“How did you get in here?” he snarled, his face flushing under her scrutiny.
“Do you think I’ve worked at the restaurant all these years without managing to get a key to the apartment right upstairs?”
“Kit’s apartment She’d fire you if she knew you had a key.”
“Yes, she would,” Gail said nonchalantly.
“How often do you sneak into this place?”
“Only when I think there might be something intriguing going on. And you spending the night at this stage of the game certainly falls under the heading of intriguing. You see, I thought you were pining away in celibacy for my sister these past two years. Then I found out you’ve been having a hot affair with Maigaret Taylor.” Gail assumed a look of anxiety. “Gosh, Miles, isn’t it a shame all your lady loves turn up murdered? It’s so damned tragic, not to mention scary. And now you’re all alone. Is that why you came running back to Kit? Because there’s no one left? Or did you come back so you could kill her, too?”
Miles’s fists clenched and his voice turned into a dangerously controlled whisper. “I didn’t kill anyone and you know it.”
Gail’s eyes widened. “Why would I know that, Miles? Do you think I believe in the purity of your soul, your intrinsic goodness?” She smiled derisively. “Intrinsic. I’ll bet Julianna didn’t even know what that word meant. But then no one cares how good your vocabulary is when you’re beautiful. Hell, they don’t care if you can talk.”
Miles glowered at her. His breath came fast and hard. Then, almost instantly, he appeared to grow calm. He walked to the chair by the bed, picked up his black jeans, and slipped them on, slowly pulling up the zipper as if he were alone.
“No underwear?” Gail asked coyly. “Good heavens, you really are a heathen.”
Miles looked at her through narrowed eyes. “What-do-you-want?”
“I want to know why you’re in Kit’s apartment.”
“That’s none of your business.”
“I’m making it my business. After all, you used to be my brother-in-law.”
“As if family relationships mean anything to you.”
“Even if they did, you’re not family anymore.” Gail tilted her head, smiling triumphantly. “I’ve got it! You’re hiding, aren’t you? But from whom? Not the police. You came up with an alibi for the time of Julianna’s murder. You even managed one for the time of Margaret’s murder. The cops are satisfied for now. You’re not dodging arrest. So what’s the deal, Miles?”
“Maybe I just wanted to be with Kit.”
“That’s a laugh. Not that I think she wouldn’t just die to have you.” She made a comic face. “Oh, pardon me for mentioning die in reference to one of your girlfriends.”
“Kit has no reason to fear me. She knows that. Besides, she wasn’t even here last night.”
For the first time, Gail’s round face lost every trace of humor. “She wasn’t here?”
“She went out for a while.” Miles hastily turned away from her and reached for his shirt.
“When did she go out? For how long?”
“I wasn’t keeping tabs on her.” Miles’s voice became extremely casual. “What’s your interest, anyway?”
“I heard there was some trouble up at la Belle last night.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“You’re getting really good at that innocent look, Miles.” He didn’t answer. “I don’t know all the details. Something to do with Adrienne Reynolds. And my mother.”
“Trouble with your mother? And you don’t know the details?”
Gail shrugged. “My mother is always in some kind of mess. I don’t pay much attention anymore.”
“You never paid attention to her.”
“Don’t get sanctimonious on me, Miles.”
He turned on her, his face livid. “What the hell do you want, Gail? Are you tracking down me or Kit?”
Gail bit her lip for a moment, suddenly appearing young and unsure. Then confidence seemed to seep back into her. She stood up in her too-tight jeans and low-cut top, pushed her thick hair behind one ear to display a dangling star-shaped earring, and threw him a cool look. “Maybe I’m checking up on you and Kit, Miles. After all, both of you have things to hide, especially about Julianna.”
“Oh. You’re investigating your sister’s murder. That’s touching, Gail. Really touching, since I know how much you loved her.”
