A Score to Settle (20 page)

“If he hated me, why did he come to work with me?”

“Maybe as a chance to redeem himself, to show the world that he really was the best chef around? Maybe he was happy. Maybe he didn’t hate you, and never would have tried to hurt you…if we hadn’t started digging around.”

“Exit right,” the computerized GPS voice instructed.

Jamie’s stomach swooped. They really were going to drive past a house where a murderer resided. A man who wanted Daniel dead, and had very nearly killed her.

“If you’re right—if Claude’s our man—the metal shavings make sense. He made a big production out of sharpening his knife when he made us Caesar salad.”

“He’s obsessive about sharpening his knives. Can’t believe I didn’t see the connection earlier. Listen, there’s no reason for you to go anywhere near Claude. I’ll drop you off at that Starbucks up ahead.”

“No way. I’m not letting you go there alone.” She might be the only voice of reason in this car. She had to stop him if he got any crazy notions about confronting his enemy.

Claude’s house was just outside the tony Bellaire neighborhood. Lots of trees, upscale shopping and restaurants. As Daniel prepared to turn left onto Templeton Avenue, they had to wait for a tow truck coming the other way, turning right. On the bed of the truck was a blue Renault sedan, crunched in on one side.

As the truck turned, Daniel’s jaw dropped. “That’s Claude’s car. It looks like he really was in a wreck. I thought that was just a cover story to explain why he hadn’t come in to work.”

“He was in a wreck?”

“His mother called this morning and talked to Jillian. Said he was in a bad accident. Broke his leg, lost an eye—”

“Good Lord.”

“I’d already begun to suspect him, and when he couldn’t be located, I thought the accident was just a cover story.”

They followed the truck at a discreet distance. Templeton Avenue was a street of cute little bungalows that had transformed themselves to upscale. Mature trees, neatly manicured lawns, expensive SUVs and sports cars parked in the driveways all indicated this was a neighborhood that had gone up in value.

The truck stopped in front of a little white cottage with a picket fence and pansies planted around the bright red front door.

Daniel drove by slowly.

“Destination on the right,” the GPS lady told them.

He switched it off. “That’s the place.” He pulled past the house, turned around and parked near the curb a couple of houses down.

“We’ve seen the house,” Jamie said as the tow truck maneuvered into the driveway. “Can we go now?”

“In a minute.” Daniel looked alert, like a hunting dog who’d just gotten a whiff of deer.

As the truck’s driver got out and began unhitching the Renault, the front door opened and a tiny, white-haired woman tottered outside, leaning heavily on a cane.

“Oh, my God,” Daniel said. “Is that Marie? What I wouldn’t give for a good pair of binoculars.”

“She looks kind of old to be Claude’s mother.”

“She was near forty when he was born. Anyway, I think she’s been sick. If I could see her up close, I would know for sure.”

“You’ve met her?”

“A few times, years ago, when Claude and I had the restaurant. Lots of our recipes were hers. She came into the restaurant on a regular basis to keep an eye on things, make sure her boy was doing everything right.”

“Seriously?”

“She was a sweet lady. Harmless. I’m going to talk to her,” Daniel said. “I need to figure out what’s going on.”

“Daniel. Let the police handle this.”

“You know, Jamie, the police did not do such a bang-up job investigating Andreas’s murder before. You might trust them to take care of things as they should, but sometimes a man has to take matters into his own hands.”

Jamie didn’t like this. Not at all. “I’m going with you.” If Claude had been seriously injured in a car accident, he wouldn’t be here, she reasoned. He would be in the hospital. And the frail little old lady didn’t look capable of hurting anybody.

Daniel reached into the backseat and grabbed the vase of roses he’d sent to her in the hospital. “Tucker, you stay in the car.” He fixed Jamie with his laserlike stare. “You, too. I’ll only be a minute.” He turned the Jaguar’s ignition long enough to crack a window for Tucker. Then he opened his door and climbed out.

“That’s bullshit.” She quickly exited and walked around the front of the car to join him, whether he wanted her there or not. “You’re giving Claude
my
flowers?”

“I’ll buy you more.”

“You can’t solve everything with money. And you can’t order me around like one of your house staff.”

“I apologize. I’m a little keyed up.”

“Ya think? Okay, is it safe or not? If it is, I’m going with you. If not, we should wait in the car for the police to arrive. Which is it?”

“Just get back in the car. Please,” he added.

She didn’t, of course. She waited until he’d walked several purposeful steps toward the old woman, who was talking to the truck driver. Then she followed him.

He stopped, turned and stared daggers at her. She stared right back. If not for the situation they were in it would have been comical. Daniel simply wasn’t used to people not following his orders.

“Fine,” he ground out. “Follow my lead.” He took her hand, and they walked together up to the yard.

The woman finally saw them when they were almost upon her. “Mrs. Morel?” Daniel said.

“Yes?” she asked guardedly. Then the light of recognition came into her eyes. “Oh,
mon Dieu,
is it really you, Daniel? It has been so many years.” Her voice carried a heavy French accent.

“It’s me.”

“And you brought such beautiful flowers. But you never… Not since… Claude said you do not leave the estate.”

“I heard Claude was injured. He’s been a friend for so many years, I had to come see him. I want to be sure he has the care he needs to get better. He’s staying here with you, isn’t he?”

“He needs someone to take care of him.” Mrs. Morel turned her eyes, which were sharp and shrewd despite how frail the rest of her looked, toward Jamie. “And who might this pretty
mademoiselle
be?”

Daniel still held on to Jamie’s hand. He raised it and kissed the knuckles. “This is my girlfriend, Jamie.”

“I didn’t know you had a girlfriend. Not that Claude tells me everything…”

“It’s a recent development. Can we see Claude?”

