Authors: M.J. Rodgers
“Nothing about his having driven an older sports or classic car. She started at Weaton Real Estate a few months after Amy’s hit-and-run and was involved with Bruce romantically for the entire time she worked for him, even after he met Connie and proposed to her.”
“Tina knew about the proposal?”
“Bruce assured her his marriage to Connie wouldn’t interfere with their affair.”
Diana shook her head, disgust flashing across her features. “How did Tina react to that news?”
“She says she didn’t care. I’m inclined to believe her. Tina likes to party and isn’t all that particular with whom.”
“Did you learn anything else?” Diana asked.
“Bruce was a real hustler at the company, brought in the most new clients. Tina described him as charming on the surface, but cutthroat underneath, especially when it came to business. The fact that he didn’t drink actually seemed to annoy her.”
“But not enough to stop her affair with him.”
“As she tells it, he was good-looking, one of her bosses and handy. But she was seeing other men at the same time she was seeing him.”
“Did Bruce know?”
Jack nodded. “Didn’t matter to him, apparently. Of course, he was dating other women so he could hardly object. But she did keep quiet about the fact that one of the other men she was seeing was his brother.”
Diana came forward in her chair. “She was sleeping with Lyle Weaton as well? Did he know about Bruce?”
“According to Tina, not while Bruce was alive.”
“A woman sleeping with two brothers—one married and both her bosses—has to be out of her mind. If they had found out—”
“Even if they had known, I doubt that would have caused a big problem between them,” Jack interrupted. “Lyle Weaton knows now and he’s kept Tina on the payroll. She even hinted that they still get it on.”
Diana shook her head. “Where do they find the time to sell real estate? Or the energy?”
Jack shrugged. “It’s no big deal. Simply routine sex. Easily gotten, easily forgotten.”
“Routine,” she repeated, like the word left a bad taste in her mouth. “If the day comes when such an incredibly exciting, intimate act is reduced to the label of routine for me, I hope I’m dead.”
Jack stared at Diana for a moment without speaking. He wasn’t just surprised at the unexpectedness of her sharing that personal viewpoint. He was stunned at the excitement of his all out-of-proportion response.
Diana rested back in her chair, oblivious to what she had done to him. “I trust you wouldn’t be telling me any of this if you weren’t confident Tina had told you the truth?”
Jack nodded, making a Herculean effort to pull his thoughts away from the far too exciting images playing through his mind. “The fact that Bruce had no intention of being true to Connie, even if she agreed to marry him, does put his motives into question.”
“And we can have Tina testify to that aspect of Bruce’s character, or lack thereof. Who will you be talking to next?”
“Jared’s getting me a copy of the police report on Amy’s hit-and-run. Once time and place are clear, I’ll see if I can find out where Bruce was on that day, who he was with and how he came to be driving a car that wasn’t his.”
“I’d be interested in taking a look at that hit-and-run report myself.”
Jack checked his watch. “It should be at the condo. And my dad should have dropped off my keys by now. Drive me to my car, we’ll swing by my place, and I’ll run off a copy for you.”
When she hesitated, he wondered if she were worried about his reasons for inviting her to his home. “I’ll bring a copy to you when I come to the wedding on Saturday,” he amended. “Call me a cab, and I’ll be out of your hair.”
“A cab would take too long to get here. I’ll drive you to your car.”
A
FTER
D
IANA HAD
taken Jack to his car, she followed him to the Hamilton Arms, an upscale condo community where
the governing board interviewed prospective buyers like they were being considered for entry into a royal family.
Jack swiped his entry key card at the gate and drove through to the secured underground parking. Diana parked across the street and stared at the impressive building of shiny smooth granite, rising five flights into the night sky.
A story about the Hamilton Arms had been circulated the year before around the law office. Seems an affluent couple had filed suit against the managing board when it wouldn’t allow them to buy one of the expensive units because their poodle didn’t have a pedigree. Diana was never quite sure if that story was meant to be a joke.
She noticed an electronic surveillance camera in the formal entry when Jack let her inside a minute later. They took the elevator to his penthouse condo. He moved aside for her to precede him.
Diana stepped beneath an enormous skylight that showcased the stars. Spotless pale sandstone floors led to a twelve-foot long suede couch the color of bittersweet chocolate. Behind it, the twinkling lights from the city filled a wall of windows.
The rest of the living room’s furniture and accessories were amber, black and gold. Healthy plants, with long stems and shiny leaves, waved in the breeze from the air conditioner.
