Gossip (Desire Never Dies)

by Clara Grace Walker

  “Don’t you want to know why I’m so pissed at Peter?”

  Hell, no. He wanted to stay out of it. “Sure, babe. What’d he do to get you so uptight?” He joined her on the bed, leaning over to kiss her neck and massage her shoulders. She tasted like she’d just stepped from the shower. Finding himself at eye-level with her breasts, he pulled down her tube top to suck on them.

  Remaining rigid to his touch, she stared at his handcuff collection on the far wall. “He’s insisting I sleep with Nick Beck.”

  Rod lifted his lips from her body. Yeah. That’s what he wanted. Nicholas Beck fucking his woman. His train of thoughts stopped, cautioned again by the part of him that wanted to make money. He had to make this okay for everyone. “It’s alright,” he said soothingly. “I understand it’s just business, babe. I’m not going to get mad at you for sleeping with him.”

  “You don’t understand.” She looked at him with pleading eyes. “I don’t want to sleep with Nick.”

  Conflict wedged itself like an uncomfortable pit in his gut. “I am so sorry, sweetheart. Isn’t there anyone else Peter can get to seduce Nick? What about Regina? She’ll sleep with anyone.”

  “No.” She pouted. “Peter’s insisting I do it. He thinks it will make Nick look bad, since he used to know me when I was a little girl. He said otherwise it’s just another middle-aged man having a mid-life crisis.”

  Rod laughed. “That’s pretty funny.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  She rolled over on the bed so he was forced to look at her back instead of her tits.

  “I don’t want to sleep with Nick,” she repeated. “He’s old and he talks to me like I’m stupid.”

  “You mean he’s condescending?”

  “Whatever.” She made a ‘W’ with her hands and flashed it at him. “You know what I mean.”

  “Yes, honey bunch, I do.” He rolled her back over, undid her skirt and slid it down over her hips. She wore no underwear, a habit of hers he loved. Slipping a finger inside her, he licked her nearest breast. “I’ll bet Nick would love to be doing this to you right now, instead of me.”

  “I doubt it,” she said.

  Rod sat up, stopping his foreplay for a moment. “Really?”

  “Really. I had dinner with him last night and I could barely get him to look at me, let alone act like he was interested in having sex. He just kept asking me questions about you and Peter and his dead wife.”

  “Is that right?” Perfect. He’d just been handed a Get Out Of Jail Free card. “You don’t have anything to worry about then. As long as Nick doesn’t want to sleep with you, you can act like you’re trying to seduce him all you want and Peter will think you’re following orders.”

  “What if Nick changes his mind?” she asked. “What if he suddenly decides he does want to sleep with me?”

  “Don’t worry about it, babe. While you’re busy trying and failing to seduce Nick, I’ll be busy telling Peter what a bad idea it is to let his competitor try and pump you for information.”

  She snuggled up to him, moving her hand down to cup his crotch. “You’d do that for me?”

  “Of course, babe. You’re my girl, aren’t you?”

  He kissed her before she could answer. He needed to sleep with her now and get rid of the anxiety clawing its way up his spine. He got up quickly and retrieved a pair of handcuffs from the wall. “Get yourself strapped to the bedpost, babe. You’re in for one wild ride.”

  Chapter 29

  Different day, same criminals out committing crimes, Sarge thought. She sat holed up in her utilitarian-neat office, reassured by the calm and function of her surroundings. All papers in folders. All folders in filing cabinets, unless currently being worked on. Nothing out of place. Nothing left out in the open that might provide a disruption to her focus.

  Many people in the department kept photos of loved ones, spouses and children, on their desks. Not her. She kept a picture of her dog, Trixie. A lovable old German Shepherd she’d adopted from the pound. The remaining distractions of life, she left at home.

  Today, aside from Trixie, her computer monitor and telephone, she had a single file on her desk. The murder file of Janelle Tyler-Beck. She’d read its contents three times since arriving at work. Looking for something; anything, that might have been overlooked before. If such a clue existed, she overlooked it still.

