by J. D. Robb
He took a bite of Mrs. Mellon’s fabulous meat loaf, enjoying the way it almost melted in his mouth. “Tyler, you’re one lucky boy to have such food every day of your life. I believe, Mrs. Mellon, this is the best meat loaf I’ve ever tasted.”
The boy’s eyes widened, and he took a bite of meat loaf, causing Bonnie to watch with approval. Tyler rarely ate meat unless he was prodded. Another of his idiosyncrasies.
Mrs. Mellon blushed. “I hope you’ll be just as pleased with the dessert.”
“As long as it’s chocolate, I’ll love it.”
His words had her smiling brightly. “Home-baked brownies with ice cream and fudge sauce.”
He returned her smile. “Be still, my heart.”
Across the table, Christina marveled at the way he’d managed to put them all at ease, despite Bonnie’s careless question. She found herself wondering what had caused him such pain. Whatever the reason, Jake Ridgeway, it would seem, had an innate kindness that had him putting aside his own discomfort for the sake of others.
As the housekeeper began clearing the table and passing around the desserts, the mood lightened even more. By the time they’d finished eating and were sipping coffee, they were laughing comfortably together, as Bonnie regaled them with stories of her first job as a camp counselor, fresh from graduate school.
“I had a boy in my group who was absolutely terrified of anything in the lake that might touch his skin.” She glanced around the table. “As you can imagine, there are thousands of things floating in a Wisconsin lake. Bugs, fish, algae to mention just a few. And every time something brushed against him, he would let out a screech that had the entire camp scrambling out of the water, thinking they were being attacked by monsters. By the end of the week, we were all exhausted.”
Christina leaned closer. “Did he ever lose his fear?”
“No. He lost his voice. And for the next two days, until he got it back, peace reigned in the camp.”
That had them all laughing out loud.
At that precise moment, Mark stuck his head around the corner. “Sounds like you’re having a party in here.” He stopped in midstride when he caught sight of Jake seated at the table.
Christina smoothly handled the introductions. “Mark, this is Jake Ridgeway, who’s making the beautiful cabinets in my expanded office. Jake, this is Mark Deering.”
“Christina’s fiancé.” Mark dropped a proprietary arm around her shoulders and drew her close. “Ridgeway.” He gave Jake a long look as he shook his hand before turning to Christina, pointedly ignoring the others at the table. “I thought, since I was running late, you’d be ready to go.”
“Go?”
Seeing the confusion in her eyes, his tone sharpened. “The club. I invited some of our friends.”
She was already shaking her head. “Mark, you know how I feel about going back there. I’m not ready.”
“It’s been weeks. Sooner or later you have to get back on that horse and ride.” He took both her hands in his. “Look, sweetheart. I know it brings up memories you’d rather forget. But the sooner you face it, the sooner you can move past all this. Now, go upstairs and get into something elegant, and we’ll dance the night away.”
“Mark, I said I’m not ready.” Seeing the others watching and listening, she struggled to find her smile. Instead, her lips trembled.
Taking pity on her, Jake got to his feet, hoping to deflect the attention from her. “Mrs. Mellon, that was an excellent dinner. Thank you.” He smiled at Bonnie. “I enjoyed your camp stories. You ought to write a book.”
“Maybe someday.” She returned his smile.
He placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Night, Tyler. See you tomorrow.”
When there was no response, he turned to Christina. “Thanks again for the dinner invitation. I had a great time.”
It was true, he realized. Though he hadn’t expected to enjoy himself, the time had flown by.
Christina started after him, eager to escape the room. “I’ll show you out.”
“There’s no need.”
He glanced over his shoulder to see Mark following Christina from the room.
As he started down the hall, he heard Mark’s voice, low, angry. “What the hell is he doing eating dinner like one of the family?”
“Don’t be rude, Mark. I invited him.”
“And you were having so much fun with that . . . carpenter, you forgot all about our date.”
“I told you I wasn’t interested in going to Dad’s club.”
“It’s your club now, Chris. Ours, in fact. And maybe it’s time to think about what I want. Or don’t I matter anymore?”
“Don’t, Mark.” There was a weariness to her tone as Jake opened the front door and let himself out.
As he made his way to his truck, he glanced at the expensive convertible parked behind it. It seemed the perfect vehicle for a man like Mark Deering to show off his woman.
His woman.
The thought of it left a bad taste in Jake’s mouth. There was something unpleasant about Mark Deering, something shallow and phony. It was hard to picture a man like that with Christina. In the short time he’d worked here, he’d formed an image of a kind, compassionate, hardworking woman who was deeply involved in her little brother’s care. She deserved better than Deering.
Not his business, he reminded himself.
He climbed into his truck and drove away. But he couldn’t resist a glance in the rearview mirror. Bonnie had been right. Though he couldn’t explain it, just stepping inside the Crenshaw house each day was like coming home.
Leaving it had him feeling as empty as death.
Six
Henry Wickham blessed the inventor of the GPS as he took the twists and turns of the highway at a slow, careful pace. As he drove, he tried to imagine what it would feel like to discover, while maneuvering this rain-slicked stretch of pavement, that the brakes weren’t working and the car was hurtling out of control.
