Cold Hearted (4 page)

“You can tell if a couple is in love from watching the way they look at each other?”

“I told you that my theory is not based on scientific facts, just good old-fashioned woman’s intuition.”

“Okay, say I buy your theory. That doesn’t rule out Jordan Price as a suspect.”

“Jordan is not a suspect. She’s our client,” Nic reminded him. “She hired us, remember?”

“Ryan Price hired us. She jumped on the bandwagon when she realized that we were going to do an investigation. After all, if she had put up a protest, it would have made her look guilty.”

“I think maybe I should put Holt Keinan or Maleah Perdue on this case.”

“Don’t.”

Nic gave him another sidelong glance, her gaze questioning him. “Give me one good reason why I should hand this case over to you, all things considered?”

“Because I want to be proven wrong,” he admitted. “I don’t want Jordan Price to be guilty.”

“Hmm… You surprise me. I never suspected—”

“That I find the lady intriguing? That I’m as susceptible as the next guy to a beautiful, vulnerable woman?”

“Okay, the case is yours,” Nic told him. “But if I get one complaint from either Jordan or Ryan, I’ll jerk your ass off the case and put another agent in charge. Understand?”

“Yes, ma’am. I understand.”

By seven that evening, the house had cleared, the string quartet had left and the caterers had cleaned up and gone. Only family and close friends remained, only those to whom Dan Price had been far more than a colleague, an acquaintance, another good old boy, or just their senator. The numbness that had encompassed Jordan for the past few weeks, from the moment she discovered Dan’s body until this evening, began to fade. She wished that she could remain in the semi-frozen emotional state, acting and reacting with control and logic. But sooner or later, she would have to confront the truth and deal with her personal grief.

“Do you want us to stay here tonight?” Claire asked. “I can call my mother and ask her to either keep Michael until tomorrow or bring him here.”

Jordan tried to smile at her sister-in-law, but the effort failed. “No, please, you and Ryan should go home. You’re less than five miles away, if I were to need you. Besides” — she glanced over her shoulder into the parlor — “I have more than enough company.”

“How is Devon holding up?” Claire whispered.

“In public, he’s holding it together. In private… he’ll make it through this somehow. I’ll take care of him.”

“You always have, haven’t you?”

Jordan nodded. “Making plans for the baby will help us both. I just wish I’d had the chance to tell Dan…”

“You’re thinking that if he’d known about the baby, he wouldn’t have… that he might still be alive.”

Jordan’s gaze connected directly with her sister-in-law’s. “Claire, do you believe that Dan was murdered?”

Claire sighed heavily. “I don’t know. Ryan is convinced that Dan didn’t kill himself. It definitely wasn’t an accident, so that leaves only murder.”

“I can hardly bear the thought that Dan committed suicide, but the thought that someone murdered him is almost more than…” Jordan paused and took a deep breath. “Whatever happens, we’ll face it together, the family, those of us who loved Dan.”

Ryan came up to them and draped his arm around Claire’s shoulders. “Ready?”

“Yes, whenever you are.”

He looked at Jordan. “I’ll let Nicole know that Mr. Carson can stay with us during the investigation. And I apologize again for not consulting you first.”

“I understand your motives,” Jordan said. “And as for Mr. Carson staying with you and Claire — that won’t be necessary. We have more than enough room for him here, far more room than y’all have.”

“Are you sure?” Ryan asked. “I got the feeling that you didn’t especially like Mr. Carson.”

“I don’t know Mr. Carson. But if Nicole thinks he’s the best agent to spearhead the private investigation, then I have no objections. After all, she’s the expert, not you or I.”

“Believe me, I don’t want to think that someone murdered Dan, but it’s the only explanation that makes sense to me.”

“You mean that it’s the only explanation you will accept.”

“Yes, it is the only explanation I’ll accept,” Ryan agreed. “I refuse to believe that Dan would commit suicide, not even after being diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.” His face flushed with aggravation. When Claire leaned into him, he tightened his hold around her shoulders and gave her a reassuring hug. “I’m okay, honey.”

“You should both go home and try to get some rest,” Jordan said. “I’ll contact Nicole and inform her that we decided Mr. Carson will stay here at Price Manor during the investigation. And I’ll tell the others tonight that we have hired the Powell Agency to look into the circumstances surrounding Dan’s death.”

