Sweet Somethings (Samantha Sweet Mysteries) (22 page)

Joffrey had inherited a fortune
from her father’s lucky entry into the airline business at the moment when air
travel was coming into its own in the mid-twentieth century. Instead of
operating an airline himself, Randal Joffrey had started supplemental
businesses that would prove crucial to the industry—fuel, food service, even
the manufacture of airsick bags and those ubiquitous yellow life jackets. But
where he had really amassed the fortune was in spotting those cities that would
eventually become hubs for major airlines and buying up cheap country property
all around their existing tiny airports. When Randal died in 1982 at the
relatively young age of sixty-four, his will was quite clear—his daughter Julia
inherited it all, an estimated fifty billion dollars at the time. Julia’s
mother had died some twenty years earlier than Randal, and he made it clear
that neither his second or third wives, nor any of their offspring, would get a
cent.

The problem arose when Julia never
married and never had children of her own. The line of succession for the vast
fortune was unclear by law, and as she aged Julia tended to go with her whim of
the moment, which had always been her way—according to ‘unnamed sources’ in the
news article. She had rewritten her will at various stages of her life leaving
the massive fortune—at different times—to her half-siblings (in defiance of
Daddy’s wishes), to a nurse who had cared for her when she became permanently
crippled at the age of fifty, to an art museum, and to her dogs.

According to the articles, the
last known will left measly one-million-dollar bequests to the nurse and the
dogs, with all the rest of it going to a favorite half-niece—Carinda Carter.

Sam felt the breath go out of her.
She looked around. What on earth was a billionairess doing living in this dump
of an apartment? Then it dawned on her; this is what the big court case was
about. The will was surely being contested and Carinda had not actually
received her inheritance yet. Sam dropped the news articles and picked up one
of the copies of the will.

She ran her finger down the lines of
type, skimming, hoping to find the bottom line. The language was obscure
legalese and it was no wonder the lawyers were having a field day racking up
billable hours while they sorted it out. Buried in the middle of the ream of
paper, one provision caught her eye. If she was reading it correctly it looked
as if, in the event Carinda died before she inherited, the whole thing would be
meticulously divided among that throng of Julia’s half-siblings, their children
and grandchildren, and a variety of charitable causes. What a mess. What a
motive!

Even if hundreds of other people
came into the picture, the money was so astounding that any one (or all of them
in cahoots) would end up better off than the Powerball lottery winners from all
time. No wonder Carinda had chosen to hide out, probably on advice of her
lawyer. But there was that court date in July. She had to stay alive long
enough to get there and to receive the inheritance. Once hers, she could write
her own will and do with the money as she wished.

Oh, Carinda, there were so many other ways you could have played this.
Assume
another name during the hiding time, get your lawyer to work through two or
three intermediaries, and for god’s sake, stay low-key! Sam shook her head.
When it came right down to it, Carinda’s pushy ways and noisy arguments might
have very well been the thing that got her noticed. Anyone who was following
the whole Joffrey fiasco in the media might have inadvertently pointed the
finger right at Carinda. Sam almost felt sorry for the poor little wealthy
girl.

She turned to the last page of the
will, wondering if it included a listing of those snubbed relatives when she
heard a sound. Beau had probably come back. She stepped into the living room
doorway. A woman stood just inside the apartment, looking around, getting her
bearings.

Tall, blonde hair to her
shoulders, flawless complexion with shapely pink lips, form-fitting designer
jeans and a red, short sleeved cashmere sweater. She carried a large brown
envelope and had a tiny purse dangling from her shoulder. The expensive hair
and manicure—Sam realized it was Kaycee Archer.

Little things began to fall into
place: the visits where Kaycee was looking for Carinda, the argument Kelly had
overheard at the hotel, the police arresting Kaycee for trying to break into
this apartment.

Kaycee started visibly when she
saw Sam, her pale face going a little whiter.

“What are you
doing
in my sister’s apartment?” she demanded.

“I’m here on Sheriff’s Department
business, investigating a murder. So I’ll ask you the same question—what are
you
doing here?”

