An Excuse For Murder, page 9
She dabbed carefully at the wound. He winced.
Kate shot him a look. “It’s not that bad. It’s almost stopped bleeding.”
His face was close to hers. She could smell his aftershave, scent of sandalwood and herbs.
“Thank you.”
“First turned down, then punched. I think I’m losing my touch.”
“Stop smiling. You’re making this more difficult.”
“No, this would make it difficult.” And his mouth was on hers. His lips were warm and gentle. It was quick, just seconds, before he stepped back. He looked as surprised as she felt. “Are you going to hit me again?” He asked warily.
“Not right away, anyway.”
“Thank God for that.” Gary rubbed a hand over his jaw. “How’s your hand?”
Her knuckles were aching. “Fine.” There was a pause as she thought of something else to say. “Is your car parked here?”
“No, I’m walking. I usually come through the alley”—he pointed to the entrance on their left—”and cut through the lot to get to the next street. It makes the walk five minutes shorter. Isn’t this the longer route from your shop?”
“After being in the store all day, the fresh air was nice.”
“And the fog?” Gary raised an eyebrow.
“Atmospheric.”
“So you’re a recreational locksmith who knows how to throw a punch and enjoys a stroll through the fog.”
“And sells books,” Kate added.
“Be careful. It’s a long, dark walk on your own.” The warning was sudden, his tone serious.
She shivered. “I’m always careful.”
“How did it go with the lock picking?”
“It was very successful.”
“I’m assuming the diamonds have been sold by now?” He asked, more lightly.
“Naturally.”
“Well,” he looked around the empty lot. “I’m going to go home and get some ice.”
Kate laughed. “You do that.” She walked toward her Mini.
“You’re not going to get very far without these.” Something small and shiny swung from his fingers. Her car keys. “You dropped them during the skirmish.”
Kate took her keys from him. “They might be useful.”
“Of course, you could always show off your lock picking skills.” Gary grinned.
“Too little light.” She hit the unlock button, and opened the door.
“Kate?”
She turned back.
“I might ask you for dinner again one day.” He stood there smiling at her, his hands in his pockets.
“One day, I might say yes.” She got in the car. Gary waited for her to lock the doors. In the rearview mirror, Kate watched him jog across the street. Just before he was out of sight, he glanced back in her direction.
Kate started the car and pulled out of the lot. Her lips tingled. She shook her head and concentrated on the drive. What she needed was a pack of red licorice, a soak in the tub, and a relaxing book.
She had bolted, as simple as that. The man on the stairs could have been a regular customer, another shop owner. It might have even been the vegetable man she bought cucumbers from in the market. But he should have said something, instead of just standing there.
A sign for Maple Road appeared ahead, suspended in the headlights, and Kate turned onto the familiar street.
The house rose up out of shrouds of fog. Birds gusted over the chimney, around the tower, and between the trees. Their cries echoed through the orchard. Light from an upper window spilled to the ground. The rest of the house was dark.
It made Kate think of the email Mom had sent yesterday. There have always been ghosts in that house. That’s why I tried so hard to convince you to change your mind about staying there. My mother never told stories about their childhood, and she left Willowsend as soon as she could, got as far away as she could. I always felt there was a reason she did. Roselyn was the one who inherited the property. Kept everything the same. My mother once said taking care of that house was Roselyn’s atonement, or a part of it anyway. Wish I could tell you more but, as you know, your grandmother never liked to talk about the past.
With those words echoing through her mind, Kate parked the car and grabbed her bag. Something rustled in the weeds at the side of the drive, scurried in the darkness. Gravel crunched beneath her shoes as she walked up the path to the porch. She dug in her purse for her house key and almost tripped over the sneaker that appeared in front of her.
Kate froze. Her key fob, in the distinctive shape of a tiny book, slipped from her fingers, disappearing into the depths of her bag.
Chapter Sixteen
A dead body. Not again, Kate thought.
She took a closer look at the long shape lounging on the steps. The sneaker twitched.
