Chapter 1
The night before her New York City wedding, heiress Layne Hamilton dreamed she heard someone whispering in her West Central Park apartment. After she opened her eyes, the whispering continued. Puzzled as to who it might be, she raised her head off the pillow, listening.
Straining to hear, she sat up in bed. There it was again. Now she could distinguish two voices. The deeper one sounded like her fiancé Freddy. The higher voice belonged to Trish, her friend and maid-of-honor in tomorrow's wedding.
There must be an emergency. That was the only reason for Freddy to be in her apartment tonight of all nights.
Turning on a bedside light, Layne put on her robe and slippers and left her bedroom to find out what happened.
The guest room Trish occupied that night was close to the front door. Trish must have heard Freddy's knock and let him in. Perhaps she didn't want to disturb Layne. A busy day lay ahead for Layne and Freddy with a morning wedding then a luncheon reception before their flight to Tahiti.
Don't turn on the hall lights. A silent voice warned her. Aware she was probably overreacting to a situation that would be explained in a few minutes, Layne padded down the dark corridor toward the guest room and the sound of Trish and Freddy's voices.
Their voices grew louder. Be careful.
Layne stopped to listen outside the guest room before knocking on the door.
Then Freddy said something that froze her in her tracks.
"Don't look at me like that." Freddy spoke to Trish. "You know what we agreed. And it must appear to be an accident."
"Hush. Suppose she heard." Trish's low voice replied.
"You worry too much," he said. "Come here."
There was a rustling sound followed by silence.
Stunned, Layne managed to stumble back to her own room. Lock the door? Not a good idea. They mustn't know she was on to them.
Uncertain what to do, she huddled under the covers, shocked and trembling. No wonder. She'd just overheard her bridegroom and her best friend plotting her death.
She wiped away her tears. So that was how it was. Freddy lied. He didn't love her. He loved tall, curvy Trish.
In the back of her mind, Layne had always wondered how he could possibly want her with Trish around. The gorgeous redhead exuded sexuality the moment she walked into a room.
Layne prided herself on being able to see things as they were. And she knew her own limitations. Five foot four, a heart-shaped face, brown eyes and hair, she was no competition for tall and sexy Trish with her flaming red curls.
The two people she trusted most had deceived her. Well, she wouldn't fall into their trap. Still, she couldn't march into Trish's room and announce she was on to them. If they'd kill her after the wedding, they might be dangerous before it took place.
Yet, if she happened to find them together in bed, that would be a good excuse to cancel the wedding. With that thought in mind, Layne wiped away her tears, climbed out of bed and marched back down the hall.
At the guest room door, she sucked in her breath. She threw open the door, found the light switch on the wall and turned on the ceiling fixture.
The light dazzled her eyes. Blinking hard, she saw Freddy and Trish on the bed. Their heads turned and they were looking in her direction. Layne screamed.
Before Freddy could jump out of bed and stop her, Layne ran back to her own room. This time she slammed the door with all her might then locked it.
Her mind racing, she fought down panic while deciding on a course of action. Then she picked up the phone on the nightstand. Punching in the extension for the guest bedroom, she waited for someone to answer.
Trish picked up the phone. "Hello, hello. Well, talk to me, Layne. I know it's you." Sarcasm replaced Trish's customary sugar-sweet tone, like Layne had done something really stupid.
"I want both of you out of my home. If you're still here in ten minutes, I'm calling the police."
"Wait a sec, baby doll..." The voice changed to Freddy's Southern drawl.
"You heard me." Hanging up, Layne glanced at the clock. Two-thirty. She'd give them until two-forty. No, be generous. It wasn't every day you lost a fortune. Make that two forty-five.
Layne dressed while she was waiting. At two-forty, there was a light tap on her bedroom door. She didn't answer.
Five minutes later the front door slammed. She waited a few minutes to give them a chance to take the elevator. Then she thought of the night watchman downstairs.
The apartment she'd inherited from her grandmother was in the Majestic. With large rooms, hardwood floors, fireplaces and terraces, it had long been considered one of the most prestigious residential addresses in the city. Though her owner's maintenance fee was steep, it included excellent security.
Layne punched in a number. A man's voice answered.
"Mr. Jenkins?"
"Yes, Miss. What can I do for you?"
"Did you just see my fiancé and girl friend leaving?"
"Want me to catch them? They're probably in the garage."
"No, thank you. By the way, Mr. Jenkins?"
"Yes, Miss?"
"Make a note, please. As of right now, those two are not to be allowed access to my floor."
"Yes, Miss."
If Jenkins was curious, it didn't show in his voice.
Relieved to have avoided a face-to-face confrontation, Layne visited the guest room. It stood vacant, the sheets on the bed rumpled, an ashtray full of cigarette butts.
