by Cassie Miles
"Don't know."
Liz's patience snapped. She crouched down beside Annette and turned her so she could see into her watery eyes. "When I was in your room, I saw a diamond brooch. Where did you get it?"
"I don't have to tell you."
"Who gave you that pin?"
Her lips pinched together in a stubborn, sour knot.
Disgusted, Liz released her. "You can lie to me, but not to Agent Lattimer. There's a penalty for lying to the police."
"You won't tell him about that pin."
"Goddamn it." Liz seldom used profanity. In her teens, she'd made a conscious decision to avoid gutter talk. Her swearing was a measure of just how angry she was. "I damn well will tell Lattimer about those diamonds. Why are you so scared? Oh, hell. Did you steal the pin?"
She gasped. "It was a gift."
"And who gave it to you?"
"I promised I wouldn't say."
"It's called obstruction of justice," Liz said. "You could go to jail. So you better start telling the truth."
Annette inhaled a shaky breath. "Ramon Stephens gave me the pin. It was right after I saw the monster."
"How soon after?"
"A minute or two."
"So Ramon wasn't the monster?"
Annette shook her head. "He came out on the deck beside me. I was upset, and he tried to comfort me. He said that he'd seen the monster, too. And it looked like Ben."
Liz took a moment to digest this unexpected piece of information. She'd almost written off Ramon, but he was responsible for planting suspicion of Ben in Annette's brain. "Did he give you the pin as payment? For telling the police that Ben was the monster?"
"Nothing like that." Her ingenuousness was too exaggerated to be real. "But I thought he might be right about Ben."
"Why was Ramon carrying a diamond brooch in his pocket?"
"It belonged to Charlene. Jerod gave her all kinds of expensive jewelry that looked like flowers."
"Right." Flowers fit into that whole bumblebee and honey thing. "If you knew the brooch belonged to Charlene, why did you take it?"
"She must have given it to him." Annette's fingers clenched tightly, desperately. "It was his. And he gave it to me. I didn't steal it."
But she knew who the jewelry really belonged to. On some level, Annette must have known that Ramon was using her, getting her to point an accusing finger at Ben.
Liz tried one last time for a positive identification. "Who was it? Who carried Charlene?"
"He had on a hooded sweatshirt. I couldn't tell." Her lower lip quivered. "What's going to happen to me now? Are you going to tell the CBI?"
Oh, yeah. Liz intended to leave this simpering little witch in the custody of one of the security men to wait for Lattimer.
Ben had been right about firing Annette. Not only was she borderline nuts, but she was also dangerous.
Ben sat at the bar in the downstairs party room beside Tony Lansing, who had managed to perform the task he'd been assigned. His secretary had faxed copies of both Jerod's and Charlene's wills.
For the past twenty minutes, Ben had studied the twelve closely typed pages of his grandpa's new will. The terms were what he expected. The only person who benefited from having Charlene die before his grandfather was his daughter, which also meant her legal guardians. Namely, Victoria and him. "Am I missing something?"
"What you see is what it is." Tony raised a glass of vodka to his mouth and took a healthy swallow. "Unless Jerod changes his mind again, your daughter will be a very wealthy young lady when he passes."
"Why now? Why did he make this change?"
"It's not unusual for someone with a terminal illness. Facing death makes a man think about his loved ones. According to the old will and the prenup, Charlene got five hundred thousand. Jerod wanted her to have more."
Though Tony's words slurred around the edges, his logic made sense to Ben. His grandpa wanted to leave his fortune to the woman who amused him and provided him with companionship. Also, to the next generation of Crawfords, represented by his daughter.
Glancing at his wristwatch, Ben calculated the length of time his grandpa had been in surgery. Just over an hour. Too soon to expect results. "Let's hope Jerod will be around for many more years, and we won't have to worry about the will."
Without looking at him, Tony slid a one-page document across the bar toward him. "The Last Will and Testament of Charlene Elizabeth Belloc Crawford. She doesn't acknowledge any living relations. Leaves all her possessions to a couple of charities."
