Deadly Rumors

by Jeanne Foguth

  Chapter Five

  Thick navy curtains blocked the hot afternoon glare and turned Doran's home office into a shadowed retreat. Though he had a mountain of paperwork to do, he sat in the darkness watching the chrome yellow tang tease a candy-striped cleaner shrimp in the 150-gallon salt-water aquarium, built into the floor to ceiling bookcase across from his desk, meanwhile both bright orange and white clown fish stroked their anemone. Despite the dim lights and steady, soothing drone of the tank's bubbler, his fingers drummed on the polished black lacquer top of his immaculate desk, and cold sweat beaded his brow. The only other time Quinn had been this insistent about aborting a project, had been two years ago. He'd ignored those warnings, confident that he could handle Pia Chen. How wrong he’d been.

  Doran's breath came in ragged gasps, as he relived the waking nightmare of Pia's lifeless body lying beneath him, the hole from Quinn’s bullet perfectly centered in her forehead. The worst part was feeling Quinn’s unresponsive form on top of him. He would never forget his frantic efforts to get his best friend to the hospital before he bled to death and the agony of fearing he’d die on the operating table.

  The phone rang. Doran jerked. “Yeah.”

  “The early bird may get the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese.” Trent paused, then added, " MacLennan left AMA before I could sneak it back."

  “Trust a MacLennan to go against medical advice,” Doran muttered. The oak paneled walls felt like they were closing in on him.

  “Maybe they wanted to take more x-rays. The colder the x-ray table is, the more of your body is required on it and she’s so damned cold already, that she-“

  “Does this have something to do with getting her cell phone back or are you working up to another of your convoluted Confucius sayings?”

  “Sorry. I’ll be serious. I couldn’t plant the phone like you wanted, so, what should I do?”

  Doran sighed. “Bring it by my house. I’ll figure something out.”

  "Thanks, Boss." Trent hung up.

  For close to twenty-four hours, he’d thought that finding Kelsey’s phone provided an alternative to seduction. Perhaps it could still work, even though the bug Quinn had installed provided limited information. Not that romance was much better. Why should he have thought this plan would suddenly start going right when nothing had so far?

  Doran leaned back in his navy-leather chair, closed his eyes and contemplated the seduction scenario. How in Hades could he pull off a cool-headed affair when he couldn’t get close to the woman without getting a hard-on? Quinn was correct about which head he was thinking with, but unless he could figure out a way to get the phone back to Kelsey, he would have to try another idea. Doran picked up his phone, encoded the scrambler, and dialed Quinn. “The bird has flown. And my new love is on her way home without means of communication.”

  Quinn's silence spoke volumes. “So, you're back to the damned plan you used on Pia. Didn’t you learn anything the first time?”

  “Yes, and that’s why I figure I know the pitfalls, this time.”

  “I’ve still got a bad feeling about it."

  "I know, but I don’t see an alternative."

  "There are so many holes in your scheme that you’re liable to end up Swiss cheese.”

  “Have you got a better idea or just more complaints?" At least his voice didn't sound as terrified as he felt. "This is the best strategy I’ve been able to think of.”

  Quinn made a negative sound. “Let Trent get in her pants. He's superficial enough to pull it off." Quinn sighed. "You hate everything she stands for. You'll never be able to convince her you’ve got the hots for her.”

  He wasn’t worried about convincing Kelsey of his feelings; he needed to persuade his damned body that she wasn’t the most desirable flesh in the world. And he sure as hell wasn’t about to trust Trent with such a delicate assignment. “I can’t see her going for his humor or the redneck routine. Can you?”

  “You have a point.”

  “I’ll do it, but I need you to run one last check on Kelsey MacLennan’s business.” Maybe saltpeter would work.

  “Look it up, yourself.”

  Doran gave his computer a distrustful glance. “Please, pull up the file.”

  “I’m not your damned secretary.” Quinn sounded even more pissed off than he had an hour earlier. “Dev, get past your fear of computers."

  “Right now?”

  “No, yesterday.”

