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“I know the one you’re talking about!” Ty snapped, thinking he’d have to have a careful word with his mother. It was unlike her to discuss his personal business even with his closest friends. “What did my mother tell you about her, anyway?”
Paul shrugged. “Just that she was from a prominent Houston family who didn’t like the idea of their little debutante hooking up with a Native American.”
A dirt-poor redskin, her daddy had called him, a breech-clout gigolo without so much as his own tom-tom to his name. The insult still burned rancorously in his gut whenever he thought about it. He was very, very proud of his heritage. At the time, however, his erstwhile girlfriend’s tearful wailing that her daddy was going to revoke her credit cards if she didn’t stop seeing him had seemed the worse insult. He’d been stupid enough to think that, because she’d hopped into his bed every chance she got, she’d loved him. He’d found out rather graphically how he’d stacked up against her plastic money and her society friends. It had been a brutal reality check, and one he wouldn’t need again, but Paul didn’t have to know that.
“She was nothing, that girl,” Ty said evenly, “just a little passing infatuation. My mother shouldn’t read so much into things.”
“Your mother is a very wise woman,” Paul responded.
“Well, her wisdom sometimes gets a little tangled up when it comes to her children,” Ty remarked. “But if you tell her I said such a thing, I’ll have to cut your nose off.”
“Crow punishment for betrayal,” Paul exclaimed delightedly. He loved hearing about the old lore and traditions.
Ty chuckled. “Maybe I’ll have to strip the skin off the soles of your feet and stake them to a fire-ant hill. Punishment for trespassing in private territory.”
Paul frowned, and Ty could almost see the wheels turning behind his eyes. “You made that up!” he finally declared. “The People never did any such thing.”
“Who said it was Crow punishment?” Ty teased. “It’s just my personal remedy for nosy partners.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, have I ever told you my remedy for smart-aleck Indians?”
“Indian is an incorrect and unacceptable label,” Ty said, deadpan.
“So sue me, native boy,” Paul retorted, reaching into his desk drawer for a rubber band, which he shot from between his fingers. Ty dodged the harmless missile and pulled out his drawer to get at his weapons stash.
The serviceable gray-carpeted floor around their abutted desks was littered with red and green rubber bands, and the mood had lightened considerably by the time Ty finally looked up Beth Maitland’s telephone number and made that call. The play had done nothing, however, to prevent the slow thickening of his blood that occurred when her light, musical voice brought back to mind her sexy image. He reminded himself that Beth Maitland was not a woman in whom he should feel the slightest interest. Now all he had to do was silence that whisper in his soul, the one that brought a vision of her to the mind’s eye and promised that here was fire to melt the ice of his heart.
CHAPTER THREE
TY WAS COOL. He didn’t blink an eye when Beth Maitland sauntered in wearing tan suede slacks that showed off her long, slender legs and tight, round bottom. He said nothing about the matching fringed jacket that she wore over a tight, wine red knit shirt that left no doubt as to the strength of her feminine attributes. He did not compliment her suede half-boots, which matched her shirt in color, or comment upon the way she had twisted her long, lush hair into a plump, frothy roll skewered with a trio of silver-and-turquoise pins. He failed to remark that the open, turned-up collar of her shirt emphasized the creamy length of her slender neck, or that an expensive silver-and-turquoise beaded necklace called eye-catching attention to the deep crevice of her cleavage. To the casual observer, his fascination and appreciation would not have been unduly marked. Only he knew that she amazed him by looking even better than he remembered. Moreover, she possessed a quirky, natural style that was wholly her own, and being a man of a certain personal style himself, Ty could only applaud. Silently, of course.
He got to his feet and greeted her impersonally. “Ms. Maitland, thank you for coming.”
She nodded and glanced past him to Brandon Dumont, her eyes going wide then clouding with confusion as she took in the small, dark woman next to him. Ty brushed back the sides of his suit coat and parked his hands at his waist, watching the byplay. Looking bored, Dumont pinched the crease of his navy slacks where one knee crossed the other. The Mexican woman next to him bowed her head and did not look up again, as if avoiding Beth Maitland’s gaze. Beth tilted her head to one side, questioning Ty with her eyes. He smiled reassuringly, realized what he was doing and quickly blanked his face.
“You know Mr. Dumont,” he said, “and my partner, Paul Jester.” Paul was standing on the other side of the table, and he nodded at Beth. Ty went on. “You may also know Ms. Letitia Velasquez, Mr. Dumont’s housekeeper.”
