Dangerous Relations (19 page)

"My poor Ardin. Twice in one day."

Approaching sirens reminded her of the fire. "My God! The flames are shooting through the
roof!"

The elderly couple from next door emerged from the narrow path between the two houses.
"Ardin, what happened? We saw the flames and called the fire department," Don Sonnenberg said.
"Are you all right?"

Dazed, Ardin tried to focus on his face. "I think so."

"Someone tossed an incendiary into the house, and then he knocked her down," Brett
said.

"Oh, no! Poor dear." Sonya Sonnenberg hovered at the open door of the Jeep. "I swear I
don't know what this neighborhood is turning into."

"Did you happen to see him?" Don said.

"Not his face," Ardin said. "Only that he was short and heavy."

"Short and heavy," Brett said. His tone was ominous.

Before Ardin could ask him what he was thinking, the fire department arrived in full force.
The engines parked on the lawn, and the fire fighters sprang to action.

"I better go talk to the fire chief," Ardin said. She walked past the firemen who, suited up in
their black and yellow protective gear, looked larger than life as they set about their grim task. She
found the fire chief and explained who she was.

"Do you know where the fire started?" he said.

"Someone tossed something through a bedroom window on the second floor."

She watched the firemen hose down the house. The flames were clearly visible, leaping
through the roof.

She felt sick. "Will they be able to save it?" she asked the fire chief. "I mean, after some
reconstruction?"

"Difficult to say. I'd say total reconstruction."

Ardin's eyes filled with tears. Poor Aunt Julia. First her only daughter, now her house. She
dreaded having to break the news. She turned to Brett, who had come to stand beside her. "Thank
God Leonie is away for the night." She shuddered. "The poor child, having to be uprooted again.
We'll have to move into a motel."

"No, you won't," Brett said. "You'll stay with me."

Ardin shook her head and instantly regretted it, when a blinding pain made her grit her
teeth. "Don't be silly, Brett. I can't impose on you."

"You won't be imposing. You'll be doing it for Leonie." He sounded determined, rather than
happy about the arrangement. "Someone's after you, Ardin. Tonight he could have killed Leonie in
the process."

"But she's at the Presleys tonight." She cringed, realizing how silly it sounded.

Brett snorted. "For God's sake, Ardin, the murderer didn't know that."

She strove for some sense of order in the chaos that had become her life. "Brett, we can't
say for sure that the arsonist is the same person who killed Suziette."

"Listen, Ardin." She heard the effort he was making to sound calm and reasonable. "It's
time you accepted that someone's out to kill you. We'll insist that the police give you a bodyguard,
or I'll hire one myself!"

He was right, damn him. She hadn't believed someone was out to murder her.
"What if he started the fire to scare me, then it got out of control." She shuddered,
remembering the bulky figure chasing after her. "Really, Brett. He seemed furious when he
saw me, and deliberately knocked me down." She thought a moment. "Like a football player
tackling someone."

"Did you recognize him? Is he anyone you know?"

She remembered what her mother had said about Marshall Crewe. Had the man looked like
Renata's nephew? "Could be. I'm not absolutely sure."

Brett grimaced. "Are you going to let me in on who this guy might be? Corey MacAllister,
for instance?"

"He was too short and fat for Corey. I think it's someone I sent a letter to on behalf of a
client."

"Regardless, we can't risk Leonie getting caught in the crossfire." Brett's tone grew colder,
more distant with every word he spoke. "She'll stay at my house, and you can too, if you like. Fight
me and I'll take this to court on Monday."

He would, too. Ardin disliked this new turn of events. She could stay alone at a motel, but
she didn't want to leave Leonie. It would weaken her case. "But how will we--arrange things?"

"Sleeping arrangements, you mean?" His tone was sardonic. "I've plenty of spare
bedrooms. You can have your pick."

"I wasn't thinking about that," she lied. "Just the general arrangements."

"We're two intelligent adults, Ardin. We'll work something out." He turned toward the Jeep.
"Coming?"

Ardin looked at the garage. It appeared to have been untouched by the fire.

"Yes, but first I want to speak to the fire chief about getting Aunt Julia's car out. Mine's still
in the shop."

