“I’ll bring steaks tonight,” Nathan offered.
“I’ll pick up some wine.”
After he walked her to her office and checked the inside, he kissed her and waved goodbye. She waved back, and a strange feeling overcame him. He zeroed in on her hand. Veronica was right-handed.
Aha. That was it. He’d known from the beginning she hadn’t tried to commit suicide. And he couldn’t wait to explain his theory to Ford and watch the detective’s face.
A few minutes later he stood in front of Ford’s desk. “I figured something out today.”
“What?” Ford asked as he wolfed down his second bear claw.
“Veronica is right-handed.”
“So?”
“When her wrist was cut during that first attack, it was her right wrist. If a right-handed person tried to commit suicide, she’d cut her left wrist, not her right.”
Nathan saw the moment Ford conceded. His furrowed eyebrows formed a straight bushy line. “You might be right.”
“I am right,” Nathan said. “Tell me what you found on the prints off her car.”
“Nothing,” Ford said. “Oh, except her secretary’s. You asked me to check into her, too.”
“Her prints were on Veronica’s car?”
“Yeah, but she works with her, doesn’t she? Maybe she took something to her car for her.”
Nathan nodded. “It’s possible. Does she have a record?”
Ford licked the powdery sugar from his lips. “For prostitution in ’88.”
“Ahh, interesting.” Nathan let the idea churn around in his mind. Louise Falk worked for Veronica, had access to her keys, her car and perhaps her house. But why would she hurt Veronica? Even if Veronica had known about her past, which he didn’t think she did, Veronica had given her a job.
“Final report on the bloody knife in the car,” Ford said. “Blood was from a butcher shop, not a human’s.”
“So, someone is trying to drive Veronica crazy.”
“But why?”
“It has to be her past. But Louise Falk doesn’t fit. If she did know Veronica as a child, she was just a kid herself.”
“I’ll check into Falk’s family,” Ford said.
“Good work,” Nathan said, realizing the two of them were actually working together. “I’m going to check out some of the people in Mr. Miller’s date book. Maybe the key in discovering who’s threatening Veronica is to find the person responsible for murdering the Millers.”
“So you don’t think it was a murder-suicide?”
“Veronica doesn’t,” Nathan said. “And I believe her.”
Ford shook his head. “I hope you’re right.”
He remembered a similar conversation with his former partner, only his partner had been wrong. But this was different. And sometimes a cop’s instincts led him to the truth.
Only problem was, Nathan wasn’t sure he hoped he was right—if he was and the murderer was in town and afraid of being discovered, Veronica was in terrible danger.
VERONICA WAS LEAVING her office when the phone rang. Thinking it was business, she hurried back to answer it. “Veronica Miller speaking.”
“Ms. Miller, this is Alma Jones. We met at my grandson’s campaign kickoff party.”
“Yes, you’re Eli’s mother. I remember.” How could she forget the withered old woman who’d been so unfriendly to her?
“My granddaughter, Tessa, said she had lunch with you yesterday.”
“Well, it wasn’t exactly lunch. I’m afraid I wasn’t feeling well and had to leave before our food arrived.” Had Eli’s family decided to welcome her into their tight-knit group?
“Listen, I’d appreciate it if you would stay away from my family. What with Gerald running for the senate, our family can’t use any negative publicity right now. You understand, don’t you?”
“What?” First Eli didn’t want her to see Gerald, now his mother wanted her to stay away from the whole family.
“Murdering your own parents was bad enough, but I won’t let you harm any of my children.”
Veronica gasped. She’d heard rumors that some people thought she was a child murderer, but no one had ever said it to her face. Anger hurriedly replaced her hurt. “Look, Mrs. Jones, I don’t have any intention of interfering with your family. In fact, I don’t even want to be a part of it.” Veronica slammed down the phone and dropped her face into her hands, her pulse racing. How dare the woman.
