Kitabı oku: «The Detective's Dilemma», sayfa 4

CHAPTER FOUR

THE DOLL-LIKE COUPLE smiled with practiced civility and murmured patent responses. Sitting side by side on their immaculate sofa in their immaculate home, they looked like magazine cutouts, perfectly groomed, perfectly dressed, and they did everything in tandem, including smile and politely evade substantiative answers to direct questions. With some inborn sense of protocol and timing, the husband politely checked his watch twice before bringing a firm end to the interview, if the efforts of Detectives Redstone and Jester could be called such.

More like a waste of time, Ty thought glumly as Jester aimed their nondescript, department-issue sedan toward the next address on their list. So it had gone for days now. The interviewees were interchangeable. The results as well. Nada. They hadn’t learned a darned thing. Brianne Dumont remained a cipher, a dead cipher, unfortunately. The answers to their questions were rote.

“I really couldn’t say.”

“I pay no attention to gossip and rumors.”

“One doesn’t like to pry into the private lives of others, you know.”

“We were friends, but casual acquaintances more than intimates.”

Brianne Dumont might have been a cardboard cutout for all the attention her “friends” seemed to have paid her. Undoubtedly she’d moved on the very fringes of the upper echelon of Austin society, but if she’d had another circle of intimate associates, they hadn’t been discovered yet. Her co-workers might have been more forthcoming than her so-called friends, but the late Mrs. Dumont had held herself aloof, letting them all know that they were beneath her consideration socially. Those listed in her personal address book and calendar were saying the same thing, albeit very politely, about her. The gist of it seemed to be, “She was around a lot, but we didn’t really know her and didn’t care to.”

As much as he hated to admit it, even to himself, Ty sensed that they were getting the royal runaround, just as Beth Maitland had predicted. What he wouldn’t give for one lousy scum sucker in the mix. That sort always had something to fear from law enforcement and so could be pressured, shaken, fouled up. These society types had money, prestige and respectability to fall back upon; they wouldn’t allow themselves to be intimidated by mere civil servants.

“Who’s next?” Paul asked, after flashing his badge and guiding the sedan expertly through the guard gate of one of the city’s more exclusive neighborhoods.

Ty checked his itinerary. “Name’s Giselle Womack. According to Dumont, she and Brianne were roommates for a short while after college until Giselle married.”

“Womack,” Paul said thoughtfully. “Hmm. Wouldn’t be any connection to Womack Industries, would there?”

Ty sighed. “Oh, yeah.”

“All this money in the world,” Paul said, shaking his head. “You’d think a little of it would fall on us, wouldn’t you?”

“Speak for yourself,” Ty said. “I don’t much like what money does to people.”

“Most of us don’t have that prejudice,” Paul quipped. “Personally, I’d like to see what a little of it could do to me.” He slowed the sedan and turned it off the broad, tree-lined street onto the pebbled circular drive of a large Italianate house in cream stucco and white marble.

Paul whistled. Ty groaned. “Does the term ‘exercise in futility’ mean anything to you?”

His partner ignored that and nodded at a flashy yellow convertible parked in front of the door. “Suppose Mrs. Womack has company?”

“Shouldn’t think so,” Ty answered, opening his car door. “She knows we’re coming.”

Paul got out and walked around the front of the car. “Seems to me there’d be room in that four-car garage back there for family cars.”

“Guess we’ll see,” Ty replied, his footsteps carrying him toward the front door. He pushed the bell and rolled his shoulders, adjusting the weight of his gun and the placement of the shoulder holster. The door opened, and a sullen, gray-haired maid in a beige uniform greeted them.

“Are you the police?”

“Detectives Jester and Redstone, ma’am.”

“They’re waiting on you. This way.”

They? Ty glanced at Paul, then over his shoulder at the flashy yellow convertible with its clean white top. If Mrs. Womack had called her attorney in to hold her hand, that was one flamboyant advocate. He stepped into the opulent, tiled entry and followed the maid, Jester behind him. They were shown into a sunny solar room at the back of the house crammed with so many plants that the bamboo furnishings were all but hidden. Ty heard rushed whispers and giggling, but wasn’t sure from where until the maid pushed back the frond of a particularly impressive potted palm and addressed someone Ty couldn’t quite see, announcing baldly, “They’re here.”

She turned to Ty and Jester, letting the palm frond fall into place. “Ya’ll want some coffee or something?”

“No, thank you.”

She nodded sharply and plodded off. Ty traded glances with Paul before he stepped around the potted palm—and looked straight into the smiling face of Beth Maitland. She set aside a cup and saucer and bounced off the short sofa where she was sitting next to a plastic-looking blonde. Her wide smile beamed with perfect white teeth. “Ty!” she exclaimed, holding out her hand as if greeting an old friend.

