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Michael rubbed at a kink in his shoulder and silently cursed.
“You don’t want to be here any more than I do,” Kim said, glancing at him. “You look…disgusted.”
“The Bennetts aren’t anything I can’t handle,” he said, his tone only slightly mocking.
Now she gave him a challenging look. “Let’s make this fair, Michael. What would you be doing right now, if you had the choice?”
Somehow that didn’t take too much thinking. Michael’s gaze dropped to her mouth. He noticed that her lips had a determined set, but he suspected they could be soft and inviting, too.
He saw the faint blush tingeing her cheeks, and that only made her dusting of freckles seem more appealing than ever. When he captured her gaze, she didn’t look away. Almost against his will, he kept imagining what he’d like to be doing right now. It was a pretty safe bet she knew what he was thinking. Her flush deepened as she stared back at him. The atmosphere between them seemed to grow taut, suspenseful. Michael kept imagining.
“Stop,” Kim murmured, her voice just a little unsteady. And then she turned, opening the door and sliding out of the Jeep. The moment was broken almost before it had begun.
Michael felt dissatisfied in a way he couldn’t explain, but he came round to escort Kim up the walk to the house. They reached the portico and Kim rang the bell decisively. She held herself stiffly, as if preparing to fend off some sort of assault. Who were these Bennetts that they could produce such a reaction in her? Michael gave in to another impulse he couldn’t explain, and for just a second placed his hand on Kim’s arm. She gave him a skeptical look, but maybe she accepted the unspoken support he was offering her. Now he just had to figure out why he was offering it.
A maid finally opened the door, ushering them into a rather cavernous living room. The few people standing about only emphasized the space. Michael saw the pride in Kim’s expression, the unabashed tilt of her chin. No matter what she might be feeling inside, she knew how to disguise it with a haughtiness that was surely worthy of any Bennett.
From long experience, Michael knew how to assess a situation quickly. He did so now, observing that the people in the room were divided in two separate clusters; no easy mingling seemed to be taking place. Faces turned with covert interest, but no one made a move to come forward in greeting.
Sophie Bennett, however, materialized from another doorway and walked purposefully toward them. If she was displeased to see either Michael or Kim, she gave no sign. Then again, if she was pleased, she gave no indication of that, either. She was a plain woman, with resolute features, but clearly she knew how to work with her looks. Wisely avoiding frills of any kind, she wore a simple yet sophisticated black dress. Although high of neck and long of sleeve, it discreetly emphasized the fact that, at sixty—odd years, Sophie had kept her figure. Her thick red hair waved artfully around her face. It seemed a natural shade, almost too natural, perhaps, as if Sophie Bennett watched vigilantly for gray hairs and obliterated them as soon as they appeared. And so, although she didn’t possess beauty or any real charm, she had nonetheless cultivated a striking elegance that seemed to defy time.
“Kim.” Sophie approached her daughter-in-law. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come.”
“Here I am,” Kim said, still with that edge to her voice. “Of course you know Michael. your new tenant.”
“Of course. How convenient that you could join us, Mr. Turner.” She made the word “convenient” sound distasteful, as if he had done something underhand to get here. So far in his short acquaintance with Sophie Bennett, Michael had figured he could either be amused or irritated by her. Amusement took less effort.
“I hope you’re finding the house satisfactory,” she went on.
“It’s adequate,” he said, and Sophie’s forehead creased a fraction. It probably wasn’t good form to tell Sophie Bennett that something she’d provided was merely adequate. But Michael never had been one for good form. He caught Kim’s eye and wondered if he saw a hint of approval.
“If anything is. unsatisfactory, I trust you will let me know immediately,” Sophie said. Then she turned to Kim. “Will you introduce Mr. Turner around, or shall I?” It sounded like a command, not a question.
“I’ll do the honors,” Kim answered. “He’s my guest, after all.”
Sophie stared hard at Kim, as if looking for signs of insurrection. Kim stared right back at her.
“Very well,” Sophie said. “Make sure he meets everyone. Have a pleasant evening, Mr. Turner.” And with that, Sophie turned and walked purposefully off again.
