Fear Familiar Bundle (145 page)

"You never saw them?"

"It was too dark. They could have killed me, but they think I still have all that money. I have some, but not what they said I took." She patted the sofa. "And it's right here, under the upholstery. All ten thousand dollars of it." She wiped away a fresh trickle of tears. "I sold my family for ten thousand dollars. I only spent twenty dollars on a new dress to wear for Cal's birthday dinner. I intended to save the rest for Sarah's education. Cal didn't make enough to send her to college, and he wanted it so desperately for her."

"Oh, Mora." Daniel felt a terrible tightness in his chest. What a tragedy. One small mistake, and how she'd paid for it. "Can you think who would want to hurt Sarah?"

Mora frowned. "There was talk, right at the first, that I'd taken a lot more money. Or rather, that Cal had taken a big payoff. A lot more than ten thousand. That man called me up and wanted to know what I'd done with the rest of the money. I told him I only had the ten thousand."

"And?"

"He said we'd pay. The entire family, including my little girl." She swallowed. "I never believed anyone would blame this on Sarah. Never in a million years."

"Who were these men, Mora?"

"I don't know."

"How did you get the money?"

"A friend of mine in New Orleans let them leave it at his place. Then I went there and got it."

"Your friend's name? Was it Vincent Minton?"

"No, no." She shook her head. "Vince was never involved. He was a friend. Nothing more, though there were times when I thought he might want more." She sighed.

Daniel knew he would pursue Vincent Minton at a later date. Now he had to have the name.

"The man in New Orleans who helped you. Who is he?"

"Croxier. André Croxier."

Daniel felt as if large chunks of information had physically shifted in his brain. "Chef André. The White House chef?"

"Yes." Mora looked up at the intensity in Daniel's voice. "Don't involve him in this. He was a friend to me, but this type of thing could ruin him in Washington. Unsavory connections. I know how a place like Washington works. André has worked hard to get where he is, and he's been a good friend to me. He helped Sarah in the very beginning."

"My God, Mora…" Daniel was astounded that she didn't see what he saw so clearly. She was worried about protecting the man who'd probably ruined her life. A man who very likely stole a large portion of the money, left her and her family to suffer the consequences, and now still called himself her friend.

"You won't involve André, will you?"

"I won't involve anyone unnecessarily." He could no longer hold back his need to check Sarah. He'd given Mora as much as he could. It wasn't forgiveness or anything close, but he'd listened to her, and in the process he'd learned a great deal. "I'm going to see about Sarah." He rose and, to his satisfaction, he watched as Familiar hopped into Mora's lap and gently nuzzled her hand.

"Sarah always wanted a cat," Mora said, her expression drifting back to the past. "When she was little, she begged to have one, but I never knew if we were going to have to move on a minute's notice. There was always the sense that they watched and waited, ready to harm her. It nearly drove me mad. And I could barely keep our life together without worrying about a pet." She stroked the cat. "I'm glad she finally has Familiar. He's a big comfort."

Daniel wanted more than anything to relieve Mora's suffering, but there was nothing he could do. He was a stranger, and this was a family matter.

He turned slowly away and went to the bedroom. He half expected the door to be locked, but the knob turned under his hand and he entered to find Sarah flung across a double bed still flounced in the ruffles of her teenage years. She was all cried out, but her face was still buried in the pillow.

"You look like a young girl," he said, taking a seat on the bed and gently rubbing her back.

"I feel like a fool."

"Sarah, she did the best for you that she could. What she did wasn't so wrong. She realized the mistake and tried to give the money back, but— "

"How can you defend her?" Sarah sat up, eyes red and angry.

"Because I understand."

"Right. The FBI has taught you to bend the truth just like my mother does."

He grasped both of her shoulders and held them firmly. "She did it for you and your father. Not for herself." He gave her a tiny shake. "If you stop feeling sorry for yourself for sixty seconds, you might see how much she loved both of you. And how she's suffered because of it," he finished on a softer note.

