by Diana Miller
Lexie smiled faintly. “Max wrote both of those before he was successful enough to have to admit accountants and lawyers have their uses.”
“True.” The light flickered, and she heard Ben fiddling with something under the car. “Don’t worry. If this car crushes anyone, it’ll be me.”
While he examined the car, Lexie stood hugging herself and looking around, alert for the slightest movement. After several minutes Ben emerged from beneath the car and flipped his flashlight off.
“Did you find anything?” she asked.
He shook his head, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Too much fire damage. Damn.”
The flash of approaching car lights and roar of an engine indicated someone was pulling up to the fence.
Ben grabbed Lexie’s hand and started sprinting. “Come on.”
“Who is it?” she asked, running beside him.
“Be quiet.” He pulled her behind the building.
She had no idea what was going on, but from Ben’s reaction, it wasn’t good. Over the heartbeat drumming in her ears, Lexie heard a metallic rattle, then the creak of the gate opening. Heavy footsteps crunched over gravel, coming nearer, stopping. A flashlight shone along the edge of the building.
She pressed her back against the bricks to make herself as flat as possible, trying not to breathe.
EPISODE 2
CHAPTER 4
The gravelly footsteps resumed, but this time they were moving away. A moment later Lexie heard the gate close, followed by a car door slamming and an engine turning over. She let out a relieved breath.
“We’re lucky Al’s in a hurry to finish his rounds tonight,” Ben said. “Otherwise he would have checked this place out closer.”
Lexie released her tight grip on Ben’s hand, relief shifting to anger. “You made me sneak in here tonight when you knew there was a security guard?”
“I didn’t expect anyone to show up this early,” Ben said. “Al’s actually a cop. This is the police impound lot. They’re holding the Ferrari until the beneficiaries tell them what to do with it.”
She forced herself to count to ten. Twice. Getting angry was a waste of what little energy she had left after today’s events. “Great,” she said, managing with monumental effort to keep her tone level. “I’ve been here less than a day and was already nearly arrested.”
“We’ve still got time.” Ben took her arm.
She dug in her heels. “Sorry, but I have no desire to see the inside of a Minnesota jail cell.”
“I was kidding,” he said. “This time we won’t do anything remotely illegal. On the way back, I thought we’d stop and check out the curve Grandfather’s car missed.”
# # #
Even riding wasn’t helping tonight, Ben acknowledged as he sped over the deserted blacktop. Usually there was nothing better than flying through a summer night, especially with a woman plastered against his back. Lexie might not be a double D, but she was more than adequate in that department, and the legs that were currently pressing into his hips were world-class. She was attractive enough that under normal circumstances, he’d be enjoying having at least a little trouble keeping his thoughts on his driving. But he still felt as lousy as he had when they’d left Nevermore.
Lexie’s arms tightened, and Ben checked the speedometer, saw he’d accelerated, and slowed. He felt bad about the way he’d pushed her so hard to ride with him in the first place. He’d dismissed her objections because he’d assumed she was a snob like Olivia, thinking that riding a motorcycle was beneath her. He’d been so upset about everything that they’d nearly reached the impound lot before he’d realized Lexie’s crushing grip meant she was scared. She wasn’t hanging on quite so tightly now—as long as he didn’t speed up—so hopefully she’d gotten over the worst of her fear.
The Ferrari had plummeted off a downhill curve three miles from Nevermore. Ben pulled onto the grassy shoulder and parked his bike. Then he and Lexie walked along the gradual uphill. The sun was down, but a half-moon provided some light.
“This doesn’t look that dangerous,” she said. “I assumed it was an S curve, or something a lot sharper.” The curve in question was more an elongated “C.”
“The road plunges into a ravine, and the shoulder’s so narrow that if you lose control, you don’t have much recovery room.” He pointed down the hill. “It’s too dark to see, but it’s a long way down, and there aren’t many trees to stop you. The Ferrari hit the bottom, then flipped over and started on fire.”
“How horrible.”
