Love With A Stranger (2 page)

She had been astonished when he purchased the Mediterraneanstyle home, moved her in, and suggested she remain there during the last five months while he traveled alone seventy-five percent of that time to take care of business. When he got lonely, he would arrange for her to join him for a few days.

She hadn’t minded that change in their lifestyle, and loved the easygoing and tranquil existence on the island, though neighbors were rarely present in their hugely expensive “winter homes” and “vacation cottages.” She knew she hadn’t done anything to cause Tom disappointment or to diminish his love for her. She was convinced he had sensed her travel weariness and settled her here out of love and concern. He had called almost daily and sent flowers or gifts at least once a week during his absences. When he was home, they were together constantly, in bed or out of it.

For many reasons, she hadn’t slept with Tom while dating him, and he had never pressured her to do so. Thomas Grantham had known how to romance and to pleasure a woman with skill, generosity, and stamina. She was going to miss those splendid bouts of lovemaking.

It hadn’t been that way with her first husband, though Brad’s lovemaking had been pleasant. She had been forced to admit she wasn’t enough for Brad; he also needed other women. But she wouldn’t allow Bradley Stillman to steal into her thoughts tonight. She’d divorced him at twenty-four and had never looked back in regret because Brad had destroyed all of her love and respect for him. She was glad they’d had no children to keep a tie between them, though she had remained friends with his sister, Kristy, after the divorce.

Cass grasped the edge of the counter to steady herself when a wave of dizziness suddenly assailed her. She felt weak, as if
her body were turning to warm honey which could spread across the rose-colored Florida tiled floor at any moment if she didn’t lie down. She glanced at the mirror above the floral sink and noticed her cheeks were flushed though the rest of her face was pale and her pupils seemed dilated and strange. She concluded she was more fatigued than she had realized or the wine was having a delayed reaction on her depleted system. She spread the washcloth over the edge of the sink, flipped off the bathroom light, and walked in a near wobble to the king-size Rice bed. She yanked the covers aside, absently wondering why Inez had not prepared the bed as usual before leaving tonight, and climbed between cool and colorful sheets. She turned off the Tiffany lamp, her fingers trailing down the Goddess Diana base and knocking the Valium bottle to the floor. She heard it fall, but made no attempt to retrieve it. She rolled to her right side and stretched out a hand to the empty spot beside her. Despite his tiny flaws, she thought, Thomas Grantham had been a good man, and a wonderful husband; fate had been cruel to snuff out his life so prematurely and in such a horrible manner. She closed her eyes and wept until she was released from her anguish by merciful slumber.

Cass opened her eyes, stretched, and yawned. She glanced at the clock on the nightstand to discover it was nine in the morning. Since she normally arose around seven, she was surprised she had slept so late. She heard the faint cries of seagulls and waves lapping at the beach beyond their property. Sunlight streamed through the windows and doors to the veranda, as she’d forgotten to close the drapes last night. It was going to be a beautiful spring day, she decided with a smile as her stomach announced its hunger with several growls. The moment she wondered what she was going to do after breakfast, the grim reality of her husband’s death crashed in on her. She grimaced and tears blurred her vision.

Someone knocked on the bedroom door and Cass realized Inez was there and must have closed the door after her arrival. “Come in,” she responded, but the door was already opening.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Mrs. Grantham, but the police are here and insist on speaking with you.”

Cass sat up and stared at Inez, wondering if the doorbell might have been what had awakened her. “The police?”

“Yes, ma’am. I told them you were still in bed and in mourning and to return later, but they refused. They’re waiting in the living room.”

A mystified Cass looked at Inez but the older woman kept her face blank. The fact that she wore her dyed black hair pulled back in a bun so tight it stretched her skin over her cheekbones added to her upleasant expression. Cass didn’t like the unfriendly woman, but she was an excellent housekeeper and cook. After moving to Sea Island, Cass and Tom had been told that good domestic help was hard to find, so he had insisted they keep the disagreeable creature. Her husband had been adamant that she would not become a maid or cook in her own home.

“What do they want, Inez? Is it about Tom’s…accident?”

“I don’t know, ma’am. Do you want me to ask them again to leave? Or do you want to call Mr. Peter home to deal with them?”

Cass tossed aside the covers and put on her slippers as she replied, “Neither, Inez. Tell them I’ll be down as soon as I’m dressed.”