Kim watched her go. “You really must be on Sophie’s good side,” she said in a low voice to Michael. “She actually put out the welcome mat for you.”
“That was the welcome mat?” he asked dryly. “She kept looking at me like I was last night’s garbage moldering on the stoop.”
Kim almost smiled. Almost, but not quite. “I guess you don’t know Sophie very well. She wouldn’t bother to play hostess if she didn’t like you.”
Sophie Bennett’s idea of playing hostess was a little limited. She was throwing this party, or whatever the hell it was, and yet she seemed to have made no concessions to her guests: no music playing in the background, no drinks being served, no plates of hors d’oeuvres being handed around. Apparently Sophie didn’t even find it necessary to be present in the room. She’d made that brief, regal appearance of hers, then simply gone off somewhere else.
“We might as well begin,” Kim said. “Which of the two sets of Bennetts do you want to tackle first?”
“Is that how they’re arranged—in matched sets? You make them sound like plates of dinnerware.”
She gave him a keen glance. “Actually the Bennetts do travel in sets—when they come to this house, at least. They know there’s safety in numbers. You’ll rarely find one of them alone—not while Sophie’s anywhere near.”
Sophie Bennett appeared to be a formidable woman, but did she really inspire such trepidation in her family? Perhaps Kim was simply exaggerating for reasons of her own. Michael already sensed that the undercurrents between Kim and her mother-in-law were murky and complex. Add the rest of the Bennett clan, and who knew what you’d end up with.
But Michael didn’t want to think about Bennetts right now. He was still distracted by Kim, by the way she looked tonight. The sun—streaked ripples of her hair falling to her shoulders, the warm creaminess of her skin, the shadowed blue of her eyes.
She gazed back at him, consternation flickering across her face. “You’re doing it again,” she whispered fiercely.
“Doing what?” He imagined reaching out to touch her. Kim Bennett was the kind of woman you wanted to touch.
“You know. You’re looking at me. that way.” Her fingers tightened around the small black bag she carried. But he went on looking at her. He couldn’t stop.
Her eyes seemed to darken as she went on gazing back at him. Now they were the color of blue just at sundown. Her lips had parted slightly, as if she meant to catch her breath. He didn’t take a step closer to her, didn’t make a move toward her. He didn’t need to, as long as they were together like this, alone in their own private corner of the room.
He heard Kim utter something under her breath, something he couldn’t quite hear. Then she turned abruptly and walked away. He followed, his gaze lingering on her. The dress she wore was cut daringly low in back, revealing more creamy skin. And more freckles.
Lord. Was he to be undone by freckles? Michael reminded himself that he hadn’t been out with a woman in a while—that was the problem. After fourteen years of marriage, he’d forgotten what it was like to be on a date. Except that Kim had made it very clear this wasn’t a date. And that led him to another question. Why was he acting like a damn fool around her?
He didn’t have any time to ponder the matter, because they’d reached the first Bennetts: a man and a woman who made room for Kim and Michael, but only with an air of reluctance. Kim was very businesslike.
“Diane, your mother wants you to meet her new tenant. Michael Turner.”
She could have simply introduced him as her nextdoor neighbor, but instead, she’d brought Sophie into it. Michael wondered why that bothered him. Meanwhile, he shook hands with Diane Bennett. She was obviously Sophie’s daughter. The family resemblance was striking: heavy reddish hair, intractable features. But Diane at least was animated.
“So you’re Michael Turner,” she said with interest. “Mother told us all about you. She said she was interviewing tenants, and that it was very discouraging. She didn’t think she could find anyone trustworthy to rent the house. Are you trustworthy, Mr. Turner?” Diane asked, apparentiy in all seriousness.
He reflected on the question. If Kim knew the truth about him, she probably wouldn’t find him trustworthy by any definition. He caught her looking at him again, and he saw the doubt clouding her eyes. She was right to doubt him unfortunately.