Claire offered her a wavering smile, and then she ushered Ryan out the front door. Jordan closed her eyes and prayed for strength. The very last thing she and this family needed right now was a private detective sticking his nose into matters that were highly confidential.

But if Dan really had been murdered?

“Jordan, are you all right? You’re as white as a sheet.” The country twang to Roselynne’s voice was quite distinctive. Her stepmother had been raised on a farm on Sand Mountain in the northeastern tip of Alabama and had lived a rather hard life before marrying Jordan’s father. Jordan had been twelve years old. Her own much-adored mother had been dead for less than two years and in the beginning, Jordan had despised Roselynne.

She turned to face her stepmother, a voluptuous blonde whose clothing tastes ran to animal prints, four-inch heels, and oversized jewelry. Today, even though her hair was teased and her makeup was heavy, she wore a simple black dress, albeit one that hugged every generous curve of her 58-year-old body. Trailing along behind Roselynne, her daughter Tammy paled in comparison, like a little brown wren alongside a red bird.

“I’m all right. Just tired.”

“Well, of course, you’re tired. Who wouldn’t be after the day you’ve had. Good God, I think the whole damn state of Georgia tramped through this house and probably half of Tennessee to boot.” Roselynne placed her fleshy arm around Jordan’s shoulders. “Are you hungry, honey?” She snapped her fingers at Tammy. “Go get your sister a plate of food and some iced tea.”

“No, please, I couldn’t eat a bite.” Jordan looked at her stepsister, their gazes meeting for a millisecond before Tammy bowed her head shyly and clasped her hands together in front of her.

“Lord help you, girl,” Roselynne hugged Jordan to her side. “You’re going to waste away to nothing.”

“I’d be more than happy to fix something for you,” Tammy offered, her voice not much more than a whisper.

Before Jordan could reply, Darlene Wright came into the foyer and eyed Roselynne and Tammy with her usual disdain. “Will you please leave her alone and stop nagging her. What Jordan needs is peace and quiet.” She shooed Roselynne aside. “Why don’t we go up to your room? I’ll draw you a nice warm bath and if you’d like, I’ll have Vadonna bring up a tray later.”

“Jordan doesn’t need to be alone.” Roselynne squinched her face in a sourpuss frown directed at Darlene. “She needs to be surrounded by family.” She emphasized the word family.

Jordan closed her eyes for a moment, wishing that just this once her stepmother and Darlene could put aside their personal differences. From the moment the two women first met, more than a dozen years ago when Jordan became engaged to Darlene’s son, Robby Joe, they had disliked each other. During the years since, nothing had changed. Each laid claim to being Jordan’s surrogate mother, each loving Jordan in her own unique way, each adding immensely to the burden of family responsibility that weighed heavily on Jordan’s shoulders.

Within those brief minutes when Jordan gathered her thoughts before she took charge of the situation, the other members of her family-and-friends entourage migrated from the two parlors into the foyer. She had hoped to find a few moments alone with Devon to tell him about hiring the Powell Agency before telling everyone else. But with all those eyes focused on her, everyone waiting expectantly for her to say or do something that would put them at ease, she decided that there was no point in putting off the inevitable.

“Please, everyone, I need to share some information with y’all,” Jordan said. “Afterward, I’ll need a few moments alone with Devon and then I plan to go to my room — alone — and I’d appreciate no one disturbing me tonight.”

“Oh, Jordan, honey, you shouldn’t be alone,” Roselynne said.

“Good God, Mother, leave her alone,” J.C. called from the other side of the foyer. “Jordan doesn’t need you smothering her with your show of motherly affection.”

“Johnny Cash Harris, my affection for your sister is genuine and you damn well know it!” Roselynne glared at her son, who stood lounging insolently against the doorframe, a glass of his usual scotch and soda in his hand.

“Will all of you please listen to what I have to say.” Jordan spoke louder than she had intended, but her tone and volume achieved the effect she had wanted. To a person, everyone quieted and looked right at her.

“We’re listening,” Devon told her as he came forward, pausing a few feet away, his sky-blue eyes focused on her.

