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Authors: Carolyn McSparren

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BOOK: Ride a Painted Pony (Superromance)

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He had to stay out of jail long enough to make certain that Taylor was safe. That meant she had to stay as far from him as possible.

Taylor slipped out of his arms quickly and went to stand behind Mel. “So, we’re still on the job, right?”

Nick shook his head. “Wrong.” He spoke to Mel and pointedly ignored Taylor. “I meant what I said.”

“How about if Mel takes over?” Taylor asked. Nick heard the edge of desperation in her voice.

Again he shook his head. “You couldn’t stay out of it.”

Mel nodded. “He’s right.” He patted Taylor’s hand. “The Paradise Café thing is hotting up. I can use you to check some credit references for me.”

“No!” Taylor turned to Veda. “You tell them.”

Veda shook her head. “Leave me out of it.” She raised her eyebrows at Mel and went to the door. Mel followed. “Whatever personal is going on between you, work it out without us.”

Taylor followed. “He may still be in danger. After all, he can identify the animals.”

Mel kept his tone even. “The remaining animals are off the market, the killer has nothing to fear from either of you. All he has to do is keep his head down and write the whole thing off as an investment that went bad.”

“Meanwhile Nick pays thirty-five thousand dollars to Pete Marley.”

“That was always a possibility,” Nick said quietly.

“We’re already working on that little problem,” Veda said. She touched Taylor’s arm. “Don’t worry, dear. It’ll all work out.”

“Take a couple of days off,” Mel said. “Then come back raring to work.” He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek, something he had never done before.

She flinched.

He gave Veda a baffled glance. She shook her head, stood on tiptoes to kiss Nick on the cheek, and dragged Mel to his car.

Nick closed the door behind them. Taylor wouldn’t give up without a fight. She stood with her back to him, her arms wrapped around her body.

He could tell she was battling for control.

“It’s no thanks to me either of us is alive,” she said

“Not true.”

“Don’t be kind and don’t condescend.” She whirled to face him. The tears in her eyes shone like stars.

He longed to go to her and kiss those tears away, heal her bruised ego and her wounded spirit. But he stayed where he was and tried to keep the anguish out of his voice. “I’m not condescending. You found the animals. That was something.”

“Thank you very much. I didn’t, however, find the thief. I seem to recall that was my assignment, wasn’t it? I’ve cost you thirty-five thousand dollars and possibly Rounders.” She pointed at the side table. “I’m always telling my mother I carry a gun, but it hasn’t been much help, has it? It’s either not available or I get the stupid thing taken away from me. What good is it? Come to think of it, what good am I?”

“You’re damn good. You weren’t supposed to fall over a dead body the first day.”

“Really? You warned me this could be dangerous, but did I listen? Nooo.” She turned away from him. “I didn’t tell Mel about Eberhardt or Eugene.” She took a deep breath. “I am not a team player.”

“Everybody makes lousy decisions sometimes. Hey, you can play on my team any day.”

“Can I really? Even with Eugene’s handprints on my ass?” Suddenly all the spirit seemed to drain out of her. “I understand what this is really about. You’re dealing with it intellectually like a nice, intelligent modern man who doesn’t believe women ask to get assaulted, being supportive and thoughtful and all the rest of the psychological buzzwords. The reality is that the thought of taking me to bed after what went on yesterday probably revolts the hell out of you. Every time you look at me you see me on that bed with Eugene’s hands on me, and you remember that you couldn’t do a goddamn thing about it.”

“Taylor!” He went to her then, grabbed her arms, spun her around and held her at arm’s length. “It’s eating me alive that I couldn’t protect you, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want you every bit as much as I ever did. Goddammit, I want you alive! The first day we met, you said if things got tough you’d run like hell and let the police handle it. Do it!”

She pulled away from him. “Fine. You’re right, Mel’s right, Veda’s right, and I’m whining like a kid whose lollipop got stolen. I agree. I’m not rational. I’m mad as hell about this. I have a score to settle. But it’s your call, buster, and you’ve called it. Now get out of my house and out of my life until I come to terms with my failure.” She spun away. “Shouldn’t take long. I’ve had plenty of experience.”

