Courting Danger

by Carol Stephenson

  I squirmed. I hadn’t decided, but the truth said out loud sounded shallow.

  “Nonsense. Your credentials are impeccable.” Nicole paused a beat and fluttered her eyelashes. “And you owe me a beer for landing you another case.”

  Gabe grunted as he wrapped gauze around my foot. “Thanks a lot. Your partner is already skittish as a perp under questioning.”

  Nicole picked up the Saint Louis paperweight on my desk and tossed it from hand to hand. Its facets flashed a rainbow of colors in the light. When my friend was working on a problem, she liked to keep her hands busy.

  “We all appreciate the best.”

  He patted my bandaged feet and rose, spreading his hands. “Working for three beautiful women. How can life get any better?”

  I rolled my eyes, and Nicole laughed. She put down the paperweight and walked over to the corner of the room where I kept a huge dry-erase board. “Since you’re the walking wounded, Katherine, I’ll man the marker. What do we know so far?”

  Gabe proceeded to wander around the office, pausing here and there to check out a photograph or a knickknack.

  I squelched a Hilary urge to instruct him not to touch anything, but instead removed the portfolio from the tote, and flipped through my notes.

  “Grace’s body was discovered at ten-twenty p.m. when the guard was making his rounds. Approximate time of death speculated to be after eight. Our client was home alone.”

  “So no alibi.” Nicole’s marker squeaked on the board as she wrote down all the facts.

  “Police theory of motivation was lover’s quarrel.”

  “Were they having an affair?”

  I shrugged. “He denies it.”

  “Good-looking older man, pretty young girl. Jury may disbelieve him.”

  “True.” I frowned at one page. “He mentioned the restoration has run into major snags. Additional subcontractors had to be hired in the hopes of bringing the project in on time.”

  Gabe paused in his prowling. “What kind of snags?”

  “Delayed shipments, busted or stolen equipment, accidents.” I lowered the pad. “The workers are complaining the site is jinxed. A few have even quit, saying the fourth floor was haunted.”

  Gabe examined the array of my skeet-shooting and swimming trophies on a shelf. “That’s the floor where the woman was murdered.”

  Nicole chose a different colored marker. “So for suspects we have our client, his wife….” She wrote rapidly.

  “Why Meredith?”

  “Jealousy.” Nicole and Gabe spoke in unison and grinned at each other.

  “Textbook suspect,” Nicole added.

  “All right.” Personally I doubted that Lloyd’s small, reserved wife could muster the energy to kill anyone. She was more into complaining about her lowered financial situation. If she killed anyone, it would be her husband, to collect insurance payments.

  “Others on the restoration committee, as they would have access and motive.” My partner continued down the suspect column. “Any mutual friends and acquaintances of Grace and Lloyd. Of course, Grace’s fiancé. Construction people. Who else?”

  “No one—” I broke off as a horrible idea took hold. Oh brother, opening that can of worms would make my life miserable.

  “What is it, Katherine?”

  “Nothing.” I shook my head. “Bad idea.”

  Gabe turned around and folded his arms. “Can’t be that bad, Katherine, if it caused that panicky expression.”

  What, did he have eyeballs in the back of his head? I sulked.

  “Grace’s job was to collect memorabilia from the days the courthouse was in use. Art, books, furniture, photographs.”

  “We’ll call this pool of suspects ‘donors.’” Nicole added another line on the board.

  Oh goody. My aunt and all her friends would be simply thrilled to be questioned in connection with a murder case. It would be the talk of the town for weeks.

  I rubbed my temples where the telltale throbbing of a tension headache was starting. “So where do we start?”

  “The murder scene.” Gabe jerked his head toward the door. “Come on, beautiful. Let’s get going.”

  “Where?”

  “The courthouse. I’ll make a call on the way to clear our admittance.”

  “Now?” All I wanted to do was crawl home, straight into a hot shower.

  “Our client’s first appearance is in the morning, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “The murder occurred at night, didn’t it?”

