Little Girl Gone by Drusilla Campbell

Author:Drusilla Campbell [Campbell, Drusilla]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: (¯`'•.¸//(*_*)\\¸.•'´¯), FIC044000
ISBN: 9780446576017
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Published: 2012-01-30T13:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

The house that Jacky and Caro Jones built in the Belfleur section of Beverly Hills was a distinctly western style that would suit a landscape in New Mexico or Seattle as well as this knoll in Southern California. Constructed of stone and Douglas fir, redwood, cedar, and glass, the design was long and low and followed the curve of the hill on which it was built, facing west toward the ocean and overlooking a deep, wild canyon. From some angles it seemed to disappear into the landscape. Mr. Guerin had told Robin on the phone a few days earlier that several offers had been made on the property already. Recession or not, there were still people willing to spend millions of dollars to live in a work of art.

Robin parked the van behind the house just as the back door opened and Mr. Guerin stepped out, his arms open. Django ran into his embrace. With a pinch of shame, Robin remembered that when Django came to Arroyo, she had stood with her hands at her sides, as rigid as a pole and just as ungiving.

Robin’s friends would not call her cold. Restrained would be their word for her, or they might say that she was dignified, but never cold. Restrained and dignified would have pleased her and seemed accurate before Django came into her life. Now, as she watched her nephew and Mr. Guerin embrace, she had a flash of understanding. For a split second a light went on and she saw herself with stunning clarity. She had always envied Caro her uninhibited gift for life. Envied and resented and in reaction, she had gone to the other extreme, pulling a cool and dignified carapace about herself. She did not want to believe that her personality was little more than a reaction against her sister’s, but she thought it might be the truth.

She heard the lawyer say, “Mrs. Hancock’s upstairs, DJ. Go on up to her why don’t you?”

Guerin turned to Robin and reached for her hands, holding them between his warm, dry palms. “My dear, I know this is difficult, but I so appreciate your coming.” The shimmer in his blue eyes brought tears to her own.

He led her indoors, across a long enclosed porch crammed with shrouded outdoor furniture and into the kitchen. It was as if a maid had only moments before finished polishing the stainless steel, glass, and tile expanses. The hardwood floors gleamed in the sunlight pouring through the array of skylights. On the island counter someone had placed an arrangement of long-stemmed yellow roses—Caro’s favorite since her teens—in a cut-glass vase.

Robin looked at Guerin, questioning.

“Mrs. Hancock,” he said. “She’s arranged them throughout the house. She was their housekeeper since before Django was born. You probably know that.”

No, she had never heard of Mrs. Hancock.

“We had some great meals in this kitchen. Pasta, of course. It was the only thing Caro knew how to cook. We’d eat right at this counter. That’s how you knew Caro liked you.

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