To the Rescue

by Jean Barrett

  Restraining her resentment, she gave him that version.

  “It was after hours when I got there. The shop was closed. I went around to the service door at the side. Like the front entrance, it has a security code.”

  “You knew the code?”

  “I did not, and I don’t know who did besides Guy. Probably the charwoman and I suppose his wife.”

  “Then how would you get inside?”

  “By ringing the bell and having Guy let me in. Only this time…”

  “Yeah?”

  “The door was already unlocked. Even though Guy was expecting me, I thought it wasn’t like him to be careless like that.”

  “But you didn’t feel anything was wrong?”

  “Not then. I let myself in and called up to him. You probably know—”

  “That his office is at the top of a short flight of stairs, yeah.”

  “He didn’t answer me, but the office door was open and the light on. I went on up still calling to him, and when I entered the office—”

  The scene was still so fresh and awful in her mind that Jennifer found herself unable to describe it. Leo, who must have had an account of it from the police, described it for her.

  “Guy was dead on the floor. Shot with a bullet from one of a pair of antique dueling pistols. Cops couldn’t figure out why they should both be out on his desk like that and loaded.”

  Jennifer knew, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell him. Not yet.

  “Barbara said he collected the things,” Leo went on. “Even had the skill and tools to repair them. Something I didn’t know about him, maybe because he had this illegal firing range down in the cellar of the shop where he’d test them out on a target.”

  “Yes,” Jennifer murmured.

  “According to Barbara, if they were really valuable, he’d keep them locked away in this big safe in the office. The Warley Madonna being worth a fortune, that must have been in the safe, too. But the safe was wide open and not a sign of the Madonna anywhere. You notice all that, Jenny?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Then what happened? After you found him dead? After you saw the Madonna was gone?”

  “The charwoman,” she said, forcing herself to go on. “She must have let herself into the shop after me. Must have come upstairs to clean the office. I didn’t hear her. Too busy trying not to be sick while bending over Guy, wanting to make sure he wasn’t still alive, even though I knew he had to be dead. I didn’t know she was there. Not until she let out a shriek behind me.”

  “Then?” Leo urged.

  “I tried to go to her. Tried to tell her I didn’t kill Guy. She backed away from me. Lost her footing and went over backwards down the stairs. I ran down to help her. She was unconscious. That’s when I heard the wail of a siren. When I realized,” she finished breathlessly, “that someone, a neighbor maybe, must have heard the gunshot and called the police.”

  “But you weren’t there when they arrived.”

  “No, I—” Jennifer paused, inhaling slowly to restore the air in her lungs “—I did a foolish thing. I panicked. I knew help was on the way for the charwoman, but if I stayed…”

  “You’d be hauled in for questioning, maybe even charged with Guy’s murder when the char was recovered enough to tell the cops all she’d seen and heard on those two nights. So you got out of there, huh?”

  “And went back to my mews cottage, yes.”

  “Not a very smart decision, Jenny. Kind of got guilt written all over it. From a cop’s point of view, that is,” he added dryly.

  She glared at him, hating the tone of implication in his every word and look. “All right, I wasn’t thinking clearly. I was scared. But I realized how wrong I was. It took me hours of being huddled there in front of a gas fire to realize it, but I did. I knew I had to turn myself in for questioning before they came for me.”

  “But that never happened.”

  “It would have. I was on my way out when an officer turned up at my door. I thought he was there to arrest me. All he wanted was information.” Jennifer remembered her vast relief in that moment, but she didn’t try to tell Leo about that. “The detectives on the case were talking to all of Guy’s friends and associates, hoping for some lead in his murder.”

  “Because they would have known it couldn’t have been a thief who’d broken into the shop to rob the place,” Leo pointed out. “There was no sign of that. Guy had to have let the killer into the shop himself. Must have been someone he knew, maybe someone he was expecting.”

  Like you.

