Red Carpet Christmas

by Patricia Rosemoor

  Stopping in the doorway, he glanced back at her. “I’d rather be prepared. Let’s find out what’s up first.”

  The same mistake she’d made the day before.

  Besides, was Gideon really prepared for what he might find? Thankful she and Cass hadn’t run into the murderer the day before, Simone wondered if her luck could hold.

  “But what if—”

  Gideon cut her off, features hard. “Thanks for being worried, but I can take care of myself.”

  Certain he could—he was suddenly all alpha male, spine straight, nostrils flaring—she nevertheless watched him enter the house with her stomach knotting.

  “Hel-lo,” he quickly muttered.

  “What?” Simone automatically stepped inside. Though Gideon was blocking her view, she saw a room that had been ripped apart…and an arm stretched across the living room floor. “Oh, no, not another…”

  A moan from the body had Gideon stooping, feeling for a pulse. Simone rushed to his side.

  “She’s alive,” he assured her.

  “Thank God.”

  Remembering her cell phone, Simone put through the call for help. By the time she clicked the phone off, Galen was sitting up, her back against the couch, her fingers tentatively touching the side of her head. She moaned again.

  “I’ll get some ice,” Simone said.

  “No, wait,” Gideon said. “Whoever did this could still be in the house. You stay with her and I’ll get it.”

  Once more surprised by his protectiveness, Simone let Gideon have his way.

  And then she settled to her knees and inspected Galen. For a woman who’d been knocked unconscious, Galen wasn’t looking too bad. Her color was good and her eyes were in focus. From the odd expression that flitted across her features, her mind seemed to be working just fine.

  “So what happened?” Simone asked.

  “You tell me.”

  Simone started and backed off. “You think I had something to do with your being attacked?”

  “How would I know? I’m the victim here.”

  Her saying it that way raised Simone’s hackles. “We just got here, Galen. Your front door was open—”

  “Like Nikki’s! Dear Lord, I’m lucky to be alive.” Galen shrank back slightly.

  Simone told herself not to be insulted. Galen had been someone’s victim—someone the woman hadn’t seen. She’d been knocked out, so it was only natural that she would be confused and mistrustful.

  Only…she didn’t exactly seem confused.

  Studying the other woman more closely, Simone said, “Gideon came into the house first and saw you on the floor. I was right behind him.”

  “Isn’t he your alibi for Nikki’s murder?”

  The other woman’s sly tone and expression were similar to what Simone had noted the morning before at the club’s post fund-raiser meeting.

  “I’m not liking where this conversation is going, Galen. Especially not when I don’t have anything to hide.” At least not related to murder. “But you do. I’m talking about Al Cecchi. Or should I call him Albert the way you do?”

  Galen’s complexion darkened, and her mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Sure you do. You were Al’s mistress. The question is when? And for how long? And how did it end? I guess that’s three questions. Sorry.”

  “You’re delusional!”

  Simone glimpsed Gideon hovering in the next room, zipped plastic bag of ice in hand, as she said, “Maybe the police won’t think so.”

  “You can’t tell them! You’ll ruin me!”

  “Then it’s true.”

  “All right. It happened last year. It was simply a single indiscretion, not an affair. But if William found out about it, that would be the end of the marriage for me. Our prenup… I would be left with nothing. I’m too old to start over. Please, Simone.”

  Was Galen telling the truth? Simone didn’t know her well enough to decide.

  Gideon chose that moment to make himself known. “No sign of anyone here. This ice should bring down the swelling.”

  “Thank you.”

  Galen took the bag from him and placed it over a spot on the back of her head. Simone’s eyebrows shot up. The woman had been nursing the side of her head when she’d first sat up.

  “So what was the intruder looking for?” Gideon asked.

  “How would I know? He didn’t say anything.”

  “He? You know it was a man? You saw him, then?”

  “No!” Galen insisted, looking around the room. “I saw nothing. He hit me and I was out.”

