“Nobody ever said you had a second-rate mind, Taylor. But this independent streak of yours is going to get you into trouble you can’t get out of. Trust me.”
“I do trust you.” She turned to Nick. “I also trust you. We’re losing sight of the original objective. Nick, we’re no closer to finding out who stole your animals than we were in the beginning, but we’re starting to make somebody very uncomfortable. That’s a good sign.”
“Wait a minute, Taylor,” Borman said. “How do we know that whoever stole the animals didn’t sell them outright to Eberhardt, pocket the cash and walk away?”
Taylor turned to Nick. “Do you think that’s what happened?”
He shook his head. “As much as I’d like to believe that, I don’t. Eberhardt wouldn’t want to tie up that kind of capital when he could only sell three or four horses a year without raising suspicion. Also, only the killer knew Clara Eberhardt was dead and unlikely to walk in while her house was searched. Must be someone connected with Rounders, otherwise Clara wouldn’t have met the killer there.” He dropped his head into his hands.
“We’ve barely begun, Nick. Once we know which one did it, you’ll be free to trust your other friends again.”
“The hell of it is, I trust them now.”
“Stop it this instant,” Taylor said.
“Taylor, the killer knows where you live,” Borman said. “The gate didn’t stop him. You’re damn isolated. That’s not good.”
“I won’t move into a motel, Mel. I can’t afford it and I have Elmo to consider.”
“Nick’s isolated too. That warehouse area after dark might as well be on Mars.”
“You’ve defined the problem, glorious leader. What’s the solution?”
“We don’t own any bullet-proof vests, and I can’t see Danny Vollmer loaning us any. So I’d say you two stick together after dark, either here or at Nick’s. Stay away from lighted windows. Watch your backs.”
“Who’s baby-sitting whom?”
“You’re baby-sitting each other until further notice. Kendall, we’ll make some arrangement about the fee you owe us. I value Taylor’s safety considerably more than I value money.”
“Whoa! Stop the role reversal! I can look after myself and after Nick as well.”
They both stared at her. She subsided. “Okay, maybe I’m not that great in a fist fight, but I know self-defense and I carry a gun.”
“Let’s hear it for Belle Starr,” Borman said dryly. “Listen, Kendall, I know you were an Airborne Ranger.”
“That was over ten years ago.”
“You don’t forget the moves. You’re still in shape. Anybody tries for Taylor, you have my permission to beat the crap out of him.”
“I don’t need anybody’s permission. Anybody goes for Taylor, I’ll kill him.”
“Thank you, oh, my knights in shining armor.” Taylor sniffed disgustedly. “Can we please get back to the problem at hand. Who shot at Nick? And what do we do about it?”
“Since it’s unlikely there are two killers kicking around, I would think whoever killed Clara Eberhardt—and possibly Helmut—also shot at Nick. And we discuss what to do about it tomorrow. In the meantime, we clean up the mess, then I take that piece of cloth off the fence and the slug out of the wall, and go home to my solitary bed. And Nick stays here with you.”
Nick stole a glance at Taylor. She was looking from one man to the other with a mulish expression on her face. After a moment she relaxed and broke into a smile. “Done.” She laughed. “And won’t that annoy Danny big time!”
Nick reached across the back of the couch and picked up the phone. “I have to call Max, tell him I won’t be bringing the bike home tonight. If he doesn’t hear me come in and then sees my truck tomorrow morning, he’ll worry.” He shrugged ruefully at Taylor. “You have your mother hen, I have mine.” He dialed. The phone rang seven times, then the answering machine kicked in. Nick left a message. “Max swore he’d be home all evening.”
“Maybe he had to go to the store for more paint,” Taylor said.
“Max hates going out in the middle of a job.”
“You thinking he might have taken a long drive in the country?” Mel asked.
“No.” He looked up at the pair of them, watching him with something like pity on their faces. He felt embarrassed for Max and then foolish for feeling that way. “Even if by some crazy chance he did drive out here, he’d have had plenty of time to get home again. It’s been over an hour since...”
“Since the sniper,” Taylor said softly.
“It’s not Max, okay? Drop it. He’s probably in the shower.”
“Here’s the answer to Taylor’s question about what to do,” Borman said. “Go back to Oxford. Talk to Clara Eberhardt’s people. See if they remember anything at all about Clara and Max Beaumont or Josh Chessman. In the meantime I’ll start a computer check on the finances of everyone who was at Rounders the day Nick announced he’d discovered the thefts. They’re our prime suspects. I’m going to try to find out if any of those people have had a fast infusion of cash recently.”
