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“Forget it. Just drive back to the office.”
Checking her rearview mirrors, she continued along Colfax Avenue. She didn’t see anyone following them; they’d made a clean getaway. Just in case, she turned south at the next intersection and drove toward the highway. “We need to call the police.”
“Nope.”
“Harry, those guys shot at us. They assaulted us.”
“But I returned fire.” He cleared his throat, breathing more easily. His clenched fist lifted from his chest. “And you kicked ass. You might look like a Pop-Tart, but you were a fire-breathing dragon.”
“My form wasn’t terrific.”
“You did good.” He reached over and patted her shoulder. Always stingy with his compliments, Harry followed up with a complaint. “Too bad you messed up and lost the camera.”
“Don’t even think about taking the cost out of my wages.” At a stoplight, she studied him again. He seemed to have recovered. “We need to fill out a police report. Those people are dealing drugs.”
“And I guarantee that the narcs are well aware. Leave the drug dealers to the cops, we’ve got problems of our own. Like how to get that juicy bonus from Victoria.”
Tomorrow, she’d put in a call to a friend at the Denver PD. At the very least, she wanted to see those children removed from a dangerous environment.
Harry sat up straighter. “Time to switch to Plan B.”
“I don’t like the sound of this.”
“My source is the housekeeper who works at the Crawford estate near Evergreen. She can—”
“Wait a sec. How did you get to know a housekeeper?” She glanced toward the backseat. “You’ve never tidied up anything in your whole life.”
“I served with her dad in Vietnam, and we stay in touch. Her name is Rachel Frakes. She’s actually the one who recommended me to Victoria.”
That connection explained a lot. The Schooner Detective Agency wasn’t usually the first choice of the rich and famous. “What’s Plan B?”
“Rachel gets you inside the estate. While you’re there, you dig up the dirt on Ben.”
“An undercover assignment.”
That didn’t sound too shabby. Maybe she’d impersonate a fancy-pants interior decorator. Or a horse wrangler. An upscale estate near Evergreen had to have several acres and a stable. Or she could be a guest—maybe an eccentric jet-setting heiress. A descendant of the Romanov czars. “Who am I supposed to be?”
He almost smiled. “You’ll see.”
Chapter Two
The next afternoon, Liz tromped down the back staircase from her brand-new undercover home—a third-floor garret at the Crawford mansion. Her starched gray uniform with the white apron reminded her of a Pilgrim costume she’d worn in fourth grade. The hem drooped below her knees, which was probably a good thing because she belatedly realized that she hadn’t shaved her legs since before she started studying for final exams. Entering the kitchen, she adjusted the starched white cap that clung with four bobby pins to her unruly blond hair.
A maid. She was supposed to be a maid. The thrills just kept coming.
At the bottom of the staircase, Rachel the housekeeper stood with fists planted on her hips. She was a tall, solidly built woman who would have fit right in with the Russian women’s weightlifting team. Her short blond hair was neatly slicked back away from her face. “Liz, may I remind you that a maid is supposed to be as unobtrusive as a piece of furniture.”
“Okay.” Call me Chippendale.
“While descending the staircase, you sounded like a herd of bison. We walk softly on the pads of our feet.”
“If I walk softly, can I carry a big stick?”
Rachel’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline. “Surely, you don’t intend to hit anything.”
“I’m joking.” If this had been a real job, Liz would have already quit. “Any other advice?”
“The proper answer to a question is yes or no. Not ‘okay.’ And certainly not a joke. Is that clear?”
Liz poked at her silly white cap. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Do something with your hair. It’s all over the place.”
She bit the inside of her mouth. “Yes, ma’am.”
“No perfume. No nail polish. No makeup.”
“No problem.” That part of the assignment suited her normal procedure. “You know, Rachel, Harry and I really appreciate this—”
“Say nothing more.” She pulled the door to the stairwell closed, making sure they were alone. “If anyone finds out what you’re doing here, I’ll deny any knowledge of your true profession.”
“Yes, ma’am.” In a low voice, she asked, “What can you tell me about Ben?”
“A fine-looking man but brooding. When Victoria told me about his drug problem, I had to act. I can’t stand the thought of his daughter being raised by an addict.”
