by Barr, Sue
Expecting a butler, someone like Lurch from the Addams Family, my line of sight was raised when the door swung open. Slowly I brought my gaze down to the smallest, meanest looking woman I had ever seen. A smidge over five feet, she was almost as wide as she was tall. With one glance she summed me up and her lip curled into a sneer. I guess I came up short.
I choked back a snort at my own pun and the little gnome must have caught it.
“We don’t want none,” she barked and tried slamming the door in my face.
I put my boot out to stop the door from closing, flipped open my wallet and extracted one of my brand new business cards. “Stewart Investigations,” I said, handing it to her. “Mr. Grant’s expecting me.”
She screwed her face into a scowl and stared at my card. Satisfied, she grudgingly opened the door. “You stay put. I’ll tell the mister you’re here.” She moved away with amazing speed and I stepped further inside.
Whoa.
Polished marble floors gleamed in the foyer. A chandelier, which had to weigh a thousand pounds, hung over a mahogany table that would have comfortably sat a family of twelve. The entrance, dominated by a central staircase, caught my imagination and I could almost see the ghost of Rhett Butler, looking up at Miss Scarlett.
Within minutes she returned and asked me to follow her. She ushered me toward a room just off the entranceway. A soft, Georgia peach voice lilted toward us.
“Thank you, Hannah. You can bring in the lemonade and cake now.”
The voice belonged to society’s darling, Estelle Grant.
“Yes, Mrs. Grant, right away.” The surly servant disappeared beneath a thin veneer of civility.
I stepped into a stylish room, dotted with several couches and chairs placed to draw people’s eye toward an elegant fireplace. In the middle of this Better Homes & Garden vignette sat Estelle. She looked like a porcelain doll—fragile, pink, and fluffy. In her hand she clutched a lace hanky.
“Mrs. Grant? I’m Shelby Stewart. Your husband called earlier.”
I strode forward and held out my hand. With a slight hesitation she placed her frail one in mine. After a brief touch of our fingers, she withdrew and tucked her hand beneath the hanky. Although the movement was slight, I’d bet money she wiped her fingers off. Without asking, I sat on the chair opposite her, and Estelle’s lips pursed ever so slightly. I guess I should have waited for the royal nod or something.
“Thank you for coming so soon.” Estelle said. “This is such a trying time for our family.”
“Is Mr. Grant here?”
“Raymond?” She paused, her eyes shifting to the door at the far side of the room. “He’s making a phone call. He’ll be with us shortly.”
A rattling noise announced the return of Hannah. Mrs. Grant looked toward the door, relief evident on her pinched face. “Set it over there Hannah,” indicating the glass coffee table in front of us.
Hannah carried a silver tray, loaded down with cakes, cookies and a pitcher of lemonade. Under the watchful eye of Mrs. Grant she poured us each a glass. After placing the jug on the tray, she turned to leave.
“Hannah?”
“Yes, Mrs. Grant?”
“Make sure Bobbi-Jo cleans that little mess I spotted by the gazebo this morning.”
“Yes, Mrs. Grant.” Hannah clumped out of the room.
Estelle offered me a cookie, which I declined. As she set the plate on the table she explained, “We had the gazebo re-stained and our dog Chester keeps getting into the plants. The dirt he digs flies up and sticks to the walls.”
After taking a sip of her tea she fell into silence. I attempted to engage her in small talk, anything beyond the weather, but she either had nothing to say, or had the personality of a dish rag. I leaned strongly in favor of the dish rag. Ten minutes I’d never get back passed before Mr. Grant joined us.
A tall, striking man, he strode into the room. His whole demeanor was tense. No smile crossed his lips, but that would be expected since Harrison was their only child.
“I’m sorry I kept you waiting. Thank you for coming so quickly.” He sat next to his wife.
“Shall we get started?” I asked, looking at both of them on the sofa. Mr. Grant nodded. Not wanting to waste any more time I pulled a simple notebook and pen from my purse and flipped open to a clean page.
“When did you last hear from Harrison? Does he call home often?”
