Murder, Madness & Love (Detective Quaid Mysteries #1) Read online

  “Steven’s colleague?”

  “One and the same. He called—actually called me—to make sure our relationship was platonic before he asked her out. From what I’ve gathered, it’s a good match, and she’s quite happy. And I would never do anything to risk your friendship with her. Come on, you know me, Sarah. I am capable of friendship with women. Just ask Patricia.”

  “All right, you’ve convinced me. So, tell me, do you still go out on the fishing boats?” She curled up in the seat of his rental car, and they filled the rest of the four hours to Seattle with friendly conversation.

  They arrived in Seattle to find the Hilton had rolled out the red carpet for the Palmer Corporation, but not for all the guests.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Chase, there are no rooms available. We’re booked solid with guests of the Palmer Corporation, and your name does not show up on our reservations list.”

  “It’s my fault. I should’ve called,” Sarah tried to explain. “Mr. Chase is an old friend. Is there anything you can do?”

  “Well, your suite has the two bedrooms,” the clerk reminded her.

  Sarah hesitated. She didn’t like the idea of sharing a suite with Scott. The reason for the extra room had to do with prior parties, when Michael would hold impromptu business meetings either during or afterward, and did not want to disturb her. Despite his death, the Hilton had made the same accommodations for Sarah. She had more room than she needed, but she wasn’t interested in allowing Scott to get that close; not just yet.

  “No reason to take away the lady’s privacy. My room has two beds. Mr. Chase can bunk with me,” a voice from behind them announced.

  Scott and Sarah turned to see who had arrived to save the day.

  “The room is reserved under Quaid. Steven Quaid.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Quaid, I’ll arrange it.” The clerk gave Scott the registration card.

  Steven took Sarah by the arm and led her to the elevator. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  “What’s happened?” She remembered the Christmas card valentine, and feared the worst.

  “Nothing. John just asked me to keep an eye on you, and I’m here on business, anyway.”

  Sarah was relieved, and yet angry with Steven for his unexpected appearance. “I don’t want you here. Besides, Scott’s escorting me to the dance. I don’t need you.”

  “Then you’ll just have to change your mind. What kind of gossip will that cause? Especially after the show you put on at the last party with me—all for the benefit of your friends?”

  It made sense, and Sarah realized she hadn’t thought ahead. Scott had distracted her from the horror of murder and the valentines. Steven now reminded her of it. She knew he was right. At this point, Sarah would be inviting trouble if she attended with a different escort.

  Sarah searched the lobby for Scott, who was no longer at the front desk. He had finished registering and was hurrying to catch the same elevator. She could see his frustration. Sarah mouthed the words “I’m sorry,” but the doors closed and Scott stood alone. Steven could not keep the look of smug satisfaction off his face, which saddened her.

  After getting her hair done, Sarah dressed for the party. Her gown was a strapless, midnight blue. Silver combs with blue gems held her hair away from her face, while the rest dropped in a mass of curls down her back. Covered in blue diamonds, Sarah made sure to wear past Christmas presents from Michael. He bought her jewelry every holiday, and, to honor him, she wore his gifts proudly.

  She answered a knock at her door. Scott and Steven stood side by side, both in their tuxedos and both with bouquets in hand.

  “Your highness.” Scott bowed.

  Steven scowled at Scott’s performance, while Sarah closed her eyes, embarrassed. Hoping to make a better impression, Steven smiled and reined in his temper.

  “Breathtaking! Really, Sarah, you look wonderful.”

  “Come in, gentlemen,” she said frostily.

  They stepped into the room and both presented her with flowers: red roses from Scott, and a bouquet of white roses tinted with blue from Steven. Sarah accepted them graciously and excused herself to finish getting ready. Scott and Steven waited in the sitting room. The tension between them was uncomfortable, and Sarah wanted no part of it. Throwing a coat across her shoulders, she left the suite by way of the bedroom door, as opposed to exiting through the main, shared living space. She had no wish to become a pawn in a game of male chess.

