Reluctant Wife

by Carla Cassidy

  It took only moments to drive to the Royale Restaurant, Wilford’s idea of upscale public dining. The hostess who greeted them as they entered raised an eyebrow at Tyler. “Busy night?” she said with a secretive smile as she led the two to a table in a private little alcove. Tyler felt himself blush, knowing the hostess referred to his date an hour earlier with Sarah.

  Samantha eyed him curiously as she sat at the table and the hostess moved away. “‘Busy night’?”

  “I was here a little earlier and had dinner.”

  “Alone?” She held up her hand before he could answer. “Sorry, that’s really none of my business.”

  “Actually, I had a date,” he replied, wondering why he felt like a philandering husband at the admission.

  One of her pale eyebrows arched upward. “Anyone I know?”

  “Sarah Baylor. She teaches fourth grade.”

  “Petite...blond?”

  Tyler nodded in surprise. “You know her?”

  Samantha shook her head. “No, but I think I saw you talking to her at Abigail’s funeral.”

  “Yes, she was there.” Tyler took a sip of his water. “So tell me where you are in your investigation of the Marcola case,” he said as he put his glass back down. For some reason it made him uncomfortable to discuss Sarah with Samantha.

  She leaned forward, her eyes shining like rich toffee candies. “I’ve assigned Wylie to doing a little background on Abigail to find out if there’s anything in her past that might have to do with her murder. By the way, thanks for talking him into helping me.”

  “Has he turned up anything useful?”

  The sparkle in her eyes dimmed slightly. “Not yet.”

  “He’s good, Samantha. If there’s something to find, Wylie will dig it up.”

  Their conversation halted as a waitress arrived at the table. Samantha ordered the prime-rib dinner, Tyler wanted only coffee.

  “I interviewed Georgia and Kyle Morgan today,” Samantha said when the waitress had departed.

  “And?”

  “And I’m not sure.” She frowned. As she unfolded her napkin in her lap, a wrinkle furrowed her brow. “Georgia was pleasant and that’s more than I can say for Kyle. That kid seems to have an attitude problem.”

  Tyler tried to hide a smile. Of all people, it seemed ironic for Samantha to talk about a kid needing an attitude adjustment.

  “Don’t you dare say a word,” Samantha warned, eyes narrowed as if she’d read his mind.

  He laughed and held up his hands in supplication. “Not me. I wouldn’t dare.”

  “Anyway,” she continued, a spark of humor lighting her eyes, “he’s not exactly in the running with me for Mr. Personality.” The humor faded. “He hated Abigail, thought she was a gold digger after his father’s money.”

  “You think maybe he had something to do with Abigail’s death?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. I’m going to have Wylie check him out. But, I discovered some interesting information from Georgia. Apparently she had lunch with Abigail a few days before the murder and Abigail told her she thought she was pregnant.”

  “Did you check the autopsy report?”

  She nodded, her hair shining in the glow from the candle that lit the center of their table. “That’s what I was doing when I fell asleep. According to the autopsy, she wasn’t pregnant.”

  “So I guess that’s a dead end,” Tyler replied, wondering how it was that the candlelight did such magnificent things to her—things he hadn’t noticed it doing to Sarah.

  “I don’t think so,” she countered. “It doesn’t matter so much whether or not she was actually pregnant. What matters is if she thought she was and who she might have told.”

  Tyler looked at her in surprise. The astuteness of her mind amazed him and he wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was because she’d always exhibited such a lack of judgment while growing up.

  Once again their conversation came to a halt as the waitress arrived with Samantha’s prime rib. For a few minutes talk was impossible as Samantha focused on the pleasure of filling her stomach.

  She ate as she did everything—with gusto. Tyler leaned back in his chair and sipped his coffee, watching as she devoured the meal.

  She seemed not to spare a thought for calories or cholesterol as she smothered her potato in sour cream and lathered the bread with butter.

