Amanda Stevens - Killer Investigation

“None of us has. We’re a very strange family in that regard. I suppose we all like our secrets too much.”

Arden couldn’t help wondering about his secrets. He was a handsome man, still young at forty-six and ever so charming in manner and speech. Yet now that she was older, the drawl seemed a little too affected and his elegance had a hint of decadence that hadn’t aged well. Maybe she was being too critical. Looking for flaws to assuage her conscience. No one on either side of the family had been more distant or secretive than she. Her grandmother had given her a home and every advantage, and Arden had repaid that kindness with bimonthly phone calls and Christmas visits.

As unsatisfied as she’d been with her professional life in Atlanta, she was even more discontent with her personal growth. She’d been selfish and entitled for as long as she could remember. Maybe that assessment was also too critical, but Arden had reached the stage of her life, a turning point, where hard truths needed to be faced. Maybe that was the real reason she’d come back to Charleston. Not to put old ghosts to rest, but to take stock and regroup.

Her uncle picked up a pair of clippers and busied himself cleaning the blades with a tattered rag and some rubbing alcohol. “You know the story of your grandparents’ divorce,” he said. “I stayed with Father and Camille came here with Evelyn. We lived only blocks apart, yet we became strangers. She blamed Father for the estrangement, but Evelyn could be just as contentious. She had her secrets, too,” he added slyly as he tested the clippers by running his finger along the curved blades. Then he hung them on the wall and put away the alcohol.

Arden watched him work. His hands were graceful, his fingers long and tapered, but his movements were crisp and efficient. She marveled at the dichotomy. “No matter who was at fault, it was wrong to keep you and my mother apart. To force you to choose sides. She never wanted that. She used to tell me stories of how close the two of you were when you were little. I know she missed you.”

“And yet she never reached out.”

“Did you?”

He shrugged good-naturedly. “That’s a fair point. Fear of rejection is a powerful deterrent. After the divorce, I’d sneak away from my father’s house and come here every chance I got. Sometimes I would just sit in the garden and watch my mother and sister through the windows. Or I’d lie in the summerhouse and stare up at the clouds. Berdeaux Place was like a haven to me back then. A secret sanctuary. Even though Mayfair House has a multitude of sunlit piazzas with breathtaking views of the sea, it seemed a gloomy place after the divorce. It was like all the joy had been stolen and brought here to this house.”

“You must have been lonely after they left.” Arden knew loneliness, the kind of killing emptiness that was like a physical ache. She’d felt it often in this house and even more so in Atlanta. She felt it now thinking about Reid Sutton.

She brushed back her hair as she glanced up at the sky, trailing her gaze along the same twinkling stars that she and Reid had once counted together as children.

You see that falling star, Arden? You have to make a wish. It’s a rule.

I already made a wish. But if I tell you, it won’t come true.

That’s dumb. Of course, it’ll come true.

All right, then. I wish that you and I could be together forever.

That’s a stupid thing to wish for because we will be.

Promise?

Promise. Now hurry up and make another wish. Something important this time. Like a new bike or a pair of Rollerblades.

“Arden?”

She closed her eyes and drew another breath. “Yes?”

“Where did you go just now? You seemed a million miles away.”

“Just lost in thought. This place takes me back.”

“That’s not a bad thing. Memories are how we keep those we’ve lost with us always. I made my peace with Evelyn before she passed. I’m thankful for that. And I’m thankful that you’re back home where you belong. Perhaps I’m overstepping my bounds, but I can’t help wondering...” He trailed away on a note of uncertainty.

“What is it?”

“You said you haven’t made any definitive plans, but Ambrose tells me you’re thinking of selling the house.”

“When did he tell you that?” Arden asked with a frown. She didn’t like the idea of her grandmother’s attorney repeating a conversation that Arden had considered private.

“Don’t blame Ambrose. He let it slip in passing. It’s none of my business, of course, but I would hate to see you sell. This house has been in the Berdeaux family for generations.”

Was that a hint of bitterness in her uncle’s voice? He would have every right to resent her inheritance. He was Evelyn’s only living offspring. Why she hadn’t left the property to him, Arden could only guess. In the not-too-distant future, her uncle would be the soul beneficiary of Clement Mayfair’s estate, which would dwarf the worth of Berdeaux Place.

She rested her hand on one of the wooden tables. “It’s not like I want to sell. Though I can’t see myself living here. The upkeep on a place like this is financially and emotionally draining. I don’t want to be tied to a house for the rest of my life.”

“I understand. Still, it would be nice to keep it in the family. Perhaps I could have a word with Father. He’s always had an interest in historic properties and a keen eye for real estate. And I imagine the idea of Evelyn rolling over in her grave would have some appeal.”

Hardly a convincing argument, Arden thought in distaste.

“A word of warning, though. Keep everything close to the vest. Father is a master at sniffing out weakness.”

Arden detested the idea of her grandmother’s beloved Berdeaux Place being used as a final weapon against her. She’d have Ambrose Foucault put out feelers in other directions, although she was no longer certain she could trust his discretion. Maybe it was time to look for a new attorney.

She glanced at her uncle. “Please don’t say anything to anyone just yet. As I said, my plans are still up in the air.”

“Mum’s the word, then. I should get going. I’m sure you’d like to get settled.”

“It’s been a long day,” she said.

“Don’t forget about the blooming party. And do stop by the studio when you get a chance. I’ll give you the grand tour.”

“Thank you. I would like that.”

“You should probably also know that the Mayor’s Ball is coming up. It’s being held at Mayfair House this year, all proceeds to go to the construction of a new arboretum. You know how political those things are. Everything revolves around optics. If Father gets wind that you’re home, he’ll expect an appearance.”

“Balls are not really my thing,” Arden said with a shrug. She could hardly imagine Clement Mayfair hosting an intimate dinner, much less a grand ball, but as her uncle said, those things were political. She doubted her grandfather had agreed to throw open his doors and his wallet without getting something very valuable in return.

“He can be relentless when he wants something,” her uncle cautioned. “It’s never a good idea to cross him.”

Arden lifted her chin. “I’m pretty stubborn, too. I guess that’s the Mayfair gene.”

Calvin’s expression froze for an instant before a smile flitted. “Yes, we are a hardheaded lot. Maybe Father will have finally met his match in you. At any rate, your presence at the ball would certainly make things more interesting.”

They stepped out of the steamy greenhouse into the cool evening air. He turned to her on the shadowy pathway. “Whether you come to the ball or not, Arden, I’m glad you’re home. It’s good to have someone in the house again.”