Текст книги "Cold Hearted"

Автор книги: Beverly Barton

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“Just like Senator Price did.” Rick scrutinized her reaction.

“Now, you look here. I didn’t have nothing to do with Andy’s death. We weren’t even living together when it happened.”

“No one is accusing you of anything, Mrs. Harris,” Cam told her. “We simply thought it an odd coincidence.”

Roselynne jumped up out of her chair. “Well, that’s all it is – a coincidence. I didn’t kill Andy and I sure didn’t kill Dan. Not no more than Jordan killed him.” She stomped across the room, yanked open the door and stormed out into the hall.

“What do you think?” Cam asked.

Rick shrugged. “I think the more people we can cast suspicion on, the better it is for Jordan.”

J.C. Harris was a cocky asshole. Rick wouldn’t put anything past him. But the man had an answer for every question and used his mother and sister as alibis for the times of both Dan’s death and Jane Anne’s murder. He was slick. Maybe just a little too slick.

Devon Markham’s hands trembled throughout the entire questioning process and a couple of times his voice quavered and tears trickled down his smooth, pretty boy cheeks. His love for Dan Price and his friendship with and love for Jordan seemed completely genuine. Rick couldn’t picture this gentle man killing anyone.

Darlene Wright possessed an air of superiority that rankled Rick, but the lady was cooperative and her devotion to Jordan was obvious.

“I do have a small apartment in town, but whenever Jordan and Dan are at home, I often stay here and I was staying here at Price Manor the weekend when Dan killed himself,” Darlene said. “And I’m glad I was. Jordan needed me.”

“So, you still believe the senator killed himself?” Rick said.

“Well, I thought so until… If Dan was murdered, I can assure you that Jordan did not do it. She’s the sweetest, dearest—”

“What about you, Mrs. Wright?” Cam asked. “Would you have killed Senator Price for Jordan’s sake? Or what about Jane Anne? You’d do anything to protect Jordan, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, you’re quite right. I would do anything for Jordan,” Darlene admitted. “But if you’re implying that she asked me to kill Dan or his ex-wife, then you’re mistaken. Jordan abhors violence, just as I do.”

“I have one final question for you,” Rick said.

“Yes?”

“Do you believe, without even the slightest doubt, that your son’s car accident really was just that – an accident?”

With her hands folded neatly in her lap and her ankles crossed in a ladylike fashion, Darlene Wright looked him directly in the eye. “Yes, I most certainly do.”

Later, when they were alone in the study, Cam said, “The only clear picture I’m getting is one that shows Jordan Price in a favorable light. Not even that sleazy stepbrother of hers said a single word against her.”

“What did I tell you? They all love her. Her family and friends, the senator’s family, even the servants.”

“It would appear so. And except for the Harris clan, who conveniently are one another’s alibis, no one has an alibi for the time Jane Anne was killed. Any one of them could have done it.”

“We still need to talk to Rene Burke,” Rick reminded Cam.

Cam checked his wristwatch. “It’s after five, so let’s wrap things up before six, if possible. I’m driving back to Chattanooga this evening.”

Rene cooperated fully, answering their questions quickly and succinctly. She had been asleep when Dan Price either killed himself or was murdered and alone when Jane Anne was strangled. She pointed fingers at everyone else, stating reasons why each might be the murderer.

“Have y’all ever considered the possibility that the person who killed Dan, if he didn’t kill himself, isn’t the same person who killed his ex-wife?” Rene asked.

“Sure,” Rick replied. “We could easily have two murderers on our hands, but if we do, then it’s highly likely they’re working together. Maybe the cohorts are Roselynne and Tammy or Devon and Jordan or even you and either Darlene or J.C.”

“You’ve left out Ryan and Claire.”

“They weren’t here at Price Manor the night the senator died and they had already left here when Jane Anne was murdered.”

“That narrows down your suspects by two, leaving how many – seven? Nine if you count the servants.”

“Who do you think killed Jane Anne?” Cam interjected a question into the conversation.

“I have no idea,” Rene said.

“Do you think Dan Price killed himself or—?” Rick asked.

