TWO TO DIE FOR

by Allison Brennan

  Max tensed. “You’re not going to offer her a deal. You can’t.”

  “First, I’m a cop, not a prosecutor. I don’t offer deals. Second, this is my job, Max. Don’t tell me what I can or can’t do. You sure as hell don’t like it when I start directing your life.”

  “She’s an accessory to murder, Marco.”

  “Of which I have no fucking proof, and honestly, I don’t think a judge is going to give her jail time for traveling on a fake passport. She has no record. None. Not even a fucking speeding ticket. So give me a break.”

  “But you believe me.”

  “Yes, Max, I believe you. But I can’t prove it. And I need proof before the AUSA will lift a finger to help. These passport charges are shaky. They’ll work to keep them stateside while we can build an embezzlement case, but they’ll get bail and then who knows? Jennifer? I can detain her longer if her husband doesn’t back down from his statement. Especially if he says he believes his life is in danger.”

  She got it—if Jennifer was an immediate threat to Peter, they may be able to get additional charges or conditions of bail.

  “I’m heading your way,” Marco continued. “Nadine will spend at least the night in jail, but with her partner still out there, I don’t know that her husband is safe.”

  Max hadn’t thought of that. She’d assumed Jennifer found another way out of the country.

  “I’ll stick with him until you get here.”

  “Watch your back, Max. I’ve grown partial to having you around.”

  He hung up.

  Max relayed the information to Peter and Beau.

  “Where else might she go?” Max asked Peter.

  He didn’t say anything, but looked at the door.

  “Do you think she’s going to come back here? Why?”

  Peter rubbed his eyes. “I should have told you earlier.”

  “Told. Me. What.” Something wasn’t right.

  “When Jennifer went to the hospital to stop them from authorizing the autopsy of Mrs. Brock, I went to her office. She always thought I was dumb. As if being kind and considerate of others is a personality flaw.”

  His eyes watered.

  “And? What did you do in her office? Peter, this is important.”

  “This was after Beau showed me the documents and I figured out how she was stealing from Del Sol. Jennifer always thinks she’s smarter than everyone else, and in some ways she is, but she’s also meticulous. She keeps all her passwords in a file in her office. I logged into her off-shore account and changed all her passwords. She can’t access anything on-line—not without the passwords.”

  Max stared at him. She didn’t know what to say.

  “Like I said, she never gave me credit for my intelligence. I didn’t want her to disappear and get away with killing Mrs. Brock. And that was money she stole from people who trusted me. The Warrens and every resident here. I want justice, Maxine. I want her to go to jail for a long, long time.”

  “Well, isn’t that rich, Peter,” a snide voice snapped from the kitchen.

  The three of them turned and faced Jennifer. She had a gun. Of course she did, because no case Max had ever worked turned out to be easy.

  Max hadn’t really believed Jennifer would return here, not until Peter admitted that he’d changed all her passwords. On the one hand, Max was proud of the man who’d been abused, that he’d finally stood up to his wife; on the other, she wished that he’d told her earlier so she could have told Marco that Jennifer was definitely not going to run.

  Of course she wanted her money. Because that was what drove her.

  “It’s over, Jennifer,” Peter said. “You can’t hurt anyone anymore.”

  “This woman lied about who she was and manipulated an old woman.”

  Peter reddened. “You killed Rachel Brock. Didn’t you? You killed her with arsenic, you embezzled money from Del Sol, and you don’t even feel a sliver of remorse.”

  Max watched the exchange carefully. She was glad that Peter was standing up to her, but, well, gun. Max didn’t have a death wish and it was clear that Jennifer didn’t have a conscience.

  “You think you’re so smart? Think again. I want the password to my accounts. I’ll sue you for fraud. Banking fraud.”

  “You embezzled that money.”

  “You can’t prove anything.”

  “Because Nadine shredded all the documents? Do you think those were the only copies?”

  A slight hesitation in Jennifer’s expression had Max wondering if she believed Peter. Max almost did. And Premiere could likely figure out exactly what happened and where the money was, but it would take time—and if Jennifer got bail, she had the money to bolt.

