Judgment

by Carey Baldwin

  Her face flushed hot pink, and her eyes lowered, but she sent him a no-­worries smile. “Spense, I appreciate the sentiment. I’m flattered, and I can’t deny I’m interested, too. I’m sure you picked up on that after the other night, but I can’t think about you and me right now. I’m stuck someplace where there’s just no time for relationships and romance. I used to dream of those things when I was young, but that’s all in the past. I’m not knocking the construct, but I simply don’t have room in my life for love.”

  He could practically feel the breeze from the door slamming in his face. “Okay, first off you’ve got to have one crazy heart-­mind disconnect to call love a construct. Humor me a minute and admit love is real, not just a hypothetical.”

  “I’m not saying I don’t believe in love, only that I’m not sure I do.”

  “So I’ve fallen for a love agnostic. Terrific.” Whatever feelings he’d been suppressing before came rushing up to the surface now. He wanted this woman, badly, and in every way a man can want a woman. When he closed his eyes at night, he imagined the soft lilt of her voice whispering in his ear, the silkiness of her bare skin against his, her body melting beneath his touch, ready and open for him. He couldn’t get her off his mind, whether it was night or day, whether she was a ­couple of feet or a ­couple of rooms away. “If you don’t have space in your life for love, Caity, maybe you should make some.”

  “You think I don’t want to be in love? To have someone at my side I can share life’s ups and down with? You think I don’t want the kind of relationships other ­people have? There’s nothing I want more than to have a normal life. But my life hasn’t been normal since the day my father was arrested for a murder he didn’t commit, and truth be told, I highly doubt my life will ever be normal again. I’m not being cynical here. I’m just being honest. I don’t know if I can fall in love.” She blew out a breath. “Don’t give me the puppy-­dog eyes, Spense. If I ever do fall in love, I’m sure it will be with someone wonderful . . . like you.”

  He almost flinched at the puppy-­dog remark, but no matter how tempting she was, he wasn’t going to show her his wolf. That little speech she’d just made told him his instincts had been spot-­on. Caity was terrified of her own feelings, and if he pushed her now, he’d be drilling a hole in his own dinghy. He needed to take things slowly. “Okay, I’ll accept that for the time being. But I’d like you to make me a promise. When we wrap this case up, when we find the Man in the Maze, and the danger’s passed, promise you’ll come away with me. Someplace where the construct of love is in the air. I’ll whisk you away to Tahiti to drink mai tais or whatever fruity little drink you prefer.”

  “I like whiskey, Spense. I’ll save the drinks with the little umbrellas for you.”

  “Good thing I’m secure in my masculinity.” As the implication of her words sank in, a wide grin stretched his cheeks. “That sounded a lot like a yes.”

  “It’s more like an I’ll think about it. But I do promise to take the idea under consideration.”

  That was a step in the right direction. “I guess that’ll do for now, but doll, I can be very persistent when I want something, and if I come on too strong now and then, it’s only because I can’t always stop my thoughts from spilling out of my mouth. Just look at it as part of my charm.” He put a hand up to stop her protest, then changed the subject before she had time to reconsider her promise. “Now, then, why are you suddenly so keen on going back to the Baumgartner place? You’ve already paid your respects to the family, and if I’m being honest, Louisa and Junior give me the creeps.”

  “Before you went into your little speech about Jenny, and then segued into the whole love as a hypothetical construct thing—­”

  “That wasn’t me, that was you.”

  “Right. Anyway before the whole me-­and-­you thing, I was going to say something’s been bothering me ever since Jenny stopped by. And it’s not her flirtation with you. Who wouldn’t want to flirt with you?”

  Her eyes suddenly had a certain glow, and he thought he liked his chances with Caity, a lot. He just had to be patient. “As usual, you make a good point.” Then with effort, he dragged his attention back to the case. Something about that visit from Jenny had been bugging him, too, but the deaths of Silas Graham and Annie Bayberry had been a higher priority, so he hadn’t processed it yet. He wondered if Caity had tuned in to the same issues he had. Wouldn’t be the first time they’d wound up on the same page as far as this crazy case was concerned.

