by Kylie Logan
Bart glanced my way and for a second, a smile cracked his somber expression. “I remember what a good cook you are, Laurel. I don’t want to eat now, but if you could pack up a few cookies for me to take back to my hotel, I’d appreciate it.”
I assured him I would, and with that settled and the moment upon us, the energy in the room changed.
Ben stopped messing with his phone. Corrine fidgeted in her chair, her expression not as thunderous as it was eager. Spencer sat up and I swear, I could see the dollar signs in the kid’s eyes. Wilma clutched her hands together on the table, closed her eyes, and held her breath.
I stayed near the tray with the coffee carafe on it just in case someone needed more, still wondering as I had been since I heard about this meeting, why I was part of it.
When Bart clicked open his attaché, we all flinched.
He withdrew a sheaf of papers. “You’ve heard it all before,” he said, glancing at the papers, then at the people assembled. “You know all the preliminary wording, but according to what Meghan and I agreed upon, I’m going to read it, anyway. So here goes.”
He cleared his throat.
“‘I, Meghan Cohan, being of sound mind and body, do hereby declare that this document is my last will and testament. In executing such document, I hereby declare that:
“‘I revoke all wills and codicils that I have previously made, that I am currently unmarried and have one son, Spencer, now living . . .’”
Spencer brightened noticeably.
“‘And I instruct my executor to distribute my estate the following way.’”
Bart looked toward the tray Dolly had left and the water pitcher on it, and I filled a glass and handed it to him and, I swear, every last person in that room held their breath while he took a drink.
“‘To my former chef, Laurel Inwood . . .’”
It was the last name I expected to hear, and I gasped and sent up a silent prayer. Not me, no! Please don’t leave anything to me! Meghan had fired me and I’d walked away and begun a new life. I didn’t want any reason to feel beholden.
“‘I leave my sincerest apologies. I know you weren’t the one who talked to the press, but by the time I found out, it was too late.’”
I smiled. “She did have a heart!”
Bart held up a hand. “Not so fast.” He went back to reading. “‘But just so you know, I wasn’t planning to keep you around, anyway. Too many of my lovers spent too much of their time looking at you instead of me. Good luck, Laurel. It was real.’”
I should have been outraged. I knew that was the reaction Meghan expected.
Maybe that explains why I puffed out a laugh.
I put a hand over my mouth when Bart started to read again.
“‘To my former husband, Ben . . .’”
The handsome race car driver sat up and pulled back his shoulders.
“‘to my devoted housekeeper, Wilma . . .’” She squeezed her eyes shut and lowered her head.
“‘to my son, Spencer . . .’” My guess is he would have crowed if Bart had given him the time.
“‘And of course to dear Corrine . . .’” She was so excited, she twitched.
“‘I want you all to know that the whole of my estate, my homes, my financial interests in my production company, my movie royalties, and all monies earned and accumulated from such will be given in their entirety to the Palangka Raya Orangutan Rescue in Borneo.’”
Chapter 11
The old saying goes, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
But a woman scorned has nothing on a room full of people (well, except for me because, like I said, I really didn’t care) who thought they were about to inherit a fortune and instead would be lucky if they got a Christmas card from the folks over in Borneo.
Ben, who was, after all, an ex and really shouldn’t have expected anything in the first place, stomped out of the room mumbling Italian words I was grateful I couldn’t understand.
Spencer bounded out of his chair, then just for good measure, took a swing at the wall. Predictably, that accomplished little more than causing him a whole lot of pain and what looked to be a couple of broken fingers. The last I saw him, Wilma was hurrying him down to the kitchen so she could get him an ice pack and she was talking to Declan about directions to the nearest emergency room.
Bart Presky, I could only imagine, didn’t really care a fig about any of this and it was obvious why. He had quickly read the rest of the will and we’d learned that he was serving as executor and as such, got a chunk of Meghan’s fortune. He slipped into his Burberry and wished us all a good night.
That left Corrine and me in the upstairs storage room.
And like I said, I didn’t really count. The halfhearted apology I’d gotten from Meghan was more than enough to satisfy me, and it went a long way toward reminding me that though no one should have to die the way she did, she was not the paragon being praised in the press. Whoever murdered Meghan, I would bet a week’s (pretty small) Terminal paycheck that it was someone who had a beef with her. I’d even go so far as to say the beef was justified.
“So . . .” I was cleaning up the last of the coffee cups and cookie plates and I loaded them onto the tray and looked to where Corrine sat as she’d been sitting since Bart had spoken those ill-fated words, “Palangka Raya Orangutan Rescue in Borneo.” She was as still as a statue. As white as a sheet. And quiet as a . . .
Well, bad similes aside, I’ll just say that Corrine was not one happy camper.
“Declan’s probably waiting downstairs to get you back to your car.”
“I . . . I have something I need to do. I don’t need a ride to my car.” Corrine pushed away from the table and took off for the door.
Before I could even ask where she was headed, I heard her footsteps pounding down the stairway.
“Who lit her shoes on fire?” George asked me when I got back to the kitchen.