  Or, rather, she did until Peter changed her passwords.

  “You can’t stop me, Peter. My money. Now.”

  “No.”

  Jennifer strode over to him and pointed the gun directly at Peter’s head. Max’s stomach flipped.

  “I’m not playing around,” Jennifer snapped. “Password.”

  “I’ll take the password to my grave,” he said.

  Don’t push her, Peter. Don’t push her.

  Desperate criminals did stupid things.

  Jennifer hit Peter over the head with the butt of the gun. He staggered and fell to his knees.

  Beau rushed to Peter’s side and Jennifer turned the gun to him. “Get away from him!” she screamed.

  Beau knelt next to Peter, but he made no move to inspect the nasty cut on Peter’s forehead.

  Jennifer’s face was set, her hands barely shaking—but they were shaking. She killed by poison; Max doubted she’d ever fired a gun in her life. Just because she hadn’t used a gun before didn’t mean she wouldn’t get lucky and hit one of them.

  Marco was on his way. Max had to delay Jennifer.

  “Password!” Jennifer screamed at her husband.

  “You can’t get out of this, Jennifer,” Max said. “You and I both know you killed Rachel Brock and a half dozen other residents of Del Sol.”

  “You live in a fantasy world, Maxine. These people are old. They die. End of story.”

  “I live in reality, and this is your reality. You will be detained by the authorities. They will conduct a thorough investigation based on evidence I collected. I have a lot of it. They know there was arsenic in Rachel Brock’s specially bottled water—but not in the others. Flo Riley drank Rachel’s water and got sick and is currently in the hospital for tests. But her water wasn’t contaminated. How do I know? Because I brought several bottles to be tested and only Brock’s was contaminated.”

  “This is fantasy, because no one can prove that anyone, least of all me, poisoned anyone.”

  “But the police are going to wonder how the arsenic got into the water. They’ll interview staff. The kitchen staff. The bar staff. The residents. Find out how the water is delivered to each patient. Check for fingerprints. Exhume the bodies of Dorothea Holcomb and everyone else we suspect you killed. Test for arsenic. Even if you got rid of the poison, there is going to be some physical evidence.”

  Jennifer gave her tell, her eyes glanced up. She had the poison. It was upstairs, in her bedroom. Max was almost certain of it.

  Max continued. “Someone is going to remember seeing you do something odd. And when all the facts are collected, you’ll be arrested.”

  “There’s no proof of anything. Period. Peter, my money. You stole it from me. It’s mine!”

  “And even if the authorities can’t prove murder, we have you on embezzlement.”

  “You’re a fucking reporter, not a cop, you have me on nothing.”

  “Peter already called the Warrens. They’re on top of it. They’ll prove it. While I want you in prison for life, I’ll take ten to twenty years.”

  A cloud crossed Jennifer’s face, then she scowled at Max. “I won’t be here long enough to go to trial. Peter, password.”

  “Why, Jennifer?” Peter sounded so defeated, and Max felt for him—but she wasn’t ta
king her eyes off Jennifer. She didn’t trust that she wouldn’t pull the trigger if pushed.

  “Why what?”

  “You married me for my money. It’s all clear now.”

  “What money? You work here—for peanuts.”

  “I work because I want to work. I thought you understood that.”

  “I can be anything for anyone, but I watched you here, and you like these people. You’re fifty-three but act eighty. You’d be happy to live here for the rest of your life, growing old and dying. Old people die.”

  “I am happy here. These are good people. I should have seen your greed and shallowness when I let my cousin live in the family house.”

  “House? It’s a mansion! And you just gave it to him!”

  “You would never understand. And I … I let you hurt me.”

  “Hurt you?” She laughed. “Really, that’s what you think? You have no idea.”

  She gestured to Peter. “Go to the computer and change my passwords back.”

  “No.”

  “I will kill you, Peter.”

  “Then you’ll never get the money because I didn’t write down the password.”