“Can you do that?” Nick asked.
“You bet,” Borman said. “Technology can do amazing things.” He stood and laid a heavy broad hand on Taylor’s shoulder. “Keep your curtains drawn and your door locked.” He reached down with the other and scooped up Elmo, who had begun to stalk the remaining pizza. “And set your guard cat here on full alert.”
“YOU GOING TO TELL VOLLMER we went snooping at Eberhardt’s?” Nick asked as he helped Taylor smooth the sheets on the sofa bed.
“Not if I can help it.” She looked up at him. “That Eugene Lewis guy who was at Eberhardt’s—he look to you as if he could handle a deer rifle?”
“He looked like he could play tiddlywinks with anvils.” Nick sat down on the edge of the couch.
“The Eberhardts had help moving those animals. If Eugene killed the Eberhardts, he may be clearing up loose ends.”
“But all along I’ve thought somebody at Rounders was in on it.”
“Somebody was, but possibly only peripherally. Neat little theft, nobody hurt, no connection between the inside man and the Eberhardts except when money changed hands. Then when you find out about the thefts, Eugene takes out Eberhardt and bums the store to get rid of evidence.”
“And Clara?”
“Maybe all the evidence wasn’t at the store.” Taylor sat in the leather wing chair and propped her feet on the end of the sofa bed.
“Not at the house either.”
“No, but this was.” Taylor stood and went to her satchel. She pulled out a leather notebook that was the twin of the one in Clara’s handbag. She shrugged, embarrassed. “I found it under that little desk while you were upstairs. If Anvil Man hadn’t knocked it over, I might never have found the thing.”
“You think Eugene did the house?”
“Don’t you?”
“Yeah, I do. And maybe that as well.” Nick pointed at the empty mirror frame. The shards had been collected and dumped into the trash outside. “What’s in the notebook?”
“Not a hell of a lot that I can see.” Taylor tossed it across the couch.
Nick caught it, slid down onto the bed and opened it. There were random notations of appointments running throughout. “Mostly meetings with clients, suppliers, dates of antique sales, auctions,” Nick said after he’d paged through it. “Eberhardt saw his dentist two weeks ago.”
“Look in the back,” Taylor said.
The last page listed telephone numbers.
“Recognize any?” Taylor asked.
Nick shook his head. “Wait.” He looked up at Taylor. “Why would Eberhardt have the Rounders number in his address book?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
T
AYLOR SAT ON THE ARM of the sofa beside Nick to peer over his shoulder at the Eberhardt address book. He was painfully aware of her nearness. The smell of fear she’d carried earlier was gone, but the smell of woman was strong enough to touch. That’s exactly what he wanted to do.
Before he could move or say anything, she slid away and stood up. “Maybe they wanted to call Rounders before they burgled it to be sure you weren’t there. Who knows? I’m too exhausted to think.”
He laid the book over his lap. His physical attraction to her was obvious. He couldn’t remember being this blatantly responsive to a woman since high school.
“There’s a new toothbrush in the medicine cabinet and a new razor in the cupboard. Sorry I can’t offer you fresh clothes, but I don’t think my underwear would fit you.”
“Thanks,” he said, and watched her disappear around the corner. A moment later the bathroom door closed.
It was definitely not going to be easy to keep their relationship professional—at least on his side. The thought of her climbing that ladder and going to sleep just above his head—just out of reach—tantalized him almost beyond endurance.
He prided himself on controlling his relationships with women. He could be romantic, charming, a nice guy. They told him he was a good lover.
But the women who climbed into his bed moved in and out of his life like carousel horses, arriving with trumpets blaring, giving them both an enjoyable ride, and then disappearing around the corner when the carousel stopped.
Five minutes later Taylor said good-night and climbed the ladder. Without much success, he tried to keep his eyes off her bottom and long legs.
He finished his own ablutions, sank onto the sofa bed and flicked out the light on the table beside him. He could feel the wire coils under the thin mattress. He’d be lucky if he got any sleep at all—what with the condition of the mattress and Taylor’s soft breathing above his head. He felt a slight thud at his feet. Elmo wriggled under the covers and walked the length of his body before curling against his chest.
“Guess you’ll have to do, cat,” he whispered, and fell asleep instantly.
“OPEN THE GATE, TAYLOR, I need to talk to you.”
“A little out of your jurisdiction, aren’t you, Detective Vollmer?” Taylor asked through the intercom. She hesitated a moment, then sighed. “Come on up.” She clicked the gate latch and went to open the front door.
Two minutes later Vollmer climbed out of his car, and said, “Your client’s disappeared.”
