Courting Disaster Page 7

  I tried the door and the knob turned. “Drew? Are you all right?” A shiver raced through me when I thought I heard a moan.

  I dragged out my phone and punched in 9-1-1 before pausing. What if Drew wasn’t in trouble? Better to be safe than sorry. But I didn’t hit the call button. Instead, I rummaged in my bag and pulled out a pepper spray container. Armed, I sent the door flying open.

  Cautiously I entered the foyer and got my bearings. I’d been in the house once before when Borys had been alive.

  The bungalow had been built one room deep to allow the breeze to cool the house in pre-air conditioning days. Cypress wood flooring ran the length, protected here and there with sisal rugs. Arrangements of antique furniture defined the rooms’ transition.

  I went into the living room, spotting, on the cocktail table, a framed photograph of the two men, smiling in happier times. Somehow, I figured times were about to get a lot worse. I moved on to an abbreviated hall from which a bathroom, a small room that served as an office and master bedroom all fanned out. I glanced inside the office and faltered to a stop.

  A hurricane had struck. Paper was strewn everywhere, desk drawers emptied out and then tossed aside. A CD and DVD tower had been knocked over and the jewel cases smashed. The computer monitor, its screen cracked, lay on the floor while the computer mouse dangled to the side.

  Still spinning.

  My pulse doing a NASCAR lap, I hit the call button on my cell as I backed down the hallway. When the emergency operator came on, I reported the break-in all the while making a beeline for the door. Help was on the way and I was so out of here.

  For once my reckless side urged caution, telling me to get out of the house, but no, my responsible side whispered: Where was Drew? Was he lying hurt somewhere?

  I said aloud, “I’ve called the police. They’re on their way.” I listened intently but heard only silence. No sounds of a door opening or closing, no sounds of footsteps.

  Taking a deep breath, I returned to the hall and stepped into the bedroom. Once more chaos reigned, but there was no sign of Drew.

  Creak…creak.

  A ceiling fan with palm leaf blades whipped on high, stirring the air feverishly. Was it the motor’s sound that I was hearing? No, it made more of a humming noise. Then I saw the sliding glass doors to the rear deck were open. Borys had spoken with pride about how he and Drew played weekend warriors to build the redwood deck. I approached the doors and glanced out.

  A dark bank of thunder boomers loomed on the horizon, kicking up gusts of wind. Someone should close the doors, but it wouldn’t be the homeowner.

  Drew’s body swayed in the breeze, the rope looped over the roof beam and knotted around his neck creaking as he spun this way and that way.

  For a moment, as he turned toward me, his dark-red face distorted, I thought his sightless eyes contained a pleading look. Did he call out for help?

  Or for justice?

  Chapter Six

  I ignored the growing ring of curious onlookers as I sat waiting on the front porch step. Behind me, police activity buzzed inside the house. I’d already given a preliminary statement to the first officers on scene but knew the lead detective would also want to speak with me.

  I just wished he would get his butt here. It was thirty minutes since I made the 9-1-1 call, and I wanted to leave…as soon as my legs regained a consistency stronger than jelly. The shock of finding poor Drew had definitely set in. To calm my nerves, I slipped my hand into my pocket and pulled out a paperclip from my stash to toy with.

  A nondescript tan sedan pulled up, followed by a midnight-blue Lexus. I groaned at the sight of the men getting out of their respective cars and buried my head in my arms. Since my legs still weren’t in any shape for me to run, I was stuck.

  The Texas twang came first. “Looks like you’re taking up where your partner left off.”

  I lifted my head slightly and shot Detective Sam Bowie an exasperated look. “How’s that?”

  He propped his booted foot on the step. “There was a time when Kate managed to be at the wrong place at the wrong time for every homicide in town.”

  That was true enough. Kate had quite a run during her last big case. Explosions, shootings, break-ins, all in the name of family. Her family.

  I pretended not to see the man who stood glowering behind Sam and focused on the important bit of information Sam had given out. “You’re treating Drew’s death as a homicide?”

