Truth or Dare

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  “Is that so?” She glanced down at his shoes. “I figured it was because you were wearing sneakers.”

  “These are not sneakers.” He scooped the sack out of her arm. “They are high-tech, state-of-the-art running shoes.”

  “Ah. That explains it.”

  He snagged the second bag out of the trunk and waited while she closed the lid.

  Together they walked to the green, wrought-iron gate.

  “Well?” She dug her doorknob key chain out of her tote and opened the gate. “How did it go today? Did you dig up any information on Lindsey Voyle?”

  “I know you don’t want to hear it, but she appears to be exactly who and what she claims to be—a recently divorced decorator from LA who just opened up a business here in Whispering Springs.”

  “Doesn’t it strike you as strange that someone from LA would choose a town like this to start over in?”

  He just looked at her.

  Her brows snapped together. “Okay, so you’re from LA and you came here to start over. See? That proves my point. Your background isn’t exactly normal.”

  “And I try so hard.”

  “You’re not taking Lindsey Voyle seriously, are you?”

  “Honey, I swear, I looked at every possible angle. Up until she moved here her entire life was dedicated to decorating the homes of movie stars and drinking very expensive champagne with the rich and famous. There is no mystery there.”

  “But—”

  “I don’t claim to be psychic but you’ve said yourself that my intuition isn’t too bad when it comes to this kind of thing.”

  Her surrender, when it came, was distinctly reluctant. “I suppose.”

  He caught her chin on the edge of his hand and brushed his mouth against hers. When he felt her mouth soften a little under his, he raised his head.

  “Have a little faith in your personal private investigator, okay?” he said.

  She gave him a wan smile. “Okay.”

  He followed her through the gate. “I didn’t come up with anything real exciting on your decorator nemesis, but I did have an interesting visit from my competition today.”

  “Nelson Radnor?” She glanced at him, brows knitting in fresh concern. “About the Valdez job? I was afraid he would be upset.”

  “Not too upset to offer me gainful employment.”

  She made a face. “He made you another offer of a position at Radnor? I’m not surprised. You would be a huge asset to his company. I trust you turned him down?”

  “Actually, he wanted to hire me to trail his wife. He thinks she’s having an affair.”

  “Oh, no.” She halted in the middle of the path, appalled. “You refused, didn’t you?”

  “Give me a break. Just because I’m from Southern California, it doesn’t automatically follow that I’ve got the brain of a surfer. I told him I don’t do much divorce work and that I sure as hell wouldn’t do it for a business associate.”

  Zoe shuddered and resumed walking quickly along the path. “It would put you in an absolutely terrible position. That situation involving Katherine Compton and Dexter Morrow was bad enough. Just imagine what it would be like if you took Nelson Radnor on as a client and discovered that his wife really is having an affair. He would hardly thank you for the news.”

  “I explained that to him. He wasn’t happy but I think he understood.”

  They stopped again, this time in front of the door of the main entrance to the apartment building. Zoe let them inside with her key.

  The door of the manager’s office opened as if on cue. Robyn Duncan popped out. Some of her perkiness faded when she saw him, Ethan noticed. Determinedly, she zeroed in on Zoe.

  Ethan did not pause. He headed straight for the stairs. Keep your head down here, Truax, you don’t have a dog in this fight.

  “I’ve been waiting for you, Zoe,” Robyn said brightly. “There’s a problem with the lock on your door.”

  Ethan went cold. He stopped and turned.

  “There’s no problem with my lock.” Zoe did not stop. She went briskly toward the stairs. “It works fine.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” Robyn said. “I can’t open it with the master key.”

  “That’s because I changed the lock.” Zoe started up the staircase to the second floor.

  She went past Ethan, who stayed right where he was.

  “It is clearly stated in the building rules that the manager shall have access to every apartment,” Robyn said. “It’s a health and safety issue.”

  “The previous manager didn’t have a problem with me changing the lock.”

  “The previous manager is no longer in charge.” Robyn cleared her throat. “Given his lack of attention to details, he probably didn’t even know that you had changed your lock.”

  True, Ethan thought. But he wisely kept his mouth shut.

  “I rented this place from the former manager, and as far as I’m concerned the arrangements that I made with him stand.” Zoe paused halfway up the stairs and glared down at Robyn. “I would consider any attempt to alter my original verbal agreement a violation of my rights as a tenant. If you insist on pushing this matter, I will consult a lawyer.”

  “There’s no need to get a lawyer involved,” Robyn said quickly. “I’m sure we can work this out. You can keep your personal lock, if you like, but I’ll need a key.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  The last thing Ethan wanted to do was get between these two, but he no longer had a choice.

  He looked at Robyn. “Mind if I ask why you happened to notice today that Zoe’s lock had been changed?”

  Robyn tensed, her body language both defensive and virtuous. “I noticed it when I attempted to give the repair person access to your apartment. Although, I should tell you that in the future I would appreciate it if you would inform me whenever you schedule a repair or delivery to your apartment. That way I can make certain that there is no conflict with repairs and deliveries in other units.”

  Ethan saw Zoe’s hand tighten abruptly around the grip of her tote. Her knuckles went white. She glanced at him, alarm flaring in her eyes.

