by Lora Roberts
He didn’t reply for a moment. Then he pulled the car over two lanes of traffic and turned into a convenience store parking lot.
“Paolo?” Bruno sounded startled.
“Liz needs to use the bathroom,” Drake said brusquely. He came around and opened the car door on my side. “Come on.”
“I don’t—”
“I said, come on.” He looked formidable, not at all like the comfortable, frizzy-haired companion I was used to. I got out of the car slowly. In the back of my mind are always alarm bells associated with overbearing masculine behavior. I was pretty sure he wouldn’t hit me, but with men you can’t always tell.
“We have to buy something,” I said. I had a lot of experience with public bathrooms, after my years of living in my bus. “Otherwise they won’t let you use the bathroom.”
He led me into the store, past the bored clerk, who chatted with a bored customer. We stood in the hall that led to the rest rooms.
“There’s no privacy to talk about this now,” he said, still tight lipped. “But you are not getting out of our relationship so easily. You are not running from me. We will have this out when the investigation is finished, but I have no intention of letting you blame this on me being concerned about my career. What I’m concerned about, damn it, is you.” His hands closed over my shoulders and he shook me, though with more restraint than I expected, considering the way he looked at me. “You driving around with a woman who has a gun on you. You being Miss Hero and helping that idiot Claudia take the gun away. You jumping in to try and clear this crazy Hannah Couch from the murder charge she no doubt richly deserves. You putting your life at risk.”
I thought he would shake me again, but instead he pulled me close and held me for the space of several heartbeats.
“You put your life at risk every day.” My voice was muffled by his chest. I pulled away, and let some of my own anger loose. “You nag me about my job, but you have the most dangerous one possible. Who the hell do you think you are, Paul Drake? What gives you the right to tell me what I can and can’t do? When do I do that to you?”
His hands dropped. “You don’t,” he said, rubbing his face. “I’ve wondered why. Guess you don’t care as much as I do.”
He turned, but I grabbed his arm and pulled him back around to face me. “That’s bunk too. I don’t show my love by trying to run your life. I may hate the risk your job involves, but it doesn’t change my feelings for you. For all the good they do me.”
He stared down at me, his face blank, his glasses reflecting the light. “You don’t show your love,” he said slowly. “I certainly realize that. Trying to pry emotion out of you is like interrogating the mute. But you—you feel—love? For me?”
I reached up and took his glasses off so I could see his eyes. They blazed with such brightness I couldn’t bear to look. It was like facing the sun.
“I do,” I said.
He kissed me. I kissed him back. It was the best embrace of my life. All the troubles fell away in a magical combination of tenderness and heat.
The counter person coughed ostentatiously, and Drake tore his lips away. I gazed at him, bemused, and realized I still had his glasses dangling from my limp fingers. I put them back on, adjusting them as best I could.
He pushed them up his nose and stared at me with laser intentness. “Marry me.”
It wasn’t the first time he’d proposed, but I had managed to treat the previous occasions as banter, and he hadn’t pursued them. This time it was different.
“No.”
He pulled me close again. “Damn it, why not? I need to have that tie, Liz. I need you to be in my life on a permanent basis.”
“This isn’t the time to talk about it.” I could see down the aisle of chips to the front window. “Bruno is alone with Hannah. What if she tries to run away?”
“He’ll have to stop her.” Drake put his cheek on top of my head. It made me ache for what I was afraid we could never have.
“Like you said, mate. When this is over, we’ll have that talk. We’ll put our cards on the table. I’ll see your point of view, you’ll see mine. Until then—”
He held me a little away. “It would help you with the San Francisco police if I said you were my fiancée.”
“That’s the worst reason to get engaged I ever heard.” I pushed him away altogether. “I sure hope your romantic proposal in aisle six wasn’t motivated by this.”
He started to smile, for the first time that day. “Guess you’ll have to wait and see.”
I started back toward the door. “Look, let’s get this over. The sooner everything is wrapped up, the sooner I can take your generous offer apart for you.”
