by Cassie Miles
Jerod's recovery stayed foremost in her mind, but she had plenty of concerns about Ben. Constant activity swirled around him like a sucking whirlpool. There was the long-distance running of his business in Seattle. And keeping the Crawford estate operational. And the custody battle over his daughter. And Charlene's murder.
Most of all, the murder. Though Agent Lattimer had been respectful, his suspicions still centered on Ben, who had plenty of motive and ample opportunity to slip a sedative into Charlene's drink.
If she and Ben didn't concentrate on solving the murder, he might end up in jail.
Then, there was the sniper. Though the personal bodyguard had shown up at the hospital and was—at this very moment—watching Ben's back, the threat remained.
With a sigh, she swizzled her spoon through the coffee. Apparently, it would be her job to think about Ben's safety and to prove his innocence. And, last but not least, to lift his burden of concern about Jerod.
There was one person Liz could always turn to in times of trouble and frustration. She left the table and went outside to use her cell phone.
He answered on the first ring. "Schooner Detective Agency."
"Harry, I need you." She gave him the address of the hospital. "And bring your gun."
Chapter Fifteen
An hour before the operation, Jerod seemed to be in good spirits. Ben stood beside his grandpa's bed, watching as Liz in her platinum wig gave a strange yet credible performance as Charlene, doused in her signature perfume. Liz modified her gestures to a flutter. Her voice was pitched higher than her normal tone, and she made a conscious effort to start every sentence with I.
Exactly right. Vanity had been the essence of Charlene. Self-centered to the core. Flighty and thoughtless. Demanding and...pretty damned funny on occasion. He would miss her foot-stamping, hair-tossing arguments.
What if she'd been right to keep Jerod away from the surgeons? What if the operation failed?
His grandpa scowled in Ben's direction. "How come you're so quiet, boy?"
'Thinking." And worrying.
"I'm fixing to do a whole lot of cogitating after I get my brain tuned up. Maybe take up some kind of hobby."
"You used to play guitar," Ben said.
He'd never forget those days. Long ago when his family had been whole and happy, Grandpa Jerod would haul his twelve-string out onto the front porch of the Texas house after dinner. With daylight fading into night, he'd strum by himself for a bit. Then everybody would gather around to sing cowboy love songs about Clementine and Suzannah. Little Patrice would twirl in time to the music. His parents would sit side-by-side on the porch swing with his mother's head resting on his father's shoulder. His grandma would always sing soprano in a high, clear voice.
Ben missed those family nights. He missed his grandma. His mom. His dad. Damn it, he couldn't bear to lose Jerod, too.
"Sing for me," Liz said. "Come on, bumblebee. One little tune."
"You've never much cared for my singing, honey. I believe you referred to my voice as a rusty hinge."
"A girl can change her mind," Liz said, giving a toss of her platinum wig.
Jerod cleared his throat and rumbled, "Do not forsake me..."
Liz joined in. "Oh, my darlin'."
Ben would have added his baritone to the chorus, but he didn't trust himself to sing without betraying the strong emotions that roiled inside him. His abiding grief. His love for Jerod. His fear about this surgery.
When the song ended, Liz gave Jerod a hug. "Listen up," she said to him. "I have a friend I want you to meet."
"Hell's bells, Charlene. Now's not the time for me to be saying howdy to one of your pretty little pals."
"You'll like this guy," she said confidently. "He's going to stay right here at the hospital and make sure everything goes okay."
He grumbled, "I don't need a babysitter."
"Please, bumblebee. For me. Plee-eeze."
Liz's exaggerated pout—just right for Charlene but so out of character for her—lightened Ben's mood. The pain was still there, but she made it bearable.
When she'd told him her plan to have a friend of hers stay with his grandpa, he'd approved. Jerod's operation could take several hours, and he'd be unconscious in recovery for hours after that. Though Ben had hoped to stay at the hospital, too many other things were happening. Last time he'd checked his cell phone, there had been three urgent text messages from Tony Lansing.
