The rain that had tapered off earlier had returned in force. Its drops drummed hard upon the roof and against the window panes, cooling the air so much that Olivia had lit a few scented candles. Such coziness of their well-used family room soothed the senses to the point that she began involuntarily yawning.
“Wanna make it an early bedtime, honey?”
“Yes, I think so. Shortly. This is so nice…”
Snuggling against his shoulder, with the warmth of a flannel blanket draped over her knees, she contemplated the nursery upstairs, with its new white crib and rocker, its two stuffed animals she couldn’t resist buying, its cheerful palette of green and yellow. This time, the baby’s father would be with her during labor and birth, holding her hand, lending her his strength.
Such a difference from Nicky’s arrival into the world. Then, despite the support of parents and brothers, she had gone through the whole experience as a single parent, often feeling lonely and discouraged. While she sometimes looked back on those days with regret for what her little boy had missed, she felt infinitely grateful that everyone was together now.
As it should be.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Jeff returned from his mid-morning appointment wearing a look of satisfaction. In fact, he was whistling some Broadway show tune when he strolled into the kitchen, plopped his keys into a dish on the counter, and stuck his head into the refrigerator for a cold bottle of beer.
“Oh, you’re back.”
“Ouch!” yelped Jeff, as, startled by his wife’s silent approach, he whacked the top of his head against the freezer door.
“Whoa. Sorry.” Her apology seemed not quite so sincere when followed by a giggle.
“Uh-huh.” His expression showed skepticism as he turned, opened the bottle, and took a swig. “Good stuff. Where’s Nick?”
With both hands pressed to the middle of her back, where a nagging pain had made itself known, Olivia smiled. “Gone to an early movie with friends. Then lunch at the mall. And Bruno is in the back yard, digging a hole to China.”
“That’ll occupy him for a while. You came outa your lair to see what’s going on, I presume?”
“You presume correctly.” She took a seat at the kitchen table, where her chair’s straight contours provided more support. “I’ve been working like mad on my fall and winter line, keeping in touch with the shop, and I think I’ve accomplished quite a bit. I hope your morning was as successful.”
“I’d like to think so. Want some coffee, hon?”
“Mmmm—no, thanks. But I would take a glass of that decaf iced tea in the fridge, if you don’t mind.”
“Sure.”
Glass in hand, he joined her, stretched his legs out, and got comfortable. “Well, you’re aware that I was meeting Darrin Burns about—uh—everything. Heckuva nice guy, knows what he’s doing. You two will have to get introduced sometime. Anyway, Darrin handles a lot of criminal stuff, has years of experience in and outa the courtroom. So I gave him the background of what’s been going on with Annajane.”
Olivia surveyed him with lifted brow. “Should I be worried?”
“Careful, was the word Darrin used. Careful. We’ll both be careful.”
Today, Jeff had signed various documents and affidavits, which Darrin had then had notarized, concerning the Queen Street property. Given Annajane’s state of mind, and her apparent immunity to legal repercussions, he wanted to be protected on all sides, no matter what might come along. On Monday, he would check with their personal attorney to make any necessary legal moves for the Quinley estate; also, on Monday, Darrin would be seeking a Temporary Restraining Order against the former Mrs. Quinley.
“Not that that is such a great leg to stand on,” Jeff admitted reluctantly, “if AJ is bound and determined to cause trouble for us. But, in the event of something cataclysmic happening, it would prove to the authorities that we took her threats seriously, and tried to head them off.”
Several sips of the iced tea helped relieve the sudden dry-as-dust feeling in Olivia’s throat. “I must confess, I’m not liking the sound of this very much.”
Stricken to the heart, he covered her hand with his and squeezed. “Me, neither, honey. I’m not liking it at all. But this is about the most we can do at the moment to keep her away from us. Short of moving to a tropical island somewhere, I guess.” His attempt at good humor rang hollow, even to his own ears.
Olivia’s goldy-green eyes, their color enhanced by a robust pregnancy, met his with obvious foreboding. “Right now, that doesn’t sound like such a bad idea. Except for the fact that both you and I have businesses to run, of course, and that Nicky will be back in school soon. Are you worried, Jeff?”