But perhaps best of all was the impressionist mural covering one fifteen-foot wall—a glistening landscape of an enchanted garden that beckoned one to walk along its moss-covered paths, drink in the scent of its swaying wild-flowers and touch the leaves of its silvery trees encased in never-ending sunlight.
Jack’s home—and it was most definitely a home—shimmered with wit, warmth and welcome. She had no doubt that every woman who’d come here hoped she’d be asked to stay.
“So, this is what an upscale bachelor’s pad with weekly maid service looks like,” she said, her voice carefully devoid of any and all approval.
“Twice-a-week maid service,” Jack corrected in a lighthearted tone as he set his keys on an ebony dish near the entry. “I’m a slob.”
No one who lived here could possibly be a slob.
“Feel free to take a look around,” Jack said, his voice and grin as inviting as his home. “For a reasonable fee, I’ll even let you open the closets and drawers.”
“I’ll pass, thanks. Where would your brother have left the report?”
Jack eyed her curiously before responding. “When Jared comes by, his first stop is always the kitchen for something to eat.”
“Let’s go see.”
He led the way, darting a look at her. “You’re not comfortable here.”
Since he hadn’t asked a question, she didn’t feel pressed to respond. He kept a slight distance between them down the hallway.
She understood he was trying to reassure her. What he didn’t understand was that her discomfort had nothing to do with her sense of safety around him. She knew Jack wasn’t going to try to seduce her here or anywhere else.
She very much doubted he’d ever tried to seduce a woman. Women he met were probably so willing the thought never occurred to him.
Jack turned on the kitchen lights, revealing a clean expanse of stainless steel appliances, Corian countertops and light maple cabinets. A stack of take-out menus lay on the center island near the cordless phone.
He picked up the sheets of paper lying next to the refrigerator. “This is the hit-and-run report all right,” he
said as he scanned it. “Happened right after eleven on a Sunday morning, July 5, five years ago.”
“The day after the holiday,” Diana said as she moved to Jack’s side.
He repositioned the report so she could see it more easily. “The small clapboard house where she was living with Amy is in a working-class neighborhood on the other side of town from Bruce’s home and business,” he said.
“What was he doing driving down her street on a Sunday morning in a car that wasn’t his?” Diana asked.
“I may have the answer to half that question. That address is only a few blocks from the park where Bruce used to play softball on the weekends.”
“That something else you learned from Tina?”
Jack nodded. “He dragged her out to the park to watch him play once. She told me that looking at a bunch of guys running around a softball field wasn’t her idea of fun. The names she gave me of a couple of his weekend athlete buddies match attendees at his funeral. They’re on my list of who to see tomorrow.”
“Do you have the addresses of these buddies?” Diana asked.
“And you’re interested because…”
“I was wondering if they lived somewhere near Connie.”
Jack shook his head. “The guys he played with were financially successful businessmen like himself. The Weaton Real Estate Company does a bang-up business. Lyle Weaton is a major player in commercial transactions and his staff has a decent portion of the noncommercial property arena. The death of his father and brother did adversely impact company sales for a while, but Lyle has turned it around.”
“This something else you learned from Tina?”
“I checked the company’s financial standing before I went to see her,” Jack explained.
And got all he needed from another female source, no doubt.
“My copier is in the study,” he said on his way out the door. “This will only take a couple of minutes. Feel free to help yourself to a cold drink, or whatever else you might like. The refrigerator’s well stocked.”
She just bet it was.
Diana walked around the spotless kitchen. She opened a cabinet and saw half a dozen high-quality olive oils, first-rate pasta, Godiva chocolates and imported crackers. In the oversize refrigerator were chilled wine, good aged cheese and an assortment of fresh deli delicacies.
She was certain that if she made a trip to the bathroom she’d find a wide assortment of scented body oils, soft towels and probably no less than a case of condoms beneath the sink.
And there would not be a trace of any other women who had been here. He would have made sure of that.
Diana’s chest filled with a disappointment so acute she sighed from the heaviness of it.
When Jack returned a couple of minutes later, she was standing at the exact spot where he’d left her. He studied her face closely as he handed her the copy he’d made.
“Something’s wrong,” he said.
She folded the papers into her shoulder bag. “Thanks for the report.”
As she went past him, he grasped her arm, halting her retreat. His words were a warm brush against her hair. “Diana, what is it?”
The firm grip of his hand, the sudden closeness of his body, and the concern in his voice all invaded her senses so fast she had no time to erect her defenses. Her knees went weak, and her body leaned into his. God, he felt
good. She closed her eyes, absorbed the heat and strength of him and struggled for sanity.
