Privileged Witness (11 page)

''That was generous of you considering you did all the work.''

''Generosity has nothing to do with it,'' Matthew assured her. ''My parent's will was specific. Grace and I shared half of everything unless one of us contested the will. If we did that, we got nothing. I'm not even sure Grace was aware of the stipulation. She never asked to see the will. She never asked where the money came from. It was automatically deposited in the same bank as a trustee until she was eighteen. She never changed the arrangement except to retain an investment counselor at that bank at some point. As far as I was concerned, she was just another entry on the balance sheet.''

''Grace never worked in the business?''

''Nope,'' Matthew answered. ''She ran away from school then she ran away from home. By the time she was nineteen I stopped looking for her. I had a life to live and a company to run. I let her go.''

''And now?'' Josie prodded.

''And now,'' Matthew clucked, raising his eyes to heaven. ''Now, I will do what needs to be done because Michelle would want it and Grace is innocent of whatever charges they've trumped up. She turned into a good woman, Josie. I don't want to see her railroaded.''

''Did you know Grace was on the balcony when Michelle jumped?'' Josie asked this without preamble.

Matthew dropped his head, he lowered his eyes. He was close enough that Josie could see a sparkling of silver in the dark waves of his hair and the clenching of his jaw as he absorbed the information.

''She told you that?'' he asked quietly.

`''She did,'' Josie confirmed.

''Damn.'' His head swung back and forth.

''It doesn't mean anything except that she was stupid not to tell anyone before now.'' Josie dipped her head trying to catch Matthew's eye. ''Look. Grace told me she was trying to stop Michelle and I believe her.''

''You do?''

''I've seen the coroner's report. I've seen the crime scene report. I don't believe for an instant that Grace is guilty of first degree murder. But if you know something that would change my mind, tell me now, Matthew.''

Josie put both hands on his shoulders and held tight. He was trembling like a man ill-prepared for the sudden frigid wind that had kicked up. Josie's hands slipped down his arms to his hands. Matthew's fingers intertwined with hers. It had been a long time since they had touched but it seemed no more than a moment ago. If she closed her eyes then opened them fast the intervening years would be gone and they would be lovers again. Young. All those wonderful things meant nothing when you had them and everything when you didn't. Matthew leaned closer, pulling her hands toward his chest, whispering, needing her, tightening his hold.

''All I know is. . .'' Matthew whispered only to pull up short when they heard the door open.

''I'm home. . .''

Startled, Josie looked over her shoulder, Matthew's head pulled up and both of them stared at Hannah Sheraton who stared right back, her green eyes sparking and a scowl on her face.

CHAPTER 13

''You should have come to dinner with us. He could have gone to the office on Monday. You didn't have to see him.''

''I don't have to do anything, Hannah,'' Josie reminded her. ''But it made a lot of sense to take the time to hear what Matthew had to say, don't you think?''

Josie leaned against the door jamb of the room that had once been her office. It had become Hannah's place without either of them really making a decision about it. There were clothes on the chair, on the floor, spilling out of drawers. Near the window stood Hannah's easel, a jumble of paints and brushes in an order only she understood. The red lacquer stool Hannah had brought from the Malibu house, the last place she had lived with her own mother, was by the bed. In the corner was a desk with Hannah's books, a picture of Josie torn out of the newspaper when she had defended Archer after he'd been accused of killing his stepson. There were cosmetics and scarves. There was a jar of seashells, a gift from Billy Zuni, that Hannah pretended meant nothing. The fact that the jar had not been relegated to the trash or a closet told a different story.

Now Hannah was sitting on her bed, cross-legged, her hair plaited into two braids that she pinned atop her head. She was beautiful. She was a pain in the ass. Hannah thought the world revolved around her when, in fact, it revolved around no one. Not a teenager, not a politician, not even a woman in jail.

''Yeah, I guess it was smart,'' she mumbled, attending to the purple polish on her fingernails. ''It just looked weird to have a guy here. I mean a guy who isn't Archer.''

''Matthew McCreary is a very old friend whose sister is in trouble. This wasn't exactly the way I would have chosen to see him again but I wasn't going to turn him away.''

Hannah's gaze slid toward Josie, ''I think he's more than a friend.''

''And you say that because?'' Josie led her on, curious about what Hannah thought she had seen.

