Authors: Carlene Thompson
“So what was there between you and Dara?”
Sloane was beginning to look a bit impatient. “Nothing, Deputy. In the weeks before she vanished, or was killed, she was acting pretty wild, even for her. Something was going on with her, but I wouldn’t have any way of knowing what it was. I barely knew her.”
“But even
you
admitted she was flirting with you.”
“Yes. I told you her behavior was strange, although flirting with men was second nature with Dara. She did seem to be focusing on me, though. Maybe it was to piss off Chris.”
“And according to Miss Ireland, you didn’t discourage her.”
Sloane glanced at his watch. “Deputy, I’m expecting a guest. I only have a few more minutes to talk to you. But I will tell you that Dara was Ames Prince’s daughter.
Teenage
daughter. I’d only been with the Prince firm for a year. Do you think I wanted to offend the child who had my boss wrapped around her little finger? I would have been out of Prince Law in a heartbeat if she’d complained to Daddy Ames about me. So I
endured
her because I felt I had to.” He swirled the melting ice cubes around his glass. “In fact, I was pretty damned mad at Dara at the time. She was putting me between the proverbial rock and a hard place, jeopardizing my job and my relationship with Christine. And she didn’t care how much trouble she was causing me. She thought it was funny.”
“You don’t sound like you cared much for Dara.”
“From what I knew of her, I didn’t like her at all. She
was beautiful, sure, but she was also completely self-centered and a troublemaker. That’s what all the flirting with me was about—causing trouble. But before you get the wrong idea, I didn’t dislike her enough to kill her.”
“Killing her for flirting with you would be a bit extreme,” Michael said solemnly.
Sloane looked at him closely for a moment, then threw back his head and guffawed. The sound echoed around the big, badly decorated room. “You’re all right, Winter.”
Michael smiled back. “Thanks. But I take it you
do
think she’s dead.”
Sloane glanced at him in surprise. “Well, of course. I know the cops don’t consider Ames’s identification of the body official, but it’s her. Right height, hair, the presence of her ring. Why? Do you think there’s some doubt?”
“No, sir, I don’t. But I wouldn’t want you to repeat that to Mr. Prince.”
“Believe me, I don’t say one word to Ames Prince about Dara. If he wants to believe it wasn’t her body found on the riverbank, that she’s off someplace having a high old time and sending home a letter every few months, that’s fine with me. It makes him happy and that makes everything easier for his family and his staff at the law firm.” He glanced at his watch again. “Deputy, I hate to be rude—”
“One more question, sir. Do you know who Dara called the Brain?”
“The Brain? I don’t know. Christine? She was a straight-A student and I think that bothered Dara, although she claimed she didn’t give a damn about grades.”
“This would have been a man she was involved with. Someone she mentioned in her diary. Do you think it could have been Streak Archer?”
Sloane Caldwell looked stunned. “Streak
Archer
? My God, the guy’s a hermit!”
“And a genius.”
“Maybe. With computers, for what that’s worth. He’s also unbalanced.”
“And good-looking.”
Sloane raised an eyebrow. “You think so? Well, I’m not attracted to men, so I wouldn’t know.”
Michael acted as if he’d missed the faint innuendo: “But you must realize Streak Archer would be appealing to a lot of women. The handsome wounded war hero. And Dara mentioned him by name in her diary. She said she liked him. A
lot
.”
“Well . . .” Sloane shook his head as if baffled and amused at the same time. “Well, I’ll be damned. Dara and Streak Archer friends? That’s a shocker.”
“She said she was having an affair with the Brain.”
“Then I
know
Streak Archer can’t be the Brain. I don’t think he has anything to do with women. I’ve never heard that he’s gay; he’s just . . . I don’t know. Too strange. I mean, what woman wants a guy who throws some kind of nervous fit every time he goes out in public?”
“Does he?”
“From what I’ve heard, yes. I feel sorry for the guy, but come on. Streak a love interest? For
Dara
?”
“I guess it was a fairly big reach to think the Brain could be Archer,” Michael said affably.
“I’ll say.” Sloane looked at his watch for the third time. “Deputy, I want to be helpful, but I barely knew Dara and frankly, I’m not all that concerned about her love life. I am concerned about
mine
. I have a lady arriving here in about half an hour. We’re having dinner with Travis Burke and his wife, Bethany, and I haven’t even had time to shower.”
