A Royal Murder

by Lyn Stone

  "Nearly seven o'clock. Up and at 'em. I've been up for two hours." And awake a lot longer than that, damn her luscious hide.

  She grunted and gulped another slug of caffeine, eyeing him evilly over the edge of the cup. "Not fair. You weren't drugged."

  Ryan shrugged, "/wasn't a basket case."

  "Neither was I," she argued, shoving the cup back at him as she swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up. "Get out of here so I can change."

  As she looked down at the scrap of lacy pink bra and whisper thin silk bikini bottoms she was wearing, he watched the light dawn.

  "Wait a minute! Who took my clothes off?"

  Ryan backed out of the bedroom, stopping in the doorway. "Who do you think?"

  "Pervert," she growled. She snatched the covers up to her chest, leaving an excellent view of those long, long legs, lovely despite the six-inch bandage marring one of them. When he managed to drag his gaze up to her face, he saw her shooting daggers and gritting her teeth. "I think I'm reporting you to the police! That's what I think!"

  "Okay, enhance my reputation if that's what you want to do. In the meantime, I'm on my way to rehash some of the evidence and see what else needs doing. I just wanted you awake and aware before I left. Be sure you keep the doors locked while I'm gone."

  She jumped up, dropping the sheet, abandoning her attempt at modesty. "Wait! I'm coming with you."

  He'd known that. He'd already decided it would probably be better if he didn't leave her here alone anyway. The fire might have been meant to destroy the crime scene, but Nina had almost died in it. Whoever set that fire must have seen her enter the guesthouse and realized she was still there. Setting it in the bedroom adjacent to the bathroom where she was hiding could have been meant to prevent her escape.

  It was his responsibility to see that nothing like that happened again, and the best way to do it was to get her out of Montebello as soon as possible.

  Ryan downed the rest of her coffee as he watched her dash for the bathroom. The back view was as nice as the front. "Ten minutes!" he called out as she slammed the door.

  He prepared to wait thirty. She was ready in fifteen, marching into the living room, looking like she'd spent a full hour in front of the mirror.

  Not bad, he reflected, remembering how long it used to take... No, he wasn't going there this morning. But for some reason, the flash of memory hadn't stabbed him in the heart the way it once had. He realized he'd been smiling when he thought back to the time when he'd been a husband, listening to the hair dryer, hearing Kath humming off-key while she put on her face and he tapped his foot waiting.

  He shook it off, promising himself he would examine his reaction later when he was alone. Test the waters with one of the happier recollections and see how it went. Not here and now with the feisty Ms. Caruso raring to play Watson to his Sherlock.

  "What did you do with my purse?" she demanded.

  Ryan pointed to the chair by the door. "You know that's the first thing a good cop looks for when a woman's reported missing?"

  She glanced up from examining the contents of her shoulder bag, zipping this pocket and unzipping that one. "Hmm?"

  "Handbag. If the purse is still there and she's gone, it's a sure bet there's been foul play. Women won't take off voluntarily without their stuff."

  "Don't be sexist. You go anywhere without your wallet?" "Point taken. You about ready to hit the road?"

  She smiled smugly, holding up one fist. "You about ready to add to your collection of evidence?"

  "The clue you mentioned," he guessed, returning her smile. "What have you got? That kept me awake last night." Among other things. It had also prompted him to search her purse and clothing.

  "I meant it to. Are you going to guess which hand, or just take this and have a look?"

  Ryan accepted what she offered. "An earring. Not yours, I take it." It was for a pierced ear and hers were pierced. He had assumed it belonged to her when he'd found it.

  "Nope, not mine. I stepped on it last night in the guesthouse." He managed not to gape. The thing was small and could possibly have been missed in the sweep. "Where exactly?"

