by Karen Harper
* * *
Jasmine and then Claire managed to make it through the detective’s questioning at the police station. Nick sat with each of them during their separate interviews. Jasmine finally received permission to drive back home, but, Nick told Claire, she was really annoyed that the detective here had called Sheriff Goodrich back in Putnam County to tell him what had happened.
“She’s afraid Sheriff Goodrich is going to put her under house arrest, though it would be better than being in jail there,” he explained. “He’s like a pit bull, looking for evidence against Jasmine, when I keep telling him—other than a family disagreement on how to handle the house—there isn’t any.”
“Is it too late to call Heck and have him take me to interview Neil Costa? We’ve got to get ahead of Sheriff Goodrich. Jasmine says he’s not good and not rich, but wants to be both. A politician at heart—if he had a heart, she says.”
“No way you’re going to interview Neil Costa right now fifty miles from here! After you’ve been through this and almost fainted? I’m taking you home and up to your room. Can you walk to my car?”
“Of course I can. See, the thing is I messed up my meds last night and that made me a little tired and gimpy today.”
“Gimpy? Did you trip or fall over?”
“Not quite,” she said as they walked out of the police station to his car in the parking lot. He put his arm around her waist. He felt so good—solid to counteract her shakiness. If she did fall today, she thought, it was just that she fell a little more for him, but she’d never let him know. It had also shaken her to have Cecilia Moran thank her for finding Lola and calling for help. Claire couldn’t fathom how it would feel to lose Darcy, so she totally sympathized with the poor woman.
Cecilia had also said Claire could call her later if she had questions about Lola’s job at Shadowlawn. As Cecilia put it, “Francine treated her like a daughter but Jasmine had treated her like someone selling something at the door—‘Goodbye. Get out!’” Since Cecilia, in place of her twin sister, could obviously be a hostile witness against Jasmine, Claire was half-afraid to question her, but it had to be done.
Nick put Claire in the passenger seat, even hooked her seat belt, leaning in over her. He smelled of swimming pool chlorine, but on him it was better than aftershave or cologne. He got in and started the car, pulling slowly out of the parking lot.
“They let me have a glimpse of the scene,” he said. “Bizarre with all those hanging puppets. The murderer has a sick sense of humor. If Bronco Gates was back now, I’d talk to him right away.”
“I’d expect Neil, with his Creature from the Black Lagoon museum, to be the one with the strange sense of humor.”
“Wait until you meet Gates. And he’s got tall tales and funny stories about everything. Like I said, he supplements his income by hunting not only alligators on the river in season but pythons down in the Everglades. I wanted you to see and talk to him for yourself, but consider that a warning. Though Gates works on the Shadowlawn grounds, he lives in one of those old Airstream trailers down by the river. But all that aside, who would silence a shy, quiet domestic worker and children’s puppeteer by murdering her?”
“Maybe the same person who killed Francine.”
* * *
Nick insisted on taking her up to her room to get her settled. From there, he ordered taco salads and iced tea from room service and sat on the balcony until she washed up. It was breezy but warm. He’d taken off his damp trousers and wore his swimming trunks. When she joined him, she kicked off her sandals and put her bare feet up on the lowest rung of the balcony rail.
“What a day,” she said with a sigh. “I’m glad Heck can go with me in the morning to see Neil.”
“He rescheduled you for 10:00 a.m. That will give you a chance to get a good night’s sleep—and get back on all your meds.”
“I haven’t messed up on those for such a long time. My goal is to try to switch myself off my doses of that powerful stuff to herbal sleep remedies like melatonin, valerian, chamomile tea, even lemon balm liquid extract. But with all that’s going on, I can’t experiment with any of that now.”
“Claire,” he said, turning toward her and taking her right hand in his left, “you said something about finding your mother on the floor, and your sister screamed. Can you talk about that?”