  “Did you notice anything about the staff at the Baumgartner’s home? I’m referring to Elizabeth and the other girl who brought us tea the day we visited.”

  Yep. He and Caity were on the same page, all right. “You mean did I notice they were both knockouts? Of course I noticed. They were also a lot younger than what I’d expect. As a rule, ­people with money hire more experienced waitstaff.” Caity opened her mouth to comment, but he plowed on. “Let me beat you to the punch and say I find it interesting Jenny called Baumgartner a creeper . . .”

  “And then we go to his house and find he had two stunning and very young girls in his employ, and his wife doesn’t seem to mind in the least or notice anything is amiss. Which is weird. Shouldn’t a woman mind these things?”

  “Remember Jenny said she tried to warn Louisa, but the woman had a blind spot where her husband was concerned. I’d like to clarify the nature of Baumgartner’s relationship with those girls on his staff. I wonder if they’re live-­ins. That would’ve given him more access if he really was a creeper.”

  “There’s something else, too. I’ve been going over and over that day in the courthouse, trying to remember any detail that might help us identify the shooter, and I keep seeing this image Harvey doodled while we talked. It looked like the design on the cup Jenny gave me.” Her face drained of color. “Spense—­it looked like a maze. I hate to even think of such a thing, but I’m beginning to wonder if Baumgartner might’ve been involved with Labyrinth somehow.” Her voice dropped to a near whisper as she said aloud what he’d been thinking.

  Harvey Baumgartner was connected to both the Falconer case and the Ferragamo case, and while Caity had been in with Cantrell and Baskin, Spense had done a little Googling. Turns out Randy Cantrell wasn’t the only one who taught classes at Tempe University. Harvey Baumgartner was an adjunct professor of law. He hesitated, wondering if he should share a hypothesis that might hurt Caity, but then thought back to their agreement. He’d promised not to hide things from her anymore. “It occurs to me Harvey might’ve been a member slash advisor slash legal counselor.” He watched her face, wondering how she’d react to that suggestion. If that were the case, it didn’t look good for Caity’s father. If Baumgartner was a sexual sadist, who’d defended other sexual sadists in court, and he’d defended Thomas Cassidy . . .

  Chapter Twenty-­Eight

  Monday, September 23

  Paradise Valley

  Arizona

  ON THE RIDE over to Paradise Valley, Caitlin’s stomach did its best to curl up into a fetal position. She wished she could pull the covers over her head and hide from the big, bad bogeyman, and the helpless feeling only multiplied when the minimansion belonging to the Baumgartners came into view. Spense’s words had made her more fearful than even the attempts on her life had.

  Baumgartner might’ve been a member slash advisor slash legal counselor for Labyrinth.

  She rubbed her temples and shook off the useless, self-­destructive reaction to Spense’s suggestion. On some level, the idea made sense, and it wasn’t far off from what she herself had been thinking—­that Harvey might be part of the club. She just hadn’t taken it so far as to hypothesize her father’s old friend could’ve been the kill club’s attorney in residence.

  But if Baumgartner did in fact have a secret life, one he’d kept hidden from his wife and son, it was logical to draw the conclusion he might have been involved in
such a club as Labyrinth. And if he was involved with the club, it would be natural for him to assist other members with their legal difficulties. But what was currently chewing through the lining of her stomach like a rabid squirrel was what Spense had refrained from saying: that Harvey Baumgartner had defended her father, so maybe her father had been a member of the club.

  She forced herself to draw in a deep, calming breath.

  No way.

  There was absolutely no way her father would have been or could have been a member of Labyrinth. According to the cybercrime team, every indication pointed to the club’s being a recent development, in its nascent stages.

  No way.

  The Bureau was certain Labyrinth had not been in existence at the time of Gail Falconer’s murder, and she was certain her father wouldn’t have been part of such a group even if it, or one like it, had been around. Her father was a good man. Her father was neither a misogynist nor a murderer. Her father was the man who gave her piggyback rides and sang her lullabies on rainy nights and picked her mother wildflowers just because.

