“You’re not a detective. In this particular case, I’m guessing that looking in obvious places will net me nothing. Still, I have to look everywhere. Your father wouldn’t have hidden anything under his mattress, but I can’t overlook it.”
“How do you know he wouldn’t?”
“Leon Farrell was not your normal, ordinary man. He was devious, secretive, and self-absorbed. He would never do the expected.”
“No,” she said, momentarily musing about her past. “I don’t suppose he would have.”
She watched while Carson examined the draperies, testing to determine whether the will could have been sewn into them. Next, Carson lifted a big desk chair, turned it upside down, and examined the seat. His short-sleeved T-shirt exposed his hard biceps, flexing from the punishment he gave them as he worked.
Shirley couldn’t tear her gaze from the action of the muscular body that rippled when he reached, lifted, and pulled at the objects in his way. He dropped to his knees, flipped over on his back, and, by the power of his hips, propelled himself beneath the enormous desk. She swallowed the liquid accumulating in her mouth as his lithe body provoked in her head ideas as to what he could do to her.
With his knees flexed, he swung his hips from side to side until he was clear of the desk and jumped to his feet. “You don’t have to stand there,” he said. “Sit down. I’m going to open every book on those shelves.”
Catatonic-like, she stared at him. How could he ... She remembered that it was only she who had experienced that rush of desire.
“What is it?” he asked, walking toward her with the rhythmic movements of a dancer. “Is it something about your father?”
She backed away from him, escaping his heat and his powerful aura. But he’d caught her signal, and she knew it. He gazed down at her for a long minute, shook his head slowly from side to side, and, as he walked away from her, muttered, “Damn the luck.”
Shirley heard him and understood what he meant, and although she wanted to bait him, she kept her mouth shut. If she had to deal with that man on a woman-to-man basis, she’d feel better equipped wearing her red “Sherman tank” miniskirt with the right amount of cleavage exposed and a pair of five-inch-heel sandals. A little Fendi perfume wouldn’t hurt, either. “That guy would be a challenge even if he was madly in love with you,” she said to herself, and she didn’t need that kind of problem.
She thought she’d been delivered from temptation, but as if he’d had second thoughts, he walked back to her. Her anticipation of something personal was wasted, however, because he assumed one of his no-nonsense stances and looked hard at her. “Tell me, Shirley, did you love your father even a little bit? Gunther didn’t, and I doubt Edgar’s capable of love. What about you?”
“I am capable of love, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“That isn’t what I’m asking and you know it. What did you feel for your father?”
She wanted to tell the truth, but she didn’t know what the truth was. Looking into the distance, she heard herself say, “I just realized that I don’t remember ever having sat on Father’s lap or hugging his neck. Still, I was sorry when he died.”
She punished the carpet with the toe of her sneaker-clad left foot. “You won’t mind if we drop this conversation, will you? Talking about him this way isn’t pleasant. I’m going downstairs. Do you want some coffee?”
“Thanks, but I’d better get on with this.”
She didn’t want any coffee. She wanted an opportunity to regain her emotional equilibrium, and she stood a greater chance of doing that if she put some distance between her and Carson Montgomery. Earlier, she and Gunther had checked the dining room for the will, but she scoured it again, because she disliked wasting time. After about forty minutes, she heard Carson amble down the stairs.
“I was getting worried,” he said. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I figured that since I’m down here, I could search the dining room. I didn’t find anything, but ... well, you never can tell.”
He shoved his hands into his pockets and let the doorjamb take his weight. “That’s right, you can’t. But you won’t find that will on this floor. If it’s in this house, it’s in Leon Farrell’s bedroom, office / den, or his bathroom, places where no one but he had a right to be.”
“I wasn’t disagreeing with you; I simply can’t stand to do nothing.”
She could see that he didn’t believe her, and as if he’d read her mind, he pushed himself away from the doorway, smiled, and said, “Come upstairs and help me where it might produce fruitful results.” He held out his hand to her, saw that she was not going to take it, half smiled, spun around, and dashed up the stairs, taking two steps at a time.
As she watched him bounding up those stairs, she told herself not to think about the man’s strength or his power and what it had potential for.
Suck it up, kiddo,
she told herself,
and keep your head. He’s used to women falling all over him.
She waited until he reached the top before she began the climb.
He stood on the landing grinning down at her. “Come on. If you start to fly, I’ll bring you back down to earth.” Punching him out wouldn’t help, but she imagined how good doing so would make her feel.
My Lord. Am I becoming violent?
she asked herself, and suddenly laughter poured out of her.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
“Me. I’m a regular riot.”
When she reached the top step, he grabbed her left hand and pulled her to the landing. “We have another room to do, and I’m getting hungry. You don’t want to be around if I start to starve.”
She knew he was making light of a situation that each of them refused to acknowledge, and if she hadn’t been so disgusted, she probably would have admired him for it. But he was no better a man than she was a woman. And she meant to make that clear to him before they left the house.
“All right,” she said airily, “get out your microscope and let’s get to work.”
“Right on, lady.”
The two of them searched every place and every thing in the bedroom, from the carpet to the drapes, beneath the mattresses, and in every drawer. They took every item from the closets, examined them, and put them back. At twenty minutes past one, Carson stopped and looked at her. “I’m beginning to be starved. Let’s get something to eat. As soon as I wash my hands, I’m ready to go.”
“I was starved an hour ago,” she said, and headed down the stairs. She washed her hands in the guest lavatory, combed her hair, and adjusted her clothing as best she could. The fit of her jeans suggested that she’d lost several pounds since she last put them on.