"Oh, look," Liz bubbled. "My friend is here already. Jerod Crawford, I want you to meet Harry Schooner."
Though Liz had told him that Harry was older, Ben expected someone in his forties. Upon meeting this white-haired, heavyset, rumpled man, he added twenty years to his estimate. According to Liz, Harry had once been a cop, and he had the world-weary look of someone who had seen it all. The bulge under his plaid jacket also indicated that he was wearing a shoulder holster.
As Harry shook Jerod's hand, he asked, "How's the food in this joint?"
"Not bad if you're partial to green Jell-O."
"I might have to smuggle in a couple of steaks. You're from Texas," Harry said. "You know beef."
"Damn right, I do." Jerod sat up a bit straighter.
"I'll leave you two to get acquainted," Liz said. "Ben and I need to step out in the hall for a moment."
He joined her in the corridor outside his grandpa's private room. "I like Harry. But why is he wearing a gun?"
"With a homicidal maniac on the loose, it doesn't hurt to have a little extra protection for Jerod."
It didn't surprise him that she was best buddies with somebody who routinely strapped on a shoulder holster. "What else is on your mind?"
"I checked my cell phone. I have an urgent text message from Tony."
"Me, too." Nothing could possibly be as important as spending these last moments with Jerod before his surgery. "He'll have to wait."
She reached out and took his hands. Though the platinum wig perched atop her head looked vaguely deranged, she was a pillar of sanity. Her green eyes shone with gentle compassion. "How are you holding up?"
"I'm hoping this is the right thing. This surgery."
"It was Jerod's decision to let the doctors operate," she reminded him.
"But he wouldn't be here if it wasn't for me. Or if Charlene were still alive."
She gave his hands a squeeze, and that slight physical contact made him want more. He wanted to wrap himself in her arms and hide from his doubts about Jerod's recovery. He squeezed back and said, "Go ahead and return Tony's call. I'll stay here."
With a wink and a grin, she rushed down the corridor to an area that was okay for cell phones.
When Ben returned to the hospital room, he found Jerod and Harry talking like old buddies. Though they'd only met a moment ago, the two men had shared enough life experiences to make them familiar.
'Tell me about this brain operation," Harry said. "Are they going to shave your head?"
"Ain't going to let them." Jerod raked his gnarled fingers through his thick, white hair. "The doctor said they're going into my brain through my nose."
"'Shouldn't be hard. That's a good-sized honker you've got there."
These two were well-matched. It occurred to Ben that his grandpa didn't spend much time with people his own age. Charlene had directed their social life toward a younger crowd. Did he miss his old friends? Was there someone Ben should call?
When Liz came back to the room, she motioned for him to step outside. In a tense whisper, she said, "Lattimer came back to the house with a CBI forensics team. They have a search warrant."
"What are they looking for?"
"Drugs." Her gaze searched his face. "Like the ones they found in Charlene's system."
Trouble. They needed to return to the house as soon as possible. Ben had a few secrets that he would rather not share with law enforcement.
As she and Ben left the hospital, Liz wished she could have matched Jerod's upbeat attitude when the nurses wheeled him off toward
the operating room. He'd given a thumbs-up sign and waved. She hadn't been so cheerful as they'd climbed into the back of the SUV driven by Ben's bodyguard—a big, silent hulk of a man who reminded her of the bouncer at the Grizzly Moon, a dance club where beer was free for women on Wednesday nights.
The bodyguard's presence made conversation difficult. She wanted to hug Ben and reassure him, but he had retreated into CEO mode, concentrating entirely on returning phone calls.
When they reached the gates outside the Crawford estate, they had to drive through a flock of photographers and reporters, some with news trucks and microphones.
Inside the house, they were immediately surrounded. Patrice and Monte. The security guys. Rachel. And Tony Lansing, who was well on his way to being drunk, although it was only noon.
Lattimer and his CBI agents had already departed, but they'd confiscated several items and thrown the already dysfunctional house into chaos.
