Matt inhaled and his senses were filled with her fresh, sweet scent. The questions vanished along with his self-control.
“How about an early night, Tish?”
“I...I could be convinced, Gomez.”
He kissed her deeply, and after a moment she responded, her slim body arching upward. Getting up, he led her to the bedroom and they tumbled to the mattress.
“Lights out,” she whispered as he began unbuttoning her blouse.
“Nobody can see us on the bed.”
“Matt.”
Frustrated, he hit the control for the room lights. Layne was most comfortable making love in the dark, and he knew it was lack of confidence about her body. He just didn’t know how to reassure her, or how she’d take it if he tried.
* * *
LONG AFTER MATT had gone to sleep, Layne lay awake.
She was sure the case would be resolved soon and expected Matt to start making noises about them going their separate ways—not that she believed he’d be rude or insensitive about it unless she got clingy. At the very least it would be nice to think he saw her as special, but when she looked in a mirror, she was reminded of how impossible that was.
Layne sighed. Insecurities were the pits, and the ones from childhood were worse than all the rest. And in her case, all she had to do was see her family to have those insecurities thrown in her face again.
But it was interesting what Matt had suggested about her parents maybe feeling guilty for sending her to Aunt Dee and Uncle Will so much. In the beginning she had felt unwanted. Her parents were smart people; they must have known. As for the other kids being jealous about her time with Aunt Dee and Uncle Will...?
Layne turned on her back, thinking about those long ago years. She might have eventually gotten a little smug at being the darling of her dashing uncle and pretty aunt. Stef and Jeremy had never acted as if they cared, but could Jeannie have gotten jealous? It might explain why she was such a pain sometimes.
It seemed incredible, but anything was possible when it came to sisters. She would have to sort it out after everything was resolved about Uncle Will.
The full moon had passed, but she could see Matt was still sleeping. He was the biggest reason she couldn’t relax. By stealing a little more time with him, she was just making it harder for herself later.
Without saying it aloud, she’d tried to make it clear she didn’t expect anything for the future, and maybe that was why he hadn’t pushed her away. Making love that first day had been spontaneous, an emotional moment on a hot, sultry afternoon. The other times? As much as she hated thinking about it, convenience had to be playing a part.
With another quick glance at Matt, Layne slid out of bed and went into the living room. Something had been nagging her, as if she’d missed an important piece of information. Aunt Dee had given her copies of Uncle Will’s medical records and Layne had studied them, but she’d found little time to go over the autopsy report again in depth.
Steeling herself, Layne began reading the document.
* * *
MATT ROLLED OVER as he woke up. It was just before 4:00 a.m. and he frowned groggily as he realized he’d forgotten to lower the blinds. It was doubtful that anybody could see into the bedroom from the other buildings, but Layne didn’t like feeling on display, particularly as the sun was coming up.
He reached for her, frowning harder when he realized he was alone. She’d mentioned wanting to get to work early to make up some of the time she was taking off, but surely not this early. He checked the bathroom, then hurried into the living room and saw Layne on the couch, papers spread around her.
“I found it,” she whispered.
Matt sat on the coffee table. “Found what?”
“I got to thinking about Uncle Will’s medical records and realized I should read them, so Aunt Dee got me copies. Only there didn’t seem to be anything important there...until I read the autopsy again. I’d really just skimmed it before, but it’s been bothering me, like I’d missed something. Look.”
She handed him a folded-back copy of the autopsy report and pointed to the bottom of the page. It stated that William Hudson had a massive overdose of oxycodone in his system, leading to respiratory arrest.
“Don’t women usually take pills?” he asked.
“That’s what movie detectives seem to think.” Layne turned to the next page and pointed again. “This says that a prescription bottle for sixty five-milligram tablets was found with Uncle Will’s body, filled two months prior to his date of death. But Uncle Will was allergic to oxycodone.”
Matt tore his gaze from the dry recitation of facts in the autopsy. “What?”
“It’s in his medical records, only I didn’t catch it at first because it says Percocet, which is the combination drug. It caused severe itching. The prescribing doctor was Victor Sutcliffe, but for the last ten years Uncle Will’s doctor was Ellen Tani. I remember Aunt Dee used to be frustrated that he’d wait to see Dr. Tani when he could get an immediate appointment with someone else in the practice. The label must have been faked or something.”
“I’m not sure anyone would consider the different doctor significant,” Matt said reluctantly. “The D.A. could argue that if he was considering suicide, he would have consulted a physician who didn’t know about the allergy.”
“True. Though why ask for oxycodone instead of sleeping pills? And why do it two months before he was accused of anything? At any rate, the report also shows Uncle Will’s stomach contents and blood levels indicate he ingested an estimated thirty pills, but the bottle was empty.”
Matt’s eyes widened, seeing what Layne was getting at. Where had those thirty missing pills gone? William wouldn’t have used them because of his allergy, even if he was planning to commit suicide. “Your aunt?”
“She won’t even take aspirin, and she certainly would have questioned why Uncle Will had the prescription. They must not have told her what he’d taken, just that it was an overdose. And she was in so much shock, she probably didn’t ask.”
