Fake I.D. Wife

by Patricia Rosemoor

  Guilt was stopping her from taking what she wanted, but she wanted him.

  “You have to get over him sometime.”

  “Get over him? You’re talking about my husband, the man I loved with all my heart. The man who was taken from me without warning.”

  “It’s been more than three years, Elise. How long do you need to mourn?”

  “As long as it takes.”

  “You’ll tell me if you figure it out, right?”

  Again her expression was torn, and as if he could read her mind, he knew what she was thinking—that she might not stick around long enough for that to happen.

  He nodded and walked away from her, mumbling, “Better get this cleaned up. And it’s almost time for you to report for kid-sitting duty.”

  “Right.”

  She helped him gather the remnants of dinner and haul them back into the kitchen. Logan hated the awkwardness between them and could think of only one way to ease it—to get back to the golden opportunity at hand.

  “So, are you going to try to find something to incriminate Diane?”

  “Diane…I’m rethinking that.” She opened the dishwasher and set in the plates, then leaned back against the sink and sighed. “Who might have done it, I mean. Diane seems to really care about Eric and, if so, I don’t think she would harm him.”

  “That’s the kid. What about the father?”

  “I honestly don’t know. I still think she hated Brian and me because she was jealous of us. I’ve gone over that night so many times in my head. There was no sign of forced entry, which meant it had to be someone in the house. Out of the blue Diane announced she was staying the night, that it was time she got to know her sister-in-law better. And that was after she’d avoided me for years, as the others had. Carol was still out. Kyle was in Springfield as he was so much of the time. Minna was with a gravely ill Charles in Florida.”

  “And no one else had a key?”

  “No one that I know of.”

  “What if your husband let someone in—the owner of the car in the ravine?”

  “I would have heard a doorbell. And Brian was drunk, certainly in no condition to go back downstairs, let someone in and lead that person back to the bedroom. Not without making a lot of noise.”

  “You’re sure the house was locked up?”

  “I checked it before going to bed.”

  “And there was no other way in?”

  Elise hesitated just a second too long before saying, “No. No other way.”

  Chapter Ten

  She’d lied to Logan, of course, and it made Elise squirm in her own skin. The kiss had bothered her, not because of her love for Brian but because of her growing feelings for Logan. Whether or not it was too soon, she was beginning to care for him. Besides which, the man was putting himself on the line for her—and she couldn’t even be truthful with him.

  But the tunnel was her escape route and she wasn’t sharing that with anyone other than Cass.

  What if someone had used it to get in that night, though? The driver of the dark car—who could it be? Who’d hate Brian enough to want him out of the way?

  The answer was the same as always—Diane—if not as satisfying.

  But something had been going on with Brian that last week or so. Something that had driven him to be moody and insular. Something that had driven him to drink.

  But what?

  That she couldn’t answer flooded her with guilt. She’d been his wife, for heaven’s sake. He hadn’t trusted her enough to confide in her.

  Why not?

  Because you were weak, a little voice said, as she made her way over to her former home via the back door.

  That had to be it. Brian hadn’t thought she could handle it—whatever the problem had been.

  She planned her arrival to spend the least amount of time around the family before they had to leave. She wasn’t important enough for Kyle to give her a second look before he went out to the car; she wasn’t a man, so Carol smiled vaguely and followed him. While Minna met her gaze directly, she shuttered whatever she was thinking.

  Diane said, “Eric, sweetheart, you go to bed when Mrs. Smith tells you to.”

  “Okay.”

  “He can have a small glass of milk and two cookies if he likes,” Diane told Elise. “More will keep him awake.” She bent over and gave the boy a hug. “Sleep tight tonight.”

  Eric was already in pajamas and his hair was still damp from his bath.

  How many baths had she missed giving him? Elise wondered. She’d kept count for a while. In prison, she’d kept count of everything she should be doing with her child, until the emotional burden had grown too heavy for her.

  “So, what would you like to do, Eric?” she asked the moment the door closed behind Diane.

  “Read.”

  The book he produced, of course, was A Horse and a Half. And as she went through the dog-eared pages with him and listened to him “read” to her—he’d memorized every word—her throat tightened and her eyes welled up with unshed tears.

  “It’s okay,” Eric said, gazing straight into her eyes and putting his small hand on hers. “No one dies.”

  Elise started, and then realized he meant the story. She blinked and forced a smile. “No, of course not. I have allergies.”

  “Me, too,” he said.

  “To what?”

  “Aminals.”

  “You mean animals? Like cats and dogs?”

  His nod was solemn. “That’s why Aunt Diane won’t let me have a cat. But I have a fish. His name is Flukey. Wanna see?”

  “I would love to see your fish.”

  So she saw the fish, his prized possession, and then they had the milk and cookies. The hour and a half flew by far too fast, and eight o’clock and bedtime came far too soon.

  She tucked him in and sat on the edge of his bed while he said his prayers out loud.

