The Claudia Hershey Mysteries - Box Set: Three Claudia Hershey Mysteries

by Laura Belgrave

  He leaned back into the couch. “What’s going on,” he repeated softly. He tilted his head to the side. “Funny thing is, Claudia, nothing is going on. There’s no great story here. I’m not dying of a fatal disease. I’m not having a midlife crisis. But good things have been happening in my life—good things that are steady, good things that matter—and for the first time ever I feel like maybe I have something to offer her. I feel like I can hold up my head up in front of her. Whatever I’ve shown, or not shown, I’ve wanted that for a long time.”

  Claudia bit back a response. His tone was persuasive, but then, it almost always had been. She nodded for him to continue, studying him as he talked. The years had been good to him. Clearly, he wasn’t leaving a lot of hair on the bathroom floor. It remained as thick as ever, and still radiated a complicated blend of sandy tones that could never be duplicated by even the best hair stylists. He’d put on perhaps five or six pounds, and minute wrinkles fanned out from the corners of eyes so blue they looked like a trick of light. But if anything, the cumulative effect merely enhanced the casual good looks he’d always and effortlessly possessed. She wondered if he even wore reading glasses. She wondered how often he slept around.

  He told her that he lived in Arlington, Virginia now, commuting regularly to Washington, D.C. where he played piano at charity banquets, political events, fundraisers. He described a foreign affairs dinner hosted by the President where he played a medley of classics by American and European composers. He told her about back-to-back engagements over Memorial Day weekend.

  “There’s magic going on, Claudia,” he said simply, almost wonderingly. “I don’t know how else to describe it, but they love me. I’m sought after. It’s crazy. It’s insane. I’ve traded blue jeans and smoky nightclubs for a tux and ballrooms. Me. Who’d’a thunk it, right?”

  He swirled wine in his glass, then took the last swallow. “The pay is terrific and it’s regular work, Claudia—what you always wanted, what I was sure I never did. You weren’t right about everything, but you were right about that. And now I’m hooked. I’m booked, too, from now through next February.”

  He was electrified, more animated than Claudia had seen him since the first years of their marriage. And what he said, what he described—it all had the ring of truth. Could that be? She filled her glass, hesitated, then filled his.

  “Thanks. Can you understand now?” he asked. “Can you see why I want to show Robin my life? Why I want to share it?”

  Claudia wanted a cigarette in the worst way. She smiled ruefully, at that, at him, at them . . . at what might have been.

  “I’ve got photos in the car. I can show you some of these events.” Brian chuckled. “Listen to me. I sound like one of your perps sweating it out during an interrogation.” Then he sobered. “You haven’t said a word.”

  Claudia searched his eyes. “Bring me the pictures.”

  * * *

  They negotiated over another bottle of wine, Brian’s glossy eight-by-tens spread across the coffee table and backlit by the silent TV. Once, they left to raid the refrigerator. Brian built sandwiches with tomatoes and old cheese on top of hamburger buns. Claudia watched for a minute, then went to peek in on Robin. She lay on her side, her mouth slightly open and her hands tucked beneath her pillow. The kitten was curled into the hollow of her knees. It stirred, but Robin never moved.

  What a gift this girl was. Claudia bent down and kissed her forehead. She’d freak if she knew, and Claudia smiled to think of it. She pulled the covers higher up on her, then quietly backed out of the room.

  Brian had returned to the coffee table. She joined him and they ate silently. She imagined he was mentally celebrating, for he’d won most of what he wanted. Robin would leave with him the next day, not for the whole summer, but for three weeks. He would perform at the historic Fourth of July celebration in Washington, their daughter witness to a talent rescued from the same stubborn pride that trampled their marriage. Funny how life worked out.

  “Claudia?”

  “Mmm.”

  “Play your oboe for me.”

  “Look, it’s—”

  “Don’t say no. Please. I know you still have it. Robin told me you play every night before you go to sleep.”

  “It’s nothing, Brian. Just my version of reading in bed.”

  “Then read to me, Claudia. Please.”