Still reeling fifteen minutes later when she parked at the hospital for her appointment with Dr. Sandler, she did the relaxation exercises the psychiatrist in Florida had taught her. Taking deep breaths and imagining herself on a quiet, deserted island helped. Only the island wasn’t deserted—Nathan was there. And it was perfect, a romantic haven where problems didn’t exist, where their love could blossom and they could make love beneath the stars every night with only the moon watching them and the sound of waves lapping at the shore.
Feeling better, she made her way through the quiet hospital corridors and up to Dr. Sandler’s office. She offered him a calm smile when he greeted her.
“Well, Ms. Miller, it’s a pleasure. You’ve turned into a beautiful young woman.”
Veronica blushed as he gave her a firm handshake. You could tell a lot about a person from a handshake. “Thanks. I’m afraid I don’t remember much about you.”
“Of course not. The last time I saw you, well, it wasn’t under the best of circumstances.” He offered her a sympathetic look, which she tried to ignore.
“I know.” Veronica settled into one of the leather chairs flanking his massive oak desk. “I wanted to talk to you about what happened.”
Dr. Sandler folded his hands, and Veronica had an eerie feeling that the next few minutes were crucial. “I want to know what I said when I was a child. You know, after my parents’ death.”
“Why now?” Dr. Sandler asked.
Veronica told him about the threats.
“I know. I talked with that young detective yesterday who’s working on your case.”
“You what?” Veronica felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her.
“Dawson, I believe he said. I thought you probably gave him my name.”
She shook her head, stunned. He’d lied to her. Why hadn’t Nathan told her? Was he checking up on her? Hurt spiraled through her, and it took her several seconds to regain her composure.
“Relax, Ms. Miller. I didn’t disclose anything confidential. I pride myself on my ethical practice.”
“Of course.” Veronica breathed a sigh of relief, her anger growing. He had spent the night with her, made love with her until dawn, but he hadn’t told her he’d asked a psychiatrist about her. Did he think she was crazy? Or did he believe she could have killed her own parents?
“Um, Ms. Miller?” The doctor checked his watch. “I have to see patients soon.”
“Oh, yes.” Veronica collected herself. “I’ve had these recurring nightmares all my life. A big ominous shadow is chasing me, trying to catch me. One doctor told me it was a child’s way of compensating for the fear I felt, that the shadow represents death. But I think the shadow is a person’s face. I think I’m seeing a vision of the person who killed my parents.”
Dr. Sandler’s eyes narrowed in concentration. “Either one is possible. Have you tried hypnosis?”
“Yes. But nothing happened. I wondered, did I say anything to give you a clue as to who killed my parents?”
The doctor shifted, obviously uncomfortable.
“Please tell me the truth.”
“Ms. Miller, you were very small and fragile, in shock.”
“What did I say?”
“You mentioned a big, dark shadow.”
“But the police didn’t think anyone else was there?”
Dr. Sandler shook his head. “No.” He paused, then continued. “The only other thing you said was that it was your fault. You kept saying it over and over—‘It was my fault. My parents died because of me.”’
AFTER CHECKING Veronica’s father’s date book and the list of people presently living in the town against those who were around at the time of his death, Nathan found only four names that ranked as possibilities. Alma and Gerald Jones were two of them. Scroggins was another. The last was a girl named Susan Pritchard. At the time she’d been seventeen, and would now have been thirty-seven. Only, she had died in a car accident within a few days of Veronica’s parents’ deaths. Her parents still lived in town. Nathan made a quick phone call, but the Pritchards weren’t home, so he decided to swing by and visit Gerald and his grandmother.
The Jones family had been a founder of the town, and Alma knew everyone who lived in Oakland. He’d heard the woman was a society matriarch and would do anything to ensure her son’s future in politics. Now Gerald had been added to the repertoire of her protective arms.