  Doran sighed. “Fine, I’ll try to access the damned files. Satisfied?” He swatted the mouse. A log in screen appeared. Carefully, he typed in Marnie, then hit enter. “Okay, I’m in. Now where did you store the file?”

  “Under Mac.” Quinn cleared his throat. “I can't stop comparing MacLennan to Pia.”

  Neither could Doran. The memory of Pia smiling up at him while he made love to her, then his shock when she jammed the handgun against his temple was still vivid after all these months. The cold sweat on his forehead got so thick, that a drop trickled into his eyes. He typed in Mac and hit enter. A long list scrolled across the screen. “Now what?”

  “If it’s business info you want, type in flower.” Quinn paused. “Or you could just pull the hard copy I printed out for you last week." Quinn's tone sounded like he was resigned to the inevitable. "I don’t think I’ve added anything to that file since then.”

  “Why didn’t you remind me about that first?” With a sigh of relief, he turned away from his adversary and unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk. Pushing aside the fat MacLennan files labeled Ramsey, Winston and Calhoun; he pulled out Kelsey’s folder and plucked out the thick manila envelope. As Doran fished out the report, a newspaper clipping fluttered to the floor. It was a grainy print of Kelsey taken at some formal society event. The straight dress made her look flat as a preteen and the tied-back hair gave her a harsh spinster air.

  He tried to equate the bitch-queen in the photo with the trembling, apologetic woman he’d held in his arms or the spitting mad woman in the skimpy silk nightgown. The memory of the way the fabric had caressed her tender flesh made his flesh tighten. Doran smacked himself, tossed aside the photo, then started speed-reading the report. Halfway through the second paragraph, he reread the paragraph. “Are you kidding?”

  “About what?”

  “That she hasn’t had a date in three years." He frowned and backtracked through two pages. "Not since Byron Bainbridge broke her heart.”

  “That’s a fact. Lots of rumors around it, though.” Quinn sounded as if he was smiling. “Everything from Granddaddy Calhoun telling her she couldn’t marry out of party, to her finding Byron in the sack with Zoë Lancaster. But the one I lean toward is that Byron found Kelsey in the sack with Zoë. If she’s a lesbo, like I suspect, you’ll could tap-dance on your own head before you ever get anywhere near her bed.” Quinn sounded pleased.

  It wasn’t as if he intended to seduce the woman for pleasure. He had to do it for the public good. “Like that thought, do you? Let’s assume she is heterosexual,” Doran said. “Dollars to donuts she’s eager for male companionship.”

  Quinn snorted with derision. “She’d have to be desperate to look at your ugly mug.”

  “Thanks, pal.”

  “Seriously, the woman spends her time working, has dinner with her family every Sunday and attends about one charity event per month.” Quinn paused. “Since she started standing in for her brother, she’s been doing a lot of public speaking engagements, and she’s been attending just about every benefit and social function in the state.”

  “The MacLennans do hang tight.”

  "Zoë Lancaster is known to be AC/DC, and her permanent residence is in New York. The hitch in your plan is that whenever Lancaster gets a chance, she’s back here shacking up with MacLennan. Has been doing it off and on for years." Quinn paused significantly.

  “Which is why I figure the plan has a damned good chance of working. An attentive male escort will allay a lot of rumors.”

  "At least yo
u didn't call yourself attractive." Quinn laughed at his own joke. "Fact: the two of them have been shacked up since Ramsey crashed his BMW and wasted his wife and kid. Couple that with the fact MacLennan doesn’t date and is never seen with men other than members of her family and I’d bet the farm that you won’t get to first base. Even if she isn’t a lesbo, she’s way outta your league.”

  “So what’s your plan?”

  “Forget her.”

  Doran closed his eyes tight and shook his head. This was turning into the same argument they'd already had a dozen times. He stifled a groan. “No can do. I know in my gut that Kelsey is our ticket to nailing that slime-ball family.”

  “Gain her trust. Protect her life. But forget fucking her.”

