Kansas City Secrets (17 page)

“Nonetheless, I want that list.”

“Very well.” She caught the door before Max could close it behind them and extended her hand to Rosie again. “Rosemary? Perhaps I'll see you at one of the museum's upcoming fund-raisers. I sit on the city's cultural arts board. We're always looking for new donors to support the arts in Kansas City.”

Rosie shook the doctor's hand and nodded her thanks to the invitation. But when he would have expected her to quickly pull away, Rosie continued to hold on for an awkward length of time. What was that redhead up to?

“Dr. Wells, did you have access to RUD-317 six years ago?”

The two women locked gazes. To her brave credit, Rosie wasn't the first one to look away. Hillary ended the handshake and gave the door a nudge, herding them out. “Of course I did. I helped Lloyd create it. But I never even met your Mr. Bratcher. Why on earth would I want to kill him?”

The door snapped firmly shut in their faces. Suddenly, Dr. Wells's assistant was there to walk them to the elevator. Max glanced down at Rosie. “I guess our meeting's over.”

Once the elevator doors closed behind them and they were alone, Max sat back against the railing and asked, “What was that handshake thing about?”

“I can't be certain. Maybe it's a woman's intuition, or perhaps an old memory is trying to surface.”

“I need a little more to follow what you're getting at.”

She thrust her right hand at his face. “Smell that.”

“Whoa.” Max grinned and ducked to one side to avoid an accidental punch to the chin. But he caught a whiff of what Rosie was talking about. He laced his fingers together with hers and drew her hand to his nose again. He breathed in the floral scent of Hillary Wells's hand cream. “You said you smelled perfume on the sheets in Bratcher's hotel room that day.”

Rosie nodded. “I just assumed it was Charleen Grimes who'd spent the night with Richard. But maybe there was someone else there, a different woman.” She pulled her hand away and wrapped it around the strap of her purse. She leaned against the back wall beside him. “Six years is a long time to try to pinpoint an exact scent, and it's probably not anything that could help you make an arrest—”

“But it's another potential piece of the puzzle.”

Chapter Ten

Rosemary followed Max off the elevator onto the top floor that housed the office suites of Howard's law firm. The day had been a long one. She was hungry for dinner. She'd love a long swim to ease the tension from her muscles. Duchess and Trixie were probably dancing around the house to be let out to do their business. She was done talking to people who wouldn't give her straight answers.

And ever since the idea of Otis Dinkle spying on her had been put into her head, she'd felt as though someone had been following her all day as Max carted her from interview to interview—keeping her in sight, keeping her safe. Max assured her they were gathering useful clues, expanding KCPD's list of suspects and crossing others off the list who either had an alibi or lacked a motive to kill Richard and threaten her.

More than anything, she wanted to go home to her quiet little house and be surrounded by her parents' things and her beloved pets. Maybe she and Max would get to talk. Maybe he'd see the chance to steal another kiss and take it. And maybe, if her scars and the self-confidence that sometimes failed her hadn't been too much of a turnoff, he'd offer another night in his sheltering arms and she'd know a second night of blissful sleep. He'd said she had to be bold and ask for what she wanted—that he was no good at reading between the lines and guessing. Well, what she wanted was to go home. With him.

But when she opened her mouth to say as much, Charleen Grimes unfolded her long legs from the couch in the center of the room and crossed the floor in her three-inch heels.

“That's Charleen Grimes,” she whispered, instead.

“The mistress?” Max clarified. Rosemary would have turned around, gone back downstairs and walked home if Max's hand hadn't been at her back, drawing her forward beside him. He dipped his face beside her ear and whispered, “The woman needs some meat on her bones. Your ex must have had a thing for making love to sticks.” He turned his fingers to pat the swell of Rosie's hip. “I'll take a real woman any day.”

“Bless you, Max.” Rosie's chin lifted a little higher at the praise. “Good evening, Charleen.”

“Well, if it isn't the little murderess herself.”

Howard stepped out of his office at the end of the hallway and hurried to join them. “Charleen, you are way out of line.” He snapped his fingers to the receptionist for her to notify Mr. Austin that his client had arrived for her KCPD interview. “Remember our conversation about slandering my client.”

“
I'm
out of line?” She ran her painted nails along the lapel of her blue silk jacket. “Which one of us is here to be questioned as a murder suspect?” Charleen's blue eyes narrowed. “You and your nine million dollars took Richard from me. I will never forgive you.”

A sad realization washed over Rosemary. “You really loved him, didn't you?”

“A lot more than you ever did.”

Most certainly. “Did you love him so much that you'd rather see him dead than with anybody else?”

