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“No-good heartbreakers like you, Quinn.”
* * *
“Annabelle?” Wythe Vanderley’s voice vibrated with anticipation. “Hiram said you wanted to see me immediately. Dare I hope you’ve changed your mind about—”
Annabelle whirled around and glared at her loathsome cousin. “For God’s sake, don’t say anything else.”
He stared at her, speculation in his gaze. “You’ve been crying. What’s wrong?”
When he approached her, she held up a restraining hand. He stopped immediately.
“Sheriff Brody just left. He came personally to deliver some bad news…about”—she swallowed fresh tears—“about Lulu.”
Wythe’s face turned pale. “What’s happened? Has she been in a car wreck? Damn, how many times have I warned her not to drive so fast.”
“It wasn’t a car wreck.”
“What is it? What? Is she in the hospital? Do we need to—”
“Lulu was murdered,” Annabelle forced the words, hating the very sound of them. Saying them aloud made the unbearable truth more real.
“Murdered?” Wythe shook his head. “No, that’s not possible. Who’d want to hurt Lulu? Everybody loved her. You know that.” Pale and trembling like a leaf in the wind, Wythe stared at Annabelle, a dazed look in his eyes.
“Pull yourself together. Right now. I can’t have you falling apart. I need you to help me tell Uncle Louis.”
“Daddy? Oh, Lord, this will kill him.”
“What I want you to do is telephone Dr. Martin and tell him what’s happened. Ask him to come over to the house immediately,” Annabelle said. “I have duties to attend to, but as soon as Dr. Martin arrives, the three of us will take Uncle Louis aside and tell him.”
“You know I was never jealous of her.” Wythe smiled, the expression on his face pathetic. “I was fifteen when she came along and I should have hated her, but I didn’t. I adored the little puss from the first moment I saw her. Even knowing Daddy loved her far more than he ever did me didn’t change the way I felt about her.”
Annabelle did not want to hear this. Not now. Not ever. She had no time—and no stomach—for any of Wythe’s confessions. And she felt he was on the verge of one.
“Use the phone in here to call Dr. Martin.” As Annabelle walked past her cousin on her way to the door, she paused momentarily and offered him a sympathetic glance. The caring, nurturing part of her wanted to reach out and hug him, offer him comfort. But she could not bring herself to touch Wythe, not knowing what she did about him.
Once outside in the hallway, she hurried down the corridor, her head held high, her eyes dry. And all the while her heart was aching. Poor Lulu. No matter how wild and crazy she’d been, no matter how useless her life or how many times she’d disappointed her father, she didn’t deserve to die. The murder of a Memphis socialite, the daughter of a Mississippi multimillionaire and the reigning emperor of the Vanderley empire, would be front-page news by morning. Once she told Uncle Louis about Lulu, she’d make plans to drive to Memphis first thing in the morning. She would take charge, do her duty and represent the family. She intended to make it her mission to see that Lulu’s murderer was found and punished.
Quinn parked his Porsche in the two-car garage alongside Kendall’s BMW. She waited for him to retrieve his overnight bag from the trunk, then held the door open for him to enter through the kitchen of her South Bluff home, a downtown terraced house. As he followed her into the great room, he noted that the decorating style reflected the lady herself. Sleek, smart and modern. Nothing homey about the place. Lots of glass and mostly basic black-and-white, with a few tans and creams thrown in for good measure.
He was a man who noticed details, had built his career on his shrewd intuition as much as his intelligence. The house told him clearly that Kendall slept here, occasionally ate here and probably had sex here, but this place wasn’t her home. The woman didn’t have a home anymore than Quinn did. They were, by nature and nurture, vagabond loners.
He owned a penthouse in Houston, a vacation home in Jamaica and a time-share in Vail. But he didn’t have a home. Not even the ranch he’d bought in the hill country adjoining his old friend Johnny Mack Cahill’s property was really home.
He’d never needed a home. He’d been too busy building a career and getting filthy rich to be bothered with matters as mundane and unimportant as a home. But that had been in the past. He now had everything he’d ever wanted. And more. So why did he feel so empty? And so alone?
Kendall paused by the counter separating the state-of-the-art, stainless-steel kitchen from the great room. “I could fix us some hot tea or if you prefer, I can make you a stiff drink.”
“How about some hot tea and a couple more aspirins.” He rubbed his left temple with his forefinger.
