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“Well, I’m glad you did,” Janelle was saying. “I was feeling a little lonely, actually.”
Megan and Janelle were settling onto the comfy couch in the small living area when Beth wandered into the room. She couldn’t say why she disliked Janelle. Oh, she’d tried to like her, for Megan’s sake if nothing else, but something about Janelle rubbed Beth the wrong way. The small house felt overheated after the coolness of the clear February night, and Beth pushed her waist-length orange jacket off her shoulders, draping it over the chair that stood to the side of the small entry.
“When you’re lonely you can always visit your son,” she said, to see Janelle’s reaction. “You knew Chase would be at the house with me today. I expected to see you there.”
Janelle seemed shocked, but then she blinked her big eyes until they teared. “I know. It’s just that it’s so hard to see him when I know I can’t take him home with me.”
“Seems to me you could fix that easily enough,” Beth pointed out.
“For your information, I’ve sent for the necessary paperwork,” Janelle informed her coldly. She was all warmth and smiles when she turned to Megan, though. “That’s what Child Welfare wants, isn’t it? A birth certificate?”
“I think that would work nicely,” Megan said. “I’ll speak to them to be sure.”
Knowing that her mother relished having the baby in the house, Beth refrained from pointing out that the DNA testing would be quicker, and Megan deftly changed the subject.
“I stopped by earlier to check on you, but you were out.”
Janelle waved a hand. “Oh, that. Connor took me to lunch, then I had some shopping to do. I brought so few things with me, you know.”
“I knew it was something like that,” Megan said. “Did you have a good day, get everything you need?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Forgive me for interrupting,” Beth said unrepentantly, “but where exactly did you have to send for that birth certificate?”
“What looked like panic flickered across Janelle’s face, but then she smiled, one hand fluffing her hair nonchalantly. “Why do you ask?”
“Just wondering.”
“New Mexico,” Janelle said.
“New Mexico!” Megan exclaimed.
“I wound up in Taos after Connor and I parted,” Janelle explained haltingly, “just wandering around, looking for someplace to settle.”
Megan made some reply, but Beth wasn’t listening, her attention claimed by a noise from the back of the house. She could have sworn that someone was moving around in the bedroom.
“Is someone else here?” she asked sharply, barely aware that she had interrupted Janelle’s complaints.
“What?” Janelle asked loudly. Megan lifted a slightly censorial eyebrow at Beth, and she immediately apologized.
“Sorry. I thought I heard something.”
“You don’t think we have a prowler, do you?” Janelle said loudly, a hand pressed to her chest.
It was all Beth could do not to roll her eyes. What she thought was that Connor was hiding in the bedroom, and she couldn’t imagine why he would feel the need. “No, of course not,” she said.
Janelle heaved a dramatic sigh. “Oh, thank goodness. It’s so quiet here at the back of the property.”
“We’re very safe,” Megan assured her. “The whole compound is walled, and we have an excellent security system. I hired the guards and had everything tested and upgraded after we brought Chase home and the press interest mushroomed.”
“How good you are,” Janelle said, almost purring. “I sensed that about you, you know, before I brought my little babe here.”
She made it sound as if she’d left the baby in Megan’s arms instead of dumping him on the clinic doorstep, Beth thought irritably. She couldn’t help wondering why her mother was buying this act so completely, and she disliked watching Janelle’s patently false gushing.
“Do you mind if I get a drink of water?” she muttered, already moving into the foyer.
“Of course not. You just help yourself,” Janelle answered with exaggerated politeness.
Beth strode through the foyer and the dining nook, with its ice cream parlor table and matching pair of blue-striped chairs, past the short counter and into the kitchen with its bright white cabinets and cobalt blue countertops. She opened a cabinet door and took down a drinking glass, then filled it with water from the tap. Leaning a hip against the counter, she sipped the cool, sweet water and tried to figure out why Janelle irritated her so much.
