The Villa

by Nora Roberts

  "But when I am ready, I want to know if a guy would go for me. Theoretically."

  Tyler ran a hand over his face. "Theoretically, and leaving out the breasts because that's not what a guy looks for, if you were ten years older, I'd've already gone for you. Okay?"

  She smiled, slipped on her sunglasses. "Okay. But that's bull about breasts. Guys say how they look for personality and intelligence. Some of them say how they're leg men or whatever. But it's the breasts."

  "And you know this because?"

  "Because it's something we have you don't."

  He opened his mouth, shut it again. This wasn't a debate he could comfortably enter into with a teenage girl. "You said you had a couple of questions."

  "Yeah, well." She shifted in her seat to face him. "The other's an idea. Vino-therapy."

  "Vino-therapy?"

  "Yeah, I read about it. Grape seed-based skin creams and stuff. I was thinking we could start a line of products."

  "We could?"

  "I need to do more research, some experimenting. But this company's doing it in France. We could corner the American market. See, red wine contains antioxidants—polyphenols, and—"

  "Maddy, I know about polyphenols."

  "Okay, okay. But see the seeds—and you ditch them during wine production—they have antioxidants. And that's really good for the skin. Plus, I'm thinking we could do an herbal deal, internal, too. A whole health and beauty line."

  Health and beauty. What next? "Look, kid, I make wine, not skin cream."

  "But you could," she insisted. "If I could have the seeds when you harvest, and a place to experiment. You said you wanted to give me something for my brain. Give me this."

  "I was thinking more like a chemistry set," he mumbled. "Let me mull on it."

  He intended to let the mulling wait until after work, but Maddy had different ideas.

  Sophia was in the vineyard, watching the cutters weed with their wedge-shaped blades. Maddy headed straight for her and started before Sophia could speak.

  "I think we should move into vino-therapy like that French company."

  "Really?" Sophia pursed her lips, a sure sign she was carefully considering. "That's interesting because I've had that idea on a back burner for a while now. I've tried the facial mask. It's marvelous."

  "We're winemakers," Ty began.

  "And will always be," Sophia agreed. "But that doesn't preclude addressing other areas. There's an enormous market for natural beauty products. I've had to table the idea because we've had a difficult year and other things demanded my attention. But maybe this is a good time to consider. Expansion rather than damage control," she mused, and was already playing on the spin. "I'll need to accumulate more data, of course."

  "I can get it," Maddy said. "I'm good at research."

  "You're hired. Once research moves toward research and development, we'll need a guinea pig."

  As one, they turned to study Tyler.

  He blanched. Actually felt the blood fall away from his face. "Forget it."

  "Chicken." Sophia's amused expression faded as she spotted the two figures walking toward them. "The police are here. Claremont and Maguire. It can't be good news."

  Deliberate, Sophia thought as she sat in Tyler's living room. The four-wheel had been tampered with, as deliberately as the wine had been. Part of her had known it, but having it confirmed now with cold, hard facts brought a fresh chill to her skin.

  "Yes, I use that vehicle often. Primarily I drive my car to and from the city, but it's a two-seater. The three of us were spending the day in San Francisco, shopping for my mother's wedding. We needed the bigger car."

  "Who knew of your plans?" Maguire asked her.

  "A number of people, I suppose. Family. We were meeting Judge Moore, so her family."

  "Did you make appointments?"

  "Not really. I stopped by to see Lincoln Moore before I met the others for lunch. The rest of the day was loose."

  "And the last place you stopped, for any length of time?" Claremont asked.

  "We had dinner. Moose's at Washington Square. The car was parked about ninety minutes. From around seven to eight-thirty or so. We left for home from there."

  "Any idea, Ms. Giambelli, who would want to cause you harm?"

  "Yes." She met Claremont's gaze levelly. "Jeremy DeMorney. He's involved in the product tampering, in the embezzlement, in every problem my family's had this year. I believe he's responsible for it, that he planned it and used my cousin and whatever, whoever else came to hand. And as I've told him so personally, he's unlikely to be happy with me just now."

  "Mr. DeMorney's been questioned."

  "And I'm sure he had plenty of answers. He's responsible."

  "You saw the ad he sent Sophia." Frustrated, Tyler pushed to his feet. "It was a threat, and he made good on it."

  "We can't prove DeMorney sent the ad." Maguire watched Ty prowl the room. Big hands, she noted. DeMorney must have crumbled like plaster under them. "We've confirmed he was in New York when the package was mailed from San Francisco."