“Diana?”
The warmth of his voice was nothing less than a caress. Summoning all her strength, she opened her eyes and shifted her weight off him. “Sorry, I’m a little tired. Normally, I’m not so unsteady on my feet.”
She was careful not to look at him, but could feel his eyes on her and the claim his hand still made on her arm.
“I’m not complaining,” he said in a tone unmistakably husky with humor and something else. “Diana, come sit down, and I’ll get you something to drink.”
“Thanks, but it’s late, and I’d like to go home. So, if you don’t mind…”
He hesitated a moment before releasing her. It took every ounce of her concentration to walk a straight line as she made her way to the front door and let herself out.
Until tonight, she had no idea how deeply attracted she was to Jack. Or how dangerous that attraction was.
Long ago Diana had learned that the energy and enthusiasm she brought to an activity made the difference between living a life full of meaning and one that didn’t matter. Nowhere had this proved truer than in her personal relationships.
She gave them her all.
But Jack viewed relationships between men and women far differently. How had he put it? Ah, yes.
Routine sex. Easily gotten, easily forgotten.
T
HE SIGN OUTSIDE READ
Albright’s Imports. On the inside showroom floor was a silver Porsche GT2 and an Audi Motorsport racer. Put a supermodel with season tickets to the Mariners in the passenger seat of either one of those cars and most guys would rename the place Paradise.
At least that’s what Jack was thinking when he walked in grinning—until the mental image of an unattainable attorney replaced that of the supermodel, and the grin slid off his lips.
A man with the winning smile of a consummate salesman met Jack at the door. “Bud Albright,” he said as he held out his hand.
Jack shook the man’s hand and gave him his name.
“Recognized you the moment you got out of your Turbo,” Bud said, pointing at Jack’s Porsche parked out front. “You played Derek Dementer on
Seattle.
Saved me from a lot of boring days when the bad weather scared even the looky-loos away.”
“Glad you enjoyed the show.”
“All except for the scene when they sent you off the cliff in that brand new Cabriolet.” Bud put his hand over his heart. “Man, I still get heartburn just thinking about the waste of that beautiful piece of machinery.”
Jack smiled. “A computer-generated stunt. The Porsche Cabriolet is alive and well.”
“That’s a relief. So, Jack, what’s it going to take for me to put you into this GT2?”
This dealership dealt in the kind of vehicles most people could never afford. Dreamers, no doubt, meandered through the showroom on a daily basis. Bud Albright, however, would only expend his energy on those who fit the profile of a potential buyer. Jack knew that the fact the man had met him at the door proved he’d passed that test.
There was only one way he was going to get information out of Bud.
“I’ll be keeping the Turbo a while longer,” Jack said. “But I do have a friend in the business who might be interested in this little beauty if you can get him a good deal.”
“One he can’t refuse,” Bud assured, rocking forward on his toes in anticipation. “When can he come in?”
Jack’s friend was real, but the possibility of his making a trip to the West Sound was not. “He’s involved in a shoot at the studio this week. I’m checking out prices and availability while I’m here in the area putting together a project.”
A young couple walked in the showroom door. The other salesman took one look at their clothes and wide-eyed demeanor and remained at his desk. When the woman glanced at Jack, her mouth dropped open. She poked the man’s arm and began to whisper in his ear.
Bud didn’t miss the woman’s reaction. He signaled his salesman to distract the couple. The man dropped his car-racing magazine and hopped to.
“Let’s do this in my office,” Bud said to Jack, nodding toward the back.
Car dealers liked flaunting celebrity clients, but Bud was savvy enough to know that allowing them to be bothered wasn’t good business.
Jack followed Bud to a nicely appointed office at the end of the paneled hall. He took a seat on the deep-cushioned guest chair and waved away the offer of coffee.
For the next twenty minutes he let Bud talk about the GT2’s options and availability and a delivery price that hovered around the two-hundred-thousand mark, nodding at all the appropriate moments.
When Bud had printed off a list of the vehicle’s specs, Jack studied the sheet as though he were really reading what was printed there.
“By the way, what’s your friend’s show?” Bud asked, obviously trying to sound casual.
“We have an agreement not to discuss each other’s projects,” Jack said, pocketing the information he’d been given.
“Why’s that?”
“We’re too competitive to do each other justice.”
Bud chuckled. “So tell me about your project.”
