“We may never know why she did it,” Lucy said. She was not prepared to divulge the conclusions that she and Mason had come to regarding Sara’s reasons for committing murder—not yet, at any rate.
“It certainly has the locals talking, that’s for sure,” Teresa said. “And now I’m dressing you for a party out at the Colfax Winery. No offense, but just between you and me, mind satisfying my curiosity and tell me how you got the invitation?”
“Jillian Colfax invited me personally,” Lucy said.
Teresa clutched the hanger and dress to her bosom and widened her eyes.
“Holy crap. Jillian invited you? Okay, didn’t see that coming. Last I heard, you and Jillian did not move in the same social circles.”
“Nothing has changed in that regard.” Lucy grasped a handful of the dress fabric, enjoying the soft, fluid, lightweight feel. “However, in case you weren’t aware of it, I inherited a nice little chunk of Colfax Inc.”
“Oh, yeah, that news is all over town, too, trust me. Which is why it is a very good thing that Mason is going with you tonight. You may need someone to watch your back, and I don’t know of anyone better qualified to do that. You know what they always said about him.”
“You don’t want to mess with Mason Fletcher,” Lucy quoted softly.
“Right. Just so you know, the Colfaxes as a clan are said to have been both horrified and furious when they found out that Mary left her shares to Sara and that those shares are now in your hands. You do know there’s a major merger or acquisition deal in the works, don’t you?”
“I’ve heard that,” Lucy said. “I think I like the twilight dress. I’ll need a wrap to go with it, and shoes, of course.”
“Maybe you should accessorize with a pistol and a holster,” Teresa said. “You and Mason might as well be walking to the gunfight at the O.K. Corral.”
“Not to worry, I’ll be wearing wine-country casual.”
13
This isn’t a date.
Mason stood at the foot of the inn’s staircase and watched Lucy come down to meet him. Silently, he repeated the litany he had been saying to himself all day. This isn’t a date. You’re taking her to the reception because you can’t talk her out of going and you can’t let her walk into that gladiator ring alone. This isn’t a date.
But it sure as hell felt like a date, the second one he’d had with Lucy. A prowling anticipation had heated his blood all day. Night could not come too soon. And now it was here and he was here, waiting for Lucy.
She seemed to float down the stairs in a little dress that stopped just above her knees. The neckline was modest. The very short sleeves showed off her nicely rounded arms. A narrow belt defined her small waist. She wore cute little wedge sandals and a tiny cross-body purse that looked barely large enough to hold a cell phone and a credit card. Her jewelry consisted of a pair of dainty gold earrings and a small bracelet composed of gold links. She carried a white shawl over her arm. There was nothing flashy or showy about the outfit, but somehow it all went together to give her an aura of cool, feminine confidence.
“Yeah, that works,” Mason said. He smiled.
“Thanks.” Lucy did a little pirouette. “I had help from Teresa Vega at Teresa’s Closet. She used to be Teresa Alvarez. Remember her?”
“Sure. Nice kid. Glasses. Always wore weird clothes like work boots and long black dresses.”
“That was her Goth phase. She’s over that now.”
“Probably just as well. Hard to picture a combination of Goth and wine-country casual.”
Lucy laughed and started briskly toward the door. “We can take my car.” She reached into the tiny purse and produced her keys.
He caught up with her, managed to wrap his fingers around her arm and deliberately applied the brakes, forcing her to stop in the middle of the lobby.
“Thanks for the offer,” he said. “But since I’ll be driving, we’ll take my vehicle.”
She blinked, but she did not argue. He opened the door and steered her out into the summer evening. The anticipation that had been riding him hard all day was suddenly infused with a deep knowing. This was exactly where he wanted to be tonight—with this woman.
He popped the locks on the sleek black car sitting in front of the entrance.
Lucy looked at him, not bothering to conceal her amusement.
“You mean we’re not taking the truck?” she asked.
“Not tonight. Some other time, maybe.”
“Nice car,” she said. Genuine appreciation edged the words. “Security consulting must pay well.”
“One thing about the crime business—it’s steady.”
“This isn’t a rental, and Fletcher Consulting is located back in D.C. Don’t tell me you drove all the way across the country.”
“You’re good at this detecting thing. Yes, I drove across the country. I wanted some downtime to do some thinking. Those long stretches on the interstate are a good place for that.”
She shot him a quick, curious glance, but she did not ask any more questions.
He opened the door on the passenger side and watched her slip into the front seat. Everything inside him stirred. What was it about women in little summer dresses? Scratch that. What was it about Lucy in a summer dress?
What was it about Lucy?
Oh, shit. I’ve got it bad.
And he didn’t give a damn, he realized. A man did not get a lot of evenings like this one in his lifetime. It was a real shame that he was going to have to waste a chunk of it at a party watching over Lucy while she played detective. Unfortunately, she was playing with fire.
So was he.
He made an effort to tamp down the heat and closed the door very firmly. He walked around to the driver’s side and got behind the wheel.
