Behind the Shadows (28 page)

“Everything seems okay,” one nurse said. “We'll keep checking signs until we get a report back on the IV bag. They've tightened security.”

“A former policeman will be here shortly. I want him at the door.”

“You can take that up with security,” she said.

Pain or not, she was ready to do battle. She was outraged that someone could just walk in her mother's room.

Just then Bob Harold appeared in the door of the room. “Chris filled me in,” he said. “He asked me to stay here.”

It was alarming that her mother hadn't awakened. But then, she'd been awake longer than usual today. She was filled with drugs now.

Helpless
.

Kira's heart took a nosedive.

Ordinarily her mother would have heard them, would be sitting up in bed, figuring out ways to defeat the bad guys. Her eyes would sparkle with the light of battle. Her mother never gave up. She wasn't giving up now, but time was running out for her.

She wanted to see the DNA taken, but more than that, she wanted another chance to convince Leigh to consider a donation if she was a match.

It would be twenty minutes before Chris arrived. She sat down next to her mother. Took her hand. Wondered what she would do without her. Katy Douglas, biological mother or not, was the one person in the world that loved her unconditionally. The one person she trusted completely.

She touched her mother's drawn face. A kidney. One small organ that could be easily replaced if only there was another available.

Why would Leigh Howard hesitate to save a life? Even for a second?

After Max left, Leigh left the house and walked to the stable.

Rick was just leaving. “Cleaned out the stalls and fed and watered the horses, Miss Leigh.” Her name was said with something close to a sneer. If it wasn't for Mrs. Baker …

The housekeeper had been so grateful when Leigh agreed to take on Rick and help him get other grooming jobs as well. He'd spent summers working with horses at a stable near her sister's home, she said, but had a hard time getting a job after returning from Desert Storm.

She would have preferred taking care of the horses herself. “How are they?” she asked Rick. “Getting along?”

“Yeah. I woulda let them out in the pasture, but I thought you might want to go riding.”

“Not right now. But I have some apple pieces for them.”

“Then you don't need me to stay?”

“No, thanks. I have to work on the horse show auction.”

She went into the stable. Silver Lady was snorting. That wasn't like her. Something had upset her. Leigh checked the water. Clean. The grain in the feed bucket looked fine. Yet Leigh was attuned to Lady far more than the new horse. Maybe it was a little jealousy on Lady's part. Or maybe it was her own anxiety that Lady picked up on.

Leigh held out the piece of apple in her palm, and Lady took it. Then she moved to the next stall. Samara stuck her head out and neighed for attention.

“Pretty girl,” Leigh crooned as the horse took a piece of the apple, then another. She moved on to Maude, the little rescue donkey who almost took her fingers along with the apple.

She longed to ride. But she knew her apprehension would be only too clear to the horses. Maybe later today.

What if she didn't have them next month? What if Kira Douglas was entitled to everything she had?

Everything she had
. None of it really meant anything but the animals. She couldn't bear losing them.

Her cell phone rang. She checked the caller identification. One of the board members of the horse show. She winced, then answered it.

“Leigh, darling. I just heard the news on the television. It isn't true, is it?”

“I don't know. What did you hear?”

“That someone is claiming to be you?”

Her heart dropped. She knew it was coming. After she heard about the attack last night, it was bound to happen. Kira Douglas had said she wouldn't say anything until the DNA tests, but she was no longer in control.

None of them were.

“True,” she said. “At least the fact that someone is making that claim.”

“But can it be true, dear?”

She went outside, only to see a car approaching. The police, no doubt. “I'm sorry, Anne. I have to go. I have company.”

“Well, do keep us advised,” Anne Mitchell said. “If you have to take some time to resolve this, let us know.”

In other words, if she wasn't a Westerfield, forget it.

Leigh hung up and walked to the front of the house as a car stopped at the gate, and the driver leaned out to talk to the newly arrived guards ordered by Max. The gate opened. She waited as the driver parked in front of the house and two men got out.

“Ms. Howard?”

“Yes?”

“I'm Detective Callum. This is Detective Paul. We would like to talk to you.”

“About last night?”

“Yes, and a few other events.”

“Of course,” she said graciously. “I just have to call my attorney first.”

“That's not necessary,” Detective Callum said. “Unless you have something to hide.”

She smiled. “My attorney said you would say that. He also said only a fool would believe it.”

She punched Max's button. He answered immediately.

“The police are here.”

“Be charming and offer them tea. Most cops hate tea.”

She had to smile at that. She hung up and led the way inside.

Mrs. Baker met them in the hall. She wore her usual reserved expression but her gray eyes were red rimmed. Tired-looking. She was being affected as well.

“Please bring tea to the living room,” Leigh said. The living room was large and, she always thought, stuffy. Not the sense of intimacy that there was in the library. “Mr. Payton will be here soon.”

Mrs. Baker nodded and disappeared. She didn't deign to recognize the officers.

“Who is that?”

“Our housekeeper, Alma Baker.”

The lead detective noted it in a notebook he'd pulled out.

She led them to the living room and offered the most uncomfortable seats. She sat across from them.

“Mr. Payton told me about the attack last night,” she said. “How are those who were wounded?”

“One is in serious condition,” Callum said. “Ms. Douglas was released early this morning. One woman was killed.”

“Do you have any leads?”

“A few.”

“Good,” she said flatly.

“I understand you have some guns registered to your grandfather.”

“Nice try, Detective,” she said pleasantly. She never would have been able to do that five years ago. She would have been resentful. Fearful.

Mrs. Baker returned and set down a tray in front of the detectives. An elegant teapot and four fragile cups. Lemon. Cream. Sugar. Small, dainty cookies.

“Please help yourselves, Detectives,” Leigh said.