  “Yes.” I frowned. “Who’s the attorney here?”

  With studied nonchalance he shrugged. “I’m attending law school at night.”

  Uh-oh.

  “Look, there’s no time like the present. I need to see how the scene looks like at night. Besides, with all the construction people, the integrity of the crime scene is going to be shot to hell if it isn’t already.”

  He extended his hand. “Go home, change, and I’ll pick you up in thirty.”

  I forced my aching body to leave the chair’s comfort without his assistance. “Make it an hour and you have a deal.”

  “Thirty.”

  “Forty-five.”

  “Thirty.”

  I sighed. “Okay, thirty, but don’t be on time.”

  “Seven sharp and I’ll pick up burgers along the way.”

  True to his word, Gabe arrived promptly at seven, charmed my cat Willy, handed me a hamburger and pulled me toward his battered black Dodge truck before I could catch a breath. I had raced home, jumped into the shower and pulled on the first available outfit.

  I wore jeans, whose crisp crease had earned a withering glance from Gabe, a black cashmere V-neck sweater, and no makeup. I was tired, my feet hurt like hell, and my temper simmered due to the irritating man beside me, but I was having the time of my life.

  What I was doing was so totally removed from the glittering balls of Palm Beach society that I could’ve hugged myself for joy. Oh heck, why not? I wrapped my arms around myself.

  “Are you cold?” Gabe asked as he pulled his rattling monster of a truck into a spot in the parking garage.

  “No.”

  He leaned across me, and I got another tantalizing whiff of him as he reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a large flashlight. Oh dear. Gabe was one of those MacGyver types—prepared for any emergency.

  Within a few minutes we stood before the old courthouse. My breath caught. At night with the glow of lights, it shimmered. The first stage of the restoration had consisted of removing the 1970s brick facade that had wrapped around the original 1916 structure. Now the neoclassic building with its graceful pillars stood out among all the other governmental buildings.

  Such pretty trappings for so much heartache. It’s just a building, I reminded myself. It simply served as the site of tragedy.

  At the entrance Gabe exchanged a few words with the security guard and then we were inside, crossing the hall to the stairway.

  My shoes echoed on the marble steps in the old courthouse. Had my grandfather placed his foot in this slight depression? Had he held this banister? Had he and Grandmother walked through those doors and simply slipped away into the night? Had they been dragged out kicking and screaming?

  We reached the top floor and took the passage to our left. Gabe switched on the flashlight and its high-powered beam sliced down the long dim corridor.

  I smiled. “I was right.”

  “About?”

  “You’re like MacGyver.”

  “Loved that show as a kid.” He patted his back pocket.

  “Don’t tell me. Let me guess. Your pocketknife?”

  “You bet. As a top-notch investigator, I like to be prepared.”

  Ahead of us, the shadows stirred as if a darker one moved in their midst. For a moment I wondered if we had disturbed one of the building’s alleged ghosts. Then I narrowed my eyes.

  “I thought the guard said we were the only ones up here.”

&nb
sp; “Yes—” Gabe broke off as he swung the flashlight. The shadow moved as the person took off in the opposite direction.

  “Hey, come back here!” I yelled and broke into a run. Someone was up to no good.

  “What the hell? Kate!”

  The beam of light bounced as Gabe started after me. I called over my shoulder. “He must have been after the artifacts housed up here.”

  The light steadied and I saw the dark shadow turn and lift its arm. Metal glinted.

  A Mack truck in the form of Gabe rammed into my ribs as a loud crack reverberated.

  “Umph!” The force threw me forward yet twisted me at the same time. I landed not on the floor but on something only a bit softer.

  Before I could draw in a breath, Gabe rolled me underneath his hard body, drew his gun, braced his arms and fired off one shot.

  The ringing spread from my ears to my temples as if I was in the London Tower at noon. I could see that Gabe had pulled out his phone and was talking, but all I could hear was a buzz interfacing with the ringing.

