Double Dog Dare (The Raine Stockton Dog Mystery Series) (8 page)

It was a good thing I had just taken a rather large bite of my crepe because I’m sure I would have said something I would regret otherwise.  As it was
, Rita and I exchanged a look that suggested she, too, was biting her tongue.

But, as he himself
had so often pointed out, Miles was no fool.  He said, with an air of easy authority that made me wonder how he knew such things, “If he knows there’s a pending arrest, Alex should put the bond money in a revocable trust and assign a power of attorney.  His lawyer should be able to handle the whole thing from here.”

She was shaking her head before he finished speaking.  “That’s the problem. 
His business… well, from what I understand it hasn’t been liquid for years.  Rachelle was pouring money into it, but it wasn’t making much of a difference.  Alex is all but broke.”

At this point, I literally had to bite the side of my tongue to keep from blurting what I was thinking.  Rich wife, broke husband, fatal accident, missing body.  Open and shut.

Rita murmured, “Oh, my.”

Not exactly what I was thinking, but close enough.

A small frown appeared between Miles’s brows, but otherwise he seemed calm.  “So Rachelle had money?”

Susan
looked incredulous.  “You know who she was, don’t you?  The Denison-North entertainment dynasty?  Oh, for heaven’s sake, Miles, if it’s not on the stock exchange it doesn’t exist for you.”  There was an indulgent affection in her tone as she went on, “Her grandfather  practically started television, he all but owned every network back when there were only three.  Her father was Richard Denison, who wrote and produced thirty-six hit shows, and her mother is Alexia North, the movie star who died in that plane crash in the nineties…”

Rita murmured, “
That
Rachelle Denison.  Good heavens.”

Even I was impressed.
  Susan had not exaggerated when she used the word “dynasty”, although “empire” or even “kingdom” might have been even more appropriate. We all should have made the connection sooner, but who would have guessed that someone with the last name “Denison” would turn out to be a third-rate actress in a canceled werewolf show?

Miles gave an impatient wave of his hand
, and she went on, “Anyway, I suppose you could say she has money, if you consider being worth billions having money. She didn’t come into full control of her trust until she was thirty, but the income from it alone was more than most people will see in a lifetime.  The problem is that upon her death, the income ceases and of course Alex has no access to the trust.  There’s no way he can raise half a million dollars for bond, Miles.”

And there went motive.  If Rachelle’s death cut off Alex Barry’s only source of income, he had no reason to kill her.  The question was, why didn’t the police see that?

Or maybe they did, and had decided for whatever reason that motive didn’t matter.  I had been around law enforcement for too long to be under the delusion that the decisions that were made about such things were always rational.  In fact, they were often the opposite.

As I had recently come to understand all too well.

Susan looked at Miles, her expression helpless.  “Miles, I hate to ask, but I’m desperate.  If it comes to that, if he is arrested, is there any way you could…?”

I watched in patent incredulity as Miles laid a reassuring hand atop hers on the table.  “I’ll look into it,” he said.  “And I’ll try to get by to see Alex sometime today or tomorrow.  Meantime, don’t worry, okay?”

I saw her body visibly sag with relief, and a flash of tears brightened her eyes.  Something about the way her nose went red as she fought back those tears made me not hate her as much as I wanted to.  She stood up quickly, looking embarrassed.  Miles stood as well.  “Thank you,” she said huskily.  “I’ll let you get back to your breakfast.  It’s good to see you again, Rita.  Nice meeting you, Raine.”

At least she got my name right.

“I’ll see myself out,” she told Miles, as he started to escort her to the front.  “Please, I’ve taken enough of your day.  Your daughter is adorable, Miles and…it was good seeing you.”

She left quickly, heels clicking sharply on the wood deck
.

To say the silence that followed her exit was awkward would have been a profound understatement.  Fortunately it did not last very long. 

“Well,” said Rita brightly, standing. “I’ll take care of some of these dishes.”

I sprang to my feet, my voice as tight as my muscles.  “I’ll help.”

