by Adrianne Lee
Had Jay-Ray been driving it?
His pulse raced as he flattened himself against the garage wall, itching to go inside and feel the hood, knowing he couldn’t. The door clicked shut at the same moment the storm burst, pummeling down great large drops of rain.
Mark darted for the house, not certain what he was going to do. How he would get in.
His nerves felt scraped and raw.
His gut knotted.
This house. This damned house.
As he started past the office window, the desk lamp flicked on. Voices came from within. He pressed himself against the brick wall. He couldn’t make out what was being said, or discern who was speaking. He risked a glance inside, but as his eyes came level with the glass, the drapes came together, cutting off his view.
He had to get inside. Now. But how? He considered, then decided to enter through the sunroom since in the past it was the first door unlocked each morning and the last locked each night. Moments later, he was standing amid six-foot rubber plants and an array of wicker furniture.
Mark knew this house like the back of his scarred hand. Had peered into every mean nook and cranny. Had paced every vast and lonely expanse. He hated being here. Hated his son being here. He clamped his jaw and stole into the hallway leading to the study. His legs felt heavy, leaden. Damn. What was wrong with him? He inhaled and the familiar scent of lemon oil and aged wallpaper wrapped around him—the aroma alive in his memory. It was being in this house. Ghosts. Too many ghosts. His scowl tightened and a nerve in his neck throbbed.
He pushed on, sneaking along the carpeted hallway, ears keen. The office door stood ajar and he could see the edge of a framed poster that hung over the desk. The room held several such photos, all of Jay-Ray during his brief stint on the Sonics’ roster. The furniture was polished leather in a rusty-brown color that reminded Mark of dried autumn leaves. A masculine room full of testosterone whether any man occupied it or not.
An odd room for Wendy to have died in.
As he neared, he heard male voices and smashed himself against the wall, listening.
“—her trust fund,” Reese said. His tone sharpened and faded as though he paced when he spoke, moving closer then farther away from the door. “—assumed our lawyers were handling. But when I questioned Sloan today, he told me that you were the executor of first Wendy’s money and now the boy’s.”
“It wasn’t a secret,” Jay-Ray said. “I began managing all of the money, including Wendy’s, when Phillip’s heart condition left him bedridden.”
“Why?”
“He asked me to.”
Neither man spoke for a moment and during the tense silence, Mark wished he could see into the room, read their faces, their body language, which he expected would tell him even more than what they were saying.
“As I understand it,” Reese said. “Wendy couldn’t touch the money in that trust fund until she turned twenty-six, which happened to be the day before she died.”
“Not a trust fund, Reese. When I took over I realized it was a waste for all that money to just sit there when it could grow. I put the funds into diversified stocks. Investments. Built her a solid portfolio.”
“Oh?” Reese sounded surprised. “I expect it’s a lot larger now than it was three years ago, then.”
“Odds are against you there, pal,” Jay-Ray said. “The stock market is always a gamble. It’s taken some bad hits lately. A lot of stocks are down. Some more so than others. Even some that were considered solid investments. We’ve suffered a bit, as you know. Couldn’t be helped.”
“But the boy’s money is safe. In CDs and things, right?”
Mark’s mouth dried. He couldn’t have scripted this better if he’d tried. He wondered if Heaven had had a hand in putting him here to hear this.
“Well…no.” Jay-Ray gave a nervous laugh. “Not all of it.”
“I’d like to look at the whole bunch. I’m going to be adopting the kid and taking over the handling of his money as soon as the adoption is finalized.”
“Really, Reese, I find that a bit insulting.”
“Don’t take it personally, Jay.” Reese’s assurance dripped honey. “It’s strictly business.”
Jay-Ray’s voice rose and leather squeaked as though he’d raised halfway out of his desk chair. “You bet I take it personally.”
“I don’t know why,” Reese said. “You wouldn’t be handling that money now if Wendy was still alive.”
Though Mark stood in the hall, he felt the chill that had fallen over the office.
