A Dangerous Dance (23 page)

Remy rubbed his face. “I'm not sure what's real and what isn't anymore.”

Dorothy sat down, information swirling in her head like patterns in a lava lamp. Patterns formed, disintegrated, and reformed into new ones before she had time to process anything.

“What do we know for sure?” she asked. “Isn't that how detectives do this?”

Remy sat down opposite her. “That you're Magus's daughter.” He held her gaze with his as he said the words with reassuring conviction.

“How can you be so sure?” she asked, feeling again the sense of the ground under her feet shifting and giving way.

“Because Magus would never have brought you into his life if he hadn't been sure.”

“Kate says he loved my mother. Maybe he felt sorry for what he did.” He'd never wanted her to call him anything but Magus.

Remy arched his brows. “Was there anything in what you remember to give you that impression?”

Dorothy smiled and shook her head. And Magus could have helped her without bringing her into his life or leaving her his money. Remy was right. Magus would never have done that if he'd had any doubts about her paternity. So what was Bozo hoping to accomplish with this play?

“Does he think I'm so gullible I'll just believe him?”

“Possibly. Bozo's besetting weakness is his belief in his cleverness. He thinks he's mysterious and deep.”

“If he releases those results, whether I am or not, it will nullify a lot of my ability to give you political support. Particularly since I don't have the real results to put on display.”

“Which is exactly why he did it.” Remy frowned. “You never saw the results, I take it?”

She shrugged. “I didn't want to see them. It was all so weird and uncomfortable anyway. I scarcely knew him and he didn't even seem to like me. I think he was disappointed. He wanted someone more like my mother, not some scared, grieving, angry kid without polish or charm. Helene helped me acquire some polish and taught me how to hide my feelings.”

“That's Magus's housekeeper?”

Dorothy nodded. “She was great. I was disappointed when she didn't come with me to the Dallas house, but I understood. I think she was just tired. I sometimes wondered if she'd been in love with Magus herself. After he died, it was as if a light went out inside her.”

“It's possible. We need to talk to her. She may remember some things that you wouldn't.”

“I don't know if she'll talk about that time. When I visit her, it's the elephant in the room with us.”

“Well,” Remy said, “she may know a bit about the paternity issue. I'm sure she'd help you with that.”

Dorothy nodded, leaning back in the chair and closing her eyes. Bits and pieces of information drifted past her mind's eye, like paper in a soft breeze. As one piece swirled close, her relaxed mind studied it indifferently, letting it dance closer, as if wooing attention.

“What,” she said dreamily, “if the book
was
the clue Vance left Vonda?”

“What do you mean?” he asked, sounding as sleepy as she did.

She opened her eyes. “What if he hid something here?” Almost immediately she frowned and shook her head. “That's nutty, isn't it? How could he get in here?”

Remy sat up, his face thoughtful. “I know everyone thought he was a political operative at the time. In that capacity, he may have come here to deliver information to your father. At the time, Smith, Henry and Luc weren't in open opposition to your father. On the surface, they were working together for the good of the party.”

“So he could have been here?”

“Helene might remember if he was ever here. It's a place to start, anyway.”

He smiled at her. If she hadn't been so tired, she might have closed the distance. Instead she smiled back, and then sighed. It was so weird, being suspected of all sorts of nefarious dealings by her suspects. And kind of funny, really. Matahari, she wasn't.

A niggling voice in her head asked, but you could be, couldn't you?

“What,” she said, her voice still lazy, “if we upped the stakes a bit?”

He opened one eye, his expression wary. “We are. With the party.”

“I mean more than that. They think I'm doing all this. Why shouldn't I confirm their suspicions? I'm tired of being on the defensive. It's time to attack.”

“I'm supposed to be their target, not you,” Remy said, sitting up and rubbing his face. “Besides, what would your play be? No, I think we should just continue the way we planned.”

