CHAPTER 6
On Friday morning, Eileen came bursting into Jillian’s office. “We’re off to the house in Connecticut for some stills and filming on the ad campaign. All of us. We’ll take Monday if we need to. I suggest leaving work a little early, since we’ll start with the light first thing tomorrow morning.”
Jillian inhaled. Eileen was a few years older than she was, and ever since they were little kids, Eileen had always seemed to think that made her boss.
“Eileen, I can’t leave this afternoon.”
“Why not?”
“I’m going to the graveyard. It’s the first anniversary of Milo’s death.”
Eileen let out a breath of air. “Oh, Jillian, I’m sorry. I knew it was coming up, but I forgot it was today. You had that memorial service a couple of weeks ago, so…”
“Yeah, I know. And it’s not that I think any one day really makes a difference, but I do want to go by the graveyard.”
“I’ll go with you, then we’ll drive up together.”
“No, Eileen, it’s all right. Really. You’ll want to drive with Gary, and I want to have a car if we’re going to be there through Monday.”
“There are cars up at the house. I don’t think you should be driving alone.”
“Don’t be silly. Besides, I have to head home, too, pick up some clothes for the weekend.”
“Henry can send them to the office for you. Jillian, I don’t want you going to that graveyard alone, all right?”
Actually, she’d really wanted to be alone. But Eileen seemed awfully concerned—and persistent. And the drive to Connecticut could be long.
Besides, since Robert Marston had kept his distance, as she had asked, it wasn’t as if she had other plans.
“I guess. But—”
“I could go with her, Eileen,” Connie supplied from the doorway.
Eileen whipped around. “It’s no problem for me, Connie. And Daniel said you and Joe weren’t planning on coming up until tomorrow morning—he said he knows you don’t want to leave the kids any longer than you have to.”
“Why don’t they just bring the kids?” Jillian suggested.
“We’re going to be working,” Eileen said firmly, looking at Connie as if having children had been a direct violation of the work ethic.
“Agatha will be there. She can watch the kids while we’re busy.”
“Agatha has the whole house to look after, and she’s got to be seventy, at least,” Eileen reminded them.
“And she employs a bunch of people. We’ll be fine if you choose to bring the children, Connie.”
“Thanks,” Connie murmured, but she looked uncomfortable as she started to turn away.
“Let’s head out at lunchtime, shall we?” Eileen suggested, turning to go, as well.
Jillian rose from behind her desk. “Hey, wait, both of you. I still can’t find Jeeves, and I’m getting really worried.”
They had both stopped in their tracks, but neither of them turned to look at her.
“Eileen?”
“No, haven’t seen him,” Eileen said, and hurried out of the office.
“He must be somewhere around,” Connie muttered, and hurried out, as well.
That Connie hadn’t looked at her seemed strange. With determination suddenly ruling her completely, she walked out of her office, past Connie and down the hall. She burst in on Griff, who actually appeared to be working, deep in study over some financial document.
He looked up.
“Griff, where is Jeeves?”
He folded his hands on his desk. “Jillian, don’t worry about old Jeeves, especially not today.”
“Today—”
“It’s the anniversary of Milo’s death, right?” He smiled. “No, I didn’t forget. I’m going by the cemetery before heading north. Want me to go with you?”
“Eileen just offered, thanks. And thanks for remembering. But we’ve got to find Jeeves.”
“We will.” He stood, walking around to her and escorting her to the door to his office. “Maybe he got out. Maybe he found a girl. You know how cats are.”
He kissed her on the cheek. She wasn’t sure, but he seemed rather eager to get her out of his office. “Even I have to clean up my desk a bit if I’m going to leave early for the weekend,” he told her.
His door closed. Curious, she walked down the hall. She was about to stick her head into Daniel’s office, but Gracie Janner stopped her.
“He’s not in there, Miss Llewellyn.”
She could have told Gracie that her legal name was Anderson, but she didn’t bother. No one remembered to use it even when Milo was alive. Llewellyns seemed to stay Llewellyns, no matter what.
