by Cassie Miles
Normal people rang up 9-1 -1 and took whatever and whomever responded. Normal people had the common sense to step back and allow the lawmen to do their jobs. The rich, she realized, were different. And Ben was in a league of his own.
She couldn't fault his performance as he gathered the staff together with Patrice and Monte. He informed them all that Charlene had been murdered. "Liz and I found her body in the log barn."
"Are you sure?" Patrice asked. "She was murdered?"
"Yes," he said briskly.
Rachel seemed to be at a loss. Her large hands gestured clumsily. "What are we supposed to do? What are we supposed to say?"
Liz bit her lower lip to keep from snapping at her. You're supposed to tell the truth. That's how murder investigations work.
Ben said, "The police will be here shortly, and you're to cooperate with them."
Annette adjusted her maid cap and edged closer to the chauffeur. "Was it a serial killer? Are we in danger?"
Yeah, sure. A psycho killer just happened to show up at this remote estate and kill the most hated person on the premises. Liz glanced toward Patrice and Monte, who both seemed to be holding back whoops of joy. Ding, dong, the witch is dead.
"Oh, this is terrible," Monte said as he stifled his grin. "A real scandal."
"Does Jerod know?" Patrice asked.
"No," Ben responded. "And you're not to tell him. He's finally consented to seeing my specialists and needs to concentrate on getting better. He'll be told when the time is right."
Liz was dying to ask a few questions, maybe to do a quick interrogation before the police got here. Not that she had any authority to do so.
The chef wiped his hands on his white apron and stepped forward. "You mentioned that the police were on their way. Should I prepare something for them to eat?"
Liz couldn't help blurting, "Doughnuts."
All eyes turned toward her.
"A joke," she said. "You know, cops and doughnuts?"
Silence.
But now she had their attention. Might as well jump in. "When was the last time any of you saw Charlene?"
Everyone talked at once, recalling haphazardly their last encounter with the victim. Victim? Inwardly, Liz cringed. It was hard to think of the brazen, demanding Charlene that way.
The only person who remained silent was Annette. Her mousy, little face puckered, and her cheeks flushed a bright red.
Ben had also noticed her reticence. In a low, calm voice, he said. "Annette."
"Yes, sir." She jumped.
"Did you see something?"
"Yes, sir," she responded properly.
"Tell us about it."
"Well, it was very late." Her voice was thin and tiny. "When Liz came to bed, she made quite a lot of noise and woke me up."
"Sorry," Liz mumbled. Last night, she'd been reeling.
"Anyway," Annette said. "I couldn't get back to sleep. I thought maybe a beverage would help, so I went down to the kitchen." She drew a ragged breath. "While I was making my herbal tea, all the guests were going upstairs to the bedrooms. How very embarrassing. I didn't want to be seen in my bathrobe."
"Very proper," Rachel said approvingly. "The help should always be unobtrusive."
Ben shot a silencing glare in her direction and turned back to Annette. "Then what?"
"I went outside on the second floor deck where Mr. Jerod usually sits. There was a nice, thick wool blanket. So I curled up in a chair and drank my tea. I must have dozed off. Then I woke up. And I saw..." She covered her face with her hands and took a step back, away from Ben.
Liz went to her side and wrapped her arm around Annette's shoulders. The poor, meek, little thing was trembling. Had she witnessed the murder? "It's okay," she cooed. "Everything is going to be okay."
"I thought I was having a nightmare." Her eyes flooded with tears. "I saw a man carrying a woman down the hill and through the shadows. It was dark, and they were really far away. I couldn't see very well. It scared me. Like a monster movie."
"Nobody is going to hurt you." Liz pulled a crumpled but unused tissue from her pocket and dabbed at Annette's tears. "You're safe now."
'The monster was carrying her toward the log barn."
"Can you describe him?" Liz asked.
With a loud sob, Annette collapsed against her. The tears gushed. "Can't say anything else. I can't."
