Love Inspired Suspense January 2014 (34 page)

* * *

If glares were guns, no doubt he'd be dead right now. David spread his hands and opened his mouth, but Laurel jumped up and stood between him and her friend. David pressed his lips together. It bruised his ego that she didn't seem to think he could take care of himself...but judging from the look on Janice's face, maybe it was better if Laurel handled this.

“Down, girlfriend,” Laurel said in a half placating, half teasing tone. “Tears can be good, you know. These were.”

Janice harrumphed.

David stepped around Laurel. “It's been refreshing to enjoy a homemade Thanksgiving dinner. I'm honored you included me in your company today, but I have a few things on my plate that I need to accomplish, so I'll leave you folks to a relaxing afternoon.”

“Don't go, David.” Laurel's hand closed around his arm. “We haven't had our pie yet.”

Her pleading gaze pierced his resolve, but he steeled himself. What had he been thinking going all soft with Laurel when he knew how bleak their prospects were? He shouldn't have accepted the invitation today, nor should he have pried into her past. Janice's cold water on an intimate moment had done them both a favor.

He patted his stomach. “I'm still full to the brim.”

“I'll put a piece in a to-go container,” Janice said.

“Don't...bother.” David's voice trailed away because the woman had already disappeared.

Laurel walked him to the door, somber faced. “Don't mind Janice. She's protective.”

“No worries. I get it.” He sent her a half smile.

“Caroline,” Laurel called up the stairs as he shrugged into his jacket. “Our guest is leaving.”

“Already?” A tattoo of running feet punctuated the cry.

Caroline barreled down the stairs and flung her arms around David. He hugged her back, heart aching. This kid deserved a good daddy to go with her fine mama.

“Thanks for coming,” the girl said. “The turkey and dressing were awesome. I wish you didn't have to go so soon. I'm done talking to Emily. If Janice had a piano, we could do a concert together, but maybe you could stay for a quick game of Scrabble.”

“Another time, squirt.” He tweaked her chin.
God, help me keep that promise.

“Here you go.” Janice thrust a sealed container toward him. Her gaze had softened, but it was still firm.

“Thanks.” He dipped his chin toward her. “I appreciate the hospitality.”

Grim amusement lit her green eyes. “You're welcome.”

She didn't add
now get lost,
but he took the hint when she opened the door for him.

“Janice!” Laurel's soft hiss reached his ears as the door shut behind him.

He'd be amused about Laurel's exasperation with her friend if he didn't agree with the woman's take on the situation. Apparently, she had the sense to see that the attraction between him and Laurel, as well as Caroline's fixation on him, was headed toward nothing but hurt.

No doubt she regretted inviting him, but he couldn't feel that way. The sense of belonging, even if only for a few hours, had rejuvenated his spirit. And his purpose. It was time for answers so he could clear the Adamses' names, and find the killer once and for all. His meeting with Gilbert Montel tomorrow couldn't come quickly enough.

ELEVEN

W
ith a long sigh, Laurel flung herself backward onto her bed.
Her
bed. Finally!

A contractor had surprised her Thanksgiving evening by calling to say he could come fix that door and change those locks the next day after all. Laurel had been over here early to let them in and then retired to her own room in order to stay out of the workers' hair.

From sounds below, the job was well under way. Tonight she and Caroline could spend their first night home after a seeming eternity of absence. Only a few days had passed, but so much had happened—was still happening. At least the problems might seem more bearable in their own home.

Things had gotten a bit strained at Janice's house after she'd shooed David away. Not that her friend hadn't done Laurel a favor. She was getting way too comfortable with a man who she'd be wise to keep at arm's length. Growing closer to David was the last thing she needed...no matter what Caroline seemed to think.

Why did you urge me to agree to invite him to Thanksgiving dinner?
she'd demanded of Janice after David left.

Her friend had shrugged and nodded toward Caroline.
You know I'm putty in your daughter's hands. What she wanted I made sure she got. I didn't think you two would get so chummy. Besides, I told Caroline to make sure never to leave you alone in the same room.

I didn't promise!
Caroline had lifted her chin.

Laurel had laughed and wagged a finger at Janice.
I think both of us have been royally scammed by a teenage matchmaker.

You like David. I know you do.
Caroline had fixed big eyes on her mother.

Laurel had wrapped her daughter in a one-armed hug.
You like him, too, but now isn't the best time to get close to someone like that.

Caroline had broken away from the embrace.
Someone like what? He's a good guy. You find fault with any man who comes into your life. But here you meet a real-life champion of the underdog, and you push him away.

A what?
Laurel had gaped.

Caroline had rolled her eyes.
Don't you get it? He didn't ask for our brand of trouble. We got dumped on his doorstep, complete with a dead body. Remember? But he's stuck by us and given us the benefit of the doubt every step. You don't meet a person like that every day.