At the far end of the hall was the plushest office, her grandfather’s domain. She started that way, but then, as she passed Theo’s, she saw that Connie, Daniel and Joe had gathered there.
She poked her head in. “What’s up?”
They all stared at her.
“Nothing,” Daniel said, walking to the door to meet her. “Weekend driving plans, that’s all. You’re going with Eileen?”
“Yes, I guess, but—”
“Nothing. Nothing is going on,” Connie said quickly.
Once again Jillian had the feeling that either she—or her entire family—was going crazy.
“Nothing,” Joe repeated.
“Nope, nothing at all,” Connie said.
Daniel was staring at the group with something like disgust. He shook his head. “Excuse me. I’ve got to get moving.”
“Is everyone going to Connecticut?” Jillian enquired.
“Just about,” Theo said, starting to follow Daniel out.
“Theo?”
“What?”
“This is your office,” she reminded him.
“Yeah, yeah, but I have some…papers. Papers in Daniel’s office.”
Theo sped by her.
“Jillian, you should call Henry,” Eileen offered. “I’ll get hold of Gary. Excuse me.” She sailed on by.
With a shake of her head, Jillian turned away herself and headed down to her grandfather’s office. Amelia Yancy had her desk—a huge oak affair, like a guard tower—dead smack in front of the double doors that led to Douglas’s office.
“Is he in?” Jillian asked.
“Yes, but—”
Jillian had started around the desk.
“He’s in a meeting with Mr. Marston.”
Jillian hesitated. Since the night she’d spent with Robert just two days ago, she’d needed perspective. A slowdown. But though she hesitated, she didn’t want to avoid him. Not completely. She didn’t want to be ridiculous about any of it. Or feel…possessive. As if there were really something deep there, going beyond the accident of two people meeting and feeling such an instant attraction. It was scary. And she didn’t want to cling to him, which would be far too easy to do. She knew so little about him.
Still, she just smiled at Amelia. “I’ll burst in on them. My fault. Don’t worry, I won’t let Grandfather yell.”
She tapped on the door and could envision her grandfather’s frown as he called, “Come in.”
She entered. Robert was seated in front of Douglas’s desk, relaxed but wearing a slight scowl. She wondered what their conversation had been about. Both men rose as she entered, and as she drew closer to Robert Marston, she felt again a strange sense of déjà vu, and wondered why she was being such an idiot, trying to keep any kind of distance between them. He made her tremble, made her feel warm. She wanted to walk over and slip her arms around him, ride off with him into the sunset, into the snow, to a glowing fire and surroundings of pure warmth.
She stopped short, remembering that she was going by a cemetery, that the man she had known and loved for a very long time had been dead just one year today.
“Excuse me for interrupting, but, Douglas, why didn’t you tell me this morning we were heading for Connecticut?”
“Because we just discovered at nine-fifteen that all the arrangements could be made so quickly.”
“The arrangements?”
“Cameramen, lighting, all that. We’ve given the project to Brad Casey—right beneath Eileen, of course—and since we’re making such a big deal out of it, we had to clear the calendars of everyone involved.”
“Interesting. Everyone forgot to clear it with me.”
“I poked my head in this morning and asked if you had weekend plans,” Douglas said.
“But you didn’t ask me if I was available to go to Connecticut,” she explained.
He looked truly mystified. “I’m sorry. You said you were free, and frankly, it’s not as if…well, it’s not as if you have a husband, children, or…well…” His voice trailed off. His steady old eyes were on her, and he smiled slowly. “You have me. And I’ll be in Connecticut.”
“Is there a problem?” Robert asked.
He was watching her, but she was careful to reveal no emotion in her eyes. “No. Not after I go to the cemetery.”
“Naturally,” Douglas said. “Is everything all right with you then?”
“Yes, I guess so.”
“Well?” Her grandfather spoke softly, but he was clearly implying that she should leave.
“Fine.” With little choice, she turned and walked out, still wondering about the subject of their meeting.
She had barely sat down at her desk before Connie came rushing in. She stared, opened her mouth, shook her head and rushed out.
“Connie?”