Considering, he rubbed his thumb back and forth over her wedding band. “A little, I guess. Seems like AJ has really started goin’ off the deep end, no matter how much so-called court-ordered therapy she lived through. But I do trust Darrin’s advice, and forewarned is forearmed. He thinks we’ll be okay.”
“Darrin doesn’t know your ex-wife, does he?” Her voice was tinged by bitterness.
“No. Not like we do, that’s for sure. Livvie,” he paused, catching up her hand in both of his, “this family is all that matters in the world to me. Don’t you think I’ll do my best to keep you, and Nicky, and that baby we’re waitin’ for—and, yes, even Bruno—safe from harm?”
She sighed. “Yes, I do think that, Jeff. But I suspect that your ex-wife thinks it, too.”
* * * * * * * * * *
The phone call came to his office late the following week. Patty, who had transferred with him and his furnishings when he’d moved his place of business some months ago, came to his door instead of using the intercom.
“Jeff,” she interrupted his work at the computer.
“Uh-huh.”
“Jeff.” Her expression, and her tone, mixed excitement with apprehension. “It’s the police.”
She had his attention. Swiveling in his chair, he glanced up sharply. “The police? Did they say what it’s about?”
“No. Just that they need to speak to you.”
“Okay. Thanks.” Brusquely, over the quickened pounding of his heart, he picked up the receiver to respond. “Jeff Quinley here.”
It was a Sergeant McGraw, located in an unfamiliar precinct, speaking with authority. He wanted to confirm that Mr. Quinley was the owner of a house on Queen Street, outside of Harrison.
“I am. Is there a problem?”
“Well, I’m afraid so, Mr. Quinley. There’s been a bit of damage done here, and we’d appreciate your comin’ by.”
Jeff had already turned off his computer and closed his books, in anticipation. “You got it, Sergeant. On my way.”
If this was the man’s idea of “a bit of damage,” Jeff thought, an hour later, it would be interesting to know what he considered something more major. Like the eruption of Mount St. Helens, for instance. With mouth set into a grimace and teeth clamped hard together against an onrush of emotion, he stood looking around while an officer in standard blue followed to point out the worst.
He had never really liked this place, never felt completely at home and comfortable here. Still, that didn’t mean he wasn’t expected to feel cold nausea in the pit of his stomach at the sight of so much inexplicable hatred, made manifest. Outrage darkened his vision and curdled his insides.
An especially virulent neon paint had been sprayed all over the front door, inside the foyer, and up the marble staircase. Several of Annajane’s precious plaster statues still in residence had been smashed to smithereens; draperies had been torn down and left in a heap on the floor; richly embossed gold and scarlet wallpaper had been hacked at with what was probably the type of utility knife so beloved by terrorists of every stripe.
“I had the locks changed once the property came into my hands again. How the hell did vandals get in?” he managed to grit out the question of no one in particular.
�
��Broken window on the side, sir,” his watchdog respectfully replied. “A real mess there, with shattered glass and all. Apparently no alarm system in that area.”
“No… just all the entryways, front and back and side doors, garage, and so on.” Then he added thoughtfully, almost to himself, “Wonder how anyone would know that? Where exactly to go, I mean?”
“We’ll be lookin’ into that, Mr. Quinley,” came a new voice, and Jeff turned to meet Sergeant McGraw, a bulky, muscular man made to appear even bulkier by the addition of all the necessary equipment demanded from officialdom. The two shook hands as McGraw pointed to a few details Jeff had missed in his initial quick survey. “We’ve been talkin’ to neighbors to find out what they may have noticed, gettin’ the lay of the land, so to speak.”
“Who reported it?”
“A Mrs.—uh—” he consulted his pad of notes, “Julia Halliwell. Out for a walk early this mornin’, and saw the disturbance along the side of your house.”
“I’ll have to thank her, then,” said Jeff decisively. “And contact my insurance company. Lord knows when the place will be livable again. Or sellable.”
