Dangerous Relations

by Marilyn Levinson

  She cleared her throat. "Actually, I stopped by to find out when to drop off Leonie at your house tomorrow, and what time you can pick up the cot."

  Bill reached for his phone. "Hi, honey, Ardin's here to seduce me and wants to know when to bring Leonie over tomorrow morning."

  He listened a bit, chuckled.

  As the bantering went on, Ardin felt a pang of envy. You have your career, she reminded herself, and soon you'll have Leonie to share your life in the Big Apple.

  Bill hung up. "Vivie sends her love and says any time after ten is fine. I can swing by for the cot around eleven, after my tennis game."

  "I'll drop her off around ten, and head straight for my mother's apartment. I want to clear everything out by noon."

  "Great. Catch you tomorrow." Bill had leaned over his desk to kiss Ardin good-bye when the phone rang. "Yes, Doris, okay." His expression halted her where she stood. "Yes, Detective Rabe. That's true, Mr. Costas was my client."

  Was! Ardin froze.

  "I see," Bill said, his voice tight. "When did this happen?"

  She squeezed her hands together until the knuckles turned white, but it didn't stop the quaking.

  "I'll be right over." Bill hung up the phone.

  He got to his feet and exhaled heavily. "Dimitri's dead. Strangled."

  "Like Suziette," she breathed.

  "Not exactly. He was garroted with a piece of rope. They found him behind a dilapidated building not far from Brett's new strip mall."

  "Oh my God! The windfall! Dimitri tried to cash in on what Suziette was after! The murderer killed him too."

  "Stop it!" Bill drew her into a fierce hug. "Ardin, promise me you'll leave this to the police. Don't get involved."

  Terrified, she shook her head. "But I am involved. Don't you see? First the warning, then the break-in yesterday."

  Bill drew back. "What break-in?"

  Omitting all mention of Brett, Ardin told him about her discovery and Rabe's visit last night. Bill listened, his mouth set in a grim line.

  "All the more reason to keep out of this. I have to see Rabe, make arrangements to ship Dimitri's body back to Greece." He planted a hasty kiss on her cheek. "See you tomorrow."

  She nodded dumbly, unable to move.

  "You'll see, it will all work out," he called over his shoulder, leaving her in the middle of his empty office.

  Ardin shuddered. How could it all work out when two people were dead?

  * * * *

  Shorthanded with one man out sick and another injured, Brett was too busy dealing with a crop of last minute problems to call Ardin. Not that she ever left his thoughts. He felt the memory of her lips on his as he aligned signs, recalled her silken skin as he decided how best to patch the gaping hole in the Hotcha Boutique. Her presence snaked around his mind, making him tingle and flush in turns.

  Nice, very nice, but dumb. He liked Ardin. He cared about her. But last night's dive into delirium had been one whopping mistake. Sure, he'd enjoyed it. He knew she had, too. But it upset the apple cart. They were connected through Suziette and Leonie. They were friends. Granted, friends with a sizzling magnetism. But they'd both been burned and were far too leery to be up for a relationship.

  He was going through each of the stores, checking for necessary touch ups when his cell phone rang. "Brett Waterstone."

  "Brett, it's Ardin. Dimitri's dead. Murdered."

  "Murdered? By the same person who killed Suziette?"

  She sighed deeply. "That's what I think."

  "It's the only thing that makes sense. How did he die?"

  "Bill said he was strangled."

  "There you go. But finding proof and fingering the guy is a whole other ball game."

  "When I met Dimitri yesterday, he told me he and Suziette were alike."

  Brett switched the phone to his other ear. "You mean they both screwed around."

  "Made the most of opportunities, was what he said."

  "Translated, he wasn't above a spot of blackmail, either."

  "Exactly!" She sounded excited. "He mentioned a windfall--"

  "What is it, Ardin?"

  She gave a nervous laugh. "Do you think someone could be listening in on our conversation?"

  Brett looked around. His men were well out of earshot, but he knew what she meant. "It's possible, but the odds are pretty slim the murderer's listening in."

  "I hope so." After a pause she went on. "I think Suziette confided in Dimitri about whatever it was that got her killed. Then I think he tried to scam this person and the same thing happened to him."

