Reluctant Witness (24 page)

I sat for a good long time in that chair. I
liked it here, tucked away from the hustle and bustle of the busy
world.

On an antique washstand
next to me, there was a copy of
Halting
Heroin in Rural America: Disrupting Organized Crime
by Nikolas Skerba, a former DEA agent. Colorful
Post-It flags spilled out from the first half of the book. This
appeared to be research material for another one of Jeff’s
thrillers. I could picture him here, feet up on the ottoman,
picking up the spiral notebook every now and again to write down
his thoughts. It was easy to understand why he chose this spot.
This was a good place to sort out one’s thoughts.

A thick dictionary, so big it would take two
hands to lift it up, was placed on the lower shelf of the
washstand. Its frayed cover had been repeatedly patched with cloth
tape. For a man like Jeff, who could easily afford the newest and
best of everything, keeping such a well-worn book seemed to
demonstrate an unexpected sentimentality. I was beginning to
understand the man who lived here. Despite the popular reputation
he had for being a sought-after bachelor who loved the ladies,
Jefferson Cornwall was a man without many pretentions behind closed
doors. I found that quite comforting.

Chapter Twenty
Two

The guest room, when I finally found it, was
another charming surprise. The first thing I noticed was the
beautiful ruby red Oriental rug, decorated by geometric blossoms in
shades of blue and navy. Bedside chests, topped by elegant cut
crystal table lamps, sat on either side of a mahogany sleigh bed. A
darker blue tone-on-tone damask chair with a matching ottoman was
positioned beside a round pedestal table and a brass candlestick
lamp, making it an inviting spot to sit and read. The walls were a
soft robin’s egg blue, interrupted only by blue-and-ivory toile
drapes that framed yet another set of sliding glass doors. Peeking
out, I saw the terrace shared with Jeff’s bedroom. Something told
me this room had been furnished to please a woman’s sensibilities.
Who was she? Had she helped him pick out the furnishings or had he
decorated it to please her when she visited him?

I hadn’t really seen any other indications
that Jeff had many female visitors here. There were no frilly
drapes or toss pillows. This, like his master bedroom, offered a
serenity that I enjoyed. I felt at home here instantly. Could the
woman have been Lisbeth Causley, his mother?

Looking around, I saw no dresser for my
clothes, but I did see a door across the room. It opened up to a
large walk-in closet that was very functional, with both shelves
and hanging rods for clothes storage.

I also discovered, much to my delight, a
large tiled bathroom with a jetted tub and a glass-enclosed walk-in
shower. The walls were painted the color of warm sand. A stack of
blue Egyptian cotton towels sat on the sink counter.

“This is more like it,” I declared, pleased
by what I found. There was a single mirror installed above the
sink. I took a moment to check my reflection. It was a relief to
see only one of me.

Kary was curled up in the blue chair when I
emerged from the bathroom. He glanced up briefly before closing his
eyes once more. I could understand his desire to slumber. It had
been a long day for the tiny dog.

But I was not done exploring yet. Curious
about where the rest of the unfamiliar hallway led, I left my
bedroom quietly, so as to not disturb the dog. Following it around
the corner, I found a long, narrow galley kitchen, functional if a
little plain. The limed oak cabinets were well-made, the counters
tiled in white. The appliances were a few years old, but certainly
in decent working order.

The kitchen opened up to an intimate sitting
room with a sofa, a small dining table with seating for four, and a
wall-mounted flat screen TV. Here again was access to an outside
terrace. As best I could tell, it connected to Jeff’s bedroom and
the guest room.

A door beside the wrap-around kitchen counter
attracted my attention. I assumed it was a pantry, but when I
turned the knob, I found a slight resistance. With a gentle push
from my shoulder, it yielded, and I half-stumbled into a large,
empty, but very formal, library with a wall of display shelves, and
beyond it, the very grand living room I had seen earlier. I had
come full circle on my house tour. Jeff must have been telling the
truth about wanting the grand condo for entertaining guests. Did
that mean he planned to keep the second condo as a separate
sanctuary? He might have made a fortune from all those thrillers,
but he was still down to earth when it came to the home he chose
for himself. That just made him even more intriguing to me.

