“Mama, there’s a killer on the loose!”
“I’m sure it was only one of those boarders, and he’s run off by now. But you stay inside.”
“If you’re going, I’m going.” Bonnie headed for the door.
Kate hesitated, and then followed the mother and daughter into the night. The trees blocked their view, so they made their way down to the street and walked cautiously to stand in front of her grandfather’s house, remaining back in the shadows of the trees. Light glowed around the edges of the living room drapes, but Kate couldn’t hear any violin music.
The strange, warm wind stirred the branches overhead.
Bonnie leaned closer. “I’m an actress. We were supposed to start filming tomorrow, but—”
“Not now, Bonnie,” her mother said.
Kate hugged her waist, staring at the living room window. She hoped the violinist had escaped. He must be one of the boarders.
Bonnie whispered, “Do you know the boy named Aurelio?”
Kate shook her head. “No.”
“He seems awfully nice. Sometimes he waves at me across the yard.”
Mrs. Fairchild looked at Kate. “If you don’t know any of them, why were you at the house?”
Kate was saved from answering by the arrival of two police cars. She quickly told the officers everything she’d seen, describing the boy with dark hair holding the knife, the old man in striped pajamas—without admitting her relationship—and the violinist. The policemen fanned out in the dark, two cautiously entering the front door, one going around to the back, and one staying behind on the driveway.
Mrs. Fairchild said, “I’ve seen that boy you described with the knife, and he does look like trouble. He’s one of the boarders.”
Maybe he hadn’t paid his rent, and when her grandfather had tried to kick him out, he’d snapped.
Bonnie said, “Mr. Banks deserves to get murdered if he lets people like that live with him.”
“No, dear,” her mother said quietly. “He was a wonderful man before he fell on hard times.”
Hard times. Kate stared at the hulking stucco mansion, wondering where she would sleep tonight. There might be a late train back to San Francisco, but where would she stay once she got there? The furniture had been moved into storage today and her car repossessed. Aunt Lorna was on a ship in the Pacific Ocean, and Hattie had gone to Sacramento to stay with her sister while the house was remodeled.
Bonnie leaned close to Kate’s ear. “I can see into their house from my bedroom window. A new man moved in a few weeks ago. None of them like him very much, but he won’t leave.”
A gust of warm wind rattled the trees.
Voices drew Kate’s attention to the front door. She caught her breath as the boy who’d had the knife came into view. But he wasn’t wearing handcuffs, he was laughing with a policeman.
“What’s going on?” she murmured, doubts churning.
The policeman left the house and came toward them. “No one dead in there, just a bunch of actors rehearsing a scene.” He gave an easy laugh, his gaze settling on Kate. “Sorry for the fright, miss, but this is Oliver Banks’s house. You’ve heard of him?”
Her gaze darted back to the boy in the doorway, who lifted a hand in distant greeting, looking amused. An actor. Her face warmed with embarrassment. “Yes. I’ve heard of him.”
“So … no one’s been murdered?” Bonnie asked.
“Not tonight. I’ll get home in time to kiss the kids good night.” The policeman chuckled as he turned away.
The boy disappeared into the house, leaving the door propped open with Beethoven, allowing Kate to hear the laughter and ringing voices inside. Shadows moved behind the living room drapes.
Her face burned.
“You mustn’t blame yourself,” Mrs. Fairchild said, touching her arm.
“I’m so sorry for disrupting your evening,” Kate said stiffly.
“Don’t be silly. We were happy to help.”
“It was exciting,” Bonnie said.
“Do you need a ride home?” Mrs. Fairchild asked. “I was about to go out and could drop you off. Do you live far?”
Everything Kate owned was inside her grandfather’s house, but that didn’t make it home. “No, not far.” They would learn the truth eventually. “I live here now, with my grandfather, Oliver Banks.”
“Grandfather?” Bonnie’s eyes widened with new fascination. “But that means you’re—” She didn’t need to say the name. Everyone in the world knew about Oliver Banks’s granddaughter.
Mrs. Fairchild studied Kate more closely in the moonlight, her expression softening. “I see it now. You dear girl.”
Kate didn’t want their pity. She’d had four years of suffocating pity. She turned and made her way up the brick path to the door.
CHAPTER 3
From the foyer, Kate saw four people gathered around the strange jumble of furniture in the living room.
Her grandfather stood near the fireplace, talking in an animated voice, older and grayer than she’d expected. When he’d come for Thanksgiving, nine years ago, he’d still looked like Captain Powell, the swashbuckling sea captain he’d played in silent films, fighting off pirates with clashing sword fights. Now, he wore striped pajamas with a food stain on the lapel—obviously not concerned about picking her up at the train station.
He noticed her in the foyer, and his face lifted in a welcoming smile. “Aha! Our brave heroine dares to return!” The charming dimples were still there, and the liveliness in his face that had made him the biggest movie star in the world for a decade. “Enter, good citizen, and allow us to prove we aren’t quite as nefarious as we appear!”
Kate smoothed the front of her stylish traveling suit and entered the room with as much dignity as she could manage in her stocking feet. “I’m quite embarrassed for all the fuss I caused.”
“Nonsense! Most fun we’ve had all week, wasn’t it, boys? And Lemmy is quite alive, as you can see.” Her grandfather lifted an arm toward the fan-shaped sofa.
The young man she’d thought was dead gave her a smirking wink. “Scared you, didn’t I? Guess you were wrong, Hugo—I am a good actor.”
“At playing dead, sure, I’ll give you that.”
Kate’s gaze shifted to the source of the voice.
The dark-haired boy who’d wielded a knife sat in the wingback chair, the haggard dog at his feet. Handsome, in a rebellious sort of way. Sharp cheekbones and those frightening eyes, staring back with an amused tilt of his lips that struck a nerve in her.
She straightened her posture and looked away. She wanted her shoes back.
The last person in the room—the bald violinist—glared at her from the green velvet sofa. Up close, she saw that a scar ran from his mouth to his ear, as if his cheek had been sliced open and sewn back together.
“You must join our merry party!” her grandfather cried, lifting both arms. “A pretty girl like you is surely here for Aurelio, who’s at work tonight, but you’re welcome to join us while you wait. Come now, don’t be shy—at least tell us your name.”
The truth hit her. He didn’t recognize her. She’d come all this way to live with him, with nowhere else to go, and he’d been too busy playing with his friends to remember her arrival. Which was as humiliating as it was infuriating.