Authors: Jasmine Haynes
Power to the Max (12 page)
If the occupants of the room weren’t so refined, she’d say they were giving each other shit.
“On second thought, Julia, I really must be off.” Bud rose, forcing Baxter, then Max to follow suit.
Julia smiled. “Why did you let me make tea then?”
Damn, Max liked this woman. Even if there was a possibility she might have killed her husband. Max looked at Bud and thought perhaps sometimes murder victims deserved their deaths. Bud certainly deserved a gruesome demise.
Bud, for his part, didn’t look phased. “I’m sure Baxter will manage to finish the next batch of tea.”
Hmmm, catty male comment? Max wondered.
Bud went on. “I’ll have to take Max with me since she didn’t bring her own car, but she’ll give you her phone number.”
“My home number?” Max’s heart skipped a beat.
He gave her that I-am-the-boss-and-you-better-do-what-I-say look. “Yes, your home number. Julia already has our work number.”
Giving it to Julia would be the same as giving it to Bud. Max thought of her
home
, which was merely one room on the second floor of an old Victorian that housed mostly students attending the nearby university. She ate, slept, and took a shower there. If that could be called living. At least she didn’t have to answer the phone if she didn’t want to.
home
, which was merely one room on the second floor of an old Victorian that housed mostly students attending the nearby university. She ate, slept, and took a shower there. If that could be called living. At least she didn’t have to answer the phone if she didn’t want to.
Reaching into her voluminous bag, Max miraculously came out with a pen and a scrap of paper. She wrote her number, then handed it to Julia La Russa.
“Starr, Starr,” Baxter said idly. “The name sounds familiar.”
“My husband worked in the district attorney’s office up in
San Francisco
for a few years. His name was on TV a time or two.” She paused a beat. “Cameron Starr.”
San Francisco
for a few years. His name was on TV a time or two.” She paused a beat. “Cameron Starr.”
“Cameron Starr,” he said, eyes sharp and focused on Bud. “Wasn’t he the fellow looking into Walter’s death, Traynor?”
“Yes, he was, I believe.”
“And wasn’t he the one who got—” For the first time, Baxter Newton faltered, his gaze flip-flopping between Max and Julia.
Max felt sorry for him. He obviously wasn’t used to blundering. “Yes, he was.”
Cameron’s murder hung heavily in the air. Even Julia seemed to swallow with difficulty.
“I’m sorry about your loss, Max. We don’t mean to remind you of it.” Julia was gracious in her expensive black mourning dress.
Max clenched her teeth. Words were no easier to accept today than they had been two years ago. But she could be no less gracious in this refined house than her hostess had been in accepting Max’s platitudes. “Thank you.”
Bud saved her. Not that she’d owe him anything. Ever. “That’s why I think Max’ll be able to help you, Julia. In more ways than one. And now we really must be going.”
Bud led the way, Julia at his side. The skirt of the dress swayed as she walked, brushing his checked golf pants.
Baxter Newton fell into step with Max, but at a leisurely pace. Max slowed with him, suspecting he had something to say.
“I’ll get right to the point, since we don’t have much time. Why does he want you to spy for him?”
Damnation. Baxter Newton knew Bud was a fraud. By default, so was she. Her cover had been blown.
Chapter Nine
Back in the car, with Bud Traynor far too close, Max should have felt claustrophobic. Instead, excitement pumped through her veins. The chase was on, the suspects lining up; the hooker, her thick-necked buddy with the big ears, the wife, and now Baxter Newton.
Not to mention the one she’d really like to nail to the wall, Bud himself. Someday, she’d prove how dirty his hands were.
Who the hell was Baxter Newton to Julia La Russa? She’d get around to asking after she tackled Bud’s true motive for taking her to meet Julia. That question was of paramount importance to her.
“When did you cook up this little assistant charade? Before Lance was even killed?” Even if Bud didn’t actually wield the weapon, there was a damn good chance that he had manipulated the murderer. He’d done it before. He’d damn near admitted that to her.
One manicured hand held the wheel loosely at the bottom; the other Bud placed on the armrest between them. “Aren’t you going to thank me for getting you in, Max?”
Max refused to scrunch up against the door to get away from him. She wasn’t afraid. He was just a man, even though there were times she’d swear she saw the devil glowing in his black eyes. “What you do you do for yourself. You ought to thank me for playing along with your little game, whatever it is.”
Maneuvering into the freeway traffic, he headed south. “You’d like to know what I’m up to, wouldn’t you, Max?”
“Yes.” Asking wasn’t succumbing to him, it was simply playing without knowing the rules.
“Have dinner with me, and I’ll tell you everything.”
Despite the cars flowing all around them, Max suddenly felt trapped, alone, unprotected, exposed to all manner of evil. “I’m busy.”
“Afraid, Max? Or perhaps you have a hot date with Dudley Do-Right?”
How the hell did he know that was her endearing term for Witt and his ridiculously adorable cleft? Perhaps Bud didn’t, but he was definitely taking a dig at her. She refused to let it get to her. “Neither. I’ve got another lead I’m going to follow up.” She shook her head when he turned slightly toward her. “And don’t bother asking what, because I’m not telling you a damn thing.”
The car had gotten stuffy, the air blowing out the vents oddly foul as if the system had sick-building syndrome. Max wrinkled her nose, and Bud reached for the air conditioning controls. Cool air bathed her face, the old, musty smell hidden beneath the air pulled in from the outside. Bud Traynor’s facade, like the air conditioning, masked something old, musty, and rotten.
