White Lies Page 3

  “There you are, Clare,” Archer Glazebrook roared from the open doorway. “What the hell took you so long?”

  “My flight got delayed,” Clare said.

  She kept her voice perfectly neutral, the way she always did when she was around the larger-than-life Archer Glazebrook. Since their initial meeting she had spent very little time with him. She was not yet sure what to make of him.

  Archer could have been cast as the aging, hard-bitten gunslinger in an old-fashioned western film. He was sixty-one, with craggy, sun-weathered features and shrewd hazel eyes. Appearances were anything but deceiving in Archer’s case. He was born and raised on an Arizona ranch located close to the border and had spent most of his life in the Southwest.

  Archer no longer rode the land. He bought and sold it, instead. And he developed it. He did all of that so successfully that he could buy and sell just about anyone in the state.

  Eventually he would turn over his empire to his son, Matt, to run. But for now he was still in charge. Clare knew that this summer Matt, who was in his late twenties, was managing a Glazebrook job site in San Diego.

  Clare had once asked her mother what she had seen in Archer Glazebrook that made her want to have a one-night stand with him. Power is an incredible aphrodisiac, Gwen Lancaster had said simply.

  There was no doubt that Archer wielded power, not only through his business empire but also on the paranormal plane. In fact, one was linked to the other. He descended from a long line of Arcane Society members. His particular psychic ability allowed him to map strategies in unique ways. Many sensitives with similar talents wound up in the military or in politics. Archer had applied his psi-senses to the world of high-stakes deal making. The results had been spectacular.

  At the sight of him tonight, flanked by two members of his legitimate family, Clare felt the old, familiar wistfulness well up inside her. She suppressed it with the same ruthless will that she used to control the psychic side of her nature. Just as she had since she first discovered that she had a father and that he did not know that she existed, she chanted her private mantra. Get over it. You’re not the only person in the world who was raised by a single parent. Worse things could happen to a kid and lord knows they do, all the time.

  She’d been lucky. She had a loving mother and a doting great-aunt. That was a heck of a lot more than many people got.

  “Well, come on inside and get yourself something to eat,” Archer ordered. He started to turn back toward the doors, intent on resuming his duties as host.

  “I can’t stay long,” Clare said quickly.

  Archer stopped and looked at her. So did everyone else, including Jake Salter. Okay, so it had been an odd thing to say, given that she had just flown all the way from San Francisco.

  Elizabeth frowned in dismay. “You’re not planning on going back to San Francisco tonight, for heaven’s sake? You just got here.”

  “No, I’m not going back tonight. I plan to catch a flight home day after tomorrow.”

  “Forget it,” Archer growled. “We’ve got business to talk about. You’ll need to stick around longer than that.”

  “I have things to do back home,” Clare began, speaking through clenched teeth.

  Jake was suddenly beside her, taking her elbow, drawing her toward the French doors.

  “You could probably use a little food after that flight and the long drive from the airport,” he said.

  It was a command, not a suggestion. Her first inclination, as always in such circumstances, was to dig in her heels. That intention got even stronger when she realized that everyone, including Archer, was clearly relieved to see Jake taking charge of her.

  Jake must have felt her incipient resistance. He gave her a slightly amused smile and raised his brows, silently asking her if she really wanted to cause a scene over a trivial matter like hitting the hors d’oeuvre table.

  What the heck. She hadn’t eaten anything since the small carton of yogurt she’d had for lunch.

  “All right,” she said.

  “Where are you spending the night?” Elizabeth asked.

  “At one of the chain hotels near the airport,” Clare replied.

  Elizabeth was appalled.

  “It’s an hour’s drive back to the airport,” she said.

  “I know,” Clare said.

  “You’ll stay here,” Archer declared decisively. “Plenty of room.”

  Myra’s mouth opened and then closed abruptly on the objection. Clare felt sorry for her. Having your husband’s long-lost daughter, the product of his one-night stand with another woman, show up on your doorstep thirty-two years later had to be in the top ten of every wife’s worst nightmares.

  “Thanks, but I prefer the hotel. I’ve already checked in and left my suitcase in the room.”

  “If only I hadn’t just moved out of my apartment,” Elizabeth said, “you could have stayed with me. But like I told you on the phone last week, I’m here with Mom and Dad until the deal closes on my new condo.”

