Finding Laura
Kay Hooper
More praise for Kay Hooper
FINDING LAURA
“You always know you are in for an outstanding read when you pick up a Kay Hooper novel, but in FINDING LAURA, she has created something really special! Simply superb!”
—Romantic Times (gold medal review)
“Hooper keeps the intrigue pleasurably complicated, with gothic touches of suspense and a satisfying resolution.”
—Publishers Weekly
“A first-class reading experience.”
—Affaire de Coeur
“Ms. Hooper throws in one surprise after another.… Spellbinding.”
—Rendezvous
AFTER CAROLINE
“Harrowing good fun. Readers will shiver and shudder.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Kay Hooper comes through with thrills, chills, and plenty of romance, this time with an energetic murder mystery with a clever twist. The suspense is sustained admirably right up to the very end.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“Peopled with interesting characters and intricately plotted, the novel is both a compelling mystery and a satisfying romance.”
—Milwaukee Journal Sentinel
“Kay Hooper has crafted another solid story to keep readers enthralled until the last page is turned.”
—Booklist
“Joanna Flynn is appealingly plucky and true to her mission as she probes the mystery that was Caroline.”
—Variety
AMANDA
“Amanda seethes and sizzles. A fast-paced, atmospheric tale that vibrates with tension, passion, and mystery.
Readers will devour it.”
—Jayne Ann Krentz
“Kay Hooper’s dialogue rings true; her characters are more three-dimensional than those usually found in this genre. You may think you’ve guessed the outcome, unraveled all the lies. Then again, you could be as mistaken as I was.”
—The Atlanta Journal and Constitution
“Will delight fans of Phyllis Whitney and Victoria Holt.”
—Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine
“Kay Hooper knows how to serve up a latter-day gothic that will hold readers in its brooding grip.”
—Publishers Weekly
“I lapped it right up. There aren’t enough good books in this genre, so this stands out!”
—Booknews from The Poisoned Pen
“Kay Hooper has given you a darn good ride, and there are far too few of those these days.”
—Dayton Daily News
BANTAM BOOKS BY KAY HOOPER
HAUNTING RACHEL
FINDING LAURA
AFTER CAROLINE
AMANDA
THE WIZARD OF SEATTLE
ON WINGS OF MAGIC
STEALING SHADOWS
HIDING IN THE SHADOWS
OUT OF THE SHADOWS
Don’t miss Kay Hooper’s latest novels of suspense
TOUCHING EVIL
WHISPER OF EVIL
And coming soon in hardcover
SENSE OF EVIL
And look for
ONCE A THIEF
Coming in October 2002
This edition contains the complete text of the
original hardcover edition.
NOT ONE WORD HAS BEEN OMITTED.
FINDING LAURA
A BANTAM BOOK
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Bantam hardcover edition published November 1997
Bantam paperback edition / July 1998
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 1997 by Kay Hooper.
Cover art copyright © 1997 by Alan Ayers.
Hand-lettering copyright © 1997 by Ron Zinn.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
For information address: Bantam Books.
eISBN: 978-0-307-76809-4
Bantam Books are published by Bantam Books, a division of Random House, Inc. Its trademark, consisting of the words “Bantam Books” and the portrayal of a rooster, is Registered in U.S. Patent and Trademark Office and in other countries. Marca Registrada. Bantam Books, 1540 Broadway, New York, New York 10036.
v3.1
FOR MY NEPHEW, CLINT—
A VERY BELATED BIRTHDAY PRESENT
CONTENTS
Cover
Other Books by This Author
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Family Tree
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
About the Author
Whisper of Evil - Preview
Family Tree
Prologue
DECEMBER 24, 1954
She set the mirror carefully on the table, her fingers lingering unconsciously to trace the intricate swirls of polished brass. The eyes she raised to meet his were wide and disturbed.
“Why are you telling me this?” Her voice was unsteady.
“Because you have to know.” He stepped nearer to her, his face tightening a little at her obvious distress. “Don’t you see what it means, darling? Don’t you understand?”
“I don’t believe it.”
“Catherine—”
She shook her head once, violently. “No. I don’t believe it. How could I believe it? You’re asking me to set aside all the teachings of my lifetime.”
It had been a mistake to tell her, he realized that now. She was too deeply religious, her faith too absolute, to allow for acceptance of such a thing—even when it came from him. Something coldly uneasy stirred inside him as he gazed at her agitated face.
“It’s all right, darling,” he said soothingly. “Just a farfetched idea of mine, that’s all. Because I love you so much, it just seems to me—”
“No.” She was looking at him as if at a stranger, a stranger with shocking ideas. “No, you believe it. You really believe it.”
He wanted to deny that, to say anything to wipe away the frightened look on her face, the panicked bewilderment in her eyes. But he did believe what he had told her, and he knew himself too well to think he would be able to lie about it—especially to her.
Attempting the next best thing, he said, “Does that really matter, Catherine? There are other things we don’t agree on, other ways we think differently. Why should this matter?”
