by Lauren Carr
Noticing that Mac had stopped eating to watch her, she said, “That’s what Walker’s assistant told me.”
“What’s the story behind the Texan Romeo and Juliet?”
Seeing that Gnarly had finished his hot dog, she picked up his wrapper, got up, and went to throw it away. The chilly autumn wind had blown locks of her long, dark hair loose from the updo, and they fell down past her shoulders.
After sitting down on the bench to continue her lunch, she said, “It ’appened a long time ago in a small desert town. There was this couple—a boy and a girl. They were high school sweethearts.”
“But their parents hated each other,” Mac said.
“That’s why they were Romeo and Juliet,” Ali said with a smile. “From what I heard, they actually played Romeo and Juliet in the high school play. Romeo was from a middle-class family. His pap had died in a farmin’ accident while workin’ on a ranch that was owned by Juliet’s father, who was a brutal man by all accounts. Romeo’s mom sued Juliet’s pappy for wrongful death, but she lost the suit.”
“Which explains why the two families hated each other,” Mac said.
“Juliet’s pappy ordered her to stop seein’ Romeo, and when she refused, he decided to send Juliet away to college. They were gonna be separated.”
“So they killed themselves?” Mac asked.
“The night of the senior prom. They drove off a cliff together.” Ali held up her hand in a signal to halt. “But that’s not where the story ends.”
Seeing that she had his attention, she stopped to crumble up her used paper plate and throw it away before reaching up to remove her hair clip and running her fingers through her thick, dark mane. Her expression was a mixture of playful and curious.
For the second time that day, something about her struck Mac as familiar. “There’s more?” he finally asked.
She nodded her head. “The day of their funerals, Juliet’s brother went home after the memorial service, before goin’ to the grave site. I don’t remember why. He walked in on a burglary and was murdered—along with his girlfriend, who happened to be with him.”
“That’s a real tragedy.”
Ali said, “Juliet’s pap lost both his son and his daughter, his only children, in one week. He died of a coronary fewer than six months later.”
“Did they ever find the burglar?” Mac asked.
“Yes, sir,” Ali said. “A ranch hand who had a criminal record. They found the tire iron—the one he’d used to bludgeon the son and his girlfriend with—behind the seat of his truck.”
Perplexed, Mac stared ahead while Ali continued to stroke Gnarly, who was sitting between her legs with his head resting on her thigh.
“What are you thinkin’ so hard ’bout?” she asked.
“I don’t understand the story,” Mac said. “Why would Audra Walker be interested in that case? I knew her well enough to know which cases interested her and which cases didn’t. She loved a good mystery. She loved to dig deep beneath the lies on the surface and would continue digging until she grabbed the truth by the roots and brought it up to the surface for the world to see. There’s no mystery to Romeo and Juliet. A boy and a girl fall in love. Their families are at war. They make a suicide pact and kill themselves, and then, to add to the tragedy, the girl’s brother is killed when he walks in on a burglar who seizes the opportunity to rob the father’s house during the funeral. Murder weapon is found in the bad guy’s possession, and he goes to jail. Case closed.”
“That’s why I don’t think it had anythin’ to do with Audra Walker’s murder,” Ali said.
“Unless it’s not the whole story, and Audra knew it.” Mac tossed his wrapper into the trash can located on the other side of the path. “That, I can see Audra Walker digging into.”
David had expected Yvonne to take him to a Manhattan restaurant for their lunch. When she led him by the hand into the lobby of a luxurious apartment house complete with a doorman, he thought that there was possibly a restaurant on the top floor.
Once they were in the elevator, Yvonne explained that the building had once been a department store, and it had been converted into elegant, spacious apartments. Hers was on the tenth floor.
David felt his stomach tie into a knot. Lunch together in her apartment—alone. “Yvonne, I really need for you to sign these papers.”