She winced, seeing the crude message Trish left behind. On one wall, in large shiny red letters, presumably lipstick, the word "Bitch" was printed.
That room would need a fresh coat of paint. Layne shook her head. The woman never had any class. She wondered why she hadn't noticed that earlier. Maybe she was just too grief struck, too lonely after her grandmother died following a long illness.
All of a sudden, she yearned to get away but didn't know where to go. Not to Tahiti where Freddy and she planned to fly today for their honeymoon.
There must be somewhere you can go. Her grandmother had gently nagged her for years. Go to Virginia and visit your roots. Layne's great-great-grandfather had migrated from Virginia to New York City after the Civil War. In New York he'd made his fortune in banking. And his family remained in the city.
All at once she made up her mind. Virginia, here I come.
Eager to get away, Layne dialed the airline that Freddy and she would have flown to Tahiti. Explaining there'd been a change in plans, she cancelled the reservations and purchased a seat on a noon flight to Richmond.
With that done, she grabbed her designer silk-and-lace wedding gown off its hanger on the closet door. Stuffing it, veil and all, into a plastic trash bag, she left it, note attached, for the weekly cleaning service. Someone else might enjoy wearing it. She never wanted to see it again.
Moving on, she unpacked her suitcase, shoving her Pacific resort clothes back in the closet and refilling the suitcase with casual outfits suitable for Virginia, jeans and sweaters, a dress or two and some walking shoes. How she'd spend her time down south, she had no idea yet it did not matter. All she wanted was to escape.
Maybe she should consider changing employers. A good suspense editor was always in demand at the publishing houses. That idea she entertained for all of one minute. Then she reminded herself of the four years she'd invested in her firm since college, including many late nights reading manuscripts. And the hours she'd spent with authors, working with them, helping them smooth their novels' rough spots.
Trish had joined Layne's firm six months ago as a secretary to one of the publishers.
Layne shrugged, not feeling charitable towards the woman who'd stolen her fiancé and been his accomplice in a hideous scheme. Let Trish change jobs if she felt uncomfortable being around Layne.
One thing was sure, Freddy better keep away from her. If he didn't, she'd tell the police about his scheme. Of course it would be her word against the two of them. Freddy could always say he'd dropped her for Trish and Layne was trying to strike back at them.
The phone rang, stopped and rang again. She didn't answer. At daybreak, she couldn't wait any longer. She checked the apartment once more then took the elevator to the ground floor.
"Good morning Miss Hamilton." George McGregor, a tall, graying Scot in an immaculate maroon uniform and the building's senior doorman, greeted her in the front lobby. "Isn't this the big day?"
Layne hated to spoil her old friend's fine mood. Still, he needed to know. "There's been a change in plans, George. I've cancelled the wedding." Hopefully he wouldn't press her for the details. Her composure was tentative at best.
"I see." He gazed kindly at her. "Anything I can do?"
A flurry of affection filled Layne, easing her pain. Always available when needed, George had helped her with countless problems since she moved in with her grandmother, following the death of her parents in an automobile accident. Recently George had grieved along with her when Nana, her last surviving relative, died.
"I'm on my way to Virginia for a few days. My family comes from there. Nana always wanted me to go back for a visit."
"Ah, Virginia should be beautiful right now." George seemed to be making an effort to lift her spirits. "It's April so the cherry blossoms should be in bloom."
She nodded. There was no need to inform the old Scot that the famous cherry trees bloomed around the Reflection Pool in Washington, D.C., not across the Potomac in Virginia.
"Do you have a number where you can be reached in case of an emergency?" George's furrowed brow indicated his concern.
Layne shook her head. "I'll call you when I know where I'm staying." She patted his hand. "Don't worry. I'll be fine."
"The last conversation I had with your grandmother, I promised her to look out for you." He hesitated. "Excuse me. I don't mean to intrude. It's not like I'm part of your family."
"With Nana gone, I don't have any family that I know of, except you, George." She tiptoed and kissed his cheek.
The old man flushed. "Thank you for that." He heaved a deep sigh. "Well, we don't want you to miss your flight so let me get that taxi." He stepped off the curb and blew his whistle. The first of two yellow cabs waiting down the block whizzed to the front of the elegant old building.
Layne stood by while George loaded her suitcase into the vehicle and helped her into the back seat. Leaning into the taxi, he reminded her of her promise. "Don't forget to let me know where you are."
"I will." She waved to him as the taxi driver edged into the morning traffic. "LaGuardia, please. Take me to the American Airlines Terminal." Sitting back, she tried to relax.
The driver nodded and gave the rush hour traffic his undivided attention. Thank goodness. She wasn't good at small talk with strangers.
)