“As you wish, ma’am.”

Before Inez could leave, Cass ordered in a pleasant tone, “Would you please offer the gentlemen some coffee?”

“As you wish, ma’am; it’s ready in the kitchen. I’ll bring you a cup to help you wake up.”

“Thanks, and I’ll have my breakfast on the veranda after they leave.”

“As you wish, ma’am.”

While observing the woman’s departure, Cass retorted silently,
If I did as I wished, you would have been gone long ago, you irritating—Watch it, Cass,
she warned herself,
don’t get yourself all worked up; and Inez is being nice today.
For Inez, an offer to bring her coffee was a huge and unexpected kindness.

Cass headed for the bathroom to freshen up, dress in a casual outfit, and put on at least a smidgen of makeup. The coffee was waiting for her when she emerged and she took a few sips. She couldn’t imagine why the police officers had come, but the last thing she wanted to talk about was Tom’s automobile accident and death. If it was only a courtesy or general inquiry call, she reasoned as she hurried, why had they insisted that a grieving widow leave her bed to speak with them?

She finished the coffee, used a refreshing blue mouthwash, checked her appearance, and left the room.

Cass entered the large and formal living room, paused just inside the archway, and asked, “What can I do for you gentlemen this morning? This has been a long and trying week and I wasn’t expecting company so early.”

“I’m Detective Adam Beals and this is my partner, Detective Carl Killian,” one of the men announced. “Have a seat, Mrs. Grantham; this might take a while. We have a lot of questions to ask before we can clear up this matter.”

Beals seemed short and stocky; Killian looked lanky. She couldn’t tell how tall either actually was since neither man rose from his seat when she entered the room, nor apologized about intruding on her privacy. It was apparent—since no coffee cups were visible—that they had refused Inez’s offer. Neither man smiled, and Beals’s voice sounded as gruff as his expression appeared. Inexplicable panic shot through her. “What kinds of questions, sir? The only things I know about the accident are what the officer who delivered the news told me.”

“Was it an accident, Mrs. Grantham?”

“I beg your pardon?” she asked in confusion, noting how
Beals stressed the word “accident” and sent her a skeptical look before he continued.

“We’ve already spoken to his pilot and the woman who flew in with him that night. He’s the only one who drove that particular car, right?”

Cass nodded. “What woman? Tom didn’t say anything about bringing a business associate or guest home with him, and I wasn’t told someone was in the car with him. Was she injured? Is she in the hospital?”

“No. He dropped her at the Embassy Suites on Golden Isles Parkway, a Miss Gretchen Lowery, a model, twenty-three, blue eyes, blond hair.”

“Her name isn’t familiar to me and Tom didn’t mention her when he phoned Sunday morning. Perhaps he gave her a lift home as a favor.”

“That isn’t the case; she said they were…close friends. Was there any trouble between you and your husband? Did he have any enemies?”

“Why were you in bed when you were expecting his return?” Detective Killian added.

Cass’s gaze shifted to Carl Killian. “Why would you ask about our personal relationship? What does that have to do with Tom’s accident?”

“Mr. Grantham’s wreck hasn’t been ruled an accident,” Beals said.

Cass eyed Adam Beals closely. “I don’t understand…The other officer told me Sunday night—”

“He spoke prematurely. We aren’t sure it was just an accident; the car’s still being examined. Would you answer my other questions?” Killian interrupted.

Cass gaped at Killian. “If you haven’t finished inspecting the car, what makes you think it wasn’t an accident?”

“Gut feeling and experience with crimes.”

“Crimes?” She echoed Killian’s alarming word as she felt her legs go weak and her head spin.

“Murder is a mighty serious crime, don’t you think?”

Cass focused her gaze on Beals. “Are you trying to tell me my husband was…murdered?” She saw Beals shrug. “That’s impossible.”

“Is it? From what I hear, he was a very wealthy and powerful man.”

“Yes, but Tom didn’t have any enemies. Perhaps a few people didn’t like him, but no one
hated
him. Gentlemen, I’m not feeling well this morning, so I think you should leave now and return on Monday.”

“This is just preliminary questioning to help us clear up this case, Mrs. Grantham, but we can talk downtown if you prefer.”

Cass repeated Killian’s word. “Downtown?”