She'd stomped up the stairs.

What's this about “a man like that?”
Janice's brow had creased.
Is there some reason, other than my chronic best-friend overprotectiveness, that I shouldn't want you to get close to David Greene?

Don't you recognize him?

Janice had shaken her head.
I assume he's got money—poor men don't drive Lexuses, or hire security details at the drop of a hat. But you and I are both wary of rich guys—for good reason.

Three years ago, David's mug was all over the news in connection with his girlfriend's murder. He was never brought to trial.

Janice's lips had formed an
O
to match her eyes.
Was that during the six months I was abroad learning international realty practice?

Laurel had smacked her forehead.
Of course! Between your absence from the country and your general disgust for network news, I suppose you never were exposed to that media frenzy.

Another good reason to be wary, then, girlfriend.
Janice had shaken her head.
Enough about David Greene. How about a game of Scrabble?

Laurel had agreed to the game, but inside she'd moped the rest of Thanksgiving until the call from the contractor lifted her spirits a small degree. Now, with the sunshine of a new morning streaming through her bedroom window, she mulled over Caroline's stinging words.

While it was true that Laurel's minor forays into dating over the years had never turned into anything that lasted, Caroline hadn't taken into account that her mother worked daily with real-life champions of the underdog. It wasn't Laurel's fault that nothing had developed between her and any of the single men at the office, was it? If there was no chemistry there was no chemistry. The spark wasn't something that could be conjured by decision.

But maybe it could be doused by decision. Had she built impregnable walls around her heart?

Laurel rolled onto her side. The theory wasn't holding water right now. She wasn't having much luck toning down her attraction to David. Caroline had been perceptive enough to notice. Janice, too.

Laurel also had to admit her daughter was spot-on that she was hypercautious in relationships. She had good reasons—reasons she planned never to expose to her daughter. What kid needed to deal with the reality that her father not only walked out on her mother and on her, but had been a selfish, manipulative, violent man who she was lucky never to have known beyond her earliest years?

Why had she told David about the ugly past history? Maybe because she'd made herself vulnerable by deciding to relax and go with the flow yesterday, and David had been such an understanding ear.

Another question nagged—why was he so interested in everything about them? Her caution meter was registering an ulterior motive in David's unexplained loyalty to a pair of strangers who'd dragged him into contact with another murder investigation. His willingness to hang around them didn't make sense, and her ego wasn't inflated enough to think he was championing them, as Caroline put it, because he found her irresistible.

She could be wrong to be so distrustful. It could be another one of those defensive instincts she'd discussed with David that was leading her astray.
Please God, let me be wrong.
But Laurel wasn't yet ready to abandon her doubts about David Greene.

* * *

David paced Gil Montel's office, where the housekeeper had ushered him to wait for his host. Afternoon sunlight invaded the vast room in muted stripes between half-drawn blinds. Finely woven oriental rugs covered large swatches of ebony-wood flooring, and neatly stuffed bookshelves coated the opposing walls not taken by the entrance door and the windows to the outside. The titles on the books' spines reflected a voracious and eclectic but rather dry taste in reading material.

By the neatly squared papers on the man's desk, the artwork and knickknacks positioned just so and the general lack of lived-in clutter, David deduced that Gil was either a fastidious soul, had a meticulous housekeeper or didn't spend much time in this room. The latter seemed unlikely as many of the decor items were personal in nature, the chair behind the desk showed traces of wear. Also, the air carried a hint of masculine cologne. An expensive brand.

A small table in the corner of the sprawling room bore a large photograph in a fancy frame. From a corner of the frame, a gold chain dangled, bearing a small, round pendant filigreed with the initials UTSA. Not likely to be a person's initials. Some sort of organization? The table was covered in midnight blue velvet, and the photo was surrounded by bric-a-brac like small but fancy candles, a string of pearls and a single silk rose blossom on a long stem. A shrine of sorts?

David studied the photo. A beaming Gil had his arm around a stunning brunette several inches taller than himself. Apparently this guy's taste ran to statuesque women. The brunette's expression was pleasant, but the muted smile seemed mildly derisive, as if she found the adoration of the man beside her a little ridiculous. Was this Gil's first wife?

When he and David had accidentally sat next to each other at the hotel bar after the financial symposium, Gil's wife's death from cancer less than a year prior had been part of the man's reason for tears. The other part had been the murder of his sister at the hands of her groom while on their honeymoon. That traumatic event had occurred only two weeks before the investor's conference. Clearly, the poor guy was in no shape to have attended the symposium, but maybe he'd needed the distraction.

At that time in his life, David had been self-centered and unsympathetic, absorbed in drowning his own pain in an excess of booze, drugs and babes. Alicia had been the latest in a long string of wild relationships, but with her he'd been just about ready to commit. That night, he'd been uncomfortable with Gil's gushing grief and grateful when Alicia showed up to drag him off to a dining table well away from the shattered man. Would his impression of Gilbert Montel change at this meeting?