All the taunting drained from her face and her voice. “No, I did not love Julianna. And I won’t pretend to be sorry that she’s dead, but I don’t intend to let anyone drag me into the fallout created by her murder. Or into any of the other bad stuff that’s been going on in this town. No one’s going to put the blame on me for anything. Not you, not Kit, not my mother, no one.”
“Your mother? What does your mother have to do with anything?”
“More than you know, Miles,” Gail said solemnly. “More than you could even guess.”
2
“If you don’t open your eyes, I’m going to throw cold water on your face,” Kit said. “Ice cold water. Now wake up!”
Adrienne grimaced, slowly opened her eyes a fraction, then closed them again. “My head hurts.”
“No wonder. You banged it on the porch floor. Honestly, Adrienne, your brain is going to be mush if you don’t stop bashing it on concrete.”
“Thanks for the comforting words.” Memory of the horrible photograph of Trey rushed back and she groaned. “Oh God, Kit. That picture. Trey’s face, his arm—”
“Don’t think about it,” Kit said briskly. “You never saw it. It doesn’t exist.”
“What are you talking about? I held it in my hand. It was lying in an envelope under the lilac bush.”
“You’re going to imagine you didn’t see it. I just read a book on how we can push ugly memories right out of our frontal lobes, or rearview lobes, or wherever memories are stored, if we just try. Go with me on this, Adrienne.”
“You should get your money back for that stupid book.” Adrienne sat up and touched the back of her head. “Ouch.”
“It’s a good thing you have plenty of hair.” Kit-began parting Adrienne’s hair and looking closely at her scalp. Adrienne thought they must look like monkeys in the zoo, one inspecting the other for lice. “I don’t see any blood. I don’t think you’re cut.”
“That’s one blessing. The French Art Colony gala is tomorrow. I wouldn’t want to go with a section of my head shaved where they had to stitch me up.” She blinked against the morning sun, then forced her eyes open wide. “Help me up, please. My legs feel really weak.”
Kit hoisted her up and led her on shaky legs to a chair in the living room. “I’m going to get you a cup of coffee,” Kit said after Adrienne had leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes. “Or would you rather have a drink? Maybe some wine?”
“Kit, it’s seven-thirty in the morning. Besides, after all the wine I drank last night, the very sight of more would make me throw up.”
“Coffee it is, then. You sit still.”
“I can’t do anything else.”
Although Adrienne’s body felt paralyzed by shock, her thoughts dashed, plunged, scrambled, and raced. She opened her eyes and looked down at the photo she still clutched in her hand.
Trey Reynolds had wrecked a friend’s new Harley-Davidson Electora Glide at ten-twenty on a mild May night. Adrienne remembered standing in the driveway, begging him not to go after he’d consumed numerous beers. He’d totally ignored her pleas not to go while he fumbled trying to find the starter button. After he’d fired the motorcycle into roaring life and blasted down the quiet street, she’d looked up at the sky. The moon had been full and creamy, the stars had tossed down spears of pure white light, fireflies had flashed brilliant pinpoints of color in the darkness, and Adrienne had thought it was one of the most beautiful nights she’d ever seen.
It had followed a happy afternoon—Skye’s tenth-birthday party, held on Vicky’s big, lovely back lawn. Trey had present
ed Skye with Brandon, fresh from a trip to Happy Tracks Grooming Salon, shiny and smelling like a rose and wearing a red bow. Skye had been ecstatic, and Brandon had been one hundred pounds of immediate love for his new mistress and joy at being freed from the dog pound. After Skye went to bed, full of cake and ice cream, her new dog lying beside her, Trey had begun drinking, an all-too-common habit he’d fallen into over the last two years.
And on this particular day, the habit had caused his death.
Now, looking down at the photo, Adrienne was seeing Trey after his collision with a semi, his broken body harshly illuminated by the flash from police cameras. He looked so small lying on the road by the mangled Harley, his legs twisted beneath him, his arm lying a foot away from his body, his open eyes blank above the rest of his torn and ravaged face.
Kit returned with the coffee, set it down beside Adrienne, then took the photo out of her hand. “You’ve tortured yourself enough,” she said, sliding the photo back into the envelope.
