Читать книгу: «False Family»

CHAPTER ONE

Magic and illusion ended when the lights came up and the curtains went down on a play. And the final curtain was coming down tonight for this play. It had been canceled with five days left on its run.

Poor box office and bad weather had combined to cut it short, and as Mallory King sat applying red lipstick in front of the makeup table in the long, narrow dressing room, she was mentally making a list of places she could go tomorrow to look for another job.

The door opened and a stagehand yelled, “One minute.”

Mallory quickly finished applying the lipstick, then sat back and looked at herself in the mottled mirrors. Her ebony hair had been gathered on top of her head in a riot of curls contained by a holly wreath, and her sapphire blue eyes had been highlighted by dark mascara. Deep blush brought out her high cheek line, and the gauzy, full-length white dress she wore was off the shoulder and nipped in tightly at her waist with a white satin band.

“The Ghost of Christmas Past,” she muttered at her reflection. That’s just what this job had become—a ghost—and she didn’t know what she would do if she didn’t get something else quickly. She couldn’t survive on what she made in tips at the restaurant.

She blotted her lips and stood as the door opened again. “You’re on,” the stagehand yelled into the room.

“I’m coming,” she called back as she tossed a tissue into the wastebasket. Turning, she hurried to the door and stepped into the hallway, turning left toward backstage. But as she rounded the corner near the stage door, she ran right into an immovable object, and felt hands clamp on her shoulders to keep her from stumbling backward. As she looked up, fully expecting to see one of the stagehands, she was shocked to find it was a man she’d never seen before.

He was tall, at least three inches over six feet, and he wore a dark, well-cut trench coat. His rain-dampened raven black hair was slicked back from a face that was far from traditionally handsome, but with a sensuality that struck her instantly, with a force that shook her. His features seemed to be all harsh planes and angles, his skin deeply tanned, his nose strong and his jaw clean-shaven.

But it was his eyes that riveted Mallory, making her next breath almost impossible. They were slightly slanted, as black as the night outside, with short, spiked lashes, and they were staring at her with an unsettling intensity.

It took her a moment to realize that he exuded an aura of danger, which defied reason since he’d kept her from falling. But it was there and almost tangible. She had to try twice before she forced words past the tightness in her throat. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“No damage done,” the man murmured in a low, rough voice as his hands released their hold on her. His dark eyes flicked over her in a heartbeat. “You look like a ghost.”

She nervously smoothed the fine, white material of her dress. “The Ghost of Christmas Past.”

He inclined his head slightly as his eyes narrowed. “My guess would have been the Ghost of Christmas Present,” he muttered, his expression tightening as he spoke.

This wasn’t any light banter, impersonal conversation between strangers. There was an edge to it that disturbed Mallory, almost as much as the man inches from her. Right then she heard the beginning strains of the musical piece that signaled her entrance, and the stranger was blocking her path to stage left. “For tonight, it’s Christmas Past,” she said. “That’s my cue. I need to—”

“Break a leg,” he murmured, then stood aside to let her pass.

Mallory ducked her head and hurried by him to her spot. The music swelled, and as the stagehand pulled the curtain back for her to step onto the stage, she could feel eyes on her. The stranger was watching her.

With a quick look back as she stepped forward, she saw the man had moved into the shadows near the prop room. But that didn’t diminish the intensity of his gaze on her. She’d never reacted like this to a man, attracted to him, yet aware of a danger that surrounded him. It had seemed like forever since she even looked at a man with anything more than passing interest.

When he nodded to her, she looked away. Then, as the actor playing Scrooge called, “Who goes there?” she took a shaky breath and stepped through the curtains into the light. In the next instant she was part of the fantasy she created on stage, a fantasy that didn’t have a place for a dark stranger who disturbed her and made her feel vulnerable.

At one minute to ten, the fantasy ended, and reality came back with a thud. Mallory had made her way back to the dressing room, which was crowded with the other female members of the cast. She had looked back over her shoulder more than once in the hallway, half expecting to see the stranger lingering in the shadows.

But he was nowhere in sight. And once inside, she stripped off her costume, put on her old terry-cloth robe and sat down in front of the mirrors. Methodically she began to spread cold cream on her face, and as she removed the last of the heavy stage makeup, lightning ripped through the night outside, its white glow flashing into the room through the bank of high windows, which were filmed with the grime of the city.

