The Man For The Job

by Marie-Nicole Ryan

  Bauer's beady, pale-blue eyes narrowed. He stood with hands on hips, his feet planted apart. “Well, I happen to think takin’ a cold-blooded murderer off the street makes up for a missed traffic violation or two."

  "But you haven't taken a murderer off the streets, you cretin. You've arrested a New York City attorney who's going to bring suit against you and your department as soon as she's out of this cell."

  Bauer held his hands up, wiggling his fingers back and forth in faux fright. “Mercy me, little gal, please don't be so rough on this poor ole country boy."

  Gwyneth snorted in disgust and turned away from the sheriff's leering face. If he didn't leave her alone, she would have a stroke—or worse. She might go into a-fib and die like her father did. Come to think of it, her heart was racing. Hell. A jail cell was no place to die.

  "I take your silence to mean you don't wanna talk."

  She whirled around and snapped, “You can take my silence and shove it.” She broke into her best imitation of his corn-pone accent, “Where the sun don't shine, you execrable excuse for a Homo sapiens."

  Bauer's face turned scarlet. “A homo?” His bushy, red eyebrows rose nearly to meet his balding hairline. “I ain't no homo. I'm as red-blooded an American male as draws breath."

  "You are so full of crap, I don't know how you breathe."

  "I'm gonna see to it personally that you never see the light of day again, little lady."

  "I'll be out by tomorrow. Just wait and see."

  Brave words. She still had to make it through the night.

  * * * *

  Reluctant but more determined than ever, Mike knocked on the door to the study. In spite of the older man's disability, Mike knew his father still kept the late hours he had as a younger, healthier man. He waited.

  "Come,” his father answered, his voice gruff—as usual.

  Mike took a deep breath and opened the door. He found his father sitting military-erect behind his desk. “Sir, if I might trouble you?"

  "You've always troubled me. Why should tonight be an exception?"

  "I—"

  "No need to answer. It was a rhetorical question."

  Clenching his jaw, Mike bit back a withering reply. Alienating his old man would only further delay the case he was trying to build. Self-control was essential.

  "I need a favor—not for me—for Gwyn."

  "What kind of favor?"

  Figuring he had nothing to lose and everything to gain, Mike came right out with it. “Access to your computer."

  His father's eyes widened. “Out of the question."

  "It'll be hours before my computer expert is here. It would save valuable time."

  The frown lines deepened in his father's face. “It is apparently useless to explain that my computer is off limits and contains classified material."

  "I'm not interested in your diplomatic bombshells. All I need is access to the FBI database, AFIS, and the DMV for Virginia, New York and New Jersey."

  His father let out a long-suffering sigh. “I hate to see you waste your time playing detective. At least being a policeman was an honorable, if an appalling waste of your breeding and intelligence."

  Same old story. “No one gives a flying fuck about breeding. This is America, in case you've forgotten, you hide-bound anachronism."

  George Carlton laughed out loud. “You certainly have an eclectic vocabulary. You would do well in the CIA, if you would only allow me to put a word in the right place."

  "The only assistance I need is your cooperation in my investigation."

  "You've had all the cooperation you're getting. Have I not asked my guests to accommodate your investigation? And they have. Have I not put my entire staff at your disposal?"

  "Yes, and I'll solve this murder without your damn computer or connections."

  "The Blue Ridge Mountains,” his father intoned, “will turn red before you solve this murder or act like a man and live up to your responsibilities."

  "You know damned well that I live up to my responsibilities. I take them very seriously. While you're at it, maybe you ought to ask Marina if she even wants to marry me. You might be surprised by her answer."

  Mike turned and stormed from his old man's odious presence. No one else could push his buttons like he could. His mother played her games, yes. But would he ever gain his father's grudging respect? Not damned likely.

  * * * *

  Marina closed the door to Michael's bedroom. She breathed a sigh of relief that the evening's events hadn't disturbed her son, although he had kicked off his covers. She felt an overwhelming need to reassure herself that he was untouched by the violence that had changed lives downstairs.

