thought.
On the other hand, she had an almost paranoid fear that if she left the letter in the safe at the hotel, someone would steal it. It would be just like Robert Powell to pull off something like that, she thought. I should know! At least I can keep my pocketbook with me.
Then she had folded the note so that it fit inside the small billfold that held her credit and insurance cards.
As her limo turned into the familiar driveway, she saw the front door being opened and three people going into the house. One of the men was on crutches.
That has to be Alison’s husband, she thought. By the time she’d heard about the accident she’d been in Florida.
We were such dopes when we agreed to be her bridesmaids! she thought now. The press had had a field day taking pictures of Claireand Nina and me walking down the aisle in front of Alison. One of the captions read, “The bride and her fellow suspects.”
Talk about a low blow!
Regina was so deep in her thoughts that for a moment she did not realize the car had stopped and the driver was holding the door open for her.
Taking a deep breath, she got out of the car and climbed the steps to the door.
How many times have I been in this house? she asked herself as she pressed the bell. She’d been close to Claire in high school.
But why did I keep coming after Daddy killed himself? Was it morbid curiosity to look at Betsy throwing her charm around? Or was it that I always planned to get back at both of them someday?
In the few moments she waited until the door was opened, she nervously reassured herself about her appearance.
She had lost the twenty pounds she vowed to drop when she received that letter asking her to be in the series. She had bought some new clothes for this trip, and she knew that the black-and-white jacket and white slacks flattered her reclaimed figure and complemented her midnight-black hair.
Zach kept telling me how good I look, she thought as the door opened and Jane, a perfunctory welcome on her lips, stepped back to admit her into the house.
Regina’s unwelcome thought as she entered the mansion was to remember her promise to Zach to burn the letter before it provided a reason to suspect she had killed Betsy Bonner Powell.
• • •
Claire had thought she would be nervous and fearful at the meeting with her stepfather, Robert Powell. It had been years since they’dseen each other. Instead she woke from a troubled sleep alert with icy calm. Her room service order arrived promptly at seven, and she ate her continental breakfast sitting in the chair in front of the television, watching the news.
But instead of seeing the latest report on a series of muggings in Manhattan, she flashed back to the television coverage of her mother’s body being carried out of the house.
We were all together, huddled in the den, she thought. We had robes on.
And then the police started to question us . . .
She turned off the television set and carried her second cup of coffee into the bathroom. There she drew a bath, and when the tub was nearly full, dropped the bath salts she had carried with her into it.
Dear Betsy’s favorite, she thought. I want to smell just like her when I get there.
She was in no hurry. I want to be sure they’re all there when I arrive. She smiled at the thought. Betsy was always late. It drove Rob crazy. He was a stickler for punctuality, no matter what the occasion.
I should know!
The outfit Claire had chosen was a sky-blue Escada cashmere and silk jacket and narrow gray slacks.
Betsy loved this color, she thought as she slipped on the jacket. She thought it brought out the color of her eyes. Well, let it bring out the color of mine.
The one piece of jewelry that she had taken when she left Robert Powell’s house for the last time was the simple strand of pearls that had originally belonged to the grandmother whom she only vaguely remembered. But I do remember loving her, she thought. Even though I was only three
On the other hand, she had an almost paranoid fear that if she left the letter in the safe at the hotel, someone would steal it. It would be just like Robert Powell to pull off something like that, she thought. I should know! At least I can keep my pocketbook with me.
Then she had folded the note so that it fit inside the small billfold that held her credit and insurance cards.
As her limo turned into the familiar driveway, she saw the front door being opened and three people going into the house. One of the men was on crutches.
That has to be Alison’s husband, she thought. By the time she’d heard about the accident she’d been in Florida.
We were such dopes when we agreed to be her bridesmaids! she thought now. The press had had a field day taking pictures of Claireand Nina and me walking down the aisle in front of Alison. One of the captions read, “The bride and her fellow suspects.”
Talk about a low blow!
Regina was so deep in her thoughts that for a moment she did not realize the car had stopped and the driver was holding the door open for her.
Taking a deep breath, she got out of the car and climbed the steps to the door.
How many times have I been in this house? she asked herself as she pressed the bell. She’d been close to Claire in high school.
But why did I keep coming after Daddy killed himself? Was it morbid curiosity to look at Betsy throwing her charm around? Or was it that I always planned to get back at both of them someday?
In the few moments she waited until the door was opened, she nervously reassured herself about her appearance.
She had lost the twenty pounds she vowed to drop when she received that letter asking her to be in the series. She had bought some new clothes for this trip, and she knew that the black-and-white jacket and white slacks flattered her reclaimed figure and complemented her midnight-black hair.
Zach kept telling me how good I look, she thought as the door opened and Jane, a perfunctory welcome on her lips, stepped back to admit her into the house.
Regina’s unwelcome thought as she entered the mansion was to remember her promise to Zach to burn the letter before it provided a reason to suspect she had killed Betsy Bonner Powell.
• • •
Claire had thought she would be nervous and fearful at the meeting with her stepfather, Robert Powell. It had been years since they’dseen each other. Instead she woke from a troubled sleep alert with icy calm. Her room service order arrived promptly at seven, and she ate her continental breakfast sitting in the chair in front of the television, watching the news.
But instead of seeing the latest report on a series of muggings in Manhattan, she flashed back to the television coverage of her mother’s body being carried out of the house.
We were all together, huddled in the den, she thought. We had robes on.
And then the police started to question us . . .
She turned off the television set and carried her second cup of coffee into the bathroom. There she drew a bath, and when the tub was nearly full, dropped the bath salts she had carried with her into it.
Dear Betsy’s favorite, she thought. I want to smell just like her when I get there.
She was in no hurry. I want to be sure they’re all there when I arrive. She smiled at the thought. Betsy was always late. It drove Rob crazy. He was a stickler for punctuality, no matter what the occasion.
I should know!
The outfit Claire had chosen was a sky-blue Escada cashmere and silk jacket and narrow gray slacks.
Betsy loved this color, she thought as she slipped on the jacket. She thought it brought out the color of her eyes. Well, let it bring out the color of mine.
The one piece of jewelry that she had taken when she left Robert Powell’s house for the last time was the simple strand of pearls that had originally belonged to the grandmother whom she only vaguely remembered. But I do remember loving her, she thought. Even though I was only three
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