She tossed the last makeup-soiled cotton ball in the trash, then looked at her reflection in the mottled mirrors. She looked tired, her face pale in contrast to her dark hair, as she released her curls from the holly wreath. Her eyes were smudged with shadows from the sleeplessness she’d experienced over the past few days.

She grimaced, her natural ability to ignore the reality of the present and fantasize about a better future almost failing her right then. That little part of her life where she could make-believe and become someone else, that part that took her away from her job as a waitress and the empty apartment where she lived, had been taken from her until she could find another part in another play.

As she tossed the holly wreath into the prop box, she heard someone yell over the din, “King! Mallory King!”

She twisted to look back to the door and saw a stagehand waving in her direction. When he made eye contact with her, he called, “You’ve got a visitor!”

Mallory was surprised. She had never had anyone come backstage to see her after a play, and the house had been less than half-full during the performance. The applause at the curtain call had been more from politeness than enthusiasm. Then she remembered the man she’d run into, and for a second she thought he might have come back. But why would he?

She pointed to herself. “Me?”

The stagehand nodded, then ducked out and shut the door.

She stood and tugged her robe around her, knotting the tie at her waist as she made her way through the room. Nearing the door, she put the idea of the stranger out of her mind. It was crazy. When she opened the door and stepped into the dimly lit hallway, she spotted someone by the outside doors.

It was a woman. She recognized Elaine Bowers, her agent. Elaine, with her short, gray-blond hair curling slightly from the humidity. She was wearing a dark raincoat over a simple gray suit. “Mallory,” she said as she crossed to her.

Mallory slowly closed the door and watched the woman approach. One glance around the hallway and she knew that the dark-haired stranger wasn’t lingering in any of the nooks and crannies in the dingy space. She focused on the woman in front of her. Mallory knew she was one of her agent’s least lucrative clients, and she certainly didn’t warrant a personal visit on such a rainy night. “Elaine, what are you doing here?” Mallory asked.

The short, plump woman looked at her watch. “Looking for you.” She glanced up and down the hallway, grimacing at the faded walls and the low, moisture-stained ceiling. “Boy, I haven’t been in here in years. This old place was once the theater in the city. Can you believe it?”

“If you go out into the foyer and narrow your eyes, you can almost see how it must have looked years ago.”

“My imagination isn’t that good.”

“Right now, mine isn’t too good, either. I’ve been trying to imagine why you’re here, and I can’t come up with anything.”

“I was contacted by a Mr. Welting, an attorney who I’m supposed to meet here.” She took one last look over her shoulder, then moved a bit closer to Mallory. “I wanted to get here a few minutes before him so I could explain a bit to you before he showed up.”

Mallory tugged her robe more tightly around her. “Explain what to me?”

“This whole business is so rushed and odd,” she muttered with a shake of her head. “Mr. Welting contacted me just before five this afternoon. He’s an attorney for Saxon Mills.”

“Saxon Mills? Money, business, wine,” Mallory muttered. “What was his attorney doing contacting you?”

“Offering you a job.”

Mallory almost laughed. “A job for me? Well, I’m desperate, so if he wants me to crush grapes, tell him I’m willing.”

Elaine flicked that away with one hand and only the shadow of a smile. “No, he wants you for an acting job.”

“That’s even better. I’ll take it.”

“You don’t even know what it is.”

“They’re closing the play as of tonight, Elaine. I’m free and broke. I’ll take anything.”

“I thought they might have to close. With this lousy weather and the economy, it’s hard to keep small companies going.”

“And the restaurant’s cutting back, too. I’ve lost two of my shifts, so I need whatever I can get.”

“Then this’ll work out better than I thought. It’s good timing for everyone.”

“It is for me. Now, what’s the part and when do I start?”

“Tomorrow, actually, and it runs through New Year’s. You’re going in as a replacement for someone. One of Welting’s people saw you when you were working at the Garnet last month in the Simon play. He remembered you when this position came up, and Mr. Welting says that you’re just right for what they want.”

“What play is it?”

Elaine looked a bit embarrassed. The woman usually had an answer for every question. “I’m sorry. This all happened so fast I didn’t get that. But when the man gets here, you can get all the details. All I know is, it’s in the Napa Valley area, a dinner theater of sorts, and they’re doing a Christmas piece.”

