White Lies

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  “That, too,” she admitted. “But there was another reason.”

  “What?”

  Clare looked up from stirring the scrambled eggs. “I think he or she probably saved my life.”

  A chill went through him. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m sure that Brad intended to kill me that night. Someone else got to him first.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  She knew she should be having some serious concerns about confiding in a man who was still, in far too many ways, a stranger. She had not talked to anyone, not even Elizabeth, about her darkest fears relating to the night of Brad’s death.

  She had an uneasy feeling that the intense intimacy of last night’s blistering sexual encounter had broken through the last of her carefully constructed barricades. She had kept her secret too long, she thought. Only now did she fully realize how desperately she had wanted to discuss her nightmarish theory with someone.

  If anyone could address her anxieties with cold reason, it would be Jake.

  “I wake up sometimes in the middle of the night, wondering,” she said. “But I never told anyone.”

  “Why would Brad McAllister want to kill you?”

  “Because I was the one who pulled Elizabeth out from his clutches. The divorce was not yet final when he died. I think he figured that if he got rid of me, he could regain control of Elizabeth.”

  “From all accounts, Brad McAllister was an all-around terrific guy.”

  The eggs were done. Clare scooped them onto two plates and added toast.

  “Brad was a manipulative sociopath,” she said. “Make that a manipulative para-sociopath. And he was so good-looking and so charming and so damned smart that he got away with it. Elizabeth is sure he was having an affair while they were married but she could never prove it.”

  “He was a member of the Society. Archer checked that out.”

  “Yes. But I’m positive that Brad lied, not only about the level of his parasenses but the type, as well. I think he was a lot stronger than he let anyone know. Maybe he found some way to fake the Society testing process.”

  “What kind of talent do you think he had?” Jake asked.

  “My guess is, he was a hypnotist or something along those lines. It would certainly explain how he managed to fool everyone, including Archer.”

  He sat down at the kitchen table. “But not you.”

  She shrugged. “I am what I am. He wasn’t able to fool Elizabeth indefinitely, either. Not even the best hypnotist can keep someone in a trance twenty-four-seven for months on end.”

  “So how did he manage to keep her under control as long as he did?”

  “Drugs.” She sat down at the kitchen table. “He convinced a shrink that she was going crazy. I wouldn’t be surprised if it turned out that Brad used his hypnotic talents on the doctor to encourage him to prescribe the meds. Then again, maybe he didn’t have to work that hard. Like I said, the bastard was incredibly charismatic.”

  Jake ate some of the eggs while he contemplated that. “Why would McAllister want to make Elizabeth look like a nutcase? What was his agenda?”

  “Our theory is that he did it to get control of her inheritance. Liz will eventually receive half of Glazebrook, Inc.”

  “But not until Archer dies. He looks to be in really good health.”

  She poured the tea and sat back. He was listening, she thought. He might not be convinced yet but at least he was paying attention.

  “All right,” she said, “here’s the rest of the conspiracy theory that Elizabeth and I concocted. Neither one of us thinks that Archer would have been long for this world if Brad had lived.”

  “You think he intended to murder Archer?”

  “Yes. Eventually. An accident of some sort, no doubt.”

  “McAllister would still have had Archer’s son to deal with,” Jake pointed out. “Matt is slated to take control of the company if anything happens to Archer.”

  “I don’t think Matt would have survived long, either. If we’re right, in the end, control of the company would have wound up in Elizabeth’s and Myra’s hands. And it wouldn’t have been hard to convince Myra to turn everything over to Brad. She thought he was great. Heck, everyone thought Brad was wonderful.”

  “I can see why you didn’t go to the cops with this theory of yours,” Jake said neutrally.

  She sighed. “I know. It’s pretty bizarre, isn’t it? The cops would have laughed. And as for other members of the Society, well, they’re already strongly inclined to believe that people like me are mentally unstable. I didn’t want to add anything to that image. I’ve got my future as a psychic investigator to consider.”

  He nodded, saying nothing, and finished his breakfast.

  “Great eggs,” he said finally, putting down the fork.

  “Thanks. It’s the ricotta.”

  “I’ll remember that.” He picked up his tea. “All right, for the sake of argument, let’s come at this another way. Everyone says that Brad was a wealthy man in his own right. Why go to all the trouble and risk of driving his wife mad and killing a couple of people in order to get his hands on Glazebrook, Inc.?”

  Clare sipped some tea. This was admittedly one of the weak points in the theory.

  “Some people never have enough,” she offered.

  “True. Still, you have to admit the scenario you described is pretty extreme.”

  “Yes.”

  “How did you and Elizabeth first make contact?”

  “I told you, I never intended to show up at the front door of the Glazebrook home and ruin their perfect family thing. But I kept track of all of them, especially Elizabeth, from a distance. I couldn’t help myself. She was the sister I never had. Literally.”

  “Go on.”

  “Her wedding to Brad McAllister was photographed for one of the glossy Phoenix-area house-and-garden magazines. The spread was beautiful. Elizabeth was so lovely. Gorgeous gown, of course. Everyone looked so happy and pleased. But when I looked at the picture of Brad toasting the bride I got a cold chill.”