The waver in Lexie’s voice confirmed what Ben had recognized at the impound lot. He’d misjudged her about one thing—she wasn’t here solely because of her job or the fees the trust would pay her law firm. She’d honestly cared about Grandfather.
“You’ve got that right,” he said. “Let’s sit for a few minutes.” He plopped down on the grass at the edge of the ravine.
Lexie sat beside him, hugging her knees to her chest. “Could Max have had a heart attack or stroke?”
“It’s possible, although he had his annual exam last month and was declared healthy as a horse,” Ben said. “And I guarantee he wasn’t drunk. He believed in drinking and writing, but drinking and driving was an absolute no. Especially in his precious Ferrari.”
She rested her chin on her bent knees. “Was he upset about anything? Not that I can imagine Max committing suicide, but—
“No way. He loved life too much.” Ben stretched out his legs, bracing his hands behind him, and shifted to a subject easier to discuss. “Trey saw Grandfather earlier that day, and he was in a terrific mood. His latest book had just knocked Stephen King’s off the top spot on the New York Times’ hardcover bestseller list.”
“Was he working on anything new?”
Ben looked up at the moon. A couple of stars had joined it. “He was always working on something new. He claimed this one was going to be his best ever.”
“What’s it about?”
“Don’t know.” He shifted his gaze from the sky to Lexie. “Grandfather considered talking about a work in progress bad luck.”
“I thought he wouldn’t tell me because he was afraid an attorney would rip him off. As if I could write a Max Windsor bestseller even with a hundred-page detailed outline.” Lexie returned her attention to the curve. “If Max’s death was a murder, then someone either forced him off the road or tampered with his car. Or possibly drugged him. Were you and Muriel the only beneficiaries in Rockville when he was killed?”
“Far as I know, but someone else could have sneaked into town. Or paid to have it done.”
Lexie raised her chin from her knees and looked at him, her eyes widening. “Hired someone to kill Max?” From her tone, she’d never considered that.
“Believe it or not, finding a hit man isn’t too tough.”
“You’ve tried?”
Memory curved his lips. “No, but Grandfather did. For a book.”
“Hitchhiking Through Hell.”
“Give the lady a gold star,” Ben said, raising one finger. “He wanted to make sure it was doable. According to him, it definitely was.”
Lexie released her legs and stretched them out in front of her. They sat in silence for a couple of minutes, and then she let out an audible breath. “So assuming it was murder, what do we do next?”
Muscles Ben hadn’t realized he’d been tensing relaxed. He really did need her help. “First I think we should get some sleep.” He got to his feet, then offered her his hand. “We’ve both had long days. We’ll come up with a plan tomorrow.”
# # #
Lexie spent the ride back to Nevermore lost in thought. Max was dead, and it was unlikely his death had been accidental. Seeing the car and curve and talking to Ben had made that clear. Maybe she wasn’t a trained detective, but Max had asked her to investigate and had confidence in her abilities. She’d give it her best shot.
By the time the motorcycle entered the Nevermore grounds, it was dark and the spotligh
ts were on. The rose house was now dull gray with a single illuminated window, the sky behind it pitch black except for the half-moon and a couple of stars. Fog seemed to swirl around the porch and towers, although the night otherwise was clear. Maybe the money Max claimed to have spent buying ghosts to haunt Nevermore hadn’t been wasted.
Ben pulled the motorcycle up beside his pickup and removed his helmet. “Admit it. You liked riding tonight.”
To be honest, by their final trek Lexie had been enjoying herself, but no way was she admitting that to Ben. Her enjoyment just meant that the stresses of today had her brain too exhausted to recognize danger. She got off the bike. “I like that I got back here alive.”
“Bull. At the end you were barely holding on to me. Next time you’ll be begging me to go faster.”
“There won’t be a next time.” She pulled off her helmet and set it on the grass, then combed her fingers through her damp, flattened hair as they started to the house.
“Hell,” Ben said, stopping abruptly. He looked as if he’d mistaken a cup of Pennzoil for his morning coffee. “The perfect end to a lousy day.”
