by Marta Perry
“Nothing, but Paul Hartline is dead.” Turning his back on the other room, he gave Logan a quick rundown. “Naturally Rachel had nothing to do with it.”
“Naturally,” Logan replied.
If he’d detected any sarcasm in that, Clint would have jumped down his throat, but there was none.
“Fortunately, it should be able to establish that she didn’t arrive until after he was dead.” A thought hammered at his skull. “It makes me wonder about that text she got, asking her to meet him there.”
“A setup.” Logan caught on at once. “Easiest thing in the world to send a text on someone’s phone once you’ve slugged him. But we’re right back to who, aren’t we? I wouldn’t expect anybody to be willing to kill over that idea of Attwood’s.”
“No.” That was bugging him, too, he realized. “I had a glimpse of the body. He hadn’t been dead long, by the looks of it. So you’re right—it was a deliberate attempt to implicate Rachel. Maybe a brainstorm on the killer’s part when he realized he had a body on his hands.”
The kettle began to steam. “Listen, I’m going to need to stay here until I can get someone else to stay with Rachel. And if the cops come calling, I don’t want her talking to them without me.”
“I did figure that out,” Logan said. “I’ll get onto Attwood and let him know what’s happening.”
“You may as well warn him to prepare for questions. I had to tell them about the connection to Attwood’s and why I was there. I said as little as possible, but I know Jim Phillips, the lead cop on it. He’s not going to rest until he knows every detail.”
“Murder puts it out of our control. Attwood will have to understand that. He might be able to ignore the attacks on Rachel since she wouldn’t report them, but not this. It’s already in police hands. And if he doesn’t, I don’t figure we’ve lost anything. I’ll call you back after I’ve talked to him. Stay in touch.”
“Right.” He picked up the kettle and poured. “And thanks, buddy.”
“Anytime. Take care of her.” He broke the connection.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
HIS MIND EASED after sharing the burden with Logan, Clint carried the mug of hot tea into the living room. “I may have overloaded it with sugar, but drink it, anyway. It’s good when you’ve had a shock.”
Catching her expression, he grinned. “My mother taught me that, too.”
“She must have a secret connection with my grandmother, then.” Rachel wrapped both hands around the mug. Some of the tension seemed to drain out of her face, and she leaned back against the cushions.
He sat next to her, his arm along the back of the sofa so that he could turn toward her. No questions, not now. Better to let her adjust in her own time.
But apparently she couldn’t do so, because soon enough she was looking at him, frowning slightly. “The police will want to talk to me again, won’t they?”
He couldn’t say something soothing, not when she wanted the truth. “Probably, but it’s routine. It’s common to take a witness over their story several times. Something may come back that he or she didn’t remember the first time through. Or, if a person is lying, there’s a possibility of catching it.” He reached out to touch her shoulder. “You’re telling the truth, so no one can trip you up.”
She nodded. “I am, but even so, I don’t relish the idea of going over and over it.” She shuddered. “It was bad enough the first time. I still can’t believe it happened.”
“Unfortunately, it’s real.”
His thoughts spun around and around what they knew about Paul and his motivations. Money, that had always been their assumption. A reasonable one, since gamblers always needed more cash.
But murder didn’t seem to fit into the scenario of industrial treachery that they suspected. What if Hartline had been killed for some other reason entirely? But if so, what was it?
“Will I have to formally identify the...the body?” Rachel’s fingers gripped the mug until her knuckles were white and strained. “I’m afraid the extent of my knowledge about these things comes from TV.”
Clint wrapped one hand around hers, very gently. “It may come to that. You’re not his wife any longer, but you may be the closest thing the police can find to a relative. Where are his people?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think he has much family. He never talked about them, except to say they didn’t have anything to do with each other.” She moved restlessly. “I tried to get him to look them up when we became engaged, but he refused.”
“Failing relatives, the police may be satisfied with someone who knew him well—anyone from Attwood’s, I suppose.”
“Better me than James Attwood. But I suppose Ian might. He knew Paul longer than I did.”
He nodded. “I’ll suggest that to Phillips.”
“You knew him, didn’t you?” She set down the mug and turned toward him, seeming relieved to get away from the question of identification. “The detective, I mean.”
“Not well, but we were at the police academy at the same time. And I know of him. He’s a good cop. Like I said, he’s not a man to jump to conclusions.”
“I guess that’s the best I could expect. It just seems so...” Her voice choked, and she stopped, fighting for control.
Heart full, Clint drew her gently into his arms. Holding her against him, he hoped that human warmth and caring might help at a moment like this. She moved against him with a little sigh, and he felt a few tears dampen his shirt.
He smoothed his hand up and down her back. “It’s going to be all right.” It was the only thing he could think of to say, but it appeared to be the right thing, because he felt her relax more.
Too bad he couldn’t do the same. Anyone with human feelings would weep over the unexpected death of someone close. But he couldn’t help wondering if Paul still had such a large place in Rachel’s heart that there was no room for anyone else.