“Haven’t you ever wondered why Ethan killed her here…in this room…with his own knife?” Reese’s voice faded then grew stronger again, as though he’d resumed pacing.
“No. I didn’t want to dwell on the details then, and I damn sure don’t want to do so now. I don’t want those gruesome images in my mind every time I use this room. I can’t imagine that you do, either.”
Reese kept on. “I mean, if he was going to leave a weapon that pointed directly to him, why not do it at the restaurant?”
“How in hell should I know? You can’t bet on what a killer will do.”
“True, but I have wondered—”
“There’s nothing to wonder about. Ethan killed your sister in a fit of rage. End of story. I don’t understand why you’re bringing it up now.”
“Just thinking of Josh’s inheritance—which naturally brings Wendy to mind.” Reese sounded apologetic. “Where do you keep the records?”
“At the office. On my computer.”
“Okay. Good. I’ll want to look at them in the morn—” He broke off and when he spoke again his voice had changed. “What the hell is this?”
Mark fought the urge to move closer to the door, to peer inside.
“Looks like an envelope to me,” Jay-Ray drawled.
“Yes,” Reese’s annoyance was palpable. “But how did it get into my jacket pocket?”
Over the ripping of paper, Mark caught the slap-slap of backless pumps. The second sound was not coming from the office, but from the hall leading into this one. He jerked away from the wall and took off in the other direction. He stopped long enough to unlatch one of the sunroom windows as extra insurance for Livia and his planned break-in later that night. But he doubted they would need it since the information they sought was kept at Rayburn Grocers. He ran out the way he’d come in.
The cool rain felt good on his heated face, energizing, refreshing, vitalizing. He started to sprint across the garage tarmac that separated the backyard and the perimeter gardens. One of the bays opened, spilling light into the stormy evening. Mark stood stone-still as the chauffeur drove the black sedan toward the front of the house.
Follow the money. The money had lead to Jay Rayburn—Jay-Ray who also drove the dark sedan.
He had to get hold of Livia to figure out what to do next. Mark rushed back to the truck. And slammed inside. The keys. Where had he put them? He poked on an overhead reading light and plunged his hand into his pants’ pocket. That was when he noticed the card-size envelope on the seat—with his name written on it.
Mark felt a shiver through his belly. He tore open the seal and dragged out a single slip of paper. It was a crudely scrawled note.
Where is your son, Ethan? Your whore? Are they still at the park? Or do I have them now?
Chapter Seventeen
DEATH BY CHOCOLATE
Cocoa
Mocha
Double Dark Fudge
To Die For
Thunder rumbled across the sky, the vibration like a hand stroke on Livia’s nerves. The tension she’d expended playing with Josh had eased the knots in her muscles, but not the sense that time was running out. She wished she could call Mark, hear his voice, spend whatever hours she had left with him and his son, see the two males she loved most in the world interacting, laughing, playing, connecting.
She glanced at the little boy beside her and knew this was a wish she could grant herself, but at what cost to him?
He didn’t know Mark was his daddy. Hadn’t seen his daddy for three years, hadn’t spoken to him, hugged him, kissed him. Sorrow for both the man and the child lay heavy against her heart. She would give anything to share in their eventual reunion.
But as surely as her car’s windshield wipers were inadequate against the pounding rain, she knew that was not to be. Knew that for Wendy’s murderer to be found she, Livia, or Mark, would have to die.
“When are we gonna have dinner with Reese?” Josh asked.
“Tonight.”
“I know. Nana Sookie told me. But when? I’m hungry.”
“I guess we should call Reese and ask.” In case Josh could see her face in the light cast from passing cars, she produced a smile she didn’t feel, grimacing inside at the idea of finally speaking to Reese. She gathered a breath and tugged her cell phone from her purse. It trembled in her hand. She shot a glance at the readout. Hadn’t she turned it off this morning? No. It appeared she’d only put it on mute and now the battery was fading fast. “Well, Mr. Josh-man, looks like we’re going to have to go to the house to find out what’s up with dinner tonight because my phone is dead.”