“It's too slow. And the killer is moving too fast. We could be in it together,” she added, tempting him with a smile and participation. “They think I'm in it for revenge. What if we tried a spot of blackmail? After Bubba Joe's death, they'll believe we have proof of their involvement. It's possible that by the dinner party, we will have that proof?”

“Give me time to try one more thing,” Remy said.

“What? We've exhausted all our leads, or they're dead.”

“Not all of them,” Remy said. “Do you remember in the letter Vance wrote, he mentioned his mother?” Dorothy nodded. “Well, I researched him down to his toenails back then and I didn't find any info about his mother. And no mother ever visited him in prison.”

“You think he didn't have a mother?”

“I think it was one of the clues for Vonda.”

“I don't see how,” Dorothy said. “If she doesn't exist.”

“Vonda had a mother. And its possible Vance has a mother, but we just don't know who she is.”

“Or where she is?” Dorothy considered his ideas. “It could work. But my way is faster.” She grinned at him.

“My way is safer,” Remy shot back.

Dorothy sobered. “Maybe.”

He got up and sat down next to her, putting his arm around her and pulling her close. It was lovely to relax into his embrace. It was the first time today she'd felt safe.

“It's going to be all right,” he murmured to the top of her head.

At the moment, she almost believed him. She had been known to believe as many as six impossible things a day, after all.

* * * *

Bozo was surprised that Dorothy hadn't called him. He pushed back from his desk and started to pace the length of his elegant library. He loved this room. It not only proclaimed his importance and his status, but it connected him with his history. The books that lined the walls were the same books his great-grandfather had paced beside. He was pretty sure none of his ancestors had actually read them. What he knew had been imparted to him by his father. Books were already old news by the time they were published. And life was too short to bother with old news.

He stopped at the tray of drinks at the end of his desk and poured himself a stiff one. Dorothy was proving to be a challenge almost worthy of her father. A pity her mother had lacked their cunning. She might still be alive. He lifted his glass and said, half mockingly, “To Emma. May she rest in peace.”

“I don't think I can,” Emma said from the terrace doors.

Bozo whirled around, splashing himself with whiskey in the process. He could feel the blood drain from his face and his heart sped up. In the muted light from his desk lamp, he wasn't sure if she were corporeal or not. She was too much in the shadows. All he saw for sure were her eyes, violet and dangerous.

“Emma?” His voice was a hoarse croak.

She stepped deeper into the room. As light fell around her, she resolved into a living, breathing human being. Kate. She said her name was Kate...

“Clever girl,” Bozo said. “I'm guessing that the real Kate lies in your grave?”

“That's right.” She appropriated his chair, crossing her legs, in one smoothly elegant motion. The clothes were modest, but the essence was all Emma.

“And you, not Dorothy, are behind the various...demises?”

“You give me too much credit. I was never that clever, was I?”

It was almost as if she'd heard his thoughts.

“Why did you come back?” He sat down opposite her, and smiled. This evening was turning out better than even he'd expected.

“To see my daughter, of course.”

“That would be the daughter who thinks you're her aunt and her mother is dead?” Bozo shook his head. “Have you forgotten who you're talking to, Emma? I know you. Why are you really here?”

She laughed. “I see I could never fool you, Bozo.” She leaned forward, resting her elbows on his desk and her chin on her hands. “Naturally I'm after money. Magus cut me off without a penny, you know.”

“You don't think Dorothy would be delighted to share the wealth with you?”

“Not that money. The money that was paid Vance to kill Magus. It's quite a sizable sum. More than enough to keep me happy. And quiet.”

He leaned back. So that was it. “How did you get your hands on it?”

“Vance was...very sweet...in a lethal sort of way.”

Bozo stared at her for a long moment, and then gave a short, sharp laugh. “I always said you were something,
chere'
.” He hesitated. “If you have Vance's evidence, then you know I'm probably the only one who didn't pay Vance to whack Magus. Which makes me wonder if you do have it? Unless there is some other reason you're here?”