  What had promised to be a difficult evening at best had turned into a nightmare. On the heels of spilling her guts to Gwyneth, Gwyneth had been arrested for murder. Marina didn't believe for one minute that Michael's new love interest had killed her ex-fiancé.

  How could she have found time to murder someone? It just didn't make sense. Gwyneth's prickly personality and quick temper concealed a caring heart and understanding soul—not one inclined to murderous rages.

  Marina wished there were something she could do to help Michael solve the murder. More than anything, she admired his fierce determination to smoke out the killer and prove his girlfriend's innocence.

  As she scurried down the stairs, Marina formed a plan. Someone in the kitchen must have seen whoever stole the knife. Perhaps she could trip up that person in his or her statements.

  Marina reached the bottom of the stairs, but found her way blocked by the Head of Security, who was smiling at her. “Miss Vadim?"

  "Yes, Rocky?"

  "Is the little one okay?"

  "Yes, he's fine, except for a tendency to kick off his blanket."

  "Well, I'm sure you took care of that."

  Marina nodded, then seized by inspiration, she asked, “Rocky, do you think we could, maybe, go behind Michael and sort of re-interrogate the staff—casually, without their knowing it? Check for any differences in what they told him. Then we could compare notes."

  Rocky's smile broadened. “Have anyone in mind?"

  She chewed her bottom lip as she considered his question. “Is Michael suspicious of anyone in particular?"

  "He didn't trust one of the catering staff. The Brit implicated Miss Wells, and something bothered Mike about the housekeeper, too."

  Marina grinned. At least she could do something now, not just stand by and wait for the guys to solve the murder. “Why don't you take the housekeeper while I get chummy with the Brit?"

  "Sounds like a plan. But be careful...” Rocky cautioned with a frown, “...don't give yourself away. There's a killer in this house, and we don't need any more victims."

  "Have no fear.” Marina giggled with excitement, “I'll use all my considerable charms."

  * * * *

  Rocky watched Marina square her shoulders and head for the kitchen. He hoped she'd really heard what he'd said about being careful. That little boy upstairs needed his mama. Still, he couldn't help but admire her spunk. Now, he had to have another go at dazzling the frosty-as-an-Eskimo housekeeper. If she gave him the time of day, he'd be surprised. But never let it be said that he wouldn't do the bidding of a pretty little woman like Marina Vadim.

  He found Millie in the salon talking in hushed tones with the lady of the house.

  "Ma'am, is there anything I can do?” he asked Elinor.

  The housekeeper didn't give him a second glance, but looked away instead.

  "Yes, Rockford, I want to thank you for assisting my son."

  "Not at all, ma'am. I'm happy to lend a hand."

  "As Head of Security, I'm sure that Mr. Carlton would be happy to assign your further duties. Perhaps you should see him for instructions."

  Rocky bowed. “Of course.” Damn. He'd bungled that bit. Nothing to do now but follow the old bat's orders.

  He turned to leave, but not before he saw a smirk of a smile cross Miss
Iceberg's face.

  He nodded. “Miss Grayson."

  "Rockford.” She addressed him as if he were her servant.

  Smiling through clenched teeth, Rocky bit back his anger, then moseyed into the elder Carlton's study. “Sir, Mike has set up an incident room in the library."

  The old man studied the monitor in front of him. He drummed his fingers on the keyboard. “Does he have everything he needs?"

  Rocky cleared his throat. “He will have by morning when his computer person gets here. Of course, if you decided to help...” The old grouch's frown deepened as he gave a firm shake of his head.

  Never one to give up without a fight, Rocky tried again. “If you'll excuse me for saying so, this is important to him, sir."

  The scowl lines turned into trenches. “Then help him. Keep him out of my way."

  "Yes, sir. I'm sure your work is more important than your relationship with your son.” Hell, if the old man fired him, so what? He couldn't keep his trap shut. Mike deserved better treatment from his own father.

  George leveled his gaze at Rocky. “If you weren't the best at what you do and it wouldn't cause me great inconvenience to replace you, you'd be out the door. Understood?"

  "Perfectly.” Rocky couldn't help but wonder if Mike could divorce his family. Probably not. The damage was done.

