“How well did you know the deceased?”
“Not at all,” she said. “I’d met Mrs. Ambrose twice. Once she visited our motor coach, and then I sat next to her at the dinner.”
“I understand there was some tension between you and this lady at dinner.”
“Not really, Detective.” Celeste invoked her mother’s tone and doubled its impact with a raised chin. “We merely spoke of our childhoods, the races, and Mr. Ambrose’s interest in horses.”
He jotted a note down. “Where do you live, Miss Benson?”
Oh boy. Here we go. “New York City.”
He looked up, surprised. “How long have you been in Daytona?”
“Since the Fourth of July.” She held her breath. Where do you live? What’s your full name? Can we see identification?
He flipped a briefcase on the table and opened it, then slipped on medical gloves. “Are you willing to offer a hair sample for DNA testing? Otherwise, I have to go to court and get a search warrant—”
She waved him quiet with one hand. “Of course I’m willing.”
He smiled apologetically. “Okay. This might hurt a little.” He reached toward her head. “I need to get it at the root.”
She cringed as he tugged at two hairs and rubbed the spot as he held them up to the light. “That ought to do.” He tucked them into a plastic bag, sealed it, and with a black marker he wrote C. BENSON and the date.
By the way, Detective, my name isn’t really Cece Benson.
“You and Mr. Lansing will have to go to a local hospital that works with the Daytona police to give your blood sample.”
Twice in one day. She blessed her choice of long sleeves, the fabric covering the cotton balls and tape from this morning’s blood test. “Okay. We’ll do that right away.”
His gaze moved beyond her to the window. “Great view you’ve got.”
“Oh, the shop, yes.”
His face melted into a loopy grin in response, his gaze riveted on the scene behind her. “I think Beau has a shot at the Brickyard this weekend. If he can shake the curse of Gus Bonnet, that is.”
She stared at him. He was talking racing, for goodness’ sakes. She waited a beat. “Is that all, Detective?”
He focused on her again. “That’s it for now, ma’am. You get that blood drawn today and we’ll test it and then we’re one step closer to, uh, eliminating you as a suspect.”
She gave him a tight smile as a good-bye as he left. She hadn’t lied once. Only a few notable omissions. Like who she was. And the fact that a prowler had been in their motor coach two nights before the fire. A prowler with a message and a match. That was one notable omission in a murder and arson case.
Feeling as if she was suffocating with guilt and fear, she unlatched and pushed the window open, sucking in the air. She absently watched two men push oversize tires off a truck. Visible waves of heat bounced off the roof of the shop. A roaring engine died down, and the sudden silence was broken by someone’s call for a pressure gauge.
She couldn’t go on like this. It was time to end the pretense before the police did it for her and made her look even more guilty.
The relentless humidity rolled in with the sounds, along with the smell of hot earth and rubber and suddenly Celeste felt exactly as she had when she sat behind Pit Road and watched Beau race. When gasoline fumes distorted the air and the grandstands rumbled and tools clanged against one another. She felt…in place. In a good place. The right place.
She dropped her head against the wooden window frame. Was it possible she’d finally found out where she belonged…and with whom?
And what would happen when the truth came out?
The questions Detective Alexander had asked led Beau to one conclusion: Harlan Ambrose was hiding something and trying to keep himself out of the spotlight by shining it directly on Beau. Could Harlan have murdered his own wife?
He’d offered Dallas Wyatt a heck of a lot of money to rub him out. He’d probably paid Mickey Waggoner to raise Beau’s track bar to spinning height last week. Could he have killed Olivia to set up Beau?
Why would Harlan want to be rid of him? The only explanation was money. If he had Dallas Wyatt driving under the Dash sponsorship, the marketing fund would get a lot more money. As would Harlan, if he had a cut of the marketing fund, and it was possible he’d structured his deal like that.
Beau slipped into the back of the building and ran smack into Kaylene Dixon.
