Millionaire M.D.

by Jennifer Greene

  Matthew rolled his shoulders, obviously trying to shrug off the tension kinks. He also helped fill Justin in. “In principle, finding the wine-cellar door unlocked shouldn’t be that much of a shock. We already know someone stole the two stones. Obviously they got in here somehow.”

  “Yes.” Ben stepped forward. “Except that the night watchman should have caught an unlocked door and reported something about it.”

  “There was nothing in Riley Monroe’s log in the last two nights?” Justin asked.

  “Nothing written in any way,” Dakota said with frustration.

  “Well, that’s odd.” Justin knew, as they all did, that the older night caretaker was a hundred percent dependable. Riley may never have been the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he was both reliable and loyal. “In the meantime…we haven’t been able to track down Aaron?”

  “No.” Matthew’s tone expressed more frustration. “We know that he’s still in Washington-which wouldn’t have to be a problem if we could just reach him at either the embassy or his hotel room. But the embassy acts like he’s not expected, and if he’s getting messages from the hotel, he’s not calling back.”

  “But we left word for him to contact one of us, ASAP,” Dakota affirmed.

  “Well, we know he’ll call as soon as he can. It’s just that with so many people involved from Asterland and Obersbourg on that downed plane-and now we presume potentially involved with our theft-well, we all know Aaron’s the one with the diplomatic expertise and background.” Justin half turned. All of them could hear voices in the hall, men’s laughter, louder as they moved toward the door. On a mean cold night like this-and a weekday night besides-it was unusual that the weekly poker game hadn’t already broken up. But they should be alone within minutes, judging from the departing sounds of the group in the hall. Right then Justin was just as relieved to have a few more moments to study the others, anyway. “You all seem to sense that something’s wrong. I mean-obviously-besides the crises we already know about.”

  Matthew nodded immediately. “There is.”

  Dakota concurred. “Something badly wrong.”

  Ben nodded, too. “I think we should wait until we are alone in the building for sure, but this is hard. Like waiting for a tornado. I feel there should be a sword in my hand. A gun. As if something were menacing in every shadow.”

  “Sheesh. You guys are giving me the willies. Come on now,” Justin said reassuringly, thinking that the group would calm down if they reviewed what they knew. “We had a theft. How or why that happened, none of us know. But whoever took the two jewels was on the flight to Asterland for sure. And since we recovered two of the jewels, we’re not only ahead of the robber, but he-or she-is very likely out of the country by now. In fact, as far as I know, there’s almost no one still in Royal who was originally scheduled on that flight-”

  “Robert Klimt,” Ben said.

  “Who’s in a coma.”

  “Lady Helena-” Matthew reminded him.

  “Who’s still in the hospital, between her broken leg and the burns.”

  Matthew frowned. “There was someone else. The teacher. Pamela something-”

  “Yeah, Pamela Miles, the teacher who was dancing with Aaron the night of the gala.” Justin threw up his hands. “You guys saw her, didn’t you? Even if you don’t know her. I mean, she’s a thief like Walt Disney was a secret terrorist. There’s no way she could have been our jewel robber. And another local person on the flight was Jamie Morris, but she was going to Asterland to be a bride, so she’s hardly a likely thief.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Dakota suddenly cracked a slow smile. He knew what Justin had been doing. He always did. Dakota never hesitated to take charge of anything-actually, no one ever had to sell any of the Club members tickets. But he’d mentioned before how naturally Justin took the healer role, somehow diffusing the stress from a situation so all of them could work together better as a team. “I haven’t heard a sound since the door closed the last time a few minutes ago. I’m positive those were the last guests in the place. Lay on, Macduff. Let’s get this search party in motion and find out what’s what.”

  Ben led the way. Actually, there was nothing mysterious about the passageway. Justin, like the others, always felt that secrets were dangerous. The best place to guard something important to you was out in the open, being honest about it-the way they’d always been honest about the three priceless jewels in the town legend. Everyone knew the legend of the jewels. No one believed it.