“I saw the sheriff drive away. And
you’re no official person, not in that baker’s uniform.”

“Fine. I’ll be happy to call the
sheriff and get him right back here. I think he’s going to believe my story more
than yours. You still didn’t answer my question. Carinda’s
sister
? Really?”

Kaycee’s eyes went to the sheaf of
papers in Sam’s hand.

“We have a complicated family but,
yes, we’re as close as sisters. I need those documents,” she announced, taking
a step toward Sam.

“Unh-uh. The sheriff is going to
turn them over to the court and the legal system can figure it all out.”

The shapely pink mouth went into a
straight line and the deep brown eyes turned glittering black. “No way. They’ve
dicked around with this long enough.”

“Are you acting on your own or are
all the half-siblings and cousins twice-removed in on this too?” Sam asked,
playing for time while her mind scrambled madly to figure out what to do.
Kaycee was a good four inches taller, although Sam could certainly take her in
the bulk-and-muscle department. Her phone was lying beside the pile of news
clippings on the bed—a lot of good that would do her—if she couldn’t persuade the
woman to leave, there wasn’t a single weapon in reach.

“Give me the documents,” Kaycee
repeated. She took a step forward.

“Let me get this straight—Julia’s
will states that Carinda receives the entire estate, but if Carinda died before
receiving the inheritance it gets split a lot of ways.” It dawned on Sam that
it was definitely in Kaycee’s best interest to kill her half-sister.

Kaycee’s face hardened another
degree. She was becoming less attractive by the moment.

“Did you—?” She couldn’t bring
herself to level a direct accusation. “Why on earth would you hang around town?
I mean, wouldn’t you want to put a lot of distance between you and Taos, and
get somebody to swear you’d never set foot here.”

“It wasn’t like that. I had to
talk to her.”

“Ah, yes, a talk that turned into
an argument. It was overheard by quite a few people.” Surely a lie doesn’t
count when it’s a murderer you’re lying to. “And the argument somehow got taken
outside and . . . when did the knife come into it? You pick it up on your way
through the ballroom and just brazenly carry it out to the garden?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking
about and I certainly never held a knife on anyone.”

Sam was working to figure out what
parts of that statement might be true when the front door suddenly opened.

“Kaycee, what’s taking so—?” Harvey
Byron jolted to a halt in the doorway, his stare taking in the whole scene.

Sam’s mind whirled. Two against
one in the garden . . . But Harvey? Mr. Nice Guy couldn’t possibly figure into
this.

Harvey gave Sam a long look then
took a step back. “I don’t know anything about this, Sam.” He tried for a
sincere expression as he spoke.

“Harvey! Help me out here. She’s
got the real will.” Kaycee’s eyes went a little wild now that she wasn’t so
sure of her backup. Her teeth clenched as she spoke again. “Harvey, the
money
. This is for
us
, for your dream.”

Sam had a flash vision of running
into the bedroom and snatching up her phone while their attention was on each
other. Beau was too far away to get to her but maybe the police . . . She edged
one step away. Harvey saw her.

“C’mon, Samantha,” he said, opting
for persuasion—for now. He gave that shy smile and nodded toward the pages in
her hand. “Let’s just have a look.”

And once this will is out of my hands—what then?
Surely the
envelope Kaycee had brought contained some other document, something that would
name her the sole beneficiary, and no doubt she had messed with the dates,
signatures or something else so that her version might actually supersede the
other one. Harvey took two steps slowly toward Sam, raw greed now showing
behind his normally quiet façade.

“See, Sam, we have plans for this
money,” Kaycee pleaded. “We’ll get married and run Harvey’s ice cream shop
empire tog—”

“Kaycee, dear,” he interrupted
without taking his eyes off Sam. “Please stop talking. Please wait outside.”

He turned to look at his lover and
in that fraction of a second Sam spun around and made a dash for the bedroom. She
slammed the door behind her, struggling to twist the flimsy doorknob lock.