“The photo is of my sister, Paula, and me,” announced a high tenor voice David remembered from that evening in the bar.

He turned to find a portly, balding man on the short side of five foot seven staring at him from the doorway. Montel wore a pair of crisply creased slacks and tasseled brown loafers. Beneath a tan polo shirt, the man's spine was straight and his shoulders squared, but a trace of reddened puffiness around the eyes betrayed either lack of sleep or recent expressions of grief—or both.

“She was gorgeous,” David responded.

“Indeed.” He frowned. “Her blessing and her curse was to so closely resemble our mother. I, on the other hand, inherited my father's looks and dimensions. Not much blessing in that, though he left me other assets to compensate.” A wry smile flickered.

David hadn't pictured Gil as a man capable of self-awareness, much less the ability to laugh at himself, and he was left speechless.

“You seem to catch me at stressful times in my life,” Gil said as he walked in and sat down behind the desk. He motioned David to a cushy leather guest chair. “Shall I call for a couple glasses of sherry?” He reached toward an intercom button on the corner of his desk.

“No, thanks anyway,” David answered as he took the offered seat. “I won't stay long. I've been in Denver since two days before Thanksgiving and thought it only right to stop and offer my condolences. I read about your engagement and then saw the news about your fiancée on the television. What a terrible thing.”

All true statements, just not the whole picture. David shushed his conscience. He was on an important mission.

Muscles in Gil's round cheeks twitched and his lips trembled but the moisture glistening in his eyes never pooled into tears. The man cleared his throat and looked away, blinking. “Thank you. I appreciate you taking the time to drop by. You have no idea what it meant to me that you allowed me to bend your ear with my troubles when we met at that symposium a few years back.” Gil offered a weak smile.

David's gut twisted. Way to make him feel like the heel du jour. Good thing the guy hadn't been able to read his mind back then...or now. How could he pump this hurting man for information under false pretenses? He couldn't, that's how.

Yet how could he not? Wasn't it vital to solve these murders? Shouldn't discovering the significance of the mutual tattoos, if any, be a priority? All he wanted to do was find out if Alicia and Melissa knew each other. That information would be enough to take to the police, and he might at last be able to come clean with Laurel about his particular interest in Melissa Eldon's murder. What a relief that would be!

“Had you known Melissa long?” David crossed his legs in a posture of relaxation.

“We met in New York. Bumped into each other at a Broadway play we were attending and hit it off. She was looking for a teaching job. The only suitable position in Denver of which I was aware was at my son's school. I put in a good word for her, and she got the job. We took our relationship from there. Had we—” the man halted and cleared his throat “—had we married, she would have quit her job and found herself fully occupied with our social calendar. Melissa was a fabulous hostess and handled herself magnificently among the best people.”

The best people? Oh, yes, the people with money, power and position. That Gil Montel was a snob came as no surprise. At least in part, Montel hadn't been marrying a woman; he'd been marrying an asset. Some of the sympathy he felt for the man's grief dissipated.

“I feel responsible.” A choking sound followed Gil's words.

“For her death? Why, man?” David leaned forward.

Gil shook his head. “If I hadn't brought her to Denver, she might never have crossed the path of a killer.”

“How do you know she came across her killer here?”

Gil's mouth fell open and then he shut it. “I guess I don't. Are you saying someone could have followed her here?”

“I'm saying that, at least from the information the police have released to the news services, no one knows yet. Did she skip out on a jealous boyfriend in New York?”

“No!” The man's nostrils flared.

David dropped his gaze. Touchy area for Mr. Montel. Too touchy. Perhaps where there was smoke... He offered Gil an apologetic smile. “Just trying to think like the police might think. I'm sure they're checking all the angles.”

Gil sniffed. “At the risk of being indelicate, I would imagine the ‘jealous boyfriend' scenario is at the forefront of your mind.”

David's hands fisted, but he kept them below the edge of the desk. His supposed motive for murdering Alicia had been the role of jealous boyfriend. But he honestly hadn't known until after her death that there'd been any reason for jealousy. Alicia had been crafty in her activities outside of their relationship.

“Touché!” He kept his tone well modulated.

“Then we're even.” Gil rose. “If you will excuse me, I have arrangements to finalize.”

David stood. “Arrangements?”

“Funeral.”

“What about Melissa's family?”

“None to speak of.” Gil waved a hand.

“I'll take my leave, then.” Spirits sinking, David followed Gil to the door of the study. Some sleuth he was. He'd discovered exactly nada. Asking the guy point blank about the tattoo had been out of the question, but at least he'd hoped to uncover some background information on the woman—like where she was raised or educated.