White Lies (The Arcane Society #2)(7)
Author: Jayne Ann Krentz

Clare got to her feet. Beside her, Jake did the same.

“Hello, Mrs. Shipley,” Clare said.

“Who’s that with you?” Valerie peered into the shadows beneath the ramada. “Is that you, Jake?”

“Yes,” Jake said. “I think it would be a good idea for you to go back inside, Mrs. Shipley.”

“Shut up. You work for Archer. You don’t tell me what to do.” Valerie turned back to Clare. “You don’t give a damn about the pain you’ve caused me, do you? You think you can waltz back here to Stone Canyon as if nothing happened.”

Clare started slowly toward her.

“No,” Jake said in a low voice.

Clare ignored him and came to a halt at the edge of the pool, facing Valerie.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Shipley,” Clare said.

“You’re sorry?” Valerie’s voice rose, anguish and fury inextricably mingled. “How dare you say that after what you did. You murdered my son and everyone inside that house knows it.”

Without warning, she dashed the contents of her glass across Clare’s face.

Clare gasped and closed her eyes. Instinctively she took a step back.

Valerie gave an inarticulate cry of rage. Clare opened her eyes in time to see the other woman coming straight at her, arms outstretched. In the eerie glow of the underwater lights, Valerie’s face was a demonic mask.

Jake was closing in with astonishing speed. He caught Valerie’s arm before she could strike but Clare had already taken another step back to evade the blow. The heel of her black pump found nothing but air to support her.

She toppled sideways into the pool with an ignominious splash.

At least the water was warm, she thought as she went under. On the rare occasions when she was in Glazebrook Territory, she was grateful for whatever luck came her way.

Chapter Three

Jake looked at Valerie Shipley’s twisted features.

“That’s enough,” he ordered. “Go back inside. I’ll take care of this.”

She jerked her attention away from the sight of Clare surfacing in the pool.

“Stay out of this, Salter,” she hissed. “It has nothing to do with you. That whore tried to seduce my son. When that failed, she murdered him.”

“Valerie?” Owen Shipley hurried toward his wife. “What’s going on?”

Valerie started to cry. “The bitch came back here. I can’t believe it. She actually came back. After what she did, it’s not right.”

She covered her face with both hands, whirled unsteadily and rushed toward the veranda.

Owen came to a halt. He was an athletic man in his early sixties with strong features and a ring of neatly trimmed gray hair. Under most circumstances he appeared relaxed and confident. But at the moment he looked awkward and helpless.

Jake felt some sympathy for him. Years ago Shipley had helped Archer found Glazebrook, Inc. The two men had been partners for nearly three decades until Archer bought out Owen’s share of the business. The pair were still close friends and golfing buddies.

A year ago Owen met and married Valerie. It was a second marriage for both of them. Archer had told Jake that Owen and Valerie had met through the auspices of arcanematch.com. Jake had a hunch that the matchmaking computers at Arcane House, designed to help single members of the Society find life partners from among the community of sensitives, had failed to allow for the possibility that Valerie would morph into a full-blown alcoholic. It wasn’t the first time arcanematch had made a mistake.

“I’m sorry,” Owen said heavily. He looked at Clare. “Are you all right?”

Clare stood shoulder-deep in the water. “Don’t worry about it, Mr. Shipley.”

“Are you certain?” Owen asked.

“Yes,” she said, her voice gentling. “It was an accident. I lost my balance and fell into the pool.”

Owen’s features tightened. “Valerie hasn’t been herself since Brad was murdered.”

“I know,” Clare said.

“I’ve been trying to get her to go into rehab. But she refuses.”

“I understand,” Clare said.

Owen nodded humbly. “Thank you.” He looked back toward the house. Valerie had disappeared into the shadows of the veranda. “I’d better take her home.”

He walked back toward the house, shoulders slumped.

Jake waited until he was gone. Then he went to stand at the edge of the pool.

Clare flung her wet hair out of her eyes and looked at him, hands moving rhythmically under the surface.

“Don’t say it,” she warned.

“Can’t help myself.” He crouched down on the coping. “I did warn you not to confront her.”

She made a face. “I thought consultants were supposed to do something helpful and productive in a moment of crisis.”

“Right. Almost forgot.”

He rose, walked to the nearby cabana and opened the door. Inside he found a stack of oversized towels on a shelf. He picked up one and carried it back to the pool.

“How’s this for helpful?” he asked, unfolding the towel.

“Much better.”

She took a deep breath and dove back under the water to retrieve her shoes. When she surfaced again she trudged toward the wide steps where he waited.

“There’s a robe inside the cabana,” he said, draping the towel around her shoulders.

“Thanks.”

Clutching the towel, she made her way toward the small cabana. The black suit clung to her body, outlining her lush, rounded hips.

She stripped off her jacket just before she reached the door. The thin, pale silk shell she wore underneath had been rendered transparent by the water. Jake could see the straps of a dainty bra.

She disappeared inside the cabana. He considered his options. There was no question now but that Clare Lancaster was a spanner that had just been thrown into the works of his carefully crafted scheme. He had to decide how to deal with her, but first he needed more information.

The cabana door opened. Clare walked out muffled from head to toe in a thick white terrycloth robe. Her hair was wrapped in a towel. She carried her sopping-wet clothes in one hand and her soaked shoes in the other.

“I think the party’s over for me,” she said. She paused at the table to pick up her shoulder bag.

“Looks that way,” he agreed. “I’ll take you home.”

“Hotel,” she corrected automatically. “I don’t live around here, remember?”

A small shock of awareness slammed through him. Talk about a slip of the tongue. He had spoken without thinking, meaning his home, or rather the house he rented. What the hell was that about? Probably something to do with seeing her in a robe and knowing that she was naked underneath the pristine white terrycloth.