“I didn’t go to the scene of the wreck,” Adrienne said in a weak voice. “I identified Trey at the morgue. He was lying on a table with a sheet over him, his eyes closed, a bandage covering that exposed cheekbone. I knew how badly he’d been hurt, but I didn’t see the damage.” Her eyes filled with tears. “God, Kit, look at him.”
“I don’t want to look again. And you’re not going to, either. The photo stays in the envelope. That’s final.”
Adrienne pulled her legs up into the chair and tucked them under her robe. Her hands trembled as she raised the cup of steaming coffee to her lips and she didn’t even feel its heat as it went down her throat. She felt as if she’d never be warm again. Nor would she ever forget the grotesque image of her young husband, Skye’s father, in that awful photograph.
“Who would send that thing to me?” she asked faintly.
“Whoever knocked you down outside of Photo Finish and took your purse. Whoever broke into your house and wrote ‘leave or die’ on your mirror. Whoever shot at you last night.”
“But I can tell that this is a police photograph, Kit. It came from police files. Who could have gotten it in the first place?”
Kit had sunk down on the floor beside her and now sat cross-legged, sipping her own cup of coffee. She was quiet for a moment, then shook her head. “I don’t know, Adrienne. Not Lucas.”
“Good Lord, no!” Adrienne was appalled by the thought. “He would never do something so cruel.”
“You’re right. Even if he knew about Drew being here last night, I can’t imagine him wanting to scare you. He’s always tried to give you courage. Even after your house was vandalized, he encouraged you to stay, not run for the hills.” She frowned. “He couldn’t be jealous of Trey, could he?”
Adrienne almost choked on her coffee. “Jealous of Trey! That’s ridiculous. Trey has been dead for four years, and I don’t dwell on him. At least to other people. I tell Skye stories about him—good stories—so she’ll always remember her father. But I don’t think I’ve mentioned him more than five or six times to Lucas in the whole year we’ve been seeing each other. Besides, having me look at this picture would hardly be the best way to make me put Trey out of my mind.”
“You’re right.” Kit went silent, then said with a note of restraint in her voice, “Adrienne, Drew is the editor of the newspaper. Wouldn’t it be possible for him to get hold of police photos?”
“Drew? How?”
“I don’t know. He could give some excuse.”
‘To whom? A deputy? And he’d just hand over the file?”
“Maybe not a male deputy.” Kit ran the tip of her tongue over her upper lip as she always did when she was nervous. “Drew does have a way with the ladies, as my mother would put it. He can charm the birds out of the trees—”
“Quit hiding behind your mother’s clichés,” Adrienne said sharply. “You mean Drew might have been underhanded enough to dazzle some bubble-headed female at police headquarters into giving him the file. Well, I don’t think they employ bubbleheads and Drew wouldn’t do something like that. He might be guilty of sometimes using less than honorable means to get a story, but there’s no story in Trey’s death. Not after all these years. And how could you believe Drew wants to hurt me? For heaven’s sake, he saved me last night.”
“And the night you were mugged. Haven’t you noticed that he always just happens to be in the right place at the right time? Like being here last night to unplug your phone so no one could reach you, come over to keep you company, and send him home?”
“Kit, the phones weren’t unplugged. The one in the living room was plugged in when I called Skye this morning. Have you forgotten how many times you reversed the last two numerals of my phone number? Did it occur to you that you were upset and dialed the wrong number?”
Kit looked slightly embarrassed for a moment and mumbled, “Well, maybe I did.” Then she swallowed and came back loudly, refusing to give in on the point. “But your cell phone was in Drew’s car.”
“I left it there.”
“And he didn’t bring it in until this morning.”
“We’d had a hell of an evening. He had more on his mind than collecting the stuff I forgot to bring inside. And what about this photo? You think he got it from police files. Well, even if he did, what was it doing under my lilac bush?”
“He put it there. Last night. Or this morning. I don’t know when. He had the opportunity, Adrienne. You can’t deny that.”