Nodding, Matt read through the report. It was mind-boggling that someone could have gotten away with murder this way. Everything had conspired together, including Peter’s desire to get the case closed and out of public view.
“I wonder how someone got your uncle to take the pills.”
“The killer could have held a gun on him, maybe threatened to hurt Aunt Dee if he didn’t go along. Or they could have been dissolved in liquid. The autopsy shows there was coffee in his stomach. Uncle Will drank really strong dark French roast, so he might not have tasted something added to it. I’m sure Rivera will have a theory.”
Layne covered a yawn with her hand and Matt dropped the report. “Rivera always has a theory, but it’s too early to call him. Come back to bed.”
“To sleep?”
“Do you have energy for anything else?”
“Probably not.”
She still didn’t move, so he shoved the scattered papers aside and pulled her down against his chest on the broad couch. Within minutes Layne’s even breathing told him she was asleep, and Matt let his own eyes close.
A vague thought went through his head as he drifted off himself—was this what it was like to be married? The give and take, the comforting moments when sex was no more important than everything else you shared?
It should have been alarming, but instead he felt satisfaction. For the first time in his life, he was content, as if he was exactly where he was supposed to be.
* * *
DOROTHY GAZED AROUND her studio at the paintings she’d finished in the past two weeks. She hadn’t done this kind of work since William’s death. Yet that wasn’t entirely accurate, either. There was more intensity in what she’d done lately, as if she was finally expressing those months of suppressed anger and confusion. Emoti
on poured off each canvas, vibrant and undeniable.
Smiling faintly, she headed down the studio staircase when the doorbell rang, but her good humor faded when she saw Peter Davidson on her doorstep. Patrick was behind him, a sturdy, reassuring presence, while Peter looked as if he hadn’t slept in days.
“May I come in?” he asked.
“Well...all right.” Dorothy stepped to one side and she was glad when Patrick marched in, as well.
“I want to apologize,” Peter said as he stepped into the living room. “For everything. It was wrong to take my anger out on you. And, uh...just as bad that I turned my back on my oldest friend. Maybe if I’d trusted William the way I should have, he might still be alive.”
That wasn’t something Dorothy wanted to think about. Things might have turned out differently if Peter had behaved better, but there was no way of knowing.
“I guess it’s too late to know, isn’t it?” she said. No matter what, she refused to do the gracious thing and let him off the hook. They were talking about her husband’s death, not something trivial like being snubbed at a party.
“Yes, you’re right, of course.” He pulled an envelope from his pocket. “I’ve reviewed the books at Hudson & Davidson. This is your share of the profits since the first of January.”
“I thought the company was operating in the red.”
“Technically the profits have been going against the money I used to repay the embezzled funds.”
Dorothy lifted her chin. “Then I can’t accept.”
“Please. I felt very self-righteous about everything until I saw myself through my stepson’s eyes. Now I realize how badly I handled everything.”
“What does that have to do with money from the company?”
“A lot.” Peter sighed. “There’s more to consider than what I’ve told you.”
“You said—”
“I said a lot of things, mostly in anger. In the meantime, please accept the check.”
Dorothy looked at Patrick, whose gaze was fixed with distaste on Peter, and she suddenly knew that even if Patrick had lied about his name, he’d never do something truly dishonest. Perhaps honor came in different packages, and you had to accept tarnish on the armor along with the rest.
“I can’t accept if money is still owed to you,” she told Peter firmly.
“It can come out of the proceeds of the sale. You’ll be due much more than I...uh...previously indicated. And besides, if William was innocent, everything changes, including some insurance issues.”
“Then I’ll take it when he’s exonerated.”
And I hope you choke on it.
Peter reluctantly returned the envelope to his pocket. “Of course. We’ll make sure William’s reputation is cleared.”
* * *
CONNOR DIDN’T SAY anything when they were alone. Davidson had obviously come to make amends, at the same time trying not to admit that he’d attempted to cheat his partner’s widow.
Dorothy must need the money, and Connor wanted to be frustrated, the way he’d been frustrated with Alleyne over the years for not taking the help he’d offered, but he couldn’t be. Dot had faced her husband’s greedy partner with a cool grit he admired.
Maybe he’d been wrong in thinking Alleyne was too proud. There was no doubt she often did without, but she may have needed a big brother more than a long string of international money orders.
“Come have a cup of tea,” Dot invited. In the kitchen she set out a plate of scones with homemade jam. “You’ll have to let me know if those are like the ones your mother used to make.”
Scones?
Connor realized it must be a silent acceptance of his apology, and a weight lifted from his shoulders.
“Perfect,” he assured her after taking a bite.
For the first time since he was seven years old and standing at his father’s grave, he had some faith in the future. His stepfather had gotten him off the streets and put his feet on a straighter path, but it was Dorothy who’d truly gotten into his heart. Friendship was all he could hope for now with her, but who knew what could happen down the road?
* * *
A WEEK LATER Layne and Matt were working in Aunt Dee’s backyard, both of them eager for fresh air after so many phone calls and hours sifting out possible evidence.
