Night Whispers Read online

  Sloan was making rapid-fire mental notes to tell Paul to start talking about himself and start selling insurance. To Paris she said something completely honest. “I don’t understand men very well, so you’re asking the wrong person. I can say that Paul is an honest, dependable man, probably even a gallant one.”

  Paris nodded sagely. “That’s my impression of him, too.”

  Smiling, she stood up, her thoughts shifting to the day ahead. “You’d better get up and get dressed. I thought we’d go sightseeing and do some shopping. Paul’s going to stay here and laze around.”

  “What about a tuxedo for Paul tonight?” Sloan asked as she pushed the covers aside and swung her legs over the side of the bed.

  “I asked him, and he said he borrowed a tuxedo from a friend and brought it with him—just in case he needed it here.”

  • • •

  Sloan hurried through her shower and got dressed quickly so that she’d have time to call her mother before she left. Because she’d overslept that morning, she was going to have to call her mother at the shop, which meant it was going to be difficult for Kimberly to talk. She sat down on the side of the bed and took her credit card out of her purse.

  Propping the telephone on her shoulder, Sloan placed the credit card call and braced herself for a skirmish with the owner of the shop, Lydia Collins, who had the management style of a guard on a prison chain gang.

  Although Sloan rarely called her mother there, Lydia invariably behaved as if a personal call were grounds for dismissing her best employee.

  “Lydia,” Sloan said when the shop owner answered the phone, “this is Sloan, and I’m calling from Palm Beach—”

  Lydia’s professional friendliness abruptly dissolved into irritation. “Your mother is busy right now with a customer, Sloan.”

  Kimberly was always busy with customers because they loved her and preferred to wait for her to help them. “I understand, but I need to talk to her for just a minute.”

  “Oh, very well!”

  She smacked the phone down on the counter with enough force to make Sloan wince, but a moment later, Kimberly’s warm, excited voice made Sloan smile.

  “Darling, I’m so glad to hear from you. How is everything there?”

  Sloan assured her that her father and great-grandmother were treating her very well and that they seemed very nice. She saved the news about Paris for last, and as soon as she brought up Paris’s name, Sloan noticed that her mother grew very still, very silent. She told her everything she could about Paris, then she finished by saying, “You’re going to love her, and she’s going to love you. She wants to come to Bell Harbor very soon.” Finished, Sloan waited for her mother to comment, but she said nothing. “Mom, are you there?”

  “Yes,” her mother whispered brokenly, and Sloan realized she was crying.

  Sloan’s heart ached as she realized how hard her mother must have worked all these years to pretend she’d adjusted to giving up Paris long ago. Now the mere possibility of a reunion with that same daughter was making Kimberly cry. Sloan couldn’t even remember her mother crying before, and she felt tears spring to her own eyes. “She reminds me so much of you,” Sloan said softly. “And she loves clothes, too—she designs them.” In the background, Lydia’s strident voice called Kimberly’s name. “It sounds like you’d better go,” Sloan said. “I’ll call you again in a few days.”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Bye.”

  “Wait—” Kimberly said urgently. “Do you—do you think it would be all right if I send Paris my love?”

  Sloan blinked back tears. “Yes, I know it will. I’ll tell her.”

  29

  Edith was seated in her favorite chair in her bedroom, wearing another somber black dress, but with a large ruby and diamond brooch pinned to the bodice. Sloan wondered if she had anything brighter to wear, even a scarf.

  “Great-grandmother,” Paris said, pressing a kiss to the elderly woman’s forehead. “You said you wanted to see Sloan before we leave.”

  “I would like to speak with her privately, if you don’t mind, Paris.”

  Paris looked startled, but she nodded and left.

  Sloan hadn’t quite settled into the chair across from Edith before the old woman said pointedly, “What were you thinking a moment ago?”

  Sloan started guiltily. “I was wondering if you would wear a colored scarf if I bought you one today.”

  Her white brows shot up. “You do not approve of my taste in clothing?”

  “No, I didn’t mean that at all.”

  “Do not add dishonesty to impertinence. That is exactly what you meant.”

  Trapped, Sloan bit back a smile. “My mother always says that bright colors are uplifting.”

  “You think I need to be uplifted, is that it?”

  “Not exactly. It’s just that you have lovely eyes, and I thought a blue scarf—”

  “Now you are resorting to flattery. All of your vices are coming out into the open today,” the old lady interrupted, but with a gruff smile. “As it happens, our minds are working along the same direction.” She glanced at the ceiling, as if that indicated the direction she was referring to.

  Sloan followed her gaze, then looked at her in bewilderment. “What direction?”

  “Up. I assume that when I am gone, I will be ascending, not descending, don’t you agree?”

  She was talking about dying, Sloan realized, and her smile faded. “I’d rather not think about it.”

  At that, Edith became brisk and businesslike. “Death is a fact of life. I am ninety-five years old; therefore, I am staring the fact in the face. However, that is not to the point. I am going to be perfectly blunt with you, and I do not wish for any sort of emotional outburst. . . .”

  Since she was always very blunt without issuing an advance warning, Sloan braced herself to hear something spectacularly unpleasant.

  Instead of speaking, Edith reached for a large dark blue velvet box on the table beside her and passed it across to Sloan; then she began to fumble with the clasp of the brooch she was wearing. Age and arthritis had twisted her fingers badly, but Sloan knew better than to offer to help her, so she sat in perplexed silence, holding the box in her lap.

  “Open the box,” Edith commanded as the brooch finally came free.

  Sloan opened the large flat case. Nestled in velvet was a spectacular ruby and diamond necklace about two inches wide, with matching earrings and bracelet. Since Edith was removing her brooch, Sloan thought perhaps she’d decided to deck herself out in this jewelry instead.

  “What do you think?”

  “Well, they’re certainly bright,” Sloan said lamely, recalling her suggestion of a scarf to brighten up Edith’s black dress.

  “Those pieces, along with this brooch, belonged to your great-great-grandmother Hanover. They have been in my family longer than any other pieces, and for that reason they have the deepest meaning for me. You have been in this family for the shortest time, through no fault of your own, and although I do not normally sink to sentimentality, it occurred to me that these jewels would be just the thing to bridge the time gap, so to speak. I wore the brooch today because it will be the last time I wear it; however, I shall look forward to seeing it on you—when you are wearing something more appropriate than those mannish pants you have on.”

  “On me?” Sloan repeated; then she recalled the formal dinner tonight and understood. “It’s very kind of you to offer to let me wear it—”

  “Silly child! I’m not loaning these jewels to you. I’m giving them to you. Ruby is your birthstone. When I’m gone, they will remind you of me and of the ancestors you never had an opportunity to know.”

  Shock sent Sloan to her feet so suddenly that she had to grab the velvet case before it was dumped onto the floor. Now she understood why all this had been preceded by a conversation about death. “I hope you will live a very long time and have many more chances to wear these. I do not need all this to remember you after you