She nodded, then frowned. “But I was at my car earlier, around six-thirty. I’d left the students’ papers in the car. I don’t remember seeing the note then.”
“Would you have noticed it?”
“I think so. It was the first thing I saw when I got to my car later.”
“And the first note was left in your home on Tuesday, right?”
“Yes.” She eyed him curiously. “Do you think it’s somebody in the creative writing class?”
He looked up from the notebook and smiled ruefully. Again she was struck by the warmth that seemed to emanate from his coffee-colored eyes. “I think it’s too early to speculate.” He leaned forward. “Look, I know this is scary. Usually anonymous notes are the sign of a coward. In the same category of obscene phone callers...a nuisance, but rarely a danger.”
“The key word there is rarely, right?”
He leaned back once again. “Right. I’d rather err on the side of caution. The first note bothers me because you found it in your home. In that instance a crime has already been committed...trespassing and breaking and entering. This second note bothers me because it’s an implied threat to your safety.”
“Here we go...” Betty interrupted the conversation, serving their meals and drinks. “Enjoy.”
“What happens now?” Ann asked the moment they were alone again.
“We talk. We see if we can figure out who might have an ax to grind with you. Let’s start with the boyfriend you told me you recently broke up with...what was his name?”
“Greg. Greg Thorton.” Ann didn’t want to think of him, let alone talk about him. “Surely this isn’t necessary? I’m telling you there’s no way Greg can be behind these notes. It’s just not his style.” Her voice was sharper than intended.
Clay shut his notebook and shoved it aside. “Okay, we won’t talk about it.” He picked up his hamburger and took a bite. As he chewed, he kept his gaze focused on his plate.
Ann sighed, knowing she couldn’t have it both ways. She couldn’t ask the police for help, then refuse to answer their questions. “I’m sorry,” she offered. “I’m just not accustomed to talking about my personal life.” With the tines of her fork, she raked a pattern through the scoop of chicken salad.
“I know this isn’t easy, Ann, but if you want me to find the person responsible for these notes, there are certain things you’re going to have to talk to me about.”
She nodded. “Greg and I dated for about three months before I realized he wasn’t what I wanted in my life. A couple of weeks ago I told him I thought we should see other people. He agreed, and that was the end of it.”
“And he wasn’t upset?”
She smiled and Clay felt as if a fist plunged into his stomach, momentarily taking his breath away. He realized this was the first time he’d seen her smile. And what a smile it was. It lightened the hue of blue in her eyes and brought warmth to her cool, classic features. “Greg doesn’t ever get upset. He believes showing emotion is a sign of weakness.”
“Not showing emotion is a great way to produce an ulcer,” Clay replied, pleased when she not only smiled again, but actually laughed out loud.
“Greg does have ulcers,” she admitted, her eyes sparkling as if she and Clay shared a secret.
“What does this strong, ulcer-ridden man do for a living?” Clay asked.
“He’s a lawyer with Beatty, Walters and Majors. He’s hoping to make partner by the end of the year.”
Clay whistled beneath his breath. He knew the firm, one of the most prestigious in the Kansas City area. Still, Greg Thorton being a bright lawyer didn’t preclude his having a few loose screws. He made a mental note to stop in and have a little chat with the man.
He took another bite of his hamburger and flipped through his notes. “Auld Lang Syne...what exactly does that mean? I know I sing it every New Year’s Eve.”
“Old times, that’s all it means.” Once again she used her fork to make ruts in her salad.
He grinned at her. “My mom used to spank me for playing with my food.”
She flushed and took a bite of the chicken. “I’m just sure Greg isn’t sending me those notes and what bothers me is I have no idea who might be doing it.”
“Probably two things will happen. We’ll find out who’s guilty and take the appropriate action, or whoever is doing it will tire of the game and move on to another victim.” He hoped his words sounded more positive than he felt.
Something about the notes bothered him deep in his gut...in the place that made him a good cop. Instinct, intuition... he wasn’t sure what to call it, he only knew how it felt.
