Courting Danger

by Carol Stephenson

  “Excuse me?”

  “Grace broke off our relationship while I was out of town on business. Not only did I return to news of her death but also a message on my answering machine telling me it was over, that she had bigger fish to fry since I couldn’t trust her.”

  I opened my mouth to ask my next question, but he held up his hand. “I’ve already given the police the answering machine, and yes, I can verify I was in San Francisco. I’ll be happy to give you the same names of the people I was with that I gave to the State Attorney’s office.”

  One didn’t need to actually be present to commit murder. With his resources he could’ve hired someone to do his dirty work for him.

  Chase rose and went to stand by the window. The filtered sunlight threw his features in stark relief, showing his tormented expression.

  “You did care for Grace, didn’t you?”

  His body jerked as if he had taken a blow. “Yes.”

  “What did she mean that you didn’t trust her?”

  But he didn’t appear to hear my question, lost in staring out the window at a yacht churning north.

  “Charles?”

  He looked at me with a troubled expression. “What difference would it have been to me, to give her the things she wanted? The exotic trips, the jewelry? I could’ve afforded it.”

  “Then why didn’t you?”

  “Because I wanted to make sure she cared for me, that her affection didn’t have a price tag attached.”

  “I can relate to that one.”

  His smile was bitter. “I bet you can. Grace used to complain you and I were like two peas in a pod, so distant and self-contained. If it wasn’t for her interest in your grandfather, she would have washed her hands of both you and your aunt long ago.”

  “My aunt?”

  “Yes. Grace hated her. They had quite a fight the week before her death.”

  Here Grace had always given the appearance that the sun rose and fell in Hilary.

  “Do you know what it was about?”

  “No, Grace called up and apologized even though she didn’t want to.”

  Grace only did what would advance her, so why did she make up with Hilary? There was one sure way for me to find out. I stood. “Thank you for your time.”

  He came over and stared at me. “Grace was right on one account. I think you and I do have a lot in common. Ever wonder why we fall for those all wrong for us?”

  I had asked myself that same question a thousand times and still had no answer. “Maybe because we can’t judge who’s right for us? We’re so afraid of trusting that we doom ourselves to being hurt.”

  He nodded. “Perhaps.”

  I touched his arm. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’ll show myself out.” I turned and left. By the time I reached the foyer my stomach was churning. Next stop, The Club.

  Forty minutes later, after changing in the clubhouse dressing room, I found Hilary on the skeet-shooting range. I nodded at the attendant, accepted a gun and took up the station next to my aunt’s.

  The Club, so exclusive that its membership roll was top secret and kept under tight security, catered to the wealthy and famous. Whatever a member’s recreational interest, it could be satisfied here from the mundane, such as golfing and tennis, to the more exotic such as skeet shooting or fox-hunting during the season.

  With the northward migration poised to begin, this section of the grounds was fairly deserted. I watched as Hilary smoothly finished off her current tray of disks.

  Pull, fire, hit. Pull, fire, hit. Hilary’s eyesight was still eagle sharp. Along with all her swimming trophies, she also possessed a number of skeet-shooting awards. Last year she had topped the competition in the senior class at Nationals.

  Switching on my machine, I followed the disk’s arc. I fired and smiled with satisfaction as the disk disintegrated against the blue clear sky. With rapid pulls, I finished off my tray with a clean slate of direct hits.

  “Haven’t lost your touch, I see.” Hilary stood watching, her rifle cradled in her arms, while the attendant filled her machine.

  “Thank you. Neither have you. Are you planning to enter the competition again this year?”

  “I doubt it. My schedule’s rather heavy right now.”

  That startled me. Hilary loved competing with fellow athletes. With a flash of insight, I realized it probably was a treat for her to be with others like her.

  “Do you miss it?” I asked.

  “Miss what?”

  “The training and the races from when you competed in swimming?”

  Astonishment flickered in her eyes. “Yes, I do,” she simply said. She turned and began another round of shooting. When she finished, she motioned the attendant away. Well trained to cater to the whims of the membership, he moved a discreet distance away. Hilary looked at me.

  “I assume this isn’t a social call.”

  “No, it isn’t. Some questions have come up with my investigation.”

  “Is it going well? Does Lloyd stand a chance?”

  “I think so. I think there’s more about Grace’s death than a simple motive of jealousy or rage.”

  “Such as?”

  “What did you and Grace argue about right before her death?”

  Hilary’s mouth thinned but she answered, “Grace unforgivably insulted Colin.”

  Whatever my feelings were about Hilary, I’d always admired her pit bull–like defense of her husband. Whether she loved him or not, she stood by him. I often wondered if he realized how much his wife protected him.

  I cradled my gun. “That doesn’t sound like the society-savvy Grace.” Very clumsy of her to push Hilary’s hot button by insulting her husband.

  “Yes, Grace did know how to kiss ass when need be, didn’t she?”

  My jaw dropped. Hilary had known all along Grace’s motive for being her beck-and-call assistant?

  “Why do you look so surprised? Grace was very transparent.”

  “But useful?”

  “Of course. She was also quite talented and amusing, so one could ignore her fawning.”

  Huh.

