Cold Comfort (8 page)

* * *

Riley stopped at a Radio Shack for the components of his alarm system, then drove out to his house for a shave and change of clothes. Spike greeted him by parking his lazy butt in his empty bowl. Riley gave him fresh water and slit open a large bag of cat meal to leave out. He wasn't sure how long he'd be gone on this case.

Before returning to Claire's, Riley spent an hour on his computer and found that Elton Burley, a former member of Congress, had become a powerful developer who'd use all the influence he could muster to defeat Jennings's bill and further weaken the current interpretation of the Clean Water Act. Nothing else related to Claire. He scrolled through the list of search results and opened a small story reprinted from a 1969 feature on Burley's wedding to Gina, the youngest of the "beautiful Bellante sisters."

"Which makes his father-in-law Carmine Bellante." The article included a photo of the old mobster leaving the courthouse with a phalanx of lawyers. "That ought to keep Burley awake nights, and it gives him a definite link to maggots and scum like the ones after Claire, eh, Spike?" Riley scratched the cat's chin and swallowed cold coffee. "Ugh." He turned back to the computer screen.

Although years ago Carmine Bellante held a major position in the Geminelli crime organization, the only connection Riley could find between Burley and Bellante was the daughter. If Burley's business bent the law, he'd been careful to cover his tracks. Riley searched for another half hour but found no allegations of illegal activities. One piece even mentioned him as a possible running mate in the next presidential election. Riley printed the article for Claire.

Another search into Claire's background produced nothing new.
Why would anyone want her dead?

Nearly time for lunch. He might check on Claire and stop by the café before he installed the alarm.

* * *

A silver BMW stopped at the curb, drawing Claire's attention from the display in the front window. A man in a three-piece suit got out, carrying a briefcase. Lloyd Littlejohn, her lawyer's son. Amused, she crossed to the door and held it open for him. He took himself so seriously. "Hi, Lloyd. It's been awhile."

"Too long. Dad asked me to bring these papers by for your signature. He figured you'd be pretty busy with Christmas." After a brief appreciative glance that made her glad she'd worn the dress—at least
someone
noticed—he focused on her face.

"Thanks. It's nice of you. Come on back to my office and let me look at them." The perfect man, she thought, handsome, intelligent, ambitious. He'd asked her out several times since her fiancé's hasty departure. At first, she'd been too absorbed in Walt's betrayal to accept, but she really ought to. She remembered her new resolve.
Get a life.
Maybe after the Christmas season, when she wasn't so busy, and when this other business ended. Riley's rugged face rose in her mind. A mental pinch brought her back to the present. She leaned over to pick up a fallen ornament.

Behind her, Lloyd stumbled and cleared his throat. "What are you doing Saturday night? Why don't we have dinner and maybe take in a movie?"

Surprised by the sudden invitation, she considered, wondered if Riley would be gone from her life by then. If she hadn't invested in the store expansion and been so focused on the shop, she'd have accepted Lloyd's invitations in the fall. Maybe when all this ended.... "I'd love to some other time, but I can't this week."

"Another time. I'll hold you to it." Following her into the office, Lloyd spread the papers on her desk. "This settles the last of the bills. You still have the house."

Claire read through the documents, finding what she expected. The money was gone. She signed where Lloyd indicated and straightened, handed the papers back to him. "How's your mother doing?"

"I think she's getting worse. She gets terribly depressed, and there are more bad days than good. She'll never get over losing Jill. It makes things hard on Dad, but he's learned to live with it after all these years." Lloyd replaced the papers in his briefcase and reached for her hand. "We'll take care of this for you."

She winced and withdrew, then turned away.

"What's wrong? Have you hurt your arm?"

"No, it's my shoulder. Someone mugged me the other night, but I'm fine
—
just a little sore."

"Mugged? Geez, Claire! I'm sorry. Anything I can do? Did they catch the guy? Could you identify him?" He covered her hand with his.

"No. I didn't see his face. He got away."

"That's terrible. Dad will be upset to hear this. You be careful. You never know what might happen." He stood and closed his briefcase. "I've got to get back, but I'll be in touch. We'll mail you the final copies."

"Tell your father hello, and thank you for bringing the papers by." Claire walked him back to the front of the store. At least all the paperwork should be over now. The overwhelming number of details requiring attention after a family death shocked her.

Lloyd reached for the door, then stopped and faced her. "Have dinner with me, Claire."

"I, well, I can't this week. I'm so busy here—" she waved a hand at the store— "maybe after Christmas."

"Claire, don't put me off." Abruptly, he hooked his arm around her shoulder and pulled her to him, his face inches from hers. "You can spare one night—come on."

Startled, she raised her hands to push him away. He held her tighter. Before she could respond, a voice rumbled at her shoulder.

"The lady said no, pal."

"Riley!" Her heart nearly jumped out of chest.
Where the hell did
he
come from?
Wedged between the two men, she squirmed out of the way. She cleared her throat and backed off, regaining her own space. "Lloyd, this is Riley. He's—"
Oh, damn
. What could she say? "He's my bodyguard. Since the mugging. Since yesterday."
Shut up, Claire. You're babbling.
And who could blame her?

The men spoke briefly and shook hands, then Lloyd hurried to his car. Riley stood solidly blocking the door, shielding Claire.

Still shocked, she leaned against the window and watched Lloyd drive away. Where did that come from? And now Riley, acting like—like— Words failed her. Her temper flared. She turned to him. "What the hell are you doing? Why are you here?"

"Not the erstwhile fiancé, I suppose." He ignored her questions, his gaze sweeping the street in front of the shop.

When her heart rate slowed, she said, "No. He's a good friend."

