Hush (24 page)

―Dad loved Annette,‖ Coby insisted. ―He‘s a wreck. You‘ve seen him.‖

―Yeah, okay. I just . . . think he still loves Mom, too.‖ She lifted her shoulders, daring Coby to convince her otherwise.

―You know Annette was murdered, right?‖ Coby asked her sister.

―Yes. I heard from Dad and Mom.‖

―There‘s going to be an investigation,‖ Coby warned.

―I‘m not going to blab my worries to the police about my mother. And don‘t you, either! See Danner Lockwood all you want, but keep your mouth shut about this. He‘s the law.‖

―Oh, for God‘s sake, Faith. Dad had nothing to do with Annette‘s death. That‘s ridiculous.

How many times do I have to say it? He loved Annette. Really loved her.‖

―And Mom?‖ Faith asked, her eyes serious.

―Mom wasn‘t at the party,‖ Coby declared.

―But she was in Seaside. Without Barry.‖

―Faith—‖ Coby cut herself off, her patience ripped apart. ―You‘re making a whole deal out of the fact that Mom and Dad are nice to each other. Stop it. Mom would never hurt anybody, let alone kill them. Drown them. If she‘d been around the beach house, somebody would have seen her. Whoever killed Annette was on-site. They just chose an opportunity when the rest of us were busy and distracted. Juliet shut the blinds and it left the back deck virtually out of view. ‖

―Somebody could have come through the side door of the garage and then out the back door to the deck. No one would have seen them.‖

―At that precise moment! And where would they park, huh?‖ Coby demanded. ―They‘d have to be down the street because the whole driveway was packed with cars.‖

―You‘ve thought about this,‖ Faith said.

―Well, yes, of course. I want to know who killed Annette.‖

―I don‘t.‖ Faith was sure on that. ―Any one of us could be next.‖

―Oh, first Mom‘s a homicidal killer and now we‘ve got a maniac out there ready to pick us off one by one.‖

Faith got to her feet, running her hand through her hair again and fluffing out the short, dark waves. ―God, my hair‘s still wet. Unbelievable.‖

―Anything else?‖ Coby asked, watching her sister prepare to leave.

―I just want you to be really careful what you say to Danner. That‘s all.‖

―I‘m not worried about talking to him. We‘re all okay.‖

―Are we?‖ she asked, then slipped out the door.

Annette‘s murder was one of the top stories on the local news. That night Coby turned on the set as soon as she entered her condo and stopped short to listen to the newscasters. Pauline Kirby from Channel Seven was making Annette‘s death sound like a salacious mystery, focusing on the missing sapphire pendant necklace.

Detective Clausen‘s face came on the screen as Pauline asked, ―Do the police feel robbery is the motive for Mrs. Rendell‘s murder?‖

―It‘s a possibility,‖ he said.

Robbery. Coby didn‘t hear the rest of the interview as her mind churned over that one. She hadn‘t considered robbery. Sure, the necklace was missing, and the killer most likely took it, but she‘d just assumed Annette‘s death was related to something else.

Was that the influence of Lucas‘s death? And Rhiannon‘s? And a feeling that Annette had a big secret someone didn‘t want her to share? Could her murder have been just for the necklace?

No. No way. She just didn‘t believe it. She‘d been the background investigator in more than a few divorce cases for the firm, and she knew a little about the reasons for secrecy. There was a money factor, for sure, but oftentimes the bigger emotional issues ruled the day. Clear heads didn‘t prevail. Anger and revenge and retribution were often at play, and Coby would bet her bottom dollar that some underlying factor along those lines was the motive for Annette‘s murder as well.

She had changed into sweats when her cell phone buzzed, and this time she recognized Danner‘s number. ―Hi,‖ she said.

―Hi, yourself. I‘m on my way back,‖ he told her. ―Can I pick up a pizza or something and meet you at your place?‖

She had a moment of feeling she should play hard to get. A moment of remembering how much his loss of interest and affection had tormented her. But it was a long time ago and she wanted to see him, and even her older sister had practically given her her blessing.

As long as she didn‘t tell Detective Lockwood too much.

―I kind of like those gourmet kinds. With sun-dried tomatoes and gorgonzola cheese and kale, or something,‖ she said.

―Since when? I thought you liked pepperoni,‖ he said.

