Shattered Dreams (5 page)

“Come on. You’re in no condition to drive,” Jason murmured. He grabbed her arm and started in the opposite direction.

Warmth spread where his hand touched. She stiffened and would have jerked free, but he held her arm with a vice-like grip.

“Will you stop doing that?” she snapped. It felt as if he was taking over, crowding her.

He ignored her protests, not slowing until he stood beside a silver Mercedes. When he hit the keyless entry, the lights flashed. He opened the passenger door and guided her inside.

After a short drive, he pulled into the Monroe County Sheriff’s Office parking lot.

“You don’t take his disappearance seriously, do you?” Claire said once he turned off the engine.

He contemplated her question for a long moment before he sighed. “I’m on your side, Claire. I don’t know what happened to Carl, but you’re my client.”

“And what exactly does that mean?” She winced at the harsh sound of her voice, disliking rudeness. But she couldn’t help slapping a barrier between them.

“It means even if Carl’s out there, hurt or worse, I’m on your side.”

“But you don’t believe anything’s really happened to him, do you?”

“I already told you, I don’t know what to believe.”

“I still don’t get why. I haven’t paid you a dime.”

“Does it really matter?”

“Yes.” She gazed into eyes that gave her no clue as to what he was thinking, barely discernable behind the sunglasses he wore. Suddenly, it did matter.

“Your sister wanted me to help you, and I owe her.”

“Ah! Now I understand.” Crystal was good at making guys owe her.

“No, you don’t. Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

He shoved out of the car and came around to the passenger door to assist her before she had a chance to emerge on her own without his help. She had no choice but to walk into the building beside him.

Deputy Tom Snyder stood waiting at the door of a sparsely furnished room. The sign on the door read
INTERVIEW ROOM
, but it was a transparent euphemism. The room was clearly meant for intimidation and interrogation.

His gaze watched her like a mountain cat after its supper. Noticing the dull green color on the wall and the poor lighting in the windowless area, Claire prayed this wouldn’t take long. But more, she prayed she wouldn’t be arrested for a murder she couldn’t remember, or defend herself against.

“Mrs. Carter?”

Claire swallowed.

“Have a seat. I have some questions for you.”

Chapter 3

A few minutes before the alarm sounded, Claire turned it off and rolled over. She’d spent another sleepless night of lying in the dark with too many questions running through her head.

Existing on some kind of mental autopilot, Claire had somehow plowed through the last couple of days. She’d tried to immerse herself in the new catalog her company
would be mailing out in a week, but her concentration was shot. She couldn’t work, couldn’t eat, couldn’t stay focused on anything but Carl and his disappearance.

She’d called the sheriff’s office and Coast Guard so many times, she felt sure the operators recognized her voice. By her last call, when they’d informed her about an empty blood bag their dogs had discovered, compassion had replaced suspicion in their tone.

Everything was too quiet. The oppressive silence wouldn’t let her relax, and reminded her further that Carl was still missing. Now that her daze wore off, a dull pain filled her heart as clarity reigned. Her husband had disappeared by choice.

She threw the covers back and climbed out of bed. Mondays were always a zoo. She could obsess at work and stay busy at the same time.

The shower felt refreshing as she stepped under the warm spray. Closing her eyes, she lifted her face to it, wishing for a fresh start for her life, as well as her body.

What a fool she’d been to give him another chance to hurt her. Tears she’d held back through the weekend streaked down the sides of her face. Hot water washed them away as her hurt and embarrassment receded, and her resolve strengthened.

She was done with Carl Carter.

• • •

Within an hour, Claire charged off the elevator in the direction of her office and encountered Amy Denton’s sympathetic greeting along the way. Stiffening, she smiled and flashed her assistant a return hello.

“Hold my calls,” she said before escaping into her office and shutting the door. Pity was the last thing she wanted from anyone, especially Amy.

A knock sometime later interrupted her musings, and she looked up as Gwen poked her head in. Her best friend oversaw the creative department at Claire’s Collections and was in charge of putting together the fashion catalog, a prestigious line of women’s apparel and accessories. Her steadying presence had been a godsend these past few days.