Something occurred to her, and she drained the last of the water in one long gulp, then placed the empty glass in the sink. She strolled back the way she’d come and was about to step into the foyer when the sound of her mother’s voice reached her, and she automatically paused. Only belatedly did she realize why. Secrets. The tone of her mother’s voice was the one she used when discussing secrets. What secrets could her mother have to discuss with Janelle, of all people?
“No doubts,” her mother was saying. “But no one else understands about Connor. How could they?”
What was this about Connor? She cocked her head, ready to catch every word, then it occurred to her that she was eavesdropping. Purposefully, she moved into the room. “I was just thinking,” she said to Janelle, “I’m sure Child Welfare would send for the birth certificate for you. They could probably get it electronically.”
Janelle stared at her with her mouth open. Megan immediately seized on the notion. “You know, that’s right.”
“Uh, yes,” Janelle said, blinking rapidly. “Yes. Except, um, I—I’m not sure the birth has been recorded yet.” She flapped a hand ineffectually. “I didn’t have the baby in Taos, actually. It’s so expensive there.” She glanced uncertainly at Megan. “I moved to a little town north of there. I—I only saw the doctor a few times, and I never did understand anything he said, his accent was so thick.”
“Was he Mexican, then?” Megan asked.
“I think so.”
“Of course. Well, New Mexico isn’t the end of the world,” Megan said soothingly. “The papers will come, and until they do, Chase will just have to stay where he is.”
“But you can always visit,” Beth pointed out, “as often as you want.” Which so far hadn’t been very often, she mused.
Janelle fluttered her eyelashes and smiled gratefully. “You’re all just wonderful,” she sighed, and Beth wanted to strangle her. She almost laughed, considering that’s what the police thought she’d done to Brianne Dumont. But Brianne had never engendered any dislike in her, not the way Janelle did, and even Janelle was as safe with her as Chase in his crib. Now, if she could just convince Ty Redstone and Paul Jester of that…
JANELLE CLOSED THE DOOR behind her unwanted visitors and folded her arms, fuming. That damned Beth. She could handle Megan. The woman was so besotted with her grandson and so anxious to believe that Petey was her long-lost son Connor that she’d do almost anything Janelle wanted. But Beth was a problem—and another problem was not what they needed just now, not after who she’d seen at the Austin Eats Diner that day. All that crap about New Mexico and sending off for the birth papers ought to buy her some time—time to come up with something else. First things first, though.
“You can’t keep ignoring the kid,” her dolt of a husband pointed out, appearing in the doorway of the bedroom.
“I know that, you idiot! But that’s not our biggest problem at the moment.”
She began to pace. Damn, she’d thought for sure that she’d killed that bitch Lacy the day she’d dumped the kid. If the diner hadn’t been so crowded at lunchtime and she hadn’t been wearing sunglasses and a scarf, her face might have triggered Lacy’s memory. With the amnesia gone, Lacy would remember that she was Chase’s mother, not to mention the small fact that Janelle had tried to kill her with a blow on the head.
“What did you say they were calling her?”
“Who?”
Rage surged through her. The man looked like a movie star, but he was as dumb as a stump. If not for her, he’d still be working a two-bit construction job in Las Vegas, but what a damned nuisance he’d become! Was it too much to ask that he have enough intelligence to follow a conversation? She picked up a brass bookend and hurled it at him.
“Lacy Clark, you overgrown booby! Who else?”
He dodged the bookend and waited to see if she’d pitch the other even as he muttered, “Oh, her.”
“Yeah, her,” Janelle said, sneering, “the woman who gave birth to our Maitland meal ticket.” She drove a hand through her long, dark hair. “Damn! I knew it. I knew she wasn’t dead. Blast her! Why couldn’t she have just died in that alley?”
“At least she doesn’t remember anything,” Petey said hopefully. “You heard that woman at the diner say she has amnesia. She can’t tell about you trying to take the baby or hitting her if she can’t remember.”
Janelle turned a hard look on Petey. “And what if she gets her memory back?” she demanded. “We can’t trust she won’t. We have to shut her up permanently. We don’t have any other choice. If that Goody Two-shoes gets her memory back, we’re through here. We lose everything. We have to make certain that doesn’t happen.”