I wanted a sense of their relationship, anything which might give a clue to Harrison’s mind-set.
“Harrison’s been living in Los Angeles for over a year now. Although he juggles a very hectic business and social calendar he calls home every Sunday…” Mrs. Grant brought the hanky to her nose. She stifled a small hiccupping sob and turned toward Mr. Grant who placed an arm around her shoulders. With a few pats and a squeeze on her arm, she quieted.
And the Award goes to….
I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. When had I become such a cynic? Probably right about the time Tank walked out and broke my heart. The sobs could be genuine, but that tiny voice inside my head coldly pointed out how not one single tear escaped her carefully made up eyes.
“He hasn’t called for over three weeks.” Mr. Edwards bit out, “Not one single phone call, e-mail, nothing.”
I noted Mr. Grant was angered by Harrison’s disappearance. Most families were frantic with worry, not annoyed. Had Harrison done this sort of thing before? That would explain the tension which permeated the room.
Yet, something about Mrs. Grant didn’t ring true. While we waited for her husband, she hadn’t talked about Harrison. Not even once. In my line of work you looked for nonverbal clues, like body language. Estelle Grant worried more about her gazebo than her only child and sipped lemonade. An underlying current of nervousness lay like a film across their skin, evident by the tic in Mr. Grant’s jaw.
I began scribbling in my notepad. The Grants would think I believed them, but in reality, I’d started a grocery list. Milk, cheese, rib-eye steaks, chocolate buds. I scratched the steaks off. They were Tank’s favorite and I would NOT buy food for him.
A curious thought struck me at the reminder of Tank. Could their unease stem from the fact they knew Harrison was implicated in the murder of a hooker? I decided to broach the subject in a round-about way.
“Has Harrison met anyone? Someone he may have gone away with?”
I watched Mr. Grant’s reaction closely.
“He met a girl, Lulu.” He spat out her name, venom tingeing his voice. “Don’t know much about her, except he seems mighty enamored with her. His credit card bills are staggering.”
Interesting… Harrison didn’t foot his own bills. I added bread to the list.
Mr. Grant stood and stalked over to the window, shoving clenched hands into his trouser pockets while he stared out over his expansive grounds. His stance remained rigid. I’d have bet Polly’s trust fund he knew of Harrison’s possible involvement with Lulu’s murder. It looked like he had no intention of sharing this information with me.
Fair trade, I didn’t plan on telling him I knew Harrison was a suspect in a murder investigation, or that Lulu was a hooker. I could play dumb blonde all day if that’s what he wanted. Mrs. Grant took a tiny sip of her lemonade, keeping her face averted.
An uncomfortable pause stretched between us.
I looked down at my sparse notes above the grocery list. There was nothing here for me to go on. “What makes you think Harrison is missing and didn’t just take off? Was he having problems at work?”
Mr. Grant turned from the window, his voice betraying anger. “My son would never just take off. He loves his mother more than life—” Estelle sobbed. “Someone stopped him from contacting us.”
The ‘someone’ caught my ear, so I made yet another note. Shampoo. An imp of mischief prompted the next question. “Have you called the police in Los Angeles? The authorities have been alerted he’s missing, right?”
I hit the jackpot with that ques
tion. Mr. Grant’s face turned a mottled shade of purple and Mrs. Grant’s knuckles went snow white clutching a now shredded hanky. I wonder if she’ll swoon. It was time to let them off the hook. Without words they’d spoken volumes already.
“Well… I’m sure you’ve called them. You can always send me the name of his case investigator if you think I need it.”
I closed the notebook, shoving both it and the pen back into my purse. “I can’t think of anything more right now. Would you mind if I checked out Harrison’s condo? I’d like to get a feel for his style. Maybe he left something behind that will help.”
Mr. Grant walked over to a secretary’s desk and retrieved something out of the small drawer. He wrote down information on a slip of paper, then came over and handed it to me along with a key.
“Here. This is Harrison’s condo key and address.”
****
I headed down the long driveway mulling over my strange, short visit with the Grants and came to a screeching halt when I saw Tank stretched out on his motorbike. He looked big, bad, and dangerous.
