Cold feet - Page 10/81

He could see only a slice of the bedroom and bath through two open doorways, but he could tell the bedroom was furnished with a four-poster bed, a fluffy down comforter and more pillows--these in red, white and blue. The bathroom had an old-style sink with brass fixtures.

He liked the place, he realized. It had the sort of country charm his mother had taught him to appreciate.

Taking a narrow path that led through the herb garden, he crossed over to the main house, where he saw a similar decorating theme. Madison's home wasn't quite as light and airy as the garage, certainly not as new, but it had a warm, cozy atmosphere.

The sound of a car pulling up made Caleb jerk away from the window and start toward the drive.

A petite woman he recognized as Madison Lieberman jumped out of a Toyota Camry as soon as she cut the engine. "Oh, my gosh! I never dreamed you'd beat me here," she exclaimed, obviously flushed from hurrying. A thin, strawberry-blond girl got out much more slowly, clinging to an old stuffed rabbit. "The ferry must be moving quickly today."

Caleb hadn't taken the ferry. He'd come south over Deception Pass from Fidalgo Island, which was due north. But he didn't correct her. He was enjoying the warmth of this reception--especially when he compared it to the "Get off my property" he'd most likely receive the moment he identified himself as the crime writer who'd contacted her before.

"Did you peek in the windows?" she asked.

He cleared his throat. "Actually, I did."

"I think you'd be very comfortable here."

Madison was much more attractive in person. Maybe it was because this was the first time Caleb had ever seen her smile. Only five foot four or so, she had a gymnast's body, which made him believe she stayed active, and almond-shaped brown eyes. Her hair was auburn--not his favorite color--but it looked soft and swayed gently around her chin in a stylish cut. And other than a few freckles sprinkled across her nose, her complexion was smooth and slightly golden.

"I know you're worried about privacy," she was saying, "but we'd never bother you. It's quiet here."

The little girl with Madison glared at him. He could definitely see a family resemblance, mostly through the mouth. They both had full, pouty lips. "Is this your daughter?" he asked.

"It is. Say hello, Brianna," Madison prompted.

Brianna said nothing. She folded her arms around her stuffed toy and jutted out her sharp little chin.

"She's not happy about renting out the carriage house," Madison explained. "She called her father last night and he told her--" she waved her hand "--oh, never mind. I've got the key right here. Why don't we take a look inside?"

Caleb realized that now was probably a good time to explain that he wasn't who she thought he was. But he didn't see any need to hurry. It certainly wouldn't hurt to catch a glimpse of what Madison Lieberman was really like. That could only help him understand her family and, by extension, her father.

"Sounds good," he said, following her to what she'd labeled the carriage house.

Brianna glanced back at him several times, as if she thought she could scare him away with her dark looks. But he merely smiled and, when Madison swung the door wide, stepped past her.

The place smelled like an expensive candle store, Caleb decided as he began to notice several things he'd missed before--the vase of fresh wildflowers on the kitchen table, the small shower in the bathroom he'd been unable to see from the window, the mahogany entertainment center in the bedroom that housed another television.

"You know, from your voice, I thought you'd be older," Madison said as she watched him look around.

Opening what appeared to be a pantry, he pretended not to hear her. "How soon did you want to get someone in here?"

"As you can see, it's ready. I've had a phone installed and everything. You could move in tomorrow."

The hope in her voice and the modest car she was driving reinforced Caleb's impression that, considering Danny Lieberman's wealth, she hadn't managed to get a very good divorce settlement. "How long has it been on the market?"

"A little over a month. But I've lowered the price." She tucked a strand of hair behind one ear in a self-conscious movement. "I'm only asking eight hundred."

He nodded and walked back into the living room, wondering how to turn the conversation to her father--while feeling a peculiar reluctance to do so. "This place is small but...nice," he said.

Brianna was sitting on the couch with her stuffed rabbit and had spread several sheets of paper on the coffee table in front of her.

"These are very good," he said when he realized they were sketches, and that she meant for him to see them. "Who drew them?"

"My mom."

He studied the first, a pencil drawing of an old, gnarled hand gripping a cane, then the second, a set of clasped hands--one male, the other female--and the last, an intriguing pair of eyes. Were they Ellis Purcell's eyes? Caleb could have sworn they were. They seemed to hold all kinds of dark secrets.

He wondered if Madison knew those dark secrets, and if he'd ever be able to get them out of her.

"Brianna, what are you doing with my sketches?" Madison asked, coming up from behind.

"I think she's proud of you," Caleb said. "And it looks as though she has reason to be. You're very talented."

Madison quickly gathered up her drawings. "Thanks, but it's just a hobby." After setting them aside, she clasped her hands in a businesslike manner. "So, do you like it? Do you want the place?"

He was about to explain that he hadn't really come to rent the carriage house when there was a knock on the door.

Brianna grabbed her stuffed rabbit and ran to open it. A tall, white-haired gentleman who looked to be in his late fifties stood on the stoop. "Is your mommy here?"

Brianna turned expectantly, and Madison approached the door. "Can I help you?"

"I'm Dwight Sanderson."

"Who?" she said.

Caleb watched the man's face cloud with confusion at Madison's startled reaction. "I spoke with you a few days ago and then again this morning, remember? I'm here to see the house."

"But--"

"I'm afraid you're too late," Caleb interrupted, joining them at the door. "It's already taken."

Madison blinked at him in surprise, and Caleb felt a good measure of surprise himself. What the hell did he think he was doing?

"I thought you were...Who are you?" Madison asked, turning to him.

"Caleb Trovato." He stuck out his hand, fairly confident she'd never recognize his name. He wrote under the pseudonym Thomas L. Wagner, his mother's grandfather's name, and had signed the letters he'd sent her and Danny the same way, since they'd been written in a professional capacity.