“Looks like it’s just you and me,” Cade said.
She nodded, but with any luck some of the other jurors would have a couple of empty chairs at their table.
CADE HEADED SILENTLY for the dining room with Talia, barely able to resist the urge to reach for her hand.
Last night he’d wanted her so badly he’d used up every last bit of his self-control. So now he was running on empty, and he had to talk to her about them as soon as possible.
Hell, he’d practically cheered when Harlan opted for spending the lunch break on the information highway, because it meant they could talk right now, which was perfect.
Unlike last night, he was sure she’d be thinking straight. And he…well, he was reasonably sure he was thinking straight.
Oh, his brain was still warning him about not making the same mistake twice, but he’d decided his brain was just being overly cautious. There were similarities between Talia and his ex-wife, but only a few. And a pretty superficial few at that.
So what was the point in even trying to pretend he wasn’t crazy about Talia? He just couldn’t see one any longer. But he could sure see a point in letting her know how he felt. When he’d held her last night, when she’d snuggled close to him, all soft and warm…He didn’t stop his thoughts from drifting along that track, and by the time they reached the dining room he was practically walking on air.
“It looks as if the sheriff’s people have completely cleared out,” Talia said while they waited for the maitre d’ to appear.
The sheriff’s people were the last thing on Cade’s mind, but he looked around and saw that she was right. He’d noticed a few of them at breakfast, but there was no sign of them now.
Absently he wondered if they’d gotten anywhere close to catching the murderer. Then he spotted the maitre d’ heading toward them and turned his thoughts to how he should begin his conversation with Talia.
“A table for two?” the maître d’ asked.
“Well, actually—” Talia began.
“That’d be fine,” Cade said.
When they started across the room, he felt as if a weight had just been lifted off his shoulders. In a few more minutes he’d have his cards laid out on that little table for two.
Then the familiar voice of Bud the baby-sitter called, “Talia? Cade? Come join us.”
The maître d’ stopped and glanced questioningly back at them. Cade looked in the direction Bud’s voice had come from. The court officer was smiling expectantly at them from a table for four. Only Bud’s and the chair opposite his were occupied.
“That’s fine,” Talia said before he had a chance to open his mouth.
Then she and the maître d’ changed course, and all he could do was follow along. As they neared the table the fellow sitting with Bud rose politely. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties and was unquestionably one of the resort guests. Tall and blond, he was dressed casually but expensively. The practiced smile he flashed their way was clearly designed to make people like him.
While the maître d’ deposited menus at the two vacant places, Bud got to his feet, as well, even though he didn’t normally display grade-A manners. “Talia, Cade,” he said, “I’d like you to meet Gerald Asimov.”
“Gerr,” the guy said, extending his hand to each of them in turn. “My friends call me Gerr.”
“Asimov?” Talia said. “Do people always ask if you’re related to Isaac Asimov?”
Gerr gave a self-deprecating shrug. “Yes they always ask, and I really wish I was. Maybe it would make my books sell better.”
“Oh, you’re a writer, as well?” she asked.
Her fascinated expression made Cade decide he wasn’t any too crazy about Gerr.
“Well, actually I’m a lawyer.” Gerr pulled Talia’s chair out for her. “But I write, too.”
“Really. You can’t have much spare time then.”
Gerr shook his head. “I practice criminal law in New York City. So I spend most of my days in courtrooms and most of my nights writing.”
“And it’s fiction you write?” Talia asked.
“Uh-huh. Legal thrillers. But I’d really rather not listen to myself talk, so I’m glad you could join us.
“Both of you,” he added, smiling at Cade. “Bud was just saying he hoped the two of you would be coming in here with the others.”
“Oh?” Cade casually opened his menu.
“Gerr asked the Judge to introduce him to me this morning,” Bud explained, “because he wanted to talk to some of the jurors. But he didn’t think he should just approach anyone directly. And I said I thought you two would be good people to start with.”