Connie pretended not to hear her, so Jillian walked out of her office and into Connie’s. “What is going on?”
“I—I—nothing.”
“Connie, I’ve known you for years. What’s the nothing that’s going on? And what is Robert Marston doing in my grandfather’s office?”
Connie’s eyebrows shot up. Then she looked vastly relieved. “I haven’t the faintest idea. Work, I guess.”
“Connie, why did you just come into my office?”
“I—I—I—”
“Connie, don’t I—I—I me.”
“He’s dead!” Connie blurted.
“What?” A chill seized her. “Who’s dead?”
“Jeeves,” Connie whispered. “I’m so sorry, but we just didn’t want to tell you. You were so upset about the tarot card reader yelling at you and all, and he was a black cat, and it was Halloween….”
“The cat is dead?”
At the deeply voiced question, Jillian spun around, and Connie leapt to her feet. Robert Marston was standing in the doorway.
“Why is everyone lying about a dead cat?” he enquired.
“We weren’t lying—we just didn’t want to tell Jillian. We didn’t want to upset her,” Connie explained quickly.
“Connie, that’s ridiculous. I’m very sorry, of course, but…why lie to me?”
“We just…we just didn’t want to upset you,” Connie repeated.
“How did the cat die?” Robert asked sharply.
“We think it must have been old age,” Connie said. “He was just…dead.”
Robert Marston turned around and left, a thoughtful look on his face. Connie was pale and still very upset. Jillian shook her head. “Connie, it’s all right. I just wish someone had told me. I wouldn’t have gone crazy looking for him.”
“I’m sorry. We meant to tell you, of course. When the time seemed right. Today…well, you know, today being the anniversary of Milo’s death, it didn’t seem like the right time.”
“It’s all right. I’m a big girl.” Jillian started back to her own office. Then she paused, looking back. “What did ‘we’ do with Jeeves?”
“I don’t know,” Connie said. “Either Daniel or Griff took care of…the remains.”
Jillian walked back into her own office, far more disturbed than she had let on. There was something Connie wasn’t telling her. She was sure of it.
She tried to work, but she couldn’t seem to concentrate. She put down her pencil and folded her hands in her lap. Douglas had told her that morning that she shouldn’t come in today, but she hadn’t wanted to sit home alone or spend the day brooding. But now…
A year. A full year.
And the cat was dead, too.
And she was having terrible dreams about fires….
She got up and walked to Daniel’s office, waving a hand impatiently as Gracie started to rise. She walked in without knocking.
Robert Marston had preceded her here, as well. He didn’t see her when she first slipped in, because he was talking to Daniel and his back was to her.
“I don’t understand why you just cremated the creature without knowing what had happened.”
“For God’s sake, Robert, it was a cat.”
“And it died in Jillian’s office.”
“Are you suggesting that—”
“I’m suggesting that it might have been important to find out just exactly what happened to it.”
“Jeeves died in my office?” Jillian demanded.
Both men turned and stared at her. Robert flushed, gritting his teeth, looking away. “Don’t you ever knock?” he asked somewhat harshly.
“Daniel?”
“He died of old age, Jillian. He liked you, he was comfortable in your office, so it was where he went to die.”
“We should have found out exactly why he died,” she said. “We have no idea how old he was.”
“Jillian,” Daniel explained patiently, “you’d had an episode the night before.”
“An episode?”
“You passed out after that fortune-teller played some kind of hocus-pocus on you. It was Halloween night, and a black cat died on your desk. We decided not to tell you,” Daniel explained patiently. “I’m sorry,” he added. “We did what we thought was best.”
“Out of love,” Robert murmured, still not looking at her.
“Of course,” Daniel said, though she had a feeling Robert had been speaking sarcastically.
“Please don’t hide things from me again. For any reason,” she said, and turned around, leaving them both.
Back in her own office, she closed up her desk. Then she stopped by Eileen’s office and told her cousin she would be in the coffee shop downstairs.
* * *
“Mr. Marston.”
The voice that came through on his private line was hushed. The woman had refused to identify herself to the temp, and he had almost refused the call. But now something in the hesitant urgency touched him, and he was glad he had taken it.
