” Rissa said.

Putting the cruiser into motion, Drew said, “Enjoy your walk.”

He had intercepted the secret message that passed between the two women. Mick had mentioned that the twins were super close. He hoped his buddy wasn’t making a mistake marrying a twin who might keep secrets from her husband. Not that Drew was in the market for a wife, but he didn’t think he would want to marry a woman who was identical in appearance to her sister, even if she were as pretty as Rissa. And considering the shady circumstances involving the Blanchards now, he had better steer clear of any personal involvement with any of them.

“Do you suppose he’ll find anything that might cause more trouble for the family?” Rissa asked anxiously as Drew drove away. “I’ve experienced all of the crises I want in the past few months.”

“I don’t suppose there’s anything to find and Father won’t talk. But it does worry me. Mick doesn’t say much, but I know he isn’t satisfied about the death of that P.I., Garrett McGraw. Although he’s convinced that the police don’t have all the facts, the case is closed.”

They walked home in silence.

Rissa’s impression of Drew Lancaster was that he would be a hard man to fool. Judging from the way his pleasant expression had stilled and become serious, he had obviously caught her warning signal to Portia. Would he interpret it as proof that the Blanchards had something to hide? Whatever the family had under wraps, Rissa figured that this detective wouldn’t stop until he found out what it was.

TWO

Drew Lancaster’s cruiser was parked near the gazebo, but he wasn’t in sight when the twins approached Blanchard Manor from the woods. As they rounded the corner of the house, they saw the detective strolling along the driveway leading from the house to Bay View Road. He stared intently at the ground. Portia pulled Rissa into a secluded nook where they could watch Drew without being seen. He wore a dark brown leather jacket over his neat tan trousers. Tall and muscular, Drew carried himself with a commanding stance of self-confidence.

He had a camera slung over his shoulder and, as they watched, he stopped suddenly, lifted the camera and snapped several photos of that spot. He checked the screen of his digital camera, and, ostensibly satisfied, he moved on, with his eyes still watching the ground before him. Portia turned worried eyes on her twin when he stooped and picked up an item.

“I didn’t check out the driveway this morning. What do you suppose he’s found?” she whispered.

Rissa shook her head.

The sound of a car coming up the hill reached their ears and soon their father’s Jaguar came into view. He was driving at his usual breakneck speed. He honked the horn angrily when he saw Drew. He swerved quickly and Drew jumped several feet to avoid being accidentally run down.

The twins exchanged troubled glances and reached the garage just as Ronald wheeled his Jaguar into his parking place and stepped out of the car, his eyes blazing with fury.

Although he was just a few years shy of turning sixty, Ronald was still as handsome and vigorous as he had been in his youth. Jerking a thumb toward Drew, he demanded, “What’s he doing here?”

“Good to see you, too, Father,” Rissa muttered sarcastically, but if Ronald heard, he ignored her.

“He said someone called about the commotion in the gazebo last night,” Portia said.

His dark face irate, he lifted his arm as if he might strike her. Rissa choked back a terrified cry. Although Ronald had never displayed any love or tenderness toward any of his six daughters, she’d never known him to lay a hand on any of them.

“Did you call that boyfriend of yours?”

“No, I didn’t,” Portia gasped and stepped closer to Rissa.

“What did happen in the gazebo, Father?” Rissa asked, attempting to deflect his displeasure from Portia.

Ronald’s eyes glowered down at his twin daughters, but he lowered his hand.

“None of your business,” he said, before he brushed by them and entered the house.

He was detained when a firm hand grabbed his shoulder. Rissa couldn’t imagine that Drew could have so quickly covered the distance from where her father had almost run him down to the front of the house. Ronald turned furious eyes on Drew, but he couldn’t break the ironclad hold on his shoulder.

Drew’s eyes were blazing with fury. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, but it held an undertone of cold contempt. “You’re driving a little reckless this morning, aren’t you?”

“It’s my own property. I can drive as fast as I want to.”