Kate decided to take that as a sign of life. “Who are you?”
The man jumped to his feet, unfolding gangly legs from the darkness. White teeth flashed in a rakish grin. “I think the doorbell’s broken. I saw the light, but no one answered. Figured I’d wait.” A faint accent added an irregular cadence to his words. She had the impression he was used to slipping between languages.
“Who were you waiting for?” Kate stepped past him. A large duffel bag was blocking a good portion of the front door. She maneuvered around it and turned on the porch light.
“Ah, see, if I could have found that—” He met her slightly hostile stare and trailed off. “I, er, wouldn’t have had to wait in the dark,” he finished. He stooped to pick up his bag and grinned at her over his shoulder. “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind waiting.”
The light hit him, and a jolt of recognition ran through her. The tousled hair, the wide grin. The confident, energetic movements. “The man in charcoal,” Kate murmured. Elaina’s sketch come to life. Looking only slightly scruffier in person.
He gripped the heavy bag easily in one hand and blinked at her. “Excuse me?”
“Nothing. Never mind.” So he did exist.
“I was passing through and decided to stop by. Elaina isn’t expecting me. It was a spontaneous decision. I sent an email, but I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to make it.”
If he had told her he was thinking of visiting, Elaina hadn’t been overjoyed by the news. Kate would have noticed. It was hard to miss when Elaina was happy. “Passing through on your way to…?”
“The Middle East.” He rubbed a rueful hand across the back of his neck. “All right, so it’s not exactly on the way.”
“Soldier?” The sneakers, tattered laces and cargo pants didn’t suit her idea of a returning soldier.
“Travel writer,” he corrected. “I’m writing a piece on Sharm el-Sheikh,” he explained. “Willowsend is slightly off the beaten path but, if you’ve got the time, you have to seize the opportunity. Do you know when she’ll be home? I’m Ian Kale, by the way.” He held out his hand.
“Kate Rowan. Nice to meet you.” His grip was firm. “Elaina won’t be back until late, but come on in.” Kate unlocked the door. “You can wait in the kitchen. It’s more comfortable than the porch.”
“I’m sure.” Ian grinned, toeing his shoes off inside the door.
“You’ve been here before.”
“A while ago.”
Kate led the way to the kitchen. He strolled down the hall behind her in his socks. Piano music drifted down to them from upstairs. The dreamlike notes rose and fell in melancholy spirals of sound. It was no wonder Great-aunt Roselyn hadn’t heard the doorbell.
“Is someone else at home or do you always have Debussy playing in the background?”
“My great-aunt must be upstairs.”
“It’s been a while since I was here, but the place hasn’t changed. Frozen in time, like Sleeping Beauty’s castle.” He glanced at Kate. “I guess my last visit must have been before you moved in.”
“Over two years then.” Had it been that long since he’d seen Elaina or only since he’d last been to the house? “Can I get you something to drink?”
“Green tea, if you have any.” Ian slouched into the chair, long legs sprawled beneath the table. He leaned forward and grinned, laugh lines crinkling around his eyes. “Sorry for startling you before, by the way. It must have been a shock, finding someone on your porch.”
“Just a little,” Kate said dryly. She poured boiling water over the tea bags and brought two cups to the table. “How long have you known Elaina?” She wrapped her hands around the thick mug, warming her chilled fingers.
“Close to eight years now.”
“Really? That long? How did you meet?”
“Elaina doesn’t talk about me much, does she?” Ian swirled the tea in his cup, a wry smile on his lips. “That’s okay,” he said when he saw her expression. “You don’t have to answer that. How we met… I’d just gotten my first assignment and was going to meet some friends in front of the anthropological museum to celebrate at a café nearby. Elaina was studying art at the college. She was my friend Brandon’s date.”
Kate laughed. “I see.”