"Yeah, I guessed as much." His sardonic tone grated on her nerves. "I told you to call me if anyone unusual showed up."

"If you were lurking in the bushes," she flung her hand toward the Christmas trees, "you could see I knew him. He's hardly the Boston Strangler."

"I came by to see how you're doing. Thought I'd have lunch across at the café." He glanced quickly over her as if expecting signs of damage. "You ought to be more careful."

"What! He's a friend—do you expect me to shut him and everyone else out of my life till this other asshole is caught?"

"Calm down. Your language is appalling—I'm shocked."

She started toward him, her fists clenched, when his slow smile started. How could he tease her now? She wanted to murder him and he thought it was funny.

He placed two fingers over her lips. "
Shh
. I'm trying to keep you alive. I consider that a priority."

What could she say? She stopped, her mouth open against his touch. Heat spread through her. Oh, god. She needed to get out of this situation.

A woman pushed open the door.

Claire swallowed and forced a smile. "Will you excuse me, Riley? I'll talk to you later." Yes, and she might strangle him, but only after she dealt with the customer.

Riley gave her a mock salute and left, jaywalked toward the café.

Tonight, she promised herself, she'd lay out the ground rules.

Business picked up and Mistletoe stayed busy until lunch hour ended. While Mary dealt with a flustered shopper, Claire hauled the ladder from the storeroom to replace some lights.

As she pocketed the dead bulbs and automatically popped in the new ones, she found herself comparing Lloyd to Riley and smiled. No contest. Lloyd was a gentleman. Riley was...Riley. He—

"Yo, Claire. How's the head?"

Startled, Claire wobbled on her perch before she spotted the office manager from her doctor's office. The woman clutched a handful of ornaments. "Hi, Debbie. It's fine." At the hospital's suggestion, Claire had called to explain about her head injury and make an appointment to have the stitches checked.

Still favoring her arm, she climbed down slowly and held out her hands for the colorful decorations. "Let me hold those for you."

"Thanks. I guess I need a basket." She filled Claire's hands. "Do you have any more of those mosaic tile crosses by the Texas artist? What's her name? I want one for my sister."

"Marilyn Camp? I just unpacked some new ones. I'll show you." Claire snagged one of the red baskets she stashed around the store. People always ended up with handfuls of little items they couldn't hang onto. She deposited the ornaments in the basket and led the woman to a display of handmade crosses, some decorated with charms, others with keys and odd objects. "Here they are."

"You know, if you're changing insurance companies, my husband could find you a good policy. He's an independent agent," Debbie said as she examined the selection. She pointed to a cross. "There. The one with the garden charms and the salmon-colored tiles."

"Changing insurance companies? No." Absently, Claire placed the cross in the basket with the ornaments.
Her insurance?
The only claim she'd made was at the hospital the other night. Surely there hadn't been time to respond. "Why? Have they dropped me or something?"

"Oh, I don't think so. It's just that the new company sent for your records. They have to evaluate you before they'll issue a new policy." She picked out a silver star from a cascade spilling from a straw cornucopia. "Umm. Look at this."

"Debbie, I haven't authorized anyone to get my medical records. I haven't talked to anyone about insurance of any kind."
What's this about?
A picture of her disturbed medical file flashed across her mind. Could there be a connection? "Do you still have the request? Have you sent the records?"

"Yes to both. They sent an authorization with your signature. What's going on?"

"Probably just a mix-up. I may come by to verify it though, just to see if I need to do anything. But if I do change companies, I promise I'll check with your husband." She smiled and changed the subject. "Are these ornaments for your tree? It must be a traditional one." She rang up Debbie's purchases and wrapped the ornaments in tissue paper.

"Yes, colored lights and tinsel, the works." Debbie took the bag from Claire. "When you come in about your stitches, I'll show you the insurance company request." She waved and started for the door. "I've got to get back. I've spent my whole lunch hour here."

"Here." Claire handed her a small cellophane-wrapped package of cookies, tied with a red bow. "Take these back to your office."

She watched the woman leave, wondering who wanted her medical records and why. The thought of some stranger pouring over the personal details of her body, a kind of remote voyeur, made her decidedly uncomfortable. She shuddered. Why would anyone be interested? Maybe it was nothing, but it bothered her. If the store stayed quiet, she'd check it out this afternoon.

Chapter 6

By four, the light on Riley's crude alarm system flashed with comforting regularity. He sat back and brushed his hands together, satisfied. Magnetic devices on the windows and doors acted as sensors. He'd have to warn her about disturbing them. On-off switches in the hall and the kitchen, easily accessible from the front and back doors, activated the system, and relays and timers would allow Claire a minute to disarm and reset them when she went out or came in. The alarm he selected went off in a loud, undulating wail. No one nearby would sleep through it, not even the kid next door.

He sipped another cup of coffee and surveyed his handiwork. It wasn't beautiful, not even subtle, but she could live with it, and the wailing siren would send any remotely sane intruder hightailing it for home. And he was sure the men after Claire were sane. They wanted something
—
Riley just hadn't figured out what.

He checked his watch. Almost time to pick her up. The red dress sprang to life in his imagination.
Jesus. Get a grip
. He called the shop to remind her to stay inside with Mary until he arrived.

A woman answered. "Hi, this is Mary, Ray's sister. Claire's not here, but she should be back any minute."

"What? Where the hell is she?" He'd told her specifically not to leave until he got there.

"I see why you two hit it off so well," Mary said. "She's at the doctor's office, but
—
"

"Is she hurt? Did something happen? Why didn't she call me?" He fished the keys to the Bronco out of his pocket. He could be there in less than fifteen minutes.

"Slow down. She's all right. Nothing's happened to her. Her doctor's office wanted to know something about her medical records."