Chapter Seventeen

"She turned us down? Great." Vienna almost dropped her cell phone. She juggled with the steering wheel as she took her exit and merged with the northbound traffic on the Taconic State Parkway.

"She said something about a time limit." Darryl Kent sounded confused.

"Obviously there's a misunderstanding," Vienna said. What else could go wrong?

"So we're still negotiating?"

"Yes. It's just a stalling tactic. I'll sort it out."

"If she's for real, they'll be having a fire sale," Darryl noted dryly. "The only reason they haven't fled Chapter Eleven is because Lynden Cavender had their bankers on a leash."

"He was about to marry a billionaire's daughter. Now that she's out of the picture, the money has to come from somewhere." Vienna got impatient with the cars crawling along ahead of her and changed lanes. She'd left New York even later than she'd intended. It would be one in the morning by the time she made it to Penwraithe.

"Mason can grandstand all she likes, but the banks are on our side," Darryl said.

"Did you get anywhere with Josh Soifer?" Vienna asked, reading the bumper stickers on the back of the pickup truck ahead of her. I'm pro-life was sandwiched next to shoot first , let god do the re t .

"They'll cave," Darryl said with the certainty of a logical man. "Soifer thinks she's delaying the inevitable while she comes to terms with Lynden's accident."

Vienna snorted. She was done pandering to Mason's tender feelings. That woman had threatened her with a gun, for crying out loud, and she thought she could blackmail her into a humiliating sexual arrangement. Now she was angry over the police visit. Vienna didn't know why she cared. It wasn't like her father was around to face charges if they finally proved he did it. Formally declining the Blake offer was a huge gamble, a winner-takes-all bet. Did Mason really imagine she could drive the price higher? She had to know that Vienna was holding all the cards. What on earth was she playing at?

"Call him, raise the bid by a million, and tell him they've had our best and final offer," Vienna said. "They know the score. If we withdraw and the banks step in, they'll get pennies on the dollar."

"I'll phone him at home."

"Remind him that I have a nice corner office with his name on it."

"Don't order the plaque," Darryl said dryly. "He's addicted to that family."

"Jesus, what's up with that?"

"Masochism?" Darryl suggested.

"I just don't get it." Vienna had been trying to lure Josh Soifer to Blake Industries ever since Lynden took over. Soifer was too talented and highly qualified to waste his time working for the Cavenders and Vienna didn't need the hassle of liquidating the Cavender Corporation assets herself. Soifer knew everything about the business, so she intended to give him the task of wiping it off the map. She'd just offered him a package no right-thinking executive would decline.

"I'm not going to repeat where he told me to shove the signing bonus," Darryl said. "And that was after we doubled it."

"What the hell does he want?" Everyone had their price, but it always surprised Vienna that some people weren't satisfied with hard cash and had to be won over with the equivalent of the "free gift." Soifer didn't seem like the type who would fall for a glossy sweetener like a high-end car or a luxury cruise, but Vienna wasn't averse to such perks if that's what it would take. "We're not buying a company jet just for him," she told Darryl. "But you could offer a Merc."

"I put a few feelers out last time we talked, but he says he has to look at himself in the mirror."

"Oh, God, he has a hero complex." As if Mason Cavender would let anyone rescue her. The woman was completely impossible. An image flashed across Vienna's mind. The two of them, clinging to each other, Mason buried in her, deep and hard. Blood rushed to her cheeks and her hands started sweating on the steering wheel. She lowered her window and gulped a sharp breath of mountain air.

"The guy isn't stupid," Darryl said. "There has to be something keeping him there."

"Well, we don't need him. The offer was just a courtesy." Vienna knew she sounded miffed. She'd expected Soifer to jump ship as soon as Lynden was buried, and without him there propping her up, Mason would be screwed. She was like her father, too hotheaded to run a business. If Soifer left maybe she would finally understand that it was all over. Time to throw in the towel.

"She's not going to sell that house to you," Darryl said. "I think that's the big stumbling block. Why don't we put it on ice till we have a deal on the corporation?"

"If we drag this out any longer Andy will make a move on Blake Aerospace."

Her cousin had been demanding the top job there ever since Vienna took over and he had almost enough support from senior staff to force the issue. But she knew how that scenario would play out. He would be running his own empire, nominally reporting to her but in reality cutting her out of the loop. Before long she would become irrelevant, a mere figurehead, and he would have the real power because Blake Aerospace was the fastest growing part of the parent corporation.