He drove to the mansion and pulled up in the big circular drive, amazed to see gardeners tending the lawn in the heart of winter. A distinguished, stiff-looking butler greeted him and showed him to the formal sitting room where Alma Jones sat. Wearing a long golden robe and feathered slippers, she looked as regal as a queen on a throne. Her gnarled fingers took away slightly from the powerful image, but her cool assessing eyes and pointed chin made up the difference.
“What can I do for you, Detective?”
The obvious distaste she had for his position in life came through loud and clear. “I want to discuss something that happened a few years ago.”
“Is this about that Miller woman?”
Nathan hesitated, wondering how she knew. Then he quickly realized Alma knew everything. She probably paid spies to collect gossip for her.
“Yes, in a way. Why do you ask?”
“I saw the two of you cavorting at Gerald’s party.”
Perceptive woman. “Actually, I’m looking into an old murder case—the Millers.”
“You mean that murder-suicide?” The woman’s lower lip curled into a look of disdain that only a true snob could pull off. “It was a horrid thing for the community. And I did feel sorry for that poor child.”
“I heard that you and your son visited her in the hospital.”
Shock widened the woman’s eyes momentarily, but she quickly masked it and fanned her face, her diamonds glittering as she waved her hand back and forth. “Yes, Eli was…worried. And in his position, we thought it was a good move to show concern for the child.”
“So, you did it to impress the cameras?” A bitter taste filled Nathan’s mouth.
“That was part of it. And as senator, Eli felt a certain responsibility. The town supported him, he felt he owed it to help console that little girl in her tragedy.”
“You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.”
The old woman smiled as if she was glad he understood. His stomach clenched.
“Mrs. Jones, Mr. Miller’s date book indicates you and your grandson visited him the week before he died.”
Yellow tinged the old woman’s white pallor as she dug her bony fingers into the kerchief in her lap. “Yes. He was the only lawyer in town. He handled some financial affairs for us.”
“And Gerald? He was only—what, around twenty back then?”
“Eighteen, but he had a trust fund. Miller was overseeing its executions.”
She had an answer for everything. The quickness of her reply struck him as odd, almost as if she’d practiced her response. “Actually, Detective Dawson, I hated to mention this after the poor family’s death, but I was withdrawing my accounts from Mr. Miller.”
“Oh?”
“Yes.” The old woman tethered. “There was some gossip that he wasn’t quite on the up-and-up. And my family certainly couldn’t have had our name associated with someone of that caliber.”
“I see.” Nathan studied the old woman. She was cunning and definitely out to protect her family. But at what cost? “And you think that might have had something to do with the deaths?”
“Who knows?” The woman toyed with the emerald on her left hand. “Perhaps someone found out and Mr. Miller was so distraught he killed himself.”
Or he was in with the wrong people and they murdered him. The implication came through loud and clear. Nathan’s gut pinched. He didn’t want to tell Veronica this latest insight. If it were true, she would be crushed.
“Was Eli here the night the Millers died?”
“Oh, no. He was away on the campaign.” She smiled, fluttering her long gray eyelashes. “But he came back right away to check on the child.”
Nathan stood. He’d had enough of Alma Jones and her condescending snobbery. “Is Eli here?”
“No, he and Barbara are hosting a charity event tonight.”
“How about Gerald?”
As cool as Mrs. Jones appeared, anxiety streaked her face. “He’s in his office. But I believe he’s busy. You could make an appointment with his secretary.”
“That’s okay. I think I’ll just knock.” Nathan remembered seeing an office on the main floor the night of the party. He had a feeling it was Gerald’s. “Thanks for your time, Mrs. Jones.”
“Certainly.” The woman nodded stiffly, dismissing him.
He found Gerald’s office and tapped on the door.
“Come in.”
Nathan opened the door and tried not to gawk at the elaborate furnishings. Gerald’s office contained more furniture than his entire apartment, and the price of his sleek cherry desk probably tripled the cost of Nathan’s entire living room set.