“He is…” Mrs. Morel shook her head sadly. “Not in a good condition for visitors.”

Jamie let out a pent-up breath. He was here. But was he truly injured? Or would Claude and his mother bolt for the airport the moment she and Daniel left?

“It’s a terrible shame this happened right before your trip to France,” Daniel said.

Mrs. Morel blinked in surprise, but quickly schooled her features. “Yes, we were so looking forward to seeing our family. My parents—Claude’s grandparents—might not have many years left. And Claude was looking forward to seeing many cousins. We have postponed the trip, of course.”

Oh, she was good. Unless…the trip really had been planned in advance, and she didn’t realize that Claude had never told Daniel about it. Maybe she had no idea what her son had done. It did seem that the accident, at least, was real.

“Please, Mrs. Morel, I need to see Claude,” Daniel said. “I want to personally reassure him that I’ll provide the best medical care, rehabilitation, whatever it takes. And that he will always have a position in my household, whenever he’s ready to come back.”

“That’s very kind of you, but…” Finally she relented. “I’ll check. He takes many pain pills. He might be asleep, and I wouldn’t want to disturb him.”

Mrs. Morel quickly concluded her business with the truck driver, then led the way toward her front door, pausing to stoop down and pinch a dead pansy blossom from a large pot on the front porch.

Jamie squeezed Daniel’s hand hard. This wasn’t part of the plan.

He leaned down and whispered in her ear. “I just want to see if he’s really injured. Ten to one she won’t let us see him.”

She had a bad feeling about this. Recalling how Daniel’s temper had suddenly flared when he’d seen her at the party, she mentally winced. How much worse would it be when he faced the man who’d murdered his friend and set him up to take the rap?

Certainly Jamie’s presence put a kink in the fantasy he’d nurtured, the one-on-one showdown he’d lived over and over in his dreams. Then there was Marie. He couldn’t very well assault a critically injured man in front of his mother.

But he was going to do something besides meekly slink away and wait for the police and the lawyers to muck everything up. He would have his day with the man who had stolen his youth, stolen his parents’ golden years and sentenced him to six years of hell on earth.

Mrs. Morel’s house smelled faintly of garlic and onions, the remnant of the lunch she’d prepared, perhaps. Otherwise, it was neat as a convent, with dainty, elegant furnishings, pastel-pink carpets, bookcases displaying glass figurines. Needlepoint pillows and embroidery samplers were everywhere.

In the living room, where she asked them to wait, was an ancient armchair and a large needlework basket next to it, a half-finished crochet project sitting on top. The TV was on, tuned to a daytime talk show, the volume turned down.

When Mrs. Morel left the room, Jamie nearly came unglued. “Daniel, we shouldn’t be here,” she whispered. “From a prosecutor’s standpoint, I’m telling you this is bad. We could ruin the case against him if we talk to him before the police interrogate him.”

“So long as he doesn’t know we suspect him, we’ll be safe,” Daniel reasoned, still not sure where this was going. But he didn’t want Jamie making the decisions. This was his fight. “We’re here to visit a sick friend, nothing more.”

A few minutes passed. Daniel paced, looking out the window. Now that the adrenaline of discovery was wearing off, he began to feel the first faint stirrings of unease. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”

“Let’s leave, then,” Jamie said. “Just shout down the hallway that we have to go and we’ll get the hell out of here.”

Just then, Mrs. Morel reappeared, bearing a tray of cheeses, crackers and sliced apples. “I was just fixing a snack for Claude. Even with all of the fancy dishes he cooks, he still enjoys simple foods—
les frommages, les fruits
.” She set the tray down on the coffee table.

“How is Claude?” Jamie asked, wondering if he was here at all, or if the woman was stalling them for a reason.

“You can ask me. I’m right here.” A wheelchair stood poised at the entrance to the living room. Seated in it was Claude—once Daniel’s friend, now his enemy—in a checkered flannel bathrobe. His leg extended along the footrest, encased in a metal brace. A huge wad of gauze was taped over his right eye, and his face was bruised and peppered with small cuts.

“Claude. Here, let me help you.” His mother rushed to get behind his chair and maneuver it into place in the center of the room.

“Daniel? I couldn’t believe it when Mama said you were here.” Claude’s speech was slurred, probably from pain medication.

Daniel wasn’t prepared for the intensity of the emotion welling up inside him. His jaw clenched, and his hands balled themselves into fists. His vision seemed to blur, and for a few seconds he viewed Claude’s broken body through a reddish haze. Then his vision cleared and he saw everything with crystal clarity. The clock on the fireplace mantel ticked loud enough to cause an earthquake. His own breathing roared in his ears.

“I’ll leave you young people alone to talk,” Mrs. Morel said.

“No, please, stay,” Jamie said, sounding slightly desperate. “We’ll only be a minute. How are you feeling, Claude? It must have been a terrible accident. Look, we brought you some flowers.” She picked up the vase from where Daniel had set it down and more or less shoved it at him.

“That’s nice. Red roses, Daniel? I didn’t know you cared quite that much.”

“I’ll read the card,” Mrs. Morel said, plucking the small florist’s envelope from the depths of the bouquet, where it had been hiding.

“No!” Daniel and Jamie said together, realizing their mistake. But the elderly woman was faster than she looked, and she danced away from them as she pulled the card from the envelope. “Dearest Jamie…”

“I was in a hurry,” Daniel said unconvincingly.

“We should go, Daniel,” Jamie said. “Claude obviously needs his rest.”

“I don’t think so.” It was Mrs. Morel who spoke. She no longer had the envelope in her hand. She had a handgun almost bigger than she was, and it was pointed straight at Daniel’s heart.