Last week, she had spoken to J.C. When she had asked him to leave, he hadn’t seemed surprised nor had he put up a fuss.
“Yeah, I figured I’d overstayed my welcome this time. Even Mama’s been hinting that she thinks it’s time I went back to work. Of course, she still thinks I’ve got my job at a casino in Biloxi Mississippi.”
Jordan had handed her stepbrother a check for $10,000.
“What’s this for?”
“For a fresh start.”
“Why so generous?”
“Because you’re family,” she’d told him. “But the handouts end with this check. Understand?”
“Sure thing, Sis.”
First he had kissed her cheek, then he’d grinned and winked at her.
When he left sometime Thursday, she’d been glad to see the last of him. At least for a while. She didn’t kid herself. Like a bad penny, he’d eventually show up again.
Devon had flown to D.C. Friday and gone to their town-house in Bethesda to pack up Dan’s personal items. They would eventually put the place on the market, but there was no rush. With Dan gone, neither she nor Devon had any desire to ever live there again. He had phoned every evening, but they had kept their conversations short. Devon was still highly emotional whenever he spoke of Dan. She hoped that during his stay at the townhouse, he could find a way to finally say goodbye to the man he had loved.
Only yesterday, she had persuaded Darlene to return to her apartment in Priceville. As much as she loved Darlene and appreciated her staunch support, there were times when she felt smothered by her attention. She understood that Darlene had no one else, that she had become Darlene’s substitute child, and was her only remaining link to Robby Joe. Also, with the little romance between Roselynne and Wallace heating up, Jordan felt it was better if Darlene wasn’t around to see the lovey-dovey couple on a daily basis.
With everything relatively calm, Jordan found that she had way too much time on her hands, for thinking, for brooding, for mourning, and even for daydreaming. Considering the sizeable fortune she would inherit from Dan, she didn’t have to worry about supporting Roselynne and Tammy and she certainly didn’t have to return to the work force. But she couldn’t spend the rest of her life as a member of the idle rich set. Eventually, she would have to find something to fill her days. She could broaden her participation in various philanthropic organizations or she could open her own PR firm or even renew her teaching degree.
Finding a new purpose in life would take time, but it would happen. She could fill her days with work, but what about her nights?
She would never remarry, of course. She did not want or need…
Liar!
She did want. She did need. She longed for something that had always been just beyond her reach, the kind of happiness so many people took for granted.
Don’t think about Rick. He’s gone. Out of your life forever. Whatever you thought you felt for him, it wasn’t love.
“Mind if I join you?”
Rene’s request brought Jordan out of her thoughts about Rick Carson.
She looked up and smiled at her friend. “Not at all.” She patted the cushioned seat.
Rene held an empty coffee mug, which she placed on the ground beside the swing after she sat down with Jordan. “You know, I think May is probably my favorite month of the year. It’s usually warm, but not hot yet. And everything is in full bloom.”
“I’d love to drive into Priceville later today and go to Elmore’s and buy some bedding plants and see what their selection of ferns looks like. Would you go with me?”
“Of course, I will, but do you think your jailer will allow you to leave Price Manor? She keeps a close watch over you.” Rene inclined her head toward the house where Maleah Perdue stood by the back door, doing her best to allow Jordan some personal space while at the same time guarding her.
“We’ll take her along,” Jordan said. “But I feel as if I don’t leave this place, at least for a few hours, I’m going to lose my mind. I’m beginning to feel like a prisoner in my own home.”
“Then let’s go and make a day of it. If people stare at you, we’ll just make funny faces at them.”
Jordan chuckled. “I think I can deal with a few people staring at me. But I hope most of the people in Priceville have come to know me well enough not to believe everything they’ve been hearing about me lately.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Rene said. “Oh, while we’re out and about, let’s go to Ruff’s Barbeque for lunch and pig out on ribs and onion rings.” Rene smacked her lips. “Just thinking about that delicious food makes me practically orgasmic.”