  “It’s okay,” Clare said. “I don’t mind the hotel. Honest.”

  Archer’s jaw flexed ominously but Jake had Clare almost to the doors.

  “She has plenty of time to decide what she wants to do,” he said, drawing her through the opening. “Let me get some food into her first.”

  Every head in the crowded room turned when Jake escorted her inside. A split second later, everyone looked away. The noise of hastily resumed conversations and false laughter rose rapidly, filling the large space.

  Clare had been prepared for the uncomfortable reaction but it nevertheless hit her like a psychic shock wave. She had to remind herself to breathe. She felt Jake’s hand tighten on her arm but he said nothing.

  He steered her toward a leather padded bar at one end of the long, spacious room, evidently unfazed by the covert glances and curious stares.

  “Let’s start with the drink first,” he said. “If you’ve been in the Valley of the Sun for more than five minutes at this time of year, you need water.”

  “I am a little thirsty,” she admitted.

  He brought her to a halt at the bar and looked at the attendant. “Sparkling water and a glass of Chardonnay for Miss Lancaster, please.”

  “Never mind the wine. I won’t be staying long and I’ve got the drive back to the airport.”

  Jake shrugged agreeably. “Just the water, in that case.”

  The man on the other side of the bar nodded, deftly filled a glass with bubbly water and handed it to Clare.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “Now we do a surgical strike on the buffet,” Jake said.

  He guided her to a rustic, wooden plank table that looked as if it dated from the early 1800s when Mexico controlled a large chunk of what was now Arizona. She knew the table was probably a genuine antique. Myra had excellent taste and could afford the best.

  The buffet was decorated with colorful, hand-painted pottery dishes that incorporated a variety of Southwestern motifs. A large, tiered ice sculpture with hollowed-out bowls held an assortment of cold hors d’oeuvres. At the other end of the long table stood a line of silver chafing dishes. Steam wafted up from the contents of the trays.

  It dawned on Clare that she was hungry.

  “You were right,” she said to Jake. “I do need something to eat.”

  “I recommend those miniature blue-corn tortilla things.” He handed her a pepper-red plate. “The filling may be a little too hot for someone from San Francisco, though.”

  “Obviously you don’t know much about San Franciscans.” She piled several of the tiny tacos onto the plate and moved on to the cold shrimp and salsa.

  Elizabeth materialized just as Clare collected a napkin and fork.

  “Everything okay?” she asked. She looked intensely relieved when she saw the assortment of food on Clare’s plate. “Oh, good. You’re eating.”

  “As you know, that’s one of the things I do well,” Clare said. “Don’t worry about me, Liz. I’m
fine. Go back to your guests.”

  “I wish Dad had told us you were coming. We could have made some other arrangements.” Elizabeth glanced around uneasily. “I realize this must be very uncomfortable for you.”

  “I’m fine. Go mingle. Don’t worry, now that I’m here, I’m not going to skip town without spending some time with you.”

  Jake looked at Elizabeth. “I’ll take care of her.”

  Elizabeth clearly drew strength and reassurance from that statement.

  “Well, in that case, I’d better go talk to some people,” Elizabeth said. “If I don’t, Mom will be upset. Thanks, Jake.” She gave Clare a warm smile. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

  “You bet,” Clare said.

  Elizabeth disappeared back into the crowd.

  Jake did a quick study of the room. “I suggest we go outside. It’s a little crowded in here.”

  “Fine by me.”

  She munched a mini-taco, feeling remarkably better, and let him pilot her out a door on the far side of the room and onto another long veranda. This one fronted an elegantly curved pool. The underwater lights made the water glow a strange shade of turquoise.

  They left the veranda, walked across the patio and sat down at a round table that overlooked the pool.

  “Nice night,” Clare said around a mouthful of taco.

  “Hit a hundred five today. Supposed to be hotter tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, well, it is Arizona and it is summer.” She drank some of the sparkling water and lowered the glass. “Any idea what Archer wants to talk to me about?”

  “No. I didn’t even know you’d been invited to this party.”

  He was telling the truth, she realized. That made for an interesting change.

  “I got the feeling that you were taken by surprise,” she said. And you don’t like being taken by surprise, she thought. “You’re used to being three steps ahead of everyone else, aren’t you?”

  “Obviously I screwed up this time.”