Petey studied her warily. “What are you thinking?”
“We’re going to finish the job,” Janelle said coldly. “Lacy Clark should have died in that alley. The only way to fix this is to finish what I started that day.”
“You’re saying we have to kill her.”
“It’s her own fault,” Janelle declared. “If she’d just given me the baby like I’d planned, instead of changing her mind at the last moment, we’d be safe. Now one of us has to make sure she never remembers.”
Petey grimaced. “Me, you mean.”
“Can you think of another way?” Janelle asked coaxingly. “Darling, I’ve already tried and failed. I’ve done all the planning and setting up. God, I invested months in that woman, winning her trust, convincing her the real Connor didn’t want her or the brat. I’m just not strong enough to do this one last part. And we’re so close to getting our share of the Maitland millions.”
With a sigh, Petey lifted a hand to the back of his neck. “I’ll take care of it,” he said simply, and for the first time since lunch, Janelle relaxed somewhat. This husband of hers did have his uses, and if she managed him right, she could have everything she deserved and wanted. She swayed across the room, pulling loose the sash at her waist.
“When?” she pressed. “How?”
Petey shrugged and eyed the lissome, naked body she displayed for him. “Soon. I’ll figure something out.”
“No one can ever connect us with her murder,” Janelle purred, reaching out to place a hand on his chest.
“They won’t,” Petey promised, leaning toward her.
“They’d better not,” she growled, grabbing him by the hair and pulling his mouth down to hers.
Her husband liked to play it rough once in a while, and she was willing to give him what he wanted often enough to keep him in line, especially since he worked so hard to give her what she wanted—and just now she wanted Lacy Clark dead.
TY PUT HIS HEAD DOWN and determinedly ran the gauntlet, his strides long and sure as he said, “No comment,” throwing the words left and right. He shoved through the heavy glass door of the Austin Police Headquarters building, leaving the reporters to the mercy of a windy February afternoon. As he hurried toward the elevator, he nodded to various officers in and out of uniform, clerks, secretaries, attorneys and at least one judge racing for the private entrance with a police escort following in her wake. The elevator opened and Ty stepped aside to allow several others to get out. Finally, he slipped inside and stabbed the correct floor button with an index finger. He held his breath as the doors slid closed, leaving him mercifully alone.
Putting his head back, he sighed in relief. What a day! Press dogging his every step, superiors ringing him up on his private cell phone to demand explanations, interviews that turned into Beth Maitland testimonials. If he hadn’t already been inclined to think the woman innocent, he’d have greatly resented all the heavy-handed support that was coming her way. The same, however, could not be said for Brandon Dumont.
The picture coming together of the poor widower was of an image-conscious, somewhat shady, self-important social climber who routinely inflated his background and his income. He had a reputation as something of a ladies’ man, and several of the ladies reported being carefully cultivated, only to be thrown over when a more socially prominent candidate appeared. Beth Maitland would have been the social pinnacle of Dumont’s romantic pursuits, while the woman he’d married had been utterly devoid of social consequence. As far as Ty could tell, the murdered woman had been nothing more than an attractive accountant in Dumont’s office, a step above a bookkeeper, until Dumont had married her. If it had been a love match, it had been a volatile one, since at least two people in a restaurant had heard them arguing recently, though neither could say about what.
The elevator came to a halt and the doors slid open. Ty stepped out at a swift stride that carried him across the hall and into the squad room. It was warm, too warm, and he slung off his lightweight, black leather overcoat as he navigated the corridors between cubicles to his, which he shared with his partner. Paul Jester sat at the desk facing Ty’s, talking on the telephone. He glanced up as Ty hung his coat on the hanger he kept there for that very purpose. Paul quickly got off the phone and rocked back in his creaky chair to prop his feet on the corner of his desk, smiling like the proverbial cat that had eaten the canary.