“She always was a little weird,” I confided, unloading the tray. “Dolly gone?”
“Cleared out of here in a hurry just a little bit ago,” he told me.
“Well, you can go, too. I’ll clean and lock up.”
George unlooped the white apron from around his neck. “And that Mr. Fury, he says to tell you he was going to drive that lady and the kid to the ER in Youngstown. You know, so the kid can get his hand looked at.” George grabbed his jacket. “Mr. Fury, he said to tell you that if you want, you can wait here and he’ll see you in a little while.”
If I wanted?
After a day like I’d had, knowing Declan would be back to get me in just a little while was the best news ever.
With that thought in mind and anticipation whirring through my bloodstream, I made quick work of the cups and dishes, put away the cookies our guests hadn’t eaten and Bart Presky hadn’t taken with him, and switched off the lights in the kitchen. While I waited for Declan, I’d catch up on some paperwork. I’d already started for the office when I saw a glow from out in the direction of the waiting area and realized I hadn’t turned off the lights upstairs. A quick trip up, a quick trip down, and I was ready to get down to business.
I would have, too, if the oddest thing hadn’t happened.
I was just sidling my way past the stacks of boxes packed with linens when the room tipped.
Well, at least that’s what I thought happened in that split second before I figured out there was more going on here than I realized.
But by that time, it was too late.
The stack of heavy linen boxes rocked, swayed, and crashed over on top of me.
* * *
• • •
“LAUREL! LAUREL!”
The voice came from a million miles away, not soft and blurred like I would expect of a voice out of the blue, but loud and persistent. My eyes fluttered open, but I couldn’t see. The world was dark,
closed in. It was hard for me to breathe, and yet I could hear the muffled, desperate syllables of the voice out of the blackness. They were punctuated by words that didn’t make any sense.
“Emergency . . . ambulance . . . right away.”
This did not seem to concern me, and as if to prove it to myself, I let my eyes drift shut again.
A second later—or was it longer?—a sound scraped close to my ear and light washed over me.
I blinked. “Declan?”
It was impossible. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I remembered that he’d left the Terminal to take Spencer to the emergency room in Youngstown. No way he could be back so soon.
He lifted another box off me and knelt at my side. “Don’t talk. Don’t move. There’s a squad on the way.”
“Don’t need . . .” I looked from Declan to the ceiling of the waiting area and realized that I was on the floor on my back. “I’m fine,” I whispered.
“Well, that’s not a medical opinion, and I’m not a doctor. We’re going to make sure.” He wound his fingers through mine. “I called you. A bunch of times. And when you didn’t answer . . .” I must have been dazed by the impact of that stack of boxes coming down on me; I swore I saw Declan’s eyes mist. He gave my hand a squeeze. “Then when I walked in and realized the back door was open—”
“Didn’t have a chance to lock up.” I remembered that clearly enough.
“And the mess in the kitchen.”
My heart stuttered, then stopped. I might not be thinking straight, but I was awake enough to know he was talking nonsense. “Washed the dishes,” I told him. “Put away the cookies. Kitchen is—”
“Don’t worry about it.” When the sounds of a pulsing siren split the night, he lifted his head. “Help is here. You just relax. I’ll take care of everything.”
“You’ll take care of . . . everything.” My skull felt as if it had been split in two. My right arm was twisted under me at a funny angle. My left leg was bent and pinned by one of the boxes and had a serious cramp in it.
But Declan was going to take care of everything.
I sighed.
And smiled.
And fell back into unconsciousness.
* * *
• • •
I’M NOT SURE it counts as dreaming when you’re unconscious.
Maybe it’s more like hallucinating.
Or imagining.
Whatever it’s called, the pictures that flitted through my brain were pleasant ones. Declan kneeling at my side. Declan smiling down at me.
“Declan.” I whispered the name, grinned, and opened my eyes.
“Oh!”
“Well, that’s a fine way to be greeted.” Gus Oberlin glowered at me, popped the last bite of a glazed donut into his mouth, and chomped it down. “I’ve been here waiting for you to wake up for . . .” He checked his watch. “Two hours. I’ve been here with you for two hours and all I get is ‘Oh!’”
“Sorry.” I didn’t know if I was, I knew only it was cruel to be so blunt with a man with donut crumbs in the corners of his mouth and bits of glimmering sugar glaze on his tie. “I thought Declan—”
“I practically had to threaten to arrest him to get him out of here. He left a few minutes ago to get a cup of coffee.”
“Where am—”
“Hospital.” Gus had a cup of coffee with him and he swallowed down the last of it in one monumental chug. “It’s Tuesday afternoon.”
It took a moment for me to process this news. “I’ve been—”
“Knocked out cold. And I can tell you, we were worried.” I guess Gus didn’t want me to notice when the tips of his ears got red because he hurried right on. “Well, Declan was worried, but you know how the Irish are. Way too emotional. And then there’s Sophie, of course. She’s been pacing this room like a crazy person. There’s probably a path worn in the linoleum.”