  “I planed to romance her. I never said anything about screwing her.”

  There was silence from Quinn’s end, then he mumbled something unintelligible.

  “What?”

  “Check out page 56.” Quinn paused while he flipped through the report. “Take her an orchid as a peace offering.”

  Doran read some dull information about Kelsey’s degree in botany and her early effort at hybridizing orchids. It felt good to finally have his partner on his side, but he didn't see how this dull information could be of any value. Then he read the final sentence; he realized the significance of Quinn’s suggestion. Doran smiled. “Good idea. I’ll find one.”

  “Go to The Flower Shop." Quinn chuckled. "You've been fixated on her greenhouses, but she owns a couple florist stores, too."

  "So you do think I'm right and she's pushing dope along with plants."

  "Let's just say that you've made some plausible arguments."

  “Is it the one near her greenhouse complex?”

  “Bingo.”

  “I checked it out the night I tried to get into her secret lab.”

  “If she'd had a low budget security system, you could have dropped her as a suspect weeks ago.”

  “Or already nailed her," Doran said. "The fact that she has a secret laboratory tells me that she’s in the cartel right up to her prissy pearl earrings.”

  “Labs can be used for things besides illegal drugs.”

  “Not secret labs.”

  “Lots of inventors are cautious. Stands to reason someone who hybridizes plants could be, too.”

  “We should have gotten a search warrant months ago."

  "I will not put any unsubstantiated rumors in my files,” Quinn snapped, “but I do see how compelling the information is and I do see that the hearsay seems to form a solid pattern, which might hold up in court, if the circumstantial evidence was for any other family than the MacLennans.” He paused for breath. “Dev, if I was going to bet, I’d wager that my informant is right and the lab is at the PBCO plant. But hunches and bets aren’t enough for a search warrant.”

  Doran understood how Quinn had arrived at his conclusion, if he hadn’t discovered the state-of-the-art security system at the greenhouse, he would have been betting along with his partner. “You think she’s the innocent victim of my 'lust for revenge'?”

  Quinn made an indecisive sound. “Getting back to that note on page 56, Kelsey supposedly developed the Blessed Promise in honor of her engagement and I hear it’s her best seller.” He cleared his throat. “Scuttlebutt says she attaches a lot of sentiment to that plant, but rumors are divided between if it's positive or negative emotion. If you’re game, getting her one might carry a subliminal message.”

  The knot in his gut eased. “Thanks, pal.” Though they disagreed, they were still a team.

  "Since you're willing to listen to alternatives, I have an idea about how to get close without having to touch her." For the next half-hour, Doran listened to Quinn's proposal.

  Later, he stepped through the door of the Flower Shop and looked at the extravagant selection of expensive imported gifts intermixed with exotic blooms. Flaunt your wealth while you can, MacLennan. He studied an ornate arrangement of roses, which seemed to overpower one corner and wondered why anyone would buy something so vulgarly pretentious. Then, he reminded himself why he'd come. He squared his shoulders and surveyed Kelsey's store, as he looked for a white moth orchid with exceptionally glossy, dark green leaves. At first he didn't see any orchids, then he spotted waxy leaves peaking out from behind a four-foot-high wooden giraffe. Intent upon finding out the botanical name, Doran ignored the graceful bloom stalk covered in frilly, butterfly shaped flowers and read the nametag.

  Success.

  He carried the Blessed Promise to the teenage clerk and gave her his best good-ole-boy smile. "Could you put something around this to pretty it up? It's a gift."

  "Sure thing," said the gum-popping girl. She picked up the orchid, then gestured toward a small gilt basket. "Want a card? They're free."

  He snapped his fingers and winked at her. "Good idea."

  She carried the moth orchid to a worktable and added garish gold metallic paper and a gaudy white bow. Doran thought the frou-frou made the plant look cheaper and out dated but honorable, which was perfect for his plan.

  He smiled.

  Picking out a simple white card, he tried to decide what to write. Finally, he simply wrote Kelsey then underlined it with a flourish.