They might have sat like that the rest of the day, but soon enough his cell phone sounded, like a call to duty. He turned a little to reach his pocket, and Rachel drew back.
Logan. He punched the button. “What?”
“Sorry. I just got off the phone with our friend Attwood. Not a happy man, as we expected. He wants to see us both. Today. In about an hour.”
He muttered a suggestion as to what Attwood could do.
“I couldn’t agree more,” Logan said. “But we did sign a contract with the man, and I think we should clean things up as best we can. Can you get away?”
Clint released Rachel to look at his phone. “I might be able to. Let me make a call, and I’ll get back to you.”
Rachel moved away from him, pulling the throw around her. “If you have to leave, I’ll be fine by myself.”
“I’m not leaving unless someone else is here, and that’s flat. What’s Lyn’s number?”
“You can’t call her in the middle of a school day.” She sounded scandalized at the thought.
“Yes, I can. And never mind, because I have her on my cell.” He clicked on the name, and almost immediately Lyn came on the line.
“Is something wrong? Is Rachel okay?”
Rachel was trying to snatch the phone from him, in fact, so he got up and moved out of range. “She’s all right, but Paul is dead.” He figured he didn’t have to sugarcoat that for her. “And Rachel’s the one who found him.”
“Where is she now?”
“I brought her home, but I don’t want to leave her alone, and I have to go out. If you’re listening, you can hear her protesting in the background over my interrupting you in the middle of a school day.”
“I’ll be there in half an hour. Tell her to be quiet and let her friends take care of her for once.”
“I will. And if the cops show up while you’re here, call me ASAP and then stall them. I don’t want her answering any questions unt
il I’m with her.”
“Don’t worry. They won’t get past me.”
He grinned, irrationally relieved. “I’m sure.”
She’d already hung up. He pocketed the phone and turned back to Rachel.
“She’s coming, so there’s no use in you making a fuss about it. You’d do the same for her in a minute.”
Rachel opened her mouth to argue and then shut it again. “All right,” she said finally. “But I don’t like people making arrangements for me as if I were a child.”
“Too bad. You don’t have a choice this time.” He thought of what her grandfather had said when they were leaving the farm. “I’ve got to call Logan back, and I’ll stay until Lyn gets here.”
Apparently giving up for the moment, she nodded.
Good. Maybe he was overreacting, but he’d rather do that than make any sort of mistake where Rachel was concerned.
* * *
RACHEL HAD EXCHANGED the quilt for a warm sweater by the time Lyn had spotted the police car pulling up in front of the house. In fact, Lyn had insisted on her staying in the bedroom until Clint arrived, and she’d been too frazzled to argue.
In any event, the interview with Detective Phillips had been far less harrowing than she’d expected. He’d led her over the details of her actions, but with Clint nearby and Lyn looking ready to pounce, she’d found she could go through it.
No, she hadn’t seen anyone else at the building other than the woman and child. No, she didn’t go into the bedroom at all, just stood in the doorway. And no, she had no idea who might have wanted to kill her ex-husband.
Now, from where she stood at the front window, she could see Phillips standing outside on the sidewalk, talking to Clint. Actually, it looked as if Clint was doing most of the talking.
“What do you suppose he’s saying?”
“I don’t know.” Lyn moved closer to the window, trying to see more. “I wish I’d learned lip-reading. It’d be very useful at a time like this.”
She smiled, as Lyn had probably intended. “You do know some sign language. That’s useful.” She and Lyn had taken a course one winter, anticipating the arrival of a hearing-impaired child who was now in the third grade and doing beautifully.
“True, but not at the moment.” Lyn transferred her attention to Rachel. “I can guess at the content, if not the exact words. He’s telling that detective all the reasons why he’d be an idiot to suspect you.”
Rachel steered her thoughts away from the idea of being a suspect. “You seem to have changed your mind about Clint. Weren’t you the one who warned me about trusting him?”
“When you’re wrong, you may as well admit it.” Lyn gestured with her hands, as if tossing her previous opinion away. “Your Clint seems to be one of the good guys.”
“He’s not ‘my’ Clint,” she began, and closed her lips on the rest of the sentence since Clint walked back in at that moment.
“Okay,” he said, seeming to banish a frown when he looked at her. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“I guess not, but is he really satisfied?”
“Of course he is,” Lyn said abruptly. “He’s not an idiot, and it would be idiotic to think you had anything to do with this.” She grabbed her jacket. “Look, I’m going to run home and pick up what I need to stay the night. You’ll be here until I get back?” The question was directed to Clint, who nodded.
“I don’t need babysitting,” she began, but it was too late. Lyn was already out the door, and Clint had settled himself in the armchair.
She turned to him, but the bland look he gave her was so disarming she had to smile.
“All right, I give in.” She sat on the sofa, kicked off her shoes and curled up against the cushion. “But now you answer the question. Is that detective convinced?”
Clint leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “It’s not a matter of being convinced of your innocence. It’s a question of what the evidence tells him. And right now the evidence tells him that unless you’re Houdini, you couldn’t have attacked Paul.” He hesitated. “They found the woman with the baby, and she confirmed the time you arrived. They also have the times of the text from Paul’s phone and your call to me. You just didn’t have time.”