Uncertain how to proceed I chewed my lip. I could ask him to move. I snorted in disdain. Tank didn’t do anything but what he wanted. Me asking nicely wouldn’t make him budge an inch. I could always drive around, but that would tear up the manicured lawn and mow down a few well-placed shrubs.
Then the sobering thought of the Grant’s calling the cops forced me to deal with him in an adult manner. With that in mind I climbed out of the car and walked to where Tank reclined, looking far too casual for my taste. Stopping just a shade out of his reach, I hooked my thumbs in my front jean pockets and watched him watch me.
He lifted his mirrored sunglasses and slid them onto his head. “Looks like we got us a conflict.”
“How’d you know I was here?”
I stepped back when he leaned forward, resting an oh-so-muscular arm on his knee.
“Darlin’, when you said I could stay at the house without a fight, I knew something’s up. You never go sweet on me, so I followed. Mind telling me what’s going on?”
“Nope.”
“Come on. I scratch your back, you scratch mine. Kinda like the old days.?”
Bitter-sweet memories washed over me and I closed my eyes as pain carved yet another tiny piece from my heart. The ‘old days’ when we could almost read each other’s thoughts we’d been so in tune. But I hadn’t been as intuitive as I thought or I’d have known he’d tired of me long before he left.
I re-opened my eyes and looked directly into his. “Wrong question to ask the ex-wife, Tank. You’re losing your touch. I’m going home.” For a brief moment I thought remorse flickered in those sharp, see everything eyes, but that was most likely wishful thinking on my part. “The offer of the guest room is rescinded. Get a motel.”
“Nice try.” He slid his glasses back on and started the bike. “I’ll mosey on up to the Grant’s, and take a look around. Maybe have a good long talk with Harry if he’s there. See you later.”
I watched as he throttled his bike and roared up the manicured drive. I’d love to watch the hobbit housekeeper take him on but I had to go grocery shopping, then home to pack for my trip to L.A.
Chapter Three
Harrison was missing, yet his parents didn’t act worried. What was it that didn’t ring true? And why didn’t they call off the search after Tank showed up? Something was off and danced around the edges of my brain, going in circles. Arrangements needed to be made, so I called Polly.
“How’d the meeting go?” she asked.
“Strange is the only word I can think of right now.”
My phone teetered on my shoulder as I juggled my purse, the few groceries I’d picked up and car keys. All this, while unlocking the front door. “I need you to book a flight for me to L.A., day after tomorrow. Also, see if you can book me into a hotel near Hollywood Boulevard. I’m going to check out the area, talk to some of Hollywood’s leading ladies and want to stay at a hotel close by.”
“Leading ladies?” Polly sounded confused.
“I meant hookers. You know. Hookers? Leading ladies?” Nothing but dead air through the phone. “Forget it. I’ll see you later tonight.”
I ended the call and shouldered the door open. Just as I crossed the threshold, my land line rang. I ran to the kitchen, dropped my packages and grabbed the receiver on the fourth ring.
“Hello?”
“Good afternoon, I’m glad I caught you at home.”
Why hadn’t I looked at the call display? Tension snaked up the back of my neck. He always seemed to know when I was home.
“What do you want, Regis?”
My neighbor, Regis, had the personality of a gnat and made watching grass grow look palatable. He didn’t get it. Not all of us were interested in the mating habits of Puffins, or whatever held his fancy this month.
“Shelley—”
“My name is Shelby,” I forced through clenched teeth. For some obscure reason he never got my name right. This would be hilarious, if it weren’t so annoying.
“Yes, Shelby, of course,” I pictured him pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I called because I have made a discovery and wondered if I might stop by your office tomorrow.”
The fine hairs on my arms rose straight up at the thought of Regis cornering me in my office. I’d take Tank over him every day, all day before that happened. Time to nip this baby in the bud. “I won’t have time, my calendar is quite full. Is this all you called about?”
“I’d hoped you would consent to dine with mother and me one evening this week.”
