Rulers of Deception (16 page)

Harold struggled to breathe, furious as images of Marshall flashed in his mind. The man and his family had been a thorn in his side ever since his days as governor. To have it stuck in him again set his pride aflame. Yet that wasn’t even the end of it.

There were claims that Marshall may have been the one to kill her.

Harold sat back in his desk chair, fighting to relax as this revelation settled in and festered in his mind. The idea of Marshall pulling the trigger made sense, of course. If he had indeed been the one to fool around with her, then a lover’s spat may have led to her death instead of the robbery the cops had come up with. Which also meant that the bastard had gone over thirty years without being rightfully punished.

Part of him knew it was best to bury the hatchet and cast aside the old grudge, but Harold knew that wouldn’t satisfy him. How could he go on living with knowing Marshall Vasser walked freely, never having paid for stealing Maureen away from him?

It was dangerous to bring all of this out of the woodwork again. But then again, he had nothing else left to lose.

I
’ve spent the better part of thirty-two years trying to get over Maureen Gossinger,” Marshall admitted, his blue eyes haunted. He stared straight ahead at the white wall of his hospital room as if in a trance. Madison sat where her mother had been the day before, holding his hand.

“So what happened exactly?” Linc asked, crossing his arms impatiently. “In case this hits the press we need to know all the details. So spill.”

Marshall’s face sagged with pain. “It was just an affair.”

“An affair with the wife of a very powerful man,” Grant added. He stood at the window, his back to the others and his gaze set on the busy city streets several stories below. He tried not to dwell on Marshall’s innocence or guilt. “She’s the one you told me about, isn’t she? The one woman you considered making your wife.”

When he turned to face his uncle, Marshall avoided his eyes. “I was very irresponsible back then. I should have never let it go as far as it did.”

“Why did you end it?” Madison asked, though she had a feeling she knew the answer. “Did Cyrus find out?”

Marshall nodded silently, fearfully. “I came home one night after seeing Maureen and he was there, in my living room. He knew all about the affair and demanded I end it, whatever the cost.”

“Was the cost her life?” Linc demanded.

Tears welled in Marshall’s eyes. “The police ruled her death the casualty of a botched robbery. They were wrong.”

A cold resolve washed over Madison at his words. “Marshall, did Cyrus kill her?”

Marshall said nothing, his vision hazing with memories of the past. He closed his eyes, too tired to speak.

Madison looked up at her brothers, realizing his lack of answer said all they needed to know. She slowly released his hand and rose to her feet, motioning for Grant and Linc to leave the room. As they assembled outside and shut the door, she faced them with a fierce look in her eyes. “I think we know the truth now.”

“We don’t know anything for sure,” Grant corrected her.

“Marshall seems really beat up about this,” Linc said, scratching his head. “And really scared for someone who’s innocent.”

Madison’s eyes narrowed. “You think
he
shot her?”

“I think it’s a solid possibility.”

“Maybe her death was an accident,” Grant theorized. “The result of a lover’s spat.”

“Either way, it appears this is going to be a bigger deal than we thought,” Madison said, casting an angry glare at Marshall’s room. “I can’t believe he caused this.”

“It’s certainly not the worst thing to happen to our family,” Linc reminded her. He patted her shoulder. “We’ll figure this out. Together till the end, remember?”

“I know.” A dark smile crossed her face. “We’ve overcome much worse. This will be no different.”

After the morning
at the hospital, Madison drove two hours north to visit the hotel in New Haven. She needed the drive to help clear her head and chose to take her white diamond Cadillac CTS Coupe instead of the town car she usually rode around in. She zipped in and out of traffic, turning the volume up on the radio as “Gimme Shelter” by the Rolling Stones came on. She sang along with the words, fearing a war may be brewing in her own reality.

The idea of Marshall murdering someone in cold blood was honestly laughable to her. She knew the kind of man it took to kill, and Marshall with his jovial nature and good heart was not the type. Grant may be right and it could have been an accident that killed Maureen, but even that seemed far-fetched.

No, in all likelihood Cyrus had done the deed. Madison accepted that notion with a chilled heart. Nothing else made sense. Cyrus had been the killer in the family, not Marshall. If anyone could pull the trigger it would be the man who’d done it before. The man who had a history of killing as a means to an end, even if it meant family had to die. And if her grandfather had possessed no qualms about killing his own family, then what was to stop him from ending the life of a perfect stranger?

Nothing. And that was the cold, hard truth of it.