“No, he hasn’t.” She stood aside to let him in. “Coffee?”
“Yeah. You know where he is?”
“At the moment he’s standing under my shower.”
Vollmer scowled. His head swiveled towards the bathroom wall. The sounds of sluicing water were barely audible. “Damn, Taylor, I can’t believe you’d bed a killer.”
Taylor’s hand froze on the coffeepot. “He’s not a killer and I’m not bedding him—not that it’s any of your business. What do you want him for?”
“I called him to come down and give us a statement, and got his answering machine.”
“You could have asked me if I knew where he was over the telephone. You didn’t have to drive all the way out to my cabin at eight in the morning.”
“I wanted to see you, apologize for smarting off yesterday.”
“No problem.”
He glanced over at the wall again. The water sound cut off abruptly. He reached for the coffee, and, with his other hand, took Taylor’s arm to guide her to the couch. She resisted. He dropped his hand, shrugged. “I haven’t had a drink for six months.”
“That’s wonderful, Danny.”
He turned away and walked to the front window. He sipped his coffee, pulled the curtain aside and stared out at the gray morning. “I wish I could say it was because of you. Maybe in a way it was. After that Sunday, I started drinking heavy. One morning I woke up two hours late for my shift and realized I didn’t know where I’d been the night before.” He looked back at her. “Wherever I’d been I’d driven home too drunk to be conscious. I checked the car for damage, checked for hit and runs, spent the day scared to death. That night I went to A.A.”
“Good for you.”
“One day at a time. What happened that Sunday won’t ever happen again, Taylor. I promise you that. The soberer I got, the more I realized how much I’d thrown away that day. A hundred times I picked up the phone to call you, and couldn’t. When I saw you the other night, I thought there might be a chance for us.”
Taylor smiled. “I’m glad for you, Danny, I really am. But, no. I’m afraid not.”
His face closed. “The Incredible Hulk in there?”
“There’s nobody in my life right now.”
“Then I’m going to keep coming back like a bad penny. Taylor, until you trust me again.” He smiled at her and held out his cup.
She took it and refilled it. “You still drink too much coffee, Danny.”
“Keeps me going.”
The bathroom door opened. Nick wore his T-shirt and jeans from the night before. He was barefoot. There was a one-inch scratch high on his right cheekbone. His sweater was draped over his arm. When he saw Vollmer he stopped dead.
“Morning, Mr. Kendall,” Vollmer said with suspicious mildness. He sipped his coffee and leaned casually against the kitchen counter as though he were in his own home.
Nick got the message. “Morning, Sergeant Vollmer.”
“Need you to come down to the station for a little talk this afternoon. Couldn’t find you—” Vollmer raised an eyebrow “—thought Taylor might know where you were.”
Nick nodded.
“That woman you...that was killed. You said you didn’t know her, right?”
Again Nick nodded.
“Guess who she was.”
Before Nick could answer, the gate intercom buzzed again. Taylor frowned at it. “For Pete’s sake, it’s barely eight o’clock in the morning,” she answered.
“Open this gate, Taylor,” a peremptory male voice commanded. “Your mother and I want to talk to you.”
Taylor threw up her hands. She punched the button harder than she might otherwise have done. “That’s all I need. Attila the Hun and Mother.”
“Want us to get out of here?” Vollmer said, and glanced over at Nick. “We can continue this downtown.”
“Stay.” She opened the door and, leaving it open, went to the sink to put on another pot of coffee. “Must look like a parking lot out there,” she said over her shoulder to the two men.
Gravel crunched, doors slammed, and Bradley Maxwell marched in. Irene trotted behind him.
Taylor sighed and turned to face them.
“Have you seen the papers?” Brad Maxwell shook a folded newspaper at her, then slammed it down on the side table. “You’re a suspect in a murder!”
Danny picked up the paper and opened it. He burst out laughing and handed it to Taylor. The headline read, Homicide Detective Questions Investigator in Death of Woman.
Taylor grinned. The picture showed Danny holding Taylor’s upper arms and snarling into her face. She was scowling back. It had been taken under the front awning at Rounders. “So the burn with the grocery cart had a camera as well as a notebook. I thought we’d been too lucky with reporters.”
Brad Maxwell was tall and thin, with a fast-receding hairline and Taylor’s features—distorted by testosterone and bad temper. “Dammit! This could have serious repercussions for my career.”
“You’re a lawyer, Brad. Lawyers get mixed up in murder all the time.”
“I am a
corporate
lawyer!”
Taylor’s eyebrows went up.