Exasperation warred with anger and no small amount of sheer delight. The woman took his breath away, and he was going to give her a tongue-lashing as soon as he got her out of here.

“Giselle,” she gushed, “I want you to meet Ty Redstone and Paul Jester.” She flipped a little wave at the woman sitting with crossed bare legs beside her. “Giselle Womack. That’s Mrs. Harold Womack,” Beth confided, amusement twinkling in her eyes as if they shared a private joke.

Ty tried to keep a straight face as he nodded at the young woman preening in her seat on the narrow sofa, but the picture of Harold Womack that sprang to mind made that difficult. Ty had done a little research on his interview subjects and had found more info on Harold Womack than most. One thing he’d come across was a newspaper photo taken at a charity golf tournament. He could see it now— Harold Womack, a full head shorter than the other men in the photo, bald as glass, sixty if he was a day, his belly hanging over his belt, a cigar clamped between his teeth as he prepared to swing a club at the ball on the ground. Ty had wondered at the time if the man could even see the ball for his belly. Now he wondered if old Harold hadn’t bought himself a cute little trophy wife to help him hold age at bay.

Giselle Womack hadn’t yet seen thirty, but her smooth face bore the signs of bad cosmetic surgery, a blunt, slightly scooped nose, the prominent jut of a too rounded chin, lips that looked as though they’d been stung by a peculiarly accurate bee. Her hair was a little too blond and big to be real, and unlike Beth’s full, firm bust, Giselle’s proudly displayed breasts looked hard and unnatural on her bony frame. Only the ostentatious diamonds glittering on the hand she held aloft for Ty’s greeting seemed genuine. He wondered if he was supposed to shake that hand or kiss it. He settled for a quick press and a slight nod.

“I’ve heard so much about you, Ty,” Giselle said breathily, fanning her shoulders to call attention to the cleavage displayed by the little knit dress she was wearing. At least, it would have been a dress on a ten-year-old; on her it was a long shirt two sizes too small. He forced a slight smile and glanced daggers at Beth from the corners of his eyes. Heard about him, had she? He could only guess what Beth Maitland had told her. Paul slid his hands into his pants pockets and rocked on his heels, indicating with a slight clearing of his throat that he was perfectly aware he was being left out of the welcome. Battling exasperation, Ty managed a polite reply.

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Womack.”

Mrs. Womack waved her diamonds and said, “Oh, honey, call me Giselle. We’re not formal here. Are we, Beth?”

Beth folded her long legs and took her seat. “Not at all,” she confirmed, and lifted a hand toward the chairs placed at either end of the rectangular glass table standing before the couch. Ty picked the chair closest to Beth, leaving Paul to cross in front of the table and gingerly take the chair next to Giselle Womack. Paul nodded affably and was pointedly ignored. He shot an amused look at Ty and settled back, prepared to be invisible.

Giselle leaned forward, allowing Ty yet another view of her cleavage, and said, “I think it’s wonderful how you’re helping Beth.”

Helping Beth. As if he was a paid assistant. Ty ground his back teeth. “We’re investigating the murder of Brianne Dumont.”

“I’m dying to know,” Giselle said, gushing. “Was she or wasn’t she?”

Ty lifted both eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?”

“Hasn’t anyone else told you?” Giselle fairly crowed. “I just knew someone would spill the beans.”

By now Ty realized he wasn’t going to get a straight answer from the blonde; she was too busy congratulating herself on being the one to manage the revelation. He turned to Beth Maitland. “Was she or wasn’t she what?”

“Pregnant,” Beth answered bluntly, a light dancing in those sky-blue eyes. “Brianne claimed that she was pregnant.”

Claimed was the right word. Ty had seen the coroner’s report. Brianne Dumont had not been pregnant at the time of her death—had never been pregnant—but he kept that bit of information to himself.

“And Brandon was fit to be tied, I can tell you,” Giselle said in a conspiratorial tone.

“When was this?” Ty asked, realizing that he just might have been handed his first real break.

Giselle pursed her lips, considering. “Mmm, about a month before the elopement. Personally, I had my doubts, but then he married her, you know, so I had to wonder if it wasn’t true.”

“You’re saying that Brandon Dumont married Brianne because she claimed to be pregnant with his child.”