“He doesn’t usually live here, does he?”
“His home is in Seattle where he runs Crawford Aero-Equipment. They supply parts to the big airplane manufacturers and also build small custom jets.”
Seemed like an extremely responsible job for a drug addict. “Why is he in Colorado?”
“This is his grandfather’s house. Jerod Crawford.” Her forehead pinched. “Jerod is a generous, brave man. He’s dying from a brain tumor.”
“And his grandson came home to take care of him.”
Again, Ben’s behavior wasn’t what she’d expect from a druggie degenerate. Maybe he was here to make sure he inherited big bucks when grandpa died.
“For right now, you’re needed in the kitchen,” Rachel said. “We have a dinner party for sixteen scheduled for this evening.”
Maybe some of these guests would provide negative evidence she could use against Ben. “Anybody I should watch for?”
“In what sense?”
“Other drug users. He must have gotten the name of his dealer from somebody.”
“That’s for you to investigate,” Rachel said. “In the meantime, report to the kitchen.”
“I’ll be there in a flash. Right after I comb my hair.”
Liz tiptoed up the stairs to the second floor. No matter what Rachel thought, her first order of business was to locate Ben’s bedroom and search for his drug stash. She opened the door and stepped into the center of a long hallway decorated with oil paintings of landscapes hung above a natural cedar wainscoting. She peeked into an open door and saw an attractive bedroom with rustic furnishings—nothing opulent but a hundred times better than the tiny garret on the third floor where she’d dropped off her backpack and changed into the starchy maid outfit.
A tall brunette in a black pantsuit emerged from one of the rooms and stalked down the hallway.
Though Liz beamed a friendly smile, the brunette went past her without acknowledging her presence. Apparently, this was what it felt like to be furniture.
“Excuse me,” Liz piped up.
The woman paused. “What?”
“I’m new here. And I’m looking for Ben’s bedroom.”
“My brother’s room is right down there. Close to Grandpa.”
The double doors to Jerod’s room were open, and she heard other people inside. “Thank you.”
There were too many people milling around to make a thorough search of Ben’s room. Later, she’d come back. And right now? Liz wasn’t anxious to report for maid duty in the kitchen. She’d use this time to explore, to get a sense of this sprawling house and the acreage that surrounded it.
On the drive here, she hadn’t seen much. After the turnoff in Evergreen, she’d gone three-point-four miles on a narrow road that twisted through a thick forest of ponderosa pine, spruce and conifer. A wrought-iron gate between two stone pillars protected the entrance, and a chain-link fence enclosed the grounds. She’d had to identify herself over an intercom before the gates opened electronically.
The stone-and-cedar mansion nestled against a granite ridge. The main section rose three stories. Several different levels—landscaped terraces and cantilevered decks—made the house seem as though it had grown organically from the surrounding rocks and trees.
Liz went down a short hallway beside the staircase. A beveled glass door opened onto the second-story outdoor walkway made of wood planks. At the far end, the walkway opened onto a huge, sunlit deck.
Towering pines edged up to the railing. Hummingbird feeders and birdhouses hung from the branches. Several padded, redwood chairs and chaises faced outward to enjoy the view, but no one was outside. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined this side of the house, which was very likely Jerod Crawford’s bedroom. Lucky for her, the drapes were closed.
As Liz walked to the railing, a fresh mountain breeze caressed her cheeks. Twitters from chipmunks and birds serenaded her. Multicolored petunias in attached wooden flower boxes bobbed cheerfully.
People like her didn’t live in places like this. A grassy field dotted with scarlet Indian paintbrush and daisies rolled downhill, past a barn and another outbuilding, to a shimmering blue lake, surrounded by pines. In the distance, snow-covered peaks formed a majestic skyline.
At the edge of the lake, a wood dock stretched into the water. Though she was over a hundred yards away, she thought she recognized Ben. He faced a woman with platinum-blond hair and a bright red sweater.
Though Liz couldn’t hear their words, they were obviously arguing. The woman gestured angrily. Ben pulled back as though he couldn’t stand being close to her.
She stamped her foot.
And then, she slapped him.
BEN RESTRAINED AN URGE to strike back at Charlene. Much as she had earned the right to have her ass thrown off his grandpa’s property, that wasn’t Ben’s call.