Sara Springer, the actress who played Tiny Tim’s oldest sister, came out of the dressing room and met Mallory. “I’m going down the block to pick up some pizzas for everyone, sort of a holiday wake. Do you want some?”

“No thanks.”

“Do you mind if I use your umbrella to go? Mine blew inside-out on the way here.”

“No, go ahead.”

“Thanks,” Sara said before she went back into the dressing room.

Mallory turned back to Elaine. “It’s up in Napa?”

“That’s what he said.”

“Then I don’t see how I can do it. I’ve got the restaurant—what little time they’re giving me—and commuting would be too much. My car’s on its last legs, as it is, and that would kill it.”

“Actually, you’ll have to forget about the restaurant for a while and stay in Napa if you want this job.”

“I can’t afford to—”

“Listen, you’re being offered a per diem and three times scale. Mr. Welting said it was an emergency. They’re willing to pay what they need to get you to take over the part.”

Mallory did some fast figuring and realized that even though she didn’t celebrate Christmas or put any stock in it, she was getting a genuine holiday present with this job. She could last at least two months on that money, even without working at the restaurant. “I guess I can’t refuse. But I’ll have to contact the restaurant and see what I can work out with them.”

“Good.” Elaine looked very relieved. “I knew you’d do it.”

The stage door opened abruptly, and for a moment the storm invaded the narrow hallway with pouring rain and a cold wind that curled around Mallory’s bare legs. Then a man ducked inside, a blur of dark clothes and height. The stranger. He’d come back, and for a second her heart lurched with the idea that he was the attorney Elaine had told her about.

But as he turned and brushed at his raincoat, then skimmed off a dark fedora he was wearing, she knew how wrong she’d been. He might be tall, but he was totally bald and more slight, with a pallor to his complexion that was in sharp contrast to the black coat. He could have been anywhere from fifty to seventy, with a narrow, furrowed face that looked devoid of any tendency to humor.

He spotted Elaine and headed right for her. “Ms. Bowers,” he said in a clipped voice that was tinged by a nasal quality. “I am sorry for the slight delay.”

“No problem, Mr. Welting,” Elaine said as the man stopped in front of her. “It gave me a chance to fill Mallory in on what you need.”

“Excellent,” he murmured, turning to look at Mallory.

Pale blue eyes, under bushy gray brows, narrowed, as the man pointedly stared at her with no hint of apology. His gaze traveled over her in what would have been a suggestive way if there had been any sexual overtones to it. But there were none. His scrutiny was cold and calculating, and as emotion free as the stranger’s gaze had earlier been emotion laden.

“You will do just fine,” he finally murmured, then gave her an oddly formal partial bow. “I am Henry Welting, representing Mr. Saxon Mills. It is a pleasure meeting you, Ms. King.”

She wished she could say the same, but the man made her skin crawl. “Elaine was just explaining your job offer to me.”

“Did she outline the financial aspects of the offer?”

“We went through all of it,” Elaine said quickly.

“And it’s satisfactory?” he said, never looking away from Mallory.

“Yes, it’s satisfactory,” Mallory said.

“Good. I would hate to haggle over a few dollars.”

The pay wasn’t exactly a “few dollars” to Mallory, but to a man wearing obviously expensive, hand-tailored clothes, the money was probably a pittance. “She also mentioned a per diem.”

“Yes, of course. Since it’s not in this area, we thought it best to offer you that.” He stared at her without blinking as he lifted one eyebrow slightly. “Since you are basically alone in the world, we didn’t feel that there would be any problem with relocating for the two weeks. There won’t be, will there?”

She was taken aback by his statement about her personal life, but said simply, “No problem at all.”

“Then you accept the offer?”

She didn’t like this man, but she didn’t have to like him to do the job. “Yes, I’ll take the job.”

“Excellent,” he said. “Mr. Mills will be very pleased. The contracts will be at Ms. Bowers’s office tomorrow morning at nine for signatures.” He reached into the inside pocket of his trench coat with his free hand and took out an envelope that he offered to Mallory. “These are instructions to be followed to the letter.”

She took the thin envelope and glanced at her name typed neatly on the front. “And the script?” she asked, looking back at Mr. Welting.

“That will all be given to you when you report for work.”