For a few long moments while the traumatized girl sobbed uncontrollably, Liz simply held her. Her gaze linked with Ben's. In spite of his overbearing CEO demeanor, he seemed troubled and far more sympathetic to Annette's outburst than Liz. Patience had never been one of her finer qualities, and she was ready to shake Annette until the rest of her story fell out.
"Dry those tears," Liz said. "Concentrate, Annette. I need for you to tell us the rest of your story. What was the man wearing?"
"Excuse me," Patrice said coldly. "Why is the maid asking these questions? She has no authority to—"
"Leave her alone," Ben said. "Continue, Liz."
She nodded her thanks to him and repeated her question. "What was he wearing?"
"All black. Or dark blue." Gasping, she continued, "I think he had on a knit cap. In the moonlight, he looked huge."
"Like a monster," Liz said.
"It was awful. I was scared."
"Did you recognize him?"
"I'm not sure." She shook her head. "I can't be sure. Please don't make me say anything else."
"Here's the thing." She held Annette by the upper arms and confronted her. "The police will need to hear about this. You'll have to talk to them."
"No," she moaned. "It was only a nightmare."
"Start by telling us," Liz said firmly. "Who did you see? Who was the monster?"
Annette's arm thrust straight out, and she pointed. "It was Ben."
Chapter Nine
Two hours and thirty-seven minutes later, Ben sat behind the L-shaped teak desk in the downstairs study. The spacious, book-lined room—decorated in cool earth tones and equipped with computer, fax and file cabinets—was usually a quiet place. Not today.
Two attorneys from the firm that had been handling his divorce sat side-by-side on the cinnamon-colored sofa and argued with Tony Lansing, who perched on the edge of his chair and gestured emphatically. Patrice and Monte paced at the edge of the Navajo rug, occasionally tossing in commentary of their own.
The main topic at the moment was the handling of what promised to be a high-profile murder investigation. Surely, the press would be involved, and the family needed to be ready with a statement.
Ben wasn't listening. His fingers toyed with the mouse that rested on a Kermit the Frog mousepad that his daughter had given him for Christmas. One thought remained foremost in his mind: he wanted Liz to trust him again.
When Annette had made her semi-hysterical accusation that he had carried the limp and lifeless body of Charlene into the night like a monster from a horror film, he'd almost laughed out loud. Then he had looked into Liz's face. While the others had gasped in shock, her gaze had remained steady, and he had seen disappointment in her eyes. He had known what she was thinking— that he had purposely avoided calling the police. She thought he was a cold-blooded killer.
The two plainclothes detectives from the Colorado Bureau of Investigation seemed to have reached the same conclusion. They'd arrived a few minutes after the local sheriff. The argument over jurisdiction was brief; the CBI had taken charge.
While their forensic team had gathered evidence and removed the body, Agent Lattimer had questioned the staff and gathered names and phone numbers for all the guests from last night who had already gone home.
In his interview, Ben had accepted full responsibility for allowing the guests to leave, for tampering with the potential crime scene in Charlene's bedroom and for not informing the police when he first suspected she might be missing. He had told the truth. Sure, he'd played fast and loose with proper procedure. But he wasn't a murderer.
The door to the study
opened, and Rachel stepped inside. Her broad body eclipsed Liz, who followed behind her carrying a silver serving tray piled high with plates of little sandwiches and bowls of fresh fruit.
In her maid uniform, Liz seemed uncomfortable as usual. She'd given up on fastening the starched white cap into her sandy-colored hair. Though he stared at her, she didn't return his gaze.
After she placed the food on the coffee table, she approached Ben behind the desk. Reaching into her pocket, she took out a folded scrap of paper, which she slid across the desk toward him.
He flipped the note open. The slanted handwriting seemed to have been penned in haste. Likewise, her thoughts were in shorthand.
I quit. Heading back to Denver. My best to Jerod.
Liz.
He didn't want her to go. He needed her. She was his touchstone, his connection with reality in an increasingly unreal world. Her snippy attitude provided exactly the right antidote to the poisonous spewing of verbiage from the lawyers.
