Munching her ham and cheese on rye, Miranda stood staring at it all, a hand on her hip.
“Here’s what we know. Usher and Desirée had a hostile relationship. Maybe a love-hate relationship. They did drugs together. Desirée could be physically violent at times. Kennicot was the real love of her life. She’d been in love with the vet since she was a teen. She married Usher to get back at him. After seven years, she left Usher for Kennicot.”
“But Usher was still in love with Desirée,” Parker supplied.
“Right. Narcissistic artist that he was, he had to be pissed as hell about the way she’d treated him, the way she’d walked out on him. At Christmastime.”
She thought about the lonely, brooding artist sitting alone near a decorated tree somewhere, drinking, getting high. And hatching a plan to get back. She pulled at her hair, perched on the edge of her chair again.
Parker swallowed the last sip from his coffee cup and sat back to study the woman pouring over the stacks of papers.
Some might call Miranda Steele merely pretty. To the objective observer, her looks might seem just above average. But to Parker, she was one the most beautiful women he’d ever known. He loved watching her eyes flash as ideas burst inside her vibrant mind. He loved the passion for her work that was now growing into full bloom. They shared that passion for justice. In their core, they were alike. He felt a stronger connection to Miranda Steele than to anyone he’d ever known.
He loved her. If only he could tell her that without frightening her off. If only he could persuade her to think of a future with him.
He would. Slowly but surely, he would change her mind. And then? He smiled to himself. He couldn’t wait to marry her. To watch her come down the aisle to him, adorned in some elaborate designer gown, in a cathedral filled with everyone he knew. But if that were to happen, his timing had to be impeccable. He’d pushed too hard the last time, moved too quickly. He couldn’t risk doing that again.
“So what do you think?” he asked gently, eager to hear her analysis.
Miranda looked up, smirked at that penetrating gaze of his. He enjoyed watching the wheels in her head turn, didn’t he? “I think Usher did it.” She slapped her hand on the table. “I think he had a simmering rage underneath the surface that made him slip the PCP into Desirée’s drink at the steeplechase.”
“And your reasons?”
“He had motive, a wild temper.”
“But…”
“But I can’t prove it.
“No, you can’t.”
“Did Dr. Chaffee tell you about Usher’s temper?” He set his plate aside and rose to move toward her.
“Yes. He said they had a ‘toxic relationship.’ Usher and Desirée fought loud and often. But it was Desirée who attacked Usher. She tore up one of his paintings once. And she scratched his face up bad.”
“And so you’re thinking…”
She nodded. “Revenge.”
He gazed down at the papers and stroked his chin. “That’s one way to look at it.”
That took the wind out of her sails. “Do you see another?”
“There is still the possibility it could have actually been suicide, as the police concluded.” He picked up one of the reports, studied it a moment and put it back down. “Or there might be another scenario we haven’t found evidence for yet.”
She pursed her lips. Patient Parker. For once, she was glad she had him to hold her in check. If this had been a month ago, she might have looked Usher up, hauled off and slugged him. Not anymore. It was good to have solid proof before you did something like that.
He regarded her for a long moment, then stepped behind her, began to rub her shoulders.
Oh, that felt good.
“And what did Dr. Chaffee do for you?”
She hung her head in exasperation. “Not much, Parker. I told you. I’m not good with shrinks.” She ran a hand through her hair. It was tangled, as usual. “They don’t help much.”
Gently he pulled her hair back from her face. “You haven’t found the right one yet.” Softly, he brushed his lips against her cheek.
His touch made her melt, but it couldn’t change her mind.
Parker nuzzled her sweet-tasting neck with his mouth, wanting to ravish her with pleasure. Make her feel things she’d never experienced. Make her feel loved. “Let’s try a different bedroom tonight,” he murmured against her delicious skin.
She inhaled, surrendering involuntarily to his magic. “What’s wrong with the one we’ve, uh, been using?”
