“Naomi.” His voice had the faintest of drawls, not slow so much as rich, like a fine, aged bourbon. “You have company.”
Nothing her father had told her had prepared her. It was like looking in a mirror at some future time. A mirror polished to a high sheen so that it dazzled the eyes. Kelsey might have been looking at herself. For one mad moment, she was afraid she was.
“Well.” Naomi’s hand clamped hard on Gabe’s arm. It was a reaction she wasn’t aware of, and one she couldn’t have prevented. “I didn’t think I would hear from you so soon, much less see you.” She’d learned years before that tears were useless, so her eyes remained dry as she studied her daughter. “We were about to have some tea. Why don’t we go inside?”
“I’ll take a rain check,” Gabe began, but Naomi clung to his arm as if he were a shield, or a savior.
“That’s not necessary.” Kelsey heard her own voice, as from a distance. “I can’t stay long.”
“Come inside, then. We won’t waste what time you have.”
Naomi led the way through the terrace doors into a sitting room as lovely and polished as its mistress. There was a low, sedate fire in the hearth to ward off the late-winter chill.
“Please sit down, be comfortable. It’ll only take me a moment to see about the tea.” Naomi shot one quick glance at Gabe, and fled.
He was a man accustomed to difficult situations. He sat, drew out a cigar, and flashed Kelsey a smile fashioned to charm. “Naomi’s a bit flustered.”
Kelsey lifted a brow. The woman had seemed as composed as an ice sculpture. “Is she?”
“Understandable, I’d say. You gave her a shock. Took me back a step myself.” He lighted the cigar and wondered if the raw nerves so readable in Kelsey’s eyes would allow her to sit. “I’m Gabe Slater, a neighbor. And you’re Kelsey.”
“How would you know?”
Queen to peasant, he thought. It was a tone that would normally challenge a man, certainly a man like Gabriel Slater. But he let it pass.
“I know Naomi has a daughter named Kelsey whom she hasn’t seen in some time. And you’re a little young to be her twin sister.” He stretched out his legs and crossed them at his booted ankles. They both knew he’d yet to take his eyes off her. And he knew he didn’t intend to.
“You’d pull off the dignified act better if you sat down and pretended to relax.”
“I’d rather stand.” She moved to the fire and hoped it would warm her.
Gabe merely shrugged and settled back. It was nothing to him, after all. Unless she took a few potshots at Naomi. Not that Naomi couldn’t handle herself. He’d never known a woman more capable or, in his mind, more resilient. Nonetheless, he was too fond of her to let anyone, even her daughter, hurt her.
Neither did it concern him that Kelsey had obviously decided to ignore him. He took a lazy drag on his cigar and enjoyed the view. Stiff shoulders and a rigid spine didn’t spoil it, he mused. It was a nice contrast to the long, fluid limbs and fancy hair.
He wondered how easily she spooked, and if she’d be around long enough for him to test her himself.
“Tea will be right in.” Steadier, Naomi came back into the room. Her gaze locked on her daughter, and her smile was practiced. “This must be horribly awkward for you, Kelsey.”
“It isn’t every day my mother comes back from the grave. Was it necessary for me to think you were dead?”
“It seemed so, at the time. I was in a position where my own survival was a priority.” She sat, looking tailored and unruffled in her dun-colored riding habit. “I didn’t want you visiting me in prison. And if I had, your father would never have agreed to it. So, I was to be out of your life for ten to fifteen years.”
Her smile shifted a few degrees, going brittle. “How would the parents of your friends have reacted when you told them your mother was doing time for murder? I doubt you’d have been a popular little girl. Or a happy one.”
Naomi broke off, looking toward the hallway as a middle-aged woman in a gray uniform and white apron wheeled in a tea tray. “Here’s Gertie. You remember Kelsey, don’t you, Gertie?”
“Yes, ma’am.” The woman’s eyes teared up. “You were just a baby last time. You’d come begging for cookies.”
Kelsey said nothing, could say nothing to the damp-eyed stranger. Naomi put a hand over Gertie’s and squeezed gently. “You’ll have to bake some the next time Kelsey visits. Thank you, Gertie. I’ll pour.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Sniffling, she started out, but turned when she came to the doorway. “She looks just like you, Miss Naomi. Just like you.”
“Yes,” Naomi said softly, looking at her daughter, “she does.”
“I don’t remember her.” Kelsey’s voice was defiant as she took two strides toward her mother. “I don’t remember you.”
“I didn’t think you would. Would you like sugar, lemon?”
“Is this supposed to be civilized?” Kelsey demanded. “Mother and daughter reunite over high tea. Do you expect me to just sit here, sipping oolong?”
“Actually, I think it’s Earl Grey, and to tell you the truth, Kelsey, I don’t know what I expect. Anger certainly. You deserve to be angry. Accusations, demands, resentments.” With hands that were surprisingly steady, Naomi passed Gabe a cup. “To be honest, I doubt there’s anything you could say or do that wouldn’t be justified.”