Giselle nodded. “Why else? Everyone knew he was engaged to Beth. He was practically shouting it from the rooftops. I asked Brianne what she was going to do, and she said, ‘I’ll tell you what I’m not going to do. I’m not going to be dropped like some long-distance phone company when a better rate plan comes along.’ She said if the competition had been anyone but a Maitland, she wouldn’t have had to—and I quote—‘go so far.’ It made me wonder, you know, if she did it on purpose—or if she wasn’t pregnant at all, just saying she was to force his hand.”

Ty looked at Paul, confirming that the other man would remain silent. Paul, after all, had read the coroner’s report, too, but he didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow. Ty turned to Giselle Womack. “Thank you, Mrs., uh, Giselle. I have just a few more questions for you.”

Giselle Womack waved her jewel-laden hand. “Ask anything you want. I’ll be glad to help dear Beth any way I can.”

Ty got right down to it. “Would you say that anyone else knew about this supposed pregnancy?”

Giselle snorted laughter. “Honey, everyone knew. You can imagine the talk.” Meaning everyone who was anyone in Austin, including those people he and Paul had interviewed just that morning, no doubt. Giselle Womack had probably spread the gossip. She glanced at Beth and backtracked a bit. “Well, not everyone. I mean, no one was going to say anything to dear Beth and her family.” Dear Beth brushed imaginary lint off one knee and bowed her head, sliding a look at Ty from beneath her slender brows.

Ty swallowed the acrid taste of his own pride and forged ahead. “How was it that you learned of this supposed pregnancy?”

Paul had his notebook out and had been taking down everything that was said. He began scribbling furiously while Giselle rattled on about her relationship with Brianne Dumont, telling more than Ty wanted to know. How they met in college, who they dated, who they knew, how they shared expenses and an apartment—out of choice, of course, not because they had to or anything—and talked about the men they would marry one day.

“Looks and image were always important to Brianne,” Giselle confessed, as if the very idea was ludicrous, despite her obvious attempts to change her appearance. She went on until Ty wanted to scream. Finally, he got to his feet.

“I think that’s everything we need,” he announced, cutting off the torrent of words.

A look of dismay crossed Giselle Womack’s face. “Oh, but—”

Beth reached across and squeezed the woman’s manicured hands so tightly that her long plastic nails clacked together. “Thank you so much, Giselle. I can’t tell you how I appreciate this.”

“Oh, it was my pleasure.” Giselle simpered as Beth got to her feet. “You will call me for lunch now.”

“Just as soon as I’m free of this unpleasantness,” Beth promised. “And I’ll tell my mother how anxious you are to serve on her charity board. I’m sure she’ll be pleased.”

“Well, it is my duty, you know,” Giselle said, gazing at them from the couch. “Harry’s always saying how we have to think of the less fortunate and put ourselves out there to help.”

Ty couldn’t help reflecting that getting her picture in the paper was doubtless Giselle’s definition of putting herself out there. Probably her definition of doing her duty, too. He smiled and nodded as Beth assured Giselle that they didn’t need to be shown out of the house, not that Giselle showed any signs of intending to do that. He was reasonably sure the maid had better things to do, if her employer’s indolence was any indication.

Finally, they withdrew and strode quickly to the entry. Beth seemed to be bursting with energy, as if she might take flight the instant they were out of doors. Ty clamped a restraining hand on her arm, warning her silently that she wasn’t getting away from him until he’d given her a piece of his mind. Before he could decide whether to scare her with possible charges of interfering with an investigation or scorch her ears, Paul’s cell phone rang. Hurrying ahead of them, he pulled it from his coat pocket and took the call. Suddenly he bolted for the front door.

Ty and Beth looked at each other and ran after him, catching up with him on the drive. “I’ve gotta go!” he yelled, waving his phone as he ran around the car to the driver’s side. “Pauly fell and broke his arm! I’ve got to meet Nan at the hospital!”

“What happened?” Ty yelled, throwing wide his arms.

Paul shook his head, indicating that he didn’t have the details. “Can you get where you need to go?”

Completely at a loss, Ty stood there. Not so Beth Maitland. She waved at Paul Jester and said, “He can take my car. You go on.”

Not waiting for Ty’s agreement, Paul yanked open the car door and got in, yelling, “I’ll call when I know something!”

Ty rushed down the steps as Paul started the car. “Give Pauly a hug for me.” Paul nodded and put the car in gear, backing it up to pull around Beth’s convertible. “Tell him I’ll bring him something special for his medicine bag!” Ty called, and Paul waved as he started forward and pulled away.

Beth stepped onto the drive beside him. “Is Pauly his son?”

Ty felt oddly agitated. “Yeah. Yeah, he’s, um, four. And Bailey, their little girl, is two.” He thought of adorable little Bailey. Had Paul’s mother rushed to the house to stay with her, or was she on her way to the emergency room with her frantic mom and brother?