―Well, yeah. That, too.‖

―Give me your address and I‘ll be there within the hour.‖

She rattled it off and managed a small smile. She didn‘t like gourmet pizza much. She was a purist along the meat, cheese, and tomato-base kind. She‘d just been kind of testing him.

And Danner had remembered.

Xavier‘s was rocking and rolling with the early after-work crowd. Yvette wore a black tank top, short black skirt, black tights, and hooker shoes with heels that would kill her legs within the hour. She changed shoes during the night several times, because she‘d learned that when she walked away, men‘s eyes followed her ass and calves and the view couldn‘t be ruined by a pair of sensible shoes if she wanted the big tips. She had decent breasts, but it was her backside that raked in the bucks.

The bar was made of zebra wood in a black and tan striped design and it gleamed like glass.

The bartender, Rocky, was filling an order for three dirty martinis, and Yvette took a moment to watch his fast-moving hands squeeze the juice out of the olives into each glass. She personally hated martinis. She wasn‘t much on alcohol of any kind.

She picked up the tray and sauntered back to the table with the three young bucks in the ir designer suits. They‘d already loosened their ties and were giving her their best smiles and winks.

One of them had the audacity to place a hand lightly on her hip as he got up from the blood-red leather banquet.

She said a few words, struggled to drag up a smile, then left before things could get dicier.

When was the last time you had sex?
she asked herself.
Enjoyed a man’s touch?

She wasn‘t entirely sure, but it was a long time ago; she knew that much.

And there was a time . . . even longer ago . . . when sex was all she could think about. With
him.
The fucking bastard. The only man she‘d ever really loved. And no, it wasn‘t Lucas Moore, and she regretted ever letting those dimwits from the campfire even think so. But it had been a great cover-up, hadn‘t it? Of course she‘d earned herself Rhiannon‘s wrath, and Genevieve‘s, since Genevieve had aligned herself with Rhiannon right after that weekend. Like all of a sudden they were best buds. And then Genevieve had aligned herself with Annette. God, how she hated Annette.

And Genevieve.

She shook her head. Annette was dead. No use hating her anymore. Annette couldn‘t hurt her anymore.

But there were other problems brewing: Benedict‘s father wanted to take him away from her. After all these years of practically ignoring that he had a child!

Well, she wasn‘t going to let it happen.

She would kill him before she let it happen.

Kill him.

And she would mean to kill him. Not just let it happen, like it had happened to Annette. Like it had apparently happened to Lucas. And Rhiannon.

―Wake up,‖ the bartender snapped at her.

Yvette jerked awake from her reverie. ―Is my order up?‖

―Those guys in the corner want to get their knobs polished. I told ‘em your legs were clamped tight together. But they‘re big tippers.‖

Yvette looked at the middle-aged men in the corner who were desperately trying to hang on to their hair. Their eyes were all over her. ―You pimping me out, Rocky?‖

―I‘m just sayin‘.‖

Could she do that? Have sex with someone she didn‘t really care about just to get a big tip?

Be a whore? If she had enough money she might be able to fight off the fucking bastard in court.

But she would have to have sex with one or some or all of them, and looking at them made Yvette‘s stomach feel queasy. ―Sorry,‖ she bit out to Dean, picking up a tray full of cosmos for the giddy secretaries and office assistants in a large booth near the door who thought every damn thing was a screech-fest riot, but who kept their eyes carefully watching the door for every new male arrival.

Nope. She couldn‘t do it.

She was just going to have to kill him.

And that would require a plan, something she was good at making.

Danner was as good as his word; he knocked on Coby‘s door about an hour after his call.

She let him in and the aroma of hot cheese and pepperoni followed him along with a rush of cold wind, as her condo was a town house with its own small stoop. Quickly, closing the door, she directed him to put the pizza down on her tiny table and he did so, then shed his overcoat, which Coby took and hung on a peg on the inside hook of her coat closet, leaving the door open because his coat was soaking wet.

―You got a towel to put under that?‖ he asked, frowning.

―A dish towel.‖ She grabbed one from her counter and laid it under his coat while he took off his boots and set them on the small tile entryway.

Then they looked at each other. Danner‘s dark hair was damp and drops of water glistened like silver beads. She was still in her work clothes, a black skirt and jacket, but had taken off her shoes so she was sock-footed, and it gave her a serious height disadvantage.