“Why did you write me?”
Taking a moment to organize her thoughts, Naomi poured another cup. “A lot of reasons, some selfish, some not. I’d hoped you’d be curious enough to want to meet me. You were always a curious child, and I know that at this point in your life you’re at loose ends.”
“How do you know anything about my life?”
Naomi’s gaze lifted, as unreadable as the smoke wafting up the flue. “You thought I was dead, Kelsey. I knew you were very much alive. I kept track of you. Even in prison I was able to do that.”
Fury had Kelsey stepping forward, fighting the urge to hurl the tea tray and all the delicate china. It would be satisfying, oh so satisfying. But it would also make her look like a fool. Only that kept her from striking out.
Sipping tea, Gabe watched her struggle for control. High-strung, he decided. Impassioned. But smart enough to hold her ground. She might, he thought, be more like her mother than either of them knew.
“You spied on me.” Kelsey bit off the words. “You hired, what, detectives?”
“Nothing quite so melodramatic as that. My father kept track of you while he could.”
“Your father.” Kelsey sat down. “My grandfather.”
“Yes, he died five years ago. Your grandmother died the year after you were born, and I was an only child. You’re spared a flood of aunts and uncles and cousins. Whatever questions you have, I’ll answer, but I’d appreciate it if you’d give us both a little time before you make up your mind about me.”
There was only one she could think of, one that had continued to hammer at the back of her mind. So she asked it, quickly, before she could draw away from it.
“Did you kill that man? Did you kill Alec Bradley?”
Naomi paused, then lifted her cup to her lips. Over the rim, her eyes stayed steady on Kelsey’s. She set the cup down again without a rattle.
“Yes,” she said simply. “I killed him.”
“I’m sorry, Gabe.” Naomi stood at the window, watching her daughter drive away. “It was really unforgivable of me to put you in that position.”
“I met your daughter, that’s all.”
On a weak laugh, Naomi squeezed her eyes shut. “Always the master of understatement, Gabe.” She turned then, standing in the strong light. It didn’t bother her that the sun would highlight the fine lines around her eyes, show her age. She’d spent too long away from it. Too long away. “I was afraid. When I saw her, so much came flooding back. Some expected, some not expected. I couldn’t deal with it alone.”
He rose and went to her, laying his hands on her shoulders to soothe th
e strong, tensed muscles. “If a man isn’t happy to help a beautiful woman, he might as well be dead.”
“You’re a good friend.” She lifted a hand to his, squeezed. “One of the very few I can drop all pretenses with.” Her lips curved again. “Maybe it’s because we’ve both done time.”
A quick smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Nothing like prison life to pack down common ground.”
“Nothing like prison life. Of course, a youthful run-in over a poker game doesn’t quite come up to murder two, but—”
“There you go, one-upping me again.”
She laughed. “We Chadwicks are so competitive.” She moved away from him, shifting a vase of early daffodils an inch to the right on a table. “What did you think of her, Gabe?”
“She’s beautiful. The image of you.”
“I thought I was prepared for that. My father had told me. And the photographs. But to look at her and see myself, it still staggered me. I remember the child, remember the child so well. Now, seeing her grown up . . .” Impatient with herself, she shook her head. The years passed. She knew that better than anyone. “But beyond that.” She glanced over her shoulder. “What did you think of her?”
He wasn’t sure he could, or would, explain precisely what he’d thought. He, too, had been staggered, and he was a man rarely surprised. Beautiful women had walked in and out of his life, or he in and out of theirs. He appreciated them, admired them, desired them. But his first glimpse of Kelsey Byden had all but stopped his heart.
He would dissect that interesting little fact later, but for now Naomi was waiting. And he knew his answer mattered.
“She was running on nerves and temper. She doesn’t quite have your control.”
“I hope she never needs it,” Naomi murmured.
“She was angry, but smart enough, and curious enough, to hold on to her temper until she gauges the lay of the land. If she were a horse, I’d have to say I need to see her paces before I could judge if she has heart, endurance, or grace. But blood tells, Naomi. Your daughter has style.”
“She loved me.” Her voice shook, but she didn’t notice. Nor did she notice the first tear that spilled over and trailed down her cheek. “It’s difficult to explain to someone who’s had no children what it’s like to be the recipient of that kind of total, uncompromising love. Kelsey felt that for me, and for her father. It was Philip and I who lacked. We didn’t love enough to keep that unit whole. And so I lost her.”
Naomi brushed at the tear, caught it on her fingertip. She studied it as if it were some exotic specimen just discovered. She hadn’t cried since she buried her father. Hadn’t seen the point.
“I’ll never be loved that way again.” She flicked the tear away and forgot it. “I don’t think I understood that until today.”
“You’re rushing your fences, Naomi. That’s not like you. You had all of fifteen minutes with her today.”
“Did you see her face when I told her I killed Alec?” There was a smile on her lips as she turned back to Gabe, but it was hard, brittle as glass. “I’ve seen it in dozens of others. Civilized horror. Decent people don’t kill.”