Jordan laughed. “As much as I love Ruff’s ribs and onion rings, I don’t think even eating them, let alone thinking about them, has ever brought me close to an orgasm. But I have to admit that eating their fried pies has curled my toes a few times.”
They sat together, laughing, appreciating the warmth and beauty of an early day in May. Just two girlfriends, acting silly, and planning a little excursion into town. Life’s simple pleasures.
For the first time since she had found Dan’s lifeless body six weeks ago, Jordan sensed that eventually she would be able to enjoy living again.
Rick had intended to drop Ms. Sinclair off, fully expecting someone to meet her, so it didn’t surprise him when, as they pulled up in front of the house, Sanders approached the Jeep. But instead of opening the passenger door, he rounded the hood and motioned for Rick to lower his window.
“Yeah, what’s up?” he asked.
“Griffin and Nicole would like for you to come into the house with Ms. Sinclair. I will park your Jeep and bring in the luggage while you escort her to Griffin’s study.”
Rick shrugged, left the motor running and keys in the ignition, then opened the door and got out. By the time he made his way to the other side of the Jeep, Ms. Sinclair stood on the sidewalk waiting for him.
“If you’ll come with me.” He held out his arm.
“Please, lead the way and I’ll follow.”
“Sure.” What was it with this woman? Did she have an aversion to touching other people or just to touching him?
Although she tried not to gape, Rick noticed the way she stared at the house and even paused in the foyer, her eyes wide and her mouth slightly parted as she took in the understated splendor of Griff and Nic’s home.
“They’re waiting for us in Griff’s den,” Rick said as he led her down the hall. “You’ll like staying here. Nic and Griff know how to make their guests feel welcome.”
She didn’t reply, didn’t smile, didn’t even blink an eye.
Meredith Sinclair was an odd one, no doubt about it.
The den door stood wide open. As they entered, Griff came forward from where he’d been standing beside Nic in front of his massive antique desk. Rick noticed that Griff didn’t offer his hand in greeting to their guest. That told Rick that his boss obviously knew something about the peculiar Ms. Sinclair that he didn’t.
“Meredith, I’m Griffin Powell. This is my wife, Nicole.” Nic smiled and nodded. “And this is Barbara Jean Hughes, one of the Powell Agency’s most valued employees.”
Barbara Jean rolled her wheelchair toward their guest, a warm, friendly smile on her face. “Have you had breakfast, Ms. Sinclair?”
“I ate on the plane quite early this morning,” she replied.
“Please, come to the kitchen with me. We have coffee-cake and I can prepare fresh coffee or make you a cup of tea. Sanders will join us after he takes your luggage upstairs and then he can show you to your room so you can freshen up.”
Ms. Sinclair looked at Griff. “Am I to stay here, in this house, with you and your wife?”
“For the time being, yes,” Griff said. “You’ll have all the privacy you need and if you prefer to have your meals in your room, you may.”
“I had hoped I would have separate accommodations.”
“All in due time,” Griff said, effectively dismissing her.
“Tea would be nice, Ms. Hughes,” Meredith said.
“Then come along, Ms. Sinclair. You can tell me all about London and how Yvette is doing these days.” When Barbara Jean guided her wheelchair into the hall, Ms. Sinclair followed and they heard Barbara Jean say, “We want you to be comfortable here at Griffin’s Rest, so if there’s anything you need or anything we can do for you, please let me know.”
Griff closed the door.
An uneasy feeling took root in Rick’s gut. Something was wrong, something he was pretty sure had nothing to do with the Powell’s recently arrived houseguest.
“Whatever it is, just tell me.” Rick looked from Griff to Nic.
“There’s been a new development in the Price case,” Griff told him.
“What sort of new development?”
Nic reached out on the desk behind her, turned Griff’s open laptop around so that Rick could see the screen, and said, “Take a look at The Chatterbox Web site. They’ve posted the headlines that appear on this week’s issue that hit the stands today.”