“But, I—”

He kept speaking as if she hadn’t said a thing. “It is very important that you follow the instructions exactly. You are to report to Mr. Mills at his home at precisely six o’clock tomorrow evening.”

“His home?”

“Mr. Mills is taking care of this personally, and he seldom leaves his home anymore. When you meet with him, he will explain everything to you.”

“Is there anything else?”

He slipped his hat back on. “You are to discuss this with no one until you see Mr. Mills. Anything else you might need to know is in the envelope.” He stared at her for a long, awkward moment before he said, “What is it they say in the theater for good luck, Ms. King? Break a leg?”

It took Mallory aback to hear that phrase for the second time in the last few hours. “Thanks,” she murmured at the same time Sara came back out of the dressing room with another actress. Both were dressed in dark raincoats, and Sara was carrying Mallory’s umbrella. As she headed down the hallway, Sara accidentally bumped Mr. Welting on his arm.

The man jerked back and glared at her. “Sorry,” Sara muttered. Then with a “We’ll be right back” to Mallory, she and the other girl headed for the stage entrance.

As the two of them stepped out into the storm and the door shut behind them, Mr. Welting said, “I think that’s all that’s needed here. My driver is waiting for me.” He inclined his head to Mallory. “Thank you for agreeing to help Mr. Mills. I know he will be very appreciative of it.” He glanced at Elaine. “Thank you for taking care of this so expeditiously, Ms. Bowers.”

“Of course,” she murmured.

With a fleeting look back at Mallory, he turned and headed for the doors. Without glancing back, he pushed back the metal barrier and stepped out into the night. Then he was gone and the door closed with a creaking moan.

Mallory exhaled and leaned back against the wall as she stared at the door. “Boy, he’s strange. It’s a night for meeting strange people.”

“Forget about him. You don’t have to deal with him anymore. I’ll take care of any other business things that come up.”

Mallory looked back at Elaine. “It all seems so odd, doesn’t it?”

“Listen, I can understand if you’re a bit uneasy about this, but I can assure you, I checked this all out. Henry Welting does a number of things for Saxon Mills, both professionally and personally. He’s been on retainer for the man for over fifteen years. The offer’s very legitimate. I wouldn’t let you do it if I thought there was anything shady about it.”

“Sure, of course,” Mallory murmured, then looked back at the door as it flew open, and the girl who had left with Sara rushed back into the hallway. Her face was as white as a sheet, and rain dripped from her hair and her drenched clothes.

“Call an ambulance!” she gasped.

Mallory stood straight. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Sara. She—” The girl was beginning to shake all over. “She…she was in front of me, crossing the street, and a car…it hit her.” She swiped at her face with a trembling hand. “I think she’s dead.”

December 22

The fury of the storm let up for little more than half a day before it came back again in earnest. At five the next afternoon, Mallory was driving north on an all-but-deserted two-lane road. Wind shook her small car, and rain beat relentlessly against the oxidized blue paint.

The rolling hills that formed the valley and were covered with vineyards on either side of the road were almost obliterated by the storm and the shadows of the coming night. Mallory sat forward, straining to make out the wooden road signs through the rain and the slapping of the windshield wipers.

The written directions she had been given were simple enough. They just hadn’t mentioned how to cope with what seemed like a hurricane.

Mallory gripped the steering wheel so tightly that her fingers ached, and no matter how intently she tried to focus her thoughts, she couldn’t forget the horror of last night. The moments after her friend’s accident had been filled with total confusion—flashing lights, sirens and Sara laying on the asphalt, her arms and legs askew at unnatural angles, her blood from a massive head wound mingling with the rain on the pavement.

No one had seen the car until it ran Sara down, and no one knew what happened to it afterward. Hit-and-run. And it had left Sara alive…but just barely. When she’d been taken to the hospital, they’d found compound fractures of her forearm and thigh. By far the most serious injury had been the head wound. She’d undergone emergency surgery in the small hours of the morning to relieve pressure on her brain and the doctors were guardedly optimistic.

Mallory had stayed until morning, when Sara’s parents arrived. They had been devastated, and when Mallory was leaving, they were sitting on either side of their unconscious daughter, holding her hands, talking softly to her, encouraging her to come back to them.

