A Dangerous Dance (11 page)

Remy grinned at her. “Life's tough.” His expression changed.

“And then you die.” She shot it back without thinking,

They both sobered. Dorothy looked away first, lifting the cup to her lips again to hide their sudden need to tremble. She gave herself a mental shake. If they were right about Vonda Vance, by tomorrow it could be all over. She'd know who did it. She was quite sure it wouldn't be the butler.

* * * *

He turned off the tape recording of the clerk's call to Dorothy, silently cursing. Vance should have known better than to involve his wife in this, but he hadn't. It shouldn't surprise him. Vance had ample reason to want an insurance policy, but why had he chosen Vonda? He knew, better than anyone, the danger. Idiot.

And Vonda? Well, she was no fool. She obviously knew the value of the information and who'd be in best position to pay for it. She wasn't the type to try her hand at blackmailing a killer. She might be naive, but she wasn't stupid.

Barnes must have given it to her today. Interesting that. Be more like him to keep it and use it himself. Unless he suspected Vance had told his wife about the letter? Made sense. Or maybe Barnes realized it was too hot for him to handle. If he'd just kept that perspective, he'd still be alive. He was beyond idiot, but then, Vance hadn't paid his bill. Those unpaid, billable hours must have been eating at him all these years.

“I should have considered Barnes’ greed, but it had been so dangerous. Much easier to let events play out and then pay Vance as agreed when he got out of jail and let him pay Barnes.” Even hiring the idiot for legal advice had seemed too risky.

And now Vonda had to be dealt with. It was a pity. She was a nice woman, but she should have stayed out of her husband's business. He checked his weapon, screwing the silencer back in place. Then he gathered up his jacket and left the room, closing the door silently behind him.

* * * *

Vonda stayed up well past her bedtime, waiting for the wizard's daughter to call her back. When she turned on the news, she understood why.

So Barnes was dead.
Murdered
. For the first time, it occurred to her that the letter might put her in danger, also. It shouldn't have taken so long for her to realize it, but she could castigate herself for stupidity later. It seemed obvious Barnes was after the money, too. Had he told her about Vonda and the letter? The fact that Dorothy hadn't called her, seemed to indicate he hadn't. But she couldn't assume anything.

She got up, overcome with a desire to flee, to hide. She could be over reacting, but better that than dead. She pulled the letter out of the pocket of her dressing gown. She was not going to let Verrol be silenced again. She had to hide the letter, and then find a place to stay for the night. Leda would welcome her, but she didn't dare put her at risk. She'd call Dorothy in the morning and together they could retrieve the letter. Maybe she was letting her imagination run away with her, but there was no way she could stay here alone tonight, not after seeing that body bag leaving the zoo.

Which brought her to—literally—the million dollar question. Where could she hide it that no one would find it? If it were day time, she'd put it in her safety deposit box, but it wasn't. And if the worst happened? She wanted the right people to find it. She had a fire safe, but that would be the first place anyone would look. She'd probably read thousands of mysteries in her lifetime. Surely she could come up with something good?

As she packed an overnight bag with hands that persisted in shaking, life suddenly seemed more precious than it ever had, even when Verrol was still a physical presence in her life. She took so many things for granted. She wouldn't anymore. She'd be brave and bold, all the things she only managed in her imagination. And after the killer was exposed, she'd do all the things she'd day-dreamed about doing. And maybe she'd do some things she'd always been afraid of doing. Like that bungee cord thing.

In the meantime, there was the letter. It was the key to everything.
Okay, start simple, Vonda.
First she switched its envelope with another letter from Verrol. She needed to hide it someplace hard enough to be believed, but not impossible to find. She discarded several places, before deciding on the Sherlock Homes, hide-in-plain-sight method. She slipped it under the blotter on her desk, leaving it just slightly askew, like she'd shoved it there in a hurry.

To the real letter, in its new envelope, she added a short note that said simply, “Veda, you'll know what to do with this when you read it.” This she placed in a zip lock bag. She was thinking maybe the freezer or the toilet tank as a hiding place when she heard stealthy movement outside in the hallway. As she stared at it, someone very gently and slowly tried the door knob. Her first reaction was to scream, but luckily terror tightened her throat, making that impossible. She grabbed the phone and had punched nine-one-one before she realized it was dead.