“You do amuse me so, Max. Tell me, are you fucking the good detective yet?”
She jolted as if he’d slapped her. Not because he hadn’t intimated the same thing before, but because it sounded so hollow coming from his mouth. Fucking. A physical act. A dirty, debasing act. She’d used the same word with Witt last night to make a point. Instead, she’d hurt him, and now she knew why.
But Witt had tried a power play on her, and she’d had to smash him down or lose her self-respect.
She moved on to her own agenda, ignoring Bud’s, which, obviously, he wasn’t going to tell her. “So how does Baxter Newton fit? You knew he’d be there, didn’t you?”
“I want to give you all the suspects I can, Max. I want to help solve Lance’s murder.”
If that was true, Bud had his own nefarious reasons. “Why?”
“Once you solve it, you’ll know why. Patience is a virtue, Max. I have an abundant amount. That’s exactly why I’ll have you in the end. Because one day there’ll be something you want from me so badly that you’ll do whatever I ask.”
Chills walked up her arms like someone had stepped on her grave. “There’s nothing you have that I’d want that much.”
Without turning to her, he smiled. “Yes, there is, Max, oh yes, there is. And you’ll do anything to get it.” He chanced a quick look at her, a smile quirking his lips. “Anything, Max.”
God, she hated the sound of his smug voice, hated the fear that burrowed into her bones like some all-consuming parasite. There could be nothing that important. Nothing. Could there?
“Baxter Newton.” She almost stuttered trying to return to the subject. “You were going to tell me what he has to do with all this.”
“Come now, Max, being Lance’s father-in-law automatically makes him a suspect.”
“Father-in-law?” she repeated dumbly.
“Julia’s father.”
“You’re kidding. They don’t look a thing alike.” Perhaps before turning gray, Baxter’s hair might have been the same brown as Julia’s and his eyes did have something of the same chocolate brown cast. “But he’s an inch shorter than she is.”
“She was wearing heels. I must admit, though, that if I didn’t know better, I’d say Baxter found her under the proverbial gooseberry bush, or his wife was fucking the garbage man. But I assure you, Max, they are father and daughter.”
His fingers moved on the seat between them. Wanting no surprises, Max put her back to the car door and faced him.
He smiled, reading right through her. “If he knew his daughter was being cuckolded, I’d say that was a pretty powerful motive for murder, wouldn’t you, Max?”
If Baxter Newton truly loved his daughter, yes. Their good-natured banter even in the face of Lance’s murder and Bud’s intrusion spoke of a loving relationship.
“Does he have an alibi?”
“He attended the same function that Julia did, Max.”
Max pursed her lips. “I suppose everyone vouches for him, too, the same as they did for Julia.”
That smile again, God, the man was really up to something, and Max didn’t like not knowing what. “Baxter was, in fact, Julia’s main alibi,” he revealed.
Her heart picked up the pace. “And was she his?”
“Exactly, my dear.” He turned to look directly at her this time. “Tell me, Max, don’t you think a daughter would want to protect her beloved father? And vice versa?”
Max chewed on the inside of her lip, chewed on all the possibilities, even as she thought of Bud Traynor’s dead daughter. Wendy would have lied for him simply because he’d force her to, and love be damned. “Baxter Newton doesn’t seem like the violent type. Most loving fathers don’t murder their daughters’ philandering husbands.”
Hand loose on the wheel, Bud changed lanes without doing a visual check, pulling to the right to pass a slower moving compact. “Do you know what Lance did, Max?”
“As in his job?” At her question, Bud nodded slightly. “No, I don’t.” Investing. It offered a broad spectrum and not much detail.
“Investment banking. Financial advisement. Estate planning. Baxter was one of his largest clients.”
Ah, love and money. “And did he give Baxter some bad advice?”
“Actually, I have it on good authority that Baxter thought Lance was stealing from him.”
Skeptical, Max made a face “I saw that house. I don’t think Lance was having money problems.”
“All Julia’s. Everything is in her name. Trust funds, the like. Baxter wanted to protect her from gigolos.”
Max almost laughed at the term, but the motive was deadly serious. She thought of the condo Lance had bought and furnished for Angela. Yes, he might need more money, and he might not care if it belonged to someone else. “Couldn’t Julia have divorced him? Seems like an easier solution.”
“It’s appears love turns a blind eye once again, Max.”
There were definite possibilities in what Bud Traynor was saying. “Do you know for a fact either of them suspected he was having an affair?”
“Affairs. He had many. Did they know for sure? That’s what you’re supposed to find out.” This time he did reach out and graze her knee with his index finger. Thank God she’d worn slacks instead of a skirt. His touch on bare skin might have made her puke.
“Keep your hands off me.”
“Or what, Max? You have to follow it up with a threat.”
“I don’t. We both know you want me to beg you to touch me. Capitulation is what you want.” He’d use coercion, but Max knew physical force wasn’t in Bud’s game plan. He wasn’t above it. He merely prided himself on getting what he wanted through sheer willpower.
He laughed outright. “Correct, Max. The rest is merely an appetizer.”
“You still haven’t told me why you want to find Lance’s killer.”
“Did I say I wanted that, Max?”
Yes, he had, she was sure. Wasn’t she? “Let me rephrase. Tell me why you want me to prove Baxter Newton did it?”
The smile on his lips finally reached his eyes, but it was black and corrupted. “You’re a smart girl, I think you can figure out what I want.”
She looked straight ahead through the windshield. The red Honda in front pulled over as Bud rode its ass. She flipped back to his profile. “Jesus, you want Julia, don’t you?”
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