Sawyer, Meryl (22 page)

She wandered downstairs into Mitch's living room and gazed out at
the bay. She was uncomfortable having to work in Mitch's house, but she had no
choice. The police still had her home impounded as a crime scene. If she wanted
to help with her case she had to use Mitch's computer, which was fine now. But
what would happen when he returned?

Their confrontation had cleared the air. In his own cynical way
he'd admitted to being as attracted to her as she was to him. And he wasn't any
happier about it than she was.
I've never met anyone like you. With luck I
never will again.
Could she work in his office every evening if he were
home?

It was more than his sexual attraction that disturbed her. Each
day her curiosity about Mitch grew, magnified by spending so much time where he
lived. What about his past? she wondered. There wasn't a clue in his home.
There were no personal photographs, diplomas, or awards anywhere. Didn't Mitch
have a life beyond his job?

She turned away from the window with its panoramic view of the
bay. Mitch's home left few clues about him, yet there was something strange
about the place. Paul had told her Mitch had bought the run-down mansion and
remodeled it. The exterior was a tasteful example of Beaux Arts design: a
narrow lot with a hidden garden and servants' quarters over the garage in the
rear.

Mitch had restored a classic mansion, but why had he restructured
the interior? He'd taken the linen closet, butler's pantry, breakfast area, and
kitchen and bashed out the walls to create one huge kitchen. The dining room
wall had been sacrificed to make a living room the size of Golden Gate Park.
He'd taken down the wall between two bedrooms to create one enormous master
bedroom suite with an awesome view of the bay. Obviously Mitch had a fixation
about big rooms. He needed space with a capital
S.

Something cold touched her hand and she jumped sideways. "Oh,
Jenny, for heaven's sakes. You frightened me." She patted the golden
retriever's head. Jenny tugged at the leg of Royce's pants. "What are you
trying to tell me, girl? You've already eaten."

The dog sprinted toward the kitchen, barking and turning, urging
Royce to follow. In the kitchen Jenny stopped in front of a drawer and bumped
the handle several times with her nose. Royce couldn't imagine what Jenny
wanted. Royce had agreed to care for Jenny and the porked-out tabby, Oliver,
while Mitch was away, but their food wasn't in this drawer.

Jenny barked at the drawer until Royce opened it. Inside was a
jumble of paraphernalia for pets: flea spray, brushes, chew toys, a choke
chain.

"What a mess!" Royce looked around the kitchen. It was
every bit as Spartan as the rest of the house and just as spotless.
"Mitch's cleaning lady must love him. He's an anal retentive treasure, but
what happened here?"

Jenny nosed into the hodgepodge and grabbed a leash. She sat back
on her haunches, leash in her mouth, wagging her tail.

"A walk? Is that it? I'm not supposed to leave the
house." She thought about the wigs Paul had given her. In the dark,
wearing a wig, who would recognize her?

She set the burglar alarm and led Jenny, who still had the leash
in her mouth, across the garden to her apartment. Before she could put on a
wig, the portable phone in her purse rang.

"Royce, how are you?" Val sounded more like her old
self, the predivorce Val. "Talia gave me your number."

"I'm fine. Tell me what's happening with you."

"I have a new job." There was no mistaking the
excitement in Val's voice. "I'm working with computers at Intel
Corp."

"Intel Corp?" Warning sensors fired in Royce's brain.
What was Val doing there? Would she be working on the case even though she was
a suspect?

"I'm in the credit card fraud division. I... ah, really like
it there."

The unnerved feeling heightened. Royce knew Val and Talia so well
that she sensed withheld information immediately. She cradled the receiver
against her shoulder, wondering what next.

After a few awkward seconds Val continued, "I've been seeing
someone—someone special."

Relieved that Val's hesitancy had nothing to do with the case,
Royce said, "Tell me about him."

"There's not much to tell," Val hedged, and Royce
decided Val didn't quite trust this man yet. Who could blame her after that
disaster of a marriage? "We'll see what happens."

"I'm glad," said Royce, truly happy for her friend. She
shouldn't be so concerned about Val working at Intel Corp. "How did you
know about the job?"

"From one of the detectives who interviewed me about your
case. Paul told me to—"

"Paul," Royce cried. She slumped down in the sofa; Jenny
licked her hand sympathetically. "Not Paul Talbott."

"Yes. Do you know Paul?"

"Of course. He owns Intel Corp. Paul's personally conducting
the defense investigation." Why would he hire a suspect?

"He owns Intel Corp? He never told me."

Royce heard a knock on the door and knew it was Wally. She
promised to call Val later, then answered the door with Jenny at her heels. She
gave her uncle a bear hug.

"Wait for me to put on a wig. Then let's go for a walk. I
have to get out of here."

Wally talked about things at work as they strolled through the
quiet neighborhood. She knew he was trying to take her mind off her desperate
situation. Finally he stopped under a streetlight haloed by the condensing fog
creeping in from the bay.

"What's the matter, Royce?"

"I hate not knowing who's behind this mess. I'm beginning to
be suspicious of everyone—even my closest friends." Without commenting
Wally listened while she told him about Val and Talia. "Be honest, do you
think I'm paranoid? We've been friends for over twenty years and suddenly I'm
riddled with suspicion."

"No, you're not being paranoid. You're being realistic."

"Are you implying Val or Talia might be responsible?"

Wally stopped and Royce reined in Jenny. His expression was
troubled, hardly the reassurance she was seeking. "I've been conducting my
own investigation. So far, I can't even establish a motive. It simply doesn't
make sense."

"Eleanor wanted to get rid of me."

