The Man For The Job

by Marie-Nicole Ryan

  * * * *

  Ushered into a space that was better suited for a closet than an interview room, Gwyneth sat down on a straight chair, but not without looking at it first. Thankfully, the seat was reasonably clean, even if the stuffing showed through the cracked, bile-green vinyl.

  "Are you sure you don't want a lawyer? I mean—"

  "I know. It's the old saw about a lawyer who defends himself—"

  "Something like that.” McKenzie motioned toward an ancient refrigerator. “Want something to drink?"

  "Thank you, no.” Gwyneth's stomach rumbled with hunger. Dinner would be a longtime coming, she guessed.

  McKenzie sat down, taking the chair across from Gwyneth. Leaning forward, the detective smiled companionably. If Gwyneth hadn't known better, she would've thought she was about to have a chatty lunch at Le Grille Lyon, instead of being grilled herself. Yes, tonight she was definitely on the menu.

  "So help me out here. Just tell me what happened. Why was Mr. Klein at the Carltons’ dinner party?"

  Gwyneth took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “He followed me down here. I came with Mike."

  "Mike Carlton? He's the son of your hosts, right?"

  "Right. Mike thought I ought to get out of the city, for the weekend at least."

  "Why was that?"

  "It's a long and...” Gwyneth sighed before adding, “...complicated story."

  McKenzie shot her a wolfish smile. “I've got all night."

  Sighing again, because Gwyneth knew interrogations quite often took all night, she began, “Wednesday, I hired Mike. He's a P.I. I thought—uh, think that someone was stalking me and someone tried to kill me."

  The detective sighed. “You're right. It sounds complicated.” A frown took the place of McKenzie's smile.

  "I broke off my engagement to Richard—for personal reasons. Then someone started following me. Everywhere I went, this man would show up. He even followed me into the lingerie department. I managed to elude him."

  "Now, just why would someone try to kill you?"

  Detective McKenzie's skepticism was only too apparent. “Well, when I first graduated from law school, I worked in the DA's office in Boston for three years. I sent as many felons to jail as I could."

  "And now?"

  "I moved back to the city and my practice now is mostly pro bono. My clients are battered wives. And there's more than one ex-husband who's sworn he'd get even."

  McKenzie emitted a short bark of laughter. “In other words, you've got quite a few people who might want to kill you."

  Gwyneth nodded. “And there's my Aunt Lilith. She's upset about my inheritance from my mother. She's threatened to sue me for a portion of the estate. And she and her son turned up at the Carltons’ this weekend. I didn't even know they were there until I saw them after I found Richard."

  "Damn, don't you just hate coincidence?"

  Gwyneth ignored Detective McKenzie's expression of disbelief. “Anyway, I hired Mike to look into the situation. He thought I needed someone with me at all times."

  The detective nodded. “Sounds reasonable."

  "He was with me at my office when Richard asked me to dinner, so I agreed—just to make sure he understood that we could be friends, but that I was moving on. But after that interminable dinner with Richard and Mike, I jumped up and left alone. I know it was reckless, but I was so angry by their bickering. I just had to get out of there."

  "Yeah.” McKenzie agreed with a nod. “Guys are like that."

  "I was rushing along, when this creep pulled me into an alley. I thought he was a mugger, but he wasn't interested in my purse. He was more interested in banging my head against the wall. I'm very fortunate that Mike followed after me and ... He saved my life."

  "Quite the hero, isn't he?"

  Gwyneth let the detective's gibe pass. “They kept me in the hospital overnight for observation, so Mike came home with me—to protect me.” Her face heated up. “You see, I really didn't like him when we first met ... b-but we had this chemistry thing going.” She shrugged. “One thing led to another and—"

  "Wasn't that kind of sudden?"

  "Maybe, but—” Gwyneth broke off. If she still didn't understand what had happened with Mike, why try explaining it to McKenzie?

  The detective's lips twitched. “I see. And your ex-fiancé—what did he think about you and Mike?"

  "Richard's behavior and response were bizarre. He made absolutely no sense. Told me he'd forgive my indiscretion—like all I'd done was flirt. But I reiterated that our relationship was over."