Gerr nodded. “You see, the book I’m working on right now has a murder trial in it. But I’m trying a different twist, and I’m having a rough go of it. That’s why I’m here. I finally decided I had to get away from everything and take time to find the right perspective. So yesterday morning I grabbed my laptop, checked out of my office and flew down to Charleston.”
For a guy who’d rather not listen to himself talk, Cade thought blackly, old Gerr wasn’t exactly Silent Sam.
“He packed up and flew down here just like that,” Bud was saying.
Gerr laughed. “It wasn’t quite ‘just like that,’ Bud. I had to do some major rescheduling before I could get away. And find a place to stay.
“I was actually booked into the Planter’s Inn,” he continued, naming one of the most expensive hotels in Charleston, “but the fellow I was sitting next to on the flight told me about Bride’s Bay.”
“The Planter’s a nice place, too,” Bud offered.
“Yeah, so I heard. But this sounded like just what I wanted. So I called right then and there from the plane, and as luck would have it they had a vacancy. All I had to do was find a boat at the harbor to bring me over.”
“Then the next thing he knew,” Bud said, “he was in the middle of something he’ll be able to use in a book.”
“Could be,” Gerr agreed. “I’d only been here a couple of hours when that woman was murdered. And was I glad I’d switched hotels then. I mean who could ask for anything better?”
“Than a murder?” Cade said dryly.
“Oh, I don’t mean I was glad the poor woman got killed. It’s just that writers have a different outlook on experiences like that than most people. So I found it…interesting. Then somebody told me there was a murder-trial jury sequestered here, and I just couldn’t believe my good luck, You see, what’s been giving me so much trouble with my book is that I’m slanting it from the point of view of a juror, and—”
“And he’s never been a juror,” Bud interrupted. “Because lawyers aren’t eligible to serve on juries.”
“Right. I’ve always been on the courtroom floor during trials. I mean, I’ve certainly coached witnesses on how jurors will perceive them, but I need to get a handle on the psychological nuances of being on the other side of the jury box. So I thought if I could just talk to some of you people one-on-one…”
Gerald-call-me-Gerr paused to flash Talia a smile that made Cade nauseous.
“And,” he went on, “when Bud told me you’re a psychologist, Talia, I figured you’d be ideal—very perceptive about the sort of thing I’m after.”
“We’re not allowed to discuss the trial,” Cade pointed out. “As a lawyer, you must know that.”
Gerr glanced at him. “Oh, of course. I don’t intend to talk specifically about the Carpaccio trial. That’s not what I’m interested in. It’s the psychological experience of knowing you’ll be deciding a man’s fate. Especially in a state that has the death penalty. I’d like to hear your feelings on the matter, as well, Cade. It’s just that when Bud told me Talia was a psychologist…”
His gaze returned to her. “As I said, I assume your insights would be particularly helpful.”
“Am I allowed to discuss that sort of thing?” Talia asked Bud.
“Like I told you earlier,” Gerr said, turning to Bud, “I don’t want to
get you into any trouble over this.”
Bud laughed. “And like I told you, I’m due to retire next year. The worse trouble I could get is an early pension, and I sure wouldn’t complain about that.” He glanced at Talia. “But I don’t see any problem,” he said. “Not as long as you talk in generalities. Just steer clear of anything specifically related to the Carpaccio evidence.”
She nodded, then looked at Gerr again. “Well, I don’t know how much help I’ll be, but I can certainly give it a try.”
Gerr positively beamed at her. “Shall we say over dinner tonight?”
Cade stared pointedly at his menu. During the long silence that ensued he could feel Talia’s eyes on him. He didn’t glance up, though. If she wanted to have dinner with this guy, instead of with him, it was entirely up to her.
“Yes,” she finally murmured. “Dinner tonight would be fine.”
WHEN TALIAS GAZE wandered to the door connecting her room and Cade’s, she forced it away and told herself to concentrate on getting ready for dinner. Whatever Mr. Hailey’s problem was, it was of no real interest to her.
