Murder, Madness & Love (Detective Quaid Mysteries #1) Page 8

  Steven determined to view this act as another ploy. The way she dressed would never make her a normal person. The queen had put away her sophistication to join the peasants, trying to convince him she was one of the regular people. Part of him wished he had never heard of Michael Palmer, because his snow angel in white satin was even more beautiful in red plaid. Steven had to force himself to recall the anger he had experienced during the drive out. She’s good. I’m going to have to watch myself, or I’ll wind up entangled in her web, too.

  Sarah hugged John at the bottom of the stairs, and, still holding his hand, acknowledged Steven.

  “Thank you for coming to my home, Mr. Quaid. I apologize for the long drive, but I feel safer here.”

  “Your comfort is most important,” he replied sarcastically, bowing from the waist.

  Sarah ignored the mockery and proceeded to the kitchen. He fell into step behind them, smarting at her dismissal.

  “Please, sit down, Mr. Quaid.” Sarah motioned to a chair and placed a cup of coffee on the table for him. “Help yourself to the cream and sugar.”

  Steven selected another chair on the other side of the table so he could keep a careful eye on her body language.

  “John, did you have a chance to eat dinner? I can fix you one of Emma’s famous roast beef sandwiches.”

  “Nothing but coffee for me. Thank you. Leeann brought dinner to the office this evening. By the way, where’s Miss Emma?”

  “She flew to Washington this morning, and, no, she’s not aware of the threat. I wanted her to enjoy her vacation, not worry about me.”

  John winked, and Sarah smiled in return. Steven watched them closely, enthralled with their interaction, and confident he had guessed correctly regarding their relationship, but worried his friend was being taken advantage of and totally unaware.

  “Good, so we can talk freely. How ‘bout a hit of brandy. There’s a real chill in the air tonight.”

  Sarah took a bottle from the cupboard.

  Watching them made Steven more determined to take her down. She gave him a cup of coffee but barely noticed his presence. She never did offer him a sandwich, and he had not eaten a thing since lunch. Finally, she sat down opposite him and faced him squarely. He noticed the lack of makeup; her beauty came naturally, and for a moment, he forgot his purpose.

  “You have questions, Mr. Quaid?”

  He cleared his throat.

  “Yes, if we’re all finally ready? Can you explain why you took so long to call the police? Do you watch the news or read the paper? No, don’t tell me—you had a few parties to attend.”

  Steven baited her, but all he saw was a cold, unmoving statue. He wanted to let her know he had not fallen under her spell. He thought he saw a shadow of sadness, but he quickly dismissed it.

  “Why are you so condescending?”

  The anger he felt must have flashed across his face because she did not wait for his answer.

  “I wish I’d been able to give you the evidence a month ago. I didn’t realize what the card meant until this evening. We opened the second valentine, and the real estate emblem fell out. I remembered seeing the cocktail napkin, but it was several weeks later. Even then, I assumed I accidentally acquired the thing during a business meeting at The Piano Bar. It never would’ve occurred to me to connect the valentine with… murder.”

  Steven interrupted her. “Do you know either of these women?”

  “No, I don’t think so. Why?”

  “Because Debra Johnson worked at The Piano Bar, a place you frequent, and Rhonda Parker worked for the same real estate company you used to purchase this house. In fact, she worked on the very deal that got you this home.” He shoved two photographs in front of her.

  Sarah looked closely at the pictures, and the color drained from her face. “I had no idea. I never realized… even listening to the radio, I never… I don’t own a television, and I purposely never read the morbid details in the paper. I’m sorry.”

  He could tell the news shocked her. Just when he had her where he wanted her, he shoved two more pictures of Debra and Rhonda, in front of her. These were headshots taken on the coroner’s table. Maybe now John will finally get to see you lose your cool. He waited for her response.

  Sarah immediately stood, looking positively nauseated. Steven thought he saw tears, but she turned her back to him and walked across the room to the sink.

  John quickly removed the pictures from the table. “That wasn’t necessary.”

