Best Of Nora Roberts Books 1-6. Nora Roberts
Читать онлайн книгу.
deeper, a tiny memory probed.
She’d think about it tomorrow…. No, now, she thought, and rolled over again. She’d think about it now. What was it her father had been saying to Adam when she’d walked into his studio the night after the Titian switch? Something… Something…about involving her figuratively.
“Root rot,” she muttered, and squeezed her eyes shut in concentration. “What the devil was that supposed to mean?” Just as she was about to give up, the idea seeped in. Her eyes sprang open as she sprang up. “It’d be just like him!”
Grabbing a robe, she dashed from the room.
For a moment in the hall she hesitated. Perhaps she should wake Adam and tell him of her theory. Then again, it was no more than that, and he hadn’t had the easiest day of it, either. If she produced results, then she’d wake him. And if she was wrong, her father would kill her.
She made a quick trip to her father’s studio, then went down to the dining room.
On neither trip did she bother with lights. She wanted no one to pop out of their room and ask what she was up to. Carrying a rag, a bottle and a stack of newspapers, she went silently through the dark. Once she’d reached the dining room, she turned on the lights. No one would investigate downstairs except Cards. He’d never question her. She worked quickly.
Kirby spread the newspapers in thick pads on the dining room table. Setting the bottle and the rag on them, she turned to her own portrait.
“You’re too clever for your own good, Papa,” she murmured as she studied the painting. “I’d never be able to tell if this was a duplicate. There’s only one way.”
Once she’d taken the portrait from the wall, Kirby laid it on the newspaper. “Its value goes below the surface,” she murmured. Isn’t that what he’d said to Harriet? And he’d been smug. He’d been smug right from the start. Kirby opened the bottle and tipped the liquid onto the rag. “Forgive me, Papa,” she said quietly.
With the lightest touch—an expert’s touch—she began to remove layers of paint in the lower corner. Minutes passed. If she was wrong, she wanted the damage to be minimal. If she was right, she had something priceless in her hands. Either way, she couldn’t rush.
She dampened the rag and wiped again. Her father’s bold signature disappeared, then the bright summer grass beneath it, and the primer.
And there, beneath where there should have been only canvas, was a dark, somber brown. One letter, then another, appeared. It was all that was necessary.
“Great buckets of blood,” she murmured. “I was right.”
Beneath the feet of the girl she’d been was Rembrandt’s signature. She’d go no further. As carefully as she’d unstopped it, Kirby secured the lid of the bottle.
“So, Papa, you put Rembrandt to sleep under a copy of my portrait. Only you would’ve thought to copy yourself to pull it off.”
“Very clever.”
Whirling, Kirby looked behind her into the dark outside the dining room. She knew the voice; it didn’t frighten her. As her heart pounded, the shadows moved. What now? she asked herself quickly. Just how would she explain it?
“Cleverness runs in the family, doesn’t it, Kirby?”
“So I’m told.” She tried to smile. “I’d like to explain. You’d better come in out of the dark and sit down. It could take—” She stopped as the first part of the invitation was accepted. She stared at the barrel of a small polished revolver. Lifting her gaze from it, she stared into clear, delicate blue eyes. “Melly, what’s going on?”
“You look surprised. I’m glad.” With a satisfied smile, Melanie aimed the gun at Kirby’s head. “Maybe you’re not so clever after all.”
“Don’t point that at me.”
“I intend to point it at you.” She lowered the gun to chest level. “And I’ll do more than point it if you move.”
“Melly.” She wasn’t afraid, not yet. She was confused, even annoyed, but she wasn’t afraid of the woman she’d grown up with. “Put that thing away and sit down. What’re you doing here this time of night?”
“Two reasons. First, to see if I could find any trace of the painting you’ve so conveniently found for me. Second, to finish the job that was unsuccessful this morning.”
“This morning?” Kirby took a step forward then froze when she heard the quick, deadly click. Good God, could it actually be loaded? “Melly…”
“I suppose I must have miscalculated a bit or you’d be dead already.” The elegant rose silk whispered as she shrugged. “I know the passages very well. Remember, you used to drag me around in them when we were children—before you went in with a faulty flashlight. I’d changed the batteries in it, you see. I’d never told you about that, had I?” She laughed as Kirby remained silent. “I used the passages this morning. Once I was sure you and Adam were settled in, I went out and turned on the gas by the main valve—I’d already broken the switch on the unit.”
“You can’t be serious.” Kirby dragged a hand through her hair.
“Deadly serious, Kirby.”
“Why?”
“Primarily for money, of course.”
“Money?” She would’ve laughed, but her throat was closing. “But you don’t need money.”
“You’re so smug.” The venom came through. Kirby wondered that she’d never heard it before. “Yes, I need money.”
“You wouldn’t take a settlement from your ex-husband.”
“He wouldn’t give me a dime,” Melanie corrected. “He cut me off, and as he had me cold on adultery, I wasn’t in a position to take him to court. He let me get a quiet, discreet divorce so that our reputations wouldn’t suffer. And except for one incident, I’d been very discreet. Stuart and I were always very careful.”
“Stuart?” Kirby lifted a hand to rub at her temple. “You and Stuart?”
“We’ve been lovers for over three years. Questions are just buzzing around in your head, aren’t they?” Enjoying herself, Melanie stepped closer. The whiff of Chanel followed her. “It was more practical for us if we pretended to be just acquaintances. I convinced Stuart to ask you to marry him. My inheritance has dwindled to next to nothing. Your money would have met Stuart’s and my tastes very nicely. And we’d have got close to Uncle Philip.”
She ignored the rest and homed in on the most important. “What do you want from my father?”
“I found out about the little game he and Mother indulged in years ago. Not all the details, but enough to know I could use it if I had to. I thought it was time to use your father’s talent for my own benefit.”
“You made plans to steal from your own mother.”
“Don’t be so self-righteous.” Her voice chilled. The gun was steady. “Your father betrayed her without a murmur, then double-crossed us in the bargain. Now you’ve solved that little problem for me.” With her free hand, she gestured to the painting. “I should be grateful I failed this morning. I’d still be looking for the painting.”
Somehow, some way, she’d deal with this. Kirby started with the basics. “Melly, how could you hurt me? We’ve been friends all our lives.”
“Friends?” The word sounded like an obscenity. “I’ve hated you for as long as I can remember.”
“No—”
“Hated,” Melanie repeated, coldly this time and with the ring of truth. “It was always you people flocked around, always you men preferred. My own mother preferred you.”
“That’s not true.”