Jayne Ann Krentz (25 page)

Bev angled her chin. “Hmm,” she said thoughtfully.

Mitchell waited.

“Unfortunately,” Bev said slowly, “there is one name that does come to mind. Ed once told me about some rumors he'd heard shortly before Kaitlin's death. Naturally he ignored them. Ed was an old-fashioned kind of journalist. Unlike this modern bunch, he didn't believe in printing the details of people's sex lives on the front page of a family newspaper.”

Mitchell could feel himself getting revved up. This investigating business was fun. He was starting to understand why Rafe was so eager to poke a stick into this particular varmint hole. “Can I have the name of this guy Ed didn't want to put on the front page?”

Bev hesitated. “I'll give it to you, but it won't do you any good. He has an ironclad alibi for that night.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I can vouch for his whereabouts that evening, as well as the whereabouts of most of the rest of the good, upstanding citizens of Eclipse Bay.”

“Well, shoot and damn.” Disgust replaced the anticipation Mitchell had been savoring. “Don't tell me you saw him at that reception up at the institute that night?”

“I'm afraid so,” Bev replied. “Still want the name?”

“Sure.” A thought struck Mitchell. “You never can tell. Maybe he ducked out long enough to murder the Sadler woman. In a crowd of that size, he might not have been missed for a while.”

“Trust me, he would have been missed if he had vanished for any period of time longer than what it would take to go to the men's room,” Bev said. “The name is Trevor Thornley. Soon to become Senator Thornley, if all goes according to plan.”

Mitchell groaned. “Well, shoot and damn.”

“Trevor Thornley? In lingerie and high heels?” Hannah sank back into the depths of the wicker chair. “There's an image I could have done without.”

Rafe paced back across the solarium. “But it makes sense. Dell told us that Kaitlin had claimed that she was going to score big. None of the names on Virgil's list would qualify as big scores. She might have pried a few bucks out of some of them, but not enough to finance a fresh start outside of Eclipse Bay.”

“But a politician with a bright future in front of him might have looked very tempting to her,” Hannah said quietly.

“Sure would be embarrassing as all get out if Kaitlin actually had movies of him running around in ladies' undies,” Mitchell said. “Thing like that would have cost him the election eight years ago. Seeing as how he was the conservative on the ticket and all.”

Rafe continued his pacing. “Might have been worth murder to Thornley.”

“Never did trust him,” Mitchell said.

Rafe was almost amused. “Big deal. You've never trusted any politician in your life.”

“It's a grand theory, gentlemen.” Hannah picked up her wineglass. “But let's not get too carried away here. As Bev pointed out to Mitchell, Thornley is the one person who could not have disappeared from the reception without being missed that night.”

Rafe came to a halt and rested a hand on the windowsill as he contemplated the steel-colored waters of the bay. “Remember what Virgil told us. In a blackmail case there are others besides the victim who have a motive to kill. Anyone with an investment in the person being blackmailed might be moved to do something drastic to stop the extortionist.”

Hannah swirled the sauvignon blanc in her glass. “Are you suggesting Thornley's wife might have murdered Kaitlin?”

Rafe thought about it. “Marilyn Thornley is as dedicated to her husband's career as he is. A decade ago she had a reputation for getting what she wanted. Doubt that's changed much in the last few years.”

“I won't ask how you know that,” Hannah grumbled.

Rafe shrugged. “Don't give me that look. Marilyn never wanted me. She knew I wasn't headed for big things.”

Hannah frowned. “So how do you know that she had a way of getting what she went after?”

It was Mitchell who answered. “He knows because for a while Marilyn wanted Gabe.”

“Aha.” Hannah pondered that fact. “Did she, uh, get him for a while?”

“You know, I never came right out and asked him,” Mitchell said laconically. “But to tell you the truth, if they did have a fling, it wouldn't have meant much to him. The only thing he cared about in those days was reviving Madison Commercial. Still is, come to that. I swear, if that grandson of mine doesn't figure out that there's more to life than doing deals and making money, he's gonna wind up missing all the stuff that really matters.”

Rafe shot him a narrow-eyed look. “Gabe resurrected Madison Commercial for you, Mitchell.”