  “However, because of her aspirations to use her connections, Grace called and apologized for her comments. I accepted, for which I’m grateful. I wouldn’t have liked having harsh words to be our last.”

  Double huh. This was another Hilary I wasn’t used to hearing.

  “Did she ever mention finding anything strange or exciting of Granddad’s?” Was it my imagination, or did Hilary’s face whiten?

  “No. As far as I know, the extent of my brother’s collection was what I donated.”

  “What about Grandmother’s family? Would any of them have their belongings?”

  “Why the sudden interest?”

  I shrugged. “Because Granddad may be tied to Grace’s murder. There are too many coincidences, too many connections.”

  “Nonsense. His disappearance was only of momentary interest to the press until the next scandal came along. He’s of no importance to anyone living now.”

  She meant herself, but what about me?

  “Judge Winewski warned me off Granddad at the ball.”

  “Kurt?” Disgust dripped from Hilary’s voice. “That drunk.”

  “Was he friends with my grandfather?”

  “No.”

  “But wasn’t he a judge at the same time?”

  “Yes, but they didn’t like each other. In his typical fashion Jonathan sneered at Kurt’s incompetence.”

  Even if it was in the negative, this was the most Hilary had ever talked about her brother.

  “What about Uncle Colin? Were he and Kurt friends?”

  “Of course not!” she snapped, swinging toward the clubhouse. Then she hesitated and turned back to me.

  “Look, before you bumble about and dig up pain and bad memories better left buried in the past, let me tell you how it was back then. The legal community was small, informal. It was a
different way of life. Practices would close down for the summer even. Everyone knew everyone. Prosecutors, defense attorneys and judges would all meet at a local bar and discuss cases, work out deals.” She frowned, remembering.

  “There were nights when your grandmother and I almost sent out search parties because Colin and Jonathan were out so late with others at these ‘bar’ meetings.”

  “Did Granddad drink too much?”

  “My perfect brother? Of course not. Jonathan was the master of control.”

  I always sensed Hilary had hated her brother, but the strength of her overt jealousy after all this time surprised me.

  “Why did you hate him so much?”

  “I did not hate him.” Queen of denial, she drew herself erect as if the rifle she held was attached to her spine.

  “But he was spoiled. Our parents allowed Jonathan to do whatever he wanted, regardless of the consequences, because he was the boy, the heir apparent. He wanted to go to law school so they let him. He wanted to be a judge instead of going into the family business so they backed him with dreams of his becoming President dancing in their heads. Jonathan could do no wrong while I could do no right.”

  I could relate to that part. With Hilary I had never been able to do right. But since she had never known support, how could she know how to give it in return?

  Wait a minute. Was I having an epiphany about Hilary after all this time? Why did that make me feel so uncomfortable? Did I prefer to hate her rather than reaching some plane of understanding? My path stretched before me and suddenly I saw I had been following the same one chosen by Hilary.

  “That must have been tough for you,” I observed.

  Surprise registered on her face. “Not as tough as watching Jonathan garner all the limelight while Colin struggled to make his mark.”

  “Which he did.”

  “Yes, Colin was a superb attorney general even though he served only one term.” She glanced at the diamond-crusted watch on her wrist. “I must be going. I have a meeting in an hour.”

  She looked at me. “Leave the past alone, Katherine. You might not like what you find.”

  Watching her tall proud figure walk toward the clubhouse, I let out a long, slow breath. When I was young I had possessed the intrinsic child gene that, when told not to do something, I had done it anyway. Looked like that gene hadn’t dissipated.

  Don’t touch the past? I had to. For the case, for myself.

  A twig snapped.

  I whirled but saw no one. The attendant had disappeared and the shooting range was empty. Here and there were carefully planted sections of palm trees and tropical vegetation to screen this range from others. A slight breeze rustled the palm fronds.

  Even as I listened for the sound of another person, the hair on my nape stirred. Deliberately, I changed the angle on the disk machine, lifted my rifle and triggered the machine. The disk flew over the nearest bank of trees and I pulled the trigger.

  Bam!

  I reset the machine and tracked the disk over the next section of trees. Bam!

  I paused, listening with all my senses until I was sure the watcher was gone. Satisfied, I cradled the rifle and walked up to the clubhouse.

  Chapter 11

  That night when I got home, the red light on my answering machine was doing its annoying blink. After changing, I fed Willy, grabbed a container of yogurt from the fridge and pushed the play button.

  First up was a message from my secretary and then a long pause before a low raspy voice began to speak. I thought possibly the caller was male, but it was hard to tell from the static reception.

  “You’re in danger. Leave well enough alone. Don’t go digging into the past. Please.” The soft sound of a disconnection and then my machine fell silent.

  I popped the tape out and replaced it with a blank. I considered the tiny spool in my hand. Clearly a warning but a friendly or threatening one? The word “please” suggested the former, but maybe I had a polite killer. I placed the tape in a white business envelope, marked the outside as to the contents and then sealed and put it in my safe.

  Enough was enough. There was only one past the caller had been talking about. The red neon sign on the wall was flashing the word “Grandfather.”