  Was Galen lying? Why? To protect herself? Hit her with what? Nothing lying around the area looked like a weapon.

  Hearing the ambulance pull up outside, Simone decided to hold her peace for a while. “I won’t say anything—”

  “Thank you!”

  Simone didn’t have time to add “for now” before footsteps tromped up the outside stairs.

  Paramedics were preceded by two uniformed officers. As Galen was being checked out for trauma, the male officer asked her questions about who might have broken in and why. Galen protested that she hadn’t a clue. The female officer got the lowdown from Simone and Gideon, including the possibility of a connection to what happened at Nikki Albright’s.

  Which made Simone wonder about Galen and Sam. If Sam Albright was the connection between the first two murders, what would be his connection with Galen?

  Not that she had the opportunity to ask.

  Not that she would, at least not in front of the police. She didn’t want Sam finding out that she was discussing him. If alerted to the fact, he might ignore her warning and come after Drew.

  Once the officer jotted down sufficient notes about the break-in, she called them in, then went to take a look upstairs just as the paramedic finished checking out Galen.

  “You’re very lucky your friends were quick-thinking getting you that ice,” the paramedic told Galen. “Not so much as a bump.”

  “Well, it hurts like there’s one!” Galen argued, eyeing the male officer who’d stopped nearby.

  Simone noticed she was holding the ice bag in a slightly different spot than she had been earlier.

  Hmm…

  “If you’ll come with us, we’ll take you to the closest emergency room.”

  “I can’t leave now.” Galen gestured to the mess around her. “I don’t have a concussion, do I?”

  “Not that I can tell.”

  “And I’m not bleeding.”

  “Not on the outside. We need to be sure you’re all right, ma’am.”

  “But my home—”

  “Will still be here when you get back,” the officer said. “Perhaps you want to look around and see what might be missing before you go to the E.R.”

  “A doctor really should check her out first,” argued the paramedic.

  Simone knew they couldn’t force anyone to go to the hospital. But surely anyone who’d really been hurt would be willing to be examined. Frustration crossed Galen’s features, but in the end, she acquiesced, though she insisted on calling her husband to let him know what was going on.

  And then, despite the paramedic’s protests, she took a quick tour downstairs.

  Circling back to where the others were waiting, she appeared puzzled. “I don’t see anything missing.”

  Simone had noted that priceless works of art were still on the walls, a silver candelabra still on the fireplace. But as had been the case at Nikki’s, couch cushions had been thrown around and drawers had been opened, papers everywhere, the media stand and bookcases emptied.

  The officer who’d been inspecting the second floor descended, saying, “All kinds of expensive stuff lying around upstairs. Whoever did this must have been looking for something specific. You might as well go to the E.R., Mrs. O’Neill. We have to wait for the evidence technicians to arrive. One of us or a detective will catch up to you, either at the hospital or h
ere. Should we need to vacate the place before you or your husband return, we’ll lock up tight.”

  “Fine.” Galen marched out the door, the paramedic following.

  “Come on, let’s go,” Gideon said softly.

  The male officer cleared his throat. “I’ve been asked to detain you two.”

  “You have no grounds for arrest,” Gideon said.

  At which the officer gave him a sharp look. “I didn’t say anything about arrest.”

  “The detective in charge wants to talk to you,” his partner said.

  “We’ve told you all we know,” Simone protested, feeling the walls of Galen’s home closing in around her.

  “Not my call, ma’am. I’m just following orders.”

  A few minutes later, the evidence technicians arrived and the officers wandered away, every so often shooting a glance at Simone and Gideon as if expecting them to make a run for it.

  “Three strikes and I’m out,” she muttered.

  “You may get hassled, but they’re not going to arrest you,” Gideon assured her. “You were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “Again!”

  How could this keep happening to her? Simone wondered. At least she hadn’t entered the house alone. Of course, a lot of good that had done her with Norelli yesterday. But in the end, he hadn’t arrested her.

