by Lyn Stone
The killing of James Andrews was probably due to rage, as Mitch had first suspected. Andrews refused to give over the disk with the numbers of the accounts he’d set up and got popped for it. Somers wouldn’t have handled that personally, of course. If another body turned up, Mitch wouldn’t be surprised. The shooter had made a bad mistake, not getting his hands on that disk first.
Until the firing board gave clearance, there wouldn’t be anything official Mitch could do. About the most he could hope for was to compile enough information to clear Robin and redirect the suspicion where it belonged.
The pizza he had ordered and shared with Robin felt like fire in his stomach. Probably getting an ulcer.
Robin had excused herself to shower. Mitch looked up as she wandered into the room, toweling her hair, wearing the same clothes she had worn before. No makeup. That had been in her purse. Amazing how young she looked without that subtle mask of cosmetics. And how beautiful.
“Find everything you needed?” he asked.
She nodded and took the chair nearest where he sat on the sofa. “Did you figure out any of that?” she asked, looking at the page he was holding.
“Are you sure you don’t know any of these people?”
“Never heard of them, I swear,” she replied. For a while she was silent as if mulling over something. Then she sat forward and asked him earnestly, “Mitch, would you trust me to work on this? I mean, really work on it.”
“What do you mean? How?”
“Instead of giving that to your friend or your partner today, get me a computer. All I need is a few hours. Maybe less. Let me see what I can find out?”
He looked down at the list and back up at her. “Something you haven’t told me yet, Robin?”
“Maybe…there are programs I could access.”
“Hack, you mean?”
Her shrug was as good as an admission. “I was just thinking that the bureaucracy might slow this down if you turn it over.”
“And that won’t happen if you do it yourself,” he said, tongue in cheek.
“Well, no.” She faced him squarely, her gaze intent. “You can watch over my shoulder. Give me a shot at it first?”
“Robin, be straight with me, please. Do you know something about this that you haven’t told me?”
“No. But I’ve been thinking about something James mentioned casually—almost too casually now that I think about it—when he called me about bringing the disk. I thought then it was simply idle conversation, but now I’m not certain it was. He was planning a vacation.” She raised one beautifully shaped brow and tilted her head in question. “Want to guess where?”
“Russia?”
“No. He mentioned George Town,” she said with a quirk of her eyebrow. “That’s in the islands. The Caymans.”
“Numbered offshore accounts,” Mitch said. “Well, that’s what we suspected all along. No big surprise there.”
“I know, but the only way James could have gotten the numbers is if he set them up for these people.”
“Then he was to give the numbers to the individuals on the list. They wouldn’t need to use their names, only the codes to access their accounts.”
“Accounts he could easily access himself,” she said.
“Maybe he did. So why was the disk in New York in the safety deposit box? Why not here in Nashville?”
She shrugged. “I have no idea unless he figured that was the last place in the world anyone would expect him to put it.”
“In a locked box his wife had access to,” Mitch guessed.
“Exactly. Maybe he was holding those numbers ransom or something, trying to extort more money for himself. But first of all, we need to find out if these really are numbered accounts, don’t you think?”
“Can you do that?” he asked, his suspicion mounting. Why would she want to involve herself this way?
“I can try. No promises. If I’m successful, this could establish that someone else had a motive to kill James.”
“Besides yourself,” Mitch reminded her. “All right, I’m game. We’ll give it a shot and see what you come up with. What about the other file?”
“Nothing I can do about that,” she told him. “I suppose I could get an online translation, but what if the information on it shouldn’t be broadcast anywhere? I think we’d better leave that to your friend.”
He’d been watching for a sign that she lied and saw no real indication that she was. No telltale fidgets or glancing away to the left or arms crossing over her chest. Her breathing looked even, regular, her eyes totally untroubled as her gaze met his. Deliberately met his, as if she knew it had to or he wouldn’t believe her.
That bothered him. The cloak of composure she threw on every once in a while could probably conceal most anything she wanted to hide. He wanted to rip it off, get down to some honest feelings, at least, even if she wasn’t keeping secrets associated with the murder. Now might be the best time.
He laid the paper aside. “First, I need you to tell me more about Andrews. About your marriage.”
Her lips worked as she raked them with her teeth. Slowly as if she were thinking, not rapidly as if his demand made her nervous. A tremulous smile replaced the tic, and her gaze softened. “James was…considerate.”
“Considerate? He cheated on you, Robin,” Mitch reminded her.
She shrugged that off as if it didn’t matter. He had the feeling that it really didn’t. She hadn’t loved the man.
“You were more friends than lovers, even during your marriage,” he guessed. Not a stretch, since she had all but said so before.
“Yes. Friends. I was coming out of a bad relationship. He helped me through that. A sort of attraction developed between us. Nothing earthshaking, but it was, I guess you’d say, comfortable. For both of us, I think. At least for a while.”
Mitch resisted the urge to scoff. He just couldn’t imagine marrying anybody on those terms. “So when he decided he wanted to get out of the marriage, he began to cheat? You said you thought he planned for you to find out?”