Sarah turned her face away but his hands held her body firm. "Don't you think I can see that? She did it for me. She took the money to give me the things Daddy couldn't afford to give me. I know that. She never took anything for herself. And that makes me as guilty as she is!"

She tried to struggle free, but Daniel pinned her back on the bed, holding her against the mattress as she fought against him.

"Sarah!"

"Let me go, damn you. I don't need you to sympathize with her. She's buried me in guilt."

"Sarah!" He shook her against the bed, making the old springs creak.

She tried to butt him with her head to no avail.

"Okay, you made me do this." He lowered his head to hers and pressed her back into the bed. When she couldn't jerk or thrash, he kissed her. He drew back quickly, then looked into her eyes. "I love you, Sarah."

"Let me up." She panted, but she no longer struggled.

"I love you." He kissed her again, gently this time.

"I'm not a child you can distract," she finally answered when she could talk.

"I hope you don't think this is a distraction. I've never been more serious about anything in my life. I love you."

As she watched the expression on his face, Sarah's anger began to slowly fade. She did love him. Whatever else she'd lost in the last few days, she'd found Daniel. The light from the bedroom window caught the clean, straight line of his nose and the generous bottom lip. She could see the faint stubble of a beard, but it only gave him a rugged look, heightening the deep blueness of his eyes. He was so handsome, and so good.

"I take you very seriously," she answered.

He slowly released the grip on her arms, rubbing where he'd held her tightly. "I'll let you go if you promise not to take a swing at me."

She couldn't help but grin. "It depends."

He tightened his grip slightly. "Then I'll say this fast. Your mother made a mistake."

"And my father died because of it," Sarah answered. She wasn't angry anymore.

"That may or may not be true. I don't think it is. I think your father died because some ruthless, evil men preyed upon your mother and then turned their energy toward destroying him. Your father was a scapegoat, and I think I'm beginning to figure out who betrayed him."

"Who?" The last remnants of Sarah's self-pity fled. "Who?"

Daniel pulled her up to a sitting position so they could face each other. "Chef André, for one."

"How?" Sarah didn't believe what he was saying.

Daniel quickly related what Mora had told him. "Don't you see? There was a lot more money. The gang thought they were really buying your father off. Not just Mora or her wifely influence— they thought they'd paid
him
to leave them alone. Then when he started investigating Betty Jean Corley's death, zealously investigating, they thought he'd double-crossed them. And— "

"They set him up."

"They paid off Graham Estis."

"And God knows who else."

"Right."

"Very possibly, Agent Jenkins."

Daniel took a breath. "That's a distinct possibility. Jenkins pursued your father relentlessly. He might have been paid to do it."

"And Gottard?"

"There is a chance that somehow they've gotten to him. This time, I was the sacrificial lamb." His face reflected chagrin, sorrow, and a bitter acceptance. "I was perfect. The renegade. The guy they could trust to break the rules to get to the truth. That's me. All they had to do was wind me up and set me in motion and I did all the rest, including put my friend in danger and then get framed for his murder."

"But they haven't charged you yet," Sarah noted.

"That's the beauty of it. If I'm charged, they'd have to take me into custody. But they need me to be here with you, to lead you into the trap they've set to snare you."

"Why?" Sarah asked again. That was the same old question that applied to everything that was happening to them. "Why? This was all years ago."

"That's what I don't know, but I'm beginning to know where to look to find an answer."

"And where is that?" Sarah could feel the excitement radiating from him. He was on the trail. She could feel it.

"Think about it. Every event you've catered recently was Southern."

"But that's not unusual," Sarah interrupted. "I cater Southern events almost exclusively. That's my hook, my forte."

"I know, but at every recent event, except that birthday party for the Georgia senator, there have been very powerful people. Businessmen, legislators, congressmen. Movers and shakers. And let me point out that the child's party was the first thing you've catered where no one was poisoned— or nearly poisoned." He told her about the lab reports on the pork chops.

"You're right." Sarah saw it all begin to make sense. "Maybe at first they only wanted to use me to make a few folks sick."

