Page 26 of The Bride Wore White

He hesitated, as if he had not considered that particular side effect. “My work keeps me busy.”

“Given your desire for privacy, I’m surprised you came up with a plan that involves inviting a complete stranger into your home.”

“You’re not a stranger,” he said, sounding vaguely surprised. “You’re a client.”

“Right. Glad we got that settled. Don’t worry, I shall do my best to stay out of your way while you do your consulting. If you will show me to my room, I’ll unpack.”

“Upstairs.” Clearly relieved at the change of topic, Jack hoisted her suitcase and led the way to an impressive staircase. “There’s a private guest suite on the second floor. Three of them, in fact. None of them has ever been used. The actor who built House of Shadows planned on entertaining a lot of houseguests, but he only lived here a couple of weeks.”

She gripped the wood railing and followed Jack up the stairs. “Because he died.”

“Right.”

A frisson of knowing sparked across her nerves. She tightened her grip on the railing. “In a fall.”

“Right.”

She glanced back at the dramatic sweep of the staircase. “Where, exactly, did he fall?”

“Stairs.”

“Please don’t tell me Brent Forrest died on this staircase.”

“Okay, I won’t tell you.”

“Damn.”

“It gets worse,” Jack said. “Brent Forrest didn’t fall down this staircase by accident. He was pushed.”

“He was murdered?” She stopped on the stairs. “No wonder you got a deal on the house.”

“We didn’t know about the murder.” Jack reached the landing and turned to look at her. “No one did. The cause of death was declared an accident.”

Her attention snagged on the one word that glowed like a neon sign in the night. “We?”

“I was engaged at the time,” Jack said. “My fiancée loved the house.”

“Oh.” She let that go because she got the impression the subject was closed. It did not require any great detective skills to conclude that the fiancée was no longer in the picture. “So how did you come to learn that Forrest’s death was a murder?”

“I got curious about the story of the accident after I moved in.”

She thought about her own reaction to the staircase. “Because you sensed the bad energy on these stairs?”

“No,” he said evenly. “Because I gotcuriousabout Forrest’s death.”

“Uh-huh.” Something had triggered his curiosity, she decided. She was pretty sure he had picked up the bad energy on the staircase, but it was obvious he would never admit it.

He pretended he hadn’t heard the doubt in her voice. “I started looking into reports of Forrest’s accident. It wasn’t hard to put the pieces together, but there is no evidence left that would stand up in a court of law.”

“So a famous movie star gets pushed down the stairs and the killer gets away with it?”

“Yep.”

She started climbing again, keeping her grip on the railing.

“Any idea who shoved Brent Forrest down this staircase?” she asked when she reached the landing.

“Ninety-eight percent probability that Forrest was murdered by his lover, Laura Gray.”

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