From the moment Jack had walked into the dealership, he’d been leading Bud to that question. Now he painted a thoughtful look on his face as if trying to decide how much to say. “Something pretty exciting. Of course, it’s still in the development stage. You’ll have to promise to keep this between us.”
“Absolutely,” Bud assured him.
Jack sat forward slightly, putting into his body language the subtle nuance that a confidence was about to be given. “The project’s based on the actual murder of a real estate agent here in Silver Valley.”
“Bruce Weaton?”
Jack feigned surprise. “You knew him?”
“Well, yeah. His father, Philip, was president of our local Chamber of Commerce. Bruce and his brother, Lyle, became active members a few years after me.”
“You were close,” Jack said. “I’m sorry. This must be painful for you to talk about.”
“We weren’t that close,” Bud said quickly. “Outside of general Chamber business, all Bruce and I really had in
common was the Chamber of Commerce softball league. Sixty guys out for a little exercise and some socializing. Bruce was the pathetic center fielder on team three. That’s the one I still captain.”
Jack nodded as though remembering something. “I think I have something about the league in my notes. Your teams play at Crisalli Park?”
Bud seemed pleased. “Yeah, only place around with three diamonds. The Chamber pays for the park’s maintenance in exchange for use of the fields during the season. We get first pick on the weekends.”
“So how long did you and Bruce play together?”
“He signed up when he joined the Chamber of Commerce. Guess that’d be about eight years ago.”
Jack settled back in his chair. “Since you knew him for such a long time, maybe you can help me out on something. We’re having a hard time with Bruce’s characterization.”
“This story is about him as well as the woman who killed him?”
“His past definitely will play an important role,” Jack said carefully. “His family and co-workers have talked about him as being such a straight arrow, and I’m sure he was a good guy and all, but that makes him sort of boring to a viewing audience. Know what I mean?”
Bud nodded. “You want to know if he had another side.”
“Everyone has faults,” Jack said nonchalantly and then waited.
Bud shifted in his chair as he gave the request some thought. “This isn’t that big a city, Jack. A business like mine, well, I don’t sell my cars to the average guy. The goodwill of those with clout can make all the difference in resells and referrals.”
“No one will ever know the information came from you.”
That’s what Bud had wanted to hear. “Wasn’t a secret really. Anybody who knew him could tell you.”
“So there was something about Bruce that stands out in your mind?”
“Let’s just say I’m not surprised a jealous woman killed him.”
“Ah, a ladies’ man,” Jack said.
Bud snorted. “More like a total lecher. Seemed to think his duty was to try to lay any female in the vicinity. He came on to my wife at one of our softball games. Right in front of me.”
Jack sent Bud the expected head shake of disbelief. “How did you handle it?”
“I picked up a bat and told him the next balls I was hitting over the fence were going to be his.”
Jack nodded approvingly. “Bet that got his attention.”
“Nearly tripped over his feet when he staggered off.”
“Staggered?”
“As in drunk.”
Jack sat up straight. “I was told he didn’t drink.”
“He didn’t after he joined AA. I’m not surprised his family didn’t tell you about his problem. Before he went on the wagon, he was a real embarrassment to them.”
“In what way?”
“You mean other than the fact that he had a tendency to overlook wedding rings on ladies’ fingers and even husbands standing right beside them?”
Jack nodded.
“Well, once when we were out at the park for some practice, I heard Bruce’s father tell him that if he ever took another client to see a property when he was soused, he’d kick him out of the business. Then a couple of months
later, both his brother and father had to leave a Chamber meeting to bail him out of some trouble.”
“Jail?”
“Who knows? Lyle got the call on his cell. Then he turned to Philip and said something to the effect that Bruce was at it again. Must have been something serious for Philip to give me the gavel in the middle of an important meeting and go off to get Bruce out of whatever jam he was in.”
“See what you mean,” Jack said. “When did Bruce stop drinking?”
“Not long after that incident with my wife.”
“Can you narrow that down for me?”
Bud ran fingers through his wisps of thinning hair. “Let’s see. He made the move on my wife toward the end of June, four, no five years ago. It was a couple of weeks later at a board meeting that I learned he’d joined AA.”
“A couple of weeks later,” Jack repeated.
“Yeah. Right after the Fourth of July weekend. I remember his brother was at bat that Sunday, and he was next up but nowhere in sight. I found him beneath the bleachers, on his hands and knees, murmuring something about having dropped his car keys. He was loaded. I told him to take a cab home and sleep it off. The following Wednesday night I was in the hall before the meeting, taking down some of the decorations we’d put up for the holiday. That’s when I overheard him talking to his father about having joined AA. Far as I know, he never took another drink.”
