by Edie Claire
She sat back with a sigh and let the implications drift.
The detective, sadly, missed the point once more. "Did Mr. Lyle ever give you any reason to suspect that he might have borrowed money from, shall we say, not completely legitimate sources?"
Diana's eyes widened. She hadn't thought of that. But of course she wouldn't; it was absurd. Brandon was far too much of a wuss to stoop to using a loan shark. Not when he could accomplish the same thing with a little blackmail between friends.
"No," she responded tentatively. "He never said anything like that to me."
Clearly, more bait was needed.
"The last thing he said," she continued slowly, "was that he was counting on Gil March to come through for him—one way or the other."
The detective's eyebrows rose.
Finally!
"And what do you think he meant by that?"
Diana squirmed in her seat. "I can't say for sure. I really don't know what was going on between the two of them. Not on a personal level, anyway. But I was pretty sure there was something, other than the business deal on the table. And I probably wouldn't have picked up on that, except..."
Silence hung in the air.
"Except," she continued without prompting, "that I happen to know both men very well, you see."
Suspect number two: CHECK.
"Gil March was my previous 'employer.'"
Chapter 8
"So," Gil said casually, his easy tone showing no hint of the anxiety Leigh knew to be brewing behind his shrewd hazel eyes. "What did you kids do today?"
His son Mathias paused in mid chew, a piece of macaroni escaping from his lips as he spouted excitedly. "We made twenty dollars!"
"We made $14.65," Leigh's daughter Allison corrected. "After expenses."
"How did you do that?" Warren asked, serving himself a generous second helping of casserole.
Leigh surveyed what was left of the meal a bit nervously. If Gil hadn't been picking at his plate like a gnat, the food would probably have run out already. But they would be okay. She should have realized she was due for a grocery run when she invited her cousin's brood over, but kitchen inventory was the last thing on her mind. Cara had been at her wit's end all afternoon, worrying about Gil on a day when she had unfortunately scheduled another of her Green Mommas shopping parties—an extravaganza of similarly-minded earth mothers who gathered to coo over the latest in compostable diapers while sipping carrot juice and nibbling on kale chips. Leigh had always avoided such events like the plague, which was easy to do when a babysitter was needed. This afternoon, however, she had almost gotten herself fired. Inviting her cousin's family to dinner seemed the least she could do.
Cara's cheeks flared with red. "Go ahead, Mathias," she said sharply. "Tell your father your brilliant idea."
Cara's daughter Melanie, who had been affectionately called Lenna ever since her older brother had trouble pronouncing his baby sister's name, sank miserably into her chair. Leigh could understand the sentiment. Cara was almost never this testy.
A sympathetic Ethan, sitting next to Lenna, elbowed his cousin playfully and smiled at her.
"Well," Mathias began tentatively, his tone no longer cocky. "We thought it might be fun to do a lemonade stand."
"Sounds like an enterprising idea," Warren said cheerfully, in an obvious effort to break the tension. Gil was covering his own anxiety well enough, but Cara looked ready to burst.
"We thought so," Mathias agreed, looking grateful for his uncle's support. "Aunt Leigh told us it was okay."
Gee thanks, kid.
Leigh met Cara's glare with a self-conscious smile. "That's true, I did. We had the necessary supplies, and it sounded harmless enough. I thought they were going to set it up out by the road."
Gil looked from his son to his wife, clearly baffled. "So what was the problem?"
"The problem," Cara fumed, "was that they set up the lemonade stand at the beginning of our own front walk!"
The men shot confused glances at one another.
Cara groaned. "Just as all the guests were arriving for my Green Mommas party!"
The children remained silent, staring hopefully at their fathers. Both men's faces strained as they tried hard not to smile.
"I guess that's what you'd call a captive audience," Gil said finally, losing his battle with the slightest of grins.
"That's what we thought!" Mathias agreed, his face beaming.
