"Tristan's napping," Pattie offered, as if she'd heard Zane's question anyway. "I left Michael in charge in case he wakes up while we're gone."
The amount Pattie's gay landlord knew about child care...? But Zane bit his tongue again. Both Tristan and Michael would survive one afternoon. The important thing was to show he believed in Pattie.
"Good plan," he managed to choke out, then took a breath and went on. "Uh...about today, I'm only here as a witness. I consider this your show, Pattie. You lead, I'll follow."
Her eyebrows climbed toward her hairline. "Zane. Are you sick or something?"
It wasn't easy, but he smiled. "I had all night to think about it." A night he hadn't spent in her bed, but they wouldn't get into that. "And I believe you're right. Talking to Cranston's wife is the safest way to handle the situation. I'll trust your instincts on the rest of it." He paused. "As long as that's the way you want it."
She still looked surprised, more than a little off-balance. All in all, she looked exactly as he'd hoped.
"It's the way I want it," she replied. "This is about my— Well, I want to be in charge."
He inclined his head, secretly thrilled. Their conversation was positively cordial. Her back wasn't up, and neither was his.
Some of the sting went out of having to restrain his protective instincts, which were, in fact, clamoring.
Whatever he might have said next was lost as a bright blue Ferrari zipped up the street. Barely slowing, it wheeled into Ted Cranston's driveway.
Holding his breath, Zane turned to look at the car.
Behind the driver's seat was a dark-haired man in his mid-forties. Superficially, he matched the description given them by the carpenter, Barbara Olmos Beltran.
Zane's protective instincts roared.
"That's him," Pattie declared, sotto voce.
Zane's mouth opened; he was ready to dish out cautions, warnings, and advice. But he caught himself and reined them all in. Carefully, he phrased his biggest concern as a question. "How do we know his wife is home?"
The wife was the key to the whole expedition. They needed to reveal Cranston's affair to his wife so he wouldn't imagine he could keep the thing secret any longer, either by paying blackmail or by employing more dire means. Talking to the wife let the air out of the whole balloon.
Pattie also looked at the house, where the garage door was opening to receive the blue Ferrari. "I have to admit we don't know if she's home. But I'll ask for her, not him, when I knock on the door."
And what would Pattie do if Cranston answered the door, and claimed his wife wasn't there? But Zane didn't ask the question. Pattie would figure it out. He had to trust her.
Nevertheless, as he followed Pattie out of the car, he was humming with adrenaline. Half of him hoped Mrs. Cranston would be home so they could get this over with. The other half wished they could forever postpone the confrontation.
After crossing the artsy granite pavers, they stood on the doorstep. Pattie took in a visible breath before pressing the doorbell. Deep musical tones sounded inside the house.
They waited. And waited some more. It was a big house.
Zane's heart thumped. Somehow he resisted the temptation to grab Pattie and get them both out of there.
She was just leaning forward to press the bell again when the door opened.
A woman in a fitted bright green dress stood in the partial opening she'd allowed. Her hair was blond and elegantly coiffed to emphasize her height. She appeared to be in her early forties.
She was the right age. The right grooming. Zane's heart sank even as he felt another shot of adrenaline. Whatever Pattie planned, it was going to happen today. Right now.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
"Mrs. Cranston?" Pattie asked. "Mrs. Ted Cranston?"
Zane watched a shadow of suspicion cloud the polite expression of the woman at the door of the elegant mansion. Home invasion robberies weren't the norm in this part of town, but they weren't unknown, either. "Can I help you?" she asked.
From beyond the marbled foyer, which was all Zane could see of the house, a man's voice called. "Who's that at the door, Lisa?"
"My name is Pattie Bowen," Pattie told the other woman. "Your husband might recognize the surname, the same as my sister, Savannah Bowen. We, uh, have a matter of a personal nature to discuss with you."
Jumping right in. It wasn't the way Zane would have handled it, but...he was trusting Pattie. Letting her run the show.
The suspicion on the woman's face morphed into confusion. "I don't understand..."