“What did you think about during your long drive from D.C.?” she asked.
“Stuff.” He fired up the engine and reversed out of the parking slot.
He heard Lucy’s phone chirp. He breathed a small sigh of relief, grateful for the interruption. He had a feeling that once Lucy got on a man’s case and started asking questions she wouldn’t let go easily.
She took the device out of the tiny purse and checked the screen. She inserted the phone back into the small bag.
“It’s just the agency,” she said.
“Brookhouse Research?”
“No, the online matchmaking agency. They notify me whenever their computers kick out a possible match.”
Suddenly, he was no longer feeling so grateful for the interruption.
“Is that so?” He realized he was speaking between set teeth. “Get a lot of notifications?”
“That’s my second one today.”
He willed himself to remain calm.
“No luck?” he asked.
“So far nothing has clicked.”
“Oh, yeah, the commitment-issues thing.”
“Yes. But my profile looks good. Single, reasonably well educated, never married, no kids to support, good job, excellent health. The good job has been a big asset for me, by the way.”
“Is that so?”
“They say that women prefer men who make a lot of money. But it turns out the reverse is true, too. You’d be amazed by the number of men who are looking for wives who make high salaries.”
Time to change the subject.
“Do we have a plan for this evening?” he asked.
“Not exactly.” Lucy glanced at him. “I consider this party to be an intelligence-gathering mission.”
“Intelligence is not the first word that comes to my mind. By all accounts, the Colfaxes bear a striking resemblance to a nest of snakes. If we had any sense we would steer clear.”
“Look at it this way,” Lucy said. “It’s an opportunity to gather
additional information on the family dynamics of the Colfax clan.”
“You really think one of them killed Sara and Mary, don’t you?”
“I’m not absolutely positive about that yet, but they all have motive, and the fact that Sara and Mary died just as the merger wars broke out within the Colfax family strikes me as too much of a coincidence.”
“Those Colfax shares are motive, all right,” he agreed. “But there’s something you need to keep in mind here—if there is a killer in this situation, he will be very pissed off right now. He miscalculated. He couldn’t have known that the shares would end up in your hands.”
“Or she,” Lucy said.
“What?”
“You referred to the killer as he. Women kill, too.”
He tightened his hands on the wheel. “Believe me, I’m well aware of that fact. The point is that in my experience, violent sociopaths who happen to be pissed off are dangerous people.”
“I know,” Lucy said. “But I owe this to Aunt Sara. She did what she believed she had to do to protect me thirteen years ago. I need to find out the truth about that car accident now.”
He did not say anything for a long moment. Then he exhaled slowly.
“I understand,” he said.
She smiled faintly. “I know you do.”
She sat quietly, watching the road through the windshield. He could feel the determination coming off her in waves. Nothing was going to stop her. There was no point arguing with her.
He drove through the center of town, passing the little boutiques and the small, crowded restaurants that fronted the tree-shaded square.
“I did a little research of my own today,” he said after a while.
“What kind of research?”
“I looked into the Scorecard Rapist case. One of the theories at the time was that Brinker was not working alone.”
“He had an accomplice?”
“Maybe someone he brought in to watch. Maybe someone who filmed the rape.”
“Oh, crap. I never thought about the actual filmmaking,” Lucy said. “I suppose I just assumed that Brinker set up the camera ahead of time to record the rape.”
Mason shifted gears for the turn onto River Road.
“According to the reports I read, one of the detectives who worked the case and later retired left some notes saying that he was convinced he saw indications in at least some of the videos that there was another person in the room. Shadows, for the most part. The videos have all been taken down, so there’s no way to check.”
“What about the victims?”
“They were heavily drugged with some kind of hallucinogen. Their memories were unreliable. But a couple of them stated that they believed there was someone else present at the scene.”
Lucy folded her arms tightly beneath her breasts. “Brinker was creepier than anyone realized. Did the cops ever pursue the second-person angle?”
“Yes, but they got nowhere. After Brinker disappeared, the videos stopped showing up online. The case got very cold very fast.”
“Do you think Chief Whitaker will reopen it?”
“No. The Scorecard Rapist operated down in the Bay Area, not here in Summer River.”
“Maybe Brinker intended me to be his first victim here.”
“If that’s true, his pattern was changing slightly. The other victims were all college age. You were still in high school at the time.”
“He wanted younger, even more vulnerable girls.”
“It’s possible. Serial rapists tend to escalate in terms of violence, just like serial killers. Whatever the case, I think Whitaker is satisfied with the scenario I gave him for Brinker’s death.”
“Brinker attacked Aunt Sara. She fought back, killed her assailant, and then hid the body because she was afraid that she would be arrested for murder.”
“There’s only one thing wrong with that theory of the crime. Sara definitely did not fit the profile of the other victims. Whitaker knows that, but I doubt he’ll push it. There’s nothing to be gained. It’s easier to take the credit for closing an old cold case.”
“But what if there was a second person involved?” Lucy said.
