Past Tense (12 page)

With an effort of will, she pulled herself together, her eyes falling on the note. “At least this time we have something to show the police.”

She went to the window, noting the police car still outside, its dome light lazily swirling. “They’re still here. Tony, I have to talk to them.”

But her joints felt frozen; she wasn’t sure she could negotiate the stairs. She turned and dizziness swam through her head. Her steps were as stiff and jerky as a puppet’s as she moved toward the door.

“Tony, I—”

He reached her just in time to help her to a seat on the sofa. “Samantha, just sit tight. I’ll bring the cops up here.”

By the time she heard his returning footsteps along with the solid tread of another man, she’d managed to drink a glass of water and was feeling marginally better.

“Samantha,” Tony said as they came into the flat. “This is Inspector Allen.”

Allen was a muscular man of about forty whose jowly features appeared phlegmatic until one saw the keen intelligence in his eyes. “Good evening, miss,” he said, nodding politely. “I’ve rung for a fingerprint expert. In the meantime, perhaps you could tell me what’s been going on.”

Samantha related the events of the past week, as well as those that had driven her from Montréal. Allen wrote everything down in a small notebook, interrupting only occasionally with a question to clarify a point. “And you say this Bennett Price is in London at the moment?”

“Yes, as far as I know.” She shifted restlessly on her chair at the kitchen table where they had gone in order to leave the living room free for the fingerprint technician to do his job. “But I can’t believe Bennett would go to this length to cause trouble for me. And there’s no reason, since Dubray is very much alive.”

The detective permitted himself a small smile as he closed his notebook. “It’s not only a woman scorned who goes after revenge.”

“Bennett wasn’t a passionate man,” Samantha declared, pretending not to notice Tony’s suddenly lifted brows.

“Do you have any idea where he might be staying, Miss Smith?” the inspector asked.

Samantha shook her head. “No. It’s even possible that he has a flat of his own here, since his company has a number of business interests in England.”

Inspector Allen rose from his chair. “That will be all for now, then.” He patted her shoulder. “We’ll contact you if anything develops. And I’ll ask the beat constable to watch for anything unusual in the neighborhood. Good night.”

* * * *

“Bennett wasn’t a passionate man?” Tony said as soon as the inspector left. “Samantha, was that what you wanted in a husband, a man who wasn’t passionate?”

The inspector’s competent pragmatism and the assurance that the police were prepared to take her seriously had done much to restore Sam’s equilibrium.

“I might have guessed you wouldn’t let that pass,” she said tartly. “I had passion once but it ended disastrously. I made up my mind then that I wasn’t going into another relationship without keeping my eyes wide open.”

“Oh, really, Samantha. You’re an intelligent, attractive woman. You’re not likely to spend your life alone.” He placed his hands on her shoulders, his head bending toward her. “You just haven’t met the right man yet.”

Maybe she had, and she didn’t know it yet. Tony was different from the men she’d known, despite the tone of the news story she’d seen. And he showed every sign of liking her, for herself, not for any advantage being seen with her gave him.

Yes, she liked Tony, but was she ready for the deeper intimacy that he promised with the warm light in his eyes? Melting chocolate, soft and dark and sweet, like the flavor of his tongue against her lips. For a giddy instant she forgot that she shouldn’t be doing this, letting him play his long fingers up her spine, molding her to the hard male contours of his body.

Unbidden, a moan sighed from her lips. He swallowed it, his mouth covering hers with hot insistence.

Sam pressed closer to him, opening her mouth under his, the urgent slide of his tongue over hers washing away any remaining inhibitions. She hadn’t been kissed, thoroughly kissed, in so long—

Tony was the first to draw back, his hands remaining on her shoulders, his breathing rapid and uncontrolled. But the look in his eyes was guarded. “Sam, it’s time I went.”

While he was still able to. He couldn’t afford to get involved. Yet. That conference, and the people she’d known, who might be walking time bombs. He had to wait.

Raking his hand through his hair, he looked at her downcast head. “Will you be all right alone?”

Numbly, she nodded. “With the police checking the building during their regular patrols, I should be okay. And all the residents have been cautioned about keeping the outer door closed and locked.” She licked her lip, tasting him there. “Tony—”

His eyes rested on her flushed face, intent, yet with a curious detachment. “Yes?”