  “It’s all right, John.” Sarah still had her back to them. “I should know, especially if all this is happening because of me. We knew the valentines, the phone calls were to punish me, and I thought someone was stalking me out of a sense of injustice. But connecting the valentine to murder, to know he’s killing people who know me…”

  Sarah spoke so softly, Steven had to strain to hear her, and he couldn’t tell if she was upset, or simply bored.

  “Injustice? How do you mean?” Steven knew exactly what she meant, but wanted to hear her say the words.

  He listened intently to her explanation regarding Debra and Rhonda, and understood John’s fascination with her. She was cool under pressure, similar to a politician surrounded by money, babies, and the uninformed.

  “I’m sure John has filled you in on all the details, including the possible motives we discussed for the valentines and the telephone calls. With the evidence, do you know who the murderer is? Would she still have died if you’d been given the valentine and cocktail napkin sooner?”

  “Her name is Rhonda, and the names of her sons are Joshua and Aaron,” he hissed.

  Her collected attitude irritated him. Acting like a victim—the put upon, high society bitch who had to leave a party early because some commoner got herself killed. He had to admire Sarah’s coldness, but he still hated her for it. He stood while Sarah worked at the sink. He wanted to see her face, gauge her responses. Tired of looking at her back, he marched over to her.

  “No, we have no idea who’s doing this. Do you? Look at me, Mrs. Palmer. I want to see your face when you answer my questions.”

  She faced him. Steven’s breath caught, and for a moment he forgot what his question was. Sarah had exquisite eyes; the deep green mesmerized him. Steven turned away from her, confused. Every time he looked at her, those eyes tripped him up, and he forgot his purpose. This time, he felt as though she had touched his soul. Suddenly exposed, he reacted with anger.

  “You’ve had more time to contemplate that question than I have. Given a month, we might have. Given a month, anything is possible. Besides, knowing who the culprit is—doesn’t mean you can prove it. Right?”

  Sarah’s cheeks turned bright red, but she calmly busied herself by pouring everyone another cup of coffee. Her detachment angered him, and John offered no help.

  “Sarah, do you have any of those cinnamon rolls left?” John got up from his chair to help her prepare them.

  Steven realized he had lost complete control of the situation. That’s why you always do the questioning at headquarters, idiot!

  Despite his failure, Steven was determined.

  “Debra and Rhonda were similar to you in several ways. Both had the blonde hair and green eyes, but there’s one difference. They had children. Odd he would choose young mothers instead of women more like you, an executive. You’re very career-minded, aren’t you?”

  Sarah put a plate of cinnamon rolls on the table and, just inches from him, she spoke. “I’m afraid, Mr. Quaid, I can’t explain the murderer’s reasoning. I believe the criminal mind is your specialty. If you’re through, I’ve had a long, tiring day, and I’d be grateful if we could continue this later. I don’t think I can offer you more than you already know. John is the most knowledgeable one here, and I’m sure he’s explained everything.”

  Sarah meant to leave the room without waiting for his answer, but Steven moved to block her exit.

  “No, I’m not done.”

  Her shoulders slumped in defe
at, but her eyes were clear with determination.

  “Who’s doing this, Mrs. Palmer, and why? Come on, you can tell me.” His eyes blazed, his veins popped, and he barely kept his voice level. “I can go all night, lady!”

  He grabbed her hand, meaning to guide her back to her seat, but a sudden bolt of recognition shot through him, and he let her go. Steven’s anger cooled, and his voice lost its roar, doused in his emotional confusion. He withdrew his hand.

  “No. You’re right. We’ll talk tomorrow.” He walked away from her, rolled his shoulders, then turned and followed her departure.

  She left the room with a nod to John and Eddie. Steven watched as she hurried up the steps and disappeared behind her bedroom door.

  John drove Steven back to his office, but Steven was too annoyed to make conversation. He wondered if they would still be friends when the case ended. Even though John cooperated, they were at odds over how to handle Sarah, and Steven was disappointed with his friend. He did not know what to make of her—a cold, calculating black widow or an innocent, clueless young woman, unwilling or unable to let her emotions show? After everything he had witnessed, he still believed the former. The web this spider weaves is seductive, and I’m not immune to her influence. He wondered who else had fallen under her spell, and his next step would be a thorough investigation of Sarah’s background.