“Hot tea and aspirins coming right up.” She nodded toward the hallway opening to the right of the great room. “I have two guest bedrooms. Take your pick. They both have their own private bath.”
Quinn nodded. “I’m not picky. Not tonight. I’m just grateful you offered me a place to stay. At a time like this, a little tea and sympathy is appreciated.”
She looked at him suspiciously, as if doubtful about his sincerity. “I’ll give you all the tea you want, but no sympathy.”
Quinn heaved a deep sigh, then chuckled mirthlessly. “I meant that literally, honey, not metaphorically. I didn’t think you’d brought me home with you so you could have your way with me.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You’ve changed.”
He shrugged. “Not really. Not much. But all I want from you is a cup of tea, a couple of aspirins…and maybe a little genuine sympathy. I haven’t been on the wrong side of the law since I was a teenager. I don’t like the feel of it— being a suspect in a murder case. And even though Lulu and I weren’t in a serious relationship, I did care about her.”
“As much as you can care about a woman. That’s what you mean, isn’t it?”
“Did I hurt you…back when we—”
Kendall laughed. “God, what an ego. No, you didn’t hurt me. And before you jump to any other erroneous conclusions— I have not been pining away for you all these years. It’s just that I know you. Correction, I knew you.”
“I never realized how much you disliked me,” Quinn said.
“I didn’t dislike you back then and I don’t dislike you now,” she told him. “Hell, Quinn, if I disliked you so damn much, do you think I’d have come when you called, that I’d have invited you to stay here with me if—”
She stopped midsentence as she watched him drop his overnight bag on the floor and walk toward her. When he was within a foot of her, he reached out and caressed her face with his fingertips. “It’s not me, is it? It’s your ex. The guy must have done a real number on you.”
Kendall sighed, then turned and moved away from Quinn. With her back to him, as she reached up in a cabinet for the box of tea bags, she said, “His name was Dr. Jonathan Miles. I was madly in love with him. The sex was great. His kids were holy terrors and both of them hated me. We thought that would change. It didn’t. In the end, he chose his kids. Can’t blame him. After all, he was still in love with his wife—his dead wife—and they were her kids.”
“You’re well rid of him, honey. The man didn’t deserve you.”
“No, he didn’t.” Kendall blew out a deep breath, then filled a kettle with water and placed it on the eye of her ceramic-top range. She glanced at Quinn and offered him a weak smile. “Why don’t you pick out a bedroom, freshen up and by then I’ll have the tea ready. I don’t figure you’ll get much sleep tonight.”
He nodded, then headed down the hall. No, he probably wouldn’t get any sleep tonight. He didn’t want to close his eyes because he knew what he’d see. Lulu’s lifeless body lying there on her bed. Beautiful and sexy, even in death. And her bloody hand, one digit missing. Why would anyone cut off her index finger?
Annabelle waited for Dr. Martin on the far side of her uncle’s bedroom, Wythe at her side. He’d been remarkably well-behaved, keeping his own emotions in check and actually putting his father’s needs first. She supposed in his own selfish way, Wythe did love Uncle Louis.
“No, please, please, tell me it isn’t true,” Louis Vanderley moaned as the sedative his personal physician had given him began to take effect. “My little Lulu. My precious baby girl. She can’t be dead.”
“Just lie back and relax, Louis,” Dr. Martin said.
“Annabelle?” her uncle called for her.
She went to his bedside. Dr. Martin looked at her sympathetically, then moved aside. Annabelle leaned over and took her uncle’s hand.
“I’m right here,” she told him.
“Go to Memphis. Find out what happened. Our Lulu can’t be dead.”
She squeezed his age-spotted hand. “I’ll leave first thing in the morning. And I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.”
“Someone has lied to us,” Louis said, his voice a mere whisper. “Lulu isn’t dead.”
Annabelle leaned over and kissed her uncle’s forehead. He closed his eyes and sighed heavily. She eased the satin coverlet up and over his chest. Uncle Louis was her father’s elder brother. Her father had been the youngest of four, fifteen years his elder brother’s junior. There had been two sisters born between them. Meta Anne, who’d passed away only a few years ago, an unmarried, childless career woman who’d devoted herself to helping Louis oversee the vast Vanderley empire. And Annabelle, the sister who’d died in the forties with infantile paralysis at the age of three. That Annabelle, as well as the present Annabelle Vanderley, had been named in honor of a great-great-grandmother who’d come from France as the bride of Edward Vanderley in 1855.