  “Then I’ll kill your friend.” She turned the gun to Beau.

  Peter hesitated. It was clear he hadn’t thought this far ahead, but Max had.

  “Did you get that, Marco?” Max said loudly.

  “What?” Jennifer stared at her.

  Max showed her the phone in her palm. She had Marco on speed dial, and it paid off.

  “Got it,” Marco said over the phone. “Drop.”

  Max dropped to the ground at the same time the front door was kicked in and two cops—and Marco—burst into the house, guns drawn.

  Jennifer’s eyes widened.

  “Drop the gun now,” Marco ordered.

  Jennifer’s self-preservation was higher than her need for revenge. The gun fell from her hand and she was immediately taken into custody.

  Max heard the handcuffs snap onto Jennifer’s wrists with a satisfying snap. She smiled and sat up.

  “Everyone okay?” Marco asked.

  “Peter needs a doctor,” Beau said. Blood was dripping down the side of Peter’s face from where Jennifer hit him, though Peter didn’t seem to notice.

  “Ambulance is on its way,” one of the cops said.

  Marco held his hand out to Max. She took it and he pulled her up. His dark eyes searched hers and he looked like he wanted to kiss her, but he didn’t.

  “Are you really okay?” he whispered.

  “You got here just in time.”

  “Too close for me.”

  “But you have it?”

  “Yes, but she didn’t admit to the murders.”

  “When I mentioned the arsenic, she looked up. Her bedroom is upstairs.”

  “I’ll bring in the ERT unit and they’ll search the place. If we find the poison, we can match the chemical properties to the victims.”

  “You’ll find it, and it’ll match.”

  “Confident, aren’t you?” He rubbed his thumb in circles on her palm. A small thrill went through her.

  Max smiled. “Yes, I am. She’s guilty. And you’ll prove it.”

  “I need to take care of this. Come to my place? I’ll be there in a couple hours.”

  “Tomorrow. I need to talk to Lois and the others.”

  Now he did kiss her, a quick, hard kiss on the lips, then he turned to Peter. “Mr. Markson, we’ll need your statement.”

  “Anything.”

  “Tomorrow morning will be fine. But I’ll need to ask you to pack a bag and find someplace to stay—we need to process the house.”

  “Okay,” Peter said, though he looked lost.

  Beau said, “After the paramedics check you out, you’ll stay with me, Peter, until this is taken care of.”

  “Thank you.”

  Max stood on Peter’s porch and watched as Jennifer was put into the back of a patrol car. Jennifer had a regal scowl on her face. Did she think she’d get out of this? That a lawyer would get her off? She might be in denial now, but she would certainly believe it when she was arraigned and had to make a plea and go to trial.

  Max had a feeling she’d be down here for the trial, because a woman like Jennifer Markson would never admit that she was guilty.

  #

  Max had breakfast with Lois and Flo at Lois’s house the next morning. The phone had been ringing off the hook as the other residents tried to get information about what had happened last night.

  “I knew you’d do it,” Lois said.

  Max sipped her coffee. “It’s still going to be a tough case to prosecute, though it seems the embezzlement is pretty straightforward. Marco called last night. They found liquid arsenic hidden under a floorboard in Jennifer’s closet. That she and her husband didn’t share bedrooms will help with the prosecution, but she could claim that Peter planted it. The woman will say or do anything to get away with murder. But the embezzlement? That will stick. The smoking gun, so to speak.”

  “But we know. We know what happened to Dotty and the others. You saved lives, Maxine.”

  “You did, Lois—because you knew something was wrong and you called in help.”

  Max turned to Flo. “How do you feel?”

  “Fine. The doctor said I should be back to my old self in a day or two. I asked if I could be back to my young self. Maybe my sixty-five-year-old self—that was the prime of my life, with the love of my life. Best five years …” She sighed with a smile.

  Flo had been married six times, and it seemed the sixth was the charm. Max hoped it didn’t take her that long. Then again, marriage was the furthest thing on her mind.

  “I hope you’ll keep in touch,” Lois said. “Visit me sometime.”

