Shaded Light: The Case of the Tactless Trophy Wife: A Paul Manziuk and Jacquie Ryan Mystery (The Manziuk and Ryan Mysteries Book 1)

by J. A. Menzies

  Bev laughed, then became serious. “But Manziuk’s good, Jacquie. Everybody says so.”

  Jacquie’s face relaxed, but she resumed pacing. “He’s one of the best. But I’m still nervous when I think about having to work with him. Who knows what he’ll think of me?”

  “What’s to think? You’re a good cop. You graduated near the top of your class in criminology. You paid your dues in narcotics and juvenile. You just spent a year in vice.”

  “But he’s old school. Worked his way up step by step. And the word is he doesn’t have any time for cops who learn the business at university. And then there’s my age. I’m only twenty-eight. How many homicide detectives are that young? Not to mention the fact I’m a woman. And black. And we both know that’s why I got the promotion.”

  “Jacquie, that’s not true!”

  “Grow up, Bev! I’m not complaining. But I know perfectly well the police force has a mandate to promote more blacks and more women. So here I am—two for the price of one!”

  “But you’re a good cop!”

  “Sure I am, honey. I just have to keep proving it to everybody.”

  “Well, don’t get in a knot over it. He works with Detective Sergeant Craig all the time. Maybe you’ll never even have to go near Manziuk.”

  “I sure hope not. Maybe in a year or two when I know my way around.”

  Part I

  Half light, half shade,

  She stood, a sight to make

  an old man young.

  —ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON

  ONE

  You self-righteous liar! But then you never think of anyone but yourself!”

  As Peter Martin stepped into the front hallway of his penthouse in an exclusive residential area of downtown Toronto, he was surprised to hear his wife’s angry voice. The voice he’d been hearing a lot lately. The one he hadn’t realized she possessed until several months ago. But this time she wasn’t speaking to him.

  He’d come home early from the office to pack for their weekend trip, expecting to find his young wife in the midst of deciding what clothes she should take to dazzle their friends. Instead, she appeared to be telling someone off. Unless by some miracle she was annoyed with herself. “Yeah, right,” Peter said softly.

  “But, Jillian, I wrote you weeks ago, and I asked you to let me know if this weekend wasn’t convenient.” The answering voice was soft and apologetic. Peter recognized it as belonging to his wife’s older sister, Shauna.

  Peter crossed the tiny front hallway into the living room.

  Jillian Martin, Peter’s wife, was seated on the sofa. Tone-on-tone embroidered ivory cushions served as a perfect backdrop for her flowing golden hair and tangerine lounging pajamas. As was inevitable when Peter saw her, he found his eyes caught and held by the smoothness of her tanned skin and the perfection of her delicate features.

  But today he had to shift his glance to Shauna, Jillian’s opposite—tall, gangly, mousy-haired, and pale—standing awkwardly before Jillian like a child on the carpet, her hands clasped, shoulders hunched. The small suitcase at her feet only served to make her position even more embarrassing.

  Jillian’s voice dropped to a purr. “Peter, darling, I’m so glad you’re home. Shauna has just arrived on the doorstep. She says I knew she was coming, but I didn’t, Peter. I’m sure I didn’t!”

  “Hello, Shauna.” Peter held out his hand as he walked toward her. “It’s good to see you even if there is a mix-up.”

  In spite of the thick lenses of her black-rimmed glasses, he could see relief in her eyes as she put her hand into his. The hand was limp and cold, and he held it for only an instant before moving to the sofa beside Jillian and inviting Shauna to sit down and make herself at home. Simultaneously, a part of his mind wrestled with the question of what to do with her.

  “I’ve told Shauna I’m sorry, but we just won’t be here, will we, Petey?” Jillian’s clear blue eyes, big as saucers, gazed at him with a studied helplessness he was getting to know well.

  “She’s right, Shauna. We’re going to one of my partner’s homes for the weekend. A house party. But perhaps we can work something out.”

