Stoneview Estate

“I know, Mom. He probably has too much time on his hands.”

“He’s not interested in making new friends or taking up a new hobby. You know how stubborn he can be.”

Brian tried to console her as much as he could, but there was very little comfort he could give her. It was a damn shame that what had happened eleven years ago could still destroy the last few years of his father’s life.

Too keyed up to sleep, Brian slumped down in his chair, sipping a beer and staring out the window. His thoughts centered on the unexpected encounter with Joseph Keller, and the invitation the boxer had received. What kind of nonsense was that? A birthday party for a damn house!

Even as Brian dismissed the idea, a startling possibility presented itself. The urge to investigate the crimes that had cast suspicion on his father had always been at the back of Brian’s mind during his career as a detective. As long as the matter remained in Cold Case files, Brian knew no one was going to spend any time or energy on it. As he thought about the invitation that had come into his possession, he began to realize he’d been handed a viable undercover identity.

Joseph Keller wouldn’t be attending the celebration at the Stoneview estate, and no one would be going to represent him. Brian could accept the invitation as a distant relative of Joe Keller.

For a welcomed guest at the Stoneview mansion, Brian knew, on-the-spot investigation would be possible. Attending the event would be invaluable, not only because of access to the crime scene, but because of contact with people who might have pertinent information that had gone unnoticed when the crimes occurred.

He knew he’d never get official approval. The department was stretched just covering day-to-day investigations. This undercover job would have to be done in secret and on his own. He had vacation time coming, and the opportunity to spend it at Stoneview was worth the gamble. He checked the calendar. The celebration was less than three weeks away, and he ought to be able to get free from his duties about ten days before that.

As Brian weighed the deception from all perspectives, the advantages made his decision an easy one. His mother had pleaded with him to do something to help, and what better thing could he do than try and clear his father’s name once and for all?

He decided to wait until the next morning before making a decision, but the idea was only more firmly planted in his mind the next day.

He read the invitation again carefully, filled in the requested information and boldly identified himself as a distant relative of Joseph Keller. In a place for comments, he expressed his pleasure in representing the Keller family at the “one-hundred-year-old birthday celebration.”

With deliberate deception, he signed his name “Brian Keller.” In most undercover situations it was better to use a familiar first name than to suddenly try to relate to a brand-new one, he knew. Besides, most people in Chataqua had known him as Buddy Donovan during his school days.

Brian sealed the envelope, affixed the proper postage, and early the next morning mailed the RSVP to a Ms. Robyn Valcourt at the designated return address.

Finally, he’d get the answers he sought—no matter what.

Chapter Two

Brian arrived in Chataqua a little more than a week before the festivities at Stoneview were scheduled. The bustling small town hugged the northern side of a large lake, and impressive homes like Stoneview overlooked the water on the opposite side. Brian had been on Chataqua Lake numerous times when he was growing up, but he’d never set foot on the exclusive Stoneview property.

He wandered briefly around the town, visiting familiar places of his childhood. Brian remembered his disappointment at having to move away just as his high school baseball team was competing for the state championship. He’d helped bring home a regional trophy the year before, and had never replaced the friendships or sense of belonging in the unfamiliar Boston school where he’d graduated.

When he met people in the bustling resort town he’d known in his youth, he gave them every chance to challenge his assumed identity. None did. Brian wasn’t surprised. He’d been called Buddy Donovan instead of Brian. He’d been a tall, skinny, sun-bleached-blond teenager when he’d moved away. He was still tall—six feet—but training at the police academy had totally changed his physique. His face had filled out, and a recent dye job had turned his hair a dark brown. He was fairly confident that he could engage in his undercover investigation without worrying about recognition. His father was the one who had known the Sheldons and Heather Fox, the murdered nursemaid. In the years he’d been away, Brian had never had any social contact with the families of past or present residents of the Stoneview estate.

After mailing the invitation response to Robyn Valcourt, Brian had learned she was Lynette Valcourt’s granddaughter, an unmarried professor of romance languages at an exclusive women’s college in Portland. A child of parents in the diplomatic service, she’d come to live at Stoneview two years after Brian’s family had left Chataqua, so they had never met. Brian pictured her as very staid, distant and bookish, a product of a class-conscious society.

