Page 41 of A Treasure Worth Seeking

“No. It was a merciful murder,” he said bitterly. “The coroner’s report named asphyxiation as cause of death. They probably smothered him in his sleep by placing a pillow over his face.”

She covered her mouth with one hand and paled considerably but didn’t say anything. She stared straight ahead. “I’m grateful to him for having written that letter,” she said musingly. “Whatever its contents, it seemed to reassure her of his love.”

“Yes. I’m glad the burglars saw fit to leave that behind.”

“Do they have any suspects?”

“No. It will go down as one of those unsolvable murders. Burglary was the motive. He—or they—were in and out in minutes. Obviously professional. Of course, we’re lucky that they missed the money under the bed.”

“Yes, aren’t we though,” she sneered. An uncontrollable urge to hurt him seized her. She wanted to punish him for treating her the way he had the night before. She wanted him to suffer under verbal attacks the way he had made her suffer.

“You should be very proud of yourself, Mr. Barrett. You can go home the hero now. What do you say when you’ve succeeded in ruining someone’s life? ‘Well, boys, we can close the cover on this one.’ Or maybe, ‘Wrap this one up’?”

It wasn’t fair. She knew it wasn’t. He hadn’t been responsible for Ken’s crime. But she was hurt. She would never see her brother. All her dreams of establishing family ties, sharing, finding affection, had been cruelly dashed. She wanted to lash out at something, someone, for the pain she was feeling. Lance was there. It wasn’t fair, but she felt a perverse sense of satisfaction at seeing the lines around his mouth tighten. His eyebrows lowered over glowering eyes.

To escape that hard stare, she leaned her head back on the seat cushion and shut her eyes. A few minutes later, she felt rather than heard him stop a flight attendant as she made her way up the aisle.

Lance nudged her elbow and ordered, “Here, drink this.”

He was holding a glass of liquor. “What is it?”

“Brandy. You need it.”

She shook her head no. “I don’t drink anything that strong.”

He looked at her scornfully, then said, “Well I do.” He gulped the first glass of the amber liquid and tears came to his eyes. He made a terrible face and sucked in his breath when the fiery liquor hit his stomach, but then he lay his head back and closed his eyes. “You really should try it. It does wonders for the nerves.” He sipped at the other glass slowly.

For long moments neither of them spoke. When he did, his voice was softer. “I’m sorry about Lyman, Erin. I wouldn’t have had it end this way.”

She turned her head to face him. His eyes met hers across the inches of dusty upholstery that separated them. “I know,” she whispered. “What I said before was foolish and unfair. Forgive me?”

For an answer, he reached out and took her hand. He passed his brandy glass to a flight attendant, then moved into the middle seat next to the one by the window in which Erin sat. He raised the armrest separating them. Very few lights remained on inside the aircraft. The few passengers on board were either sleeping or using the dim overhead lights above their seats. The flight attendants, after having seen to everyone’s comfort, had retired to their assigned stations.

With her hand lying in the palm of his, he examined it with the fingers of his other hand. He traced the long, oval nails, the knuckles, and the fine delicate veins on the backs of her hand. His knee was pressing companionably against hers. Somehow her shoulder had come under the protection of his.

“Tell me about your husband, Erin.” The request was made quietly, almost inconsequentially.

She didn’t pretend ignorance. Giving in to an irresistible urge, she lay her head on his shoulder. “Joseph was the kindest man I’d ever met. He was immensely successful in business. Part of his success stemmed from the fact that his employees adored him. He gave even the lowliest mail clerk a share in the profits. Some may accuse him of being a shrewd manager, but I think that he really wanted to distribute his wealth.”

Lance raised his arm and put it around her shoulders, pulling her closer. Her head rested on his chest. “When he first started showing an interest in me, I thought it was because he valued my judgments, my knowledge of his business. And he did. But it was only after we had had several dinner dates that I realized he was seeing me because he liked me. In retrospect, I think I recaptured his youth. He had been widowed for many years. His children were grown and led their own busy lives. For a long time, his business had been his only interest in life. He was lonely.

“Anyway, he asked me to marry him. I was stunned and a little frightened. He had always been so scrupulously mannerly that his proposal took me completely off guard. I consented, not because I loved him, at least not romantically, but because I thought he would be hurt if I refused.”

Her hand had found its way to Lance’s thigh, and she was running her finger up and down the crease in his trouser leg. “I married him, much to everyone’s dismay. I think my name was bandied about as being an opportunist, a gold digger. I didn’t like people thinking badly of me, but I knew my motives were above reproach. I couldn’t let other uninformed opinions affect me or Joseph. I was young, lonely, and just a little flattered that such an important man could love me. That’s all there was to it. He died later that same year.”

Lance captured her hand with his and pressed it against the muscle of his leg. “Not quite all, Erin.”

His tone was so intimate that she blushed. She raised her eyes briefly. He was leaning down over her so closely that their faces nearly came into contact. His blue eyes speared through her own. She returned her head to his chest.

“The marriage was nev

er consummated. Joseph—he tried, but—he was already sick,” she stammered. Her face was flaming scarlet. “When he went to a doctor to check on—uh—the other, they discovered the malignancy. It was inoperable.”

Returning her thoughts to those sad days after Joseph’s death, Erin was made aware of the change she had undergone since meeting Lance. After Joseph’s embarrassing attempts to make her his wife in the physical sense, she had become afraid of sex. He had been so completely devastated when he couldn’t perform as a husband that Erin had felt his pain and embarrassment just as keenly as he had. She never wanted anything to do with sex again. It couldn’t be worth the price of sacrificing someone’s self-esteem.

She hadn’t become involved with a man again. It wasn’t for lack of invitation. Many men in New York had pursued her before and after her marriage to Joseph, but she had managed to bridle their passions until they became frustrated enough to seek other partners. In Houston, much the same thing had happened until she met Bart and they had finally reached an understanding about her not sleeping with him.

It wasn’t the act itself that frightened her. The O’Sheas had been a loving couple with a healthy, active sex life. Even as a child, Erin had discerned that her parents shared something special.

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