  He raised his brows. “You can detect someone lying in a picture?”

  “It’s dicey, at best. But there was something about the way he was looking at her that scared me. The wedding had occurred a few months before the photos appeared in the magazine, of course. By the time I saw them and contacted Elizabeth via e-mail she was already well into her supposed nervous breakdown. But she managed to get back to me with a single word.”

  “What was the word?”

  “‘Help.’”

  “That was all?”

  “Yes. I e-mailed her back immediately and said that I would be in Phoenix on the three-forty P.M. flight from San Francisco that day. She said she would meet me at a bookstore in a mall. Turned out that was one of Brad’s afternoons for visiting his girlfriend. He didn’t know what had happened until he got home. By that time Elizabeth and I were on a plane headed back to San Francisco.”

  “How did you end up in Stone Canyon on the night Brad was murdered?” Jake asked.

  “By then Elizabeth had recovered from the drugs and was herself again. She stayed with Archer and Myra and made it a point never to be alone with Brad while they went through the divorce proceedings. I kept an eye on things from San Francisco. It all seemed to be going well.”

  “Brad didn’t fight the divorce?”

  “He made a few attempts to convince everyone that he loved Elizabeth and didn’t want the divorce but he must have realized that there was no chance of salvaging the marriage.” She paused. “At least not as long as I was in the picture. He had to know that if the situation changed in any way, I’d come back to Arizona in a flash.”

  “Did you ever meet McAllister in person?”

  “Yes. Once. I went with Elizabeth on the one occasion when she and Brad met with the lawyers together. She wanted me there in case Brad tried anything. But everyone was very nice and polite and civilized. I swear, there was something about McAllister tha
t was colder than ice, though.”

  “Was that the first time you met Archer?”

  “No, he flew up to San Francisco as soon as he found out I had spirited Elizabeth away.”

  “Did he try to talk you out of encouraging Elizabeth’s divorce?”

  She tipped her head to one side, thinking. “No, he didn’t, as a matter of fact. Elizabeth was very firm about the decision. And Archer and I were both stepping very cautiously around each other at that point.”

  “Go on with your story.”

  “A couple of weeks after that, Elizabeth invited me down for a long weekend. I was due to arrive Friday evening. But that afternoon Elizabeth got an e-mail telling her that something had come up on my end and I wouldn’t be able to get to Stone Canyon until the following morning. She attended a reception for the Stone Canyon Arts Academy with her parents, instead.”

  “The e-mail changing your arrival time was not from you, I take it?”

  “No,” Clare said. “I arrived on schedule Friday evening, picked up a car, drove to the house and found Brad’s body.”

  “What about the e-mail message you supposedly sent?”

  “It looked perfectly legitimate. The return address was mine.”

  He contemplated her across the table. “You think Brad sent that fake e-mail, don’t you?”

  “It isn’t that difficult to use a phony e-mail address. Spammers do it all the time.”

  “You think he wanted to lure you to the house that night in order to murder you because you were ruining his scheme.” Jake’s voice was disturbingly cool and very, very neutral.

  She gripped the tea mug tightly. Maybe he wasn’t going to believe her after all. Well, she could hardly blame him.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “But someone else got to him first?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sort of a large coincidence, isn’t it?” Jake asked.

  “Not if you go with the possibility that Brad’s murder was deliberately timed to take place while I was here in town,” she said.

  “You think someone wanted to throw suspicion on you?”

  “Maybe. Or maybe the killer staged things that way in case the police didn’t buy the interrupted burglary scenario. Maybe I was just the fall gal.”

  “If you’re right, it means that both Brad McAllister and his killer knew your flight schedule that Friday,” he said.

  “I’m sure it was no secret around Elizabeth’s office that I was coming into town to see her.”

  “It also implies that someone knew Brad was planning to kill you.”

  “Someone he trusted,” she agreed. “A partner in crime, maybe, who betrayed him that night.”

  “You’ve really been working on this theory, haven’t you?” he asked.

  “I’ve had six months to think about it but I had nothing to go on until now.”

  “You’re referring to Valerie’s death?”

  She nodded. “I don’t care what the autopsy says, I’m going to have a hard time believing it was an accident or a suicide.”

  “Murder by drowning is notoriously difficult to prove. Just ask any insurance company.”

  “I know,” she said.

  “Okay, how about a motive? Got one of those?”

  “Not for Valerie’s death,” she admitted.

  “All right, moving right along, I’ll grant you that it’s theoretically possible that Brad and his partner-killer knew your schedule six months ago. But how could anyone know that you were planning to go out to Valerie’s house this afternoon?”

  Restless, she stood and went to the window to look out at the pool. “I think that my finding the body this time probably was a genuine coincidence. The killer didn’t have to worry about pointing suspicion elsewhere. Everyone knew Valerie was drinking heavily and using meds.”

  “In other words, your finding the body was just plain bad luck.”

  “Yes.”

  “All right, I can go along with that reasoning. Still, if Valerie was killed, it’s damn interesting that the murderer chose to do it while you were here in town.”