“Taylor, baby—”

“Get out, please. Right now. I cannot take one more minute of this.”

He knew the instant he walked out the door that she’d slam it behind him and fall apart. But this time he’d lost his privilege to hold her while she retched.

His plan had worked, oh yeah, it had worked all too well. She’d be safe away from him.

Somehow when this mess was over, he vowed, he’d get her back.

That is, if he wasn’t sitting in jail convicted of murder.

This time he felt as though he were the one who was going to throw up. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said and opened the door.

“Don’t.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“M
OTHER, IT’S TAYLOR.”

“Oh, Taysie, darling, I’ve been so worried, but at least I haven’t seen anything else about you in the papers. Bradley was terribly upset. I do think you owe him an apology.”

Elmo climbed up to Taylor’s shoulder and tried to stick his nose between the telephone and her hand. Taylor shoved . him off. He stalked away grumbling. “Wrong way round. He owes me one.”

“You’re always so hard on him.”

“Maybe that’s because you’re always so easy.”

“Taysie, you know your father didn’t believe any woman should ever correct a man—even her own son.”

“And look how he’s turned out.”

“He’s turned out very well.” Irene sounded as though she were trying to convince herself as much as her daughter.

“Mother, he’s been up on disciplinary charges by the bar association twice, he is a dangerously unfaithful husband who may one day bring home more than the bacon to his wife, and he—like his father before him—beats both his wife and his children.”

“Taysie, how can you say things like that?”

“Because I’m tired, miserable, wallowing in self-pity and sick to death of secrets. Not that they’re secrets from you.”

“Bradley has promised me—”

“Mother, I didn’t call to talk about Bradley.”

“No, of course you didn’t, Taysie.” There was a silence before her mother asked, “Why are you tired and miserable?”

“Long story. I wanted to hear your voice, reassure you.”

“I wish your uncle Mark had never left you that place! What was he thinking, leaving his hunting cabin to a woman!”

“He gave me sanctuary.”

“What a strange thing to say. Paul’s death ruined your life.”

Taylor took a deep breath. Maybe it was time to give her mother a little reality therapy. “If he hadn’t been killed, he’d probably have been divorced citing the secretary whose apartment he paid for.” The moment the words left her mouth Taylor regretted them.

“Taylor Hunt, only a very weak woman divorces a man over mistresses. We Maxwell women have never been weak.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your father kept every secretary he had until his prostate gave out, and he slapped me every bit as often as he took after you and Bradley. Any southern woman knows that sort of thing is the price one pays for a fine home and a decent life.”

“A
decent life
?”

“Of course. All my furs and jewelry are out of guilt.”

“Mother,” Taylor said with wonder, “you and I are on different planets, but God help me, I’m your child. I put up with it from Paul for six years.”

“And would have continued for the sake of your children, just as I did.”

“No, mother, I would not.” Taylor leaned her head back against the chair and checked the clock. Nine-thirty in the morning. The day already seemed a millennium long. She took a deep breath. Maybe secrets were better in the long run.

“Look,” she said, “let’s not quarrel. You bought me lunch, how about I buy you lunch to reciprocate?”

“Oh, Taysie darling, I can’t, not today. But I’ll tell you what, meet me about four and we’ll have a gooey desert, just the way we used to.”

Taylor laughed. “Sure. Yes, I’d like that. Life may let you down, but chocolate hangs in there.”

“Oh, good. I’ll be at CeCe Washburn’s new shop in Germantown.”

Sandbagged again. Taylor dropped her head into her hand and acknowledged defeat. “All right, CeCe Washburn’s it is. But I’m still not taking that job.”

She hung up the phone, leaned back in the leather chair, then nestled her cheek against the leather. It still smelled like Nick—fresh-cut wood and pine straw. Her heart lurched. She missed him already.

