Love With A Stranger

by Janelle Taylor

Genres: Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

In both her historical romances and contemporary novels, award-winning author JANELLE TAYLOR brings is stories of luminous emotional intensity. Now, in LOVE WITH A STRANGER, she introduces a courageous, unforgettable woman whose life is touched by happiness and heartbreak. . . Thirty-five year old Cassandra Grantham has not been lucky with the men in life. Twice she gave her heart, and twice she was badly burned. Now, still reeling from her second husband's betrayal, the financially strapped widow has sought sanctuary on Georgia's lushly beautiful St. Simons Island. Here, she will try to come to terms with her past-and her future. Here, she will meet a man who reaches out to her with tenderness and desire that make her question everything she's ever known. . .or felt. And here, her would will be rocked by a passion that takes her by surprise-and a love that will force her to trust herself and risk her heart one last time. . . A poignant, heartwarming love story from a master storyteller at the height of her powers.

Release date: October 24, 2011

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 420

Sample

A black Chanel purse slipped unnoticeably from her fingers to the carpet as Cassandra Redfern Grantham sat down on a Victorian bench at the foot of the bed and clasped her cold hands in her lap. Even after five days of grieving, she still found it difficult to believe Tom was gone forever, killed in an automobile accident at midnight on Sunday. She felt numb and alone, her friends having been pushed aside long ago by Tom after she married the multi-millionaire two and a half years ago and was sucked into his busy and unfamiliar world. Following a hectic schedule and four plane flights over the last five days, her head throbbed, as if it refused to allow the aspirins she had taken earlier to work their magic. Even the wine she had drunk at her stepson’s insistence during their flight home tonight failed to relax her tension and weariness, though she was feeling limp and a little dazed. She attributed those odd sensations to what she had endured this week rather than to effects of the Chablis and little to eat.

As she stared at the ten-karat diamond ring and fifteen-stone matching wedding band on her finger, Cass thought about the man who had put them there. He’d been only fifty—vital, energetic, so youthful in appearance, despite silvery streaks at his temples. She glanced over her shoulder at a picture of him on the nightstand, one taken in Kenya during their first year of marriage while they were on safari there.

The five-by-seven photograph revealed that Thomas Grantham—clad in a khaki outfit and outback hat, holding a hunting rifle and leaning against an acacia tree—was handsome and happy. There was a near-tangible charisma about him. His green eyes appeared to dance with the sheer joy of being alive and being who he was, and his broad grin enhanced that impression. He had a commanding presence, which explained, along with his business acumen, why he was so successful, so admired and respected by people in all social classes. She didn’t know what he was worth; he had never said and she had never asked, but she knew he was an extremely wealthy man. Tom had loved the good life and had been fortunate he could afford it. He had said to her often: “Life is to be enjoyed to the hilt, my beautiful Cass, every minute, every hour, every week, every month, every year. Take all it has to offer and never look back in regret.” Why he had chosen her—a working girl from a poor country background—to marry when he could have had his choice of wealthy socialites with blueblooded heritages a mile long could only be explained by his love for her, and Tom had made her feel special and cherished, more than she deserved.

Cass knew she had married him in part because she was lonely and unfulfilled and, at thirty-three, had heard her biological clock ticking loudly for a mate and a child. All of her friends and co-workers had married and had children, which made her and her life so different from theirs, giving them less and less in common as the years passed. They had left work each day to head for cozy homes and happy families while she was greeted by a small condo and solitude. She had yearned for a home and family, and realized too late it had been a mistake not to discuss those needs with Tom before their marriage, as he, she soon discovered, didn’t want another child. Cass had tried to accept Tom’s decision. In the beginning, she had found his world to be stimulating and fun; she had traveled all over the world, seen and done many things, and been given more gifts than she could count. But the shine on his golden but exhausting existence had dulled after two years. Those old yearnings for a home and family had resurfaced, though she kept those desires a secret from Tom. She doubted that Tom ever realized he wasn’t the great love of her life and all the fulfillment she needed, but she still often felt twinges of guilt that his love wasn’t enough to make her whole.

Cass remembered how she had done her best to learn and to do everything she could to please him, to make him happy, and to help her fit into his world of big money and enormous power. Tom had been patient, instructive, considerate, and—at last she could admit—at times, controlling and demanding. He had lavished her with expensive clothes, jewels, and cars. She had felt pampered, and treasured. Surely it was only natural for a lonely woman to be overwhelmed by him and his enticing world.

