Set Up (34 page)

“You know Matt couldn't have married me.” Claire's smile remained. “He could never have abandoned poor Ellen. I would never have let him. It was never his fault.”

“Hah. He had a choice. He didn't have to take advantage of you. You were too young to know what you were doing.”

“Why, Cal, is that a puritanical streak in you?” She laughed, a low laugh rich in some instinctive gender knowledge that he would never possess. “It's nearly always a woman's choice. Don't you know that by now? Matt thought he was to blame, too, but I wanted it. I just didn't plan to get pregnant.”

A woman's choice. He thought of Amanda, how he'd found her waiting—had it really happened just the past night or had it been a dream?—how she'd swept away his defenses. Something deep inside him stirred when he thought of Amanda deliberately choosing him. “If Mother and Tip hadn't married and wangled Johanna's birth certificate, what would you have done?”

“Something. Anything. I wouldn't have given her up.”

“What are you going to do about Robert?”

Some of her serenity went away. “I don't know. I loved him once. I'd never have married him if I didn't.”

“You don't anymore?”

A long sigh shuddered in the firelight. Her, “I don't know that either,” when it came was almost inaudible.

* * * *

Miles de Graffen was tied up until Sunday afternoon. His daughter, Lynette, her shy prettiness faded and the creamy skin blotchy, opened the door of their North Atlanta home to Cal. “Dad'll be right down.”

He noted the puffy eyes. “Have you been sick?”

“A little. Sonny and I... His death hit me hard.” Tears welled, were hastily swiped. “It was all so shocking. He and I were planning a trip together, and then...” She looked away and waved a hand for him to go into the library. “Dad'll be right down,” she repeated. “It's good to see you, Cal.” Before her sobs became audible, she retreated.

Lynette and Sonny.

He had suspected Sonny was flirting with Miles’s daughter, but he hadn’t realized the affair had gone so far.

Was Noelle aware that her lover had been involved with another woman, and one with money? Lynette had inherited a fortune from her mother. Since she was de Graffen's only child, he would one day leave her more. A lot more.

Cal didn’t feel sorry for Noelle, but he wouldn't be the one to tell her about Lynette if she didn’t know.

The following interview among the smells and surroundings of books and leather chairs proved to be as unpleasant as he’d imagined.

Miles, tall and tan in casual slacks and golf shirt, strode in smiling and holding out his hand. “Cal. How are you?”

Cal hadn't bothered to sit down. He ignored the greeting and snubbed the outstretched hand. “Miles, my studs were stolen at the opening in Houston.”

A telltale second elapsed. “My God, you don't mean it. Was it the redhead? Patrice tried to warn you.” Miles gave a nervous laugh.

“If you mean to continue on your current path, you need to take acting lessons.”

“What?”

“The redhead was meant to be blamed, but Sonny was the thief. As you know.”

He didn't miss the sudden tremor, the paling under the tan. “Thought you were safe, didn't you? Sonny planned the entire thing. His girlfriend helped, but she spilled everything to keep from going to jail.”

“I…” Miles coughed. “I hardly know what to say.”

“I don't want to spar with you. I know you paid Sonny to steal the studs.”

Miles tried to bluster.

“I don't know if you approached Sonny or if he approached you. It doesn't matter. What does matter is that I have the bearer bonds you gave him, and I want my studs back. And anything else he gave you.” Cal kept his voice flat.

Miles avoided his eyes. “If this is a joke, it isn't very funny.”

“The police haven't been brought in yet, but I can't keep them in the dark much longer. Sonny's death may be connected. Unless I get the studs back, I'll have to tell them.”

“Sonny's death connected to your studs?” Miles turned pasty. “That's nonsense.”

“If not connected to the studs, then to the book he stole along with them. I'm prepared to return your bonds for my studs. Otherwise,” Cal ended in the same flat tone, “I have no option but to take my informant to the police and make a clean breast of the whole thing.”

“You should have gone to the police in the beginning. I can't help you. I don't know why you think I can.” The frozen lines of Miles's face confirmed his guilt.

The man had been like a father to him. If Miles of all people could do this, how could he trust anyone? Could it be worse? Could Miles be a murderer?

Maybe he should throw up his hands and go on to the police.

“I can't help you,” Miles repeated woodenly.

No. There was Claire and Johanna to consider, as well as Tip.

And Amanda. Amanda who he wanted to love.

Taking a deep breath, he said, “Yes, you can, Miles, but we'll skip that for a moment. The reason I didn't report the theft is because the book that was stolen is one I need back without publicity.” He was careful in choosing his words. “I've had no luck tracing it.”

A blank look said that the journal meant nothing to Miles. His shrug concurred. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

Hope, faint as it was, withered. “Since that's the case, I have no reason for not going to the police. My witness is willing to testify as to your involvement with her and Sonny.”

“Balls!” Miles bluffed. “The word of some two-bit whore won't mean a thing to the police.”

“Don't put it to the test. I’m tired. I really don't want to have to prosecute you. God, you've been a friend of the family since before I was born. You've been my mentor, almost another father. I learned about antique jewelry from you. You taught me poker, golf, how to shoot...” He couldn't go on.

Miles held up one hand to examine a two hundred-year-old sapphire ring his middle finger sported, but his eyes didn't focus on the stone.

“Miles.” One last appeal. “Don't make me go to the police. Don't make me have to bring all our dirty linen out in public.”

Miles twisted the ring. After a long while he gave a little shrug of resignation. “All right. Suppose what you say is true? What do you want from me?”

“Give me my Antoinette diamonds and I'll return the bonds. There’ll be no police, no ugly questions, and no nasty publicity. Not even any retribution such as a flat exclusion of McIntyre's business.” Cal managed a smile. “Give me whatever Sonny gave you and all will be forgiven.”