"I think we should go to the banks," Darryl said. "Tell them to pull the rug out and we'll deal directly with them."

"That's our last resort. We can play this out for a few more days."

"Why does it sound like you have a plan you're not discussing with me?"

Vienna smiled. "Think of it this way: plausible deniability is always a good thing."

"Don't break any laws." Darryl offered his customary warning. "And if you do, don't leave any bodies."

"Duly noted. Keep in touch."

Vienna dropped the cell phone onto the passenger seat and settled into her usual driving tempo, changing down as the road began to climb into the Hudson Highlands. The terrain was more rugged now, but the winding route was so familiar she didn't have to pay attention to landmarks or signage. When she drove to Penwraithe she always took the time to think through work challenges and come up with fresh ideas. Lately, all she'd been able to focus on was the Cavender problem. She should never have let it come to this.

As the miles vanished and the traffic thinned, she contemplated her next move. What if she went to Mason and agreed to the one-week affair? If Mason honored her end of the seedy bargain and handed over both the corporation and Laudes Absalom, did it really matter how the victory came about? Vienna could survive a dose of wounded pride and it wouldn't be the only sexual fling she'd ever had. There'd been a few since college. Short-lived, mutually satisfying liaisons. No one got hurt.

She thought about her rat-fink cousins. Her father had dealt with the same problems when he first took over the company. There were cousins who'd formed factions and issued ultimatums. Vienna wondered how he had neutralized them. It crossed her mind that her father had a strong motivation to fight off threats and safeguard his legacy. He had her. Maybe she would be equally ruthless if she had a child's future to think about.

An image of a baby sprang to mind, cradled to her breast, looking up at her with Mason's dark eyes. Disconcerted, Vienna almost missed making the turn onto Route 7. She slowed down and started the wipers as plops of rain bounced erratically off her windshield. The weather was changing as it often seemed to when she crossed the state line. Clouds suddenly obscured the sickle moon and wind rushed in through her open window, making her face feel tight and damp.

Snow wouldn't come to the Berkshires until Thanksgiving but she could feel its promise weighing on the night air. Before long, a dense white frosting would smother the sylvan beauty of these hills, draping the trees in petticoats of ice and silencing the earth. The birds would stop singing. The green, honeyed scent of sunlight and grass would succumb to a metallic wet pine aroma, and the tracks of small animals would carve winding patterns across the white expanses. Vienna loved the sparkle and crunch of new snow. She loved getting up early on winter mornings and watching the sun wipe clean the leaden monochrome of night.

A huge moth crashed into the glass right in front of her, making her start. She turned her wipers on high for a few seconds and slowed down until the smeared remains no longer obscured her vision. Her eyes were heavy and her mind kept floating. It was crazy, of course, to have set off so late, but she'd found her way to Stockbridge and would soon be home. The streets were deserted, the windows dark in all the familiar stores and buildings. She started up Pine Street, drove past Naumkeag, and wove a path alongside the thin luminous white ribbon that divided the asphalt. Gnarled tree trunks reared up as she braked and made the turn toward for home. She would be there soon, passing the black iron gates of Laudes Absalom, then the long belt of trees before Penwraithe appeared, lit up on the rise ahead.

Vienna heaved a sigh of relief as the road narrowed and undulated, twisting through the valley. She swerved in tiny increments to avoid imaginary objects and shadows, but the black trees on either side seemed to encroach, creating a sense that she was driving blindly into a tunnel, going too fast, the countryside a blur. The rain was heavier. She turned the wipers up again. Their slow, regular pulse was hypnotic.

"Concentrate," she ordered herself sharply.

It was the last thing she said before a pair of eyes glowed in front of her and she hit the brakes and swung hard on the wheel to avoid a pale figure. There was no way she could stop the car before it smashed into the shape. She braced herself but the impact never came. Her tires hit gravel, her cheekbone crunched against the window, and her headlights bounced off trees. A latticework of branches filled the windshield. She wrenched on the wheel and felt the back of the car spin out. Dragging on the wheel, she hit the gas and careened alongside a row of squat tree trunks, then fishtailed back onto the road.

She drove a few yards, her heart deafening her, then braked and pulled over, immediately killing the engine. For a few seconds, she stared into nothing, then she let her head fall forward, crying in shock and relief.

"Vienna?"

Vienna jerked up off the steering wheel. Her neck felt stiff and her head ached.

