Long, Tall Texans--Christopher

by Diana Palmer

  “None whatsoever, she left the country just after the police came, or so I heard. She didn’t tell me where she was going.” She thought for a minute. “Bainbridge might know. She and Cecil were friends with him, as well. Yes. You might try Lord Bainbridge. He lives just down the road, anyone can direct you.”

  “Thank you. You’ve been most gracious, and at such a trying time,” Chris said, bending to kiss her hand again.

  “Oh, not to worry, I’m grateful for the company. Those dreadful reporters won’t go away, God knows why.”

  “They’ll tire eventually and worry someone else,” Chris assured her. “Good day.”

  The car was brought around by the same man who’d accompanied them to the manor house. He waved them off, the gates were opened, and Chris and Della drove through the massed press corps.

  “Wait just a minute, please,” Della asked as he started to pull out into the main road. She motioned to a woman journalist and rolled the window down.

  “She says that there was no murder, and that Scotland Yard has determined that it was an accidental death,” she told the brunette. “If that’s so, why are you all still out here?”

  “She said that?” the journalist asked. “It’s news to us. We had word this morning that accidental death has been ruled out and murder charges are pending against a woman named…” She pulled out her pad and read, “Tansy Deverell, an American.”

  “She said that Lord Harvey was waterskiing, fell and hit his head on the boat’s stern and drowned,” Della persisted.

  “He was knocked unconscious with a blunt object suspected to be a silver cane head,” the woman replied. “Mrs. Deverell was known to possess such a cane. The police have it now. And Lord Harvey was found in the river, not in a lake, stark naked.”

  “I don’t understand any of this,” Della said heavily.

  “Neither do we. But her ladyship up there stands to inherit ten million pounds, and even with inheritance tax, that’s a bundle. Furthermore, she’s mixed up with some bloke from a militant workers’ party—” She stopped dead. “Who are you?”

  “I’m an American journalist,” Della said honestly. “My paper sent me here to see what I could dig out. Well, you see, Mrs. Deverell is an American.” She let the implication sink in.

  “I see. Wouldn’t know something about her, would you?” the woman asked cagily.

  “Just that she has claimed to have been kidnapped by aliens once, and a sheikh tried to add her to his harem.”

  The woman journalist laughed delightedly. “Thanks! She doesn’t sound like a murderess, does she? What a delightful old bird! I wish she was my mum.”

  “So do I,” Della said. “Thanks.”

  “You, too!”

  Chris drove off while Della was closing the window. “You didn’t have to be so forthcoming!”

  “Yes, I did. She gave me information, I gave her information. We’re even.” She glanced at him, saw the lines of strain. “I still don’t think she did it, evidence or no evidence. I’d like to know more about this bloke from the worker’s party.”

  “You looked relieved when they said the MP was hit on the right side of the head. Why?” she asked curiously.

  He grinned. “Because Tansy is left-handed. Let’s go see Bainbridge. Maybe he can clear some of the details up for us.”

  Lord Bainbridge could, and did. He was no friend of Lady Harvey, but he knew quite a bit about her.

  He brushed back his thick white mustache and leaned his bulk back in his huge armchair by the fireplace. “Tramp, she is, begging your pardon, ma’am,” he told Della. “Nothing but a tramp. I warned Cecil about her, but he was so obsessed with her beauty that he wouldn’t rest until he’d married her. Face-lifts and tummy tucks and war paint and padding, that’s all she was, with a mercenary eye. All of us could see it. Now she’s killed him and she’ll blame poor Tansy to save herself.”

  “Tansy isn’t a killer,” Chris said curtly.

  “I know that. We all know that. But she’s the prime suspect. It seems her ladyship has an ironclad alibi. She was giving a speech at a children’s benefit at the time Cecil died.”

  “Nobody can be that precise about the time of death,” Della said flatly. “Especially if his body was in the water for any length of time. The water temperature could distort the time of death by at least two or three hours.”

  He shook his head. “He was wearing a wristwatch and apparently lifted his arm to ward off the blow. His watch face was cracked and stopped at what they presume was exactly the time of death.”