For one fleeting moment, Mallory had almost felt envious of poor Sara. Mallory had never known her father. He’d walked out on her mother before Mallory had been born. And the memories of her mother were vague, distorted remembrances of a five-year-old child. Dark hair, a soft voice, eyes touched with a sadness that never quite disappeared. Nothing substantial.

And Mallory knew if she was in the bed instead of Sara, no one would be crying for her. She had no one. Henry Welting had said she was “basically alone,” but the reality was, she was completely alone. Just as alone as she was on this road right now. She couldn’t see any lights, and only a handful of cars had passed her since she left Napa.

Her headlights cut into the darkness and rain, and she caught a glimpse of a sign ahead. As she slowed, she could barely make out dark lettering on an old-fashioned wooden road sign—Reece Place. With a sigh of relief, she made the left turn onto an even-narrower road that angled upward. A canopy of ancient trees on either side bent under the force of the wind and rain.

The road curved to the left and Mallory shifted to a lower gear to negotiate it, but even so, she felt the tires on the car spin for a second before they caught traction again. Yet before she could get the car fully under control, the road cut sharply to the right and as the car went into the curve, Mallory knew she wasn’t going to make it.

In that split second, the car began to drift sideways on the slick pavement. Mallory felt the loss of control, the futility of pressing on the brakes and turning the wheel. She felt the stunning terror of knowing she could die. She felt sadness for what might have been, a sadness she had never let herself feel before.

Then the impact came. The car hit something solid, stopping with a bone-jarring suddenness, and the seat belt bit into her shoulder as Mallory felt her head jerk sideways.

Then it was all over. With the engine dead, the car tilted to the right, sinking slowly into the soft shoulder of the road. Finally it settled, and Mallory was thankful to be alive. The windshield wipers kept trying to clear the glass of the sheeting rain. The headlights were at a skewed angle, shooting up into the night, and the strength of the storm made the car shudder.

She slowly released her grip on the steering wheel, fumbled with the safety belt, then sank back into the seat. Looking to her right, she could make out the dark smear of grass and leaves pressed against the window. She might have survived, but the car wasn’t going anywhere. She glanced at the dash clock. She had twenty minutes to get to Saxon Mills’s house. There was no way she could make it.

“Merry Christmas to me,” she muttered, feeling as if this gift of a job had been snatched right out of her grasp.

She closed her eyes, trying to figure out what to do. She didn’t have any idea how far she’d have to walk through the storm to get to Mills Way. But if she sat here and waited for help, there was no guarantee anyone would come along tonight.

She looked out at the night and faced her options. She could feel the wind pushing at the car, and the rain seemed to be even heavier now. She turned off the headlights, then switched the key to the accessory position and flipped on the radio.

The strains of country music filled the confines of the small car, and for a while Mallory waited. But when the weather forecast came on, she reached to turn up the volume.

“And now for the Bay Area forecast. After a long drought that has forced water rationing for the past two years, the city is being deluged by a storm coming from the north, bringing torrential rain, winds gusting to forty miles an hour and temperatures in the midforties. Flooding has been reported in the low areas of the city, and mud slides have closed several roads leading into the valleys to the east and into Mill Valley to the north. With only scattered gaps in the weather front, the forecast is for a cold and very wet holiday season.”

Mallory reached for the radio button and turned it off. A miserable twenty-four hours was getting worse by the minute. Sara’s accident, the restaurant giving her no guarantee she could get her old job when she got back in two weeks, and now the job with Saxon Mills, which was dissolving right before her eyes.

She glanced at the dash clock. She had fifteen minutes to get to the meeting. Fifteen minutes. She sat forward and snapped on the headlights again. She could barely make out the fact that she was half on and half off the road. That road lead to Mills Way, and Mills Way led to Saxon Mills’s house. In the next second, she made up her mind.

She wasn’t going to let the Mills job go that easily. She had a raincoat, an umbrella and shoes that wouldn’t be any worse if they got wet. No, the umbrella was gone. She could remember it lying on the road near Sara, torn and flattened. She pushed that thought out of her mind.

She had a hood on her raincoat, and it didn’t matter what she looked like for the interview. Saxon Mills would just have to understand. As long as she made it. She turned the key, leaving it in the ignition, then tugged her hood up over her hair. Hesitating for only a moment as wind again shook the car, she faced the fact that walking was her only chance of salvaging anything with Saxon Mills.