Phantom Lover. Rebecca York
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“Bree is my legal name now. I haven’t gotten around to changing my license.”
“Why the switch?”
“Bonnie is so old-fashioned,” she drawled. “Bree is so much more charming.”
“If you want to sound like a piece of French cheese.”
Bree blinked, wondering how to respond. But Mrs. Sterling was still speaking.
“Yes, well, it’s inconvenient that I can’t pick up the phone and call Ms. London. As I understand it, she’s off on a special assignment and out of contact with the civilized world. Did she say why she has the authorization to hire a teacher?”
Bree put on her best innocent face. “I’m so sorry if I’ve stepped into an awkward situation. I just hate to be a bother.” She stopped and fluttered her hands. “She mentioned that Dinah has always been home-schooled. And since her mother died—” She stopped and gestured helplessly again. “Since her mother died, teachers have taken over the job. But Ms. London seemed concerned about her niece. I mean, she said that her brother had been, uh, wallowing in grief over his wife’s death, and he hadn’t been paying adequate attention to his daughter’s welfare. So if he wasn’t going to hire a new teacher, she was going to do it for him.” She stopped abruptly, looking like she was surprised to have delivered such a long speech.
“This is highly irregular.”
Bree’s only reply was a helpless look. She was relieved of the obligation to answer when Mrs. Sterling’s gaze suddenly shot to the hallway on the left. “Dinah, come out here!” the woman demanded. “How many times have I told you not to sneak around?”
Several seconds passed before a little girl stepped out from behind a display case and walked slowly into the entrance hall, stopping several paces from the adults.
Helen had told her Dinah was six. She looked younger, small and fragile with huge, pale eyes, pale skin and a riot of unruly chestnut curls falling around her shoulders.
It wasn’t difficult for Bree to imagine her in a long Edwardian dress, but the girl was wearing more prosaic blue jeans and a light yellow T-shirt. One arm was held stiffly at her side. The other cradled a fuzzy stuffed animal, its identity hidden by the girl’s close embrace.
Lifting her head, she looked toward Bree, her expression expectant. “You’re my new teacher,” she said in a low voice.
“Yes. How did you know?”
“Daddy told me you were coming. So I’ve been waiting for you.” The small, wistful voice made Bree’s heart squeeze.
Mrs. Sterling’s face contorted. “He couldn’t have said that! I didn’t even know she was coming.”
Dinah gave a small, dismissive shrug. “He’s smart. He knows things you don’t.”
The woman in black stared at the child, apparently struggling for a response. Then she imitated Dinah’s shrug. “Have it your way,” she snapped. “I think you’re lying. I think you heard us talking just now.”
Bree tried to work her way through the exchange, the spoken part and the subtext. Helen had told her that Dinah was a very clever, very imaginative child. Was she making up the conversation with her father? Or was Troy London being held captive somewhere and Nola Sterling was angry that Dinah had managed to talk to him?
Putting her own questions aside, Bree knelt so that she was at the little girl’s eye level. “My name is Bree Brennan,” she said, holding out her hand. “And I’m very glad I’m going to be your teacher.”
Her face grave, Dinah extended her free arm, and they shook.
“Who’s your friend?” Bree asked.
“Alice.”
“Can I see her?”
After a short hesitation Dinah freed the stuffed toy and held it out. Bree saw gray and white fur, pointed ears and button eyes. The fur was slightly matted and worn, as though the child had been clutching the animal over a long period of time.
Like a security blanket, Bree thought with a pang. She heard the child’s voice quaver slightly as she said, “Alice is a kitty.”
“Yes.”
Mrs. Sterling interrupted the exchange with strident words to Bree. “My husband and I eat quite late—too late for the little girl. I’m sure Dinah will be glad to show you to your quarters—and have your company at dinner in the schoolroom.”
Her quarters? Was she expected to sleep in the servants’ wing? Bree wondered as she stood again.
The woman turned to Dinah and issued an imperious order. “Take her upstairs.”
Under ordinary circumstances, Bree would have vetoed giving such duties to a child. But she was glad she and Dinah were going to be alone soon. That would give them a chance to get acquainted. And they could talk in the schoolroom tomorrow.
If the schoolroom wasn’t bugged. As that thought flitted into her mind she almost laughed. The idea of a bug in a six-year-old girl’s classroom was pretty farfetched. Yet the laugh died before it reached her lips.
She knew that when the guys from the Light Street Detective Agency went into a covert surveillance situation, they were always prepared for bugs. And she’d better remember that things could be similar here. Helen had sent her to Ravencrest because neither one of them knew what the Sterlings had done, and what they might do to protect their position.
Before she had time to consider the possibilities, she heard a door slam, then heavy footsteps pounding down the hall.
Troy?
The child’s face went white.
A look of mixed fear and exasperation plastered itself across Nola Sterling’s features.
All eyes, Bree’s included, focused on the hallway.
Seconds later, a man burst into the foyer, a man whose face was flushed and whose glaring gaze lit on Bree.
Chapter Two
The man stood with his hands balled into fists and his arms bent, like a street fighter ready to take on a crowd. His hands were large—large enough to have created the pressure she remembered on her shoulder. The thought of his having touched her made Bree’s stomach knot. Yet it couldn’t be him, she told herself. He didn’t smell right. His body gave off the scent of sweat, not clean aftershave.
Dinah cringed against her, and she slung her arm around the girl’s shoulders, holding her protectively against her side.
“I was doing my regular check of the grounds, and I saw a car out front,” he bellowed. Still looking at Bree, he demanded, “Who are you? And what are you doing here?”
“I’m Bree Brennan, Dinah’s new teacher.” She repeated the information she’d already given several times since arriving, letting her voice slur into a soft drawl.
The tactic didn’t have any effect on the man. “Says who?” he demanded.
“Says Helen London,” Bree answered, striving to sound a good deal more confident than she was feeling. “I believe she’s still part owner of the property with her brother, Troy,” she added for good measure.
The man’s mouth opened, then closed again as he apparently thought better of his outburst. It seemed the London name still functioned as some kind of deterrent.
Bree raised her chin and blinked her large blue eyes. “Do I have the pleasure of addressing Abner Sterling?”
“Yes, and don’t get smart with me, missy,” he snapped.
“That certainly wasn’t my intention, sir,” she replied.
The fiftyish man looked her up and down, from her damp blond hair to the red slingbacks