  Not good. Nicholas Beck was due in for another interview in a few minutes and she needed to come up with a better strategy for questioning him than just giving him new pieces of information and watching him act surprised. That wasn’t the way her interviews were supposed to go. She was supposed to be the one learning new pieces of information, preferably before they showed up in one of his two newspapers. Giving him leeway, allowing him to dig up information for her, was a good strategy as far as it went. But she didn’t need the killer unmasked in a headline before she had a chance to slap a pair of cuffs on the guy.

  She’d decided the killer was a man with the first look she’d had at Janelle Tyler-Beck’s body. The strength it would have taken to leave those bruises on her throat would have been considerable. She could always be wrong, she supposed, but it didn’t seem too likely the killer was a woman.

  A knock at her door startled her out of her semi-trance. Sanchez. “Come in.” She waved him in with a nod of her head. He burst through the door waving a piece of paper in front of him, wearing a smile on his face she’d seen before. “You’ve found something.”

  “You got it, Sarge.”

  He practically gloated. “Bank records from Janelle Tyler-Beck’s personal account.”

  “And?”

  “She made a sizable cash withdrawal last April.”

  “She did?” Sarge jumped out of her seat, snatching the bank records from her detective’s hand. He had the withdrawal highlighted with yellow highlighter. “One hundred grand?”

  “That’s right. Pretty large chunk of change, don’t you think?”

  “Sure is. Wonder what she needed that much cash for.”

  The intercom buzzer sounded on her phone. “Sarge, Nicholas Beck is here.”

  She exchanged looks with Sanchez.

  “Think hubby might know?” he asked.

  “Think I intend to find out.” She hit the talk button. “Send him in.”

  As Sanchez left, Nick Beck came in, looking more put together than she’d seen him during any of their previous encounters. His hair had been combed, curls moussed into place. Clean-shaven. Looked like he’d had a haircut recently. Sideburns had been shaved. The light blue dress shirt he wore had been cleaned, pressed and starched. His navy blue slacks looked recently pressed, too.

  Nine weeks. Guess the mourning period was over. “Have a seat, Mr. Beck. I have answers to some of your questions. And hopefully, you have answers to a few of mine.”

  He took a seat at the interrogation side of her desk, appearing anything but comfortable. Stiff posture. Arms folded across his chest. A serious look of expectation painted on his face. Suspects. They were a hemorrhoidal bunch.

  “You want to tell me about the matchbook cover?” he asked.

  She nodded. “As a matter-of-fact, I do. It had the name Rod, a time and a hotel written on it.” She pulled the matchbook cover, open but still sealed in a plastic evidence bag, from the folder on her desk and slid it over to him. “Could you please confirm this is your late wife’s handwriting?”

  He picked up the plastic bag and stared at the writing on the object inside, as if looking at it long enough might alter the words written on it. Hurt clouded his eyes, but also anger. What she didn’t see was surprise. “It’s her handwriting,” he said, putting the bag down and sliding it back across the desk.

  “I was pretty sure of that. Detective Sanchez paid a visit to the desk clerk at the Breakers Hotel. He IDed your wife as having been there with Mr. Skinner a few times in late March and early April.”

  “I see. Want to tell me why you waited so long to show it to me?”
<
br />   “I wanted to get some more information first.” Waiting for Janelle’s bank to respond to her subpoena, and the hotel to fax over the registration records, being the information she’d been waiting for.

  “Were you aware your wife was having an affair, Mr. Beck?”

  “Not at the time, no.”

  “How do you suppose that piece of news got by you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You’re a news reporter, aren’t you?”

  “What’s your point, Sergeant Freeman?”

  Anger simmered in his voice. She was pushing the right buttons. “So how is it a trained professional, such as yourself, misses the signs his wife’s having an affair?”

  “I never went looking for them.”