"It wouldn't make sense to set it up along the road, Mom," Allison piped up in her calm, quiet voice. "The cars drive by too fast, and there's nowhere to pull off. A business has to go where the customers are."
Now Leigh fought a smile.
"We didn't force anybody to buy anything," Mathias defended.
Cara sucked in a breath. "Yes, you did! The women knew who you were; it would have been rude for them not to buy anything!"
The children looked at each other blankly.
Lenna's rosebud mouth trembled as she spoke. "But, Mom... Matt said we were making the price a real bargain."
"I had free drinks inside!" Cara railed.
Lenna sank back down in her chair again.
"Cara," Gil said gently, "I'm sure the women didn't mind supporting a good cause."
"That's just it!" his wife continued, unappeased. "The cause!"
"I told you that would be a problem," Allison said accusingly, looking at Mathias.
"What?" the boy asked innocently.
"You know what!" Cara snapped. "Cheap instant lemonade mix, with artificial flavoring and coloring?"
Now it was Leigh's turn to sink in her chair.
"It was good!" Mathias defended.
"Those women came to our house specifically looking for healthy, organic, earth-friendly foods and household products," Cara continued, sounding like a television commercial. "You sold them Styrofoam cups!!!"
A wet explosion erupted as the mouthful of iced tea Warren had just imbibed spewed liberally across the table the same time as Gil, laughing equally loudly, accidentally elbowed a misplaced fork, sending it flying into the air and banking off the buffet.
Three adults and four children dissolved into gut-holding peals of laughter.
Cara stood up.
"I'm so sorry," Warren apologized, moving quickly to her side and placing a brotherly hand on her arm. "I know the whole situation was awkward for you, and it's been a wretched day all around. But maybe a little light-heartedness is what we all need right now, don't you think?"
The twittering dampened for a moment; all eyes fixed on Cara.
The glare she threw at Warren was fierce, but the seasoned politician merely smiled at her. After a long moment, she let out a breath. "I suppose so," she agreed, deflating.
A collective sigh of relief filled the room. Cara and Warren sat back down.
"Mom," Ethan interjected, "can we have that new ice cream you bought for dessert?"
Leigh didn't hesitate. So what if they had a junk food lunch and drank cheap lemonade all afternoon? You were only a kid once. "Sure," she answered. "But take it out on the patio, okay?"
She did not need to make the suggestion twice. Four chairs scooted back from the table simultaneously. Cara did not approve of her children eating double-donut pie-crust ice cream any more than she had approved of the hastily prepared concoction of ground beef, boxed macaroni and cheese, and canned tomatoes that Leigh called a casserole. But the women had a rule. "You serve what you like, and I'll serve what I like." And houseguests went with the flow.
"Budding little entrepreneurs, aren't they?" Warren said with pride after the children had gone.
Gil nodded, looking after the Pack fondly. "Chips off the old blocks."
The men fist-bumped. Cara's eyes rolled.
Gil leaned over and kissed his wife on the cheek. "It's all right, honey," he assured. "We'll get through this. I promise."
The mood turned instantly solemn.
"You're happy with your attorney, then?" Warren asked.
Gil nodded, and Leigh and Cara exchanged a glance. It was fortunate that Gil knew his own shark of a defense attorney. Leigh happened to know one of the best in the business—but that lawyer was also an ex-girlfriend of Warren's. Not that Leigh worried about such things... but still. Her entire experience with the criminal justice system was the kind of memory best left coated with a nice, thick layer of dust.
"Reg is highly regarded in the business," Gil praised. "At least by his clients. I gather the prosecutors aren't so enamored of him."
"That's probably a good sign," Warren noted. "What is he advising you to do? Anything we can help with?"
Gil let out a sigh. Accepting help had never been his forte. He was more the white knight type. "I can't do much about what the witnesses at the church heard and saw. It will be interpreted as motive—no matter how ludicrous. But that's all they could possibly have. There won't be any physical evidence, so I should be fine. It would help if I could verify my alibi," he acknowledged. "But I understand the Morton women are on it."