  "How did Klein know where you were going for the weekend?"

  "I told him I was going to visit Mike's parents. He must've done some investigating of his own."

  "So, what happened tonight—when Klein came?"

  "They told me that he was at the front gate. You've seen their security?"

  McKenzie nodded.

  "I met him in front of the house. He wanted me to leave with him. When I refused, he came at me, grabbed my shoulders, and I scratched his face. At that point, Mike came outside and punched Richard."

  "Then?"

  "Mike and Rocky—he's the head of security—put Richard back in his car. And I went back inside."

  "Go on."

  "After that, I went outside and talked to Marina. She's the mother of Mike's son. We spent some time on the terrace—just talking."

  "About what?"

  Gwyneth's face heated up. “Personal things—Mike, her and me. I had some questions."

  "What happened between talking to...” McKenzie glanced down, consulting her note pad, “...Miss Vadim and finding the body?"

  "Mike joined Marina and me on the terrace. Marina was very understanding. She wanted to give us some time alone, so she went back inside. Mike and I talked for a few minutes, then he went inside. I had a great deal to think about, so I stayed out on the terrace and walked over toward the boxwood maze. I really wasn't watching where I was stepping and I tripped over Richard's body—only I didn't know it was Richard—his face was down. All I could see was this huge knife sticking out of his back. I knelt down beside the man—that's when I saw it was Richard.

  "You touched the body?"

  "I think I touched his neck, feeling for a pulse. Then the horror of it hit me. I screamed. Mike and everyone else came running. You know the rest."

  "Do you have a knife, Gwyneth?"

  "No, I don't.” She rolled her eyes and sighed. “Detective, you saw my dress. Where would I have hidden a knife? It had a huge handle."

  "Did you touch it?"

  Gwyneth shook her head. “I don't think so. I was upset, but I'm almost certain I didn't."

  "We'll take your prints."

  "Of course. If there's no match, will that be enough to clear me?"

  McKenzie shrugged. “Not necessarily. That'll depend on the DA."

  * * * *

  After being fingerprinted, Gwyneth wiped the ink off her fingertips and tossed the tissue into the wastebasket beside the counter. She still found it difficult to believe she was going to be charged with murdering Richard.

  The very idea. That an anachronism of a sheriff, a veritable parody of a police official could actually have her arrested and hauled off to jail. “Dammit."

  "Ruin your manicure?” Detective McKenzie's mouth twisted into a rueful smile.

  "No, I just can't believe what's happened. It's a nightmare. My worst nightmare."

  "Are you sure you don't want to call a lawyer? You know the drill."

  "Look, I know that I could've been held for twenty-four hours without being charged. Why not just question me? Why drag me out in handcuffs? What's next—a mug shot?"

  McKenzie shrugged, then gave a reluctant nod. “Look, you pissed off the sheriff. You're everything he hates in a woman. You're smarter, prettier and more successful than he is."

  "Just my luck."

  * * * *

  "There'll be someone to pick you up,” Mike promised Wilford Wells, tryin
g to calm him down. “My father's driver will take you straight to the jail."

  "Damned well better,” Gwyn's uncle groused. “Your father owes me big time. I covered his ass more than once in school—and after."

  Mike felt his eyes roll back in his head. “I'm sure you've an interesting tale or two.” Normally he would've enjoyed hearing Wilford's story, but this wasn't the time. Still the older man's voice sounded too loud and way too clear across the cell phone connection, as if he were sitting in the backseat of Rocky's Land Rover instead of in New York City.

  "You got that right."

  "Look, Wilford,” Mike had to shut him up somehow. “We're at the sheriff's office. Call me once you're in the air. I'll have seen Gwyn by then."

  "Okay, kid. You take care of her. She's the only family Belinda and I have left that counts a damn."

  "Don't worry, I will.” Mike disconnected. “Damn,” he muttered under his breath.

  Rocky grunted. “Likes to talk, does he?"

  "Yeah, he's worried—like I'm not."

  "She's in jail. That's pretty safe."

  "Maybe I've seen too many women in prison movies."

  Rocky's shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. “I have a feeling she can take care of herself."