“She walked up to the museum steps wearing this short dress, killer heels and dark lipstick that stained her cigarettes red. She had this fuck-off attitude that got everyone’s attention. I think I was the only one who saw through it.” He grinned at the memory. “To make a long story short, she left the café with me. I haven’t spoken to Brandon in eight years. Not a huge loss. We never had much in common. Well, until that night.”
“I could give Elaina a call at work, let her know you’re here.”
“I don’t mind waiting.”
He looked comfortable and fully prepared to wait as long as it took. “I’ll let her know anyway. It won’t take a minute.” A lot could happen in two years, no matter how much he seemed to want to think time had stood still. Elaina deserved a warning.
Ian sat at the kitchen table in a pool of white light from the lamp above, his back to the door. Kate grabbed the phone and dialed the number of the pub. A mixture of canned music and crashing glasses sounded through the line. “Elaina? It’s Kate.”
“What’s up?”
“Don’t sound so excited.”
“I forgot my pompoms.” A blast of noise filtered through the line. “You’re cut off!”
“The connection seems fine to me.”
“What? No. This guy is so far gone, his tie is soaking up the rest of his whiskey. Look, was there something you wanted?”
“Ian is here.” Silence. “I found him on the porch when I got home.”
“Shit. Just what I needed.” There was a pause. “Okay, tell you what. Give him the bottle of vodka in the fridge. Hopefully then the last thing he’ll want to do when I get home is talk. And, no, I won’t be leaving work early just to see him. Someone has to break it to him that the world doesn’t stop turning just because he decides to show up again. Narcissistic—” A round of raucous cheers drowned out the rest of her description. “Thanks for the call.” Elaina hung up.
At least she’d gotten a thank you.
“There’s a bottle of vodka in the fridge,” Kate told Ian.
A gasp from the doorway startled her. Great-aunt Roselyn stood on the threshold, pale and wide-eyed. “It’s not possible,” she said, her voice raw with shock.
Ian swung around to see what Kate was looking at.
As he turned, Roselyn’s fingers unfurled from the white-knuckled fist her left hand had formed. Her expression changed to one of relief. “I seem to have gotten lost in the past.” She stepped into the room. “For a moment, you looked like someone I used to know, a long time ago. It startled me. Ian, how nice to see you again.” Her voice was calm now. Pleasant and welcoming and, Kate thought, viciously controlled. “Elaina will be pleased. Has Kate been a good hostess? Can I offer you anything? I have a tin of biscuits somewhere.”
“I’ll pass right now, but thanks.” Ian rose to greet her. “I hope you don’t mind that I showed up like this. I didn’t come empty-handed.” He dug in his bag and pulled out a small package. “Goda Masala. I hope you like Indian food.”
“Spices are a lovely gift.” She set the packet down on the counter. Were her fingers trembling?
“It’s the least I could do. If it’s all right with you, I think I’ll wait in Elaina’s room.” Ian turned to Kate. “I will take you up on your offer, Kate.”
“Sure.” Kate got the vodka from the fridge, her eyes on her great-aunt. It was the expression, the sudden flash of confusion, that worried her. She had begun to recognize it, that loss of focus, and to dread it.
Ian took the liquor from Kate. He examined the label and grinned his appreciation. “Trust Elaina to get nothing but the best.” He slung his duffel bag over his shoulder. “Nice meeting you, Kate. Goodnight, Mrs. Marsh, and thanks for putting me up.”
“Of course, Ian.”
He walked down the dark hall, the bottle of vodka dangling from his hand, the worn bag at his side.
Out of the corner of her eye, Kate noticed Great-aunt Roselyn move to the French doors. One arm was wrapped around her waist. She was absorbed in some unseen reality. Or the past. Her features wavered in the reflection, distorted in the glass.
Lonely, Kate was surprised to catch herself thinking. Her great-aunt looked lonely.
And here she was, nursing sore knuckles and thinking of a kiss beneath the glow of a streetlamp.
****
The kiss was a mistake.
