Dorian gazed at him in shock. “My God. So she is in trouble. I’ve been so worried something like this might happen—”
“Something like what?” Troy observed her closely. She appeared to be shocked by what he had told her, but something about her eyes, those cold, dark eyes, made him wonder. He had a feeling Dorian Andropoulos was a woman with her own secrets.
She watched smoke curl from her cigarette. “Nothing. It’s just…I’ve never trusted that woman.”
“But the maid said you’re Richard’s mother-in-law. Wouldn’t that make you—?”
“I am not her mother,” Dorian said through clenched teeth. Her dark eyes narrowed into twin slits of anger, and her mouth thinned. The fading beauty Troy glimpsed earlier all but vanished.
“What exactly is your relationship to Andrea?”
“We have no relationship. Richard’s first wife, Christina, was my daughter.”
“I see.” Obviously this was a sore subject with Dorian. “How did Andrea happen to become the second Mrs. Malone?”
A furious drag on her cigarette, another cloud of smoke, and then she tapped ashes into a crystal ashtray with a bloodred fingernail. “Andrea worked for my daughter. She was my granddaughter’s nanny. I warned Christina not to hire her, but she wouldn’t listen to me. Andrea had never worked as a nanny before, came with no recommendations except for a friend of Christina’s, hardly more than an acquaintance really, who had met Andrea through her son. Andrea was the boy’s teacher at a private school here in Houston. The friend knew Christina was looking for a nanny, and she introduced her to Andrea. Christina was immediately taken with her.”
Troy knew how that could happen. Andrea had charmed everyone in the hospital, including his own sister. Including him. She had a way about her. She made people want to help her. Maybe it wasn’t a deliberate manipulation—he hoped not a manipulation at all—but the ability was there nonetheless.
“My daughter was going through a difficult time,” Dorian continued. “She suffered from severe depression, and the problem worsened after Andrea moved into this house.”
“Were you living here then?”
The barest hint of resentment flashed in Dorian’s eyes. “Not then, no. I came to help take care of my granddaughter after Christina died.”
“But wasn’t Andrea still her nanny?”
“Oh, yes.” Dorian stubbed out her cigarette. “You couldn’t have pried that woman out of this house. She knew what she wanted from the first, and she didn’t rest until she got it. Poor Richard was so distraught over Christina’s death that he didn’t see it coming. Never knew what hit him.”
“How did your daughter die, Mrs. Andropoulos?”
Those red nails toyed with another cigarette. “She committed suicide.”
Troy made a mental note to check the records when he got back to the station. “How long have Andrea and Richard been married?”
“Not long. Barely a month.”
Just a month, Troy thought. If he’d met Andrea five weeks ago, would it have made a difference? Could he have persuaded her to change her mind and not marry Richard Malone? He wanted to believe he could have, but as Troy gazed around the magnificent home, he had to ask himself how the hell a cop could ever compete with this.
He glanced back at Dorian. “How soon after your daughter’s death did Andrea and Richard begin seeing each other?”
“Almost immediately. They were married almost six months to the day Christina was buried. When I heard the news, I couldn’t believe it. I went to Richard and begged him to reconsider. How much did we really know about Andrea Evans? I asked. How much could we trust her? I was worried about Richard and frightened for my granddaughter.”
“Frightened?”
Dorian looked up, her cool gaze measuring. There was no trace of grief, no hint of any emotion except anger in those piercing black eyes. “The police ruled my daughter’s death a suicide, but I never believed it. I always thought—”
“Telling tales out of school, are we, Dorian?”
The cultured, masculine voice spoke from the entranceway, and both Dorian and Troy turned toward the sound. The man standing in the doorway was tall and slender, well dressed and well-groomed. Fine tuned, Troy’s mother would say.
“Robert, this is Sergeant Stoner with the police department,” Dorian said.
The man’s brows lifted in surprise. “Robert Malone,” he said, walking over to shake hands with Troy.
“He’s here about Andrea,” Dorian said.
“Andrea? What about her?”
“It seems she has amnesia,” Dorian said. “According to Sergeant Stoner, she was found a week ago Sunday night with blood all over her clothing.”
Robert’s gaze shot to Troy. “My God, was she in an accident? What happened? Is she going to be all right?”
“She wasn’t physically harmed,” Troy said.
Robert frowned. “Then I don’t understand. If she wasn’t hurt, why does she have amnesia?”
“Her doctors believe she may have witnessed something traumatic.”
“Like what?”
“I was hoping someone here could tell me,” Troy said. “Where were you that night, Mr. Malone?”
“Let me think.” Robert was still trying to act casual, but there was a definite look of alarm in his eyes. “Oh, yes. Now I remember. I drove over to Louisiana to do some gambling for a few days.”
“Anyone with you?”
“I always have better luck when I gamble alone.”
Dorian looked on the verge of saying something, then decided to keep her mouth shut. She lit up her second cigarette and exhaled a thick haze of smoke. “Aren’t you going to ask about the blood, Robert?”
A look of annoyance flickered across his features. “You said she wasn’t hurt.”
“That’s right,” Troy said. “The blood on her clothing wasn’t hers.”