“Hell’s bells, Beau!” She grabbed both his shoulders with more strength than he thought the little woman had. “What the devil is goin’ on?”
He didn’t want to explain anything at that moment; he needed to talk to Celeste. “I’ll tell you all about it later, Kay,” he said, moving past her.
She grabbed a piece of his T-shirt and pulled him back. “Hold your horses, lover boy. She’ll still be there in five minutes. Do you know someone by the name of Gavin Bennett?”
He froze. “What?”
Kaylene tapped a long red nail against her cheek. “He called here this morning and said he was trying to find the person who called his home on Saturday night. Apparently, a number came up on his caller ID and he called it back, but on race weekends your unanswered calls are forwarded to me.”
“So why are you asking me?”
“ ’Cause I recognized the number he said showed up on his ID. It was your cell phone.”
Could Olivia have called Gavin Bennett from Beau’s cell phone in the trailer? She’d unearthed Celeste’s ID, so of course it was possible.
“Did you tell him anything?”
“With all the weirdos who run after you? No way. I told him this was a business and he shouldn’t pay no mind to the call he got.” She lowered her voice. “Since the cops were just here, I thought maybe you should know.”
Oh, great. Did everyone think he’d kill Olivia just to be rid of her? “Thanks. Let me know if he calls again.”
“Oh, he won’t call again.”
Something in Kaylene’s voice kept him there. “Why not?”
“At first he was just arrogant, then, I don’t know, uncomfortable. He wanted to get off the phone real fast.”
“Did he say somebody left him a message? Did he have a name of someone?”
“He wasn’t givin’ information, honey, he was lookin’ for it.”
He gave her a quick nod. “Thanks, Kay. I gotta go.”
She planted her feet apart and put her hands on her hips in her “don’t mess with me and expect to live” stance. “Beau Lansing, I’ve known you for years and I love you.”
He didn’t know whether to smile or run. “Yep. I love you too.”
“Then get in my office and tell me who the hell that girl is.”
“What…what are you talking about?”
“She’s got no Social Security card, Beau.” Her heated whisper came out in a hiss. “At least she keeps putting off givin’ me the number. Which makes sense, because I can’t find any record of her—not a driver’s license, phone number, or address under the name Cece Benson. So I called the phone number on her résumé.”
She made a show of studying one of her nails as she continued. “She left a nice little message for callers saying she’d be out of town for a while.” She looked straight at him with accusing eyes. “And her name ain’t Cece. It’s Celeste.”
“Yep. It is.”
“And her last name ain’t Benson. It’s Bennett. Just like that man who called this morning.” Kaylene crossed her arms. “Now do you want to tell me what the devil’s goin’ on?”
Oh, shit. “I do. But not yet. You gotta trust me, Kaylene, nobody’s done anything wrong. Not me and not Celeste. I…we…have a really good explanation. Please don’t tell Travis and don’t confront her. Please, trust me.”
“I’d trust you with my life,” she said honestly. “But I don’t know about that pretty Yankee. She’s real nice, real classy…but something stinks about this. And a woman’s dead. I didn’t particularly
care for the woman, but she is dead.”
Beau nodded quickly. “I know. But trust me,” he pleaded. “We…I…really need Celeste to stay here.”
Kaylene raised a skeptical eyebrow and gave him a once-over.
“No, not for that. Just believe me, Kay.” He squeezed her shoulders. “We really need her.”
“How about a nice trip to the blood bank again?”
Celeste turned from her study of the shop at the sound of Beau’s voice. “I didn’t tell him,” she said immediately.
He stepped into her office and closed the door behind him. “You didn’t?”
She loved that he knew exactly what she meant. “To be perfectly accurate, he didn’t ask. Does that make me guilty of anything?”
In a flash he rounded her desk to put his arms around her. “Not murder, certainly.”
She stepped into his welcome embrace but pulled back to look at him. She had to get an answer to the question that nagged at her. “Why did you say you needed me before we went out on the track?”