Liz should have stayed with Ben, should have supported him. But she felt like she was being buried alive under a landslide of stress. Her chest was tight. She needed to breathe.
With a word to him, she slipped away from the crowd and went outside onto the lower deck. Standing at the railing, she looked out on the shimmering lake beneath clear, blue springtime skies. Though she couldn't see the front gate, she heard the distant chatter of dozens of voices. A security guy in a military-type uniform patrolled at the edge of the dock. She should have felt safe, but fear weighed heavily on her mind. Fear for Ben. She knew that he was in possession of illegal drugs; she'd seen him make the buy from the sleazebag dealer in Denver.
Though she hadn't been able to unearth his stash, she suspected that a dedicated team of CBI agents would find it. He'd be in even deeper trouble than he was right now.
Ben stepped up to the banister and joined her. "It's a perfect day for sailing."
'To the ends of the earth," she agreed. Voices from reporters at the gate mingled with the sound of an argument inside the house. "I'd like to be somewhere quiet."
"Sailboats are never silent. There's always the wind and the lapping of waves." He turned his face to the sun. "Mysterious echoes from the vast blue sea."
The poetic side of his personality captivated her. His brilliant blue eyes gazed into the faraway distance, finding a place where hope thrived and swashbuckling adventure was the order of the day. Easily, she imagined him as the captain of a tallship, standing at the prow with a spyglass held to his eye. Even more easily, she imagined sailing away with him.
Instead, she kept her feet firmly planted on the cedar planks of the lower deck. She asked, "Did Lattimer find anything with his search warrant?"
"He confiscated every pill and capsule in the house, including Patrice's array of Valium and sedatives." He shrugged. "It was a damn good search. Those guys are professional. They even found my drug stash."
Her heart dropped. This was the moment she'd feared. "Your drugs?"
"No big deal. I expect I'll have to pay some kind of fine or something."
How could he be so nonchalant? "You told me that you didn't use drugs."
"I don't." He looked down at her. "This medicine was for Jerod. An experimental drug from Mexico that hasn't been approved by the FDA."
Relief exploded inside her; she felt like singing. "That's what the doctor meant when he mentioned the treatment that you gave Jerod."
"Apparently, the drug helped. It wasn't enough to eradicate the tumor but slowed the growth." He frowned. "You wouldn't believe what I had to go through to get my hands on those pills."
"Oh, yes," she said. "I would."
His late-night visit to the drug dealer made perfect sense. He wasn't a scumbag drug addict; his reason for making an illegal drug buy was heroic. He'd risked his life to help his grandpa.
Unable to hold back, she flung her arms around his neck and kissed him hard on the mouth. Her doubts about his character disappeared.
After returning her kiss, his arms tightened around her. His mouth nuzzled her ear. "I'm not complaining, but what's this all about?"
"You're a good man, Ben."
"Took you long enough to notice."
Though aware that she shouldn't be clinging to him out here in the open where everybody could see them, she didn't let go. Didn't care what other people thought.
Ben was all that mattered.
"We need to find that murderer," she said.
"Damn right."
"You wouldn't look good in an orange prison jumpsuit."
He smiled down at her. "I should get back inside. I want to talk to Tony before he's completely drunk."
She separated from him. "I'll join you in a minute. Downstairs by the bar."
He leaned down to kiss her cheek. "See you then."
After he stepped inside, Liz indulged in a moment of fist-pumping congratulations. Yes! Yes! Yes! She'd been right about Ben. He had a perfectly rational reason for consorting with drug dealers. Still not a great idea. But completely understandable.
She couldn't wait to tell Harry.
Liz smacked her fist on the cedar banister, pivoted and strolled toward the sliding glass doors that led into the house.
His late-night visit to the drug dealer made perfect sense. He wasn't a scumbag drug addict; his reason for making an illegal drug buy was heroic. He'd risked his life to help his grandpa.
Unable to hold back, she flung her arms around his neck and kissed him hard on the mouth. Her doubts about his character disappeared.