  “How convenient,” Chris muttered.

  “Not convenient. Planned,” Della countered. “And devilishly clever.”

  “If only Tansy hadn’t run,” Chris said heavily. “It’s made her look guilty, even if she isn’t.”

  “I don’t think she ran,” Lord Bainbridge confided. “I think she’s been taken somewhere for safekeeping so she can’t tell her side of the story. I think she saw the murder.”

  Two pairs of eyes widened. “By whom?”

  “By her ladyship’s boyfriend,” the old man said. “Tony Cartwright. He’s a young street tough with a loud mouth and a following. He heads one of the militant groups that wants to oust the ruling party. He’s been tossing money around like corn flakes just lately, and he has no visible means of support. My guess is that Lady Harvey has been funding him and her husband found out and made the mistake of confronting her with it. Or maybe he even caught them together in a compromising situation. Cecil was never one to keep his mouth shut. He’d have gone in headfirst.”

  “And died for it,” Chris supposed. His eyes narrowed. “What can we do?”

  “My suggestion would be to hire a private detective and have Tony and her ladyship watched,” came the immediate reply. “In fact, I have just the man for you. He was with Interpol for a while, and before that, rumor has it, the SAS. He’s costly, but he’s worth every penny. I can put you in touch, if you like.”

  “What’s his name?”

  Lord Bainbridge smiled. “You can call him Seth.”

  “Does he have an office?”

  Lord Bainbridge shook his head. “He does a lot of hush-hush government work, as a free agent. He takes the occasional private case, if it interests him. Frankly, he doesn’t need the money anymore.”

  “You think he’ll take this case?” Chris asked.

  The old man nodded. “I think so. Let me have the name of your hotel and I’ll ask him to contact you tonight.”

  Chris let out a long breath. “You’ve taken a load off my mind. My mother is a lunatic, but I love her.”

  “Many of us have, and lost her,” the old man said wistfully. “Yes, even me. You have no idea what a beauty she was fifty years ago. I met her in Madrid one summer and never got over her. I’d do anything I could to help her.”

  “Does Lady Harvey know that?”

  He shook his head and chuckled. “Doubt she’d have sent you to me if she had. She thinks I was best friends with her husband and might feel vengeful. I’m sure she thought I’d slam the door in your face. Tough luck for her,” he added grimly.

  Della and Chris thanked the old soldier and went back to their London hotel.

  Chris was dejected as he left Della at her door. “I’ll phone you if Seth gets in touch with me,” he said. “Try to get some rest. I don’t know where this will lead us, but I hope Lord Bainbridge was wrong about Tansy being held prisoner. This whole damned thing is crazy!”

  “Most crimes are, but they make great sense to the perpetrators.” She put a soft hand up to his lean cheek. “Try not to worry. It will be all right.”

  His teeth clenched. He caught her by the upper arms and pulled her to him. “I don’t know how I’d have gotten through the day without you,” he said huskily and bent to her mouth.

  The words softened her as much as the slow, sweet kiss he pressed on her open lips. She gasped and his own lips opened, pressing deeper. He made a sound under his breath and his hands l
et go of her arms to catch her hips and pull them deliberately into his.

  She pulled away, breathless. “It’s…public,” she stammered.

  He was having trouble getting his own breath. She was delightful, pretty and sweet and intelligent. He’d looked at women as acquisitions until the wreck. Now he saw what he’d been missing for most of his life—a woman with a heart. Perhaps he had to grow old enough to appreciate what was inside instead of outside.

  He caught both her hands in his and lifted them to his lips. “You’re a treasure,” he said quietly. “Thank you for coming to England with me.”

  “Well, I didn’t have a lot of choice, remember,” she stammered, because the kiss had shaken her.

  He chuckled. “So you didn’t.” The smile faded. “Going to stay? I’ll send you back home if you really want to go.”

  “Oh, no, not yet,” she said quickly. “We have to clear your mother first!”

  He was tracing the simple silver-and-turquoise ring she wore on her right middle finger. “Did you mean what you said, about liking Tansy for a mother?”