"I think it was more than that. I think they intended to frame you for murder. By poisoning people. That way, they'd get rid of the roadblocks and also put you behind bars. It would be the perfect revenge."

"Who are these people?" Sarah asked, her voice small and worried.

"Your mother doesn't know. She had only a telephone contact."

"How are we going to find out?"

"We're going back to Washington."

"And?"

"A lot depends on Paul Gottard."

Sarah leaned forward and grasped Daniel's knee. "You aren't going to trust that man, are you?"

Daniel's grin was tight. "Absolutely not. I'm going to use him exactly the way he's used me. Now, let's book a flight home before we're accused of killing Graham Estis. It wouldn't surprise me to see that happen, since you haven't obliged by killing someone at one of your dinner parties."

"No one has died, yet," Sarah said. "Thanks to Familiar."

Well, this is a little more my style. Sarah insisted on a seat for me, in a carrier, but at least I'm not stuffed into some bag with underwear and socks. And I'm relieved to be getting back to Washington. Magdelene is going to have a fit. I can only hope she hasn't reported my disappearance to Eleanor and Peter. They'll be worried sick.

All of these duties! How have I become so un-catlike that I'm worried about how humans feel? I must have caught this from Sarah. She's always worried about people. But thank goodness she and Mora made up. Now that was one heart-warming scene. It took ten years off Mora's age— she actually began to bloom. And then she ripped that upholstery off that old sofa and all that money flew around the room. Sarah told her to spend every dime of it and not to look back. An excellent suggestion. Now all we have to do on our end is resolve this mystery and make sure that everyone lives to see the money spent and justice done.

Chef André. That garlicky smell. It could easily be connected. Sarah scrubs her hands with lemon. But anyone who cooks or eats garlic a lot…I'm heading straight over to the White House as soon as we land. I want to speak to Socks. He can help with this, since I'm sure the great chef has prepared some specialties for the First Cat. Socks will be able to give me some pertinent details. Even if he isn't a Trained Observer, he is a cat. By definition, he's astute and observant. Oh, yes, Socks will be my ace in the hole.

As for now, I'm going to charm the attendant into a sample of that first-class chow. It's not the best food I've ever tasted, but flying always gives me an appetite. And besides, that little brunette has a million-dollar smile. Even if the cuisine ain't caviar, she is choice.

S
ARAH PACED
the length of her shop behind the tightly drawn shades. The call from Chef André had been so unexpected, so bizarre, that every nerve in her body jangled. It was almost telepathic. And he'd sounded so worried and concerned, asking about Mora and Jean-Claude. If Daniel weren't hiding upstairs, listening to everything that happened, Sarah knew she'd be scared to death.

The tap on the glass was gentle, but it made Sarah jump. Peeking through the blinds, she saw the tall chef standing hunched against the cold. Heart pounding, she opened the door to him.

"Sarah!" He examined her. "Thank goodness, you're okay."

"Why wouldn't I be?" She tried not to sound hostile, but she couldn't help it. This man might have ruined her family. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

André stared more closely. "This is a strange, strange night. First those cats. That Socks and a black friend of his. They almost drove me crazy in the kitchen. I was ready to call the president and demand that he retrieve that animal. But they left as abruptly as they came. Then Jean-Claude appeared." He rolled his eyes. "In such a state. That young man has not been right since he came back from the vineyards. He was asking many questions about the past, about his father's relationship with Lucinda. All water gone under the bridge. But he was also asking about you, little cabbage. The way he asked concerned me."

"Jean-Claude?" Sarah felt a pang.

"He said there was trouble at Lucinda's dinner party and no one had seen you since. Are you okay?"

"No." Sarah's hostility was wearing down. No matter how much she tried to believe that André had set up her mother, it didn't fit. She'd worked in his kitchen since she was a child. She knew for a fact that André had never benefited from a windfall sum of money. Like her, he'd earned everything. "I've been in Biloxi, André. Mora told me about the money."

"Ah, I tried to get her to tell you long ago. I'm glad she finally did." He looked around the room. "May we sit?"