  He kept his attention on Robyn Duncan. “Are you telling us that someone asked you to let him into Zoe’s apartment today?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m telling you. As I said, even though it was an unscheduled repair, I thought I would do you a favor and let him in for you. That’s when I discovered that my master key didn’t open your lock.”

  “Who was it?” Ethan asked.

  Robyn frowned. “The TV repairman, of course. He showed up around noon. I have to tell you that it was pure luck that he even found me in my office. My hours are clearly posted on the door. I usually close from twelve to one for lunch. But I was delayed by a phone call and—”

  “We didn’t schedule a repairman today,” Ethan said.

  Robyn halted in mid-sentence. She blinked a couple of times and then gathered herself. “You must have scheduled him. He had a properly filled out form and everything.”

  “You were going to let a complete stranger into my apartment?” Zoe was seething now. “What kind of manager are you?”

  Robyn looked deeply offended. “I would never let anyone into a tenant’s apartment unaccompanied. I have established a very strict policy regarding repairs and deliveries. If the tenant is not at home, I remain in the unit with the repair or delivery person at all times. That is why it is imperative that such appointments be properly scheduled.”

  “Describe this TV repairman for me,” Ethan said, trying to keep his tone mild and unthreatening. It was not easy.

  Robyn blinked several times. He could see that it had finally occurred to her that there was something very wrong.

  “Well, he looked like a . . . a repairman,” she said. “He wore a uniform and carried a case full of tools and he had paperwork.”

  “What color was his hair?” Zoe asked sharply. “Was he tall or short?”

  “How old do you think he was?” Ethan
asked.

  “His hair?” Robyn took a nervous step back toward the sanctuary of her office. “I didn’t notice.”

  “Long or short?” Ethan asked.

  “Short.” Robyn retreated another step. Her face started to crumple. “I guess. I’m not sure. It was covered by his hat.”

  “Did he give you a name?” Ethan asked.

  “No.” Robyn swallowed. “I think there was one embroidered on his uniform but I don’t remember what it was. Something long.”

  “What about the name of his company?” Zoe prodded.

  “I can’t remember,” Robyn whispered. Her eyes glistened.

  Hell, she was going to cry, Ethan thought. That would not be helpful. “Take it easy. We’re just trying to get a handle on this guy. Sounds like he may have been a burglar who knew we were away for the day and tried to con you into letting him into the apartment so that he could rip off the TV or the computer.”

  Robyn blanched. “I would never have allowed anything like that to happen.”

  “Did you get a look at his truck?” Ethan asked without much hope.

  “No,” Robyn whispered.

  “Now you see why I prefer not to leave a spare key in the manager’s office.” Zoe swung around and continued up the stairs. “Let’s go, Ethan. I need a drink.”

  “If you think of anything that stood out about the repairman, would you please make a note for me, Robyn?”

  “Why?” she asked somewhat blankly.

  “Because I’d like to find him,” Ethan explained. “I want to ask him what the hell he was doing trying to get into our apartment.”

  “Maybe he wasn’t a phony,” Robyn said. “Maybe he just made a mistake about the address.”

  “You never know.” Ethan followed Zoe up the stairs. “If he was a burglar, he might try the same trick again with one of the other apartments tomorrow or next week. After all, now he knows that you’re willing to open the door for him.”

  Robyn burst into tears, turned on her heel and fled into her office. The door slammed shut behind her.

  Zoe reached the landing. She paused and turned to look at the closed door of the office. Guilt shadowed her face.

  “We were kind of hard on her, weren’t we? Maybe I should go talk to her.”

  “Forget it.” Ethan reached the top of the stairs and went down the hall. “She deserves to feel bad.”

  “I suppose so.” She trailed after him. “Ethan?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You’re thinking what I’m thinking, aren’t you? That maybe that TV repairman wasn’t an ordinary, garden-variety burglar? That he was involved in this thing going on with Arcadia?”

  “The possibility did occur to me, yeah.” He waited while she unlocked the door. “I’ll call Harry and Arcadia and let them know what happened.”

  Inside the apartment, he set the groceries down on the kitchen counter and pulled out his phone.

  “If this is connected to Arcadia,” Zoe said, “why would the man try to get into our apartment?”

  “Maybe because he knows that you and Arcadia are close. Maybe he wanted more information about her and figured he could get it from her best friend.”

  She reached into the first sack and took out what appeared to be a carton of milk. A thoughtful expression crossed her face. “A man this time. Not a woman in a hat with a camera. If Grant Loring is behind this, he seems to have a number of assistants. Two, at least, so far.”

  “Unless the TV repairman was Loring in disguise.”

  “Oh, jeez, I never thought of that. If only Pixie Ears had gotten a better description.”

  “Typical witness. She wasn’t paying attention.” Ethan put the phone to his ear. “Why would she?”

  Zoe made a derisive sound. “All she cared about was the fact that I hadn’t followed her precious rules.”

  He watched her open the refrigerator door and place the carton on the top shelf. The label did not look familiar.

  “What the hell is that stuff?” he asked, waiting for Harry to pick up.