"For God's sake, Ardin! You can get it tomorrow."

And be dependent on you?
"No. I'd rather take it now."

The fire chief had one of his men check the car to make sure it was safe to drive. He'd just
given the okay when a policeman approached.

"Ms. Wesley? We'd like to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind?"

Might as well get it over.
She told him what had happened, clarified some
details as requested, and finally said, "Officer, I've been through hell and I'm soaked. I'm
leaving for Mr. Waterstone's house now. You can ask any further questions there."

The policeman frowned as he wrote down Brett's address. "Someone will be there
soon."

Ardin looked around. "Poor Aunt Julia. Wait till she sees what they've done to her front
lawn."

"Not to mention the damage inside the house," Brett said.

Ardin put her hands to her head. "What am I supposed to tell Leonie?"

Brett's expression was grim. "We'll tell her she'll be living at home for the time being. At
least, she'll be happy about that. See you at the house."

Despair sunk like a stone to her stomach. Brett was right. Leonie
would
be
happy in her own home again. Not only that, a judge might be less willing to decide on a
guardian who insisted on moving Leonie to another state.

Her hands trembled as she started Julia's car. Maybe driving wasn't a good idea, but it was
too late to change plans. She followed the Jeep to Brett's house, glad he was driving slowly.

How had he happened to be passing the house just as it caught on fire?

She shrugged. What did it matter? Brett had washed his hands of her. She had heard it in
his voice, seen it in his posture.

He'd only offered her his home for Leonie's sake. She'd best remember that in the difficult days
ahead.

Brett drove into the three-car garage and honked twice to indicate there was plenty of
room for Julia's Cadillac. Ardin parked in the driveway, making it perfectly clear she was a visitor
and not a member of the household.

He shook his head in exasperation as he disarmed the security system and unlocked the
door leading to the kitchen. What in God's name was he thinking when he said she was welcome to
stay with him and Leonie? At best she was an unwilling guest. A trapped prisoner was closer to the
truth. Ardin would no sooner separate from Leonie than he would under the circumstances.

He swore softly, remembering how she'd deceived him--letting him believe she'd help him
with Leonie's adoption, and all the time scheming to adopt his little darling and take her away to
live in Manhattan. She'd misled him deliberately, which made her little better than Suziette.

Then why had he gone to see her this evening, and why had he invited her to stay here? He
hoped it wasn't because he lusted after her luscious body, which was so deceptively slender. One
would never suspect its many curves and valleys. He almost moaned as he recalled their
unexpected bout of lovemaking, which had stunned them both by its delight and intensity. Only
three nights ago, and it seemed like three years. The chasm now separating them was the size of a
Mack truck.

He turned on the kitchen light and studied her profile. Her skin appeared as pale and cold
as marble. By now he knew her stony look meant she was struggling to hide her distress. His heart
softened to think how hers must be pounding in fear after two attacks in one day.

He reached out to give her arm a reassuring squeeze, but reconsidered. One touch was
enough to send shockwaves through his system. And he certainly didn't want to give her the
impression that he'd lured her here to jump her bones. A thought like that was guaranteed to send
her running off into the night.

"I spoke to Rabe. He'll be here any minute," he said, for something to say.

"Just the person I'm dying to see." She sat down at the kitchen table. Even in damp and
dirty clothes, she looked startlingly beautiful.

"He must be as sick of us as we're sick of him," Brett said.

"No one would be sick of anyone if he did his job and found the murderer." She looked so
tense, with her shoulders drawn up to her ears.

He longed to wrap his arms around her. "Would you like something hot to drink?"

"Coffee would be nice. And some dry clothes."

He got the coffee maker going and went upstairs. He returned with one of his old
University of Florida sweatshirts and a short denim skirt.

"Thanks," Ardin said. She held up the skirt for a moment, clearly debating whether or not to
put it on.

"She never wore it," he said. "I just cut off the tags."

Ardin sent him a look of gratitude, and went into the small bathroom to change.

"Looks terrific," he said when she came out.

"The new borrowed look," she said, offering a wan smile.