Cass’s gaze shifted to the brass statue of a kneeling Atlas holding the world—a grapefruit-size crystal ball—on his shoulders. When Tom had given her that gift shortly after their marriage, he had joked it reminded him of her: a worrier who feared she would disappoint him or embarrass him. He had always insisted she had never done so, that he was proud to have her on his arm, to have her as his wife. She had no doubt she would have done just about anything to hold her second marriage together, to learn to love him more, to strengthen their bond. Now he was gone, and she was alone and facing the enormous challenge of creating a new life without him.

She had no family to comfort and distract her and she knew very few people nearby. Tom hadn’t wanted her to get involved in local activities or even with charity work until he decided which ones, and he’d lacked the time to make those choices. She had stopped going to the historical society meetings when he disapproved, though she had sneaked to several plays at the Ritz Theater in Brunswick. She had taken tennis lessons at the Sea Palms Club, but Tom had asked her to only play when he was there in case she got injured. She had some local aquaintances, but no one she could call or visit and to whom she could pour out her heart. Those people she had met were Tom’s friends and business associates, not anyone she would turn to in her hour of need. Her old friends in Augusta, to her shame, had been left by the wayside after her whirlwind marriage, so she was too embarrassed to phone one of them—even Kristy—at least for a while. She recalled her mother saying “You have to be a friend to have a friend” and she hadn’t been a friend in much too long.

For two and a half years, she had lived solely for Thomas Grantham and been cut off completely from her past. Where, when, and how her self-confidence and independence vanished she didn’t know; it had been a gradual and unnoticed process. Now her freedom had been returned to her, and she wasn’t certain how to deal with it.

Until tonight, she had not been given time to think about her future after the tragic news was delivered by a local policeman just after midnight on Sunday. She and Thomas’s son Peter had selected Tom’s casket on Monday and chosen a mortuary in Brunswick to embalm his body and send it to another one in Los Angeles. Tom’s friends, distant relatives, and business associates had been notified of his sudden death. On Tuesday, she and Peter, who was being suspiciously nice for a change, flew to LA where they met with friends and acquaintances from seven to nine at a mortuary there. On Wednesday, Thomas Ethan Grantham was laid to rest during a large funeral service, which was also attended by a cold drizzling rain, gray clouds, and several grieving strangers. While she rested afterward, Peter had taken care of pressing business at a local import-export company owned by his father.

Today, she and Peter had flown home to Sea Island. The time zone changes and connection at the Atlanta airport where they took Tom’s private jet to the nearby McKinnon Airport on St. Simons Island had created a long and tiring day. It was during the long flight between Los Angeles and Atlanta that certain realities and buried memories began to haunt her. By the time they landed, she was mentally, emotionally, and physically drained. She knew the worst repercussions of this tragedy loomed ahead for her.

It was ten o’clock Thursday night. She was home alone, a wealthy widow at thirty-five. She was bracing herself for the war with Peter over Tom’s money which she was certain was sure to come soon.

As if that dreaded thought summoned him, her twenty-sixyear-old stepson knocked on her bedroom door. Cass took a deep breath, ordered her head to stop spinning and pounding, and replied, “It’s open, Peter; come in.”

Cass’s brown gaze watched Peter walk across the room and sit down beside her on the long bench. She saw his hazel eyes drift over her face before he gave her one of his disarming half-smiles. A section of midnight-black hair dangled over his forehead in a mischievous and sexy manner. She admitted he was handsome and virile, like his father. Also like his father the six-foot-tall bachelor with a playboy reputation was well groomed, well educated, and intelligent. But there the similarities stopped. Peter Grantham was a clever, skilled, and deceitful charmer. He was also selfish, greedy, arrogant, and spiteful. He was being very good during this horrible episode, but she didn’t trust him. No matter, she reasoned, it was best to respond in like kind, for now.

“You look exhausted, Cass,” he murmured sympathetically. “You haven’t even changed clothes or taken off your shoes. I saw the light on and knew you were still up, so I thought I should come check on you. Are you all right?”

Cass focused her gaze on the carpet as she answered. “I’m as well as can be expected under the circumstances. I know what’s happened is real, but it’s so hard to believe he’s gone. If he had been sick for a long time…but this just came out of nowhere.”

“At least he didn’t suffer; the doctor said he went out instantly. Knowing my father, he would rather be dead than crippled or disfigured.”