“To what do I owe this visit?” Gerald asked with his usual smooth politician’s smile.
Nathan made himself comfortable in one of the leather wing chairs. He gave a short rendition of his search into the Miller case. “I wondered what business you had with Mr. Miller years ago.”
Gerald’s false smile slipped slightly. “I didn’t have business with him,” Gerald said. “I was only a young boy.”
Nathan hesitated, remembering Alma Jones’s story. “You didn’t go to see him about a trust?”
Gerald looked puzzled for a moment. “Oh, yes, I did have a trust. I don’t remember what day it was that I was scheduled to see Mr. Miller, though. In fact, I never made the meeting.”
“You didn’t meet with him at all that week?”
Gerald shook his head. “Not at all. Now, if there isn’t anything else, I have an important call to make.”
Feeling dismissed, Nathan stood and left, an uneasy premonition settling inside him. For some reason he couldn’t pinpoint, he sensed Gerald was lying.
VERONICA GATHERED the mail, and after flipping through the assortment of junk pieces and bills, stared at an unmarked envelope. Ripping it open, her chest squeezed at the sight of the newspaper articles enclosed. They were all about her parents’ deaths. She immediately glanced around her to see if anyone was watching. Who had sent the unmarked envelope? And why?
Tired of being afraid, she summoned her courage and opened the door to her apartment. The minute she stepped inside, she knew someone had been there. Were they still there?
The apartment smelled like a man’s cologne, but not like Nathan’s. It was some sickly sweet smell that lingered in the air like rotten fruit. And the furniture had all been rearranged in her living room. Her hands trembled and fear mushroomed in her stomach. Her sofa was against the far wall, the chairs sectioned off to form their own conversation group and the coffee table had been pushed to the side. Magazines lay scattered on the floor, and the cushions from the couch were stacked in a tall pile. Who would do such a strange thing? Was someone playing with her mind?
Her temper flared. An intruder had once again violated her personal domain. Some sicko who wanted to drive her crazy.
Pausing at the door, she listened for the intruder and prepared to bolt. How had they managed to get in with the new locks sh
e’d had installed? Anger overrode her fear. She wasn’t crazy. Someone was out to get her. Maybe the same person who had killed her parents.
A deep voice sounded behind her, and she screamed. Firm hands grabbed her.
“Veronica, stop, it’s me, Nathan.”
It took a second for his voice to register and when it did, embarrassment flooded her face. “I’m sorry.”
“Shh. No, I am.” He gently wrapped his arms around her, and she sagged against him. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to startle you. What’s going on?”
“I just got home,” she said in a dull voice. “It looks like the new locks didn’t work.”
Nathan cursed and released her. He drew his gun and pushed her behind him. She remembered her talk with the psychiatrist, and followed Nathan into the apartment, a mixture of anger and hurt spiraling inside her. He hastily searched her apartment, but Veronica knew it would be empty. Whoever was doing this was too clever to be caught. And right now, her heart was breaking from wondering why Nathan had seen Dr. Sandler behind her back. She’d told herself that having his comfort and body was enough, that if he walked away from her, once the case was solved, she would be fine. But she realized she wanted much more. She wanted his love. And she didn’t want him to leave. For the first time in her life, she’d started to envision a future with a man instead of being alone.
She stood silently in the living room, one hand clinging to the sofa arm for support. When Nathan sauntered back into the room, he threw the dead bolt, then stuffed his gun inside his jacket and stared at her, fury in his eyes. “Are you all right?”
Veronica nodded as her mind filled with memories of his hands pleasuring her and his arms closing around her. He was beside her in a flash, curling his hands around her arms. “What’s wrong?”
“I went to see Dr. Sandler today,” she said quietly. “Only he told me he’d already talked to you about me.”
The look of guilt that washed over his face only made her feel worse.
“Why did you do it?” Veronica asked. Then she finally voiced the question that had been eating at her all afternoon. “Do you think I killed my parents?”
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