“At the station. We just thought it would be nicer to do it here.”

Who, Cass wondered, was this Gretchen and why had she been with Tom earlier on that ill-fated night? And why were these detectives being so insensitive? “Should I call my lawyer?” Cass heard herself ask him, though she didn’t know why she did. She’d read too many mystery novels and watched too many dramatic movies while having little to do during Tom’s many absences. That would account for it.

“Do you need one?”

“You make it sound as if it would be a good idea.”

Killian suggested, “Perhaps I should Mirandize you, Mrs. Grantham, just so there won’t be any misunderstandings later.”

“Neither a lawyer nor my Miranda rights are necessary, sir. I just don’t like having my privacy invaded, so just ask your questions and let’s get this over with so I can rest,” Cass told them as she took a seat in an armless turquoise chair, compelling her to clasp her hands in her lap. She ordered her wits to clear in order to deal with the astounding situation. She had the oddest feeling that Beals and Killian had tried to catch her off guard with their sudden appearance and bold queries. Perhaps she should summon Peter before she continued to speak with—

“Do you remember my other questions? Will you answer them?” Beals demanded.

Cass almost glared at the flush-faced detective with his challenging gaze and stern expression. Both these heartless men were causing her to feel irascible and edgy. Suddenly she didn’t care if she were polite or cooperative or if her behavior made her look suspicious. All she wanted to do was finish this horrendous episode and get rid of “Mutt & Jeff” so she could take a long bath in the Jacuzzi garden tub and have breakfast on the veranda overlooking the ocean where fresh air and bright sunshine could clear her mind and warm her icy soul. She was tired and hungry. She felt weak and assailed. She was angry. Her nerves were raw, and it was a struggle not to squirm in her seat or scream at the detectives, tell them to go to hell and get out of her home.

Cass fought to retain her poise and wits. She couldn’t imagine what was wrong with her. Perhaps she was. suffering from delayed shock, total exhaustion, and/or depression. Despite her best intentions, she almost gritted out her words, “First, I would like to say this isn’t a kind way to treat a recent widow. My husband has been dead for less than a week when you invade my home and demand I be awakened the morning after I return late from his funeral. You ask ridiculous questions and make crude insinuations without explaining to me why you’re here. I find you both rude and inconsiderate. Now, shall we continue with the business at hand so you can leave as soon as possible?”

“Calm down, Mrs. Grantham, and we’ll—”

“Calm down!” Cass almost shrieked at Killian. “Right in the midst of a terrible ordeal, you come here and treat me with gross disrespect and cruel insensitivity and expect me not to be upset! Rest assured I will report your behavior to your superior and to my lawyer and stepson. You have no right to mistreat me in this manner.” She rushed to answer their intrusive questions. “My husband and I were happily married; ask anyone who knows us. As to Miss Lowrey, I have no idea who
she is or why she flew here with Tom. As to why I was in bed at midnight, Tom said if he wasn’t home by nine it was because he was being delayed and he would return on Monday morning, so I wasn’t expecting him back that night. As to why he didn’t phone me from McKinnon Airport after he landed, I assume it was because it was late and he knew I would be in bed.”

Cass’s chest rose and fell as she spilled forth the information in a near breathless rush. “In the past, if Tom flew in late, he slept in one of the guestrooms to keep from disturbing me. As far as I know, he has no enemies, but I’ve never been involved in his business dealings and know nothing about his companies or associates. As to the Volante, yes, only Tom drove that car; it was his favorite and he didn’t allow anyone to touch it besides his mechanic. As to his tragic accident, I only know what the policeman told me Sunday night. As to Tom’s wealth, yes, he was a very rich man. I have no idea what he’s worth, because I didn’t handle his money or even our household expenses; you’ll have to question his bankers and accountant for those answers. I can’t even tell you if I’m in his will or am his life insurance beneficiary, but I presume, as his wife, I am. Did I leave anything out, gentlemen? If so, ask your questions fast and leave.” She saw Killian glance at Beals and nod.

Killian responded, “That should cover everything for now, ma’am. If we have any more questions, we’ll see you next week. And if we’ve upset you, I apologize, and please accept my condolences for your loss. I did bring along Mr. Grantham’s briefcase and other belongings which we salvaged from the car. I put them over there.”