“I try not to even think about it,” she admitted. “I know I blurted that out. My mother—she didn’t take care of herself. Ate too much, little exercise. She was heavy—which is—it’s why I try to watch my weight. She had a sudden, fatal stroke when Darcy and I were in high school. I found her—gone, with the book she was reading in her hand. And that was that. Dad stayed home more after that but, from then on, Darcy and I kind of raised each other. And maybe we had before that.”
“I’m sorry. We have something in common. My father—he died really young.” He looked as if he’d say more about that, but instead he asked, “Claire, are you sure you can handle all this right now?”
“Yes. I told you, yes.”
“I don’t like it that someone just upped the ante by silencing a voice who could have been—probably was—a key witness. I blew it not to know about her, and Jasmine made a big mistake not to tell me. I know this sounds heartless, but I’m actually hoping the police—and your talking to Cecilia Moran—turn up that someone completely unrelated to Shadowlawn in Lola’s life did that.”
She sighed. “Jasmine did keep trying to convince me that Lola wouldn’t know anything anyway, that she wasn’t there that day, that she didn’t talk much and was painfully shy. But what if someone didn’t want her to talk to me? There’s no way that poor woman committed suicide, whatever problems she faced. I don’t see any way she could have lifted herself up there without a ladder—or help. Nick, I’m not making any deductions from all that, but we need to be careful. I will and you, too.”
“Deal,” he said and, though she thought he would shake her hand, he leaned closer and kissed her mouth, lightly, quickly. It took her by surprise. She blushed, felt her skin heat from her throat to her cheekbones. They stared at each other a moment before a knock resounded on the hall door.
“Room service with food and caffeine,” he said. “I’ll get it.”
Claire got up and went in, too, opened the drawer on the table next to the bed and took a pill from the bottle there. She watched Nick open the door and gasped. Not room service but Jace standing there, fists clenched, glaring at Nick and her.
11
“Jace!” Claire cried. “What are you doing here?”
“Breaking up a private meeting, I guess.”
“Nick Markwood,” Nick said, thrusting his hand at Jace. “We’re going over our case on the balcony, waiting for room service. But since you’re here to surprise Claire, I’ll leave you two alone. Is that okay, Claire?” he asked, turning back to her.
“It’s fine. He’s probably just passing through as usual. But I’d love to hear how Lexi’s doing.”
“I’ll be sure Heck picks you up for the interview about nine tomorrow,” Nick said.
Claire marveled at how calm Nick seemed. At least Jace hadn’t made a fool of himself by some sort of crazy accusation. Still, she blushed again to think that Nick had just kissed her, and she could still feel his lips on hers, however quick it had been.
But Jace’s demeanor was another thing, more like a ticking time bomb. He glared at her as Nick walked out. Jace closed the door, came in and did an obvious once-over of the bed, evidently to see if it was mussed or unmade. Arms crossed over his chest, he walked to the balcony and looked out at the view of the bay. When he came back in, he had Nick’s slacks in his hand.
“Your ‘employer’ left these out on the balcony,” he said, his voice barely leashed as he faced her in the room. He threw them down on the bed.
“Well,” Jac
e went on, “perhaps he just took these off so he could dive into the swimming pool from way up here. And room service rather than eating out? Tea for two or something to celebrate? I looked his picture up, knew who he was the minute he opened your door.”
“Just cut the innuendos.”
“How about this one, then? I see you lost the sling. Both arms free now.”
“Whatever you’re thinking is wrong. And how did you get my room number? They don’t give those out.”
“I was down there by the pool,” he said, pointing at the balcony. “I looked up, and there you were. With him.”
She figured he didn’t see the kiss, but she was so upset she almost didn’t care. “Would you like to sit down for a little while?” she asked, gesturing toward the balcony. “Salads and iced tea will be here shortly.”
“Compliments of the big-time lawyer. No, thanks. Just wanted to know how you were.” He was still frowning, and he made no move to head for the balcony. She decided not to either, but to avoid staying so close to the bed she sat down at the desk where she had her laptop and folders spread out.