“I don’t know. You tell me.” She fidgeted in her chair. “Look, this is the second time you’ve asked me these questions. I don’t know who killed Dan or his ex-wife. I don’t believe Jordan killed either of them. And yes, under the right circumstances, I’d kill for Jordan, but I didn’t kill Dan or his ex.”

“What about Robby Joe Wright?” Rick leaned over her chair and made direct eye contact.

“Robby Joe?” Rene blinked repeatedly. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Did you kill Robby Joe Wright?”

“You’re nuts. Robby Joe died alone in a one-car accident. He wasn’t murdered and most certainly not by me.”

“How well did you know Robby Joe?”

“I told you yesterday that I’ve known all the men in Jordan’s life, including her father and Robby Joe.”

“You didn’t answer my question – how well did you know him?”

She clamped her teeth together and glared at Rick.

“Didn’t you know Robby Joe before Jordan met him?” Rick moved out of her face and stepped away from her.

“Yes, I did. I introduced them.”

“Were you dating Robby Joe at the time?”

Rene snorted. “You dug pretty deep to get that information, didn’t you? Yes, Robby Joe and I dated for several months, but it was never serious. Once he met Jordan, that was it. He fell for her like a ton of bricks.”

“Were you in love with Robby Joe?”

Rene hesitated, then swallowed hard and said, “Yes, but he didn’t feel the same and I don’t think he ever knew how I felt.”

“Did Jordan know?”

“No, she didn’t. She wouldn’t even date him until she cleared it with me. That’s the type of person she is. She had no idea how I felt about Robby Joe and I really hope you won’t tell her. Not now, after all these years. What would be the point?”

Her father had been a hunter. Once, when she was seven, he had taken her with him on her first hunting trip, disregarding her mama’s pleas not to take a little girl with him to kill animals. But she had loved every moment of the experience. She had learned to use a rifle on that trip, experienced the thrill of the hunt and the triumph of the kill. After that, she had often gone duck and quail hunting with her father, as well as deer hunting. Those grand adventures were now treasured memories. If not for those hunting trips, she wouldn’t have become an expert marksman.

On that cold November morning seven years ago, she had taken a rifle from the locked case in the basement of their home, dressed warmly in camouflage gear, and followed Boyd. After he had parked his truck and joined a group of friends, she had parked a good distance away, on a dirt lane, just outside the hunting area, and walked into the woods alone.

The memory of that morning came back to her as vividly as if it had happened yesterday, almost as if she were watching the scene unfold at this very moment.

He had made promises that he hadn’t kept. They had believed they could be happy with him, that he would give them a child of their own to love. But he had disappointed them time and time again. Boyd Brannon had not been the man they had thought he was. They had overlooked his faults for as long as they could.

His infidelity was the proverbial last straw. An unforgivable sin.

Making the decision to remove him from their life had not been an easy one. After all, they loved his children and Wesley and Kendra had already lost their mother. But in the long run, they, too, would be better off without him.

She adjusted the heavy rifle she carried as she crept softly through the woods. Considering that it was so cold she could see her breath in the frigid air, she was glad she had worn long johns as well as two pairs of socks and a hat that covered her hair. If by any chance someone caught a glimpse of her all bundled up, she doubted they would even realize she was a female.

As the morning wore on and not one hunter had made a kill, she began to worry that Boyd might become discouraged and go home early. But she couldn’t strike too soon. She had to wait until the time was right, the moment perfect.

Soon. Very soon.

She spied him, not more than a few yards away.

Her breathing quickened.

Steady. Stay calm. Mustn’t miss.

She had only one shot. One chance to do the job right.

It had to look like an accident, a tragic hunting accident. Those things happened all the time. No one to blame. Just a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Should it be a shot to the head or the heart? Which would seem more accidental? It probably didn’t matter.

She watched closely as he propped his rifle against a tree and unzipped his pants. What was he doing? Good grief, he was relieving himself.

She smiled.

Now was the moment.

Without another thought or a second of hesitation, she brought the rifle up into position, got him in her sights, aimed, and fired. As the bullet zoomed toward its target, she held her breath.

Waiting with eager anticipation.

Wham! The bullet entered Boyd’s forehead.

As he dropped to the ground, she felt that unequalled flush of exhilaration achieved only in a moment such as this. The moment of the kill.

