Marta Perry - Sound Of Fear

Barney whined a little in apparent disagreement. He got up, padding softly from one window to the next. A little frisson of alarm slid down her spine.

“Come on, Barney. Are you trying to unnerve me?” She forced herself to turn away from the windows and took hold of his collar.

Barney gave a sudden, sharp bark, followed by a volley of barking and a lunge at the window. She swung around, and her heart jumped into her throat. Something—a face—pressed against the window, distorted by the glass.

Then the person withdrew a few inches and raised a hand in a wave. Amanda had a hysterical desire to laugh. It wasn’t a monster or an enemy pressing against the glass. It was Bertram Berkley, her mother’s agent. What was he doing here? She couldn’t imagine anything that would take him away from the city.

She went to the door, clutching Barney’s collar while she reassured him. Unlocking the door, she swung it open.

“Bertram! What are you doing here? You startled me. I didn’t hear your car.”

“Are you mad?” He hustled inside as if eager for shelter against the dark. “Drive my car up the rutted lane? Never. I left it down by the farmhouse. That road is bad enough.” He shuddered elaborately, overacting as always.

“Come now, it’s not that terrible. I’ve been bringing my SUV in and out with no problems.” She closed the door, realizing that he hadn’t answered her question about why he was here.

“Forgive me, dear, but your SUV is not a mint condition BMW.”

“Then you should have rented something more sensible to come here. And what are you doing here, anyway? If you’d called...”

“If I’d called, you’d have told me to stay in Boston.” He seated himself in the most comfortable chair and adjusted the crease in his trousers. “The famous Bertram Berkley charm doesn’t come across as well on the telephone.”

Amused in spite of herself, Amanda smiled as she sat down across from him. After a suspicious sniff at Bertram’s shoes, Barney returned to his hearth rug. Silence fell, almost oppressive. Bertram had brought a different atmosphere with him, but she couldn’t say it was an improvement.

She studied him, trying to figure out what he was feeling, but as always, she had a sense that his face reflected a carefully cultivated facade. “What’s so important that you chased me all the way up here on a workday to talk about? If this is about putting on a show again...”

“It’s Friday, dear,” he said gently. “I’m taking the weekend off. How better to enjoy it than a nice trip into the Pennsylvania mountains?”

“I should think a nice trip into New York City would be more to your taste.” He was right; it was Friday. She’d lost track of the days since she’d been here. Echo Falls seemed to exist in a world of its own.

“True.” He sighed elaborately. “But I’m endlessly self-sacrificing when it comes to my work.”

“I’m afraid you’re wasting your time. I’m really not at a place where I want to talk about my mother’s painting yet. It’s too soon.”

“My dear girl, it’s not too soon at all. The time to do a tribute to Juliet Curtiss is now, while she’s still in the public mind.”

“You mean you want to capitalize on her death.” She should have realized Bertram wouldn’t give up so easily. Her mother had been able to shut him down when he got carried away, but Amanda had yet to develop that gift.

“Not capitalize.” He shook his head, his expressive face drawing down into lines of sorrow, either at Juliet’s death or at Amanda’s failure to recognize his opinion. “A tribute, I said. We must remind the public of what has been so needlessly lost. A gifted artist, cut off in her prime by this horrific plague of gun violence—it’s a comment on our time.”

Amanda rubbed her forehead. “I can see some sense in what you’re saying, and I know you mean well. But I really can’t focus on that now. We’ll plan it together once I get past the shock, all right?”

She thought he looked as if he’d like to tell her she’d had three whole weeks to recover, but maybe she was wrong.

“That will be too late.” He leaned forward, intent. “Don’t you see? The market for Juliet Curtiss’s work is at an all-time high right now. We can’t let this slip away. You’re losing money with every week that passes.”

He meant sales. She supposed he knew what he was talking about, but... Then reality hit her like a hammer blow. Did she even have the right to sell Juliet’s paintings? A pit seemed to open in front of her, warning of all the possible missteps she could be taking.

That was another unarguable reason why she couldn’t agree with Bertram about the show he wanted. And it was one she didn’t dare tell him. She didn’t have any illusions about Bertram, any more than her mother had had.

Bertram’s good at what he does or I wouldn’t let him near my work. But his moral sense is nonexistent.

“Here.” Bertram pulled a folder from the leather portfolio he’d carried in with him, thrusting it toward her. “I have all the details worked out. You’ll see. It will be perfect, and you don’t have to do a thing.”

She took the folder because it was easier than arguing. She’d need to have legal advice before she sold even one of her mother’s paintings, but she couldn’t tell him that.

“I’ll look it over, I promise. I’ll let you know what I think. But it’s still going to have to wait awhile. Maybe next month.”

Maybe by next month she’d know whether she had any rights at all in Juliet’s estate, including the right to sell any of her paintings. For a moment despair swept over her. How was she going to deal with this? She didn’t doubt that Juliet thought everything had been settled with her will. If only she’d confided in Robert, or even in Amanda...

But that wouldn’t help her in dealing with Bertram right at the moment.

Anger had narrowed his eyes. “Next month? But I’ve explained all that already. Really, Amanda, you’ll have to trust me in this regard. Your mother would have understood the importance of timing. Even her brother sees that...”

“Her brother? George Curtiss?” Whether he was still Uncle George was up for debate. “When did you talk to him? And why?”

Bertram seemed to realize he’d made a misstep. He stretched his hands out in a placating motion, but it was too late for that.

“Well?” She stood, giving herself the advantage of height. “Why were you discussing my business with George?”

Bertram turned sulky. “He’s an interested party, isn’t he? After all, he was Juliet’s brother. Her closest relative. After you. Really, Amanda, I’m just trying to do my best for you.”

Whether there was any suspicion or malicious intent in his words, she didn’t know, but she certainly wasn’t going to let herself be intimidated by him. Bertram would be doing what was best for him.

Anger stiffened her spine. “I expect discretion from you, Bertram. You shouldn’t be discussing my business with anyone else, including George Curtiss. If I don’t feel assured of your discretion and loyalty, I will put my mother’s work into other hands. Is that clear?”

She didn’t know whether she had the right to do that, either, but she suspected it would be an effective threat.

“All right, all right. I’m sorry.” He rose, regaining his usual urbane smile. “I’m sure you’ll be satisfied with my work. After all, your mother trusted me to handle everything. With her input, of course,” he added hastily, maybe reading a rebuttal in her face. “Look, why don’t you let me take you out someplace for a glass of wine and a bite to eat? Surely this burg has one decent restaurant that’s open on Friday night.”