They regarded the pot and cups warily. “Do you have coffee?” the younger one asked.

Leigh looked at Mrs. Baker.

“Certainly,” the housekeeper replied.

Leigh busied herself preparing a cup of tea, very carefully adding lemon and a spoonful of sugar. She chose a cookie. “Gentlemen, what about a cookie?”

Callum looked disgusted, and he glanced at his watch. Good. They were on the defensive.

She could see the grandfather clock in the corner. Max should be here in ten minutes. Maybe less.

“Maybe you can tell us who lives in the house,” Callum tried again.

“Sure. Myself.”

“That's all?”

“That's it.”

“What about the housekeeper?”

“She has her own home several blocks away. She's only here during the day.”

“How long has she been in your employ?”

Answer no questions, Max had said. These were surely harmless ones but she knew she should listen to him. She hadn't before and paid for it. “I don't really know the exact number,” she said. “She worked for my grandfather a number of years.”

She sipped her tea to forestall any additional questions. Still, the older detective persisted. “Nice house,” he said.

“Thank you.”

“Be a hell of a shame to lose it.”

She wanted to throw the tea in his face. At one time she might have done it.

“I don't know about that,” she said. “There's a lot of places to go and things to see.”

“But they all take money.”

“I'm not exactly helpless, Detective,” she said. She regretted the words the second they left her mouth. She'd wanted to be the helpless, not-very-bright, aging debutante. Now she knew why Max didn't want her to say anything without him.

Callum eyed her speculatively. “I can see you aren't.” He looked down at his notebook. “I understand a number of weapons were registered to your grandfather. And I see you have a gun permit. We checked at several gun ranges. You were once a customer.” He paused. “Would you like to tell us where you were last night?'”

29

Max strode into Leigh's living room. Two detectives were seated in the large room. One young and dark-haired, the other older and nearly bald. A pot of tea along with dainty cups had been placed on a coffee table before them. They looked untouched except for the one Leigh held.

Leigh stood as he entered. “These two detectives have been very patient,” she said. “I explained that you told me you should be present and I couldn't say anything but hello until you came.”

She sounded like a bubblehead, and he knew she was anything but.

“Gentlemen,” he acknowledged.

“Why can't she talk if she doesn't have anything to hide?”

“Would you?” he asked, giving him a pained expression. “Even if you didn't have anything to hide?”

“Yeah, I would,” one said. The other just shrugged and took out a small recorder.

“Max,” Leigh said. “Detective Callum just asked about the gun permit that I have, and the firearms course I took.”

He wasn't surprised. When they hadn't appeared immediately, he concluded they had been doing some homework before showing up at the home of an influential family. Not to mention the up-and-coming politician who was Leigh's second cousin.

He assumed from the way she posed the statement that the question had been asked, but not answered. Good for her. “She took lessons a number of years ago as a favor to her grandfather. Ed Westerfield had two passions in his life. Business and hunting. He wanted to see what she was made of. Leigh took lessons to please him. Unfortunately, it didn't work out very well. On the first hunt, she couldn't—or wouldn't—shoot a deer. He killed it, and she refused to go again. She doesn't like guns and she doesn't like hunting.”

“I assume Ms. Howard can speak for herself,” one detective said, and turned back to her.

“Mr. Payton is right. I hated guns. They scared me then, and they scare me now, but my grandfather was insistent. He thought I was … too soft. He also said I needed to be able to take care of myself. I took lessons, but as Mr. Payton said, I wasn't very good at it.”

“Ms. Douglas, one of the victims last night, said there might be some bad feelings between her and the Westerfields.”

“Did she now?” Max said. “Exactly like that?”

The detective shrugged. “Close to that. Seems she might be the heiress to”—he spread out his arms—“all of this. Money makes people do some strange things.”

“You can rest assured that Ms. Howard had nothing to do with any of these incidents. She was home last night.”

“Can anyone verify that?” The detective stared hard at Leigh.

She shook her head. “Our housekeeper left at five p.m. I went riding late in the afternoon, then came inside. I was supposed to have dinner with my cousins, but I decided to stay home. I looked over the program for a benefit auction preceding a charity horse show in two weeks.”

“Did you make any calls?” the dark-haired detective said.

“Several.”

The detective looked at Max. “We would like to look at the call logs.”

“Help yourself.”

The detectives exchanged glances. “Back to the firearms course,” he said. “How long did you take lessons?”

“Twice a week for a few months,” she said. “I don't remember exactly.”

“It certainly doesn't qualify her to shoot a silenced rifle from a hundred yards away,” Max broke in.

“How do you know how many yards?” the detective snapped.

“I had hired someone to look after Ms. Douglas. Two of them were present last night at city hall.”

“You need better talent,” a detective observed.

“I remedied that,” Max said curtly.

“What did they see?” Callum asked.

“Very little. They saw Ms. Douglas go down. Then two other people. Their first interest was to get to Ms. Douglas, not to find the shooter. I told them to go to the police department and tell them exactly what they saw.”

“I'll make sure they did that,” the detective said. He changed course. “Before we came, we checked on gun registrations. There were a number registered to Ed Westerfield.”

“He was a hunter and gun collector,” Max said.

“May we see them?”

He nodded. The detectives didn't have a search warrant, but they could get one, and the ATF could walk in at any time and demand to see the weapons. It would only make them all look more suspicious if he refused.

“I can tell you two are missing,” he said. “After the shooting last night, I knew you would pay us a visit. I checked the gun safe and rifle cabinet. A Remington Model 700 rifle is missing along with a forty-five. And to answer your next question, I don't know when they disappeared. I haven't looked in two years.”

“Why do you have access?”

“I'm administrator of the estate. Ms. Howard was left the house and all its contents. It was my job to catalogue them and make the weapons safe. I felt they were.”