Truth or Dare

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  Robyn Duncan was lying in wait for her when she went downstairs shortly after eight.

  “Good morning, Zoe,” she said, chirpy once more. “Mind stepping into my office?”

  “Sorry.” Zoe clutched her chartreuse tote very tightly and kept going toward the door. “Got an appointment.”

  “This will only take a minute,” Robyn said quickly behind her. “It’s very important.”

  “I really don’t have time.”

  Robyn’s tone turned ominous. “I’m afraid I’ve had some complaints.”

  Zoe stopped short of the door. She turned slowly. “What sort of complaints?”

  Robyn cleared her throat. “Mr. Hooper phoned me late last night to tell me that he had been awakened by some thumping noises overhead. He lives in one-B, the apartment right under yours, you know.”

  “I am well aware of where Hooper lives.”

  “He said that at first he thought there was an intruder. Then he decided that you and Mr. Truax were moving the furniture around. Eventually he concluded that the sounds indicated that, uh, activities of an intimate nature were taking place.”

  “I see. Hooper could tell that, could he?”

  “He was quite shocked,” Robyn said. “He wanted me to do something about it immediately so that he could get some sleep.

  But I did not want to disturb you at that hour so I told him I would talk to you this morning.”

  That did it. So much for loyalty to one’s neighbors.

  “Hooper’s got a lot of nerve turning me in for a few thumps in the middle of the night.”

  “As a tenant in good standing, he has every right to a noise-free environment.”

  “Screw Hooper’s rights. In case you haven’t figured it out yet, he’s the one who doesn’t break down his cardboard boxes before he puts them in the trash bin out back.”

  Robyn’s mouth dropped open in stunned amazement.

  “Are you certain?” she demanded. “The address labels had been removed from the unflattened cartons so I was unable to identify the person who tossed them into the bin. But it is hard to believe that it was Mr. Hooper. He is such a neat and orderly tenant. He always pays his rent on time. I’ve never had any complaints about him.”

  Zoe was already feeling guilty. You weren’t supposed to turn in your neighbors, she reminded herself. There were rules about that sort of thing.

  “Uh, well, maybe it wasn’t him,” she mumbled. “I mean, I thought those were his computer cartons but I suppose they could have belonged to someone else.”

  Robyn drew herself up and squared her shoulders. “I shall speak to Mr. Hooper immediately and get to the bottom of this.”

  What the heck, the damage was done, Zoe thought.

  “You do that.” She swung around on her heel and yanked open the door. “And you can tell him that I wouldn’t have ratted him out if he hadn’t turned me in first.”

  “For goodness sake, you make this place sound like a prison.”

  “Complete with our very own warden.”

  “I’ve explained time and again that I’m just trying—”

  “To do your job. Yes, you’ve mentioned that on several occasions.”

  “The rules exist to help make Casa de Oro a more pleasant place for all the tenants—”

  Zoe went outside and made sure that the door closed as loudly as possible behind her.

  There would probably be a new rule against door slamming tomorrow.

  Ethan’s phone rang shortly before nine. He picked it up.

  “Truax Investigations.”

  “I’m trying to get in touch with Ethan Truax. It’s important.”

  “I’m Truax.”

  “Right. My name is Branch. I work for Hull Painting. My boss has been doing some subcontract work for Treacher. Met up with you the other day when you and your wife stopped by your place. I was leaving off some equipment?”

  Ethan thought about the bodybuilder painter he and Zoe had encountered. “I remember.”

  “Well, I hate to tell you this, but it looks like you got a situation out here at your house.”

  Interior design issues were at the very bottom of his to-do list today, Ethan decided. A man had to prioritize.

  “My wife is in charge of the decorating,” he said. “If you’ve got questions, you can call her.”

  “Not exactly a question,” Branch said. “More like a problem.”

  “What kind of problem?”

  “I swung by to pick up that sprayer I left the other day. Treacher told my boss that he wanted our crew to use it on another job site.”