Before she lost her nerve, she picked up the phone again and dialed Mel’s number. When he answered she said without preamble, “Consider this my two weeks’ notice, Mel. That should give you time to find another investigator.”

“Taylor? Don’t be silly, girl. This is only one case.”

“No, Mel, it was
my
case. I wanted to show off how great I was, and I screwed up every step of the way including going to bed with the client and almost getting us both killed. But I’m not going back to sitting in front of a computer screen staring at little green letters until my eyes cross.”

“Nobody says you have to.”

“At the moment it’s all I’m good for. My worst mistake was putting Nick in jeopardy. And I fell in love with him. I had no right to do that.”

“Taylor, honey—”

“Please, listen. Consider me off the clock for the next two days, then I’ll give you ten working days on the Paradise Café thing. If by the end of that time the police haven’t caught Nick’s thief, then I’m going to do their jobs for them—free, gratis, no client.”

Mel sighed. “Take your two days. Get your head straight. But I’m not letting you go without a fight.”

“Fight away. You can’t win until I do.”

She longed to go straight back to bed, pull the covers over her head and sleep for the whole two days. Not possible. Mel said somebody always knew the truth. She dragged out her tape recorder, turned on her computer, set up her files and began to transcribe her notes.

The moment she heard Nick on the tape, she hit the “stop” button. The sound of his voice enveloped her in warm honey. She closed her eyes and leaned her head on her computer desk, then raised it with a jerk when she realized she’d deposited three lines of Ks across the screen.

“Deal with Nick later,” she told herself sternly, fast-forwarded and began to transcribe Estelle Grierson’s discussion of Clara’s wild days at Ole Miss.

Two hours later she got up to go to the bathroom, eased her aching back, shook out her shoulders and arms. She was too stupid to see what must be there. So she called Danny Vollmer and asked him to lunch.

“What for?” he asked suspiciously. “Don’t give me any garbage about just wanting to see me again either.”

“Maybe it’s time to mend fences. Whether we like it or not, we got history.”

“And you want to pick my brain.”

“Partly. Partly I want to give you some of the information I may have that you don’t.”

He asked suspiciously, “What do I have to do in return?”

“Eat and don’t pay the bill.”

He thought a moment, and then said, “Okay, but I won’t have much time. I’ll meet you. Say where and when, and make it someplace in the neighborhood.”

Taylor wore her good wool blazer and slacks. Her mother didn’t have to know that once again she’d dressed up for someone else.

“I’M INTERROGATING KENDALL this afternoon,” Danny said the moment they sat down.

Taylor took a deep breath and toyed with her spoon as though the prospect of Nick in Vollmer’s hands didn’t scare the bejesus out of her. “I know you don’t really think he killed anyone.”

Vollmer leaned over. “There’s something going on. His lawyer—that Cabrizzo guy—called me to make the appointment. When lawyers do that, it’s because their clients have confessed something to them and want to make the best deal they can.”

“Nick doesn’t have anything to confess.”

“Yeah, right.” Vollmer concentrated on his menu.

“Are there any preliminary findings on Eugene’s autopsy?”

“Come on, Taylor,” he said. “You’re here to tell me, not to pump me, remember?”

“I will tell you. Answer the question.”

Vollmer clicked his tongue against his teeth in annoyance. “One thirty-eight slug killed him.”

Taylor went hot remembering the three shots Nick fired after Eugene.

She formed her question cautiously, almost afraid to hear the answer. “Was Eugene shot in the back?”

Vollmer glanced up from his menu and saw her face. He lowered the card slowly and narrowed his eyes at her. “Why?”

“Please, Danny, it’s important.”

“Okay. He was shot from the side at close range. The bullet tore the hell out of his right lung and punctured his left one before lodging in a rib.”

“Could he have driven for any distance after he was shot?”

Danny snorted. “He was dead in minutes, and probably unconscious instantly.”

Taylor sank back in her chair. “I know why Nick’s coming to see you.”