“So what,” she said to herself. “They suit
me
.”
She watched Carson trip down the stairs. If she wanted to act the fool, what more pleasing target could she pick?
“Like what you see?” he asked as he reached the floor.
“I’m not sure. I’ll think about it and let you know.”
He put a finger at her elbow and ushered her out the door. “You’ll think about it all right, but that will be the end of it. I’ve got time for a crab sandwich but not at an upscale restaurant like Frigate. What do you suggest?”
“Franks, if you can stand paper napkins and a glass-top table without a tablecloth.”
“I’m hungry enough to eat with no napkin. Let’s go.”
An hour later, she didn’t remember what she ate. The man bothered her. “You don’t have to take me home, Carson. I know you’re in a hurry.”
“I’ve got my first time to go to a woman’s house for her, spend time with her, and not see her safely home.”
He drove to the building in which Gunther lived and walked with her to the door of the apartment. “When are you going back to Fort Lauderdale?”
“Thursday morning. I’m scheduled to join a cruise to Central America, but if you need me, I’ll be back here late next week.”
“I didn’t have the hunt for the will in mind.”
“What
did
you have in mind?” she asked him as her nerves began to battle with each other.
“I want to spend a pleasant evening with you when we’re not lifting furniture, rolling carpets, and creating a lot of dust.”
“I see. Unless my boss thinks otherwise, I’ll be back here Thursday afternoon.”
“Shirley, I like things cut-and-dried. May I call you here Thursday evening?”
“Yes. I ... uh ... I’ll look forward to that.”
“Thanks for that tiny bit of encouragement. And thanks for your help today. You’re a real trouper. Until Thursday next week.”
He didn’t say good-bye, but merely turned and headed for the elevator.
He’d been so impersonal that she’d be a fool to expect anything other than a pleasant evening—as he put it—as a thank-you for her help the past two days. “No,” she said aloud as she locked the door. It was as if he’d decided between giving her a thank-you gift and inviting her to dinner. She shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “He’s a nice guy, properly brought up, and no guy who looks like that one is without ties.”
Carson got back to his office, returned several business calls, and telephoned Gunther. “This is Carson. Shirley and I spent the morning at your father’s house. A thorough search of his personal quarters revealed nothing. I need to see his lawyer. Can you confirm for me that Riggs is legally the executor of your father’s will?”
“He is the executor. He secured a writ prohibiting any action in respect to Father’s estate for one year from the date of Father’s death or until the will is located, provided that it is found and produced before the elapse of a year from the time of Father’s death.”
“Smart man. How much time does that give us?”
“Until the fifth of January.”
“I may need to talk with you again around the first of the week. I’ll call you.”
Minutes after he hung up, his assistant called. “Edgar Farrell on line two, Carson.”
“Montgomery speaking. What may I do for you, Mr. Farrell?”
“Somebody was at the house this morning. I put a couple of things in inconspicuous places, and they were moved, not far, but they’d been moved.”
He bristled at that.
Don’t lose your temper, man.
“Hmm. So now you’re the detective. I went through your father’s personal quarters this morning and made a thorough search. I don’t have to look there again. I put things back as I found them, but I certainly didn’t try to fool anybody into thinking I hadn’t been there. I was doing my job.”
“Yeah. But you haven’t found the will yet, and I’m flat broke.”
“I’m doing my best, and if you begin to harass me—”
“All right. I get it, but, man, if you were in my situation, you’d feel me better.”
“I don’t expect to be in your situation, Edgar, because I’m not afraid of work, no matter how hard. I’d better get to work, because I won’t find that will while talking with you on the phone.”
He hung up and leaned back in his desk chair, musing over the happenings of that morning with Shirley at the Farrell home. The woman was almost as transparent as air, but her innate dignity kept her in line. He hadn’t had much experience resisting a woman who attracted him when the attraction was mutual, and he didn’t want a relationship with a woman who was, in effect, his client. Yet, he needed an opportunity to clear the air between them, and he hoped a pleasant evening together would be sufficient.
He phoned Donald Riggs. “Mr. Riggs, this is Carson Montgomery. I’ve searched the house, Farrell’s quarters twice, and come up empty-handed. If he had a safe-deposit box, I need access to it.”
“You may try Fairmount or Altman Washington. He had accounts in both. I’ll give you a notarized permit.”
“Thanks, man. I’m anxious to wrap this up.”
“I’m sure of that. I’m surprised Edgar hasn’t driven you crazy by now.”
“My contract with him forbids harassment. I’ll be by your office in an hour. Thanks.”
Carson found safe-deposit boxes in both banks, but neither contained the will or information as to its whereabouts. He informed Riggs of his findings and, for the first time in his career as a detective, admitted that he faced a blank wall.
Gunther met Shirley at the Baltimore / Washington International Thurgood Marshall Airport, gave her a brotherly kiss on the cheek, and took her bag. “How’d it go in the West Indies?”
“Hot and humid. I don’t see why anyone would want to go there on vacation this time of year.”
“Simple. It’s cheaper.”
“Any news from Carson?”
He hadn’t known that she called the man by his first name. Interesting. “Why ... no. When he finds the will, Edgar will no doubt be the first to know. You didn’t tell me what you thought of Montgomery.”
“When I was with him, his search of Father’s quarters was practically microscopic. He is a thorough man.”
And you’re deliberately misunderstanding me.
“I’ve gathered that much from his questions and the things he’s said to me. I mean, as a man, what do you think?”