Chapter 16

After breakfast, Griff asked Nic and Sanders to join him in his study. She had wondered just how long it would take Griff to tell her and Sanders the details of his recent trip to England. Knowing her husband as she did, she had not pressed him about the matter. Griffin Powell made his own rules and had lived as he pleased for far too long for anyone to try to change him. Not even his wife. Oddly enough, Nic wouldn’t change anything about him, even if she could.

He had been home since Thursday and all he’d said about his visit with Yvette Meng was that when he’d left London, Yvette had been well and had sent her regards.

“She’ll be coming for a visit later this year,” Griff had added. “And possibly staying quite a long while.”

There had been a time, early on in their relationship, when Nic had been jealous of the beautiful Yvette, a rather mysterious and exotic woman from Griff’s past. But now, knowing the truth about Griff’s past and his unbreakable bond with his assistant Sanders and with Yvette, she understood the threesome’s devotion to one another. Nic also understood that there were things about her husband she might never know and was, as he had told her, better off not knowing.

Except at night, when they made love, Griff had all but ignored Nic since his return home. He had been on the phone in his home office for hours on end, day after day, totally absorbed in God only knew what. And even though she didn’t want to resent him for not including her in whatever was going on, she did. More than once in the past few days, she had come very close to demanding an explanation. Patience was a virtue she was trying to cultivate.

She and Sanders had spoken briefly about her concerns. “I suspect that he is dealing with something important,” Sanders had told her. “He will explain everything to us in his own good time.”

She hated the fact that Sanders understood Griff in a way she didn’t and probably never would. But confident of her place in Griff’s life and in his heart, she had learned to accept the importance of Sanders’ and Yvette’s relationships with her husband.

Once congregated comfortably in the study, Griff glanced from Nic to Sanders and back to Nic. “I’m sorry that I’ve been reticent about discussing my recent trip to visit Yvette, but first I had to work through everything in my own mind and set the wheels in motion for a joint project with Yvette.”

Sanders remained silent. Nic decided to follow his lead.

“I didn’t mean to shut you out.” His gaze locked with Nic’s. She saw the sincerity of his words reflected in his eyes and also a plea for her understanding. “I was a confirmed bachelor way too long. Be patient with me and in time, I’ll do better about sharing things with you.”

She smiled. “It will take time for both of us to get used to being married and coming to terms with what that means for each of us.”

He returned her smile, then looked at Sanders. “Yvette is going to be sending a young woman to stay with us for a while. She will arrive next week.”

“Someone special to Yvette?” Sanders asked.

“Yes, someone she has been working with,” Griff replied. “I met her while I was in London. She’s an American who has been living in Europe for a number of years.”

“May I ask why Yvette is sending her to us if she’s under-going psychiatric treatment with Yvette?” Nic asked.

“What I’m going to tell you goes no further, except you may tell Barbara Jean,” Griff said. “For some time now, people who have similar special gifts to those Yvette has have been going to her. At present, she is working with five. Four women and one young man.”

“People who claim to be psychic?” Nic asked.

Griff’s lips lifted in a tentative, indulgent smile. “You’re still my little skeptic, aren’t you?”

“I have an open mind, but—”

“I need you to be on board with our plans,” Griff said. “Yvette wants to move here to the U.S., to Griffin’s Rest. She wants to send Meredith here immediately and put her in charge of the construction of a house and a sort of small office complex.”

Nic wasn’t sure how she felt about Yvette moving to Griffin’s Rest and bringing along a group of strange people. But if doing this was important to Griff…

Apparently sensing her reluctance, Griff added, “The building site I’ve chosen is not near our house and we won’t be a part of what Yvette and her—” he paused “—her students will be doing. She simply needs a safe haven to work with these young people and help them.” He looked directly at Nic. “Yvette was concerned about your reaction. She told me that she would come here only with your permission.”

Oh, great. Put me in the position of looking like a jealous, heartless shrew if I say no.

Don’t do this to yourself, Nic. You like Yvette. You respect her. You have no reason to be jealous of her. She is Griff’s friend and she has made it clear that she wants to be your friend, too.

“If you want Yvette here at Griffin’s Rest and are okay with her building a home and a school or an office or whatever she wants to call it for people with all kinds of psychic gifts, I have no objections.”