“Old times,” he mused thoughtfully. “Any other men from your past who might have a bone to pick with you?”
She shook her head. “None that I can think of.” She gazed at him curiously, her eyes emanating an intelligence he found sexy as hell. “What makes you think it’s a man?”
“I don’t know. I suppose it could be a woman, but statistically, the odds lean toward it being a male.” He speared a French fry and popped it into his mouth. “Tell me about the people in this creative writing class.”
“I’ve got thirteen students. The youngest is Simon Casmell, he’s twenty, and the oldest is Mabel Comfeld. She’s eighty-two.”
“If I was to guess, I’d say we can definitely rule out Mabel Cornfeld,” Clay said, hoping to see her smile once again. She didn’t. Instead she frowned thoughtfully.
“I think we can also rule out Dean Moore. He’s an older man in a wheelchair.”
Clay nodded. “Okay, tell me the names of the others.” Once again he opened his notebook.
As she told him names and small particulars about the rest of the students, Clay once again found himself focused more on the woman herself than on what she was telling him.
There was an intriguing secretiveness about her, a closed-shutter look in her eyes. He had a feeling a man would have to work hard to get to know the real Ann Carson, that what she presented to the world was merely a facade.
He inwardly scoffed at his fanciful notions. It had definitely been too long since he’d had a date, been in the company of an attractive female. Maybe it was time to change that, right here, right now.
He still had thirty-eight days before he left for his retirement dream...over a month of time to spend enjoying a woman’s company. Why not Ann? Certainly he wouldn’t mind the challenge of getting to know her better.
When she’d finished giving him the names and bits of information about her students, he closed his notebook and signaled to Betty for more iced tea.
“When you aren’t teaching classes or receiving disturbing notes, what do you do in your spare time?”
She looked down at her plate, apparently uncomfortable with the personal turn in the conversation. When she looked up again, he realized dark shades had fallen over her eyes, distancing her from him. “I don’t have much spare time. I carry a pretty heavy load at the college and most of my evenings and weekends are spent grading papers and working on plans for future lessons.”
“Haven’t you heard that all work and no play makes Ann a dull girl?”
She shrugged and eyed him with a touch of defiance. “Then I guess I’m just a dull girl.”
He studied her intently. “Somehow I doubt that.”
She dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “Well, I’d say I’ve taken up more than enough of your time.” She opened her purse.
“I’ll get it,” he said, surprised by her abruptness.
“Thank you, but I prefer to pay for my own.” She pulled several bills out of her wallet and placed them on the table between them.
Clay pulled a business card from his breast pocket. “Here.” He held it out to her. “This has the station number and my home phone number on it. Don’t hesitate to use it if something else happens or if you’re just feeling scared.”
He was rewarded with a small smile. “Thank you. I appreciate it.” Before he could say another word, she turned and
left the restaurant.
He watched her go, enjoying the sensual sway of her hips beneath the peach-colored skirt. Nice legs...long and shapely, feet clad in high heel white pumps.
“She left in a hurry. What did you do? Threaten to arrest her?” Betty plopped down in the booth Ann had vacated and helped herself to the remaining French fries on Clay’s plate.
“Nah, guess I just pushed a little too hard.”
“I keep telling you that you can push me hard anytime.” She winked at him.
Clay laughed, knowing she was all talk. “Betty, you forget, I’ve met your husband. He’s twice my size and knows where I live.”
Betty grinned and stood back up. “Want me to put this on your tab?”
“That will work.” He stood, his mind recaptured by thoughts of Ann Carson. “I’m heading home. I’ll see you later, Betty.”
She gave him a jaunty wave as he left the cool air-conditioning and walked back out into the hot summer night. The air smelled of hot pavement, bus exhaust and rotting garbage. Wistfully he remembered the way Ann had smelled, like a floral garden in a rainstorm. Fresh... new... sweet.
