For the Sake of Their Baby

by Alice Sharpe

  He sat down opposite her. “Okay. Did you know there was a certain degree of animosity among the locals when your uncle built his first mall?”

  She nodded. “Of course. I was pretty young, but over the years I heard things.”

  “And what about when he built subsequent malls?”

  “They were smaller, just strip malls, really. I don’t even know if many people realized he was behind them.”

  “It’s a small town—I bet lots of people knew. And I bet some little businesses got shoved aside, right?”

  “Probably.” She frowned and added, “For every business Uncle Devon helped go under, two new ones started. He brought jobs and opportunities into the community. And after the malls, he was involved with land development. Half the houses on the south end of town are there because of him.”

  “You’re defending him,” he said softly.

  “Weird, huh? Well, I’m not really defending the way he did things or the way he didn’t care who he hurt.”

  “And I’m not concerned with the ethics of growth and all that right now. What I am wondering is how many former business owners with a grudge had the opportunity to kill your uncle?”

  Liz blinked. “Oh.”

  “Maybe you could get together some figures on the computer or something.”

  “Or something. I have to warn you that I find it rather amazing what information noncomputer people think computer people can ascertain with the flip of a switch and a few pounded keys. It doesn’t always work that way.”

  “You’ll make it work,” he said with complete confidence.

  “Maybe. Remember those boxes my uncle had us take home a month or so before he died? They’re in the garage. He said they were full of my stuff, but you never know, there might be something in one of them that will help.”

  “We’ll look.”

  “And I’ll get a list of everyone who went out of business within a year of the mall opening. Then we’ll dig a little further and see what happened to them next.”

  “Harry Idle’s wife left him.”

  Liz smiled. “Can you blame her?”

  “The point is that he blames your uncle.”

  “Harry Idle?”

  “His daughter has been in and out of rehab. The man thinks his life would be perfect if your uncle had left well enough alone. He may be right.”

  “Are you saying that Harry Idle stabbed my uncle?”

  “What I’m really saying is that where there’s one disgruntled former shopkeeper, there may be more.”

  “But would they wait two decades to exact their revenge?”

  “Didn’t the newest strip mall open just last winter? There are undoubtedly new grudges afloat. Anyway, it’s a place to start.”

  “I’ll check everything I can think of,” she said as she took her empty soup bowl to the sink, Sinbad following and meowing. As Liz shook kibble into a bowl and set it before the cat, Alex reached for a pad of paper and a pen.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to work up a sequence of events. Your uncle was alive when you left. Do you remember if he was smoking a cigar?”

  “I don’t think so. I don’t remember any smoke.”

  “There was a smoldering cigar in the ashtray when I got there. I saw your car, what, maybe ten minutes before I found him. Fifteen, tops.”

  “How did you get into the house?”

  “I knocked, but when no one answered I tried the knob. I didn’t see how he could be asleep because I knew you’d just left and you’d told me he suffered from terrible insomnia. The door was open. His housekeeper, who told the sheriff she slept through everything, said he always locked his doors.”

  “I don’t remember locking it after I left,” Liz said. “Of course, I was too upset with him to care much one way or another.”

  “Who else had a key?”

  “Just me. And the housekeeper and Uncle Devon. He was pretty careful about things like that.”

  “Then maybe the killer was already inside the house when you were there and left the door open when he or she left after the murder.” He felt a sudden jolt of worry. Had Liz been inside the house with a killer? Would that person now wonder what she’d seen?

  “I know the sheriff didn’t find any broken windows,” he continued, trying to hide this worry from Liz. “Unfortunately, half the town had access to the house that night thanks to your uncle’s party. We need a guest list.”

  “That is on the computer,” Liz said.

  “Good. We’ll cross-reference that list with the new one you compile of out-of-work former businesspeople and see what comes up.”

  “Do you really think—”

  “I don’t know,” he interrupted. “I just don’t know. I’m also wondering who phoned in that timely tip. It wasn’t me or you or the housekeeper.”

  “Was it the murderer?”

  “I think it must have been. My lawyer said it came from the public telephone at the Four Corners Market, less than a mile from your uncle’s house. It was anonymous.”

  “How did the sheriff explain that?”

  Alex shrugged. “Some good Samaritan said he heard yelling and grew concerned when it stopped abruptly. He or she, they couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman for sure, said they heard it as they were walking their dog.”

  “Yelling so loud that a person on the road could hear it, but not the housekeeper?”

  “She sleeps above the garage, not in the house.”

  “That’s true. Plus she plays a radio all night tuned into a San Francisco talk show. She’s addicted to it.” Liz bit her lip. “I was thinking about what you said, how you found Uncle Devon in front of his desk. If he walked around the desk by his own volition and took the letter opener with him, doesn’t that mean that whoever came into his study that night made him nervous or afraid?”

  “That’s a good point. I had to come up with a story for the sheriff that explained the physical evidence in such a way that it was believable that I murdered the old man, but that doesn’t make my account accurate.”

  “And what story did you come up with?”