  The girl returned to the counter and glanced at the card. She stopped popping her gum and choked back a laugh. "You aren't buying this for Kelsey MacLennan, are you?"

  "As a matter of fact, I am." Doran assumed his most innocent expression. "Do you know her?"

  "Of course." The girl gave him a wide smile and resumed bursting bubbles. "I bet no one ever bought her one before."

  "Why?” He hoped his expression was as innocent as his tone.

  She shrugged and giggled while she rang up the sale. The gum popped. "Wish I could see her face when you give this to her." The girl continued snickering.

  “Doesn’t she like orchids?" He started taking the money out of his wallet, then hesitated and looked worried.

  "Oh, she likes them, all right. Thinks they’re the greatest thing ever." The girl laughed. The bubble burst, leaving a sticky spot on the tip of her nose. Still laughing, she rubbed at the goop.

  Doran smiled and handed her the money. “I certainly hope you’re right.”

  The girl began choking and pounded her chest with her closed fist.

  Though he was tempted to draw out his performance, Doran didn’t want to press his luck too far, so he picked up the pot and left.

  He placed the foil-covered pot on the Suburban's passenger seat, which he'd already protected with a thick pad of newspapers and secured it with the seat belt. The kid’s intense reaction indicated that Quinn was right about the plant's emotional value, but he had a really bad feeling that his partner was setting him up to fail. Luckily, Quinn didn't know his entire plan and all he needed the stupid plant for was an excuse to get in the door. Positive or negative, it should at least do that. He patted the pot and whistled Notre Dame's fight song all the way to Kelsey MacLennan’s driveway.

  Though the MacLennan family was as paranoid about security as any other drug lords, Kelsey's drapes were wide open and lights blazed from the downstairs windows. Doran could see all the way across the main room and if he'd been a sniper, he could easily have shot her from a kilometer away. Fortunately for MacLennan, she was more valuable to him alive. He plucked the transceiver from his shirt pocket. "Ready to back me up?"

  "Have been," Trent said. “Hey, Boss, have you noticed that a day without sunshine is like, night?”

  “Not in Alaska.” Doran grinned, pleased to finally have a comeback for one of Trent’s odd sayings. He turned the unit off and wondered if he was being overly paranoid to believe he needed backup for such an apparently innocent errand, but bedding Pia, should have been safe, but it hadn’t been. He placed the unit on the Suburban's seat, then grabbed the pot, walked up to the front door, grasped the brass knocked and tried to ignore the prickles of apprehension, which usually meant he was being watched. He told himself it w
as only Trent, but he didn’t believe it.

  After a minute, the porch lights came on. After a pause, the lock clicked, then the door opened an inch. A bruised face with pain in her eyes peered over a flimsy safety chain. He gave her a sheepish grin and held the plant toward her. She stared first at the waxy white petals, then raised her green gaze to lock with his look. Consternation flooded Kelsey’s expression, then the door slammed shut.

  What had he miscalculated? Why did it feel like anger had been directed at both him and the plant? With everything lost and knowing nothing could get worse, he gently tapped the knocker.

  After a moment of silence, there was a scratching sound, then the door whooshed open. Kelsey’s expression looked as thunderous as her bruises looked painful. Had she somehow managed to figure out his plan? She raised her gaze from the plant to his face. Suddenly her body stiffened even more. “You. What are you doing here?"

  The pure venom in her tone chilled him. Surely she couldn’t know that he’d sabotaged her brakes. Doran resisted taking a step backward, and gave Kelsey his most apologetic smile. ”My name is Devlin Doran.” He used a rueful tone and tried to look embarrassed. “I’ve come to return something I inadvertently took when I got the blanket out of your car.” He handed Kelsey her cell phone, but she didn’t move to accept it. "I keep mine in my pocket. In all the confusion, I didn’t realize I’d taken yours." Doran gave her his sheepish look. “I wouldn’t have touched it, if your brother hadn’t been screaming from the receiver.” When the truth didn't soften her glare, he inched the plant a bit closer. "Please accept my apologies."