  Two greedy losers. "It makes sense," he said.

  "What was he looking for at your house and Aunt Julia's?"

  "That's easy. Proof of whatever illegal activities Suziette was blackmailing him for. I'm surprised he hasn't broken into Bill Presley's office."

  "Bill has nothing of Suziette's. Except her will."

  "Which goes before probate the beginning of next week."

  "Right. I have to go, Brett. I only called to tell you about Dimitri."

  He felt her drifting from him. He desperately wanted to pull her back. "Would you like me to stop by the house later? Keep you company tonight?"

  "No thanks. We'll be fine."

  "Right." He made his voice sound hearty. "Speak to you soon."

  One of his men needed help putting up a sign, and Brett went to tackle the job. His assistant pointed out they were painting the lines in the parking lot too close together. Immersed in work, he had no time to dwell on Dimitri's murder or to daydream about Ardin. How typical of her to call him for support, and then pull away. He'd keep that in mind before he offered his services again.

  At noon he went to the popular Thornedale Diner on Main Street and sat in a small booth. "Cheeseburger, rare," he ordered. "Salad instead of fries. And coffee."

  "Will do." Darlene, the cheery thirtyish waitress, flashed him a smile, and left him to the tabloid he'd brought to the table.

  "Well, look who's here. My father's latest dupe of a business partner."

  Brett glanced up, into the sneering face of Corey MacAllister.

  "I'd check it out, Waterstone. Every angle. You don't want to get caught on the wrong end of the stick again."

  Brett rose, but Corey was halfway out the door. He was considering following, when Darlene approached with his burger.

  She set it down with a flourish and cast her eye at the closing door. "Keep away from that one. He's bad news. He moved out of town, but like a bad penny, he keeps on returning."

  A sudden thought came to him. "Does he get along with his father?"

  "With Frank?" Darlene considered. "Come to think of it, I haven't seen them together in a while."

  "Hmmm." Brett squeezed ketchup on his bun and bit into the cheeseburger. Good, juicy, and perfectly done. Why wasn't Corey in on his father's latest deal? It was big, Frank had told him. As big as anything he'd ever undertaken.

  Could Corey be telling the truth about Frank's latest enterprise being a scam? Or was he venting malice? Had Corey loved Suziette and believed Brett had killed her?

  Brett shrugged. He couldn't figure out Corey MacAllister, and he didn't want to. But he promised himself the next time that freaky dude confronted him, he'd give him something to remember him by.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  "Goodbye, Cousin Ardin. See you tomorrow."

  "Goodbye, Leonie."

  "Say good-bye to Mr. Bonkers."

  "Bye, Mr. Bonkers."

  Ardin started the car as she watched Leonie follow Michelle into the Presleys' house. She missed her already.

  "She'll be perfectly fine." Vivie shifted her toddler to her other hip and shot Ardin a wicked grin. "Now you go clear out your mama's apartment, and then have a gay old time with your handsome lover."

  "Talk to you later." Ardin backed out of the driveway, her face burning. That Vivie was a witch.

  She drove along, breathing in the spring fragrances intensified after a night of rain. Ye
sterday she and Leonie had enjoyed a cozy afternoon and evening. An everyday chore like making dinner became a fun activity when she had the lively, ever-chatting little girl to share it with. Even helping Leonie pick out clothes for her sleepover had proven a delightful diversion. For a while, she had managed to forget that the murderer was still out there, searching for God knew what.

  Now she drummed her fingers impatiently as she waited out a long red light. It was ten-thirty. With any luck, she'd clear out her mother's apartment in a couple of hours.

  She turned left onto Tara Boulevard, and noticed a grey SUV close behind her. Was someone following her? She made a sharp right to Brown Street and breathed with relief when the SUV kept on lumbering down Tara. He hadn't been tailing her, but she'd better keep an eye on her rearview mirror. With all that had been happening, she needed to remain on guard.

  Her mother's apartment already had the musty, unused odor of an abandoned home. She felt a pang of guilt as she tossed the dying roses into the garbage pail. She should have taken them to Aunt Julia's, but with so much going on she'd forgotten them in the empty apartment.