  “Soy milk.” She turned to pluck a plastic bag full of broccoli out of the grocery sack. “It’s supposed to be good for your cholesterol and your prostate.”

  “Is that right?” He suddenly felt a little more positive about the future. She was worrying about his cholesterol and his prostate. That had to be a good sign.

  He was still smiling to himself when Harry finally answered the phone.

  27

  Later, after the table was cleared and the dinner dishes had been stacked in the aging dishwasher, Zoe poured two small snifters of brandy and carried them into the living room.

  Ethan was on the phone again, talking to Singleton this time. It was his fifth or sixth call of the evening.

  She set the brandies down on the table and studied his hard, intelligent face. He was intensely focused, speaking to Singleton in that very even, very neutral tone that he used when he was on the hunt. There was a sense of fierce, contained energy humming through him but it was under complete control.

  She was amazed by his powers of endurance. He should have been exhausted by now. She certainly was. Neither of them had gotten any sleep after Harry and Arcadia had arrived on the doorstep early that morning. But while she had spent most of the day worrying about Arcadia and trying to figure out how Lindsey Voyle fit into the equation, Ethan had been working nonstop.

  It dawned on her that maybe this all-consuming task was just the tonic he needed to distract him from the memories of November.

  “Right. I agree. Call me if you get anything else.” Ethan cut the connection and made a note on the pad of paper. When he put down the pen he noticed the brandy. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” She sat down on the small sofa across from him and curled her legs on the cushion beside her. “What did Singleton have for you?”

  “The Merchant made contact again.” Ethan picked up the brandy, settled back in his chair and stretched out his legs. “He says he found a competitor who may have been the one who sold Loring his new identity.”

  “That’s wonderful news. If we know Loring’s new identity, it will be much easier to find him.”

  “Not necessarily. He may have adopted another phony ID when he set out to find Arcadia.” Ethan took a sip of brandy and lowered the glass. “But the information can’t hurt, that’s for sure.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  He leaned his head against the back of the chair. “I’m thinking that we’re going on the assumption that this is all about Loring being out there somewhere, waiting to grab Arcadia. But what if that’s not what’s happening?”

  “You said yourself it was the most logical possibility.”

  “It is, so we have to guard against it.” He met her eyes. “But there are others.” He turned the brandy glass between his palms. “About this feeling you said you experienced at the show house and in Arcadia’s office . . .”

  Her stomach knotted. The snifter in her hand trembled a little. Very carefully she put the glass down on the coffee table. “What do you want me to say, Ethan? That I imagined whatever it was I felt in those places?”

  “No.” He swallowed some brandy and lowered the glass. “Not unless you think you really did imagine it.”

  “I didn’t,” she said tightly.

  “I believe you. I don’t know what it was that bothered you in the library or at the gallery, but I am not discounting your, uh, intuition.”

  She said nothing. She was too tired to quarrel about the issue of whether or not she was really psychic. An argument was the last thing either of them needed that night.

  For a time neither of them spoke. They drank their brandies, letting the silence settle around them. Zoe groped for a change of subject and came up with the one that Robyn Duncan had interrupted with the tale of the phony repairman.

  “I still can’t believe that Nelson Radnor tried to hire you to follow his wife,” she said. “He’s got an office full of investigators.”


  “He didn’t want to hire anyone on his own staff because it would fire up a lot of in-house gossip.”

  “Yes, I can see that it would be a little embarrassing to have his staff chatting about his wife’s affair.” She sighed. “When you think about it, isn’t it a little weird that he would want to hire anyone at all to tail her? I mean, this is his wife and he’s a trained investigator. Why doesn’t he do his own detective work? Why bring someone else into such a personal situation?”

  Ethan contemplated his brandy.

  “He wants the answer,” he said eventually. “But it doesn’t necessarily follow that he wants to watch his wife come out of a hotel room with another man. That would be . . .” He hesitated. “A very hard thing for any man to do.”

  She sensed the undercurrents shifting through him and thought about his three previous marriages. The odds were good that one or two of those spectacularly failed relationships had involved someone fooling around. But it wouldn’t have been Ethan. She was very sure of that.

  For a man who had been married four times, Ethan was surprisingly old-fashioned when it came to matters of honor, commitment and fidelity.

  “If the circumstances were reversed,” she said quietly, “it would be just as hard for a woman to watch her husband walk out of a hotel room with someone else.”

  “But some people need the answers.” Ethan put down his empty brandy snifter. “So they go to private investigators to get them.”

  “I don’t think you would go to another investigator. If you had to know the truth, you’d find it yourself. You wouldn’t hire someone else to do the dirty work for you.”

  “No,” he agreed. “I wouldn’t hire anyone else.”

  There was something edgy and bleak in his simple response. She could not identify the emotion, but whatever it was, it worried her. What was this all about?

  A few seconds of heavy silence ticked away and then a possible answer struck her with such force that she sputtered on a swallow of brandy.

  “Ethan?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You’re not hinting what I think you’re hinting, are you? You don’t really—” She broke off, her tongue unwilling to wrap itself around the unbelievable words. With an effort she pushed forward, determined to get this out into the open. “You’re not implying that you think I’m involved with someone else, are you?”