  Shauna had tentatively seated herself on the edge of a plush ivory chair. Now she leaned forward and twisted her hands. “Oh, please, don’t worry about me. I must have made a mistake. If you’re going away I can just get a bus back home. Or I could stay here while you’re gone and look after things. There are a couple of books I wanted to buy. I could read them.”

  “What an utterly boring weekend!” Peter said with the involuntary shudder of a man who regarded books of all forms as work. “I think we can do better than that.”

  Jillian placed a beautifully manicured hand on her husband’s arm. “But there’s nothing wrong with that, Peter. She can stay here and read or watch TV. She’ll be fine.”

  “Yes, really I will, Peter.” Shauna sat forward eagerly, and he was almost convinced.

  “So it’s settled,” Jillian said as she rose gracefully from the sofa. “Well, I have to get back to packing. You can put your things in the guest room, Shauna. I had a late brunch, so if you’re hungry you’ll have to fix yourself something. I don’t know what there is.” As she left the room, she turned to her husband and said, “Don’t give it another thought, Peter. Shauna’s always preferred books to people.”

  He had been ready to agree that Shauna should stay in the apartment. Now, perversely, he changed his mind. “No, she isn’t staying here. She’s coming with us.”

  Jillian stopped in the doorway. “She’s what?” Her voice rose perilously close to a shrill note.

  “I said she can come with us. George has a big house. One more person won’t make any difference.”

  “You can’t be serious!”

  Shauna rose halfway out of her chair. “Oh, no, Peter! I don’t want to go. I couldn’t possibly just go there uninvited. I don’t even know them!”

  “They were at our wedding last year. You met them then. And you’ve seen George once or twice since. Ellen’s easygoing. She won’t mind.”

  An edge to her voice, Jillian said, “Peter, Shauna doesn’t want to go, and she needn’t go.”

  Peter stood up and took a few steps toward his wife. Clearly and softly, he said, “My dear, if Shauna says she told you she was coming this weekend, I believe her. She wouldn’t make a mistake like that. So it’s not her fault we weren’t prepared, and we are going to do the best we can to give her a good weekend. That means taking her along.”

  Jillian opened her mouth but shut it without making a comment. Instead, she fluttered her eyelashes. “But, Petey.” She came toward him, her eyes mutely distressed, lips in a beautiful pout, hands reaching up to grasp his lapels and pull him toward her. “It wouldn’t be fair to either the Brodies or Shauna. She’d never fit in.”

  “Oh, no, I wouldn’t, Peter.” Shauna’s voice was distressed. “Jillian’s right. It’s very nice of you to suggest taking me, but I wouldn’t fit in at all. I’ll be just fine here when I get my books. Or—or I’ll go back home.”

  “Either you go or we all stay here,” Peter said. Again, the words seemed to slip out of their own free will.

  “That’s nonsense!” Jillian snapped.

  “You can’t mean that!” Shauna’s eyes darted from her sister to the man in front of her.

  Peter saw fear in those eyes. Of whom, he wondered. Himself or Jillian?

  “Peter, why are you being so silly? Shauna doesn’t want to go, and besides, she won’t have proper clothes.”

  “She can borrow some of yours, can’t she? You’re the same size. I thought you’d given her quite a few of your things.”

  The look Jillian flashed him was not one of unbounded love and affection. But Peter continued without regard for that look. “I came home to pack. I have to get back to the office for a meeting with a client. I’ll be here to pick you up about four. You should both be able to get ready by then.” He moved toward the bedroom. “By the way, Jillian, I trie
d to call you this morning around 11:00. There was no answer. I didn’t know you were going out.”

  She followed him into the hallway. “I had shopping to do. Should I have checked with you first?” Her voice made him think of tempered steel.

  “No, of course not. I only wondered if there was a problem.”

  “No problem, Petey.” She walked up to him, her slim hips swaying in the silky pajamas, and he waited for her to come close.

  “You look tired,” she said. “You know you shouldn’t work so hard. Do you really have to go back?”

  “Yes,” he said bluntly. She was right, though. He was tired. Of his job? He didn’t think so.