With a roar, Kaycee charged and the
insubstantial hollow-core door shuddered inward dangerously. Another body slam.
Surely the pounding now included both of them. Sam flew to the bed and grabbed
up her phone, needing three tries with shaking hands to get through to 911.

“Hurry! There are two of them,
right outside the bedroom door!”

“Stay on the line, ma’am,” said
the automaton voice that was supposed to be calm and reassuring but only had
the effect of making her want to scream. “I’m dispatching officers to your
location now.”

The door shook again, the wooden
doorjamb giving a loud
crack!

“Please tell them to hurry!” Sam
said. “They’ve already killed one woman.”

Talking to the dispatcher wasn’t
accomplishing anything, she realized. She set the phone on the dresser and
scrambled to gather the papers she had left strewn on the bed. Legal documents,
news clippings, envelopes—she whisked them into a messy pile and picked them
up.
What to do? Get them out of sight—at
least make Harvey’s job that much harder.
She hugged the papers to her
chest and scurried back to the dresser. Sliding open the third drawer she
dumped it all inside and pushed it closed just as the door frame splintered,
the door banging open against the wall, Harvey falling into the bedroom.

Sam snatched up her phone, caught
the dispatcher’s voice asking if she was still on the line.

“Yes, I’m here! He’s broken into
the room—I’m cornered!”

Harvey jumped to his feet and came
toward her. Behind him, Kaycee stood with her brown envelope hugged to her
chest, making little mewling sounds and seeming a little shocked by his violent
approach. He took another ominous step.

“Where’s the damn will?” he
demanded.

Sam forced her eyes away from the
dresser, flicking a quick look at the open suitcase. He took the bait, picking
up the bag and shaking it in hopes something would drop out.

At the moment he figured out the
case was empty, Sam heard the reassuring sound of sirens in the parking lot
beyond the bedroom window. She stiffened. This was the make-or-break moment.

Fortunately, Kaycee broke first
and Harvey turned to look at her for the first time.

“We have to get out!” she screamed
with a wild look in her eye.

Harvey gave it thoughtful
consideration for about two seconds. He shot Sam a malevolent look and then
rushed out after Kaycee.

Sam’s breath went out in a whoosh.

At the apartment’s front door she
heard voices.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” said a male.
“Nobody’s going anywhere.”

She slipped out of the bedroom and
saw that two Taos Police officers were blocking the open doorway. Kaycee’s
shoulders were shaking as Ray Hernandez lifted the brown envelope out of her
hands.

“Ms. Kaycee Archer. Twice in
twenty-four hours . . . you must really like our facilities. Well, you know the
drill.” He placed a hand on her shoulder and turned her around.

The other officer stepped forward
and snapped handcuffs on her.

All the bluster seemed to have
gone out of Harvey Byron, as well. He made a half-hearted attempt to back away
from the police but there was really nowhere in the small apartment to hide and
no back escape route. He submitted to being cuffed and by the time they’d led
him out to the narrow walkway in front of the apartments, he was already
turning on the charm, trying to make it sound as if he’d come along to break up
an argument between the two women.

“Sam, you okay?” Officer Hernandez
asked.

She nodded although her heart
hadn’t actually slowed down much yet.

“Look, I don’t know if it’s
anything or not, but I heard some stuff on the scanner about Beau. You can come
with me and we’ll radio.”

Beau?
An icicle formed in her gut.

Chapter
19

“Sam, I’m sure he’s fine. Take a
deep breath, get your things, and I’ll give you a ride,” Hernandez said.

She stumbled back to the bedroom,
a fog of unreality around her head. Phone. Her backpack. The evidence. Beau
would want the evidence.

She opened the dresser drawer and
stuffed the various papers and clippings into the largest of the envelopes,
then jammed the whole mess into her pack.

Out in the parking lot the first
car was rolling with Kaycee and Harvey in the back seat behind the metal screen
that separated them from the officer. Ray Hernandez was in the driver’s seat of
the other, the passenger door standing open for her. Sam slid in gratefully.

“I need to—” she began, but Ray
had already picked up his mike, speaking in low tones. “Here you go, Sam.
Sheriff Cardwell’s on this frequency.”