“What about my things at your place?”

“Don’t worry about them. I’ll bring them by in the morning. What time do you leave?”

“Early. About seven thirty.”

He laughed. “That’s not early. I’m usually in my office by then. You’re up at seven? Good. I’ll drop them by then. Good night, Sam.”

Without touching her again, he walked out the door.

* * * *

True to his word, he stopped by early the next morning. Sam had just gotten up when the downstairs buzzer sounded.

She let him in, still dressed in her robe, a satin garment he eyed with appreciation. She had a tousled sleepy look that made him regret yet again his restraint last night. He should have stayed, but he didn’t like the uncomfortable feeling he’d had in the last two days that Sam hadn’t put the past behind her.

She was vulnerable and scared, trying not to be dependent on him. It would be easy to take advantage of her, but it wouldn’t be fair. To either of them. What he felt went much deeper than physical desire.

Yet he couldn’t deny he felt that, too. Seeing her now, her face pink, faintly creased with sleep along one cheek, he wanted to touch her, feel again the warm, silky skin.

“I slept in.” Her voice was husky, her hand unsteady as she scooped her tangled hair back from her face. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You look beautiful.”

There was no doubting the sincerity in his quiet tone, and she smiled. “Do you have time for coffee? It’ll take only a minute to make some.”

He shook his head. “No, I’ve got a meeting. I have to get going.”

“You mean other people work this early, too?” Her smile broadened.

“Some do. Sam, any disturbances during the night?”

“No, not even the phone.”

His brows drew together. “I tried you last night, about eleven, just to make sure you were okay, but your line was busy.”

“Busy? It couldn’t have been. I didn’t call anyone.”

He strode across the room to the phone, and picked it up, putting the receiver to his ear. “Seems to be okay.”

“Didn’t you try again?”

“Yes, but it was still busy. Then I had a business call from Vancouver and by that time it was late. I didn’t try again.”

Samantha shrugged. “Probably just a glitch in the system.”

“Yeah, probably.” He touched a fingertip to her cheek. “I’ll see you this evening. Take care, Sam. And be careful.”

“I will, Tony. Thank you.”

* * * *

“Did you have to kill her?”

The man in the phone booth hid his trepidation under a facade of righteousness. “Nosy old bitch. She saw me coming out of Smith’s flat. She blabs everything she sees. The game would have been up.”

“Well, I don’t like the publicity. It’s in the morning paper. We don’t need that kind of thing at all.”

“Won’t happen again, boss.”

His employer was silent for a long moment. “Not without my orders.”

The edge in the voice cut deep. The man heard the power in it, and the threat. “Sorry, boss,” he blustered. “I thought—”

“I don’t pay you to think. I pay you to observe and report back to me. What about Theopoulos?”

“He didn’t stay the night, but he came by this morning. Only stayed a minute though.” He sniggered nastily. “Wish I’d wired up a video camera instead of just the bug.”

“Keep your dirty mind on business,” the boss snapped. “And no more freelancing. I’ll do the thinking for both of us.”

* * * *

The building manager was dusting the front hallway when Sam returned that afternoon. “You wouldn’t know anything about Miss Hunnicott’s funeral, would you?”

The woman tightened her lips. “She had distant relatives in Scotland. I believe the funeral will be held there. Such goings-on.”

“Do you have the address? It might be nice to send flowers.” A faint guilt still nagged Samantha’s conscience, although as Tony had pointed out, there was nothing she could have done about the old lady’s death. Even the police didn’t seem to think it was anything more than an unfortunate accident.

To her disappointment, Tony called and said he had to work. “I’ve got meetings that’ll probably last to midnight. Sorry, Sam. Rain check until tomorrow night?”

“Of course, Tony. See you then.”

Bagheera meowed plaintively as she hung up the phone. “Yes, cat, I’ll let you out.”

Alone, she prowled around the flat, occasionally going to the window to look out. The weather had become warm again, but the trees in the little park down the street were showing signs of approaching autumn. Some of the leaves had turned yellow. Under the trees, ripened seedpods lay among the clumps of chrysanthemums loaded with swollen buds on the verge of bloom.

