The 9 Lives Cozy Mystery Boxed Set

by Louise Clark

  "Is it true, Ms. Jamieson? Were you having an affair with Brittany Day?"

  "No, I was not!"

  "She died on your terrace. There must have been some reason she was there. The post-mortem puts time of death at around six in the morning. You were in your apartment at that time, weren't you, Ms. Jamieson?"

  "I'd already left and was on my way here!"

  "The time is approximate. You were in your apartment when Brittany Day was killed, weren't you, Ms. Jamieson?"

  "I heard sounds. I think. Certainly something... but I remained in my bedroom."

  "There were drugs in Day's system when she was killed. Was she high? Stumbling around your apartment, stoned. Breaking things. Your beautiful, precious things? Did you decide you'd had enough, Ms. Jamieson?"

  "Don't answer that," Trevor growled, stepping between Ellen and Patterson. "Ms. Jamieson has told you honestly and openly that she is not gay and that she was not having an affair with Ms. Day. She does not know how Ms. Day came to be on her terrace. This conversation is over."

  As calm and collected as she had been while she questioned—no interrogated—Ellen, Patterson said, "I will need to speak to you again, Ms. Jamieson."

  "That's a threat," Trevor said crisply. "And I don't like threats. Please leave immediately."

  Patterson waited a heartbeat and then another before she nodded and turned to the stairs.

  Christy saw her out. As she closed the door, the sound of Ellen's sobs filled the house.

  Chapter 12

  "Did I tell you how glad I am that you agreed to come with me today?"

  Quinn smiled at her and Christy's heart did a little flip. "Yes," she said, her voice low and husky with emotion she didn't bother to hide—from herself or from him. "And I'm happy that you convinced me to join you."

  His smile turned into a pleased grin.

  Every day she desired him more, she thought, as she watched him wrap his hands around the stark white mug that held after-lunch coffee. Desired him more and liked him better.

  They were having lunch at a small, trendy restaurant that boasted no more than a dozen tables and featured an exotic mix of Spanish and North African cuisine. The menu items were share plates rather than individual entrées, so they had spent the first part of their lunch discussing the merits of each offering and what appealed and what did not. There was an intimacy about the process that Christy found almost seductive. As they ate, she was immersed in the moment, very aware of Quinn, her reaction to him and the pleasure she felt in his company.

  And now he was smiling that lovely, reckless smile that transformed his handsome features into heart-stopping gorgeous ones. The warmth of his steady gaze told her he was completely focused on her, that her observations mattered to him. Heady stuff. Heady enough that she wished they were seated in a booth so she could slip in beside him and cuddle close.

  Cuddling while at a restaurant was the stuff of fantasy, of course, but she suspected that if she did act on that lovely fantasy, Quinn would not be at all put out. He'd simply slip his arm around her waist and pull her against him.

  "I had no idea I would like Moroccan food as much as I did. Or," she added with a teasing smile, "that you were into hot and spicy foods."

  "Bland is not my thing," he said, the grin softening with a lazy sexuality that said he wasn't talking about food.

  Christy blushed. "I was surprised at how much I like fiery foods, too."

  His smile deepened and in his eyes she saw heat of a different kind. "Good to know. I'm going to enjoy finding the perfect place to tease your... taste buds."

  Her eyes widened and the blush heated her whole body. At twenty, she'd never flirted with Frank when they dated at university. He'd been a senior, very cool, and his sexuality had overwhelmed her. They leapt into bed together with a straightforward desire to fulfill their needs. She fell for his earthiness, his charm, his fun. She'd been his from the moment he asked her out.

  Quinn was different. She was attracted to him, certainly, and had been almost from the beginning. Their relationship had grown quickly, almost as quickly as had her passionate love for Frank, but this time she was more cautious. She was a mother, a widow who had been considering divorce before she discovered her husband was dead. She had responsibilities. And she had scars. She was falling in love with Quinn Armstrong, but slowly, savoring each step of the process. Flirting with this very attractive, very sexy man, was making her heart beat faster and helping her deal with the craziness that had become her everyday life.

  The waitress came over to top up their coffee, saving Christy from finding a reply to Quinn's provocative comment. As she poured, she asked if either of them was interested in dessert.