“How dare you, you little mouse. I'm the only one who wants justice for Richard. All you're concerned about is saving your own skin.”

“Justice?” Rosie's blood turned to ice in her veins. How many of those crude threats had mentioned justice for Richard? Were Charleen's words a horrid coincidence? A slip of the tongue? Or was there something much more ominous and far too familiar in the accusation?

Charleen took another step and Max's hand shot between them to keep the woman from coming any closer. “Stay with me, Rosie.” His blue eyes met hers with a pinpoint focus, probably checking to make sure she didn't slip into another one of those trancelike states where she was paralyzed with fear. She blinked, nodded, silently reassured him she wasn't so upset by the other woman's words that she couldn't function. “Maybe I'd better handle this interview on my own,” he suggested.

Howard was instantly at Rosemary's side. “Perhaps so, Detective. I don't know why you have her out doing your job.”

Max's shoulders came back at the irritation in Howard's voice. Thankfully, he didn't take the bait and continue the argument. “Just get her someplace safe for twenty or thirty minutes, okay?”

“My pleasure.” Howard's cool hand cupped her elbow, pulling her away from Max. “You're welcome to wait in my office while your friend conducts his business.”

“Thanks.” While Howard tucked Rosemary's hand into the crook of his elbow and led her to his back corner office, Max escorted Charleen in the opposite direction to Mr. Austin's suite at the end of the hallway. “What's that perfume you're wearing?” he asked. “It's sexy as all get-out.”

“Don't try to charm me, Detective Krolikowski. You haven't got the chops for it.”

The man wasn't as clueless as he pretended to be. “So I can't buy that scent for my girlfriend?”

Charleen stopped and leveled a glare at Rosemary. “No.”

Girlfriend? Was that part of his investigative bag of tricks to get a suspect talking—using her as the proverbial burr that could get Charleen agitated underneath her saddle? Or could there be a grain of truth in that one word? Rosemary's pulse did a funny little pitter-patter at the hope that he might be halfway serious about claiming her as his.

But Charleen's hateful gaze was a painful reminder that Rosemary needed this part of her life to be over. Charleen pouted her ruby-red lips into a smile and linked her arm through Max's, figuratively taking from Rosemary what Charleen claimed Rosemary had taken from her. The tall blonde sashayed her hip into Max's as their voices faded down the long hallway, and Rosie's nostrils flared with an emotion that was far closer to feeling possessive about Max than feeling inadequate lined up next to a woman whose beauty she couldn't match. “It's a personal scent, designed especially for me. Back in my modeling days—”

“Don't let her get to you. Charleen's a bitter, vindictive woman.” Howard closed the outer office door and followed Rosemary into his private office, locking the door behind him. Was he that worried about the tall blonde causing a scene that would upset her? “In her own way, I think she truly loved Richard. But she didn't handle all the other women and one-night stands as well as you did.”

Rosemary's laugh held little humor. “I don't think I handled his cheating well at all.” She dropped her purse into one of the guest chairs and sat in the other, leaning back and closing her weary eyes. “It does devastating things to a woman's ego and ability to trust when she finds out she's not enough for her man.”

“Are you enough for Krolikowski?”

Her eyes fluttered open at the unexpected question. “Excuse me?”

Howard shrugged and crossed to the wet bar in the corner. “I couldn't help but notice how chummy the two of you have gotten these past few days.”

She sat up straighter. “We're working together. I finally have someone at KCPD treating me like the victim, not a prime suspect.”

“Seemed friendlier than that to me.” He held up a mug. “Coffee?”

“Please.”

Friendlier? Certainly Max had become important to her these past few days. He'd been the only one to believe that the threats against her were real and not some scam to gain sympathy or divert attention onto another suspect in KCPD's Cold Case Squad investigation. Okay, so it had taken a little blackmail in the form of appealing to his military roots to finally get him to listen. But once he saw the damage to her front porch and read the notes, he believed. He protected. He upset her small, familiar world in frightening, exciting ways, and yet he made her feel safe. So, yes, they'd become friends—an opposites attracting, differences complementing each other kind of thing. But something in her heart wanted them to be much more.

Once this case was solved, however—assuming they could piece all the old secrets together to complete the puzzle and finally solve Richard's murder—would she be enough to interest a man like Max? Would there be other reasons he might want to remain a part of her life?

“Here you go.” Howard handed her a mug of the steaming brew and took a seat on the corner of his desk, facing her. He swallowed a drink, then splayed his fingers and looked at his hand before rubbing his knuckles against the leg of his lightweight wool slacks. “Is he making any progress? Getting the job done?”

