Holmes & Moriarty 02 - All She Wrote (MM) (25 page)

A classic, twisty mystery novel—the kind of thing Anna wrote.

And it was unlikely that was a coincidence.

Was that because someone hated Anna so much he had deliberately devised a plot to mimic one of her own stories?

That would have to be someone who knew Anna’s work very well—and hated her very much.

There was only one person who I could think of who knew Anna’s work that well—
mystery novels in general that well—and whose brain might work in the same serpentine fashion.

But the idea was preposterous.

At no time had I considered Rudolph a suspect in the attempts on Anna’s life. Violence seemed utterly and absolutely out of character.

Besides, what would his motive be?

Ah, but there it was again. Anna’s will. Anna had left Rudolph her entire literary estate. A literary estate worth millions.

But Rudolph was a wealthy, successful man in his own right. It was hard to picture him dispatching Anna for all her worldly goods.

And the cruelty of such a plan as this? Pantomiming her work. Killing the people she loved. I couldn’t see that avarice let alone that kind of cruelty in Rudolph.

Granted, there was the matter of that on-again, off-again romantic relationship of theirs.

The relationship that was now over because Anna had said she had someone new in her life.

I didn’t know Rudolph well enough to determine whether he was the jealous type. I was guessing he would be a good loser, a good sport, but there were signs that he’d also found a new romance—with Sara.

Although Sara was now dead.

Conveniently dead?

J.X. stirred, his arm tightening around my waist. I absently kissed his forehead.

My new theory—it wasn’t even really a theory, more like unbridled speculation—meant that beneath Rudolph’s kindly, courtly exterior beat the heart of a cold-blooded killer. That was just…really hard to believe.

I remembered Ricky saying how controlling and manipulative Anna was, but somehow I never got the feeling she was controlling or manipulating Rudolph. Rudolph was no pushover for all his quiet, gentlemanly way. Of course there could be some pressing motive for Rudolph to want to get rid of Anna, but I hadn’t seen any hint of it during my visit. They seemed as friendly and relaxed together as they ever had so it was unlikely she was contemplating taking this new book to a new house or demanding a new editor. In fact…

In fact, Rudolph hadn’t even known Anna had completed a new book.

And she
had
completed it because I’d seen Sara carrying galleys upstairs.

Wait. No. I had seen a parcel that looked familiar, that
looked
like galleys. I didn’t know for a fact they had been galleys. And really, that would be pretty dubious because if Anna had completed a manuscript, and that manuscript had reached the stage of galleys, Rudolph would
have
to be aware of it.

Unless she was publishing the book somewhere else.

Which Sara would certainly know.

But why would Anna take a manuscript elsewhere?

I scowled at the ornate bronze grapevines twisting through the green velvet draperies.

They seemed very symbolic at the moment.

The other possibility I hadn’t really considered was that Anna could have made up this entire murder plot in an attempt to…an attempt to
what
? Gain attention for this new book? A marketing ploy was the very thing Anna had said she dreaded being suspected of.

But you couldn’t believe everything people said. Me being a case in point. What if Anna
had
faked those original attempts and then someone had used them as the perfect cover to make a genuine attack on Anna’s life? Someone like Sara.

If I recalled correctly, Anna had used something very similar in one of her novels. It wasn’t exactly an original. I’d used it myself in
Miss Butterwith’s£ of Prevention
.

Which might just bring us back to Sara. Sara would be ideally situated to see through such a ruse of Anna’s and take advantage of it for her own ends. Only then to be hoist in her own petard? It wasn’t impossible, right?

J.X. gave a soft, sudden snort. His eyelids fluttered, he rubbed his nose, yawned, opened his eyes.

He smiled.

Smiled right into my eyes with such unguarded warmth and affection that I felt winded. I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had looked at me like that—anyone who wasn’t J.X.

“Oh, it’s you,” I said, as though I’d only now noticed him curled around me.

“Morning,” J.X. mumbled. “How’d you sleep?”

Fair question. At our previous slumber parties, I’d been unable to sleep. At all. But my insomnia hadn’t troubled me once this weekend. In fact, I’d slept, as they say, like the dead.