“You’re friends with the Burkes?”
“I’m very good friends with Travis. I don’t know Bethany as well.” Sloane’s smile was becoming strained.
“I really can’t tell you anything else about Dara, but I do have to get ready for dinner.”
Michael stood. “Sorry to have taken up so much of your time, Mr. Caldwell. I’m a dog with a bone about a mystery, and untangling all these nicknames I’ve found in Dara’s diary is driving me wild.”
“I guess it could be fascinating,” Sloane mumbled, although his tone said it could only be fascinating if you didn’t have a whole lot else on your mind. “I’m sorry to rush you off, Winter, but as I said—”
“Young lady coming. I understand.” Suddenly Michael felt unreasonably angry with the man’s heartiness, the dismissive way he’d said his heart wasn’t in his engagement to Christine Ireland, his smugness over the “fact” that Christine still brooded over Dara’s attentions to her exfiancé. The guy had a big ego. So what? Still, Michael decided he didn’t like Sloane Caldwell. Not at all. Perversely, he lingered, talking. “I’m divorced myself. My ex-wife, Lisa, lives in Los Angeles.”
“Really?” Sloane began edging Michael toward the door. “Has she remarried?”
“No. She’s an actress. Or a want-to-be actress. Right now she’s in a fabric softener commercial. You might have seen her on TV. She has these great big green eyes and gorgeous auburn hair halfway down her back. They have her running through a meadow waving her fabric softener sheet.”
“Auburn hair running through a meadow. Umm, sounds lovely. I’ll have to look for it, although I don’t watch much television.” Sloane almost bumped into Michael as he tried to hasten him along to the front door. Michael heard a car door slamming outside. The date had arrived early, and Sloane didn’t want this deputy intruding on his evening, blathering on about a dead girl’s lovers. That would certainly put a chill on the evening,
Michael thought, almost smiling. Caldwell wanted him out.
Now
.
Too late. The doorbell rang. Sloane opened it. Michael peered past him to see a woman wearing a smile and a beautiful cashmere coat. “I’m early, but I saw the police car,” she said lightly to Sloane. “I thought you might need a lawyer.”
“I don’t think things are that dire,” Sloane said. He ushered her in. “Monique Lawson, Deputy Sheriff Winter. I’m sorry. I don’t remember your first name.”
“Michael,” he nearly choked out. Monique Lawson looked enough like his ex-wife, Lisa, to be her older sister. “How do you do, Miss Lawson?”
“I prefer Ms.” She extended her hand. It was surprisingly large and strong and her gaze direct to the point of being unpleasantly searing. “Michael Winter. You moved into your grandparents’ house.”
“Yes. My grandfather left it to me when he passed away last year.”
“And you decided to abandon Los Angeles for Winston? Why?”
Sloane looked uncomfortable. “Monique, I really don’t think that’s any of our business.”
“I’m curious, that’s all.”
“I wanted a change of scene,” Michael said tersely. The woman’s intrusive manner immediately put him off.
She gave Michael a penetrating look. “I hope there’s no trouble here.”
“None whatsoever,” Michael said. “I just had a couple of questions for Mr. Caldwell.”
“But you’re done now?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” Monique said emphatically. “We have a lovely evening planned with friends at the Tudor Rose Restaurant. Ever been there, Deputy Winter?”
“No.”
“You should go. It’s one of the best restaurants in the state.”
Sloane Caldwell gave him a meaningful look. “I hope I was of some help, Deputy Winter, but we are running late. It was a pleasure meeting you. Good evening.”
And get lost
, his tone said. Michael bristled inside at the dismissal. He couldn’t resist adding, “Oh, Mr. Caldwell, there’s something I meant to tell you earlier.”
“What is it?” Sloane snapped, nearly pushing him out the door.
“Patricia Prince was found dead this afternoon. We think she was murdered.”
Christine stared at her brother openmouthed for a full five seconds before she managed, “Patricia had a boyfriend she met in the barn?”
“Yeah.” Jeremy’s face reddened. “I knew I shouldn’t tell anyone, but I guess it doesn’t matter now if I tell you. But you shouldn’t tell anyone else.”
Christine leaned back in her chair. “Jeremy, what makes you think Patricia had a boyfriend she saw in the barn?”