  Leo didn’t say that, but Jennifer knew he was probably thinking it.

  “You could have given that officer the lead they were looking for. Could have told him you were on the scene. That’s what you meant to do, isn’t it?”

  “I—I lost my nerve. And also…”

  “What?”

  “He told me about the charwoman. I suppose because by then the media must have gotten hold of it, so it was no secret. Anyway, that’s when I learned she was in a coma. Although, like I said, the hospital expected her to regain consciousness, they couldn’t say when. I saw it as a chance to clear myself before she told the police everything, and they ended up believing— Well, I needed something to convince them I was innocent.”

  “By chasing all the way up here to Warley Castle? Now why do I think that’s a little excessive?”

  “Okay, so it’s a long shot. But when you’re desperate, and there seems to be only one hope—”

  “What hope?”

  “Brother Anthony.”

  “You think this monk has answers?”

  “I don’t know. I’m praying he does.”

  “Why should he?”

  “Because Guy told me on the phone that Brother Anthony was relieved to turn the Madonna over to him. He wasn’t specific about it, but Guy had the impression he was concerned about its safety.”

  “Understandable.”

  “And that its sale might be opposed.”

  “Less understandable.”

  “I wanted to know Brother Anthony’s reasons for being so worried. And I didn’t trust a phone call. He might have refused to speak to me. But if I turned up in person—”

  “He’d be willing to give you the answers, if he has them. The ones that are going to clear you. Tell you who could have killed Guy and why. Why hasn’t he?”

  Jennifer explained about Brother Anthony’s vow of silence.

  Leo nodded. “Got another question for you,” he probed. “A simple one. Why didn’t you let the cops interview Brother Anthony?”

  “Would they bother after the charwoman talks? Why would they when they’d already have their killer?”

  “I don’t know, maybe just because they’re thorough with their investigations.”

  Jennifer shook her head. “I can’t count on that.”

  Leo sat back on the chair, the fingertips of his big hands absently tapping the top rail. “You tell a good story, Jenny.”

  “But?”

  “I’m still getting that five when I should be getting a four. All that you’ve told me so far about the murder scene…see, there isn’t enough solid evidence to convince the police you’re their likeliest suspect. Got a feeling there’s a missing piece. You care to provide it?”

  He was perceptive, and he was persistent. Just as the police would be. She knew it would come to this. That she would have to tell him about that missing piece.

  “My prints are on the pistol that killed Guy.”

  His fingers stopped tapping on the chair rail. He leaned forward again, eyes narrowed. “This a confession after all, Jenny? You telling me the gun was in your hand when the char caught you standing over his body?”

  “I never touched the pistol that night. But I handled both it and the other pistol before then. My prints must be all over them, unless Guy cleaned them thoroughly when he repaired them, and even then there could be traces of my prints.”

  “Why would you have handled tho
se guns?”

  “Because they belong to me, and sooner or later the police will learn that. And when they do, and assuming the killer left no prints of his own because he was either wearing gloves or wiped the grip clean, then—”

  “Whoa. Back up. The guns are yours?”

  “Yes. The estate auction I told you about where Guy and I met…that’s where I bought them.”

  “Yeah, I remember. I also remember you told me your specialty is English country pieces. How does a pair of dueling pistols qualify?”

  “They don’t. I bought them as a gift for my father. He collects old firearms himself. But he likes them in working order, and since these weren’t…”

  “Think I get it. Guy offers to fix the pistols for you, and you hand them over to him.”

  “That’s right. It wasn’t just the Warley Madonna I went to see that night. Guy had finished repairing the pistols and was going to return them to me.”

  “Loaded?”

  “He was going to show me how they worked down in his soundproof firing range. Instead of which—” She broke off, shuddering over the memory.

  “Yeah,” Leo said grimly, “one of them was used to murder my brother.”