Ben read the pages. "The Retired Strippers League of Las Vegas?"
"Those were her roots." As he stared down into his glass, the creases near his eyes deepened as though he was holding back tears. "Charlene never pretended to be more than she was. Brassy, demanding and tough. But underneath it all... Underneath, she was a peach."
"You cared about her."
He drained the last of his vodka. "No more or less than any other client."
This half-drunk attempt at professionalism was unconvincing. Liz had caught him and Charlene groping each other in the hallway, and Ben was willing to bet that it hadn't been their first time. Tony might even have been falling in love with Jerod's wife. And that was a motive for murder.
Ben knew from his failed marriage that love could turn to hate in a twist of passion. If Tony had been rebuffed by Charlene, he might have wanted her dead.
Ben said, "Apparently, Charlene had a little something going with Ramon."
"Him? Not a chance."
"Ramon is a handsome guy." Ben hoped his comment would provoke a reaction. "And passionate. Hell, he came after you with a knife."
"You don't need to remind me."
"Charlene liked him. Liked him a lot."
"He amused her." Tony shook his head, fighting off an alcoholic haze. "Told her some phony sob story. She gave him money." His fist came down hard on the bar. "I told her not to, but she laughed and said it wasn't a big deal. No biggie."
Ben waited for the lawyer to continue.
"That bastard," Tony muttered. "He used Charlene. Even got her to give him some of her jewelry. You know what I think?"
"No, Tony, I don't."
"I think that bastard stole some of Charlene's stuff. We ought to get the CBI to investigate Ramon."
"Why do you think Ramon stole Charlene's jewelry?"
"I was up in her room earlier. Doing an inventory, you know. For her will. I think some pieces are gone."
The potential theft of valuable jewelry shifted suspicion toward Ramon. Ben wished that Liz were here. He could have used her legal expertise in reading the will and her perceptions in reading Tony. When she was around, everything seemed more focused.
But the woman who sidled into the room was his sister. Apparently, Patrice had been eavesdropping because she jumped into the middle of the conversation. "You're right about Ramon. He's a despicable person. And there might have been another reason Charlene was giving him money."
"What's that?" Ben asked.
"Blackmail," she said darkly.
Before Ben could respond to his sister, he heard another person coming down the stairs. Dr. Mancini offered a genial grin to the group. "It's a bit early to be gathering at the bar, folks."
Ben nodded a greeting. "Doctor."
"How's Jerod doing?"
'Too soon to know. He's still in surgery."
"As long as I'm here," Mancini said as he circled around the bar, "I might have one for the road. That's what we used to say back in the old days before DUIs. One for the road. Didn't seem like too much."
"Not anymore." Tony waggled a finger at him. "Drunk driving lands you in jail."
"Right you are, my friend." Mancini pulled a can of soda from the fridge. "I'll stick to a soft drink. You're all witnesses."
His sociable attitude should have been a refreshing change from the drunken angst of Tony Lansing and his sister's dire pronouncements. But Ben wasn't fooled by Mancini's bow ties and smiles. He'd seen the goo
d doctor's aggressive side when he took fierce delight in destroying his tennis opponents; Mancini was in excellent physical condition for a man in his late fifties.
As Mancini popped the tab on his soda, he glanced toward Ben. "I stopped in to see your daughter a few days ago."
A jolt of alarm went through him. "Is Natalie ill?"
"Just a little summer cold. Nothing to worry about."
For some reason, he didn't like the idea of Mancini treating his daughter. When this was over, the doctor would be cut from all family business. "And you're here to see Patrice?"
"For my headache," she said. "I needed something stronger than aspirin."
"Always happy to oblige," Mancini said as he held up his old-fashioned doctor's bag.
Mancini was a walking pharmacy. Even if the CBI search turned up nothing unusual in the drugs they'd confiscated from the house, the doctor was here every day. And he didn't pay close attention to where he left his little black bag. Anybody and everybody in the household had ready access to those drugs.