“Thanks, Nic.”

She took in a deep breath and released it.

No one had ever said being married to Griffin Powell was going to be easy, especially for her.

Nic stood. “If that’s it, I have work to do.”

“We’ll talk more later,” Griff said.

“Sure.” She made it out the door, down the hall and into the sunroom before she screamed with frustration. “Damn, damn, damn!”

“Are you all right?” a voice asked.

Nic gasped and jumped simultaneously.

“I’m sorry,” Barbara Jean said. “I thought you knew I was in here.”

Taking a steadying breath, Nic faced one of Powell’s many employees. But Barbara Jean was special. Not only did she live here at Griffin’s Rest and kept their home office running smoothly, but she was “the” lady in Sanders’ life.

“I didn’t pay any attention,” Nic said. “I just needed a place where I could let off a little steam without sounding an alarm through the whole house.”

Barbara Jean, who had been crippled in a car accident years ago, maneuvered her wheelchair up to Nic. “Want to talk?”

“Yvette Meng is going to build a house here at Griffin’s Rest and move here, probably permanently.”

“Ah, I see.”

“Well, I don’t. I don’t understand why she has to move here and I don’t understand why the idea of it upsets me so.”

Barbara Jean reached out and grasped Nic’s hand. “Will it make you feel any better if I tell you that I’m jealous of her, too?”

Nic and Barbara Jean exchanged knowing glances, then they burst into laughter.

Barbara Jean squeezed Nic’s hand. “She shares a past with them, our men. And there’s nothing we can do to change that. But their love for her is no threat to either of us. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes.” Nic tapped her head. “In here, I know.” She laid her hand over her heart. “It’s in here that I’m having a problem.”

“Then we’ll just have to work on—”

Nic’s cell phone rang, interrupting Barbara Jean mid-sentence.

Nic pulled the phone from her blouse pocket. “Excuse me.”

“Sure. Go ahead and take the call. We can talk later if you want to.”

“I’ll probably need to.” Nic flipped open the phone, noted the caller ID and said, “Hi, Rick, what’s up?”

“I want to run something past you,” he said.

“Shoot.” Nic opened the French doors leading to the patio and walked outside.

“I need some information that’s going to be tricky to get hold of.”

“Info about the Daniel Price case, I assume?”

“Yeah. Actually, it’s personal information about Jordan.”

“What kind of personal information? I thought we had dug up just about all her old skeletons.”

“I need to find out if Jordan has ever been under psychiatric care or if she’s ever had a nervous breakdown or suffered any type of mental problem.”

“Hmm… Interesting. Why do you think she might have—?”

“I don’t know. Let’s just say that I’m playing a hunch. Since I started working this case, I haven’t been able to get a handle on Jordan. It finally hit me that she’s like two different women.”

“You’re not saying you think Jordan Price has multiple personalities, are you?”

“No, no,” Rick said. “None of that bullshit. But how normal is it for a woman to not shed a tear when she has a miscarriage and then to carry on as if she’s perfectly all right?”

“I don’t know, but maybe it’s just Jordan’s way of dealing with such a devastating loss.”

“To my knowledge, she hasn’t cried once since she buried Dan Price. The strange thing is that half the time she acts like a normal, caring person, but the other part of the time, it’s as if she’s little more than a robot.”

“Getting access to a person’s medical records is difficult,” Nic said. “And illegal without their permission.”

“So, you’re saying—”

“I’m saying that I won’t authorize doing anything illegal, but Griff might.”

“Before we go that route – into the illegal zone – do you think Claire might know anything about Jordan’s mental history?”

“Ah, so that’s why you called me and not Griffin.” Nic laughed. “Sure, I’ll call Claire and see what she knows. Give me a couple of hours and I’ll get back to you.”

“Nic?”

“Yes?”

“Before you hang up, I thought you should know that I’m going to move out of Price Manor and into The Priceville Inn where the other Powell agents are staying.”

“Any special reason you’re moving out?”

“Let’s just say that I was getting a little too personally involved with the case.”

“With Jordan Price?” Nic asked.

“Something like that.”

“Want me to pull you off this assignment?”

“No, I need to see this thing through to the end.”

“Okay. I’ll call Claire and get back to you.”

“Thanks, Nic.”