Granted, I’d been doped up a lot of the time, and last night I’d had a pretty good workout before… My face warmed remembering.

How the hell much did I drink last night?

J.X. was still smiling. He kissed my shoulder. “God. You were wonderful last night, Kit.

Just…wonderful.”

I smiled back weakly.

“You’ve never been so uninhibited. No.
Wild
.”

I cleared my throat.

His brows drew together as my discomfort registered. “Are you…you’re not sorry about what we did, are you?”

That deserved a quick and honest answer. “No. I’m…off balance.”

He tilted his head, his eyes intent. “Because it turns out you like to be fucked?”

Because right now it feels like a
need
.Because I don’t just like it, I
love
it.
But I didn’t say that. Couldn’t. Not even to J.X. Not even to my lover. Why? I didn’t want to believe that it was something so ridiculous as being caught up in some antiquated heterosexual concept of sexual roles. No, I had a feeling it had more to do with my fear of needing anything. Or, more exactly, any
one
.

Okay, and maybe,
maybe
a tiny fear that there was something wrong with me because I’d ostensibly, out of the blue, developed a taste for, well, sexual submission. It had never been my nature, it
wasn’t
my nature, but there was no denying I wanted it—yearned for it—now. Wanted the freedom of totally letting go, of letting someone else—someone I trusted—be in charge of…everything, including my body. What in the hell was
that
about? Midlife crisis? Was I going to need a dog collar to go with those French-cuffed shirts and the BlackBerry?

I said vaguely, “I just think we should do it the other way next time.”

He placed a knowing hand on my groin and my cock jumped in response. Nuzzling me beneath my ear, J.X. nipped my earlobe and said throatily, breath warm, “If that’s what you want, honey. We’re going to do anything and everything you want.”

My body was instantly flushed with desire, my cock rigid, my heart starting to thud in time to the heavy femoral pulse. Holy hell. It was like being seventeen again. It was
crazy
.

“Satin and steel,” J.X. murmured. His hand closed around my cock, slid leisurely up the length. Slid down.

Up.

Down.

Lazy and slow.

“Thinking of crossing over to romance?” I managed, closing my eyes against the intensity of my reaction to that caress.

I spread my legs and his other hand moved to my balls, squeezing gently. I swallowed hard as my cock rose up into his palm.

“Roll over, Kit.” J.X.’s voice was slightly unsteady.

My heart thundered into overdrive. My eyes snapped open. “Actually…we need to get going. I mean, moving. In a southwesterly direction. We’re losing the morning.” I sat up—no small feat given how badly I wanted to give in to what my body was clamoring for—and threw back the covers, letting in the chilly morning air.

“It really does bother you,” J.X. said after a moment.

He looked beautiful and wanton, sprawled between the sheets, his thick cock nested in silky dark hair. He looked like a porn model. Except no porn model ever wore that meditative expression.

I was tying my robe closed—or trying to—and I spared him a look. “Maybe. But not for the reasons you think.”

“Are you sure
you
know the real reason?”

“Hey.” I halted my flight to the bathroom. “I already told you. I’m way out of my comfort zone. But I’m hanging in here. I’m trying to be honest with you. Fair with you.”

“I know.” J.X.’s grimace was rueful. “And I know I’m pushing too hard. I just…I’ve been waiting a long time for you.”

I resisted the urge to yield, return to the warm fug of our bed and his strong arms. “Yeah, I know. Remind me again how you whiled away those long, lonely years waiting for me to come to my senses?”

“I didn’t say I joined the priesthood.”

“That would be one interesting holy order.”

He sighed. Patted the mattress. “You sure you wouldn’t like to—?”

“I wonder if Nero Wolfe had this kind of trouble with Archie Goodwin?”

He laughed and sat up. “All right. You win.” He rolled out of bed, landing on his feet. It occurred to me that was one of the things I liked about J.X. He was good-natured even when he didn’t get his way. I really hadn’t had a lot of that in my life.

“So what’s the plan?” J.X. leaned toward the mirror in the bathroom, carefully trimming his beard. “Am I changing our plane tickets again?”

I reached for a towel. Wiped my face. “Let’s leave it for now.”

“Kit.” He lowered the clippers.