  Although one person, Justin realized from the weight of the two stones in his pocket, obviously had.

  Down a hall, past the cloakroom and rest rooms, was the giant kitchen. Beyond the kitchen was an anteroom, a spacious pantry. Inside the pantry was a door leading down several steps to the wine cellar. And at the far end of the wine cellar was a spring-loaded door. Neither the door nor the door lock was hidden from sight; they just appeared to be a natural part of the cellar wall unless someone looked closer. But the door was where the key should have worked-the key they each had.

  Unfortunately, as Dakota had already warned them, the lock was already open. The door click-sprang open with the simple pressure of his hand. Inside was a stone passage. Narrow, cold to iciness, dry. Illuminated by bald lightbulbs strung from the ceiling at regular intervals. The passageway wasn’t as cold as the wind-bitter night, but chilly enough to make Justin shiver uneasily.

  Back in the War with Mexico-when the original Texas soldier carrying the jewels had died-an adobe church had stood on this site in Royal. The church was the original mission to the area, which was why Tex Langley had bought the land next to it and formed the Club-to protect the area’s heritage. The law itself wasn’t so dependable in those old days.

  Not now either, Justin thought. Which was really the core reason the group had originally formed and persisted in staying together. Laws in themselves had no way to right all wrongs-or protect everyone. There always seemed to be abandoned babies like Angel. Things that went wrong in peoples’ lives. Things the law couldn’t fix. Things no one could fix if someone didn’t step in and make a commitment to trying.

  “Oh hell, oh hell, oh hell,” Dakota muttered.

  Justin surged forward. His vision was blocked by the other men’s broad shoulders, but he sensed this was a problem specifically for him from something in Dakota’s tone of voice. From one heartbeat to the next, he became a hundred percent doctor. The instant he caught sight of the crumpled body on the floor, he recognized Riley Monroe. He crouched down and felt for a pulse, but from his first look, he already knew.

  There hadn’t been a pulse in a long time. Probably a few days. Too damn long to do anything for the Club’s old caretaker.

  Over his head, the others had started moving. “Check the box for the other jewel,” Ben said in a tone full of grit.

  Matthew responded, “No, the red diamond’s gone, too. Nothing here.”

  Then Dakota spoke, his tone as quiet as a winter night. “Justin?”

  Justin understood that Dakota-that all of them-were counting on him to come up with some answers. No one had said the word murder. But they all knew that’s what had taken place. “Well…there’s a blow on Riley’s head, but I don’t think that’s what caused his death. I think he was knocked out, then something else done to him. Not a gunshot or a knife wound. There’s no blood. My guess is, an injection of some kind-which would imply planning on the part of the murderer. And it’s so cool down here that I can’t guess for sure when this happened, but I would think a couple of days ago-”

  “A couple of nights ago. You mean, the night the Asterland plane tried to take off?” Ben asked.

  Justin used his own jacket to cover Riley’s face, and then looked up. “Yes. That’s my guess.”

  All of them exchanged glances, but it was Matthew who sucked in a breath and summed it all up. “What a mess. We’ve got a dead body, a stolen red diamond, a plane crash. Tell the cops, and we risk an international incident-the worst thing
that could happen when Asterland just achieved an uneasy peace with Obersbourg. And we’d risk that without knowing if our jewel thief/murderer was an American or one of the Asterland people.”

  “We also have no actual reason to believe that the plane crash has any relationship to the jewel theft,” Dakota said. “The two events could be completely coincidental.”

  Slowly Justin stood up. “That’s really true,” he said thoughtfully. “In fact, if it weren’t for the plane crash, we might not have known about the theft of the jewels for quite a while. Which makes me believe that the two incidents really might have had nothing to do with each other. But right now, I’m afraid none of that matters. We have to deal with Riley. We don’t have any choice about calling in the authorities.”