“You were thinkin’ of sellin’ it, then?” A hint of Irish brogue came through the question.
“Hadn’t really come to that conclusion, yet. But—probably. Does that make a difference?”
The officer shrugged. “It might. We’ll certainly be investigatin’ the whole thing, I can assure you. We ain’t sure if this is random violence, or if you got yourself an enemies list.” A shrewd look upward, from under bushy brows. “Think that might be possible?”
Well, in for a penny, in for a pound.
“Entirely possible,” said Jeff frankly.
He proceeded to describe the horrific breakup of his marriage, the furor that had raged toward the end of it, and afterward, and the mental instability of his now ex-wife. Who conveniently still lived in the neighborhood—right next door, in fact—and had already voiced tenuous threats toward the current Mrs. Quinley.
“Ah. We’ll be certain to talk to that one, then. Even the slightest clue can lead us in the right direction, dontcha see.”
“I dislike pointing fingers, Sergeant. But in this case it may be justified.”
“Well, we won’t be jumpin’ to conclusions yet, will we? But a nice chat is in order. Be sure that I’ll follow up, Mr. Quinley, and I’ll let you know after I’ve filled out the report.”
Next on Jeff’s agenda was a quick visit to Julia.
“Oh, you don’t need to thank me,” she protested, inviting him in past the shrouded furniture and the detritus of reconstruction. “We’re still neighbors, as far as I’m concerned, and I was just doing what was right. Is there a lot of damage?”
“Thanks, Jules.” It was late morning, hot with the debilitating heat of late summer, and Jeff gratefully accepted the glass of iced tea his hostess offered him. “Yeah, you might say so.” Still recovering, he went on to describe what he had seen just a few minutes ago.
Shocked, she plopped down on a stool at the counter. “Jeff, I’m so sorry. I had no idea things might be that bad.”
Jeff quirked an eyebrow her way. “Any sign of destruction anywhere else around here?”
“No, not at all. Just—just your—house…” Julia considered that, eyes narrowing as an awesome possibility struck her. “I hardly think I should say what I’m thinking, but, still…”
“Uh-huh. Annajane.”
Her mouth formed an O of protest. “Oh, Jeff, surely not. I mean, yes, she acts a little out of kilter sometimes, but that doesn’t seem enough to accuse her of—”
“I’m not accusing her, Jules.” He took a reflective sip of tea. “The police, on the other hand, may be doing just that.”
“What an awful thing.” Idly, she moved a spoon around past her glass onto a place mat. “How’s Livvie?”
“As well as can be expected. I’ve asked her not to come here any more, till this situation is resolved. I hope you understand.”
“Oh, of course I do,” said Julia warmly. “I like your wife very much, Jeff, and our boys got along famously. I felt so badly for the way AJ treated her.”
“I know you did. And I know Liv appreciates your friendship. What’s Marty up to these days?”
She flapped one hand in the air with resignation. “Oh, that man. He’d take on the world if he could. Which means he’s constantly working and constantly on call.”
“Sounds like my favorite lawyer.” Chuckling, Jeff pushed back his chair and rose. “Listen, let’s all check our schedules, to see when we have a free evening, and you can come to our house for dinner soon. Now, I’d better get back to work. Got an appointment scheduled after lunch.”
The real problem, Jeff reflected, returning to Westhalen in his comfortably conditioned silver Honda, was how and when to tell Olivia about this latest wrinkle in their lives. He was beginning to wonder if his growing family would ever enjoy a trouble-free existence. Maybe if Annajane betook herself and her apparent obsession off to a colony on the moon?
Meanwhile, he didn’t want to unduly worry his wife during these last couple months of her pregnancy. Neither, however, did he want—or have the right—to keep the information from her. He must share today’s happenings.
Perhaps, just to be on the safe side, he ought to check into the idea of private security.
* * * * * * * * * * *
“Jeff?”
Absorbed in catching up on the most recent financial news, in case he needed to reach some of his clients to prevent a headlong sellout, Jeff barely turned his head away from viewing the computer on his desk. “Yes, Patty?”