Miles caught the hem of my tee shirt as I started to move past him.  I glared at him, but he didn’t let go.  “The
cleaning staff will take care of that,” he said.  And to his mother he added, “But maybe you could make sure Melanie is ready to go.  Be sure she brings a pair of deck shoes.”

Rita gave me a smile that was both sympathetic and reassuring, and hurried off. 
My eyes were churning cold fire as I looked at Miles.  “Seriously?” I demanded.  “You really want to do this now?”

“Not while you’re looming over me like you’re looking for a weapon,” he replied.  “Sit down.”

I grasped the material of my tee shirt and jerked it out of his fingers.  I sat down stiffly, my voice low, my fists clenched.  “You lied to me.  I asked you point-blank who Susan was and you lied.  What was the point, Miles?  Why did you even bother?  Or did you just do it for fun, just to see how foolish you could make me look?  Well, I certainly hope it all lived up to your expectations because I’ve got to tell you, I thought it was hilarious.”

He refilled his coffee cup,
glancing at me. “Are you finished?”

“No, I’m not finished.
  And it’s not as though you didn’t have plenty of chances.  We hadn’t been here fifteen minutes when the driver mentioned Alex Barry and all you said was that you knew him.  You couldn’t have mentioned he was your brother-in-law?  You didn’t think that was something that might interest me?”

“Ex brother-in-law,” he pointed out.

My fists tightened in my lap.  “This was a bad idea.  I never should have come here.  I told you that.  I knew I wouldn’t have a good time.  This is your world, not mine.  These are your friends, your exes, your expensive French food and designer sunglasses and business associates who throw bodies off yachts, for God’s sake.  I don’t belong here.”

“Okay,
” Miles said, “now you’re finished.” He sipped his coffee, his gaze cool.  “These are not my friends, they’re people I know.  One of them I happened to be married to for eight months twelve years ago and haven’t seen more than half a dozen times since.  As for what my business associates—or former in-laws— may or may not have done regarding crimes against persons…are you sure you want to go there?”

He was right, I didn’t
want to go there.   In the brief time I had known him I had been involved with more crimes and criminals than he probably had in his entire life, and even though an argument certainly could be made that none of it was my fault, that was not an argument I wanted to have.

He went on, “And if you want to know why I didn’t tell you
Susan was my ex-wife, this is why.  Because I knew you’d do this.  Because I wanted you to have a few days when you didn’t have to be angry at anyone, or worried about anything, and because there’s no reason for you to do either one.  I didn’t lie to you.  I just didn’t tell you what you didn’t need to know.”

“You lied to me!” I hissed back.  “You lied to me by not telling the whole truth and hoping you wouldn’t get caught, just like
—”

I was going to say “just like my father, just like my ex husband, just like every man I’ve ever known!” but I stopped myself
, shocked and a little horrified at what had almost come spilling out.  But I could see by the quiet, all-too-knowing look in Miles’s eyes and by the slight tightening of the corners of his lips that I might as well have gone ahead and said it.  I had convicted myself with my own unspoken truth.

He said, “I don’t make a lot of promises
any more.  After three divorces it seems little pointless.  But the ones I do make these days I make sure I can keep.  I told you once I’m not going to give up on you just because you keep trying to see if I will.  That’s a promise.  Here’s another one.”  He sipped his coffee, his expression neutral, his tone matter of fact. “I’m done paying for the mistakes other men have made.  I’m not your father.  I’m not your ex-husband.  I’m not your college boyfriend who told you he loved you and then set you up to take the rap for a felony. Those guys deserve your anger, and worse.  I don’t.  So work out your issues.  Get therapy if you need it.  I’m here to listen, to help where I can, and to try to make sure nobody ever hurts you like that again.  But I’m not going to take the beating for something I didn’t do.  That’s a promise.”  He put down his coffee cup, and invited in the same mild, even tone, “Something you’d like to say to me now?  I’d be particularly interested in anything that begins with, ‘I’m sorry, Miles, I should have given you a chance to explain.’”