A face filled the window, pale and wild-eyed. "Unlock the door," Mason demanded.

Dazed, Vienna groped for the handle.

She barely had time to release the catch when the door was yanked open and Mason reached in, grabbing her shoulders. "Are you all right?"

"I must have fallen asleep."

"Why are you parked out here?" Mason shone a flashlight into the car. "Your face. What happened?"

Vienna lifted her fingers to her cheek and winced. "I saw something. I swerved to avoid it and..."

"A person?"

"Maybe a deer. Or a dog. I don't know. I was tired. It's a three-hour drive."

Mason studied her quizzically. "I thought you weren't coming."

Vienna had no answer. She looked away, trying to unscramble her muddled emotions. The shallow breathing wasn't helping. She felt light-headed. "You were wrong."

Mason helped her out of the car. "Come on, I'll drive."

"I'm perfectly capable of driving myself."

"So I see."

Irritated, Vienna said, "This could have happened to anyone."

"And it could have been a lot worse." Mason steered her firmly around to the passenger side. She sounded angry. "You should have waited until tomorrow. You could have been seriously hurt. What then? What if I hadn't found you?"

Vienna could feel herself fagging, close to bursting into tears. "Mason, I don't want to quarrel with you. Just go, okay? I can get home by myself."

"What makes you think I'd allow that?" Mason opened the door, ordered her Doberman to get in the backseat, and pushed Vienna into the car. As she fastened the seat belt, she said, "After I've taken a look at your face we'll decide whether you need to go to the hospital."

"It's just a bruise." Vienna probed the tender area and winced again. The lump on the side of her face was huge. She would probably have a black eye tomorrow. Very sexy. She licked a smear of blood off her fingers. "I'm perfectly fine."

Mason settled behind the wheel and started the car. As she pulled out onto the road, she muttered, "I wish you'd phoned me before you came out here in the middle of the night. I could have saved you the trip."

"Don't worry, I still got your message. Darryl called as I was leaving the city."

"And you came anyway?" Mason's face was in shadow and her tone was fat.

Unable to interpret her expression, Vienna said, "I wanted to see you."

"Why?" The black gates creaked open as they approached Laudes Absalom and Mason tucked a remote control back into her coat pocket. "Were you hoping the police would find some reason to arrest me?"

Vienna stared out at the motionless woods, knowing she was too weary to win a fight. "Let's not have that discussion now. Truce?"

"Sure. It'll keep."

"Anyway." Vienna forced a lighter note. "While we're on the subject of late-night excursions, what are you doing wandering around at three in the morning?"

"Ralph woke me." Mason reached back to pat the watchful Doberman. "He must have heard the car."

Vienna doubted it. Laudes Absalom was set back too far from the road. She stared up at the building taking melancholy shape in the headlights. Except for the lamps on either side of the front entrance, the house was entirely in darkness, its ruined wing a grim outcrop, the windows as vacant as the eyes of a corpse. The sight was so bleak, Vienna wouldn't have been surprised to hear a wolf howl, perhaps one of the taxidermied creatures from the great hall. In a grim fancy she imagined it quickening suddenly on its wooden stand and leaping down, thirsting for revenge on its killers.

Mason parked the car in a long garage behind the north wing and they followed the Doberman though a series of passages and up a narrow staircase that had probably been built for servants. A door at the top opened onto the broad gallery that ran the length of the great hall. Feeble moonlight struggled in through the high leaded panes along the front of the house but failed to defeat the gloom. Only the ponderous tick of a clock and the sound of their footsteps carved life into the uncompromising silence.

Mason hit a switch on the wall and a chandelier flickered into life, casting a yellowish luster over all that lay beneath. Vienna's gaze fell on a portrait. A stunning, willowy blonde in an elaborate gilt frame. She wore a ball gown and carried a few drooping lilies. Her expression was one of wayward frankness, her pose a dare. From the uneven look of the canvas, she'd tempted some disorderly brushstrokes from the artist who thought he could paint her. Vienna recognized the diamonds around her neck. A brass plaque beneath the painting read: Nancy Cavender .

A few feet ahead, Mason pushed open a door that probably weighed more than her and said, "Please come in."

The lofty room they entered had probably been a formal drawing room at one time but its purpose was unclear now. The oaken floors softly protested with every step on the wide, dark boards. The furniture was uniformly comfortless, some of it shrouded in dust covers. Between faded green draperies and blackish wood paneling, more portraits lined the walls, many of them depicting horses. Several huge diagrams were displayed and Vienna realized she was looking at equine genealogy charts. Bookshelves contained tall leather-bound volumes with dates gold-lettered on the spines. On a table nearby, one of these books lay open next to an inkwell, blotter, and several nib pens.