She looked sad, shook her head a little, but agreed with him. “He admitted that. The clues were pretty thick on the ground.” Her small laugh sounded just a tiny bit angry. “Receipts for jewelry and flowers. He left them in his pockets where I’d be sure to find them when I took his clothes to the cleaners. Hang-up phone calls when I would answer. That sort of thing.” She flipped one hand lazily as if she hadn’t minded much.
“Was everything else…satisfactory? Sex, I mean.” God, he hadn’t wanted to ask that. Why had he asked that?
Her fake smile faltered. “Not really. Do we have to talk about this?”
“It’s as good a time as any to get it out of the way. I don’t like it any more than you do, but if I don’t ask you, somebody probably will. The autopsy is tomorrow and the inquest will be held later this week. It’s a sure bet it will be classified a murder and you will be asked about your relationship with the victim. In detail. So far you’re the only suspect, though I don’t think there’s enough for an indictment. Be warned, that could change as the evidence comes in.”
Fear rippled through her visibly before she could contain it. Mitch felt like a heel, but he needed to learn more if he was going to help her. “Robin, look at me.”
She did.
“Tell me what I need to know. I’ll do everything within my power to get this mess cleared up. If you don’t, I can’t help.”
For a long time she just looked at him as if trying to see whether he meant business. Then she gave a resigned nod.
Robin took a deep breath and tried to organize her thoughts. How much would Mitch need to know? What was important and what could she safely withhold?
He sat on the sofa across from her, leaning forward, elbows on his knees and hands clasped between them. The casual way he was dressed, the lock of hair that tumbled over his forehead and his friendly encouragement could almost make her forget he was a detective, that he still must suspect her of bei
ng somehow involved in James’s death.
Justifiably so, maybe, since he now knew she’d possessed an excellent motive. She could hardly blame him for doing what he was trained to do. But it hurt to think he could still believe her capable of murdering her husband.
He looked sympathetic, maybe only a ploy to gain her trust. Or maybe he really did sympathize. So far he hadn’t thrown her any curves. He had been honest with her as far as she could tell.
“You said you were in a bad relationship before you married James?”
She nodded and released a sigh, only then realizing she’d been holding her breath. “With Troy Mathison, a male model I had met six months before in one of the charity shows.” She interrupted her tale to explain, “I had done very little modeling for about six years, only in special events like benefits, when my former agent called a favor.”
“I see. Was Mathison a full-time model?” Mitch asked.
“Yes, and doing very well at it. Mostly magazines, catalogs, but only the occasional runway gig. He initiated our first conversation, indicated that we had a lot in common. It seemed we did at first. I soon found he was not quite as…congenial as he appeared. Our affair didn’t last very long.”
Robin rushed on, hoping that if she hurried through it, he would ask fewer questions. “After a whirlwind courtship, if you could call it that, Troy moved in with me. I’m still not sure how he accomplished that. I had always lived alone. Preferred it.”
She forced a smile. “It didn’t work out. He was self-centered, thoughtless, not at all the man I had thought he was. In less than two weeks I asked him to move out. He refused.”
Mitch was frowning at her. “What did you do then?”
“Threatened to call the police. Troy laughed.”
“And?”
“I called them and they made him leave. He was horribly embarrassed and angry that I followed through with the threat. He began to harass me, disrupting my life any way that he could. Even the restraining order didn’t help.”
“But James Andrews did,” Mitch guessed.
“Yes. He lived in my apartment building. We had known each other for several years. Had dinner occasionally. I watered his plants and brought in his mail when he was away on business.”
“Insurance?” Mitch asked, one eyebrow raised. “That took him away from home a lot?”
She had never thought about that until today. “I supposed the trips were business. I didn’t ask and he didn’t say. He looked after my apartment for me when I went to Florida to visit my mother. As I told you, James and I were friends. Neighbors.”
“So you married him for protection?”
His question held a note of disbelief or censure. It was hard to tell. Mitch was wearing his detective face which revealed very little of what he was thinking.
“No, that’s not true! Well, not precisely. He began coming over every evening, answering my phone, giving the impression to outsiders that he had replaced Troy, if you know what I mean. He even slept on my sofa when the calls began coming in the night.”
“So you trusted him that much.”
Robin bit her lip, unwilling to admit that she had slept with her bedroom door locked. “Eventually.”
“He suggested the marriage?”
She nodded. “I refused at first. We didn’t know each other quite that well. Then he began what he called his campaign to win me. It was…flattering.”
How could she explain to Mitch that she had never actually been courted that way? Men had always just assumed she was fair game since she was a model.
“James respected me. He always said he liked me for myself.”
Mitch smiled. His expression seemed forced. “That unusual?”
“In my line of work? Yes. When you appear wearing revealing clothes in fashion magazines and strut braless on the runway, some men just naturally assume you will hire out for anything.”
He looked away, focusing out the window. “You make it sound like hooking or somethin’.”
She sighed and shook her head. “Not that different. We’re all selling something, Mitch. I was peddling my body, just in a different way. It’s almost as degrading, sometimes as dangerous.”