  "If she just keeps her mouth shut.” Not Gwyn. No way would she be able to keep it zipped. If he'd learned anything about her in the last two and a half days, it was nothing and no one could keep her from expressing her opinion whenever and wherever she wanted.

  A frown passed over Rocky's face as he gave a thoughtful nod. “Hmm, she might just get into trouble after all."

  "Right."

  Five minutes later, Mike and Rocky strode into the sheriff's department. It had undergone major renovations since his youthful incarceration. “They've certainly tarted the place up,” he remarked quietly.

  "Slammer's still the slammer,” Rocky replied.

  One of the Tweedle twins stood up from behind a desk, brushed fried chicken crumbs off the front of his shirt and lumbered forward, hands on hips. “Whatcha want?"

  "I'm here to see Miss Wells."

  "She's being interrogated, I think.” The deputy gave his crotch a healthy dig.

  "Does she have legal counsel present?"

  "You her attorney?” Tweedle-dum asked, a skeptical look across his piggy face.

  "No."

  "Then that ain't none of your concern, fella."

  "I'll wait."

  "Suit yourself.” The deputy jerked his head toward a bench before turning around and heading back to the comfort and security of his wood desk and chair.

  "Thanks, John.” Neither of the Tweedles was named John.

  The deputy stopped, did a one-eighty. “M'name's Darwin, not John."

  Mike offered his most disarming smile. “Sorry, guess I had you confused with John Wayne."

  Rocky sniggered with a simpering smile, then just to piss off Darwin, added, “But I thought he was more like Mel Gibson."

  The Tweedle's face turned red, and he clenched his beefy fists at his sides. Surprised, Mike couldn't believe the deputy was actually intelligent enough to know he was being ridiculed. “Just kidding, Darwin. Remember how we used to kid around when I spent summers here?"

  "Yeah, I got a long memory,” Darwin replied, a frown crossing his wide face.

  "Minor youthful indiscretion, Mike?” Rocky's grin widened.

  "Maybe one or two."

  "You actually spent the night in jail?"

  "Yeah."

  "For?"

  "Reckless driving. My father let me cool my heels overnight. Wouldn't lift a finger. Taught me a good lesson."

  Rocky's smile widened. “To slow down?"

  "Never depend on anyone but myself for anything.” Mike returned the smile. “And to slow down."

  "Did you?"

  "Enough to keep under Bauer's radar.” Mike added with a shrug, “Almost."

  "As much as Bauer seems to dislike you, I thought maybe you tried to date one of his daughters."

  Mike shook his head. “God, no. They all look like him."

  Darwin cleared his throat. “You two gonna talk all night?"

  "Might as well.” Mike leaned his hands on the deputy's desk and continued in his most companionable manner, “If you let me see my friend, see that she's all right, I'd have no reason to stay."

  Darwin shook his head. “Can't do that. I don't have the authority."

  "But I do.” Detective McKenzie strode purposefully from the hall into the reception area. “Mr. Carlton, you can go back for a few minutes."

  "Thank you. I appreciate it."

  The attractive detective flashed Mike a crooked smile. “Don't mention it."

  "Still, you could make all this very difficult, and you haven't."

  "Somebody has to play the good cop."

  "Guess so.” Mike hoped like hell that the detective's “good cop” remark was her way of defusing the situation, rather than the truth.

  "Follow me. She's in an interview room."

  Mike strode down the hall behind McKenzie. “Is she locked up?"

  "'Fraid so,” she replied, without turning around to face him. “After all, a man was murdered tonight."

  "Do you really think she did it?"

  "It doesn't matter what I think. The evidence is being gathered, but it takes time."

  "Look, you're a cop. You must get a gut feeling sometime. What does your gut tell you now?"

  McKenzie stopped and faced Mike. “It tells me I missed my dinner, and it'll be hours ‘til breakfast."

  "You and my mother seem to be upset over dinner plans. In fact, the Lady Elinor was most disturbed with the timing of Klein's death."

  "Most inconvenient, I'm sure,” McKenzie said, affecting a British accent.

  Mike laughed. “You've caught her tone exactly.” Hoping to gain the confidence of the only intelligent and sane person in the sheriff's office, he asked, “Perhaps, I could buy you some dinner after I see Gwyn?"

