Sawyer, Meryl (42 page)

Had their friendship merely been an illusion? Did one of them
really hate her enough to ruin her life?

When it came right down to it, she trusted Mitch more than anyone
else, but occasionally she even had suspicions about him. Was there something
in his mysterious past that affected her? With the trial coming closer each day
a rising sensation of panic engulfed her like a swimmer who sees the shore but
knows he's going to drown before reaching it.

"Royce." Talia raced up and gave Royce a bear hug.

Several heads turned and Royce realized she'd been recognized. It
didn't matter, she reminded herself. Mitch had allowed her to join her friends
for lunch before going to his office for an afternoon session of trial
preparations.

She was dressed in a beige suit and black silk blouse— very
sedate, slimming, professional. If Ingeblatt spotted her, he could hardly tack
a sexy label on this image.

"Talia," Royce said, shocked by the tears limning her
friend's eyes. "It's great to see you."

She'd genuinely missed Talia. They'd been friends who

 competed for the same boy, but they'd shared so much over
the years—the good times and the bad—that it was hard for Royce to imagine
Talia doing anything to hurt her. Inwardly, Royce sighed, profoundly depressed.
Did she want to live in a world where you couldn't trust your family or
friends?

Talia hooked one long strand of hair behind her ear in her
so-familiar gesture of self-consciousness. "I've missed you."

The emotion in Talia's voice brought a hot sting of tears behind
Royce's eyes. In spite of her suspicions she was truly glad to see Talia.
"I missed you too." Arm in arm they walked to the table where Val
waited.

Val looked tired, Royce decided, but somehow she appeared happier,
more at peace, than ever before. Val rose and embraced Royce in her usual
restrained way, not quite the full-fledged hug that Talia had given her.

Once Royce would have attributed Val's reserve to her relationship
with her parents, who never showed their emotions, but now she wondered. Was
Wally right? Did Val secretly hate her?

"You look terrific," Val said as they sat down.
"You've lost a lot of weight."

"Close to twenty pounds," Royce answered. She'd stopped
dieting weeks ago, but she continued to lose weight despite eating the Oreo
cookies that Mitch never failed to tease her about.

"Not another pound," Val cautioned. "You're far too
thin."

A silence followed that none of them seemed to know how to fill.
Mercifully the waiter, who introduced himself as Toby and acted as if he were
going to become their best friend, gave them menus and explained in
excruciating detail how the specials of the day were prepared.

"How's it going?" Val asked, her amber hair gleaming in
the summer sunshine filtering through the leafy ivy covering the lattice roof.

Royce shrugged; Mitch had allowed her to come today, but he'd
emphasized the importance of not talking about the trial. No one knew about the
informant having Royce's key or the Italian count's true identity. Nor did they
know Mitch was counting on finding Ward's mistress.

"I spent yesterday packing so I can sell the house,"
Royce said, thankful she'd found a subject she was free to discuss.

It had been a long, lonely Sunday. Mitch had taken Jason home at
dawn, then caught a flight to Chicago. With Jenny still recuperating at the
vet's, Royce had slipped into her house unnoticed and continued the packing
she'd begun earlier. After spending the day alone it had been almost midnight
when she'd returned to Mitch's.

"It's terrible that you have to sell," Talia
sympathized.

"Do you think you'll get much for it?" Val asked, always
more practical than Talia. "The market's so depressed right now."

"I don't have a choice." She was even selling what
little jewelry she had. Her thorough search of the house hadn't uncovered her
mother's missing charm bracelet. Luckily, Mitch had filed an insurance claim.
She should receive the money soon.

The settlement wasn't much but she needed every cent. Mitch and
Paul weren't charging her, but outside expenses were mounting at an alarming
rate.

"I see your front door is still boarded up," Val said.

"I'm going to order a new one. I've put if off because Papa's
stained glass panel is in the old one. It wasn't a work of art, but we'd made
it together. Another door won't be the same, but the panel can't be
repaired."

Royce's despondency must have shown in her voice; another
uncomfortable silence followed. Royce steered the subject away from herself to
a topic no more upbeat. "How's your brother?"

"David doesn't have long to live now," Val said.
"I'm taking a leave from work to be with him until the end."

Talia unlooped the strand of hair from behind her ear, then looped
it back over her ear again, a sure sign she was terribly nervous. Why? Royce
wondered. Was it because she'd been the one to tell Royce about Val's
reconciliation with her brother?

Once Val would have told Royce herself. Royce had been a little
hurt, but decided Val was closer to her mysterious new boyfriend than she was
to Royce. Another casualty of her situation, Royce thought with a renewed sense
that her life—even if she were acquitted—would never be the same.

"This must be very difficult for you," Royce said to
Val, ignoring the warning look from Talia, who was far too nervous to ask Val
about Trevor and David, "—after all that's happened."

"You mean facing everyone again?" Val asked, the picture
of composure.

Royce realized Val had changed. The emotional tide pool of anger
had vanished, replaced by an inner strength Royce envied. In many ways Val was
facing a situation as devastating as her own. And handling it much better.

Royce opted for a more direct approach. "Is seeing your
ex-husband difficult?"

"At first seeing Trevor was painful, but seeing my brother
was even worse. I had to let go of my negative feelings. I came to realize that
everyone makes mistakes. Everyone."

For some reason Val glanced at Talia, but Talia quickly looked
away. "David loves me. He never did it to deliberately hurt me. In fact,
wanting to spare me pain only made things worse."

Royce thought about Mitch. Little by little she'd let go of her
negative feelings about him like grains of sand slipping through her fingers.
But in her tightly clutched palm she still held a few remaining granules of
bitterness.