  Sarah sank like a rag doll to the floor of her room as soon as the door closed. Her emotions—the pent-up anger and guilt—overwhelmed her. Hugging her knees tightly to her chest, she fought for self-control and suppressed an ocean of tears as she thought over the day’s events. Nothing registered, except for Detective Steven Quaid. A man with hair the color of a raven’s wings, the iciest blue eyes she had ever seen, and a determination so strong she feared him as much as the stalker. His objective was to see her pay for Michael’s death, and, for the first time in a long time, Sarah dreaded the future. As she got ready for bed, she sang softly to herself, took two Tylenol, and quickly fell asleep.

  fter a strenuous workout, Sarah dressed in a jean skirt, a pink cotton blouse, and, soft knee-high boots. She curled her hair and let it fall loose. The luncheon at noon was billed as an informal, romantic return to the past. Even though Sarah didn’t feel the part, she knew she had to play it. For the moment, however, she just wanted to relax before social obligations required her full attention.

  At eight, she walked into the kitchen and found Eddie leaning against the kitchen sink, his elbows on the counter and his head resting in his hands. He had fallen asleep while waiting for the coffee to brew.

  “Good morning, sunshine.” She smiled as she poured him a cup of coffee.

  Half asleep, he greeted her, but instead of speaking, he yawned. After a few sips of his coffee, Eddie finally spoke.

  “I’m sorry, Sarah. Alexis and I talked till early this morning. I can’t even remember the subject. Video phones are so hard to hang up!”

  “You’re in love. The discussion isn’t important—being together is. You need to take some time away from here, and enjoy your girlfriend.”

  “We’re fine, honest. But look at you, all bright and cheerful. Don’t tell me you have a fairy godmother hiding in your closet? You look like you’re ready for anything today, even after last night’s interrogation.”

  “I am ready. Last night was brutal, but women are dying, and he’s doing his best to find out why. This morning, everything looks new. I’m ready for the fight. Although two hours ago I looked a lot worse than you. Why do you think I spent a fortune adding an exercise room? Fairy godmothers work in make-believe, not nightmares. Exercise gets your blood flowing. Go on, help yourself. Half an hour and you’ll be ready for anything. I have a few phone calls to make, but I promise breakfast will be ready when you’re done.”

  She topped off his coffee and guided Eddie to the stairs.

  “Okay, but the only reason I’m going is to work off all the other breakfasts you’ve fed me. Even Alexis noticed I’ve put on a few pounds.”

  Sarah laughed. “Now you have no choice. I don’t want to be getting on your girlfriend’s bad side, so—I promise—no more cinnamon rolls!”

  Eddie reluctantly headed up the stairs for a workout, and Sarah immediately got down to business. In the den, she completed her phone calls and then retrieved one of Emma’s aprons from the drawer.

  “Time to make breakfast,” she said cheerfully. She turned on the stereo and sang as she worked.

  Sarah loved to cook, and, with Eddie’s appreciative appetite, she enjoyed the task even more. She recognized the importance of her friends. John gave her the power to withstand Quaid’s battering. Eddie gave her the strength to go out in public and face the uncertainty of the day. Sarah felt lucky to have such friends and planned to make an elaborate breakfast to show her appreciation. She just wished Leeann could be part of her life, too, but John wanted to keep her safe, and Sarah understood the reasoning. She would never put Leeann in danger, especially now, knowing that people she knew were dying. Just the thought made her cringe and took the luster off her morning.

  The telephone rang and Sarah waited, hoping Eddie would answer it. When he failed to, she did, but said nothing. She hesitated to speak, listening for sound at the other end.

  A voice she quickly recognized said, “Hello? Hello? Is anyone there?”

  “Yes, Mr. Quaid, I’m here. Sorry, I’m just a little phone shy these days.”