The elevator doors opened. With a wicked grin, she took him by the hand and led him to the corner apartment at the end of the hallway. “Wait until you see this.” Using a keycard and a number combination on the security lock, she opened the door and pulled him inside.
Suspecting what she had in mind, David almost pulled her back out into the hallway.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” she said with a giggle.
Keeping his hand on the doorframe and refusing to cross the threshold, David said, “I think there’s a lot to be afraid of.”
“Do you not trust yourself with me, David?” Yvonne shook her head. “If not, then you should think twice about marrying Chelsea.” With a toss of her head, she tugged on his hand.
Taking one step at a time, David eased across the threshold into the spacious great room. Floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall windows looked out across the metropolitan outside. The room was furnished with modern urban textures and abstract art pieces. The furnishings were stark steel and leather pieces.
A platter of oysters, crackers, cheese, and appetizers filled the dining room table, along with a couple of bottles of chilled champagne on ice.
Yvonne closed the door behind him and locked the dead bolt. “Hungry?”
“Not really,” David said.
“Neither am I.” Throwing her arms around him, Yvonne pushed David up against the wall and smashed her mouth over his.
Fighting to keep her from tearing at his clothes, David peeled her hands away. Desperate to escape, he pushed her back by placing both of his hands on her shoulders. “Stop it, Yvonne!”
Stunned by the outburst, she fell back.
Wiping her taste from his lips, David pushed up off the wall and went into the living area. “I told you. I’m marrying Chelsea on Saturday. I fought to make it up to her when I messed up, and I’m very, very lucky that she gave me another chance and agreed to marry me.” Yanking the divorce papers out of his pocket, he tossed them down onto the coffee table. “I want you to sign these papers.” He held out the pen to her. “Sign them now, and I’ll be leaving.”
Yvonne’s eyes narrowed. “You told me you loved me.”
“I did,” David said. “I do. But I want to marry Chelsea.”
A slow grin came to Yvonne’s lips. “But you can’t marry her until I sign those papers.” She took a step toward him.
As she closed the space between them, David backed up. “Don’t mess with me, Yvonne.”
“I’m your wife, David,” she said while moving in closer. “You wanted me. You loved me. You married me. We were good together.”
“That’s all ended.” David held out his hand. She stepped into it. “Things are different now. We’re not the same people we were when we went through that drive-through.”
Yvonne took his hand. Slowly, she wrapped her lips around his index finger. Looking at him seductively through her eyelashes, she slowly licked his fingers, one by one.
David sucked in a deep breath.
Wrapping her arm around his neck, she moved in to kiss him on the lips and then thrust her tongue into his mouth. Locking her gaze on his eyes, she offered him a sensuous grin. “Why don’t we go into the bedroom and talk about this?”
Stripping off her clothes along the way, Yvonne sauntered across the great room to the hallway leading back to the bedroom. By the time she disappeared down the hallway, all she had on were her black lace bra and her panties.
As soon as she was out of sight, David snatched up the divorce papers and pen
and left.
Chapter Seven
The afternoon sun streamed in through the hotel room window, bathing Mac’s face in sunlight. As much as he enjoyed the warmth of the light beam, his interest was on something else. He had a certain canine under surveillance.
Archie had a wine and cheese basket delivered to their room, along with a mushy love note for Mac. Immediately, he called Archie to thank her and to get an update on the wedding preparations in Deep Creek Lake.
“Not great,” Archie said.
“What do you mean, not great?” Mac asked. “Not great as in, the caterer doesn’t have enough shrimp for the cocktails? Or not great as in, the bride is still mad at the groom?”
“I don’t think she’s as mad as she is having second thoughts,” she replied. “I don’t know. She won’t talk to me.”
“Is she keeping her wedding appointments?” Mac asked.
“Yes, and I consider that to be a good sign,” Archie said. “We went to the bridal shop for the last fitting for her gown, but …” She uttered a deep sigh. “Oh, Mac, she was so quiet, and she does not look like a happy bride at all.”