“That’s Sophie.” I smiled and was glad when I realized it didn’t hurt. Well, at least not too much. “What happened?”
“I was hoping you could tell me.” Gus plunked into the seat next to my bed and the old plastic and vinyl chair creaked in protest. “Fury says when he found you, you were underneath a pile of boxes.”
Yes, I remembered that.
“They tipped,” I told Gus.
“Or did someone push them over on you?”
I stared at him. Probably for a long time, because Gus shifted, the chair groaned, and he leaned nearer.
“Did you see anyone?” he asked. “Did you hear anything?”
I sifted through the cloud bank that was my brain. “I forgot to turn off the light upstairs and I went and did it and then . . .” I grumbled my frustration. “That’s all I remember.”
“It’s all right.” Far be it from Gus to ever show any actual compassion. He patted the bed instead of my hand, and I decided that was good enough. “We’ll figure out what happened and who did this to you.”
The words were tight in my throat. “You mean it wasn’t . . . it wasn’t an accident?”
Gus opened his mouth to answer, but he never had a chance. That’s because Sophie tumbled into the room, took one look at me awake and talking, and burst into tears.
Declan was right behind her. He gave her a quick hug and hurried over to my bed.
“How’s your head?” he asked.
“Now that you mention it, it feels like there’s a herd of elephants in there doing jumping jacks.”
His smile was soft. “I’ll call the nurse.”
No sooner did he move away to do that than Sophie took his place. Her cheeks were streaked with tears, her eyes were red and swollen. Her hair stood up around her head, a spiked halo. “You had us so worried!” She sniffled and smiled and laughed, all at the same time. “We thought you might never wake up.”
“We never thought that. Not for one minute.” Declan came to stand beside her, his hand on her shoulder. “We knew you’d be fine. Otherwise . . .” He had a coffee cup in his hand, and he waggled it in my direction. “I wouldn’t have gone for coffee.”
“Coffee!” I might have been flat on my back in a hospital bed with every muscle in my body aching like the dickens, but it smelled heavenly. “If I could get some . . .”
“We’ll see what the doc says,” Declan told me. “For now—”
I knew what he was going to say. He was going to tell me to close my eyes and get some rest. He was going to tell me to relax. That’s why I didn’t give him a chance to say anything.
“Gus says it wasn’t an accident,” I said.
Declan gave the cop the briefest of harsh looks. “Gus should know better than to make an injured woman worry.”
“Except she’d worry less if she knew what was going on,” I insisted.
When Declan had the nerve to actually think about it, I pushed myself up on my elbows. “If you don’t tell me what’s going on, I’m going to find out myself. I’ll just check myself out of here and—”
“Okay. All right.”
He relented, and I was glad I didn’t have to follow through with my threat. Just that little bit of movement made my head spin. Rather than let any of them know it, I pretended to settle back and compose myself when what I was really doing was giving the room time to stop twirling.
Declan hit the button that made the head of the bed rise so that I could see everyone better, and once I could, I also saw that my right arm was bandaged. I wiggled my fingers and gave my wrist a try. All okay there. “All right,” I said. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“It’s the kitchen. At the Terminal,” Declan told me. “If it hadn’t been ransacked—”
“Again?” I was convinced I hadn’t heard him right back when he told me this at the Terminal so it was no wonder I sounded so skeptical. “You’re kidding me, right?”
Before he had
time to tell me he was or he wasn’t, the nurse showed up, shooed everyone out into the hallway, and did things like check my vital signs, the size of my pupils, and my reflexes. Before she left, she said she’d make sure the kitchen sent up a tray of hospital food.
I wasn’t sure if that was a promise or a threat.
One by one, my visitors straggled back in and arranged themselves around my bed and I pinned Declan with a look.
“You were saying?”
He let out a sigh. “I mentioned it to you last night. You probably don’t remember and it really doesn’t matter, anyway. I got back from taking Spencer to the ER—”
I’d forgotten. “Is he all right?” I asked.
“Nothing time and a whole lot of ice bags won’t cure,” Declan assured me. “But I was gone longer than I expected to be, and I called to tell you, and you didn’t answer your phone. I tried the restaurant phone and got no answer there, either. I figured something was up.”
“He should have called me so I could have gone over to the Terminal to see what was up.” Sophie’s voice rang with so much conviction, I didn’t have the heart to tell her it was the last thing she should have done. If she had, she might have been in danger, too.
“And the kitchen?” I asked.
“First thing I saw when I walked in the back door, of course,” Declan said. “A mess. Just like it was the night Meghan went through the place. Cookbooks everywhere.”
“Cookbooks.” Then, like now, I thought this was significant. Now, unlike then, I couldn’t think my way through the problem, not with the way my head was pounding.
“Somebody’s looking for something.” Gus stated the obvious.
“Except we checked and we didn’t find anything. It doesn’t make any sense!” I pounded a fist against the mattress. “Meghan was looking for something and now Meghan’s dead and someone else is looking for something. Do you think they found it?”
It was not especially encouraging to see all three of them shrug at the same time.
