by Joanna Wayne
The driver opened her door and she stepped out and walked to the entrance. Everything looked exactly the same as when she’d left it a mere six days ago. The front lawn was perfectly manicured. The walk was spotlessly clean. The front doors were gleaming.
Jack stepped beside her, luggage in both hands and swinging from both shoulders.
“It’s just a house,” he said. “Remember that.” She opened the door and he let out a low whistle. “Let me rephrase that. It’s just a mansion.”
“My suite’s through the foyer and at the end of the hallway to your left,” she said. “Just follow me.”
“If I get lost, send the dogs to find me.”
“No dogs. No cats. Nick was allergic to animal hair.”
“Are we the only ones here? No servants?”
“Nick gave the household crew a week off while we were in Denver. He probably wanted them rested so they could take good care of him while he mourned.” And just the thought stirred her fury and hurt and set her stomach churning.
She opened the door to her suite and almost jumped out of her skin. “Mitchell, what are doing in here?”
“I could tell how upset you were yesterday when we talked and I thought I should be here to welcome you home.” He nonchalantly went back to putting the final touches on a large crystal vase of yellow roses. “I thought the flowers in your sitting room might help your mood.”
“That was thoughtful.” She tossed her handbag onto the love seat by the door. “I thought you were in Denver.”
“I flew—” His stopped midsentence as Jack stepped into the room. “What’s he doing here?”
“He’s here to—” This time it was she who stopped midsentence. She didn’t owe Mitchell an explanation. “Jack’s my guest.
“I see.”
“Good to see you, too, Mitchell,” Jack said. “Where should I put the bags, Kelly?”
“In the bedroom for now.” She pointed to the open door to her left.
Mitchell walked over and helped her shrug out of her blazer. “I hope Jack’s being here doesn’t imply that you’re still in some kind of danger.”
“No. He’s flying back to Denver in the morning. Everything’s okay.”
“Good, I know I’ve been occupied with my grief for Nick, but I do worry about you, too.”
“I understand.” He was still convinced of Nick’s innocence in all of this, and she really did have to cut him some slack.
“I’ll be fine, Mitchell. I have plenty to keep me busy until Alex and my parents get here this weekend.”
“Then I guess I should be going?”
“I didn’t see your car when we drove up.”
“I parked in the back, and I’ll let myself out so you can get back to Jack.”
“You take care,” she said, “and thanks again for the flowers.”
She walked to the bedroom where Jack was standing at her sliding-glass door watching the gardener replace potted plants around the pool with ones that were blooming profusely.
“That was interesting,” Jack said.
“Nick liked the potted plants changed on a regular basis.”
“No, I meant Mitchell. Does he always let himself in and out of your house like that?”
“Everyone lets themselves in and out of this house. Nick had a swinging-door policy.”
“That didn’t give you and Alex much privacy.”
“His friends never came to my end of the hall, and I never went to Nick’s suite in the east wing. I’ll give you a grand tour of the house later. First I think we should have lunch.”
“Then I find a hardware store and buy and install all new locks for the house. After that, the tour.”
“I can call a locksmith for that.”
“A locksmith? Have you forgotten who you’re talking to?”
“Excuse me, Mr. Surveillance Expert, by all means, you take care of the locks. Now let’s go see if I find my way around my own kitchen while you check out the wine closet.”
She started toward the kitchen. Jack didn’t follow. “Do you know that you have a camera over your bed?”
“We didn’t put it there. It must have been installed by the people who lived here before us.”
Jack kicked out of his shoes and climbed onto the bed, reaching up to unscrew a bronze inset from the fan. “This was installed recently. It’s the latest in technology. You program it for the times you want it to take pictures. This particular model takes up to five hundred pictures before you have to change the film.”
“How do you know all that?”
“I used this exact camera on a case last month.”
Kelly watched over his shoulder as he flicked through a series of digital pictures. Some were just of the empty room, but many were of her in various stages of undress.”
“I don’t understand. Nick was gay. Why would he have kept something like this in my bedroom.”
“It may not have been Nick.”
She shuddered and her stomach took a sickening turn. “Lunch and then locks,” she said. But she’d completely lost her appetite.
Wednesday, 5:20 p.m.
Beverly Hills
AS FAR AS JACK was concerned, the most reassuring news of the day had come from Gilly Carter. They already had a preliminary ballistics report back—amazing how fast they could get results when a celebrity and the national news media were involved. The gun Kelly had found in Hal’s hotel room was the weapon used to kill Nick.
There really was no valid, professional reason for him to stay on here with Kelly, but he wouldn’t leave until he knew the house was secure and that the alarm system was functioning properly.
Jack had spent the afternoon changing out the locks and searching for hidden surveillance equipment. He’d only found one other camera, and that had been placed so that it gave a full view of Kelly’s bath and dressing area.
Some perverted voyeur had been getting his jollies spying on Kelly, and now she had to deal with feeling violated on top of everything else.
He finished checking the living area and stopped at the double winding staircase. “What’s upstairs?”