  He wondered if she made love with the same wild abandon. Somehow he imagined so. There would be no worry about messing her hair, no fear of unflattering positions. She would throw herself into the act as she did everything in her life—intensely and passionately.

  “I’m sorry...I didn’t realize how famished I was,” she said, her words of apology making Tyler realize he’d been frowning at her. She wiped her mouth with the napkin. “Now, where were we...? Oh, yes. Abigail’s pregnancy.”

  As Samantha told Tyler her thoughts, he tried to focus on her words, on the case—and forget the mental images of Samantha and lovemaking. “Dominic said Abigail was excited, almost high with a secret that she said assured her a wonderful settlement from Morgan. Could the secret be that she thought she was pregnant?”

  Samantha frowned. “That would be my initial thought, but I’m not sure exactly how she thought a baby would garner her a fortune. Sure, Morgan would have to pay child support, but that would be all she could expect No, I think there’s got to be something more to Abigail’s secret than the prospect of motherhood. I also think finding out what her secret was might give us a solid clue as to who killed her.”

  “So what kind of defense are you building in case you don’t discover the real perpetrator?” Tyler asked.

  The waitress appeared to refill Tyler’s coffee cup and take away Samantha’s empty plate. Samantha ordered a piece of pie and coffee, then when the waitress had once again left, she leaned back in her chair, a troubled expression on her face. “The only things I’ve really got are some sloppy police work, some inconsistent factors, and the hope that the jury will see how ridiculous the whole prosecution case against Dominic really is.”

  “Let me play devil’s advocate here,” he suggested.

  She nodded and leaned forward. Again he noticed the shine in her eyes—the shine of intelligence, emotion and belief. If the jury could look into her eyes, they would believe whatever she had to say, he thought.

  “First, there’re the toxicology reports. Both Abigail’s and Dominic’s blood showed a high concentration of barbiturates, and the alcohol level in them both was well below the legal definition of inebriation. Odd, isn’t it?”

  Tyler nodded. What he found even more odd was the fact that he had so much trouble concentrating on her words. Odd to realize that although he’d known her for years, he really didn’t know her at all. He’d never before noticed that her hair wasn’t just a single shade of blond, but rather a hundred different shades of “pretty.” He’d never noticed before that her smile always began first in her eyes, lighting up their darkness before curving her lips.

  “What’s even more odd is that nobody tested the champagne. The bottle was accidentally thrown out.”

  Her words penetrated his mind. “You think it might have been drugged?”

  “It’s the only thing that makes sense. Dominic said he didn’t drink enough to be drunk, but he felt woozy and then passed out. He said the bottle was already open when he arrived, that about half of it was gone when he and Abigail started drinking it.”

  Her words garnered Tyler’s full attention. “Go on,” he said thoughtfully.

  “In my interview with Morgan, I asked him about Abigail’s drinking habits. He said she always had several glasses of champagne in the evenings. She loved the stuff and always had a bottle in the refrigerator. That, coupled with the 911 call that came from two blocks away from the murder scene, certainly creates reasonable doubt in my mind as to exactly what happened that night.”

  “The whole case would be much stronger if you could hint at other people with motives for murder,” he obser
ved.

  “No problem.” She flashed him one of her quicksilver smiles. “I can begin with Kyle Monroe, who might have heard that Abigail thought she was pregnant and was afraid of what a new baby and wife would do to his inheritance. Then there’s Morgan himself, who despite his alibi could have hired a killer to get rid of the new wife who’d married him only for his money. And I have a feeling when Wylie finishes investigating Abigail’s background, he’ll have a host of other suspects for me to use in Dominic’s defense. And I’m still hopeful that if this was a hired killing, by keeping his ear to the floor, Bones will hear something useful.”

  “You never did tell me how you met Bones,” Tyler said.

  “Bones was one of the cohorts I ran with when I was in high school. He helped me sneak out of the house on more than one occasion.”