  Zoe would not be happy to hear that Treacher was going to retrieve the sprayer before it had even been used.

  “What about it?” Ethan prompted.

  “Went to put my key in the construction lock and realized your front door was wide open. Thought at first maybe my boss had sent someone else to pick up that sprayer and maybe the guy had forgotten to lock up when he left.”

  Ethan got slowly to his feet, stomach chilling. “Get to the point, Branch.”

  “Well, I’m not sure about this on account of everything’s pretty well covered in drop cloths and I can’t tell if any of your stuff is missing, but I think maybe someone might have broken in here.”

  “Where are you, Branch?”

  “Sitting in my van outside your front door.”

  “Don’t go back inside.”

  “I’ve already been in and had a look around. Like I said, I didn’t realize that there was anything wrong at first. But there’s nothing to worry about. Whoever was here is long gone.”

  “Stay out and don’t touch anything.”

  “I won’t. Look, I’m not positive that there’s been a break-in. Maybe someone just forgot to lock up.”

  “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  “Sure. I’ll stick around until you get here.”

  “Thanks. Appreciate it.”

  Ethan cut the connection and headed for the door. At the foot of the stairs, he paused at Single-Minded Books.

  “I’m going out to Nightwinds,” he said to Singleton. “One of the painters called. He thinks maybe someone broke into the place, but he’s not sure.”

  Singleton peered at him through his spectacles. “You want company?”

  “No, I’ll handle it. Probably nothing, but I’d better check it out. Keep working on Loring. If you get anything new, call me.”

  “Got it.”

  Ethan went outside, loped across the brick patio to the curb where the SUV was parked and got behind the wheel. Probably kids, he told himself. Thank God he’d covered the pool.

  He made it to the front door of Nightwinds in less than fifteen minutes and parked behind the van. There was no sign of Branch.

  The front door stood wide open. He went up the steps and looked into the hall. Branch was right, there were no obvious signs of a burglary. The drop cloths appeared undisturbed.

  “Branch?”

  “Out back near the pool,” Branch shouted from somewhere in the distance beyond the great room. “Found a couple of empty beer cans.”

  Swell. Everyone was an amateur detective.

  Ethan walked through the hall and crossed the great room. One set of French doors was open. Branch was outside, standing near the edge of the pool.

  What’s wrong with this picture?

  The crystal-blue waters of the pool sparkled and flashed in the sunlight.

  Okay, that was problem number one, Ethan thought. He had covered the pool as a safety precaution before turning the house over to the painters. But now the heavy plastic tarp lay in a careless heap on the patio.

  Branch was near the deep end of the pool. He was dressed in crisply laundered white overalls and the peaked cap he had worn the other day. His big, muscled shoulders were slightly hunched. There was a long-handled roller brush in his beefy right fist.

  Not a single paint stain on those white overalls, Ethan thought. Ice formed in his gut.

  He t
ook another look at the scene.

  The pink loungers and chairs were in their usual positions in the shade of the broad, overhanging roof. The door of the small structure that housed the pool machinery and equipment was closed.

  Branch looked at him across the restless water, his mouth twisted into a rueful grimace.

  “Thought you were going to wait in the van,” Ethan said.

  “Figured it wouldn’t do any harm to check around out here. Looks like it was just kids sneaking a swim.”

  The pink concrete coping that edged the pool was dry except for one spot. Ethan studied the damp area as he walked slowly toward Branch.

  He stopped a few feet away. “Don’t think it was kids.”

  He thought about the gun he had left locked in his office.

  Maybe not one of his brighter moves. He watched Branch’s hands. The good news was that he could see both of them.

  At Ethan’s feet, the pool waters shifted and pulsed. The atmosphere had a sharp, crystalline clarity that was almost painful. This wasn’t the first time he’d experienced this kind of hyper reality; this feeling that if someone spoke too loudly or moved too quickly the invisible bubble would shatter.