  “Bless Aunt Diane and Uncle Kyle, Aunt Carol and Grandmother and Grandma Nancy…and bless Mommy…”

  Her chest hurt, as his pale lashes fluttered and lowered and he slipped into the sleep of the truly innocent. Unable to help herself, Elise leaned over and stroked his hair and kissed his forehead. He murmured in his sleep and put a hand on her arm the way he used to do.

  She watched him sleep for a while, wondered what it would be like to do this every night. She didn’t want to leave him, not for one moment, not when she could be near him. But she had work to do.

  Feeling tortured, Elise quickly left his room and tried to pull herself together. She had to put the time alone in the house to good use.

  Where to start?

  Though the safe called to her and she wanted to know whether the combination had been changed, she was upstairs. Perhaps she should do a quick sweep of the bedrooms first. Not that she had any idea of what to look for.

  Without purpose, her search proved to be quick and unproductive. She felt weird going through drawers and closets filled with personal items, none of which meant anything to her.

  Having explored Kyle and Diane’s quarters and then Minna’s, she checked her watch. A little after nine.

  Less than three hours before she turned back into that pumpkin, she joked sadly to herself.

  Carol’s room was strewn with her clothes. So, she hadn’t changed. She still lived like she had someone following her around, picking up after her. Maybe she did, though Elise hadn’t noticed any servants other than the nanny. The drawers were a mess, as was the closet. A cursory look inside and she was ready to call it quits, to get downstairs to investigate the wall safe combination.

  Then she saw it—the old bandbox from Paris. She remembered Carol telling her about it the day she’d left her husband and moved into Mitchell House with her and Brian. On her first trip there, Carol had brought back an outrageous and outrageously expensive hat in a beautiful box decorated with Parisian scenes. And after she’d tired of the hat itself, Carol had mentioned she kept the bandbox as her remembrance of the trip and use
d it to house souvenirs.

  What kind of mementos did it hold now? Elise wondered, her mind going off in a perverse direction. Newspaper clippings?

  She couldn’t get it out of her mind that someone had recognized her. Logan had jogged over to Bob Hale’s house to ask about the one left the night before, but old Bob hadn’t been home, so they couldn’t be sure.

  She lifted the lid to find the insides loaded with programs and menus and matchbooks and photos. A better look at the last, and Elise came up with Carol and the same man in several different shots taken over a period of years, starting with that early trip to Paris.

  She flipped one over to reveal Carol’s handwriting: Me and Rafe, together again. It had been dated more than three years earlier, when Carol had been living with Elise and Brian while getting a divorce.

  “Rafe,” she murmured, rolling the name over her tongue.

  Carol had never told her about the man. While her sister-in-law’s sexual exploits were legend, Carol herself never had to do the boasting. Rumor ran rampant in their social circle, and it seemed everyone had been anxious to fill in “the new girl” about her in-laws.

  Elise had been certain Carol was having a secret affair before her divorce went through. Apparently, it had been with this Rafe, a man she’d been seeing off and on for years. Had Brian found out? What if Rafe had come to see Carol that night and had run into a very drunk, very uncontrolled Brian, instead? What if he’d called this Rafe on his seeing his still-married sister?

  A chill shot up her spine as the ramification struck her. For the first time, she truly considered that someone outside the family might have killed her husband….

  Taking a steadying breath, she slipped the photograph taken around the time of Brian’s murder into her pants pocket. Logan had asked her if anyone else had a key. She hadn’t thought so, but what if she’d been wrong? Would Carol admit having given her lover a key? And how could she even approach her sister-in-law about it without giving herself away?

  Replacing the bandbox, Elise left the closet and bedroom exactly the way she’d found them. Then, avoiding the master suite she’d shared with Brian, which, according to her mother, had remained empty, she headed for the first-floor study.

  Halfway down the stairs, she thought she heard a noise from below. Her heart began to drum. Reminded of the night Brian died, she stopped and listened for an indication that someone had returned early. Only, this time she didn’t call out. She was thankful she wasn’t doing anything that would compromise her identity—assuming no one had figured it out yet.

  Though she listened intently, all was quiet downstairs.

  Part of her wished Logan were here now. He could reassure her, watch her back, and she could show him the photo and talk to him about it. Her hopes were racing with the discovery, but she didn’t have a clue as to what to do next.

  Logan would know, she thought, continuing down and entering the study, surprised at how much she’d begun to count on him.

  All traces of Brian in his former haven had been wiped away, from the color of the walls—now a stark white instead of a deep green—to the choice of furnishings and art, both modern, and the addition of considerable computer equipment. Diane’s work or Kyle’s? she wondered, heading for the one thing in the room that remained the same: an oil portrait of Minna and Charles behind the new desk.

  The portrait was huge, the frame intricate and heavy. And yet when she nudged the bottom left corner, it lifted easily. Mounted on a hidden track, the portrait swung on hinges away from the wall to the right.

  Her pulse ticked rapidly as she gave the old-fashioned wall safe, installed when the house was built, a long, hard look. No modern gadgets like touch-pads or alarms to thwart her. Now the question was…did it hold the missing key to her getaway plan?

  Money.