“Mostly storage. The big room to the left is what I refer to as Party Central. Nick’s parties were famous even by Beverly Hills standards, especially his Halloween and Valentine’s Day events.”
“Anything besides storage?”
“Nick made one of the rooms into an office last fall. I couldn’t say what he does in it or what it looks like. I’ve never been in it.”
“Then I’ll just take a quick look around.”
He passed and saluted a life-size Roman soldier at the landing. The sculpture looked as if it weighed a ton and would have been more at home in a museum.
Once up the stairs, Jack hit Party Central first. It was like something from a B-movie horror film with ghosts and ghouls and even a very real-looking dummy with a noose around its limp neck, hanging from a meat hook.
The Valentine’s Day decorations were not much cheerier. They ranged from funny to mildly deviant to sickeningly aberrant.
Jack didn’t stay in there long or in the other rooms, most used for storage, just as Kelly had said. There was only one room left, so it had to be Nick’s office. Jack opened the door and stepped inside. The desk was cluttered with scribbled notes and printed pages that looked to be a manuscript of some kind.
The wall behind the desk was lined with posters from Nick’s movies. Jack turned to check out the rest of the room, then stopped to stare at a grouping of pictures that sent a few pangs right down to his gut.
He’d pegged Nick Warner wrong.
Chapter Fourteen
Wednesday, 5:54 p.m.
Beverly Hills
The display of photographs took up about half the wall. The frames were a mismatched combination of colors, styles and sizes, the only thing in the entire house that looked as if it hadn’t seen a decorator’s hand. The subject was the only thing that remained constant.
Every photograph was of Al
ex, most of her alone, though some included Nick.
Alex in her high chair with chocolate cupcake smeared all over her hands and face.
Alex pushing a doll stroller.
Alex on a carousel horse with a huge smile on her face.
Alex with a wad of cotton candy in her mouth.
Alex as a toddler, sitting on Nick’s stomach and feeding him a bite of her cookie.
The typical pictures a loving father would cherish. This was the Nick that Kelly had described to Jack—a man with a multitude of faults, but a man who adored his daughter.
Jack propped his backside against Nick’s desk, troubled, yet mesmerized by one picture in particular. It was a snapshot of Alex as a newborn cradled in Nick’s arms, and the look on his face was pure adulation.
No wonder it had been so difficult for Kelly to believe Nick capable of sacrificing his daughter even for a three-million-dollar payoff. But then who knew what was really going on in his mind or what kind of trouble he might have gotten into?
Jack had a feeling that they had only scratched the surface of what had been behind Nick’s decision, but he was almost certain now that it would be more than just the influence of Hal Hayden.
Thursday, 8:08 a.m.
Beverly Hills
KELLY STEPPED OUT of the shower and immediately covered up in the fluffy white towel. Even showering in this house had become a disgusting experience. There were no cameras in here now, but she felt as if a hundred dirty, perverted eyes were on her.
The confidence she’d tried to exude yesterday morning had taken a nosedive. She’d dreaded coming back to this house, but being here was far more difficult than she’d imagined. Even Jack was differ ent here. He’d been incredibly understanding of how severely the pictures on the cameras had upset her. Still, he’d hardly talked during dinner and he’d tossed and turned all night. She wasn’t sure if he’d ever fallen asleep.
He was at the computer in the housekeeping office just off the kitchen now, scrolling computerized PPS files and drinking coffee, already dressed for his eleven o’clock flight. He was so preoccupied that he’d barely looked up when she’d found him and kissed him good-morning.
Kelly slipped into a lilac silk robe. Jack was used to eating breakfast and she had to go and see if her hand still fit a skillet.
Thursday, 8:42 a.m.
Beverly Hills
KELLY SAT AT the kitchen table, taking advantage of the fact that the household staff was still on vacation. The creditor spreadsheet that Lenny had just faxed over was propped in front of her, but it was so overwhelming she didn’t know where to start.
Always best to use a proven method in decision making, so she closed her eyes, circled the pen a few times like a plane coming in for landing, then lowered the point to…
She opened her eyes. Ugh. She’d landed on the credit card section, the largest section of all. Going through these would keep her busy until bedtime.
She dialed the 800 number for the first listing, thankful that Lenny had provided not only phone numbers but Nick’s account numbers, as well. A computerized voice instructed her to punch four for assistance with account inquiries. An operator answered promptly then put her on hold.
Kelly stared out the kitchen window. There was a nice view of the garden. But no snow. No horses. No Jack. She missed him already, and he wasn’t even at LAX yet.
“This call may be monitored for…”
Yada, yada, yada, let’s get on with it. She supplied the basic answers and finally got to make her simple request. “My husband died last week and I can’t find any statements from you. I think he may have—”
“One moment, please, while I switch you to bookkeeping.”
Here she went again. Five minutes later, she seemed to be on a roll.
“How may I help you, Mrs. Warner?”
Kelly explained the situation again. “I’m thinking that my husband must have used some kind of online paperless billing because I can’t find current or past statements. I’d like to have copies of the last twelve months’ purchases.”
If she was going to pay, she was going to know what she was paying for and have an accurate record of what had been paid.