“Then whose blood was it?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
Robert shook his head. “I don’t understand any of this.”
“What’s to understand?” Dorian said. “Obviously our little Andrea has gotten herself into some big trouble. Right, Sergeant?”
“Not necessarily. Andrea hasn’t been charged with a crime. She’s free to come and go as she pleases.”
Dorian looked startled. “But what about the blood?”
“What about it?”
“You can’t just let her get away with it.”
“Get away with what, Mrs. Andropoulos? Do you have evidence that a crime was committed? Can you lead me to a body or to a murder weapon?”
“Of course not.”
“Then you see my problem.” Troy picked up Andrea’s wedding picture from the piano, and turned toward the door. “As I said, Andrea is not being held, so I assume now that she knows where she lives, she’ll return home as soon as possible.” He glanced at Dorian, then at Robert, who had walked over to the bar and poured himself a drink. “Is there any reason why she shouldn’t?”
Robert didn’t say anything, but he knocked back the splash of vodka in his glass, then turned to replenish it at the bar. Dorian looked as if she’d like to do the same.
“I’ll be in touch, then,” Troy said. At the doorway, he paused and glanced back again. “By the way, do either of you happen to know Richard’s blood type?”
“Why, yes,” Robert said, swirling the vodka in his glass. “It’s the same as mine, as a matter of fact. O-positive.”
CHAPTER NINE
Before going over to Madison’s, Troy swung by the station to check his messages. He riffled through the slips of paper while he put in a call to Malone International. But after waiting on hold for five minutes, then getting the runaround for another ten, he finally hung up, frustrated. According to the staff at Malone International, there was no way to get in touch with their CEO. That much Dorian Andropoulos hadn’t lied about.
But how much else of what she had told him could he trust? Espe
cially the things she’d said about Andrea. Dorian had gone out of her way to paint Andrea in the most unflattering light possible—a gold digger who had conned her wealthy employer into marrying her while he was still grieving for his first wife.
And what about Dorian’s inference that Andrea might have had something to do with Christina Malone’s death? The police ruled my daughter’s death a suicide, but I never believed it. I always thought—There had been little doubt what she would have said—or at least implied—if Robert Malone hadn’t interrupted them.
Troy tried to analyze the information he’d heard at the Malone mansion without bias, but the truth of the matter was, he didn’t want to believe any of it. He didn’t want to believe that Andrea had had anything to do with anyone’s death, or that she had married a wealthy older man for his money.
Troy didn’t want to believe her capable of such deviousness, and yet there was definitely a dark side to Andrea. Secrets were hidden inside her. When those secrets were revealed, would Troy still be able to convince himself that Andrea Malone was an innocent woman?
He thought about Cassandra Markham and everything he’d done to convince himself of her innocence. He’d wanted to believe in her until the bitter end, and look where that had gotten him.
Sighing heavily, he picked up the computer printouts on his desk and began to pore over the latest lists of missing persons and homicides that Leanne Manning, the department’s computer expert, had sent over earlier.
Lieutenant Lucas, coffee cup in hand, came out of his office a few minutes later. He’d been headed for the coffeepot, but when he saw Troy, he veered over to his desk.
“We must have had close to half a dozen calls this morning,” he said. “Seems everyone in the city suddenly recognizes Andrea Malone’s picture.”
Troy glanced up. “Makes you wonder why it took so long, doesn’t it?”
Lucas shrugged. He set his empty cup on Troy’s desk. “Not really. People don’t pay much attention to that kind of thing. I’ve always suspected those pictures on milk cartons are a big waste of time.”
Troy figured that was probably sad but true.
“What’d you find out about the family?” Lucas asked.
“A weird bunch,” Troy said. “Her husband’s out of town, no one seems to know how to reach him and his former mother-in-law and his brother seem to be pretty well dug in at the mansion. They weren’t upset by Andrea’s disappearance, and they sure as hell weren’t overly anxious to get her back.”
Lucas leaned against Troy’s desk and crossed his arms. “You talked to Andrea yet?”
“Not yet. I’m heading over there in a few minutes, but I had a few things to check out here first. I’ve gone over the missing-persons and homicide reports every day since Sunday week, but I haven’t been able to find one single thing to connect her with anyone on the lists. Two homicides had the same blood type, but both had eyewitnesses to the crimes and the suspects are already in custody.”
“What are you checking, Harris County? Maybe you need to widen the search.”
“I doubt it. According to the lab, the blood on her dress was still fairly fresh when Dermott picked her up that night. I don’t think she’d gotten very far from whatever the hell it was that happened when he saw her. It’s possible she could have been running away from the mansion.”
“You think she whacked somebody at the house, then fled on foot?”
Troy shrugged. “No one’s missing except her husband, and according to his office, he’s away on business.” Troy wondered why he didn’t mention Richard Malone’s blood type, and the fact that it matched the blood found on Andrea’s dress. “I keep thinking about the sedative found in her blood. Why would she take a sleeping pill if she was planning to kill someone?”
“Maybe it wasn’t planned,” Lucas said. “You know as well as I do that drugs affect people in different ways.”