On a whim, I crossed the grand living room,
determined to see what lay on the opposite side. Another room,
almost a mirror image of the library, but without the bookshelves,
sat empty. It was probably a dining room. Doubling back to the
center of the grand living room, I encountered a large windowless
alcove, framed by more columns, and defined by more of the same
wainscoting. Was it a second sitting area, or maybe a media
room?

Beyond this, surprisingly, was a large,
updated kitchen with built-in Sub-Zero refrigeration, a Wolf
commercial six-burner range, and hand-rubbed custom cabinets. The
granite counters were definitely more impressive than the tile
counters of the other kitchen. Standing there, I could imagine a
catering staff at work, producing an amazing meal for invited
guests.

I heard a sound behind me. Little Kary
trotted into the kitchen from the opposite end of the room, through
the door from the foyer.

“
You must be thirsty,” I
told him. “Would you like some water? I know I could use a cup of
tea. Let’s see what Jeff has to offer.”

Peeking in a cabinet, I searched for tea
bags, but came up empty. I checked the refrigerator. The only
things it contained were several bottles of water, soda, and beer.
No food, no condiments, not even a piece of rotten fruit or moldy
cheese.

“Maybe there’s something in the other
kitchen,” I remarked. We retraced our steps, slipping through the
secret passage in the library.

Once back in the galley kitchen, I poked
through cabinets. “Now, where would he keep the tea, if he had
any?”

In the first cabinet, I found dishes and
cups; in the next, cereal, canned soup, and even a box of Twinings
orange pekoe bags. The refrigerator was filled with staples. I even
found a pint of light cream.

I pulled down a Roaring Kill Productions mug,
filled it with water, and tossed in a tea bag. While it was
heating, I made my way to the main foyer, to retrieve my suitcase
and briefcase. These I deposited in my bedroom, taking out the bag
of dog kibble and dishes. Jojo had also packed a small bag of
doggie treats. I slipped one to the delighted pup as we made our
way back to the kitchen.

“Would you like some water?” I filled the
water dish and placed it on the floor, out of the way. Kary
immediately lapped up the liquid, obviously thirsty “No doubt
you’re hungry too. Hang in there, boy. Dinner’s on its way.”

He showed his consternation by stepping on my
feet as I stood at the counter, cutting open the bag of dog food.
Putting a quarter cup of kibble into his food dish, I stood back.
Not surprisingly, the food was quickly vacuumed up by the hungry
pup.

“
We’ll save the rest for
dinner time.”

“I see you’re making yourself at home,” said
Jeff, coming through the secret passage from the library.

“I am,” I agreed, popping open the microwave
door. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. That’s what I want you to do,
Marigold. Listen, I just came in to tell you that we’re still in
the meeting. It might be a while. Think you can continue to amuse
yourself?”

“Mmm,” I smiled. “Jojo gave
me one of your mother’s books to read:
The
Secret of White Jasmine
. It looks
promising.”

Jeff smile, cocking his
head. “Oh, that one’s pretty good, but my personal favorite
is
Vanilla Orchid Magic
. Of course, that might have something to do with the fact
that I helped with the research.”

“Did you?”

“I did. My father was in the middle of
mid-terms and couldn’t go, so I spent a month and a half in
paradise, helping my mother. How could I refuse? Guadeloupe is an
amazing island. But it’s the story that really appeals to me. Of
all the books my mother wrote, this one had the greatest effect on
me as an author. I have a copy, if you’d like to read it.”

“I think I would,” I replied, tipping my cup
of tea in his direction. “I’m just about done with the first
book.”

“Good. Be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”
Jeff turned and hobbled down the hall, no doubt on his way back to
the den, to retrieve it from his bookshelves. Watching him leave, I
was struck by how debilitating his injury really must be. Without
the smiling face and charm to distract me, I could see his gait was
profoundly affected. It must be frustrating for a man in his prime
to be so hampered by a body that didn’t work as it once did, to
work as it should. And yet, Jeff clearly didn’t want pity.