  Tyler’s stomach muscles knotted as he wondered if Bones had been one of her boyfriends. Had he been an intimate partner in Samantha’s rebellions against her father? He was surprised and disturbed to discover that it was jealousy that clenched his stomach. Irritation usurped the unwanted emotion. Rather than focusing it inward, he vented it on her. “You broke your father’s heart with those teenage rebellions.”

  The warmth in her eyes dissipated, turning frosty in a split second. “He broke my heart time and time again. You weren’t around in those first years after my mother died. You didn’t see the way Father chipped away at me. You saw only the great Jamison Dark, the charismatic orator and legal eagle. You didn’t see the man—the father figure so cold and distant, the man who told me over and over again that I was nothing and never would be anything.”

  Tyler studied her features and saw the tension, the pain that radiated from her whenever she spoke of her dad. “Samantha, is that what this case is about? Did you take it to prove yourself to your father? He’s dead, Samantha. You can’t prove anything to him.”

  She smiled, a sad gesture that didn’t reach the shadows in her eyes. “You really don’t get it, do you, Tyler? This isn’t about proving anything to my father. This is about proving something to myself. If I win, then I’ll know I’m worthwhile and I can do good things....If I lose, I’ll know my father was right all along. I’ll know that I’m nothing—that I’ll never be anything more than nothing.”

  “Samantha, this is just a case,” Tyler protested.

  “No, Tyler. This is just my life.” She started as the waitress appeared at their table and placed her chocolate pie in front of her.

  She ate silently, her gaze focused on the candle flame. Tyler knew he was about to do something incredibly stupid. He fought against it, but knew it was to no avail. The stakes of the Marcola case had just risen, and suddenly it was important to him that she win. “Samantha, I know I said I didn’t want anything to do with this case, but if you want me to, I’d be glad to second chair you.”

  His reward was the warmth returning to her eyes and a beatific smile covering her face. “There are times when you show definite signs of promise, Sinclair,” she said softly.

  Tyler sighed, wondering if in trying to help Samantha save her soul, he might not lose his own.

  Chapter 8

  Tyler came awake gasping for air, his heart in his throat as he waited for the nightmare to loosen its grasp on him. He sat up on the edge of the bed, his heart still thundering.

  He’d thought he’d finally outgrown the nightmares. But for the past week, since agreeing to help Samantha on the Marcola case, they had been an unwanted nightly visitor.

  The light of dawn crept in through his windows. It filled the room with a surreal golden glow that brought him a modicum of relief, like that of a child awakening from a bad dream and seeing the reassuring illumination from a night-light.

  He raked a hand through his hair and stood in an attempt to cast the last of the nightmare images out of his mind.

  Padding over to the window, he wondered how Samantha had slept. Dominic’s trial began today, and he and Samantha had been up until late the night before, going over last-minute details.

  A jury of eight women and four men would ultimately decide the fate of Dominic Marcola. Samantha had been pleased by the female-dominated selection of jurists, insisting that women would believe a man who loved the victim incapable of such a heinous crime.

  Tyler, as usual playing devil’s advocate, had reminded her that many of the people who killed professed to love their victims.

  A lively argument had followed, Samantha maintaining that real love couldn’t kill, and Tyler certain that it could. As the debate had continued, Samantha’s intensely romantic viewpoint surprised him, provoking his own latent cynicism. She made him realize that he’d long ago discarded the notion of true and lasting love.

  Turning away from the window, Tyler headed for the shower. As he stood beneath hot needles of water, the last of his nightmare was banished, washed down the drain with any remaining sleepiness. He had a feeling that it was going to be a long day.

  Moments later, clad in one of his power business suits, he headed downstairs, where the scent of fresh brewed coffee greeted him. Looking at his watch, he realized it was too early for Virginia. He walked into the kitchen and saw Samantha sitting at the table, a cup of coffee in front of her.

  “All ready for your big day?”

  “Piece of cake,” she replied with an overbright smile, although he saw her hand tremble slightly as she raised her cup to her mouth.

  He poured himself some coffee, then joined her at the table. “You hungry? I could whip us up a little breakfast,” he said. “Maybe some eggs, sunny-side up, with a slab of ham on the side?”