“Dead? Like my mommy?”
“Oh, no, honey.” Livia blanched at the pain in his voice, at her thoughtless choice of words. Her stomach twisted at the realization that she, too, might soon be dead, the second mother figure in his life to abandon him. God, please don’t hand him more trauma than he can take. He’s just a little kid.
She patted his hand. “I meant the battery has run out of power and needs to be recharged. But that will take an hour or two.”
He gripped her hand in both of his before she could pull it back. “Can we go to dinner by ourselves?”
“You mean, just you and me?”
He nodded hard, and she supposed she couldn’t blame him. Reese strictly enforced rules of etiquette no matter where they ate; she knew being constantly corrected was never fun for a child. Maybe she was being sentimental or nostalgic, but she wanted to remember Josh with a smile on his darling face, not the tension Reese could cause him.
Reese would be furious.
Tough!
She said, “I have an idea. How would you like to go for hamburgers and French fries?”
“Wow. Really, Livia? Can we?”
“We can do anything we want.” She considered all of the fast-food places she drove past daily and decided on one that she’d noticed also had a children’s play area inside.
At the restaurant, Josh became a child transformed. He shed his usual sullen shyness, joined other children in the plastic tube, came to the table and dug into his hamburger, fries and orange pop, then returned to romp again through the play area. After he’d eaten most of his meal, she treated him to an ice cream cone.
“This was the most fun I ever had, Livia. Can we do it again tomorrow? Please…” He had a thin orange moustache, ketchup stains on his shirt, and a smile as bright as one of the lightning bolts knifing the sky. She wished Mark was with them, sharing this moment, seeing his son’s delight. How it would warm his heart.
Waiting until midnight to be with Mark suddenly seemed too far away.
As she drove to the Sammamish Plateau, she decided, once Josh was securely home, and she’d faced down Reese’s ire, she would go to Mark’s and spend the rest of the evening with him. Traffic was slow and cautious on the rainy streets, but they arrived safe and sound.
She saw Josh into the house.
“Well, look what the cat finally dragged in.” Sookie’s heels slapped the marble foyer floor like the rat-a-tat of a woodpecker’s beak hitting bark. In a solid red jumpsuit, her topknot flopping with each step, her narrow face tight and accusing, she resembled that very bird. “Where have you had my grandson? He looks as though he’s been rooting in a pig patch. Josh, Nanny has your bath ready. You go on up.”
Josh gave Livia a hug and she felt her heart breaking, knowing she’d never hug this child again. She clung to him fiercely for the beat of five seconds, kissed him, then whispered, “Thanks for a wonderful time, Josh-man. I love you so much.”
“I love you too much, too.”
Livia released him, grinning at his words, fighting back tears.
As the little boy ran toward the stairs, she turned back to Sookie. She hadn’t been mistaken about the anger in her eyes. Livia had been prepared for Reese’s ire, not his mother’s. She decided to ignore it, if possible. “Is Reese here?”
“No. He’s not.”
“Well, then, I guess he was going to cancel our dinner date himself, so it’s just as well that Josh and I went alone.”
Sookie huffed, her lean body tensing as if she’d been insulted. “Reese had planned on meeting you for dinner tonight, but he couldn’t reach you. Anywhere.”
“I didn’t mean to be ‘unreachable.’ I had my phone, but not on my person. I left it in the car while Josh and I were at the park and the battery died.”
Sookie just stared at her, not buying the excuse.
“You seem upset, Sookie. I hope it has nothing to do with the wedding preparations.”
“You should know.”
Livia lifted her eyebrows. “Well, I don’t. So, why don’t you spare me a dozen guesses and tell me outright?”
“Why is my grandson such a mess?” Sookie asked.
“I took him for a hamburger and some fries. Did you know he’s never had that before?”
“You, of all people, should know saturated fat is the worst thing you can feed a child.” Sookie pursed her carmine-slathered lips. “You ought to be ashamed, but I suppose trash like you doesn’t know the feeling.”