In preparing for his undercover deception, he’d pored over every scrap of information recorded in the police files at the time of the crimes. He went over and over every detail, trying to come to terms with one inconsistency that kept nagging at him. The timing of the nursemaid’s murder seemed wrong. Heather Fox had not been killed the night the baby was snatched, as would be expected if she was trying to protect her charge. Instead, the ransom had been paid and the baby returned when the nursemaid was found strangled on the estate grounds a day later. Why then and not earlier?

More than ever, he was determined to use this unexpected opportunity to conduct his own “on site” investigation, and clear his father’s reputation once and for all. His agenda was to interact with the people who had been involved, and follow up any clues that came to light or might have been missed in the original investigation. Since he had no idea of the current situation at Stoneview, he’d have to play it by ear and hope for the best.

Instead of renting a car in Chataqua, he decided to approach Stoneview by water in a small rented motorboat. It was midafternoon when he steered it across Chataqua Lake toward the large white mansion built on a slight rise on the opposite shore. Landscaped lawns and gardens were bordered by thick forested areas that provided a natural privacy for the estate, isolating it from other homes on that side of the lake. As he came closer, Brian saw two people standing near the boathouse and cement pier.

Good, he thought. This might make things easier.

He wasn’t looking forward to walking up to the house and presenting himself, cold turkey, at the door. As he cut the motor and eased the craft toward the dock, both the man and woman turned around, watching him.

A muscular, middle-aged fellow in workman’s clothes peered at Brian pugnaciously from under the brim of his straw hat. The bullish air about him didn’t invite unexpected social calls, and the young woman beside him seemed equally guarded. She must have been in her early twenties, Brian guessed. Her hair was the color of reddish-brown fall leaves, and she was wearing pale green slacks that hugged her shapely figure.

Could this be the granddaughter?

Brian’s preconceived idea of a bookish college professor took an instant dive. Such an appealing feminine body and delicate features certainly didn’t match the mental picture he’d had. Still, there was something about the way she held herself that warned him she was, indeed, Robyn Valcourt. He had the impression from their body language that she’d been instructing the man about some task.

Brian offered a friendly wave as he walked toward them, and without waiting for any response, quickly introduced himself.

“Hi, I’m Brian Keller. My great-uncle is Joseph Keller. I responded to an invitation to the birthday celebration,” he added. “Regretfully, Joe is too ill to come.”

“Joe Keller, the fighter!” The man’s ruddy face lost its glower as he broke into a wide smile. He looked to be somewhere in his early forties, with sandy hair, bushy eyebrows and ruddy features. “Well, I’ll be. My dad was one of Joe Keller’s biggest fans. Pa was working at one of the neighboring estates when Keller lived here. They were about the same age. He won a pile of money on Joe’s fights. Lost a pile, too,” he admitted with an even broader smile.

“Is that so?” Brian laughed with him.

The man stuck out a callused hand. “Nick Bellows.”

“Nice to meet you, Nick. I’ll have to tell Joe about his secret admirer.”

There was nothing of Nick’s open-armed friendliness in Robyn Valcourt’s manner when Nick introduced her as “Miss Valcourt.” She simply nodded and gave him a cool, “Hello.”

Even though she was better looking than Brian had imagined, her distant manner didn’t surprise him. Obviously, his inopportune arrival had put her on guard.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Valcourt,” he responded politely. “I’ve been looking forward to visiting Stoneview.”

“And you’ll be coming back for the celebration, Mr. Keller?” she asked politely, but in a tone that clearly emphasized the affair was more than a week away.

“Yes, of course.” Brian glanced innocently toward the house, which was approached by a long red cement sidewalk from the water’s edge. “Joe has some very fond memories of this place. I was hoping you might not mind if I had a look around before the busy day.”

“We’re on a tight schedule,” she answered quickly.

“I understand. A big event like this must take a lot of planning.”

She gave him a fleeting smile as if she appreciated his recognition of the hard work that went into a centennial celebration.