  He rose, tugging me up along with him. “Come on. Hurry. The police are on their way, and I want to get a look at what he was doing before they get here.”

  He reached into his jacket pocket and brought out latex gloves. “Here, put these on.”

  I snapped on the icky plastic. As we approached the vicinity where the intruder had been, I saw the strips of yellow tape strewn on the ground in front of one room.

  “Ah, so someone else was interested in the murder scene.”

  “Gabe.” I halted and gripped his arm.

  “What is it?”

  I swallowed, knowing that indeed the courthouse ghosts were alive and well tonight, for they had materialized to haunt me.

  But I had to circle around to the truth. I couldn’t immediately confront it.

  “That can’t be the room where Grace Roberts was killed.”

  “Duh.” Gabe pointed the flashlight at the door. “Tape with the words crime scene on it. Surely you left the ivory tower at the federal level on occasion to know what the tape looks like.”

  So much for circling. I took a deep breath.

  “That’s my grandfather’s old chambers.”

  “What?” He turned and gripped my upper arms.

  I nodded. “That’s the office where he and my grandmother were last seen before they disappeared thirty-five years ago.”

  Chapter 4

  Gabe let out a long, low whistle as he ran his hands up and down my arms in a comforting gesture.

  “The murder occurred in your grandfather’s former chambers?”

  Damn this place. How could the past reach through generations to hold another so entangled in the consequences?

  I needed to go home and drag my aching body into bed, not to emerge for at least a week. But I had a client who needed me to find the truth.

  Breaking away from Gabe, I stepped toward the door. “You’re the former detective. What do your instincts tell you about this situation?”

  “It was where Grace spent the majority of her time. Then again, there’s no such thing as coincidence, not when murder is involved.”

  “This just gets more and more complicated.”

  After picking up his flashlight, Gabe followed and swept the beam around the room’s interior. I stared in disbelief.

  Before me was the re-creation of Jonathan Rochelle’s inner chambers in the aftermath of a hurricane. Many of the strewn and overturned objects I recognized from the small storage room tucked at the back of my aunt’s house. Although under Hilary’s orders, the room had been kept locked at all times. Still on occasion a servant had left it open. Since my room was also on the same level, I had used those opportunities to sneak in and explore. What child could resist the secrets underneath drop cloths behind a locked door?

  I stepped inside the chambers. Here on the floor was the bronze statue of justice that my grandmother had given her husband the day he had been sworn in. I knew by heart the words engraved on the figurine’s base: To Jonathan, My Darling And My Hero. Love, Marguerite.

  All that remained of a family heirloom vase were scattered blue fragments. Grandfather’s worn book of landmark court decisions was pitched into the corner.

  Tears burned my eyes.

  “The bastard. He could’ve torn the pages.” I started toward the book, but Gabe gripped my arm.

  “You can’t move anything.”

  Of course. Nodding, I wrapped my arms around my middle because the urge to grab the book I had read so often remained strong.

  “That guy tossed this room looking for something. Anything you notice as being unusual?”

  “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been inside the actual room before.” All visitors had been kept to the temporary restoration offices on the first floor while the upper floors had been under construction.

  “But you know the contents.”

  “Some. My family kept a few of Granddad’s belongings in storage. I didn’t even know that they had been transferred here.” Circling, I surveyed the room. Taking center stage was a magnificent mahogany desk that had been imported from the Far East. Elaborate carvings covered all the sides.

  “Look,” I pointed, “the desk drawers are open.”

  Gabe avoided the debris and stepped behind the desk. “Nice work,” he murmured as he ran his gloved hand over a carving.

  “Granddad’s pride and joy. My aunt used to say it matched the size of his ego.”

  I joined Gabe, prepared to search the drawers but an overturned frame drew my attention. The glass was broken and the faded photograph of the couple ripped to shreds.

  “Your grandparents?”

  I swallowed. “Yes.”

  Crouching, Gabe used a pen to slightly lift the frame and examine the back before carefully lowering the frame. “Doesn’t look like it’s been opened so chances are nothing was hidden behind the photo.”