“Amy’s on break, so I made myself at home and brought you coffee. You okay?” Thankfully concern, not pity, seeped out in the question. Gwen handed her a cup and perched in one of two upholstered chairs placed in front of the oversized oak desk. “Any news?”

Claire filled her in about the empty blood bag found in a cove a mile away. When done, she took a sip of coffee. The heat of the brew warmed her cold hands. As she swallowed, the hot liquid warmed her cold insides as well.

“I just wish that night wasn’t so foggy in my mind. God, Gwen. Why can’t I remember?”

“Quit worrying.” Gwen reached for her hand and squeezed. “They’ll find him.”

“You think so?” she asked as she sat back in her chair and caught Gwen’s gaze. “Then why haven’t they? Maybe I did kill him in a fit of rage, got rid of his body, and tossed out the blood bag as a diversion.”

“That’s not funny.”

The horror in Gwen’s voice had Claire’s lips turning up at the edges. “I wasn’t trying to be funny. It’s how I feel. Not remembering is horrible.”

“So stop believing the worst. You two have had your fights, but you’d never hurt a fly.”

“Jason Roberts
—
he’s the attorney Crystal sent
—
thinks Carl disappeared on purpose. The Coast Guard and the police stopped looking after finding the bag, so it appears he did.”

“Carl?” Gwen snorted and shook her head. “That would take too much effort on his part.”

Claire nodded and had to agree. Her husband was a tad lazy, she’d discovered much too late. They were full partners in the company due to his infusion of much-needed cash for expansion right before they married three years ago.

Little did she realize, the money was the last of a sizeable trust fund he’d drained. For his generosity, he’d expected a return on his investment to tide him over until he inherited his parents’ estate, another tidbit she’d discovered too late after marrying him.

Claire’s Collections was her success story. She, not Carl, had worked her butt off to grow the small mail-order company into a full-blown catalog business. Yet, he had no qualms reaping the financial rewards from her efforts. He was perfectly happy to let her run things with an iron fist as long as he continued reaping those rewards. Mommy and Daddy were healthy, and it appeared he wouldn’t inherit anything else for quite a long time.

During their whirlwind romance, he’d duped her into thinking he was husband material. In reality he was nothing but a pretty, cheating ornament. Only Gwen and Amy knew that his title, VP of Sales, was a sham.

Claire handled sales, not Carl. His presence was always erratic, and she was too embarrassed to enlighten anyone inside the company.

“You both decided to work on your marriage. Wasn’t it Carl’s idea to work on reforming?” Gwen asked, interrupting her thoughts. “If he wanted out, why not take you up on your generous offer to buy his share?”

Claire forced a smile and took another sip of coffee as images of their last horrible fight flashed in her mind. She should have stuck to her resolve and gone ahead with the divorce. Her biggest objective in giving him another chance had been to save her company, thanks to their agreement—one Crystal had prepared when Carl originally invested the money. In the event of divorce or disagreement, Claire’s Collections,
her baby
, would be sold and the proceeds divided. Unfortunately, she was fast realizing that no company was worth the emotional pain ravaging her soul.

“Obviously,” Claire said wryly, “he didn’t want the gravy train to end.”

Carl had played her like a concert pianist. Looking in hindsight at that last night, along with their entire relationship, she cringed inwardly, having only herself to blame for accepting this last string of lies.

Having been so
in love
when she’d signed their agreement, she’d never imagined the document could impact her life so negatively now. She almost hoped he was dead. It would save her from dealing with the mess of divorcing him.

“It’ll work out,” Gwen said. “You’ll see.”

Discarding the mean thought, Claire nodded. No sense stooping to his level. “Yes. But let’s talk about something else.”

Her nod indicated the storyboard along the side wall. “Tell me what you have planned for the next issue,” she said, shoving all thoughts about Carl and her stupidity to the far reaches of her mind.

Chapter 4

Jason hung up the phone, disconnecting from Key Largo’s finest. Deputy Snyder’s interesting news reinforced his belief that Carl had pulled off a planned and orchestrated scenario that would implicate Claire in his murder. The guy was good, but not that good. They’d catch him, and when they did, Jason couldn’t wait to see his face.

