by Marta Perry
If the judge was determined to go on a wild-goose chase, he’d rather not be dragged along. “So careful no one in this town suspects?” Jase let the skepticism show in his voice. “I get the impression Echo Falls is a hotbed of gossip. If they’re not talking about Deidre in connection with a man, chances are there isn’t a man. The only men I’ve seen around the house are the handyman, Billy Kline, and that minister of hers.”
The judge stared at him. Then, seeming to have made a decision, he pulled out a key ring, selected a small key and fitted it into the lower drawer of his desk. He pulled out a manila folder, flipped it open and handed it to Jason without a word.
Jason stared at the paper. Ordinary copy paper, computer-generated type, he noted automatically. Nothing to give a clue where it had come from. Innocent-looking, but for the poisonous message it contained.
That daughter-in-law of yours isn’t the angel she pretends to be. Ask her why the minister comes to see her so often, why don’t you? There’s nothing innocent about the way they look at each other, and everybody knows it.
He made an effort to keep his face and his voice expressionless. “Where did this come from? And when?”
“Arrived in the office mail. Marked personal, so at least Evelyn didn’t open it.”
The judge’s face wore an expression of fastidious distaste. Obviously he didn’t want his office tainted by a hint of scandal. “I don’t remember just when, probably a few months before my son died. About the time Frank told me about his suspicions. I pressed Frank about it, but he wasn’t willing to say more.”
“Do you have any idea who sent it?”
“Some well-wisher, I suppose.” His tone was acid. “As you said yourself, there are plenty of people ready to pass on any dirt they uncover.”
Jason’s eyebrows lifted. “Are you saying you consider this genuine? The minister, of all people? Surely he wouldn’t take a risk like that, even if she were interested in him. And as far as I can see, she treats him the way you’d expect her to treat her minister.”
“I have no idea whether it’s true or not, but the fact is that people are suspicious.”
“One person.”
It seemed odd, this business of sending the letter to the judge. Why would anyone? It would be more logical to send it to Frank and the minister’s wife if someone wanted to cause trouble. Of course, it might have been sent to them, as well. And that might have been what roused Frank’s suspicions.
“Where there’s one, there will be more.” Judge Morris took the folder back from him and busied himself locking it away again. Then he looked back at Jason. “I don’t want to believe it of Deidre. But for my grandson’s sake I have to be sure.”
Actually, Jason was beginning to think the judge would be delighted to believe it, since it would give him the leverage he needed to get his way. At least something—maybe his judicial temperament—insisted on the truth, which he expected Jason to provide.
The judge’s gaze was still on him. Waiting for a response to the question he hadn’t asked.
If Jason refused to be involved, what would happen then, aside from his finding himself without a position? The judge might well recruit someone else to dig up information about Deidre, and that someone might be even less scrupulous than he was.
So what choice did he have? None, that was what.
“All right. I won’t give up yet.”
* * *
THE NEXT AFTERNOON, with Kevin safely at kindergarten, Deidre decided she should make a start on clearing Dixie’s apartment. Otherwise, the thought of it would hang over her head all the longer. She’d do a preliminary look around, just to see what things should be sold, donated and what personal items Dixie’s mother might want to have.
That thought gave her pause. Would Lillian be interested in anything? She seemed remarkably unsentimental. She should have asked, Deidre supposed. Still, it might make more sense to do that after she’d had a look around.
Deidre hesitated on her own front porch, eyeing the house next door. It was still known locally as the Moyer house, although it had been a long time since anyone named Moyer lived there. The Victorian had been built to last, and the present owner kept it in good shape. The gingerbread trim had been repainted just last fall in a chocolate color that stood out against the white frame. Something colorful would have been more in keeping with the era, she’d thought at the time, but it wasn’t her business, even though she had to look at it.
She was stalling, and she knew it. Mostly because it felt so intrusive to go into Dixie’s apartment without her, but at least in part because of the second-floor resident.
Jason wouldn’t be there, she assured herself. His car wasn’t in the driveway, and why would he come home in the middle of the afternoon? She’d be finished long before he returned. She started across the lawn and slipped through the gap in the hedge that separated the two properties.
Feeling for Dixie’s key ring, she mounted the steps to the porch, where the wicker furniture rested in lonely display. People didn’t seem to sit on front porches these days, not as they once had. She remembered her parents sitting on their front porch on long summer evenings, talking softly while she curled up on the swing and let the sound flow over her in a comforting wave.
The stairwell inside, which had once stood open to the downstairs, had been walled in so that the inhabitants of the flats had privacy. It was eerily silent. The McIntyres, who rented the first floor, had gone south for the winter and not yet returned, and of course there was no sound from the second or third floors.
Hand on the polished rail, Deidre made her way upstairs. She paused for a moment on the second floor, staring at the uncommunicative door to Jason’s apartment. Why was she letting the man unsettle her so? He was a stranger, and if not for the chance that had placed him with her the night Dixie died, she would have no more than a nodding acquaintance with him.
She’d never particularly believed in fate. And as for the attraction that had flared between them so awkwardly...it was best to ignore that. Actually, she’d prefer to believe that Jason hadn’t even noticed. Whatever she’d felt was undoubtedly due to the stress she’d been under.