  “I will,” Max said, and meant it.

  #

  “You’re not sleeping,” Marco whispered in her ear, his hands rubbing out the tension in her shoulders. She had spent the day at Del Sol, then gone to FBI headquarters to give her statement—that had been less than fun—then went home with Marco. They didn’t talk about the case, but it was on her mind. How could it not be? “What’s wrong?”

  She didn’t say anything. She couldn’t say that nothing was wrong because Marco would know she was lying, and he would call her on it, and then they would get into an argument that she didn’t let him inside when it mattered, and honestly? She didn’t want to fight. She wasn’t a clingy woman who needed to be held and coddled, but right now, that’s what she wanted.

  She rolled over and faced him. They were naked, and satiated, and Max didn’t want to go back to New York tomorrow. “I’d like to stay a couple days.”

  “Stay as long as you want.” He kissed her. “You don’t want to talk about it.”

  “People are assholes.”

  “You’re not mad at Carlo for the story, are you?”

  “No.” Carlo Romero had run with the exclusive she’d given him. She’d given him access to Lois and her friends. He’d earned it for not burning her when she asked for the cover from the Fifty-Five Plus magazine.

  But they hadn’t told Carlo everything.

  “I know you wanted to write a book …”

  “I am. Carlo got the crime, but he didn’t get the meat of the story. I’m writing about Jennifer Markson and her long history of elder abuse. Del Sol is only the climax of the story. It isn’t the story itself.”

  “She got to you.”

  Max sat up. The comforter fell from her naked body, but she had no false modesty. “No remorse. She had no remorse. She didn’t consider the people she killed as anything other than a means to an end. And her end? Money. Money. She killed these people for a few thousand dollars so she could speed up her timetable to leave her husband. Peter is leaving Del Sol out of deep guilt for what his wife did. He feels awful, and he didn’t do anything wrong. But he’s dealing with the fallout. And it’s not just Del Sol. It’s also Suncrest. Why did the administration hide her abuse there? Money—fines, possi
ble closure, possible criminal charges. And the girl who died in college. Why didn’t anyone see her for the monster she is? Why didn’t they do something?”

  It had bothered Max that Kerry Osaka and her friend Felicia had known how awful Jennifer was, but they didn’t do anything—they clammed up to protect themselves. They didn’t want to make waves. They protected their own and let Jennifer hurt others. At least Pedro at Suncrest tried ... but what about his boss who’d signed the NDA? How could she let Jennifer just walk? Why were there no criminal charges?

  There was a lot of research Max still needed to do, but she had time. Jennifer was going to prison and she wouldn’t be able to hurt anyone else.

  “You did something, Max. You cared.”

  “No one believed it was Jennifer, not until I found evidence.”

  “You put yourself at risk, Max.”

  “You put yourself at risk every day,” she countered.

  “It’s my job.”

  “This is my job.”

  “Max—listen.”

  “Stop. I don’t want to argue with you, Marco. I really don’t. Any other time, maybe, but right now? I don’t have it in me, and I don’t want to leave. But if we have this conversation again, I’ll walk out because I don’t want to fight.”

  “Okay.”

  She didn’t know whether to believe him. This was the conversation that inevitably led to them splitting up half the times she walked away. But she always came back. Why was that? Sure, the sex was great. Marco was exciting and fun and knew her well. They’d met during the investigation into Karen’s murder, and it had been a roller coaster. Sometimes, the ride was fun.

  But now … she didn’t want the fight. She didn’t want to walk out. And she would—because she had too much self-respect and confidence in herself to let Marco go macho he-man on her.

  Fortunately, Marco didn’t say a word. He kissed the back of her neck and pulled her down into his sheets.

  There was no need for words.

  Chapter Twelve

  Present Day

  “Ms. Revere? Maxine, Lois is awake now.”

  Max sat up. Her neck hurt and at first she didn’t know why. She blinked, rubbed the back of her neck, and recognized the hospital waiting room. She’d fallen asleep on an uncomfortable couch in a brightly lit room.