  She heaved a relieved sigh. They had arrived. And she had her certainty back. She wouldn’t allow these crippling doubts to infiltrate her psyche and weaken her resolve. There was far too much at stake to hide her eyes like a frightened child at a scary movie—­though lately she felt as though she had the starring role in one. There was nothing she wasn’t willing to see. No truth she didn’t wish to examine.

  Because the truth was the only thing that could bring her peace.

  She opened her door and stepped out of the car. This time, there was no Louisa Baumgartner in the drive to greet them. They had deliberately avoided calling ahead because they were hoping to catch Elizabeth and the other girl alone. Caity didn’t even know her name. But there was something about both girls that haunted her. Perhaps it was because their long red hair reminded her of Gail Falconer and Annie Bayberry. Yes. That was it exactly.

  These girls were the killer’s type.

  Elizabeth answered the door.

  “I’m sorry, but Mrs. Baumgartner and Mr. Baumgartner Junior aren’t home. If you’d like to leave a card, I’ll let them know you were here.” Like Caitlin remembered, Elizabeth’s words were stilted and formal, almost as though she were reading from a script.

  “May we come in? I’d like to leave a note, but I don’t have a pen or paper,” Caitlin lied.

  Alarm flashed across Elizabeth’s face, or maybe she imagined it, because Elizabeth opened the door and motioned for them to come inside.

  “When do you expect them back?” Spense asked. He and Caitlin had not discussed strategy, but one seemed to have evolved anyway. They did have a sort of shorthand between them—­one that went beyond tugging an earlobe. It seemed their unspoken plan at the moment was to indirectly question the two women. If the girls believed Spense and Caitlin were interested in talking to the Baumgartners and didn’t realize the true focus was on them, they’d be more at ease and more likely to offer up unguarded responses.

  Caitlin accepted a pen and paper from Elizabeth. “Those cookies we had the other day were to die for, Elizabeth. Did you bake them yourself?”

  “Oh no.” She kept her eyes downcast just as she’d done the other day. “That was Deejay.”

  “Deejay. That’s a pretty name. Is she around? I might want her to write down that recipe for me if it’s not too much of a bother.”

  “Of course not ma’am. I’ll get her.” Ma’am? Again, so formal with the address. No teenager she knew talked like that, even while on her best behavior.

  Elizabeth soon returned with Deejay in tow. Spense turned, and mouthing a whoa at her, caught Caitlin’s eye. The first time they’d met Deejay and Elizabeth, Annie Bayberry had not yet become a Labyrinth victim. But now the resemblance between Deejay, and to a lesser extent Elizabeth, and Annie Bayberry all but knocked the wind out of Caitlin.

  She lowered herself into a chair in the entry hall. “I need some water.” She really did. “Deejay, could you give me that sugar-­cookie recipe?”

  A credenza stood against the wall, and Deejay pulled out a card from one of its drawers and began scribbling out the recipe, while Elizabeth disappeared, then returned with a glass of water.

  “How long have you worked for the Baumgartners, Deejay?”

  “Oh we’ve both been here a few years, already. Haven’t we Lizzie?” Deejay looked to Elizabeth, as if asking for guidance in her response.

  Caitlin gulped the water Elizabeth had brought. Neither girl looked to be any more than seventeen or eighteen, so that meant they’d been working for the Baumgartner family during most of their high-­school years. Was it part-­time work? Or were the girls dropouts? “Well, I’m sure Mrs. Baumgartner is incredibly grateful for your help at a time like this. Is this a full-­time job?”

  “Yes. But I’m not sure Mrs. B will want to keep us now that . . .” Elizabeth’s voice trailed off a second. “Now that her husband’s gone.”

  “Oh? Why not? This is such a big house, she must have use for you.”

  “That’s right . . .” Elizabeth shrugged and looked away. “I don’t know why I said that except, he’s the one who hired us, and now it’s just her.”

  Deejay sighed. “And Junior. Don’t forget about Junior.”