“Whitaker has more urgent cases to worry about.”
“And so do I,” Lucy said. “I need to find out what really happened to Sara and Mary.”
“We,” Mason said.
“What?”
“We need to find out what really happened to Sara and Mary. You’re not working that case alone.”
Lucy gave him a long, considering look. Then she smiled faintly.
“Thank you,” she said.
14
The Colfax Winery was an artful reproduction of an old-world Mediterranean villa. It sat on a tree-studded hillside and commanded views of the vineyards and the river. The birthday reception was held in the tasting room, a richly paneled space decorated in sunburnt hues of ocher and dark red. A wall of French doors had been opened to allow the party to spill out onto a broad terrace.
Lucy was not surprised by the size of the crowd. Warner Colfax and his family moved in elite wine-country social circles. An invitation to an event at his winery was a status symbol in the valley.
They were greeted by a smiling Jillian, who immediately steered them toward a middle-aged man dressed in a hand-tailored short-sleeved sports shirt and polished, country-club-style slacks. Wine-country casual for the male of the species, Lucy concluded.
“Have you met my father-in-law?” Jillian asked.
Her vivacious smile did not falter, but the tension that Lucy had detected that morning seemed to be permanently etched into the corners of Jillian’s eyes and mouth.
“No,” Lucy said.
“We move in different circles,” Mason added.
Jillian ignored his dry tone of voice and forged a path through the crowd. Warner Colfax was on the short side, bald and somewhat thick through the shoulders, chest and belly. But whatever he lacked in glamor was more than compensated for by the far younger, decidedly taller and quite beautiful woman at his side.
“That must be the new Mrs. Colfax,” Mason observed.
“Yes,” Jillian said. Her tone was glacial. “Ashley.”
Jillian brought them to a halt at the fringes of the small group gathered around Warner. She gave her father-in-law a brilliant smile.
“Warner, I’m so sorry to interrupt,” she said, not sounding sorry at all, “but I wanted to make sure you knew that Lucy Sheridan and Mason Fletcher had arrived. We’re all so pleased they could make it tonight.”
Warner turned, and for the first time Lucy got a good look at him. He did not appear to be the suave, slick, sophisticated salesman that she had been expecting. Instead, he greeted her with an easy, disarming warmth. His gray eyes seemed to brighten at the sight of her, as if he was genuinely pleased to meet her.
You had to look closely to see the cold assessment that was taking place behind the scenes, she thought. No doubt about it, Warner Colfax was trying to figure out how he could manipulate her.
Maybe this was what a really good salesman looked like, after all.
She gave him her best “Congratulations, you are a long-lost heir” smile.
“Lucy Sheridan,” he said. “A pleasure.” His expression turned abruptly somber. “I was so sorry to hear of your aunt’s death. I did not know her well, but we met a number of times because of her connection to my sister. She and Mary were very close, both personally and professionally.”
“Thank you,” Lucy said. “Please accept my condolences on Mary’s death. I will miss both of them.”
“Thank you.” Warner’s warm smile returned. He switched his calculating gaze to Mason. “I don’t believe we’ve met, but I do know your uncle. We run into each other from time to time in town.�
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“Small town,” Mason said.
Warner chuckled. “It certainly is. So glad you could both make it tonight.”
The two men shook hands. And then Warner touched his wife’s shoulder in a cool, possessive manner.
“My wife, Ashley,” Warner said.
“Lucy.” Ashley smiled in acknowledgment of the introduction.
Unlike her husband, Ashley came across as coolly polite and reserved. Once you got past her long, elegant jaw and patrician nose you could see something that resembled anxiety in her beautifully made-up brown eyes. Ashley and Jillian had a couple of things in common, Lucy decided. They were both on edge, perhaps even scared.
But when Ashley turned her attention to Mason—which happened pretty much in the blink of an eye—the icy veneer vanished beneath a gracious charm.
“Mason, what a pleasure,” she murmured. She smiled again, this time managing to include Lucy. “Come with me, both of you, and I’ll make sure you get some of Warner’s incredible Reserve that we’re pouring tonight.”
She led the way through the crowd toward the long, polished bar. Lucy followed. Mason fell into step directly behind her, staying close. There was something both intimate and protective about the way he made it clear that he was with her tonight.
She got a little thrill from knowing that he was close enough to touch. She had liked it earlier when he had wrapped his powerful hand around her arm to walk her to the car. She had liked it a lot. She liked the scent of him as well. The clean, masculine tang was infused with just a hint of aftershave.
He stood out in the crowd—at least he stood out to her. It was a good bet that many of the other male guests in the room wielded the kind of power that came with money and social and political connections. But Mason possessed a different kind of power. It wasn’t just physical, she thought. It was the kind of strength that you could depend on at crunch time. The steel in Mason had been infused with old-fashioned virtues such as honor and courage and determination. He was the kind of man who would always take full responsibility for his actions. Even as a teen she had been able to sense that inner fortitude in him. What was true back then was even truer now.
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