  "He had it sent, then. Find a way to prove it," Tyler shot back. "That's your job."

  "I believe he killed my father." Sophia kept her voice calm. "I believe his hatred of my father is at the core of everything that's happened. He may tell himself, in some skewed way, that it's business. But it's personal."

  "Basing that on the alleged affair between Avano and the former Mrs. DeMorney, it's a long time to wait for payback."

  "No, it's not." Maddy spoke up. "Not if you want to do it right, pull everyone in on it."

  Claremont took the interruption in stride, gave Maddy a quiet, go-ahead look.

  "If he goes after Sophia's father right after the divorce, then everybody knows he's whacked out over it." She'd spent some time analyzing it, running theories. "Like if I want to get Theo for something, I sit back, wait, figure out how to hit him best. Then when I do, he's not expecting it and doesn't even know why he's getting it." She nodded. "It's scientific, and lots more satisfying."

  "The kid's a genius," Ty commented.

  " 'A dish best served cold'," Claremont mused on the drive back to the city. "It fits DeMorney's profile. He's cool, sophisticated, erudite. He's got money, position, impeccable taste. I can see that type waiting, planning things out, tugging strings. But I can't get his type risking losing that position over a cracked marriage. How would you handle it if your man cheated on you?"

  "Oh, I'd kick his ass, then scalp him in the divorce and do everything in my power to make the rest of his life a living hell, including sticking pins in the throat and balls of a doll made in his image. But then, I'm not sophisticated and erudite."

  "And people wonder why I'm not married." Claremont flipped open his notebook. "Let's go talk to Kristin Drake again."

  // was infuriating to have the police come to your place of business. People would be talking, speculating, snickering. There was nothing Kris hated more than people gossiping behind her back. And as she saw it, the blame of it was squarely on Sophia's shoulders.

  "If you want my opinion, the problems Giambelli's been facing this year were brought on because Sophia's more interested in promoting her own agenda than in the company or the people who work for it."

  "And that agenda is?" Claremont asked.

  "Sophia is her own agenda."

  "And her self-interest, as you see it, has resulted in no less than four deaths, a shooting and what might have been a fatal accident involving herself, her mother, a friend and a young girl."

  She remembered the cold rage on Jerry's face when she'd been in New York and Sophia and her fanner had cornered him. "Obviously she's pissed somebody off."

  Not her problem, Kris assured herself. Not her deal.

  "Besides you, Ms. Drake?" Maguire said pleasantly.

  "It's no secret that I left Giambelli on less than amicable terms, and the reason for it was Sophia. I don't like her, and I resent the fact that she was brought in over me when
I clearly had seniority and more experience. And I intend to make her pay for it in the market."

  "How long were you being courted by DeMorney and La Coeur while you were still drawing a salary from Giambelli?"

  "There's no law against considering other offers while employed with another firm. It's business."

  "How long?"

  She shrugged. "I was first approached last fall."

  "By Jeremy DeMorney?"

  "Yes. He indicated that La Coeur would be pleased to have me on their team. He made an offer, and I took some time to consider it."

  "What decided you?"

  "I simply realized I wasn't going to be happy with Giambelli as things stood. I felt creatively stifled there."

  "Yet you remained there, stifled, for months. During that period, were you and DeMorney in contact with each other?"

  "There's no law against—"

  "Ms. Drake," Claremont interrupted. "We're investigating murder. You'd simplify the process by giving us a clear picture. We simplify it for you by asking questions here, where you're comfortable, rather than bringing you into the station house where the atmosphere isn't nearly as pleasant. Were you and DeMorney in contact during that period?"

  "So what if we were?"

  "During those contacts did you give Mr. DeMorney confidential information about Giambelli—business practices, promotional campaigns, personal information that may have come into your hands regarding members of the family?"

  Her palms went damp. Hot and damp. "I want to call a lawyer."

  "That's your privilege. You can answer the question and help us out here, maybe cop to some unethical business practices we're not interested in using against you. Or you can hang tough and possibly end up charged with accessory to murder."

  "I don't know anything about murder. I don't know anything about that! And if Jerry… Jesus. Jesus."

  She was starting to sweat. How many times had she gone back over the scenario Tyler had painted in Jerry's apartment? How often had she wondered if what he'd said, even part of what he'd said, was true?

  If it was, she'd be connected. It was time, she decided, to break the link.

