by Janet Dailey
When he came off the court, Riley and Delaney waited at the gate to intercept him. Riley immediately went through his routine, flashing the useless deputy’s badge and asking his question about Rina Cole.
“Saturday night,” Blackwell repeated, eyeing both of them curiously while he wiped the perspiration from his mouth with one end of the towel draped around his neck, his golden locks curling onto it in damp ringlets. “Do you think she had something to do with that St. Jacque woman getting killed at Lucas Wayne’s place?”
“Should we?” Delaney countered, earning a glance of approval from Riley.
Caught off guard by it, the concierge hedged a little nervously. “Rina Cole hasn’t exactly made a secret of the fact she’d like to see Wayne laid out in a satin-lined coffin.”
“Have you personally heard Miss Cole make threats against Lucas Wayne or anyone else?”
“Personally—no. Why? Had she threatened somebody else?” he asked, then broke into a wide smile. “I get it now. You’re Secret Service, aren’t you? I saw you were government something-or-other, but it didn’t connect. That rumor about the First Lady attending the literacy thing at the Institute must be true, then.”
Riley deliberately didn’t comment. “About Saturday, do you know if Miss Cole went out?”
“Yeah, she went out to dinner with this professor type, Dr….” He snapped his fingers, trying to recall his name. “I remember he had two last names. Dr. Collins-something.”
“Collins-Jones.” Delaney supplied the name of the philosophy professor who had escorted Rina Cole to the cocktail reception on Friday.
“That’s it. Dr. Collins-Jones.” He nodded. “I remember he had dinner reservations for eight-thirty at Gordon’s and I had to change them to nine o’clock because Rina—Miss Cole was late.”
Riley picked up on that. “She was late?”
“That’s right. The professor came to pick her up…it must have been around eight o’clock when he stopped at my desk to ask where the house phones were located. I told him. Then five or ten minutes later, he came back, said he had been trying Miss Cole’s suite, but wasn’t getting an answer. I had Housekeeping check and confirm she wasn’t there. I figured she’d probably stood him up, but she came sailing into the hotel a few minutes late with a ton of packages from Smith’s. She’d been shopping and lost track of time, I guess. Anyway, she went up to her suite to change and that’s when I called Gordon’s to switch their dinner reservations.”
“Did the professor go up to the suite with her?” Riley asked.
“No.”
“Not at any time?” she inserted.
“No. At least, I don’t think so. I remember when I heard the police and ambulance sirens, I stepped outside to see what it was all about and the professor came out, too. About an hour later, I heard about the shooting.”
“What time did Miss Cole come down?”
“A few minutes before nine,” he said and grinned. “She really had the professor sweating that he might have to change the reservations again.”
“You’re sure their reservations were at Gordon’s?” Riley asked, testing to see if he could get the concierge to doubt his facts.
“I’m positive. I remember thinking at the time that the professor would be happier at Abetone’s. I mean, he doesn’t exactly look like a scene-maker. More than likely, Miss Cole picked the restaurant.”
“Do you remember what she wore to dinner?” Delaney ignored the puzzled look Riley directed at her.
“Are you kidding? Who could forget?” he declared with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “She had on this black Spandex jumpsuit with a neckline down to her navel and a black-and-white-spotted pony vest with boots to match.”
“When they left, did they go in his car, take a cab, or walk?” Riley asked.
“I couldn’t say.” Blackwell shrugged. “The doorman might know.”
But the doorman didn’t remember, and the parking attendant had no record of Rina Cole’s car leaving the garage at any time on Saturday.
“As far as I’m concerned, we have established motive and opportunity,” Delaney said over her shoulder as she pushed through the streetside entrance to the Jerome Bar. “Now all we have to do is figure out how she got from the hotel to the house and back.”
“She could have walked,” Riley pointed out above the drone of a drink blender.