The fist with the sapphire went to Miles's forehead. His eyes closed. He took a deep breath. “When?”

“Now.”

Miles's eyes opened. “You have the bonds with you?”

“There was no reason not to bring them. I've made copies and my witness can testify about your involvement.”

Defeated, Miles dragged himself out of his chair and went upstairs. He returned within minutes holding a flat case. “Here.”

“But no book.”

“What kind of book? And what would I want with a book?” Miles asked, annoyed. “This is what I bought.” He handed Cal the case. “All that I bought.”

When Cal opened the case, his six diamonds winked out at him and behind the preserving glass in the lid lay the ancient bill of sale. “Thank you,” he murmured, the politeness ground into him kicking in. “They're really unlucky for everyone except me, it seems. Guess my luck is so bad, they can't make it any worse.”

Miles didn't smile. “Where are my bonds?”

Cal reached into his pocket, brought out an envelope and gave it to his one-time friend.

Color returned to Miles's face, along with some of the old arrogance. “Can't blame a man for trying.”

Cal smiled.
Oh, yes, I can.
In his life he'd done a lot of things he regretted, but he'd never betrayed a friend.

Miles seemed to feel their relationship could be patched, that this was another sporting match between them. “I thought when Sonny died, I was safe.”

Cal would never forgive him. Never. “Did you kill Sonny?”

“Me?” Miles's mouth dropped open. “Certainly not. How could you suggest such a thing? Why would I?”

“So he couldn't tell who he'd sold the studs to. Where were you last Monday about noon?”

“Last Monday?” Agitated, Miles drew back. “You're serious. You think I killed him.”

“Do you have an alibi?”

“Monday.” Sweat popped up on Miles's forehead. “I was in the office as I always am during the week.” His shoulders relaxed. “And ten or twenty people saw me there.”

“It never hurts to ask.” He would have Miles's alibi checked, all right. “So Sonny never offered you a journal or anything else when he gave you the diamonds?”

“All I wanted was your studs. That was the deal and that's what I got.” Miles opened the envelope and riffled the bonds, then counted them carefully. “Five hundred thousand dollars?” He blanched. “Five hundred thousand? Where are the rest of the bonds?”

“Were there more?” Noelle hadn’t known the amount. “These were all we found.”

Miles sank into a nearby chair. “Out of five million dollars, this is what you bring me back?”

“Five…” Cal's mind stopped working. “You gave Sonny five million dollars in bearer bonds?”

“Yes, damn it! Where are the rest of my sodding bonds?”

Cal breathed again, his mind worked again.

Four and a half million dollars in bonds were missing, along with the two hundred thousand in cash Matthew had supposedly given Sonny.

Noelle had either lied or really hadn’t known the amount of money involved. But then Sonny would have told her as little as possible.

Now Miles was left with a fraction of his payment.

What a lovely comeuppance. “I'll do what I can to get the rest of your money back, but I don't promise anything, Miles. Consider it a lesson in morality.”

As Cal drove away, it occurred to him that he wasn't that far from Lenox Square and Amanda's shop.

It would be rude to be so close and not go by to see her, find out how she was feeling after her trials of the past week. He could talk to Noelle, too, see if he could dig anything out of her about the big discrepancy in Miles's bonds.

And something else bothered him. Lynette and Sonny.

Had Noelle known about Lynette? Would she get mad enough to kill Sonny if she found out he was seeing another woman?

Or wait...

Admittedly reaching here but... What if Lynette found out about Noelle? Would Lynette kill Sonny?

No. Not Lynette. Maybe Noelle though.

His car turned of its own accord.

He got to Amanda’s shop about four. Since it was Sunday and the shop was closed, he went directly to her basement apartment. The boarded up sidelight at her door greeted him.

She should have had it repaired by now. He'd get it done. Tomorrow, he promised himself. First thing, he'd call someone.

Amanda herself came to the door in sweats. Her hair was pulled straight up and tied in a ponytail at the crown of her head like a teenager instead of the ravishing woman she was.

He liked the way her mouth parted with delight when she saw him standing at her door, liked it as much as he liked her in the grubby outfit, as much as the glow that filled her gray eyes.

He knew he was a fool. Her sister was a liar, and Amanda might be as bad. He was crazy for trusting her, crazy for wanting her, but he couldn't help himself.

Matthew. That’s where he’d heard about not caring for the consequences. And as the other night, that rush of sudden understanding was as exhilarating as it was frightening.

I know what the consequences will be but I don't care. I'm set on the course and it's way too late.

“Did you find your book?” she asked.

His preoccupation faded. Caution prevailed. “No, but I found my diamonds. I want to talk to your sister again.”

“Noelle isn't here.” Perspiration lay in a faint sheen over her upper lip, drawing his attention to its enchanting “V” and reminding him of the first time he'd seen her, of the last time he'd been in bed with her. “She went to a movie.”

He ought not to want her so much this soon. He ought not to want her so much, period. “I found out something this past week.”

She motioned him to enter. “What?”

“I found out that brown hair grows on you. It's easy to get used to it.”

She laughed, looking up from under her lashes in the flirtatious slant that turned his insides to water. “I think Johanna was right. I think you like anything in panties.”

“Preferably without,” he replied, the teasing automatic.

She led him past a bad reproduction of Van Gogh's
Sunflowers
in the foyer and into the living room, white with glossy wood like her shop upstairs. A vacuum cleaner in the middle of the rug testified to interrupted cleaning. A dusting rag lay on a table.

He enjoyed following Amanda, watching the way the sweats clung to her hips as they moved back and forth. He wondered, as they sat down in a sedate side-by-side position on the sofa, how long Noelle would be gone.