"I'm not certain I buy that. There are easier ways of dumping
a fiancee."

"You didn't see the look on her face when I was arrested. She
was elated—believe me—elated."

"I don't doubt it," Wally conceded, "but that
doesn't mean she framed you."

"Surely you must have some theory about my case."

"I wish I did." They rounded the corner and found the
fog thicker, spiraling up from the bay as sullen as the ominous clouds lurking
beyond Golden Gate Bridge. "I had a very interesting call... from
Val."

"Really? She didn't mention it." Royce saw an odd
expression on her uncle's face. "You've never liked Val, have you?"

"I thought you two had an unhealthy relationship. She was always
hanging around the house when you were growing up. She imitated you, wearing
her hair the same way, choosing the same clothes. It wasn't healthy."

"Val was just unhappy. You know how cruel her family was. And
you know what happened with that jerk she married. Her mother and father knew
about his affair, but no one bothered to tell Val."

"Two troubled friends," he responded. "You're just
like your mother. Misfits clung to her—me included."

"You're not a misfit and neither is Val." By her
omission she'd silently conceded that Talia was, and always had been, a misfit.
"If Val hadn't married that creep, she'd be well adjusted, happy."

"Mmmmm." Wally did not sound convinced.

"So tell me, what did Val call you about?"

Wally motioned for her to turn around; the fog was so dense now
that she could barely see Jenny at the end of the leash. "Val called
because she's worried about you. She thinks Mitchell Durant is too interested
in you."

Royce was aware of her uncle's eyes examining her. Did he suspect
how attracted she was to Mitch—in spite of everything? Wally had been so upset
after her father's suicide that she'd been terrified he would kill himself too.

He'd taken a leave of absence from his job and came to Italy with
Royce. It was almost a year before Wally returned to the newspaper. And his
reporting had never been quite the same.

Her life had never been quite the same either. She'd lived in
Italy, continuing to write her column for the
San Francisco Examiner.
But
staying in Italy hadn't changed a thing. She still felt guilty about her
father's death. And so did Wally.

Wally might admire Mitch professionally, but he would never
understand if their relationship became physical. "I think Mitch feels
guilty about what happened to Daddy. That's all."

"Val asked me to investigate him."

Royce stopped, jerking Jenny to a halt. "You can't do that.
He made us promise—"

"Not to print anything, not to go public. I don't plan
to." Wally put his hands on her shoulders. "There's something
mysterious about Mitch. If it has anything to do with you, I want to find out
about it before you're sent to prison."

She didn't need this, not now, not with her life in turmoil. She
had to be able to trust Mitch, if not on a personal level, at least
professionally.

"Already I've discovered something that makes me even more
suspicious. I compared a photocopy of his birth certificate to an official
certificate. Mitch's certificate is a forgery —not a good one either."

"But why would he have a phony?"

"Maybe he was in trouble with the law."

"Well, he used that certificate to get into the Navy,"
she said. "He must have been running away from something, or
someone."

"Exactly, and I intend to find out what."

"Do you think I ought to change attorneys?"

"God, no. Wait until I find out more. Mitch is still the
best. This might have no bearing on your case. And, frankly, we can't afford an
attorney of his caliber."

There was a dark, forbidding side to Mitch that frightened her. If
he discovered they were investigating him, what would he do? "Don't let
Mitch find out—"

"Don't worry. I won the Pulitzer for investigating the
Chinese mafia. They never suspected a thing."

She had the distinct impression Mitch guarded his back a whole lot
more closely than the local Chinese gangs.

"Trust me, Royce. Have I ever let you down?"

Paul walked into Beyond Lascaux, the expensive men's shop just off
Union Square where Shaun Jamieson worked. Next to London's Savile Row, San Francisco
had the most fashionable men's clothes in the world, Paul thought, and this
shop was no exception. No tacky racks here. Instead there were mannequins
modeling the latest in men's suits and tables with artful displays of ties and
shirts.

Paul introduced himself to the attractive man who'd been Wallace
Winston's on-again, off-again companion for years. Slender, with striking brown
eyes and darker brown hair, Shaun gave Paul a quick once-over.

That's life in San Francisco, Paul thought. Men sized each other
up as soon as they were introduced. Paul knew Shaun recognized with a glance
that he wasn't a homosexual.

"How can I help?" Shaun asked, eager, charming.

It was easy to see why Wally was attracted to Shaun. He was one of
those people that others instantly liked. In Paul's experience those people
were the least likable in the long run. He chatted with Shaun for a few
minutes, saying Wally had sent him, before asking, "How well do you know
Royce Winston?"

"I've known her for years. I watched her grow up, you
know."

"What's your opinion of her?" Paul had no idea why he'd
sought out Shaun—just gut instinct. Shaun had been at the auction. And he owed
Wally a lot of money.

"Wel-l-l..." Shaun appeared reluctant to give his
opinion, but Paul had interviewed enough people to know better.

Paul waited, knowing people felt obligated to fill voids.

"Royce thinks she's better than everyone. I never cared for
her."

Interesting, Paul thought. No one else felt that way about Royce.
And he'd never gotten that impression of her.

"I understand Wally lent you some money," Paul began
cautiously.

"He
gave
me the money." Shaun's veneer of charm
evaporated.

"I see. You recently asked for more?"

Now, this was a wild guess based on the periodic loans Wally had
made to Shaun over a number of years. According to the forensic accountant's
report Wally hadn't lent him anything in over a year.

"Yes. I had an opportunity to invest in a surefire winner, a
metaphysical shop, but Wally claimed he was tapped out. I knew better. That
bitch was back from Italy. Royce convinced Wally not to loan me any more
money."