most vulgar piece was the coffee table. Its round glass top was supported by a center column shaped like a kneeling blackamoor, naked except for a crimson-and-gold loincloth.
She moved on to the dining room where a pair of crystal chandeliers topped a table that could easily seat twenty. But the most oppressive of the downstairs rooms was the study, which was outfitted with Gothic arches, thick, olive green velvet drapes, and dark, heavy furniture including a massive desk and a chair that looked as if it could have belonged to Henry VIII.
She reentered the foyer just as Cal was bringing in his golf clubs. As he leaned them against the side of the fountain, she looked up toward the second floor, which was surrounded by a balcony of grillwork that was even more ornate than the balcony outside. “I’m afraid to see the upstairs.”
He straightened and regarded her with cold eyes. “You don’t like it? I’m hurt. Hillbillies like me spend our whole lives dreaming of owning a beautiful place like this.”
She barely repressed a shudder as she turned away and headed upstairs, where she wasn’t surprised to find more swags, fringe, velvet, and gilt. She opened a door at one end and stepped into the master bedroom, which was a nightmare of red, black, and gold. It held still another chandelier along with a king-size bed resting on a platform. A red-brocade canopy decorated with heavy gold-and-black tassels topped the bed. Something caught her eye, and as she walked closer, she saw that the underside of the canopy held an enormous mirror. She quickly backed away, only to realize that Cal had entered the room behind her.
He went over to the bed and looked under the canopy to see what had caught her attention. “Well, what do you know? I always wanted me one of these. This house is even better than I thought it’d be.”
“It’s awful. Nothing more than a monument to greed.”
“Doesn’t bother me none. I wasn’t the one who cheated the God-fearing.”
His narrow-mindedness maddened her. “Think of all those people sending Snopes money they squeezed out of their food budget and social security checks. I wonder how many malnourished children went into that ceiling mirror?”
“A couple dozen for sure.”
She shot him a quick look to see if he was joking, but he had wandered over to explore an elaborate ebony cabinet that held electronic equipment.
“I can’t believe how callous you’re being about this.” She didn’t even know why she was trying to make someone so self-involved and intellectually impaired see beyond his limits.
“You’d better not say that in front of G. Dwayne’s creditors. More than a few of them are finally getting paid because I bought this place.” He slid out a deep drawer in the cabinet. “He sure did have a taste for porn. There must be a couple dozen X-rated videos in here.”
“Perfect.”
“You ever see
“That does it!” She stomped over to the cabinet, dug into the drawer, and filled her arms with the cassettes. The pile was so large, she had to brace it under her chin as she headed out the door to find a garbage can. “Starting now, this house is G-rated.”
“That’s right,” he called after her. “The only use you’ve got for sex is to get yourself knocked up.”
She felt as if she’d been kicked in the stomach. She stopped at the top of the stairs and turned to face him.
He glared at her with those damn-the-torpedo eyes, his hands splayed on his hips, chin jutted forward, and she wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d told her to meet him outside so they could settle this with their fists. Once again, she realized how woefully ill equipped she was to handle this man. Surely there had to be a better way than sniping.
“Is this how we want to live for the next three months?” she asked quietly. “With the two of us attacking each other?”
“Works for me.”
“But we’ll both be miserable. Please. Let’s call a truce.”
“You want a truce?”
“Yes. Let’s stop all these personal attacks and try to get along.”
“No dice, Professor.” He stared at her for a long moment, then walked forward, his steps unhurried, but still threatening. “You’re the one who started this dirty little war, and now you’re going to live with the consequences.” He brushed past her and headed down the stairs.
She stood there with her heart pounding as he disappeared out the front door. Moments later, she heard the sound of the Jeep driving away. Deeply depressed, she dragged herself to the kitchen, where she deposited the videotapes in the trash.
The requisite Snopes’s family crystal chandelier hung over an island workspace topped with black granite that made it look like a crypt, an effect that was enhanced by the shiny black marble floor. The connecting breakfast nook had a charming bay window and a beautiful view. Unfortunately, the view had to fight a built-in banquette upholstered in blood red velvet and wallpaper printed with metallic red roses so full-blown they seemed on the verge of decay. The entire area looked as if it had been decorated by Dracula, but at least the view was pleasant, so she decided to settle in there until she felt more able to cope.
For the next few hours, she alternated between putting away the groceries that had been delivered, making phone calls to tie up loose ends in Chicago, writing a quick note to Caroline, and brooding. As evening approached, the quiet in the house grew thick and oppressive. She realized her last meal had been a very early breakfast, and though she had little appetite, she began putting together a small meal from the badly stocked pantry.
The groceries that had been delivered included multiple boxes of Lucky Charms, cream-filled chocolate cupcakes, white bread, and bologna. It was either hillbilly gourmet or the dream diet of a nine-year-old boy-either way, it didn’t appeal to her. She preferred her food fresh and as close to its natural state as possible. Deciding on a grilled cheese sandwich made from Styrofoam white bread and rubbery slices of artificial cheese, she settled on the red velvet banquette to eat.
By the time she’d finished, the events of the day had caught up with her, and she wanted nothing more than to stumble into bed and sleep, but her suitcases weren’t in the foyer. She realized Cal must have put them away while she’d been exploring the house. For a moment, she remembered that awful master bedroom and wondered if he thought she was going to share it with him. She immediately dismissed the idea. He’d been avoiding even the slightest physical contact with her; she certainly didn’t have to worry about him being sexually aggressive.
The knowledge should have comforted her, but it didn’t. There was something so overwhelmingly male about him that she couldn’t help feeling threatened. She simply hoped her superior intelligence would win over his physical strength.
The colored lights of the fountain in the foyer below threw grotesque fun-house shadows on the walls as she made her way upstairs to find a bedroom for herself. With a shudder, she headed toward the door at the end of the hallway, choosing it only because it was farthest from the master bedroom.
The charming little nursery she found surprised her. Simply decorated with blue-and-white-striped wallpaper, it held a comfortable rocker, white enameled bureau, and matching crib. Above it hung a needlework prayer mounted in a simple frame, and she realized this was the only religious object she’d seen inside the house. Someone had designed this little boy’s nursery with love, and she didn’t believe it had been G. Dwayne Snopes.
She sank down in the wooden rocker that sat by a window with tieback curtains and thought about her own child. How could it ever grow strong and happy with two parents constantly at war? She remembered the promise she’d made Annie Glide to put Cal’s welfare before her own and wondered how she had let the old lady trap her into agreeing to something so impossible. It seemed even more ironic in view of the fact that he had promised nothing in return.
Why hadn’t she been wilier and ducked the old lady’s prodding as he’d done? Still, in light of the wedding vows she’d spoken, what difference did one more broken promise make?
As she rested her head against the back of the rocker she searched for a way to make peace with him. Somehow she had to accomplish it, not because of what she’d said to Annie, but because it was best for the baby.
A little after midnight, Cal sealed himself in the study to call Brian Delgado at home. While he waited for his attorney to answer the phone, he viewed the room’s Gothic furnishings with distaste, including the trophy heads mounted on the walls. He liked his blood sport to involve able-bodied men, not animals, and he made up his mind to