  She nodded. “I barely remember my mom. She was always away with Dad somewhere. We never really knew each other. Not like I know Grandad, anyway. He’s my best friend.”

  “I’d like to meet him when we go home,” he said sincerely. “He must be one special guy.”

  “He is.” She searched his eyes with her warm gray ones. “So are you,” she added softly.

  His eyes were smiling now, as well as his mouth. He looked up and down the hall and then bent and kissed her once more, briefly and tenderly. “I’ll take you down to dinner when they open the restaurant,” he said. “Wear something pretty.”

  She laughed uninhibitedly. “It’ll have to be this,” she indicated her beige pantsuit. “I didn’t bring a dress.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Size ten?”

  She gasped. “You roué!” she accused.

  He shrugged. “What can I say? I spent a lot of years as a playboy. Guessing sizes is only one facet of my enormous store of knowledge.” He gave her a wicked grin. “I’ll have them send something over.”

  “Look here, you can’t buy clothes for me,” she said at once. “People will think I’m a kept woman!”

  “Nobody, anywhere, could look at you and think that,” he said flatly. “You don’t have the hard edges of anybody’s mistress.”

  “What hard edges?”

  “Sophistication,” he said. “It’s not as alluring as the glossy magazines make it out to be. It’s artificial and cold.” He searched her eyes. “You’re a warm, welcoming fire on a cold and rainy night.”

  Her eyebrows went up.

  “Too corny?” he asked with a flash of white teeth. “I’ll work on my approach before dinner. Consider the dress a loan, a stage prop. We wouldn’t want people to think we were trailing a murderer, now would we? After all, we have no credentials and no permission to interfere in the case.”

  “She’s your mother,” she said quietly. “You have every right.”

  He traced her small, straight nose. “Still going to smear her in the press?”

  “Don’t be silly,” she replied. “I only want to tell the truth.”

  “Your editor won’t like it.”

  “Some editor, somewhere, will,” she said. “Integrity is and should be part of every journalist’s makeup. I won’t slander anyone for a story.”

  “No wonder I like you.”

  He kissed the tip of her nose and sauntered off down the hall.

  She watched him go with mixed emotions. She knew he’d been a playboy, that he knew all too much about women. But he was attractive and sensitive and he had a wonderful sense of humor, even though he was worried about his mother. That concern was just as alluring as his smile and charm. He really cared about Tansy, and he was willing to take chances to save her. No wonder women fell over themselves to get to him. She was on the verge of it herself.

  She unlocked her door with the card key and stepped inside. And just as she closed it back again, a shadowy figure rose from the sofa in the suite’s sitting room and came toward her.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Who are you?” Della asked at once, her hand still on the doorknob.

  The man came closer. He had dark hair and eyes and a faintly foreign look. He tilted his head to one side and studied her, from her short, wavy blond hair to her small feet. “I’ll ask the questions,” he said. “Why are you looking for Tansy Deverell?”

  She hesitated. “How did you know I was?”

  “You arrived this morning with Christopher Deverell. I know of him, and I know his angle in this—she’s his mother. I don’t know yours.”

  “I’m a journalist,” she said. “I get an exclusive interview if I can help find her.”

  He studied her narrowly for several seconds. “I did some research on you and Deverell before I came over. Tansy Deverell’s husband—and the father of her two sons—was in Morocco during World War II,” he said. “He saved the life of a young Arab who was spying for the French resistance.”

  “That’s very interesting, but what does it have to do with Tansy?” she asked.

  He moved into the light, and she could see the foreign look of him. “That young Arab was my grandfather,” he said. “Ordinarily I don’t get mixed up in high-profile cases, and Deverell wouldn’t have had enough money to buy my help. But I’ll take the case because of Deverell’s father. I owe the family a favor.”

  “Who are you?” she asked belatedly.

  “Oh, you can call me Seth,” he replied carelessly.

  Her eyebrows went up. “Lord Bainbridge told us about you.”