What shocked Layne was that her aunt had actually agreed to let them do the overdue cleanup from winter. Matt had put it tactfully, suggesting that since Dee needed to use the barbecue to test a shish kebab recipe for the Babbitt, she let them get it ready. But it was still surprising. Dee was prickly about accepting anything, though it wasn’t as if Layne hadn’t helped with yard work before Uncle Will’s death.
Detective Rivera had been excited when she’d called about her findings from the autopsy report. He planned to question the doctor who’d supposedly prescribed the oxycodone and the pharmacy that had filled it. He’d also learned that Jay Scullini had been severely beaten in a mysterious attack eleven months ago, but his witness statement was contradictory and vague. Since Scullini was a known gambler, the police suspected he’d been worked over by a loan shark. The incident was particularly intriguing because it had occurred just weeks prior to the first theft at Hudson & Davidson.
Layne sighed. She ought to feel better; the end was in sight and Uncle Will’s reputation would be restored. Yet it wouldn’t bring him back, and she felt terrible that Matt’s relationship with his stepfather had been destroyed.
“Look who’s here,” Connor called as he walked around the corner of the house.
“Detective Rivera.” Layne pulled off her work gloves to shake his hand. “Aunt Dee, you remember the detective.”
Dee nodded. “Of course. What can we do for you?”
“I wanted to tell you that a full investigation is now under way. The department has given me two detectives for my team and I have full access to the cyber-crime lab. And that means I need to pick up Mr. Hudson’s computer. The lab is going to analyze the hard drive to show the printer software wasn’t simply uninstalled.”
Layne exchanged an elated look with her aunt. “Is that necessary with everything else we’ve learned?”
“I’m just being thorough. The records obtained from the cell provider show Mr. Hudson’s phone was nowhere near the company at the times the illegal wire transfers were made, and that more than one call was made from Aberdeen on those nights.”
“What about Scullini?” Matt asked.
“A search warrant has been issued for his home and business, but he’s disappeared along with his girlfriend and SUV. He’s the right man, though. He had a large sum of money in his account this last fall—money he clearly didn’t earn with his business. Our cyber experts are tracking it to establish where it originated, but the dates and amounts of individual deposits match the thefts at Hudson & Davidson. Scullini wasn’t too bright about that part—probably convinced he’d never become a suspect. Officially this is now classified as theft, not embezzlement.”
Matt frowned. “They couldn’t find the money before.”
“Yes, but they expect to have better luck backtracking the deposits.”
“That’s great.”
Yet he didn’t sound as enthusiastic as Layne would have expected. She lifted an eyebrow. “What’s bugging you, Matt?”
“If Jay Scullini is on the run, he could still be a threat to you and Dorothy.”
“And to his girlfriend,” Layne said worriedly. “He has a record of trying to eliminate witnesses, so she’s at risk, too.”
Detective Rivera shook his head. “I appreciate your concern on her behalf, but we have an APB out and should locate them sooner or later. If you want police protection—”
“Not needed,” Connor interrupted sharply.
“But come back tomorrow,” Dee urge
d. “I test recipes for the Puget Sound Babbitt and Layne got much more food than was needed. We’re going to have shish kebobs, two kinds of potato salad and turtle brownies. For everyone, though the security team has to eat in shifts.”
Layne grinned as Connor snorted. He’d obviously been forgiven for his deception, but Dee still enjoyed yanking his chain.
“I appreciate the offer, but I’ll be on duty. I just need to get the computer and give you a receipt.”
Connor followed as Dee went into the house with the detective, and Layne exchanged a smile with Matt. It was hard not having Uncle Will there, but he would have said to stop crying and keep living. And she hoped that wherever he was, he knew what they were doing to clear his name.
* * *
MATT RINSED THE stainless-steel grill before returning it to the built-in gas barbecue. The outdoor kitchen was in good shape other than an accumulation of grime from months of disuse.
“You’re pretty good at that. Have you ever considered a career in the housekeeping industry?” Layne teased.
The sun was shining on her hair and she looked like a forest sprite in her green T-shirt and shorts and bare feet. Layne rarely missed an opportunity to kick her shoes off.
He shrugged. “Not housekeeping. But gardening now and then wouldn’t be so bad.”
Like if we were married and taking care of our yard together. The thought floored Matt. He could hire whatever gardeners and housekeepers he needed, but the part that shocked him was the M word. Married. Marriage. Making a commitment to someone. It was one thing to feel as if being with Layne was a perfect fit but...
His racing brain jolted to a stop.
Layne was the perfect fit.
She was fun and sexy and made everything an adventure, whether it was scrubbing a barbecue grill or making love. And she had a heart that was so generous and loving, he didn’t think he could ever get enough of it. He was completely, utterly crazy about her.
Still...marriage?
His family’s track record in that area wasn’t the greatest. Aaron seemed very happy with his wife, but his mother certainly hadn’t picked either of her husbands that well. And his father was a disaster when it came to commitment. Hell, Spence didn’t actually make a commitment; he just played at being married.
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