Samantha made a sound of frustration. As little as a week ago she hadn’t minded her own company. But Tony had changed all that.

Picking up a sweater, she slung it over her shoulders. What she needed was noise and activity. She’d go to the fish and chip shop for supper.

The door stood open to the balmy evening, sending waves of steam into the street. Sam put in her order, then took a seat at a corner table. She sipped the tea the waitress brought her and let her mind wander.

But when a shadow fell across the table, she lifted her head. “Thank you—”

She froze. It wasn’t the waitress back with her meal. Jason Wheeler stood next to the table, a smile fixed on his narrow face. “Good evening, Miss Clark. Mind if I join you?”

Yes, I do mind
. Before she could say it aloud, he sat down.

“Terrible thing about Miss Hunnicott,” he went on conversationally, as if they were old friends instead of indifferent acquaintances.

“Yes, terrible,” Sam murmured, glancing up to see the waitress approaching with her fish and chips.

“Good looking bloke you’re seeing,” Wheeler said as Sam began to eat. “Serious?”

She paused, the fork halfway to her mouth. “I didn’t see you in the crowd outside the building.” Actually, she hadn’t given it any thought until now, but most of the building’s twenty or so residents
had
been there.

He waved his hand airily. “Oh, I was around.”

His attitude irked her. “Do you think it was an accident?” she asked, keeping her tone even, the question apparently casual.

Wheeler’s eyes narrowed. “Sure it was an accident.” He turned his head as the woman brought his food. “Thanks, love.”

Picking up his knife and fork, he cut into a sausage, releasing the spicy aroma of the meat. “Of course,” he said after a moment, “the story goes that the old lady had money that her relatives would have loved to get their hands on.”

Samantha glanced at him sharply. “Where did you hear this?”

“Why, from dear Miss Hunnicott herself.” He put a piece of sausage into his mouth, chewing and swallowing it. “I had tea with the old thing the other day.”

Possibly one of the occasions Sam herself had declined, she thought sadly. From under down-swept lashes she studied Wheeler. His speech was peppered with colloquialisms, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t educated. He wore good clothes, his hair clean and well groomed. He looked innocuous enough.

Sam shook her head. Soon she would be suspecting everyone she met of mayhem and murder.

Rational reasoning didn’t change her initial impression. She didn’t like him. There was something—some quality of evasiveness that his bluff exterior couldn’t quite disguise.

Forcing a smile to her lips, she asked, “Did you enjoy yourself?

“Oh, immensely. Such an interesting lady. But she did mention her relatives.” He lowered his voice, inclining his head so that the heat of his breath fanned her face. “Said they were waiting for her to die. ‘I wouldn’t put it past some of them to speed the process along.’ That was how she put it.”

Sam pushed her half full plate away. Her appetite had fled, the food she’d eaten sitting in her stomach in a hard lump. “But the police questioned everyone. No one seems to have seen any strangers about.”

“The police don’t spill everything they know or think,” Wheeler said darkly. “Otherwise how could they operate?”

“I suppose you’re right.”

She accepted a refill on her tea, groping in her mind for an excuse to leave.

Wheeler finished his sausages and chips, mopping up the last of his ketchup with a slice of bread. “Your work, translating, must pay well.”

Was he fishing for something? “It’s all right,” she said coolly. “What do you do?”

 “I’m a financial advisor.” When she looked blank, he amplified. “You know, telling people what investments will make them money, and so forth. If you’d like some advice, first time’s free. Might save you some taxes.”

“I’ll think about it,” she said carefully.

He insisted on accompanying her up to her floor, one flight above his. “Can’t have you taking a nasty fall on the stairs, can we?”

She didn’t like his unctuous tone, or the way he crowded her.

At her door, he waited until she had her key out. “You wouldn’t invite a lonely man in for a coffee, would you, Miss Clark?”

Whether it was the hangdog look or his continued polite formality, or the faint guilt of her unsubstantiated dislike of him, she couldn’t analyze. “All right, but only for a moment. I’ve an early day tomorrow.”

“Important job?”

“It’s important to my client. And it’s almost finished, so I’d like to wrap it up. Go in and sit down. I’ll get the coffee.”