“Wait. Hear me out.” I lowered the towel. “I’ve heard everything you said, and I heard what Ricky said last night. I’ve known Anna a long time, but I realize that I don’t
know
her, if you follow. I’m fond of her. That doesn’t mean I’m blind to her faults.”

He was too polite to say what he was thinking. “You think you owe her, but I can guarantee—based on the short time I’ve known Anna—she doesn’t do anything unless there’s something in it for Anna.”

“Whether Anna is manipulative or controlling is beside the point. You can’t kill people for being selfish or self-absorbed. Or I’d be on the endangered-species list too.”

“There’s no comparison.”

“You wouldn’t have agreed three months ago.” I dropped my shaver back in my kit bag.

“Look, Anna asked for my help. Aside from the novelty of anyone needing my help, I told her I would. I’m not going to go back on that—unless she tells me to go and really means it.”

“I think she really meant it.”

I shook my head.

He shook his head right back at me—and then reached over and pinched my butt.

I jumped. “Hey!”

His smiling eyes met mine in the mirror as he edged around me and headed for the door.

“By the way, Nero Wolfe never had a sweet little ass like yours.”

I laughed. It sounded nervous to my ears. Unsurprising, I guess. It was fun but also disconcerting to be treated like…well, like J.X. treated me. It was a long time since I’d thought of myself as young or sexy.

We dressed and headed off to breakfast. Downstairs we could see the household staff bustling around, dusting and vacuuming. Unlike the day before there was no immediate sign of the police.

“Do you think the cops have finished processing the crime scene?”

“No.” Meeting my gaze, J.X. said, “They’re done with the preliminary investigation, sure.

But Sara’s room is still sealed off.”

“How do you know?”

“I had a look around while you were in the shower.”

“Is anyone guarding Sara’s door?”

“No. The room is taped off, though. The only reason the entire house isn’t locked down is because Anna is Anna. Anybody else in this burg would be spending the week with friends.”

I considered the possibilities as we started down the grand staircase.

“What about Nella’s funeral?” I asked. “Are we going to pay our final respects?”

“I don’t want to go to the funeral. And the only reason you want to go to the funeral is to play amateur sleuth.”

“I didn’t say I wanted to go. I
don’t
want to go. I hate funerals.”

“Good. Then we’re in agreement.”

“Besides, I can look around Sara’s quarters more easily if everyone’s out of the house at this funeral.”

He nearly missed a step. “You better be kidding me. That room is sealed off. That room is a crime scene.”

“Of course I’m kidding.”

J.X. gave me a long, suspicious look and nearly missed another step.

This time I grabbed for his arm. “Hold the railing like a big boy.”

“I’ll big boy you,” he growled.

“Okay, but after breakfast. I have to keep my strength up.”

Rudolph was the only person in the dining room. He sat at the long, polished table, a lonely figure in the empty elegant room as he ate his hardboiled egg out of a china egg cup.

An egg cup. That was something you didn’t see much—outside of old movies. But it seemed par for the course this weekend.

It was the first time I’d seen him since the terrible night he’d dragged me to Sara’s room.

He looked like he’d aged a decade, though he was still immaculate, still dignified in his solitariness.

“Good morning.” He twitched a pallid smile.

“Morning.” J.X. and I echoed each other as we headed for the sideboard.

“How are you doing?” J.X. asked Rudolph while I piled my plate with everything remotely edible. There was enough food in the chafing dishes for the original conference attendees. Maybe no one was communicating with the household staff now that Sara was gone.

“I’m all right.” Coming from Rudolph that weary admission was revealing.

“Have you seen Anna this morning?”

“No.” That was it. My conversational offering fell flat on its hopeful face.

The silence in the room reminded me of a funeral home. But that wasn’t far wrong. This was a house of mourning. Everything about Rudolph bespoke bereavement.

I had to revise at least one of my theories.

Besides, face to face with Rudolph, the idea that he was capable of murder was ludicrous.

It was like suspecting Jimmy Stewart. Hell, it was like suspecting Harvey the invisible rabbit.

J.X. carried his modestly filled plate to the table, sat down across from Rudolph. “
Are
you all right?”