“You don't have to tell me that. I admit I steered him in that direction. But I never meant for him to make the damn company his entire life.”

Rafe shrugged. “The company's his passion. What did you expect?”

“We all know what happens with a Madison once he's fixated on his great passion in life,” Hannah murmured into her wine.

“You make it sound like Gabe doesn't have time for a wife, but that's not true,” Mitchell continued. “The only reason he hasn't married is because he's got a problem with women.”

Hannah was interested. “What kind of problem?”

“He expects them to work the same way his company works.” Mitchell's voice dripped with disgust and frustration. “Don't know where he got the notion that women operate like an accounts receivable department or that you could treat one of 'em like a branch of the head office. Certainly not from me.”

“We're getting a little off track here,” Rafe said. “Why don't we get back to the problem at hand?”

Hannah straightened in her chair. “Right. Okay, let's see what we've got so far. We think that Trevor Thornley might have been Kaitlin's blackmail target. But we also know that he couldn't have killed her that night because he was the star of the institute reception. That leaves us with the extremely weak possibility that someone who didn't want Thornley compromised might have gone out to meet Kaitlin and silence her.”

“Makes sense to me,” Mitchell said. “What do we do next?”

Rafe turned the glass in his hands. “We talk to Arizona Snow. See if she'll let us look at her logbooks for that night.”

“Let's just hope she wasn't home sick with the flu that evening,” Hannah said.

“Thank you, Miss Optimism,” Rafe growled.

“Well, to be honest, I keep wondering what we can do even if we do come up with a really terrific scenario for the murder of Kaitlin Sadler. It's not like we can hope to find any proof after all this time. Say that we're successful. What are our options?”

Rafe hesitated. It was Mitchell who sat forward, determined and eager.

“I'll tell you what you do,” he said. “You blow the whole damn story wide open so there are no more secrets to be kept. You go to Jed Steadman down at the
Journal
and give him the facts. He always wanted to be a real investigative reporter. This is his big chance, and I'm betting he'll take it. If he runs with it, you can pretty much guarantee that every paper in the state will start digging into the Sadler woman's death.”

“He's right,” Rafe said. “Jed might not find hard proof, but the entire Thornley camp will be on the defensive. Hell, the lingerie rumors alone will be enough to keep them fully occupied. Whoever's behind this will be too busy proving Thornley's innocence on both counts to bother with any more attacks on you or Winston.”

Hannah looked at each man in turn. The same ice-cold intent glittered in both pairs of sea-green Madison eyes. She shook her head. “And you two wonder why everyone says you're so much alike.”

After dinner Rafe walked out onto the porch with Mitchell. Winston padded along at their heels. Together the three of them gazed at the big SUV lurking in the shadows of the drive, looking for all the world like some modern-day
Tyrannosaurus rex
waiting for prey. Probably hoping some slow-witted, herbivorous little compact would wander within range, Rafe thought. The silhouette of Bryce's figure behind the wheel was just barely visible in the gathering shadows. The dinosaur's brain.

“Well, thanks for dinner,” Mitchell said.

“Sure. Anytime.”

“Still can't get over the fact that you can turn out first-rate grub like that.”

“Maybe you've just been eating too much of Bryce's cooking.”

“Could be. But I'm used to it.”

Rafe leaned against a post. “I haven't thanked you for the information you brought back from Portland.”

“No problem.” Mitchell tapped the end of his cane on the edge of the step. “Sort of interesting, if you want the truth. Haven't ever done anything along those lines.”

“Neither have I. Lucky for us, you and Bev Bolton are such good friends.”

“Uh-huh.”

There was another short silence. Winston yawned.

“Sure hope to hell we know what we're doing here,” Mitchell said after a while. “If we're right, we're talking about blowing apart the campaign of a hot-shit candidate for the United States Senate. Lawsuits could be the least of our worries when this is over.”

“Since when did a Madison ever let the small stuff get in the way?”

Mitchell nodded. “You've got a point there.”

“The important thing is that we put a stop to whatever is going on around here.” Rafe folded his arms. “Hannah's safety comes first.”

“Can't argue that one,” Mitchell said. “What's a political campaign compared to protecting a lady? Speaking of Hannah—”

Rafe braced himself. “Were we?”