"Wait," he said as he rose from his chair.
The discussion fell silent. Rachel and Liz paused near the door.
Ben paced around the desk. The time had come to put an end to this legalese yammering. "Patrice will be our media spokesperson."
"Me?" Her eyelashes fluttered. "I couldn't."
"You'll do fine." And she already had the appropriate clothing for a mourner. Most of her wardrobe was black. "We'll need a written statement expressing our sorrow and our willingness to cooperate with the authorities."
Tony stood. "I'll get right on it."
"Not you." Ben hadn't forgotten last night when the family lawyer had been kissing Charlene in the hallway behind the kitchen. "Matter of fact, I want you out of here."
Tony stuck out his closely shaven chin and frowned in an attempt to show grave concern. "May I remind you," he said, "that my firm has represented the Crawford family for decades."
"Not anymore."
"Before you fire me, keep in mind that I know about all the skeletons in the family closet. I know the terms of Jerod's latest will."
"Big deal," Patrice said. "We all know that Grandpa was going to leave the bulk of his estate to Charlene. Obviously, that no longer applies."
"You don't know all the terms of the will," he said with a smug little grin. "There's a section about what happens if Charlene predeceases Jerod. And the terms don't look good for Ben."
Patrice darted across the room and stood before him. "With Charlene dead, everything ought to go back to the way it was before. An even split between me and Ben."
"Not at all." He preened. "Charlene's death means that her share of the estate will go to...Natalie."
"Ben's daughter?" Patrice trembled at the verge of tears. "That can't be. She's only a child."
One of Ben's divorce lawyers, a slender brunette with her hair pulled back in a bun, spoke up. "That information raises a number of concerns. The custody and guardianship of Natalie will be worth millions."
"For the last time," Ben said, "I don't care about the money."
His brunette lawyer made a clucking noise in the back of her throat. "In the midst of a divorce, many people make decisions that they later regret. That's why you hired us. We're here to protect your interests."
Her partner added, "And Tony's right. This looks bad for you."
"Why?"
"Motive," said the brunette. "Charlene's death means millions for your daughter. And for her legal guardians."
"Let's make one thing clear." Ben's gaze rested on Liz, who frowned and stared at her shoes. "I didn't kill Charlene. I didn't harm one single hair on her platinum-blond head."
"So," Tony said. "Am I fired?"
"Certainly not," Patrice said as she glared at Ben. "Let's get working on that statement. I need to be prepared."
Ben stalked toward the door, hooked his arm through Liz's and headed across the front room to the deck. As they went through the sliding doors to the outside, he kept a firm grasp.
She balked. "Take your hand off me."
"I want to make sure you won't run away."
"Let go," she growled. "Now."
Remembering her energetic demonstration of the knee-to-groin move, he released her. "I don't want you to quit."
Bristling, she strode to the railing at the edge of the deck into the mid-afternoon sunlight. This large cedar deck formed the center tier. Above them was Jerod's bedroom, with the best view of the lake and surrounding trees. Below was the stone terrace outside the party room with the bar.
He stepped up beside her and leaned his elbows on the railing. A soft wind brushed the buffalo grass and wild-flowers on the slope leading to the lake, but the serenity of the mountain valley was disrupted by a van that had driven down to the log barn. A couple of men in dark jackets with the letters CBI stenciled on the back slowly paced up the hill, staring at the ground.
"'What did you tell the detectives?" she asked.
'The truth. I mentioned that you were in favor of notifying the authorities from the minute you noticed Charlene hadn't slept in her bed."
She nodded. "They weren't real happy with me for not using my own little fingers to dial 9-1-1."
"I put you in a difficult position," he said. "And I apologize for that."
"Don't worry about protecting me."
"Somebody needs to worry about you, Liz. Might as well be me."
"I can take care of myself, thank you." Her mouth puckered in a tight bow. "How's Jerod?"
'The doctors are still running tests. They won't know until tomorrow if he's a good candidate for surgery." He pointed to the two CBI investigators who were walking up the hill, occasionally pausing to take photographs. "What do you think they're doing?"