  Her slender hand came up to caress his cheek. But his mind ignored her touch and focused cynically on the very large, glittering diamond. The one he’d bought her. Stupid middle-aged fool, he thought ruefully. Then he remembered the wife before Jillian. No, he wasn’t a middle-aged fool. Just a fool.

  She kissed him and he responded. Might as well get something for what he’d paid.

  As she felt his response, she pressed against him.

  His arms tightened.

  She whispered in his ear, “You didn’t really mean that about Shauna’s going, did you? You were just teasing me.”

  He kissed her again before replying, his voice as soft as hers. “I meant every word I said, and you’d better be nice to her or I’ll cut your clothing allowance in half.”

  She pulled away, her blue eyes blazing with anger.

  He touched his index finger to her lips. “Not a word or I’ll do it now.” He went into the bedroom and began packing the clothes he thought he’d need for the next three days.

  A few minutes later, Jillian came in and stood watching him speculatively.

  “Are you finished packing?” he asked after a moment.

  “Haven’t started. But don’t worry, darling, I promise I’ll be ready on time.”

  She had emphasized the word darling a little too much. So she was angry. Well, maybe he was, too. Angry and something else. Maybe wondering when he’d grow up. A lot of people would say a forty-three-year-old man who took a twenty-two-year-old bride needed to grow up.

  “Have you talked to Douglass?” his bride asked.

  “Briefly.”

  She picked up a necklace and wrapped it around her fingers. “Are he and Anne going?”

  “I believe so. Does it matter?”

  “Of course not. They’re a couple of old stuffed shirts, anyway. Who else will be there? Besides George and Ellen, I mean.”

  “Their son, Kendall, and his college roommate. You’ve met Kendall, I think.”

  “I’m not sure. Does he look like George?”

  “I guess. His hair is brown, as I believe George’s was before it turned gray. He has a lot more than George, of course. Reasonably good-looking. Not too fat, not too thin. Medium height.”

  “Doesn’t ring any bells. You said his roommate was coming. Male or female?”

  “Male. I doubt if you’ve seen him. But we’ve offered to let both Kendall and him come into the firm. At George’s request, of course.”

  “Does George always get what he wants?”

  “He’s the senior partner.”

  “Who else will be there?”

  “That’s about it. Oh, no. Some female cousin of Ellen’s is coming. From out west.”

  “That should be fun.”

  She did sarcasm well, he thought. “Maybe Shauna will take care of her.”

  “You were rather nasty about Shauna.”

  “Was I? Sorry.” He finished packing and shut the suitcase with a quick snap.

  “It’s not as if Shauna wants to go.”

  “Maybe it bothers me that no one in your family ever cares what Shauna wants. And that reminds me. Fix her up with some decent clothes and some makeup. And try to do something with her hair!”

  “Peter, she’s an old-maid librarian, and that’s exactly what she looks like. She doesn’t want to change.”

  “She’s what, twenty-seven? Hardly an old maid. Especially these days. Anyway, I don’t have time to worry about Shauna. I have to get back to the office. See you at four.”

  As he shut the door of the apartment, he took a deep breath. Funny how the air in there always stifled him. Maybe it was that perfume Jillian insisted on wearing. The stuff that cost a hundred dollars an ounce. Ridiculous! But he had to humor her. Her. Them. All of them were the same, weren’t they?

  He got into the elevator and traveled from the penthouse to the ground floor. While he descended, a subtle change took place as his mind turned from domestic matters to legal ones. He was back on solid ground.

  And he was feeling good. He had a very rich, very important client coming to meet him in half an hour. And just that morning, he’d found the loophole his client needed to solve his tax problems, thus saving said client a good deal of hard cash, even after he’d paid his legal fees.

  Twenty minutes later, Peter nodded to his secretary as he walked past her desk. His glance was casual, but thorough. What he saw pleased him. As always, her mahogany hair was perfectly sculpted, her makeup flawless. She was thirty-three, well-groomed, businesslike rather than seductive, yet feminine enough to rate a second glance from any client. Like the plush carpet, expensive leather, and mahogany wood, she gave his office the right tone, that of a successful person who knew how to deal with success.