Jordan cleared her throat. “Y’all know that the GBI coroner ruled Dan’s death a suicide.” She took a deep breath. “But I’m afraid there is some question as to whether or not it’s possible that Dan didn’t kill himself.”

When rumbling noises spread through the foyer, Jordan held up a restraining hand. “Please, hush… right now. Ryan and I have hired the Powell Private Security and Investigation Agency to conduct an investigation into Dan’s death. Tomorrow, a Powell agent, Mr. Rick Carson, who was at the funeral today with Claire’s cousin, Nicole Powell, will arrive here at Price Manor. Mr. Carson will be staying here during the course of the investigation. I want y’all to treat Mr. Carson as our guest and cooperate with him fully.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying, that there is reason to believe that Dan was murdered?” Rene Burke, Jordan’s assistant and longtime friend voiced the question that no doubt was going through everyone’s mind.

“Yes.” Jordan held her hands open at either side of her body in a defensive stance, a silent warning for the others to keep their distance. She’d had as much sympathy and comforting today as she could endure. “Any questions or concerns you have will have to wait until tomorrow. I’ll see all of you in the morning.” She held out her hand to Devon. “I need to speak with you a moment. Alone.” Her gaze traveled around the room issuing a silent order to everyone present.

Within two minutes, the foyer had cleared, leaving Jordan and Devon completely alone.

“Hiring the Powell Agency wasn’t your idea,” Devon said, keeping his voice low and quiet.

“No, it was Ryan’s idea. I just happened to walk right into the middle of a secret meeting he and Claire were having with Nicole Powell and Mr. Carson.”

“Does Ryan really believe that Dan was murdered?”

“Yes, I think he does.”

“You realize what might happen, don’t you? If the investigator digs too deeply into Dan’s personal life—”

“I wish we could find a way to prevent him from finding out the truth,” Jordan said. “But I don’t know if that’s possible. I have the distinct impression that Mr. Carson already suspects something.”

“Suspects what?”

“I think he believes that I killed Dan or perhaps that you and I killed him because we’re lovers.”

Robby Joe smiled and held open his arms. She went flying into his loving embrace, feelings of pure happiness enveloping her. He was the most important person in the world to her. He was the man she loved, her future husband, the father of the children she would have one day.

When she was with Robby Joe, she felt that nothing bad could ever happen to her again, that all the bad things in her life were behind her forever. Their June wedding was only a month away, an elaborate affair that his mother had insisted on paying for, even down to helping Jordan pay for a beautiful wedding dress that she otherwise couldn’t have afforded.

With her arms wrapped around Robby Joe’s neck and her head resting against his shoulder, Jordan sighed with deep contentment. Sunlight struck the one-carat diamond on her finger. Gazing at her engagement ring, she thought about the night this past October when Robby Joe had proposed. A starlit night, a carriage ride, a declaration of love.

“I love you,” she whispered in his ear. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” he told her.

Jordan closed her eyes, savoring this moment of pure joy.

Suddenly, she could no longer feel Robby Joe’s arms around her, couldn’t feel his warmth and his strength.

“Robby Joe?”

When she opened her eyes, she found herself all alone. She held up her left hand. Her engagement ring sparkled on her third finger.

She heard someone weeping, soft, mournful sobs. Who was crying and why? Something terrible must have happened. Someone was very sad.

“Robby Joe, where are you? Do you hear that woman crying? Why is she crying?”

Jordan woke with a start, gasping for breath, her heart racing and perspiration dampening her skin. She opened her eyes and tossed back the covers. Her bedroom lay in semi-darkness, the only illumination coming from the mellow glimmer of moonlight shining through the French doors leading to the balcony. She swung out of bed, slipped her feet into the quilted satin house shoes in front of the nightstand, and reached for the satin robe lying across the antique cedar chest at the foot of the mahogany sleigh bed.

The pain radiating from deep inside her seemed as immediate and potent as it had the day she and Darlene buried Robby Joe. Twelve years ago.

Jordan unlocked the French doors, opened them, and stepped out onto the balcony that overlooked the back courtyard and the rose garden. After yesterday’s heavy rain, the earth smelled rich and fresh, and a hint of gold overspread the dark sky, a prelude to the approaching dawn.