Trial by Fire

by Nancy Taylor Rosenberg

  A horrid thought passed through her mind. Was Mario inside unconscious or dead? She checked the door, but couldn’t detect any signs of forced entry. Peering in through the windows, she saw no evidence of a struggle inside. The boxes and paperwork appeared to be in the same spots as before. Calm down, she told herself. You’re getting paranoid. After she had called Mario from Fitzgerald’s office and told him the news about the ballistics tests, he had probably gone out for breakfast.

  Returning to her car, Stella searched through the glove box, then looked on the floor to see if the key had fallen out of her purse. She thought of trying to get in through one of the windows, but Mario had an alarm and having the police respond was clearly not in her best interest. Finally she gave up, leaving a note on Mario’s door that she had gone to the hospital to see Brenda Anderson and asking him to get in touch with her the second he came home.

  Brenda was asleep when Stella entered her room. She had been moved from intensive care, though, and was now in the surgical wing of the hospital. “How is she?” Stella asked Brenda’s mother.

  “The pain has been horrible,” the woman said, “but the doctors say she’s doing as good as can be expected.”

  Brenda opened her eyes. “Stella,” she said weakly, “what’s going on with the case?”

  “They’re going to dismiss,” she told her, “but Holly’s being her customary bitchy self.”

  “What’d she do now?” Brenda said.

  Stella pulled up a chair by her bed, and caught her up to date on everything that had occurred since the shooting. “They’re certain now that my uncle shot you. Ballistics completed their tests yesterday. The bullet they removed from your stomach came from my uncle’s AR-15 assault rifle, the same one I saw in the gun case that day.”

  “What about the Randall homicide?” Brenda said. “Did the police trace ownership of the gun they found at the scene back to your uncle? Were his fingerprints found on it?”

  Stella shook her head. “As far as I know, the fingerprints found on the gun were never identified. Ballistics confirmed it was the weapon used to shoot Randall, though. My uncle was smart, Brenda. He knew holding on to the murder weapon would be a mistake. Uncle Clem probably took that gun off some crook years ago. That’s why he wasn’t concerned about leaving it at the scene.”

  “He didn’t dispose of the assault weapon he used to shoot me,” Brenda told her. “Most criminals follow a certain pattern of behavior, Stella. Your uncle had a mammoth ego. He thought his contacts in law enforcement would protect him. Besides, he was a gun collector.” She paused and let her mother give her a sip of water. Her voice had become hoarse from talking. “What about this Happy Day thing?”

  “I don’t think anything is going to come of it,” Stella answered. “Even if we find out the name of the contractor who poured the foundation, we might not be able to find him.”

  “Maybe Holly shot Randall?”

  “What are you saying?” Stella said, her stomach in knots. “What motive would Holly have to shoot Randall? Are you saying my uncle shot you, but Holly shot Randall? Were they crime partners or something? Is this another of your Mafia scenarios?”

  Brenda moaned in pain. Her mother rushed over and placed a fresh pillow behind her head, trying to make her more comfortable. “I’m not professing to know exactly how all this all went down,” Brenda said. “We’re only speculating. I’ve got plenty of time to think right now, you know, so forgive me. If I’m not making sense, just tell me to shut up. All these drugs, well—”

  “Go on,” Stella said.

  “Holly is insanely jealous of you, Stella. She knew prosecuting you would give her great notoriety, the kind of fame you achieved with the Pelham case. After Randall made statements implicating you, and you pitched a fit at their office that day, perhaps she decided that killing Randall was the answer to all her problems.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Stella said, scowling.

  “Just listen,” Brenda continued, rolling over onto her side. “First, you told me yourself that Holly was involved with Growman, that they had an affair a few years back. I was there when she accused you of sleeping with him. So, she’s jealous and bitter. She’s also overly ambitious, Stella. Combine those two and you’ve got yourself a fairly lethal mix. She kills Randall, knowing all the suspicion will fall on you. Then she can destroy you, her competitor and nemesis, and embarrass the hell out of Growman for endorsing you. At the same time, she has an opportunity to enhance her status in the legal community by trying a sensational case. That gives her not just one motive, but several.”