Buoyed by guilt, that bitterness was hard to dismiss. David had
deceived his sister out of love. What Mitch had done to her father had been
spawned by pure ambition.

Still, she realized she should forgive him. Who knew how terrible
his past was? It had molded him into an iron-willed individual who didn't live
by the rules. He made his own rules.

At her father's funeral Mitch had apologized for what he'd done.
Why couldn't she accept his apology?

"Well"—Talia paused to clear her throat—"guess
what?" She didn't wait for them to attempt a response. She tossed her hair
over her shoulder with one hand and toyed with her spoon with the other.
"Caroline Rambeau dumped the count."

"Really?" Royce wondered if Caroline had discovered his
claim to royalty was more bogus than Anastasia's had been.

"Caroline and Brent are an item again," Talia informed
them.

"Are you surprised?"

Royce waited for Talia's answer to Val's incisive question. A
large part of Royce's suspicions about Talia centered on how her friend really
felt about Brent. When Brent had asked Royce out, Talia had encouraged her to
go, but since she'd been arrested Talia had spent a lot of time with Brent. Was
she really trying to help Royce as Talia claimed, or did she have another
motive entirely?

"No," Talia said emphatically. "I wasn't surprised
that Brent is seeing Caroline. The Farenholts have always wanted Brent to marry
her."

Royce listened to detect a note of jealousy in Talia's voice, but
heard nothing but a factual statement without any emotional overtones. She
turned her thoughts to Brent. He hadn't called last night, but he had called
the previous night, Saturday, from his parents' home.

Obviously, Caroline had been there. Had that been the night they'd
resumed their relationship? Was that why he hadn't called Sunday evening as
he'd promised?

Not that she gave a damn about Brent getting back together with
Caroline, but she didn't want him to testify. And while he was still calling
her, insisting he cared about her, she could influence him not to take the
stand. But now, who knew what would happen?

"Does that mean they're engaged?" Val inquired.

"No," Talia replied as Royce noticed a flash of blue at
the door of the restaurant. The police. A ripple of fear shimmied up her spine.

"Caroline is upset about breaking up with the count. Brent's
helping her get through this crisis."

"Some crisis," Royce said, her eye on the cops who were
speaking with the maître d'. The jolt of panic escalated; she struggled to
remain calm, rational.

Had her experience left her permanently damaged? Why was she
afraid? She hadn't done anything to worry about. There could be a thousand reasons
why the police were here.

"Of course, Brent's just being kind to Caroline," Talia
replied, raking her fingers through her hair. "You know how compassionate
he is."

"Where was he when Royce needed him?" snapped Val.

For once Talia didn't hedge. "It surprised him. He was
embarrassed. When he realized—"

"It took him long enough," Val cut in. "We had to
hire an attorney, remember?"

"Brent didn't mean—"

Royce refused to let a jerk like Brent cause an argument and spoil
her first outing in weeks. "It doesn't matter. I don't care about Brent. I
don't think I ever really did. I wanted a home, my own family."

Talia quickly agreed. "He's not your type. Not at all."

Royce's eyes were still on the policemen. Now they were angling
their way through the tables. She looked directly into Talia's deep brown eyes,
striving to concentrate on their conversation and ignore the police.

"But I have to admit Brent was wonderful when Tobias
Ingeblatt published that photo of us. He took the blame for arranging our
meeting. He could have dodged the press and let them call me a femme fatale,
but he didn't. I'm sure his parents weren't thrilled about it either."

Royce looked up and saw the policemen were coming closer to their
table. Fear, raw and primitive, overwhelmed her. Why were they here?

Talia smiled, her expression affectionate. "Brent's always so
supportive. That's why I—"

The policemen stopped beside their table. There as an unnatural
silence in the café, like the eerie stillness between a jagged bolt of
lightning and the inevitable crash of thunder. Every eye in the café was on
them.

The taller policeman spoke first. "Royce Anne Winston?"

No one at the table answered. The silence echoed throughout the
restaurant. Not even a tinkle of an ice cube could be heard. Finally Royce
raised her head and faced the officers with a bravado she certainly didn't
feel.

"I'm Royce Anne Winston."

Royce stretched out on the cot and stared at the cockroach creeping
across the ceiling above her prison bunk. An overwhelming sense of hopelessness
engulfed her. Why me? Who would want to do this to me? As usual there wasn't
any answer.

What evidence could they possibly have? She'd never been to
Caroline's home. She'd barely known the woman. Still, they wouldn't have
arrested her for murder without some damning evidence.

Why hadn't she heard from Mitch? Royce wondered. It had been
almost twelve hours since her arrest. So far only an associate from Mitch's
office had come by, and he'd been confused, uncertain what they were going to
do.

With Mitch in Chicago the defense team didn't seem to know how to
handle the situation. Or maybe they didn't care, she thought. They knew a lost
cause when they saw one.

And she was a lost cause. How could she beat a murder charge when
she didn't have an alibi for the last thirty-two hours?

Since Mitch and Jason had left the house Sunday morning, Royce had
been alone. Not even Jenny had been with her as she'd packed up the contents of
her parents' home. She'd been so careful—coming and going—no one had seen her.

Buck up, Royce. Remember, you'll never walk alone. But now her
father's comforting words did little to console her. Anger welled up inside
her, intensifying with each thought. If only she understood why she'd been
targeted.

And why Caroline Rambeau had been murdered.

Her money, she reasoned. Caroline was just a few months from
inheriting a trust that would make her one of the richest women in the country.
Ward Farenholt had been executor of that trust for years.