Death's Door (8 page)

Out of the corner of her eye, Madison saw Jade hurrying up the aisle with Paul Tanner at her heels. Great! Just what she needed. How could the guy interrupt an ongoing meeting? But a strange, excited feeling feathered through her chest.

Paul Tanner strode through the cube farm wearing arrogance like a second skin. But Madison couldn’t help noticing all the female heads turned in his direction. For an instant she regretted taking so little time to dress. She had on no makeup except for lip gloss. Her willful hair was going in all directions this morning and she’d done little to tame it.

What Paul Tanner thought of her didn’t matter. Then it occurred to her that a distraction might be useful. She wasn’t much good at picking her way through a minefield of lies.

Jade rushed into the cube, saying, “I told Mr. Tanner you were—”

“I thought I might be able to help.” Paul Tanner directed his comment to Detective Burgess, who didn’t look too thrilled to see him.

“It’s okay, Jade,” Madison told the girl and she backed out of the cube.

Paul looked directly at her with a tilt of his lips meant to pass for a smile. The beat of her heart suddenly filled her skull.
Get a grip,
she told herself.

“I thought you were still out on leave,” the detective said to Paul.

“I am, but I heard you wanted to ask Madison a few questions about the dog. I thought I might be able to help, since I was on the scene immediately after she discovered the body.”

Detective Burgess considered this a little longer than Madison thought necessary, considering Paul’s presence on the scene was an established fact. “Miss Connelly claims to have a bill of sale for the dog. Did you see it?”

Paul shifted his gaze to Madison and a nimbus of dread snaked through her. What would the man say?

“The envelope on the kitchen counter next to the pizza box?”

Amazing. Paul had been sprinting through the house in response to her screams, yet he’d had time to notice the box and the envelope beside it. From a distance she heard herself answer, “Yes. The bill of sale was in the envelope.”

“She never mentioned it during the interview at the station,” the detective informed Paul.

Paul shrugged, glanced her way and said, “She probably didn’t think it was important. After all, she’d just found her best friend’s body.”

“Right,” Detective Burgess grudgingly agreed. “But the interview was hours later, after she’d taken the dog to the vet for some eye problem.”

“Have you made any progress in finding Erin’s killer?” Madison asked. Her father always said the best defense was a good offense.

“Her killer might have been the person who sold your friend the dog. He was probably the last person to see her.”

Madison said, “The name on the sales receipt I have at my house is L. Morgan. It must be a woman. Erin said a lady couldn’t keep her golden retriever.”

“Is there a city listed?” Paul asked.

“Miami.” She’d already checked the telephone directory. Hundreds of Morgans were listed in the greater Miami area. If Rob had been correct and this dog had been liberated from the lab, his bill of sale had been forged and deliberately made to be untraceable.

“I’ll need the certificate,” said the detective, “and the dog.”

“The dog?” Paul said, a laugh in his tone. “What for? Gonna question him?”

“Forensics might want to—”

“No way,” Paul said flatly. “Too much time has passed.”

Her brain immediately switched to trivia central. Forensics meant pertaining to or used in a court of law. Too much time had lapsed and Aspen had been too many places to make testing his fur admissible in court. But to be safe she said, “I washed him, then conditioned his fur.” It was the truth. Aspen had a strange smell; something they’d put on him at the lab, she’d decided.

“Where is the dog?” asked the detective.

“I’m taking care of him,” she replied, knowing he still couldn’t see Aspen from where he was sitting. “He’s my dog.”

“You know where to find her dog if you need him,” Paul said.

“I guess,” the other man muttered.

“Do you want me to get the bill of sale and bring it in?” Paul asked.

Detective Burgess looked relieved. “It’ll save me a helluva lot of time. We’re shorthanded as usual.”

“I’ll bring it to you,” Paul said.

Madison didn’t like the idea of being forced to spend more time with Paul, but she didn’t want Detective Burgess around any longer than necessary. He might change his mind and take Aspen.

Detective Burgess rose and walked toward the exit from the cube. He turned, asking, “When did you learn Erin’s death would make you a multimillionaire?”

His words were as sharp as a new razor, but she was ready for him. From the moment the lawyer had told her about the will, Madison had known she would be under even more suspicion. “I found out yesterday, when her attorney came to see me.”

A malignant silence filled the cubicle, then the detective asked, “Your best friend never mentioned owning a piece of property worth a fortune?”