  “I know.” Matt cocked a foot forward. “But the question is, which authorities? Riley’s been murdered. Obviously we have to call the cops. But does that mean we have to tell them everything related to the Texas Cattleman’s Club and the three jewels and our whole history of missions around the world? The thing is, it’s one thing to tell the cops about Riley-and another to make the whole situation public. I wish we had someone to give us advice from the inside. There are bigger problems here than just Riley’s murder.”

  “I agree,” Ben said. “I doubt any of us would want to withhold information. That is not the issue. But if we get embassies involved here, we have a new nightmare. And unless we guard some information on our past Texas Cattleman’s Club history, we jeopardize all our goals and all we’ve tried to do. I think we need a cop to know the whole story. But it has to be someone we can trust. Any too-fast decisions could make the situation even worse.”

  Immediately Winona’s face sprang into Justin’s mind. “Well…the first thing we have to do is take care of Riley. But on the subject of someone we could trust in the police department, I have a suggestion-”

  Just then, though, his hospital beeper went off. Justin mentally swore. He couldn’t be in three places at once, yet it was one of those nights when he had to be.

  Winona had the telephone plugged to her ear when Wayne’s beefy face showed up in her office doorway. Her boss cocked a leg forward while she finished the call. With one hand, he scratched his chin as he surveyed the wreckage.

  Back when, Royal had had no juvenile department-which had meant there’d been no office for Winona when she’d been hired, until she converted a supply closet. At the best of times, there was turnaround room for a small man. Right now, apart from files stacked chin-high and a desk whose surface hadn’t seen light since the millennium, the room was draped ceiling-to-floor with baby paraphernalia-and Angel herself took up no small space between blankets and rattles and bottles. She blew an excited bubble just for Wayne, though.

  Wayne sighed, heavily, from the doorway. “First time I’ve been able to catch up with you all morning. You heard? About Riley Monroe being murdered?”

  “I sure did.”

  “I don’t like trouble in my town, and this whole week, there’s been nothing but.” Wayne scratched his jowly chin. Again. “How long you keeping that baby in the office, Raye?”

  Wayne was one of those dogs where his bark was bad, but his bite was far worse. “The baby hasn’t stopped me from pulling a full load,” she said defensively.

  “I didn’t say it had. But it will. I got two of those at home. I know how full-time they are. Now, where you think you’re going with this, Winona?”

  “You know where I’m going with this. I’m searching for the mother.”

  “That’s not what I’m asking and you know it. You’re already so attached to that kid it shows in your face. She’s not yours. And you’re skating a line-you know you are-on not releasing the baby to Social Services.”

  “They haven’t pressed.”

  Occasionally, Wayne could be annoyingly logical. “Because this is Royal. And because it’s you and everyone knows and loves you.” Wayne grunted. “That doesn’t mean that this is by the book, though, and you know how I feel on that. If a cop doesn’t behave by the straight and narrow, how can we enforce a law for anyone else?”

  “I’m not breaking any law.”

  “I know that. I didn’t say you were. Quit ducking the issue.”

  She nodded. “I’m sorry.” She was sorry. As difficult as her boss could be sometimes, Wayne had always been on her side, and she could see he wasn’t enjoying this discussion any more than she was. “Okay. As far as where I’m going with this-I’m expecting to find the parents. And I’m not even close to being done with the parent search. But if that turns up bad news, I’d like to adopt Angel. Or if not adopt, foster.”

  “All right. At least that’s a straight answer.” Wayne washed a hand over his tired face. “You need something filled out about what kind of character you got, what kind of foster parent you’d make, that kind of thing, you come to me, Raye,” he said gruffly.

  She couldn’t kiss the boss. It would be completely inappropriate, and he’d hate it besides. “Thank you,” she said sincerely.

  “Yeah, well. That’s not the only reason I stopped by. Did you happen to know Riley Monroe?”

  “I knew he was the night watchman at the Texas Cattleman’s Club. And he bartended for them at a lot of parties. He always seemed like a nice man. I can’t imagine him involved with any trouble. But I didn’t know him personally.”