Diane Bennett was veering off on a different tack. “You haven’t met Jack yet,” she said importantly. “Mr. Turner, this is my friend Jack Hutchinson.” She sounded as if she was announcing royalty, and gazed at Jack with reverence. He seemed a normal enough guy, balding on top, spreading around the middle but clearly doing his best to suck in his gut. He looked like the kind of person who’d be happier in a pair of roomy overalls than in the suit he wore.
“Anyway,” Diane went on, “Mother was saying maybe she just ought to sell that house next to Stan’s—next to Kim’s.” Diane corrected herself deliberately, with an oddly put—upon air. “Mother said it was very discouraging, after all the trouble she’s had with tenants—”
“The Harveys were a perfectly nice couple,” Kim interrupted with that edge to her voice Michael was starting to recognize. “They never gave Sophie any trouble at all.”
“Oh, well, the Harveys,” Diane said dismissively. “I wasn’t thinking about them. You know…it was the people before.”
“The Millers?” Kim asked in a skeptical tone. “They were nice, too.”
Diane Bennett was starting to look peeved. “The whole point is that Mother was getting very discouraged about having to rent the place again, and then Mr. Turner came along and solved Mother’s problems.”
They all studied him now, silently, as if contemplating the peculiar fact that someone had actually met Sophie Bennett’s standards. Diane had a particularly knowing expression on her face. How much had Sophie told her? Did she suspect the real reason Michael was “renting” a house next door to Kim?
Subterfuge, deception—definitely not his style. He tried to remind himself of all the reasons he’d become a private investigator: a chance to get away from bad memories, a chance to spend more time with his son, a chance to pick his own cases. The only problem was, he regretted this case more and more all the time. Especially when he looked into Kim Bennett’s eyes and saw the distrust there.
“If you’ll excuse us,” Kim said a bit forcefully, “I have to introduce Mr. Turner to the others.”
There was an awkward pause. “Nice to have met you, too,” Michael said to their pointed silence. He didn’t bother to keep the irony from his tone.
Kim was already headed toward the remaining set of Bennetts, but Michael took her elbow and steered her outside, instead, onto a veranda. Night had fallen. The air still held the summer heat, but it was no longer oppressive. Michael preferred it to the artificially cool room they’d just left behind.
“We shouldn’t be out here,” Kim said.
“Do you think it will make them wonder about us?”
“They’re wondering about you,” she returned. “They’ve already made up their minds about me—they did that long ago. But you’re someone new. They haven’t figured you out yet.”
He knew what she meant to say—that she hadn’t figured him out yet. Too bad he couldn’t help her with that.
“Let’s just get it over with,” she said impatiently. “You can meet the others, and hopefully Sophie will get on with this ridiculous thing.” She turned back toward the room, but Michael clasped her hand to stop her.
“They can do without us for a few minutes.”
Kim’s fingers moved restlessly in his, and then she slipped her hand away. There was no porch light, and he could see only the outline of her face.
“There’s no good reason for us to be here.” He heard the uncertainty in her voice.
“You can give me your take on Diane and Jack.”
“You’ve just met them. Isn’t that enough?”
“I’m curious,” he said.
“Why?” Now the uncertainty was gone, replaced by outright challenge. He wished he could read her expression. He also wished he could tell her the truth, the reason he needed to know more about the Bennetts.
Smart, he told himself. Confess everything to the woman who may very well have killed her husband.
“Just curious,” he repeated.
Kim hesitated, then gave a shrug. “I’m no authority on the almighty Bennetts. I’m not allowed in the clique.”
“Maybe you don’t allow them in your clique.”
She seemed to consider this. “You think it’s my fault I’m not a cozy part of the family? Once upon a time. all I wanted was to belong.” Her words sounded brittle on the night air. “Anyway, what can I tell you that would possibly be of interest? Diane—she keeps talking about how she admires Jack, but she doesn’t even realize yet that she’s in love with him. She’d better figure it out soon, though, before Sophie ruins things again—and that’s really all I have to say.” She sounded chagrined, as if wishing she’d stopped earlier.
He thought over what she’d said, searching for anything that might be of use. Diane Bennett, for all her attempts at perkiness, was as peculiarly devoid of charisma as her mother. It was a strange lack, as if some essential gene had been left out of the family makeup.