“Nan must be his wife’s name, then.”

“What? Oh. Yeah.” Ty rubbed a hand against the back of his neck, wondering if he ought to check on Bailey, maybe follow Paul to the hospital. But which hospital? He’d forgotten to ask.

“What was that about a medicine bag?” Beth asked.

A second or two passed before he was able to wrap his mind around the answer. “Oh, it’s a Crow thing.”

“Crow?”

He gestured impatiently and snapped, “Indian.”

She tilted her head as if intrigued. “You’re Crow then?”

“Half Crow, half Tonkawa and Caddo,” he answered absently.

“I’m not familiar with the Tonkawa and Caddo tribes,” she said thoughtfully, engaging his interest for the first time since Paul’s phone call. Suddenly he remembered that he was angry with her interference in his investigation—or supposed to be.

“Oh, like you’re familiar with the Crows,” he said snidely, surprised at his own pettiness.

“No, not really,” she answered lightly, shivering in the cool breeze that ruffled the tree branches. She folded her arms. “Was it Joseph Walker who said the Crows were the most beautiful people on the face of the earth?”

Ty stared at her. She had surprised him. He felt himself softening as he reached for her arm and turned her toward the flashy yellow convertible. “Where’s your coat?”

“In the car.”

He tried the passenger side door and found it open. “Give me your keys and get in.”

She didn’t argue, just slid into the creamy white seat and popped open her little black handbag. After extracting the keys on a bracelet-size gold ring, she handed them over without a word. Dangerously pleased, Ty closed her door and walked around the back of the car, picking out the right key on the ring. Nestled among the keys was a gold B studded with what looked like diamonds, a fine reminder that the rich were different from everyone else. Their values were skewed by all that money and influence, and he’d do well not to forget it. Steeling himself against the effect Beth Maitland seemed to have on him, he got behind the steering wheel and slid the key into the ignition switch, trying not to be impressed with the automobile.

The engine rumbled powerfully to life and immediately sank into a contented purr. Ty figured it was time to set Ms. Maitland straight about a few things, but then he looked at her. She was stunningly beautiful in black denim against a field of cream white leather, as at ease as if they did this sort of thing every day. Something happened inside his chest—had his heart flopped over?—and every harsh word he’d formulated vacated his mind. He opened his mouth and heard himself asking conversationally, “So what do you know about Joseph Walker?” Good move, Redstone, he chided himself.

“I know he may well have been the greatest of the mountain men,” she answered smoothly.

He smiled and reached for the gearshift in the console between them. “You think so, do you?” Skating on thin ice, buddy. Just remember, she’s a suspect. And rich.

“I do,” she answered. “He was an honorable, skilled and wise man. Handsome, talented, strong. And he had a great respect for the native cultures.”

Ty aimed the car down the drive and secretly exulted in the surge of power that met his physical commands. “You’ve done some reading about the period, I see.”

“Yes,” she said, “just recently, as a matter of fact.”

“Oh, really? I minored in history in college, so I know something about the period myself.”

She shifted in her seat as he turned onto the empty street. “I minored in history in college.”

“No kidding?”

She was beaming at him. “Well, that’s something else we have in common, isn’t it?”

“Something else?” he echoed.

“Besides the investigation, I mean.”

Whoa. He swerved to the curb and brought the car to a complete stop. Leaning toward her, he bridged the gap between their seats with his arm. “You are not part of this investigation. You’re a suspect, for pity’s sake!”

Her eyes took on a large, wounded look. “I thought you believed me.”

“I do. But formally you’re still a suspect.”

“Oh, formally,” she said dismissively. “What difference does that make?”

“Technically it makes all the difference,” he began, but she dismissed that, too.

“Technically, formally, those are just words. The truth is what matters. And I think we got a little piece of that today, don’t you?”

“Yes, but—”

“I got her to tell it,” she insisted. “Giselle wouldn’t have said anything to you if I hadn’t spread a little Maitland influence on her.”

His pride pricked, Ty retorted, “You don’t know that!”

“Did anyone else you spoke with today mention that Brianne was pregnant?” she insisted.

“Claimed to be pregnant,” he corrected unthinkingly, “but that’s beside the point.”

She seized on his slip like a hungry dog snagging a bone. “Claimed? It was a lie, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it?”

He grimaced, wanting to kick himself. Why couldn’t he think when he was around this woman? “It was a manner of speech. You used it yourself.”

“I knew it!” She collapsed into her seat, her mind obviously churning. “And when he found out she lied, he killed her,” she muttered. “Brianne used the lie of pregnancy to try to break us up and get him to marry her. That’s why I got the gossip.”