She wasn’t convinced that last statement was true, but she agreed to keep the peace. “Tom was a proud and active man, you could be right.”

“I know I am. Now, why don’t I fetch you a brandy while you get undressed and hop into bed before you keel over?”

Cass perceived that Peter was watching her intently, furtively, probably searching for any signs of weaknesses he could exploit. She knew he had even less affection for her than she had for him, but they were pretending otherwise in an undeclared truce. “I’ve already had those two glasses of wine and the aspirins you gave me earlier. I’ll be fine after I get some sleep.”

“You have something stronger if you need it. Remember you’ve only taken a couple of those sedatives Doctor Hines brought over on Monday morning.”

“Thanks, but I don’t think I should take Valium atop wine.”

Peter withdrew a brown plastic bottle from his pocket and pressed it into her hand. “I saw them on the kitchen counter and grabbed them because I thought you might need one tonight. There’s no harm or shame in admitting you need something to help you get through a terrible time like this.”

“Thanks, and you’re right. I really appreciate how kind and thoughtful you’ve been since…this difficult week started.”

“Dad’s loss has been hard on both of us. We’ve had our problems since you and he married, and it’s probably my fault, but that’s over, Cass. We need to stick together now. There will be a lot of personal and business matters to handle next week. I’ll be going to work tomorrow to take care of any problems that might have arisen while we were gone. Employees tend to get a little nervous and crazy when they don’t know what’s going to happen to their jobs and the company. Inez will be here at seven, so let her know if there’s anything you need. But I think what you need is rest and quiet.”

“Again, you’re right. I am exhausted, so I’ll get ready for bed. Thanks for coming over to check on me. Would you lock up and turn on the alarm system as you leave?” I wish your father had never given those two keys to you. Well, this is my home, and I’ll ask you to return them soon.

Peter walked to the door. “Good night, Cass,” he said. “Sleep well, and call me if you need anything.”

“I will, Peter. Thanks and good night.”

“I’ll check on you tomorrow after work.”

Cass forced out a smile and nodded, already dreading Saturday evening. She watched Peter until he was out of sight and remained sitting until she heard the door close in the quiet house. His covert stares and unusual behavior worried her. A lull before the storm, Cass. Be prepared for trouble.

Since his father died, Cass had not seen Peter shed a single tear; nor were there any telltale signs of private grieving exposed in his gaze or in his voice. The only thing that seemed to gleam in his hazel eyes were dollar signs from his imminent inheritance. She was glad he didn’t live in the enormous house with her, though his residence—a large and luxurious guesthouse—was only a few steps beyond the back door. His bachelor pad overlooked the olympic-size pool and cabana and was within view of her bedroom veranda, which was how he had seen her lights.

Peter was nine years her junior, making her age closer to his than it had been to his father’s. From the first moment she met him two days before she married Thomas, her stepson had found subtle—and on occasion when they were alone, overt—ways to let her know he did not trust her or approve of the marriage. But Peter made certain he never revealed his true opinion of her to others, as his father detested being challenged in any way. She had mentioned Peter’s ill feelings to Tom several times, but soon realized there was no point in pursuing the issue since Tom either insisted it was her imagination or reasoned that his son’s reaction was natural, considering the differences in their ages and backgrounds. For now, Peter was being nice even in private, which surprised and intrigued her. She had expected him to behave in public, since both Grantham men were staunch believers in public images and in keeping “dirty linen” hidden.

Cass took another deep breath, forced her weary body to rise, and placed the Valium bottle on the nightstand. She entered a huge walk-in closet. Built-in dressers with jewelry drawers, shoe racks, shelves, cubbyholes, and hanging bars at various heights held garments and shoes from the best designers and stores across the country. She had clothes and footware for any occasion, most of them selected by Tom or picked by in-store advisers. Tom had spared no expense to adorn her in the finest items, and she had been most appreciative of every purchase.

While donning a sapphire satin nightgown—Tom had loved her to wear satin to bed—and performing her nightly ritual by rote, she realized how happy she was that Tom had purchased this sprawing two-million-dollar house five months ago. It was beautiful and elegantly decorated, with perfectly manicured grounds that boasted of several gigantic live oaks draped in spanish moss and surrounded by beds of ivy. For the two previous years, she and Tom had traveled through the US and foreign countries for business and pleasure. They stayed in expensive hotels and plush resorts or in the four other residences Tom owned in New York City, San Antonio, Los Angeles, and Aspen. Tom had a restless and adventurous streak, with energy that was sometimes difficult for her to match. He had loved to stay on the move and to sample treats from every table fate placed before him. He had told her often he was going to slow down and settle down soon, but she knew he couldn’t or didn’t want to do either. “Soon” would never come now.