Beth fixed the woman with a curious gaze. “Yes. Hello, Letitia. It’s nice to see you again.”
The housekeeper lifted a trembling smile in acknowledgment of the greeting, then quickly bowed her head again. Dumont frowned at the housekeeper but in no way acknowledged Beth Maitland. Paul pulled out the chair next to him at the table, leaving the end seat for Ty and keeping Dumont and the housekeeper on the opposite side. Beth walked around to the chair and gracefully lowered herself into the seat, smiling at Paul as he pushed the chair beneath her. She slipped the strap of a small, hand-tooled leather purse from her shoulder and placed the purse on the table in front of her. She looked across the table directly at Brandon Dumont.
“Hello, Brandon. How are you?”
“As well as can be expected,” he said tonelessly without looking at her.
Beth glanced at Ty, then turned her gaze on the housekeeper. “Letitia,” she said gently, “how is Frankie?”
Letitia Velasquez slowly lifted her head. “He is worried, Ms. Maitland,” she answered just above a whisper.
Brandon Dumont suddenly jerked his head up and looked at Ty, demanding testily, “Can we get on with it, please?”
Ty froze the man with a cold, hard glare and watched with satisfaction as the color drained from his already pale face. Dumont reminded Ty of a banked fish, pale and slimy, but he supposed that he was attractive enough, with his soft good looks, trendy spiked haircut and expensive clothes. Ty suspected that his medium brown hair had been artfully highlighted and that the shocking blue of his eyes was achieved via colored contact lenses. The artifice disgusted Ty. He had no respect for this man, but he attempted to submerge that emotion in the determination to do his duty. He turned his gaze to Beth Maitland.
Calmly, Beth linked her hands and rested them atop her purse. She was the one Ty addressed. “Are we expecting your attorney?”
“No,” she said. “He’s in court today, but I’m perfectly willing to carry on without him.”
Ty knew that he ought to be glad about that. Lawyers tended to gum up the works. But he didn’t much like the idea of her being here on her own, not with Dumont dropping unexpected witnesses on them.
“Are you sure about that?” he asked. “Because we can reschedule.”
Her generous mouth curved softly as she smiled at him, genuine blue eyes warm enough to speed up his heartbeat. Definite vibes. “It’s all right,” she said. “I want to get this over with. Besides, what do I have to fear? I didn’t do anything wrong.”
Dumont made a sound in the back of his throat, but when Ty looked at him, he was studying his fingernails. Ty pulled out his chair and straddled it.
“Okay.” He flipped open the file folder he had placed on the table in front of his seat earlier, extracted a pen from his inside coat pocket and clicked the point down. “I had intended to go over your individual statements with you, Ms. Maitland and Mr. Dumont. See if we can’t clear up some of the discrepancies. But the presence of Ms. Velasquez has changed the agenda.”
“How so?” Beth asked, clearly puzzled.
Ty glanced at Paul, wondering if his partner disliked this unexpected twist as much as he did, and chose his words carefully. “Ms. Maitland, during our last interview, you denied harassing Mr. Dumont and his wife, the deceased, did you not?”
Beth blinked. “Yes, I did. I do.”
“You never called the Dumonts on the telephone to complain that they had ruined your life by getting married?”
“No, never.”
“You didn’t go to the Dumont home, demanding to speak with Brianne Dumont and making a scene?”
“Of course not!”
Ty glanced at Paul, who quickly spoke. “Ms. Velasquez says you did.”
Beth’s mouth fell open and her eyes went wide. She turned an incredulous gaze down the table. “Letitia?”
The housekeeper raised her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Ms. Maitland. I say only what I must. I’m so sorry.”
“No need to apologize, Letitia,” Brandon Dumont said flatly. “Ms. Maitland knows what she’s done.”
“I know I did not harass or kill Brianne!” Beth exclaimed. “And you know it, too, Brandon Dumont!”
“Do I?” he replied coolly. “You were always fond of telling me what I knew and what I meant. Perhaps if you hadn’t been, I wouldn’t have left you for Brianne.”
Ty saw that she was trembling, but when she turned her blue gaze on him, he realized that the emotion racking her body was pure anger. “He’s lying! I broke up with him. He asked me to say that it was the other way around.”
“And you never harassed the Dumonts?” Ty asked.
“Never!”
“But Ms. Velasquez swears that you did,” Paul said.
Beth turned to the small woman huddled next to Dumont. “Letitia,” she pleaded, “please don’t do this. Please tell them the truth.”