“I’d like a change. Something exotic, I think.” His teeth just grazed her jawbone.
“Exotic?” She swallowed as a feathery tingle fluttered down her backbone.
He took the paper she was holding out of her hand and set it on the table. “Why don’t we put all this away and have a nice weekend together?”
“Weekend?” It was Friday night. She hadn’t thought about what their weekends would be like. Besides, she couldn’t let this case go right now. She stared down at the papers on the table. “Shucks, I was going to ask how you felt about working tomorrow.”
He stopped kissing her. “On Saturday?”
She turned around, gave him a sweet smile. “My boss pays well. Double time.”
He raised a brow. “It seems I’ve created a workaholic.”
She lifted her forefinger. “Another topic for therapy.”
“Very well. What do you have in mind?”
“The scene of the crime. Do you think they’d let us onto the Steeplechase grounds?”
He thought a moment. “It’s actually a private farm. I’ll see what I can arrange.” He took her hand and drew her close again, nuzzled her nose, then ran his tongue over her lips. “But tonight, let’s think about other things.”
Shivers dancing behind her knees, she gave in. “Okay.” She let him take her hand and lead her to the staircase. “But only tonight.”
Chapter Nineteen
I pace the floor of the room, my temples throbbing with dread.
They’re getting closer. What if they discover my secrets?
The fear has kept me up all night. The sun is rising over the horizon. Soon its rays will drench my window with light. Blinding light.
I run my hand over the damask of the chair where Desirée once sat. It’s a pretty lavender blue. She loved the color blue. Her hairbrush lies on the dressing table. I pick it up, cradle it in my hands like a baby. We are one now. I am you, Desirée.
But what about Wade Parker? The very name stirs desire for murder in me.
And his associate, Miranda Steele. She’s too bold. Too smart. Just a few weeks ago, she saved that little girl from being killed. If only that brute of an ex-husband she had would have killed her.
She’ll figure it all out soon. I have to act before she does. I’ve thought of a plan, but can I execute it? No one will understand why I did it. If only people understood me. If only they would love me.
I lay the brush back down on the dressing table and stare at myself in the mirror. I know what I must do. It won’t be easy. The last time wasn’t easy, either. Yet, I did it. And I will do it again. I will do what I must. I will.
Sometimes, it’s necessary for people to die.
And if I’m careful, if my plan works, Wade Parker and Miranda Steele will be dead before they can stop me.
Chapter Twenty
Amazing, the things you could do with an old Southern mansion—or in one.
The next morning, Miranda awoke much later than she’d wanted to, and found herself propped up on a mound of colorful pillows where she’d fallen asleep, too exhausted to move.
Parker’s idea of “exotic” had been a large, high-ceilinged room that looked like it had been a bedchamber in the Taj Mahal. A sensual feast in red and black and teakwood, it was filled with the scent of candles and lotus blossoms. The domed ceiling was hand-painted with suggestive figures along the gold cornice. Decorative tiger skin patterns of red and gold stretched across the w
alls, were echoed in the red-and-black spread and the piles of gold-tasseled pillows on the huge round bed.
Mr. P and his decorator had quite a naughty imagination. And his son took every advantage of it.
Oh, what Parker could do with those pillows.
The talented man had flooded her body with delicious sensations for hours. At one point during the night, she’d decided he must have studied the Kama Sutra, and would have asked, but had been unable to speak.
She didn’t fully recover her vocal capacity until they were heading up I-75 toward Bartow County on their way to the Steeplechase grounds.
Sipping from the portable coffee cup he’d given her, she watched him from the corner of her eye and decided to remain silent a while.
Now awake, in broad daylight, she had a different question on her mind. How in the heck had she allowed herself to succumb to Parker’s charms last night—again? Since she’d moved into his ancestral home, she’d spent every darn night with him. She hadn’t had this much sex since… She’d never had this much sex. It was getting to be a bad habit.