  “I don’t buy it,” Stella said.

  “Well,” Brenda continued, “I thought it was a long shot, but I like to be thorough. So, I checked on Holly’s whereabouts at the time Randall was killed. I just forgot to mention it to you the other day.”

  Stella’s eyes expanded, but she didn’t speak.

  “Holly disappeared from the courthouse a few minutes after nine,” Brenda explained. “She didn’t return until after lunch. She could have rented a car similar to the one you rented from Hertz, shot Randall, and then returned it before driving her own car back to the courthouse. She knew how to get in touch with Randall. All she had to do was call and ask him to meet her somewhere to discuss the case.”

  The phone rang and Anderson’s mother answered it. “It’s your brother,” she said, handing the phone to Stella.

  “My apartment’s been burglarized,” Mario said, sounding scared. “The police are here now.”

  “No,” Stella said. “I was just there.”

  “You should see it,” he said. “The burglar tore the place apart. The strange part is there’s nothing of value missing. My stereo’s still here, my television, my cameras.”

  “What about the files from the lawsuit?”

  “Everything looks like it’s here,” Mario said. “Of course, there’s no way to know if anything’s missing. The police think the intruder was looking for drugs. They know I was arrested for possession, so—”

  “Shit, the metal pieces,” Stella said, her eyes enormous. “God, Mario, did they take the box?”

  “What box?”

  “The box that came for me earlier in the week.”

  “Hold on,” he said, “I’ll have to check.”

  “Mario’s apartment was ransacked,” Stella told Brenda while she was waiting for her brother to return to the phone. “Someone else must be after those metal chips. It certainly can’t be my uncle. He’s on a slab in the morgue.”

  Mario came back on the line, out of breath.

  “The box is here,” he said. “I have it in my hands. I put it on top of the refrigerator. It must have fallen behind it. I had to move the damn refrigerator to get to it.”

  “Stay right there,” Stella said, “I’m on my way. Don’t let that box out of your sight, Mario. Something’s going on. Watch what you say to the police. Some of Uncle Clem’s police buddies could be behind this. Whatever you do, don’t let them get their hands on those metal chips.”

  Mario’s apartment was ripped asunder. Furniture was overturned, the upholstery on the sofa had been slit, and the stuffing had spilled out onto the carpeting. Papers from the cardboard file boxes were scattered everywhere. Stella’s heels punctured some of the papers as she made her way to the back of the house to find Mario. All the drawers in his bedroom were hanging open and his clothes littered the floor. “How did they get in?” Stella asked, stepping over the rubble.

  “Broke out the front window,” Mario said. “Didn’t you see it when you came in?”

  “Where’s the box?” she said.

  Mario went to the kitchen and returned, handing her a small package wrapped in brown paper. “You really think they broke in here for this?” he said.

  “I don’t know,” she said, a bewildered look on her face. Taking the box, she placed it in her purse. “I’m going to deliver this to Holly right now before something else happens. What time is it?”

  �
�Almost three,” Mario said.

  “Sam’s arriving on the four o’clock shuttle. If he calls looking for me, tell him to call me at the Holiday Inn. I should be there by six at the latest.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Mario said. “I’m frightened for you, Stella. I thought all this stuff was over. What’s going on?”

  “Stay here and clean up your apartment,” Stella told him, kicking a stack of clothing out of her way. “And you’d better call and have the glass replaced in the window, or the person could come back later tonight while you’re sleeping.”

  chapter

  EIGHTEEN

  Instead of surrendering the metal chips to Holly as she had planned, Stella took them with her to the Holiday Inn.

  The moment she entered her room, she ripped open the box and dumped the pieces of metal out on the bed. Now that they were all present and accounted for, she might be able to make sense of them. Picking up each chip and holding it under the light, she was able to see a few letters, but she had no idea what they said. Grabbing a pen and paper, she jotted down the letters she had seen, and then carried all the chips to the small desk. After thirty minutes of staring at them, she gave up. Some of the letters were so faint and distorted that she couldn’t make them out. She needed a magnifying glass. Tomorrow, she decided, she’d go out and buy one.