“Yes, we talked about it when her parents were killed. At that point, the property was in the sticks and she thought it was
worthless. Erin tried to sell it but couldn’t. The taxes were killing her. I understand in the last eighteen months there has been a lot of development in the area and a shopping center is going to be built on her land.”

Detective Burgess studied her for a suspended moment and she could feel Paul Tanner’s eyes on her, too. A chill coursed through her, but she refused to allow her face to reflect her inner emotions. She knew the dead air was a police trick designed to make her talk more, but she didn’t. Let them ask their questions.

“What are you going to do with all the money?” the detective asked.

“It’s all going to Save the Chimps. That’s a refuge for chimps that have been confined to cages for their entire lives and subjected to scientific experiments. It’s located in Fort Pierce. According to her lawyer, that’s what Erin was planning to do with the money, but she didn’t have the opportunity to follow through. I’ll carry out her wishes, of course.”

“Of course,” responded Detective Burgess as he consulted Paul Tanner with a quick glance. “But as I understand it, the deal for the property is still being worked out. Who’s to say you won’t change your mind and do anything you like with the money?”

Which fish swims the slowest?

M
ADISON WATCHED
Detective Lincoln Burgess saunter out of her cubicle. She felt as if she’d averted catastrophe, but she knew it was only momentary relief. She hadn’t seen the last of the detective.

“Do they have any clues about Erin’s killer or am I the only suspect?” she asked Paul.

Two beats of silence. “I don’t know. I’m on leave—”

“You said you were in the office this morning. What did you hear?”

He shrugged his powerful shoulders and for a moment, she thought he wasn’t going to answer. “Not much. Your prints are everywhere.”

She gestured for him to sit in the seat the detective had vacated. “That’s not surprising. I was at Erin’s on Friday night.”

“What about the bottles in the medicine cabinet?” A sardonic note underscored the question.

“I helped Erin move in. I unpacked half of everything in the house. My fingerprints are going to be everywhere.”

His blue eyes seared hers and she shifted in her seat, realizing this man exuded masculinity like musk from every pore. Although he wasn’t handsome in a conventional way, Paul Tanner had that elusive
something
that made women respond to him.

What she must look like to him hit her again. Madison had rushed out of the house this morning after taking Aspen for a walk. As usual, she was dressed in well-worn jeans, paired today with a blue T-shirt. Her hair had always been sensitive to Florida’s humidity.

Enough temptation must come Paul Tanner’s way that he would never look twice at a nerd with frizzy hair. Like Aiden, this man would drool at the sight of Chloe and her low-cut tops and straight, sleek hair that fell over one eye. God! What was she thinking? She was in real trouble here.

“Do I need a lawyer?” she asked, to steer her mind back to the problem at hand.

“Wouldn’t hurt.”

Suddenly all the air in the room went still. Her brain managed to process the information and come up with the gravity of her situation. When she’d asked the question, she’d expected him to say no. “Earlier I realized I might need an attorney, but I don’t know any criminal defense lawyers.”

“I could give you a few names. Being in homicide, I’ve run into my share.”

“Thanks,” she mumbled, and jotted down the names he rattled off. Madison wondered if she could possibly afford to retain an attorney. She would be forced to use the money she’d been saving for a new house. She’d reinvested the rest of her divorce settlement in expanding Total Trivia and hiring new programmers to keep up with the competition from other Web sites.

Her anxiety mounted as she considered her options. What would she do? The Russerts would return in a little over two weeks. She would have to find another place to live with Aspen.

Paul’s measuring eyes continued to study her in a way that gave her the urge to cover herself. It was ridiculous, of course, but she felt he could see right through her and knew all about Aspen. Her fibs about the dog might make him believe she was being untruthful about everything else.

“Did you want to see me about something?” Madison asked as if she hadn’t a clue what had brought him here.

He opened the manila folder he’d brought with him. “I know you needed proof that your mother used the services at New Horizons.” He handed a sheaf of papers to her. “This is a transcript of her screening interview. It’s all there. Just read it.”

She took the papers. “Transcription? You mean the interview was taped.”

“Yes. The tapes were destroyed but the files still contain transcripts of the screening sessions.”

