Trespass (21 page)

Chapter 47

A
fter TJ left I fell into a three-hour nap. Pure exhaustion must have taken over; I would have thought I was too upset to sleep. All these years I had manufactured a dream of perfection surrounding my summer with Taylor only to have it referred to tonight by TJ as a fantasy. She told me Taylor’s feelings for me were an obsession, not romance.

I spent an hour going through Norman’s computer with no success. Taylor kept popping into my mind. When I saw him at the casino, he had been loving and kind. He couldn’t possibly be a danger to me. TJ had done everything but accuse him of causing the explosion of Norman’s house. Or maybe my misspent feelings made me feel that way. Unable to focus, I set Norman’s computer aside and went downstairs to the hotel coffee shop before it closed.

I ordered a bowl of chicken noodle soup, served piping hot with a chunk of French bread and a bowl of whipped butter. I ate every drop of the soup and every crumb of the bread and ordered a slice of pie with a cup of coffee. I had a stack of mail to go through, but couldn’t stop thinking of Taylor and caught myself staring at my phone. I wanted to talk to him. It was a Saturday night, though, and he would be with his family. Under the circumstances, did I care if he was inconvenienced by my call? I dialed his private number.

He answered immediately. “Gemma? Are you all right?”

“I presume you know the answer to that already since you’re having me followed.” I doubted if I managed to insert the proper amount of coldness into my voice.

He sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you really, or just sorry that I found out?”

“I talked to your private detective at the hospital, didn’t I? I never tried to hide the fact I was there or that I was worried about you.”

“This doesn’t feel like worry, Taylor. You’re having me followed. It feels like being stalked.” My words were more certain than my emotions. No matter what TJ had insinuated about Taylor, no matter what the evidence against him, part of me enjoyed his devotion and wanted to steadfastly deny that either of us was spurred by obsession.

“I never intended to hurt you, Gemma. I’d like to talk to you. Not on the phone, though, in person. I can be at your hotel in half an hour.”

I remembered the feel of his arms around me, his lips on mine in that last kiss, and I wanted to see him—I craved him as I would crave a meal if I were starving, as I would crave a warm fire if I were lost in a snowstorm. But I couldn’t forget TJ’s words that warned me not to be alone with him. I hesitated.

A piece of mail on the top of the stack caught my eye. It advertised the Pewter Mug, a small restaurant on the east side of Wauwatosa. Casting caution aside, I quickly suggested that we meet there.

“I’ll pick you up,” Taylor said. “I don’t want you going out alone at night.”

“No, I’ll meet you there.” I would be carrying a gun in my purse, a fact I didn’t bring up. “And Taylor? Call off that PI you have following me. If you were going to have me followed, you could at least have found someone competent.”

It may have been foolish under the circumstances, but I didn’t leave the hotel before I made sure I looked my best. Drawing from the small wardrobe I brought from the house, I attempted to look appropriate for a casual Saturday evening. I put on a pair of dark slacks, a mauve, loosely knit sweater over a silk camisole the same shade, and high-heeled black boots.

Taylor was waiting in front of the cafe as I drove up and parked in a spot close to the front door. The inside of the restaurant sported candlelit tables, a tiny dance floor, and a three-piece group playing soft jazz. It oozed romantic atmosphere, something I had wanted to avoid. About two dozen couples sat at the tiny tables and in booths lining the walls. We took a table off to one side and ordered from a short list of house wines sold by the glass.

“You look lovely,” Taylor said.

I didn’t return a compliment although he looked so sexy I wanted to rip his clothes off right on the spot. It was going to take all my self-control not to fall under his spell.

“Why are we here?” I asked in an effort to keep things serious.

He kept his gaze riveted to my face while he reached into his pocket and set a tiny, black velvet jeweler’s box in front of me.

The box held either a peace offering or a bribe, but whichever it was, I refused to be taken in by it. “You can’t buy me, Taylor.”

I pushed it back across the table.

“Just open the box. Please.” He placed it in front of me once more.

Against a world of better judgment, I opened the case. A flurry of emotions whirled through my head when I saw what it held. It was my father’s most prized piece, a ruby ring that had been the glory of his collection, a ring he finally had to sell in a desperate attempt to keep his jewelry store from going under. The stone, a rare ruby approximately five carats in size, was mounted in an open filigree setting of white gold, sprinkled with tiny diamonds. The sight of it took my breath away, and I struggled to appear unmoved.

“How did you know about this?”

“I remember everything you’ve ever told me, Gemma. You told me about this ring the first time you talked about your father’s business being in trouble. I knew it pained you when he had to sell it. After I saw you at the casino, I did some research and discovered it was part of a collection in Chicago. I want you to have it.”