  “Not much, I’ll wager.” He moved back to the phone and with economical, graceful ease, lifted the phone and called Chris. “I’m in Della’s room,” he said when Chris answered. He hung up.

  It didn’t take Chris two minutes to sprint the distance from his room to hers. He was admitted at once, and he gave Seth a calculating scrutiny while he held on to Della’s small hand.

  Seth noted the protective attitude and smiled. “She was perfectly safe,” he assured Chris. “I never hurt women.”

  “Why did you come to her, and not to me?” Chris wanted to know.

  “I don’t know you personally. But I know of you,” he replied with a faint smile. “And I know of your father,” he replied. “He saved my grandfather’s life during World War II. Small world.”

  “Very,” Chris agreed.

  Seth moved back into the room and to a tray that was sitting on the table by the window. “I ordered high tea. Help yourselves.”

  They joined him at the table, warily.

  He sat back with a scone in one hand and a cup of tea in the other, studying them while they sugared their own tea.

  “That’s bad for you,” he remarked. “Sugar is the curse of the twentieth century. Empty calories.”

  “Life without sugar is no life at all,” Della said with a grin. “Sorry.”

  He glanced at Chris as he sipped tea. “Your mother is being held by some cronies of Tony Cartwright’s,” Seth said abruptly. “They’ve got her in a garage on the Manchester road, and they’ve just become desperate fugitives. Lady Harvey called a press conference twenty minutes ago to publicly blame the murder on Tony, via the press camped outside her manor house. Her story is that Tony killed and robbed the old man and then planned to say she did it because her husband was going to divorce her and she’d lose her inheritance. Tony got wind of it and snatched Tansy, who has friends in high circles in Great Britain, to use as a hostage. They plan to turn her over to the police in return for an airplane to fly them out of the country.”

  Chris cursed under his breath. “Do the police know about this?”

  “Not yet,” Seth said easily. “But they have access to the same sources I used to get the information and they’ll find out what Tony’s up to very shortly. Meanwhile, Lady Harvey, having freed herself from her husband and her greedy lover is busily ma
king plans to stash her inheritance in Swiss bank accounts before it can be enjoined.”

  “What about the inheritance tax? Surely she uses banks,” Chris protested.

  “She does—banks in the Bahamas. A sharp little lady, indeed, no loose ends except Tansy, and she’s arranged things so that Tony will be taking care of that one.” He finished his scone and leaned forward abruptly with the cup in his hands. “You know they’ll kill her when they get what they want, don’t you? His sort doesn’t take chances.”

  Chris had already guessed that. His face set in grim lines. “Damn them all,” he said in a deep, low undertone. “I never cheated or threatened anyone to get where I am, and I didn’t inherit all that much to begin with.”

  Seth nodded. “I know.” He pursed his lips and studied the younger man quietly. He looked hard. His eyes were like black coals. “I can tell the police all this, including where to find Tansy, if that’s what you want.”

  Chris stared at him levelly. “There’s an alternative,” he guessed.

  Seth nodded. “Myself, two men, you and Della.”

  Chris glanced at Della. “I’ll go. She shouldn’t. This isn’t her fight.”

  She gave him her best glare. “I go,” she said shortly. “It would be the best story I ever wrote!”

  “Maybe the last, too,” Chris said. He didn’t like to think of Della in danger.

  “Tell him I can go,” Della said to Seth.

  Seth shrugged. “You can as far as I’m concerned. You two will do my legwork for me while I set up the hit.”

  “You won’t shoot anybody?” Della asked.

  “That’s up to the captors. If they shoot, we shoot back,” he said with finality. “I’m not risking my men’s lives.”

  “I thought people in England weren’t allowed to carry guns,” Della pointed out.

  “Most people aren’t. Some police and other agencies do.” He met Chris’s solemn gaze. “I’ll clear it with the right people before I go in,” he said. “I’m not an outlaw, in case that’s what you were thinking. I always work within the law whenever possible. Especially in this country,” he added with a smile.

  “All right then. Della and I will do whatever you need. Name your price,” Chris said. “I’ll mortgage everything I own if that’s what it takes to get Tansy back.”