  Seeing her message light illuminated, Stella picked up the phone and called the front desk. Sam had left a message telling her to check out of her hotel and meet him at his room at the Ritz-Carlton. She glanced at her watch, realized she was already late, and then jumped in the shower. She’d wanted everything to be perfect. By now, she had expected her legal problems would be resolved. She slapped the tile in frustration. How could this be a victory celebration when she was more confused and frightened than ever? Cops were stalking her with shotguns. Someone had ransacked her brother’s apartment, and murder charges were still hanging over her head.

  “This will not spoil the weekend,” she said several times before turning the water off and getting out.

  Stopping at the mirror before she left the room, Stella rearranged her hair and dabbed at a speck of lipstick on her teeth. Dressed in an all-white pantsuit, she liked the look of the outfit against her dark hair, but the jacket gaped in front and she was concerned that her bra might show. Racing to the gift shop in the lobby, she purchased a lacy body suit and ducked into the ladies’ room to put it on under her clothes.

  Stella knocked on Sam’s hotel door at eight o’clock. The moment he appeared, he pulled her into his arms. “God, I’ve missed you,” he said. “The past few days have seemed like a lifetime.”

  ^

  She looked past him into the room. “Where’s Adam?”

  “Visiting with his aunt,” Sam explained. “Madeline lives here in Houston. She’s bringing Adam back around midnight.”

  Sam had not rented a mere room. When Stella walked in and looked around, she was overwhelmed. Fresh flowers stood in the crystal bowl in the entryway, filling the air with their fragrance. The living room area was elegantly furnished, with two blue velvet sofas positioned around a mahogany coffee table. The room had a built-in bar, and an antique writing desk sat on an angle in one corner. Lovely framed prints covered the walls, and the ceiling was finished with intricate crown molding. “Is this the honeymoon suite?” she asked.

  Sam laughed. “No, but we could pretend if you want.”

  Stella then saw the table, set up with fine china and crystal. “This is most beautiful room I’ve ever seen,” she told him. “Are we eating here?”

  “Any time you’re ready,” Sam said, bowing at the waist. Dressed in a casual pair of slacks and a short-sleeve shirt, he looked handsome and sexy.

  Stella caught a glimpse of Sam’s dark chest hair protruding from the front of his shirt. She felt like ripping his clothes off and dragging him straight to the bedroom. Instead, she flopped down on one of the blue velvet sofas and kicked her shoes off. “I love this hotel, Sam. The Holiday Inn was beginning to feel like the jail.”

  “No, you don’t,” Sam said, extending his hand and pulling her back to her feet. “I have another surprise for you.” Leading her to the bathroom, he pointed to a Jacuzzi tub filled with water. “Your bath awaits you, madam.”

  “Oh,” Stella said, “I’ve already showered, Sam.”

  “A Jacuzzi is not for the purpose of getting clean,” he said, unbuttoning the front of her jacket. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that?”

  “I guess not,” Stella laughed.

  Sam pushed her jacket down on her shoulders, then sighed. ‘Til leave you alone,” he said. “I have to call room service, anyway, and get them to bring up our dinner now that you’re here.”

  Stella’s face fell. “I don’t have your money, Sam,” she said. “I’m almost certain they’re going to drop the charges, but Holly refused to do anything until Monday.”

  “It doesn’t matter, Stella,” he said, bracing himself against the door frame. “Let’s not talk about money tonight, okay? Let’s just enjoy ourselves.”

  “I saw Brad today,” she blurted out. “He came to the hearing. He might have broken up with his girlfriend. The way he was acting, I thought he might be trying to patch things up between us.”

  “Is that what you want, Stella?” Sam said. “If so—”

  “Of course not,” she said. Feeling somewhat bold, she removed her arms from the jacket and showed Sam her lacy bodysuit. “What do you think? Pretty sexy, huh?”