“You know I can’t accept it.” TJ was right. The man was obsessed.

“I’ve made a decision, Gemma.” His hazel eyes were dark with emotion. “I’m going to get a divorce. It’s going to take time, though. I want you to keep this as a token of my devotion to you until I can make it happen. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

My gaze kept returning to the ruby. Taylor’s speech, as well as the ring and its significance in my life, was the stuff of soap operas. I hated that I was tempted by such an ostentatious offering. The glow from the large stone beckoned to me. I couldn’t stop myself; I took the ring from its velvet bed and slipped it on my finger. In the soft hue of the candlelight, sparks of crimson shot from my hand.

I had to be the greediest woman imaginable. I kept the ring.

I returned to the hotel with the ruby ring adorning my finger. I couldn’t stop admiring it, still in disbelief over the extravagance of Taylor’s gift even though it felt more like a bribe. I must have been out of my mind to accept it, even temporarily.

My psyche interpreted the offering as, “Promise to wait for me while I get a divorce and you can wear this beautiful ring.” I loved the ring, yet my respect for Taylor had deteriorated. Now I would have to wait for my emotions to follow suit.

Chapter 48

D
etective Tasha Wade couldn’t get the swinger case out of her mind, even after sharing a bowl of popcorn with her family and watching a favorite movie they had all seen a dozen times. Alone now, she sat in front of the TV with her mind on everything but the ridiculous comedy in the current movie. Every other joke had something to do with bodily functions, in particular those that took place in the bathroom. When her cell phone played the opening lines of “We Will Rock You,” she grabbed it. It was Haymaker’s ringtone.

“You awake?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Funny. I’m at the station. I went out for a while tonight, but I’ve had that double suicide you told me about on my mind, and I couldn’t wait to look into it. You were right, there’s not a lot of information in the file. According to the records, there were four couples involved in the swinger’s group. The three we know about, the Krauses, the ones who were Martin’s parents, the Diermeyers, and the Jacksons, and then a couple named Braun, Victoria and William. And guess what we know about them?”

“They’re Teschler’s next-door neighbors.”

Haymaker chuckled. “Okay, you remembered that. But didn’t you tell me there were six couples in the group?”

“Yeah, but Peacock got that from a second-hand source.” TJ had said the woman who told her about the swingers hadn’t been sure how many there were because she and her husband hadn’t joined. Tasha couldn’t recall where the number six had come from.

Haymaker added, “Here’s something you don’t know. I had a visit tonight from Donald Braun. He thinks his wife is missing.”

“He doesn’t know for sure?”

“They own a lake home in Manitowish Waters. She went up there a few days ago. He hasn’t heard from her since, and she’s not answering her phone.”

“Is he up there now?”

“No. He was just here a couple hours ago.”

“Wait a minute. If he thinks she’s missing, then why isn’t he hauling ass up there?”

“He isn’t sure there would be much point. One of their neighbors up there has already been through the house. His wife’s car, her suitcase, and her purse are still there. The house has no sign of being broken into, and nothing appears to be missing except Mrs. Braun.”

“That doesn’t sound good. What about the local cops?”

“According to Braun, they aren’t taking it too seriously. That’s why he came in. He says it’s not like her to stay out of in touch, but he admitted they argued before she left.”

Tasha picked a popcorn hull from one of her teeth while she took a moment to absorb the news about Braun. “Not much we can do about it from here. But if there’s foul play involved in her disappearance, it’s probably related to everything else, right?”

“I told him I would give the cops up there a call and see what they have. They need to know what’s going on here.”

“Guess now we need to warn the rest of the swingers, right?”

“Not until we know more about Victoria Braun. If she’s alive and well at some cushy spa, then we look like idiots if we jump the gun.”

Tasha would rather feel like an idiot than wait until someone else was dead. Rather than argue, she said, “Maybe we should at least talk to Jackson again, get him to tell us more about the swingers’ group from back then. Or talk to the Finks.”

“The Finks were new recruits. They wouldn’t know anything about the past.”

“Then that leaves Jackson.”

“I can go over there now. Want to come with me? A female presence might soften the blow of bothering him this late.”

Tasha hesitated. The baby was already sleeping through the night, and no one would even know she was gone. “I’ll be ready in fifteen.”

Haymaker and Wade arrived at Jackson’s house within the hour. His vehicle sat parked in the driveway in front of an unattached garage, but the house was dark.

“Funny he would leave his car out if he’s sleeping,” said Haymaker.

“Maybe he came home with a snootful,” Tasha said as they parked in front of the house.

“Could be. If he’s out somewhere, he isn’t answering his cell phone.”

“He’s in a club and it’s too noisy to hear it,” she suggested. “Or he has company here helping him get over his wife’s death.”

