Murder, Madness & Love (Detective Quaid Mysteries #1) Page 16

  They spent the next several hours together, and Scott created a fantasy where the fairy princess had no demands made on her. She did not even have to smile. Yet, at midnight, exhaustion had a firm grip, and Scott escorted her back to the Hilton and kissed her goodnight at the door of her suite. She knew he wanted more, but Scott did not press. He persuaded her to spend the weekend in Seattle, and she knew tomorrow would be a day for convincing her that history was worth repeating.

  She sat in the dark looking out at the bright lights of the Seattle skyline, and, despite the exhaustion, sleep eluded her. With sleep came the nightmares, and a hotel room in the middle of a large city did not offer her the security she needed. She wished, now, she had driven back to Cliff House after the party, but at the time, her physical strength and her emotions failed her. Scott took over in a way he never had before. Steven reminded her of the terror stalking her, but Scott took her back in time to a finely ordered world, where she was safe and protected. She agreed to stay the weekend; she owed him that much. Sarah lay on the bed and sometime in the early morning, she slept, this time without nightmares.

  cott asked Sarah to help him choose gifts for his daughter and sons, Christine, the oldest and the twins, Jack and Henry, so after a leisurely breakfast, they went shopping in downtown Seattle. They were in Nordstrom’s, buying the last of the gifts, when Sarah made a suggestion.

  “Once they’re gift wrapped, you can send them by overnight mail. They’ll be under the tree Christmas morning.”

  “Not necessary. I’m flying to California tomorrow. Can you believe it? I’m spending Christmas with Sherry and the kids. It’s the first time in years we’ll all be together. The kids convinced me last week. At first, I thought they were still hoping we would remarry, but Christine’s the one who gave me a copy of the article about you in the newspaper. She wants her father to settle down—says I’m too old to be a bachelor.”

  Although they were friends and not lovers, his news still disappointed her.

  “Do your children know about us?”

  “No, not yet, but I have some of your paintings. She loves your work, and admires your success. Besides, she thinks most of my female friends lack intelligence. When I told her that I’d met you at the party the other night, she said there’s hope for me yet.”

  His happiness delighted her, but the truth hit Sarah hard. Scott had not changed, nor had his responsibility to his family. He still hadn’t shared the truth with his children. When they were dating, he would not let her be a part of his children’s lives and now he still couldn’t tell them who she was, and what she supposedly meant to him.

  They were in a restaurant ordering coffee, Sarah deep in thought about the change of affairs while Scott chatted on and on about spending Christmas with his children for the first time in years. Sarah faced reality. She wanted to come first, but realized then that Scott, a man with a readymade family, could never offer her the things she wanted. She also realized she’d agreed to spend the weekend in town simply to escape the terror that haunted her. And that she, too, needed to take some of the blame for trying to keep the past alive.

  “I guess reconciliation takes time after a bitter divorce.” Scott said.

  She put her hand over his.

  “Scott, I’ve been avoiding something I should have revealed this morning.” The genuine concern on his face almost made her say something different, but she continued. “I have to go back to Cliff House this afternoon. Emma reminded me of a commitment I made several months ago. I’m sorry. I should have explained right away.”

  “Cancel it. What’s more important, some social commitment to a stranger, or your commitment to me, an old friend?” His face reddened with anger.

  “It’s not a question of importance. I wasn’t myself last night when I agreed to this weekend. Besides, we’ll have other evenings together.”

  “Not the point.” His voice grew louder. “You’re planning to walk out on me, after making a promise.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re doing it again, aren’t you?”

  “Doing what?” She furrowed her brow in confusion.

  “Running away, just like the last time, except this time you have absolutely no reason to. What is it, Sarah? What are you afraid of?” He sat back in his chair and folded his arms—daring her to deny it.

  “Maybe you’re right.” She acknowledged with a nod. “Okay, what if I keep my plans as they are, but we meet up before your flight, and I go with you. We can spend the holiday together?”

  She knew what his response would be.