Her mind reeled. A lawyer. A new place to live. How could she deal with this, too? She felt like the slowest fish in the ocean—the sea horse. Bigger, more powerful fish were creating such turbulence in the water around her that she couldn’t get anywhere.

She forced herself to scan the first section, which established her mother, Jessica Connelly, was married and living in the small apartment complex that Madison knew had been their home until she was six months old. She glanced over additional information anyone could have discovered about her parents, then told herself to concentrate and read more slowly.

Nurse Avery: How long have you been trying to conceive?

Jessica Connelly: Nearly three years. We’ve been to fertility specialists and tried everything. That’s why I’m here. I want to be artificially inseminated.

Nurse Avery: I’ve looked over the doctors’ records. It seems your husband has a low sperm count. You may become pregnant but it could take more time than you’ve given it.

Jessica Connelly: We want a baby now. If I conceive again, we’ll have two children. If not, we’ll be happy with one.

Madison was convinced this so-called interview was bogus. She was an only child, but her parents had assured her that it was by choice. Still, she couldn’t help asking herself why a man like Paul Tanner would go to all the trouble to convince her that she
had been the result of a sperm donation by a man needing a new liver unless Paul actually believed it was true.

She concentrated on the document before her while covertly studying him. He had a certain rugged appeal most other men lacked. Most assuredly, he was light-years away from Aiden Larsen. But then, Aiden had been a con artist in his own right. Looking back—as she had countless times since he asked for a divorce—Madison could see Aiden’s attraction to her had revolved around her ability to construct an online game. Once that had been accomplished, Aiden had become less interested.

What was Paul Tanner’s angle? What did he want? She’d done a search online and discovered what little he’d told her about himself seemed to be true. He was a homicide investigator who’d been shot in the line of duty. A Mike Tanner did have a private security agency. He must be Paul’s father, but what was in this for them?

Madison knew enough about the psychology of scam artists to know they hooked their “marks” by presenting some facts that could easily be verified. It still didn’t make his outrageous allegations true. She was her father’s daughter. It was possible that her mother had been to the fertility clinic but hadn’t gone through with the procedure.

She’d searched Google further for New Horizons, then used Lexis Nexis to take an in-depth look at the now-defunct clinic. They’d falsified data, claiming donors had Mensa credentials, and they’d charged for procedures patients hadn’t received. An avalanche of lawsuits had been filed and the clinic’s owners had left the country. There was no telling why her mother had a file at the clinic or why it had been altered to show she’d undergone the procedure.

She flipped through the pages, not really reading them.
Zeke
. The name exploded off the page with a boom that echoed in her brain. She backtracked and read the entire response, which had supposedly been transcribed from her mother’s exact words.

Jessica Connelly: Zeke really wants a son. He says he doesn’t care about the sex but I know how much he wants a boy. Zeke had asthma as a child. His mother refused to allow him to participate in sports and his father went along with her decision. Zeke always felt he missed out on the father-son bond other boys enjoyed. He wants a son to share ball games and fishing. You know, guy stuff.

Madison sucked in a stabilizing breath. Zeke. No one called Zachary Connelly anything but Zach or Zachary except her mother. When they were dating, she nicknamed him Zeke. She didn’t do it in public for some reason, but at home, especially when she was joking, Jessica Connelly called him Zeke.

This transcript might possibly be authentic. How else would they have come up with the unique nickname? This reinforced an earlier assumption. Her mother had consulted doctors at the clinic. It still didn’t prove Jessica Connelly had been inseminated there.

She glanced up and met Paul’s eyes. Her doubts didn’t show, did they? Her instincts told her this man would exploit any weakness. “How much did the inseminations cost?”

“They ranged from five to seven thousand dollars per session.”

A loud gasp exploded out of her like a grenade. “That’s a lot of money today. It was even more back then. My parents never had that kind of money, even when I was in high school and my father was at the top of his career. I couldn’t have gone to MIT without a scholarship.”

“True, but women were desperate to conceive and wanted those Mensa credentials. Your mother could have gone to the clinic—”

“Wait! You said my mother, not my parents. Why?”

He responded with a smile she couldn’t quite decipher. What about this seemed so amusing? “Keep reading.”

With a growing sense of unease, Madison directed her attention to the next page. It was the last page of the transcript.

Nurse Avery: Mrs. Connelly, the clinic requires an interview with every applicant’s husband.

Jessica Connelly: Why? I’m the one having the baby.