  I started to protest but then closed my mouth. His conclusion that the intruder had been looking for something was an obvious one. Yet the photo’s destruction seemed more personal.

  The hair on my neck stirred. I felt disoriented, to be surrounded with so many of my grandfather’s things after all these years. If I blinked, I swore I would see him sitting…No, don’t be ridiculous.

  Glancing away to stare at the far wall, I froze. Hung in an ornate gilt frame was a painting of Jonathan Rochelle in his robes. The artist had captured him sitting behind the bench, with one hand resting on top of a Bible. Even at rest, my grandfather exuded energy. From all accounts, he had been a dynamic man and strength radiated from him. His blue eyes sparkled with amusement as if he was laughing at me.

  Then I saw the diagonal tear across the portrait. “Gabe!” I rushed across the room. “The painting’s been slashed.”

  “We must have interrupted the thief before he could totally destroy it.”

  “Thank God,” I murmured as I touched the raw edges. I would call my friend at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. He would know the best restoration expert.

  Voices from the hallway warned we weren’t alone anymore.

  “Come on.” Gabe gripped my arm. “We’d better get out of the crime scene before the cops get here.”

  The next hour passed in a blur as the police once more swarmed over the room and interviewed us. Numbly I answered those questions I could and deftly avoided those I wouldn’t or couldn’t answer.

  Then Gabe was guiding me out of the building into the night. “Let’s grab something cold to drink.”

  We walked in silence until we reached the first trendy bar along Clematis Street. Because it was off hours, the place wasn’t crowded and Gabe found a table in the rear where we couldn’t be overheard. After we placed our orders, Gabe leaned back in his chair, stretching out his long legs.

  “Okay, shoot.”

  “Shoot what?”

  “Tell me about your grandparents. You’ve been paler than a ghost since you made the connection that the room had been
your grandfather’s chambers.”

  I laced my fingers together. “I don’t know where to start.”

  “How about their disappearance? I know some about the scandal. Judge Rochelle in with the Mob, taking bribes—”

  I slammed the palm of my hand on the tabletop, causing the bowl of nuts to rattle. “He did not! That’s a lie.”

  Gabe held up his hands. “Okay. What do you believe happened?”

  The brief spurt of anger drained away, leaving me tired beyond belief. Still, any immediate prospect of crawling into bed remained a mirage.

  I rubbed my now-throbbing temples. “I don’t know what happened, only the official accounts. All I know is that the scandal left a scar on my life from the moment I was born.”

  “How so?”

  To say I was normally closemouthed about my family would be an understatement. The only people who knew were Carling and Nicole. However, I saw quiet understanding in Gabe’s eyes, not the morbid curiosity I usually confronted. I rolled my shoulders to loosen the tension before I continued.

  “My mother was twelve when her parents vanished without a trace. She never got over it. She went from a rebellious teenager to a woman bent on self-destruction. She never settled down, only jet-setting around the world as much as her trust fund would permit. My mother slept with any man who wanted her and even those who didn’t.”

  I shrugged. “At some point she got too careless and I was the result. She was ‘in love’ at the time and thought a child would bind the man to her. It didn’t. The relationship went bust by the time I was born, and dear old Mom dumped me off on Aunt Hilary and Uncle Colin’s doorsteps.”

  The waitress served us our drinks, and I sipped the tepid Pinot Grigio to moisten my throat.

  “Your mother’s sister raised you?”

  “No.” I lowered my glass. “Aunt Hilary is actually my grandfather’s sister. Calling her ‘great-aunt’ reminded her too much of her age.”

  “Does she think her brother was wrongly accused?”

  “I have no idea. She’s banned any discussion.”

  My fingers tightened on the glass stem. “Once when I was six I made the mistake of asking a question during dinner. I had sneaked into the room where Granddad’s things were kept after a maid had left it unlocked. His desk fascinated me so I wanted to know where he was.”