  She rinsed out the vase and, leaving the door unlocked so she wouldn't have to bother with the key, headed down the hall to Mrs. Katz's apartment.

  "Ardin, dear, how nice to see you!" The old woman took the vase and carried it into the kitchen.

  She called to Ardin, who was hovering in the hallway, "Sit down and have a glass of iced tea. I just made it from that wonderful new mix. It was on sale and I used a double discount coupon. Imagine that!"

  "I really can't stay, Mrs. Katz."

  "And how is the little puss? Come, come." She shepherded Ardin to the living room sofa. "Sit. I'll only be a minute."

  Ardin wanted to leave, but hated to hurt Mrs. Katz's feelings. Her hostess returned to the kitchen and quickly reappeared with a glass of iced tea and a plate of cookies. She placed it on the cocktail table and sat back in a chair and beamed at her guest.

  Ardin sipped her iced tea.

  "How is it?"

  "Fine. I like the lemon flavor."

  Mrs. Katz pointed to the plate. "Taste!" she commanded. "They're almond. I made them this morning and was wondering who was going to eat them."

  Ardin ate a cookie. "Terrific, Mrs. Katz. You are a wonderful baker."

  Mrs. Katz smiled coyly. "So my husband always told me."

  They chatted about inconsequential things while Ardin finished the glass of iced tea and most of the cookies.

  "Can I get you some more?"

  "No, thank you." Ardin made a beeline for the door. "This was great. Really." Her hand on the doorknob, she said, "I'll say good-bye now. Thanks for being a good neighbor to my mother."

  Mrs. Katz waved away her need for any thanks. "That was my pleasure. And you take care." She clasped Ardin in a surprisingly strong embrace.

  Back in the apartment, Ardin turned on the small transistor radio she'd brought with her and carried a carton into the kitchen. The few remaining items from the cupboards and drawers went into the box. The super was welcome to them, and to whatever money he could make selling the table. Little or nothing, would be her guess, but these days somebody's old junk was another person's antiques.

  She planned to take her father's small desk back to Manhattan, so she'd drag it into the hallway and ask Bill or the super to carry it down to the car. She stopped in her tracks when she noticed the top drawer was open. Papers were thrown helter-skelter over the writing surface.

  A chill shuddered through her body. Someone had been here, could be here still. Her glance went to the darkened bedroom around the bend of the tiny hall. She gulped as she headed for the front door, which now seemed miles away.

  The blow came, crashing and sudden. She heard a grunt, a shadow flitted by, and then she knew no more.

  When she opened her eyes, her head was throbbing, too awful to bear, and she closed them again.

  Someone shook her arm. "Ardin, wake up! What the hell happened?" The man--whoever he was--sounded awfully worried. "Did you see who it was?"

  "Let her be!" a woman ordered. She sounded old.

  Ardin cautiously opened her eyes and blinked. The sunlight was blinding and made her headache worse. Where am I? What is that delicious aroma? So familiar. So like almond cookies.

  "Ardin dear, it's Mrs. Katz. Say you're all right. Your friend Bill is here."

  "Bill?" Ardin made the mistake of raising her head. "Ouch! How did I get here?" She lay back and looked around. Was she in Mrs. Katz's apartment? Hadn't she gone to her mother's?

  "I carried you." He looked down at her, his face creased with worry.

  "You were out cold. I shouted for help. Mrs. Katz told me to bring you to her apartment."

  Mrs. Katz handed her an ice pack. "Keep this on your head while I call an ambulance."

  "No!" Ardin thrust out her arm to stop her. "I'm fine. Really. I can't go to the Emergency Room. They'll keep me there all day." She thought a moment. "How long have I been out?"

  "We figure about ten minutes," Bill said.

  "Which is why you must be sensible and go to the Emergency Room," Mrs. Katz said. "And we must call the police to tell them what happened."

  "No!" Ardin looked imploringly at Bill. "I can't take another dose of Rabe."

  Bill pursed his lips, but Ardin detected a twinkle in his eye. "I'm afraid you'll have to tell him about this sooner or later. But you can avoid the ER."

  "I can?"

  Bill nodded. "I'll have my friend, Don Epstein, check you over. He's an internist, and his office isn't far from here."

