by Gina LaManna
“Andrea’s dead,” he said. “And they think I killed her.”
SEMI, THE TALL, DARK-skinned, super strong man in charge of keeping Mr. Clark safe, opened the back door to a black SUV after the two of us had sprung Dane from the police station.
“Climb in,” Semi instructed. “The media will be here soon, if they’re not already.”
I climbed into the vehicle after Dane, shutting the door behind me as the car began to move. Semi had spared me a bicycle ride by swinging by my house to pick me up while I’d scrambled into the appropriate clothes (and backup sunglasses) that were required for such an event.
As we drove toward the castle in silence, the gravity of the situation, along with the curiosities of it, broke me. I needed to know what had transpired between the time I’d left the castle and the time I’d clicked purchase on the Angelo shades and received a call that flipped my night upside down.
“So,” I said, struggling to find the best way to word my next question. “Do you know what really happened?”
Dane’s eyes flashed first to the rearview mirror where he watched Semi, then over to me. “Do I know who killed her? No.” His eyes glittered as he looked directly into my gaze. “Are you asking if I killed her? The answer to that is also no.”
“Dane, I wasn’t asking that.” I reached my hand over and rested it on his. “I trust you—I know you’d never do anything like that. I mean, how did everything happen? Why did they arrest you?”
“They didn’t arrest me—they simply brought me in for questioning.” Dane sighed. “As per her contract, Andrea gets a say on which photos make it into the media. She stuck around most of the day to review pictures as the photographer edited them, like she always does.”
I nodded. “When did she leave your house?”
“Around four in the afternoon,” he said. “I don’t remember an exact time because I was upstairs in my study—alone.”
“You don’t look at the photos together?”
“I could care less what I look like in the media. It’s all a game, and I have better uses for my time. I let the photographer pick the best images.”
“She didn’t come up to say goodbye or anything?”
He shook his head. “We have a business deal, Lola, we are not—” he stopped, looking surprised as he cleared his throat. “We were not friends.”
“Of course. I understand.”
“Around six o’clock, I heard a knock on my study door. I assumed it was Mrs. Dulcet, though aperitifs weren’t scheduled until eight o’clock to account for my parents’ late arrival.”
“It wasn’t Mrs. Dulcet coming for you?”
“It was the police, announcing they’d found Andrea’s body on the side of the road. She was dead. Blunt force trauma to the head.”
I flinched. “And the murder weapon?”
“A paperweight from my office.”
“How did they find it?”
“Find what, the murder weapon?” Dane looked aghast at the very mention of it. “It was hidden on the scene of the crime, but poorly. You are familiar with Route 1, obviously?”
I nodded. It was the single road that ran along the coastline. It connected Castlewood, Sunshine Shore, and many of the other small towns in our little niche of beachfront property.
“Someone threw it from the side of the cliff.” He shook his head, glancing down at his hands. “I can only assume they expected it to fall into the water, but it didn’t. Its fall was stunted by a twisty bunch of bushes ten feet down, and that’s where it landed.”
Clearing my throat, I stepped cautiously over my next point. “Do you have any idea how it got there?”
“I didn’t kill her.” His voice was soft, eerily calculated. “I already told you that.”
“I know,” I said. “I’m just asking about any suspects.”
“It makes no sense for me to kill her!” Dane was talking to himself now, agitated. “If I had killed her, I certainly wouldn’t have left her body there. I wouldn’t have left a murder weapon—from my office—at the scene of the crime.” With each passing word, his voice rose in volume. “That makes no sense. It’s all wrong. If I’d done it, I would’ve—”
“Stop right there.” I gripped his hand tighter in mine. “I know you didn’t kill Andrea. It’s probably not a good idea to explain how you would have, since we both know you’d never do anything of the sort.”
“Of course. I’d never be so careless.”
“That’s not what I meant, Dane. I meant that I know you. The inside of you.” This time my voice was quieter, gentler. “Forget about the how or the why and let me explain. I know you as a human being, and I know you wouldn’t kill another person in cold blood.”