The lamp at Gary’s elbow buzzed and flickered. He reached for his coffee. No mystery why the office at the back of his flat smelled like a strong dark roast. The guitar-driven sound of blues rock was playing on the stereo, turned down low. A faded green sofa, sagging in the middle, leaned against the wall. Far past its sell-by date, it was the most comfortable piece of furniture he owned.
The bruise on his jaw throbbed. For a little thing, Kate could throw one hell of a punch.
Her lips had been soft, though.
Gary took a sip of coffee and scalded his tongue, felt the caffeine hit his system. He reached for the remote and turned the volume up until the music filled the room.
Kate had been scared. That much was obvious. The man had followed her at a distance, kept her in his sight and slowly closed the gap between them.
What would have happened if Gary hadn’t cut through the alley and gotten to her first? And taken a punch for his efforts, he thought ruefully.
At least he had gotten a good look at the man. Pausing next to a Jag parked on the street, he’d let the man pass and used the opportunity to take in the details. Suit and tie. Expensive leather briefcase. Too thin, gaunt even. Clean looking. Someone you’d assume followed the rules. Showed up at work on time, paid his bills. But appearances could be misleading.
The man was already walking away when it hit him. Gary had seen him before. But where? Gary picked up a pencil and tapped it thoughtfully against the edge of the table. The beat picked up the bluesy rhythm of the song.
Wink of gold on the man’s ring finger. That was surprising. A married man would think twice about following the next pair of hips that swung past. Didn’t chase after just any pretty face. Not if it meant risking the wrath of an angry female. And he certainly wouldn’t be wearing his wedding band to go on the prowl. That ruled out attraction as a motive.
Where had he seen him? Gary ran through a mental line-up of faces. The pub. No, not there. A client? Doubtful. He had an almost photographic overview of the workings of Fenris Securities. Nothing missed, nothing forgotten. Maybe it was the briefcase. That was it. Something to do with that briefcase. The connection lay there. He could see the man exiting a building. The pencil rapped out a faster beat. The subwoofer amplifying the rapid roll of the drums.
He stopped, the pencil poised in the air. The song ended. And he had it.
The memory was there, sharp and detailed. Swing of glass doors. The man exiting the building at a fast clip. Key card dangling off a lapel. That building. Shit.
Tech companies had numerous employees. ‘Course they would. Employees ensured continued growth. Even comparatively small ones like this, focusing on software rather than hardware. It might be a coincidence that it was the same one that had, for a time, employed Derek Wendell.
But coincidences set off his radar. Made him suspicious. It wasn’t the caffeine that filled him with energy now. It was the hunt.
Gary turned to his laptop. Gave the company name in the search bar, pulled up the website. All those handy icons right there on the homepage. He grinned. Don’t be afraid to share. Isn’t that what they said? You had to love social media. So much information, just a click away. He scrolled down, skimming past links to articles on troubleshooting, updates on new releases, infographics. It was a name he wanted. He refined the search.
And then, there it was. A picture. The photograph even had its own headline, documenting corporate philanthropy. Volunteer work at a shelter to encourage camaraderie. And in the background, the man he was looking for.
Gary zoomed in. Forced smile, but it was him all right. Not looking too pleased about taking part in building morale. Not a team player then, are we? Ryan Delaney. The name, black on white. It didn’t ring any bells. Gary copied the image and the accompanying status update. Stored it in a secure file.
Now to dig a little deeper.
With a few practiced moves, Gary pulled up what he was looking for. His eyebrows rose and he whistled through his teeth. “Now this is interesting.”
Occupation, sales manager. In comparison to Delaney’s position, Wendell had been a rodent, an underling. Still, it was something to keep in mind.
Thirty-nine years old. Married for ten years. Delaney earned a decent yearly salary, plus bonuses and commission. Very comfortable. Enough to keep Mrs. Delaney in all the Jimmy Choos her little heart desired.
But that didn’t help him figure out why the bastard was tailing Kate. What he wanted. Still, it was a start. It wouldn’t take much to find out more. A few well-placed questions. An open wallet.