After returning her kiss, his arms tightened around her. His mouth nuzzled her ear. "I'm not complaining, but what's this all about?"
"You're a good man, Ben."
"Took you long enough to notice."
Though aware that she shouldn't be clinging to him out here in the open where everybody could see them, she didn't let go. Didn't care what other people thought.
Ben was all that mattered.
"We need to find that murderer," she said.
"Damn right."
"You wouldn't look good in an orange prison jumpsuit."
He smiled down at her. "I should get back inside. I want to talk to Tony before he's completely drunk."
She separated from him. "I'll join you in a minute. Downstairs by the bar."
He leaned down to kiss her cheek. "See you then."
After he stepped inside, Liz indulged in a moment of fist-pumping congratulations. Yes! Yes! Yes! She'd been right about Ben. He had a perfectly rational reason for consorting with drug dealers. Still not a great idea. But completely understandable.
She couldn't wait to tell Harry.
Liz smacked her fist on the cedar banister, pivoted and strolled toward the sliding glass doors that led into the house.
Hearing a scraping noise over her head, Liz paused. She looked up. One of the long cedar flower boxes shook. Then crashed to the deck.
Chapter Sixteen
Mangled petunia petals and dirt from the splintered flower box scattered at her feet. If Liz had taken one more step forward, she would have been hit. An accident? A coincidence that she'd almost been brained by falling flowers? She thought not.
Someone had loosened the bolts that held that flower box in place, then had given a good hard shove.
She stared at the upper deck and saw no one. But someone had been there only seconds ago, and she intended to find out who it was. She kicked off her heels and ran. At the side of the house, she raced up the wooden staircase that led to the upper level and Jerod's bedroom.
When she flung open the door to the hallway, she saw Rachel with a stack of sheets and towels piled high in her arms. Her eyes widened at the sight of Liz charging toward her. "What's wrong?"
"Did you see anyone come out of Jerod's room?"
"No." She scowled. "His room will be closed off until he comes home from the hospital. I have changed the sheets, of course, and—"
"Stand right here," Liz said. "Don't let anyone come past you."
"'Would you please tell
me what—"
"No time." Liz returned to the cedar deck that ran along the edge of the upper floor. If she was in luck, the person who'd tried to kill her with a flower box was still in Jerod's room. She could catch them red-handed.
Circling to the deck outside the sliding glass doors, she took a breath and mentally prepared herself to deal with an attacker. Peering through the glass, she saw no one.
When she whipped open the sliding door, a vase of lilies flew past her shoulder and shattered against the wall. What was it with this person and flowers?
Liz dodged forward, moving fast. Annette stood in the middle of the room. Apparently, she'd been hiding behind Jerod's bed. Her arm drew back to throw another object, but Liz shot out with a quick karate chop, disarming her.
Annette yelped in pain.
"Why?" Liz snapped.
"You were kissing him," she said. "I saw you on the lower deck. Kissing Ben."
She rushed forward with arms flailing. This sort of girlish attack was actually more difficult to deal with than someone who knew what they were doing. Liz hesitated, not wanting to do serious damage to Annette, who managed to land one weak blow on her shoulder, then another on her upper arm.
Enough was enough. Liz caught hold of one of those windmilling arms and flipped Annette to the floor. Immediately, she rolled to her stomach and started to sob. "You promised. You swore you weren't sleeping with him."
Liz didn't bother to deny the accusation. She might not be having sex with Ben right now, but his bed was most definitely in her future plans. Not that her love life was any of Annette's business. She looked down at the weepy little maid and would have felt sorry for her if Annette hadn't been so venomous in her lies. "You obviously care about Ben. Why did you make up that story about seeing him carrying Charlene's body?"
"'I didn't make it up." Her fist hammered the carpet. "I saw someone and it might have been Ben."
"Who was it?"
Her knees pulled up as she curled into a ball, hiding her face. "I don't know."
Annette's craziness had tainted the murder investigation; the CBI agents took her story seriously and focused their suspicions on Ben. "Tell me. Who was it?"