  Yes, Christy thought, she was interested, not in a calorie-laden confection, but in a romantic tryst in a room at the very nice hotel Quinn would be visiting after they'd finished their lovely lunch.

  She blushed harder and grinned at Quinn's raised brow. "A naughty thought about dessert," she said after the waitress went away to finalize the bill.

  That made Quinn's eyes widen, and Christy laughed.

  "Lady," he said in a low voice that had a provocative roughness to it, "the things you say in public places. You realize you're cutting years off my life, don't you?"

  She laughed again and shook her head. "I'm adding years, not taking them away. You'll see."

  He smiled at her, his eyes intense. "I look forward to it."

  His gaze, his voice, his smile, all added up to produce a tingle that warmed her from her heart to her center. If they didn't stop playing this sexy game, she was going to demand they get that room and to hell with Quinn's appointment with Brittany Day's father this afternoon. As that would never do, she drank some coffee to help her assume the cool manner of the Jamieson Ice Cream princess. Time to be a lady again.

  Quinn raised his brows. He was very good at reading her moods and he knew when she was cloaking her emotions in the Jamieson persona. "What did I say?"

  His words stripped away her camouflage. "Nothing! It was me." She looked down at her coffee cup, unable to meet his eyes. "I was thinking..." She bit her lip and dared to grab a glimpse of him through her lashes. "Naughty thoughts." He stilled and she rushed on. "I... today's not the right day and I... "

  He caught her hand and turned it as he raised it to his lips to kiss the palm. "When it's the right day, you know I will be there."

  His touch, his words, sent a warmth that was a potent combination of physical and emotional cascading through her. "Quinn, I... "

  "You're right," he continued, moving up to her wrist and kissing the vein throbbing there. "Today isn't the right day." He looked up. His gaze was focused on her face, the expression in his eyes intense. "It will come, though."

  "Yes," she whispered, caught in the moment. Excitement and desire pounded through her.

  He smiled, then he looked down as he covered her hand with his other one. She watched him tamp down the potent sexual promise that flared between them until it was caught and contained—for now. Their hands still linked, he looked up and met her eyes. His smile was rueful now, and Christy's heart did a little flip. He had pulled back for her. His thoughtfulness had her melting inside.

  When she smiled at him, something in her expression made Quinn sigh and say, "Much as I hate to do this, we should probably talk about the case and my interview with Roger Day. Are you sure you won't change your mind and come with me?"

  Dr. Peiling, Brittany's EBU advisor, had called Quinn the previous day and told him that Brittany's father, Roger Day, was in Vancouver to deal with the police and to arrange for his daughter's body to be returned to Calgary for burial. Peiling thought it would be beneficial to Day to discuss the case. If Quinn was interested, Peiling promised to set up the meet. Quinn was interested and the arrangements were made for the next day.

  Quinn wanted Christy to come with him, so he'd arranged for Noelle to be picked up at school, in case the early-afternoon interview ran late. The obv
ious person to collect Noelle if Christy wasn't available was Ellen, but Quinn knew Christy worried about Ellen's behavior, so he had arranged for his father and Trevor to accompany Ellen to the school. According to Roy, Quinn had given him strict instructions to keep Ellen in check. Since Ellen was still a committed fan, she was likely to listen to him.

  At the last minute, Frank had confided that he would tag along as well. He liked the idea of an outing with two other guys and if Ellen misbehaved and got herself in trouble, well, that was just icing on the cake.

  Though Christy had refused to participate in the interview, she did agree to a pre-interview lunch. Now she put her cup down. "I still think it's risky for me to come along. If Patterson has told him that his daughter was killed at Aunt Ellen's apartment, he'll recognize my name. I think he'll open up more if it's just you who see's him."

  Quinn's gaze was steady on hers. "I'd like you there. You're good with people and you read them well. Day is grieving and he'll be hurting. He may want to lash out, but having a woman like you around will make him think twice. He may even open up more."

