Courting Disaster (6 page)

“I went through a rough period, but the impending tax season managed to overcome anyone’s reservations.”

The accountant had lost clientele over the scandal. Chalk up another motive for murder. Drew could have killed his lover in passion, but Borys’s murder had been cold and calculated. However, I wasn’t about to push any buttons to find out.

“Where did Borys keep his business records?”

Drew shrugged. “In his office at home. Would you like to see his room?”

“You bet.” I gave a slight nod toward the fertilizer plant. “Have you found any reason why Borys may have been afraid of working here?” I could feel sweat trickling along my temple and ran my fingers through my hair.

Drew watched my movement. “He called you Natasha after his favorite Bullwinkle character because of your dark hair.”

My neck muscles were protesting my holding the phone to my ear for so long. “Yeah, I never quite got that as I’ve always worn my hair short.” The better to ignore its baby fine straightness. “The cartoon character wore hers long.”

Drew shrugged a shoulder. “I think it had more to do with the tilt of your eyes. It gives your face a rather exotic touch.”

I looked so exotic that I would run right out and became a belly dancer. Not.

“I was jealous of you, you know.”

That statement got my attention. “Huh?”

“I thought Borys had a crush on you. He gave you his most prized DVD collection of the Rocky and Bullwinkle show for safekeeping. It hurt that he didn’t trust me with his damn collection.”

He glanced at his watch. “I must go back inside. Can you meet me in an hour at the house?”

I glanced at my watch. Enough time to check in at the office and tell my partners about the lost account. Fun.

“I’ll be there.”

“Do you remember the address?”

Without thinking, I rattled off a street address in Delray Beach.

“That’s it.”

Of course it was. It had numbers in it. Whatever changes were happening to me, my photographic memory for figures remained intact.

“Thank you, Miss Dent.” Drew hesitated. “Be careful. I think Borys was into something way over his head.”

Like drug smugglers. “You need to be careful as well.”

“Everything that mattered to me died a year ago, Miss Dent. I have little left to fear.” He began to step back and then paused, looking embarrassed.

“I’m sorry. All this time I’ve never contacted you, didn’t want any reminders of his death. But Borys gave me a message for you in case you didn’t drop by the jail that day. The message made no sense, and then with his death…” Drew shrugged. “But he made me promise and I’d like not to fail him again.”

“What was the message?” I asked quietly.

“He said, ‘Tell Natasha that I’m sorry. I’m trying to fix things but that she may have to go to the ride after all.’”

“Have to go to the ride? Did he mean ‘take a ride’?” Had my client messed up the American expression? His English had been impeccable, but colloquiums gave him pause.

“I asked him but he insisted that I give you this exact message. He said you would know the ride when you saw it.”

How strange. I’d certainly been on a ride since the shooting, but how did Borys’s message relate to money laundering?

“I have to go.” Drew disappeared into the coverage of the palms.

I gingerly slid onto the fabric-covered front seat. Although one rental car had enticed me with a leather interior, all it took was sun-baked leather searing the back of your thighs one time to learn a valuable lesson. I fitted the key into the starter, cranked the AC to full blast and sped out, hopefully leaving the fertilizer plant for the last time.

My pit stop at the office lasted longer than I anticipated, so I was running late for my meeting with Drew by the time I left. Fortunately, both Kate and Nicole had been in court, and I’d been able to postpone telling them the bad news about Rocket. I wound through the warren of streets, making my way toward the entrance to I-95. I noticed a dark sedan, one of those interchangeable Japanese models, doing the same maneuvers. Once on the interstate, I pressed the accelerator and unleashed the car’s power. I zipped south toward Delray Beach and glanced in my rearview mirror. The black sedan was one car behind me.

Unease prickled along my spine. I was probably imagining things but just in case…

I changed lanes. Moments later the sedan followed suit. I swallowed, hard.
Okay, don’t panic.
This wasn’t the movies. Just because someone might be following me didn’t mean they were out to harm me. With rush-hour traffic beginning to flood the lanes, it would be a tough job to pull off anyway.

However, losing the tail in this traffic wouldn’t be easy. I was going to have to lose him with maneuverability as opposed to speed. Still, I would lay odds with the Mustang over the foreign model any day.

I switched back to the left lane. Sure enough, the sedan followed.

I checked my mirrors, waiting for the pattern in the lanes to clear. Deliberately, I passed the exit I had meant to take. Then, just before the Linton exit, opportunity happened. I accelerated, roaring across one lane after another to my right. I hit the exit ramp and grinned as I saw the other car, trapped in the middle lane, hurtle past the exit.

Sucker.

I tooled along the overpass and got back onto I-95, heading north this time. I took the next exit at Atlantic Avenue and headed east. All the while my thoughts raced as to why someone would be tailing me.

Granted, I’d just been involved in a car accident. The insurance company for the other driver could be doing a preemptive strike with surveillance. If so, I would have to shrug it off. While I wasn’t planning on bringing a personal injury action, I couldn’t rule it out if I kept having problems with my head. I was self-supporting and had a law practice to maintain. I needed to leave the option open for the time being, even if I had to put up with any personal invasion. I wondered if our investigator, Gabe Chavez, could dig around and find out whether it was an insurance surveillance or not.

My gut told me there was a more sinister reason someone would be following me. Perhaps my renewed interest in Borys’s murder had reached the killer. What was it he or she thought I might remember? I didn’t know the answer but I sure wanted to find out.

I turned off bustling Atlantic, lined with restaurants and shops, and drove through the older residential areas, which contained homes ranging from ratty to well-maintained. Poised almost midpoint between Boca Raton and West Palm Beach and an easy commute to their concentrated commercial areas, Delray Beach continued to fight for its own identity of old Florida with emphasis on tourist business.

Turning onto the narrow lane of Hibiscus Place, which boasted a number of early 1900s houses, I grabbed the first parking place. After locking my car, I walked along the street and then up pavers to the front stoop of the Florida-style bungalow with pristine white siding and marine blue shutters. A dark blue mini-SUV was parked in the driveway. Talk about color coordination. I pressed the doorbell. From inside I thought I heard a floorboard creak, but no one came to the door.

I opened the screen door and knocked on the inner wood one. “Drew?” I called out. “It’s Carling.”

One of the double-hung windows was open, but the only movement I spotted was the sheer curtains fluttering. Maybe he was around back. Then I heard the noise again. Not the sound of floorboards, something else.

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?

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.