  Hanging was not a common murder method. Drew’s despondency over losing Borys and the tossing of the office and bedroom could be viewed as his last gesture of rage. However, I knew Drew hadn’t killed himself.

  “All I know is what you called in.” Sam patted my shoulder as he moved past me. “Hang around, will you? I may have a few questions.”

  “Sure.”

  He left me staring at the polished black wingtips of the Lexus owner. “Chasing crime scenes now? Don’t they have enough work for you at the prosecutor’s office?”

  Jared crouched so that his face came into my line of vision. “Are you all right?”

  “Oh, I’m fine.” I managed a weak wave with my hand. “I only found a man hanging on his deck. No flying bullets this time.” Despite the air having the consistency of a warm, wet blanket, I shivered.

  Rising, Jared shrugged off his jacket and draped it around my shoulders. Not really what I needed, but the knot of tension in my stomach eased a bit. Then he sat next to me on the step and put his arm around me, tucking me into his side.

  Now that’s what I needed. Somehow my face found its way to the sweet spot of his shoulder. Solid. Safe. A sense of security rose in me, replacing the lingering sense of horror.

  “What am I going to do with you, Carling?” Jared’s voice was half groan, half sigh.

  “Hmm, for the moment you have the right idea. I promise I won’t count it against you if you continue to hold me. I’ll give you a clean bill of no further relationship obligations.”

  Jared’s body shook—was he laughing?—as he lowered his head and pressed a light kiss on my temple. “Want to tell me why you were here?”

  Not really. I’d rather enjoy his warm male scent and the yummy feel of his chest under my cheek. However, I was only putting off the inevitable. Reluctantly, I raised my head. His blue eyes were intent. I must not forget that the prosecutor and the man were one and the same.

  “Did you know Drew and Borys were more than just business partners?” I expected him to look startled, since the dead lovers had concealed their relationship. Jared’s expression didn’t change.

  “Yes.” With his free hand, he stroked a damp strand of hair from my forehead.

  “Oh.” I mulled that over. “Was Drew working as an informant for you?” It would explain why he wasted no time getting here.

  Jared’s hand didn’t pause and his breathing didn’t miss a beat. “Did he call you about Borys’s death?”

  So he wasn’t going to give out any information. Two could play the circling game. “In a manner of speaking.”

  His arm tightened around me. “Carling.”

  “I ran into him at Rocket Fertilizer.”

  Jared’s mouth thinned. “Are you still working for them?”

  “Not anymore. I severed our business arrangement today.”

  Some of the tension I’d felt coming from him eased. “Any reason why today?” he asked.

  I gave him a nudge in the ribcage with my elbow. “Remember the concept of attorney-client privilege?”

  He grunted. “So what did Drew have to say? Did he have information about Borys’s death?”

  I debated how much I should say. I only had suspicions about Rocket’s connection to drug trafficking. On the other hand I was a material witness at a crime scene.

  “Umm…” I wiggled but Jared’s arm kept me tight to his side. Not that I minded.

  If I ignored the police, the bystanders and the fact a violent death had occurred in the house behind me, I could pretend we were a
couple simply enjoying an early summer evening. But reality bites. The medical examiner’s van arrived at the curb, and I knew that they would shortly be removing Drew’s body.

  “Carling, you have that devious look.”

  “Sorry. I can’t say anything beyond what I found here and that Drew asked me to meet him, until I consult an attorney.”

  He withdrew his arm and along with it his support. I felt the sting of his rejection, but I did need to speak with Kate and Nicole first about the squirrelly ethics here. Jared was a smart guy. If Drew had been his informant, then Jared already knew about the drug operation.

  “Jared.” Sam poked his head out. “Do you want to take a look at something we found?”

  “Sure.” Jared shot me a frustrated look as he rose. “We’ll talk later.” It was a threat more than a promise.

  After he disappeared into the house, I waited for a count of—oh—twenty seconds before I scrambled to my feet and walked inside. After all, I needed to return Jared’s jacket, which I still wore.