He took my arm. “Stop trying to take the lead here. You’re still in protective custody. And when you consider my offer, remember that it comes with lots of extras, like health and dental insurance. Costco membership.”
“Death benefits?” I shook my head. “I don’t aspire to be a policeman’s wife, or a policeman’s widow, come to that.”
“I don’t aspire to be a corpse,” he retorted. The clerk watched us go out the door. We hadn’t bought the obligatory soda or chips. But she didn’t say anything. She was probably just happy to have the crazy people leave.
Chapter 16
The jackals of the press were in command of the hotel’s entrance and lobby. We went up to the suite in the freight elevator, like a rewind of our trip down earlier—was it really the same day? So much had happened since Hannah had commandeered me with a gun under her raincoat. I glanced at her as we rode in the clanking elevator car. She looked stern, remote, unflappable. Even when she lost her head, she kept her wits about her.
The kitchen door was locked. Drake rang the service bell, and after a moment a uniformed cop answered it.
“Drake. Palo Alto police.”
“Right.” The uniform stepped aside. Her nameplate said DIAZ. “Watch where you walk. We’ve had the crime-scene people in here for the last few hours, and they’ve left a mess.”
The doors to Kim’s and Don’s bedrooms were closed. When we entered the little kitchen, we saw what the cop meant about the mess. Every cupboard stood open. The bins of staples that Hannah had brought with her were opened as well, and their contents strewn throughout the room.
Something crunched underfoot. I looked down to see broken bits of rainbow-colored glass.
Hannah’s expression had grown more forbidding. When she saw the broken glass, she stopped.
“My carnival-glass bowl! How did that get broken?” Officer Diaz shrugged. She looked sympathetic. “These things happen. The crime-scene technicians vacuum up everything, then the evidence people search. It would be tidier if it was the other way around, but that wouldn’t work.”
Hannah bent to pick up one of the pieces, and Officer Diaz put a hand on her arm. “Please don’t touch anything. When we’re through, you can do that. If you’re still around.”
“What do you mean? Why wouldn’t I be around?”
Officer Diaz didn’t answer. She opened the door into the suite’s main room, and we filed in.
The area around the couches and coffee table was cordoned off with yellow tape. Here again, the contents of closets and drawers had been pulled out and rummaged through.
“The inspectors are over there.” Officer Diaz pointed to the library alcove at one side of the room. Two people, a man and a woman, were bent over something on the large, polished wood desk.
I was watching them, so I didn’t see Kim until she jumped up from the chair she’d pulled around to face the floor-to-ceiling balcony windows.
“Liz! Hannah! You’re back!” She ran to me, and I hugged her. She was trembling.
“I was afraid,” she whispered to me. “Afraid something awful had happened to you.”
“Well, I had to take Hannah shopping at the secondhand store. That was pretty awful.”
She laughed, a little hysterically, and stepped back.
“Hannah, I’m
glad you’re safe.” Her voice quavered. “It’s been terrible here.”
“Kim, my dear.” Hannah sounded sincere. “I left you holding the bag. I’m so sorry.”
Kim looked surprised at this display of compassion. “We didn’t know what to do. It was—difficult.”
“I’m sure it must have been.” Hannah looked around the room. “Where’s Don?”
“He’s in his room. They said we could stay in our rooms if we liked, after they searched them.” Kim shivered. “I didn’t want to be alone. I’ve just been … staring out the window.” Her voice fell. “I’m so sorry.”
“I’m sorry too.” Hannah actually hugged Kim. “Naomi was your aunt, after all. You must miss her.”
Kim darted a look at the two inspectors, who had come forward during this exchange. “I haven’t had time yet to know how I feel,” she said honestly. “All I can think about is that awful moment when she fell—” She put a hand to her mouth and looked at us, her eyes huge.
“It wasn’t particularly nice,” Hannah agreed with massive understatement.
