Page 10 of The Bride Wore White

Jack had taken up a position near the French doors that opened onto a wrought iron–trimmed balcony overlooking citrus-scented gardens and the sapphire-bright Pacific beyond. The position allowed him to observe Prudence without being obvious about it. It also had the advantage of making it more difficult for her to see him clearly. He knew that when she looked at him, he was cast in shadow by the glare of the sun behind him.

She should have been almost unaware of him—he was good at fading into the woodwork—but he could tell by the not-so-subtle glances she occasionally sent in his direction that she was trying just as hard to do a read on him as he was trying to do on her. She was maintaining a polite, businesslike facade, but he got the feeling she was not thrilled with what she saw. It was as if she had already decided they were going to be adversaries.

For absolutely no rational reason he could think of, he found that... intriguing. Interesting. It also deepened the mystery of Prudence Ryland.

He reminded himself that she was a client. Luther was going to pay him good money to keep her from being arrested for murder.

The real question was whether or not she was an innocent caught up in a Machiavellian conspiracy designed to make her appear guilty of murder. From what he knew of the case, it was obvious there had to be more to her story.

The important element in the equation was that Luther was notconcerned with the possibility that Prudence Ryland had murdered Gilbert Dover. That, of course, made her even more interesting. When it came to assessing clients, Luther’s intuition was nothing short of amazing.

At the moment she appeared to be precisely what she claimed to be—an innocent librarian, a woman alone in the world, who had been set up for a murder rap by an unhinged killer.

She perched on one of the padded leather chairs, a delicate porcelain teacup in her gloved hand. She appeared very prim and proper in a crisply tailored rust-brown jacket; a slim, modest skirt that covered her knees; and a pair of sensible lace-up oxfords. Her midnight-dark hair was tightly pinned beneath a tiny felt hat in the same rust-colored shade as her suit. Her gloves and purse were in the same color. Her jewelry consisted of an almost unnoticeable crystal pendant and a plain businesslike watch.

It was the spectacles that gave away her game. Something about the way she wore them—as if they were a bit of a nuisance—told him there was no prescription ground into the lenses. The glasses were intended to enhance the unassuming image she wanted to project.

To some extent they did succeed in veiling the intense energy in her watchful amber eyes, but that just made him more curious. Prudence Ryland was a woman in hiding, but what was she hiding from?

“I will be honest with you, Mr.Pell,” she said. There was a faint clink as she set the cup down on the saucer. “We both know I can’t afford the fees that I’m sure you charge for your investigative work. But as I told you on the phone, I hope to be able to repay you in kind. I really am a very good researcher. I think I could be of service to you in the future.”

“I agree,” Luther said. “I am aware of the research you providedto Maggie Lodge and Sam Sage a few weeks ago when they became involved in the murder case out at the old Carson Flint estate.”

“Paranormal literature is my specialty,” Prudence said. “Particularly dream research. The study of dreams is a foundation for much of the work that is done in the field. But as I’m sure you’re aware, research skills can be useful in any area of investigation.”

Luther’s eyes glinted with cool satisfaction. “I discovered long ago that information is an extremely valuable commodity, Miss Ryland. I look forward to having your phone number in my directory of experts. We have an agreement. You are now a client of Failure Analysis. Please explain your situation to Mr.Wingate and me.”

“I’m not sure I understand Mr.Wingate’s role in this matter,” she said. “Is he your secretary?”

“Don’t worry,” Jack said. “I’m very good at taking notes, and I’m a skilled typist.”

Prudence shot him a steely glare. Luther stepped in quickly.

“Sorry,” he said. “I should have made it clear when I introduced you. Mr.Wingate is the consultant I’ve selected to handle your case.”

“Consultant?” Prudence said. “Is that the same thing as an investigator?”

“The two professions overlap in many important respects,” Luther assured her.

“I see.”

“But they are not exactly the same,” Jack said. “My responsibility is to analyze the information that is acquired in the course of an investigation.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand the difference,” she said, her voice very cold now. Before he could respond, she turned back to Luther. “It seems to me that at this stage of the investigation I need a real investigator.”

“In my opinion, you need Jack,” Luther said. “I hope you will trust me, Miss Ryland. This is what I do best. I match agents and cases.”

Jack watched her closely, but he could not get a clear read on her. It wasn’t hard to figure out that she was not excited by the news that he would be handling her case. But he was not sure why she was uncertain about his role in the investigation. With any other woman he would have assumed that the scars had put her off. But aside from a brief, assessing glance at the ruined side of his face, she had appeared unfazed. It hadn’t been a polite act designed to pretend she hadn’t noticed the marks—he knew what that kind of acting looked like. After noting the scars, she had dismissed them as unimportant.

True, she had more worrisome things on her mind—like the fact that she was in danger of getting arrested for murder. He could see why that might push his scars far down her list of priorities.

So if it wasn’t the scars that made her wary of him, what was it?

“All right,” she said. “You are the one with expertise in this sort of thing, Mr.Pell. I accept your recommendation.”

“Thank you,” Luther said. “Now, tell us what happened.”

“The day before yesterday, shortly before five o’clock in the afternoon, I went into the stacks to locate an old treatise for one of the professors in the Department of Parapsychology,” Prudence said. Her tone was brisk and professional now, a researcher delivering a report. “The library was very quiet at the time. The clerk was at his desk but there were no patrons. However, a stranger entered and followed me into the stacks. He grabbed me from behind and rendered me unconscious with chloroform. That is the last thing I remember until I woke up next to Gilbert Dover, who was... dead.”

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