She had been astonished when he purchased the Mediterraneanstyle home, moved her in, and suggested she remain there during the last five months while he traveled alone seventy-five percent of that time to take care of business. When he got lonely, he would arrange for her to join him for a few days.

She hadn’t minded that change in their lifestyle, and loved the easygoing and tranquil existence on the island, though neighbors were rarely present in their hugely expensive “winter homes” and “vacation cottages.” She knew she hadn’t done anything to cause Tom disappointment or to diminish his love for her. She was convinced he had sensed her travel weariness and settled her here out of love and concern. He had called almost daily and sent flowers or gifts at least once a week during his absences. When he was home, they were together constantly, in bed or out of it.

For many reasons, she hadn’t slept with Tom while dating him, and he had never pressured her to do so. Thomas Grantham had known how to romance and to pleasure a woman with skill, generosity, and stamina. She was going to miss those splendid bouts of lovemaking.

It hadn’t been that way with her first husband, though Brad’s lovemaking had been pleasant. She had been forced to admit she wasn’t enough for Brad; he also needed other women. But she wouldn’t allow Bradley Stillman to steal into her thoughts tonight. She’d divorced him at twenty-four and had never looked back in regret because Brad had destroyed all of her love and respect for him. She was glad they’d had no children to keep a tie between them, though she had remained friends with his sister, Kristy, after the divorce.

Cass grasped the edge of the counter to steady herself when a wave of dizziness suddenly assailed her. She felt weak, as if her body were turning to warm honey which could spread across the rose-colored Florida tiled floor at any moment if she didn’t lie down. She glanced at the mirror above the floral sink and noticed her cheeks were flushed though the rest of her face was pale and her pupils seemed dilated and strange. She concluded she was more fatigued than she had realized or the wine was having a delayed reaction on her depleted system. She spread the washcloth over the edge of the sink, flipped off the bathroom light, and walked in a near wobble to the king-size Rice bed. She yanked the covers aside, absently wondering why Inez had not prepared the bed as usual before leaving tonight, and climbed between cool and colorful sheets. She turned off the Tiffany lamp, her fingers trailing down the Goddess Diana base and knocking the Valium bottle to the floor. She heard it fall, but made no attempt to retrieve it. She rolled to her right side and stretched out a hand to the empty spot beside her. Despite his tiny flaws, she thought, Thomas Grantham had been a good man, and a wonderful husband; fate had been cruel to snuff out his life so prematurely and in such a horrible manner. She closed her eyes and wept until she was released from her anguish by merciful slumber.

Cass opened her eyes, stretched, and yawned. She glanced at the clock on the nightstand to discover it was nine in the morning. Since she normally arose around seven, she was surprised she had slept so late. She heard the faint cries of seagulls and waves lapping at the beach beyond their property. Sunlight streamed through the windows and doors to the veranda, as she’d forgotten to close the drapes last night. It was going to be a beautiful spring day, she decided with a smile as her stomach announced its hunger with several growls. The moment she wondered what she was going to do after breakfast, the grim reality of her husband’s death crashed in on her. She grimaced and tears blurred her vision.

Someone knocked on the bedroom door and Cass realized Inez was there and must have closed the door after her arrival. “Come in,” she responded, but the door was already opening.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Mrs. Grantham, but the police are here and insist on speaking with you.”

Cass sat up and stared at Inez, wondering if the doorbell might have been what had awakened her. “The police?”

“Yes, ma’am. I told them you were still in bed and in mourning and to return later, but they refused. They’re waiting in the living room.”

A mystified Cass looked at Inez but the older woman kept her face blank. The fact that she wore her dyed black hair pulled back in a bun so tight it stretched her skin over her cheekbones added to her upleasant expression. Cass didn’t like the unfriendly woman, but she was an excellent housekeeper and cook. After moving to Sea Island, Cass and Tom had been told that good domestic help was hard to find, so he had insisted they keep the disagreeable creature. Her husband had been adamant that she would not become a maid or cook in her own home.

“What do they want, Inez? Is it about Tom’s…accident?”

“I don’t know, ma’am. Do you want me to ask them again to leave? Or do you want to call Mr. Peter home to deal with them?”