  “I know. I’ve been thinking about that a lot. Why kill her now?”

  “Why kill her at all?”

  She turned suddenly to face him. “Jake, you were right the other night when you said that someone should have gone looking for answers six months ago. It’s a little late, but I’m going to do it now.”

  His eyes narrowed faintly. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”

  “The problem is, I’m not sure how to go about it. I don’t have the cash to hire a private investigator, and even if I did, I doubt he’d get far in Stone Canyon.”

  “That’s a given,” Jake said. “I can’t see the fine folks out at the Stone Canyon Country Club talking to a PI, especially if they think it might involve them in a murder investigation.”

  “There’s a lot of money in this town and that means there’s a lot of dirty laundry. No one is going to want it aired.”

  He looked thoughtful. “Maybe you should talk to Archer before you do anything rash.”

  She shook her head. “He made it clear six months ago that he wants this whole thing to go away. I can’t blame him.”

  “You’re serious about looking for answers, aren’t you?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “In that case, I’ll help you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re with me now and I can’t talk you out of this project. Doesn’t leave me much choice.”

  “You don’t have to do this.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I do.”

  “I don’t know what to say.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. Got a feeling we’re going to be opening up a jar of scorpions here. We’ll probably both regret it.”

  Clare waited. But Jake did not say anything else. Instead, he reached for the morning paper lying on the table. He opened it to read the headlines.

  Clare cleared her throat. “Uh, got any idea where we should start?”

  “Sure.” He turned to the business section. “First we find out who Brad was sleeping with last year when he was killed.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  The doorbell chimed just as Clare removed her panties and T-shirt from the dryer. Jake’s footsteps sounded in the hall. She went to the door of the laundry room and listened.

  “Where’s Clare?” Archer’s growl rumbled down the hall.

  “She’s doing her laundry,” Jake said. “Come on into the kitchen. I’ll make some coffee.”

  Clare gave the men a minute or two and then followed them into the kitchen. Archer was at the kitchen table. Jake was spooning coffee into a machine.

  “Good morning, Archer,” Clare said.

  Archer scowled at the sight of her in the robe.

  “You okay?” he demanded aggressively.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “Did you want to speak to Jake or are you here to discuss your plans for the foundation?”

  “I’m here to talk to you. What the hell are you doing running around in a robe at this hour?”

  “I’m doing my laundry.” She waved the T-shirt. “I didn’t pack for an extended stay here in Stone Canyon. Ran out of fresh clothes yesterday. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go get dressed.” Turning on her heel, she headed for the door. “Maybe you’ll be in a better mood when I come back.”

  “Don’t count on it,” Jake said in low tones as she walked past him.

  She frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Jake acted as if he hadn’t heard her.

  She spun back around to confront Archer. “Am I missing something here?”

  Archer glowered. “We’ll talk when you’re decent.”

  She glanced pointedly down at the white robe that enveloped her from neck to toes. “I am decent.”

  “You should probably get dressed, Clare,” Jake said.

  She did not like the undercurrents that were flowin
g between Jake and Archer, but it was clear that neither man was going to explain. Probably a guy thing, she thought.

  Stifling a sigh of exasperation, she went down the hall to her bedroom.

  It took her only a few minutes to put on the clean panties and bra, a T-shirt and one of two pairs of black trousers. Amazing how simple it was to get dressed when one’s wardrobe was so limited, she thought. Now that she had decided to stay on in Stone Canyon for a while, she really would have to go shopping.

  Extending her stay in Stone Canyon brought up other issues, she reminded herself. She was not ready to discuss her conspiracy theories with anyone other than Elizabeth and Jake. She was going to need a good excuse for hanging around, one that would satisfy Archer and everyone else who might wonder why she was still in town.

  Luckily, Archer had handed her a ready-made reason for spending a little more time in Stone Canyon.

  She went back into the kitchen. The bristly atmosphere had not changed. What was going on here?

  “Anything new on Valerie Shipley’s death?” she asked, for want of a better ice breaker.

  Archer’s expression darkened further. “Owen says they expect the autopsy results Tuesday. But he’s convinced it was an accident or suicide.”

  “Seeing me the other night upset her,” Clare said quietly.

  “What happened wasn’t your fault,” Archer said forcefully. “Valerie was all messed up. It’s just too damn bad that Owen didn’t get her into rehab in time. He told me she refused to go and he was reluctant to push her too hard.”

  Clare nodded.

  “Jake says you’re going to stick around for a while,” Archer said.

  She sat down at the table facing him. “That’s right.”

  “Why?” Archer’s bushy brows snapped together, creating a prickly thicket above his assertive nose. “Last time we talked you made it clear you couldn’t wait to go back to San Francisco.”

  “A Stone Canyon Police Department detective suggested I do otherwise,” she said mildly.

  “I’ll deal with the cops.”

  “I’ve also decided that I ought to give your foundation plans some serious consideration,” she said smoothly. “I might as well do that here. It’s not like I have a job waiting for me back in San Francisco.”