His wife smiled at him smugly. "In spades. We'll find someone who saw you at North Park last night, I'm sure of it. The rest of it is ridiculous anyway—no one who knows you could possibly think you had anything to do with that man's death."
A sour look flitted over Gil's still-smiling face. The breach lasted only a second, but Leigh read it like a neon sign, and so, naturally, did his wife.
"Gil?" Cara demanded. "What is it you're thinking of? Who would suspect you?"
Gil threw a pleading glance at Warren. Leigh's gaze moved to her husband, whom she expected to appear as clueless as she was. He responded with nothing more than a slight, helpless shrug, but Leigh hadn't known the man since adolescence for nothing.
He knew something she didn't.
She hated it when that happened.
"Gil?" Cara repeated.
Gil breathed out with a groan, then rubbed his face in his hands. "It's nothing for anybody to worry about," he said finally, attempting a confident, comforting tone.
He failed. The man might look like a film star, but he was a lousy actor.
"There is one person I'm afraid might make trouble for me," he admitted. "Someone who seems to actually think I did do it."
"Who?!" Cara asked with a screech, her cheeks on fire again.
Gil cast another meaningful glance at Warren. Leigh fought an overwhelming urge to throttle the both of them.
"Diana Saxton," Gil answered quietly.
The name didn't register. "Who's Diana Saxton?" Leigh demanded.
No one paid any attention to her. Cara's face had gone from scarlet to white. Gil looked like he'd been flogged. Even Warren looked distinctly uncomfortable.
"Well?" Leigh insisted.
Somewhere, in the back of her mind, it occurred to her that the issue at hand might not really be any of her business. Cara and Gil were certainly entitled to their secrets. And if Warren happened to know also, what did that matter? Was her husband obliged to tell her absolutely everything, even if it had been told to him in confidence?
Damn straight, he was!
"Who is Diana Saxton?!" she asked for the third time.
"What did she say?" Cara asked Gil stiffly, ignoring her cousin.
Gil drew in a breath. "I don't know what she told the detectives. But she did call me today."
"I told you to block her number!" Cara fired back. Then almost immediately she swallowed, and her voice softened. "I'm sorry. I know it's not your fault. But why did you even pick up?"
"I had to know what she wanted," he defended. "Under the circumstances, it hardly seemed wise to antagonize her further. I was rude enough to her on the phone last night."
Cara harrumphed. "You could never be rude enough to that woman. What did she say?"
"Can't say I listened to all of it," Gil answered. "You could say she was ranting and raving. The gist was that she accused me of murder."
Warren leaned back in his chair with a frustrated sigh. Cara's body went rigid. Leigh still wondered who the hell Diana Saxton was.
"She won't have any evidence, so even if she does talk to the detectives, they'll know she's just blowing smoke," Gil insisted.
"No, they won't!" Cara argued vehemently. "Don't you see? If she wants to make you look guilty, all she's got to do is tell them you had an affair!"
Leigh's heart skipped a beat. She didn't believe it. They'd been through all this before. Gil was far too much of a prude to be a philanderer—besides, if anything like that had ever happened to Cara, Leigh would definitely know about it. That, and Gil wouldn't be sitting here tonight with all his parts intact.
"I'm afraid she's right," Warren said evenly, holding Gil's gaze. "You can't say nothing and let Diana define the relationship—it's way too risky. Did you tell your lawyer about the phone call?"
Gil shook his head. "It happened right after our meeting."
"Do that," Warren advised. "I have a feeling he'll tell you the same thing. By coming forward with the whole ugly story, you can level the playing field. And if you can verify that she's threatened you, that's a point in your favor."
Gil nodded solemnly. "You're right."
Leigh was seconds away from spontaneous combustion.
Cara rose from the table. "If you'll excuse me," she said stiffly, "I need to go break something. Leigh, can I help you with the dishes?"
Chapter 9
Leigh's dishes had thus far remained whole. Her sanity, not so much.