“Yeah?”

“He thinks he killed Eugene. Yesterday when Eugene ran away, Nick fired three shots after him with Eugene’s own thirty-eight. He thinks one of those shots connected, and that Eugene drove around with a slug in him until he ran off the road and died.”

“Damn,” Danny said softly. He ran his hand across his mouth and drank half his iced tea in one gulp. “Was he really with you last night?”

Taylor nodded.

“God! I hate mysteries,” Danny said. “I wanted him for Eugene’s killing. Really wanted him.” He looked straight into her eyes. “Mistake to let personal feelings interfere with the job.”

Taylor couldn’t have agreed more.

“At any rate, he’s got his animals back,” Danny said. “No sense in keeping them for evidence.” He laughed. “I can just see the evidence man if we tried to bring in a bunch of huge carousel animals. We dusted them for fingerprints and told Kendall to come pick them up. He should have them back safe and sound at that warehouse by now.”

“How many did you find?”

“Eight.”

Taylor let out a sigh of relief. “If we assume one burned up at Eberhardt’s, that leaves them all accounted for. That means Nick is safe. Thank God.” Then she realized the return of the animals severed her last connection with Rounders. “Have you started trying to locate the owners of all that other stuff? I suppose it was all stolen.”

“Some of it came from museums, some from auctions and private houses. Some of it we may never trace.”

“What about the records? The Eberhardts couldn’t keep that much information in their heads.”

Danny shook his head. “We’ve been over both houses and that warehouse with a fine-tooth comb. No records. It’s possible they burned up in the fire at the shop, but we can’t count on that. We’re checking to see if they rented any safety deposit boxes in local banks under either ‘Eberhardt’ or ‘Fields’. If they used a fake name, we may never find the records.”

“Eugene swore there were records, but even he didn’t know where, exactly.”

“He sure can’t tell us now.” Their food arrived. Danny tucked into his goulash; Taylor suddenly found that she had no appetite. She pulled her chicken salad apart and picked at it with her fork.

Danny didn’t register mat she wasn’t eating until his own lunch was half gone. Then he glanced up at her and asked, “So, you in love with this guy or what?”

Taylor caught her breath. “He’s a client.”

“Bull. This morning when I went for Kendall you tore into me like a banshee. You’re like a damn mother hen. I hope he appreciates it.”

“Nope. He fired me this morning. Whatever we had is definitely over.”

“Sure. Right.” Danny buttered a popover and bit into it greedily. He spoke with his mouth full. “So, your turn.”

Taylor reached for her satchel. “I brought you Eugene’s thirty-eight with three shots fired.”

Vollmer choked. “You what?” He wiped his mouth and leaned across the table. “Are you crazy? You should never have picked up the damn gun.”

Taylor hunched her shoulders. “Neither of us was thinking very clearly. I’m sorry.”

“Hang on to it until we’re in the parking lot. These old biddies would probably have strokes if you handed me a gun.”

“It’s got Nick’s fingerprints on it.”

Vollmer nodded.

“But it won’t be the gun that shot Eugene.”

“Yeah, okay, but shooting off a firearm in the city is against the law.”

Taylor raised her hands and laughed. “Get a grip. I’ll swear it was self-defense. No prosecutor in his right mind would go to the grand jury.”

“Maybe. I’m still going to use every bit of leverage to wring Kendall so dry he’ll think he’s been microwaved.”

“You just said personal animosity does not mix with good police work.”

“This is different—” he reached across the table and touched her hand “—this is you.”

She pulled away, but smiled to take some of the sting out of her words. “I owe you a lot, Danny. You single-handedly picked my self-esteem out of the mud. I hope you’ll always be my friend.”

“But no more than a friend.” Danny shrugged and leaned back in his chair. “Just for that—I get dessert.”

Taylor laughed.

“And then you start at the beginning of this mess and tell me everything you know, think, or even suspect. Got that?”

BOOK: Ride a Painted Pony (Superromance)

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