  Sarah entered the ballroom, and the crowd turned to greet her. Gerry hurried to her side. Pleased to see her, he offered his arm, but she refused and continued on her own. Tired of having to depend on the men in her life, she stood alone and greeted her guests proudly.

  Scott and Steven had not uttered a word to each other and were standing on separate sides of the room, when a knock came at the door. Steven opened it, and a waiter entered, carrying a bottle of bourbon, ice, two glasses, and an expensive pewter chess set.

  “What is this?” Steven puzzled.

  “Mrs. Palmer ordered it,” the waiter said, and handed Steven an envelope.

  Scott grabbed the note, scrutinizing it.

  Steven tipped the waiter, and then checked the other rooms in the suite. Finding nothing suspicious, he returned to the living area.

  “Well?”

  “Enjoy,” Scott read. “Just the word: enjoy.”

  “Damn it! She has some nerve. She left through the bedroom.”

  “Would you care for a drink?” Scott poured two without waiting for the answer.

  “No, thanks. Oh, what the hell. Give me one. Is she always so obstinate?” Steven swallowed the drink.

  “Sarah is one of a kind, and worth every frustrating second she creates,” Scott toasted with his glass.

  “Then why did you let her get away?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve asked myself that question every day since. I won’t make the same mistake twice.” Scott became thoughtful for a moment. “Listen, I’ll back out of this one graciously. I realize Sarah’s safety is what matters most. So, go ahead, get downstairs, and make sure she’s all right. I’ll catch up with her later.”

  Steven doubted Chase’s sincerity, but he could not put his finger on why. He left the room in search of Sarah, knowing he had won no real victory.

  “Look who I found,” Myrtle said as she came up behind Sarah. Sarah turned to find herself face to face with Steven.

  “Sorry, I’m late. Chase and I became involved in a game of chess for money.” He took her in his arms and leaned in for a kiss, but Sarah turned her head and his lips merely brushed her cheek. He could tell she resented him for it, and he wished he had not been so bold. He released her and whispered an apology in her ear. “Sorry.”

  Then he spoke louder for the benefit of Myrtle. “You look beautiful.”

  “Thank you. Did you win the game?” She tried to smile but failed at appearing sincere, and Steven knew she hadn’t expected to see either of them.

  “We decided to finish later. Would you care to dance? Excuse us, Myrtle.” He gently guided her toward the dance floor. Once they were alone, he hissed in her ear. “What a foolish trick.”

  “You two were acting like children. I feel like I’m the prize in some childish contest.”

  “Oh, come on. Two handsome escorts fighting for your hand—don’t all women desire such attention?”

  “Do you think Debra and Rhonda would be impressed?”

  Her reminder of his real duty was a punch in the gut. Before he could apologize for his insensitivity, she left his arms and faded into the crowd, only to reappear at the podium with Gerald Kessler, who took the microphone.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, your attention please.” The room became quiet as he spoke. “Tonight, I have the distinct pleasure and honor of making a special presentation to our lovely chairman of the board.” They clapped, and Gerry could feel the excitement in the room. “This gift, my dear chairman, commissioned by the employees of the Palmer Corporation, is for you and t
he Michael Palmer Foundation.”

  The lights dimmed and the room seemed to grow even quieter in anticipation. Gerry paused for dramatic effect before continuing.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, on behalf of the employees of the Palmer Corporation, I humbly present to Mrs. Sarah Palmer, and the Michael Palmer Foundation—this gift.”

  He turned and stepped aside. The curtain opened, and a portrait appeared in the spotlight. Sarah looked up at a life-sized painting of Michael. He leaned against a tree with his arms crossed and a familiar half-serious, half-amused grin across his face. She gasped audibly, and her face turned chalk-white. Steven went to her side, offering his arm for support, but she refused. Instead, alone, she moved unsteadily to the portrait, love, and loss mingling in her expression. When Gerry saw her reaction, he turned back to the podium to speak to the stunned audience.