  “I understand. I’m on my way. We need to discuss security. I just called to avoid getting you out of bed when I arrived.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate the warning. Have you had breakfast?”

  “No. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  She heard the dial tone, shrugged, and got a few more eggs out of the refrigerator.

  True to his word, Steven arrived just minutes later. The smells from the kitchen were mouthwatering. Steak roasting on the range, fresh brewed coffee, and the aroma of pancakes stirred grumblings deep in his stomach.

  Sarah greeted him. “Coffee’s ready. Help yourself. How do you like your eggs?”

  “Sunny side up.” He could not believe his eyes.

  She prepared his eggs just the way he liked them while he watched her closely. The apron she wore did not hide the flattering cut of her outfit, and Steven wondered if the show was for his benefit. A breakfast any man would love, prepared by a gorgeous woman. The stereo also happened to be playing something romantic. Satisfied in his assessment, he sat back and waited for her to make the next move.

  Then John arrived, and Eddie came in from somewhere, deflating Steven’s ego a notch and ruining his theory. Sarah served John and Eddie once they were seated. They enjoyed the meal, and the subject of murder did not intervene to ruin the mood. Steven noticed, though, that Sarah barely touched her food. She appeared separate from the rest of them, lost in her own world. He hated offering her protection.

  “So, what’s on the agenda next? Polo?” His comment got their attention, but only for its oddity. Even he felt stupid after saying it. But her sophistication befuddled him. Why was she in Alaska? Why was she flirting with John when he was married? The whole set up confused him, and she confounded him.

  “Actually, Mr. Quaid, Eddie and I are going to another party. So, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get dressed.” She sounded polite, but patronizing.

  “Eddie, what do you say—fifteen, twenty minutes?”

  “Ready when you are. And, hey, thanks for the workout this morning. Great idea, and if you don’t mind, I’m going to take advantage every chance I get. Your equipment is better than any gym’s.”

  “Anything to keep Alexis happy. Oh, and John? You’re on K P duty.”

  While he watched, she removed her apron, whispered something to John, then kissed him on the cheek, and disappeared. Steven tried to swallow a mouthful of food, but he choked on it and began coughing.

  John laughed, pounding Steven on the back. “You stuck your foot in your mouth. Polo, the sport of kings
really? You couldn’t just say thank you for the meal? I’d say it again, but I’m wearing out the phrase. Oh, what the hell. You’re an ass, Quaid!”

  “Where the hell is she going now?” Steven rasped when he could finally talk again.

  “Like she said, she has another party to attend, although not until this afternoon. Right now? Her office. Spending her morning poring over a financial report is a heck of a lot more interesting than listening to your tirade of accusations and cynical remarks.”

  “Very funny,” Steven said, not amused. “I came out here specifically to discuss security, not for breakfast. Although I have to admit, she sure cooks up one hell of a spread. Who’s she trying to impress, John—you or me?”

  “You really don’t like her do you? And you may be right. I’ve had breakfast at least ten times in the last month with Sarah, and each time she did the cooking. So you think she’s trying to seduce me with food?” John taunted him.

  Steven shrugged and wanted to speak, but John shook his head and continued.

  “Sarah enjoys cooking. A lost art these days, with fast food joints everywhere and prepackaged food. Hell, Eddie and I’ve both gained weight since we began guarding Sarah. But maybe you’re right; the black widow may be trying to kill me with food.”

  “All right, she likes to cook, I get it. But you know what I find the hardest to understand? Why did she come back here? Alaska is the last place for her and her so-called elegance. New York or Los Angeles would offer her the lifestyle she obviously prefers. Why is she here?”

  John had begun to load the dishwasher. “Sarah’s here because this is her home. As a kid, she spent every summer out on the tundra with her parents. To occupy her time, she painted. You haven’t seen her paintings, have you?”

  Quaid handed him the coffee cups and shook his head.

  “I didn’t think so.” He loaded the last of the silverware and then added the dishwashing gel to the machine. “Sarah’s talented, and I know painting’s what she’d prefer to be doing. This chairman of the board bit is just until she can get the foundation established.”