  Branch’s fingers tightened around the handle of the long roller brush. “Sorry about the false alarm.”

  “Where do you fit into this, Branch?”

  Every muscle in the man’s big body rippled and went taut. Ethan was surprised that the snaps on the coveralls did not pop open.

  Branch scowled, baffled by the question. “What are you talking about?”

  “You working for Loring?”

  There was no flicker of recognition at the name.

  “I don’t know anyone named Loring. I told you, I’m with Hull, one of Treacher’s subs.”

  “What do you say we call Hull and confirm that?”

  Branch lunged forward without warning. The transition from absolute stillness to violent motion was so fast that Ethan knew it implied hand-to-hand combat training.

  Branch swung the long brush in a sweeping arc designed to connect with Ethan’s midsection.

  But Ethan had caught the telltale thickening of the muscles in Branch’s wrist a split second before the brush handle moved. He dove for the ground, coming down hard on the pink concrete. An instant later the wooden handle sliced through the air where he had been standing.

  If the handle had connected, Ethan thought, it would have swept him into the pool.

  Braced for the impact against Ethan’s ribs, Branch was caught off balance when the handle failed to connect with anything solid. He staggered briefly and recovered almost at once, sliding across the concrete with the agility of a ballet dancer.

  Ethan did not even attempt to get to his feet. He rolled twice, hoping to collide with Branch’s legs.

  Branch leaped over him, coming down hard on the other side. Spinning, he raised the roller brush for another blow.

  Ethan put up his hands and twisted once more. The roller caught him on the forearms and back, but missed his throat.

  Branch jerked the handle upward again and lashed at Ethan’s exposed rib cage.

  The impact sent a thunderclap of pain through Ethan, stealing the air from his lungs. Blindly he rolled again, trying to escape the next lash of the handle, buying himself a few seconds while he fought for his breath.

  He came to a halt on the coping at the edge of the pool. The blue waters seethed and flashed.

  Branch evidently decided that the brush handle was more trouble than it was worth. He hurled it aside and moved in on his target.

  Ethan made it to his knees just as Branch readied himself for a kick.

  Ethan threw himself to the side. Branch’s heavy boot grazed his shoulder. The jolt spun him onto his back on the concrete.

  His fingers brushed against the fabric of Branch’s trouser leg.

  Branch tried to turn, preparing for another kick. Ethan yanked hard on the trouser leg. Branch stumbled back, arms flailing as he lost his balance.

  Ethan kicked out with every scrap of strength he could muster and connected with Branch’s knee.

  Branch staggered back another step, trying to find his balance. For an instant his foot and leg hovered in space over the water.

  He screamed and tumbled backward, flailing and twisting wildly in midair in a futile attempt to save himself.

  The shriek of raw terror stopped the instant he hit the water. He convulsed once and went limp, facedown.

  Ethan scrambled to his feet and ran for the pool equipment locker, relying on the torrent of adrenaline rushing through him to stave off the waves of pain emanating from his ribs and shoulder.

  The pool house door was unlocked. That didn’t surprise him. He jerked open the door and saw that the panel of the circuit breaker cabinet was unfastened.

  That figured, too.

  He hit the master breaker, shutting off all the electrical equipment connected to the pumps, heater and underwater lights.

  He was vaguely amazed to discover that his phone was still in his shirt pocket. He pulled it out and called 911 while he limped heavily back to the pool.

  “Drowning accident,” he said to the operator, knowing that would elicit fewer questions and bring help a lot more quickly than a long discussion of attempted murder.

  He looked down and saw Branch floating facedown, unmoving, near the steps.

  He put the phone back in his pocket, ignoring the operator’s urgent chatter, reached down and gingerly grabbed Branch by the back of his coveralls. Although he knew for a fact that the electricity had been shut off because he had just taken care of it, he nevertheless breathed a small sigh of relief when he didn’t get a jolt.

  You never thought much about electricity until you had a nasty brush with the stuff, he thought. When this was all over, he’d probably drive everyone nuts obsessing on electrical-safety issues.

