Cold Hearted (26 page)

“Yes, certainly. That makes sense.”

“I’ll try to be as unobtrusive as possible, but it’s my responsibility to keep you safe.”

Jordan looked at the attractive woman Rick had assigned to protect her from an unknown enemy. Maleah Perdue didn’t look like Jordan imagined female bodyguards looked. She was average height and had a slim but nicely rounded figure. With her blue eyes, blonde hair and creamy complexion, she epitomized the All-American beauty of decades past.

Maleah dressed sensibly in tan twill slacks, navy blue blazer, white shirt and low-heel navy shoes. As Jordan studied her, she noted a bulge beneath the left side of the blazer.

“You’re wearing a holster.” Jordan spoke aloud without realizing what she’d done until it was too late.

“Yes, ma’am. It’s mandatory whenever I’m on guard duty.”

“I don’t like guns.”

“I assure you that I won’t use it unless it’s absolutely necessary.

“Yes, of course.” Jordan cleared her throat. “At dinner this evening, I’ll introduce you to everyone and explain the situation, but until then I’d like to be alone. I promise I won’t leave the house and I won’t answer the phone unless I know the identity of the caller.”

“All right. I’ll see you at dinner then.”

“Dinner is at seven this evening.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

As soon as Maleah left, Jordan slumped down in the nearest chair. Just when she’d thought things couldn’t get any worse, this had to happen. A threatening letter, followed by a threatening phone call. And instead of staying on at Price Manor to personally see to her safety, as she had hoped he would do, Rick had put someone else in charge.

You don’t need him. You don’t need anyone. You can take care of yourself. You know better than to rely on another person. People disappoint you. They let you down. They die and leave you all alone.

Darlene seldom slept past five-thirty. She had been a creature of habit all her life. When the weather permitted, she took a long walk every morning. When she stayed at her apartment in Priceville, she’d walk downtown and usually stop at the small coffee shop on Main Street where she bought a cup of her favorite espresso and a morning newspaper. When she visited Price Manor, as she was doing now, she often walked around the grounds, sometimes following the drive to the front gates and back or occasionally taking the path that led through the woods. And when she returned to the house, she always prepared her own coffee, using the espresso machine Jordan had purchased especially for her.

Although springtime was in full bloom, there was a definite chill in the air this morning and that’s why she’d worn a lightweight jacket. When she opened the back door, the morning breeze’s cool breath fanned her face. She buttoned her jacket and headed out, intending to shorten the usual length of her stroll so that she would be back before Jordan woke. When she had stopped by Jordan’s room this morning and peeped in, she’d found her sprawled sideways in the bed, without even a sheet over her.

Jordan had been having difficulty sleeping since Dan’s death and even more so since she’d started receiving threatening letters and phone calls five days ago, on Monday. Darlene had made her a cup of hot tea every night and taken it to her before bedtime.

“I know Dr. Carroll prescribed some sleeping pills for you, but I don’t think you should take them,” Darlene had told her.

“I haven’t even had the prescription filled,” Jordan had said. “I put it in the desk in my study. If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll tear it up and throw it away.”

“There’s no need to do that. If you continue having problems sleeping, I can get the prescription filled for you and keep the medication in my room and give you one tablet each night.”

Jordan had hugged her. “Thank you, Darlene. What would I do without you?”

This morning, she had tiptoed into Jordan’s bedroom and covered her with the down comforter crumpled at the foot of the bed. As she had crept silently out of the room, she’d met that female Powell agent at the door.

“Is everything all right?” Maleah Perdue had asked.

“Yes. Jordan’s asleep.”

Such a dreadful shame that Jordan needed a bodyguard, but under the circumstances, it was necessary. Darlene had wondered why Rick Carson hadn’t taken the job himself, but when Jordan had explained that Rick believed a female bodyguard was more appropriate, Darlene had agreed.

With her mind deep in thought about and concerned for Jordan, Darlene hadn’t realized she’d taken the path that led past Roselynne’s cottage at the back of the mansion. Jordan certainly had more patience with her step-family than most would have. She had tried to tell her years ago that no one would blame her if she cut the lot of them loose to fend for themselves.