“Yes, you can, but you probably won’t like it if I charge you with wanton endangerment.”

“You wouldn’t dare! I could have that badge of yours in a hurry if you make such a charge.”

“I doubt that, Mr. Blanchard. You might not know it, but you don’t have the influence in this community that you once had.” He removed his hand. “I’m warning you—don’t try to interfere with our investigation.”

Without any apology to Portia and Rissa, Drew walked purposefully to his car and drove away. What could he say to them? Their father was probably a murderer, or at best, he had a lot of explaining to do.

Turning frightened eyes to her twin, Portia said, “Would he have hit me?”

“I don’t know what to think,” Rissa said, putting an arm around Portia, unable to reassure her sister when her own suspicions were rampant. “Let’s go inside.”

Through the rearview mirror, Drew saw Rissa and Portia follow their father into the house. Small footprints going from the gazebo and back again proved that whoever the woman in the gazebo had been, she had not been killed. He had followed steps from the gazebo to the spot where the woman had left her car. He’d snapped pictures of the tire tracks, but the rain last night had all but obliterated them. And it looked as if Ronald had swerved to drive across the tracks when he’d come home. Fortunately, Drew had already taken a picture of them. But what could he do with the clues he had found? He glanced at the key chain he’d picked up. There was no key on the chain attached to a porpoise in flight—a relatively common item found in gift shops. Could this key chain provide any new leads in the string of incidents that had involved the Blanchards for the past few months?

His partner, Mick, was in a quandary—trying to work on cases in Stoneley without causing trouble for Portia or her family. And now that he’d seen Rissa Blanchard again, Drew was in the same fix. Throughout the weeks since he had met her, he’d tried to convince himself that Rissa wasn’t as fascinating as he’d thought at their first meeting. Now he wasn’t so sure.

But he and Mick were cops first. Whatever their feelings toward the Blanchard twins, they were committed to upholding the law. He only hoped that they could do their job without bringing disaster upon Rissa and her sisters.

Drew rounded a curve and pulled to one side of the road. He locked the car and walked along a trail that took him toward the bluffs behind Blanchard Manor. From this point he had a bird’s-eye view of the house and the crystal-blue waters of the Atlantic. Rissa’s heritage! He cringed when he considered how ridiculous it was for him to think about pursuing a relationship with her. She would probably laugh in his face if he asked her out.

And who could blame her? Rissa had been born with the proverbial silver spoon in her mouth. He, on the other hand, not only came from a poor family, but a dysfunctional one, as well. He lived from month to month on his salary, trying to help his mother support his two younger sisters. Financially he had nothing to offer any woman, and physically? To look at his strong body, no one would ever suspect the secret that prevented him from seriously dating any woman, let alone someone as special as Rissa.

The house was quiet when the twins returned and Rissa figured everyone was trying to rest after the commotion of the previous night. Portia went into the library to find Web sites for wedding consultants in Portland. Rissa went upstairs to the room she and Portia had always shared. Her memory was hazy about her life before they had moved to this house, which happened soon after their mother had died—or disappeared, as her father had recently revealed. She did have a hazy recollection of her mother rocking her to sleep a few times. Rissa was deeply immersed in her memories when Portia entered the room.

“I can’t believe that our mother is still alive,” Rissa said. “Let’s go over again what Father said about it. I was so shocked that I don’t remember everything he said.”

“He had faked our mother’s death so we wouldn’t have to know that she was suffering from postpartum depression. The best I can understand, she’s been in a mental institution all of these years—when we thought she was dead—but she disappeared from there about eight months ago. No one seems to know where she is now.”

“Could she have been the woman in the gazebo last night?”

“Surely he wouldn’t tell our mother that he would kill her if she ever came to the house again!” Portia’s brown eyes, so like Rissa’s own, were full of pain.

“At this point, I’m willing to believe almost anything about our father.” Rissa took off the boots she’d worn for their hike and stretched out on the canopied twin bed.