  Peter himself gave the same impression. His features were regular and misleadingly boyish. His light brown hair was longish and curling in the back, carefully styled by an expert; his clothes were the latest in business wear, discreet yet individual; his diamond-studded watch and gold ring were distinctive without being flashy. He had gained a little weight lately, it was true, but he visited his club enough to keep fit, and the filling out of his face and slight paunch only added to his sleek look. The picture of a contented man.

  Peter poured himself a drink and relaxed against the smooth leather of his executive chair, waiting for the lucky client to appear.

  His thoughts returned to Jillian and Shauna. Women! They had you no matter what you did. It was the same old story of “can’t live with ’em, can’t live without ’em.”

  And that reminded him. He needed to give his secretary a raise. No way he was paying her enough for her to afford the designer clothes she’d been wearing lately. She sure looked good, though. That figure was worth some expense. Better still, she had class. All in all, she was the ideal secretary. Easy on the eyes, unobtrusively in the background yet alert to his every need, intelligent yet deferential. She’d even thought to fib about where he was to Jillian a few times when she sensed he hadn’t wanted to be bothered with his wife’s petty requests.

  Jillian’s shrill voice popped into his thoughts. No tact there. Why hadn’t he seen that before? She had deceived him. Okay, maybe he had allowed himself to be deceived. But he saw her now for what she was. Selfish. Grasping. Out for all she could get. If he tried to divorce her, she would fight him every step of the way.

  He smiled. As if she could defeat him. He would have to be careful, that’s all. Find a way to rid himself of her without losing everything he had worked so hard to get.

  His intercom rang and he pressed the button. “Yes?”

  “Mr. Jennings is here to see you, Mr. Martin.” She had a nice voice, too.

  “Send him in.”

  “Yes, Mr. Martin. Is there anything you need, Mr. Martin?”

  “No, Miss Parker. Not right now.” But you never know, he thought as he stood to welcome Mr. Jennings. An engaging smile lit his face. You just never know.

  Eight blocks from the offices of Brodie, Fischer, and Martin, Attorneys-at-Law, the newest member of the firm, Kendall Brodie, only son of the senior partner, set down the cellular phone he had been using and sank into an ultramodern chair designed in one of the Nordic countries and sold in a large carton to those who don’t mind putting their own furniture together. It was impossible to sink far, and Kendal
l quickly straightened up. Stupid chair. He had wanted black leather, overstuffed and relaxing. But Nick had to have this beige plastic stuff that was supposed to be good for your posture. It also showed every speck of dirt. But Nick didn’t care. His idea of decorating was to buy something cheap and throw it out when you tired of it. False economy!

  The chair, however, was merely an annoyance. What was really bothering Kendall was the fact that Nick had been gone since seven-thirty the night before. He’d come in from who knows where, changed from jeans and a T-shirt into black linen pants, red sports shirt, and gray tweed blazer, yelled something about a sudden date, and rushed out. Likely a pick-up, Kendall had thought in disgust.

  And where was he now? Maybe lying in an alley someplace with no ID.

  But no. Someone was at the door, fumbling with the knob. It was locked, of course. And, as happened not infrequently, Nick had forgotten his key. Kendall waited until the bell rang before he pulled himself out of the chair.

  “You’re just a little bit late,” he commented as Nick walked through the doorway. “In fact, I was wondering if you were going to show at all.”

  If Nick noticed the tone of reproach in his roommate’s voice, he hid it well. “What a babe!” was all he said as he collapsed his lithe six-foot frame into the twin of Kendall’s chair. “I wouldn’t have missed last night for anything!”

  “Where’d you pick her up?”

  “Well, actually, she picked me up.” The soft baritone that women and law professors adored changed to a Hollywood falsetto. “She’s an actress, dahling. At least she hopes to be. And she didn’t know anyone in the big city and I looked so tall, dark, and handsome I must be an actor, mustn’t I? And it didn’t matter anyway, because I was just so good-looking, all she could think of was running her fingers through my hair and would I mind terribly if she did?”