  She regarded him closely. He didn’t appear to be lying. “So you missed the signs of her affair because it didn’t occur to you to look for them.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “What about her bank account, Mr. Beck?”

  “What about it?”

  “How did you manage to miss the one hundred thousand dollar withdrawal she made from her account on April twenty-fifth?”

  He leaned forward. Surprise piqued in his eyes. “She withdrew one hundred thousand dollars?”

  “That’s right. You mean you didn’t know about that either?”

  “I never checked her personal account.”

  Something changed in his expression. He looked upward, as if retrieving some bit of information. Like something had just clicked into place. He knew something. Sarge felt it in her bones. “Is there something you’d like to share with me, Mr. Beck?”

  He leaned back in his chair, seeming hesitant. She leaned forward. “Whatever it is, you’d better spit it out.”

  “I have reason to believe Rod Skinner was blackmailing Janelle. I think that’s why he killed her.”

  “I thought you suspected Peter Arnold of doing your wife that favor.”

  “I think he was in on it. I’m sure he had something to do with Patrice McKenzie’s murder. I just need to figure out how to piece it all together.”

  “I told you before, leave the police work to me.”

  He ignored her directive. “I’m sure both Rod and Peter were involved somehow.”

  “Care to tell me why?”

  “I spoke with a woman this morning, the same one who called Danny Ventura and told him Rod was involved with Janelle’s murder.”

  She knew it. He was still holding out on her. “Who is she? I need a name.”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “No? I thought you wanted me to solve your wife’s murder.”

  “I do.”

  “It sure doesn’t seem like it when you want to withhold the name of a witness.”

  “I can’t tell you her name. I promised her I would keep her out of it.”

  “Fine. I’ll just have you thrown in jail for contempt.”

  “And I’ll claim source confidentiality.”

  “I want that name, Mr. Beck.”

  “Then do your job and find it.”

  The damn man was starting to piss her off. “I am doing my job. I’m asking you…” She pointed her finger in his face. “…you, Nicholas Beck, to give me her name.”

  “Why don’t you ask Rod Skinner?”

  “I’ll be having a chat with Mr. Skinner later. Right now, I’m asking you. And I expect you to tell me who she is.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because Rod still has a tape of her having sex with him and she doesn’t want her husband to find out.”

  He was protecting a source. At least, that’s how he was playing it. Might be best to drop it for now and work a different angle. He could always be subpoenaed later. “Alright then, let’s move on. This woman you spoke with, she said she was blackmailed by Mr. Skinner?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “For how much?”

  “One hundred thousand dollars.”

  No wonder that figure set his brain in motion. “So Mr. Skinner’s MO is to lure wealthy married women into having affairs, film himself having sex with them, and then use the movie to blackmail them?”

  “That pretty much nails it.”

  “So why kill your wife?”

  “According to my source, Janelle started warning other women, cutting off his source of new victims.”

  “And what about Patrice McKenzie? She wasn’t married, except to Mr. Skinner for a brief time. You’re not suggesting she was a blackmail victim of Rod’s, are you?”

  “No. She was using her social contacts to set Rod up with different women.”

  So Rod Skinner had motive. All she needed now was to find out whether he had means and opportunity. “I need to speak with this witness, Mr. Beck. I may need her testimony to close this case.”

  “And I would love to help you. I really would. But I gave this woman my word I would keep her identity secret.”

  “We’ll see about that, Mr. Beck. In the meantime, make sure you keep yourself available for more questioning.”

  He rose from his chair. “I know the routine.”

  She saw him out and went back to looking through the file. This case was getting more complicated by the minute.

  Chapter 30

  The two hour drive to Palm Beach gave Jamie plenty of time to think. Mostly she thought about Nick, despite her best efforts not to. They’d come so close to making love. He had her standing on the edge of cliff, urging her to take the plunge. When a source called with a tip that would take her away from Miami, she’d left for Palm Beach in a heartbeat.