Their thoughts filling with fears for their best friends’ happiness, Mac and Archie sat in silence.
After disconnecting the call, Mac returned to the sitting room to find that one of the packages of cheese was missing. He had only one suspect.
So Mac stretched out on the sofa and closed his eyes. With a fake snore, he managed to convince Gnarly that he was asleep. It was all he could do to not laugh while, through the slits of his eyes, he watched the German shepherd belly across the sitting room. Occasionally, Gnarly would stop to look over his shoulder, back in Mac’s direction. When he finally reached the table, he climbed up into a chair and poked at the selection of cheeses and meat packages with his long snout before deciding on a tube of summer sausage.
Gnarly was about to jump down to the floor with the sausage in his jaws when Mac sprang up. “Drop it!” With a yelp, Gnarly staggered in midjump. The chair overturned, and the German shepherd collapsed to the floor. The sausage went flying.
Mac doubled over laughing. “That’ll teach you!” His ears back flat on his head, Gnarly scurried over to Mac, who took him into a hug. “You are one sneaky rascal.” Picking up the sausage from the floor, he proceeded to open it up to give Gnarly a piece.
Hearing the door unlock, Mac checked the time on the clock to see that it was not yet one o’clock. Too early to be David. When David stepped through the door, Mac could see by the expression on his face that something was wrong.
“You’re back early,” Mac said. “You two must not have had much to catch up on.”
David tossed the divorce papers onto the table. Mac picked them up and saw that the signature line was still blank.
“She won’t sign them,” David said. “She took me to her apartment and tried to seduce me.”
“Did you—”
“No,” David said forcibly. “What do you think I am? I said I wanted to marry Chelsea, and I meant it. Why won’t anyone believe me?”
“I’m sorry.” Mac sighed. “You deserve more credit than that. Are you saying Yvonne refused to sign these unless you slept with her?”
“Pretty much,” David said.
“Which puts you between a rock and a hard place,” Mac said. “If you sleep with her, Chelsea will call off the wedding.”
“I don’t want to sleep with Yvonne,” David said. “She’s not the same woman I married without knowing it.”
“They never are,” Mac muttered. “But if Yvonne doesn’t sign these papers, you can’t marry Chelsea, because you’ll be committing bigamy.”
“Exactly,” David said.
“She has you by the short hairs, and she knows it,” Mac said.
David leaned over with both hands on the table. “Can Willingham force her in some way—”
“I doubt it. You can’t force someone to sign anything.”
“Then what am I going to do? Until she signs these papers, Chelsea and I can’t get married.”
Tapping the folded-up divorce papers in his palm, Mac said, “Let me think about this.” Deep in thought, he strolled over to the windows that provided a view of the city. The conversations and scenes of the day replayed in his mind. In particular, he thought of one he’d had with Ali Hudson.
“She cares more about bein’ a celebrity journalist, with the emphasis on ‘celebrity.’ That’s why she hired me to be her research assistant.”
A slow grin worked its way to Mac’s lips while a collage of thoughts came together and formed a plan for action. He didn’t notice that David had crossed the suite and was standing next to him until he said, “What are you thinking?”
A wicked grin crossed Mac’s face. “She wants to play hardball … We can play hardball.”
It has to be here someplace. He said he’d let me look at it.
Donning a pair of latex gloves to avoid leaving any evidence for the police, Ali scoured the titles of every book on the bookcase. She found nothing in the spare room that he used for an office.
She had to hurry. She was already on borrowed time. Eventually, someone would call or stop by the old man’s apartment and find him dead from a single gunshot wound to the head.
As part of her duties as Yvonne Harding’s research assistant, Ali Hudson was expected to be on the set for the recording of Crime Watch.
The problem was that Sergeant Caleb Roberts moved their meeting up to six o’clock—the same time that Crime Watch recorded their hour-long broadcast that was aired at eight o’clock. Ali had managed to beg out of the recording session by claiming she had chipped a tooth during lunch and had to make an emergency run to her dentist to get it fixed.