  “I kept it simple. I told him that your uncle and I argued, that your uncle got angry, picked up the letter opener and tried to attack me and stabbed himself instead. It didn’t go over very well because I outweighed him by fifty pounds, was fifty years younger and didn’t have a scratch on me.”

  “I think it more likely that whoever entered his den frightened him.”

  “Hard to picture the old buzzard frightened of anyone, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. But if that happened, then it was premeditated.”

  “Especially since your scarf ended up in his hands. Someone must have brought that scarf into your uncle’s den, intending to use it, to make it look as though you killed him with it. Keep that in mind, Liz. We’re looking for a cold-blooded killer who wanted you blamed.”

  “Then maybe someone killed Uncle Devon as a way of getting rid of me.”

  “But you’re the only one who stands to gain a penny from his estate.”

  “Then there must be another motive we haven’t discovered yet,” she said. She looked upset which wasn’t too surprising considering the topic they were discussing.

  Alex got to his feet. “How are you feeling?” he asked, pulling her close.

  “A little tired. Don’t worry, I’m always a little tired lately.”

  “I can’t help but worry,” he said softly. “And I need to apologize to you. I didn’t really follow you today, I just saw your car out in front of Tony-O’s and couldn’t resist the temptation to see you.”

  She touched his cheek. He trapped her warm fingers with his own. “I realize what you’ve been through,” she said. “I don’t want to make things any harder than they are.”

  “You’ve been through just as much.”

  “I know you want to hear me say everything will go back to normal. That I’ll go back to the way I was. I wish I could.”

  �
�I don’t want you to go back to anything,” he told her, “except loving me.”

  She bit her lip. She wasn’t going to say it, he knew that. She wasn’t ready, she was still too scared that she’d be giving up something of herself if she admitted she couldn’t live without him.

  He lowered his face to hers, half expecting her to push him away, but she didn’t. Instead, she focused on his mouth with an intensity that excited him into an instant erection. When their lips touched, he felt it in his groin.

  As he parted her lips with the tip of his tongue, their teeth clicked against each other in their eagerness to consume, to be consumed. In the very old days, back in high school, a kiss like this would have led to agonizing frustration. More recently, it would have led to bed. But now it encapsulated them in a sort of time warp. The moment they separated, it would be over, and Liz would walk away. He didn’t know how he could bear it.

  She felt different as he pressed against her. Gone was the slender shape that had molded to his with such an ancient grace. He didn’t mind. In fact, he yearned to see this Liz naked, to run his hands over her ripe curves. He yearned for intimacy that went beyond a kiss or even lovemaking, the intimacy of the past where her body had been more familiar by far than his own.

  But he knew he had to earn that intimacy. With a flurry of small kisses, he struggled to calm himself. He wanted her to want him in the same damn-the-torpedoes way he wanted her. Completely. Devoutly. Eternally.

  “I love you,” he whispered against her cheek, licking her earlobe, delighting in the way she shivered in his arms. “I know you love me.”

  They each took a step back, their gazes still connected. After a deep sigh, Liz said, “I better get to work on those lists.”

  LIZ HEADED for her computer but the nursery door was ajar and she found herself in that room instead. Her head was spinning, her body was tingling, she felt totally alive, confused and out of breath.

  Weak sunlight spilled through the window, dousing the crib with filtered light. The glowing effect was enhanced by the soft yellow paint she’d chosen for the walls. For the moment, this room was perfect, and as she sat in the newly purchased white rocker, she remembered why she needed to be strong.

  Not for herself. For her baby.

  From the top of the changing table, she hooked a crocheted teddy bear that Emily had given her and held it against her chest. Within weeks, Alex’s baby would fill her arms. In a moment of instinctual insight, she knew she was carrying his son, and she knew he would have his father’s blue eyes.

  Alex’s voice came from the doorway. “I have that list of dates,” he said.

  She swallowed a lump and said, “Great.”

  He didn’t move. He stared at her from across the room and didn’t say a word. His gaze enflamed her. The thought of losing him again made her heart hurt.

  She thought about Kapp and his impending visit. She wanted to tell Alex, but something held her tongue. She’d noticed Alex had a habit of getting irrational when the sheriff’s name came up, understandable after all he’d been through. But she couldn’t help wishing she could convince him….

  Softly, she said, “Alex, please, let’s take all of this to the sheriff. He’s not really a bad man—”

  His answer sounded weary. “No.”

  “But Kapp—”

  “Is a jerk. He’s been to the fire station, no doubt he’ll want to come here. When he contacts you, tell him we’ll meet him at his office, okay? I don’t want him in this house.”

  Tossing aside the crocheted bear, Liz stood, her fear getting the best of her. “You’ve got to be more reasonable, Alex.”

  “Me? I’m always reasonable.”

  “Ha!”

  He took a step toward her. “You’re trembling. What are you afraid of, honey?”

  “I’m afraid we’ll fail, I’m afraid you’ll go back to jail or I will. I don’t understand how you can be so distrustful—”

  Another flash of irritation. “And I don’t understand how you can be so trusting. Why would Kapp believe me after I confessed? You said it yourself, until twenty-four hours ago, everyone believed I was a murderer because I told them I was. It’s too late to change my story without the evidence to back it up. And I won’t risk you.”