“That why you live like a recluse now?”
That hit too close to home to suit Robin. She didn’t answer.
He took another tack. “Okay, so you finally took him up on his offer, married him and you moved in together. His place?”
“No, mine.”
“You split the expense?”
“What does that have to do with anything? He was helping me.”
She watched as he sat back and ran a hand through his hair, blowing out a breath of what appeared to be frustration. Robin liked it when he dropped out of professional mode and let her see the man behind the detective.
Strange how everyone had these masks they wore. She had grown so tired of hers, she had all but abandoned it in favor of seclusion so she could be herself. That must be why it slipped so often now. Practice was required to keep it in place, she guessed, and resented the necessity of it.
It was several minutes before he resumed his questions. “Did he ever discuss his work with you? Surely you talked about how your days went.”
Robin thought back. “No, not really. We mainly spoke of art, the theater, the news, books. That sort of thing.” Wasn’t that strange? For the first time she considered how impersonal her conversations with James had been. Even sex between them had never gone beyond a minimum level of intimacy. Sad.
Her thoughts must have been reflected in her expression because Mitch leaned forward again, this time far enough to touch her hand. “Robin, I know this is hard. You want to take a break?”
His concern felt real. “There’s very little else I can tell you. James was kind. He was my friend when I needed one. His affairs were as much my fault as his and only his way of exiting a relationship—a marriage—that was a mistake from the beginning. We did talk about that and agreed to part amicably.”
“Big of you.”
She decided to reveal something she had only recently admitted to herself. “You see, I could never give James what he deserved as a husband. It simply is not in my nature to love. It’s not in me.”
He laughed, a bitter sound. “Bull! The man used you, Robin. You trusted him and he used you. You gave him a home, paid his bills. Knowing his kind, I bet you a dollar to a doughnut he talked you into making a few investments, right?”
She frowned, her anger welling up inside her. She tamped it down. “Do you think I amassed what I have by doling it out to every man who bought me roses? I’m not stupid!”
“You refused to let him manage your money?”
“Of course I did. James said he had a degree in business management and assured me he knew what he was doing. However,” she said, deliberately pausing to get his attention, “so did I.”
“Bet he loved that,” Mitch said with a smirk. It was almost as if it didn’t surprise him at all. “Was he mad?”
“He was livid, but I…” The truth dawned as suddenly as her fury had struck. “That’s it!” She grabbed Mitch’s hand. “That’s why he…I never made the connection before. Soon after that’s when things started to fall apart with us.”
Her breath came in short puffs as the time frame of his affairs fell into synch with their disagreement over her portfolio and liquid assets.
“Not so kind after all, was he?” Mitch grumbled. “I almost wish he was still alive so I could choke the bastard.”
“I didn’t kill him, Mitch,” Robin vowed.
“Okay,” he said easily, squeezing her hands gently, seeming distracted by all she had said. “Did he ever name a project, any specific deal he wanted to sink your funds into?”
“No. He just swore he could triple my investment. Do you suppose that’s what he did with those men on the list? Invested for them?”
“Maybe. How much did he want you to fork over?”
Robin hesitated.
; “Come on, honey. Do you think I’m after your little pot of gold? I’ve never taken a dime from a woman in my life. How much?”
“Half a million,” Robin mumbled.
His eyes rounded. “Jesus! You have…?”
“No. He assumed that was all I had.”
For a moment he was speechless. Then he croaked. “More?”
Robin nodded. “Close to two, but most of it’s not readily accessible. Some is in a trust for my mother, some in stocks, the rest in a special account. I live on the interest.”
“But you still work.”
“Of course I work. I tried sitting around all day watching soaps or chatting online, but that’s boring. I have to do something. And what I have saved isn’t really that much when you think about it.”
He shot her a look of profound disbelief. “Give me a minute here. This takes gettin’ used to, okay? You want a drink?”
Robin nodded. “That would be nice. Do you think Detective Taylor has any white wine?”
He shook his head a little as he released her hands and got up slowly. “I’ll go and see.”
She knew she had irrevocably changed the way Mitch Winton saw her, and regretted the fact. He would treat her differently now. He would either keep his distance so she wouldn’t believe him a fortune hunter, or he would pull out all the stops and go after her money like a mongoose after snakes. In any case, Robin felt she had lost something potentially valuable.
For a while she had been plain Robin Andrews, a woman from New York in a bad situation and needing his help. A woman he was attracted to in spite of himself. The only man with honest-to-God principles she had been close to since she could remember. But then again she realized she could be wrong about Mitch. She certainly had been wrong before.
Mitch braced one hand against the counter beside the refrigerator and contemplated the bottle of unopened wine. She was a millionaire.
If nothing else, that sure let out ol’ James’s life insurance as a motive. But it also put Robin in the position to hire someone to shoot him. If she’d done that, though, surely she would be flitting around New York with alibis up the wazoo, not stumbling over Andrews’s body down here in Nashville, potentially incriminating herself.