  Biting back her nerves, she grasped the dial and twirled. Part of her hated doing this, even though she knew any money she took wouldn’t make a dent in Brian’s estate. As she stopped the dial and heard a very satisfying first click, that told her the combination hadn’t been changed, she admitted this still felt wrong, no matter what her rationalization. But what choice did she have?

  Turning the dial in the other direction, she thought about Logan’s urging her to find some kind of proof to implicate the real murderer—and she had wanted to do so—but the photo in her pocket wouldn’t do more than raise a question.

  Another click. Carefully she dialed the third number and the fourth.

  The final click should have prompted a quicker response. But Elise stood there, staring at the handle for a moment, before grasping and turning it.

  The safe door opened….

  Elise focused on the contents. The safe was stuffed with papers, on top of which sat a leather pouch, which she removed and unzipped. Staring down at the contents, she gaped.

  Money…hundred-dollar bills…more than she’d dreamed she would find.

  She pulled out a bundle and slowly fanned the bills. There had to be a hundred of them. Ten thousand dollars. And this was only one of five bundles of equal size.

  Fifty thousand dollars in a home safe…why?

  Whatever the reason, it was more than enough money to get her and Eric to Canada and to give them not only a fresh start, but a decent life. Having so much money in her hands was tempting…but she wasn’t ready to leave, and she knew Eric wasn’t ready to go with her yet.

  Remember the plan, she told herself. Less than a week to go. She would leave the party early, come through the tunnel, collect the money, then get Eric.

  But what if the money wasn’t in the safe when she came back for it?

  Elise considered taking just one bundle now. Ten thousand would be enough for a new start. But Kyle was sure to check his safe before Saturday—and if the money was missing, who knew what he would do? She remembered how angry he’d been earlier.

  Shoving the bundle back inside the pouch, she zipped it shut and set it in the safe. She would just have to take her chances that it would still be here when she returned for it.

  About to close the safe door, Elise froze when she heard a deliberate cough behind her.

  Dear God, she was caught!

  “SO WHAT DOES Kyle Mitchell keep in his safe?”

  “Logan!” Elise whipped around to face him.

  Her face was drained of all color and she looked unsteady on her feet.

  “Lord, you scared me. How did you get inside?”

  Avoiding answering, he said, “I asked first.” He moved closer so he could see inside the safe. “You went through everything?”

  “No,” she said, color flushing back into her cheeks.

  He considered her embarrassment—like that of a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar. And she hadn’t even taken any of the cookies. Yet.

  “Then, what are we waiting for?” He grabbed the bag and felt her gaze on him, as if she feared he would take it. “I’m not a thief.”

  “I didn’t say—”

  “You were wondering. I thought I would relieve your mind.”

  More interested in the papers beneath, he set the money pouch to the side, then scooped up a ledger and a folder and brought them over to the desk.

  “What are you looking for?” she asked when he opened the ledger and paged through information entered by hand.

  He opened the book and perused it. The handwritten entries were coded.

  “I’ll know it when I see it.”

  He saw it when he got to the folder and had quickly scanned several transactions. Several nerve-racking minutes later, he looked up at her, triumph lighting him.

  “It seems your brother-in-law has a Cayman Island bank account.”

  “Is that bad?”

  “It’s definitely suspect. Criminals no longer use only Switzerland to cover their wrongdoing.”

  Possibly the information over which Ginny had been killed. Although he doubted she’d gotten even this far, since she hadn’t had the combination to the saf
e. More likely, she’d asked the wrong questions of the wrong person.

  He looked around and spotted a copier. “Good,” he muttered, heading for it and turning it on.

  “What are you doing?”

  He lifted the copier lid and set the first document facedown. “Duplicating copies of everything here.”

  Elise waited until he’d started the process before asking, “What did you mean by ‘criminal’? How would money deposited in a Cayman account be linked to Brian’s death?”

  “Maybe it wouldn’t—”

  “Then, what are you looking for?”

  “—and maybe it would. We’ll see.”

  Though she appeared exasperated, Elise didn’t argue with him further, but let him get on with what he was doing. She moved to the windows and peered out to the dark street. Apparently all was well.

  Logan didn’t think this was exactly the right time to explain in detail or to bring up Harbor from the Storm. She might not want to hear his explanation of how he thought Kyle Mitchell was siphoning charitable contributions into his private coffers. At least, she wouldn’t want to know right now, when she had to deal with Diane about the charity directly.

  Elise had enough to hide. He didn’t want her making any wrong moves on his account.

  “I found something else before you arrived,” she said, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a photograph.

  Still making copies, Logan took the time to study the photo of Carol with a darkly handsome man. Very European.

  “Significance?” he asked, turning it over. Apparently the man’s name was Rafe and this wasn’t the first time Carol had been with him.

  “Carol was living with us while getting her divorce,” Elise said. “This photo was shot at that time—there are others upstairs, taken over the past decade. I didn’t know Rafe, though, and I don’t know if anyone else in the family did, either.”

  “Which meant this Rafe might have been a secret guest in this house.”

  “And might have been the one who left a dark car parked in the ravine the night Brian was murdered.”