Rick grunted. What had that sleazy gossip rag printed about Jordan now? He moved in closer and leaned down, scanning the screen. The headlines jumped out at him.
“Son of a bitch!”
Pam and Jim Elmore had inherited Elmore Feed and Seed from Jim’s daddy and he from his daddy before him. In Priceville, now as in the past, businesses tended to be handed down from one generation to the next. Ted Payne, who owned the local drugstore, had taken over as druggist when his maternal grandfather retired. Wages & Odell Insurance Company had been in the Odell family for more than 100 years. A Mr. Wages had married into the family 50 years ago. And a member of the Ruff family had been barbequing pork since the late 1800s.
Pulling an empty supply cart behind her, Pam took Jordan, Rene and Maleah into one of the greenhouses at the back of the Feed and Seed.
“Take your time, Jordan,” Pam said. “When you find something you want, we’ll load it on here—” she tugged on the cart’s long, adjustable handle “—and Jim can deliver your order this afternoon.”
“Oh, there’s no need for him to bother,” Jordan said. “Tobias can have Mr. Poole bring everything out to the house tomorrow when he comes to do the yard work.”
“Good, good.” Pam noticed new customers entering the greenhouse. “Just look around. I’ll be right back.”
As they wandered through the rows of plants, Jordan chose several of her favorite summer annuals. Within fifteen minutes of strolling leisurely through the large greenhouse, half a dozen other customers had entered and were milling around inside. All of them were staring at Jordan and whispering among themselves.
“Ignore them,” Rene told her. “Damn bunch of busy-bodies!”
“I suppose I should have expected it,” Jordan said. “I’ve been trying to ignore them, but I don’t think that’s possible. Let’s get out of here. It’s a little early for lunch, but we could stop by Cream and Sugar for iced tea or coffee and if we have to, we can sit in the car and drink it, then pick up lunch later and take it home.”
As Jordan passed by one middle-aged woman who’d been inspecting a rose bush, the lady sneered and mumbled under her breath, “Murderess.”
Maleah moved to Jordan’s side and deliberately nudged open her jacket, just enough to give everyone a glimpse of her gun. Her action made it plain to the other customers that she was Jordan’s bodyguard. The sudden silence that fell over the greenhouse was far more disturbing than the whispers had been.
On the short walk from the greenhouse to the sidewalk, three other customers stopped dead in their tracks and gaped as Jordan walked by.
“Take a picture,” Rene hollered at one man. “It’ll last longer.”
“I should have known this was a bad idea,” Jordan said. “Apparently there are people in Priceville who actually believe I killed Dan.”
“Why don’t you go to the car,” Rene said. “I’ll run up the street to the Cream and Sugar and get us something to drink. What do you want?” She glanced from Jordan to Maleah.
“Iced tea,” Jordan said.
“Sounds good to me.”
“When I get back, why don’t we drive over to Chattanooga and spend the day?” Rene suggested. “Not as many people will recognize you in a big city.”
“Why not?” Jordan forced a smile. “I’ll wear my sunglasses all day and look mysterious.” Her words projected a bravado that she didn’t possess. But she’d be damned if she’d let these people force her back to the prison that Price Manor had become.
While Rene went up the street to the Cream and Sugar, Priceville’s alternative to Starbucks, Jordan slid in behind the wheel of her Navigator while Maleah opened the back door and took the seat behind the passenger side. People passing on the street glared at Jordan, some even stopped, stared, and pointed fingers. A few actually hurled insults at her. She yanked down her sunglasses from where she’d hung them over the visor, put them on, and slouched down in the bucket seat.
The sooner Rene returned with their drinks, the better. Escaping to Chattanooga for the day couldn’t happen soon enough.
Suddenly, Rene reappeared, a frantic expression on her face, and without their drinks. Clutching a folded magazine of some sort in her left hand, she grabbed the door handle with her right hand, yanked open the door, and hurled herself into the front seat beside Jordan.