  No one had asked her to play in a long, long time. Of course, almost no one knew that she played, that she was nearly as good with the oboe as Brian was on the piano. He knew, though. He’d always known. His piano had been the moth to her oboe, or maybe it was the other way around.

  Claudia shook her head. “I can’t, Brian. There’s no point. Not to mention that it’s late.”

  “Music doesn’t need a point. Come on. Five minutes? I’ll be gone in the morning and you probably won’t see me for the next decade.” He smiled, and quickly added, “Just kidding.”

  She shouldn’t. But . . . no one had asked in a long time. “Four minutes, tops. And I will be counting.” She stood and headed for her room to retrieve the instrument. She turned on a small bedside lamp and eased the oboe from its case. When she turned around to go back, Brian was there, leaning against the door frame.

  He nodded. “Just pretend I’m not here,” he whispered.

  Claudia looked at him for a long moment. Then she turned to the window, looked out at the dark, and lifted the oboe to her lips. She closed her eyes and began to play softly, choosing a complex piece weighted with tones both melancholy and hopeful. She could not pretend he wasn’t there, though; in her mind, the gentlest of notes from his piano strayed into the background, urging her own music into a dimension that flooded her senses. She rode every note, pulling nuance from one, then drama from the next, her fingers gliding as effortlessly across the keys as a surf against the shore. When the piece drew to its conclusion, she held the final note for as long as her breath would allow. Finally, she let the oboe hang loose at her side, a faint echo of music still in her ears.

  Brian stood behind her now, his breath on her neck as light as an eyelash against her cheek. If she turned, his lips would be there to meet hers. Neither of them spoke; there was no language for what passed between them. They lingered like that for a full minute—maybe more—and then she did turn.

  His arms went around her at the same moment their lips met and for a moment they merely nuzzled, finding each other all over again. Then Brian’s lips pressed more urgently, and they began to explore, finding the crevice in the front of her neck, then the soft place just below her ear. Claudia felt his hands sliding slowly down her back, fingertips tugging at her shirt. She let it happen. She let his hands roam to the front, gasping when they first made contact with her flesh. Sensation washed over her and caught in her throat. The oboe dropped soundlessly to the carpet.

  She didn’t know when he closed the door, but he had, and when he guided her toward the bed she let him take her there without protest. That would come tomorrow, she knew, but for one rash sliver of time she was content to let her body make decisions. She watched him turn off the lamp and made room for him beside her.

  Brian had always been a good lover—an extraordinary lover—and aging had not changed that. He traced a finger along her arm, studied her face, then leaned over her, a lock of hair falling gracelessly against her forehead. She reached up and touched it, then let it fall loose once more.

  “It’s good to see you smile,” he whispered, his lips a trigger-hair from her lips again.

  “I was smiling?” she murmured. “You must be confusing me with someone else.”

  They chuckled together, then Brian grew serious. “I’ve missed you, Claudia.”

  She put a finger to his lip. “Shhh. Don’t talk.”

  His hands traveled up, then down. They lingered here, then there, and finally, with a touch almost elegant, he slid her clothes from her body, piece by piece, until she was covered with nothing but darkness and the goosebumps he created.
/>   Claudia inhaled sharply. He was doing something at her feet now, something exotic and new and . . . she grabbed a handful of sheet and held on, willing him to stop, willing him to continue. A few seconds later he edged back up and when he did she seized on the moment to try and think, because this could come to no good. She groped for the pragmatic side that had gone underground, sternly reminded herself that he was the hateful ex, or if not that, then at least a man who had no further business in her life, certainly not the intimate part of it, anyway. To her surprise, her own hands began to move instead. She grappled with his clothes, shrugging them off and tossing them to the side. This wasn’t her. This was some animal, and she wanted no part of it. But her hands stayed busy. His stayed busy. When he knocked she let him in. They locked themselves together and remained that way until they had exhausted all invention and sleep sneaked up on them both.

  Chapter 6

  If John Simpson Raynor was a smart man, which Claudia doubted, he would do his best to show some respect when she and Booey approached him. He would have his dogs chained to a fence and in full view. He would answer her questions promptly, courteously, and truthfully. If he was a smart man, he would do all of that and more, because she was loaded for bear. Claudia didn’t like clichés and she didn’t know the origins of “loaded for bear,” but she knew that it suited her on a late June morning that looked a lot better than she did when it dawned.