No matter how cool the head or calm the demeanor, Ted Crenshaw must have been horrified to realize that he was unable to save his life and that of his beloved wife.
As he rounded the curving driveway, Henry Wickham slowed to a stop and sat a moment admiring the sprawling stone house set amid lush gardens. It was, quite simply, every man’s dream house.
He climbed the steps and rang the doorbell. Moments later the door was opened by the housekeeper.
He handed her his card. “Detective Henry Wickham to see Miss Christina Crenshaw.”
Mrs. Mellon read the card before stepping aside. “Please come in, Detective.” She led him along the hallway and indicated a sitting room. “If you’ll wait in here, I’ll fetch Miss Christina.”
“Thank you.”
Minutes later, Christina entered, followed by Mark, who had been trying to persuade Christina to go to the city with him for the day. She seemed almost relieved to have a reason to refuse.
She offered a handshake. “Detective, I’m Christina Crenshaw. This is my fiancé, Mark Deering.”
“Miss Crenshaw. Mr. Deering.”
Chris stared pointedly at Mark. “Mr. Deering was just leaving.”
He nodded at the detective, then kissed Chris’s cheek before sauntering from the room.
When they were alone, Christina said, “What is this about, Detective?”
“It’s the policy of our department to conduct several tests on all vehicles involved in fatal accidents.” He handed over a manila envelope. “I’ve brought you a copy of the test results.”
“Thank you. That’s very kind of you, Detective. Such a long drive just to deliver these. Wouldn’t you have preferred to mail them?”
“Perhaps, if the results had been different.”
“Different?” She arched a brow.
He indicated a chair. “Perhaps we could sit?”
“Of course.” She settled herself into a chair by the window, oddly touched by his courtly gesture of standing until she was seated before he perche
d on the edge of the nearby sofa.
She waited a beat before asking, “What did the tests reveal?”
“That the brakes on your father’s car had been tampered with.”
For long moments she was speechless. Finally finding her voice, she said in a barely audible breath, “Are you saying this was a deliberate act?”
“Without a doubt.”
She blanched and sucked in a sudden breath. “But . . . that can’t be.”
“I’m afraid it is. And now I must ask. Did your parents have any known enemies?”
“No. Of course not.” She fought tears. “Everyone loved my parents.”
“Most children believe that.” He chose his words carefully. “Your father was a very successful businessman. Could he have angered someone? Perhaps won an important account that someone else was counting on winning?”
She shook her head. “Dad was successful, but not at the expense of others. He would never cheat or scam a competitor. He was good and honest and decent. And my mother was actively involved in several charities, not because she was some bored, wealthy matron but because she honestly cared about people. Nobody could possibly want to harm my parents.”
“It appears that someone did. I’m afraid I must ask you this, Miss Crenshaw. Who benefited from their deaths?”
She simply stared at him. Then, as his question became clear, her eyes widened. “Are you asking who inherited their estate?”
When he nodded, she said simply, “My little brother and I are their only heirs.”
“There’s nobody else?”
“Nobody.”
Henry Wickham pointed to his card in her hand. “Keep that handy. If you think of anyone else who might have benefited from the death of your parents, or who may have had a grudge to settle, I’d like to hear from you at once.” He paused. “You should realize that anyone willing to go to such lengths once, will do so again. You and your little brother could be targeted for the same fate. If I were you, I’d stay close to home and stay close to your brother.”
“I’m sorry, Detective.” He saw the tears that sprang to her eyes. “You must be wrong. Nobody could be that cruel. Not to people as good and kind as my parents. And certainly not to a little boy who suffers the way Tyler does.” She looked away. “He’s a special child, locked in his own world. But though he doesn’t communicate, I can sense his grief. He . . . ” She struggled to speak over the tears that clogged her throat. “He means everything to me. Tyler is my whole life.”
“Then keep him close.” Wickham got to his feet. “Call me day or night. I’ve written my private number on that card.” When she started to get up, he shook his head. “I’ll find my way out, Miss Crenshaw.”
As he walked to his car, he realized that he was relieved by her reaction. He’d come here thinking that he could be meeting some rich kid who’d wanted to do in her parents in order to fatten the pot. It was seen too often in his line of work. Not even an Oscar-winning actress could have faked grief as real, as deep, as Christina Crenshaw’s. She’d been not only stunned by the revelation that the brakes had been tampered with but had been completely unable to imagine anyone doing harm to her parents.
So, if it wasn’t the daughter, who was it? He sighed as he turned the ignition and started away from the lovely mansion in the hills. The truth would come out eventually. He just hoped it was sooner rather than later. His retirement was coming up at the end of the month, and he hated the thought of any unsolved cases he’d have to leave behind.
Furthermore, that young woman had touched a chord in him. He’d been prepared to meet a spoiled, pampered socialite. Instead, he’d met a lovely young woman who was dealing with a great deal of grief.
“Ted, what are we going to do now? The work on Christina’s office is finished way ahead of time.” Vanessa watched her husband pace back and forth in their daughter’s empty office. “We’re about to lose our champion.”