“That’s exactly what she’s doing,” Dumont snapped.
The housekeeper broke into sobs. “I only say what I must,” she repeated. “I only say what I must!”
“Can’t you tell the poor woman is devastated to have to do this?” Dumont went on. He smiled maliciously at Beth and added, “She always did prefer you, you know.”
Letitia Velasquez buried her face in her hands and sobbed brokenly.
“There, there,” Dumont said, with the same inflection he’d use with a pesky fly.
Beth closed her eyes and said softly, “It’s all right, Letitia. Whatever’s going on, it’ll be all right somehow.”
“I don’t want to say it!” Ms. Velasquez sobbed.
“You don’t owe her any apologies or explanations!” Dumont growled at the woman. “You know what’s at stake.”
“That sounds like a veiled threat, Mr. Dumont,” Ty said mildly.
“Don’t be absurd,” Dumont retorted. “I only meant that if Letitia does not do the right thing, a murder will go unpunished.”
“Oh, no,” Ty said. “We’ll get to the bottom of this one. Never doubt it.”
“I should think you’ve seen the bottom—as you put it—already,” Dumont rejoined smoothly, but never once during the entire exchange did he look Ty in the eye.
“Some might think that,” Ty replied noncommittally, but he’d suddenly had all of Brandon Dumont that he could stomach for one day—and he wasn’t quite ready to give up on his original game plan just yet. He still might get some important personal questions answered if he played this right. He stashed his pen, flipped the folder closed and got to his feet, sweeping the folder up in his hand. “Paul, why don’t you take Ms. Velasquez downstairs? Give her a minute to collect herself before the stenographer takes her statement.”
Paul was already on his feet and moving around the end of the table to Letitia Velasquez’s chair. “Come with me, ma’am.”
The little housekeeper cast a worried look at Brandon Dumont, then got stoically to her feet, wiping tears from her face with one hand, her old-fashioned patent-leather purse clutched in the other. She glanced guiltily at Beth, then turned her head away and swiftly followed Paul from the room. Beth was glaring daggers at Dumont, who seemed amused. Ty gestured with his free hand toward the room beyond the door at his back.
“I’m going to grab a cup of coffee, then we’ll get down to brass tacks. Can I bring anything for you two?”
Beth shook her head mutely. Dumont curled his lip in an expression of disdain, as if to imply that simple coffee was beneath him, and said sharply, “No, thank you.”
Ty slipped out of the room, pulling the door almost closed. Catching the eye of one of his co-workers, he pantomimed drinking, then pressed his palms together in supplication and jerked his head at the interrogation room door. An understanding nod and quick movement in the direction of the coffeepot parked in an out-of-the-way corner was his answer. Ty stepped to one side of the door, put his back to the wall and waited.
Beth was the first one to speak. “Why are you doing this, Brandon?”
The smugness of Dumont’s voice made Ty want to slap the cuffs on him. “Why, whatever do you mean, Beth dear?”
“Cut it out, Brandon. We both know you’re trying to frame me for Brianne’s murder.”
“Trying to frame you?” Dumont echoed, slight emphasis on the first word. “Tsk, tsk, Beth, why don’t you just accept your punishment like a good little Maitland and be done with it? Your family will get you off with minimal time, say ten or twenty years, which you’ll probably serve in some walled country club. You know, it’s positively unfair what the rich can get away with.”
Beth seemed to ignore his taunts. “It’s because I broke up with you, isn’t it. Is your pride that monstrous? Is this my punishment for not loving you, Brandon?”
“Yet you agreed to marry me,” he told her quickly.
“Yes,” she answered slowly. “I wanted to be in love with you. I wanted you to be everything that you seemed then. But the image didn’t hold, Brandon, and do you know why? It’s that desperation in you, that grasping, frantic desperation. Eventually it seeps through the cool, handsome veneer and makes the other person feel…used, a means to an end.”
“Used?” Dumont snarled. “You amused yourself with me, then tossed me aside like so much trash.”
Ty’s ears pricked, and he straightened away from the wall. So Beth Maitland had ended the relationship, just as she claimed. He had felt inclined to believe her before; now he knew she was telling the truth. Too bad what he’d just heard wouldn’t be admissible in court. His co-worker approached with the cup of coffee, and Ty signaled him to silence before he drew near enough to place the cup in Ty’s hand. Ty mouthed, “Thanks,” and turned his ear to the door as the other detective tiptoed away.