She’d had a lot of time now to get her head organized—more than enough to realize that thinking she’d been falling in love with him had been plain crazy. Which meant his only liking her as a friend was no problem at all. In fact, it was just as well. Because that was exactly how she felt about him.
Zipping up her dress, she tried to force the word denial from her mind. She was not in denial. Nor was she rationalizing. She’d simply put things into their proper perspective and was seeing them more realistically than she had before. And since she wasn’t interested in Cade, the reason for his sulking didn’t matter to her.
She glanced at the connecting door again, thinking she merely found it curious that he’d been acting so strangely all afternoon. Why, he’d barely said a word to her since she’d agreed to have dinner with Gerald Asimov. It was almost as if there was a little jealousy at work, but that couldn’t be his problem.
Whatever was going on, though, she had no intention of giving Cade Hailey another thought. As of this very instant he was a closed subject. She’d simply go downstairs and enjoy dinner. And enjoy talking with someone other than Cade for a change.
“Dammit,” she muttered. So much for not giving him another thought. The way he kept popping into her mind every two seconds was getting darned annoying.
She glanced at the bedside clock and saw there was a good half hour before she was supposed to meet Gerr. But before she could think about how to fill the time, someone knocked on her door. Her sixth sense told her it was Cade, and her pulse gave a funny little skip.
She resisted muttering a second ‘’dammit,” but either her brain had forgotten to tell her pulse that she wasn’t interested in him, or her pulse was on the fritz.
Her sixth sense, she discovered by checking the peephole, was on the fritz, as well. It wasn’t Cade standing in the hall. It was Detective Frank Boscoe.
When she opened the door he gave her his cool version of a warm smile, then asked if he could come in. “I have something important to talk to you about,” he said.
“Of course.” She stepped back to let him pass, then closed the door again and eyed him expectantly.
“I’ve come to tell you,” he said, “where things stand with Mrs. Wertman’s murder.”
Chapter Nine
The mention of Mrs. Wertman’s murder sent a chill down Talia’s spine. After spending the entire day in that conference room, concentrating on the details surrounding Maria Carpaccio’s death, she’d been doing her best to block thoughts of both murders from her mind.
“It’s rather unorthodox,” Frank Boscoe said, “to give you information about a case in progress. But I came back over here to fill the Judge in personally— as a professional courtesy. And he asked me to extend the courtesy to you. To relieve your mind.”
She nodded, glad the Judge had been thinking of her, because she had a feeling Boscoe would have rather just left her in the dark.
“Now, this is still confidential. We haven’t issued a statement to the media yet, so I need your assurance you won’t repeat anything.”
“All right. You’ve got my word.”
“Good. Then you’ll be glad to hear we have the killers in custody. And that the murder had absolutely nothing to do with you.”
Even though he sounded certain, she was almost afraid to believe he was right. “Killers,” she finally said. “Plural?”
“Uh-huh. Two of them. The shooter and the person who hired him. The boys on the mainland wrapped things up a few hours ago, and it turned out we were just spinning our wheels over here. The shooter was in a powerboat heading back to Charleston ten minutes after the murder.”
“It was a planned hit then,” she said, slipping into the jargon that had become far too familiar lately.
Boscoe nodded. “The shooter’s a pro. We only got him because the other perp broke down and confessed.”
“And…you’re positive you’ve got the right people?”
“Absolutely. It was Mrs. Wertman’s daughter who planned things.”
Talia felt as if someone had struck her. “Her daughter?” she whispered.
“Uh-huh. Ruth Wertman was a wealthy divorcée. And her twenty-two-year-old daughter was named as her sole heir.”
“My Lord,” Talia murmured, “it sounds like a replay of the Menendez brothers.”
“Same idea.”
Talia shook her head. Even with her overactive imagination, she could no more imagine hiring someone to kill her own mother than she could imagine being an aardvark.