  “I love it,” he said, staring at her nipples through the lace. “If you don’t hurry, though, your bathwater is going to get cold.”

  Sam left the room and Stella removed the rest of her clothing, folding it neatly and placing it on top of the commode. Once she lowered herself into the hot water, she sighed in pleasure.

  As Sam had left the bathroom door cracked, Stella yelled at him once she heard him get off the phone, “How much does a room like this cost?”

  Sam stuck his head in the door. “Why do you always steal my lines?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m Jewish,” he said. “Let me worry about the cost of things, okay? I got a deal. I have a friend who owns a travel agency.”

  “Shrewd guy,” she said. “Are you coming in?”

  “I didn’t think you’d want me to,” he said.

  “See how much you know?” she said, laughing. “Get your butt in here, Sam.”

  “Wait,” he said, excitement flashing in his eyes, “I have a bottle of champagne on ice.”

  Darting into the other room, he returned with the bottle of champagne, and placed it on the edge of the tub. Stella watched as he unbuttoned his shirt, her eyes riveted on his sinewy chest and the way the hair ran down his stomach and disappeared inside his pants. Feeling her breath catch in her throat, she sank lower in the tub until the water tickled her nose.

  The moment was immensely titillating. Her body in the warm, fragrant water, nude and vulnerable, Sam only a few feet away, virile and handsome. With the mirrors fogged up and steam rising from the hot water, the room had an intimate, surreal atmosphere that served to enhance her excitement.

  She looked away, but out of the corner of her eye, she could see Sam’s slacks sliding down his thighs. Catching a brief look at his green-and-blue-striped jockey shorts, she sucked in a breath and held it. The next thing you knew, the shorts were gone as well, and Stella’s breath escaped in a gasp.

  As he stepped into the tub, she watched his legs, mesmerized by the way the water swirled around them in gentle ripples. Every sound and light seemed to be magnified, as if she had consumed some type of mind-altering drug. Peering up at his genitals as he lowered himself into the tub, she realized that the drug was Sam himself. From what should be an unflattering perspective, she saw only perfection and masculine beauty.

  Once he was in the tub, Sam leaned back, extending his long legs until they brushed against the sides of Stella’s hips under the water. He reached for the c
hampagne bottle and brought it to his lips, then handed it to Stella.

  Maintaining eye contact, Stella tipped the bottle to her mouth, but she was so distracted that she failed to seal her lips. Icy liquid streamed down her chin and dribbled onto her neck and chest, causing her to shiver.

  Just then they heard a knock on the door in the other room. “That must be our dinner,” Sam said. “Are you hungry?”

  Stella shook her head.

  “They’ll go away,” he said, finding the button for the jets. Water instantly bubbled around them. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

  Stella took another drink of the champagne and then passed the bottle back to him. When he reached out for it, their fingertips touched and his legs moved against the sides of her body again. Stella stretched her legs out next to his and leaned her head back against the opposite edge of the tub. A jet was positioned right at the base of her spine. Closing her eyes, she tried to push everything out of her mind except the wonderful, pulsating sensation.

  Suddenly Sam closed his legs, trapping Stella in the center of them. She bolted upright, escaping the pressure of his legs by pushing herself to her knees. Before she knew it, however, Sam had pulled her on top of him and was probing the inside of her mouth with his tongue, his fingers laced tightly in her damp hair.

  “I want you,” he whispered. “It’s a good thing they didn’t send you to prison. If they had, I would have had to figure out a way to bust you out.”

  Stella kept her eyes closed as Sam picked up the bar of soap and rubbed it over her breasts, her stomach, her buttocks. Then she heard the soap splash in the water beside her and felt Sam’s slick fingers between her legs. Arching backward, she moaned as his tongue flitted across her nipples. With the pulsating jets massaging her, it was as if she were having sex with not one but a dozen lovers, their hands all stroking and kneading her flesh at the same time.