“We’ve got plenty to do before then,” Nick agreed as he waved an exasperated hand toward a two-story boathouse, where large doors had fallen inward and crushed the two boats inside. “Look at that, would you?”

“Wow, what happened?” Brian asked, hoping to keep the conversation going while he figured out how to get past Miss Robyn Valcourt’s resistance.

“A blasted ice storm last winter!” Nick swore. “Strong winds whipped everything in sight. All the custom-made repair parts have finally arrived. Tore the boathouse doors right off their hinges. Don’t know how I can get it ready in time.” He directed this last sentence to Robyn, and added, “You’ll have to explain to your grandmother that I’m not a miracle worker—especially with all the other stuff I’ve got to do.”

“Maybe I could help out some way?” Brian suggested smoothly. “My plans are to just hang around Chataqua, waiting for the big day. My dad and I built a cabin a couple of summers ago. I learned to use a hammer and saw pretty good. I’d be glad to have something to do.”

Nick raised a questioning eyebrow at Robyn. “Sounds good to me.”

“We wouldn’t want to impose,” Robyn said smoothly, a firm dismissal in her tone.

“I wouldn’t have offered if that were the case.” Brian gave her his best people-management smile.

“What kind of business are you in, Mr. Keller?”

“Oh, I have my fingers in quite a few projects. I’m an independent business analyst—on vacation.”

“He could bunk with me in the cottage,” Nick suggested. “We’ve got that extra room, and you were just saying that we might have an overflow from the house.”

“I don’t know, Mr. Keller—”

“Brian,” he quickly corrected.

The way her blue eyes, clear and deep as a summer sky, measured him, he knew he’d made a mistake moving into familiarity so soon. He’d have to be more careful. Undoubtedly, she was used to fending off people.

She turned to Nick. “Grandmother is planning a fireworks display on the lake in the evening. Getting the boathouse in shape is a priority.”

“Along with a dozen others,” Nick muttered.

“I know.”

“With an extra hand, it’s more likely to get ready in time. I’m not even sure I could manage clearing out the debris by myself,” Nick insisted.

“All right, then. We accept your offer, Mr. Keller. If you don’t have other plans?”

“No, my time is my own,” he assured her. “Spending a few days at Stoneview will be more than a pleasure.”

AS ROBYN LEFT THE MEN and started walking up the long sidewalk to the house, she could feel them watching her. She kept her head up and her carriage straight. If Nick hadn’t been running on overload, she wouldn’t have even considered accepting the offer of this stranger. With a dozen “have-to-dos” in the house and grounds waiting for his attention, an extra pair of hands would be a godsend. Her grandmother would have a fit about letting a guest move in with them more than a week before the party, but Lynette wasn’t in charge, Robyn reminded herself.

For weeks, her grandmother had been making plans and giving orders—from a distance, of course. At the moment, Lynette was in the Bahamas. She had decided at the last minute to attend a “divine socialite wedding-of-the-year” that she vowed “just couldn’t be missed.”

Even Lynette’s loyal hired cook and housekeeper, Olga Dietz, was rebelling at all the extra work. She was a sturdy German woman in her forties who had been with Robyn’s grandparents since their duties at the German embassy almost twenty years ago. Her husband had died before the Valcourts moved to Stoneview. Mrs. Dietz had never quite become “Americanized,” and her stubborn manner kept Lynette from trying to dictate how to run the kitchen and supervise the day help.

Every telephone call from Lynette brought more instructions about engaging the right caterers, photographers, florists, entertainers, and getting the house and grounds in perfect condition.

It wasn’t as if she couldn’t handle the responsibility, Robyn reminded herself. She could. She knew it, and her grandmother knew it. But the truth was that at some deep level she was utterly sick and tired of being reliable, capable and dependable. Robyn longed to get in her car and head north to the oceanside resort where she’d planned to spend her summer vacation. But even as the desire crossed her mind, she knew she’d never do it. Such irresponsible action would be unthinkable. What she didn’t need was an early guest to complicate matters. Under different conditions she might have been more hospitable, but at the moment she wasn’t in the mood to handle any unexpected demands. Already she was having second thoughts about agreeing to accept Brian Keller’s help.