“One afternoon I came home early. You remember that day I had the upset stomach? Anyway, I saw Patricia going down to the barn. I thought she was going to ride Sultan and I stayed at the window awhile to see her riding him, but she didn’t come out. A long time later, a guy came out of the barn. I couldn’t really see his face. He acted sort of sneaky. He went away from the barn toward the river without ever looking back. Then a little while later, Patricia came out. When she got to the house and
found me there, she said the vet had been in to look at the horses, but she was all nervous and stuttering and guilty-looking.”
“Well, that doesn’t mean the man in the barn was her boyfriend.”
“Her hair was messed up and her makeup was gone and her blouse was buttoned up all wrong.”
“Oh. Did you get any sense of what the man you saw leaving the barn looked like?”
“No. He had on a jacket with a hood. It was beginning to rain a little. Anyway, one Sunday Ames went somewhere and I was supposed to go with him, but I changed my mind right before he left. Patricia wasn’t in the house and I went down to visit the horses. I went in the barn and I heard music coming from up in the loft. And I heard, well, noises.” His face grew redder. “Moaning and stuff. And I heard Patricia say, ‘I love you,’ and I heard a man’s voice. I sort of recognized it, but not exactly, ’cause the music got louder. I guess I should’ve yelled to them that I was there, but I was too embarrassed and I knew Patricia would get really mad at me, so I just took off.”
“Jeremy, how long ago was that?”
He frowned ferociously. “Around Valentine’s Day. I remember ’cause Danny Torrance’s little sister sent me a valentine. She’s only nine, but she says she wants to marry me. She’s so funny. That’s how I remember.”
“So that was almost two months ago.”
“I guess.”
“Jeremy, are you
sure
you have no idea who Patricia was meeting in the barn?”
“I don’t know. Well, maybe I do, but I just can’t
get
it. You know what I mean? When you think you know something, but it won’t come, no matter how hard you think?”
“Yes, I know that feeling.”
“But since she met her boyfriend in the barn and she died in the barn, maybe it’s real important that I
make
it come to my mind, that I
make
myself think of who it was.”
He rubbed a hand across his forehead. He got headaches when he was upset. Christine could tell one was coming on, and she wasn’t going to push him further. “Sometimes when I can’t think of something, I just try to put it completely out of my mind for a while. Then, at the oddest time, up it pops!”
“Really? You think maybe that would work for me?”
“I’m sure of it. Just stop thinking about Patricia.”
“I’ll try.” He sighed. “But, Christy, there’s something else. I think maybe Patricia knew I knew about her boyfriend and didn’t want me to tell, because she got a lot nicer to me after I was in the barn that time. She even sang on the karaoke machine with me, even though I’d asked her to a hundred times and she’d always said no.”
“She sang with you?”
“Yeah. She tried to sing like Jewel. She was pretty bad, but I told her she was good anyway.”
“You always tell me I’m good, too.”
“Yeah, but you aren’t as bad as Patricia.”
“Thank you, kind sir.”
“Hey, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. It’s not that you’re not good—”
“It doesn’t matter, Jeremy. I’m
not
a good singer.” Christine paused. “Not like Dara was.”
“Yeah, Dara was
real
good. I even made tapes of her singing.”
“Tapes?” Christine repeated, a shock going through her. “You made cassette tapes of Dara singing?”
“Yeah. Sure.” Jeremy suddenly looked alarmed. “There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?”
“No, of course not.”
“Her favorite thing to sing was ‘Rhiannon.’ And she sang a couple of songs called ‘These Dreams’ and ‘Walkin’ After Midnight.’ I can’t remember who they’re by.”
“The group Heart and Patsy Cline. But I want to know about a particular song she sang.”
“Which song?”
“I don’t know it. I never heard it before, but I have the words.” Christine dashed to the desk where she’d placed the paper on which she’d written the words to the song someone had played over the phone the night she was in the hospital. She rushed back to the table. “I’ll read the lyrics and you tell me if you recognize them.” Jeremy gave her that wide-eyed look that said he was afraid he was in trouble, but she had his full attention. “I can’t remember the melody. I just wrote down the words.”
“Yeah, okay, say them already. You’re creepin’ me out.” Christine read slowly:
“ ‘Everywhere I go
Dark eyes peer at me.
I wish they meant me love,
But I know they desire me harm.
I want to live long and full,
But sadly, I am certain that
All too soon, death waits for me.’ ”