“True.” Greeted by a steady chatter of voices punctuated by laughter and the rattle of ice cubes, Delaney paused to scan the late-afternoon crowd in the bar, then spotted an upraised hand and the silver-white head below it in the old tearoom that adjoined the bar. “There’s Dad.”
She was nearly to the table before she saw Jared sitting with him. He had on a tie and a brown suit so dark in color it almost looked black. He’d been to Susan’s funeral; she knew it without asking.
“Hello.” She smiled, but he didn’t smile back. When he started to stand up, she laid a hand on his shoulder to keep him in his chair and sat down in the one next to him. “This is nice. I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I ran into your father.” His eyes had a dark and brooding look, like storm clouds gathering on the horizon.
“I’m glad.” She watched him nod to Riley, then lift his glass and take a slow sip of beer. The funeral, the long, silent ride to the cemetery, the graveside service—she could hardly expect him to be cheerful after all that.
Riley lit a cigarette and blew the smoke toward the ceiling. “Did you find some of your old haunts, Gordon?”
“I wish,” her father grumbled, a touch of melancholy in his voice. “Aspen has changed as much as Hollywood has in the past forty years. About the only thing they haven’t torn down, repainted, or remodeled are the mountains. I’m not sure I would have recognized this place if it wasn’t for the tin ceiling and the back bar.”
The waiter shoved a wicker basket mounded with popcorn on the table. Riley ordered draft beer and Delaney played it safe with a Virgin Mary.
“So, how was your day?” her father asked. “What were you able to find out about Rina?”
“We found out she was alone, allegedly in her suite changing clothes from approximately ten minutes after eight to a few minutes before nine. That’s forty-five minutes, give or take. And our phone call to the police was logged in at eight-thirty-seven.” Riley tapped his cigarette on the edge of the ashtray.
“And she was wearing a black Spandex jumpsuit when she came down.” Using her finger, Delaney plucked a half-dozen kernels of popcorn from the fluffy white pile and dropped them in her palm. “What could be more ideal for her to wear? Black to blend in with the shadows. Snug-fitting to cut down the risk of a branch snagging it. Yet an outfit so basic, it can be dressed up with a loud vest and some flashy boots.”
“Then you really think it’s possible she might have snuck up there?” Her father scooted his chair closer to the table.
Riley nodded. “It fits her previous pattern.” He was interrupted by the waiter returning with their drinks. When he moved to another table, Riley continued. “In her previous attempt at Lucas, it was at night as well. She managed to slip into a hotel unseen, then had a maid let her into the suite. It wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment thing. I think she planned it—just as she possibly planned this one. Only this time, she tried to establish an alibi.”
“The problem is”—Delaney nibbled on her popcorn—“we don’t know how she got from the hotel to the house. According to the valet, her car never left the garage on Saturday.”
“I still say she could have walked.” Riley held the frosted beer mug half way to his mouth. “It can’t be much more than two miles from the hotel to the house. Three at the outside.”
“But look at how much of it is up,” Delaney reasoned. “I don’t think she would take the chance of getting all hot and sweaty. Besides, it would shorten the amount of time she would have at the house. She couldn’t be sure Lucas would be outside.”
“The windows aren’t bulletproof,” Ril
ey reminded her.
“I still think she had some kind of transportation.”
“The road up the mountain is too narrow and crooked; there’s no place she could have parked a car,” Riley argued.
“At the bottom. Then she would only have the walk up.”
“But where did she get the car?”
“Maybe while she was doing all that shopping, she rented another one and left it parked a block or two away.”
With a nod, Riley conceded that possibility. “We’ll check the car rental agencies tomorrow.”
“Why couldn’t she have taken a cab?” her father asked.
“We’ll check the cab company tomorrow.”
“What if she wore a disguise like she did in New York?” Delaney chewed on popcorn that had become tasteless.
“We’ll just have to check out every fare and every rental.” Riley rolled the tip of his cigarette around the bottom of the ashtray.
