Carolina Isle by Jude Deveraux Page B

said in a husky voice. “Actually, Sara pays them, but I put the money in the bank.”
    Phyllis looked at Sara. “So you
work
for him. I thought maybe you were couples.” She looked at David. “What about you? Married?”
    â€œHe’s engaged to me,” Ariel said too loudly.
    Phyllis looked Ariel up and down. “Interesting. You two girls certainly look alike. I can hardly tell you apart. I guess you’re sisters.”
    â€œCousins,” Ariel said. “Is there somewhere I can freshen up?”
    â€œYou want the toilet, don’t you? There’s no use being fancy around here.”
    Ariel’s face turned red as she gave Phyllis the look, but the older woman didn’t seem to notice.
    â€œCome on,” Phyllis said, “I’ll show you your rooms. I’ve put you in the nanny’s suite. I hopethat’s all right. The man who built this house had eight kids and he didn’t want to see or hear any of them, so he made a whole suite in the attic. There’re a couple of air conditioners up there so you won’t be hot. It’s two bedrooms, a big bathroom that you’ll have to share, and a little sitting room. Come along. Follow me.”
    Ariel and Sara were the first ones out of the kitchen, but the men stepped in front of them to follow behind Phyllis. When she went up the wide staircase, her hips swayed from one side to the other so much that she almost hit the wall and the railing. Behind her, with their eyes glued to her backside, came R.J. and David. The Pied Piper didn’t have such mesmerized followers.
    Ariel caught David’s arm. “She said, ‘I’ve put you in the nanny’s suite.’”
    â€œSo?” he asked.
    â€œShe was telling us that she knew we were coming. She’s putting us up there for a reason.”
    â€œAriel,” David said with exaggerated patience, “I know that what’s happened to us has been awful, but I don’t think this entire island could be as bad as you think it is. If this were the nineteenth century, maybe, but not now.”
    â€œYou’re so right, David. What was I thinking? Nowadays there is no murder or crime of horrific proportions. All the serial killers have been caught. All the criminals put away. And, besides, you’ve been to college while I stayed behind in our sleepy little town, so what could I possibly know?” She stepped in front of him and went up the stairs.
    Behind her, David threw up his hands in exasperation, then followed Ariel.

Chapter Eight
    O N THE WAY UP THE STAIRS , R.J. WHIS pered to Sara, “You two need to stop glowering. Get on her good side.”
    â€œLike you and David are doing?” she said as she moved beside Ariel. “So how much do you hate her?”
    â€œScale of one to ten? About a thousand.”
    â€œMe? A million.”
    â€œLook at them,” Ariel said. “They’re like cartoon characters drooling over her.” Phyllis Vancurren was bulging out of her shirt and trousersand the men were doing their best to see all that wasn’t showing—which wasn’t much.
    â€œWonder why she put us way up at the top of the house?” Sara asked. Then, stepping on a creaking floorboard, said, “Better than an alarm system.”
    On the second floor, Phyllis pointed out her own bedroom. It was a huge room, with a four-poster bed that was draped in a fine cotton-and-silk blend.
    â€œThat fabric costs at least two hundred dollars a yard,” Ariel whispered to Sara, “and in the hall I saw what looked to be three genuine Hepple-white chairs with new upholstery.”
    â€œIf she doesn’t need money, then why is she taking in roomers?”
    Ariel nodded toward David.
    â€œYou think she wants David?” Sara gasped.
    Ahead of them, Phyllis and the men had stopped chatting.
    â€œMy goodness!” Ms. Vancurren said, looking at Ariel as they entered the sitting room.