  "A couple of feet from the bloodstain. I think it might have been caught in the pile of the rug or tangled in the fringe. Your people did vacuum, you said, but you know how vacuums are. Mine barely picks up dustbunnies. Rolling up the carpet could have dislodged it." She focused on the bauble in his palm. "You think it could it be important?" "Could be," he granted, squinting at the thing. It was half the size of a dime, suspended by a few tiny links of chain from a round silver ball welded to the post. "If we can get any prints from it, they'll probably be yours."

  "I thought it was a tack in my foot or I'd have been more careful handling it. Sorry."

  "Not your fault. We'll check it out anyway." He went to the kitchen, found a roll of plastic wrap and swaddled the earring. "I just wish we knew how long it had been there."

  "I can tell you how you might find out," she cooed, rocking back and forth, pulling a face that begged him to ask her.

  "I'll bite. How?"

  She waltzed forward, took it from him and examined it through the transparent wrap. "I recognized it the minute I saw it."

  "You know whose it is?" This was too good to be true.

  "No, but I know where it came from. At least I think I might. On the plane coming over the airline furnished a catalog with duty-free merchandise. You know, the stuff you can only buy at the duty-free shops and while you're in the air? This particular earring was offered. I almost bought a pair, but the price was outrageous."

  Ryan smiled at her enthusiasm. He felt pretty charged up himself. "We can find out when the catalog was issued, when the earrings were added, and how many have been sold and on which flights. Might get lucky with a credit-card purchase in a name that's familiar."

  "Precisely. Well?"

  "Well what?" he asked, slipping the earring into his jacket pocket.

  "Aren't you going to say anything?" she questioned impatiently. "Like thanks, well done or something equally grateful?"

  "Something equally grateful. I'll buy you breakfast."

  Her face fell. "That's it?"

  Ryan took her arm and led her to the door. "After I feed you, I thought I would show you the evidence room and the lab."

  "You're going to let me help now, aren't you?" she asked hopefully. "I mean, really help you, not just putz around like a fifth wheel?"

  "Sure I will," he said as he set the alarm and locked the door on the way out. Like hell, he thought. If she believed accidentally stepping on a clue made her Miss Marple, let her think it. Someone had nearly killed her last night and he wasn't about to let her risk her life again. And no doubt she would, the little loose cannon. Who knew what she'd be up to the next time he turned his back?

  He needed to talk to King Marcus this morning and convince him to order the woman back to the States on the next plane out.

  What he needed now was a safe place to leave her, somewhere she'd stay put while he accomplished that.

  "Can you handle reading the reports?" he asked. "Some are lengthy and fairly graphic. Pictures."

  She looked suspicious. "Well, since I've seen the real thing, I think I can manage without freaking out. But what will you be doing while I'm doing that?"

  He glanced over at her before backing out of the parking lot and lied straight-faced. "Checking on the earring. What else? You want to catch up on the case or ride out to the airport? I figure there's no point in duplicating our efforts, right?"

  She only hesitated a moment, looking doubtful, then agreed.

  Ryan almost heaved a sigh of relief. Once he spoke to the king and had her exiled, she was going to be mad as hell. He doubted she'd ever forgive him for it.

  But what did he care? He'd never see her again after she left. At the realization, depression hit him like a train. It had hit before on a fairly regular basis and he was used to it now, but this time it was a little different. This t
ime, there was a smattering of hope mixed up in all that gloom.

  Maybe Nina would return to Montebello when all this was over. If she would just come back to ream him out about this, or visit her brother's grave, or just see the sights she'd missed, he might have a chance to convince her he'd been doing her a favor.

  Stupid idea. None of those reasons would bring her back here. He was about to end it all before he even started anything with Nina Caruso. Safer that way, anyhow, he thought. He had no business letting her get a hold on him the way he'd been doing. It had been ages since he'd had anything going with a woman that lasted longer than it took to put his clothes back on. That was the way his life went now, and he would keep it that way.

  When they reached police headquarters, he took her up to the fourth floor and introduced her to Franz Koenig, his forensics specialist and erstwhile computer geek.

  Koenig was geeky, bless his heart, complete with postadolescent pimples and the requisite penholder sticking out of his pocket. He'd only recently replaced his taped-together horn-rims with round granny glasses, and then only after Joe had dragged him down to the optometrist.

