Hidden Talents

fingers into her sexy hair.
    She raised her head and looked down at him with her unsettling, fairy eyes. “You never got around to telling me what you were thinking about earlier. Something to do with Franklin. What was it that got you out of bed in the first place?”
    Caleb remembered the jewelry box on the coffee table. He turned his head on the cushion to stare at it. The music had stopped several minutes ago. The dancers hovered motionless above the old clippings that held the ghosts of his past.
    Disturbing thoughts trickled back into his head, driving out the sultry satisfaction that had held him in temporary thrall.
    “I couldn't sleep because I kept thinking about something that Franklin said. About the two transactions he said he'd had with Asterley.”
    “What about them?”
    “He claimed that on both occasions he had followed instructions to the letter.” Reluctantly Caleb eased the soft, inviting warmth of Serenity aside. He tucked her snugly into her robe and sat up beside her. “He drove his car to a mall, parked, and went inside.”
    “And left the money in the glove compartment.” Serenity tightened her sash. “I suppose it's possible Ambrose drove to the Ventress Valley Mall on two occasions and arranged to collect blackmail money, but I just can't bring myself to believe he did something like that.”
    Caleb said nothing for a moment. Then he stood and went over to the wood stove. He opened the glass door and tossed a piece of wood inside. He walked back to the sofa, sat down, and contemplated the jewelry box again.
    “I can believe he did it once,” Caleb finally said softly. “But not twice.”
    “I don't understand.”
    Caleb picked up the jewelry box and gazed into the little mirror that was glued to the torn blue satin inside the lid. “If we're to believe Uncle Franklin—a dicey proposition, at best, given his recent track record—he had dealings with Asterley on two occasions.”
    “So?”
    “So, if he told me the truth the morning that he called me here, the second demand from the black-mailer came after Asterley died.”
    “Good grief. You're right.”
    “According to Franklin, someone collected money from the glove compartment of his car long after Asterley took the fall down those stairs.”
    Serenity sat very still, her hands fisted in the ends of the robe's sash. “There do seem to be a lot of ghosts floating around these days.”
    “I've started to notice that myself.”
    “As you said, we can't be certain that Franklin was telling the truth about being blackmailed, let alone the timing of the second five-thousand-dollar payoff,” Serenity said cautiously.
    “No,” Caleb agreed. “He could have been lying about that. But he had already confessed to paying five thousand dollars for the pictures in the first place. Why lie about the second transaction?”
    “For some reason,” Serenity said, “I didn't get the impression Franklin was lying about either transaction. But you know him far better than I do. What do you think?”
    Caleb met her eyes in the small mirror. “I didn't stop to think about it at the time. There were other things going on.”
    Serenity shivered. “That's true.”
    “At that moment during our confrontation, Franklin was completely preoccupied with the fact that the whole thing was starting to unravel on him. He'd been caught in one lie and he had nothing to gain by continuing to embroider the story. What would have been the point?”
    Serenity nodded. “He felt he was justified in his actions, anyway. After all, the photos existed. True, his clever little scheme to blackmail me had fallen apart, but everyone in the family was still nicely shocked by those pictures. He'd accomplished all he could have hoped to accomplish.”
    “Two blackmail transactions, one before Asterley's death and one afterward.” The possibilities spun relentlessly through Caleb's head. “Two blackmailers or one?”
    Serenity frowned. “You think that someone other than Ambrose was behind this whole thing right from the start?”
    “It's possible.”
    “That makes more sense to me. Ambrose just wasn't the blackmailing type. A mooch, yes, but not a blackmailer.”
    “We're back to our earlier conclusion,” Caleb said. “Someone else besides Asterley knew about those photos, about me and about my past.”
    “What worries me the most is that your uncle seemed convinced that he was dealing with Ambrose Asterley both times. And Ambrose was the only one