  "I'm willing to play hardball to get what I want, in business. I don't know anything about murder, about product tampering. I passed Jerry some information, yes. Gave him a heads-up on Sophia's big centennial plans, the scheduling. Maybe he asked about personal business, but it wasn't anything more than office gossip. If he had anything to do with Tony…"

  She trailed off, and her eyes glimmered with oncoming tears. "I don't expect you to believe me. I don't care if you do. But Tony meant something to me. Maybe, at first, I started seeing him because I saw it as another slap at Sophia, but it changed."

  "You were in love with him?" Maguire infused her voice with sympathy.

  "He mattered to me. He made me promises, about my position at Giambelli. He'd have made good on them, I know it, if he'd lived. I told you before, I'd met him in Sophia's apartment a couple times. Not," she added, "the night he was killed. We were cooling it awhile. I admit I was upset about that at first. Rene had her clutches in him deep."

  "It hurt you when he married her?"

  "It pissed me off." Kris pressed her lips together. "When he told me they were engaged, I was angry. I didn't want to marry him, for God's sake. Who needs it? But I liked his company, he was good in bed and he appreciated my professional talents. I didn't care about his money. I can make my own. Rene's nothing but a gold-digging whore."

  "Which is what you called her when you phoned her apartment last December," Maguire stated.

  "Maybe I did. I'm not sorry for saying what I think. Saying what I think's a long way from having anything to do with killing somebody. My relationship with Jerry's been professional, right down the line. If he had anything to do with Tony, or any of the rest, it's on him. I'm not swinging with him. I don't play the game that way."

  "Some game." Maguire slid behind the wheel. "Give me a nice, clean 'I killed him because he cut me off on the freeway' any day of the week."

  "Drake's running scared. Shaking down to the toes. She thinks DeMorney set all this up and she's in line to take the fall."

  "He's a slick son of a bitch."

  "Yeah. Let's pump up the pressure on him. The slicker they are, the harder you squeeze."

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

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  He wasn't going to tolerate it. The idiot police were certainly on the Giambelli payroll. He had no doubt of it.

  Of course they could prove nothing. But the muscle in Jerry's cheek twitched as doubts danced in his head. No, he was sure of that. Sure of it. He'd been very, very careful. But that was beside the point.

  The Giambellis had publicly humiliated him once before. Avano's affair with his wife had put his name on wagging tongues, forced him to change his life, his lifestyle. He could hardly have remained married to the unfaithful slut—particularly when people knew.

  It had cost him placement and prestige in the company. In his great-uncle's eyes, a man who lost a wife to a competitor could lose accounts to a competitor.

  And Jerry, always considered the La Coeur heir apparent, particularly by himself, had been taken down a painful peg.

  The Giambellis hadn't suffered because of it. The three Giambelli women had remained above it all. The talk of Pilar had been respectful sympathy, of Sophia quiet admiration. And there was never talk of the great La Signora.

  Or hadn't been, Jerry reminded himself. Until he'd made it happen.

  Years in the planning and stylish in its execution, his revenge had cut through to the core of Giambelli. It had sliced through the family, keen as a scalpel. Disgrace, scandal, mistrust, and all brought about by their own. Perfection.

  Who'd been taken down a peg now?

  Even with all his planning, his careful stages, they were turning it on him. They knew he'd bested them, and they were trying to drag him under. He wouldn't permit it.

  Did they think he'd tolerate having his associates speculate about him—a DeMorney? The idea of it made him shake with black, bitter rage.

  His own family had questioned him. Questioned him on business practices. The hypocrites. Oh, they didn't mind seeing their market share increase. Had they asked questions then? But at the first sign there might be a ripple in the pond, they laid the groundwork to make him a scapegoat.

  He didn't need them, either. Didn't need their sanctimonious questioning of his ethics, or his methods, or his personal agenda. He wouldn't wait for them to ask for his resignation, if they would dare to do so. He was financially comfortable. It might be time to take a break from business. An extended vacation, a complete relocation.

  He'd move to Europe, and there his reputation alone would ensure him a top position with any company he selected. When he was ready to work again. When he was ready to pay La Coeur back for their disloyalty.

  But before he restructured his life yet again, he would finish the job. Personally, this time. MacMillan thought he didn't have the guts to pull his own trigger? He'd learn differently, Jerry promised himself. They would all learn differently.

  The Giambelli women were going to pay dearly for offending him.