The last vestige of color drained from her face. “You mean … all this time you’ve been going with me to church, and you didn’t believe? You have no faith? You—you’ve been lying to me?”
“No, not lying. I just believe in a different interpretation of God’s word, that’s all. A different explanation of—”
But she was backing away from him, her wide eyes agonized. “I—I don’t know you at all,” she murmured. “How can I marry a man I don’t even know?”
“Catherine—” He reached out for her, but she turned, stumbling a little, and rushed from the room.
For just a moment he stood there, cold with anxiety, with the hollow awareness of having made the biggest mistake of his life. Then he heard the cracked muffler of her beat-up jalopy roar with life, and his heart leaped into his throat as he raced for the door. It was pouring rain out, the roads slick as glass, and she wasn’t a very good driver.…
Her car fishta
iled out of the driveway as he climbed into his and started the engine with jerky urgency. He knew where she would go. To her church, where she had taken all the problems and questions of her life. But it was on the other side of town, with too many hairpin turns and steep hills to traverse at high speed in the pouring rain.
He wasn’t far behind her, he thought, but he couldn’t see much beyond the hood of his car and had to slow down, cursing under his breath. He could feel the tires slipping, losing traction even at the slower speed, and the coldness inside him spread outward like icy ripples in a pool.
She’ll be safe. She has to. Her God will take care of her.
But then his car reached the top of one of the many vicious hills, and his headlights caught the ragged break in the old wooden fence that had been erected as a pitiful barrier. Frantic, he stopped his car and wrenched the door open, already calling her name. He was soaked in the seconds it took him to reach the gap in the fence, water streaming in his eyes and blinding him so that he almost catapulted over the edge of the embankment before he could stop himself.
He swiped a hand across his eyes and peered through the driving rain. Lightning flashed, offering a quick, stark glimpse of what lay below. It was her car, canted at an impossible angle, a red glow underneath it hellish evidence of terrible danger. He started forward, slipping in the mud, thinking of nothing except getting to her.
He was still twenty feet from the car when there was a hollow whomp, and the explosion lifted the vehicle briefly into the air. The blast of heat knocked him backward off his feet, and by the time he struggled to sit up, flames had engulfed the car.
Paralyzed with horror, with the first razor slashes of agony, he saw, in the cruel light the fire provided, Catherine’s hand. It lay across the ledge of the driver’s-side window, limp and unmarked by the shattered glass all around it. And on the third finger, the diamond he had given her glittered with bright and mocking promise.
Chapter 1
Just a couple of hours tomorrow morning, I promise. Come on, Laura—it’ll be fun.”
Laura Sutherland pulled her sunglasses down her nose to peer at her companion, wincing at the brightness of the afternoon light bouncing off the blue water of the apartment complex’s pool. “Fun for who? Cass, I hate antiques. You know I hate antiques.”
Basking in the hot sunlight a few feet away from her umbrella-shaded friend, Cassidy Burke rubbed more suntan lotion onto a brown thigh and made a sound of frustration. “It won’t be just antiques, Laura. According to what I’ve heard, there’ll be all kinds of things—and furniture in all kinds of styles. Besides, haven’t you always wanted to get inside the Kilbourne estate?”
“Not particularly.” Laura looked at Cassidy’s effortless tan with envy and shifted a bit to make sure her shoulder remained in the shade of the umbrella. Life really wasn’t fair. With Cass’s pale blond hair and blue eyes, she should have burned to a crisp on a day like this. But did she? Oh, no. She just tanned a golden brown. Laura, on the other hand, not only didn’t tan effortlessly, she didn’t tan at all; cursed with extremely fair skin, sunlight either burned her badly or else peppered her with freckles. She was ghost pale—and it was the end of yet another long, hot Atlanta summer.
“How can you not be curious?” Cassidy demanded. “The Kilbournes were here long before Sherman marched through, and the intrigues in that family have been grist for the newspapers for generations. You know they say that old Amelia Kilbourne killed her husband? And Amelia’s son died mysteriously, everybody knows that, when his two sons were just kids—”
“Cassidy.” Laura pushed her sunglasses back up her nose and shook her head. “Even supposing any of that ‘they say’ and ‘everybody knows’ stuff is true, do you really expect to see or hear anything of interest at an estate sale? If any of the family is even there, they’ll be behind satin ropes in rooms off-limits to the public. Bet on it.”
It was Cassidy’s turn to pull her sunglasses down her nose, and her bright blue eyes peered at Laura with undiminished interest. “Oh, the whole house is off-limits. The sale’s taking place in the side courtyard of the house. The way I heard it, when the prodigal son came home, he took charge with a vengeance. And no way was he going to permit strangers to tromp through the ancestral halls—even if he did want to sell them a few trinkets.”
“The prodigal son?” Laura asked despite herself.