A man entered the marble foyer. His handsome face was a growing storm. "Who are you?" He came up fast behind his wife. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm here to clear the air, Mr. Cranston." Pattie lifted her chin. She looked cool and determined. Impressive.
Meanwhile Mrs. Cranston was looking more perturbed by the second. "Clear the air?"
Ted Cranston came up to his wife's side. He was tallish, with movie-star good looks, raven-dark hair, and an expression of doom.
His presence didn't slow Pattie down one iota. To the woman she declared, "I have reason to believe your husband is the father of my sister's child, a two-year-old boy named Tristan."
Cranston exploded. "Bullshit!" He started out the door toward Pattie. "What kind of game is this?"
Pattie took a calm step back.
Only by clenching his fists, hard, did Zane keep from taking a swing at the man, who ended up halting himself on the threshold.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Cranston took hold of her husband's jacket sleeve. "Ted?"
Cranston moved to grasp the door. "Close it, honey. These people are con men of some sort."
"Right, tell me if this is a con," Pattie snorted. "My sister modeled for your Spring Beauty cosmetics company three years ago. I'm guessing you met her then." Shaking her head, she added, "Damn, but Tristan looks just like you."
Zane watched Cranston's face turn red. "That's a lie. You're both lying."
Zane, who hadn't actually said a word, found the accusation a poor attempt to maintain credibility.
Apparently, Cranston's wife agreed. As her husband got hold of the door, she blocked his attempt to close it. Her eyes were on Pattie. "Three years ago..." While her shoulder kept the door open, one of her hands went up to her mouth. Her gaze seemed to focus inward where she was clearly thinking, putting dates together. "Three years ago..." Her face went white.
Regaining his composure with obvious effort, Cranston turned to her. "They're lying, Lisa. Trying to get money out of us. Con men."
Pattie shook her head. "I don't want money. But I do want answers."
With her hand still to her mouth, Lisa Cranston began backing away. "Three years ago. That was when you and I..."
"Lisa—"
But Mrs. Cranston was past him now, inside the house. She turned. Her dress made an expensive linen sound as she swiftly walked down the hall.
With a particularly foul curse, Cranston swung back to face Zane and Pattie. His face was a picture of repressed rage. He grabbed the edge of the door as if about to slam it in their faces, then appeared to reconsider. He stood for a moment, glaring.
"Congratulations," he finally hissed. He opened the door wide. "You better get in here now. We have to talk."
No. Zane didn't want to go in the house. But Pattie inclined her head toward the door. She wanted to go in.
This was the last thing Zane wanted to do. But at least she'd stopped to consult with him. She was almost cooperating here. Maybe his tack of trusting her was working. With a ribbon of hope twining his dread, Zane nodded.
Cranston stepped back to let Pattie through. Zane followed after.
Tossing the door closed, Cranston stalked across a floor of checked black-and-white marble. "This way," he snarled.
Walking quickly, Zane followed Pattie and Cranston down the slick hall and through a set of paneled white doors. They ended up in a formal living room, with deeply cushioned white furniture and sw
agged drapes over large arched windows. Original modern art paintings hung on the walls.
Money, Zane thought. No wonder Savannah had targeted the guy.
In the center of the room, Cranston wheeled to face them. His expression was pure murder. "What do you people think you're doing, coming here and telling my wife this garbage? I'm gonna sue you. It's called defamation and I'll take you for everything you've got."
With her back straight, Pattie didn't blink an eye. "Defamation requires an untruth, Mr. Cranston. I haven't said one. You really do look just like your son."
Cranston appeared ready to explode. He breathed in and out hard. But Pattie's bluff worked. In a gritty voice, he said, "I was afraid someone would find that damn paternity test. Savannah promised me it was well hidden, but obviously, she lied. She lied about everything."
Good God. There was a paternity test?
Zane met Pattie's glance. In her eyes, he saw both triumph and dread. He felt the same. They'd been right about Cranston being Tristan's father. And as such, he had every motive for murder.
Pattie turned back to Cranston. "I see. You thought your secret would be safe if Savannah died?"