Jordan was spending the morning resting, mostly to pacify Darlene and Roselynne, who had been hovering over her as if she were a helpless invalid ever since she came home from the hospital. Darlene had brought her breakfast upstairs on a tray and sat with her until she’d eaten a little of everything on her plate.

“You have to rebuild your strength, dear,” Darlene had told her.

Now, half an hour after Jordan had persuaded Darlene to leave her alone, Roselynne and Tammy breezed in. Tammy carried a bouquet of spring flowers, no doubt picked from the gardens here at Price Manor. While Tammy put the flowers in a vase, Roselynne plumped Jordan’s pillows and straightened the covers.

“You’re looking much better today. You have more color in your cheeks.” Roselynne kissed Jordan on the forehead and patted her shoulder. “It’ll take time, but you’ll get over this.” She lowered her voice so that only Jordan could hear. “None of you children ever knew this, but I had a miscarriage only a few months after your daddy and I got married. It broke our hearts.”

Jordan hadn’t known, had never even suspected that her stepmother had been pregnant. Was that the reason her father had married Roselynne, because she’d been carrying his child? If so, that certainly explained a lot of things.

After placing the bouquet on the nightstand to Jordan’s right, Tammy sat down on the side of the bed. “Mama says you’re going to be just fine and one day you’ll get married again and have us another baby.”

“Tammy!” Roselynne scolded.

Tammy’s eyes flooded with tears. “What – what did I do wrong?”

Jordan grasped Tammy’s hand. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” She glanced up at her stepmother. “Really, Roselynne, it’s all right.”

Roselynne shook her head and grunted. “When will I learn to keep my big mouth shut? I was just thinking out loud when I said that about your getting married again. I should know better than to do that around our Tammy.”

“Then Mama was right?” Tammy asked. “You will have us another baby someday, won’t you? We really were looking forward to having a baby to love. I had started knitting her a little sweater.”

Roselynne’s brow wrinkled. “Tammy, sweetie, maybe we should go and let Jordan rest now.”

Jordan hugged Tammy, who hopped off the bed and, smiling brightly, waltzed out of the room. Roselynne followed, but paused at the door.

“If I could give you what you deserved, I’d pick you out a man worthy of you, somebody who’d love you the way you should be loved. And I’d wish you a good marriage and a bunch of children. Maybe someday.”

Before Jordan could even think of a reply, Roselynne left. The last thing on Jordan’s mind was remarrying and having children. She had tried marriage twice and both had ended in tragedy. As for a child… Her hand automatically went straight to her stomach. Her baby was gone. Devon’s baby. Odd how she hadn’t really thought of her child as Devon’s. She supposed in her heart, she had thought of the child only as hers, even though she would have shared her son or daughter with both Dan and Devon.

She had been so preoccupied with herself and the investigation into Jane Anne’s murder that she really hadn’t given Devon the support he needed. He, too, had lost a child directly on the heels of losing Dan. Instead of allowing self-pity to overtake her, she should be concentrating on helping Devon.

Absorbed in her thoughts, Jordan barely heard the soft rap on her door.

“Jordan, may I come in?” Rene asked.

“Yes, of course.”

Rene cracked the door, peered inside and smiled. “Are you sure?”

Jordan tossed back the covers and slid to the edge of the bed, then motioned to Rene. “Absolutely sure. I’m going crazy cooped up in here.”

Rene carried a stack of envelopes in her hand. “Morning mail. I thought you could look through it and decide what you wanted to open yourself and what you want me to take care of.”

“Give me five minutes for a quick shower.” Jordan stood, slid her feet into her house shoes, and walked toward the bathroom. “We’ll stay here and not go downstairs so that Darlene and Roselynne will leave me alone.”

“They’re worried about you. That’s why they’re smothering you with attention.”

“I know, but they shouldn’t be so concerned. I’m going to be just fine.”

“Sure you are,” Rene said. “But you know, honey, no one would blame you if you fell apart. Just this once.”

“I can’t.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Fifteen minutes later, Jordan and Rene sat in the side chairs flanking the tea table in Jordan’s sitting room. Rene had poured them coffee from the silver pot left on Jordan’s breakfast tray and they were ready to start going through the mail. After Dan’s death, she had been flooded with sympathy cards and letters and even now a few still trickled in. Rene took care of most of her correspondence, but she usually went through the mail first, choosing what to handle personally.