  She smiled cheerfully. “Don’t blame yourself. Everyone else seems to be equally startled to see me. Looks like Archer played his cards close to his chest on this one.” She paused, thinking about that. “Which, I admit, makes me a little curious.”

  “Is that why you came down here? Curiosity?”

  “Nope. I’m here because Mom insisted.” She raised her brows. “You do know a little of my family history, I assume?”

  “Some,” he said. “I’m aware that you’re all registered members of the Arcane Society.”

  “You, too?”

  “Yes.”

  She nodded. That explained some of the aura of power that radiated from him. It also explained why Archer had hired him as a consultant. Society members often preferred to work with other sensitives. They tended to choose their closest friends and their spouses from the Arcane community, as well.

  “Actually, I was referring to the somewhat complicated aspects of my parentage, not our Society affiliation,” she said to Jake.

  “I know something about that, too.”

  “The thing is, I never met Archer or Myra or Elizabeth or Matt until this past year. We’re all still feeling our way. Elizabeth and I get along great and Matt is friendly. But my presence upsets Myra for obvious reasons so I try not to inflict myself on her very often.”

  “What about your relationship with Archer?”

  “Still under construction.”

  “Why did your mother want you to come down here tonight?” Jake asked.

  “It’s kind of complicated. The background is that Mom and Aunt May asked me to wait until I was in college before deciding whether or not to introduce myself to Archer. I respected their wishes. By the time I actually did go off to college, I had decided I didn’t want to establish contact after all.”

  “Why not?”

  She hesitated, uncertain how to put it into words. “Every time I saw a photograph of the Glazebrooks in a magazine or a newspaper they looked like the perfect family. I knew that would change if I showed up at the front door. I guess part of me didn’t want to destroy what they had.”

  “No such thing as a perfect family,” Jake said.

  “Maybe not. But the Glazebrooks sure looked like they had come mighty close. Earlier this year I finally did contact Elizabeth, though. Now that the damage has been done, Mom and Aunt May have decided that Archer and I should bond.”

  “Family,” Jake said. “Gotta love ’em.”

  She smiled and drank some more water.

  “The situation with your relatives isn’t the only complication you’ve got in your life, is it?” Jake lounged back in the chair and stretched out his legs. “You’re a level-ten parasensitive with a rather unique talent.”

  She stilled. “You know?”

  “That you’re a human lie detector? Yeah. I did some background research on the family before I took this job. I may not have all the facts but I think I know the basics. Must be tough at times. People lie a lot, don’t they?”

  “Yes,” she said. “All the time, in fact.”

  She wondered if he had been testing her earlier when he gave her his name or if he thought he could beat her sensitivity. Maybe he just didn’t give a damn if she knew that he was lying. The more she thought about it, the more she was convinced that was probably the right answer.

  “What’s your sensitivity?” she asked.

  Jake didn’t answer. He turned his head to look back toward the house.

  “Damn,” he said softly.

  She followed his gaze and saw a stick-thin woman silhouetted against the lights of the house.

  The woman hesitated. Clare realized she was searching for someone. With luck she would not think to check the heavily shadowed sitting area on the far side of the pool.

  But at that moment the woman started purposefully forward. It was obvious that she was making for the table. So much for luck, Clare thought. Hers was not in good form tonight.

  “Valerie Shipley,” Jake said.

  “I know. Just what I need to make my evening complete.” Resigned, Clare put down the uneaten portion of a small taco.

  “You know her?” Jake asked.

  “I met her once. That was the night her son, Brad McAllister, was murdered.”

  “McAllister was your sister’s husband, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes.” She watched uneasily as Valerie came toward them with an unsteady gait. This was going to get ugly.

  “Just so you know,” Jake said quietly, “Valerie drinks. A lot. I’m told the problem started after her son’s death.”

  “Elizabeth said something about it.”

  Valerie stopped near the edge of the pool. She had a glass in one hand. Clare could see that she was tottering on her high heels.

  Valerie was in her late fifties with dyed blond hair cut in a sleek bob. Six months ago she had looked fit and healthy. Tonight she appeared almost emaciated in her tight cocktail dress. The bones of her face were knife edges; the hollows of her cheeks were very deep.

  “I can’t believe you had the gall to walk into this house tonight, you murderous bitch,” Valerie said. The words were slurred but the rage embedded in them was unmistakable.

  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 s
aid.

  “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.