Zeroing right in on the information they sought: a connection between Cranston and Savannah's death. Zane had to admit Pattie was holding her own, and then some.
Cranston's lips twisted. "She claimed nobody but her would have access to the proof— That is, as long as I kept paying up." He gave Pattie a shrewd look. "You know Savannah was blackmailing me, right?"
His accusation was so obviously true that Zane was surprised to see anger cross Pattie's features.
"She couldn't have blackmailed you if you hadn't done something to be ashamed of," she retorted. "You betrayed your family."
"Oh, please." Cranston waved a hand. "Don't make out like your sister was my moral superior. You think she didn't plan on using me as a meal ticket for life? She was careful not to tell me about the brat until after he was born—so we could never discuss anything so logical as an abortion. Then she forced me to take a paternity test by threatening to go to my wife. Savannah had me over a barrel, and she knew it." Circling the white sofa, he threw a glance toward Pattie and laughed. "There's no way you can tell me Savannah was some kind of angel."
Pattie's face turned red. "Compared to you, she was a saint. She didn't hurt any innocent bystanders."
Zane frowned, surprised by Pattie's vehemence—in defense of Savannah.
Meanwhile, Cranston regarded Pattie with disdain. "No, I'm afraid the award for hurting innocent bystanders has to go to you. Telling my wife about the whole sordid situation."
Pattie's red face went white.
That was when Zane couldn't stand quietly by any more. Cranston was feeding Pattie a load of garbage and Zane didn't want Pattie to second-guess herself because of it.
Stepping toward Cranston, Zane waved a warning finger. "Oh, no. You don't criticize Ms. Bowen for anything, mister. She's been taking care of your child—and doing a damn good job of it." He lowered his hand. "But not to worry. We aren't letting the kid anywhere near you. The only reason we're here is because Pattie knew she had to clear the air. You ought to thank her for doing it as privately as possible, you deadbeat son of a bitch."
From the corner of his eye, Zane saw Pattie close her lips together tightly. Whether she were pleased or pissed by Zane's defense, he had no idea.
"I should thank her," Cranston sneered. "For involving my family?"
Tristan was also his family, but Zane judged it best not to remind him of the fact. "What choice did we have, Cranston? We didn't want you thinking we were picking up where Savannah left off. See, we wanted to make sure nothing...untoward happened to either Pattie or Tristan." Zane gave him a shark-like smile.
On the other side of the sofa, Cranston regarded Zane blankly. "Nothing untoward? I don't get it... Oh." His blank expression turned into a smile. "Oh, that's rich. You think I might— Ha. You think I had something to do with Savannah's OD."
Zane's heart took a racing sprint. Cranston had sure reached that conclusion quickly.
"What's 'rich' about thinking that?" Pattie wanted to know. "With all the blackmail you were paying Savannah, you had plenty of motive."
Cranston nodded. "Very true. And I won't pretend I was sorry to hear she'd died." He put his hands on the back of the sofa. "I was immensely pleased that she pissed away her chance to soak me 'one last time.' But I had nothing to do with her death. I wasn't anywhere near the party where it happened."
Cranston had made note of his whereabouts on the night Savannah died? Zane was assimilating this interesting tidbit while Pattie seized on a different angle.
"'One last time?'" Her mouth opened. "You. You were the 'big story' she told Bree she was working on."
Cranston's smile disappeared. "She claimed she'd print our story in her filthy little rag. She'd spill everything about our 'love child' if I didn't sign over the Palisades house, plus another million in cash. Claimed it was the last touch she'd ever put on me. Yeah, right."
Motive. Zane could barely breathe. Cranston had about a ton of motive—even more than they'd first presumed. Savannah'd been demanding the equivalent of roughly three million dollars—in cash. Conveniently, all of Cranston's problems had ended with her death.
But how to prove Cranston had been responsible for that death? They didn't even have the paternity test that linked Cranston to Savannah and her child. It was doubtful they could even prove Cranston had owned Savannah's house. They had nothing.