“Right.” Delaney dusted the popcorn salt from her hand, then stirred her drink with the leafy celery stalk sticking out of it. “Wait a minute.” She sat up straighter. “What about a racing bike? You see them whizzing along everywhere. It would be easy to park and easy to hide. The black Spandex jumpsuit, a helmet over her hair.”
“Sounds good. We’ll check that out first thing.”
“No. First I think we should run some times—see how long it takes by car, then by foot to get from the hotel to the house and back.” She glanced at Jared, realizing that he had said nothing during all this; instead he had sat moody and silent, studying his beer. “What do you think, Jared?”
He looked up from his beer. “Me? I thought you didn’t do investigative work,” he said in a flat and hard voice.
Behind the fine lines of tension in his expression, she detected anger and resentment. She felt herself bristle in response. Somehow she managed a calm, if somewhat stiff, “The situation—the circumstances—have changed that.”
“All because you had to protect him.” His mouth twisted in a humorless smile.
“It was my job.” Delaney spoke more curtly than she had intended.
“Your job,” Jared murmured and lifted his beer glass as if needing something to rid his mouth of a bad taste.
It was too much. Delaney felt everything start to snap.
A chair leg scraped the floor as Riley pushed back from the table. “I think I need to wash my hands. Which way’s the men’s room, Gordon?”
“It’s downstairs,” her father began as Riley stood up. “Hold on a second and I’ll go with you.”
Delaney barely gave them time to get clear of the table before she turned on Jared. “All right, Jared, out with it. Exactly what is this all about?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” he snapped right back at her. “Susan is dead, and you are being held responsible. And why? Because of some cheap actor. Because you felt you had to protect him.” He lifted his glass again, muttering into it, “His life isn’t worth one ounce of the hell you’re going through.”
She noticed a shaggy-haired man staring at them from the next table and carefully lowered her voice. “That isn’t for me to judge. Or you.”
“Be honest, Delaney. His death wouldn’t be any great loss to mankind.”
“I see,” she murmured tightly and used the celery stalk to stab at the ice cubes in her drink. “Before I take on a client, I’m supposed to check first to see how important he is, what kind of contribution he makes to humanity, is that right? Or maybe I should simply eliminate all actors, singers, and comedians. Who cares if their lives are threatened, right? Or maybe I should quit this kind of work altogether. That’s what you’d really like, isn’t it?”
“Delaney, I’m worried about you. Dammit, I—”
“You’re the Wescott woman, aren’t you?” The shaggy-haired man in glasses stood by her chair. “I’m Lee Connors with the Post. Have you got a few minutes? I—”
“No.” She snatched up her purse and rose to her feet. “I have an appointment.”
When she tried to leave, the reporter stepped into her path. “I’ll walk with you. That way we can talk—off the record, if you want.”
Off the record—that was a laugh, but she didn’t dare say it. Polite. She had to be polite and not show her anger or she’d find herself splashed all over the papers again. “I’m sorry. I really don’t have time.”
“Come on, I think you’re getting a raw deal. I just want to get your story out there—”
“Sorry.” Riley was there, shouldering the reporter out of the way. “Another time, buddy.”
He whisked her out the side door, then straight to the street and the car.
“Thanks,” she said when they pulled away from the curb.
“For rescuing you, or the reporter?” he asked with a teasing smile. “You looked like you wanted to haul off and hit him—or someone.”
She knew he was referring to Jared. “I was tempted.” But she didn’t want to talk about her argument with Jared, aware it had been brewing for some time, possibly from the beginning. “Where’s Dad?”
“Taking care of the check. He’ll be along.”
The shiny red Camaro turned into the condo’s parking lot as Delaney climbed out of the car. She scanned the street, but there was no black pickup behind him. She should have been glad, but too much had been left unfinished.
The German shepherd was at the door to greet her when she walked in ahead of Riley. She gave the dog an absent pat and turned toward the kitchen. “I’m going to put on some coffee.”