They walked up to the front door and rang the bell. No one answered. Haymaker pressed the doorbell again.

“I’ll check around back,” Tasha said as she stepped off the porch.

Haymaker got no response to two more attempts to rouse Jackson. All of a sudden the door opened. Tasha stood there, breathing hard. “Someone broke in the back. Jackson’s been attacked. It looks like he was stabbed.”

He followed her into the living room where Craig Jackson’s body was crumpled on the floor in front of a leather lounger. Haymaker leaned over and put his fingers on Jackson’s throat.

“He’s alive! Call for a bus.”

Chapter 49

A
fter eight hours of uninterrupted sleep, I rose refreshed for the first time in weeks.

I tucked the ruby ring into the safe provided in my suite, then dressed, stopped downstairs for a quick breakfast, and left for the hospital.

A nurse in the ICU told me Carter had regained consciousness and been moved to a regular room. I found him sitting in bed with the back cranked up. In front of him a tray on wheels displayed a liquid breakfast with a dish of soupy orange Jell-O as the main course.

“I’m happy to see you’re awake.” I leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.

He grunted. “I’ll be a lot better when I can eat something I can’t pour.”

He must be better if he was complaining about the food.

“I was so worried about you,” I said. His face looked thinner, his eyes as flat and dull as the inside of a bottle cap.

“And you, Gemma? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

I pulled my hair back to show him the stitches on my head. “I had a mild concussion, but nothing like what you’ve experienced. They only kept me here overnight. When I found you downstairs on the couch, I thought the people who broke in were gone. One of them hit me with a copper statue. I never saw it coming.”

He took my hand in both of his. “I’m just thankful I was there. I can’t even think about what might have happened if you’d been there by yourself.”

I
had
thought about it. Whoever had attacked us might have killed me if Carter hadn’t been there. I couldn’t tell him my fast response had been due to a vision I’d had while having an OBE. And thanks to Jorge, the police had arrived in minutes. What I couldn’t figure out was why they had attacked me. TJ and I weren’t even close to proving a link between the explosion and the murders. We didn’t even know for sure if the explosion had been an intentional act, and it was no secret that what happened to Norman was my only interest in their investigations.

Carter’s grip on my hand tightened.

“We have to talk, Gemma.”

I started to tell him he was in no condition for a serious talk, but he stopped me. “Not now, then, but soon. We have to talk about our future.”

I hoped my relief that he was willing to put it off wasn’t as visible as it felt. In my mind we had no future and I didn’t want to hash it over with Carter again. In the span of only a few days the two men who had been my only loves were pressing me to begin a relationship. I should be elated. They both wanted me, but their desire was not flattering. Instead, it felt like invisible walls were closing in on me.

After I left Carter I stopped in the cafeteria for coffee and noticed Detective Haymaker standing two people in front of me in line. I leaned forward and tugged on his sleeve. “Do you have a minute?”

We met at a tiny table near the entrance. As soon as I sat across from him, he asked, “What can I do for you Ms. Rosenthal?”

“I just saw Carter and he’s out of ICU, even talking. But you know that, right? You’re here to talk to him.”

He ran his fingers through his fine, blond hair. The heavy circles under his eyes announced he had been up all night, and his lack of eye contact told me he wasn’t here to see Carter. My years of working ad campaigns had taught me a lot about reading people; something else had happened, and he was unsure whether to tell me about it. “What is it?” I asked.

“The woman who was murdered last week, Sondra Jackson, her husband was attacked last night. Stabbed, just like your ex-husband.”

My stomach rolled. “Is he going to be all right?”

“It’s not looking good.”

“Did they write on his walls?”

“I can’t give you details of the investigation,” he reminded me. “Although it looks like there is a select group of people being targeted. Don’t forget what happened to your ex, though. Be careful.”

Those were the kindest words he had ever spoken to me. “I’ve moved into a hotel, and I’ll be staying there until my security system is installed. It’s taking even longer now because of all the damage caused by the heavy rain. Apparently existing accounts with rain damage take precedence over putting in new ones.”

“Try not to go out alone, especially at night. And don’t open your door to anyone you don’t know.” He downed his coffee and stood. “Maybe not even to some people you do know.”

I couldn’t blame him for his cynicism. “Can’t you stop them before they kill someone else?”

“We’re doing everything possible. We’ve even compared notes with your PI.”

He had to be desperate to ask TJ for help; according to her, those two did nothing except butt heads.

After leaving the hospital, Haymaker returned to the station to pick up Tasha. She handed him a sandwich as she got into the car. “Lainy made a deli run. I thought you’d need something.”