He blinked. “How can you know that?”
“Because. I just do. Call it my psychic intuition.”
“You told me you’re not psychic.”
“I’m not, Dane, it’s just...” I trailed off and switched to a new tactic. Resting a hand on his heart, I let his pulse beat against my palm. “You may be many things, Mr. Clark, but I know you’re not a murderer. That’s it. That’s all. No explanation necessary. I trust you.”
“She’s right,” Semi agreed from the front seat. “Mrs. Dulcet, Gerard, Nicolas—we all know you’re not guilty. But laying out plans for the perfect murder ain’t gonna help your case. With all due respect, boss, keep your damn mouth shut.”
Understanding dawned in Dane’s eyes. “Ah, I see. Point taken.”
A bit grudgingly, I removed my hand from Dane’s chest, pretending that it hadn’t sent tiny bolts of lightning skittering through my elbow, up to my shoulder, the electricity winding its way into my heart.
“Next question,” I continued, before I could get distracted by the fluttering sensations. “Do you know who might have killed her? Did anyone have a motive?”
Confusion flashed through Dane’s eyes. “I have no idea. She seemed like a perfectly pleasant woman to me.”
“Fair enough, but it doesn’t sound like she was killed on accident. A blow to the head? It sounds like someone wanted her dead.”
“Or someone got carried away in a heated argument and conked her over the head,” Semi said. “Maybe they hadn’t meant to kill her.”
“True,” I agreed. “But either way, someone popped her on the head with a paperweight. Why? Who? Also, why would they have had Dane’s paperweight if they weren’t trying to frame him for murder?” With horror, I turned to look at Dane. “It must have been someone who knew you were with her most of the day. Someone who had access to your schedule.”
“I suppose it’s possible she was murdered in the castle and her body was moved,” Dane said. “It wasn’t clear when the police were questioning me whether she was murdered on the side of the road or merely dumped there.”
“Either way, it’s bad news,” I said. “A murderer was in your office, Dane. When did you notice the paperweight missing?”
“I didn’t. I had no clue what the detectives were referencing when they asked me about it. It was a Christmas gift from someone in my family. If it’s the one I’m thinking of, it was horrible. Ugly. After I opened it—and yes, my fingerprints are likely on it—I stuck it in the bottom desk drawer and never bothered to look at it again. Of course, I looked in the drawer for the paperweight when the police arrived, but it wasn’t there.”
I shook my head. “Why would someone want to kill Andrea with a paperweight? And why would they make it look like you killed her?”
“I don’t know,” Dane said. “But I imagine we’d better find out.”
Chapter 5
WE RETURNED TO THE castle in somber silence, all our initial thoughts culminating in one conclusion: Dane didn’t kill Andrea, we knew that—so who did? And why? And perhaps the most important question of all: Who was close enough to Dane Clark to frame him for murder?
“Do you mind giving me a ride home?” I asked Semi as we pulled up the castle drive. “Unless—Dane, do you want me to stay?�
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Dane’s eyes flicked to mine. “Yes, please—I’d like that.”
As he helped me down from the SUV, he didn’t say a word more, but he clutched my fingers tighter than necessary, and I didn’t mind one bit.
Despite the horrible circumstances, my heart pinged with warmth toward Dane, and I savored him leaning on me in whatever way he needed. Even Dane Clark—master of stoicism—shouldn’t have to face murder charges alone. He was an innocent man, I knew, even as his blue eyes stared emotionlessly ahead.
“I’m so glad you’re back!” Mrs. Dulcet rushed out to greet us the second our feet hit the walkway. She pulled Dane into a hug, kissed him on both cheeks, and then whispered in his ear loud enough for me to hear. “By the way, they’ve arrived. What horrible timing, dear, I’m so sorry.”
I blinked between the two, suddenly realizing who they were. Dane’s parents. Dinner. In the rush of the evening’s events, I’d totally forgotten about my lack of invitation to the castle for the festivities. I also idly wondered why the event hadn’t been cancelled in light of recent circumstances.