  Branch was heavy, maybe already a dead weight. He put one foot on the top step to gain some leverage and hauled the big man out of the pool.

  There probably wasn’t much point, he thought, but he started mouth-to-mouth anyway.

  He noticed the tiny tattoo right below Branch’s collarbone just as an emergency vehicle pulled into the drive.

  29

  Branch is alive but the doctors say he’s in a deep coma.” Ethan settled into the cushions and pillows that Zoe had arranged on her dainty sofa. “Which means we don’t get any answers.”

  Zoe, Arcadia and Harry were arranged in various poses around the small living room. Zoe’s eyes were shadowed. Arcadia dripped with even more ennui than usual, a little too blasé. Ethan knew that she was as tense and anxious as Zoe.

  Harry looked the way he always did, like a man who dug graves for a living.

  “So what d’ya think?” Harry asked. “This was all about you? Not Arcadia?”

  “I can’t be absolutely certain, but I sure as hell can’t come up with any other really good reason why Branch would try to murder me in my own swimming pool.”

  “But why would anyone try to murder you?” Arcadia asked.

  “Dexter Morrow,” Zoe announced in grim accents. “Maybe he decided to get his revenge after all.”

  “Nah.” Ethan wasn’t certain of much about this situation, but all his instincts pointed away from Morrow. “I’m sure he’s still pissed at me, but I can’t see him risking a murder rap just because I derailed his plan to rip off Katherine Compton.”

  Zoe waved her hands. “You keep saying he’s not dangerous, but he tried to clobber you the other night. He’s obviously violent.”

  “What happened at Las Estrellas was just one of those wrong-place, wrong-time things,” Ethan said patiently. “Morrow was drunk, saw me and saw red. The setup at the pool was different. It was well planned and carefully staged.”

  “Ethan’s right,” Harry said rather casually. “This deal with the pool looks more like a contract hit.”

  Zoe froze. “Are you saying that someone hired Branch to murder Ethan
?”

  “Take it easy, honey,” Ethan soothed. He shot Harry a warning look. “Just a figure of speech. You misunderstood.”

  “I most certainly did not misunderstand.” She was on her feet, hands on her hips, glowering at Harry. “What do you think is going on here?”

  Harry looked at Ethan for guidance. Ethan shrugged. There was no point trying to soften the conclusion now. The damage had been done.

  “Got to consider the possibility that this is something left over from Ethan’s investigation into his brother’s death,” Harry said with surprising gentleness.

  Zoe swallowed. “That doesn’t make sense. Ethan, you told me that Simon Wendover was dead and so is the killer he hired to murder your brother.”

  “All true,” Ethan agreed.

  Harry leaned back in his chair and stretched out his thin legs. “Thing is, Ethan here managed to irritate quite a few people in the course of that investigation.”

  “Do you think that one of those people might be seeking revenge?” Zoe asked tightly.

  Harry spread his skeletal fingers. “It’s a possibility. Although, knowing what I do about my former employers, I wouldn’t have figured any of them for a revenge killing.”

  Arcadia gave him an inquiring look. “Why not?”

  “They’re businessmen,” Harry said. “They figured that they made their point when they drove Truax Investigations into bankruptcy, and it didn’t cost them a dime to do it. Why risk murder?”

  “And why come after me now, especially when there’s no money in it?” Ethan said.

  Arcadia crossed her legs. “I hate to ruin the drama here, but I think we should all bear in mind that the police aren’t sure yet just what happened today. They’re still investigating. It’s possible that Branch is simply some kind of psycho stalker who targeted Ethan for reasons that we might never know.”

  Zoe perked up visibly at that suggestion. “You’re right. Maybe Branch is just flat-out nutso. That would explain those bad vibes I picked up in your office and at the Designers’ Dream Home.”

  “Yeah?” Harry was dubious. “So what was he doing in either of those places if he was stalking Ethan?”