Lexie followed Ben’s gaze to a man walking toward them from a dark Mercedes, wheeling a suitcase bag behind him.
“How are you, Ben?” the man asked.
“Do you care?”
“I was being polite, a concept that’s clearly beyond you.” The man turned his attention to Lexie, extending his free hand and smiling warmly. “I’m Jeremy Windsor.”
Jeremy was tall, dark, and classically handsome, his suit and tie clearly expensive. Exactly her type. A pity she’d sworn off men.
“I’m Ca—Lexie,” she said, returning his smile as she shook his hand.
Ben draped an arm around her shoulders. “Lexie came from Kentucky to comfort me.”
And an even greater pity she was pretending to be involved with Ben.
“Where in Kentucky?” Jeremy asked.
“Lexington. I did a year at the University of Kentucky and stuck around. Now I’m a cocktail waitress and an aspiring novelist. I’m sorry about your grandfather’s death.”
“Thank you. Did you ever meet him?”
She shook her head. “I only met Ben a little over a month ago, and this is my first trip here.”
“That’s too bad, since I’m sure Grandfather would have been happy to help with your book. He always liked beautiful blondes.”
Ben’s arm tightened around her shoulders. “Let’s go, Lexie,” he said as he steered her toward Nevermore’s front stairs.
“It’s been nice meeting you, Lexie,” Jeremy called after them. “I look forward to getting to know you.”
“Why did you claim to be an aspiring novelist?” Ben asked when they were inside Nevermore.
“You clearly won’t get a lot out of Jeremy, so it’s up to me,” Lexie said. “I figured he’ll assume I latched on to you just so I could meet your grandfather and maybe hit on me. I thought it was inspired.”
“And unnecessary,” Ben said. “You’re with me. Jeremy’s going to hit on you.”
# # #
“No …”
Lexie bolted up in bed. The word was thin and metallic, scraping down her spine like a steel blade.
Then silence.
She jumped out of bed, grabbed her robe, and raced into the hallway.
CHAPTER 5
“That’s Dylan,” Ben said as he sprinted down the hallway.
“What’s going on?” Lexie asked, running behind him. Her heart was hammering like a woodpecker on speed.
“Damned if I know.”
By the time they reached Dylan’s doorway, the screams had stopped. Ben opened the unlocked door and flipped on the overhead light. “What’s wrong?”
Lexie had been braced to see Dylan’s dead body, but he was sitting up in bed, his face nearly as white as the sheet he clutched. His gaze was fixed on an overstuffed chair against the wall.
“Grandfather.” His voice was low and wobbly. “Grandfather was here, in this room.”
Cecilia hurried from the hallway to her brother. “You were dreaming.”
“Or drunk,” Jeremy said, stepping into the room and tightening the belt of his black silk robe.
“I wasn’t. He woke me up.” Dylan pointed at the chair. “He was sitting right there.”
Ben walked over to the chair and pointed to the floor lamp beside it. “Are you sure you didn’t mistake the lamp for Grandfather? In the dark, the white shade might look like Grandfather’s hair.”
“It was Grandfather.” Dylan’s voice was stronger, steadier. “He was sitting, then he got up and disappeared.”
“Grandfather’s dead, Dylan,” Cecilia said softly. She sat down on the bed beside him, her scarlet robe a vivid contrast to his pale face.
“I know that. I meant it was his ghost.” Dylan released the sheet and turned to Cecilia. “You remember how we used to hear things when we stayed here. Things that couldn’t have been trees or the wind or an old house.”
Cecilia nodded. “We always thought Grandfather had staged it.”
“But what if he didn’t? What if the house was haunted before, and now Grandfather’s joined the party?”
“What did he do?” Ben asked. “Just sit and look at you?”
Now that her anxiety about Dylan had lessened, Lexie noticed that Ben was wearing only a pair of running shorts that accentuated a tight butt and a muscular chest with a light dusting of hair. She immediately refocused on Dylan.