“Bud, would you happen to have a roster of the guys who played on your team that Fourth of July weekend five years ago?”
“It’d be in the Chamber files. Why?”
“I’d like to talk to some of the guys,” Jack said. “But don’t worry. I won’t tell them you sent me.”
“Give me your e-mail address, and I’ll send the roster to you.”
Jack wrote out his address and handed it to the man.
“Did you see Bruce a lot after he joined AA?” Jack asked.
“A lot more than before, which wasn’t necessarily a good thing. When he started to attend meetings regularly, he got real pushy. Began to think he was a hotshot on the softball field, too. He was even trying to challenge me to become captain. And the women! God, one right after another. But at least when he wasn’t drunk, he had the sense to leave the married ones alone. Is any of this helping you with his characterization?”
Jack smiled. “You have no idea how much.”
M
RS
. E
DITH
L
EWANDOWSKI WAS
seventy-six, a widow for ten years and cranky as a two-year-old on a rainy day. She had told Diana over the phone that she wasn’t going to be dragged down to the courthouse or some law office for any deposition. If Diana insisted on questioning her, she’d have to come to her.
Diana assured Mrs. Lewandowski that taking the deposition at her home was no problem. She not only didn’t want to alienate the witness, but she also wanted to get a look at the scene of Bruce’s death from the woman’s viewpoint so she could have a clear understanding of everything that happened that day.
Mrs. Lewandowski’s living room was full of floral furniture with ball and claw legs, rolled armchairs the color of plum and the musty smell that meant she never opened a window.
Figurine collectibles on the mantelpiece didn’t look like they’d been touched in years, but the dozen or so books on the shelf near her rocking chair were dust-free and bore the titles of several Pulitzer Prize winners.
Mrs. Lewandowski scowled through a profusion of gray-white bangs as the court reporter asked her if she were going to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
“I’m no liar,” she declared in a voice that carried into the corners of the room, as though the administering of the oath had been a deliberate attack on her veracity. “Never have been. And you won’t get me to lie now.”
The court reporter wisely accepted that as an affirmative, took a chair in the corner and tried to fade into the flowered wallpaper.
Diana sat on the settee across from the scowling old woman and smiled. “Thank you very much for seeing me.”
When the woman didn’t respond, Diana began her questions. “Did you know Bruce Weaton well?”
“He lived across the street from me for more than six years. Waved when he saw me. Persuaded his nephew to weed my garden when my arthritis got so bad I couldn’t. Bruce was a fine, upstanding young man. His death was an abomination.”
And Mrs. Lewandowski was still mad about it.
“Would you please tell me in your own words what you remember of July 27 of last year?”
“You want to know what I saw the day Bruce was killed.”
“Yes.”
“I was sitting right here reading when I heard some shouting across the street.”
“Do you remember what time that was?”
“Early afternoon as I recall. I looked out my picture window and saw a car backing out of the driveway. Then the car stopped and started forward. Bruce ran in front of it, waving his hands for the driver to stop. The driver didn’t stop. The car hit him, and he went down.”
Clear. Precise. Not a wasted word. Diana waited until she was certain that Mrs. Lewandowski wouldn’t be adding any more.
“Do you mind if I take a look out your window?”
“Be my guest.”
The woman’s tone remained brisk, but her scowl had relaxed somewhat in the wake of Diana’s gentle politeness. Most people responded favorably to being listened to and treated with respect. For an older woman—the bulk of whom were generally ignored—this was particularly true.
As Diana approached Mrs. Lewandowski’s rocking chair, she bent to approximate the woman’s seated height. The view out the window was unobstructed. Diana could not only see the road but also the front and side yards of the house that had been Bruce Weaton’s.
“Do you wear glasses, Mrs. Lewandowski?”
She shook her head. “I had cataract surgery three years ago. They implanted prescription lenses in my eyes.”
“Your corrected eyesight is twenty-twenty?”
“Close enough.”
“Could you tell what kind of car hit Bruce?”
“A green Dodge Colt. One of my grandkids has one, only his is gray.”
“And the driver?”
“I couldn’t see her.”
“You could tell the driver was a woman?”
“That became obvious when the deputy pulled her out of the driver’s seat later.”
“What direction was the car going when it hit Bruce?”
“West,” Mrs. Lewandowski said as she pointed to the left.