Night Whispers
Page 29
Wishing there were some way to find out if the FBI agent's first impression of her family was anything like her own, Sloan went back inside and walked over to the bed. The house was the size of a hotel, and the telephone on the nightstand had six telephone lines and twelve other buttons that weren't labeled. Even if she could figure out how to call his room on this phone, she realized they wouldn't be able to talk freely for fear that someone somewhere in the house might pick up an extension and overhear them.
Sloan considered going to his room, but she didn't want to risk getting caught by some browbeaten servant who might be required to report any infractions of the rules to that domineering old woman who actually thought she deserved to be addressed as Great-grandmother by Sloan.
Reluctantly, she postponed the idea of conferring with her coconspirator until later tonight when there was a suitable opportunity and location.
Too keyed up to sleep, Sloan decided to read the mystery novel she'd started before Paul Richardson arrived in Bell Harbor and disrupted her entire life. She folded back the bedspread, propped some pillows against the headboard, and stretched out. Cognizant of Edith Reynolds's sharp warning not to be late for dinner, she reached over and set the clock radio for six P.M., just in case she fell asleep. On the telephone, a light was illuminated now, indicating one of the six lines was in use, and Sloan wondered if the telephone was simply that, or if it was part of a system used to operate the house.
In Bell Harbor, when prosperous new residents built a new mansion or restored an old one, they invariably installed modern multiline telephone systems. The telephones that went with some of these systems not only provided intercom service to all the rooms, they enabled the homeowner to control everything—from lighting and security systems to heating and cooling systems—with a telephone.
As long as the homeowner remembered what codes to use, the telephones did their job, but when the homeowner made a mistake, the results could be chaotic, and the resultant tales of such incidents that circulated among Bell Harbor's firefighters and police officers were frequently hilarious.
With a stab of amused nostalgia, Sloan thought back to last month when Karen Althorp picked up her phone and inadvertently keyed in the number five for a fire emergency, when she meant to key in a six and turn on her Jacuzzi. When the fire department broke through a window and charged through the house into the backyard, they discovered the curvaceous divorcée cavorting naked in the hot tub with her gardener.
Nude but indignant, she threatened to sue the hapless firefighters for damaging her property, and ordered them to leave.
A week later, instead of keying in a six, she keyed in a nine, which sent out a silent police alarm. Jess Jessup had arrived first at the darkened house and he'd found Karen Althorp reclining by the pool, gazing up at the stars, stark naked.
She was so startled when Jess announced his presence that she screamed, then invited the handsome police officer to take off his clothes and join her.
Dr. and Mrs. Pembroke had installed a similar system in their new house, and it was responsible for their divorce. Dr. Pembroke later tried to sue the manufacturer for seven million dollars—the amount of the cash settlement he had to give Mrs. Pembroke in the divorce.
With a mental shrug, she opened her novel. Death Stops Here was a spine-tingling best-seller, and within minutes she was thoroughly engrossed.
The sudden buzzing of the alarm made Sloan jump. Intent on finishing the chapter, she groped blindly for the clock radio and turned it off. A few minutes later, she reluctantly laid the book facedown on the nightstand and got up.
15
Paul knocked on her door a few minutes before seven o'clock, and Sloan called to him to come in. "I'm almost ready," she told him, leaning around the corner of her dressing room. He was wearing a gray pinstripe suit, white shirt, and a red-and-gray patterned tie. Sloan thought he looked extremely nice, but she wasn't certain it was appropriate to comment on his appearance in their circumstances. "Better leave the door open, so no one gets the wrong idea and squeals on us to Her Highness," she warned.
Standing in front of the full-length mirror in the dressing room, she checked her appearance with the Polaroid snapshot. The light blue-purple silk skirt was long and straight with a slit to the knee, and the matching top had a wide cowl collar that was meant to be worn off the shoulders, according to the snapshot. Sloan felt a little odd with bare shoulders, but when she tried to tug the collar up, the soft silk slid back down to the tops of her arms, so she left it that way.
She checked the picture again and fastened the matching belt around her waist; then she stepped into the silver sandals that were in the picture. She clipped on the silver earrings and the bracelet she was supposed to wear; then she picked up the silver choker that was in the photograph and put it on, too. She felt as if she was wearing an awful lot of jewelry, but she was a fashion neophyte, while Sara and her mother were experts on the subject, so she decided to adhere to their pictorial advice.
Paul's reaction to her appearance was so flattering that Sloan was instantly glad she'd adhered to the layout in the picture. "You look stunning," he said with a smile of pure masculine appreciation. "What do you call that color?"
"I don't know. Why?"
"Because it's the same color as your eyes."
"In that case, I would call this color 'blue,' " Sloan told him with an unaffected smile.
At the bottom of the staircase, a uniformed maid was waiting to show them to the living room, where cocktails and hors d'oeuvres were being served to a gathering that included the three members of the family and a man who was talking to Paris, his back to the doorway.
Her father looked up as soon as they walked in and put his glass on the coffee table. "Right on time," he said with a welcoming smile as he stood up.
He introduced the stranger as Noah Maitland. Sloan's first reaction had been surprise that a guest was included in such an awkward family situation, but when Noah Maitland turned and looked at her, she felt like a dazzled teenager.
Tall, tanned, and black-haired, he had a smile that could heat a room, eyes the color of cold steel, and a cultured baritone voice that had the same effect as a beautiful piece of music. He was such a study in contrasts, he had so much sex appeal, and he looked so fantastic in his impeccably tailored dark suit and striped tie that Sloan lost her concentration when he reached out to shake her hand. "Beautiful women certainly run in this family," he said, his gray eyes warm with admiration as they looked straight into hers.