Adrienne stared at Kit, wanting desperately to say something that would absolutely demolish every point Kit had made about Drew.
But, to Adrienne’s total dismay, she couldn’t.
3
“I got here as soon as I could,” Adrienne said. “How are you feeling?”
Lucas Flynn’s heavily muscled frame looked too big for the narrow hospital bed. His right arm was heavily bandaged at the shoulder, and a glorious bruise decorated the left side of his forehead. “I feel better than I look.”
“I hope so because you’re extremely pale.”
“The blessings of painkillers are responsible for my physical comfort. And I look washed out, not pale. Pale is for sissies.” He grinned at her. “Stop hovering in the doorway and come sit beside me. Getting a close look at that beautiful face will do more for me than any medicine they have in this place.”
Adrienne edged closer to the bed and sat down in a vinyl-covered chair. Drew Delaney had spent the night with her. She’d entertained the thought that she might be in love with him. Again. Now she felt as if her expression reflected every ounce of guilt she felt, but Lucas didn’t seem to notice. She started to burst out with apologies and explanations for her behavior, then decided that relieving her conscience would be selfish. Lucas had been shot last night. He could have been killed because she’d insisted he meet her at Lottie’s. She felt even guiltier and knew she had to concentrate on making him feel better, not saying anything to hurt him.
She hid behind an obvious question. “Do you have any idea who did this, Lucas?”
“Not yet.”
“I don’t mean to be morbid, but I don’t have any details about how this happened to you.”
Lucas reached out and took her hand. “I was coming to meet you and suddenly I had a blowout. At least I thought it was a blowout. I now know someone shot the tire. The road is lined with trees, and I nearly went into one getting the car under control. I got out to look at the tire and I heard the second shot.” He grimaced. “In the movies, the cop always says ‘it’s just a flesh wound’ and goes on like he’s only been stung by a bee. I can tell you that even flesh wounds don’t feel like bee stings. It felt like my shoulder had exploded and I went down like a rock, not to mention that I hit my forehead on one and knocked myself out. It’ll be a long time before I live that one down at headquarters.”
“The only important thing is that you’re all right,” Adrienne said sincerely. “You are all right, aren’t you?”
“I’m fine. I should be out
of here by noon.”
“Lucas, I called you on your cell phone. I told you it was important for your destination not to go out over the scanners. But it must have, for the shooter to know our destination.”
“It didn’t.”
“Then how?”
“Don’t you think I’ve racked my brain over that question? Someone could have been following me. Or you. But both of us?”
“No, that doesn’t make sense. Unless two people are involved.”
“Maybe, but unlikely.” He looked at her closely. “But enough about me and my unfortunate mishap. You were almost shot, too. And although you’re always beautiful, you don’t look like you’re feeling too well today. They told me you weren’t hurt.”
“Not at all.”
“But you couldn’t sleep after being shot at with a rifle, right?”
“You’re sure it was a rifle?”
“Keller found some shell casings and bullets. Ballistics will tell us more about the rifle later today. But you didn’t answer my question. Do you look so shaken up because of last night?”
Although Adrienne didn’t want to upset him, she knew she had to tell him the events of the morning. At least part of them. “Something bad happened earlier today. Kit came over and we found a manila envelope beside the lilac bush at the edge of the porch.” She took a deep breath. “Inside the envelope was a photo taken of Trey at the scene of his motorcycle wreck. It was horrible. It was also a police photo, Lucas. It must have been taken from Trey’s file.”
Lucas looked dubious, but his hand tightened on hers. “Seeing a picture like that must have been awful. But Adrienne, you know accidents attract all kinds of weirdos, some of them with cameras. It couldn’t have been a police photo. The police files are closely watched.”
Without a word, Adrienne picked up her tote bag, withdrew the manila envelope, and handed it to Lucas. He pulled out the photo and stared at it for a full ten seconds. “Dammit,” he finally said. “This is a crime scene photo.”
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