“I’m Inspector Scarlatti, and this is Inspector Daly,” said the woman, offering her hand. “May I say what a pleasure it is to meet you, Ms. Couch? I’m a fan of yours.”
Hannah shook the offered hand, smiling graciously. “Thank you.
The inspector’s smile cooled a lot when she turned to me. She didn’t offer her hand. “Ms. Sullivan.”
“Inspector.”
“We’ve looked over your statement, Ms. Sullivan,” Inspector Daly broke in. “In light of your previous record, we’d like to ask you more questions.”
Hannah frowned. “Did my attorney show up?”
“Not yet.” Scarlatti shook her head.
“Well,” Hannah said, “I don’t know when he’ll get here, but I’m prepared to make a statement about my movements after the—after Naomi died.”
“In good time,” Daly said, concentrating on me.
“Young man, what I have to say will make it unnecessary for you to spend a lot of time on Liz.” Hannah drew herself up. “I’m prepared to take full responsibility—”
“Oh, no,” Kim broke in. “No, no, no.” Her voice rose hysterically. “You didn’t kill her. Did you?”
The inspectors exchanged glances with Officer Diaz, who went to Kim. “I think you’d be happier in your room, Ms. Matthews.”
“I don’t want to be in there alone!” Kim was capable of putting out some decibels when she tried.
“I’ll stay with you.” Officer Diaz led Kim through the kitchen. We could hear their feet crunching.
Inspector Scarlatti turned back to us. “Ms. Couch, why don’t you go with Inspector Daly? He’ll take your statement. I’ll speak with Ms. Sullivan.” She looked at Drake and Bruno. “Did you two want to stay around?” Her smile turned teasing. She was a good-looking woman, not much older than I, with straight blond hair and no wedding ring. “See how it’s done in the big city?”
“Sure thing, Bianca.” Drake smiled back at her. I could see that, though she was a couple of inches taller than he was, she thought he was cute. It made me feel rather smug. “We always benefit from watching the pros, right, Bruno?”
Bruno nodded. “We don’t have many capital cases in our area. You are sure to solve this very complicated matter quickly, is that not so?”
Bianca Scarlatti’s expression turned speculative. “From what I can tell, Ms. Sullivan has been involved in several of your recent murder cases. How do you explain that?”
“Can we sit down?” Drake broke in quickly. “It’s been a long day.”
“Of course.” Scarlatti led us over to the sofas grouped in front of the fireplace. Inspector Daly had already taken Hannah off to the library alcove. We could hear the low murmur of his voice, her stringent tone when she answered, but we couldn’t discern the words.
“I thought you wanted to know about what happened today.” I settled myself, and wished that I had taken Bruno up on his offer of an attorney. “What does that have to do with the past?”
“You have a history of being involved in murder cases.” Scarlatti made her voice patient. “Why is that?”
“Well, because Detective Drake is my neighbor, I guess.”
She shot Drake a skeptical look. He sat at his ease, one arm stretched out along the back of the sofa, one foot hiked up on the opposite knee, but I could see the lines of tension around his mouth.
“Well, Detective?”
He shrugged. “She’s my neighbor. I don’t invite her into my cases, but she does sometimes become involved inadvertently. All those murders have been satisfactorily resolved, and no suspicion attaches to her.”
“In a couple of cases,” Bruno put in, “she has been instrumental in finding the solution. Is that not right, Paolo?”
Drake scowled at me. “I don’t approve of civilians helping to investigate. Liz knows that. But it’s true that she is a good observer, and capable of deduction.”
“Very impressive.” Scarlatti sounded sarcastic. “But Ms. Sullivan is an ex-con.”
“You know, I can speak for myself,” I said when Drake opened his mouth. He shut up.