  “While Sarah regains her composure, please let me explain the story behind the portrait. Sarah’s shock is understandable because she painted this picture; at least most of it.” Gerry paused. “Several months before his tragic accident, I had asked Sarah if she would give us a new portrait of Michael. You’re aware of the portrait in the lobby of the Palmer Corporate Headquarters. It’s a good picture, but Sarah hoped to give us another, the one you see here, and she’d nearly completed it. The background needed to be finished, but misfortune struck, and the painting remained unfinished.”

  The crowd answered him with murmurs and nods, but remained fixated on Sarah. Gerry paused. He pushed his glasses back on his nose and ran his fingers through his hair before continuing.

  “A few months ago, several employees asked me for advice on commissioning a painting for the Foundation. I recalled this, and I knew there was nothing more suitable. Without Sarah’s knowledge, I borrowed her work and the photographs, and I asked Patrick Sheffield, another famous local artist, to complete it. I counted on Patrick’s talent to complement Sarah’s.” Gerry turned to the portrait. “He did an amazing job.”

  While he spoke, Sarah fought her emotions. Few eyes remained dry. The audience joined Sarah in her grief. She could feel their anticipation when she approached the painting and gently, lovingly touched Michael’s face. A few tears fell down her cheeks, but she quickly brushed them away. She remembered the day she took the pictures. She had tried so hard to get Michael to pose in just the right setting, even though she hadn’t been sure just what the pose or setting should be. She just knew when she saw the perfect scene, she would know. Michael refused to cooperate, and she finally gave up in frustration. She promised him she would take no more pictures and started back to the house.

  “I love you, despite your attitude,” she had shouted to him over the noise of the wind and waves. Then she glanced at him over her shoulder and saw him standing there so casually. Unknown to Michael, she had snapped one more photograph, the one she’d chosen to use for this portrait.

  Wearing brown corduroy slacks and a tan sweater, Michael had crossed his arms in defiance, having just scolded her for making him model. Michael stared out at the ocean, his grin simply perfect. The picture captured the Michael she loved.

  She realized after a few moments that the attendees were waiting for her to address them. Sarah gathered her thoughts, suppressed her emotions, and faced them.

  “I can hardly find the words. It’s a shock, but a lovely one. Michael would be so proud.” Her voice broke. “I thank you from the bottom of my heart for the love you have shown the both of us. This beautiful portrait will grace the lobby of the Michael Palmer Foundation. However, the foundation will not open its doors this coming January.”

  The audience groaned. She held up her hands to quiet them and then continued.

  “Michael loved Seattle. He grew up in Washington, and started his own business here. It was his dream to create a foundation that would honor and support the entrepreneurial spirit. Therefore, the Michael Palmer School of Entrepreneurial Studies along with the Michael Palmer Foundation will open this spring here in the city of Seattle.”

  The crowd never heard her remaining words. They clapped, whistled, and stomped their approval. Sarah knew the rightness of her decision when she heard their response. Gerry hurried to her side, smiling.

  “Will you be moving back to Seattle?”

  “No, I belong in Alaska, but Michael’s foundation, his school, belongs here. I’ll hire a CEO. I never intended to be manager.”

  Gerry scowled, and Sarah did not understand his response. She wanted to reassure him, but then Patrick Sheffield, the artist who completed her portrait of Michael, stepped forward to congratulate her. They shook hands and stood side by side for the next hour. Hundreds of guests strolled by to look more closely at the painting. Sarah spoke to each, thanking them and wishing them a happy holiday.

  Steven allowed Myrtle to distract him while Sarah shook hands with the crowd. “She’s a brave girl, and she’s really honored Michael. I’m sorry; this must be hard on you as the new man in her life.”

  “Yes, well, sometimes it’s hard to compete with a dead man—no insult intended.” He realized he spoke from the heart. I’d better watch myself. I’m beginning to believe this charade. Then he remembered Anderson’s words, Stay close to her, but don’t get close to her. She’s trouble, Steve. She’s trouble.

  “None taken. Don’t you worry, Sarah will come around. Just give her time. I’ve seen the love in her eyes when she looks at you. Besides, you have to make yourself clear in this. She’ll never be happy running the show. Alaska is where her happiness is—you just have to look at her paintings to tell where her heart belongs.”