  Ardin took a deep breath. "I'm fine, Bill. I have to clear out the apartment by five this afternoon."

  She struggled to her feet, tried to maneuver between the sofa and the cocktail table and tripped. She ended up sprawled half on the sofa, half on the floor.

  Mrs. Katz was there in a flash and helped her into a sitting position. "Ardin dear, stay still. I'll bring you a glass of water."

  Ardin closed her eyes. When she opened them, Bill was shaking his head at her.

  "Here's what we'll do: I'll put the cot and whatever you're keeping in the van. When you're feeling less woozy, I'll drive you to Don's office."

  His kindness and common sense defeated her. "Okay, I give up. I'll finish up here later."

  "Only if Don says it's okay." He grinned. "In which case, I'll call Brett to see if he can play watchdog."

  "Brett," she murmured, feeling a silly grin take on a life of its own. She'd love nothing more than to nestle in his strong arms, feel his hard body pressed against hers. But she couldn't--wouldn't--put herself in the position of depending on a man.

  "Don't call him."

  But Bill was already on his cell phone.

  * * * *

  Brett insisted on meeting them at the doctor's office. He followed her into the examining room, where the doctor gingerly felt her skull, checked her reflexes, then placed a tuning fork to her forehead and asked where she heard the sound. He smiled when she pointed to both ears.

  "Great. No concussion." He advised her to take it easy for the rest of the day.

  "I'll see to that," Brett said.

  "You will?" Ardin said, a touch of asperity in her voice. She wasn't used to all this fuss and bother.

  Once downstairs, she hugged Bill and thanked him for everything.

  "You're more than welcome. Your father's desk will be safe in our garage, along with all our antiques." He gave her a stern look. "And don't forget to call Rabe. He has to know about this."

  Ardin climbed into Brett's Jeep as though she'd been doing it all her life. It felt natural to be sitting here beside him.

  His thoughts must have been running along the same track, because he said, "Do you realize that except for yesterday, I've seen you every day since Sunday?"

  "Hmmm. And the day's just beginning."

  They maintained an easy silence as Brett drove. The ache in her head was receding as the pill the doctor had given her
took effect. It left her feeling a bit woozy and managed to keep the ugly fact of her attack at bay. She was safe now. She was with Brett.

  The Jeep came to a stop, and Ardin looked out the window. They weren't at her mother's apartment, but in the large parking lot shared by the police station and the court.

  "Oh, no!"

  "May as well get it over with."

  The officer at the front desk said Detective Rabe was waiting for them in his office.

  "Bill called ahead," she said accusingly as they walked down the narrow hall. "You two are taking liberties behind my back."

  "For your own good."

  In Rabe's office, Brett reached for her hand and held it as Ardin told the detective what had happened.

  "You left the door to your mother's apartment unlocked while you visited Mrs. Katz?" Rabe said.

  Ardin looked from one glare of disapproval to the other.

  "For the second time, I returned the vase, and she insisted that I stay for iced tea and cookies."

  The detective said nothing.

  "I suppose you're going to say that Mrs. Katz was in on the set up. Or accuse Mr. Presley or Mr. Waterstone of attacking me."

  Rabe let out a sigh. "Ms. Wesley, there's a dangerous murderer out there, and now he seems to have set his sights on you."

  "And you're totally oblivious to it all," Brett added.

  Shocked, Ardin stared at him. "No, I'm not."

  Rabe looked from Ardin to Brett. "What I think Mr. Waterstone is saying is that he cares about you and would like you to be careful and not take any unnecessary risks."

  Ardin felt the warmth flood her face. Dammit, was everyone in the town privy to Brett's feelings. "Thank you, Detective Rabe. I promise to be more careful in the future."

  "You saw nothing? Smell a familiar cologne?"

  Ardin shook her head. "Ouch. No."

  "You said the desk had been ransacked. Have you any idea what he was looking for? Is anything missing?"

  "I didn't get a chance to look. My mother kept her checks and paid bill receipts in the desk. I hadn't put anything in any of the drawers."

  Rabe cocked a beady eye at her. "Did your cousin give you anything for safe keeping?"

  Ardin thought a moment. "No. Like what?"