“Dear, you’ll want to get going.” Mrs. Dulcet reached out, clasping my hands in hers. “Trust me. I’m saving you a headache—it’s not that we don’t want you here, I swear it. Not to speak disrespectfully of my former employer, but after all you have been through tonight, I urge you to go home and leave this to us.”
“No.” Dane returned his hand to mine. “She’ll be staying.”
“I will?” I looked over to him. “You don’t have to do that, Dane. You probably want to be alone.”
“Unless you don’t want to be here,” he said, a flash of uncertainty crossing his eyes. “I would love to have you by my side.”
“If you want me to be here,” I said softly, turning to face him, joining both of our hands into a small circle, “I’ll be here.”
His eyes roved over my face hungrily, as if it were the last time he’d see me. He leaned forward, his lips brushing just slightly against mine. “I need you to stay.”
“Then I’ll stay.” My heart fluttered at the touch of his lips against mine. “For as long as you want me here.”
I turned in time to see a small smile twisting the corners of Mrs. Dulcet’s lips. She hid it well and switched back to business mode as she gestured for us to follow her inside.
“Keep in mind, Dane’s parents can be a bit intimidating,” Mrs. Dulcet explained softly. “I would’ve given you more warning, but...well, I told Dane he shouldn’t invite you to dinner. It was my decision, not his. I thought I’d spare you the headache of meeting them. I’m sorry, I was wrong.”
She left us in the entryway, excusing herself before I could respond. The next thing I knew, I was buckling under the weight of what felt like a sandbag tossed at my chest. When I looked down, I found one huge man’s jacket and a woman’s fur coat draped across my forearms.
“Thank you, darling.” The woman who’d tossed me the coats looked to be close to Mrs. Dulcet’s age, but a little more well preserved. As if money had bought her the finest things in life, including hair care and facials and manicures. “What a pretty new housekeeper you’ve got, Dane.”
“She’s not—” Dane started, but he was interrupted before he could finish.
“I’m Dane’s mother, and you may call me Mrs. Clark.” She stuck her hand out to shake mine, but I had no idea how she wanted me to move when already my arms were trembling under the weight of the jackets.
Dane took the jackets from me, frowning at his mother. She frowned right back at him. During the silence, I reached out and returned the handshake.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Clark,” I said swiftly. “I’m Lola Pink. You can call me Lola.”
“Lola,” she said, her voice a bit husky as she spoke. “I don’t suppose you could take these jackets off my son’s hands? We have urgent matters to discuss.”
“Mother, Lola is not the—”
“Dane, hand over the coats and tell me how you got into this mess—we heard all about the little incident on the way down.” The other half of Dane’s parental unit stood taller than all of us, broad shouldered with a bow tie on his neck and glasses on his nose. “I have my lawyers on standby. I don’t appreciate the hassle, but we’ll do what we must to make this woman’s murder go away.”
“That’s not necessary,” Dane said. “And mother, Lola is not—”
“You won’t be staying, will you?” Mrs. Clark asked me pointedly. Then turning to Dane, she clucked her tongue. “I swear they don’t teach the maids anything these days. Why is she still hanging around?”
“She’s not my maid!” Dane finally broke through the noise, his eyes flashing. “This is my personal assistant, Lola. She’s here because I asked her to be here, and she’s staying. She’s also a friend.”
“Really, Dane.” I rested a hand on his arm. “If this is a family matter, I can leave. I can call Babs for a ride back.”
“That would be lovely,” Mrs. Clark said, finally smiling at me. “And can you please take care of these jackets for us? What’s happened with the help around here, Dane?”
Dane didn’t respond, only turned to the closet and hung up the jackets himself. A calmness settled on the room—silent, tense, almost worse than the barrage of questions and unsolicited advice that’d begun the second we entered the house.
“There,” he said quietly. “The jackets are taken care of, and dinner should be ready. Shall we take our seats?”