She blew out a long breath, relaxing the tension that had an iron grip on her. “That’s good. But it’s not over, is it?”
“You’ll have to go into the station, make a statement and sign it. I’ll go with you,” he added quickly. “It’s nothing to worry about. And Robinson is going to do the identification, not that there’s any doubt about it. The police will keep digging, of course, but I think you’re out of it.”
The way he phrased that snagged her attention. “You’re still worried, aren’t you?”
“Of course I’m worried. There’s a killer on the loose, and he tried to involve you. I don’t like anything about this situation.”
“I guess this isn’t the sort of conclusion you want when you take on a client.”
Clint shook his head almost angrily. “Never mind that. I don’t care about Attwood now. He gave us the push seconds before we were going to do the same to him.”
She considered that. “He wouldn’t like any suggestion that Paul’s death was connected to the company.”
“No. And it may not have been. We don’t know what else Paul might have been involved in. The police investigation may turn up something.”
It was all oddly dissatisfying. Rachel pressed her fingers against her temples. So...incomplete.
“Do you have an attorney?”
The question, coming out of the blue, shook her. “What...why? Why do I need an attorney? If the police...”
“No, that’s not why.” He reached out to clasp her hand. “Sorry. I need to think before I speak. I’m assuming there will be legal complications, since you and Paul owned this house together. A lot depends on how the mortgage was set up, whether he had a will and probably some other things I don’t know about. An attorney could save you a lot of hassle.”
“I hadn’t even thought of that, but I’m sure you’re right. What happens to his share of the house?” Her mind started spinning again.
“Okay, stop.” He squeezed her hand. “That’s what the attorney is going to handle for you, so there’s no point even thinking about it.”
Rachel took a breath and tried to turn off the spinning thoughts. He was right. “Has anyone ever told you that always being right is annoying?”
He grinned. “A time or two. Get a lawyer.”
“The woman who handled the divorce can probably do it. She’s already familiar with our finances. Such as they are.”
She couldn’t help it—her thoughts went over the well-worn paths again. She’d been determined not to repeat her mother’s mistakes, but she’d fallen right into the same mess. Worse, she was still entangled with Paul no matter what she did.
Clint said something, and she tried to recall her wandering attention.
“I’m sorry. What?”
He rose. “Lyn’s coming. And I have to get moving.”
“Right.” She collected herself with an effort. “I can’t thank you enough for today. If you hadn’t—”
“Forget it.” The words were brusque, and he was already heading for the door. “I’ll check in with you in the morning. Try to get some sleep.”
He and Lyn passed each other in the doorway. Rachel heard him say a few words to her, and then he was gone.
Lyn came in, tossing a backpack on the end of the sofa. “Where was Clint rushing off to?”
She shrugged. “I’ve no idea. He was probably afraid if he hung around I’d cry all over him again. Men hate that, so he was only too happy to turn me over to you.”
Lyn stared at her for a long moment. “Don’t be an idiot.”
The sharp tone shocked her, and Rachel could only star
e back. “What?”
“You heard me. For probably the first time in your life, you’ve run into an honorable guy who wouldn’t take advantage of you when you’re—if you’ll excuse the word—vulnerable. Don’t throw that away.”
Leaving Rachel gaping, she pulled out her phone and proceeded to order a pizza.
* * *
CLINT PACED THE office until Logan pitched a wad of paper at him.
“Next time it’s going to be something heavier,” he said. “Will you stop prowling and start talking? What are you so worried about, as if I didn’t know?”
Clint planted his fists on Logan’s desk. “Don’t tell me you’re not frustrated, too, because I won’t believe it. We can’t just walk away from this mess.”
“Our client seems to think we can. In fact, he’s put an end to it. Which means we won’t get any cooperation from anyone at Attwood’s.”
“I don’t know about that,” he said slowly. “With all that’s been going on, I didn’t tell you about Ms. Gibson’s visit to Rachel the other evening.”
“Claire Gibson? I wouldn’t have guessed they’d be on visiting terms.” Logan seemed to consider that, frowning. “What did she want?”
“Good question. I just happened to be in the kitchen at the time.”
“Where you just happened to hear everything that was said,” Logan finished for him. “So?”
“I’d say she what she really wanted was a lead on Paul’s whereabouts, but she also kept landing little jabs about how close she and Paul were. Hints with sharp edges.”
“Did it bother Rachel?”
“Not to notice. She seemed to think if there ever had been anything between them it would have been before she even met Paul.” He shrugged. “Maybe the Gibson woman would be willing to talk, even if her boss did close us down. She doesn’t seem to be in awe of him, anyway.”
Logan nodded. “Worth a try. Do you want to do it, or should I?”
“You, I think.” Clint was reluctant to let anything out of his hands at this point, but he had to admit Logan would probably do a better job than he would. “She’s probably connecting me with Rachel, especially after seeing me there last night.”