  She logged off the computer, stood and stretched, then took another look at the crime scene report from Farr’s trailer. Interesting. Not conclusive, but interesting. She checked her weapon and slid it into her holster. Her notepad was filled. She grabbed another and dropped it into the pocket of her jacket, the black one she favored when she wanted to show she meant business. After a final glance at her desk she stepped into the multipurpose room.

  “Everything all right, Lieutenant?”

  Claudia looked left. “Hey, Mitch.”

  “You seem a little . . . distracted.”

  Mitch Moody. Solid man. By-the-book officer. Sensitive. Open. Right now, she could clobber him. She hated people asking her how she was. She hated more that how she was apparently showed. Then again, this was Mitch. Maybe it only showed to him.

  “I’m fine, Mitch,” she said. “I’m just a little tired.”

  He smiled. “I won’t ask you what you’re tired of.”

  “Probably a good idea.”

  This time they both smiled.

  “By the way, Booey told me where you’re going. If you want some backup out there, just give a holler.”

  “Count on it.”

  He started to leave, but Claudia stopped him. “Mitch, quick question. I want to put a wrap on this Becker case as fast as I can. The widow’s a wreck and I don’t want to upset her anymore than I have to. Maybe you can help me avoid being in her face.”

  “I heard she passed out on you last night. Booey says you caught her just before she almost became a fatality herself. ‘Just in the nick of time’ is how he put it.”

  “Yeah, well she would’ve been hard to miss. I was about two inches from her.” Claudia shrugged. “She came to before the paramedics arrived. She let them look her over, but refused the ambulance.”

  “Tougher than she looks, huh?” Moody said.

  “In shock, is more like it. Anyway, you’re the one who talked to her when she called in the missing persons report, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “This woman she mentioned, some caregiver, do you happen to have her name and phone number?”

  Moody colored slightly. “Truth is, I didn’t think to ask. Mrs. Becker mentioned her, said there was a miscommunication, but . . . well, she was so upset that I didn’t pursue it. I just, you know, got some guys out with me to start looking for him.”

  Claudia sighed. “Well, never mind. I’ll catch up with Mrs. Becker later today, maybe talk to the caregiver, too. If I’m lucky I’ll be able to put a bow on this package and be done with it by tomorrow.” She saw a flash of red out of the corner of her eye. “Booey! Come on. Let’s go.”

  Booey turned from the direction of the men’s room, showed a wide grin, and hefted his backpack to his shoulder. He hurried toward her.

  “Boy, that kid’s really stuck on you,” Moody said.

  Claudia gave him a look and headed for the door, Booey struggling to catch up.

  * * *

  If sunlight had ever touched Raynor’s property, it had been a long time ago. Towering Australian pines and oak trees with limbs thicker than a man’s waist blocked all but the most fleeting rays, their roots erupting across the ground like snakes on the move. His trailer was wedged so tightly among them that Claudia spotted it only at the last minute. She braked abruptly, sending a jolt through the car when it bounced over a rock.

  Booey grunted and grabbed the dashboard.

  Claudia glanced at him. “Still got your kidneys?”

  “I think so,” he said. He straightened in his seat and looked out the window. “Wow. Dante’s Inferno. You remember the passage about—”

  “Later, Booey. Let’s go talk to Mr. Raynor.” She began to unbuckle her seat belt, then glanced over. Booey was sorting through his backpack. “What are you doing?”

  “Looking for my camera and—”

  “Forget it. Just leave your stuff and let’s go.”

  They stepped out of the car, Claudia’s eyes scanning left and right. The trailer stood about forty feet from the car. It listed slightly to the right, so wedged between trees and shrouded in shadow that it was hard to know where it began and where it ended. In front of the trailer on one end was an old metal tub and next to that, a small stack of tinder. An assortment of old tires lay abandoned on the other end. But no dogs. No vehicle. She put a hand on Booey’s shoulder when he started forward. “Hey, hold up a minute. I don’t want you straying from me, understand?”