  She sighed. Quinn might be right. However tenuous, she and Roger Day shared the experience of losing a loved one. Still, she shook her head. "If it were me, I'd refuse to do the interview." Quinn's mouth turned up in a fleeting smile. Refusing to talk to the press was her default behavior, and they both knew it. She shot him a rueful smile in response. "No, I'll use my rare afternoon off and do some Christmas shopping while you talk to Mr. Day." She sobered. "My afternoon will be far more pleasant than yours."

  Quinn's face twisted as he released Christy's hand and straightened. He picked up his coffee cup. "Poor bastard. How much do you think he knew about Brittany's life here? For instance, her relationship with Aaron DeBolt?"

  Christy shook her head as she picked up her own cup to sip. "He's not the kind of guy you brag about to your father." The mention of Aaron brought another thought to mind—Ellen and her apparent relationship with Natalie DeBolt. "Quinn, I'm worried about Ellen. She's acting strangely. Not getting dressed before Natalie arrives at the house and letting the woman make her breakfast. It's just not like her. If I hadn't seen it myself, I wouldn't believe she'd behave this way."

  He drank some coffee, then stared down into his mug, pondering what she'd just said. When he looked up, he said, "If she's gay, does it matter?"

  "No, of course not. But it does matter if she's in a relationship with Natalie."

  A faint smile lifted the corner of Quinn's mouth. "I can see that."

  It's okay to be upset, his expression said to her. Don't sweat it. "Quinn..."

  He pushed the mug aside and reached over to take her hand. This time he held it in a comforting grasp. "From what Trevor told my dad, Patterson went at Ellen pretty hard the other day."

  Christy nodded. "She held it together until Patterson left, then she fell apart. She spent the rest of the afternoon in her room. I think she's really scared." It had been a difficult time at the Jamieson house since Patterson's visit. Ellen had been moody and the unpleasant Natalie DeBolt had been forever underfoot.

  "She should be," Quinn said. His expression hardened. "I don't know where Patterson got the information that Brittany was bisexual, and that she preferred older women, but if it's true, then it could go a long way to explaining why Brittany was on Ellen's terrace when she was killed."

  "Natalie made it look as if she was more than casual friends with Ellen. I could see Patterson's brain ticking over as she watched. Trevor saw it too. Unfortunately when he bellowed at Natalie to stop talking, it only made it more obvious to all of us."

  "Not Ellen, though."

  Christy wrinkled her brow. "No. She denies it completely."

  The waitress brought the bill, found out how Quinn wanted to pay, then went off to fetch the card reader with the promise she'd be back in a minute. Quinn reviewed the bill with a quick scan, then pulled out his wallet.

  As he dropped his debit card on the table, Christy said, "Do you think it's possible that Brittany's death has nothing to do with the alibi she provided for Aaron? That she was killed simply because of her risky behavior?"

  As good as her word, the waitress returned with the handheld card reader, interrupting their conversation. Quinn paid for the meal, but he waited until they were out of the restaurant before he answered Christy's worried question. "At this point, I think anything is possible. But my gut tells me that Natalie is tied up in this somehow."

  They walked down the sidewalk, heading toward West Georgia Street where they would part—Quinn going to the landmark hotel where Roger Day was staying, while Christy went to the Pacific Centre to shop. "Then implicating Ellen is a diversion? But why Ellen? Quinn, it doesn't make any sense to me!"

  Quinn took Christy's hand firmly in his. He held their linked hands in front of them both, then smiled down at Christy. Her heart gave a little flutter. Together, the gesture said. They were in this together. She smiled back.

  "I know Ellen is a pain to live with," he began.

  Christy rolled her eyes. "That's putting it mildly."

  He laughed. "She needs lessons in houseguest manners, no question, but I think she cares for Noelle. She wouldn't deliberately do anything to harm her."

  "She'd better not," Christy said. She'd risk everything to keep Noelle safe. She'd done it before, and she'd do it again. "Noelle is my first priority. If there's even a whiff of impropriety, Ellen's gone. I know that sounds harsh, but I won't give Joan Shively any ammunition to take Noelle away from me."

  Quinn rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb. "My fierce tiger mom. Noelle's a pretty lucky kid to have you for a mother, you know that, Christy?"