  The detective cast him a long, speculative glance. “I don't think so."

  "A cup of coffee then?"

  "And do without the oil pan grunge we have here?"

  "I realize it would be a hardship.” He gave her his best knock ‘em-dead smile.

  McKenzie hesitated—at least Mike hoped she was hesitating before shooting down his suggestion. “Sorry, I'd better not. I'm sure you understand."

  "I do.” He hadn't expected her to accept his offer for dinner, but he'd hoped she would—for Gwyn's sake. He hoped, too, that the female detective would stick around until morning. The idea of Gwyn alone in the jail and without his protection drove him nuts.

  * * * *

  Pacing back and forth in the lockup cage hadn't dissipated any of Gwyneth's pent-up energy. She tried slowing down her breathing, but didn't have much luck. Dammit! She couldn't stand being locked up.

  At the sound of the opening door, she whirled around and clutched the wire frame of the cage.

  Mike—thank heaven. She let out a heavy sigh of relief. “Finally."

  "Counselor.” A smiling Mike stood in the doorway. “It's true. Held up by a slight concussion, but, yes, I am finally here."

  She clung to the wire cage, anxious to be as close to him as possible. “I'm so happy to see you. They wouldn't let me stay until you came to. Are you all right?"

  "I'm fine. What about you?"

  She nodded, then swallowed hard. Her mouth dried and her heart pounded at the mere sight of him.

  The detective tapped her watch. “I'll be back in ten minutes."

  "Thank you.” Gwyneth waited until the detective left. “She's been very nice, really."

  "I'm glad. They can't arraign you ‘til tomorrow. This one-horse county doesn't have a night court."

  "Too much to hope for, I guess.” She bit her bottom lip to keep it from trembling. “So I'm stuck here for the night?"

  "Your uncle will be here by morning—Sid, too. His computer savvy will help me with the
investigation. I don't trust Bauer to share any information or evidence with me. I'm sure my father will use his influence to get the judge to post bail. For once, I'm grateful for his contacts."

  "Nothing like having your girlfriend in jail to bring you and your father together.” She grimaced. Mike's father would never accept her ... if she was ever released.

  "You said you're my girlfriend. Did you mean it?"

  "A slip of the tongue?” she suggested.

  "You know what they say about Freudian slips?"

  "I'm familiar with the expression."

  "You'd better watch that smart mouth, counselor. Bauer's looking for any excuse to hang you."

  Gwyneth made a kissing motion with her lips. “I can handle myself. Trust me."

  Mike laced his fingers over hers through the wire of the lockup cage, causing her to shiver at his touch. “Dammit."

  "What?"

  In spite of her circumstances, her mouth curved into a smile. “It's the effect you have on me. Sometimes I wish..."

  Mike's expression fell from one of saucy confidence to one of uncertainty. “You don't like it?"

  "I like it too much. And like doesn't begin to describe it."

  "Careful, counselor. Your words might go to my head."

  Gwyneth giggled. “I know where they go.” She took a long, lazy glance up and down his tuxedo-clad frame.

  "I'm shocked that you are so ribald, given your location."

  "I'll plead insanity, of course."

  "Of course."

  A warning tap on the door announced Detective McKenzie's return. “Sorry, time's up."

  Mike shut his eyes for a moment, then set his jaw. He didn't want to leave her, but he didn't have a choice. “Behave yourself,” he warned.

  "Do I have a choice?” The natural huskiness of her voice touched a cord deep in his soul. Yeah, dammit—in his very soul.

  "No.” Every cell in his body ached to kiss her, but unlacing his fingers from hers, he backed away. He didn't trust himself, and he didn't want to make their parting any more difficult than it already was. “It's only for the night,” he told her, then remembered he'd planned an entirely different way of spending the evening before all this happened. Leave it to Klein to get himself killed. His mother had it right—most inconvenient.

  His gut wrenched as he turned to leave. Gwyn straightened her shoulders and gave him a brave smile, but he saw through it. He saw the fear in her wide, blue eyes and the tension it took to keep her body from shaking. “I love you,” he mouthed.