  “We could try—”

  “How do you know for sure that Kapp himself isn’t in on your uncle’s murder?”

  “That’s ridiculous. They were friends—”

  “Friends? Think about it. In all the years you knew him, did your uncle really ever have a friend?”

  “Well, no—”

  “Exactly. He had associates. He had flunkies.”

  “But Sheriff Kapp—”

  “Kapp owes his election to your uncle’s money and support. He has his own agenda, Liz.”

  “If he owes his election to my uncle how can you now say he wanted my uncle dead? It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Nothing makes sense. What worries me is that deep in your heart, you have the unshakable belief that the white hats always win.” With that inane comment, he turned and left her. She could hear him walk back down the hall. She stooped awkwardly, picked up the bear and brushed his whiskers back into shape with shaking fingers.

  She would not let Alex go to prison again, not without a fight. He was worried about protecting her—well, she was equally worried about protecting him.

  Kapp would be here tomorrow. If she got Alex out of the house for the duration of the interview, then she could feel Kapp out, so to say, decide if it was safe to tell him the truth. Surely Kapp would never suspect her of such a terrible crime. Surely he would be open to the possibility that Alex was innocent. He was, after all, a lawman. He would want the truth above all else.

  Alex would be furious.

  Alex need never know.

  If she was subtle enough, even Kapp wouldn’t know what she was doing unless she decided to trust him. He might be a lout, but he was an honest one, wasn’t he?

  What if he’s as crooked as Alex thinks he is?

  No. Alex was wrong about Kapp, she felt it in her bones. Okay, he was right about one thing, Kapp could be a little creepy and she didn’t relish spending time alone with him. Tough.

  Could she trade on Kapp’s feelings of loyalty to her uncle to make him see he was hounding the wrong man and that if he didn’t look elsewhere, her uncle’s true killer would get away with murder?

  More to the point, she couldn’t imagine an interview in this small house with both Alex and Kapp in attendance, nor did she want to go to Kapp’s office where he would have the home court advantage. The tension and distrust between the two men would suffocate her in either location. She couldn’t let Alex take all the chances and she couldn’t stop thinking for herself just because it was so tempting to rely on his strength. His judgment wasn’t always crystal clear—he was only human and he hated Roger Kapp.

  She began plotting diversions for Alex.

  Nothing ventured, nothing risked, nothing gained.

  Right?

  Chapter Five

  There was a giant clock in Alex’s brain, ticking away the moments of his freedom with a relentless momentum that showed no signs of abating. If anything, it was getting worse. What had he accomplished so far? He’d irritated Liz half a dozen times and talked to Dave and that was about it.

  You discovered your wife isn’t a murderer, intentional or otherwise, he told himself.

  All night long, he’d dozed in his soon-to-be-born baby’s room, waking with a start every time fatigue claimed him, sometimes laying there for a long while before realizing where he was. The only thing he’d known for sure was that he wasn’t in jail. It was too dark and too quiet. In jail it was never either of those things.

  Nor was he in his own bed next to his own wife.

  He thrust the post hole digger into the earth and wrenched it free, depositing the soil in a pile beside the hole. He’d been doing this since daybreak, or more accurately, since the dense fog grew light enough
to suggest daylight. He didn’t like the fog. He wanted to see the world clearly, not through a curtain of gray, moist air.

  With strong arms, he hefted the digger again and deepened the hole, some of his frustration dissipating with the force of his actions, his brain whirling as he tried to decide what to do next.

  LIZ AWOKE with Sinbad tugging on a nightgown button. As she gently batted him away, he licked her fingers and began purring, rubbing her hand with his chin, the sharp edge of one fang grazing the side of her finger.

  “You silly old cat,” she murmured.

  His purr was warm and reassuring, but he soon grew bored with their game. After she let him out of the room, she dressed in maternity jeans and a bulky red sweater to ward off the chill.

  As she attempted to subdue her hair, she heard a rhythmic thumping noise coming from the back of the house and realized she’d been hearing it off and on for quite a while. Looking out the window, she found fog so thick it all but obscured Alex’s tall, strong figure. He was digging holes. He had started the fence. In December. In the foggy cold.

  For a second, she recalled planning that fence, him marching off the exterior perimeter, her wrapped in an intoxicating cloak of impending joy. She could remember wondering if there was anything in the world more wonderful than carrying the baby of the man you adored and being absolutely certain that he adored you, too.

  As Sinbad tore into a can of Seafood Fancy, she went outside. Alex and she had passed the night before in virtual silence, Liz working on the computer, Alex hovering nearby, both tense, it seemed, and both too stubborn to make the first move to resolve anything.

  But now it was a new day and Liz had a new problem—she had to come up with a plausible excuse to get Alex out of the house for the duration of Sheriff Kapp’s visit.

  “You’ve started the fence,” she said as she stopped in front of him.

  His eyes were gray, like the fog, as though stress had bled the blue right out of his irises. He smiled down at her, and as usual, his gaze made her feel desirable despite the fact that as she’d clomped through the damp grass, she’d felt like the Queen Mary churning through a heavy Atlantic swell.