"Cara," she began finally, after restraining herself throughout the transport and rinsing processes. She was trying to be sensitive to Cara's mood, but no way could she make it through the loading. "You do realize I'm going to pop an artery if you don't tell me what's going on, right?"
Cara paused, dirty spoon in hand, and looked up at Leigh as if seeing her for the first time. "Oh," she said vaguely, straightening up. "That's right. I didn't tell you about Diana, did I?"
Leigh struggled to keep her voice even. "I think I would remember if you had."
"Sorry," Cara replied, dropping the spoon into the dishwasher's utensil tray and leaning heavily against Leigh's countertop. "I wanted to, at the time, but Gil was so uptight about it. He made me swear I wouldn't tell anybody, most especially you or my mother."
"But Warren knew!" Leigh said before she could stop herself. She hated it when she sounded like a teenager. She was forty-freaking-two years old; she could handle this stuff.
Cara's brow furrowed. "Warren did know, didn't he? Gil must have told him. I guess he thought Warren could sympathize."
"Excuse me?" Leigh spouted.
Cara's own brow furrowed. "For heaven's sake, Leigh—Warren's an attractive, successful man who's every bit as prominent in this town as Gil is. Of course he's been through it."
Leigh's arteries would never make it. She would bleed out right here on the floor, with the dishwasher only half loaded.
"Through what?!"
Cara's eyes flashed with impatience. "Through being hit on by a soulless, gold-digging homewrecker, that's what! What did you think?"
Leigh stared back at her cousin a moment, her blood pressure in free fall. "I... thought just that," she said lamely. "Of course."
Cara returned the briefest of glares, but moved on. "I don't know why Gil insisted on its being such a secret. It's not like he did anything wrong. But he was embarrassed by it—this incident way more than any of the others over the years. I guess because she went so much further. He said he didn't want to have to look at my relatives and know that they were trying to picture the whole thing."
Leigh's eyes widened.
Cara let out a short, rueful chuckle. "It was pretty ridiculous, really. I mean, the woman had no shame. If Gil had let me interview her when she first applied for the job, I would have had her number in thirty seconds, 'highly recommended' or no. But men can be so dense about these things."
She scooped up a few more utensils from the counter and dropped them in the tray. "Gil hired
her about a year ago. Her credentials appeared impeccable. For the first few months, she was the picture of efficiency and professionalism. Then the claws came out. She started dropping hints, letting him know she was interested. At first, Gil ignored them. He was hoping"—Cara shook her head with an eye roll—"that she would give up and stop, without things getting any more awkward. But of course, she didn't. Her suggestions only got more blatant, until finally he had to address it straight out. He told her that he wasn't interested, and if she wanted to keep her position, she needed to act more professionally."
Cara sighed. "I wanted him to fire her then. And if she'd been any less fantastic at her job, I'm sure he would have. But apparently, the woman is brilliant at making herself indispensable. By the time any of this became a problem, she was up to her elbows in sensitive information, running processes she'd put in place that it would be difficult for anyone else to take over. Never mind how hard it is to find a decent administrative assistant in the first place."
"So it wasn't a spur-of-the-moment thing," Leigh reasoned. "She had a master plan?"
"She had him pegged as a target before she sent her resume," Cara confirmed. "And when he refused to cooperate, after she'd invested so much time and energy, she got desperate."
Cara picked up the knife Leigh had used to slice the watermelon and cradled it in her hands.
Leigh leaned in slowly and took it away from her.
"What happened?"
A growl rose from low in Cara's throat. "She made arrangements to go on a business trip with him. It wasn't the first—all his assistants travel with him from time to time. But she had a special agenda. She booked two rooms and they went their separate ways to unpack, but by the time he got out of the shower that first night, she had already moved herself into his room."
Cara's knuckles whitened as her hands clenched the countertop. "Without her clothes."
Leigh winced. "You really can't get any more blatant than that."
