Dangerous Relations (16 page)

"Bill has nothing of Suziette's. Except her will."

"Which goes before probate the beginning of next week."

"Right. I have to go, Brett. I only called to tell you about Dimitri."

He felt her drifting from him. He desperately wanted to pull her back. "Would you like me
to stop by the house later? Keep you company tonight?"

"No thanks. We'll be fine."

"Right." He made his voice sound hearty. "Speak to you soon."

One of his men needed help putting up a sign, and Brett went to tackle the job. His assistant
pointed out they were painting the lines in the parking lot too close together. Immersed in work, he
had no time to dwell on Dimitri's murder or to daydream about Ardin. How typical of her to call him
for support, and then pull away. He'd keep that in mind before he offered his services again.

At noon he went to the popular Thornedale Diner on Main Street and sat in a small booth.
"Cheeseburger, rare," he ordered. "Salad instead of fries. And coffee."

"Will do." Darlene, the cheery thirtyish waitress, flashed him a smile, and left him to the
tabloid he'd brought to the table.

"Well, look who's here. My father's latest dupe of a business partner."

Brett glanced up, into the sneering face of Corey MacAllister.

"I'd check it out, Waterstone. Every angle. You don't want to get caught on the wrong end of
the stick again."

Brett rose, but Corey was halfway out the door. He was considering following, when
Darlene approached with his burger.

She set it down with a flourish and cast her eye at the closing door. "Keep away from that
one. He's bad news. He moved out of town, but like a bad penny, he keeps on returning."

A sudden thought came to him. "Does he get along with his father?"

"With Frank?" Darlene considered. "Come to think of it, I haven't seen them together in a
while."

"Hmmm." Brett squeezed ketchup on his bun and bit into the cheeseburger. Good,
juicy, and perfectly done.
Why
wasn't Corey in on his father's latest deal? It was big,
Frank had told him. As big as anything he'd ever undertaken.

Could Corey be telling the truth about Frank's latest enterprise being a scam? Or was he
venting malice? Had Corey loved Suziette and believed Brett had killed her?

Brett shrugged. He couldn't figure out Corey MacAllister, and he didn't want to. But he promised
himself the next time that freaky dude confronted him, he'd give him something to remember him
by.

"Goodbye, Cousin Ardin. See you tomorrow."

"Goodbye, Leonie."

"Say good-bye to Mr. Bonkers."

"Bye, Mr. Bonkers."

Ardin started the car as she watched Leonie follow Michelle into the Presleys' house. She
missed her already.

"She'll be perfectly fine." Vivie shifted her toddler to her other hip and shot Ardin a wicked
grin. "Now you go clear out your mama's apartment, and then have a gay old time with your
handsome lover."

"Talk to you later." Ardin backed out of the driveway, her face burning. That Vivie was a
witch.

She drove along, breathing in the spring fragrances intensified after a night of rain.
Yesterday she and Leonie had enjoyed a cozy afternoon and evening. An everyday chore like
making dinner became a fun activity when she had the lively, ever-chatting little girl to share it
with. Even helping Leonie pick out clothes for her sleepover had proven a delightful diversion. For a
while, she had managed to forget that the murderer was still out there, searching for God knew
what.

Now she drummed her fingers impatiently as she waited out a long red light. It was
ten-thirty. With any luck, she'd clear out her mother's apartment in a couple of hours.

She turned left onto Tara Boulevard, and noticed a grey SUV close behind her. Was
someone following her? She made a sharp right to Brown Street and breathed with relief when the
SUV kept on lumbering down Tara. He hadn't been tailing her, but she'd better keep an eye on her
rearview mirror. With all that had been happening, she needed to remain on guard.

Her mother's apartment already had the musty, unused odor of an abandoned home. She
felt a pang of guilt as she tossed the dying roses into the garbage pail. She should have taken them
to Aunt Julia's, but with so much going on she'd forgotten them in the empty apartment.

She rinsed out the vase and, leaving the door unlocked so she wouldn't have to bother with
the key, headed down the hall to Mrs. Katz's apartment.

"Ardin, dear, how nice to see you!" The old woman took the vase and carried it into the
kitchen.

