Every Waking Moment

by Meryl Sawyer

  An hour passed more quickly than Taylor realized. She’d reached many of the people on her part of the list and left messages for those she hadn’t been able to contact. She inhaled deeply, immensely relieved to have done what her mother had asked, and grateful to Brianna for halving the load.

  The interoffice light on her telephone monitor blinked. It was Trent. Brianna had told her about Raoul’s sudden reappearance at the loft. Taylor also knew Doyle had not told her brother about the way Raoul had tried to get money from the family.

  “Got a minute for me?” Trent asked when she answered the interoffice telephone.

  “Sure. Your office or mine?” she said, using their old joke.

  “Mine.” Trent sounded very serious.

  Taylor marked her place on the list of those to call and rushed down the hall to Trent’s office. “What’s up?” she asked as she came through the door.

  “I went to see Mother this morning with Uncle Doyle.”

  “I saw her last night. She was …”

  “Not herself.”

  “True. I’d called the doctor before about her medication. I know she’s in pain. The myeloma is getting worse, but—”

  “That Caleb person is giving her more painkillers than is good for her.”

  A small weight lifted off Taylor’s heart. This was her brother, the person she knew so well that they could communicate almost without words.

  “Exactly what I thought. Shane and I are having Maria monitor the number of pain pills she’s taking. We should know soon if anything is off.”

  Trent nodded, his brows furrowed. “She seemed happy to see me.”

  Taylor didn’t say her mother’s reaction to her had been disturbingly cool.

  “Mother says she’s putting the will back to the way it was—more or less.”

  Interesting, Taylor thought. Her mother had told Ridley Pudge she hadn’t decided how she intended to rewrite her will.

  “What do you think she means?”

  Trent barked a short laugh. “Who knows? I just think it’s a good sign she isn’t blaming us so much for Renata’s death that she’s written us out of the will.”

  Taylor wasn’t positive this meant her mother didn’t blame them—especially her—for Renata’s murder. Every time she was around her mother, Taylor felt guilty even though she’d never done a thing to harm Renata.

  “Raoul and I have plans for our share of the inheritance.”

  Raoul.

  His name alone curdled her blood. Brianna had told her about Uncle Doyle finding Raoul at Trent’s loft.

  Now they had plans for Trent’s share of an inheritance that might not happen for months or—with luck—a year, maybe even longer.

  It seemed morbid and greedy to Taylor.

  “I don’t like discussing Mother’s money so callously. We need to get through the funeral and make sure she has a happy life until … the time comes.”

  “You don’t have to bite my head off,” snapped Trent. “We know she’s going to die. What’s wrong with discussing our plans?”

  Taylor walked out of his office without saying another word. For a few minutes there, she thought the old Trent had reemerged. She’d been wrong.

  Her brother had changed so much, he might as well be a stranger.

  “Let’s get a bite of lunch,” she said to Brianna when she walked back into the office. She couldn’t face making another call about the funeral right now, especially when the next person on her list was Aunt Sophie, Doyle’s ex-wife.

  As they walked upstairs to the company’s dining room, Brianna gave her a rundown on the people she’d contacted. They sat at a small table near the window with a view of Coral Gables and, in the distance, Biscayne Bay.

  “I’m dreading the funeral,” Taylor confessed after they both ordered salads. “I’m not my mother’s child when it comes to caring what people think, but after all the publicity about Renata’s murder and the police searches, people are going to be looking at me and wondering.

  “You know how people are. Some will think I killed Renata to keep her from inheriting the money. Others will think … oh, I don’t know.”

  Brianna reached for her hand and curled her fingers into Taylor’s

  “You can’t let it bother you. The gossip mill will churn, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. True friends will never believe you killed Renata.”

  “I know you’re right. I just wish the case was solved. Not to shut up the gossips, but so my mother can have peace of mind.”

  The waitress delivered their Cobb salads, and they ate in silence for a few minutes.