  She turned a little green around the gills. “No, thanks. I work best with an edge of hunger gnawing at me.”

  He nodded, amused that she obviously didn’t want him to know just how nervous she was. He remembered well the feeling of his first official day in court—the rush of adrenaline swooping through him, coupled with a dizzying need to throw up. Welcome to the big league, he thought, but quickly assured her, “You’ll do fine.”

  “I intend to do better than fine,” she snapped. “I’m planning on something approaching greatness.”

  He grinned at her forced bravado. If her willpower counted at all, he had no doubt she would approach something close to greatness. Had she not been so nervous, he would have been worried about her performance in court. Had she not had the look of a deer caught in the glare of an approaching car’s headlights, he would have doubted her capacity. Yes, she would do fine.

  “Excuse me,” she said and shoved away from the table. She bolted out of her chair and disappeared down the hallway. He heard the slam of the bathroom door and grinned. Yes, she would be just fine—as soon as she finished throwing up.

  A few minutes before eight o’clock, Tyler and Samantha got into his car to drive to the courthouse. Court would begin at nine, and Samantha wanted time to talk to Dominic before the trial began.

  As Tyler drove, he shot surreptitious looks at his partner.

  She looked exceedingly attractive in a conservative skirt and jacket she’d bought specifically for the occasion. The dark brown emphasized her hair, which was braided into a neat length down her back, and brought out the rich darkness of her eyes, which sparkled in anticipation of a good fight.

  She was talking softly to herself, and Tyler heard enough to know she was going over her opening statement. She fell silent as they pulled into a parking space across from the county courthouse and she saw the chaos taking place on the steps of the building.

  “That snake,” she muttered as she spied Chester Sparks speaking before a live videocam. “The trial hasn’t even officially begun yet and he’s trying to sway public opinion.”

  “Samantha...” Tyler warned as he saw the light of battle in her eyes. “Don’t do anything crazy.”

  She grabbed her briefcase and grinned at him as they got out of the car. “Don’t worry. I told you I thought my picture would look terrific splashed across the front pages of the pap
er.” She flashed him another smile that set his ulcer to work. “We’re going to see just how good I look,” she said and started walking toward the camera.

  Tyler watched as the media people noticed her, knew that interviewing the defense counsel in a murder case was much more appealing than talking to the prosecution, especially when the defense counsel was a good-looking blonde with shapely legs.

  To Tyler’s surprise, Samantha handled the reporters as if she’d been doing it for years. Using humor and quick wit, she managed to convey utter confidence in her client and his innocence without giving away any specifics of their case.

  “Hey, Tyler.”

  He turned to see Gary Watters, a reporter for the Wilford paper, approaching him. “No comment, Gary.”

  Gary grinned. “I haven’t asked you anything yet.” He moved closer to Tyler and held out a tape recorder. “Come on, just answer a few questions. You don’t want me to lose my job, do you?”

  Tyler laughed good-naturedly. “Gary, we both know you’re Wilford’s answer to Jimmy Olson. Your job certainly isn’t dependent on my answering your questions.”

  “Just tell me why you aren’t heading this defense.”

  “Because my partner is,” Tyler answered easily.

  “Is she as good as her father was?”

  “Better.”

  “There are rumors that there’s more than business going on between you and the attractive Ms. Dark.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Tyler scoffed, then winced in irritation. “No more questions,” he said and shouldered his way past the reporter.

  With questions still pelting them, Samantha and Tyler made their way into the relative quiet of the building. Samantha vibrated with energy, her cheeks flushed with excitement. As they went into the conference room that had been provided them to meet with their client, she turned to him. “Tell me I can do this, Tyler.” Her hand trembled with need as she grabbed his. “Tell me you believe in me.”

  As always, seeing the vulnerable side of Samantha disconcerted him. Knowing that his opinion of her was important touched him in a secret place that hadn’t been touched in a very long time.