  For a few minutes, Scott was speechless. He pulled his chair closer to the table “No. I can’t. With such short notice, I can’t call Sherry and tell her I’m bringing a friend. It’d be rude. Her mother and father will be there. It’s a family celebration. I really don’t want to spend the holidays explaining who you are. No, sorry, it’s just not possible.” He sat back again. “Maybe next Christmas.”

  Though she’d known he would say no, Sarah felt a lump in her throat and realized she would always be the other woman. Sarah was surprised at how much his rejection of her idea had hurt her.

  “Then let’s both keep our obligations and see each other in Anchorage, after the holidays.”

  Although, she never, ever wanted to see him again, she would wait to tell him after the holidays. Sarah did not want a worse scene than what was already happening. But she finally saw the truth; they had nothing in common. It was fun falling into the past, but he held no real place in her heart. The fantasy had finally been busted. Scott’s reaction was explosive. He pounded the table, knocking silverware to the floor.

  “Damn it, Sarah. I’ve waited eight years. Can’t you just once bend in my direction?”

  He seemed to want to convince her that the outcome, the blame, fell to her. His attitude was the very reason for their first failure, but so much had changed since then—she had changed. She knew her own mind, her own heart, and he no longer held a place there. Whatever they once had, if anything, no longer existed. Sarah felt a new sense of loss.

  “I truly am sorry I spoiled your plans. Maybe next time we should make them together. Then no one will be hurt. I told you earlier; it’s too soon for this. Can’t we wait until this mess is cleared up first?”

  “It’s Quaid—he’s pressuring you, isn’t he? You realize, don’t you, that it’s his job to get close to you, especially if he still thinks you killed your husband. He’s playing you, Sarah. He’s making promises he can’t, and probably never intends, to keep.”

  “Detective Quaid isn’t doing anything of the sort. He’s just trying to solve a crime, maybe two crimes, and I’m well aware I’m his chief suspect in one of them.”

  “Then let me attend this affair with you. I can cancel my plans, and we can drive back to Cliff House together. My flight doesn’t leave until Sunday afternoon.”

  “No, I can’t I—”

  “Quaid’s taking you, isn’t he? You’re leaving me again, to attend another party with him. Damn it, Sarah, I gave in last night out of concern for you. I refuse to bow out a second time.”

  “He’s just a bodyguard, and there is so much going on right now… I’m just not ready to pick up where we left off. Please, can’t we forego the scene?”

  “You have no idea what you want or don’t want; otherwise, you wouldn’t have left us standing alone yesterday. You had a simple decision to make. The chess game was your idea, not mine. Go. Run away. I’m not going to chase you.” Scott no longer tried to control his anger or the level of his tone. “When are you going to grow up and face life head? I give up. I refuse to play your silly games. I want you, but I refuse to act like a teenager. When you decide which one of us you want, send me an email, although by then—never mind, I’m out of here. I’ve got better ways to spend my time.” When he stood up, Scott’s chair toppled, and he towered over Sarah. “Let’s see your response when someone walks away from you.”

  He picked up his pack
ages, ignoring the stares of the people surrounding them, and walked away.

  Sarah sat for a few minutes with her head bowed. She ignored the whispers of the people around her. The waitress came by and righted the chair.

  “Honey, are you okay? Men. Such egomaniacs. Can I get you anything?”

  “It’s all right. I deserved his wrath.”

  Sarah paid the check, called a cab, and at a nearby Ford dealership, she picked out a bright red Mustang, and drove home. The purchase raised her spirits while the road trip calmed her nerves.

  he telephone rang, and Steven grumbled as he answered. “Yeah.”

  “This is your wakeup call, Mr. Quaid. It’s 9:00 a.m.” The desk clerk sounded entirely too cheerful.

  “Thanks.”

  He turned over with a groan, fumbling the receiver back into the cradle. His body craved rest, but his mind had already started planning his day, making sleep impossible. Under a hot shower, Steven’s body began to catch up, and after coffee, he was finally fully alert. He stopped outside Sarah’s room, his hand in mid-knock when the housekeeper opened the door.