  “Is Shane taking you to the service?” Brianna asked.

  “Yes, he is.”

  Taylor could have added Shane wasn’t letting her out of his sight except at the office where other people were around. She’d discovered the man was as stubborn as an Arkansas mule. He was convinced she was in danger and nothing she said could change his mind.

  “I’m happy you found him.”

  Taylor almost said she was happy, too, but somehow it seemed disloyal to Paul. After sleeping with Shane, she didn’t allow herself to think about Paul often, but once in a while guilt would prick at her.

  “I wonder how Paul would have handled all this.”

  “Well, he wouldn’t have liked Renata. He—”

  “I meant you getting tried in the press for Renata’s murder.”

  “I have no idea. The worst we went through was Mother’s attitude. Paul wasn’t good enough for me. What she really meant was her socialite friends expected me to marry a rich man, not a struggling photographer.”

  “First Trent, then Renata. Your mother has had to accept a lot that once would have upset her.”

  “I admit I’m surprised that she’s come such a long way. She even approves of my relationship with Shane. Of course, Renata gave her the idea.”

  Brianna put down her fork and pushed her plate aside. “How do you feel about him?”

  There was no point in trying to deceive Brianna. “I like him … a lot. It’s nice to have someone who’s there for you when you need him. He’s kind, intelligent.”

  “Sexy.”

  Taylor couldn’t bank her smile. Indeed he was sexy.

  They told each other they shouldn’t have dessert, then decided to split the chef’s specialty, key lime pie.

  “Brianna, be honest with me. No one in the family liked Paul except Trent. What did you think of Paul?”

  “I found him funny, charming, but I also thought he was more interested in himself, his career, than anything or anyone, even you.”

  Their key lime pie came, and they attacked it. “Yummy,” they murmured in unison.

  “Shane’s a different story,” Brianna said. “From the first night I met him at your mother’s, I’ve thought he was totally taken with you. He was polite to everyone, but he made zero attempt to be charming to anyone but you. It was almost as if he was obsessed with you.”

  So much had happened, Taylor hadn’t thought about her first impressions of Shane. She’d caught him staring at her apartment. He’d watched her even though she hadn’t been aware of it.

  “What are you thinking?” Brianna asked.

  “About the first few times I saw Shane. My intuition told me something was wrong.”

  “Before anything had gone wrong.” Brianna scooped up the last of the pie. “A woman’s intuition is a powerful weapon, sometimes our only weapon.”

  Taylor nodded, saying, “Maybe what I was picking up was an aura of danger. He worked for the Defense Intelligence Agency on a counterterrorism unit. There are things he can’t talk about.”

  “Can’t, or won’t?”

  “Have you heard anything from your friend who’s trying to crack that code?” Doyle asked Shane.

  “The DIA sent Hank to Germany for a week to train some men there. He left several days ago. He’ll be back soon and get right on it.”

  “It can’t happen fast enough. I don’t want the prospe
ctive buyers to get cold feet.”

  It couldn’t happen fast enough for Shane, either. He was betting Jim Wilson was involved. The more he thought about it, the less certain he was that the company problems, the murder, and the firebomb were all linked.

  He had the nagging feeling he was missing something. And it royally pissed him off.

  He wanted to help Taylor more than he could remember wanting anything. Something or someone had put her at risk. The sooner he could fit pieces of the puzzle together, the more likely he could help her.

  What a crock! The police were at a stalemate on Renata’s murder and the firebombing. He and Vince weren’t having any luck either.

  “Raoul’s back with Trent,” Doyle told him, then filled him in on the details. “Trent’s hiring this ‘companion’ to help with Raoul’s drug problem. Have you ever heard of it?”

  “Sure. I read about companions in People, I think. Movie stars and rock stars often have addiction problems. Companions go everywhere with them and make sure they don’t take drugs.”

  “Then Raoul’s companion is going to have his hands full.”