Trash like you. “Excuse me?” Shock smacked Livia. “What are you talking about?”
Sookie’s gaze slid to Livia’s left hand and suddenly Livia knew what this was all about. “Where is that lovely engagement ring my son gave you?”
Livia had the distinct feeling that Sookie knew exactly where it was, but she swallowed over the growing lump in her throat and lied, “It’s at the jeweler’s. One of the prongs broke.”
Sookie’s unpleasant laugh echoed off the foyer walls. “Oh, really.”
“Yes.” Livia lifted her chin, a silent challenge. If Sookie knew otherwise, then she could prove it. If she’d taken the ring from Mark’s bathroom, let her produce it right now. “Really.”
“Then why did Reese go running out of here in such a fury after reading this?” Sookie pulled a crumpled piece of paper from a hip pocket and shook it at Livia.
Livia snatched it and smoothed the paper on her leg, then read the crudely printed lettering.
Thought you should know that your fiancée is sleeping with your wedding caterer.
A friend.
Some friend, Livia fumed, her mouth going so dry it felt as though her throat was closing.
“Is it true, Livia? Have you been…sampling that sinfully delicious man…instead of his food?”
Fire flared through Livia, a mishmash of anger and shame and fear. Was Sookie the one who’d broken into Mark’s house last night? Had she taken Livia’s engagement ring? She considered it a moment and wondered what kind of mother would send her own son a note like this. Even if Sookie killed Wendy, she couldn’t imagine the woman purposely hurting Reese. But if she were the killer, if she had broken into Mark’s and discovered they were lovers, she might have sent Reese a note so she wouldn’t have to tell him to his face and risk his blaming the messenger, to spare him the pain of finding out some other way, all without seeming to be the interfering mother.
Livia asked, “Where did Reese go?”
“He didn’t say.” Sookie gave a haughty toss of her head. “I’ve never seen him so upset, spoiling for a fight, like he wanted to smash in someone’s face. Where do you suppose he went?”
Straight to Mark. Livia felt ill.
The hourglass heated against her breastbone. The kind of heat that prophesied danger. Her fear for Mark sent her rushing out the door, only to remember belatedly their
intention to leave a window or door un-latched. Damn it. She’d figure it out when she found Mark. As her car tore down the drive, she grabbed her cell phone, dialing his number before recalling the dead battery.
“Damn it!” She tossed the phone to the passenger seat. Why in hell hadn’t she bought one of those car chargers?
The slick streets made rushing impossible, made the drive seem hours long, instead of minutes. With every passing mile, the hourglass grew colder until by the time Livia arrived on Mark’s street, she felt the chill clear to her bones.
She pulled into the alleyway and parked next to the van, noting Reese’s car on the other side. The house was dark. Too dark. Something was wrong. Very wrong. She grabbed a penlight from the glove box. Rain pelted her and wind whistled over the rooftop as she race to the porch. The door moved inward at the first rap of her knuckles. Livia startled back, her heart tripping.
“Mark?” She stepped into the kitchen, tentative, on guard. “Mark?”
The only sound was the low hum of refrigerators and freezer. “Reese?”
Neither man answered.
She shone the light around the kitchen. Someone had left fresh strawberries and an open container of chocolate sauce on the cutting board. “Mark, where are you?”
She strode to the swinging door and into the room with the fireplace and love seats. She played the light around the room. It was empty. A sound brought her up short. She held her breath, listening hard. A moan or groan. Coming from upstairs. Mark! She ran to the staircase.
Dim light glowed from the gaping door to Mark’s private suite. The moaning was louder there. She charged up the stairs and into his living room. The air held a soft, sweet fragrance. Vanilla. “Mark?” No answer. “Reese?”
Another moan—or groan—cut the quiet and she realized what she was hearing were the sounds of lovemaking. She stood stock-still, stunned. Was Mark making love to another woman?
“Oh, Mark.” The feminine voice echoed from his bedroom.