“Sounds good. I’ll check in with Wyatt and see if the police found anything.”
She heard Riley talking on the phone as she rinsed the old coffee from the pot. A key turned in the lock. A second later, her father walked in. He saw her at the sink, hesitated, then simply waved and continued into the living room. She set the glass pot back on its burner and carried the filter with the used coffee grounds to the wastebasket.
Riley stuck his head around the doorway. “Nothing yet,” he reported. “Wyatt said they’ve only covered about half of the area. They’ll finish up tomorrow.” There were two quick raps at the door. Ollie growled and Delaney stiffened, conscious of Riley’s questioning look. “Are you here?” he asked, his eyes cool and quietly challenging.
Like her, he guessed it was Jared. “I’m here.” She turned on her heel and walked back to the coffee maker.
Her hand trembled as she reached for a new filter, all her former tension coming back in a rush. She didn’t look at Jared when he walked into the kitchen.
“I was out of line,” he began.
“About as far as you can get.” She shoved the paper filter into the holder, then started slamming through the cupboards looking for the can of coffee.
“I was worried about you. I was upset and angry. I know that isn’t an excuse—”
“It certainly isn’t,” she snapped, more out of hurt than anger, although the anger was there. She found the coffee and poured two scoops into the filter.
“I’m sorry, Delaney. What else can I say?”
“If you try, maybe you’ll think of something.” She walked around him to the sink and turned the cold water on full force.
He shut it off. “Dammit, I’m not asking you to give up your work. I would never do that.”
She turned on him. “No, but it’s what you want me to do.”
“I want you.” He caught her arms, holding her in front of him as if he was afraid she’d walk away. “The things I said…it was wrong and I know it. But I’m not perfect, Delaney. That doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”
Had she expected perfection? Had she expected total support and understanding? She wasn’t sure; she wasn’t sure about anything. “I hate fighting,” she murmured finally.
His hand stroked the neatly smoothed twist of her hair. “Then you are in the wrong business.”
She jerked away from him. “I am in the right business for me.”
“That was a joke.”
“You don’t understand,” Jared began. “Today at the funeral—when I saw the lilies Lucas sent—something snapped inside.” He sighed. “It’s hard to explain.”
“That’s obvious.” But she could easily imagine the rage Jared must have felt—the rage of needless death, needless trouble, the quiet kind that had no ready outlet.
“Do you know that right now I want to hold you, to help you more than anything, but I can’t,” he challenged, a cynical twist to his mouth. “The news is out about Susan’s will—which makes me the last person you should be seen with. And all because of him—her former lover.”
“You can’t blame everything on Lucas Wayne.”
“Can’t I?” he countered.
A fiery retort trembled on her lips. Delaney clamped them together for a quick four-count, then managed a curt, “Look, let’s agree that we’re both upset for different reasons and just leave it at that, shall we?”
“Delaney, I’m sorry—”
“You said that before, and I accept your apology. I can even accept that we have different points of view on this, but don’t push for more than that right now, Jared.”
He looked at her for a long beat of silence, then released a heavy sigh. “You’re right. I guess it would be bad timing. But I love you, Delaney, and I guess I’m irritated with all these complications that keep getting in the way, that keep me from showing you how very much I do love you. It’s as though the fates are conspiring against us.”
“I know what you mean.” She nodded, her anger slowly dissolving.
Riley strolled into the kitchen, the German shepherd at his heels. “Have you got that coffee made yet?” His glance traveled between them, his sharp eyes gauging the tension.
“Not yet.” Delaney turned back to the sink and filled the coffee pot with water, Riley’s presence bringing a whole new set of undercurrents into the room.
Riley crossed to a cupboard and opened the door. Cups rattled as he took down a stack of three. He reached back in the shelf for more, then paused and glanced at Jared. “Are you having a cup?” he asked. “I should warn you, though, our coffee maker is notoriously slow. It’s the kind that tantalizes you with aroma, then takes forever to deliver.”