“Rest, dearest.” Annabelle adored her uncle Louis, who’d been a second father to her since her own father had died of a heart attack seven years ago. “I’ll find out what happened to Lulu. I promise.”
Dr. Martin stopped her on her way out of the room. “Annabelle?”
“Yes?”
“He’s seventy-eight, in poor health and has received a terrible shock,” Dr. Martin said.
“Are you trying to tell us that he might die?” Wythe asked.
“Hush.” Annabelle glanced at her uncle, who seemed to be asleep, then glowered at Wythe. “He might hear you.”
“He’s out cold,” Wythe told her.
“All I’m saying is to prepare yourselves,” Dr. Martin said. “Louis could well survive this, but…Well, it will depend on his will to live, at least in part. I’ve seen it happen before, patients who give up the will to live and die in a few weeks or a few months.”
“I’ll give him something to live for,” Annabelle said. “Once he accepts that Lulu is dead, he’ll want to see her killer punished. That alone will keep him going.”
Dr. Martin shook his head. “Revenge can be a strong motivator. Just be careful that it doesn’t turn on him. And on you.”
“I wasn’t referring to revenge. What I want—what Uncle Louis will want—is justice.”
Quinn lay in the bed, the back of his head resting in his cupped hands, his fingers entwined. A cup of tea, a couple more aspirins and a sympathetic ear had partially eased his headache but hadn’t helped him fall asleep. In a few short hours, he would have to return to police headquarters and answer more questions. Be grilled about Lulu’s death.
God, how he wanted to turn back the clock and—and do what? Decline Lulu’s offer to come to Memphis? Arrive at Lulu’s house in time to stop her killer?
He flopped over and glanced at the digital bedside clock. Four forty-three.
Lulu had loved life about as much as anybody he’d ever known. There wasn’t anything she wouldn’t try, at least once. At twenty-seven, she’d had her whole life ahead of her. Marriage, kids, divorces and more marriages and divorces. Quinn laughed quietly to himself, remembering Lulu and the fun times they’d had. She’d been his female equivalent. Unkind people called her a whore. Those who knew her well thought of her as a free spirit. She enjoyed men in the same way he enjoyed women. Their rules of encounter were pretty much the same. No holds barred. Everyone was fair game. No commitments. No promises. Sex for the sake of sex. And love was never involved. Love was for fools. And Lulu had no more been a fool than Quinn. She knew the score.
Had she gotten herself involved with someone who had refused to play the game by her rules? Had someone decided that if they couldn’t have Lulu exclusively, then no one could have her?
If the police concentrated all their efforts on proving he killed Lulu, then the real killer might escape. He couldn’t let that happen. He would not only find a way to prove his innocence, but he’d also move heaven and earth to bring Lulu’s murderer to justice.
Chapter 3 (#u64125e08-32ea-55f4-bd6a-ca8893004330)
Mary Lee Norton cried out with release when her climax exploded inside her. She was a screamer. Something he liked in a woman. He never wondered with Mary Lee whether or not he’d satisfied her. He’d heard that women in their mid to late-thirties were in their sexual prime and from his experience with older women, he’d found that to be true. It was certainly true of his partner’s ex-wife. The woman had an insatiable hunger for sex.
Chad grasped her hips and tossed her off him and over onto her back, then delved deep and hard, seeking his own release. Within a couple of minutes, he came. Groaning with the headiness of satisfaction, he slid off her damp body and onto the bed. She cuddled against him and kissed his shoulder.
“You’re good, sugar pie,” she whispered in a husky, Southern drawl that hinted she was a heavy smoker.
Turning to her, he smiled as he noted the faint lines that edged her hazel eyes. At thirty-seven, she was still a looker, but give her a few more years and a couple of decades of smoking and sun worship would catch up with her. By the time she was forty-five, she’d need a face-lift. Of course, what she looked liked a few years down the road was no concern of his. Mary Lee was a temporary fixture in his life, a brief liaison that had to end before Jim Norton found out his partner was bonking his ex-wife.
“Am I as good as your ex?” he asked and could have kicked his own ass for letting his insecurity show.
Usually Chad was confident. Some said overconfident. And about most things he was. After all, why shouldn’t he be? He was highly intelligent, good-looking, the ladies loved him and he was moving up fast in the department. But ever since he’d been paired with Jim Norton, he’d had a few moments of self-doubt. Without consciously doing anything to cause the effect, Jim intimidated the hell out of other guys. Even Chad. And why that was, he didn’t know for sure. After all, Norton was nothing more than an ex-jock who’d nearly ruined his life and his career before Chad had graduated from college.