“I want you to resign from Borman, pack your things and stay with Mother until we can find you a suitable townhouse in a decent neighborhood. And a respectable job.”
“Get out, Brad,” Taylor said pleasantly. She was still smiling. Nick didn’t know about Vollmer, but he found that smile chilling. He hoped Brad Maxwell had the sense to leave. He doubted it.
“What?”
“My only invited guest is Mr. Kendall.”
Brad’s gaze whipped around to stare at Nick, then to take in his state of dress—or lack thereof.
Irene Maxwell’s hand flew to her mouth.
“Please leave, Brad, you’re not welcome here.” Still reasonable, Taylor sauntered toward him. He took a step back.
“As head of this family—”
“I am the head of my family,” she said, her voice steely, “not you.”
Irene said, “Brad, let’s go, please.”
Taylor spoke to her mother. “Mother, I told you, I’m fine. You mustn’t worry. I can take care of myself. At least you care about me. All Brad cares about is his image. Go on home, I’ll call you later.”
“Now you listen to me, young lady,” Brad said, but his voice lacked resonance.
“I’m not young and I’m probably not a lady. Why don’t you just tell people I’ve been disowned?”
Irene dragged him backwards out the door and toward the car. He seemed uncertain how to proceed. Taylor followed, matching Brad step for step.
Brad helped his mother into the car and stalked around to the driver’s side. “Oh, and Brad?” Taylor called. “Don’t take this out on Ellen and the boys.”
Brad threw her a malevolent glance, and whipped the car around. Taylor stood on the porch with her hands on her hips until he drove out of sight around the curve.
“Ellen’s his wife?” Nick asked.
“Yeah.” She closed her eyes a moment. “Brad inherited Daddy’s temper. That’s why I don’t have anything to do with him. My mother refuses to see it, and Ellen says she has to stay with him because of the boys.”
“He hits her?”
“I have no proof, but she runs into too many doors. She swears she and Brad are in counseling. I’ve tried every way I know to help, but she won’t let me.”
“You’re there for her. That’s more than plenty of women have,” Nick said, and his eyes took on a faraway look. “Many women stay with men who beat them—sometimes all their lives.”
“I know.”
“Look, you get any proof of abuse, you give it to me. I’ll handle it,” Vollmer said, then he turned to Nick. “And you, Kendall. Two o’clock, my office. East Precinct. Homicide. Be there.”
“Should I bring a lawyer?”
“Only if you’ve got something to hide,” Vollmer said, reached down to stroke Elmo, and walked out without a backward glance.
The moment he was gone Taylor closed her eyes and leaned against the wall.
Nick reached her in a moment, whirled her around and drew her into his arms. She clung to him.
He held her tight and stroked her back. He felt her shiver as though she’d been left all night in a refrigerator.
After a moment she pulled away and dove for the bathroom. The door slammed behind her and a moment later he heard water running. “Taylor?”
“Please,” she called out, “let me be.”
She came out five minutes later. Her hair was damp at the edges and her skin seemed transparent. Her gray eyes looked enormous. Her nose was suspiciously pink.
“Sorry about that,” she said flippantly. “How come I always break down in front of you?”
He reached out to take her back into his arms, but she avoided him and walked over to the computer. She began to run the mouse along the mousepad in tight little circles. She refused to meet his eyes.
“Confrontations with my family give me palpitations and heartburn. I was sure Brad was going to hit me.”
“He would have regretted it.” His voice was grim.
She flashed him a misty smile, and his heart turned over. “Vollmer would have loved arresting you for assault.”
“Would you have bailed me out?”
For a moment she stared at him silently, then whispered, “With my last dollar.”
“Taylor...”
“Let’s stick to business, okay?”
He went to her. “That kiss last night wasn’t business.”
“I was scared. You were handy.”
“It was more than fear.”
“Please, Nick. I’m trying so hard to get my life together, and every time I care about somebody I screw it up. It’s the wrong time for this to happen.”
“It’s the time we have.”
“It’s not fair.”
“What is?”
“If you really care about me, then please let me do this thing, solve your problem, find your animals, keep my head on straight while I’m doing it.”
“It’s that important to you?”
“Yes!”
“After last night—kissing you, holding you, and then lying awake half the night wanting you down here or me up there—avoiding bankruptcy or jail for a murder I didn’t commit doesn’t seem quite as important.”
She began to laugh. “Oh, Nick, I don’t think any man has ever paid me that big a compliment in my life.” She touched his cheek. “Be serious. Both those things could happen, and I couldn’t bear it. Please, give me some space.”