Mrs. Clark must have sensed the warning notes in her son’s voice because she settled for a glance down her nose at me as we entered the dining room.
Three seats were set. One at either end of the table, and a single place in the center.
“Oh, my. I can see one of us wasn’t expected,” Mrs. Clark said to Dane. “Was it me or your father? Would you like me to wait in the car while you dine with your help?”
“Mother, please. It’ll take all of two seconds to get another place setting ready. Mrs. Dulcet, do you mind setting a spot for Lola, please?”
The butler must have been listening from just around the corner because she appeared with another plate, napkin, and utensils not three seconds later. “Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Clark,” Mrs. Dulcet said. “I hope your travels were comfortable.”
“The train ride was obnoxious and the seats were ridiculous,” Mrs. Clark said. “We pay a premium for first class. You’d think they’d at least ensure our comfort.”
“Now, Amanda, please,” Randall said. “The seats weren’t so terrible, but I agree the food was abysmal.”
“You don’t even understand.” Amanda Clark rolled her eyes. “It was like sitting on a tractor for three hours.”
“Next time we’ll take the helicopter.” Randall rested his hand soothingly on his wife’s shoulder, giving Dane and myself an apologetic stare. “The pilot had requested the week off to spend time with his family or whatnot, so we decided to be adventurous and take the train.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s tough,” I said, feeling the blush on my face as the words slipped out. “No helicopter—yikes.”
The Clarks all stared at me, and I willed myself to melt into the ground.
“Appetizers!” Mrs. Dulcet trilled, saving the day as she waltzed around the corner with a sizzling platter of grilled vegetables. “We’re dining Italian tonight, so I hope that’s all right. I’ve had the cheese flown in straight from Parma as you like, Mr. Clark.”
“That sounds lovely, Lucy,” Amanda said. “Now, I suppose we should take our seats.”
Without realizing it, I’d rested my hand on the back of the chair that I normally adopted for breakfast. Apparently, it was no longer my chair, judging by Amanda’s pointed stare. Moving quickly out of the way, I settled into the newest place setting while Dane sat across from me. His parents took both heads of the table.
“Tell us what happened this evening, Dane,” Randall instructed as he reached for the cheese. “Every detail. My lawyers—”
&n
bsp; “Your lawyers will stay out of this,” Dane said, patient but firm. “I have my own team, as we’ve discussed, and they will handle it according to my instructions.”
“This is a potential murder charge,” Randall argued, his gray hair a strange intersection between fluffy and stiff as it waved atop his head. “This is not something to take lightly.”
“Is that what you think I do here?” Dane had picked up his fork and knife, but he laid them down before speaking. “Ever since you left the company, you can’t admit that a single thing has gone right. We had our most profitable period—ever—and still it’s not enough for you.”
“Things are going... fine,” Randall said, implying that fine was the equivalent of rotting fish. “I just think business could be better.”
“I know what you think,” Dane said. “But with all due respect, father, you’ve retired. Any hand in the business you have now is merely a courtesy. If I’m to run the business as discussed, I need to have complete control.”
“If you’d released the extended prototype like I’d counseled you on three months ago, you would’ve been building revenue for months. Instead, you’re sitting here frolicking with your help, playing with your cars, and—”
“Boys!” A vein pulsed in Amanda’s forehead. “What did I say about business talk at dinner?”
“We’re talking about murder, dear,” Mr. Clark said all too calmly. “We need to make this unfortunate incident go away.”
“Dane, you didn’t kill that woman, did you?” Mrs. Clark watched her son through narrowed eyes. “Tell me the truth.”
“Of course not,” Dane said, his voice as sharp as jagged glass. “You know I’d never do anything of the sort.”
“Exactly. I know it, your father knows it... I’ll even bet she knows it.” Mrs. Clark jabbed her butter knife in my direction. “So from here on out, I don’t want to hear a word about it—it’s business, you men sorting out your legal mess. What is my one rule at dinner?”
“You have several,” Dane said dryly. “No phones at the table—”