They spoke little, but he sensed a thawing as she downed her coffee. He led the way
upstairs, and put fresh linens on the bed in the guest room. "Sorry it's so stark. We never got around
to buying a bureau for this room."

"Not a problem since I haven't any clothes. I'm grateful there's a night table and a
lamp."

They were halfway down the stairs when the doorbell rang. Brett opened the door to
Detective Rabe and the police officer who had questioned Ardin earlier. He led them into the
sparsely decorated living room. Ardin perched on the edge of the sofa. He sank into his easy chair.
There were two other chairs in the room, but the two policemen remained standing.

"Good evening, Ms. Wesley," Rabe said. "I'm sorry about the fire. You seem to be someone's
target."

"Brilliant deduction, Detective Rabe. And what are you doing about it?"

The detective cleared his throat. "Believe me, Ms. Wesley, we're doing our best to find your
cousin's murderer and stop him from harming anyone else. Officer Giordano will read the
statement you gave him earlier this evening. Tell us if we've left anything out."

The young policeman blinked nervously, and read, "At 8:47 p.m. I was taking a bath in my
aunt's house. The electricity went out, I got dressed, then someone lobbed an incendiary device
through an upstairs bedroom window and I ran from the house. I was about to go to a neighbor's
for help, when a male knocked me to the ground. The assailant, possibly the arsonist, escaped."

"It's accurate," Ardin said.

Rabe turned to Brett. "And what brought you to your mother-in-law's house at the precise
time Ms. Wesley was being attacked?"

He felt the blood rush to his face as he remembered the argument he'd had with himself all
the way to Julia's house. "I wanted to talk to her, that's all."

Rabe stepped toward Brett. "What an amazing coincidence, appearing in the nick of time to
play the hero. Or did you happen to arrive earlier--by ten minutes or so--for another purpose
entirely?"

Brett glowered. Where did Rabe come off, strutting about his living room, insinuating he'd
attacked Ardin? And all dressed up in his best blue blazer and colorful designer tie. Then he realized
this last incident must have pulled Rabe away from a Saturday night outing, and he grinned.

"Actually, I arrived too late to stop the SOB from tackling Ms. Wesley." He winked at Ardin.
"But I managed to catch two letters of his license."

"Brett! You never told me."

He hit his forehead in mock surprise. "Didn't I? Weird how you can forget to share a piece
of vital information."

Ardin blushed as she twisted a strand of her hair.

Rabe looked from Brett to Ardin, and let out a snort. "Please folks, bicker on your own time.
Right now, Mr. Waterstone, I'd appreciate your telling me what you saw as the car sped away."

"The license plate had an L and the number 2. And it was a four-door sedan. I'd put my
money on an Avalon." Officer Giordano, he noticed, was scribbling furiously.

"Ms. Wesley, did you happen to see the man who attacked you this time?" Rabe said.

"Not his face, if that's what you mean. But he was on the short side and overweight, with
broad shoulders." She rubbed her own shoulder gingerly. "One of which he used to ram into
me."

Rabe cocked his head. "Deliberately?"

"Oh, very deliberately."

Rabe sighed, as he was now asking the same questions he'd asked her earlier that day.
"Have you any idea who it was?"

"Yes, but as I didn't see his face and I've only seen him once before, I couldn't swear to it in
court."

"Tell us anyway," Officer Giordano said, earning a stern look from his superior.

"I'm pretty sure it was Marshall Crewe."

Brett's mouth fell open. "No! I don't believe it!"

"Oh, really?" The steely glint in Ardin's eyes made him flinch. "For your information, I
served him a cessation of power-of-attorney on behalf of his aunt. My mother said he could be
vindictive. Why are you his defender?"

"I'm not defending him," Brett explained, "I'm just damn surprised. I happened to meet
Crewe when I was out with Frank Thursday night. He's in on the deal."

Ardin sniffed. "Nice company you're keeping."

"Company?" He threw up his hands in frustration. "Give me a break, Ardin. I don't even
know the man!"

"Then why did you say you didn't believe he was the arsonist?"

"It was an expression of surprise. Forgive me! Poor choice of words."