''Have you forgotten how many men my mother had around?'' Hannah answered smugly. ''It's not hard to tell.''

''And have you forgotten I'm not your mother?''

''It doesn't matter. Sometimes there's just the pull, you know? Like my mom. She used to say that sometimes there was just something about a man that made her crazy. I'm never going to be like that. I didn't think you were like that.''

Hannah uncoiled her legs and did a half somersault as she got beneath the sheet then pulled it up around her shoulders. The bedspread had been kicked to the floor.

''Some women know when it's not real, Hannah. Some women don't want to jeopardize what they have.'' Josie almost took the sheet to tuck it under Hannah's chin then thought better of it. Instead, she turned out the light and changed the subject. ''I'm really proud of you. You were amazing tonight. I'm not just talking about your paintings. You were amazing because you didn't freak when I left the party.''

When Hannah stayed quiet, Josie took a few steps to the window. Hannah's room sat at the juncture of Hermosa Boulevard and the end of their walking street. Thanks to the double panes noise was minimal. Because of the right angled bank of windows the room was flooded with moonlight.

Slowly, thoughtfully, Josie closed the plantation shutters. Her mind was a jumble with everything that had happened that day, not the least of which was Hannah's reaction to seeing Matthew in the house, close to Josie, touching her. In Hannah's mind there were only two reasons a man touched a woman: to hurt her or as a prelude to sex. Hannah didn't like either option with the tall, handsome man who eyed her with the same suspicion she afforded him.

''You know, your friend thought I was your daughter. He didn't like thinking that.'' Hannah's voice was muffled as she snuggled into the pillow but Josie heard everything she needed to hear.

Hannah was right. Josie had seen the flight of questions and conclusions in his eyes. A black lover? A husband in the wings? A bastard child? As quickly as those thoughts came, they went. The timing was off. The girl was too old. The truth was fascinating to Matthew because Josie had never wanted children. Now here was one, almost grown up, smart, sharp eyed and not even Josie's biological child.

''Matthew was just surprised. He didn't think I had a maternal bone in my body.'' Josie closed another shutter.

''He's wrong you know. You're. . .''

Josie almost turned her head to look at Hannah but she tuned out as she noticed the big car across the street and the man leaning across the hood, his arms crossed. It was dark outside and Hermosa Boulevard was wide so Josie couldn't see his face but she could feel his interest; as if he was looking through the house and into Hannah's room zeroing in on Josie, forcing her to acknowledge him.

Adjusting the louvers, Josie narrowed her eyes but all she could make out was the angle of a shoulder, the shape of a head. Perhaps Matthew had paused and looked back. But she couldn't imagine him driving an SUV no matter how state of the art. Maybe it was Tim Douglas waiting to drive Matthew home. Oh, Lord, maybe it was Kevin O'Connel come to make good on his promise to come after her.

''Josie?''

Hannah was sitting up in her bed, the sheet falling away as she reached for the light.

''Don't.'' Josie held out a hand to stop her.

''What's wrong?''

''Nothing. I just thought I saw something across the street.''

Josie looked out the window again. The car was still there but the man was gone. She had imagined his interest, yet the unsettling sense of the perceived surveillance lingered. Josie closed the windows and locked them.

''Josie, I'll die in here if you don't leave the window opened,'' Hannah complained.

''I'll leave the air-conditioning on all night. I'll feel better when the trees grow up and give us a little privacy from the street.'' Josie held the sheet high and Hannah lay down once more. Before she left, Josie put a hand on the girl's head. ''Congratulations, Rembrandt.''

''Thanks.'' Hannah turned on her side and Josie could hear contentment in her voice.

Josie was smiling as she went to her own room. There she turned on the news, put away her clothes, waited for Hannah to check to make sure Josie was still in the house and all was well. She only poked her head in three times. They were doing okay.

Hannah was growing out of her obsessions and compulsions and Josie growing more comfortable with her new role. When she was sure Hannah was down for the night, Josie took her father's gun out of the drawer in the bedside table. For a long while she sat and looked out onto her patio, waiting to be sure that the world around them slept. As the night wore on, the gun in her lap grew as heavy as the feeling in her heart that something bad was coming down the road.