Mary Lee curled herself around Chad like a purring kitten and laughed as she ran her fingernails up and down his chest. “Comparing you to Jim is like comparing apples to oranges, sugar.”
He grabbed her by the nape of her neck, trapping a few strands of her short black hair between his fingers. “Are you screwing him, too? Everybody knows that he’s still got a thing for you.”
“So I’ve been told, but you can’t prove it by me.” She stared right at Chad. “I’ve made the offer more than once since our divorce, but he hasn’t accepted.”
“He must be nuts to turn you down.”
“Jim’s unforgiving,” she said. “I’m warning you, if you ever do anything to get on his shit list, you’ll be on it for life. He doesn’t forgive and he doesn’t suffer fools gladly.”
“So, what’d you do that was so unforgivable?”
Mary Lee pulled away from him, reached over on the nightstand and picked up a pack of cigarettes. He watched her as she lit the cigarette and took a couple of draws off it. After blowing out a puff of smoke, she grinned at him. “I got tired of being ignored, of him working all the time. I looked elsewhere.”
“And Jim found out.”
“Jim caught us in the act. He came home unexpectedly and found our son’s T-ball coach scoring a home run with me.”
“What’d he do? Beat the hell out of the T-ball coach?”
“You’d think that’s what a rough and rugged guy like Jim would do, wouldn’t you?” She shook her head, then puffed on the cigarette. “He just stood there in the doorway for a couple of minutes. Didn’t say a word. Then he turned around and walked away, right out of the house, and got back into his car and drove off.”
“I’d never peg Jim for—”
She put her index finger over his lips to silence him. “You don’t know the man at all, do you? He left so he wouldn’t kill us. He wanted me dead just as much as the guy I’d been fucking. And I figure there was about a minute there when our lives hung by a thread. But Jim has incredible self-control. That’s why he could walk away.”
“Hmm…”
“Surely you’ve heard the rumors, haven’t you? Jim Norton believes in the old adage about revenge being a dish best served cold.”
A shiver zinged up Chad’s spine. Yeah, he’d heard the rumors. And if he believed them, like others in the department did, then he knew what Norton was capable of doing. He sensed that Mary Lee admired her ex-husband, maybe still even cared about him. And he also sensed that if she were totally honest about which man was the best—at sex or anything else—she’d choose Lieutenant James Norton over him or any other guy.
Needing to erase such thoughts from his mind and bring back the casual mood, Chad jumped out of bed and headed for the bathroom, keeping his hand over the sagging condom clinging to his penis. He paused in the doorway and glanced back at his partner’s ex-wife. “I’ve got to shower and shave, then get downtown and meet Jim. We’re questioning a murder suspect this morning and I don’t want to be late.”
“Go ahead.” She waved him off as she got out of bed. “Want me to put on a pot of coffee?”
Standing there in his bedroom, naked, tousled and sated, Mary Lee Norton got a rise out of him. A partial rise anyway. If he had time, he’d toss her back into bed and— Another time, he told himself. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t have Mary Lee anytime he wanted her. The lady was definitely hot-to-trot.
“I’ll grab a cup at headquarters,” he told her as he removed the used condom and dumped it in the wastebasket. “But feel free to fix yourself a pot and hang around as long as you’d like.”
She didn’t respond, so he had no idea what she’d do. By the time he had showered, shaved and dressed, he found the house empty. Mary Lee had left a note attached to the refrigerator with a magnet.
You’re as good as he is, just different.
She’d scrawled her initials beneath the succinct note.
Chad grinned. He’d be seeing the lady again. Soon. And he’d make damn sure and certain her ex-husband didn’t find out.
Quinn nibbled on the high protein bar Kendall had provided along with a cup of coffee. The coffee was good— black and strong, the way he liked it. The protein bar tasted like cardboard coated with cheap chocolate. He preferred his breakfast protein in the form of steak and eggs. At home and when out of town on a case, his routine seldom varied. He was accustomed to having his needs met by a small contingent of well-paid employees, who traveled with him. After the McBryar acquittal yesterday, he’d sent his entourage back to Houston, expecting full well to be on a plane back home no later than Monday morning. Those plans had been made when he’d thought he would be spending the weekend with Lulu.