Patrice tugged on his sleeve. "Ben, I need for you to listen to me. For once in your life, pay attention."
His supply of sympathy was running low, especially when it came to his sister. "What is it, Patrice?"
"Blackmail." She repeated the word quietly and pulled him a few steps away from the lawyer and doctor. "Like Charlene, I was making payments to Ramon. Nothing huge. Just enough to be irritating."
"For what?"
"An indiscretion." With a wave of her hand, she brushed away his question. "The important thing is that I don't want the CBI questioning Ramon. It would be dreadful to have my secrets known."
Especially while she was embarking on a career as a talk show guest. Her ability to stay completely focused on herself amazed and disgusted him. "How many other people was Ramon blackmailing?"
"Several," she said. "He certainly can't afford his lifestyle on the money he makes as a male model."
He couldn't imagine what Ramon might have on Charlene. The blond bombshell had always been open about her past "indiscretions." She was proud of her past; she'd named a retired stripper's fund in her will.
Glancing over his shoulder at the bar, he saw Mancini push a can of soda toward Tony. If the heartbroken lawyer had been having an affair with Charlene, she'd pay to keep that information from Jerod.
"All right, Patrice. What does your blackmail have to do with me?"
"I heard you and Tony talking. Ramon is about to become central in the murder investigation. You need to see Ramon before the CBI gets there. You have to, Ben. You have to get those photographs from Ramon."
His eyebrows raised. What had she done? "Photos?"
"I was young and stupid," she said. "I posed nude for a photographer."
"So what?" Naked pictures seemed appropriate for her new career as a tabloid darling.
"It was a long time ago, and I was..." She paused, scowling. "I was, well, plump."
Fat, nude photos of Patrice were so far down on his list of priorities that he almost laughed out loud. Being naked didn't bother her. But being pudgy?
He looked toward the door as Liz bounced into the room with her cell phone in hand. She beamed a grin as she came toward him. "Good news," she said.
"I could use some."
"Harry called with an update on Jerod. The operation is going better than expected. Zero complications from anesthetic. All systems are go."
"And the prognosis?"
She glanced between him and Patrice. "I keep trying to get these doctors to give me odds. Like Jerod is a ninety-to-one favorite for a full recovery. But they have their own language."
Dr. Mancini came out from behind the bar to join them. "What did they say?"
"Two words—cautious optimism." She addressed Mancini. "What does that mean?"
'The operation is going well, but they aren't making any promises." He patted Ben's shoulder. "You made the right decision."
It was a course of action Mancini could have supported a month ago, but Ben wasn't about to cast stones. His grandpa's recovery was all that mattered. He asked Liz, "When can we see him?"
"Two or three more hours. After the surgery, Jerod will be unconscious in Recovery."
"Oh, good," Patrice said as she grasped his arm. "That's enough time for you to take care of that other little problem we were talking about. Please, Ben."
His first priority was to be at the hospital. Everything else could wait. He linked his arm with Liz's and headed for the staircase. They were out of there.
Chapter Seventeen
"She tried to kill you with a flower box?"
"Not necessarily kill me," Liz said. "I think Annette just wanted me out of the way for a while so she could have a straight shot at you. Her Prince Charming."
Ben muttered, "I should have fired that loon first thing this morning."
She walked beside him on the city sidewalk outside Ramon's apartment building, glad that she'd changed out of her power suit and high heels into comfortable sneakers and jeans. "Maybe she deserved firing," she grudgingly admitted.
"Maybe? From what you just told me, Annette lied about seeing me carrying Charlene's body, took a valuable piece of jewelry as a bribe and tried to murder you." He smirked. "With a box of petunias."
Obviously, Annette wasn't a professional assassin. "She's valuable as a witness. And we need all the witnesses we can get. That's why we're here to see Ramon, right?"
'That's one reason. Another reason is Patrice. Another is that I can't stand waiting."
After spending an hour at the hospital, they'd determined there was nothing to be done but pacing and worrying. They'd decided to take action by coming to Ramon's upscale apartment building. The concierge told her that she'd seen Ramon in his running clothes and had assumed he was jogging in nearby Washington Park.