“So you think she’s in love with Jack,” Michael said gravely.
“Anyone can see it—except Diane. And possibly Jack. For a physics professor, he can be remarkably dense. But do you really want to know about Diane Bennett’s love life?”
He couldn’t honestly say that he did, but he knew any detail might be important. One thing was certain—he never would’ve pegged Jack Hutchinson for a physics professor.
“You make it sound like Sophie’s botched things for Diane before.”
“And you make it sound as if you’re very interested in the Bennetts.” Kim spoke coolly, but he sensed an anger in her. Somehow he’d touched a nerve.
“If you despise them so much, why did you come here tonight?” he asked.
She paced a few steps back and forth, as if she couldn’t bear to stand still. “When Sophie convenes the family, you know you’d damn well better be there—to look out for your own interests, if nothing else. That’s one thing I learned from Stan at least.”
Stan. The dead husband. Kim had given Michael the perfect opening, but he took it reluctantly.
“I’m sorry about what happened,” he said.
“That’s right—you know all about it, don’t you? Courtesy of Sophie.”
Again he chose his words carefully. “I know your husband died in a car accident. No real evidence of foul play, but the autopsy showed a high level of blood alcohol, and he wasn’t known to be a heavy drinker.”
Kim had averted her face as he spoke. “My, Sophie was thorough in her briefing,” she said in a caustic tone.
Sophie had indeed been forthcoming on the subject, but the police report had provided all the pertinent details. Michael disliked what he had to ask next. He disliked a lot of things about his job lately. “Do you think it was murder, Kim?”
Standing there before him in the darkness, she was very silent. But then finally she spoke, her voice tight.
“Mr. Turner, you’re a damn sight too curious. About Stan, about the rest of the Bennetts…about everything. And I can’t help wondering why.”
He wanted her to wonder. It was the closest he could come to being straight with her. He felt an unreasonable urge to protect her—from what, he couldn’t have said.
“Yes,” she said at last, her voice so low he barely caught the word. “Yes,” she repeated a few seconds later. “I do think someone killed him. That was one of Stan’s few virtues—he hardly ever drank too much. So why that night?”
She sounded innocent—convincingly so. But a person could perfect the art of sounding innocent.
“Any idea who the culprit might be?” he asked, though still reluctant to pursue the subject.
She stared at him in the darkness. “Not that it’s any of your concern, but no, I don’t have a clue who might have killed my husband. Satisfied?”
The last thing he felt was satisfaction. But he’d already noted the tension in her every time she spoke about her dead husband—and then the way she grew silent. Michael wondered about Stan Bennett. Had the guy appreciated his beautiful wife?
“It was a mistake,” Kim said now. “I never should have asked you to come here with me. What was I thinking?”
“I should be here.” Once more he clasped her hand, drawing her near. He felt her stiffen. They gazed at each other, but even the light spilling from the room beyond didn’t chase the shadows from this secluded alcove. He couldn’t read Kim’s expression, knowing only the warmth of her fingers curled in his.
“You’re doing it again,” she said almost in a whisper. “You’re looking at me. that way.”
“It’s dark. How can you tell?” His own voice was low.
“I just can. And you have to stop.”
Michael forgot that he was supposed to be on the job tonight. He forgot about the Bennetts. He forgot everything but Kim’s loveliness. He brought her even nearer to him. Their bodies didn’t quite touch, yet still they gazed at each other in a darkness that both obscured and enticed. And then, at last, he bent his head to hers.
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_43682fe7-7e5e-5234-b0e7-571c7b02bc1e)
MICHAEL’S CHEEK brushed Kim’s. Her skin was as soft as he’d imagined it would be, her scent alluringly feminine. But she stood motionless, self—contained in her silence. He wanted her response and he courted it, bringing his lips to the corner of her mouth. Did he feel her tremble or was it only his imagination?
She allowed no more, stepping away from him. He experienced an immediate sense of loss. He knew he didn’t have any right to touch her, but that didn’t stop the wanting.
“I can’t,” she said after a moment, the darkness still cloaking her. He didn’t ask her what she meant, just waited for her to say the rest of it.