She saw his jaw go slack in surprise. Then he shook his head, frustration darkening his expression. “You think I needed a cover for something? How could you think that?”
“Why did you say ‘I need you’ before we went out on the track?” she repeated.
His mouth curled in a half-smile. “Because I did. And I do. I need you.”
“For what?” He wasn’t going to flirt out of this one.
“An alibi?”
He pulled her closer. “I needed your company. Your attention. Your voice. Your body. You.”
She blew out a breath of disbelief.
“Babe, the only thing I’m guilty of is trying to seduce you. As far as I know, that isn’t against the law in Pennsylvania or Florida.”
She was determined not to let the affection in his eyes melt her resolve. “You need one specific part of my body, Beau.”
He closed the space between them completely. “I keep reminding myself of that.” She could feel the hard planes of his chest and smell his musky scent as he hugged her. “Then I hear these maddening little voices that tell me…I need more.”
Her heart started a double-time tempo. “You’re hearing voices?”
“Regularly. Aren’t you?”
“Well…” Right at that moment, some imp was telling her to kiss him…senseless. “Yes. I’ve heard a few.”
“Great,” he said, laying his forehead against hers.
“Now we’ve done it. We’ve officially driven each other crazy. Hallucinations can’t be far off.”
She searched his eyes. “What’s going to happen, Beau?”
“I don’t know.” Surprising her, he nuzzled his face in her neck, sending a shower of tingles over her whole body. “But you’re not going to like what I’m about to tell you.”
She pulled back sharply. “What? Did you tell the detective who I really am?”
“No.” He gave her a wry smile. “He didn’t ask.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Where we were that night. And that I saw Harlan at the bar, who had been noticeably absent.”
“So, what won’t I like?”
He rubbed her arm as he spoke. “Gavin Bennett called here today.” Her body went stiff under his hand as his words tumbled out in a rush. Though she heard him telling her that Kaylene had received a call forwarded from his cell phone, she couldn’t process it.
“How? Why? My dad called here? I don’t understand.”
“I guess Olivia called the number that was in your wallet. Gavin was trying to trace the number on his caller ID. I remember leaving my phone on the counter in the kitchen.”
She backed away. “Oh, God.” She sat down on her chair and hugged herself. He would tell Mother. If he managed to figure out that Celeste had gone to find her biological father, he would hound his wife mercilessly. “I’d better call my mother. I don’t want him to tell her where I am before I do.” She looked at her watch. “It’s Monday, so Mother’s got half of Darien’s finest gardeners in her gazebo right now, cooing over her roses. I’ll wait.”
“Celeste,” he said softly. “After you talk to her…then what will you do?”
“Talk to Travis, I guess.”
“Then what?”
Her heart ached. All he was worried about was her damned kidney. “You know, you’re the most single-minded man I ever met.”
“That’s me. Focused on the finish line.”
They stared at each other. She wanted to touch his face, to brush her fingers along his eyebrows, to kiss his tempting mouth.
“So, tell me.” He ran a finger over her knuckles, pausing at the diamond ring she wore. “Then what?”
“We don’t even know if I’m a match for him yet. Then there are a battery of tests for both of us. It’ll be weeks before an operation can be done.”
He frowned at her. “Are you going to leave…afterward?”
He actually sounded like he cared. But she couldn’t tease herself with that fantasy.
“I will if I’m not a match and I’m not charged with murder,” she said quietly. For one crazy second, she imagined what it would feel like if he wanted her to stay. Oh, God. If he cared, if he felt like she did, then…who knows what she might do?
“I have to go home eventually,” she said.
He stood abruptly. “Of course you do.” He walked around to the doorway, pausing to look at her. “But if you’re a match, will you go through with it?”
“I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it,” she said.
“Sure.” He stepped into the hall. “And I know just how you feel about bridges.”