“I guess I should have ignored the fact that you cheated on me with Brianne,” Beth was saying.
“That was your own fault, and you know it,” Dumont argued. “A man has to have satisfaction.”
Ty had heard enough. Any more and he risked his case. Eavesdropping without a court order was a tricky business when it came to gathering evidence. He opened the door and walked in. Dumont shifted gears as smoothly as butter melted, saying to Beth in an aggrieved tone, “I loved Brianne. I adored her. I couldn’t help myself. But I’m sorry that I cheated on you, especially if that’s why you killed her.”
Beth rolled her eyes. She looked at Ty and said calmly, “I didn’t kill Brianne Dumont, and he damned well knows it.”
“All I know is that my wife was found dead—in your office—after you threatened her.”
“Threatened her?” Ty repeated sharply, plunking down the file folder and placing the coffee next to it. He brought his hands to his hips and stared down the table at Dumont. “You never mentioned anything about threats before.”
Dumont stiffened. “Well, what do you think all that harassment was about?” he demanded. “She wasn’t just amusing herself!” He gestured at Beth.
“The way she amused herself with you?” Ty asked flatly, and Dumont visibly paled. “Suppose you explain that to me.”
Dumont straightened in his chair. “Y-you were listening!”
“That’s right. Now, let’s hear it, Dumont. Which was it? Was she so crushed when you dumped her for another woman that she was moved to murder, or was she playing with you? In which case, it wouldn’t make much sense for her to harass and murder your wife, would it?”
Dumont swallowed. Then he seemed to realize that he had been rattled, and his face mottled with rage. “You don’t understand these Maitlands!” he exclaimed. “They think they own the damned world and everything in it.” He flung a hand at Beth. “She wasn’t in love with me, but she wasn’t through with me yet. She didn’t want me to be with anyone else until she said so. I crossed her, and she got back at me.”
It was a completely self-serving explanation, but Ty had nothing with which to counter it. Yet. He waved a hand at Brandon Dumont. “Anything else you want to tell me?”
Dumont subsided into his studied nonchalance. “Not at the moment.”
“I’ll call you if I need you,” Ty told him dismissively. Dumont glanced around the room, as if expecting to find someone or something else to keep him there. Realizing that he was being told to go, he got to his feet. “I’ll show you where to meet Ms. Velasquez,” Ty said.
Dumont lifted his chin and tugged at the bottom of his tweedy designer suit coat. “I, um, promised the poor woman I’d be at hand to support her,” he said suggestively.
“That won’t be necessary,” Ty replied. “Detective Jester is taking care of her. Follow me, and I’ll show you where you can wait.” He turned toward the door. Dumont followed reluctantly, skirting the table and dragging his feet into the ward room. Ty walked him to the elevator, giving him much more explicit instructions than necessary on how to reach the public waiting area. He wanted to give Beth a chance to pull herself together, to think. A rattled suspect often said or did something to incriminate herself. Ty didn’t want that. But what he did want from Beth Maitland was best left unacknowledged for both their sakes.
BETH PULLED a deep breath and put her head back. She had known, of course, but somehow it was still a shock to have it confirmed. Not that he had said anything particularly incriminating. No, Brandon was much too smart for that. He was, in fact, much smarter than she had given him credit for being. Well, she wouldn’t make that mistake again. Neither would she be tamely led to the slaughter as dictated by his massive arrogance. Brandon Dumont was not going to get away with framing her for his wife’s murder.
Ty Redstone entered the room, stopping just inside the door to study her with that blank, inscrutable expression of his. She wondered if it was part of his Native American heritage or a result of his police training. Probably some of both. It didn’t completely obscure the powerful personal awareness of her that she sensed in him, or the surge of satisfaction that she felt as a result of it. Perhaps she sensed it because it was mutual. Ty Redstone was a devastatingly attractive man, sexually compelling. He reached behind him and pulled the door closed, and suddenly she felt at a distinct disadvantage. Impulsively, she shot to her feet, anxious to make him believe in her innocence.
“Save it,” he said, beating her to it, “I’m not trying to prove that you murdered Brianne Dumont, because I’m not convinced you did. I’m just trying to get at the truth.” He brushed back the sides of his suit coat and tucked his hands onto the slopes of his narrow hips.
Beth felt her knees wobble and stiffened them. “You believe me?” she asked incredulously.
He smiled self-deprecatingly. “Let’s just say I have a nose for a frame-up and a very open mind.”