“Have you talked to Rick Carson this morning?” Rene asked.

“No, why?” Jordan noted a hint of concern in her assistant’s voice.

“Then he didn’t tell you that he’s moving into town, did he? He’s going to stay at the Priceville Inn where the other Powell agents are staying.”

Where Rick stayed, where he spent his nights, shouldn’t matter to her. But it did. Why had he decided to leave Price Manor so suddenly? And why hadn’t he come to her and explained?

“No, he didn’t tell me.”

“Look, I wouldn’t know either except I ran into him as he was leaving, suitcase in hand.”

“What did he say? Did he give you an explanation or—”

“Nope. He just said if you asked about him, to tell you he’d be in touch.”

“I see.”

“Damn men! Every last one of them. They’re nothing but big, hairy, horny apes, the whole lot.”

Jordan laughed. That was one of the things she loved about her friend. Rene could always make her laugh.

“You like him, don’t you?” Rene asked.

“I’ve known him a week. I met him for the first time at Dan’s funeral. He thinks I may have killed both of my husbands and my fiancé. I have no reason to like him.”

“I’m talking about that other kind of liking. The kind that has nothing to do with the length of time you’ve known someone or the reasons why you should or shouldn’t like them. I’m talking about hormones. Rick Carson lights your fire.”

“If that’s your none too subtle way of saying you think I’m physically attracted to him, then if I’m completely honest, I’d have to say yes, I suppose I am. And I hate it. I don’t want those feelings. Not ever again. And especially not now. Not when my life is in utter chaos.”

“If it’ll make you feel any better, you should know that I think he feels the same way. He’s attracted to you and doesn’t want to be. Despite what he might tell you, I believe that’s the reason he’s moving out of Price Manor.”

“Then he’s done the right thing for the right reasons. Rick has to know that for us, it’s definitely a matter of the wrong time, wrong place, wrong everything.” Jordan tapped the three-inch stack of mail. “Let’s get started on these.”

She flipped through the envelopes quickly, sorting them into three stacks: trash, Rene, and handle personally. So far, she had only one that she would have to deal with herself. An invitation of some sort.

Jordan stopped halfway through the stack and stared at the plain white envelope. The address had been hand printed, in pencil. No return address. Postmarked Priceville, Georgia.

“Something interesting?” Rene asked.

“Take a look at this.” She handed the envelope to Rene.

“Hmm… Looks almost like a child’s handwriting, doesn’t it? Want me to open it?”

“No, I’ll do it.” Jordan’s hand trembled as she took the envelope from Rene and ripped it open with her silver letter opener.

Why her heartbeat had accelerated and her palms were suddenly moist, she didn’t know. As if guided by a sixth sense that forewarned her, Jordan carefully removed the single sheet of nondescript white lined notebook paper and unfolded it. The message had been written in pencil in the same childlike printing.

They think you are a killer. We know you are not, don’t we? What do I have to do to prove to them that you’re innocent – kill you, too?

Jordan stared at the succinct message, her pulse pounding, roaring in her head like a runaway train.

“Jordan? Jordan, what’s wrong? What is it?”

Rene’s voice sounded as if it were coming from a great distance. Without saying anything, she handed the letter to Rene, who read it quickly.

“What the hell is this?”

“You tell me.”

“Some nut-job.” She laid the letter on the table. “We need to call Sheriff Corbett.”

“No,” Jordan said.

“But you don’t know if this person is a sicko or just a prankster.”

Jordan got up, dumping the mail off her lap and onto the floor. She found her cell phone lying on her night-stand where she’d put it before going to bed last night. She flipped it open, paused to recall the memorized number, then dialed.

“Who are you calling?” Rene asked.

She held up her hand in a please-wait gesture as she listened to the phone ringing.

“Hello, Jordan,” Rick Carson said.

“I need you to come back to Price Manor right now.”

“I take it that Rene told you I’m moving into the Priceville Inn.”

“Yes, but that’s not why I’m calling. You certainly can stay wherever you want to stay. That’s up to you. But I want you back here immediately. Someone has threatened to kill me.”