  Steven felt guilty because he’d never seen Sarah’s art, but Myrtle’s words made him think. He thanked her, and he suddenly realized Sarah was no longer standing by the portrait. He excused himself and left to find her, but ran into Gerry.

  “I’m surprised you and the rest of the board fly to Anchorage for board meetings. Wouldn’t Sarah traveling to Seattle be easier?”

  “My idea. When Sarah said she wanted to go home, I thought she would go deeper into seclusion. She’d already spent one year hiding at Cliff House. I asked her to take on the Chairmanship, but she wasn’t interested, so I threatened to give up the presidency.” Gerry grinned. “She wasn’t moved, so I promised the full financial backing of the board for the foundation in Michael’s name. As an added incentive, I promised to schedule all the meetings in Anchorage, at least for the first year. She finally agreed. The press in Seattle was rough, but Alaska’s been good to her. She’s really come out of her shell.”

  “She must appreciate your help.”

  “I think she does. Michael was my best friend, and I felt I owed him. But Sarah, well, I know she appreciates my work. Sometimes, she even tolerates me.”

  “I don’t understand. She made you president. Isn’t it obvious she trusts you?”

  “Perhaps with business matters, but personally, no. I’ve never been to her home—not in Anchorage or Cliff House. When Michael was alive, Cliff House was their sanctuary. I don’t think anyone from the company’s been there. We’ve had many dinners together, but always somewhere public. No, the lady keeps me at an arm’s-length. In fact, I think she blames me for Michael’s death.”

  “Really. Why?”

  “Because I helped her with the car. She knew Michael wanted a Porsche, but had no idea what model, what features, or what color. I placed the order for her. She mostly blames herself for his death, but I think she also holds me responsible, at least subconsciously. Excuse me, I have some other hosting duties to perform.” Gerry hesitated, though. “But, tell me, how is she? I should’ve warned her about the painting. I never expected such a strong reaction. Is she in her room? Is she all right?”

  “Her room?”

  “I’m sorry. I saw her leave about ten or fifteen minutes ago. I thought you were with her, but now I think back, Karen’s friend, Mr. Chase escorted her out. I think the evening’s been too much. She didn’t look well. Please apologize for me.�
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  Steven left the ballroom. On his way to the elevator, the desk clerk called his name.

  “Mr. Quaid? Mr. Chase asked me to give this to you.” The clerk handed Steven an envelope.

  Steven ripped into it. Checkmate a single word on the paper inside. “Son-of-a…” He crumpled the abomination between his fingers and walked to the front desk. “Did Mrs. Palmer and Mr. Chase leave the hotel together?”

  “Yes, about ten minutes ago. Mr. Chase had me arrange for a limousine after he checked in.”

  Steven went to the bar. “How can I get close to her when that bastard has her undivided attention?”

  In the limousine, Scott comforted Sarah. “After Steven left me in your suite; I made reservations at the Space Needle for a late dinner. I didn’t think you’d be able to eat properly. Can I get you anything? How about a brandy?”

  “I’m not fit company tonight. You should’ve taken me to my room.” She curled up on the seat beside him. “I wasn’t ready.”

  Scott realized the presentation had overwhelmed Sarah, who was emotionally raw after such a shock, and needed time to rest and recover.

  “Don’t apologize, Sarah, just relax. I’ve taken care of everything. I saw the portrait, and I knew you needed me. They didn’t warn you, did they?”

  “I wonder if alerting me would have prepared me for the shock of seeing him in such a manner, or for the memories. He looked so alive.” She leaned back and closed her eyes. A few tears fell, and Sarah casually brushed them away.

  Scott put his arms around her, and she accepted the offer of his broad shoulder, leaning in against him. He knew she was vulnerable, and he had her exactly where he wanted her. She would have to trust him, and she would find the warmth and protection she needed. He knew exactly how to play the rescuer, and he anticipated her gratitude.