“We sure as hell were. I didn't want to say anything in front of her, but we both know the two of you can't stay shacked up here like this indefinitely.”

“Shacked up?” Rafe managed a politely blank expression. “I don't believe I'm familiar with the term.”

“Bullshit! You know damn well what I'm talkin' about. When are you going to do the right thing by that girl?”

“When are you going to do the right thing by Bev Bolton?”

Mitchell's face tightened. Rafe was startled to see a flash of pain in his grandfather's eyes. The expression vanished swiftly behind glittering outrage.

“I'd marry Bev Bolton tomorrow if I thought she'd have me,” Mitchell said ferociously. “But I've got a reputation to live down. She doesn't think I know how to make what she likes to call a commitment.”

Rafe looked at him, saying nothing.

Mitchell blinked once or twice. The outrage faded to dawning chagrin. “Well, shoot and damn. You're in the same leaky boat, aren't you, son?”

“I don't think Hannah bought that story you gave her about my bad nerves,” Rafe said. “She's got the same problem with me that Bev Bolton has with you.”

“Your checkered past?”

“Yeah. But in my case it's not only my own that I've got to live down. I've got yours and Dad's in the way, too.”

“Well, shoot and damn.” Mitchell gazed unhappily at the tip of his cane, then at Rafe. “Don't suppose you've got any good ideas on what to do about this problem Madisons seem to have with females?”

“No.”

“Well, shoot and damn.”

“Yeah,” Rafe said. “Shoot and damn.”

“No sense asking Gabe. He's no better with women than we are.”

“Apparently not.”

Mitchell glanced at Winston. The Schnauzer cocked his head in polite inquiry.

“No point asking him for advice, either,” Rafe said. “Hannah had him neutered.”

The night coalesced swiftly around them, deepening the somber atmosphere.

“I think there's some irony here somewhere,” Rafe said eventually. “But I can't be sure, because I never finished college.”

“Told you you'd regret dropping out.”

“I know. Look at me now. Doomed to go through life without knowing about stuff like irony and postmodernism. It's almost enough to make a man regret a misspent youth.” Rafe paused. “But I'll probably get over it.”

Mitchell nodded. “Fix yourself a whiskey and soda and take a long walk on the beach. Always worked for me.” He roused himself and went down the steps. “Tell you one thing,” he said over his shoulder as he strode toward the waiting SUV.

“What's that?”

“You may not have finished college, but you're a Madison.”

“So?”

“So, no Madison ever let anything stand in his way once he made up his mind to go after what he wanted. Remember what I said. You can't shack up with Hannah forever. It's not right. You've got to come up with a fix for this mess. Hear me?”

“I hear you.”

Mitchell opened the passenger-side door of the SUV and climbed in. Rafe and Winston watched the monster vehicle lumber off down the drive.

When the taillights disappeared, Rafe looked down at the dog. “You know, Winston, one of the reasons you and I get along so well is that you never hand out unsolicited advice.”

Winston yawned again, rose, and ambled back inside the house.

Mitchell peered at the road through the windshield. “I think those two need a little kick in the right place to get them moving in the right direction.”

“My advice is to stay out of the matter, sir,” Bryce said. “The conduct of close interpersonal relationships is not your strong point.”

“I don't pay you for advice.”

“You have made that clear many times over the years.”

“Never seems to stop you from interfering.”

“That's why you keep paying me, sir.”

“Hmmph.”

“I hate to ask,” Bryce said, “but do you have a plan to apply this kick you seem to feel your grandson and Miss Harte require?”

Mitchell drummed his fingers on the dash, thinking furiously. “I'm working on one.”

Bryce nodded. “I was afraid of that.”

Rafe was brooding. Hannah could feel the vibes. He had been in a strange mood since he came back into the house after seeing Mitchell off. She had helped him with the dishes. There had been very little conversation. The few words that had been exchanged had been centered on speculation about what they might or might not learn from Arizona Snow.

“She's so weird,” Hannah said. “Lord only knows what those logs of hers will look like, assuming she'll even let us see them.”

“I think she'll let me have a look at them.” Rafe finished drying a pan and shoved it into a cupboard. “She and I always got along pretty good in the old days.”