Madison pulled into the parking lot of the hotel, shutting off the engine. She closed her eyes and rested her head back against the headrest, needing a moment to gather her thoughts. Even though more than a year had passed since she discovered her grandfather’s crimes, it still tore violently at the walls of her heart. Her love for him was eternal, but Lord was it damaged. She wondered if it would ever go back to what it once was.

She’d been through too much heartache to let this situation with Marshall get the best of her. And until they had a solution, she needed to stay focused. There was still a business to run, after all.

She slipped from the car and locked it, then headed up the walkway of the hotel. Pausing for a moment, she took in the five-story building before her, admiring the neutral-colored stucco, bright windows, and immaculate landscaping. It looked fresh and inviting, and the new royal blue sign labeling it as a Vasser Hotel hung bold and proud near the top.

Sparkling glass doors slid open to welcome her as she walked in. The lobby had been redone to mimic the New York hotel, but on a smaller scale. Shades of blue and gold covered the furniture and walls, with travertine on the floor. Guests could experience the luxury of the original hotel without the price tag, while maintaining the friendly, casual atmosphere guests had enjoyed before the merger.

She headed toward the first floor rooms, hoping to see the start of construction on the gym and business center, but stopped short when she heard her name. Turning, she saw Daniel walking toward her. He looked trim and professional as always, though oddly cheerful.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here.” He smiled, catching her off guard. “Welcome.”

Madison eyed him curiously when he offered his hand, accepting it. “I wanted to see the progress.”

Daniel continued to hold her hand, his gray eyes boring into hers. “It’s coming along well. I must admit you were right about the gym. Our frequent guests are excited to hear it’ll be ready in a few weeks.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” She pulled her hand free, choosing to cross her arms instead. “I know my way around. I’m sure you have something else to go do.”

“Not at all.” His hand found her lower back as he ushered her out of the lobby, his smile a permanent fixture on his face. She found she didn’t trust it at all.

Before they could get too far, Daniel’s father emerged from the office behind the front counter and spotted them. He waved and jogged over, causing Daniel to retreat from Madison as though scalded by boiling water.

“How’s Marshall doing?” McAllister asked, placing a hand on her shoulder. Unlike Daniel’s attempts to touch her, this was merely a show of concern.

“He’s better. We’re hoping to bring him home in the next day or two after the doctors finish running tests.”

“Good to hear.” He smiled, gesturing to the lobby. “Well, what do you think?”

“It looks beautiful.” She followed his gaze, though she could still sense Daniel hovering beside her awkwardly. “I’m proud and honored to put the Vasser name on this hotel.”

“Wait till you see our progress on the new construction,” McAllister beamed. “C’mon, I’ll give you the tour.”

Madison began to follow him as he led the way, only to pause when Daniel reached out and stopped her.

“We should get a drink sometime. Discuss business,” he suggested, an odd intensity coming over his expression as his hand fell away from her arm. His smile was small but eager, a sharp contrast to the predatory look in his eyes. She found it hard to look away, despite the sick feeling that settled over her. What the hell was his game?

Realizing his odd crush on her had gone on long enough, she decided to set him straight. One eyebrow rose mockingly as she leveled her gaze with his. “You’re embarrassing yourself, Daniel. Do you realize that?”

His face flushed angrily as he gritted his teeth. He said nothing as she gave him one last cold glare and continued after his father. She was pleased he didn’t choose to join them.

The meeting was
arranged for four o’clock in a dingy Irish pub located in the heart of Lower Manhattan. Despite the daylight, inside the tiny, nondescript building it was dark and humid. The floor was littered with sawdust and peanut shells, the ancient dark wood tables and chairs well worn from years upon years of use. The walls were cluttered with crate labels and old-fashioned beer advertisements, most tacked to the weathered oak paneling with staples. A musty smell likely from hidden mold permeated the air along with Van Morrison’s crusty warble, coming from a radio tucked somewhere behind the bar.

Veronica settled into a table near the back, a Guinness in one hand and her trusty voice recorder in the other. The recorder she tucked into her pocket, making sure she could easily turn it on when the time came. It was always smart to record conversations. One never knew what juicy admissions could come from an impromptu meeting.

She sipped at her beer, the foam thick and clinging to her upper lip. Her tongue wiped it away as she saw a scrawny, dark-haired man enter the bar and approach her.

Atop his head was a black fedora, which he kept bent low over his forehead, shielding most of his face. It wasn’t until he slid smoothly into the chair across from her that he lifted his chin enough for her to look into his eyes.