Nurse Avery: True, but New Horizons needs to be certain the baby is wanted, by both parents.

Jessica Connelly: What if I were a single mother?

Nurse Avery: Well, that would be different.

Jessica Connelly: I don’t see how.

God!
thought Madison. The challenging note so obvious on the page seemed exactly like her mother. Jessica Connelly—now Jessica Whitcomb—always confronted people, demanding they explain themselves. The words on the page hit an invisible target she hadn’t known existed, a hollow place in her heart. She forced herself to keep reading.

Nurse Avery: In those cases, it’s the mother’s decision alone…to have a child using artificial insemination. Since she would be the sole parent, the clinic doesn’t require—

Jessica Connelly: I understand what you mean, but my case is different. My husband would rather be childless than use a sperm donor. I don’t feel that way.

For a moment, Madison was torn by the urge to close her eyes and imagine her mother. Her parents had been close…yet so different. Her father openly loved Madison in a way most fathers reserved for their sons. Zach Connelly had never mentioned sports but he’d always encouraged Madison to participate. No, more than encouraged, now that she thought about it. He had playfully insisted. At some point in junior high school, Madison had realized this was how many fathers in her class behaved with their sons.

Madison had never cared for dolls or dress-up the way other little girls had. She’d been content to read books and experiment with her science kits. Buddy’s Bodies had been a favorite.
It required the assembly of the human body from the internal organs outward. Another kit had been Living Chemistry, which involved many simple experiments.

Her father prodded Madison to get out of the house and “exercise.” She’d found that she enjoyed sports but she’d never been a real star. It took time and practice that she would rather devote to her kits. She’d earned a spot on her high school varsity tennis team. She wouldn’t have stuck with it except her father had assured her that a sport was a necessary component to be awarded an academic scholarship.

He’d been correct. Colleges these days required students to be “well-rounded” and those who qualified for a scholarship needed over-the-top grades, superior SAT scores and a slew of other commendations that would elevate them above the herd. She could thank her father for channeling her energy so that she set herself apart from other high school students across the nation.

From her earliest years, Madison had shown an aptitude for retaining obscure facts. They began playing the child’s edition of Trivial Pursuit when Madison was in the second grade. She still remembered her first correct answer. What animal has a day named for it? She could almost hear herself shouting out the answer as she jumped up and down. “A groundhog, Daddy. Groundhog Day.” The memory triggered a raw ache. This wonderful man had been her father, not some jerk who’d sold his sperm for cash.

Her mother hadn’t been good at arcane facts but Zach Connelly was a trove of information on far-flung subjects. In order to compete and win his approval, Madison had trained herself to remember facts so unimportant that they never registered with most people.

“Does it sound like your mother?” Paul asked in a low-pitched voice.

“A little,” she grudgingly conceded.

“What more proof do you need?” he asked.

“Proof?” Madison huffed her disgust. “This so-called transcript from a defunct clinic that everyone sued for all kinds of illegal things doesn’t
prove
anything.”

“No?”

“No!” she shot back in a tight, pinched voice. She’d never been a good liar. Evidently, he’d seen or sensed her reaction to several items in the transcript. The air in the room seemed to be charged the way the atmosphere heralds an approaching storm.

“No,” she asserted again in her most authoritative tone. “I don’t believe I’m related to that man.”

“A simple paternity test would prove it one way or the other.”

That stopped her. Madison couldn’t deny a test would be definitive. “I want to talk to my mother before I do anything.”

“Isn’t she in the South Pacific on a sailboat? It might be—” he shrugged “—weeks before she telephones you. Right?”

“She should call any day,” Madison said quickly. “I heard from her a few weeks ago. She’ll phone as soon as she gets to a port with a telephone she can use or when she meets someone with a yacht that has satellite service.”

What she said was true. She did expect to hear from her mother. Jessica had called every few weeks since she’d sailed from Fort Lauderdale with the stud-muffin she’d married. But Madison couldn’t honestly remember exactly when she’d last spoken to her mother. It could have been two weeks ago, maybe three. Madison had been so caught up with the business and looking for a new home that she hadn’t paid that much attention.

She needed to have a heart-to-heart talk with her mother
now.
It occurred to her that she and her mother had shared only one intimate, soul-baring talk. That had been the night her father had died. They’d discussed what a great man he was and how much he’d meant to both of them.