Chapter
Twenty-three
The doorbell startled Elise. She’d ignored the phone all day, as well as the gate buzzer when it rang five minutes ago. No one wanted her; the calls were all for Gavin. The visitor must be too.
Now someone pounded against the front door. She waited for the sound of Gavin’s study door opening but heard nothing. Annoyed, Elise went downstairs and peered through the glass at the male figure. Craig Lang.
“Where’s Gavin?” he demanded as she opened the door, brushing by her without a glance or greeting.
“In his study. He must be on the phone. Are you all right, Craig?”
He grunted and strode down the hall toward the study. The door opened before he reached it.
“It’s about fucking time,” Gavin growled as he yanked Craig into the room. “Where’s Noelle?”
Elise’s stomach turned. Noelle? That girl was not coming into her house. He would not steal all of her dignity from her. “Are you expecting someone else, Gavin?” she called in a cold voice.
The study door slammed.
Bastard. White, hot anger burst behind her eyes. He could not do this. She marched to the study, but as she touched the doorknob, she heard Gavin’s voice thunder, “Get a fucking hold of yourself, Craig!”
She froze and heard Craig mumble something unintelligible.
“Oh, come on,” Gavin barked. “Kennedys do this kind of shit all the time. We’ve got enough money to shut anybody up we have to.”
“If it comes out, if anybody finds out, you’re finished, Gavin.” Craig’s voice sounded uncharacteristically weak.
“We’re finished!” Gavin barked. “We had a fucking deal. And son of a bitch, I’ll keep my end. You can keep riding my goddamn coattails right to the White House, but you gotta earn it, pal, and get us out of this mess.”
Curiosity kept Elise riveted to the spot, listening to Gavin pour a drink and sigh disgustedly.
“That girl could ruin everything with one call to CNN,” he said as she heard a cabinet close with a thud. “You know what you have to do.”
“Should I hire someone?” Craig asked.
“Jesus, no. Just get rid of her.”
Was Gavin finished with Miss December? Is that what he used Craig for? Was it time to fire the recently promoted assistant campaign manager because she wanted to go p
ublic with their affair? Or maybe Noelle wanted more. Maybe she wanted to marry the future senator.
“That’ll cause one hell of a scandal, Gavin.”
“Christ almighty, Craig, maybe you don’t understand all the implications,” Gavin said. “If that girl makes me look like a laughingstock, we can kiss the whole campaign good-bye. Even if I managed to finesse it, I’d never have a shot at the White House. Can you imagine? The press would have a field day with it.”
She couldn’t make out Craig’s mumbled comment.
“You stupid asshole!” The words ricocheted through the study and into the hall where Elise stayed frozen in her spot. “Yes, we have an agreement. And I’ll stand by it. If I go all the way, you go all the way. You can be the fucking chief of staff if you want. But if I go down, you’re buried with me.”
They were both silent, and Elise wondered if she should leave before the door opened in her face.
“I knew this was dangerous and that it could come out at any time, but, hell, I didn’t expect her to go off the deep end like this.” She heard the clink of Gavin’s scotch decanter. “What the hell was she thinking?”
Craig coughed nervously. “It might even get us some sympathy votes.”
Gavin gave a hard laugh. “I thought of that. We’ll do the proper amount of mourning. But your job is to make it look like a clean, simple suicide. She’s fucked in the head. No one doubts that, after the way she’s been acting lately.”
Blood rushed in her ears, and Elise grabbed the wall for support, feeling an unexpected wave of sympathy for the perky blonde whose only crimes were ambition and poor judgment. Gavin’s chair scraped the floor, again drowning out Craig’s words.
“Don’t make it complicated, Craig. Pour a bunch of pills down her throat or something. Christ, you know how to handle her as well as I do.”
Could he actually be issuing an order to kill his mistress?
“She’s become difficult to handle, Gavin.”
“You’re damn right,” Gavin growled. “And it’s as much your fault as mine. If you had done your job right, this whole thing could have been avoided.”
Killer Curves Page 21