Well, not all bad, she thought, remembering the luscious shivers he could give her with just his tongue. Her mouth grew moist as she remembered. Mmm. How did he do that? She shook herself. It wasn’t her fault Wade Parker was the sexiest, most desirable man she’d ever met.
Being with Parker was a fun habit. A nice habit. But not a wise habit. Or a smart one.
What she and Parker had together certainly wasn’t anything like the occasional meaningless one-night stand she used to indulge in with an acquaintance from a job site or a drinking buddy.
What she and Parker had wasn’t just sex. It was a warm closeness. A tender bond. A real intimacy. And feelings. Intense, mind-blowing feelings. The kind of feelings that came with…commitment.
Long-term commitment.
She guessed she was more old-fashioned than she realized. But she knew that closeness, that bond, that intimacy, those feelings—all those warm fuzzies could only lead to the one thing she could never let happen.
Sooner or later, as difficult as it would be, she was going to have to bite the bullet and break it off with Parker.
Just how or when, she had no idea.
* * *
The warm sun and fresh smell of grassy fields felt like a summer picnic spot when they reached the expansive farm where the Northwinds Steeplechase had been held. Gone were the crowds, the tents, the trainers with their horses. Except for a few riders practicing jumps along the track and a couple of people watching them, all that remained was the rolling landscape that seemed to stretch out forever. It was like being in another world. A nearly deserted one.
Was there really something here that would pin Desirée Langford’s murder on Usher? If so, Miranda was determined to find it.
Parker pulled up onto the grassy slope that had served as a parking lot for the Steeplechase and stared out through the windshield. “Here we are,” he said without fanfare.
He’d been unusually quiet during the trip and Miranda wondered whether her private thoughts about last night had been giving off unwelcome vibes. She dismissed the idea. They had work to do.
“Guess we don’t need a special escort to get onto the grounds after all.”
“The owner told me we’re free to go where we want.” Parker had called before they left.
She grabbed the papers she’d brought along and reached for her door handle. “Let’s go.”
“I’ll get that.” Parker turned the car off and walked around to help her out of the car. Being a gentleman was an automatic reflex for him. Like too many things about Parker, she was beginning to get used to it. And to like it.
He retrieved his silver investigator’s kit from the backseat, and they headed down to the barn.
Miranda was glad she’d left her dress and high heels at home this time. Today it was tennis shoes, jeans, and a T-shirt. She’d stuffed her unruly hair under a ball cap.
Parker was in charcoal dress slacks and a light gray shirt that attractively set off his coloring, but no tie or coat. She guessed that was dressing down for him.
The warm, early summer air became a breeze as they approached the stables and the earthy smell of horses greeted them. Miranda had learned that bright, sunny days were the norm in Atlanta. This one was no exception.
As they neared the shelters, she stopped to look around.
“Where shall we begin?” Parker asked her, as if he had no opinion on the matter.
He was letting her take the lead again. Another thing she was beginning to like. It made her feel smart, competent. Taking charge of a case felt natural. Like something she was born to do.
She opened her folder and studied an interview with one of the Aquitaine Farms’ trainers.
“The morning of the Steeplechase,” she read aloud, “Desirée Langford and the party from Aquitaine Farms arrived at the grounds about ten o’clock for set up. Ms. Langford seemed in good spirits, laughing and joking with her crew. Dr. Kennicot arrived about half an hour later.” She lowered the folder. “This witness saw Desirée and the vet holding hands, talking together, currying the horses.”
Parker nodded as he scanned the now empty stables.
Miranda turned the page and summarized. “Calypso was scheduled for the first race. The crew got him and their other entries settled into their stalls. Then about an hour before the race, Desirée and Kennicot went to have something to eat at one of the stations.”
She pulled out the sketch of the area. Following it, she walked to the opposite end of the barn, then paced off about fifty yards. Parker followed her, watching closely.