Matthew McCreary sat in the front seat of his car. The key was in the ignition but hadn't been turned. The radio was silent. The windows were up but he ignored the suffocating heat. He had been too busy making calls in the last few minutes to worry about it. Tim Douglas was working on a press release. Helen Crane had spoken to the District Attorney of Los Angeles, a dear old friend who would, she hoped, touch base with the D.A. in Long Beach. They could only wait and see if any of this would help Grace. Finally, Matthew McCreary turned the key and the big engine came to life.

Looking over his shoulder to check for traffic he found himself unable to turn the wheel, unable to drive as he caught by the sight of Josie's place. It fit the kind of woman she was now. Just big enough, just cool enough, just rich enough. He threw the car into park . He should go back, tell her what she needed to know about Grace. A second later he changed his mind. What Josie didn't know couldn't hurt her so Matthew McCreary turned out of the parking space and went on to the next item on his agenda.

''Jesus, this place if fuckin' incredible.'' The big man who slid into the back booth at Sangria's had no neck. His head was square, his hair shaved and his chin sported a goatee. He looked as out of place as Kevin O'Connel who was well into his fourth beer before his buddy made it through the door. ''Check it out, man, there must be fifty televisions in here. And all this fuckin' neon blue sparkle plastic. I had a chevy once looked just like this.''

Lovingly, the man ran his hand over the sparkly, sky blue bench upholstery. His head rotated on his nonexistent neck and made him look like a bobble-head doll. He gave Kevin a nudge in the ribs and yelled in his ear to be heard over the music.

''You see all these chicks? They are hot, man. So hot.'' He flicked his hand like he'd just been burned then grinned as if he honestly thought he had a chance with one of them.

''Shut up. Shut up,'' Kevin muttered into his beer. He took a long pull and shoved aside the empty glass. He raised his voice. ''Was it her?''

''Yeah.'' The big man ran the back of his hand over his nose, sniffed a time or two like he was important. ''It was her. Man she's tall. She runs fast. I followed her all the way past the pier. She walked back again otherwise I woulda lost her. I'd like a piece of that though. Never had a really tall woman before.''

''I'd like a piece of her, too, shitty little bitch.'' Kevin put the bottle to his lips and poured it down his throat. ''So now we know where she lives.''

''There was a guy there. A suit.''

''She's married?''

''Naw, man, I don't think so,'' the man said. ''I don't think he lives there. He took off and she like stood in the doorway and watched for a minute but that was it.''

''Anything else?''

The guy beside Kevin raised his hand and caught the eye of the waitress, held up two fingers of one hand and Kevin's empty mug with the other. She gave him a head's up. He was satisfied she got it and checked out her rear end a second longer before he got back to Kevin.

''There's a girl in the house, too. Heinz 57. Know what I mean?''

''Well, how about that,'' Kevin laughed and crossed his arms on the table. ''She's got a kid and she's not particular who she sleeps with. Well, well.''

His head hung low. He swung it one way then the other looking at every woman, then every part of every woman. The only thing that seemed to ward off the scrutiny was the look of a man who took exception to Kevin leering at his woman. When he was challenged that way, It just pissed Kevin O'Connel off royally but he turned his eyes away.

''Yeah,'' Kevin's friend muttered, ''A kid. Teenager. A babe, considering.''

''Nobody else?''

''Not that I could see.'' The waitress put two beers in front of them. The man with the square head grinned at her. She skedaddled with six bucks. ''Anyway, I don't think Susan's there. I didn't see no one else.''

''Okay, but the lawyer knows where she is.''

''Like she's going to tell you?'' Square Head laughed.

''She'll tell me,'' Kevin assured him.

''Yeah. Right. What are you going to do? Beat it out of her?''

Square Head chuckled and snorted into his beer, drank deep then fell silent when he saw the way Kevin O'Connel was looking at him.

CHAPTER 14

''I don't want to do this. I don't think I can do this.''

Susan O'Connel paced the floor. Even to Josie, the studio apartment felt like a cage. Nondescript, furnished by a landlord who probably hadn't been inside of the place since he bought the building, the closets and cabinets held only the bare necessities: a few donated, mismatched dishes, clothes from the shelter. Six months ago when Susan O'Connel left the safe house and ventured out on her own there was only the promise of a settlement against her husband. The promise had been fulfilled and now Susan had cold feet.