  Franz was one of those guys who could get it all together, and then forget where he put it. The fact that he could get it all together so methodically was what had landed him the job. Ryan could take it from there, and actually preferred it that way. When it came to piling up seemingly insignificant bits of evidence, nobody did it better than Franz. Sorting them out was Ryan's forte.

  "Franz here is our detail man," he told Nina. "He catalogs and lines up the pieces of the puzzle, and I mean all of them." Ryan clapped him on the shoulder. "Ms. Caruso found us a possible clue last night." He pulled the wrapped earring out of his pocket and handed it to Franz. "Give me some quick photos of this and then get what you can off of it."

  Franz held the thing between his thumb and forefinger and began looking around for the camera. He found it, then tugged on gloves to position the object for photographing.

  "Ms. Caruso's going to keep you company while I run an errand, Franz. I'm giving her the initial reports to read. You see if you can answer any questions she has about them. I'll be back in a couple of hours to pick her up."

  Franz shrugged. "Okay."

  Ryan scribbled a phone number on a phone pad and handed it to Franz. "If you need me, call my cell phone. Here's an alternate number just in case." He knew he'd be required to turn off the cellular during his audience with the king.

  "Okay," Franz mumbled again, took the paper and laid it down beside his microscope.

  Ryan went to the portable file cabinet he had set up in the area where Franz was working. He unlocked it, withdrew a folder and brought it back to Nina.

  She eagerly took the file, looked around for a space to work and made herself comfortable at the desk nearest the door. Good. She'd be out of the way and occupied while Ryan took care of business at the palace.

  He waited around for the Polaroid shots of the earring to give to Joe, who would check it out with the airlines. Nina seemed thoroughly engrossed in reading and content to stay, but he shot a look of warning over her head to Franz, who nodded back. Ryan just wished Franz didn't look quite so spacey. Most of the time it didn't matter.

  Nina, eyes locked on a page in the file, tossed him a negligent wave as he walked past her to leave.

  Ryan experienced a strange sense of unease. He stopped at the table and looked down at her. "You have enough to do here?"

  She nodded, then placed her finger on the page to hold her place as she looked up at him. "You guys have been busy after all, I see. There's much more here than I expected."

  He shrugged off the backhanded compliment. "If you need anything while I'm gone, just ask Franz." He gestured toward Koenig, who was so engrossed in his work he wouldn't notice if the walls fell down around him. "Interrupt him."

  "All right," she replied and went back to reading the file, dismissing Ryan as surely as if she'd slammed the door behind him.

  Chapter 5

  Ryan wasn't too surprised that he had to wait awhile when he arrived at the king's offices. Not that it was a bad place to cool his heels, if he'd had time to waste.

  The lap of luxury hardly began to describe the palace. The furnishings were Italianate, of carved dark mahogany. The rich fabrics mirrored in the polished marble floors. Everything in the palace was as lush and exotic as the setting for the buildings themselves.

  The doors finally opened and Prince Lucas emerged. He spied Ryan immediately and inclined his head. "McDonough."

  "Your Highness," Ryan replied, shaking the prince's hand when it was offered. "It's good to have you back. It goes without saying, everybody's been worried about you and relieved to have you home again."

  The royal expression looked sad, distracted, even if the lips were turned up at the corners. "Yes, well, it was an eventful year to say the least."

  "No doubt. Bet you've had enough of the States for a while."

  A haunted look replaced his official for-the-public smile and Prince Lucas gave a short shake of his head.

  "Are you okay?" Ryan asked, peering a little more closely at him.

  Immediately Lucas straightened, once again regal. Didn't matter if he was dressed today in slacks and a pullover sweater, nobody would ever mistake him for anything less than what he was, Ryan thought. And he guessed it was not all that politic to question the future king's health, much less his state of mind.

