when he’d moved away. He was still tall—six feet—but training at the police academy had totally changed his physique. His face had filled out, and a recent dye job had turned his hair a dark brown. He was fairly confident that he could engage in his undercover investigation without worrying about recognition. His father was the one who had known the Sheldons and Heather Fox, the murdered nursemaid. In the years he’d been away, Brian had never had any social contact with the families of past or present residents of the Stoneview estate.
After mailing the invitation response to Robyn Valcourt, Brian had learned she was Lynette Valcourt’s granddaughter, an unmarried professor of romance languages at an exclusive women’s college in Portland. A child of parents in the diplomatic service, she’d come to live at Stoneview two years after Brian’s family had left Chataqua, so they had never met. Brian pictured her as very staid, distant and bookish, a product of a class-conscious society.
In preparing for his undercover deception, he’d pored over every scrap of information recorded in the police files at the time of the crimes. He went over and over every detail, trying to come to terms with one inconsistency that kept nagging at him. The timing of the nursemaid’s murder seemed wrong. Heather Fox had not been killed the night the baby was snatched, as would be expected if she was trying to protect her charge. Instead, the ransom had been paid and the baby returned when the nursemaid was found strangled on the estate grounds a day later. Why then and not earlier?
More than ever, he was determined to use this unexpected opportunity to conduct his own “on site” investigation, and clear his father’s reputation once and for all. His agenda was to interact with the people who had been involved, and follow up any clues that came to light or might have been missed in the original investigation. Since he had no idea of the current situation at Stoneview, he’d have to play it by ear and hope for the best.
Instead of renting a car in Chataqua, he decided to approach Stoneview by water in a small rented motorboat. It was midafternoon when he steered it across Chataqua Lake toward the large white mansion built on a slight rise on the opposite shore. Landscaped lawns and gardens were bordered by thick forested areas that provided a natural privacy for the estate, isolating it from other homes on that side of the lake. As he came closer, Brian saw two people standing near the boathouse and cement pier.
Good, he thought. This might make things easier.
He wasn’t looking forward to walking up to the house and presenting himself, cold turkey, at the door. As he cut the motor and eased the craft toward the dock, both the man and woman turned around, watching him.
A muscular, middle-aged fellow in workman’s clothes peered at Brian pugnaciously from under the brim of his straw hat. The bullish air about him didn’t invite unexpected social calls, and the young woman beside him seemed equally guarded. She must have been in her early twenties, Brian guessed. Her hair was the color of reddish-brown fall leaves, and she was wearing pale green slacks that hugged her shapely figure.
Could this be the granddaughter?
Brian’s preconceived idea of a bookish college professor took an instant dive. Such an appealing feminine body and delicate features certainly didn’t match the mental picture he’d had. Still, there was something about the way she held herself that warned him she was, indeed, Robyn Valcourt. He had the impression from their body language that she’d been instructing the man about some task.
Brian offered a friendly wave as he walked toward them, and without waiting for any response, quickly introduced himself.
“Hi, I’m Brian Keller. My great-uncle is Joseph Keller. I responded to an invitation to the birthday celebration,” he added. “Regretfully, Joe is too ill to come.”
“Joe Keller, the fighter!” The man’s ruddy face lost its glower as he broke into a wide smile. He looked to be somewhere in his early forties, with sandy hair, bushy eyebrows and ruddy features. “Well, I’ll be. My dad was one of Joe Keller’s biggest fans. Pa was working at one of the neighboring estates when Keller lived here. They were about the same age. He won a pile of money on Joe’s fights. Lost a pile, too,” he admitted with an even broader smile.
“Is that so?” Brian laughed with him.
The man stuck out a callused hand. “Nick Bellows.”
“Nice to meet you, Nick. I’ll have to tell Joe about his secret admirer.”
There was nothing of Nick’s open-armed friendliness in Robyn Valcourt’s manner when Nick introduced her as “Miss Valcourt.” She simply nodded and gave him a cool, “Hello.”
Even though she was better looking than Brian had imagined, her distant manner didn’t surprise him. Obviously, his inopportune arrival had put her on guard.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Valcourt,” he responded politely. “I’ve been looking forward to visiting Stoneview.”
“And you’ll be coming back for the celebration, Mr. Keller?” she asked politely, but in a tone that clearly emphasized the affair was more than a week away.
“Yes, of course.” Brian glanced innocently toward the house, which was approached by a long red cement sidewalk from the water’s edge. “Joe has some very fond memories of this place. I was hoping you might not mind if I had a look around before the busy day.”
“We’re on a tight schedule,” she answered quickly.
“I understand. A big event like this must take a lot of planning.”
She gave him a fleeting smile as if she appreciated his recognition of the hard work that went into a centennial celebration.
“We’ve got plenty to do before then,” Nick agreed as he waved an exasperated hand toward a two-story boathouse, where large doors had fallen inward and crushed the two boats inside. “Look at that, would you?”
“Wow, what happened?” Brian asked, hoping to keep the conversation going while he figured out how to get past Miss Robyn Valcourt’s resistance.
“A blasted ice storm last winter!” Nick swore. “Strong winds whipped everything in sight. All the custom-made repair parts have finally arrived. Tore the boathouse doors right off their hinges. Don’t know how I can get it ready in time.” He directed this last sentence to Robyn, and added, “You’ll have to explain to your grandmother that I’m not a miracle worker—especially with all the other stuff I’ve got to do.”
“Maybe I could help out some way?” Brian suggested smoothly. “My plans are to just hang around Chataqua, waiting for the big day. My dad and I built a cabin a couple of summers ago. I learned to use a hammer and saw pretty good. I’d be glad to have something to do.”
Nick raised a questioning eyebrow at Robyn. “Sounds good to me.”
“We wouldn’t want to impose,” Robyn said smoothly, a firm dismissal in her tone.
“I wouldn’t have offered if that were the case.” Brian gave her his best people-management smile.
“What kind of business are you in, Mr. Keller?”
“Oh, I have my fingers in quite a few projects. I’m an independent business analyst—on vacation.”
“He could bunk with me in the cottage,” Nick suggested. “We’ve got that extra room, and you were just saying that we might have an overflow