  She simply had to believe her luck would hold.

  IT WAS MID-AFTERNOON by the time they were able to catch some lunch at John Barleycorn’s, a nearby bar and restaurant with what Simone claimed were the best burgers in town. The place was dark but inviting—old-fashioned carved wooden bar, pressed metal ceiling, myriad model ships lining the upper walls. Gideon knew he wasn’t the best-spirited person on an empty stomach, so he waited until he’d wolfed down half a burger before broaching the subject.

  “So what do Cecchi, the Albright woman and Galen O’Neill have in common?”

  The detectives hadn’t asked, undoubtedly because they weren’t in the loop yet. Because the O’Neill house was in a different part of the city than the other two crime scenes, the O’Neill case had gone to yet a third area office and a third set of detectives. Gideon was certain the police investigation would all get on board quickly, so he’d already put in a call to Logan to keep tabs on what was happening.

  “In common? You mean, other than knowing me?” Simone shrugged and took a sip of her iced tea. “Al is the common denominator for the two women.”

  “There has to be something else. Remember the cop said the intruder must have been looking for something specific. This wasn’t a simple burglary.”

  “Nikki’s place was the same. It was a wreck. Obviously her murderer had been searching for something specific, because the valuables hadn’t been carted away from there, either. If it was just a thing the person wanted, why murder anyone over it?”

  Why had his own father been murdered? Gideon wondered.

  Trying to keep his voice natural, he said, “Who knows what goes through the mind of a criminal.”

  “Galen wasn’t murdered,” Simone was saying.

  “No, but she was knocked out. Nikki might have surprised whoever it was and then tried to fight the bastard,” Gideon said, biting into his burger and washing it down with a slug of beer.

  Simone picked at her food. She was silent for a moment before asking, “What about Al, though? He was killed at the party. No burglary involved there.”

  “Maybe the murderer thought he had something valuable on him.”

  “What would be valuable enough that someone would kill to get his hands on it?” Simone murmured.

  “Evidence of a crime comes to mind. Cecchi was a criminal lawyer.”

  “But his job is to protect his clients.”

  “What if the murderer wasn’t a client? What if a client gave him something that proved someone else committed a crime? He might have been planning on turning over evidence to clear his client.”

  “And the guilty one decided to stop him!” Simone said, sudden excitement fueling her so that her cheeks flushed becomingly.

  Gideon stared. She was so vibrant, so determined to do what the average person would be happy to leave to the authorities. Or to someone she could hire. Simone could have left the case to him and his team, but she hadn’t. Why? Because she didn’t trust him to get the job done?

  Or because she did?

  Could it be that Simone wanted to be as close to him as he did to her?

  Knowing that line of thinking had to wait—they had a lot in the past to sort out—he said, “Now we need to figure out why the murderer would think Nikki Albright or Galen O’Neill had whatever it was.”

  “Sam Albright has my vote.”

  “He obviously had a connection to both Cecchi and his ex-wife, but what connection did he have to Galen? Besides which, he was Cecchi’s client, which negates our speculation about the evidence.”

  “This is making my head hurt.” Simone frowned. “Every time I think we’re getting somewhere…” Then her expression changed. “I’m not so sure Galen’s did.”

  Confused by her turnaround, Gideon asked, “What are you getting at?”

  “When we first found her, Galen was holding the side of her head. Then when you brought her the ice pack, she put it at the back and later to yet another spot. The paramedic said she didn’t have a concussion or even a lump. And she didn’t want to go the emergency room. Remember, the paramedic pushed her into agreeing.”

  Gideon prided himself on being observant, but apparently he’d missed the stuff about the ice pack. “You don’t think she was hurt.”

  “It just seemed…suspicious.”

  “As in her tearing up her own place and pretending she’d been attacked? What would be her point?”

  “Galen knew I was going to be there,” Simone reasoned. “What if she wanted everyone to believe she was a victim, too? Her fingerprints are on that dagger they took out of Al’s chest, remember. She had a thing with Al and was worried that her husband would find out. Maybe he threatened to tell the man and she panicked.”