“Our friend Dumont has been indulging in a little high-stakes day trading,” Paul revealed gleefully. “That’s the next thing to gambling, and he’s playing with borrowed money. Looks like he’s in over his head and trying desperately to get out. The Feds are asking questions about his business, and three investors in the last six months have filed complaints and disputes with him over his handling of their funds. Plus, the wife had a small life insurance policy, and she changed the beneficiary just two days before her death.”
Interesting information. “Dumont is the beneficiary, of course,” Ty surmised.
“Yep.”
“Who was the original?”
“Her brother.”
“He lives in California, right?”
“Right. It’s a small policy, thirty thousand, but Dumont’s already filed the claim.”
Ty rubbed his hands together, pulled out his chair and sat. As motives went, it wasn’t much, but instinct was whispering that they were on the right trail. He was determined to be thorough, though. He had recognized in himself a disturbing tendency to want to believe Beth Maitland. Something about that woman got to him on a very elemental level. Whipping out his notebook, he prepared to report what he had learned. “Our boy Dumont is coming up dirtier and dirtier.”
“And the Maitland woman is looking shinier and shinier.”
At that, Ty looked up alertly. “Who says?”
Paul flipped him a letter stapled to a memo form. Ty did a double take at the seal stamped into the corner of the expensive stationery. He whistled through his teeth. “From the governor’s wife?”
“The First Lady of Texas is pleased to offer herself as a character witness for Ms. Beth Maitland, whose generous contributions to the child-care community of our state cannot be overstated,” Paul recited.
“How does this outpouring of support strike you?” Ty asked, scanning the letter, which was addressed to the district attorney and had been copied to the mayor, the chief of police and the division.
“The family probably instigated it,” Paul said, “but that doesn’t mean it isn’t sincere.”
Ty laid the letter aside and nodded. “That’s my take, too.” He went on to tell Paul what he’d learned that day. Paul listened attentively, occasionally quirking an eyebrow or tossing out an astute observation. When Ty was done, Paul took his feet from the corner of his desk and leaned forward.
“Okay, so what’s our next step?”
“We poke holes in Dumont’s story so the truth can leak out,” Ty said.
“You’re sure that’s the way the wind blows?”
Ty considered a moment, stilling himself emotionally and mentally in order to access the small voice that whispered through his soul. A picture of Beth Maitland sprang instantly to mind, her long, thick, coffee-brown hair frothing past her shoulders in layers of wavy curls. He saw the vibrant blue of her eyes, the elegant line of her nose, the slender oval of her face with its delicately pointed chin and wide, expressive mouth. Her perfect peaches-and-cream complexion invoked thoughts of warm, pale silk. He felt the definite urge to smile, as if an unexpected shaft of sunlight had broken through a gray and gloomy sky. That woman couldn’t have killed anyone, and no one in his right mind would believe she had. Had Dumont set her up? His blood boiled at the very notion.
“Well?” Paul prodded.
Ty shook away the image and the emotions it evoked, aware that his small voice had developed a healthy libido. She was an extremely attractive woman, Beth Maitland, and he’d felt definite vibes around her. Something told him that she was as strongly attracted to him as he was to her, not that he could let that matter. She was an official suspect in a high-profile murder. He happened to think that she was innocent. “Let’s get Dumont and Beth Maitland in here for another interview, together this time,” he decided.
Paul rocked back in his chair, asking nonchalantly, “And which one do you want me to call?”
As casually as he could manage, Ty answered, “Doesn’t matter. Dumont, I guess.”
Paul winked and grinned. “Knew you’d say that.”
Ty kept his face expressionless. “Yeah? Then why’d you ask?”
“Just to hear you admit that you want to speak to Beth Maitland yourself.”
Ty snorted rudely. “I admit no such thing, and just because the woman is attractive doesn’t mean she’s my type, Jester.”
“Why isn’t she your type? Besides the obvious, that she’s a suspect.”
“She’s rich,” Ty answered succinctly.
“That doesn’t make her like that chick your mom told me about,” Paul argued, “the one from college who—”