"Looking for the path that Annette's monster took when he was carrying Charlene. They might find evidence. A fiber or a footprint."
Another clue that would point to him as the primary suspect. He walked from the house to the log barn at least once every day.
He caught her gaze and held it. "Do you think I killed her?"
"I ought to believe it. Every bit of evidence, every action, every motive points to you." Her hand clenched into a fist, and she hammered on the railing. "You manipulated me. You kept me from calling the police, convinced me to lie to a dying man. I have absolutely no reason to believe in your innocence."
"But do you?"
He waited. Her opinion mattered more to him than the CBI and the lawyers.
"I don't believe you killed her."
"Good." For the first time in hours, his tension eased. But when he reached toward her, she batted his hand away.
"I'm not staying, Ben. I quit. I'm gone."
She darted across the deck and through the sliding glass doors. As he watched her disappear into the house, he promised himself that this would not be the last time he saw Liz Norton. For reasons he couldn't explain, she'd become important to him. He wouldn't let her go. Not without a fight.
A full day had passed, twenty-four long hours. Liz had slept for most of that time. Actually, she'd tossed and turned on her bed, torn by conflicting emotions.
Now, she parked her beat-up Toyota on the street outside the two-story stucco house that belonged to Victoria Crawford, Ben's estranged wife. She scowled at Harry, who sprawled in the passenger seat. For the past half hour, she'd been talking nonstop, giving a full report on what had happened at the Crawford estate.
Harry had said nothing. Behind his sunglasses, his eyes were probably closed. At least he wasn't snoring.
'This is the address," she said.
"Nice place, don't you think?"
In a glance, she took in the carpet of green lawn and tidy shrubbery. The red tile roof and elaborate iron latticework gave the impression of an urban villa. Before spending time at the palatial Crawford mountain estate, she would have been impressed. Now she had a new standard of opulence.
"'Cute house," she said. "I still don't understand why we're here."
As far as she was concerne
d, her P.I. assignment had been a total bust. She hadn't found evidence that Ben was a drug user, had been a disaster as an undercover maid and had ended up knee-deep in a murder investigation.
Though she hadn't lied to the CBI detectives, she had most certainly withheld the fact that she worked for Schooner Detective Agency. Rachel had begged her not to say anything unless directly confronted, and Liz had complied with her wishes.
She hadn't told Ben, and she regretted her deception. While she'd been accusing him of lying and manipulating her, she'd been equally guilty. Probably more so.
The CBI Investigators hadn't pressed her for background information. Apparently, she wasn't a suspect. Only a maid. Putting on that uniform had made her invisible—even to the cops.
"We're here," Harry said, "because Mrs. Crawford paid us a good-sized retainer, and we want another big payday."
"But I didn't get what she wanted. I wasn't—"
"Let me do the talking." He pushed open the car door. "And try not to let her see that you've got the hots for her almost ex-husband."
"I do not."
He lowered his dark glasses and peeked over the rim. "Every time you say his name, you start drooling. Lovesick. That's what you are."
"Wrong, wrong, wrong. I can't stand guys like him. Arrogant, rich people who think they run the world. Ben lawyered up before the cops got there. I hate that."
With a groan, he hauled his bulk out of her car. "It figures that when you finally get yourself hooked with a new boyfriend, he's a murder suspect."
"Ben is not my boyfriend," she said as she chased him up the sidewalk to the front door.
The woman who opened the door and graciously introduced herself to Liz as Victoria Crawford looked like a supermodel. Tall—nearly six feet—and skinny with shiny, shoulder-length black hair. Her casual summer walking shorts and tasteful jewelry looked like she'd stepped out of a Vogue photo shoot.
She swept Liz with a glance and said, "Rachel tells me you're not much of a maid."
"No, ma'am," she said, following Rachel's instructions for proper response.
"She did, however, say that you were handy to have around. You broke up a knife fight with Ramon and Tony?"