Cass tossed aside the covers and put on her slippers as she replied, “Neither, Inez. Tell them I’ll be down as soon as I’m dressed.”

“As you wish, ma’am.”

Before Inez could leave, Cass ordered in a pleasant tone, “Would you please offer the gentlemen some coffee?”

“As you wish, ma’am; it’s ready in the kitchen. I’ll bring you a cup to help you wake up.”

“Thanks, and I’ll have my breakfast on the veranda after they leave.”

“As you wish, ma’am.”

While observing the woman’s departure, Cass retorted silently, If I did as I wished, you would have been gone long ago, you irritating—Watch it, Cass, she warned herself, don’t get yourself all worked up; and Inez is being nice today. For Inez, an offer to bring her coffee was a huge and unexpected kindness.

Cass headed for the bathroom to freshen up, dress in a casual outfit, and put on at least a smidgen of makeup. The coffee was waiting for her when she emerged and she took a few sips. She couldn’t imagine why the police officers had come, but the last thing she wanted to talk about was Tom’s automobile accident and death. If it was only a courtesy or general inquiry call, she reasoned as she hurried, why had they insisted that a grieving widow leave her bed to speak with them?

She finished the coffee, used a refreshing blue mouthwash, checked her appearance, and left the room.

Cass entered the large and formal living room, paused just inside the archway, and asked, “What can I do for you gentlemen this morning? This has been a long and trying week and I wasn’t expecting company so early.”

“I’m Detective Adam Beals and this is my partner, Detective Carl Killian,” one of the men announced. “Have a seat, Mrs. Grantham; this might take a while. We have a lot of questions to ask before we can clear up this matter.”

Beals seemed short and stocky; Killian looked lanky. She couldn’t tell how tall either actually was since neither man rose from his seat when she entered the room, nor apologized about intruding on her privacy. It was apparent—since no coffee cups were visible—that they had refused Inez’s offer. Neither man smiled, and Beals’s voice sounded as gruff as his expression appeared. Inexplicable panic shot through her. “What kinds of questions, sir? The only things I know about the accident are what the officer who delivered the news told me.”

“Was it an accident, Mrs. Grantham?”

“I beg your pardon?” she asked in confusion, noting how Beals stressed the word “accident” and sent her a skeptical look before he continued.

“We’ve already spoken to his pilot and the woman who flew in with him that night. He’s the only one who drove that particular car, right?”

Cass nodded. “What woman? Tom didn’t say anything about bringing a business associate or guest home with him, and I wasn’t told someone was in the car with him. Was she injured? Is she in the hospital?”

“No. He dropped her at the Embassy Suites on Golden Isles Parkway, a Miss Gretchen Lowery, a model, twenty-three, blue eyes, blond hair.”

“Her name isn’t familiar to me and Tom didn’t mention her when he phoned Sunday morning. Perhaps he gave her a lift home as a favor.”

“That isn’t the case; she said they were…close friends. Was there any trouble between you and your husband? Did he have any enemies?”

“Why were you in bed when you were expecting his return?” Detective Killian added.

Cass’s gaze shifted to Carl Killian. “Why would you ask about our personal relationship? What does that have to do with Tom’s accident?”

“Mr. Grantham’s wreck hasn’t been ruled an accident,” Beals said.

Cass eyed Adam Beals closely. “I don’t understand…The other officer told me Sunday night—”

“He spoke prematurely. We aren’t sure it was just an accident; the car’s still being examined. Would you answer my other questions?” Killian interrupted.

Cass gaped at Killian. “If you haven’t finished inspecting the car, what makes you think it wasn’t an accident?”

“Gut feeling and experience with crimes.”

“Crimes?” She echoed Killian’s alarming word as she felt her legs go weak and her head spin.

“Murder is a mighty serious crime, don’t you think?”

Cass focused her gaze on Beals. “Are you trying to tell me my husband was…murdered?” She saw Beals shrug. “That’s impossible.”

“Is it? From what I hear, he was a very wealthy and powerful man.”

“Yes, but Tom didn’t have any enemies. Perhaps a few people didn’t like him, but no one hated him. Gentlemen, I’m not feeling well this morning, so I think you should leave now and return on Monday.”

“This is just preliminary questioning to help us clear up this case, Mrs. Grantham, but we can talk downtown if you prefer.”

Cass repeated Killian’s word. “Downtown?”

“At the station. We just thought it would be nicer to do it here.”