“Found it!” he called to me a moment later,
coming down the hall. He held it above his head, waving it in the
air. “Here you go.”

“Great.” I took it from him, our hands
briefly touching. As if struck by lightning, my eyes were drawn to
his. I gazed into those brown eyes and I imagined his fingers on my
skin. Some forgotten hunger, buried deep inside me, seemed to
awaken in that moment of unexpected clarity, making me all too
aware of my instinctive need for sustenance.

“We should finish up in thirty to forty
minutes, Marigold. How about we call out for some chow after
that?”

“That sounds good.” I managed to reply, still
feeling that electrifying charge that had passed between us.

“You’ll find some menus in the drawer by the
refrigerator. Take a look through and pick out a restaurant;
whatever appeals to you. I’m up for anything.”

He was already out of the kitchen before I
had time to react. I sighed. Was it just me who felt it? I put my
cup down on the counter and got out the folder marked “menus”. Jeff
had collected fliers from a dozen or so restaurants, everything
ranging from barbecue to Italian. I flipped through the myriad of
choices and settled on Bistro Niko, swayed by the description of
the unusual French dishes. With my decision made, I put the rest of
the pile back into the drawer.

“That’s done. It’s time for some reading.
Care to join me, little guy?” With my mug in one hand and the new
paperback in the other, I headed back to the guest room to curl up
in the blue damask chair.

Kary bounded ahead of me, his toenails
tapping on the hardwood floor. The moment we entered the room, he
trotted across the floor and leapt up into the chair with admirable
agility. The little dog circled the empty chair twice and proceeded
to sit on his haunches, waiting expectantly. Once I had removed my
police-issued sneakers, I joined him, scooting him over a bit so I
wouldn’t sit on him. Once I was comfortable, he got comfortable
too, hunkering down at my side, his head on my thigh.

I was about to lay
Vanilla Orchid Magic
on
the table when curiosity got the better of me. Why was this Jeff’s
favorite novel?

The purple cover showed a
frightened woman clinging to a man in moonlight. They seemed to be
hiding from someone or something. Flipping open the first page
after the title, I read the dedication. Serena Duvall thanked her
son for his hard work in researching the history of coffee
production, organic farming, and drug trafficking in the
Caribbean.
You are my hero, J. C., for
persevering in the face of limitation.
Was
it written at a time when he was still in a wheelchair? Perhaps the
opportunity to help his mother with her research was his salvation
after his tragic accident, allowing him to rediscover himself as a
young man with a future -- even if that future involved more
surgery and a permanent disability. Unexpectedly, I found myself
intrigued by my host’s past. Had it led to his burgeoning career as
a best-selling author and successful television producer? Maybe
that’s why he had a copy of
Halting Heroin
in Rural America
on the table in the other
room.

“Four more chapters
of
The Secret of White Jasmine
and I will be ready for this,” I informed my
canine companion. Kary looked up at me with his big, brown winsome
eyes and decided he belonged on my lap, rather than at my side.
Once resettled, he gave a content little sigh as his head went down
and he quickly fell asleep.

“Poor dog. It’s been a rather challenging day
for you, hasn’t it? You go right ahead and snooze.”

Just after six, I turned the last page and
closed the paperback. I was satisfied that creep, Alex de Becque,
would no longer harm another woman. Lisbeth Causley had a knack for
creating heroines with heart, and Belinda Darnell was a likable
one. I wondered if I would ever have the guts to take on a villain
like de Becque.

“I wonder if they’re done
yet.” I said aloud. Listening intently, I heard only silence and
the occasional chirp of a bird outside. Gently scooping up the
sleepy dog in my arms, I rose and carefully resettled him on the
seat cushion. Padding down the hall to the main foyer in my
stocking feet, I peeked around the corner. The door to the den was
still closed. There were muffled voices on the other side of it,
but I couldn’t make out the conversation. I went back to my bedroom
and decided to start on
Vanilla Orchid
Magic
. Kary, back on my lap, contentedly
dozed off again.