  Wayne nodded. “Well, your impression’s like everyone’s. He’s the last person anyone’d think would get murdered. The thing is, there’s no keeping the death out of the papers. Folks’ll want to show up to show respect and all, especially because Riley had no family. But I want all details kept out of the media until the investigation’s over. I want a lid kept on this. Tight. And I know nothing in homicide’s directly your problem, but I still want everyone in the station on the same page. If the press hound you, don’t say anything.”

  “No problem.” Someone screeched that there was a phone call for Wayne, and he hiked back to his office, four-letter words spilling from his mouth like drool. It was one of those mornings when no one could catch their breath. She was just reaching for the phone herself when it rang, and she grabbed it.

  “Winona?”

  “Yes?” She was positive that she recognized the feminine voice-only not exactly.

  “I’m at your house, dear-”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “And I just wanted to know if there was anything that you’re allergic to.”

  “Well, no, but-”

  “Fine. I just didn’t want to risk cooking something that didn’t suit you. And Justin didn’t feel that you’d want me baby-sitting until the two of us had a chance to sit down and talk, but it’s not like we’re total strangers. So I did want to say right up front, I’m available. And I adore children. And I’ll be here, helping in your house, anyway, so there’s no problem if the baby were here, too. And that’s all, dear. I realize that you’re at work and probably aren’t supposed to be getting personal calls. No problem.”

  The woman abruptly hung up. Winona stared at the buzzing phone for several moments, feeling completely befuddled. Yes, the woman’s voice was familiar, but she couldn’t place it. And the whole conversation, covering cooking and allergies and baby-sitting-made no sense to Winona whatsoever. She might have been alarmed, particularly at the idea of a stranger being in her house-if someone’s telltale name hadn’t come up.

  Justin.

  A series of bubbles were cooing from the baby carrier on her desktop. “Angel,” Winona said, “I think we’d better go home for lunch today. Is that okay by you?”

  Angel kicked her feet, clearly thrilled at the thought.

  At ten minutes after twelve, Winona took one last bite from a fast-food hamburger as she pulled into her driveway. An unfamiliar car was already parked there-an Olds. Gray. And the model was older, but the car was still kept up to within an inch of its life, with paint gleaming and white-walled tires cleaner than brand-new.

  Feeling even more bewi
ldered, Winona grabbed Angel from her car seat and whisked the diaper bag to her shoulder. The baby wasn’t fussing, but she was going to any second. Angel was such an ultrasmart baby that she could already tell time. At 12:12 p.m. she was going to want a bottle. Not 12:14 p.m. Not 12:13 p.m. But at precisely 12:12 p.m., and as long as she got exactly what she wanted, Angel was possibly the most miraculous, perfect, congenial baby ever to have been born. And Winona would have loved her no matter what, but right then it seemed a good idea to run for the door.

  As swiftly as she juggled the baby and her purse and the diaper bag and the back-door key, however, she abruptly discovered that the door was already unlatched. Her door. Unlocked.

  One peek inside almost gave her a new reason for a heart attack.

  There were no dirty dishes piled in the sink. The kitchen tile was scrubbed within an inch of its life. A sponge cake was cooling on the counter, and something savory was brewing on the stove. Winona didn’t bake. And she sure as hell didn’t make-or know how to make-French stews.

  She tiptoed in a few more steps. Both the washing machine and dryer were churning in the utility room. More shocking yet, there were folded clothes on top of the dryer. Folded. Not heaped or hurled willy-nilly.

  This was all pretty terrifying. Still, she unwrapped Angel from her jacket, then pushed off her own, and carried the baby through the rest of the house. Clearly there was an intruder. Clearly no good mother would risk her child when there was obviously a stranger in the house, but there was building evidence to Winona that this particular intruder was mentally ill. Not in a dangerous way. Just in a distinctive way.

  There wasn’t a single towel on the floor in the bathroom. Not one. There were no stockings, no slips, no jeans piled on the floor in her bedroom. The bed was made. Made. With clean sheets. Like real people lived.