“But that’s just it — they can’t fend for themselves,” Jordan had said. “If it was only J.C., I’d have tossed him out on his ear after Daddy died. But I don’t think Roselynne could have provided properly for Tammy and in order to take care of Tammy, I had to take care of Roselynne, too. Besides, Roselynne has a good heart.”

Hogwash. The woman was a leech, plain and simple. Jordan was the one with the good heart, not her worthless stepmother.

As Darlene rounded the curve in the path that went behind the cottage and into the woods, she noticed the back door of the cottage open and two people walk out on the porch. Intending to hurry away before they saw her, she stepped up her pace, but when, in her peripheral vision, she caught a glimpse of the two people, she stopped dead still, turned around, and gaped at them.

Wallace McGee, with his shirttail hanging out, his leather belt draped around his neck, and his shoes in his hand, stood there grinning like a lovesick fool. Roselynne, wearing nothing but a sheer nightgown, wrapped her arms around Wallace’s neck and kissed him. On the lips.

Hussy! The woman was nothing but a slut. How could a man such as Wallace be seduced by bleached hair and large breasts? She had thought better of him. But then again, he was just a man, with a man’s weaknesses. No, she didn’t blame dear, sweet Wallace. She blamed that worthless piece of trash.

Darlene inched her way slowly into the outer fringes of the wooded area at the back of the cottage, keeping out of sight while she watched as Wallace slipped into his shoes and put on his belt.

She understood loneliness all too well and knew that Wallace had been terribly alone since his dear wife, Glenda, passed away two years ago. But of all the women in the world he could have chosen to assuage his loneliness, why had he chosen Roselynne? They could hardly have anything in common. Wallace was, after all, a highly intelligent, well-educated, cultured gentleman.

Sex. That’s all it was between them. Just sex.

When Wallace came to his senses and decided he wanted to remarry, he would look elsewhere. Not that she wanted him for herself or would marry him if he got down on his knees and begged her. But she wouldn’t be opposed to seeing him socially.

She should have continued on her walk instead of watching Wallace kiss Roselynne again and then blow her kisses just before he got in his car and drove away.

No fool like an old fool.

“Good morning, Darlene,” Roselynne called loudly. “Why don’t you come on in and have a cup of coffee with me.”

Damn the woman. She’d seen her.

Did she know all along that I was watching them?

“No, thank you. I’ll wait and have coffee after my walk.”

“Suit yourself.” Roselynne smiled like the proverbial Cheshire cat as she looked skyward. “It’s a beautiful morning, isn’t it? Of course any morning is a beautiful morning after you’ve spent the night making love. Don’t you think so?”

“Do you have no shame?” Darlene took several hesitant steps toward the back of the cottage. “You had a man spend the night while both of your children were sleeping under your roof.”

Darlene had always detested Roselynne’s loud, throaty laughter, but never more than at that precise moment.

“Lordy, the way you talk, you’d think Tammy and J.C. were little kids. They’re adults and not the least bit shocked to know their mama has herself a gentleman friend.”

“You won’t keep him, you know,” Darlene said. “He’s just using you for sex. Once he tires of you, he’ll find someone more suitable, someone worthy of sharing his life.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. But don’t think for one minute that you’ve got a chance with him. A dried-up, old, prune-face like you won’t interest him, so I suggest, if you’re looking for a man, you look elsewhere.”

The ugliness of Roselynne’s words hurt her, but it was only a temporary pain, much like being slapped. Darlene tilted her chin and stuck her nose in the air. She was too much of a lady to continue exchanging insults.

“You have yourself a nice walk,” Roselynne said. “I’ll see you up at the house later this morning for breakfast.”

Without replying, Darlene walked away quickly, but Roselynne’s coarse laughter followed her. Mocking her.

When Rick stepped out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist, his cell phone rang and someone knocked on his door. He grabbed the phone, saw that Nicole was the caller, and as he flipped open the phone, he walked to the door.

“Yeah, Nic, what’s up?” He peered through the peephole in the door. Lt. Haley McLain, dressed in jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt, stood in the hallway.

“You asked us to try to find out where a man named Jay Reynolds who used to work for the Peachtree Agency is now,” Nicole said.

