Shadows At Sunset by Anne Stuart

herself a little mental shake.
    So Roofus liked him. It was unusual but not unprecedented. Roofus occasionally liked the male of the species, though not very often. He despised both her ex-husband and her father, which seemed to indicate a fairly good judgment of character.
    But not if he was lapping up Coltrane’s attentions. She started toward the broken glass, then stopped, disconcerted. It was already cleaned up, and neither of her siblings had ever lifted a finger to clean up a mess in Jilly’s memory.
    Rachel-Ann looked edgy, frenetic, almost manic. “I’m going out,” she said abruptly. “Anyone want to come with me?”
    Jilly assumed the invitation was for Coltrane alone, but for a moment she contemplated disrupting everything by saying yes. Except that Rachel-Ann didn’t want her sister tagging along, watching her out of anxious eyes while she sipped club soda at some of her dangerous old haunts.
    Fortunately Dean forestalled her. “Coltrane and I have a long day tomorrow,” he announced. “And you look like you’ve been burning the candle at both ends, precious. Why don’t you be wise and make an early night of it yourself?”
    Rachel-Ann’s smile was forced. She was positively vibrating with tension. “I thought I was looking rather good. What do you think, Coltrane?” Her voice was a sexual purr, but it sounded odd, almost forced to Jilly’s ears.
    His face was completely unreadable as he looked at her, and Jilly had to admit he was good. There was nothing that egged Rachel-Ann on more than indifference. “Gorgeous,” he said lightly, his long fingers still kneading Roofus’s head.
    It was the final straw for Jilly. “I’m the one who’s feeling haggard. Come on, Roofus. Bedtime.” She snapped her fingers, and for one shocking moment Roofus didn’t move. And then he lumbered to his feet, coming toward her, then glancing back at Coltrane to see if he was coming, too.
    Fat chance, Jilly thought. He was still sitting at the table, seemingly relaxed, watching Rachel-Ann from beneath hooded eyes. While Dean chatted on, supremely unaware of the tension surrounding him.
    And Jilly made her escape.

7
    I t was very late by the time Coltrane finally retired to the waterlogged room at the back of the house. He walked past Jilly’s silent room, picturing her lying in that swan bed. Most likely not wearing a diaphanous negligee like the original movie stars who’d once lived here. She probably slept in sweats. She’d be curled up in a tight little ball, her arms wrapped around her body to ward off all dangers.
    Rachel-Ann’s room was next to Jilly’s, and it, too, was silent. Hers was unoccupied—she’d taken off soon after Jilly had gone to bed, and it was clear that despite her edgy flirtatiousness she didn’t want anyone going with her.
    He wondered if she knew the truth that had hit him so hard.
    He didn’t think so. She wouldn’t have any reason to guess, any knowledge to make that inevitable leap. She’d only known her gut instinct and run.
    He shut the door behind him, turning on the dim lights. The room filled the end of the hallway, and there were windows on two sides, with a set of French doors leading out onto the balcony that ran along the back of the house. The wallpaper was a murky green, peeling in places, and the brown water streaks from the leaking roof added to the sense of being trapped underwater. He’d never been particularly fond of algae.
    The bed was a mess, the box spring half collapsed. He simply pulled the mattress off and set it on the floor, shoved the old frame and box spring up against the wall, and opened the windows to the balmy night air in a vain attempt to rid the place of the musty smell. There was a private bathroom off to the left, and the toilet worked, but the sink and bathtub were supposedly beyond repair. He could share with the girls,