“This is about where the make-shift restaurant was set up,” she said, gesturing vaguely when she reached the area. She studied the ground. There was nothing here now but grass. “Guess the cleanup crew did a good job.”
“There might still be something to be found.” Parker began to move over the ground, looking down as if examining each blade of grass individually.
Miranda consulted her folder again. She took a step, turned around, and planted herself on a spot facing the barns. “If this is where Desirée and Kennicot sat, then the empty PCP vial was found right about there.” She pointed down.
Parker moved to the spot, bent down and peered at the grass. Then he ran his hand over it. “Nothing.”
As if it had never been there. Maybe she wasn’t in the exact place. It was only an approximation. She pulled another report out of the folder. “This interview of the waiter is the most detailed.” She read from it. “Kennicot was drinking Bacardi, Desirée a daiquiri. After a while, Delta showed up. The waiter overheard the two women arguing. Desirée told Delta she was late. And that it was the last time she’d wear a stupid look-alike outfit to the Steeplechase.”
“I recall the two sisters dressing alike every year.”
Miranda thought a moment. “Delta told me it was their tradition. That confirms it. Guess Desirée didn’t like the ritual. But her remark doesn’t sound like she intended this to be her last steeplechase.”
“Perhaps she hadn’t made the final decision yet.”
Miranda frowned. “To kill herself? What about the suicide note? She had to have written it already. If she was the one who wrote it.”
“True.” He sighed, deep in thought. “Suicide can be a cry for help or an expression of despair. Desirée might have been toying with the idea.”
“On the bubble?”
He nodded. “Unsure until something set her off.”
“Something that pushed her over the edge.”
“It might have gone like that.”
Miranda shook her head. Parker was a paragon of Objectivity, playing devil’s advocate, but she didn’t buy it. There had to be a clue that pointed clearly to Usher. She was determined to find it.
She went back to the pages in her hand. “The sisters had a few more sharp words, then Delta moved away and sat at another table by herself. After about fifteen minutes, Usher showed up
and joined Kennicot and Desirée. Kennicot told him to leave. Usher said no. The two men shouted at each other, then Desirée asked Kennicot to give them a moment. He got up in a huff. Calling Usher a leech, he went back to the stables.”
“The same term he used for him the other day,” Parker observed.
Good point. “Because Desirée supported his art career.” She turned a page. “After Kennicot left, the waiter says Usher and Desirée ‘got cozy.’ They drew their chairs close together, even started kissing.” Miranda blew a breath out her nose. “She sounds like a two-timer to me.”
Parker smirked half to himself. “The Langford sisters aren’t known for their scruples.”
She stared at him. Instead of something about Desirée, had she dug up a clue about Parker’s “unpleasant history” with Delta? She wanted to know. “Did you have a personal relationship with Delta Langford?”
Shock was rare on Parker’s face, but she saw it now, heard it in his smirk. “Hardly.”
“And why do you hate the woman so much?”
The wind teasing the sleeves of his dress shirt, his frame took on the craggy, Gibraltar look. He wasn’t going to give her an answer. “Are you finished with your investigation?”
“Hardly,” she echoed. Okay, she wouldn’t press him now. She’d store that one away for later.
She looked down at her papers again. “Desirée and Usher ordered more drinks. Desirée switched to gin and tonic. Usher had the same. Several rounds later, they asked the waiter for a straw. After he delivered it, the waiter saw Usher pull out a mirror.”
“Insufflation,” Parker said grimly.
Miranda nodded. “They were snorting cocaine, though the waiter pretends he didn’t know what they were doing. Did he think Desirée needed the mirror because she had something in her eye? Another witness concurs that Usher and Desirée were doing lines, but others denied it. There wasn’t enough corroboration to slap Usher with a drug charge.”
She paused to take in the sprawling green fields, inhale the fresh, healthy air. Everything seemed so serene and peaceful up here. Hell of a place to snort coke. She smirked. “Hey, do you think we’ll run into any dealers on this farm? Maybe a gang member or two?”
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