  “Okay. But then how does Nikki play into this?”

  Simone made a sound of frustration and slumped back into her chair. She took a bite of her burger and chewed thoughtfully before excitedly gulping down some tea to help her swallow.

  “The desk!” she gasped. “Why didn’t we think of it before? Al and Nikki were fighting over the desk Teresa donated without his knowing. That kind of desk has a secret compartment. A convenient hiding place for something of value. That would explain why Al was so livid. Somehow, the murderer must have figured out Al’s hiding place.”

  “The desk was in Nikki’s living room,” Gideon said. “But it was torn apart.”

  “So whatever was supposed to be in there was gone by the time the murderer searched it,” Simone concluded.

  They were of the same mind, Gideon thought. And he also realized they were finally getting somewhere.

  He said, “Nikki might have found the object and removed it.”

  “Or not. Whatever it was might have been gone by the time the desk went up for auction. As auction chairwoman, Galen had private access to it, which would make her a target. Maybe she wasn’t faking anything.”

  Gideon could see Simone getting frustrated again, but he was certain they were on to something. “Did anyone else have access to the desk?”

  “Not that I know of. The delivery people, I guess, but they were simply hired, no one involved with Al. Then, again…I’ve been wondering why Josie Ralston was at the party. What if Al told her about the desk and she was there to check it out herself?”

  “It would help if we knew what Cecchi hid in the damn thing.”

  “We can’t ask him now, but we can ask Teresa,” Simone said, her troubled expression gradually clearing. “At the wake tonight.”

  Chapter Twelve

  The funeral home was all too familiar to Simone—it was where the wake for David had been held. That’s all she
could think about as she made polite conversation with acquaintances who’d come to pay their last respects to Al Cecchi.

  The main room’s fireplace was roaring, and the couches surrounding it were full. The heat was getting to her, but she’d been avoiding going into the parlor where Al was laid out—the same one that had been used for David. Eventually, she had to stop stalling and go inside. Alone.

  If she chose to go to the funeral the morning after next, she would have to decide whether to take Drew with her. For tonight, thankfully, he’d already made plans to bunk at a friend’s house for the night.

  Not so thankfully, a last-minute crisis at the club had kept Gideon from meeting her. He’d said he would be late, but she’d been waiting for a while now. She had no idea of when—or if—he would arrive, and she was anxious to get some answers. She hated doing this alone, not because she was afraid, but because she hated not having Gideon at her side. She was starting to depend on him entirely too much. A few days of his helping her couldn’t erase his betrayal.

  Taking a deep breath, Simone entered Parlor A and quickly signed the guest book.

  She swept her gaze around the spacious room with comfortable-looking seating areas with couches and chairs and low-lit lamps, just like in a real living room.

  Michael stood in the line to speak to the widow. He, too, was alone—well, if she didn’t count his shadow Ulf, who stood to the side, keeping watch on the room. No Josie. The woman had said she wasn’t coming to Teresa’s party, and it seemed she’d stuck to her word.

  Thinking to join Michael, Simone quickly changed her mind. She wanted to speak to Teresa alone, not with her brother being within earshot. Whatever Al had hidden in the desk wasn’t his business. It could wait.

  She busied herself looking at the photographs the widow had brought. Family photos of Teresa and Al and their kids at various stages in their lives. She’d laid out similar photos of her and Drew and David for her husband’s wake. Memories of their life together were already fading, a realization that made her panic inside. She wondered how much of an influence Gideon was in that respect. She didn’t want to forget David, not ever, and Drew certainly wouldn’t.

  Although her head told her to keep things between her and Gideon on a professional basis, she couldn’t seem to put aside her feelings for him, which seemed to be as strong as they had been when she was in high school. They were unthinkable for her, given his testimony against her father; they were dangerous for Gideon. Michael always made good on his threats.