  “Companions get rock stars through their tours or movie stars through filming, but it doesn’t deal with the underlying problem.”

  “Of course not. Trent ought to realize that.”

  “The addiction doesn’t just disappear. The cravings remain. You need money to feed your habit. In the end, you deal or you steal.”

  Doyle went back to his office, and Shane tinkered on the computer, easily hacking into Sun World Bank’s database. It took him nearly an hour to check the Maxwell family’s financial records.

  Not that he knew what he was looking for, exactly.

  But the old “deal or steal” phrase triggered something in his brain. This had to be about money. Who in the family was spending beyond their means? Who might be desperate for money?

  Doyle Maxwell was tapped out, his overdraft privileges had been revoked, and he was several payments behind in his mortgage.

  Very interesting.

  He checked Taylor and Trent, but couldn’t come up with anything unusual. With Raoul hanging on Trent’s coattails, he could easily need money soon.

  Vanessa Maxwell was another story. She had transferred large sums of money from her brokerage account a few weeks ago—about the time she had learned about Renata.

  Most of the money was gone now. Lots had been spent in stores, beauty salons, and spas when Renata had been alive. There were several hefty checks made out to Caleb and Renata herself.

  Why would she give money to Caleb? The check was written before she was taking so much medication, so she must have been thinking clearly at the time.

  What happened to Renata’s money? None had been found in her room.

  He scrolled through Vanessa’s account and came upon another entry.

  “I’ll be a son of a bitch,” he muttered out loud.

  Chapter 24

  Taylor stared at the dark hole in the ground, imagining Renata Rollins—so lively, so full of life, spending eternity six feet under.

  Why hadn’t she taken the time to get to know her?

  How could she have judged someone so quickly, so harshly?

  Walk a mile in my shoes.

  She should have remembered that saying earlier. It was so true. What Renata became was the result of the life she’d led. She hadn’t had all the privileges Taylor had taken for granted.

  Suddenly, she saw Renata as a young girl. She was playing hopscotch on the sidewalk.

  Smiling.

  Happy.

  What had happened to that little girl?

  “Are you okay?” Shane whispered.

  She nodded and leaned into his body, savoring the comfort of his arm around her. Getting through the service inside the chapel had been more difficult than she’d anticipated. Sobs had racked her mother’s frail body, and Taylor had longed to move across the pew to hold her.

  But an aisle separated them, an aisle and Caleb Bassett. He sat beside her mother, his arm around her, offering her his handkerchief, whispering to her.

  Mercifully, the service had been short, delivered by a minister who knew nothing about Renata. He described her as “an innocent lamb called to heaven” and “a woman whose compassion for others and charitable works would be remembered through eternity.”

  Trite phrases, she’d thought, but she didn’t blame the minister. He’d never met Renata, and no telling what Caleb and her mother had said about her.

  Still, she couldn’t help wishing someone who’d known Renata well had been on hand to deliver the eulogy. Taylor couldn’t imagine going to her grave, surrounded by strangers.

  At least a hundred people had come, more than Taylor had expected, but only a handful had ever met Renata. Taylor supposed she should be thankful her mother’s friends were in attendance. Even though they hadn’t known Renata, their presence might comfort her mother.

  If anything could.

  Shane guided Taylor to the white folding chairs placed alongside the open grave. They took seats next to Brianna and Uncle Doyle. Across from them on the other side of the grave were Raoul and Trent, beside her mother and Caleb.

  Mourners were still filing out of the chapel and down the short walkway to the grave site. For a change, the temperature was mild, the humidity lower than normal. Overhead, a gull coasted on a thermal, searching for a meal along the nearby shore.

  It was a beautiful setting, Taylor thought. A good resting place for the sister she’d never got to know.

  Vines flush with bright pink geraniums spilled over a coral wall. An ancient banyan tree arched gracefully over this part of the graveyard. It would be shady and cooler here even in the heat of summer. The scent of gardenias floated through the air from the trellised arbor a few feet away.