“Yes, this is Robert Marston. Who is this? And what can I do for you?”
“It’s Mary. Mary MacRae. I work at Hennessey’s. I’m the one you gave the money to that day. The ex-junkie,” she added so quietly he almost didn’t hear her.
He frowned. “Are you all right? Do you need something?”
“No, no, I’m fine, thank you. I found Madame Zena.”
“Oh?” He leaned forward, wondering why his heart had suddenly jolted. He was angry with the fortune-teller; all he wanted to know was who had put her up to her shenanigans.
“She’ll see you downtown in an hour, the Voodoo Café‚ off Hudson.”
“But—”
“I have to go.”
The line went dead.
An hour later, as he parked his car, he wondered if he was going a little mad himself. The Voodoo Café?
But the place was a neat little establishment, no darker than many trendy restaurants. The place was decorated with fine African and island art, and it offered Haitian, African and Creole dishes. He hadn’t eaten, and he didn’t see Madame Zena anywhere, so he sat in a booth and ordered coffee and the seafood specialty.
Right after his coffee arrived, a woman slipped into the booth across from him. Madame Zena. She looked quite different. She was stunning, with her hair short and expertly styled to emphasize the clean lines of her features. She was wearing a knit suit and gave the impression of cool competence and confidence.
“Madame Zena,” he murmured. “Thank you for coming. May I buy you something to eat?”
“Sure. Did you order the special?” she asked.
He smiled. “Don’t you know what I ordered?”
She met his eyes, then turned to the waitress coming toward her. “I’ll take the special, too, Kia, thanks. And coffee.”
He leaned back.
“Impressed?” she asked him.
“Because you knew I ordered the special? It wasn’t a bad guess.”
“All right, fine.”
“Look, I’m worried about Miss Llewellyn.”
“She isn’t Miss Llewellyn. She’s Mrs. Anderson. I remember the write-up in the paper when she was married.”
“I’m worried about Jillian,” he said.
“You should be.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s in danger.”
“From whom?”
“That I can’t tell you.”
He lifted his hands. “But you can help me. Who hired you?”
“Hennessey’s hired me.”
“No, no, I know that. Who hired you to—”
“You know,” she said, shaking her head. “That’s just the problem. You know.” She lifted a hand to summon the waitress. “This isn’t worth my time.”
“I’m sorry. I’m a realist. I’ve seen very bad things happen in this world, and I’ve seen them happen because of other people’s actions. People hurt people, Madame Zena—”
“Yes, people hurt people,” she said. “We agree on something.”
“So if you would just tell me who—”
“No one put me up to anything, Mr. Marston. My name is Shelley Millet, not Madame Zena. But I am not a charlatan, and I am not playing cruel games. I think that Jillian is in danger. There was something…something in the past. A great tragedy, a terrible force. You were part of it.”
“I’m telling you, I didn’t know her before.”
“The past is as great as time itself, Mr. Marston.”
“You’re talking in riddles. I never met Jillian before. I went to school with Theo Llewellyn, but I never met Jillian until I came to work at Llewellyn Enterprises. Until the other night. I never hurt her, and I never would. Don’t you understand? I’m trying to help her.”
“Why are you so sure she needs help, Mr. Marston?”
He hesitated. “I can’t answer that.”
“A feeling?” she enquired.
“No. I’m simply not at liberty to say.” If there was something sinister going on, the last thing he wanted to do was give her fuel to add to the fire that someone at Llewellyn had lighted.
“You’re an ass, Mr. Marston,” she said softly, leaning back.
“What?”
She smiled. “Sorry. That was rude of me. But there you are—educated, young, powerful, built like steel, full of sense and logic. An intelligent man. But you must see, and if you don’t, you are in trouble. The world is full of good and evil. Yin and yang. Forces. And chances. Karma. Call it whatever you will, Mr. Marston. But if you can’t open your heart and your mind, you will fail again.”
“Fail? Again? At what? How did I fail before?”