On some intuitive level, she sensed he was going to be a disruptive force. His manner seemed sincere, but there had been a pure masculine energy about him that she didn’t trust. His clinging white T-shirt accented the breadth and hardness of his chest, and tight jeans followed the shape of his long muscular legs. Dark brown hair was nicely layered, and everything about him seemed calculated to impress any female within a fifty-mile radius. Robyn chided herself for even noticing.

She purposefully made her way through the dark halls of the house to the library. After sitting down at a massive walnut desk, she turned on the computer to view the full agenda waiting for her attention, and put Brian Keller firmly out of her mind….

NICK AND BRIAN WORKED well together. They were both tired and sweaty when they climbed a circular iron staircase to the second floor of the boathouse, which had been made into a recreation room, complete with comfortable furniture and a refreshment bar. Fortunately, the devastation of the winter ice storm last January had been confined to the lower level, and the party room had been spared.

“When the Valcourts bought the house from the Sheldons, this was a workout room with exercise equipment, and they remodeled it into a party room. I liked it better the other way,” Nick told him as he walked over to a small refrigerator. “Beer or water?”

“Water, thanks.”

“Beer for me.”

He handed Brian a bottle of water and popped the cap on his beer. After taking a deep swig, he dropped down in a large leather chair opposite the couch where Brian was sitting.

“How long have you been at Stoneview, Nick?” Brian asked in a relaxed, chatty tone.

“Too long,” he answered bluntly as he lit a cigarette. “I came here with the Sheldons when they bought the estate, mainly because I’d been their caretaker at their previous home. And when they up and sold Stoneview, I decided to stay on and work for the Valcourts. I like the cottage and the lake, and most of the year there’s not much that has to be done. It’s a pretty neat place to live.”

“You must feel kind of possessive of it.”

“I guess ruts get comfortable after awhile,” he admitted. “And I like having the run of the place. Old lady Valcourt travels a lot, and the granddaughter has her own town house where she teaches. The Sheldons were easy to work for, too.”

“So you were here at Stoneview when the unfortunate tragedy happened?” Brian asked casually, hoping he wasn’t moving too fast. The fact that Nick had brought up the topic of the Sheldons was a welcome surprise. It gave him hope that if Nick was in a reminiscing mood, he might share some valuable on-the-scene insights that didn’t get into the police reports.

“Oh, you heard about that, did you? Yep, I was here.” Nick nearly emptied his bottle of beer before he added, “The police were all over the place. Asked a lot of questions, but, hell, I didn’t have anything to tell them. I’ve never made it my business to know what goes on in the big house. Not with the Sheldons. Not with the Valcourts. I keep to myself.” Nick drank more of his beer. “I couldn’t tell them anything.”

Or wouldn’t? Brian wondered silently. Something about Nick’s denial rang false. He’d bet anything that little got past those sharp eyes of his. Before Brian could come up with a comment that might encourage more confidences, Nick changed the subject. Brian had to content himself with waiting for another time when, perhaps, Nick had more beer under his belt.

“We can’t do much more until I check the lumber-yard, and order more material and hardware.” Nick finished off his beer. “Let’s call it a day.”

Brian nodded in agreement, and as they made their way out of the boathouse, he told Nick, “I have a backpack and small bag in the boat. I was thinking about spending a few days at one of those resorts on the lake, but this is a whole lot better.”

Nick seemed to accept the explanation without question. After Brian retrieved his bags, they made their way around the house to a small cottage at the back of property where a wooded area met an access road. A curved driveway led past the small house to a four-car garage, and a tree-lined walk led to the back door of the mansion. Another wide sidewalk circled the house to the front entrance.

As Nick opened the cottage door, he waved Brian inside. “Home sweet home. You’ll have to excuse the mess.”

Brian could see what Nick meant—a neat housekeeper he was not! The small living room opening off of the front hall showed signs of careless bachelor living. Clutter was everywhere. Books, cups, newspapers and a few discarded pieces of clothing were scattered about on the furniture and floor.

Nick chuckled, a bit red with embarrassment as Brian surveyed the room. “Didn’t know I was going to have company.”

