The Seventh Night Read Free Page B

daylight outside.
    Turning, I scanned the terminal once more with growing concern. We’d been on the ground for almost an hour, and there was still no sign of my father. When I’d last spoken with him on the phone to tell him my plans, he’d been adamant about meeting my plane. His voice had still contained that same sense of urgency I’d told Dr. Layton about.
    “I need to see you right away, Christine, before someone else—Never mind. Just get here as quickly as you can. I’ve got a lot to tell you, decisions I’ve made that could greatly affect both our lives. You have to help me. You’re my only living blood relative.”
    When I’d pressed him further about his plans, however,he’d grown quiet, mysterious, and he’d hung up soon after, leaving me feeling strangely disquieted.
    Giving the terminal one last glance, I shoved my suitcase against the wall near a pay phone, inserted a coin into the slot, and dialed the St. Pierre Hotel’s number. The operator who answered had a faint French accent.
    “Christopher Greggory, please.”
    “One moment.”
    The pause lengthened until I wondered if I’d been disconnected. Listening impatiently to a recording of a steel band, I drummed my fingers on the metal shelf under the phone and worried about why my father hadn’t met my plane. Had he changed his mind about seeing me? Had he decided he didn’t want a relationship with me, after all?
    The questions and mounting doubts gnawed at my insecurities. I was just about to hang up when the receiver clicked and someone came on the line.“
    “Reid St. Pierre.”
    I very nearly dropped the phone. The sound of his voice, so close and so intimate in my ear, stunned me. The deep, rich tones shook me to my toes. My throat tightened, my mouth went dry, and my fingers holding the receiver began to tremble. With those two words—that name—I’d stepped into a time capsule and reverted back to the shy, insecure eighteen-year-old I’d tried so hard to leave behind.
    “Hello? Is anyone there?” His voice was edged with annoyance now.
    I tried to gather my shattered poise. “I…I was holding for my…for Christopher Greggory.”
    “He isn’t here at the moment. Is there something I can help you with?”
    “Is he on his way to the airport?” I asked, wincing at the tremor in my voice. I bit my lip and tried to recall what Dr. Layton had told me. “You’re twenty-eightyears old, Christine…no longer the confused teenager you were at eighteen.”
    Right. So why did I feel just as confused now by the mere sound of Reid St. Pierre’s voice?
    “Why would he be on his way to the airport?” His tone was sharp, distinct and tinged with what might have been suspicion.
    “Because he was supposed to meet me here an hour ago. If he’s not on his way, I’ll just grab a cab—”
    Very quietly, he said, “Who is this?”
    Definite suspicion this time. I lifted my chin in defiance. “This is Christine Greggory. His daughter.”
    The pause that followed could only be called pregnant. I could almost feel the tension popping and crackling along the phone line. But when he spoke, his masculine voice revealed nothing but a mild curiosity. “Am I to understand that you’re here in Columbé?”
    “Yes.”
    “And Christopher was expecting you?”
    “Yes. Didn’t he tell you?”
    Dead silence met my question. Then he said softly, almost indifferently, “When were these…arrangements made?”
    “Excuse me?”
    “When did you last speak to Christopher?”
    “Last night. Look, if he’s not there—”
    “What time?” The question was quiet, but somehow I sensed a note of urgency behind it.
    “I don’t know,” I answered, my tone vague. “It was late. Maybe nine or so, Chicago time. I’d had a teachers’ meeting and just gotten home—” My eyes rolled skyward. Obviously, he’d wanted that last bit of information like he wanted a hole in his head. I took a deep breath and tried again. “I don’t have his home phone