Guess he just wasn’t her type, he thought as he headed toward his car. She’d certainly backed off in a hurry when he’d tried to take the conversation from business to personal. An odd surge of disappointment winged through him.
Tomorrow was his day off. Maybe he’d take the morning and go have a little talk with Greg Thorton, see what type of man did attract Ann and if the high-power lawyer had anything to do with the notes she’d received.
Ann walked into her home and immediately kicked off her shoes and crunched her toes into the soft carpeting. With a sigh of exhaustion she sank onto the sofa. Twilight peered down at her from his favorite resting place atop the bookshelves along one wall.
“I think he was going to ask me out,” she said to the cat, whose tail moved like a metronome, swishing back and forth to an internal rhythm.
She shrugged out of her jacket and placed it carefully over the back of the sofa, then leaned into the cushions, her thoughts consumed with Clay.
He was a nice man...very attractive not only in looks, but in his apparent easygoing personality. She’d felt herself drawn to him, and that’s why she’d bolted.
Relationships weren’t easy for her and generally she steered clear of any and all. Relationships demanded sharing and a level of trust she’d never been able to achieve.
With Greg it had been relatively easy. Greg was most comfortable when talking about himself, his brilliance and his work. He’d required next to nothing from Ann. It was only in the last couple of weeks of their relationship that he’d begun to pressure her for intimacy and she realized she couldn’t sleep with a man she wasn’t even sure she liked.
Clay had been much more likable...therefore a threat. She sighed and rubbed her forehead, where a headache had blossomed. She was grateful it had been Clay who’d responded to her initial cry for help, glad it would be him seeing to her case. But, she had no desire to allow him to be anything but that, a cop on her case.
She wanted him to solve the mystery of the note sender, then let her get back to her safe life. Safe and lonely, a small voice whispered inside her head.
“Shut up,” she muttered irritably and sat up, startling Twilight who hissed his displeasure. “It’s late, Twilight. I’m going to bed.”
She was halfway between the master bedroom and the living room when the phone rang. She raced into the bedroom and dived for the phone at the side of the bed, at the same time her gaze shot to the clock on her nightstand. Who would be calling her at a few minutes before eleven?
“Hello?”
Silence. Not the kind of silence that implied an open line, but rather the thick, pregnant quiet of somebody on the other end.
“Hello? Who’s there?”
She’d been wrong. It wasn’t complete silence. She could hear the low rasp of breathing. She found herself matching her own breaths with the sound of the caller’s. Ten seconds passed. Fifteen seconds. Then a click, and Ann knew whoever it was had hung up.
She hung up as well. A wrong number? Probably. Taking off her blouse, she yawned, exhaustion settling in full force. As she stepped out of her skirt the phone rang again.
Once again she picked up the receiver. “Hello?”
Soft breathing. “Who is this?” she demanded. “Stop calling here.” She slammed down the phone.
She had turned out her light and gotten into bed when the phone rang again....
Chapter 3
The moment Clay walked into the law offices, he knew he’d underdressed. The law firm of Beatty, Walters and Majors was housed in a downtown fifteen-story building of steel and glass. Beatty, Walters and Majors occupied the top floor.
A receptionist greeted him as he stepped off the elevator, her desk situated to give her complete control over who could enter the inner sanctum of private offices. “May I help you?” she asked, her cool gaze disdainful as she eyed his worn jeans and short-sleeved sport shirt.
“I’d like to speak with Greg Thorton.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No. I just need a few moments of his time.”
Her nostrils thinned as though she smelled something odorous. “Sir, Mr. Thorton doesn’t see clients without an appointment.”
Clay flipped open his badge. “I’m sure he can work me in. I’ll just sit over there until he’s available.” Without waiting for her reply, he ambled over to one of the chairs in a small waiting room across from her desk.
The minute he left her desk, she picked up an intercom phone and spoke briefly, then hung up and studiously ignored Clay.