Luckily, Yvonne was in such a foul mood—and distracted—when she returned from lunch that she didn’t seem to care enough to ask any questions, even when Ali sat down across from her to go over the details of Ruth Rubenstein’s murder for her segment on the show.
“How was lunch with the beefcake?” Ali asked when Yvonne stormed off the elevator after lunch.
The glare in Yvonne’s eyes was enough to answer her question. He must have broken the news to her about his upcoming nuptials.
“Have you researched the details of Rubenstein’s murder?” Yvonne asked her.
Ali rose up from where she was leaning against the wall in the hallway outside their office, which was roped off as a crime scene. “Charmed the details outta couple of uniforms.” She held out her tablet so Yvonne could see that she’d been working. “Blakeley’s assistant said they have an office for you upstairs. Wanna meet up there?”
Without answering, Yvonne spun on her heels and led the way to the elevators.
“You’re gonna be walkin’ a fine line tonight,” Ali warned after they took their seats at the table in the temporary office the CEO had arranged for Yvonne on the fortieth floor. “Even though Ruth Rubenstein could’ve made a hornet look cuddly and pretty much drove a young woman to offin’ herself, she was murdered and—allegedly—her husband loved her.” Ali waited for her to pick up on what she had said and respond. It took a full moment.
“Allegedly?”
“Carl Rubenstein has a mistress who he’s been shackin’ up with,” Ali said. “Her name is Polly Langley. She’s the office manager at the warehouse where Carl works as a foreman. Everyone knows that they’ve been pussyfootin’ ’round for well over a year. He wanted a divorce, but Ruth refused to give him one.”
Yvonne shot a fiery glare in Ali’s direction.
Unnerved by her reaction, Ali stuttered momentarily before getting back on track. “Although Carl has been playin’ house with Polly, he was still supportin’ Ruth. All she had comin’ in was her disability check. He made the lion’s share of their income. If he’d divorced her, with New York bein’ a community-property state, he would’ve
had to pay her alimony—practically half of what he makes—and they would have had to split everythin’ down the middle. Now that she’s dead—”
“So he had motive.” Yvonne smiled for the first time since returning from lunch.
“But he’s got an airtight alibi,” Ali said. “Polly is his alibi for the night of the murder. She says Carl was at her place, on the other side of Brooklyn, while Ruth was bein’ strangled with a computer cord in front of her desktop.”
“The mistress is lying,” Yvonne said.
“They were having supper with two other couples.” Ali held up her hand, spreading out all of her fingers. “He’s got five witnesses who swear they were all on the other side of Brooklyn watchin’ the ball game all evening.”
“If he was cheating on Ruth, and she was bleeding him dry, why is he jumping all over me?” Yvonne wanted to know.
Ali laughed. “Cause somehow they killed her. Think ’bout it. You outin’ Ruth as an Internet troll was the best thing that could’ve happened for Carl. The social media crucified her. His shrew of a wife is dead and he can blame you and the network for it. You gave him a license to slap you and the network with a wrongful death suit. The network ain’t gonna want the bad publicity that’ll come with a trial. They’ll settle outta court for a million or two dollars, and Carl Rubenstein’ll be ridin’ a gravy train with biscuit wheels.”
“Sometimes I have no idea what you’re saying,” Yvonne responded. “But I think you’re telling me that I did Carl Rubenstein a favor by outing his wife.”
“You might as well have handed him the winnin’ lottery ticket signed, sealed, and delivered.”
“But he’s got a solid alibi,” Yvonne said. “So it had to be some anonymous, deranged vigilante. Even if the police find him or her, Carl Rubenstein’s lawsuit will stick. The vigilante would have never found Ruth and killed her for driving O’Meara to suicide if I hadn’t outed her.”