Satisfying herself with that explanation, Deidre headed up the last flight of stairs and unlocked the door to Dixie’s apartment. She stepped inside and felt her breath catch. The police had finished their searching, according to Chief Carmichaels, and she could feel free to do what she needed to. They’d left the place looking just the way Dixie left it when she hurried out to come to Deidre’s that night. That day’s newspaper was spread out on the coffee table, and a lightweight jacket hung over the back of the sofa.
Tears stung Deidre’s eyes, and she blinked them away. It wasn’t the first time she’d had to clear up after a death, and the only way of handling it was to keep her mind on the task. Getting out the notebook and pen she’d brought, she began making an inventory of the apartment’s contents, refusing to let herself dwell on the memories they roused of Dixie.
By the time Deidre had finished the living room and kitchen, she still had nearly an hour left before she had to pick up Kevin from kindergarten. She may as well make a start, at least, on the bedroom.
Dixie’s bedroom spoke of her more clearly than the rest of the rooms put together. Her scent still clung to the air, and the waitress uniform she’d taken off when she got home from work was slung over the only chair. After glancing at the dresser drawers, Deidre caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and tried to rub away the furrows between her brows. Yes, this was difficult, but that was all the more reason to get it done as quickly as possible.
The top drawer of the dresser contained lingerie, and she sifted through it quickly. Most of it could go to the clothing drive. Her fingers touched something hard under a pile of bras, and she drew it out, frowning a little.
Tissue paper, wr
apped around a small object that felt like jewelry. She unwrapped it slowly, wondering why it wasn’t in the jewelry box. The paper fell away, and she knew in an instant why it had been hidden.
This was not a piece of the bright, chunky costume jewelry that had suited Dixie so well. It was an antique gold pendant, thickly encrusted with diamonds. It was genuine. And it belonged to Sylvia Morris.
Deidre sat down abruptly on the side of the bed, staring at the necklace. There was no mistake. She’d seen the piece often enough to recognize it. She’d even worn it once, at Sylvia’s insistence, for a Chamber of Commerce party. Sylvia had talked of giving it to her, saying it would be hers one day anyway, but Deidre had felt uncomfortable at the idea and dissuaded her. The necklace had been a gift from the judge to his wife, and she felt convinced he wouldn’t like the idea of Sylvia giving it to her.
But all that was beside the point. What was it doing in Dixie’s dresser drawer?
Deidre tried to think it through logically, but her logic seemed to have fled. As far as she knew, Dixie had never even met Sylvia, and she’d certainly never been invited to the judge’s home.
Had someone stolen it and given it to Dixie? Deidre tried to envision a scenario where that was likely. She couldn’t.
An insidious thought crept into her mind. Frank would have had access to the pendant. For that matter, Sylvia might have given it to him to give to Deidre. None of which explained why Dixie had it.
Her hands were suddenly very cold, and the chill seeped into her body. Frank had disapproved of Deidre’s friendship with Dixie, and she’d never really understood why. When Dixie first returned to town, he’d seemed happy to see her, but that had changed after a month or two.
Deidre’s thoughts skirted around a possibility, not wanting to touch the dark shape that was forming in her brain. If Frank had given the necklace to Dixie...
Her stomach lurched, and she pressed her hand to her lips. He couldn’t have. They couldn’t have. Not her husband and one of her closest friends.
It’s not true. Deidre found herself saying the words out loud. “It’s not true.” There must be a hundred other explanations. She was imagining things. She should be ashamed of even thinking that.
Fingers closing around the necklace, she walked back into the living room, unable to stand still and unable to get back to the job at hand. What was she going to do about this?
If, through some quirk of fate, the necklace had actually belonged to Dixie, then she had an obligation to turn it over to Dixie’s mother. But how could she know?
A sound yanked her out of a fruitless line of thought. Something had creaked beyond the apartment door. The stairs, maybe? She held her breath. The police? But Chief Carmichaels had said she could start clearing Dixie’s belongings.
She listened, but the noise, whatever it was, had stopped. Just as Deidre started to turn away, she caught something—some movement—from the corner of her eye. A flicker of reflected light, as if the brass doorknob had turned.
It wasn’t turning now. And she wouldn’t let herself give in to irrational thoughts. She’d prove to herself no one was there. Dropping the necklace in her bag, she stalked across the room, grabbed the knob and yanked the door open. Her breath caught, and she couldn’t speak.
Luckily the man on the other side of the door looked as startled at seeing her as she was at seeing him. Big, burly, dressed in a black T-shirt, leather jacket and faded jeans, he looked as if he’d be at home on a motorcycle. He recovered from his surprise, moving as if he’d come inside.
“I’m sorry to stare. You startled me.” Deidre stepped into the hall as she spoke and pulled the door closed. Whoever he was, she wasn’t letting him in without a good reason.
Black eyebrows drew together in a frown. “This is Dixie James’s place, right? Who’re you?”