“We have to find a way to keep him here. We need to get those two young people alone somewhere, so they can connect.”
“You mean talk?”
He winked. “I mean connect. As in turn up the heat, babe.”
“Why Ted. You romantic. What do you have in mind?”
“You know that upstairs room that we use for storage?”
She nodded. “I used to talk about turning it into a sitting room for Christina, until she took an apartment in the city.”
“Right. Well, now that she’s back home, it’s time to reconsider the remodeling job. I think, with the right amount of persuasion, she’ll think it’s all her own idea.”
“And how do you plan to persuade her?”
He dropped a glossy remodeling magazine onto Christina’s desk, then flipped through the pages until he came to the one he was seeking. “Maybe this will give her a nudge.”
As the workmen put the last of the new cabinets in place under Jake’s careful direction, Christina stood back, admiring the look of them. The dull patina of old wood gave just the right touch of elegance to the room.
Jake turned.
Seeing her there, he walked over. “The marble countertops will be installed tomorrow, as well as the bookshelves on either side of the fireplace. Then I’ll be out of your hair.”
“Maybe not.” She showed him the magazine she’d found on her desk, depicting a suite of rooms very similar to her own upstairs. “Now that I’m living in my family home, I’d like to put the space to better use. Would you mind taking a look at my suite to see if you could do something like this?”
He studied the pictures before nodding. “Let’s take a look.”
As they started up the stairs, Ted grabbed his wife’s hand, and they floated along behind.
“Why are we following them?”
“You’ll see.” Ted was smiling broadly.
“My rooms are over here.” Christina led the way through her bedroom to the sitting room beyond. It was a large open space with a balcony overlooking the gardens.
She indicated the pale lemon-washed walls. “After seeing what was done in this brochure, I like the idea of adding shelves and cabinets. What do you think?”
Jake studied the room with an architect’s eye to size and scale. “I agree. Besides giving you more storage, it will add depth and dimension to a flat space. What sort of wood do you have in mind?”
“Nothing as ornate as the wood you used in my office. Something with cleaner lines, I think. Something bright.”
“Yes. Contemporary. With some built-in lights, and possibly some glass panels here and there for variety. I’ll do a few drawings tonight and see if any of them meet with your approval.” As he turned toward the door, the curtains billowed inward on a gust of wind, slamming the door between the bedroom and sitting room.
Startled, Christina grabbed his arm. “Oh.” She let go at once and gave a nervous laugh. “Sorry.”
“It’s all right.”
As he reached for the handle, Christina stood very still, feeling an awareness that was as startling as the slamming of the door. In that simple touch she’d been acutely aware of the ripple of muscle beneath her fingertips and had experienced a quick sexual tug. In truth, her fingertips were still tingling from the touch of Jake Ridgeway.
“That’s odd.” He glanced over his shoulder. “The knob isn’t turning.”
“It sticks sometimes.” Without thinking, she placed her hand over his. At once she became aware of her mistake. The heat was back, stronger and hotter than before.
She removed her hand as though burned, but not before seeing a hungry look in his eyes that had the breath backing up in her throat.
He attempted to turn the knob again, and again was met with resistance.
He gave her a devilish grin. “You sure there aren’t ghosts in this place?”
She managed a laugh. “Not that I know of. What’ll we do?”
He looked around. “We could phone someone to come upstairs and lend a hand.”
She shook her head. “T
he phone’s in the other room. And my cell phone is on my desk downstairs.”
He patted his shirt pocket. “Mine’s down there as well, on top of my toolbox.” He reached into his tool belt and removed a hammer.
“What are you doing?”
“Breaking us out of here.” He began tapping the pins inside the hinges until both slid out of place.
Lifting the door from the hinges, he set it aside and made a sweeping motion with his hand. “After you.”
Watching them make their exit, Vanessa chuckled at the scowl on her husband’s face. “It was a good idea, darling. And certainly not your fault that our hero knows how to use a carpenter’s tools.”
“That’s all right.” Ted’s brow was furrowed in thought. “At least that little experiment proved one thing. For one quick moment there, Christina became aware of Jake Ridgeway.”
“And how would you know that? Are you a mind reader now?”
“A father. And I could see her heart in her eyes. It’s a start. Now to find a way to force those two together until they really connect.”
Christina was having trouble concentrating. Despite a successful teleconference with her staff and the acquisition of a new and very influential client, she couldn’t seem to keep her mind on business. Instead, she had a burning desire to walk across the room every few minutes to check on the progress of the bookshelves.
This was her third time in less than two hours, and this time they were complete.
“Oh, Jake.” She clasped her hands together as she admired the way they looked in the afternoon sunlight. “They’re perfect.”
“I’m glad you like them.”
She glanced at Tyler, who was proudly wearing a smaller version of Jake’s tool belt. “Oh, Tyler. Look at you.”
The little boy actually smiled.
She turned to Jake. “Where did he get that?”
“I made it. I figured, if he was going to be my helper, the little guy deserved his own tools.”
“That’s so sweet.” Without thinking, she opened her arms and hugged him.