Page 41 of The Bride Wore White

Rollins groaned. “Flood is here? Again? I thought this was going to be a family business meeting. Why does she need that quack?”

“Mrs.Dover’s nerves have been under a great deal of strain lately,” Maud said.

She did not bother to hide the strong note of reproof in her tone. He smiled.

“We all know Mother has nerves of steel,” he said.

Maud’s jaw clenched. He ignored her. He and Maud went back a long way together. They had never liked each other, and neither of them felt obliged to conceal that fact. Years ago, Clara had turned over the day-to-day work of motherhood to Maud, who, in turn, had proceeded to adopt her employer’s attitude toward her youngest son. Nothing Rollins did would ever be satisfactory. Second best was always second best.

Maud had focused most of her attention on Gilbert, covering up for him when he destroyed Rollins’s favorite toys, making sure Rollins took the blame when a dead rat turned up in a pot of soup and again when Gilbert lost his temper and went after the kitchen maid with a butcher knife. The girl had needed stitches, but she hadsurvived. She had immediately quit her post. Rollins had been blamed and sent back to boarding school before the end of summer vacation.

Yes, Maud had kept a close eye on Gilbert and had gone to the extreme of helping Clara protect him from the consequences of his violent temper, but Rollins didn’t think it was because she was fond of Clara’s firstborn. He was sure Maud had hated Gilbert. Maud, however, was devoted to Clara, so it followed that she looked after Clara’s favorite.

And now Gilbert was gone. Things were about to get interesting.

“It’s just as well that the doctor is here,” Ella said quickly, stepping in, as usual, to try to smooth the hostile atmosphere. “Mrs.Hollister is right. Your brother’s death has had a dreadful effect on your mother’s nerves. She does seem to respond very well to Dr.Flood.”

Poor Ella. One of these days she would finally realize there was no point trying to ease the brittle tension between Maud and him.

He snorted. “My mother doesn’t need a doctor to help her get through a family business meeting. Let’s go. Might as well find out what the hell she’s up to now.”

He started across the marble entryway, heading for the blue room.

Ella fell into step beside him, her eyes shadowed with worry. He knew she had come to the same conclusion he had: It was unlikely that Clara had summoned them to inform him that she was handing the reins of Dover Industries to him. She was not the type to abdicate. Clara intended to die on the throne.

Maud followed them into the blue room. Clara, dressed head to toe in black and ensconced in a massive blue-and-white silk-cushioned chair, awaited them. She was not alone. Harley Flood,wearing a somber dark suit and a black armband, hovered discreetly in the corner.

Flood always seemed to hover, Rollins thought. Something to do with his slightly hunched shoulders and deferential air. His medical satchel was on the carpet at his feet. The only items inside were several bottles of the privately concocted nerve medicine he administered to Clara.

Rollins knew the contents of the satchel because he had managed to get a look inside. That had happened shortly after Flood had appeared in Clara’s life. Clara had awakened in the middle of a nightmare and suffered a panic attack. That was extremely unusual for her. Panicked, Maud had telephoned Rollins. Reluctantly, he had climbed out of bed, dressed, and driven his Jaguar roadster to the mansion.

When he let himself in the front door, he discovered that Flood was already there, trying to calm Clara, who was hysterical. Rollins had taken advantage of the confusion to examine the satchel. The vials of medicine were unlabeled.

Harley Flood was probably thirty at most, but with his gold-rimmed spectacles and funeral-director attire, he looked as if he was practicing for middle age. He did a good job of acting, but Rollins knew a quack when he saw one. Clara usually did, too. The fact that she had invited Flood into her tightly controlled world had been confounding at first. But it wasn’t long before Rollins realized there was, in fact, no mystery about it at all. Clara was now addicted to whatever Flood kept in the glass vials. That was, Rollins had concluded, an amusing turn of events—and one he could use to his advantage.

“It’s about time you two showed up,” Clara said.

Rollins checked his Rolex. “We are right on time, Mother.”

“The traffic was dreadful,” Ella said quickly. “How are you feeling, Mrs.Dover?”

“Much improved,” Clara said. “Thanks to this.”

She picked up the newspaper and snapped it open to reveal the headline on the society page.

Notorious Society Psychic Appears in Burning Cove

Below the headline was a photo of a stylishly dressed woman in an evening gown and a tiny veiled evening hat. Her gloved hand was tucked under the arm of a dark-haired man in an evening jacket. The photo had been taken from a few feet away, but the woman’s companion had turned his head, apparently to speak to her. In so doing, he had revealed the left side of his face. At first Rollins thought the image had been marred somewhere along the line during the printing process. It took a couple of seconds to realize he was looking at a network of scars.

The caption for the photo read,Madame Ariadne and private client seen at nightclub in Burning Cove.

Rollins felt his insides tighten. Ella cast him a worried glance. Before either of them could think of a response, Clara made her announcement.

“This is the woman who murdered Gilbert,” she said. “Her real name is Prudence Ryland. She worked as a psychic named Madame Ariadne here in San Francisco. Gilbert was unable to communicate the exact location during the séance, but now I know where she is. I will be leaving for Burning Cove first thing in the morning. Maud and Dr.Flood will accompany me.”

Rollins heard Ella’s sharp, startled gasp. He was feeling queasy, too. The situation was spinning out of control. He glanced at Maud. She looked uncharacteristically anxious. Uncertain. Harley Flood watched his patient with an air of grave concern.

Rollins pulled himself together and strove to find a calm, reasonable tone of voice. “What are you going to do, Mother? Youwon’t be able to convince the police to arrest her. You might have that kind of power here in San Francisco, but you won’t have it in Burning Cove. Not unless you have some proof that Prudence Ryland is connected to Gilbert’s murder.”

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