  Did he believe it was she who had seized that pistol from Guy’s desk and shot him through the heart? Jennifer wondered. Had she, by telling him everything, made him no longer question the possibility of her guilt but convinced him of it?

  She was suddenly far too aware of him as he sat there considering her, arms folded across the rail of the chair. Conscious of how good he looked in that bulky, oatmeal-colored sweater. Of the intriguing, crescent-shaped scar high on his angular cheek. Of his wide, bold mouth and that intense gaze focused on her so tightly, so deeply that she knew he had to be equally aware of her. Aware on a level that couldn’t be defined as anything but a risk to both of them.

  “And now you’re sick with worry,” he said in a low, thick voice loaded with sensuality. “Afraid that if you don’t find the answers, you’ll stand trial for Guy’s murder. But, Jenny…”

  Getting to his feet, he scraped the chair off to one side, planted his hands on the surface of the table and bent toward her. His face was so close to hers that she could see the way his smoldering gaze dropped, lingering for a few seconds on her mouth before lifting again to meet her eyes, searching them with a breath-robbing intimacy. So close that his warm breath mingled with her own when he spoke again.

  “It’s still not enough,” he went on. “Even with the pistols, it’s probably not enough for the police to build a tight case against you.”

  There was a surprising gentleness in the way he said it. It heartened her, making her think he was no longer her enemy. Until, that is, he added a slow, mocking “Unless you are guilty, which could be the actual explanation for your desperation. And if that’s true, it makes you one hell of an actress, doesn’t it?”

  The brief magic of the moment shattered like ice struck with a heavy hammer.

  Fool.

  That’s what she was. A terrible fool for letting him woo her into believing he was on her side now. Well, not again.

  Shoving her chair back from the table, from him, Jennifer surged to her feet and headed for the connecting door to her room. He didn’t try to stop her. He had that much sense anyway. Because in her current mood, if he had tried to prevent her from leaving, she would have been capable of smacking him.

  As it was, it cost her an effort not to slam the door behind her when she stormed into her own room. She wasn’t going to give him that satisfaction, because she knew, just knew, that he would have chuckled over that kind of dramatic exit. But she did make certain that she shut the door firmly behind her.

  For a moment, Jennifer stood there, striving to calm herself. When her worst anger had ebbed, she crossed the room to the window where she gazed out at the storm.

  The wind continued to wail around the stone walls, like a chorus of voices in a ghostly lament. Even in daylight, there was that kind of eerie quality about the castle. Maybe just because the blizzard left it so isolated.

  Still no sign of a letup either.

  She watched the snow pelting against the glass and thought about Leo McKenzie. He’d made it clear that he had yet to believe her, hadn’t he? Just how serious was his mistrust? Enough to have him go to the abbot about her? If that happened, it could destroy any chance she had of getting the answers she needed.

  Jennifer hugged herself, suddenly aware of how cold the room was. The fire had gone out. It was like a freezer in here. Leaving the window, she went to the wardrobe and snagged her coat from the hook inside. She put it on over her sweater and started for the fireplace, intending to build a fresh blaze on the hearth. She never got there.

  No.

  She wasn’t going to stay here in her room and brood about her situation, give Leo the opportunity to sabotage her mission. She’d had enough of this unnerving delay. She wanted action, results.

  More than anything, she wanted what she’d come to this place to learn so that she’d be ready, when there was a break in the storm, to get away from Warley Castle.

  Be honest about it.

  This wasn’t just about proving her innocence. There was also her need to flee from Leo McKenzie and the infuriating effect he had on her senses.

  With a renewed urgent purpose, Jennifer left her room and headed along the empty corridor. She didn’t care what the abbot had said about not violating Brother Anthony’s vow of silence. She intended to find the monk and get him to tell her what he knew.

  Chapter Five

  All right, so he’d been a jerk.

  Hands plunged into the pockets of his jeans, Leo gazed regretfully at the door that Jennifer had closed behind her so emphatically, shutting him out.