Snyder also had a few more questions for Claire and asked to set up another meeting. Before agreeing, Jason quickly called Jim O’Malley and arranged a date for an early lunch at his favorite seafood place along the water.

“Want to sit outside?” Jason asked Jimbo, who was at the bar when he arrived at the restaurant twenty minutes later.

“Sure. The scenery’s a little nicer out there.”

Oh, that scenery.
Jason smiled, noticing two beautiful women sitting three tables away as they were seated.

He picked up the menu and said while perusing it, “I talked to Snyder, the sheriff’s deputy in Key Largo. He had a lot to report.” He broke off to order, and waited for the waitress to take Jimbo’s.

When she was out of earshot, he continued. “Fingerprint tests confirm those found on the knife are Claire’s left thumb and forefinger. The flutes had two sets of prints
—
hers
and another set he assumes are Carl’s.”

Leaning forward, he said, “Here’s where it gets interesting. Trace evidence on the champagne residue in one of the flutes shows scopolamine laced with morphine. Drug leads to a general state of delirium. Also causes amnesia. If Claire got a dose of this, it’s no wonder she can’t remember anything. The side effects—memory loss, nausea, lack of muscle strength—are all similar to blacking out after a wild night of drinking.”

“So she was drugged?”

“Snyder thinks so.” Jason glanced up. The waitress had returned with drinks. He remained silent until she served them and left. “It matches her symptoms and fits with her story. Also, there are two sets of prints on the blood bag found. One matches the prints on the glass
—his.
Forensic tests will take a bit longer. Deputy said he’d have more in a day or two.” When Jimbo nodded without speaking, Jason prodded, “What did you find out?”

He had no doubts the PI had yielded results. His connections and talent with the computer were his strongest assets. Jason never questioned how he uncovered information no one else could. What he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him, but he appreciated the investigator’s ability nonetheless.

“I let my fingers do the walking, and these little guys,” Jimbo drawled, indicating two fingers, “climbed over all kinds of shit. Interesting part is, nothing leads to the husband. Everything’s listed under the company umbrella—credit cards, cell phone, all of it—so it made digging harder.” He stopped talking and his gaze strayed toward the gorgeous women.

After waiting a full thirty seconds, Jason cleared his throat. “And?”

“Sorry. Lost my train of thought.” Jimbo flashed a lazy smile. “Cell phone records on an account listed in Claire Carter’s name didn’t make sense. But if hubby’s using the phone, it paints another picture. Indicates he’s a player. Lo and behold, I found a long list of nubile young things’ phone numbers, most with names like Tiffany and Angel. And here’s another interesting detail. Charge records on one account are also very telling. Again, nothing points to Carl unless you connect the dots and add his name. Changes the picture. Definitely not one of a guy who has a wife at home.”

Jason stared at his drink, thinking. “Not much of an upstanding pillar of the community is he, if the picture’s accurate?” he asked softly. The news only increased his interest.

“Not from my vantage point.” Jimbo paused as the waitress reappeared with a tray full of food and quickly placed plates on the table before hurrying off. “He likes the track. Spends big bucks at Gulfstream Park and calls a bookie regularly. Also frequents trendy bars in South Beach and Fort Lauderdale.” He reached for his sandwich and took a bite. After he chewed and swallowed, he added, “Could be for business, since he’s listed as VP of Sales. But I doubt it. All of them are regular singles’ hangouts. I should know. I’ve been to most of them.”

Jason polished off his potato salad and washed it down with his drink. “Anything on the wife?” he asked before he started on his sandwich.

“She’s as clean as he is dirty. Into her company. Gives to charities and volunteers
,
basically a real Pollyanna. Though the company credit card is billed to her name, it’s used frequently to charge hotel rooms, jewelry, and bar tabs.” He stopped talking long enough to eat a few more bites. “My money says she isn’t the one making said purchases. An odd pair. Maybe she did kill him. Just looking at what I uncovered makes me want to start stabbing, especially if I was involved with someone like that.”

“You jumping to conclusions already, Jimbo?”

“Sorry. That’s opinion. Despite being related to one Crystal Grayson, she seems like a saint, and the man’s anything but.”