“Yeah. Hey, wait up just a minute. There’s someone at my door.” He cracked the door a couple of inches and looked at Haley.

“Good morning,” she said. “May I come in?”

What the hell! “Sure, come on in.”

When he opened the door and walked toward the bathroom, Haley entered. She eyed his state of undress, letting her gaze travel from his damp hair to his bare chest, over the white towel covering him from waist to upper thighs, and down to his feet.

“Like what you see?” he asked.

“Rick, who are you talking to?” Nicole’s question reminded him that his boss was on the phone.

“Sorry. Give me another minute, will you?” He held the phone against his bare chest. “Sit down,” he told Haley. “I need to take this call and put on some clothes.”

“Take your time. I can wait. I’m off work today.”

He closed the bathroom door. “Lt. McLain’s paid me an early morning visit.”

“Business or personal?”

“I’m not sure, but I can assure your that as far as I’m concerned it’s business.” Rick turned on the sink’s faucets to create background noise, then lowered his voice and asked, “Now what’s the news about Reynolds? Have you located him?”

“In a matter of speaking.”

“Meaning?”

“Jay Reynolds, former employee of the Peachtree Agency, the man who worked with and dated Jordan Price, is dead.”

A cold lump of dread formed in Rick’s chest. “When did he die?”

“Ten years ago.”

“After he left the Peachtree Agency and moved from Atlanta?”

“Nope. He was still in Atlanta and still employed by the Peachtree Agency when he died.”

Rene Burke had lied to him. She’d told him Jay Reynolds had left Atlanta. And there was no way she wouldn’t have known the guy had died. “How old was Reynolds?”

“Thirty. Want to know how he died?”

“Something tells me that it was an accident of some sort.”

“Not exactly. He was beaten to death in the parking deck of his apartment complex. The murder weapon was never found, but the ME felt certain it was either a baseball bat or something similar in size and shape. The report we received states that he was hit over the head repeatedly. After the person killed him, they robbed him. They took his wallet, his watch and two rings.”

“Did the police ever find his killer?”

“No. There were no witnesses. Nobody saw a thing.”

“In cases such as that, the killer is usually male, but not always.”

“You read my mind. We both know that if Reynolds was taken by surprise, a woman could have easily knocked him out first and then beaten him to death.”

“I know what you’re thinking,” Rick said. “You’re thinking this is just one more nail in Jordan’s coffin. How many men does this make? Six, if you count her father. It was hard enough to believe that five was a horrible coincidence, but six. Damn, Nic, it can’t be a coincidence.”

“I agree and so does Griff. It would seem that the person who killed Dan Price and possibly his ex-wife may have systematically killed five times before, all of the victims men closely associated with Jordan.”

“But that doesn’t mean she’s the one who killed them.”

“Again, I agree. But if not Jordan, then it has to be someone close to her, someone who has known her for at least a dozen years or more.”

“That includes everyone in her close-knit little family, her stepmother, stepbrother and stepsister. Then there’s Devon Markham, Rene Burke and Darlene Wright.”

“We know for certain that Jay Reynolds was murdered and so was Jane Anne Price. We and the Dade County sheriff’s department believe Dan Price was murdered. What we need to know is, if there’s any proof Jordan’s father, her former boss or her fiancé were also murdered. And if we believe Jordan is innocent, then we should start looking for a motive or motives for the murders. It would certainly help if there had been autopsies performed on all those men.”

“We’d need a court order to have a body exhumed,” Rick said. “And for that we either need some kind of evidence to substantiate our suspicions or permission from the next of kin.”

“Powell’s will send someone to talk to Donald Farris’s widow,” Nic told him. “You’re there in Priceville, so I’ll leave it up to you to talk to Roselynne Harris and Darlene Wright.”

“And say what to them? Tell them we’ve discovered another of Jordan’s men was possibly murdered and we believe that Robby Joe and Wayne Harris were also victims? Believe me, if they think we’re implying that Jordan killed these men, they’ll circle the wagons around her.”

“I see your dilemma. If they think you’re accusing Jordan, they’ll defend her and refuse permission to exhume the bodies. But if you present it differently, say that someone in Jordan’s life has been murdering these men, then they may think they’re a suspect and refuse to cooperate.”