  His words warmed her, but it was the edge of a caress she heard in his voice and the affection in his eyes that had her beaming up at him like a besotted fool and feeling like the rainy afternoon was filled with sunshine.

  * * *

  Quinn met Roger Day in the lobby bar of the Hotel Vancouver where he was staying. A Vancouver landmark known for its luxury accommodations, his choice wasn't surprising. Nor was the tailored black suit that fit him perfectly even as it proclaimed his mourning status. Roger Day was a man of power who knew how to express it. And use it.

  Quinn introduced himself and offered condolences as he held out his hand.

  As he shook, Day said, "Mr. Armstrong, Jacob Peiling suggested I speak with you, but I am not sure how I can help you."

  Quinn said, "I'm researching Aaron DeBolt and how he was involved in the murder of Frank Jamieson."

  "Jamieson. That's the name of the woman who owned the apartment where Brittany was found." He gestured to a chair and they both sat down.

  Quinn nodded. "Yes. Ellen Jamieson is Frank Jamieson's aunt. The police believe that Aaron DeBolt lured Frank Jamieson to his death, but your daughter claimed that at the time Aaron was supposed to be with Frank, he was actually with her."

  A waitress, smiling broadly, sallied up, glad to have customers. In the early afternoon, the bar was almost empty. Day shook his head, though, and her face fell before she turned away.

  "How much do you know of your daughter's life here in Vancouver and her relationship with Aaron DeBolt, Mr. Day?"

  Frustration, quickly masked, showed on Day's face. "Not enough," he said. His expression hardened. "I trusted Jacob Peiling when he said that she was adapting well and that she was excelling at her grad work. I had no idea she was involved with a man who was accused of murder."

  "She never said anything to you?"

  Day shook his head. "Brittany told my wife and me about her successes, not her failures." He swallowed. "She took her bachelor's degree at the University of Calgary and lived at home. Moving to Vancouver for graduate school was her big adventure. I didn't want her to go. That's why I asked Jacob to keep an eye on her."

  "Peiling was her academic advisor. Legally, since Brittany wasn't a minor, he couldn't talk to her parents unless he had her consent. Why did you expect him to report on
her activities to you?"

  Day shrugged. "Jacob and I go way back, to our university days. I asked him to look after my daughter as a favor to an old friend, not as part of his duties as her professor. He said he would." Day's mouth twisted. "I trusted him."

  Emotion was very close to the surface. Quinn decided to lead the conversation in another direction. "Can you tell me a bit about Brittany?"

  "She was a gifted student," Day said gruffly. "She worked hard and graduated at the top of her class at the U of C. She was popular in Calgary, and had a big circle of friends. She didn't go out during the week, though. She focused on her schoolwork. But she received lots of invitations for the weekends. So many she could pick and choose."

  He was clearly a proud father, a man dealing with a pain he would never quite escape, but what fathers saw and what daughters actually did, didn't always match. "She lived at home, I think you said."

  Day nodded. "She and her mother were close."

  "Is it possible that Brittany confided in your wife and asked her to keep a secret, Mr. Day?" Quinn asked, careful to keep his tone neutral.

  Day's hands, resting in his lap, clenched.

  There was something here, Quinn thought. Something Roger Day didn't want to admit to.

  "She called home a few days before her death," Day said slowly. "During the afternoon, which was unusual for her. I was at work, of course, so she talked to her mother. Lynn, that's my wife, spoke to her for almost an hour."

  "What did they talk about, if you don't mind my asking?"

  A muscle flexed in Roger Day's jaw. "Her program. She wasn't happy. She said that the other TAs she worked with had it out for her. She started talking about blackmail. Lynn said Brit began to cry and became incoherent."

  "Blackmail!" Quinn couldn't mask the shock in his voice. "Mrs. Day must have been horrified."

  Roger Day looked miserable. "She didn't know what to say or how to help Brittany. When Lynn tried to get particulars, Brittany said it was all tangled up. The university. Her friends. The donations. It was too complicated, she said, and her mom wouldn't understand. Lynn told me she was almost hysterical. She said something about being afraid, then said she had to go and slammed down the phone. Lynn was devastated and called her back, but she only got voicemail. By the time Brittany phoned again, she was calmer and said she'd overreacted."