Deidre straightened at the rudeness, giving him a cold stare. “I’m a friend of hers. What do you want with Dixie’s apartment?” She’d seen him before, she realized belatedly. “You were at the funeral, weren’t you? You left before I had a chance to talk with you.”
Her change in tone seemed to throw him off balance. He stood glowering for a moment and then jerked a nod.
“Yeah, I was there.”
He wasn’t making this conversation easy. “You could have stayed for the lunch, you know. Any friends of Dixie’s were welcome.”
His only answer was a shrug.
She tried again. “You aren’t local, are you? How did you hear about it?”
“Buddy of mine told me. Thought I should know.” He paused. “Mike Hanlon. I was married to Dixie.”
Deidre’s mind scurried through the mentions Dixie had made of her ex-husband. Nothing positive, that was certain. Still, he’d cared enough to come to the funeral.
“I’m so sorry for your loss. I’m Deidre Morris. Dixie and I were friends since we were children.” Maybe the situation required a little more explanation. “Dixie’s mother wasn’t well enough to come, so she asked me to take care of things here.”
“Figures,” he muttered. He jerked a nod toward the door behind her. “So this is Dixie’s place, right?”
“Yes.” She felt behind her to be sure the door was closed. Closed, but not locked.
“I want in. There’s some things I have a right to.” His tone edged toward belligerent.
Deidre was uncomfortably aware of how isolated they were. Not another soul was in the building, and the whole neighborhood seemed to doze in the spring sunshine.
“I’m sorry, but you’ll understand I can’t let anyone inside.”
His big hands clenched into fists, and it struck her forcibly that one of Dixie’s comments had been that her ex was a bit too ready to strike out when things didn’t go his way.
“You were in there.”
“I have power of attorney from the next of kin to handle the property Dixie left.” She tried to make it sound impressive. The power of the law was all very well, but it needed something or someone to back it up.
“I gotta right,” he growled. He took another step closer to her, blocking out the light from the window. “Get out of the way.”
“What’s going on?” The crisp, authoritative voice cut through her fear like a knife. Jason. Relief swept through her. She’d never been so glad to hear his voice.
In a few quick steps he reached them. Hanlon backed up, and she could breathe again.
“Deidre, are you all right?” He asked the question without moving his gaze from Hanlon, and she had the sense that Jason held the man immobile with that stare.
“I’m fine.” She made an effort to get a firm grasp on normalcy. “Mr. Hanlon wanted access to Dixie’s apartment, and I was just explaining to him why that was impossible.”
Hanlon transferred his glowering look to Jason. “I was her husband. I gotta right.”
“Ex-husband,” Deidre pointed out. Ridiculous to feel as if Jason had rescued her. She could have handled the situation.
“Then you have no rights here.” Jason could sound just as threatening, and beneath that urbane exterior there was a hint of something darker in the way he looked at Hanlon.
The man seemed to size him up for a moment and reconsider his response. “Look, you don’t understand.” Hanlon took another step back. “All I want is something to remember her by. She had some pictures of the two of us. Nobody else is going to want those, right? So what’s the harm in letting me take a look for them?”
“Mrs. Morris is the only one authorized to go through the apartment, other than the police.” Jason raised an eyebrow. “You can speak to Chief Carmichaels if you like.”
“No need to bring the police into it.” He turned to Deidre, maybe thinking her more likely to be influenced by emotion. “I just want something to remember her by, like I said.”
“I’ll keep an eye out for any photographs as I sort through Dixie’s belongings,” she said. “If there are any pictures of the two of you, I’ll see that you get them. Just leave your address with me.”
But Hanlon was already turning away. He stalked down the stairs and out of sight.
Baffled, Deidre looked at Jason. “So does he want the photos, or doesn’t he?”
Jason, frowning, clasped her wrist. “Are you sure you’re all right? He scared you, didn’t he?”
Deidre made an effort to smile. “I’m all right.” She couldn’t help the shiver that moved across her skin. “Let’s go inside if we’re going to talk about it.” She opened the apartment door as she spoke.
“So your ban on anyone entering doesn’t extend to me?” he asked, following her in.
“I’m assuming my role of power of attorney includes my lawyer. If it doesn’t, it should.” She gestured to the contents of the room. “What do you suppose he really wanted?”
Jason shrugged. “At a guess, anything portable and valuable. He didn’t strike me as the sentimental sort.”
Deidre felt as if the diamond necklace was clamoring to proclaim its existence from inside her bag. “He and Dixie weren’t on good terms, from the little she said about him.”
“What did she say?” Jason prowled restlessly around the room, touching nothing but seeming to see everything. A good thing she’d put that necklace out of sight. She wouldn’t want to try explaining it to Jason.
“That he drank.” She frowned, determined to keep any tremor out of her voice. “That he was quick with his fists when he was thwarted.”
He stopped prowling and swung to face her. “So you thought it was a good idea to have a confrontation with him in an otherwise empty building. Not smart, Deidre.”
“I didn’t pick the place.” Her temper rose. “What would you have me do? Step out of his way and let him ransack Dixie’s apartment?”
“I’d expect you not to open the door to him.” A couple of quick, impatient strides brought him close to her. “Do I have to say it again? You’re too trusting.”