  “Is Mrs. Palmer here?”

  “You just missed her,” the maid informed him.

  “Thank you,” Steven said. He went downstairs.

  “Has Mrs. Palmer checked out?”

  “No, Mrs. Palmer will be with us until Sunday. Can I leave a message for her?”

  The hair on the back of Steven’s neck stood on end, and when he realized she was spending the weekend with Scott, anger overtook his senses. It’s none of my business. He had come to Seattle for one reason: to conduct his own investigation into the death of Michael Palmer.

  “Mr. Quaid, we’ll remove Mr. Chase’s belongings from your room this morning.”

  “Remove them?”

  “Mr. Chase booked a room at another hotel. He spent most of his time in the bar last night and decided not to disturb you. We’ll forward his belongings now that you’re awake.”

  Steven relaxed. At least they had not spent the night together. He left a note for Sarah, asking her to have dinner with him. Then he left for Terry’s office. He discovered Terry had left on vacation, but his office gave him permission to view the evidence. The Michael Palmer case was officially listed a traffic fatality. Terry had taken on the responsibility of the investigation his own suspicions spurred by the last remaining relative—Netta Greenwald, Michael’s aunt. However, despite Terry’s work, the department refused to open a murder investigation. Steven sat down to study the files before he began his own inquiries.

  He spent time going over the eyewitness reports from the scene of the accident. There was no doubt that even though Michael was giving his new car a real work out—speed estimates had him doing about 90 mph—he would have had enough time to stop before hitting the tree, if his brakes were working. Several people saw his brake lights flashing but noticed his car was not slowing. One witness recalled thinking that, if the driver could make the hill safely; just beyond the curve, there was a field in which he could stop the car. The bus offloading schoolchildren right at the bottom of the hill destroyed any alternative. The Porsche was moving too fast. Michael had cut the wheel sharply to avoid the children, but, with no way to avoid the trees, the car caught fire after impact, destroying any hope of finding evidence to support the theory of brake tampering.

  The file also contained written interviews Terry had conducted with the car dealer, and the mechanic who had serviced and delivered the car to the restaurant. Sarah, with the help of Gerald Kessler, had ordered the car by telephone a month before, and, two days before the delivery, she met the dealer at her bank and paid him with a bank draft. She did not see the car until Michael did, on the day of the accident. In addition, the dealer never met Sarah until the day she paid for it. His impression of her was of a generous wife who loved her husband very much. The same impression I would’ve had. He continued reading.

  The car arrived at 12:30 p.m. Michael drove off the lot at 2:00 p.m. Any number of people could have tampered with the car. It sat unwatched and unprotected in the parking lot, and anyone who wanted to harm Michael could have taken advantage of the opportunity.

  He even found a copy of a letter from the dealership—an offer of a settlement. Sarah had refused it, but she never filed a lawsuit. If she believed the car was defective, she would have sued! Terry had written in his notes. “Valid conclusion,” Steven mused.

  Gerald Kessler was Terry’s first suspect. Terry had ruled him out because Gerry was out of town the week before the murder and on a plane at the exact time of the crash. Terry’s first assumption was Sarah and Gerald Kessler had cooked this up together, but he could find no basis for his theory. She gave him full authority over her affairs and made him president of the corporation, but he married someone else. Terry had no evidence of an affair.

  Steven recalled his introduction to Gerald Kessler and his earlier conversation with Terry, when Terry claimed the Kessler marriage was on the rocks, but where was the evidence? He remembered Gerry’s preoccupation with something at the Christmas party in Anchorage. Then he remembered a baby was due, and realized Kessler had more than enough reason to be preoccupied.

  In Terry’s interview of Gerald Kessler, Terry wrote that Gerald was uncooperative because of his unswerving defense of Sarah. Sounds like a good friend.

  The other interviews were with miscellaneous members of the board, or other staff members of the Palmer Corporation, each of whom painted a different picture. One board member claimed Sarah had tricked Michael into marriage by claiming she was pregnant. Several others claimed Sarah hounded Michael until he paid to have her artwork shown at a gallery downtown.