Almost immediately a knock sounded at the door. “Come in,” Rissa invited.

Peg Henderson, Howard’s private nurse, peered around the half-opened door.

“Welcome home, Rissa,” she said, her sky-blue eyes brimming with friendliness. Peg had become a fixture in the Blanchard household since Ronald had hired her to take care of his father, who was suffering from Alzheimer’s.

Sitting up, Rissa said, “Seems like I’ve spent more time here the past few months than I’ve been in the city. I’m going to wear my welcome out.”

“I doubt that,” Peg said with a bright smile.

“How’s Grandfather?”

“He’s having a good afternoon. He saw you out on the lawn and asked to see you, so this might be a good time to visit. His lucid periods don’t come often or last very long.”

Rissa hadn’t been able to talk to her grandfather at all the last time she’d visited Stoneley, so she quickly slid off the bed and tucked her feet into her metallic leather slippers. “I’ll come right now.”

She chatted with Peg as they climbed the steps to her grandfather’s rooms on the third floor, wondering how the nurse could remain so serene and sweet-natured when she had to deal with Howard’s mood swings on a twenty-four-hour basis. Except for a few times when she temporarily left Howard in the care of Sonya Garcia, the longtime Blanchard housekeeper, Peg seemed content to stay with her patient. She did have a luxurious combination living-and-bedroom suite adjacent to Howard’s, because the Blanchard family did all they could to make her life pleasant.

When they reached her grandfather’s sitting room, Rissa summoned her nerve to go inside. In her most depressed moments, she had often wondered if she would someday be like her grandfather.

But Howard greeted her with a smile that was reminiscent of how she remembered him as a child. She rushed to his side and knelt beside him. If it hadn’t been for him and Aunt Winnie, Rissa would have grown up without any affection. There was never any doubt that Howard loved his granddaughters and that they were welcome in his home. If Winnie hadn’t intervened with gentle discipline, Howard would have spoiled all of them.

“I love you, Grandfather,” Rissa said hurriedly, for she wanted to take advantage of this lucid moment to let him know how much she appreciated what he had done for her. His trembling hand ruffled her long, curly black hair and moved slowly to her cheek.

“How’s my big-city girl?”

“Busy, as usual,” she answered. “The show is more popular than I’d ever hoped for. Tickets are sold out several months in advance, and I’m working on a new play.”

“You’ve got the Blanchard drive, girl. You’ll go a long way.”

“But I feel very weak sometimes. I could sure use your help making decisions.”

Peg cleared her throat, and when Rissa looked up, she shook her head. Perhaps Peg had sensed something she hadn’t, because suddenly Howard’s expression changed. Her grandfather was gone, and in his place was a senile old man whose eyes darted around the room. He stood up, and Peg was at his side immediately, encouraging him to sit down.

He clenched his teeth in anger and tried to push Peg aside, but she tenderly overpowered him and settled him in the chair again.

“Where’s Ethel?” he shouted. He turned his tormented eyes toward Rissa. “Have you seen my wife?” he cried piteously.

Her heart breaking over the torment he must be feeling, Rissa said softly, “No, Grandfather, I haven’t seen her today.”

“I want her,” he cried. “Where’s Ethel?”

His eyes, once so full of life and warmth, were devoid of any kind of expression.

In a soft voice, Peg said, “I think you’d better go now.”

But Rissa wasn’t ready to leave. She took her grandfather’s cold, trembling hand and looked around the room, wondering what she could do to encourage him. On a nearby table she was surprised to see the Bible Howard had once carried to church. On the same table was a tray holding a large number of prescription bottles. Rissa remembered that her psychiatrist had told her that the Word of God could be a good supplement to her medication. Maybe it would work with her grandfather.

“I’d like to read to him from the Bible—maybe that will help calm him.”

“It would be better if you’d leave now,” the nurse insisted.

The nurse had the final authority on Howard’s care, but Rissa begged, “Please, Peg, let me read a few verses to him.”