  Going to the hall closet, I found an old cardboard box at the back. I set it down in the center of the living room and sat cross-legged. Within minutes I had its contents spread across the plush champagne carpet. Carefully I unfolded yellowed newspaper clippings.

  Before Hilary had caught me, I often had stolen into the small room at the mansion where my grandparents’ possessions had been stored. One rainy afternoon I had discovered this box containing the clippings and several scrapbooks. By the feminine handwriting I had deduced that they had been my grandmother’s.

  Fortunately, since Hilary was such a stickler for respecting others’ privacy, I was able to cart the box to my room, hiding it in the darkest corner of my closet. When I had moved out, I’d brought the box with me, meaning to go through it with an adult’s eye but never had taken the time. Until now.

  Many of the articles detailed Jonathan’s days as a state prosecutor and then his unexpected appointment to the bench when a judge had been killed in a car accident. Also, snippets from local news about criminal cases he had presided over, and coverage of his assuming the position as chief judge several months before his disappearance. Then nothing.

  The doorbell rang and I grimaced as I rose. The day had taken a toll on my body. I needed a massage overhaul. I gimped a few feet to the door. After checking through the peephole, I groaned and opened it. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

  Gabe gave me his pirate’s grin as he walked in. “I can see that.”

  His eyes went a liquid chocolate as he gave me a thorough once-over. My hand self-consciously went to my hair. I’d pulled it into a ponytail the moment I’d arrived home. I was wearing cutoff jeans and a midriff-bearing sleeveless top. Suddenly, I felt too exposed.

  To give myself something to do, I sidled past Gabe and went into the kitchen. After grabbing a glass, I filled it with cracked ice and water and handed it to him.

  “Thanks.” He studied it with bemusement.

  “It’s only water,” I said.

  “I know, but I’m not used to it being served in a crystal glass except at weddings.”

  Frankly I wasn’t crazy about plain water and thought it tasted better when served in crystal. Besides, all I had was a Baccarat set Hilary and Colin had given me. I hadn’t had the time to go out buy a normal set of glassware.

  I edged toward the counter, intending to hide the platter of chocolate-chip cookies I had set on a bone-china plate, but he reached out and snagged a cookie without comment. He gestured at the chaos in the living room. “What’s all this?”

  “That—” I took a cookie and left the kitchen “—is a box of all I have belonging to my grandparents.”

  I settled onto the sofa and scowled when Gabe sat beside me. I scooted into the corner against the stack of pillows and didn’t miss his smug expression.

  “You don’t look too whipped after a day of hard labor.” In fact, he looked down right yummy, although I had to admit to a tinge of regret. He had changed out of his construction worker’s getup into blue jeans and a black T-shirt.

  He took a swig of his water and shrugged. “I worked construction to help pay for college.”

  That explained the way he had blended in so easily today. “Learn anything of interest?”

  “What you suspected. Your ex is way overextended on projects, hurting bad financially. The laborers talked among themselves about the pay being poor and erratic.”

  I stretched out my legs and contemplated the pink nail polish. Maybe I should switch back to red polish my next manicure visit. Red was more daring, sexier. I said absently, “Juan’s backer won’t be pleased.”

  “He has a backer?”

  I nodded. “Not that you’d find the name on any documents, I would bet. The Cast
illo family does business on the basis of a word.”

  Gabe didn’t break out of his slouch, but his sudden interest radiated in waves from him. “Your ex is a Castillo associate?”

  “Yes. He and his father went to work for them after my aunt tossed them out. Why’s that important?”

  “Did you ever meet Marcos Castillo?”

  “Yes, once.” I suppressed a shudder at the memory. “I didn’t like him.”

  Marcos, in his thirties when I had first met him, had been starkly handsome and overtly charming, but even as a naive eighteen-year-old, I had taken an instant dislike to the man. His appearance and personality had run only skin-deep. Deep down I had sensed a still coldness in the man. I had told Juan that Marcos was like a viper waiting to strike. Juan had laughed nervously and then made sure I never again saw Marcos or any of the other Castillos for that matter.

  Gabe considered me. “Your reaction to him is pretty surprising considering the swath Marcos’s cut through women over the years.”

  “He lacked…” I hesitated, uncertain how to describe how Marcos had given me the creeps.

  “Any shred of humanity? That he could kill without shedding a tear?”

  “Yes, that’s it.”

  “Not surprising since he comes from a family who ran a crime ring in Cuba until Castro tossed them out to land here.”

  “The Castillos are a drug cartel?”

  Gabe set down his water on the coaster on the side table. “Drugs, guns, racketeering, you name the crime and if there’s a profit to be had, the Castillos have both hands in it.”

  “I don’t recall ever hearing about them on the news.”

  “Because they run a very tight ship. They keep the local Cuban community terrorized on any given day. We’ve been trying to catch them for years, but any time we get a witness who might testify, that witness disappears or ends up dead. Their payoffs run deep.”

  “How deep?”

  “Police, prosecutors, judges, who knows?” Gabe’s voice was tight with anger and bitterness. “All I know is any time I thought I had a decent case, something went wrong. Evidence destroyed, prosecution dismissed on a technicality.”

  “Are the Castillos the reason you punched out your chief?”