Vienna glanced down at a page as she passed by. She knew the beautiful handwriting immediately and remembered the note the raven had dropped into her lap two weeks earlier. The same dark bird probably frequented this room, if the perches positioned next to the windows were any indication. Vienna glanced up, half expecting to see a dark shape lurking in a remote recess of the carved plaster ceiling. She felt like she was being watched.

"Sit down." Mason waved toward the main fireplace a few yards away.

Two armchairs and a deep sofa were arranged around this. Like every other piece of furniture in the room they bordered on tattered disrepair. But no cloud of dust rose as Vienna moved a cushion to perch on the sofa. Whatever Mrs. Danville's flaws, and however thankless the task, she kept Laudes Absalom clean. It couldn't be easy, with so many musty old rooms and an accumulation of furniture and feudal trappings that would daunt the staff of any castle.

Mason set a crystal rocks glass down on an ornate occasional table next to Vienna and said, "Drink this."

"Really...there's no need. It's a superficial cut, that's all."

Ignoring her, Mason discarded her pea coat, poked at the stack of paper and kindling arranged on the grate, and lit the fire. As the blaze started to take, Ralph settled himself in front of it, stretched long, his head down on his paws.

"Warm up," Mason said, adding some small logs. "I'll be a back in a minute."

She left without a second glance at Vienna. Watching the door close behind her, Vienna sipped the brandy, then stretched her hands out toward the fames. When she'd absorbed the toasty heat for several minutes, languor crept up on her and she knew if she lay down, she would fall asleep. The idea was tempting but she resisted. Determined to stay awake, she got to her feet and scanned her surroundings, listening for the sound of returning footsteps. If this house wasn't such a mausoleum, she would track Mason down and excuse herself. All she wanted right now was to take a hot bath and fall into bed. Whatever they had to discuss could wait until tomorrow. She needed to have her wits about her so she could make the right decisions.

She wandered over to a display easel and lifted the sheet that covered a painting. The smell of linseed oil greeted her. The work was fresh, the paint still soft. The artist had captured Mason and her brother to perfection, revealing both the harmony of close siblings and the contrast of two very different adults. Each was physically striking and sensuously self-aware. But where Lynden's body language was open and engaging, Mason's wary reserve was apparent. Her expression was cool, no softness in the contours of chin and jaw. Her dark eyes bored into the observer with a mix of unease and defiance, yet there was also eloquence in their depths. And the artist had seen what Vienna saw in her. That unsettling vulnerability. He revealed it in the tender curve of her wrist and the expressive line of her mouth.

Feeling like a voyeur, Vienna dropped the sheet and stepped back.

From behind her, Mason asked, "What do you think?" She crossed the room with an indolent swagger that made Vienna's throat close.

"It's a fine likeness."

Mason patted her dog, then deposited a large nylon medical bag on the table and unzipped a couple of gusseted pouches. She'd changed out of her damp clothes and now wore a plaid shirt tucked into a pair of loose, faded jeans. Rolling up her sleeves, she said, "It's too soon to hang it."

Vienna didn't know what to say. From the looks of the supplies, the first aid kit was normally used for horses.

Mason pulled out a chair, inviting, "Sit down. This won't hurt a bit."

"I can take care of this myself." Vienna reached for the alcohol wipes.

"Indulge me." Mason gently lifted her hair aside and cleaned her cheek. "I always wanted to play doctor and nurse with you."

"You're incorrigible." Vienna tried to keep her breathing even by concentrating on her surroundings. She indicated a portrait of two soldiers, almost identical in looks. Each wore the khaki uniform and overcoat of World War One doughboys. "Who are they?"

"Harland and Hope. They were twins." Mason applied a Band-Aid. "It's only a minor cut, but you should put ice on your cheek for the bruising." She pulled an icepack from her bag. "You can borrow this."

"Thank you." Vienna held the compress to the side of her face, knowing she should be thankful that she could finally take her leave. But she delayed the moment. "Hope? That's an unusual name for a guy."

"She passed as a man so she could go to war with Harland."