―I‘ve got Diet Cokes, water, or skim milk. And a bottle of red wine.‖

―How about water and wine?‖ he suggested.

―Sounds good.‖

She pulled out the wine opener and he took it from her while she grabbed plates, napkins, and a couple of forks. She placed her items on the table, then gathered two goblets and Danner poured them each a glass while she filled two tumblers from a pitcher in her refrigerator.

Then they sat down and each collected a slice of pizza. Three bites in, Danner said, ―How many years has it been?‖

Since we were together. . . .
She could have pretended to misunderstand, could have played coy, but it wasn‘t her way and she couldn‘t see how that would get her anywhere she wanted to be.

―Eight. But who‘s counting?‖

―It doesn‘t feel like eight. Feels more like . . . seven and a half.‖

She laughed. ―You‘re only here now because you‘ve got a murder to solve.‖

―I didn‘t know there was going to be a homicide when I agreed to escort Faith to the party,‖

he pointed out.

―Why did you?‖

―Are you asking if Faith and I are something more than friends?‖

―Faith stopped by today and made it clear that‘s not the case.‖

―Huh.‖ He finished his slice of pizza and leaned back in the chair, cradling his wine goblet in one hand. ―My ego‘s taken a hit. I thought she kinda had a thing for me.‖

―She said you weren‘t over me and decided to step aside.‖

He froze as he sat. ―She did not.‖

Coby fought a smile. ―Okay, that might have been a lie.‖ She bit into her pizza, eyes dancing.

A slow smile spread across his lips. ―You‘re more sure of yourself than you used to be.‖

―I‘m a heck of a lot older. Eight years, to be exact. Although it only feels like seven and a half.‖

―I kinda want to kiss you,‖ he said.

―Wait till I get rid of the marinara sauce.‖ She set down her slice of pizza, picked up her napkin, wiped her lips, then gazed at him expectantly.

Danner got up and came around the table, looked down at her a moment, touched his hand under her chin, then leaned down and pressed his lips to hers with more urgency than she‘d expected. She felt the surprising softness of his mouth and the hardness of the pressure and experienced a jolt of inner awareness that left her breathless when he pulled back.

He looked at her a moment, then retook his seat, grabbing another piece of pizza. Holding it up to bite, he paused, his gaze locked with hers.

They stared at each other a long moment. Coby was rattled and she hadn‘t expected to be.

She‘d been keeping it light on purpose, teasing and challenging a little, sure, but wow. She hardly knew where to go next.

―I should have tried harder to keep things going back then,‖ he said.

Coby nodded slowly.

―Why didn‘t I?‖ he asked.

―Because you were young, immature, and unaware what a catch I was?‖

―I might have just been stupid,‖ he said.

―Okay,‖ she said.

―You didn‘t have to agree so fast.‖ He grinned and took a swallow of wine.

―I might have been a little needy,‖ she said, to which he shook his head determinedly.

―I‘d like to let you take some of the heat, because right now I‘m thinking of all the time wasted and kinda pissed off, but it‘s all my fault.‖

―Well . . .‖

―And with that magnanimous gesture, I want things to start again right now, and I don‘t want to wait for some grace period of getting to know each other and wasting any more time and all that. I just don‘t have the patience for it.‖

―You just want to jump over the preliminaries and head to the bedroom right now?‖ Coby suggested.

―Well, yeah, actually. If you‘re so inclined.‖ He gave her a hopeful look, which made her smile turn into a grin. ―But I suspect you might need a little more time,‖ he added, feeling her out.

―Maybe an hour or two.‖

―Maybe an hour or two.‖

Danner finished another slice but Coby found herself breathless and unable to eat more than one. She wrapped the extra slices in foil and put them in the refrigerator. Then they carried their wine to the living room, where she sat on the love seat, her feet tucked beneath her, and Danner sank into her side chair and crossed his ankles on the chair‘s matching ottoman.

―In all seriousness, I want to know what happened to Annette,‖ Coby told him. She‘d been feeling giddy with all the bantering and promise of the beginning of a renewed relationship, but she didn‘t want to get ahead of herself. She‘d worked hard to find who she was. Caution was the word of the day.

―I confess I wasn‘t paying close attention the other night. I was more focused on you,‖