“Her doctor said this drug is harmless.”
“Doctors have been known to be wrong,” Lucas said. “I’ll feel a lot better once we locate Richard Malone. Have airport security look for his car, and if they don’t find it, put out an APB. Sooner or later, he has to turn up.”
Yeah, but in what condition? Troy wondered. The sick feeling he’d gotten at the mansion hadn’t gone away when he’d left. Instead, it was getting worse all the time, and he couldn’t shake the premonition that Andrea was headed for trouble. Big trouble.
Lucas pushed himself off the desk and picked up his cup. “Keep me posted, Stoner.”
“Will do.”
Troy cleaned up his desk as best he could, then dropped by Records on his way out. Leanne was there, sitting hunched over her computer terminal, scowling at the information scrolling across her screen. She looked up and grinned. “Hey, Stoner, any luck with your Jane Doe?”
“Some. I know who she is now and where she lives, just don’t know whose blood was on her clothes. Or how it got there.”
“I sent over the latest missing-persons and homicide reports,” she told him.
“Yeah, I got them. Nothing so far, but keep giving me the updates, okay? Meanwhile, I’d like you to run a list of names through the system for me. Anything comes up on any of them, you give me a call.”
He handed Leanne a piece of paper, and she glanced at the list of names. “I’ll see what I can find out, but it could take a while.”
“No problem. Just let me know if anything turns up.”
After signing out the Christina Malone file, Troy walked out of the building, automatically slipping on his sunglasses. His efforts were a long shot, and he knew it. If the computer turned up anything useful on the names he’d given to Leanne, he’d be surprised. But there was nothing else he could do right now. Nothing else to go on. No body, no weapon, no evidence of a crime except for the blood.
He got into his car, turned the ignition, then shifted into gear and drove out of the parking lot. His mind churned with everything he’d learned that day. The whole setup at the Malone mansion worried him. He didn’t like Dorian Andropoulos and he didn’t trust Robert Malone. Sending Andrea home to them would feel a little like sending the Christians to the lions, but what choice did he have? Andrea belonged with her family, and there wasn’t a damn thing Troy could do about it.
The sooner he accepted that, the better off they’d both be.
* * *
ANDREA STARED at the picture of herself and a man Troy said was Richard Malone, and a deep sense of foreboding stole over her. She felt weak, dizzy with terror as she stared down at the gray-haired man with the careworn face. There was no question now. She knew without a doubt who he was.
He was the man she had seen murdered in her dreams.
The image of blood was so strong in her mind that Andrea gasped, dropping the picture to the tile floor in Madison’s kitchen. The glass in the frame cracked, and when Andrea bent to pick it up, she nicked her finger on the edge. A drop of blood fell on Richard’s face, and the symbolism was almost unbearable.
Troy took the picture from her. “You’ve cut yourself.” Though his tone was gentle, his gaze was dark and—Andrea thought—accusing.
“It’s nothing,” she murmured.
“Here.” Madison took charge. She drew Andrea over to the sink, turned on the faucet and doused the finger in cold water. Andrea cringed but didn’t pull away. The pain gave her something else to focus on, gave her a moment or two to pull herself together before she had to face Troy again.
Madison wrapped a towel around Andrea’s finger. “Just keep applying pressure. The cut isn’t deep. The bleeding should stop in a minute.”
“I’m fine,” Andrea mumbled. Troy was watching her when she turned from the sink. He still held her wedding picture, and Andrea’s heart plunged to her stomach when she saw the look on his face.
He knows, she thought.
Somehow Troy knew about the memories and the dreams she’d been having. He suspected more was going on than she was telling him. That was why he seemed so
cold and remote.
So unreachable.
Andrea’s heart filled with bitter regret.
“Why don’t we all sit down?” Madison suggested. She led the way to the tiny breakfast alcove, where a white wicker dinette had been placed in front of a bay window.
Andrea took her seat and clasped her trembling hands in her lap. Across the table, Troy couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her. Andrea didn’t think she’d ever been so aware of someone staring at her, studying her. What did he see when he looked at her? What did he think? What did he feel?
Did he still want her, after today?
“Don’t you want to know about your family?” he asked softly.
“Of course.” No! She didn’t want to know. She wanted to go on pretending she didn’t have a family. She wanted to just keep thinking about Troy, dreaming about how it might be if—
“I met a woman named Dorian Andropoulos. Does that name ring a bell?”
Reality came crashing in. A vague uneasiness crept over Andrea. She couldn’t place the woman’s face, but she knew she’d heard her voice. You’re nothing but a backstabbing, little gold digger.”
Andrea shuddered. “Who is she?”
“She says she’s your husband’s mother-in-law. His first wife’s mother.”
Andrea glanced up. “She…lives with us?” It was the first time she’d referred to herself and Richard as an us, a couple.
Troy’s mouth tightened. “Apparently. So does your brother-in-law, Robert Malone. Do you remember him?”
Andrea searched her mind, but she had no recall of a brother-in-law. No masculine image came to her at all except for the gray-haired man with the careworn face. Richard Malone. Her husband.
She took a deep breath. “What did you find out about me?”
What She Forgot Page 10