"Your family allowed that?" Vienna was astonished. No Blake would ever have allowed one of their offspring to be served up as cannon fodder for warmongering politicians. A couple of scions had glittering military careers, retiring as generals. The family held them up as examples of Blake patriotism if the necessity arose. And of course, there was Patience Blake's daughter, Colette, who'd made the ultimate sacrifice. But Vienna's father was at Harvard during Vietnam, and the family made sure that he received the necessary deferments to avoid the draft.

"The family only found out later. As the story goes, Harland was socializing in London while Hope was at art school in Paris. When the first U.S. troops arrived to join the Allies, they enlisted."

The decision sounded typically Cavender, two young people throwing caution to the wind, imagining an adventure.

"What happened to them?" Vienna asked.

"Harland was killed in action on the Western Front. Hope was wounded at the same time. That's when they discovered she was a woman."

"I don't think she was the only one. A predecessor of mine also died in Europe during the First World War. I have some letters of hers. She was a nurse and talks about a soldier who I think was a woman. They were in love."

Mason discarded the wipes and wrappers and fastened her medical bag. "She was a lesbian?"

"I'm only guessing, but yes." Vienna allowed herself a wry smile. "Statistically, we're probably not the only gay people on our family trees."

"What became of the soldier?" Mason asked.

"I don't know. All I have is a photograph. No name."

"Maybe it was Hope."

"That would be quite a coincidence."

"Maybe not. You and I aren't the only Blakes and Cavenders who've been hot for each other," Mason reminded her softly. "Fanny married Nathaniel, and your grandfather had an affair with my grandmother. I guess that love/hate thing has been going on awhile."

Vienna didn't want to continue down that track. She needed more information before she could discuss Estelle and Benedict. She set the ice pack on the table and got to her feet. "You must be tired."

Ignoring the cue, and their temporary truce, Mason said, "You should have stayed in New York."

"You didn't." Vienna tried to sound offhand, but her voice wasn't cooperating. The Doberman sprawled in front of the fire stared up at her with a looked of pained sympathy. "Apparently you didn't think I was worth waiting for."

"And you didn't think I was worth leaving the party for," Mason retorted. "Are we even?"

"So this is all about ego? Don't tell me you rejected the offer because you have hurt feelings."

"I thought we weren't having this discussion now."

"You started it." Perfect. Now they were bickering like six-year-olds. Calming herself with thoughts of a bath and soft pillows, Vienna said, "I'm going home."

"Good idea."

"For the record, I came by your apartment after the party and you'd already gone." Vienna marched toward the door.

"Aren't you're forgetting something?" Mason dangled a set of car keys. She stayed where she was, leaning against the back of a chair.

"I'll walk," Vienna threw at her. "I'll send someone over for the car later."

Mason's eyes glittered. "You're not walking home by yourself."

"Just watch me." Vienna slammed the door behind her as she exited the room.

With a quick glance at Nancy's portrait, she hurried along the gallery to the broad staircase. Below her the grand hall looked sinister, its shadows only deepened by the weak pool of light from the chandelier on the level above. Suppressing her nerves, Vienna descended. The house could be beautiful, she thought, as she clung to the banister. If she owned it, the first thing she would do was improve the lighting. Then she would bring in a demolition crew to get rid of that eyesore south wing. Who let half their home fall into ruin after a fire and not rebuild, or at least cart away the rubble?

She turned the front door handle. The door didn't budge. Cursing beneath her breath, she inspected various bolts and chains. No one had secured them. She dragged at the handle again.

"It's deadlocked," Mason said.

Vienna spun around. Her nemesis was standing at the bottom of the staircase, her hands loosely at her sides. There was a stillness to her, a watchful expectancy. She was imposing her will, making Vienna come to her.

Indignantly, Vienna said, "What happened to good manners?"

"If you insist on walking, I said I'd escort you," Mason replied with an edge of sarcasm. "What happened to gracious consent?"

Vienna stole a quick, frantic glance to one side. Her body twitched with the urge to make a run for it. Apparently she didn't hide her intentions very well.

Mason surveyed her with amusement. "There's nowhere you can go. The house is locked up."

"Just open the door," Vienna snapped.

"Tell me something," Mason said. "Were you planning to accept my proposal?"

Vienna bit back the first reply that jumped to mind, and considered the question carefully. "What if I were?"

Mason reached past her and slid a key into the lock. "Yes or no?"

"Whatever the answer, it's no longer relevant."

"You don't know the answer," Mason taunted softly.