Who, Cass wondered, was this Gretchen and why had she been with Tom earlier on that ill-fated night? And why were these detectives being so insensitive? “Should I call my lawyer?” Cass heard herself ask him, though she didn’t know why she did. She’d read too many mystery novels and watched too many dramatic movies while having little to do during Tom’s many absences. That would account for it.

“Do you need one?”

“You make it sound as if it would be a good idea.”

Killian suggested, “Perhaps I should Mirandize you, Mrs. Grantham, just so there won’t be any misunderstandings later.”

“Neither a lawyer nor my Miranda rights are necessary, sir. I just don’t like having my privacy invaded, so just ask your questions and let’s get this over with so I can rest,” Cass told them as she took a seat in an armless turquoise chair, compelling her to clasp her hands in her lap. She ordered her wits to clear in order to deal with the astounding situation. She had the oddest feeling that Beals and Killian had tried to catch her off guard with their sudden appearance and bold queries. Perhaps she should summon Peter before she continued to speak with—

“Do you remember my other questions? Will you answer them?” Beals demanded.

Cass almost glared at the flush-faced detective with his challenging gaze and stern expression. Both these heartless men were causing her to feel irascible and edgy. Suddenly she didn’t care if she were polite or cooperative or if her behavior made her look suspicious. All she wanted to do was finish this horrendous episode and get rid of “Mutt & Jeff” so she could take a long bath in the Jacuzzi garden tub and have breakfast on the veranda overlooking the ocean where fresh air and bright sunshine could clear her mind and warm her icy soul. She was tired and hungry. She felt weak and assailed. She was angry. Her nerves were raw, and it was a struggle not to squirm in her seat or scream at the detectives, tell them to go to hell and get out of her home.

Cass fought to retain her poise and wits. She couldn’t imagine what was wrong with her. Perhaps she was. suffering from delayed shock, total exhaustion, and/or depression. Despite her best intentions, she almost gritted out her words, “First, I would like to say this isn’t a kind way to treat a recent widow. My husband has been dead for less than a week when you invade my home and demand I be awakened the morning after I return late from his funeral. You ask ridiculous questions and make crude insinuations without explaining to me why you’re here. I find you both rude and inconsiderate. Now, shall we continue with the business at hand so you can leave as soon as possible?”

“Calm down, Mrs. Grantham, and we’ll—”

“Calm down!” Cass almost shrieked at Killian. “Right in the midst of a terrible ordeal, you come here and treat me with gross disrespect and cruel insensitivity and expect me not to be upset! Rest assured I will report your behavior to your superior and to my lawyer and stepson. You have no right to mistreat me in this manner.” She rushed to answer their intrusive questions. “My husband and I were happily married; ask anyone who knows us. As to Miss Lowrey, I have no idea who she is or why she flew here with Tom. As to why I was in bed at midnight, Tom said if he wasn’t home by nine it was because he was being delayed and he would return on Monday morning, so I wasn’t expecting him back that night. As to why he didn’t phone me from McKinnon Airport after he landed, I assume it was because it was late and he knew I would be in bed.”

Cass’s chest rose and fell as she spilled forth the information in a near breathless rush. “In the past, if Tom flew in late, he slept in one of the guestrooms to keep from disturbing me. As far as I know, he has no enemies, but I’ve never been involved in his business dealings and know nothing about his companies or associates. As to the Volante, yes, only Tom drove that car; it was his favorite and he didn’t allow anyone to touch it besides his mechanic. As to his tragic accident, I only know what the policeman told me Sunday night. As to Tom’s wealth, yes, he was a very rich man. I have no idea what he’s worth, because I didn’t handle his money or even our household expenses; you’ll have to question his bankers and accountant for those answers. I can’t even tell you if I’m in his will or am his life insurance beneficiary, but I presume, as his wife, I am. Did I leave anything out, gentlemen? If so, ask your questions fast and leave.” She saw Killian glance at Beals and nod.

Killian responded, “That should cover everything for now, ma’am. If we have any more questions, we’ll see you next week. And if we’ve upset you, I apologize, and please accept my condolences for your loss. I did bring along Mr. Grantham’s briefcase and other belongings which we salvaged from the car. I put them over there.”

Cass’s mind shouted, It’s too late to pretend to be nice, you bastard! “Before you return and harass me again, be sure you have a written report on the reason for Tom’s accident which justifies another visit. And if you do return, make certain you don’t leave your manners outside my front door.” She watched Beals frown, but the shorter man held silent, wisely, she decided, as she might verbally rip off his auburn head if he dared her to do so. Killian nodded and sent her a forced smile.