“What gossip? How did you hear it?” he asked, suddenly aware that he’d neglected that line of questioning.

“Giselle. She’s been trying to cultivate a relationship with us ever since she married Harry. What she doesn’t know is that my mother can’t stand Harry Womack. But Giselle seems to believe that Harry’s money gives her entrée to every house in town—and to an extent, it does.”

“But not the Maitland house,” Ty surmised.

She didn’t bother confirming, just went on with her story. “Giselle called me at work one day, like we’re really friends or something, and said that she just couldn’t live with herself if she didn’t let me know that Brandon and Brianne were having an affair. I always figured that Brianne put her up to it, because they were roomies at one point, you know.”

“So you took it on yourself to question her today,” Ty said, realizing that he should have expected this.

“I knew you would get to her sooner or later,” Beth said plaintively. “I thought I’d just save you a little time. When she told me you’d called for an appointment, I figured I might as well grease the skids, so to speak.”

Ty shook his head. “Do you have any idea how many ways you could have blown that interview, not to mention the case?”

“But I didn’t!” she exclaimed. “She’d never have told you what she told me if I hadn’t played buddy-buddy with her.”

The fact that she was probably right only stoked Ty’s temper. “That’s beside the point.”

“That’s entirely the point! You need me!”

“I need you to get out of my way!” he yelled, not that it seemed to matter one whit.

“I can’t just sit on my hands hoping someone else will prove my innocence!” she yelled right back. “What if it was you accused of murder? Would you sit at home with your hands folded and do nothing?”

He didn’t dare answer that. Closing his eyes, he strove for a reasonable tone. “Beth, you cannot be involved in this investigation.”

“I am involved in this investigation,” she corrected him. “I’m right at the center of it, and not because I want to be.” She had a point, unfortunately. But she wasn’t through, not by a long shot. “Ty, I need to do something. I can’t go back to work until this is resolved, and I’ll go insane if I have to sit around watching soap operas all day. I have to try to clear myself.”

He shook his head, more swayed by her argument than he wanted to admit. “It’s just not possible.”

“Why not? You were going to question Brandon in front of me the other day. Why is that all right, and this isn’t?”

Exasperated, he resorted to obstinance. “No. You’ll just get in the way.”

“I won’t!”

“It could jeopardize the case.”

“It could make the case! Look at what happened today.”

“Beth, we’re dealing with murder here,” he argued desperately. “If Dumont did this, he laid his plans very carefully, and he did it meaning to hurt you. I can’t take the chance.”

Suddenly she was touching him, her slender hand gently cupping his cheek and jaw. He melted inside like butter in the warm summer sun and was, conversely, hard as stone elsewhere.

“Ty, please,” she implored. “If I’m really in danger, then won’t I be safer with you than out on my own?”

He couldn’t seem to get enough air to make a coherent answer. Maybe it was the sudden vision he had of Beth in his bed. Somehow he managed to speak. “You’ll be safest at home.”

“But I can’t stay there and do nothing!” she repeated. “Please, Ty. Please let me go with you.”

Her mouth was driving him crazy, those luscious coral lips forming the syllables of her words. Was that the same lipstick she’d worn the other day? No, he didn’t think so. He tried to clear his head and come up with a smart answer. His stomach rumbled, providing inspiration. “Fine. I’m just going to lunch now.”

She broke into a smile. “Lunch? Oh, good, I’m famished.” She dropped her hand and settled into her seat. “Where did you have in mind?”

“I—” He broke off, realizing he’d just invited her to lunch. Man, he was really keeping his distance, wasn’t he? What a rock. If he was smart, he’d drive straight to the office and turn her keys over to her with a firm dismissal. Apparently he wasn’t as smart as that. “I don’t have anyplace specific in mind.”

“I know a wonderful little diner,” she said, smiling broadly. “It’s called Austin Eats. Do you know it?”

A diner? For a Maitland? He started to shake his head. “No, I…oh, wait, that’s the place next to the clinic, isn’t it?”

“That’s the one.”

It really was a diner, and fairly close. “Austin Eats, it is,” he said, mildly surprised. This could be a good thing, he told himself as he started the car moving once more. He could explain it all again, carefully this time, unemotionally, professionally. She was an intelligent woman. She’d understand, eventually, that he couldn’t have her tagging along on interviews. Then, when this was all over, maybe— No. He slammed the door on that thought abruptly. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. No matter how strongly attracted he was. He’d learned his lesson about rich, socially prominent young women a long time ago. He needed no reminders. Usually.

He shifted in his seat, knowing he was in trouble. Big trouble.