She called to Ardin, who was hovering in the hallway, "Sit down and have a glass of iced
tea. I just made it from that wonderful new mix. It was on sale and I used a double discount coupon.
Imagine that!"

"I really can't stay, Mrs. Katz."

"And how is the little puss? Come, come." She shepherded Ardin to the living room sofa.
"Sit. I'll only be a minute."

Ardin wanted to leave, but hated to hurt Mrs. Katz's feelings. Her hostess returned to the
kitchen and quickly reappeared with a glass of iced tea and a plate of cookies. She placed it on the
cocktail table and sat back in a chair and beamed at her guest.

Ardin sipped her iced tea.

"How is it?"

"Fine. I like the lemon flavor."

Mrs. Katz pointed to the plate. "Taste!" she commanded. "They're almond. I made them this
morning and was wondering who was going to eat them."

Ardin ate a cookie. "Terrific, Mrs. Katz. You are a wonderful baker."

Mrs. Katz smiled coyly. "So my husband always told me."

They chatted about inconsequential things while Ardin finished the glass of iced tea and
most of the cookies.

"Can I get you some more?"

"No, thank you." Ardin made a beeline for the door. "This was great. Really." Her hand on
the doorknob, she said, "I'll say good-bye now. Thanks for being a good neighbor to my
mother."

Mrs. Katz waved away her need for any thanks. "That was my pleasure. And you take care."
She clasped Ardin in a surprisingly strong embrace.

Back in the apartment, Ardin turned on the small transistor radio she'd brought with her
and carried a carton into the kitchen. The few remaining items from the cupboards and drawers
went into the box. The super was welcome to them, and to whatever money he could make selling
the table. Little or nothing, would be her guess, but these days somebody's old junk was another
person's antiques.

She planned to take her father's small desk back to Manhattan, so she'd drag it into the
hallway and ask Bill or the super to carry it down to the car. She stopped in her tracks when she
noticed the top drawer was open. Papers were thrown helter-skelter over the writing surface.

A chill shuddered through her body. Someone had been here, could be here still. Her glance
went to the darkened bedroom around the bend of the tiny hall. She gulped as she headed for the
front door, which now seemed miles away.

The blow came, crashing and sudden. She heard a grunt, a shadow flitted by, and then she
knew no more.

When she opened her eyes, her head was throbbing, too awful to bear, and she closed them
again.

Someone shook her arm. "Ardin, wake up! What the hell happened?" The man--whoever he
was--sounded awfully worried. "Did you see who it was?"

"Let her be!" a woman ordered. She sounded old.

Ardin cautiously opened her eyes and blinked. The sunlight was blinding and made
her headache worse.
Where am I? What is that delicious aroma? So familiar. So like almond
cookies.

"Ardin dear, it's Mrs. Katz. Say you're all right. Your friend Bill is here."

"Bill?" Ardin made the mistake of raising her head. "Ouch! How did I get here?" She lay back
and looked around. Was she in Mrs. Katz's apartment? Hadn't she gone to her mother's?

"I carried you." He looked down at her, his face creased with worry.

"You were out cold. I shouted for help. Mrs. Katz told me to bring you to her
apartment."

Mrs. Katz handed her an ice pack. "Keep this on your head while I call an ambulance."

"No!" Ardin thrust out her arm to stop her. "I'm fine. Really. I can't go to the Emergency
Room. They'll keep me there all day." She thought a moment. "How long have I been out?"

"We figure about ten minutes," Bill said.

"Which is why you must be sensible and go to the Emergency Room," Mrs. Katz said. "And
we must call the police to tell them what happened."

"No!" Ardin looked imploringly at Bill. "I can't take another dose of Rabe."

Bill pursed his lips, but Ardin detected a twinkle in his eye. "I'm afraid you'll have to tell
him about this sooner or later. But you can avoid the ER."

"I can?"

Bill nodded. "I'll have my friend, Don Epstein, check you over. He's an internist, and his
office isn't far from here."

Ardin took a deep breath. "I'm fine, Bill. I have to clear out the apartment by five this
afternoon."

She struggled to her feet, tried to maneuver between the sofa and the cocktail table and
tripped. She ended up sprawled half on the sofa, half on the floor.