Rosemary cradled the warm mug between her hands. “You know how important it is to me to clear my name. It's the only way to convince Charleen and my neighbors and the rest of the world that I didn't get away with murder. Maybe I could get a job teaching again. Max is helping change people's opinion of me. He's expanded the list of suspects so that my name's not the only one on it for a change. He makes it more comfortable for me to interact with people.” She shook her head. “I still can't claim that it's easy—my trust issues make it hard to socialize for long with big groups or certain people, of course—but he makes it easier to try.”

“Good for him.” Howard set his mug on the desk and scratched at a trio of welts on his left hand. “I made life easier for you, too, if you remember. I kept you from ever being formally charged for Richard's murder by reminding the police they didn't have enough evidence to take the case to the DA for prosecution.”

“I appreciate that, Howard. I don't know how I would have gotten through the last six years without you. You were so helpful with Stephen's case, too.” When she saw how badly the red marks were irritating him, she set her mug on the desk, too, and got up to cradle his big hand between hers. “Where did you get those nasty scratches? I think you need some hydrocortisone or calamine...”

Puncture wounds. A dermatitis reaction to a foreign substance, like leaf sap or pollen.

Rosemary released his hand and backed away as if his skin had burned her. He'd grappled with a hawthorn bush. “You?”

The dark eyes looking back at her were anything but friendly, patient or professional. That hard, cold, disappointed look was a lot like...his brother's.

“The canned laughter was a little theatrical, but that scream of yours was worth every penny.”

Rosie glanced at the door. Did she need to run? Would he really hurt her? “I thought you were my friend.”

Howard's voice was laced with contempt. “And I thought you were smart.”

Rosie dropped her chin and shivered. So talking was out. Ingrained habits from an abusive relationship were hard to break. She felt herself tensing, bracing, preparing herself for whatever cruel words would spew from his mouth. She inched away as the dimensions of the locked room closed in on her.

He'd trapped her.

Just like his brother had.

Only, she wasn't alone in her house with a dangerously unpredictable man. She wasn't alone at all. Max was right down the hallway. Okay, about a hundred feet down that hallway. With at least three closed doors in between them.

Rosie's chin shot up as she shook off the crippling fears of the past. She grabbed her purse and dashed to the door.

But Howard beat her to it. Moving surprisingly fast for an older man, he planted himself between her and escape. She quickly circled behind his desk and leather chair, scanning the room for an available weapon if she needed to defend herself.

“I lost my brother because of you,” Howard accused.

“I didn't kill him.”

“I don't care who did. I'm just glad he's gone.” He moved to the desk and Rosie backed up to the window. “He was blowing through the family fortune, ruining the firm with his indiscretions. That's why he latched on to you—for the money and respectability.”

“You're not like him, Howard. Please. You were kind to Stephen. You took care of our legal and financial needs. You helped me get Richard out of my life.”

“Damn right, I did. You owe me. I've been there for you every step of the way. I was patient with you and all your little idiosyncrasies.” As he came around the desk, she countered his path, keeping as much distance as possible between them. The wary beat of her pulse nearly choked her. If he laid a hand on her the way Richard had... “You depend on me,” he reminded her. “When you started getting those threats, when your mysterious stalker knew so many intimate details about you and Richard and said he wanted to kill you, I knew you were afraid.”

“I was terrified. Why would you do that to me?”

He pounded his fist on the desk and she jumped. “So you would come to me for help. Not to some uncivilized thug of a cop. Good grief, I heard you picked him up in a bar. You're my class of people, Rosemary, not his.”

“That uncivilized thug is right down the hall, Howard. I'll scream and he'll throw you in jail so fast—”

“He can't hear you through soundproofed walls. And I have a feeling Charleen won't be a very cooperative witness and that her interview will take a while. Long enough for you to come to your senses and remember who your real hero is.”

Her gaze darted from the thick walls lined with books to the tenth-story window and locked door that offered her only means of escape. “I'm not that frightened mental invalid beaten down by grief and abuse anymore. The real me is coming back. Max!”

When she charged toward the door, Howard shifted direction and snatched her arm, pulling her against him and slapping his other hand over her mouth to silence her. “You won't scream, because I'll have his badge if you do.”

Rosie froze in his painful grip and he moved his sweaty palm off her lips. “You'd do that? You'd ruin his career?”

Howard laughed. “It'd be easy enough. Krolikowski is already on thin ice with the department. Public drunkenness. Anger issues—”

“He's not like that—”

“—a blatant disregard for regulations and comportment. He'd probably come in here and beat me up if he could hear you. Imagine the mileage I'd get out of that with the commissioner.”