  Maggie Tyler, niece of the late Patrice McKenzie and wife of Janelle’s brother Preston, had been named executrix of Patrice’s estate and would be in town only a short period of time to settle her aunt’s affairs. The window of opportunity to get into Patrice’s home was a small one.

  As Jamie pulled into the long, tree-covered drive, she saw a For Sale sign already placed out front. So Maggie wasn’t eager to hold onto the home she’d grown up in. That was a sentiment Jamie could readily identify with. Perhaps she could work it in as some shared common ground. Get Maggie talking.

  Making her way farther up the drive, she rounded a curve and the stately Georgian home came into view, complete with the gaudy fountain in the center Danny had photographed for the story in Just the Facts. She parked her five-year-old Jeep Cherokee behind the shiny Mercedes that clearly belonged to Maggie Tyler and went to the front door, practicing her friendliest smile before ringing the bell.

  Maggie answered the door looking decidedly pregnant and possessing the proverbial pregnancy glow. Her long black hair had been pulled into a ponytail. A lavender maternity top covered her to just past the hips. “May I help you?”

  Jamie stuck out her hand. “Hi, Maggie. I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m Jamie Jennings. I do freelance work for Nick on occasion.”

  “Yes. I remember you from Janelle’s funeral.” She opened the door wider and stepped back. “Would you like to come in?”

  “I would. Thanks.”

  Maggie led her through the foyer and down a hall into the kitchen. The room was large with polished smoke-colored tile flooring and matching granite counter tops. A large bay window looked out to the ocean, visible beyond a deck, pool and a stretch of manicured lawn. Jamie smelled the aroma of coffee clinging to the air even before she heard it percolating on a counter next to the stove.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” Maggie offered.

  “I’d love some coffee. Thanks.” Jamie took a seat at the breakfast bar and launched into her planned bonding speech. “So you grew up here?”

  “Yes.” Maggie joined her, setting two steaming mugs down on the countertop. “I hope you don’t mind decaf. My doctor cut me off the real stuff when I got pregnant.”

  “Not at all.” Jamie smiled, holding the coffee mug to her lips without drinking. “I noticed you’ve got the house up for sale. No desire to
keep it?”

  Maggie looked up from her coffee cup and stared at Jamie, as if deciphering the intent of the question. “It’s been Patrice’s home for many years. And I’m pretty comfortably settled in Key Largo. There’s really no reason to keep it.”

  “I see.” No real bonding opening there. “Were you very close to your aunt?”

  “No.”

  Her response was curt and Jamie detected an underlying hostility in the single word. “Does that mean you don’t know anything about her relationship with Rod Skinner?”

  “You mean aside from the fact she was married to him for all of two or three months?”

  “Aside from that. Yes. I was thinking more of her post-divorce relationship with him.”

  Instead of answering the question, Maggie stared at her again, the analytical look back in her eyes. “What are you really trying to find out?”

  The lady was sharp. Might as well play it straight with her. “Nick got a tip from an anonymous caller that Rod Skinner was involved with Janelle’s murder. It’s one of those details the police are keeping out of the press.”

  Shock came quickly to Maggie’s face. She gaped at Jamie like she’d just claimed alien abduction.

  “Nick met with your aunt the day before she was killed,” Jamie proceeded. “I don’t know what information she had about Rod, but whatever it was, she wanted Nick to pay her a million dollars for it.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “And Peter Arnold was trying to suppress it. According to Danny, he’d offered your aunt fifty thousand dollars to keep the information secret and was irate she wanted more.”

  “Just the Facts mentioned Peter’s altercation with my aunt, but nothing about Rod.” Maggie’s tone became angry. “Why haven’t the police told me about any of these other details?”

  “Maybe they figured you wouldn’t be able to help with their questions. Who knows?”

  “Maybe it’s time I had a chat with the police. I don’t appreciate being kept in the dark. And I’m sure Preston won’t appreciate it either. If Rod had something to do with his sister’s death, he will definitely want to know.”