  Most of the officers barely gave me a glance as I walked toward the bedroom. They’d already taped off the room and I had no desire to revisit the deck. However, I was interested in taking a closer look at the tossed contents of the office.

  If someone did kill Drew, what had they been looking for?

  Standing in the doorway, I surveyed the office, which contained two work stations. At the moment, no officer was inside although powder residue on the desk and computer monitor indicated a search for fingerprints had been conducted. Smashed CDs littered the floor.

  On the opposite side, shelves crammed with colorful Rocky and Bullwinkle memorabilia lined the walls above the desk. Borys’s prized collection contained everything from lunchboxes to glass figurines. One shelf held videotapes and DVDs. My client had collected every episode of the old cartoon show. There was a gap toward the end.

  Didn’t Drew say his lover had given me one of his favorite collection sets? Excitement raced through me, kicking my pulse up a notch. Had Borys given me something important for safekeeping in the event of his death? If so, where had I put it? I knew I didn’t have anything remotely resembling a moose or squirrel in my movies at home.

  My cell sounded and I muttered a curse as I dug for it. I’d forgotten to switch it off. “Hello?”

  “Carling?”

  “Oh, hi, Mom.” I relaxed marginally only to stiffen as Jared charged from the bedroom.

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded. “You know better than to contaminate a crime scene.”

  “I’ve already contaminated it since I was the one who found the body,” I said, pointing out the obvious.

  “What body? Are you all right? Is that Jared?” Mom fired off a rapid series of questions. She hadn’t worked as a legal secretary for years without picking up a few tricks of the trade.

  I decided the latter question was the safest to answer. “Yes, Jared’s here.”

  “Let me speak with him.”

  Not the reaction I had expected, but then again my parents had always liked him. I rather suspected that they held me accountable for our break-up. Rightfully so.

  “Sure.” I held out my phone. “Mom wants to speak with you.”

  His expression softened and he took the phone. “Hi Suzanne. How are you?”

  I could hear the rushing sound of her voice as she now directed her inquisition at him. Jared shot me a dark look before answering, “No, she’s fine. For now.”

  I missed neither the emphasis nor the inference. He twisted his broad shoulders, turning away from me, speaking in a low tone. As if I couldn’t eavesdrop on his side of the conversation if I chose to.

  Once more I studied the office. If Borys had given me something important in the guise of one of his prized DVDs, where was it? Had I unknowingly tossed it during my crazed—no, I didn’t want to call it that—during my strange phase after being shot? Cartoons wouldn’t fit in with that over-the-top Oriental décor.

  As I half listened to the rumble of Jared’s voice as he spoke with my mother, I realized what I might have done with the DVD. When he said goodbye and held out his hand, I grabbed the phone from him.

  “Mom?”

  “Carling Dent. Are you trying to make me old before my time? Have you no sense, barging into a house where there’s a dead man?”

  I closed my eyes. “I didn’t know he was dead.”

  “I want your father to hear about this. You’re coming to dinner. No arguments. I expect you in a half hour.”

  Did I mention I’m my mother’s daughter? Once we gather up steam, we bulldoze over all resistance. Sighing, I dropped the phone into my bag.

  “Any idea how much longer? I have a command performance to attend.”

  Amusement glinted in Jared’s eyes. “I’ll speak with Sam.” He went into the bedroom and emerged again after a few minutes. “He’ll call you in the morning.”

  “Thanks.” Suddenly feeling awkward, I shifted, not sure how to take my leave. Remembering I still wore his jacket, I took it off and handed it to him. “Thanks for the loan.”

  “You’re welcome.” His fingertips brushed against mine and I could have sworn electricity arched between our hands. However, nothing seemed to faze Jared. With a casual “see you later,” he returned to the bedroom.

  Why my foolish heart hoped for more, I didn’t know. This wasn’t exactly a social situation, but still…

  “Later, dude,” I muttered and stomped through the house.