As they crossed the street into the park, she asked, "Why does Patrice want you to talk to Ramon?"
"You saw his apartment building."
"Nice place. Posh."
"And he drives a BMW. Dresses well."
She nodded. "Either Ramon has a trust fund or he's living way above the standard for a male model in Denver." '
"According to my sister," Ben said, "his side employment is blackmail."
Given time and a bit of research on the Internet, Liz could have figured this out for herself. As would the CBI. Agent Lattimer would be all over Ramon Stephens after he talked to Annette.
They stood at the edge of the running path in the lush green park, landscaped leafy trees, shrubs and colorful gardens. The two lakes in the center of this acreage attracted flocks of ducks and hordes of waddling Canadian geese that honked aggressively at the many joggers, dog-walkers and young mothers pushing baby carriages.
The soles of Liz's feet itched to join in. She felt the need for speed. Ever since she'd found out that her suspicions of Ben were groundless, she'd been bubbling over with positive energy, and her physical attraction to him had become a palpable force.
Every time she looked at him, her mind went straight to the bedroom. Memories of their kisses in the forest played and replayed. The moonlight on his cheekbones. The feel of his warm skin. His hard, muscular torso as he'd pressed against her.
She pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind. "Is Ramon blackmailing Patrice? What does he have on her?"
Ben lowered his sunglasses to look at her. "I shouldn't laugh. This is serious stuff to Patrice."
"What?" Liz had to know.
"Nudie photos." He couldn't help snickering. "My uptight sister had a moment of butt-naked wildness. And she wants those pictures back."
Ben's bodyguard stepped up beside them. "I suggest we go back to the vehicle, sir. This isn't a secure location."
"With all these people milling around?"
"Not to mention the geese," Liz said. "I've heard they can be good protectors."
The bodyguard did not crack a smile. "Look around. There's a lot of places where a sniper with a long
-range rifle could take cover."
"I'll risk it," Ben said.
"It's my job to protect you, sir. I have to insist that we go back to the car."
On the far side of the lake near the boathouse, Liz spotted Ramon. At least, she thought it was him. Sleeveless white T-shirt. Baggy shorts. He ran at a careful pace as if each step was a pose for a commercial.
"You stay here," she said to Ben. "I'll talk to Ramon."
Before he could object, she took off running. Behind her, she heard the discussion between Ben and his bodyguard heating up. Not her problem. Nobody was trying to kill her. Not unless she counted crazy Annette.
Without thinking, Liz fell into her natural stride. Running was her second-favorite exercise. The martial arts, of course, came first. She circled the east side of the lake on the asphalt path, dodging around a very small woman struggling with the leash on a very big dog that apparently wanted to jump into the water.
As Liz approached the guy in the sleeveless T-shirt, she identified Ramon. His exertion showed in the sweat glistening on his chest and upper arms. With a sculpted body like his, she understood why some women found him attractive. He wasn't her type. Too pretty.
When he saw her, he made a quick pivot and went in the opposite direction.
Fine with her. Liz turned up the speed. Her sneakers pounded the asphalt path. "Hey, Ramon. Wait up."
He tossed a look over his shoulder and realized that she was closing the gap between them. To avoid being outrun by a girl, he slowed to a walk as she raced up beside him.
Glaring, he asked, "What do you want?"
"You're in big trouble." She kept pace beside him as they approached the boathouse and the playground on the opposite side. "Annette told me what happened on the night of the murder."
"Annette." He scoffed. "That's one messed-up chick."
"She's prepared to tell the CBI everything."
He stopped at the edge of the path. "That night, she was upset. I gave her a pin to make her feel better. Nothing wrong with that."
"A diamond pin," Liz said, "that belonged to Charlene."
"She gave it to me. As a gift."
"You take a lot of alleged gifts from women, Ramon."
And she was sure the CBI would drag all that information out of him when they investigated. She had a different agenda. "You know who murdered Charlene."