  Yeah, definitely a jerk. He shouldn’t have treated her like that. But he’d been angry with her. Angry because, whether it was intentional or not, she ignited a fire inside him whenever he got anywhere near her. A heat that made him want to take her in his arms and promise her anything in exchange for that full mouth under his, that soft, fragrant body welcoming his hardness.

  He didn’t like his self-control threatened like that. It never failed to bitterly remind him of Kimberly, his ex-wife, and how she had used her own lush body to get what she wanted. And Leo had always given it to her, hadn’t he? Until she’d dumped him for someone who could offer her more.

  Kimberly had been a lesson. But maybe not as effective as it should have been, because here he was battling another temptation in the shape of Jennifer Rowan. And what she wanted was to win his support.

  Face it, McKenzie. The truth is, you’re not as angry with her as you are with yourself for being so damn susceptible to her.

  Okay, so maybe he was being unfair. Maybe Jennifer wasn’t another Kimberly. Maybe she was— What?

  But Leo knew what she was. At least in part. He had already seen and admired her courage and spirit, her need to have him believe in her innocence. That long confession of hers couldn’t have been easy.

  Better watch it. This isn’t smart.

  No, because it always came back to Guy, didn’t it? Leo couldn’t forget his brother and his resolve to catch his killer. Nor could he shake the possibility that Jennifer could have murdered him and stolen the Madonna. As far as he’d been able to determine, anyone else who might have had a motive had a solid alibi, including Guy’s wife who’d been at the airport at the time of the murder.

  Except…

  Yeah, there was something that didn’t make sense. If Jennifer was guilty, why come here, of all places? It was an irrational place to hide. Unless everything she had told him was the absolute truth.

  This was nuts. Standing here seesawing back and forth like this, hardening himself about her in one minute and in the next softening. It was getting him nowhere.

  What was he going to do about her? About them?

  Removing a hand from his pocket, he plowed it through his hair and went on staring at the connect
ing door.

  Maybe it was time for an apology along with a willingness to help her find the answers, even if he did think it was unlikely they were here. But, hell, he was a P.I., wasn’t he? He could at least try, for Guy’s sake if not hers.

  Leo crossed to the door, knocked on it. No answer. She was probably not in any mood for his apologies. He didn’t let that stop him. He tried the door, found it unlocked and opened it. There was no sign of her in the room. She was gone, but where?

  Warley Castle was a big place. She could be anywhere. To go looking for her didn’t make sense. What made sense was to wait here for her until she got back.

  That’s what Leo told himself. He was still thinking it as he left the room and strode along the corridor in search of her. There was something else he thought about. He had learned from Jennifer why she was so interested in Brother Anthony. What he hadn’t learned was an explanation for that earlier business about a ghost. Probably nothing that mattered. It could wait.

  WHERE IS EVERYONE? Jennifer wondered.

  She had hoped to encounter someone who could direct her to the area of the castle where the brothers were quartered. But she met no one along the corridor.

  Confusing though the network of passages was in this vast structure, she was at least confident about the route to the dining parlor. She’d decided by now to make this her first stop. If any of the other guests were there, maybe one of them could tell her how to get where she wanted to go.

  She was passing the window embrasure that overlooked the courtyard when she had an idea. Brother Timothy had earlier indicated that the figure exercising in the yard below was Brother Anthony. Cloistered as he was, the monk wouldn’t have ventured far from his cell. That had to mean the courtyard was adjacent to the wing occupied by the brothers.

  All she had to do, Jennifer decided, was get down to the courtyard and she would have reached her destination. Hopefully.

  To that end, she paused at the window in an effort to judge the location of the courtyard in relation to where she stood. She was committing its position to memory when she caught the fleeting movement of a figure down there.

  Her glimpse was too brief and the falling snow too thick for any identification, but she didn’t think it could be Brother Anthony this time. Possibly one of the other monks then. In any case, he was gone.