He was shaking his head vigorously, his loose hair flapping. “Grandfather told me he knew what I’d done and asked why I’d done it.”
“Then what?” Seth asked.
“Then I screamed, and he disappeared.”
“I can certainly understand your dreaming about Grandfather, being at Nevermore so soon after his death,” Ben said. “We’ll probably all dream about him.”
Dylan shook his head again. “It wasn’t a dream.”
“We’ll discuss it in the morning.” Ben headed for the door.
Dylan grabbed Cecilia’s arm with both hands. “I can’t sleep here. What if he comes back?”
Ben turned back toward Dylan. “You can sleep in my room. I’ll sleep in here.”
“Do you think staying here’s a good idea, Ben?” Cecilia asked.
He shrugged. “I’m not in the mood to share my bed with Dylan, and Aunt Muriel forbade me from sleeping with Lexie.”
Lexie suddenly realized that Muriel was the only family member absent. “Where is your aunt?” she asked.
“Asleep, I assume,” Ben said. “She sleeps with earplugs, and her room’s at the far end of the hallway.” He raised an eyebrow. “Why don’t you stay in here with me? Aunt Muriel didn’t say a thing about us sharing someone else’s room.”
“I don’t think that would be appropriate,” Lexie said, since “no way in hell” definitely wouldn’t be appropriate in front of this audience.
“You’re probably right,” Ben said. “Aunt Muriel’s already overwhelmed saying rosaries for Grandfather’s sins without having to fit in more for us.” He stepped up to Lexie. “How about a kiss in case I don’t survive the night?”
He rested his hands on Lexie’s shoulders. His bare chest and masculine scent made her pulse jump. His lips brushed over hers, sending a bolt of liquid heat swirling through her stomach and lower.
She frowned.
Ben chuckled, removing his hand. “Don’t look so worried. I promise I’ll survive.”
She was obviously exhausted, Lexie thought as she walked back to her room. She certainly wasn’t attracted to Ben—he wasn’t at all her type, and she was mature enough that her brain controlled her hormones. Her brain seemed to have taken tonight off, but that had to be due to fatigue, stress, and her recent celibacy. She’d have reacted to any halfway attractive, half-dressed male the same way. After a good night’s sleep, she’d be back to viewing Ben as nothing but the necessary evil he was.
And with any luck, she’d so
on be on her way back to Philadelphia. Because Dylan’s dream could very well have been triggered by a guilty conscience, especially since he’d dreamed that Max had confronted him about what he’d done, which could have been to commit murder. That put Dylan at the top of the suspect list.
# # #
“What do you mean, you won’t be able to attend the summer gala? Everyone who’s anyone will be there.” Elizabeth Barrington sounded as scandalized as if her daughter had just admitted she was staying at Max Windsor’s mansion and investigating his possible murder while pretending to be Lexie, the cocktail waitress girlfriend of an auto mechanic.
Catherine sank down on the bed. She’d been on her way to the shower when her cell phone had rung. She’d wanted to ignore it, but she couldn’t blow off her mother.
She should have gone with her gut. “I told you I’m out of town working, Mother.”
“Where are you?”
“Chicago.” Catherine wasn’t about to say she was in Minnesota, since her mother would realize her work was related to Max. She’d listened to her mother badmouth him enough when he was alive.
“Do your best to come home by the weekend. I told Steven Wilmington that I was sure you’d be there.” Elizabeth sniffed. “I assume he didn’t dare ask you to accompany him after how rudely you turned him down before.”
“I wasn’t rude, Mother. I told Steven I needed more time before I’d be ready to date again, and he understood. My divorce was just final a few months ago.” Not that she’d have dated Steven if she’d been divorced for decades. In his mid-thirties, he was already the definition of a stuffed shirt.
“Don’t remind me.” Her mother’s voice sounded pained, as if someone had hammered a nail through it. “The sooner you remarry, the sooner people will forget you were ever divorced. Especially since Neil’s already remarried. You have no idea how hard it is for me to have a daughter who’s divorced. No one in my family has ever been divorced.”