Through tight lips, he said, “You’re not always going to have things your way.”
“No matter what you think, I’m the one in charge around here. Me. I’m Jerod’s wife.”
A ridiculous but undeniably true statement. At age thirty-six, she was only two years older than Ben himself. He hated having to consult with her on his grandpa’s medical care and would never understand why the old man listened to her.
“Be reasonable, Charlene. I’ve been talking to specialists and neurosurgeons. They think Jerod’s tumor could be removed.”
“I don’t want your doctors.” She screeched like a harpy. “Jerod is happy with Dr. Mancini. And so am I.”
Dr. Al Mancini had been the Crawford family doctor for years, and he was competent to treat sniffles and scraped knees. But a brain tumor? “Mancini isn’t even practicing anymore. He’s retired.”
“And Jerod is his only patient. Dr. Mancini comes here every single day. Your specialist would put Jerod in the hospital. And he refuses.”
Unfortunately, Charlene was correct. His stubborn, Texas-born grandpa had planted himself here and wouldn’t budge. Every day, the tumor inside his head continued to grow. His vision was seriously impaired, and he barely had the strength to get out of his wheelchair. “If not an operation, he needs access to other treatments. Radiation. Cutting-edge medications.”
“He won’t go. And I’m not going to force him.”
For the moment, he abandoned this topic. There were other bones to pick. “At least, cancel your damn dinner party. Jerod needs peace and quiet.”
“You want to pretend like he’s already dead. Well, he’s not. He needs activity and excitement. That’s why he married me.”
“Really? I thought it had more to do with your thirty-six double-D chest.”
She slapped him again. This time, he’d earned it.
With a swish of her hips, Charlene flounced up the hill toward the house.
Five years ago, when his grandpa had announced that he wanted to marry a Las Vegas showgirl, Ben had been almost proud of the old guy. After a lifetime of hard work that had started in the Texas oil fields, Jerod had the right to amuse himself. Even if it meant the rest of the family had to put up with a gold digger.
Charlene had readily agreed to a very generous prenuptial agreement. Whether their marriage was ended by divorce or death, she walked away with a cool half million in cash. Not a bad deal.
Ben had expected Charlene to divorce his grandpa after a year and grab the cash, but she’d stayed…and stayed…and stayed. In her shallow way, she might even love Jerod. And he had to admit that their May–December marriage had turned out better than his. Nothing good had come from that union, except for his daughter.
He walked to the end of the small dock. A spring wind rippled the waters. Trout were jumping. In the rolling foothills of Colorado, he saw the swells of the ocean. He missed his home in Seattle that overlooked the sea, but he cherished every moment here with his grandpa as the old man prepared for his final voyage.
Behind his back, Ben heard someone step onto the dock. Had Charlene come back? He turned and saw a gray maid’s uniform. “What is it?”
“You must be Ben.” She marched toward him with her hand outthrust. “I’m Liz Norton. The new maid.”
He accepted her handshake. Though she was a slender little thing, her grip was strong. He took a second look at her. The expression in her luminous green eyes showed a surprising challenge. Not the usual demeanor for household staff. “Is this your first job as a servant?”
“Servant?” Her nose wrinkled in disgust. “I can’t say that I like that job description. Sounds like I ought to curtsey.”
“I suppose you have a more politically correct job title in mind.”
She pulled her hand away from his grasp and thought for half a second. “Housekeeping engineer.”
In spite of her droopy gray uniform, she radiated electricity, which might explain why her hair looked like she’d stuck her finger in a wall socket. He would have dismissed her as being too cute. Except for the sharp intelligence in her green eyes.
“Nice place you’ve got here.” She stepped up beside him. “Are there horses?”
“Not anymore. Horses were my grandmother’s passion. Arabians. God, they were beautiful.” He had fond memories of grooming the horses with his grandmother. “After she passed away, ten years ago, Jerod sold them to someone who would love them as much as she had.”
“Wise decision. Every living creature needs to be with someone who loves them.”
A hell of a profound statement. “Are you? With someone who loves you?”
“I do okay.” She cocked her head and looked up at him. “How about you, Ben? Who loves you?”