  To Caitlin, Louisa Baumgartner didn’t seem at all the type to fend for herself. Even with her husband gone, she’d certainly keep a small staff of some sort. But perhaps Louisa was more uncomfortable than she’d let on about having these young girls in her home. Spense arched an eyebrow and gave her the head-­tilt. She interpreted that as his wanting her to try to draw a reaction from the girls.

  “Mr. Baumgartner hired you. That seems odd that the man of the house would choose the staff, doesn’t it? But then again, I heard a rumor Mr. Baumgartner was very hands-­on. Was he hands-­on with you girls?”

  Elizabeth and Deejay exchanged a wide-­eyed glance. This time there was no mistaking the alarm on their faces.

  “No.” Elizabeth’s eyes were watery. “Mr. Baumgartner was a perfect gentleman. He took us in from the goodness of his heart. I got kicked out of my house at fourteen. Deejay ran away from hers. Mr. Baumgartner took us in and gave us a fresh start.”

  Her stomach knotted. Harvey Baumgartner had taken two homeless fourteen-­year-­old girls in and turned them into servants. “And he never bothered you?”

  Elizabeth bit her lower lip and sent Deejay what appeared to be a warning look.

  “It’s okay. I promise I won’t repeat anything you tell me to Mrs. B,” Caitlin said.

  More silence.

  “I won’t say anything to Harvey Junior, either.” Caitlin stood and reached out her hand. “If you need help, this is your chance. All you have to do is ask.”

  Elizabeth’s back stiffened, and she jerked her chin up, then took Deejay’s hand. “Mrs. Baumgartner won’t like it that you’re here while she’s away. You should come back later, when she’s at home. You have a pen and paper if you want to leave that message.”

  Caitlin scribbled her name and cell number and Spense’s name and cell on the paper, then laid it in Elizabeth’s outstretched palm. She looked from one girl to the other. “You have our information if you want to talk . . . about anything at all.”

  “This house really is something. Are your rooms as nice as the rest of the place?” Spense rattled his keys as they turned to go.

  Finally, Deejay’s face brightened. “Oh yes, my room is decorated for a princess. Mrs. Baumgartner made sure of that.”

  Caity almost gasped. Not only did Louisa not object to her husband bringing home beautiful girls, she’d hired a decorator to make their rooms so nice they’d never want to leave.

  “Sounds like a very generous family.” Spense opened the door, then turned back one last time. “Don’t hesitate to call on us if you need to.”

 
Elizabeth all but shoved Caitlin out the door after Spense. “Please go now. We’ll be sure Mrs. Baumgartner gets your message.”

  Back in the car, as Caitlin snapped her lap belt in place, she noticed her hands shaking. Her entire body, in fact, was vibrating with rage. “Harvey Baumgartner took those girls in for his own nefarious purposes. I feel it in my bones. We need to get back in there and search the house. Can you get a warrant?”

  “What would we be searching for, Caity? It’s not a crime to employ beautiful girls.”

  “He wasn’t just employing them, and you know it. We have to get back in that house and look for something, anything that could tie him to the kill club.”

  “And then what?” His look said take it easy.

  How could Spense be so calm when he had to have seen what had gone on in that house just as clearly as she had? But maybe that was the point. What had gone on—­past tense. Harvey Baumgartner was keeping company with the worms now, where he couldn’t harm those girls or anyone else ever again. “I don’t know.”

  “Exactly. What you’re talking about is a trawling expedition, putting out a net and hauling in whatever you happen to trap in it. I can’t get a warrant just because you’re in the mood for a fish fry. Besides, the easiest way to get back in the house is the same way Thompson got into Silas Graham’s house. When you don’t have a warrant, an invitation will do just fine.”

  Chapter Twenty-­Nine

  Monday, September 23

  From: Man in the Maze <395204@253.0.101.212>

  To: Labyrinth

  Subject: Emergency Meeting

  Attention all lieutenants. Those of you who have collected a labyrinth and have earned the rank of lieutenant, you have also earned the right to help steer our group and determine her fate in this time of crisis. I’m loath to tell you, but we are all in grave danger. Our very survival is at stake. It may no longer be safe to communicate via this loop, and therefore this will be the last message you receive from me on this forum.