Reluctantly Peg agreed. “All right, but sometimes he becomes quite violent after he’s come to himself for a few minutes. I want to spare you that, but perhaps having you read to him will calm him.”

Howard had had the reputation of being a cutthroat businessman and had been feared by many in the local community. Although he’d doted on his granddaughters, he’d been a hard man in dealing with others. But Aunt Winnie had told the sisters that Howard had once been an active member of the church and had never missed Sunday worship.

His heart had seemed hardened against God as long as Rissa could remember, and she was concerned about her grandfather’s eternal security. Considering his age and physical condition, he could die anytime. It worried Rissa that her beloved grandfather might go into Eternity unprepared to meet God.

She picked up the Bible, hardly knowing what to read, but she turned to the Psalms—a place where she often found comfort. But she must not choose anything to distress her grandfather. She glanced at Psalm Twenty-seven and decided that would be acceptable.

Rissa sensed Peg’s displeasure and she prayed silently that what she was doing would penetrate that wall of spiritual indifference Howard had erected between himself and God. She had memorized favorite passages in this psalm as a part of her therapy, so she didn’t have to keep her eyes on the printed page all of the time. Her grandfather didn’t take his eyes off her face as she read, but his eyes were expressionless.

“‘The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?…One thing have I desired of the Lord, that will I seek after; that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to behold the beauty of the Lord, and to enquire in His temple. For in the time of trouble He shall hide me in His pavilion: in the secret of His tabernacle shall He hide me; He shall set me upon a rock.’”

Rissa had no idea whether her words had penetrated the solid wall that blocked Howard’s mind. She laid the Bible back on the table then leaned forward to kiss her grandfather’s cheek. He lifted his hand and his feeble fingers caressed her cheek.

“Ethel,” he murmured, and Rissa lifted startled eyes toward Peg, baffled by the amazement in the caregiver’s eyes.

“Does he often mention my grandmother?” Rissa whispered as she moved away from Howard’s chair.

“Once in a while he does.” The nurse laid her hand on Rissa’s shoulder and squeezed it gently. “It was good of you to read to your grandfather.”

“Thank you for giving him such good care. Let me know when he feels like having me visit again.”

“Yes, I will, but it doesn’t happen very often.”

Before she went to her own room, Rissa stopped before the large portrait of Ethel Blanchard hanging at the end of the second-floor hall. She had been a petite woman, as Rissa was. But her grandmother’s hair had been red and her eyes hazel, unlike Rissa’s dark eyes and hair. The twins looked like their father, something Rissa had often resented because Ronald had so little affection for them. But she was pleased that something had caused Howard to see a resemblance of his wife in her today.

At dinner, Rissa related her brief visit with her grandfather to Winnie, Portia and Miranda. Ronald had refused to dine with the rest of the family and ate his meal alone in his office.

When she mentioned that Howard had called her Ethel, Winnie exclaimed, “I’ve always thought you favored my mother—not so much in looks but in disposition.”

“Does that include me, too?” Portia asked.

“No, the few traits that you and Rissa don’t share are the ways I could tell you apart when you were little.” Winnie laughed slightly. “I’m sorry, Rissa, but some of them are negative qualities.”

“Such as?”

“The way you frown too much, like you’re doing now, or how you’re often impatient. And you’ve always been easily distracted and more melancholy than your sisters.”

Rissa closed her eyes, confused by this unexpected assessment from her aunt. Winnie should have added that Rissa didn’t take criticism well, either, because her aunt’s words had cut like a knife.

Perhaps Winnie feared she had upset Rissa, because she gave her a hug. “But don’t let that bother you. It’s the endearing qualities that I notice most. The tenderness and love you have for your sisters, especially Portia. Your determination to follow a project through to completion no matter how difficult it is. The gentle ripple of your laughter when you’re truly happy.”

“Enough, Aunt Winnie,” Miranda cried. “You’ll swell her head. She already has an overabundance of pride.”