“Not company,” Brian assured him.

“Well, I haven’t had much of that,” Nick admitted. “Kinda like it that way. I was never one to need a bunch of people around. Me and my Siamese cat are loners, although I think lusty Sinbad has sired more than his share of litters.” He laughed. “I swear, every house up and down the lake has a Siamese cat or two sunning on the doorstep.”

Even as he spoke, a large, beautifully colored seal point Siamese sauntered in from the kitchen and rubbed against Nick’s legs.

“I know, it’s chow time, old fellow,” Nick said affectionately. “He’s eleven years old, would you believe? Heather, the nursemaid, got him when he was a kitten and after she was killed, he disappeared for a while. About six months later, I found Sinbad on my doorstep. He’s been with me ever since. I think Heather would like it that way.”

There hadn’t been much in the police reports about the murdered nursemaid. Maybe Nick would fill out the picture a little? “Were you and Heather friends?”

“Just employees of the same family. The house staff kept pretty much to themselves.”

“Why is that?”

He shrugged. “Who knows? I suppose the owners wanted it that way. Come on, I’ll show you where to bunk.”

There were two small bedrooms on the second floor and a nice-sized bathroom. The clutter visible through the open door of the front bedroom made it obvious that it was Nick’s.

In contrast, the back bedroom was clean, neat and rather sterile, like a motel room. Brian was pleased to see he had a good view of the back of the mansion in case he needed to do some night prowling to check out the premises.

“Why don’t you hit the shower first, Brian, and I’ll get something going for supper?”

“Sounds good.”

“You may change your mind when you taste my cooking.” He turned to leave, and then stopped. “Oh, by the way, after dinner I’m supposed to bring chairs down from the attic and set them up in the basement recreation room. The old lady wants to set up a kinda cabaret down there. How about giving me a hand?”

“Sure, be glad to help,” Brian offered readily.

Perfect! He wanted to make use of every chance he got to familiarize himself with every inch of the house and grounds. All in all, the situation was better than he’d anticipated. He had the opening he needed to the premises, and he intended to take full advantage of it.

As he quickly showered and changed into a pair of brown corduroys and an open-neck sports shirt, his thoughts centered on the attractive Robyn Valcourt and the obstacle she might be in his investigation. Obviously, she wasn’t the kind to give him free run of the house. Keeping her from being suspicious of his deception might be his greatest challenge.

For supper, Nick fixed a simple meal of eggs, fried potatoes and steak. The kitchen was surprisingly orderly and clean compared to the living room and the glimpse Brian had had of Nick’s bedroom. The two men ate in companionable silence. Sinbad threaded their legs with hopeful anticipation, even though he’d already consumed his can of food. Nick fondly nudged him away and scolded him for being such a moocher.

After they’d cleared the table and stacked dishes in a small dishwasher, Nick said, “We’d better get a move on. I’d like to get to bed before midnight.”

They entered the house through the back door, and as if Nick knew where to find Robyn this time of evening, he led the way down a wide, echoing hall until they came to double doors opening into the library. Most of the room was in shadows except for one far corner, where a radius of light highlighted a large desk.

Robyn was sitting at a computer, and from a half-eaten sandwich and a drink on the desk beside her, Brian suspected she’d had her dinner on a tray.

She gave the men a questioning glance, and quickly finished the entry she’d been making before greeting them with a lift of her reddish-brown eyebrows.

“Brian’s volunteered to help me collect chairs for the recreation room,” Nick told her.

“Oh?” She studied Brian in a calculating, measuring way, as if suspicious of his Good Samaritan role.

He couldn’t blame her. She must be used to hangers-on trying to manipulate her and her money. He applauded her caution. In police work he dealt with too many victims who failed to be wary when it came to strangers invading their lives.

He felt a little guilty as he lied, “Joe would want me to help out. He has fond memories of this house, and I know he’s going to love hearing about it. I bet there’s been a lot a changes in it since he lived here.”

Robyn’s forehead smoothed slightly. “I’m sorry he isn’t well enough to come. Maybe we can telephone him and let a few people say hello to him?”