Her proximity was disabling. Fast losing ground to the weakening of her limbs and resolve, Vienna sought refuge in counterattack. "Oh, please. Like the math is that complicated. Of course I was going to say yes."

She paused to let her glib declaration sink in. She could tell Mason was upset. In the ghostly half-light, a tiny pulse stirred the hairline at her temple. Its throb transfixed Vienna. She pushed away a desperate yearning to stroke the translucent skin stretched over it.

"Bullshit," Mason said.

"Believe what you like. It's academic now. That ship has sailed."

"And yet, here you are."

"Not anymore." Vienna stepped back, pointedly waiting for the door to be opened. She put her hand out for her car keys. "Thank you for your hospitality. I'll tell Darryl that you've made your final decision and it's time for us to walk away and give our gracious consent for you to self-destruct." She smiled sweetly. "Good luck with the liquidation, Mason. You'll need it."

She was halfway down the front steps before she heard Mason.

"Vienna!"

Vienna turned around and caught her breath, disconcerted by the sight of Mason, standing tall and dark just behind the pale shape of Estelle. The statue almost seemed alive in that instant and Vienna had a flash of the beautiful woman she'd dreamed about, those hypnotic blue eyes pleading with her, the outstretched hand held open. Vienna glimpsed a flash of light, then realized an upstairs window had just lit up.

"Come back inside," Mason asked.

"Why, so you can play with me some more?"

"No." Mason's voice was a shredded undertone. "Vienna, I have to talk to you."

"I'm too tired for this," Vienna said dispiritedly. "You win, okay? I'm going back to Boston tomorrow and getting on with my life."

"What about Le Fantôme?"

"What about it?"

"That's why you're here isn't it?" Mason descended the steps to stand just above her. "I know you can't find the real stone."

"You think that's what dragged me out here in the middle of the night? A goddamned piece of overpriced carbon with a jinx on it? You think that matters to me?" Vienna's eyes stung with tears. "Go fuck yourself."

Even as the words tumbled out she realized how little she cared about the necklace. She would have driven here whether she'd found the diamond or not, and whether Mason accepted the latest offer or threw it back at her. The knowledge filled her with misery. Mason thought she was so shallow she would trade her body for a business deal and make a crazy trip out here for the sake of an expensive rock. It didn't matter what she said, Mason would never trust her, and Vienna only had herself to blame for that.

"What else would I think?" Mason demanded. "You sent the police out here."

Vienna yelled a curse and stomped down the rest of the steps. Pausing at the bottom she turned and faced Mason angrily. "I went to the police because no one will tell me what happened that night. It's not my fault if they noticed the case was fishy. I'm not the one who's been covering up the truth for ten years."

"No, that was your parents' idea."

"They were protecting me."

"They were protecting themselves. God forbid the Blake family name gets dragged through the mud." Mason stopped short, her chest heaving. "Has it ever occurred to you that I'm not the enemy?"

There was a savagery in her stare that drove Vienna back. Wrapping her arms around herself, she demanded, "What are you talking about?"

"Ask your mother to tell you about the deal. The one your father did with mine that night."

"What deal?"

Mason was silent at first, then gave an ironic laugh. "You know something funny? The first time I saw you with those people, I wanted to rescue you. I knew you didn't belong there. You were so...perfect." Her steady regard slid away and she seemed to retreat into her thoughts.

Almost absently, she said, "I'm as guilty the rest of them. I fed you to the wolves."

Vienna couldn't lower her arms. She was afraid if she did, she would humiliate herself by keeling over. "What are you talking about?"

Mason jerked her head around as bright light spilled down the steps. A thin, straight figure stood in the doorway.

"I heard voices," Mrs. Danville said. Her hair was tucked inside a white scarf but for a row of small spiral curls that lay across her forehead, each fattened between two pins. "Is there a problem?"

Vienna started to speak but Mason cut her off. "Nothing's wrong. I was just walking Miss Blake to her car."

Vienna held her ground, determined not to leave without some answers. "I can find my car," she muttered, trying to form a question for Mrs. Danville that would not sound accusatory.

Mason touched her on the shoulder, gently warning her off. "This is between you and me."

Infuriated, Vienna said, "Then tell me what's going on. Don't you get it? This secrecy isn't protecting me, it's making me crazy."

"Go home and get some sleep." With a polite hand gesture, Mason guided her toward the archway that led to the back of the house. "We can talk tomorrow."

"I'll want the truth," Vienna said, opening the car door.

"So will I," Mason replied softly.