Carolyn G. Hart_Henrie O_04 by Death in Paradise Page B

fascinated by her lovely, haggard, striking, unforgettable face.
    The room—her study—was a marvelous backdrop. The walls were a pale, ethereal ivory, punctuated by brilliantly colored canvases. The pecan floors, sensuous as pools of honey, reflected light from globes inset in the ceiling. Chinese Buddhist temple hangings flanked a starkly plain marble fireplace. Crimson anthuriums rose regally from matching silver vases on the hearth. And, as I was beginning to expect in this cliffside home, there was the wide-open access to the lanai and the ever compelling vista of the robin’s-egg sky and silvery falls and verdant ridges—breathtaking, spectacular, ever changing.
    But the elegant woman in the orchid silk blouse and white silk slacks would always be the focal point.
    She reached me, grasped my hand. “May I call you Henrie O? As Richard did?” Her touch was firm and cool and fleeting. The delicate scent of gardenia wafted over me.
    â€œOf course.” I returned her gaze. I could not return that ceremonial smile.
    Those bright lips still curved, but there was no smile in her dark blue eyes. “And I’m Belle.” She studied me.
    I knew what she saw, a woman as dark as she was fair, my hair touched, too, with silver, my face lined with a lifetime of both joy and sadness. I don’t claim even a particle of Belle’s charisma, but I am lean and quick and still move with eagerness and energy.
    I saw a quick flicker of approval in her eyes and I was surprised that it pleased me. That was even one more indication of the power of her personality.
    â€œNow we meet.” There was a shade more warmth in her voice. “After all these years…Richard spoke of you often.”
    I was not able to respond in kind. That was my doing. I was the one who had blocked that expression. But I could honestly say, had to honestly say, “Richard cared for you.”
    Her remote smile softened. “I valued him as the best friend I ever had. And now, finally, you and I meet.” She ledthe way, moving carefully, the cane clicking against the golden floor, to huge rattan easy chairs on either side of the fireplace. As she eased down onto the oversized cushion, her eyes flickered toward the lanai, and the sharp planes of her face tightened.
    It was like a rough hand squeezing my heart. Richard fell near here, I was sure of it.
    I took the seat opposite her, but I gazed out at the turquoise sky and emerald canyon. “I’ve never known what happened to Richard,” I said tightly.
    Yes, I asked without preamble. It wasn’t what I’d planned to do. But entering this room, meeting this woman, I knew I could not count on anything. She was formidable. I would not easily fool her. Or persuade her. My manufactured invitation was in my purse and I knew it wasn’t worth the paper it was printed on. Belle Ericcson was neither simple nor credulous. I’d better snatch what I could while I could.
    If my blunt opening shocked her, she gave no sign of it. “None of us know, Henrie O.” Her face was somber. “We said good night about ten. The next morning, I thought he’d slept late. You know how tiring it is to come from the mainland. And when the mist burned off, oh, it was late morning, Wheeler looked down from his lanai and saw him. Richard was still dressed and his bed had not been slept in. He must have walked along the cliff path late in the evening. Perhaps he was returning to the main house for a book. We’ll never know.”
    Belle clasped her hands tightly together. A bracelet of square amethysts in ornate gold settings glistened like the purpling sky outside. “I’m sorry.” Her silvery voice expressed true grief.
    â€œThank you.” I stared out at the steep, foliage-sheathed cliffs, beautiful and merciless, as nature so often is.
    â€œIt was doubly hard,” she sighed, “because I’d been sopleased to see him. And