Her next impulse was to hide, but there was nowhere to hide in her tiny apartment. Nowhere to run—that wasn't entirely true. Adrenaline sharpened her thought processes to a razor point of clarity. She grabbed her purse and the suitcase with the vague idea of fooling the invader into thinking she was already gone, then backed into the bedroom, without taking her eyes off the door. It took all her will power to close the door and shut off the sight and sound of attempted entry.

Now fear made her fast. She went to the window, pushed it open and eased out the screen. The fire ladder was curled under her night stand. She secured it over the edge, tossed out bag and purse and threw her leg over the edge. When she had both feet on the metal rung, she pulled the curtains over the window.

It was surprisingly hard to navigate the rope. It hung straight down the side of the building and moved with her. She bounced and swayed with each step. At the bottom, she eased her feet down into the shrubbery that ran along the side of the building, testing the noise factor before putting her weight down. Above her she could clearly heard the muffled sounds of someone searching her apartment. Bad time to wish she had a cell phone. It was tempting to find a door to bang on, but this time of night, who would let her in? And would it alert whoever was in her apartment?

First she needed to hide the letter. At the least, it would be a bargaining chip, if the searcher wasn't fooled by her red herring. She hid her suitcase and purse in the shrubbery a few feet down from her window, and inched her way around the house, keeping close to the building. At the corner, she stopped. What if whoever was up in her apartment hadn't come alone? Her car might be staked out. Okay, so avoid the parking lot.

It was terrifying to be out in the thick, hot dark. She'd never been a brave woman, except in her imagination. Now the night seemed full of eyes and who knew what wild life? She wasn't far from the bayou. What if there was a alligator taking a stroll in the dark? She'd read just last year of someone who had a alligator turn up in their pool. The apartment complex had a pool. Or there could be thieves or even a rapist prowling around. It would be just her luck to flee a killer into the arms of a rapist.

She gave herself a shake. Maybe it would be better if she didn't think and just did. The next building over was where her friend, Leda Tasker, lived. She didn't dare seek refuge with Leda and bring danger to her, too, if she could draw danger away. What she had in mind wouldn't precisely endanger her, but when Leda found the letter, she'd know what to do with it—if...

Vonda pushed that thought away.
Focus on the task
. That was the way to deal with it. There was one, open space to cross. Fortunately the moon was on the wane. Just enough light to see, but hopefully not be seen. She did what she'd come to do, then worked her way around Leda's building, too.

The night wouldn't be so terrifying if she was in her car. Maybe by now it was safe. Or she could hide nearby and just see if anyone seemed to watching her car. She circled all the way around, now moving along the back of the complex, where the smell of garbage was almost overpowering. It was also a lot more scary back here, where no windows overlooked the dismal view. She crouched down between two, broken-down cars, wrapped her arms around her middle and tried to slow her breathing. She was hyperventilating. Not a good time to pass out.

Inside her apartment, it seemed like the city was never quiet. Seemed like cars were always driving by. Tires squealed. People talked loud as they walked to the building or played their music too loud. Why did everything have to go quiet tonight? Any normal sound would have been gratefully received by her straining ears right now. And then her straining ears did hear something. Stealthy footsteps. If her throat weren't totally closed with fear, she would have whimpered. For a moment all thought stilled, but when the footsteps seemed to be coming her way, adrenaline gave her some flight impetus. She flattened out and slipped quietly under the car. It was both better and worse.

Now she could see movement and occasionally a dark silhouette against the darker bulk of the building. The figure stopped now and then, bending to poke into the shrubbery that marched forlornly around the building. At the corner, when the wan moon cast a pitiful light into the shadows, he stopped, turning as if straining to hear. In that moment, she saw light hit something metallic in his hands. Something that appeared to be shaped like a gun.

She stuffed her fist in her mouth to stop the scream trying to push its way up from the bottom of her stomach where her heart had dropped.