Cass walked the two men to the front door and closed it behind them without biding them good-bye. She retrieved the sack filled with Tom’s possessions and his briefcase and went upstairs to place them in her closet until she was in a mood to look at them.

Minutes later when Inez entered the spacious master bedroom suite, she found Cass pacing the carpeted floor, muttering curses about the detectives, and seeming to tremble in anger. She noticed that the younger woman’s cheeks were rosy but her face was pale, and her eyes looked strange to her, almost wild. She had never seen the brunette in this agitated state.

“Are you all right, ma’am?”

“I will be as soon as I calm down, Inez. I’ve met few people as rude and cold-hearted as those two snakes.”

“Would you like your breakfast now?”

“No, I’m too upset to eat. I’m so tense that it probably wouldn’t stay down. What I need is a long soak in the tub and a nap. I feel drained.”

“Why don’t you take one of those pills Doctor Hines brought over to relax you? Maybe you should lie down and nap before your bath.”

Cass stopped pacing like a caged animal and looked at the housekeeper who was acting in a pleasant manner for a change. “Perhaps you’re right, Inez; I feel totally out of sorts and exhausted.”

“Would you like some fresh orange juice to take the pill with?”

“Thanks, but I’ll get some water from the bathroom. I’ll turn off the ringer on my phone, so don’t disturb me unless it’s an emergency.”

“Yes, ma’am. You rest and get to feeling better.”

“Thank you, Inez, and I’ll let you know when I’m up again.”

As Inez left the room, she concluded that the medicine Mr. Peter had told her to slip into his stepmother’s coffee or food this morning hadn’t worked. The near-crazed woman surely needed calming down and shouldn’t be so stubborn about taking the doctor’s advice. Perhaps the potent sedative she had suggested—as Mr. Peter had asked her to do—would do the trick. She certainly stood a better chance of keeping her job if she helped Mr. Peter and she got Mrs. Grantham out of an irrational and agitated mood.

From far away, Cass heard someone calling her name and felt someone shaking her left shoulder; it was a familiar voice, but it was so faint that she could not place it. She struggled to surface in the murky depths that held her captive. Her lids were so heavy and she felt so weak that she couldn’t seem to open her eyes. She kept wriggling her forehead and brows to help her part those stubborn lids. She needed water to soothe her dry throat and mouth. She wanted to turn over and go back to—

“Cass…Cass, wake up! Inez said you’ve been asleep since this morning. It’s almost seven at night!”

At those shouts and a rougher shaking, she finally managed to open her eyes and look up into Peter’s handsome face. The concerned expression in his hazel gaze registered, and, even with a foggy brain, she wondered if it was an honest show of worry or just an excellent pretense. “What did you say? What do you want?”

Peter sat down beside her. “I just got home from work and Inez told me you’ve been asleep all day. She didn’t want to leave you alone until I got here. Are you all right or do I need to have Doctor Hines come over and take a look at you?”

Still in a groggy state, Cass struggled to sit up and prop herself against the headboard, unmindful of her touseled brown hair, puffy eyes, and sensual sapphire nightgown.

After Peter pulled the top sheet to her shoulders and pushed a stray strand of hair from her face, she took a deep breath to finish clearing her head. “I must look a wreck. I feel as if I’ve been run over by a fast train that reversed and took a second strike at me.”

Peter chuckled and jested, “You’ve looked better on past occasions, but I don’t see any real damage. How do you feel?”

Cass took another deep breath. “Like a lump of melting butter but at the same time as heavy as a rock. That Valium knocked me out cold; maybe I shouldn’t have taken two on an empty stomach. But, I’m awake and fine now. Or I will be as soon as I take a shower and drink some coffee.”

“Inez said you haven’t eaten all day. She tried to wake you up for lunch and again late this afternoon, but you were out to the world. She figured you needed sleep more than food. Now, why don’t you take that shower and slip on some clothes while I prepare us some coffee and something to eat?”

“You know how to cook?”

“Rather well, I must say, so don’t look so skeptical. A bachelor can’t eat out all of the time and I have been on my own for years. What .about one of my special omelettes and some toast?”

“It sounds wonderful to me; I’m starved, and I need a cup of coffee desperately. Thanks.”

Peter nodded and said, “I’ll see you downstairs in…sa. . .