House of Dreams Read Online Free Page B

turned, almost running, and quite shoving past Tracey.
    â€œAunt Catherine!” Cass had never seen her aunt act in such a manner before.
    Tracey was also wide-eyed.
    â€œWhy don’t you show our guest to his room,” Cass said. She didn’t wait for a reply. She hurried down the hall after Catherine, pushing open the door to the kitchen.
    Inside it was a flurry of activity, as the caterer and her staff were busy making the last-minute preparations for a cocktail hour and a supper that would serve forty. Catherine stood by the end of the center aisle, hunched over it, leaning upon it, her back to Cass. She was shaking.
    Cass did not understand. She rushed to her aunt, slipping her arm around her. “What’s wrong? What has happened?” Cass cried.
    At first Catherine couldn’t speak. She could only shake her head wordlessly, continuing to tremble.
    â€œAunt Catherine, talk to me, please,” Cass begged. One of the staff handed her a tissue and her aunt accepted it, dabbing at her eyes.
    â€œI never expected this,” she whispered. “After all these years. Cassandra, we must get that man out of this house—and out of Tracey’s life.”
    Cass was incredulous. “Why?”
    â€œWhy?” Catherine turned on her, and Cass was shocked to see both pain and fear in her aunt’s wide eyes. Catherine was shaking. “I will tell you why, Cassandra. I killed his father.”

TWO
    â€œWhat is wrong with Auntie Catherine?” Alyssa asked. She was perched on the canopied bed in Cass’s bedroom. The room was stone floored, but numerous multicolored Persian rugs covered it. The walls were painted a lovely deep hue of salmon, almost matching the tawny marble mantel over the fireplace. There was a seating area there, which Cass often used, but not as much as she used the huge eighteenth-century secretaire in one corner of the room, where her laptop was set up.
    â€œI’m not sure,” Cass said, clad only in a pair of panty hose and a bra. Cass remained stunned. Catherine had not explained her astonishing statement. Instead, she had dashed out of the kitchen, leaving Cass standing there in absolute shock.
    Cass was very close to her aunt. Catherine was her best friend in the entire world, as well as her surrogate mother. Cass’s father had died when she was three; her mother had died when she was eleven, and Catherine had taken the sisters in. Catherine had no children of her own. Quite early in her marriage, her husband, Robert Belford, had suffered a massive and debilitating stroke. For all intents and purposes, Cass and Tracey’s aunt was their mother.
    Catherine was, to Cass’s mind, an amazing woman. She had not only raised the sisters herself while caring for her invalid husband, she had devoted herself to a good dozen charities throughout her life. She was a pillar of the community and an exemplary human being. She was a giver, not a taker.
    She could not have killed a man.

    I killed his father.
    Cass felt ill. She told herself that there was an explanation, and that Catherine had not been speaking literally.
    But what if she had? What had happened, and when had it happened? Clearly Antonio de la Barca knew nothing.
    Cass grimaced as she recalled the way her sister had clung so possessively to him earlier in the foyer.
    â€œAunt Cass, are you plotting a new scene?”
    Alyssa cut in to her thoughts and Cass blinked. “Not really,” Cass said.
    â€œYou had this funny look on your face. You had better hurry, Aunt Cass, or you’ll be the last one to arrive at the party,” Alyssa said gravely. “I think you should wear that red dress Mother bought for you.”
    â€œI don’t think so,” Cass said. She had to get dressed, but she could not seem to focus on the task at hand. Her mind was swimming … images of her aunt competing with images of Antonio de la Barca and Tracey.
    â€œMother looked beautiful in