“It really stinks, doesn’t it?” Boscoe muttered. “But at least you can be sure you’re safe.”
“Yes…yes, thank you for letting me know,” she said slowly, trying to think if there were any loose ends she should ask about while she had the chance.
“But the room,” she finally said. “Why was the killer waiting in the room I’d been assigned?”
“He wasn’t. Not originally. He started off here—in the room they’d intended for Mrs. Wertman.”
Talia swallowed uneasily, imagining him here, touching things she’d touched. Quickly she forced her attention back to Boscoe.
“But when she got up here,” he was saying, “and decided she had to have a different room, our friend followed her back down to the lobby. Then he hung around within earshot of the desk.”
“He followed her down to the lobby just like that? Without either her or Shad Teach noticing?”
Boscoe shrugged. “Like I said, the guy’s a pro, so I guess he just faded right into the woodwork. Then as soon as he heard they were switching her to 203, he came back upstairs and slipped its lock.”
“I just can’t believe it,” Talia whispered.
‘’Well, that’s what happened. He came here to do a job, did it and cleared out. Which means that your guy in the hall last night was exactly what Rebuzo and I figured—just some weirdo.”
For a second, knowing that for sure made her feel a little better. But only for a second. Because whoever the weirdo was, he was likely still around.
When she raised the likelihood of that, Boscoe nodded. “I’m afraid he probably is. And I’m also afraid we don’t have the manpower to do anything about him. We just can’t justify leaving any of our people on the island.”
“Then I’m on my own?”
“Not entirely. The Judge said they’ll have security keeping a close watch out for anything suspicious. Just incase.”
“Yes…well, I guess that’s better than nothing.”
“I’m sorry we can’t do more for you,” Boscoe said, opening the door to leave. “But as long as you’re careful, everything should be okay.”
“Yes. Of course.” She stood watching until he reached the end of the hall, then glanced at Cade’s door, wishing she could tell him what she’d just learned. But she’d promised she wouldn’t say a word. And the way he’d been acting, he probably wouldn’t care, a
nyway.
Closing the door, she wandered across the room and stood gazing out over the ocean—glad the sheriff’s department had solved the case and had its murderers locked up, but hardly thrilled that her own personal weirdo was still on the loose.
“THIS WAS A REAL GOOD idea,” Harlan said, polishing off the final chunk of his steak.
“Yeah,” Cade muttered.
He sat staring morosely at the flickering candle on the room-service table. This was a really good idea all right. Practically his dream come true. Eating dinner in the room with Harlan, while Talia was downstairs enjoying herself with Gerald-call-me-Gerr.
But at least this way he didn’t have to watch them. He shoved his plate to one side and reached for the carafe of coffee.
“So, how come you’re not eating with Talia tonight?” Harlan asked.
Cade shrugged.
“You have a fight with her?”
“No, nothing like that.”
Harlan glanced over at the screen saver floating on his laptop, then focused on Cade again, an inquisitive expression on his pale face. Cade swore to himself. The room was equipped with a dedicated line for computer and fax equipment, and Harlan had been talking—or was it typing?—to someone in California before dinner.
He’d said he was going to connect with another of his computer buddies right after they’d eaten, so if he was more interested in what had happened with Talia than in logging back onto the Internet, he probably wouldn’t just let the subject drop.
“There’s some lawyer-cum-writer staying at the hotel who wanted to talk to her,” Cade said, trying to fill Harlan in as concisely as possible. “So they’re having dinner together.”
“Yeah? What did he want to talk to her about?”
Briefly Cade explained.
“So is this guy a famous writer or what?”
“No idea. I’ve never heard of him, but that doesn’t count for much.”
“Want me to find out? If he’s well-known, I mean?”
“Can you do that?”
“Sure. I can plug into the catalogs of a zillion different libraries. Want me to give it a shot?”
Love And Lies Page 9