  He strode from the study, muttering under his breath. His employer might be a bastard of the highest order, but he paid well. Sure, old George expected value for his money. Not that Rocky found his duties difficult. It was the old man's personality, not the duties that got under his skin. What his boss had been like before the stroke, Rocky had no idea, but the man was dour, unpleasant and sarcastic—and that was on his good days.

  "Well, you certainly have the look of someone with his tail between his legs. Did old George give you some busy work?” Millie's throaty voice came from behind him. He turned to find the housekeeper leaning against the wall and a smirk across her face. Her long, lean body intrigued him—even if her personality turned him completely off.

  "I was hoping to talk to you, Millie"

  "Oh really? Think you have time?"

  "Sure, I've got plenty of time. The old man wants me to keep Mike out of his hair. Considering how they get along, that won't be hard. I'd rather talk to a good-looking woman any time."

  The lady in question rolled her eyes. “Is that the best you can do?"

  "Oh, I'm well aware that you're several levels above me, schweet-heart."

  "Puh-leeze. Why don't you just come right out with it? You want to question me? Ask away. What do you want to know?"

  "Guess I'm busted.” Rocky offered her his best sheepish smile. “I'm trying to help Mike. I mean his new girl is spending the night in jail. Just wondered if you know anything that could help."

  "Maybe I do. Maybe I don't."

  "Which is it, Millie?"

  She shrugged. “What's in it for me if I give Mike's new girl an alibi?"

  "Mike would be very grateful."

  "I'm sure his gratitude has some value, but I like things that are a little more tangible.” She rubbed her thumb and first two fingers together in the time-honored gesture for money.

  "You've got the wrong take on this, Millie. I'm not looking for a false alibi. Just want the truth."

  "How boring.” She pulled a long face. “All right. This is for free: I didn't see the lady anywhere near the kitchen. That's all I can tell you. That's what I told the sheriff, and that's what I told Mr. Michael Carlton himself."

  "You know, you kinda remind me of Miss Wells. If you just lightened your hair a little bit and—"

  Millie straightened her shoulders. Her mouth drew into an ugly sneer. “That's enough. I like my hair just fine. I don't have to tart up like a fancy-schmancy, bleeding-heart lawyer."

  "Whoa, lady—just a suggestion."

  "Take your snooping nose and insert it up your back passage."

  Rocky held up his hands in mock surrender. “Yee-ouch. That's severe."

  "I find it saves time."

  "I guess so.” What a bitch. “Think I'll find Mike and give him a hand."

  "Yeah, why don't you do just that?"

  Damnation. Rocky hoped Marina was having better luck with her Brit.

  * * * *

  Marina headed for the kitchen. What if the caterers had already left? She glanced around, hoping to find the short, bald man who'd handed her the lobster bisque for Gwyneth.

  "May I ‘elp you?"

  At the sound of his voice, Marina jumped. “Oh, I didn't see you.” Think fast. You can do this if you don't lose your nerve.

  "Well, I was in the pantry. Don't suppose you ‘ave x-ray vision like that bloke Superman?” He gave her what she was sure he thought was a killer smile. “Sorry, didn't mean to give you a fright."

  Marina rewarded him with what she hoped was her most charming smile. “I guess I'm a little jumpy after all that's happened tonight. I don't suppose you'd have something to eat? I'm afraid we all missed dinner. And I'm just starving.” She took a deep breath and stuck out her breasts—just a little. Maybe they would distract him from her real purpose. Good grief, she was acting just like that woman in the movie. ‘They're called boobs, Ed.'

  "Well, luv, I'm sure I can find you something.” He stepped into her personal space. “Fancy anything in particular? Name's Reggie—just in case it's moi you fancy."

  Oh Lord. Before she could stop it, a high-pitched, wheezing giggle erupted from her throat. Clasping her hand over her mouth, she faked a cough. All right, so she wasn't Erin Brockovich or even a poor imitation of Stephanie Plum. She still had an assignment.

  "Water, luv?” Reggie patted her on the back with one hand—and managed to cop a feel with his other. Startled by his audacity, she jumped.

  "Water,” she gasped, “please."

  Her target fairly skipped over to the sink to procure her the sovereign cure for her cough.