  "I'm fine, thank you. And you? Lorenzo tells me you're heading up the investigation into Desmond's death. How is it going? I hear the crime scene was burned to a crisp last night. I suppose that won't help."

  "Not much," Ryan agreed with a shrug.

  "Well, good luck with it." He stood aside and nodded at the door he'd just exited. "The king's ready to see you, I expect, so I won't keep you." He turned and walked away without another word.

  Ryan watched him start down the now-deserted corridor, noting his bowed head and the hands stuck in his pockets, the lack of spring in his step. Really glum when he thought no one was watching.

  Did the upcoming coronation weigh that heavily on him? Ryan wondered. After all he had heard about the exploits of Lucas Sebastiani, he couldn't imagine that the mere job of running a little country would get him down. Must be something big.

  Well, he had stuff of his own weighing pretty heavy on his mind without worrying about the prince's problems.

  The king's secretary appeared at the door and beckoned.

  When he was finally shown into the royal office, Ryan even broke his own tradition and bowed. Hell, he'd drop to his knees and beg if that's what it took to get Nina out of Montebello. He waited for the king to recognize him.

  The monarch looked very distinguished in his gray silk suit, conservative tie and pale blue shirt. He might have been any chief executive who confidently exerted absolute control over every aspect of his corporation.

  King Marcus was good at his job, better than most kings because he possessed the real power to rule and did so in a fair and equitable way. He was well loved and respected by his subjects and also by expatriates like Ryan who now called Montebello home.

  "Good morning, my friend," Marcus said after a long moment spent studying him. "Are you here concerning last evening's fireworks?"

  "In a way," Ryan admitted, then decided he should come right out with it rather than dancing around the issue. Surely his time in here would be limited. "Sir, I believe Nina Caruso's life is in danger. The person who ignited that fire did so in the bedroom adjacent to the bathroom where she was hiding. She would have died if we had not been able to break the window frame. Even then we could not have gotten her out if she were not so slender. You should send her home before something worse happens."

  The king sat forward over his desk, his fingers clasped together, his full attention on Ryan. "Perhaps she misjudged the size of the window she would need to exit. The fire might have been set by her to deflect suspicion."

  Ryan almost r
olled his eyes. "Your Majesty, surely you don't think she put herself in such danger! We know for sure she wasn't in the country when the murder took place. And I've found no reason at all to think she had anything to do with arranging Desmond's death."

  "We must consider that through her mother, she probably has contacts in Montebello, providing her with the opportunity to secure an accomplice. Perhaps the person she hired is attempting to get rid of her. That accomplice might see her as a threat now that she is here," the king pointed out. He narrowed his eyes at Ryan. "Also, I am not discounting her father's relatives in Italy. Family ties are strong in both places. Desmond might have shared the Caruso name, and ultimately the inheritance, but he did not share the blood. She might well have asked help of them."

  Ryan almost scoffed. "That's a stretch, don't you think, sir? There's no indication she had any motive to have her half brother killed. What could she possibly gain by it?"

  "The insurance policy purchased by her father on Desmond's life when the children were young. The trust fund he left has continued to pay those premiums. You know of this. True, it does not represent a fortune of any magnitude, but in addition, there is also the half of her father's estate that Desmond inherited, even though he was the adopted child and she, the natural one. That caused resentment, surely."

  Ryan shook his head. "I wouldn't think either motive strong enough to warrant a solicitation of murder."

  "It is your task to discover whether that is so," King Marcus reminded him with an inclination of the royal head. "She comes here without invitation, immediately, insisting that she be allowed full access to the details of the investigation. She was never officially notified, you know. Is that not suspicious to you?"

  Yes. It was definitely suspicious. "I think the murderer called her for the express purpose of getting her to Montebello. Why, I don't know yet, but last night's close call is enough to make a rough guess. Somebody wants her dead."

  "Perhaps. Perhaps not."

  "She's loyal to her brother. That's why she came," Ryan explained, wondering why in the world he was arguing with the king over a woman he hardly knew. "I would demand justice if I were in her place. Wouldn't most people?"