Mrs. Katz was there in a flash and helped her into a sitting position. "Ardin dear, stay still.
I'll bring you a glass of water."

Ardin closed her eyes. When she opened them, Bill was shaking his head at her.

"Here's what we'll do: I'll put the cot and whatever you're keeping in the van. When you're
feeling less woozy, I'll drive you to Don's office."

His kindness and common sense defeated her. "Okay, I give up. I'll finish up here
later."

"Only if Don says it's okay." He grinned. "In which case, I'll call Brett to see if he can play
watchdog."

"Brett," she murmured, feeling a silly grin take on a life of its own. She'd love nothing more
than to nestle in his strong arms, feel his hard body pressed against hers. But she
couldn't--wouldn't--put herself in the position of depending on a man.

"Don't call him."

But Bill was already on his cell phone.

* * * *

Brett insisted on meeting them at the doctor's office. He followed her into the examining
room, where the doctor gingerly felt her skull, checked her reflexes, then placed a tuning fork to her
forehead and asked where she heard the sound. He smiled when she pointed to both ears.

"Great. No concussion." He advised her to take it easy for the rest of the day.

"I'll see to that," Brett said.

"You will?" Ardin said, a touch of asperity in her voice. She wasn't used to all this fuss and
bother.

Once downstairs, she hugged Bill and thanked him for everything.

"You're more than welcome. Your father's desk will be safe in our garage, along with all our
antiques." He gave her a stern look. "And don't forget to call Rabe. He has to know about this."

Ardin climbed into Brett's Jeep as though she'd been doing it all her life. It felt natural to be
sitting here beside him.

His thoughts must have been running along the same track, because he said, "Do you
realize that except for yesterday, I've seen you every day since Sunday?"

"Hmmm. And the day's just beginning."

They maintained an easy silence as Brett drove. The ache in her head was receding as the
pill the doctor had given her took effect. It left her feeling a bit woozy and managed to keep the ugly
fact of her attack at bay. She was safe now. She was with Brett.

The Jeep came to a stop, and Ardin looked out the window. They weren't at her mother's
apartment, but in the large parking lot shared by the police station and the court.

"Oh, no!"

"May as well get it over with."

The officer at the front desk said Detective Rabe was waiting for them in his office.

"Bill called ahead," she said accusingly as they walked down the narrow hall. "You two are
taking liberties behind my back."

"For your own good."

In Rabe's office, Brett reached for her hand and held it as Ardin told the detective what had
happened.

"You left the door to your mother's apartment unlocked while you visited Mrs. Katz?" Rabe
said.

Ardin looked from one glare of disapproval to the other.

"For the second time, I returned the vase, and she insisted that I stay for iced tea and
cookies."

The detective said nothing.

"I suppose you're going to say that Mrs. Katz was in on the set up. Or accuse Mr. Presley or
Mr. Waterstone of attacking me."

Rabe let out a sigh. "Ms. Wesley, there's a dangerous murderer out there, and now he
seems to have set his sights on you."

"And you're totally oblivious to it all," Brett added.

Shocked, Ardin stared at him. "No, I'm not."

Rabe looked from Ardin to Brett. "What I think Mr. Waterstone is saying is that he cares
about you and would like you to be careful and not take any unnecessary risks."

Ardin felt the warmth flood her face. Dammit, was everyone in the town privy to Brett's
feelings. "Thank you, Detective Rabe. I promise to be more careful in the future."

"You saw nothing? Smell a familiar cologne?"

Ardin shook her head. "Ouch. No."

"You said the desk had been ransacked. Have you any idea what he was looking for? Is
anything missing?"

"I didn't get a chance to look. My mother kept her checks and paid bill receipts in the desk. I
hadn't put anything in any of the drawers."

Rabe cocked a beady eye at her. "Did your cousin give you anything for safe keeping?"

Ardin thought a moment. "No. Like what?"

"A date book? A little black book where she kept her appointments?"

"Suziette never gave me anything. Is that missing?"

"Both Mr. Waterstone and Mr. Frank MacAllister attest to having seen her write in a little
black book. We've never found it."

"Sorry, I've never seen it, before or after."

Rabe rose suddenly. "Thank you for coming." He looked surprised when neither Ardin nor
Brett followed him to the door.