“No, the statements are mailed directly to you every month.”
“At what address?”
The woman read off an address in Beverly Hills; it wasn’t theirs.
“Are you certain that’s where the statements are mailed?”
“Yes, ma’am, but you can do a change of address. You’ll just have to send it in writing….”
Kelly didn’t listen to the rest of the spiel. Instead she called the next number on the list, and the next and the next before moving to car dealerships.
The result was always the same. Statements were mailed directly to Mitchell Caruthers’s address. He’d said he knew nothing of the state of Nick’s finances.
He’d lied. She intended to find out why.
Thursday, 11:40 a.m.
Beverly Hills
KELLY HEARD A KNOCK at her back door. Startled, she rushed for a look out the peephole. Mitchell. Just the man she wanted to see. Kelly turned the deadbolt and opened the door. She spotted his car parked near their four-vehicle garage. “Looks as if you have a new car, Mitchell. That’s an Aston Martin, isn’t it?”
“Yes, and it rides beautifully.”
“Did Nick buy that for you? I notice he owes their financing department a few hundred thousand dollars for one.”
“He did give it to me. You know how generous he was, but he told me he paid cash. I would never have accepted it otherwise.”
“Really.”
Kelly could feel her blood pressure rising. No wonder he was so heavy into grief. His gravy train had derailed. It would be nice to know just how much of the amount owed on those endless charge accounts had gone for things that had wound up on Mitchell’s body, in his house, or parked in his garage. Who would have known, with all the bills being routed through him?
Her phone rang. She would have ignored it, but she needed a minute to think how she should handle the confrontation with Mitchell. Too bad she couldn’t ask Jack but he was somewhere in the air between here and Denver.
“Hello.”
“Hey, kid. It’s Drake. When did you get back?”
“Yesterday.”
“Did you find the flowers I brought by.”
“No. Where did you leave them?
“I put them in your sitting room so you’d be sure to see them when you got home. There was a card.”
“How did you get in?”
“With the key you gave me the day you wanted me to pick up Alex and bring her with me to cut that video. Don’t you remember?”
“I do now.”
“I hope you don’t mind that I took them inside. I expected the housekeeper to be there, but no one answered the door and I didn’t want to leave them just sitting around.”
“Maybe I did see them and just missed the card. Yellow roses?”
“Yeah, the old standby. You know me. I’m not imaginative when it comes to flowers.”
So Mitchell had even taken credit for the flowers that were in her sitting room—where he had no right to be. So why had he been in there? Surely not— Her skin crawled at the thought.
He lied blatantly. He took advantage of every opportunity. Perhaps he’d even been stealing from Nick’s accounts. So why wouldn’t he stoop so low as to put hidden cameras in her bed and bath? He could always use them for blackmail purposes or sell them on the Internet. Or just use them for his own dirty fantasies. Mitchell wasn’t gay.
He would have had plenty of opportunity, but she had no proof it was him. She’d have to wait to talk to Jack. He’d know how to handle this. But in the meantime, she had to get rid of Mitchell.
She started back to the kitchen, but Mitchell was waiting for her in the doorway. The blade of a butcher’s knife gleamed in his hand and he was smiling and moving his fingers back and forth along the dull edge of the blade as
if he were—
Oh, my, God! He was going to kill her.
Adrenaline rushed through her bloodstream. She had to get out of the house, but she couldn’t get to the back door without running by him. Impulsively, she grabbed a heavy crystal bowl from the counter and hurled it at him. It missed his head, but crashed into his chest.
The impact knocked him backward, giving her a second to bolt thorough the door that led into the huge foyer. She was still fumbling with the double dead bolts on the front door when Mitchell’s hand closed on her arm.
“You couldn’t leave well enough alone, could…”
She bit hard into the flesh of his forearm, tasting blood through his shirt. His grip loosened, and she swung her elbows into his already-wounded chest and took off running again.
This time she took the staircase, her breath burning as she neared the landing. She didn’t turn, but she knew he was only steps behind her. She heard his panting and curses and the pounding of his feet.
If she could only make it to the landing, she could shove Nick’s Italian sculpture into his path and slow him down. She was inches away from it when Mitchell grabbed her right foot and yanked her to the floor.
She clawed at the carpet with one hand and grabbed for a baluster with the other as he dragged her down the staircase. But Mitchell was too strong. And then he stopped pulling and she felt the knife digging into her wrist. He was going to slice her veins. Why the hell did everyone want her dead?
Desperation and fury sent a new wave of adrenaline rushing though her. She kicked hard with her foot, catching Mitchell in the knee. He went to the floor behind her and the knife slipped from his hand.
The second it took him to retrieve it was all she needed to reach the landing. It took all her strength and precious seconds to topple the heavy statue, but she did it. It crashed into the balustrade, sending splintered wood raining down on them.
She grabbed one sharp piece and started running again.
Mitchell had somehow dodged the tumbling statue, but one of the splintered pieces of wood had punctured his leg like an arrow. He shouted curses as he pulled it out, but she was on the second floor now. The only escape would be a twenty-foot drop from a window to the ground. She’d have to jump.