He leafed through several magazines, the minutes ticking by endlessly. He had a feeling the wait was intentional, a mind game of power. No problem. It was his day off, he had nothing better to do. He could wait as long as it took to speak to Greg Thorton.
He was halfway through a travelogue, daydreaming about his retirement when the receptionist motioned to him. “Mr. Thorton will see you now.” She pointed to the door next to her desk. “Go through there, down the hall and Mr. Thorton’s office is the second one on your right.”
Clay followed her directions and found the door that held a brass nameplate with Thorton’s name. He knocked softly, the knock answered by a brisk “Enter.”
Greg sat at an impressive desk, his attention focused on a piece of paper before him. He didn’t even look up as Clay entered. Clay waited patiently and took this opportunity to look around the office.
Money. The entire room smelled of it, from the leatherbound books in the heavy, mahogany bookshelves to the thick, plush carpeting beneath his feet. The scent of expensive cologne hung in the air, overriding the smell of a fresh floral bouquet that sat on the edge of the desk.
“What can I do for you?” He still didn’t bother looking up from his paperwork.
Clay held his badge out beneath Greg’s nose, close enough so the jerk could smell it. He flipped his wallet closed and jammed it back into his pocket.
“Are you selling tickets to the Policeman’s Ball, raising money to take some orphans to the zoo?” He still didn’t bother to make eye contact with Clay, but continued to peruse the papers before him.
“I’d like to ask you some questions about Ann Carson.”
That got his attention. Cold blue eyes met Clay’s. “Ann? Has something happened? Is she all right?”
Clay eased himself into the chair opposite the desk. “She’s fine, but she’s been receiving some troubling anonymous notes.”
“And she thinks I’m sending them? That’s utterly absurd.” He closed the manila folder in front of him and folded his hands on the desktop. “Are you accusing me of sending these notes?” His voice remained cool, rather flat in tone.
“Ann doesn’t know who’s sending them, and I’m not here to make accusations. I’m here to get information.” Clay studied the man across from him.
He wore a suit Clay
guessed cost more than Clay’s entire wardrobe. Greg’s sandy-colored hair was expensively styled, the short cut emphasizing his square jaw and strong features.
An attractive man, Clay thought grudgingly. A man who looked accustomed to wielding power. “I understand you and Ann had a parting of the ways a couple of weeks ago,” Clay continued.
Greg smiled. A bloodless smile that didn’t quite reach the arctic blue of his eyes. “So that’s what this is all about? I’m a spurned lover and that makes me the number one suspect in the case of the ‘troubling’ notes?” He leaned back in his chair, an eyebrow lifted in amusement. “There’s only one problem with the scenario. My relationship with Ann was a bit more casual than implied. We weren’t lovers.”
“But you have a key to her condo.” It wasn’t a question, but rather a statement of fact. Clay didn’t want to think about why the assertion that Greg and Ann weren’t lovers pleased him.
Greg’s smile didn’t waver. “Which is not a crime, the last I heard.” He leaned forward and once again laced his fingers together. “Officer...I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
“Clinton. Clay Clinton.”
“Officer Clinton, Ann and I dated for several months, then decided our relationship wasn’t going anywhere. We agreed not to see each other anymore and that was the end of it.” He blinked, reminding Clay of a cold-blooded reptile.
“Ann is a fine, intelligent woman, but certainly not the type to inspire the kind of obsessive passion that would warrant my sneaking around leaving her notes.” He reopened the file folder on his desk. “And now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.” He picked up a sheet of paper, effectively dismissing Clay.
Clay bridled, unaccustomed to being summarily discharged. “If you don’t mind, I have just another question or two.”
A flash of impatience crossed Greg’s features, there only a moment then gone beneath a smooth facade. “Yes?”
“Do you know of anyone who might want to give Ann some grief? Friends, family members?”
“Ann doesn’t have any family that I know of. Nor does she have any friends that I met during the time we dated. She’s a very private person and if you want to know any more about her, I suggest you ask her.”
Behind Closed Doors Page 3