I turned to Scarlatti. “This is an old story, one I’m tired of telling. My husband beat me, and I was fool enough to think each time was the last time. The actual last time, I thought he was going to kill me. I managed to get the gun before he did, and I shot him. He didn’t die. I went to jail, and I divorced him, and even though he kept stalking me, I’m glad now that I wasn’t the person who finally ended up killing him, because I don’t want to be a killer. I don’t like violence. I don’t approve of murder. I’m no vigilante; I don’t see myself as ridding the world of murderers or anything of that nature. I’ve been through a lot of awful stuff, and I just want a peaceful life. Does that answer your questions?”
Scarlatti tapped a pencil against her lips. “If you don’t like violence, how do you explain slapping the deceased yesterday?”
“If Kim told you that story, she undoubtedly told you all of it. Naomi slapped me. It seemed to me that she was used to getting away with bullying people. I slapped her back. It wasn’t really a considered decision, but I don’t regret it. She deserved it.”
Scarlatti made a note. “So how did you come to hook up with Hannah Couch?”
“I do temp work, and a media relations firm hired me to type and file. This job came in as an emergency, and there was no one to drive but the owner, Judi Kershay. She asked me to do it. She offered me a lot of money. I accepted.”
“Why didn’t Judi Kershay drive?” Scarlatti pounced on this tidbit.
I shrugged. “She has some kind of history with Hannah. As it turns out, no one wants to drive Hannah, because she’s capricious and demanding, and Naomi was worse. She had summarily fired the people who’d set up the tour, and her publishers begged Judi to take it on as a favor. At least, that’s what Judi told me. Maybe you should talk to her.”
“Thanks for the advice,” Scarlatti said. “Maybe we will.” She got to her feet, a tall, graceful blonde, and walked over to the windows, pulling a cell phone out of her bag.
“She hasn’t mellowed,” Bruno said to Paul in a low voice.
“She’s full of herself,” he agreed, “but she does good work. We just might be here awhile.”
“You don’t have to stay on my account.” I tried to sound independent, instead of forlorn. “I can get the train back.”
“We’re concerned in the investigation,” Bruno told me gently. “She will start to rake us over the coals soon. We can’t leave until then.”
“So they obviously don’t think Naomi died of a heart attack, if they’re going to all this trouble.”
“I’d say they have a pretty good idea of how she died, even without the toxicology tests.” Drake’s fingers tapped impatiently on the back of the couch.
Scarlatti returned, holstering her cell phone. “Now. Why don’t you give me the story about this morning, Ms. Sullivan?”
Scarlatti wrote it down, though she was taping me too. I didn’t know if she believed me. Since Hannah was evidently willing to say that she’d done the abducting, I thought we might get out of there quickly after all.
“As you’re such a good observer,” Scarlatti said when I finished telling her about the morning, “is there anything else you noticed while you were working with Ms. Couch and Ms. Matthews the previous day?” She darted a mischievous look at Drake and Bruno. “Remember, these guys were bragging about you.”
“Thanks for putting me on the spot,” I said to Drake. “Actually, some weird things happened yesterday.” I told Scarlatti about the notes that had frightened Hannah, and the arrangement of forget-me-nots and ivy she had commanded me to throw away. About the quarrel over the crepe maker, and Naomi’s drinking at the FanciFoods event. I told her everything I could think of that might give her an idea. I didn’t tell her anything Hannah had told us around Bridget’s table. I was going to let Hannah tell about finding and destroying Naomi’s tell-all manuscript. And it seemed to me that someone should tell Don that he was Naomi’s son before the police found out about it, though I wasn’t sure how that could be accomplished. And perhaps he already knew. Perhaps he’d known before the whole thing had started.
“You are a good observer, if you’re not making this up.” Scarlatti put down her pen and stared at me speculatively.
“Kim was there when I threw away the flowers. She even said someone gave Hannah a similar arrangement when they left Boston. And Kim was at the TV station when Hannah implied that Naomi did away with her brother, who was Kim’s uncle. Didn’t she tell you about this stuff?”
“She’s been less than coherent, and the other one, Don, hardly says two words.” Scarlatti got to her feet. “I’m going to bring them all over here, in the interests of brevity, and see if we can get some agreement.”