“God, just when we thought things had finally settled down,” Rene said, practically shouting. “Now this!” She snapped open the newspaper and slapped it across the steering wheel in front of Jordan. “No wonder the whole town is staring at you and whispering behind your back. While I was waiting in line to order our tea, I saw this on the magazine rack.”
Jordan’s heart hammered turbulently as she read the headlines on the front page of this week’s issue of The Chatterbox.
“Oh, Lord, have mercy.”
MÉNAGE À TROIS: SENATOR DAN PRICE, HIS WIFE AND HIS MALE LOVER.
Rick hurriedly read the titillating short article on the Web site, its purpose to induce readers to rush out and buy the weekly newspaper-style magazine.
Find out all the details in this week’s issue of The Chatterbox, on sale today. Just what went on behind closed doors at Price Manor? Who was the father of the child Jordan Price recently lost? Did the senator’s wife and his lover plot his death?
“How the hell did this happen?” Rick asked.
“I’ve placed some phone calls,” Griff told him. “It’s apparent that someone close to Jordan Price sold this story about the private details of the senator’s life, including the well-kept secret of his homosexuality.”
“We need to find out who betrayed her confidence and deal with them,” Rick said.
“Unless she and Devon Markham can prove this—” Griff pointed to the computer screen “—is slander and not a word of it is true, neither the person who sold this story nor the magazine are liable. You can’t sue someone for telling the truth. Our main concern now is some type of damage control.”
“Does Jordan know about this?”
“Not that we know of,” Nic said. “We haven’t heard from her or from Maleah. We didn’t know ourselves until about five minutes ago when Cam Hendrix phoned Griff.”
“We have to warn her,” Rick said.
“I’ll call Maleah,” Griff said, “while Nic contacts Claire and Ryan. Do you want to call Mrs. Price, or should I—” Griff’s phone rang interrupting him mid-sentence. He checked caller ID, then flipped it open. “Maleah?”
Rick could tell by the frown on Griff’s face and the way he nodded his head that more than likely Maleah was telling him that she knew about the article in The Chatterbox; and if Maleah knew, then Jordan knew.
“Call the sheriff and have him send some deputies to clear the road for you,” Griff sai
d. “I’ll send as many agents as we have available right away.” Griff closed his phone, pocketed it, and turned to Rick.
“Maleah went with Jordan and her assistant into town this morning. They didn’t know anything about The Chatter-box article. As soon as they found out, they headed back to Price Manor, but it seems word leaked out that Jordan was in downtown Priceville. They’re now being chased by a horde of reporters.”
“Are they all right?” Rick asked.
“For now.”
“Exactly where are they?”
“About halfway between Priceville and Price Manor.”
“If I find out who did this, I’ll break their neck. If anything happens to Jordan, I’ll…” Rick took a deep breath. “I want to take one of the choppers. It’ll get me to Priceville faster.”
“Is your license up to date? If it’s not, get Jonathan to take you.”
“It is.”
“Then what are you waiting for? Go.”
Chapter 24
Fear surged through Jordan as she sped down the country road, at least five vehicles in hot pursuit. The one riding her bumper was a van carrying a news crew from a Chattanooga television station. An SUV behind the van kept careening over the yellow line, trying to pass. Casting a glance in her rearview mirror, Jordan noted the logo on the SUV and knew it belonged to a local Dalton, Georgia TV station. The other cars, vans, and SUVs following behind these two were probably reporters from various newspapers and maybe even someone from The Chatterbox.
“This is total insanity.” Rene turned as far around in her seat as the safety harness would allow and watched the caravan of vehicles following them. “They’re like a pack of vultures that got a scent of rotting flesh.”
Maleah was on her cell phone, her voice low, so that Jordan could make out only a word or two now and then, but she got the impression that her bodyguard was speaking to someone at the sheriff’s office.
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