“Mmm. Daniel Kilbourne. Amelia’s oldest grandson. He’s been up north enlarging the family fortune. Some kind of financial wizard, I take it. So, anyway, Amelia gets it into her head that the bursting attics and basement of the house badly need emptying, and announces an estate sale. And before you can say ‘scat,’ here comes Daniel to arrange everything.”
“Is there anything those newspapers of yours don’t know?”
Cassidy laughed and relaxed in her lounge, pushing the sunglasses back up her nose. “Not much. For instance, while the boys’ mother, Madeline, is said to be meek, mild, and completely willing to live in Amelia’s house and do as she wishes, both of her sons get away with murder—Daniel because he does what he wants despite the old lady, and Peter because he charms her into giving him his way.”
“Sounds like a lovely family,” Laura noted dryly.
“You haven’t heard the half of it. Honest, Laura, it’s like a soap opera! The old lady still technically controls most of the family fortune, but Daniel’s been running things for years, and word has it he has to fight Amelia every step of the way. He’s supposed to be hard as nails, and because of some kind of legal arrangement Amelia’s husband made just before he drowned in his own swimming pool, Daniel’s set to inherit everything when Amelia goes. Everything. The rest of the family will have to either be real nice to Daniel or else go out and get jobs once the old lady’s gone.
“And there are several relatives living in the house, you know. There’s Josie Kilbourne, some sort of cousin by marriage, I think; she doesn’t get along with Amelia’s granddaughter, Anne—who’s the daughter of Amelia’s daughter, who supposedly died mysteriously, and—”
Laura held up a hand in protest. “Enough! Cass, you’ve lost me.”
“I haven’t even mentioned Peter’s wife, Kerry,” Cassidy said in an innocent tone. “Don’t you want to know about her and the chauffeur?”
“Jeez, is there just a normally dull and boring Kilbourne?”
“Not so you’d notice. I’m telling you, it’s Peyton Place revisited.”
Laura shook her head. “Well, anyway, I’m really not interested in an estate sale, Cass. Or the Kilbournes, for that matter. I have better things to do with my Saturday morning, thanks.”
Cassidy smiled slightly and, without looking at her friend, murmured, “You know, I bet they’ll have mirrors. Bound to, with a house that big. Just think—mirrors. Old ones, God knows how old. Mirrors you could never find anywhere else.…”
After a long moment, Laura said, “You’re evil.”
Cassidy turned her head and grinned at her friend. “I’ll drive. Oh—and can I borrow your blue blouse?”
LAURA’S OBSESSION WITH mirrors had been a part of her life for as long as she could remember. As a child, her family had teased her for her vanity, not understanding that it wasn’t her own reflection she gazed so intently into mirrors to see but something else. Something she couldn’t explain even to herself.
As she grew older, Laura learned to downplay her obsession, just as she had learned to downplay the other inexplicable things she felt, the things that made her different from those around her. She turned her obsession into something acceptable. She became a collector. She collected mirrors, hand mirrors. That might raise a few brows from time to time, but no one thought she was crazy to collect mirrors. Lots of people collected odd things.
She was still teased from time to time, but those who knew her best looked high and low for interesting mirrors when a gift was needed, because Laura was unfailingly delighted with them.
But no one, not her family, n
ot even Cassidy, who was her closest friend, knew just how deeply her obsession ran. They didn’t know that she still looked into every mirror she encountered, not to check her hair or makeup, but still searching for that mysterious something she couldn’t even put a name to. They didn’t know that her collection of mirrors went far, far beyond the thirty or so examples she displayed in her apartment.
Packed away in numerous boxes in the small second bedroom she used for storage were literally hundreds of hand mirrors. She didn’t buy every hand mirror she saw, of course. Some were too large or too small, too ornate or too plain, or whatever material they were fashioned in didn’t suit her. She had no mental list of characteristics, yet always knew instantly if a mirror just somehow wasn’t “right.” And eventually, all those she bought left her vaguely dissatisfied, no matter how excited she had been initially.
It occurred to her that she was searching for a specific mirror, but she had no idea why she would be. Or what that mirror represented to her. She didn’t even have a clear picture in her mind to go by, only flashes of intuition and the evidence of what she had collected through the years. Looking at those, she could guess that it was a fairly small hand mirror, fashioned out of some kind of metal and with an intricate design on the handle and back.
But why she searched so intently for such a thing, or what it could possibly mean to her, Laura had no idea. She knew only that it wasn’t possible for her to pass up a chance to perhaps find a wonderful new mirror, any more than it was possible for her to willfully stop the beating of her heart.
THE KILBOURNE ESTATE was set in one of the old and gracious suburbs of Atlanta, well back from the road and surrounded by fencing made up of red brick and wrought iron. The house stood amid stately oak trees on property that was thirty acres of immaculately groomed, meticulously planned and landscaped perfection. Various magazines and historical societies had named it the Most Beautiful Estate in Atlanta for so many years that it had been tacitly retired from consideration in recent years so that other estates might carry the banner.