He was the one whose ex-wife had just waltzed
up to the breakfast table unannounced and asked him for a half million dollars and somehow it was all my fault.  He was the one who had failed to even mention that his ex-wife was on the island in the first place, much less that her brother might be involved in a murder, and
I
was supposed to apologize?  The man had told me to get therapy, for heaven’s sake.  Oh, I had lots to say.

Except that he’d
been right.  Not about the therapy, but about my blaming him for things that weren’t his fault.  That was the essence of my relationship with Miles: I never knew whether I wanted to strangle him or fling myself into his arms and let him hold me until everything that was wrong was somehow right again, which he always managed to do.  He hadn’t lied; he had just been trying to protect me.  And the infuriating thing was that he thought that made it okay.

Just like my father.
  Damn it. 
Damn it.

I swallowed a lump in my throat, and with it all the words that suddenly didn’t need to be said after all.  I said, a little gruffly, “I forgive you.”

He almost smiled.  “Thank you.”

“But I don’t need therapy.”

He responded with only a slight quirk of his eyebrow.  “Okay.”

I hesitated.  “Are you going to give her the money?”

“Him,” he corrected.  “The money would be for Alex.” And a small thoughtful frown shadowed his eyes as he answered, “I don’t know yet.”

I flung open my hands in exasperation.  “Now
that
  I don’t understand.  You think he’s guilty—”

He lifted a finger in objection. “I didn’t say that.  I said he’s capable of being guilty.”

“Then why would you put up your own money to keep him out of jail?”

“Did you ever hear that old saying, ‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer?
’  Besides…”  the thoughtful expression was back again,  “I don’t think he’s going to jail.  He’s too smart for that.”

I
took a deep breath.  “What you did wasn’t right, Miles.  This…” I struggled briefly for the words,  “this thing between us can’t go any further if you keep secrets.  Don’t shut me out.”

“I won’t.”

And that, in the end, was all I had ever really wanted. 

I released a breath
of satisfaction and got to my feet.  “So,” I said, doing my best to summon enthusiasm for the day ahead,  “are we going snorkeling, or what?

~*~

The morning that followed was demonstrable proof of why it doesn’t pay to hold a grudge.  Rita elected to stay at home, claiming she preferred to do her swimming in a pool and didn’t trust any ocean-going vessel that was too small to accommodate a casino.  I had quickly grown to enjoy her company and I was sorry she wouldn’t be spending the day on the water with us, particularly since Miles was still on shaky ground with me… and perhaps vice-versa.  It wouldn’t have hurt to have an extra buffer between us, just to make sure the conversation stayed civilized.

As soon as I saw the marina, though,
any secret lingering annoyance I might have felt was pushed aside and swallowed up by much more immediate distractions.  Like Cisco, I hardly knew which way to look, there were so many intriguing sights and smells and sounds.  The dock was lined with dozens, perhaps hundreds, of brilliantly white boats gently bobbing on the crystal water: small boats, large boats, sail-boats, motor- boats, party boats and house-boats—which, in this environment, were more accurately known as yachts.  Cisco’s head swiveled toward a Yorkie that ran to the rail of a mid-sized sail boat, barking madly as we passed, and then toward a sheltie, its immaculately groomed coat shining in the sun, who joined the chorus a few boats down.  Somewhere a bigger dog—perhaps a lab or a golden—barked back from inside a cabin.  I was beginning to understand why Miles hadn’t hesitated about inviting all my dogs to come along; this place was a canine playground. It was all I could do to keep Cisco in a semi-heel as we made our way down the dock, and my focus wasn’t much better than his. I tore my gaze from a party boat filled with what I was sure were French models sunning themselves on the deck, to a gaggle of paparazzi gathered around another hoping for a shot of whatever celebrity was onboard, to a rock band that was setting up on the deck of another yacht, to a labradoodle that was racing wildly from one vantage point to the other on the deck of his boat, barking and trying to get a better look at Cisco who, like his mistress, was trying to take it all in at once.  This mountain girl was definitely not in Kansas anymore.  So to speak.