But Pattie hadn't given up. She narrowed her eyes at Cranston. "How did you know she OD'd at a party?"
Cranston lifted his head, arrested. "What?"
"You said you weren't at the party where she collapsed. How do you know where the party was, to know you weren't there? For that matter, how did you even know she died at a party?"
Cranston stilled.
He didn't have an answer. Zane was sure of it. Just as he was sure Pattie had gone too far. They didn't have any real evidence. They couldn't actually finger the guy. The last thing they wanted to do now was panic him. He'd already killed once.
"But even I knew Savannah OD'd at a party," Zane interrupted. "The news was in an online Hollywood blog." This was true. He'd looked the whole thing up when he'd learned he was taking the Bowen nannying job.
Pattie threw Zane a dirty look, then turned back to Cranston. "Okay, maybe you read about the overdose online. Then tell us where you were that night, if you weren't at the same party."
Cranston's forehead started look damp. "Look, this is ridiculous. I'm not a murderer."
"But you said you weren't there. So you must know where you were instead."
"I was at home." His chest expanded as he drew in a deep breath. "It was a Saturday night, but that weekend, the last weekend in May, I was home."
"By yourself, no doubt," Pattie persisted. "With no one to vouch for you, right?"
Cranston put a hand to his forehead. For the first time since they'd met the man, he was looking more broken than belligerent. "That's right," he replied in a thin voice. "I was by myself. I've got no one to vouch for me."
"Yes, he does." A new voice spoke from outside the open double doors. Lisa Cranston walked into the room. Her stride was jagged and her face blotchy, but her voice was firm. "I can vouch for him. The kids were all sick with the flu that weekend, the last weekend in May. We didn't go out. We were both home. All night."
Cranston's hand came down from his forehead. He stared at his wife.
Zane knew he and Pattie stared at her, too.
Cranston recovered from his shock first. "Lisa." He left the sofa to meet her.
Lisa Cranston stiffened, but allowed him to take her hand.
"Lisa," he repeated and appeared to tighten his grip.
She kept her chin up and gazed from Pattie to Zane. "So you can go now. My husband is innocent."
Innocent? Zane knew the woman was lying through her teeth. How could she remember wh
ich weekend her kids had had the flu—assuming they'd even suffered the ailment last spring? Lisa Cranston had no idea where her husband had been the night Savannah died.
But Pattie focused on a different issue. "Innocent?" she queried. "He's innocent?" Her face reddened as she slashed a hand through the air. "I see. Everything was Savannah's fault. She's the only person who did anything wrong here. In fact, she got pregnant by putting a gun to your husband's head. Yeah, right. He had nothing to do with it at all. He's innocent."
Zane frowned at Pattie. They weren't here to affix blame for the original affair. Why was she concentrating on the slur against Savannah?
Meanwhile, Lisa Cranston must have had acting training of her own. Her marble expression didn't shift. "Something tells me Ted wasn't the first man your sister ever seduced." She smiled slightly as she saw that barb dig in. "She obviously knew what she was doing without any need for a gun."
Pattie looked ready to burst. "Oh! Savannah wasn't— Okay, she was— But she wasn't superhuman. And she definitely wasn't the only sinner here."
Zane's frown deepened. He was only getting more confused. Pattie was downright defending her sister. But—he'd always assumed Pattie resented and disliked her sister, a woman who'd treated her so rotten. The only reason he'd thought Pattie felt compelled to look for Savannah's killer was a simple urge to 'do the right thing.'
Now, watching Pattie's furious face, he felt the earth tilt on its axis. The situation was more complicated than he'd believed.
Pattie pointed at Cranston's wife. "You know better. Savannah didn't promise you anything. She didn't cheat behind your back. As for blackmail, she only got out of your husband what she was owed, considering he ought to support his own child."
Lisa Cranston seemed to expand. "I believe," she intoned, "you have outstayed your welcome."
Pattie stared her down. "Amazing. You're really amazing, you know?"
Mrs. Cranston didn't flinch. "If you do not remove yourselves from the premises immediately, I will call the police."
If I Loved You Page 23