“Vonda?” The voice was soft, but well known to her.

She sagged in relief.
Safe. She was safe.

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SEVEN

* * * *

Remy closed his suitcase and snapped the locks. No matter how expensive the hotel, it was still just a hotel. Their suite had been sumptuous and comfortable, but he'd be glad to get back in his apartment and away from Titus's brooding presence. They'd each had one of the suite's three bedrooms. Remy found it ironic that Titus had taken the middle room. He'd probably stayed up all night listening to make sure Remy didn't creep into Dorothy's room. The whole situation reminded him of a Neil Simon farce.

No question the guy was a weird duck. His presence was flat, but persistent. Remy didn't know a lot about him, except that he was just
there.
Dorothy had mentioned something about him going to high school with her mother. It was the only personal detail he knew about the guy. And, he didn't want to know that. He just wanted him out of his face.

He did a quick check, and then left the room. In the sitting room, Dorothy was using the phone. She acknowledged his presence with a small wave toward breakfast. Remy examined the offerings, chose some fruit and a bagel and sat down to eat.

Dorothy hung up the phone with a slight frown. “Something's wrong. Vonda isn't answering.”

“Maybe she already went to work.”

“Would you, without leaving that number, too?”

She had a point. Her voice was calm and controlled, but was she? Remy studied her face, trying to assess how all this was affecting her. She'd been back, what, three days and already two people were dead. He hoped Vonda wasn't number three. “Maybe she changed her mind?”

From what he knew about Vonda he didn't believe it, but people changed. Life happened and some people took it well, some didn't. Life had thrown her a curve ball when she found out her husband was a hired killer.

“You think she may be trying to blackmail the killer? That would be so dangerous.” She shivered.

Was she remembering Barnes or her father? He shrugged. “It's a possibility. Or she just went out for breakfast. You left a message on her machine?”

Dorothy nodded. “I'd like to go see her. Wait for her or something.”

“Let's give it a bit longer. I'll see if I can track down an address and in the meantime—”

The phone cut across his words. Dorothy all but jumped on it.

“Yes?”

She listened for a moment, looked both disappointed and surprised. “Certainly, send them up.” She hung up the phone. “It seems I have a delegation from the state genealogical society. They have a presentation for me.”

“They probably want money.” That made her smile, not whole heartedly, but it was something. He was glad for the distraction. She needed to decompress, get her balance back before they saw Vonda. She looked calm, but he could feel the seething tension beneath the surface of that calm.

Besides all the other mess, he'd heard her fielding a number of business calls, all before nine in the morning. She was, she'd told him, working toward turning her father's companies into co-ops run by the employees. She'd hoped to have everything completed before her return to Louisiana, but there'd been some delays. She hadn't gone into detail, but he was a reporter. He knew she was selling control of the companies to the employees well below market value. Some of the members of the board were fighting her on it. He'd heard she wanted to make sure that the new management had enough money to keep the businesses healthy during the transition period. She had to have lost millions on the deal. Of course she had millions, but still, not many people could have walked away from all that money.

A knock at the suite door interrupted his thoughts. She answered the door herself, which was odd. Why wasn't Titus running interference, as usual?

Two women and a man entered the suite, introducing themselves with flustered eagerness. Dorothy invited them to sit down and offered them refreshment, which was refused with even more flustered effusiveness.

“We're so sorry to disturb you, Miss Merlinn,” the thinnest one, who also seemed to be the leader of the group, said in a gush of remorse. “So kind of you to let us come up.”

“It's truly not a problem,” Dorothy said, with a reassuring smile. “And call me Dorothy. I don't know anyone who calls me Miss Merlinn.”

She'd make a great governor's wife. Remy studied the tableau from a short distance as she put them at ease, and then graciously accepted the genealogy scroll of her family that they had prepared for her. She listened with apparent interest as they told her about their organization, then, without being asked, managed to give them a contribution and get them out the door in record time. There was no sign that she was seething with impatience and curiosity about Vonda Vance and what she might have to tell her. She might not like this life, but she was good at it.