“This is hardly the place to fly out of to get back to Singapore,” she said, pleased her voice sounded somewhat controlled.
“I’ll drive to ‘Jacktown,’ get a connector to LAX there. You should have been home these last couple of days. Lexi and I had a great time.”
“She told me. That was special for her and you, too, but I need to make a living and build my business.”
“Yeah, right. But we should do something together next time. Maybe Disney.”
“Darcy and her two can go with us. Any way you look at it, you’d have to pay for two rooms.”
“They have suites, you know. And I meant just the three of us.”
“I know Lexi would love it. If I’m not on an assignment and you and I could come to a good post-marital working relationship, maybe.”
“You know you’re starting to sound like a damn lawyer. Look, Claire,” he said, walking toward her, “I know part of our problem was my fault, being gone so much. In the future I might just get cross-country, Canadian or South American flights when this contract is up.”
“Lexi would love that.”
“Would you quit saying that? What about you? Us?”
“Jace, there is no ‘us’ except as Lexi’s parents who want the very best for her. You left, you wanted a divorce. So why did you come here? You could have called.”
He propped his fists on her desk and leaned toward her, stiff-armed. “But then I wouldn’t have found you and your employer all cozy together, would I?” he demanded, his voice rising.
Suddenly, this was all too much. Trying to figure Jasmine out. Finding a body among those bizarre puppets. Did Jace still think she was a puppet, and he could pull her strings?
“Please keep your voice down and calm down,” she said.
“You know, you’re as good—or as bad—as a regular shrink,” he insisted, his voice rising. “You gonna pull one of those psych-out interviews on me?”
She was surprised—and suddenly a little afraid—of how upset the usual automatic-control pilot was. If he knew what had happened to her earlier today, that the police were involved, and that she was starting to feel personally involved with Nick as well as professionally—
“Jace, I don’t think you’re in the mood to tell me about the nice time you had with Lexi. Why don’t you just text me and send the photos to my phone?” Grateful when a knock sounded on the hall door, she got up and walked around him to answer it.
“Ah,” he said, “saved by the bell.”
She ignored that and opened the door for a woman with the tray. It annoyed her that Jace whipped out a five-dollar bill as she put the tray down. “That’s the going rate for a room service tip in Singapore,” he told Claire. “I think we’re done here. Enjoy!”
He stalked out.
“He not want his salad?” the woman asked.
“Not right now,” Claire said, fighting fatigue, tears and anger.
After the woman left, Claire slid the room bolt and the chain lock in place. She picked at one of the salads and drank both iced teas, while she talked to Lexi, who said Daddy had flown away again, so the child had no idea he’d come here. Sitting at her desk, she forced herself to go over her interview questions for Neil and Bronco, and wrote out some for Cecilia, until it was time for her night med and bed.
Instead, she called Nick.
“I worked quite a while after you—and he—left,” she told him. “Sorry about Jace’s surprise visit.”
“Everything okay?”
“Yes. He didn’t stay long.”
“He wants you back,” Nick said, surprising her when she didn’t think anything could after today. She hadn’t seen that—didn’t want to believe that.
“Not going to happen,” she told him.
“I don’t like to see families have problems, but good.”
Her insides cartwheeled. What to say?
“I need to concentrate on this case.”
“Right. Me, too. We’ll get through it together. But any more surprises—I don’t mean Jace—you call me and don’t go walking into some place that hasn’t been checked out.”
“I agree.”
“I like the sound of that, too.”
And she liked the sound of his voice. Smooth. Silky. Comforting, yet downright disturbing. Hard to believe she’d only known Nick for a little over a week.
“Good night,” she said, shocked her voice was a throaty whisper. “See you tomorrow.”
“Call me anytime you need help,” he said. “Anytime.”
Like an idiot adolescent—well, she had somehow missed her teenage years being so sick and bullied, too—she sighed as she got in between the sheets.