“You were arrogant then, you are arrogant now. You believe too strongly in your sense of purpose, in your belief in the power of the mind and the body.”
He shook his head. “I came to you for help. You’re playing word games.”
“I’m trying to help you.”
The food arrived, but he hardly noticed what he was eating, too lost in the frustrating conversation to give his mind to the meal.
“So…you recognized Jillian psychically, not by sight. And you knew me the same way. Then something made you start screaming, ‘Witch!’ at her, and your eyes just happened to roll back in your head when you met me?”
To his surprise, she hesitated, looking slightly disturbed. “I knew who you were.”
“Who told you?”
She ignored him and said instead, “I knew her husband. Who is dead a year today.”
Robert felt a strange chill. He gave himself a mental shake, annoyed, and reminded himself that he didn’t believe in psychic phenomena. “Did he read tarot cards, too?”
“No. He was a teacher. As I am. We taught at the same inner-city school.”
“So you knew Jillian then?”
“No. He had quit teaching by the time they were married. He was very ill already.” She had eaten a large portion of her food, and now she glanced at her watch and sighed. “We don’t get much time. I have to get back. I’m sorry if you feel I’m not trying to help you. I am. But I’ll never be able to do anything for you unless you open your mind.” She rose, a slight smile on her lips. “You’re a good man, a decent man—even if you are being an ass.”
“Oh?” He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest.
“You want to help her? Stay with her. Watch out for her. Don’t leave her this time, thinking that you are all powerful and your name will be enough to protect her.”
“This time. This time?” he said angrily. “There you go again.”
“Good and evil, Mr. Marston.”
“Yes, we agree, good people.”
“Christmas. The season is approaching quickly.”
“What? Is she going to be run over by a reindeer? Miss Millet—”
“It’s a time to believe, Mr. Marston. A time when goodness should win out, a time for miracles. But I promise you—miracles never occur for people who don’t believe in them.”
“And what is the miracle I’m looking for, Miss Millet?”
She stared at him with her curious golden eyes for a moment. “Life, Mr. Marston. Life itself is the miracle. Now, if you’ll excuse me…?”
She turned and headed for the door, then stopped, looking slightly puzzled, and turned back. “By the way, the cat was poisoned.”
“What?”
He was standing before he knew it, but she was already leaving.
He dropped several bills on the table and chased after her, catching up with her halfway down the street. He grabbed her arm. “How do you know that?” he demanded. “How do you even know about the cat?”
“What difference does it make? You won’t believe me if I tell you.”
“Give it a try.”
“Milo,” she said.
“What?” He released her arm.
“Milo, Mr. Marston. I don’t know how, or why. I don’t usually get messages from the dead. Strangely enough, he’s also the one who says you’re a decent human being. I really have to get back.”
She tried to turn, but he caught her arm again.
“Wait. If you know all this, if Milo is telling you things, surely he’s told you who’s doing it,” he taunted.
“No. He doesn’t know.”
“Milo—the deceased Milo—talks to you, but he doesn’t know what’s up. He warns of danger but he can’t tell you what it is?” His voice dripped deep, harsh skepticism.
“If you don’t want to listen to me, don’t try to find me anymore. What I do know is that energy is never destroyed. There will always be good and evil, and now the evil has come again. Jillian is in danger. Maybe you’re even the cause of the danger. Now, if you’ll let me go…”
“But—”
“If you’re ever willing to really listen, Mr. Marston, you can call on me again.”
“One of them put you up to this. One of the Llewellyns. Griff? This would be his idea of a practical joke. Daniel? Maybe he’s all show—maybe he hates Jillian for being Douglas’s favorite, and for being a direct heir. But this has gone too far. Whatever you’ve been paid, I’ll up it. This has turned serious. And if I find out you’re an accessory in any way, if you hurt her—”
“I’m not about to hurt her, Mr. Marston. But don’t you see? You’re being a blind fool. No, Mr. Marston, I am no danger to Jillian. I am not about to hurt her. But you—if you continue to be so damn sure of yourself, you will.”
She jerked her arm free and stared at him indignantly.
He shook his head and, totally frustrated, let her go.