  Terry checked with the director of the art gallery and discovered Michael had nothing to do with Sarah’s art show. But painting a good picture doesn’t mean innocence.

  Another employee talked about Sarah’s constant spending sprees and her inability to give Michael an heir. There was also talk of a divorce because another woman was pregnant with Michael’s baby. One employee accused Sarah of killing her husband because he was going to divorce her. Michael’s aunt claimed Michael was not happy in his marriage. These interviews convinced Terry he had a case.

  Then there was an interview with Sarah that Terry had transcribed. Terry wrote she was uncooperative and hostile. The first time Terry visited her was two weeks after the accident, and he had driven all the way out to Cliff house. He found Sarah in the garden, reading. She barely looked at him when he spoke. He informed her he would take her to the station if she did not cooperate.

  She was not impressed. “You don’t like your job, do you? Chief James said my husband died in a tragic traffic fatality, were you not thus informed?”

  Terry took her words as a threat. His first impression of her was one of a cold, unemotional, and uncaring individual. Her husband’s death seemed to have barely fazed her. When asked why she did not attend the funeral, she had retorted with, “Did you attend my husband’s funeral?”

  “What I did doesn’t matter,” he said.

  “And what I did doesn’t, either, so why are you asking? If you have further questions, speak to my attorney, George Steiner. Now, please leave.”

  “I’m not done.”

  She closed her book “Yes, you are.”

  Her glare left him speechless; he left.

  Terry wrote that her answers were short, unemotional, and rude. Steven almost laughed aloud—he could clearly imagine the scene, but Steven, too, found no evidence against her.

  The most surprising item was an anonymous letter accusing Sarah of killing her husband and claiming she would strike again. A typed letter on Palmer Corporation letterhead, with no name, did not convince Steven. But Terry had found the letter, if not the sentiment, legitimate. Now Steven understood Sarah’s comment about gossip and rumor.

  He closed that file, and then noticed another with Kessler’s name on it. He pulled out a file created by a private investigator and found picture
s of Diane Kessler and another man. Diane was an attractive woman, in her mid-thirties. Her escort was at least ten years her junior, a bodybuilder, and the owner of a downtown gym, Steven discovered as he continued to read. He flipped through the pages, including a medical report on Gerald Kessler. Kessler was sterile. He was obviously not the father of the baby his wife was expecting in January. He’d had her followed to find the real father, and Terry found out. Kessler’s words made sense; Sarah wasn’t the only person good at masking her true feelings. Now, Terry’s statement about Kessler’s marriage clicked, but there was still no proof Sarah was involved.

  He had not learned anything new, except that a few of the employees and Michael’s aunt did not like Sarah. Again, no evidence to convince him she’d committed murder, but there was nothing to clear her either.

  Continuing in his search, Steven went to see Mrs. Netta Greenwald, Michael’s aunt and only living relative. She lived on Queen Anne Hill, a prestigious neighborhood in Seattle. She presented herself to him in the parlor and served tea and finger sandwiches. In her early seventies, she had perfectly coifed white hair, and her dress was impeccable, but definitely of another decade. Steven thought he had stepped back in time, and he struggled to remember the proper etiquette.

  “Mrs. Greenwald, I’m looking into the death of your nephew, Michael Palmer.”

  “Yes, I understood your telephone call. Justice will finally get its day.” She hid none of her contempt. “It’s about time. What took so long? The woman has probably squandered every cent he made.”

  “Why do you to believe Sarah killed Michael?” He was simply trying to get answers. So far, though, all he saw was a severe case of jealousy.

  “Michael was unhappy. He used to come by for lunch, once a week, and just go on and on about how he made a big mistake. He married her on Valentine’s Day, like some foolish, lovesick teenager, and then allowed her to claim she inherited money from a grandfather, just so she would fit in—absolute foolishness. He made those silly, charitable contributions on her behalf. Michael realized his mistake, and he wanted out. He wanted an annulment. He told me in early August, right before his death.” She sounded convincing, in spite of her obvious emotion.