“Someone to see you.” She moved from the doorway to indicate his visitor.
“Ah. Sergeant. Come in, won’t you? Patty, please hold any calls.”
Glancing around the room, McGraw dropped down into the indicated chair. “Nice place you have here. Business must be good.”
“Not surprisingly, I’m busier when times are bad, like now, than when times are good. People have been desperate to try holding onto whatever amount they’ve got.”
“Huh. Got us a decent pension plan set up through the union, but dunno how recession-proof the funds are. I don’t have much of a head for that kinda stuff.”
“If you like, I’d be happy to look over your portfolio sometime, give you an idea how things are going. It never hurts to get the perspective of a fresh set of eyes.” Jeff reached out to hand over his business card. “Just give me a call whenever you’re ready.”
The Sergeant’s blunt, heavy features brightened a little. “Thanks, I’ll do that.”
“Can I get you some coffee?”
“Oh—no, thanks. Had too much already, gotta take a dose of anti-acid soon. We cops live on the stuff, y’ know.” He shifted position: not a squirm, but more as a gearing up for the teller of news. “Well, Mr. Quinley, as you may’ve been guessin’, this isn’t a social call. Not even a business one, either.”
His words and attitude had all Jeff’s attention. “No, I figured that.”
“Well, now, this is how it is.”
For the past two days, Sergeant McGraw, and several members of his staff, had been investigating the vandalism on Queen Street. They had talked to neighbors, the mailman and delivery people, anyone with any normal business to be there. They had tried tracing footprints (smudged) and tire tracks (too many to distinguish an unusual set). So far, no new information had cropped up.
“Nothing,” said Jeff flatly, disappointed. He had been fidgeting with the letter opener Nicholas had given him for Father’s Day—King Arthur’s sword in the stone, miniaturized: a deadly little tool with very sharp edges. “Even Annajane?”
“Even Mrs. Kendricks, yes. The night of the—um—occurrence, she was visiting her father in the city.”
A snort of disdain and disbelief. “Oh, that old codger. He’d lie through his teeth to protect his little girl, whether she�
�s guilty or not.”
“We spoke to the servants, Mr. Quinley,” said the Sergeant in a gentle tone, “to confirm everyone’s actions. You mustn’t be thinkin’ we’re all the dolts you sometimes see on a TV program.”
“No, not at all. It’s just—well, frankly, how convenient. And her husband?”
McGraw consulted his pad of notes. “Also out of town. Says he’s a fine art appraiser, and he spent the evenin’ with a client, at the man’s home. Still workin’ to confirm that, though, since his client left right after on a trip to London.”
“Incredible,” Jeff muttered. The embossed sword began its rap-tap-tapping upon the desk top again. “So I’m supposed to accept that the one woman in this whole world who hates me like poison is innocent of any wrongdoing?”
“It does happen that way sometimes. There’s the random act of kindness, and the random act of violence.” He shrugged. “Not tryin’ to belittle your situation, Mr. Quinley, but it can go either way.”
Restless, Jeff dropped the letter opener with a soft clang and pushed back away from his desk, as if movement of any kind was necessary to keep his brain functioning. And his blood from boiling.
“We’ll keep lookin’ into this, sir, I promise you that. If any new leads come along, I’ll be in touch. And you, too—please, if you think of anything else, give me a call. You’ve contacted your insurance company?”
“Sure did. Right away. They sent an adjuster over to get evidence, a video, photos—whatever is used nowadays. Guess they’ll let me know about how soon repairs can be made, and by whom.”
“Uh-huh. And your wife—I’m presumin’ you told her what happened?”
“I did.”
“Musta not been the easiest thing you’ve ever done,” said McGraw sympathetically. “She didn’t take it well?”
From his position near the window, Jeff grimaced. “Olivia is almost seven months pregnant, Sergeant. Her safety recently menaced by Annajane, her sleep interrupted by thoughts of possible danger to her family, her husband’s house half-destroyed by some crazed individual—no. She did not take it well.”
Romance: He Done Her Wrong (Cuddlesack Queens #2) Page 6