  “It’s a beautiful casket,” Brianna whispered.

  “Lovely.”

  Taylor realized her mother had orchestrated this funeral the way she had all of her parties. While Taylor had taken care of the messy details like calling everyone, her mother made certain everything was beautiful and done with taste.

  Perfect.

  Banks of white flowers, from exotic orchids to huge jungle roses, had cascaded from elaborate arrangements inside the chapel. The casket, a glossy mahogany with polished brass hinges, was covered in a blanket of white orchids. Along the top, sprays of white rosebuds, twined through curly willow branches, reached heavenward.

  The grave site had been carpeted with hundreds of thousands of white rose petals until not a speck of brown dirt could be seen. Somehow the florist had managed to apply the petals to the earth on the sides of the freshly dug pit.

  But it still looked like a grave, Taylor thought.

  Dark and deep.

  She glanced up at Shane as the minister cleared his throat to deliver the final prayer. Shane was gazing down at her, his eyes concerned. She laced her fingers through his.

  When she glanced up, Caleb caught her eye. The look he gave her literally did make her skin crawl. She had to get her mother away from this man.

  Taylor’s temples throbbed, a headache brought on by tension. After the funeral, everyone had come back to her mother’s house. They were barely twenty minutes into what she expected to be an ordeal lasting several hours.

  “I could use a Tylenol,” she whispered to Shane.

  “This is a good time to talk to Maria. She’ll know where to get an aspirin, and I can ask her about your mother’s medication.”

  “Let’s hope we can find her.”

  An army of caterers swarmed through the house, carrying trays of appetizers, setting up elaborate food stations and a buffet table the size of a tennis court. A bar had been set up outside by the pool in addition to the bar in the house.

  A troop of florists must have been here earlier. Taylor doubted a single white rose or white orchid was left in Miami.

  They found Maria and Pablo back in the servants’ quarters, the kitchen having been taken o
ver by the caterer.

  “Maria, tenga aspirin?” Taylor tapped on her forehead, feeling silly for her butchered Spanish and wishing yet again she’d taken it instead of French.

  Maria had worked long enough here to understand the stabbing attempts at her language, Taylor decided as the woman led her to the small bathroom nearby. No doubt Maria understood English better than she could speak it, having worked for the family for almost twenty years.

  Taylor popped three pills and washed them down with the glass of water Maria offered. Back in the sitting area, Shane began to question Maria in Spanish.

  The maid produced a list of medications she’d copied off bottles in the master bathroom. The writing was large and childlike. Beside each entry was a numeral for the number of pills in the bottle.

  “Look at this.” Shane pointed to the Vicodin count. “I’d say she’s mainlining the stuff.”

  “I’m not sure what Vicodin is, exactly. I know it’s a painkiller, but she’s been on Percocet. Is Vicodin stronger?”

  “You bet, and more addictive. It’s a manufactured opiate. In the ghetto they call it ‘rich man’s heroin.’ Its effects are similar, but instead of injecting it, you swallow a pill.”

  “If she’s taking so much, she’ll run out. Then the doctor will know there’s a problem.”

  Shane put his hand on her shoulder. “Honey, don’t count on it. Our health system is on the verge of collapse. Doctors are so overworked and hassled with insurance claims, they don’t always have the time to check. Her doctor may not remember when he last wrote a prescription, or for how many pills.”

  “You’re right. I need to call him. This time he has to listen to me.” Taylor thought a moment. “No. I’ll go see him. Maybe if I handle this in person, we can help Mother.”

  “Good idea,” Shane replied. “Let me ask Maria what she thinks about the situation. She’s a smart woman, and she’s known your mother for a long time.”

  Taylor listened while Shane spoke in rapid Spanish to Maria. The maid answered, gesturing with her hands. Pablo added something in a quieter voice. Without understanding more than a few words here and there, Taylor knew the couple was upset.

  “What’s wrong?”