  He nodded earnestly.

  “Good. Raynor’s not likely to be happy when he sees us. He might get edgy and edgy people sometimes overreact.”

  “It doesn’t even look like he’s home.”

  “I’m sure that’s what he’d like us to believe.” Claudia reached beneath her jacket and loosened the snap on her holster. “Come on.” She led Booey to the trailer door, nudged him behind her and rapped hard, then called out, “Mr. Raynor! Detective Lieutenant Claudia Hershey, police department. Please step outside. I’d like to talk to you.” She gave it a minute, then rapped again and repeated herself, more loudly this time.

  Silence.

  “It’s kind of creepy here,” Booey whispered.

  “Shhh.”

  “I don’t even hear—”

  Claudia wheeled around, simultaneously shielding Booey and whipping out her revolver. Raynor stood at the side of the trailer, a shotgun trained on them and four white dogs tensed at his side. Their lips curled back, showing teeth, but they made no sound. Raynor lowered his weapon first.

  “You don’t look like thieves and you don’t look like in-laws,” he said. “I guess I won’t shoot you today. You plannin’ on shootin’ me?”

  Claudia found her voice, surprised that it sounded as steady as it did. Slowly, she lowered her own gun, but she didn’t put it away. “I’m Detective Lieutenant—”

  “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with my ears. I heard you the first time, but I got no window in my door. That’s why I came out the back and around the side, to check you out. You just can’t be too trusting these days. Who’s that boy with you?”

  “Put your weapon on the ground, Mr. Raynor.”

  “It’s legal.”

  “Put it down. Now.”

  Raynor chuckled. “Ain’t even loaded, Miss.” But he rested it against the side of the trailer.

  “Now get rid of the dogs.”

  He looked at her, amused, then turned to the dogs and clapped his hands three times. They tore behind the trailer, kicking up a small cloud of dust. “Nice pups,” he said. “I don’t know why everyone is so derned a
fraid of them.” He folded his arms across his chest. “I hear the witch next door is dead. If you’re takin’ up a collection for her, count me out.”

  “Why don’t we go inside and talk,” Claudia said. Her heart had almost settled into a normal rhythm again. She hoped Booey’s had.

  “Suit yourself,” Raynor said. He brushed past Claudia and opened the door. “Don’t mind the dust. It’s the maid’s day off.” He started to lead them in, then abruptly pivoted toward Booey. “Boo!”

  Raynor laughed when he jumped, then held the door wide. “That hair of yours is so red it looks painful, boy.”

  Booey blushed furiously.

  “All right, enough,” Claudia said irritably. She closed the door behind them and paused while her eyes adjusted to the trailer’s gloomy interior. It looked just like Farr’s, and was nearly as cluttered. No cat odor, though. Just dog. Lots of it.

  “Coffee?” Raynor asked. He grinned, beginning to enjoy himself. “This here’s a fully stocked kitchen. For the grown-ups I got decaf and regular. For the little guy there . . . hmm, might be I could make some Kool-Aid. Would that suit you, boy?”

  Booey cleared his throat. “I’m not—”

  Claudia stopped him with a slight shake of her head. “We won’t be here long enough for your hospitality, Mr. Raynor,” she said smoothly.

  Raynor threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, sure you will. And long’s okay. I got nothin’ much else to occupy my time and I’m makin’ coffee either way. Have a seat.” He gestured at some chairs around his kitchen table, then busied himself at a stainless steel sink, measuring coffee into a filter.

  Claudia and Booey scraped back chairs and sat. She watched him open a cupboard and move a filmy glass out of the way, reaching for mugs behind them. Even through the gloom of the trailer, she could see they were filthy and shuddered to think of touching them, never mind putting one to her lips. She caught a flash of the glass again when Raynor closed the cupboard. She smiled grimly. As bad as the mugs looked, it was entirely possible the glass was more lethal yet.

  “No surprise you’re here,” Raynor said. “Anytime a rabbit farts in the woods, someone sends a posse.” He blew dust from one of the mugs, then set them on the counter.