“People, decent or otherwise, do what they need to do to survive.” He had reason to know.
“She won’t think so. She might have my looks, Gabe, but she’d have her father’s mores. Christ, they don’t come any more decent than Dr. Philip Byden.”
“Or more foolish, since he let you go.”
She laughed again, easier this time, and kissed him firmly on the mouth. “Where were you twenty-five years ago?” She shook her head, nearly sighed. “Playing with your Crayolas.”
“I don’t recall ever playing with them. Betting with them, maybe. Speaking of bets, I’ve got a hundred that says my colt will outrun yours at the Derby in May.”
Her brow rose. “And the odds?”
“Even.”
“You’re on. Why don’t you come down and take a look at my prize yearling before you leave? In a couple of years she’ll leave anything you put against her in the dust.”
“What did you name her?”
Her eyes glinted as she opened the terrace doors. “Naomi’s Honor.”
She’d been so cool, Kelsey thought as she unlocked her apartment door. So cold. Naomi had admitted to murder as casually as another woman might admit to dyeing her hair.
What kind of a woman was she?
How could she have served tea and made conversation? So polite, so controlled, so horribly detached. Leaning against the door, Kelsey rubbed at the headache storming behind her temples. It was all like some insane dream—the big, beautiful house, the placid setting, the woman with her face, the dynamic man.
Naomi’s newest lover? Did they sleep in the same room where a man had died? He’d looked capable of it, she thought. He’d looked capable of anything.
With a shudder, Kelsey pushed away from the door and began to pace.
Why had Naomi written the letter? she wondered. There’d been no emotional storm, no fatted calf, no desperate apologies for the lost years. Only a polite invitation to tea.
And the calm, unhesitating admission of guilt.
So, Naomi Chadwick wasn’t a hypocrite, Kelsey thought wryly. Just a criminal.
When the phone rang she glanced over and saw that her message machine was blinking. Kelsey turned away and ignored both. She had two hours before her shift at the museum, and no need, no desire, to speak with anyone before then.
All she had to do now was convince herself that her mother’s reappearance didn’t have to change her life. She could go on just as she had before—her job, her classes, her friends.
She dropped down on the sofa. Who was she trying to fool? Her job was no more than a hobby, her classes a habit, and her friends . . . Most of them had been shared with Wade, and therefore, in the odd by-product of divorce, they had divvied up sides or simply faded into the background so as not to be touched by the trauma.
Her life was a mess.
She ignored the knock at the door.
“Kelsey.” Another quick, impatient rap. “Open the door or I’ll have the apartment manager open it for me.”
Resigned, Kelsey rose and obeyed. “Grandmother.”
After lifting her cheek for the expected kiss, Milicent Byden strode into the apartment. She was, as always, flawlessly dressed and coiffed. Her hair was tinted a glossy auburn and swept back from a polished face that could, at a glance, pass for sixty rather than eighty. She kept her figure trim with unsentimental diet and exercise. Her size-six Chanel suit was a pale blue. She tugged off matching kid gloves and set them down on an occasional table, then laid her mink over a chair.
“You disappoint me. Sulking in your room like a child.” Her almond-colored eyes scraped over her granddaughter as she sat, crossing her legs. “Your father’s desperately worried about you. Both he and I have called you at least half a dozen times today.”
“I’ve been out. And Dad has no reason to be worried.”
“No?” Milicent tapped a lacquered fingernail against the arm of the chair. “You burst in on him last night with the news that that woman has contacted you, then you dash off and refuse to answer your phone.”
“That woman is my mother, and you and he knew she was alive. It caused an emotional scene, Grandmother, which I’m aware you might consider to be in poor taste, but that I felt was very justified.”
“Don’t take that tone with me.” Milicent leaned forward. “Your father has done everything to protect you, to give you a decent upbringing and a stable home. And you attack him for it.”
“Attack him?” Kelsey threw up her hands, knowing such an outward display would count against her. “I confronted him. I demanded answers. I demanded the truth.”
“And now that you have it, are you satisfied?” Milicent inclined her head. “You would have been better off, all of us would have been better off, if she had stayed dead to you. But she was always selfish, always more concerned with herself than anyone
else.”
For reasons Kelsey could never have explained, she picked up the spear of battle. “And did you always hate her?”
“I always recognized her for what she was. Philip was blinded by her looks, by what he saw as vivacity and verve. And he paid for his mistake.”
“And I look like her,” Kelsey said softly, “which explains why you’ve always looked at me as though I might commit some horrible crime at any moment—or at least an unforgivable breach of etiquette.”
Milicent sighed and sat back. She wouldn’t deny it, saw no reason why she should. “I was concerned, naturally, about how much of her was in you. You’re a Byden, Kelsey, and for the most part you’ve been a credit to the family. Every mistake I’ve watched you make has her stamp on it.”
“I prefer to think I’ve made my own mistakes.”
“Such as this divorce,” Milicent said wearily. “Wade comes from