Sloan considered going to his room, but she didn't want to risk getting caught by some browbeaten servant who might be required to report any infractions of the rules to that domineering old woman who actually thought she deserved to be addressed as Great-grandmother by Sloan.
Reluctantly, she postponed the idea of conferring with her coconspirator until later tonight when there was a suitable opportunity and location.
Too keyed up to sleep, Sloan decided to read the mystery novel she'd started before Paul Richardson arrived in Bell Harbor and disrupted her entire life. She folded back the bedspread, propped some pillows against the headboard, and stretched out. Cognizant of Edith Reynolds's sharp warning not to be late for dinner, she reached over and set the clock radio for six P.M., just in case she fell asleep. On the telephone, a light was illuminated now, indicating one of the six lines was in use, and Sloan wondered if the telephone was simply that, or if it was part of a system used to operate the house.
In Bell Harbor, when prosperous new residents built a new mansion or restored an old one, they invariably installed modern multiline telephone systems. The telephones that went with some of these systems not only provided intercom service to all the rooms, they enabled the homeowner to control everything—from lighting and security systems to heating and cooling systems—with a telephone.
As long as the homeowner remembered what codes to use, the telephones did their job, but when the homeowner made a mistake, the results could be chaotic, and the resultant tales of such incidents that circulated among Bell Harbor's firefighters and police officers were frequently hilarious.
With a stab of amused nostalgia, Sloan thought back to last month when Karen Althorp picked up her phone and inadvertently keyed in the number five for a fire emergency, when she meant to key in a six and turn on her Jacuzzi. When the fire department broke through a window and charged through the house into the backyard, they discovered the curvaceous divorcée cavorting naked in the hot tub with her gardener.
Nude but indignant, she threatened to sue the hapless firefighters for damaging her property, and ordered them to leave.
A week later, instead of keying in a six, she keyed in a nine, which sent out a silent police alarm. Jess Jessup had arrived first at the darkened house and he'd found Karen Althorp reclining by the pool, gazing up at the stars, stark naked.
She was so startled when Jess announced his presence that she screamed, then invited the handsome police officer to take off his clothes and join her.
Dr. and Mrs. Pembroke had installed a similar system in their new house, and it was responsible for their divorce. Dr. Pembroke later tried to sue the manufacturer for seven million dollars—the amount of the cash settlement he had to give Mrs. Pembroke in the divorce.
With a mental shrug, she opened her novel. Death Stops Here was a spine-tingling best-seller, and within minutes she was thoroughly engrossed.
The sudden buzzing of the alarm made Sloan jump. Intent on finishing the chapter, she groped blindly for the clock radio and turned it off. A few minutes later, she reluctantly laid the book facedown on the nightstand and got up.
15
Paul knocked on her door a few minutes before seven o'clock, and Sloan called to him to come in. "I'm almost ready," she told him, leaning around the corner of her dressing room. He was wearing a gray pinstripe suit, white shirt, and a red-and-gray patterned tie. Sloan thought he looked extremely nice, but she wasn't certain it was appropriate to comment on his appearance in their circumstances. "Better leave the door open, so no one gets the wrong idea and squeals on us to Her Highness," she warned.
Standing in front of the full-length mirror in the dressing room, she checked her appearance with the Polaroid snapshot. The light blue-purple silk skirt was long and straight with a slit to the knee, and the matching top had a wide cowl collar that was meant to be worn off the shoulders, according to the snapshot. Sloan felt a little odd with bare shoulders, but when she tried to tug the collar up, the soft silk slid back down to the tops of her arms, so she left it that way.
She checked the picture again and fastened the matching belt around her waist; then she stepped into the silver sandals that were in the picture. She clipped on the silver earrings and the bracelet she was supposed to wear; then she picked up the silver choker that was in the photograph and put it on, too. She felt as if she was wearing an awful lot of jewelry, but she was a fashion neophyte, while Sara and her mother were experts on the subject, so she decided to adhere to their pictorial advice.
Paul's reaction to her appearance was so flattering that Sloan was instantly glad she'd adhered to the layout in the picture. "You look stunning," he said with a smile of pure masculine appreciation. "What do you call that color?"
"I don't know. Why?"
"Because it's the same color as your eyes."
"In that case, I would call this color 'blue,' " Sloan told him with an unaffected smile.
At the bottom of the staircase, a uniformed maid was waiting to show them to the living room, where cocktails and hors d'oeuvres were being served to a gathering that included the three members of the family and a man who was talking to Paris, his back to the doorway.
Her father looked up as soon as they walked in and put his glass on the coffee table. "Right on time," he said with a welcoming smile as he stood up.
He introduced the stranger as Noah Maitland. Sloan's first reaction had been surprise that a guest was included in such an awkward family situation, but when Noah Maitland turned and looked at her, she felt like a dazzled teenager.
Tall, tanned, and black-haired, he had a smile that could heat a room, eyes the color of cold steel, and a cultured baritone voice that had the same effect as a beautiful piece of music. He was such a study in contrasts, he had so much sex appeal, and he looked so fantastic in his impeccably tailored dark suit and striped tie that Sloan lost her concentration when he reached out to shake her hand. "Beautiful women certainly run in this family," he said, his gray eyes warm with admiration as they looked straight into hers.