* * *
Jace still had two days to kill before heading to LAX, but he sure as heck wasn’t going to spend them around northeast Florida. He watched TV in the hotel room he got not far from Claire’s ritzy one—in the Best Western—and fell asleep early, though he kept waking up and remembering Claire with Nick Markwood. Jace had to admit he’d been a jerk, but she’d almost made him lose his temper, after years of working hard to keep it reined in. That delicate but strong woman always did push his buttons.
In the morning, he went down for breakfast before checking out, ordered coffee and grabbed a copy of the local paper, the St. Augustine Record. Waiting for his sausage and eggs, he opened it and read the front page headline, Local Woman’s Body Found Hanged Amid Her Puppets in Old Town Shop. And the second, smaller headline read, Lola Moran’s Body Found by Suspect in Another Murder And Her Forensic Psychologist Friend.
He studied the captioned photos. An old one of the dead woman working marionettes with her sister while kids about Lexi’s age watched. Another of police cars and the EMS vehicle parked behind a building with an open door to a shop. And, wouldn’t you know—Claire standing next to one of the cars in heated conversation with Nick Markwood. Had to be; it was a distant shot, but he could pick out both their profiles.
He skimmed the article: “Jasmine Montgomery Stanton...undecided cause of the death of Stanton’s well-known mother and wealthy benefactor of local causes, Francine Montgomery...” And then—yes, damn it. “Police summoned to the murder scene by Claire Britten of Naples, Florida.”
Man, she was in way over her head this time! He scrunched up the top sheet of the paper in his hand, then got hold of himself. He smoothed it back out and bent over it. Yeah, here was Nick Markwood’s name, too.
“More coffee, sir?”
“Yeah, thanks. I thought I was in a hurry, but I’m not going anywhere.”
* * *
“So, Neil Costa’s Creature from the Black Lagoon museum sounds like a pretty loco place, yes?” Heck asked as he
pulled into the long drive to Shadowlawn. “I’m gonna watch my back if he does the interview in that place.”
“I hope he’ll show it to us,” Claire said, “but I’m not doing the interview there—unless I need to keep Jasmine from hovering when I talk to him.”
“I’ll take care of that,” Nick said from the backseat where he’d been on the phone and working on his laptop. After the chaos of yesterday, he’d decided he needed to see his client while Claire and Heck spent time with Neil. She was glad to have him along. Besides, Nick had been right that Heck tended to speed and, at least with Nick in the backseat with an occasional comment, she hadn’t needed to scold Heck.
Nick went on, “If Jasmine says anything about her or Francine’s relationship with Lola, I’ll let you know, Claire, but I won’t question her on that.”
Heck looked through the SUV’s windshield at Shadowlawn with the same rapt expression Claire figured she must have had when she first saw it.
“Wow, this place is somethin’,” Heck said. “My grandfather, he had a mansion in Havana, big and muy bonita, seen pictures of it, growing up. ’Course, never saw it in person. Yet. Want to, though, even if it’s in ruins, even if the damned Castros gave it to their cronies. Some big deal jefe living there now, so’s I hear.”
“I’m sorry about all that, all that your family lost,” Claire told him.
“Like to get it back. Might someday. The Castros, they bad and crazy, too.”
Not only crazy, but hated, Claire realized. Among the scattering of bumper stickers on the back of Heck’s SUV—sayings like What Are You Driving At? and Nonconformists, Unite!—the one that stuck out in her mind said simply, Kill Castro!
Heck pulled in near the front portico. This time Neil Costa came out to greet them. Claire wondered about his last name. Could he be descended from Cuban refugees, too? It certainly wasn’t on her list of questions for him.
“I hear yesterday didn’t go as planned,” Neil told her as he greeted the three of them. Heck was introduced as her assistant who kept her interview logs and was a data expert. “Poor Lola! Who would do that to a quiet, unassuming woman? Sheriff Goodrich questioned both Jasmine and me here last night, but nothing we could say would help. But today, anything to help Jasmine,” he concluded in a rush with the words that seemed to be his motto as well as Win’s.