I heard his bowtie spinning and the crack of his mother’s whip. “Regis, we talked about this before. I’m going to say no, again. Call Penelope. She’s anxious to show you…” Geez, what did Penny have again? “Whatever it is she’s growing in her garage. You’d have a lot in common.”
“Shelley, Mother has—”
I hung up and gave my body a shake, like a kid at school who got cootie germs. Regis phoned me on a regular basis asking me on dates, with his mother. He’d latched on to me when we were kids and I could only handle him in small doses. There was a slimy, ick factor about him and it had nothing to do with the three pounds of Brylcreem in his hair.
Putting away groceries, I sighed when I noticed I’d purchased most of Tank’s favorite foods. I stared at the can of whipped cream before putting it in the fridge beside the pecan pie. I may have told him to go to a motel, but I knew he’d stay here.
I scrubbed a hand over my face. Why couldn’t I move on? He had. I was positive he left me for another woman. Why else would he leave what seemed, to me at least, a wonderful, loving marriage?
Wanting nothing more than to relax I headed upstairs and threw my purse on the bed. Maybe long hot shower would wash my heartache away. A girl could hope.
****
Tank let himself into Shelby’s house and heard the shower. There had been a time when he’d have joined her, but all that was gone. His rights as her husband were on hold until she was apprised of the whole situation. Only one other person close to Shelby knew he was a Federal Agent, and she’d sworn on a stack of cream filled donuts, she wouldn’t give away his secret.
This case with Harrison couldn’t end soon enough for him. The slimy little worm wouldn’t give them the information needed to close in on Big Boss. He did let slip there was someone else involved. Someone from this town.
Tank knew he was close to closing the case, he could taste it. Nervous energy thrummed through his veins and if he were superstitious, like his partner Rodi, he’d bet everything on them discovering who Big Boss was.
Thinking of Rodi made him realize his inside man hadn’t contacted him in a while. Not unusual when you work deep undercover, but Rodi always tried to leave an encrypted message every two weeks.
Tank paused outside the master bedroom door before taking a step inside. Nothing had changed much, except anything that belonged to him was hidden or thrown away. A wry gr
in tipped his lip. Most likely thrown out or burned. Maybe both.
He walked to the dresser and picked up a bottle of her favorite perfume, drawing in the scent. Immediately he was transported back to the first time he met her, at a party on the beach. Across the fire he’d been mesmerized by the woman with hair the color of ripened wheat, cascading down her back in soft curls. And when they’d come face to face, one of the first things he did was kiss her.
Turned out to be a wrong move, but he couldn’t help himself. When her gaze met his, he knew right then and there he’d marry her. It took a few months to convince Shelby of that, after he’d located her. The little minx gave him the number to a funeral home when he asked for her number.
The shower shut off and he heard the sounds of Shelby moving around the bathroom. He stood by the walk-in closet door and leaned one shoulder against the door jamb. Within minutes she opened the door, looking flushed with her hair twisted up into a clip and a warm, fuzzy housecoat wrapped around her body. She hadn’t seen him yet, so he waited until she stopped in front of the dresser and looked into the mirror, catching his reflection.
Her eyes widened and then closed. He pushed away from the door. “Hey, darlin’.”
****
My thoughts over the past few hours had been all about Tank, and then I stepped into bedroom and saw him. A sense of déjà vu washed over me and I closed my eyes so he couldn’t see my pain.
Tank’s hand on my shoulder, turning me to face him, surprised me. I thought he’d step away, but instead he cupped my face, held my gaze and smiled a lazy smile. The one that made me fall in love with him the first time. He slipped a finger under my chin and caressed my cheek with his thumb. I wanted to press into his hand and rub my cheek against his palm. It took everything inside me to remain still.
He lowered his head and took possession of my mouth. Love, hurt, and anger combined and spread out from my heart and through my body. I stood, bathed in all these conflicting emotions and knew I still loved him. He broke the kiss and rested his forehead on mine.
I had to be realistic. He might be here for only a few hours. Could my heart take him leaving again? The cold answer was, no.