  Still fuming twenty minutes later, I pulled into the drive of a sprawling ranch-style house in the western suburbs of West Palm Beach. I got out, grabbed one of the basketballs that were perpetually lying about the place and sent it arching into air. It swished through the hoop above the garage door. Score, three points.

  After putting the ball away, I headed inside. “Mom, Dad?” I called out as I wandered from the hall into the dining room. Because my parents love family and entertaining, they had one of those enormous country-style dining tables. Today it was set to capacity, with a smaller table tucked in a corner for the grandkids.

  But it wasn’t Sunday.

  My mother, wiping her hands on a towel, appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. “Carling, baby. Are you all right?” She rushed over to give me a big hug and then immediately proceeded to burst into tears.

  My father materialized from the direction of the TV room. Looking slightly lost, he decided it was safe to pat my shoulder while Mom blubbered away. “You okay, brat?”

  The Dents would never be fodder for an Oprah Winfrey show unless she featured a day in the life of a normal family. There was no angst, no tearjerker material in our lives. We were the average all-American family made famous by TV shows like Leave It to Beaver or the original Cosby Show.

  “I’m okay, Dad.” I patted my mother’s shoulder. “Mom, don’t cry. You know that makes me crazy. I’m fine, really.”

  I suppose there’s comfort in knowing how you’ll look when you grow old. When I looked at my mother, I saw myself in thirty years. Only a few extra pounds from bearing three children padded her slim frame, stylishly outfitted in black cropped pants and a black-and-white striped tunic. Silver-frosted short, wispy black hair—straight hair being the bane of both our existences. Laugh lines softened her once sharp angular features. Tears shimmered in her moss-green eyes.

  “Every time I look at you,” she sniffed, “I see myself as a young girl.”

  We also often thought along the same lines. Spooky. “Then I must be gorgeous,” I said. Her lips spread in a shaky smile and her sniff was even louder.

  Dad dug a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. “Thanks, dear.” She grabbed it and blew with gusto.

  Dad winked at me. With fair hair that had turned to snow and twinkling blue eyes, he was a large man with a heart of marshmallow. A retired firefighter, he kept himself busy with volunteer work—otherwise he’d go nuts—while Mom still worked as a legal secretary.

  “What’s
with the table? Who all is coming to dinner?”

  “We are.” With the impish Dent grin on their respective faces, my older brother Chris and sister Angela burst into the room. More laughter, kisses and love. My brother, taking after Dad in more than size and looks, was also a firefighter. My sister, a petite woman with Dad’s coloring, was a kindergarten teacher, happily married to her high school sweetheart, and mother of my precious but precocious nephews.

  If I wasn’t the spitting image of Mom, I would have made the argument that when it came to me, the stork had made a mistake and delivered the wrong baby.

  How else to account for the dark storms that howled inside me over the last year?

  As my sister kissed my cheek, I asked, “Where’s the monsters?” My nephews at age three and five had all the Dent energy plus some.

  “In the family room watching TV with their father.”

  The doorbell sounded and Dad went to the door. Wearing a bemused expression he returned with another man. Jared.

  Silence fell, and Jared had the grace to flush under the family’s intense scrutiny. He had shed his tie and rolled up his shirt sleeves. He looked boyish and far too appealing.

  I found my voice first. “What are you doing—”

  “Jared, I’m so glad you could make it!” Mom rushed forward to grab his arm and dragged him farther into the Dent lair.

  Jared’s gaze locked with mine. “Your mother wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

  I opened my mouth for a scathing reply.

  “Now, Jared, why don’t you go have a drink with the other men while I put the finishing touches on the meal. I hope you like pot roast.”

  “Pair it with mashed potatoes and gravy, and I’ll get down on my knees to propose marriage,” he replied with a smile.

  I closed my mouth and stared at him. He liked pot roast? As I recalled, he’d always favored French restaurants.

  “Sorry, but you’ll have to fight my Thomas for that privilege.” Mom winked at Dad. “You gentlemen go find a nice bottle of wine to serve with dinner. Angela, make sure your husband hasn’t let the kids dismantle the DVD player. Carling, come help me.”