  She took the glass of water from him gratefully, stalling for time. What next? How could she bring up the subject without sounding like she was interrogating him?

  Good old Reggie saved her the trouble. “I've never been in a real murder investigation before. It's just like on the telly.” He smiled widely as if thrilled by the prospect. “Did you know that bird—the one who offed her fiancé?"

  "Yes, I met her this evening. I know it sounds terrible, but I think it's so exciting.” Marina leaned her elbows on the counter, edging up close to Reggie, then told him, “I understand she's already got a new boyfriend."

  "Then ‘e'd better be watching ‘is back too. That bird—she wields a mean knife."

  Marina drew back as if in awe. “You don't think she'll ever get out of jail, do you?"

  "Wouldn't surprise me. You know ‘ow it is with the rich. They can afford the best when it comes to barristers—and judges, too."

  "Really? You really know a lot about this legal stuff, don't you?"

  Reggie positively preened. “Well, I do ‘ave a bit of experience in that line. Back ‘ome—not in this country, of course."

  I'll just bet you do, you slug. “I'm so impressed,” she murmured breathlessly. “Did you see anything? I understand she took the knife from this very kitchen."

  "That she did. I saw ‘er myself. In fact, I've been a great ‘elp to the authorities in this matter."

  "You saw her take the knife? Did she see you? I mean, you could be in grave danger, if she should get out on bail."

  "Not to worry, luv. That sheriff isn't about to let a killer out on bail—no matter how big a toff she is."

  He glanced around as if checking for eavesdroppers. “Now, I tell you this in confidence, but I wouldn't be surprised if she ‘asn't done this sort of thing before—prob'ly got away with it too. Real slick, she was. Waltzed in ‘ere, cool as could be, and slipped away with that knife."

  "What did you do?"

  "Well, I didn't know wot she was about, now did I? Course, if I ‘ad known, I'd've wrestled her for it.
Saved the poor bloke's life.” Reggie shook his head sadly. “Too late now."

  Marina placed her hand on his forearm. “You're so brave."

  "And you're the sweetest little bird, I've met in weeks.” Reggie moved in for...

  Good Lord. He was about to kiss her. “Oh.” She scrambled just out of his reach. “I think I hear my son. I'd better go to him. He has bad dreams at night."

  Frowning, Reggie looked around the kitchen. “I don't ‘ear nothin'."

  "You're not a mother, Reggie. Mothers can always hear their babies.” She whirled around, ready to rush from the kitchen before good old Reggie got any more funny ideas.

  "Just ‘ow many kids d'you ‘ave?"

  She shot him a smile over her shoulder. “Just five, and another on the way."

  "Bloody ‘ell,” he rasped.

  Stifling another giggle, Marina ran from the kitchen and into the hall. Once she was sure she was out of Reggie's hearing, she leaned against a wall and laughed until tears started rolling down her cheeks. No one would ever believe her first attempt at detecting.

  "Any problems?” Rocky's deep voice brought her back to sanity.

  Marina looked up into his solemn, concerned face. He looked down at her, with eyes as sweet and clear as the first day of Spring ... and she wanted to melt right there on the spot. “You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

  "I would. Tell me."

  Glancing back over her shoulder, she restrained her melt-on-the-spot urges. “Let's go somewhere more private.” She giggled again. Damn. Here she was acting like a giddy schoolgirl. Rocky must think she was a real ditz.

  "All right."

  "I'll tell you everything."

  Thirty-two

  Gwyneth watched Bauer waddle out of the cellblock and breathed a sigh of relief. If Detective McKenzie hadn't rushed in to notify him of a six-car pileup, that cartoon of a sheriff would still be waving a pen and paper in her face for a confession. He really needed to take a chill pill. His red face could only mean he had a rip-roaring case of high blood pressure. Honestly, the man looked like a stroke waiting to happen—not that she wished him any harm. Not much anyway.

  What's Mike doing? What can he do? After all, he didn't have the same resources that the authorities had, or did he? Would Sid, Mike's wannabe-P.I. assistant, have what it took to access federal databases? Probably not, but if he did—well, that was pretty scary, too.