He grabbed the offering, along with the cup of coffee she handed to him. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten. He muttered “Thanks,” through a mouthful of the ham sandwich on rye he always ordered and passed her a twenty-dollar bill. “Keep the change.”

“What’s the plan for today?” Tasha asked.

“We’ll talk to Arthur Krause’s wife, Barbara. Seems like the place to start. The only other ones left from the swingers’ group to interview are Sam Diermeyer and Anna Krause. Anna wasn’t a member, but she would have had a motive if her husband’s accident was intentional. I figure Barbara Krause would be the one most likely to open up to us. Diermeyer lives in Illinois. We can call him later.”

“Right. But we should try to talk to their kids, too.”

“That’s next on the list. I thought we needed to talk to the spouses of the two who committed suicide first. See if they know who’s carrying a grudge.”

“Could be one of them,” Tasha added. “I didn’t tell Lukaszewski about the suicide pact and that we think it’s related to what’s happening.”

“Why not?”

“He’s been working that other case for one thing. And he’s always slow to consult us about anything he’s doing.”

“He’d be announcing it standing on his desk if he had come up with anything good.”

Tasha snorted. “Got that right.”

Barbara Krause’s house, located about a quarter of a mile southwest of the station, sat nearly in the backyard of the picturesque Mount Mary College grounds. It was a modest two-story brick colonial, its front porch decorated with pumpkins ranging in size from seven inches to a foot and a half in diameter, flanked by gourds of all shapes and sizes.

“Seems a little early for those,” Tasha muttered as they approached. “It isn’t even October yet.” It was what she told her kids when they begged for pumpkins to carve, an excuse that would expire in a few days.

The door was opened by a tall matronly woman with hair dyed a dull ash blond. Her eyebrows, etched in a shade to match her hair, were tweezed in narrow, unnatural arches. They topped a face wrinkled by years of smoking, evidenced by her yellowed fingers. Haymaker and Tasha offered their IDs and asked her name. She identified herself as Barbara Krause but didn’t invite them in.

“We need to ask you some questions,” he said.

She eyed them as her hands nervously rearranged the floral scarf she wore over a brown sweater set. “About what?”

Her stiff posture and edginess revealed the woman knew exactly why they were there. “We need to ask you about the circumstances surrounding your husband’s death,” Haymaker told her. “I know it happened a long time ago, but we think it could be related to a recent murder and two attempted murders.”

She stood back from the door. “You’d better come in. I don’t have much time. I have to be somewhere soon.” She showed them into a living room that showed no signs of living. Everything in the room was polished, formal, and stiff, with nothing out of place. Not even a TV set was evident.

Tasha and Brian sat at opposite ends of a long off-white sofa. “Mrs. Krause,” he began, “we already know about the swingers’ group you used to belong to and how your husband and Lilly Diermeyer died. We understand that the Diermeyers, the Brauns, and the Jacksons were also members of the club. We think there were other couples that were involved, but we don’t know their names. That’s what we need from you, the names. We think someone might be trying to kill all of you who were members of the swingers back then.”

“It wasn’t a club,” she clipped.

Tasha thought it odd that she spouted that denial rather than express concern about her own safety, the murders, or why the police thought the events were related.

“We aren’t interested in the swinging,” Haymaker said. “We just need you to answer our questions.”

Her resistance was obvious. Why would she be reluctant to open up?

“It was a long time ago. I don’t remember the other names.”

“Yeah, right,” Tasha chimed in. “You can’t remember names of people you shared your body and your husband with?”

Barbara cringed at Tasha’s words.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her gaze on the floral carpet. “I honestly don’t remember their names. And there were only four of us couples who were regulars.”

“Maybe this will tweak your memory,” Haymaker said. “A member of your original group, Sondra Jackson, has been murdered. I’m sure you’ve heard about it. What you don’t know is that her husband was attacked last night and he’s not expected to live.”

She caught her breath. “I really can’t give you names, Detective. Honestly, I can’t. There were a few other couples, but none that became regular members. Actually, now that I think about it, there weren’t any that came more than one or two times.”

“Victoria Braun is missing,” Haymaker added. “So you see, now there are three people from your little ménage who we believe have been victims of revenge. Unless you want to be the fourth, it’s in your best interest to help us.”

Barbara Krause’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I’ve told you everything I know.”

“Then you better tell us where you were last night. And where you were on the night Sondra Jackson was murdered,” said Tasha.

Krause’s eyes widened. “You’re not accusing
me
of these crimes, are you?”

Haymaker shrugged. “We’re going to need alibis from all of you who were former members and also from your relatives. Someone with a sixteen-year-old grudge is murdering people from your sex club. Any one of you or one of your relatives could be responsible.”

The color drained from Krause’s face. “But why now after all these years?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out.”