Her smile was amused and very sexy. Her hair might be gray, but she still had it.

“I'm here because of that little item you gave Dorothy tonight.”

“The paternity test?” He arched his brows in surprise. “Why do you care?”

“Magus had some distant relatives, annoying people, who might contest her inheritance if they thought she wasn't a proper DNA carrier—which we both know she is.”

He shrugged. “Again, why do you care?”

“Aunt Kate might need a loan some day. She has a...tendency...to go through money rather quickly.”

He laughed again, longer this time. “You always were a fast piece, Emma. And if I won't play? It seems like you have as much to hide now, as I do?”

She smiled again. “Do you really think Dorothy will believe anything you have to say now? She
knows
she passed that test. It's not like you to stumble like that, Bozo.”

He shrugged. “It was a calculated risk.” He was quiet for a moment. “All right. You win,
chere'
. I'll back off Dorothy, but I should get something for my trouble.” He let his gaze slide down her body, then up. Who said it was best to make love to older women because they were so grateful? It would certainly be a novelty. Sometimes he wearied of his energetic young women. He arched a brow in inquiry. “How about a ride for old time's sake? You were the best, you know.”

She sat back and laughed. It was a lovely sound. “Don't you know that trips down memory lane are always disappointing?”

That only made him want her more. “I have more money than god, Emma. You please me and I'll make it worth your while.”

The smile faded to polite. “When I need to go into the oldest profession, I'll let you know.”

He was puzzled. “Money is money, Emma.”

“No, Bozo, it's not. Not when you owe someone something for every dollar. I want my money without strings.” She stood up. “You treated me decently back then. Don't spoil it now. I might forget I'm a lady.”

“You never did do what anyone expected you to do,” he said, rising to face her. “No hard feelings?”

“If you stay out of my way, we're freaking best friends.” Her smile held a warning.

He frowned. “Where...were you when Bubba Joe died, Emma?”

Her brows arched. Her smile was sweet. “Why Bozo, I'm crushed that you even asked.”

She came around the desk, the sassy sway of her hips igniting another round of regret. She trailed a finger down his arm, leaned over and kissed him on the check, the movement enveloping him in her heady scent. Only then did she turn and leave the way she arrived, through the terrace doors.

He stood there for a long time, touching the place her lips had so briefly been.

“I think, Emma, darling, that you didn't protest enough.”

He sank back into his chair. He could believe Emma had killed Bubba Joe. He just couldn't figure out why?

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FOURTEEN

* * * *

Dorothy was so tired, her eyes were crossing. What she'd wanted to do was fall on her face onto the bed. Only habit and discipline got her through her nighttime ablutions and into a nightgown. She was just untying her bathrobe for that blissful fall to the sheets, when she heard a gentle knock at her door.

She didn't want to answer, but her light was probably visible under the door. “Come in.” The end of her sentence almost got swallowed up in a huge yawn. She tried to get her mouth back to normal before she could be seen.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” Kate asked.

“Sure.” Dorothy led her to a small sitting area and sat down across from her, holding back another yawn. This could get embarrassing. “I was starting to worry that your memory went out again.” It was very late. It was hard not to wonder what she'd been doing all this time, even stupid with tiredness.

“I have a confession to make,” she said, looking a little worried. “I know I probably shouldn't have interfered, but he made me so angry and well,
he
gave me the idea.”

Dorothy shook her head. “What idea? He who?”

“Bozo Luc. I remember Emma talking about him,” she said.

“What did you do, Kate?” Dorothy straightened in apprehension. That cleared the yawns out.

“I went to see him. I thought I might be able to get him to back off you.”

“Why would he care what you think?” Dorothy couldn't figure out where she was going with this. She was still too tired, even with the minor adrenaline surge from panic.

Kate looked down at her hands, twisting in her lap, then up again, her eyes a potent plea for forgiveness. “I pretended I was Emma.”

Dorothy's eyes got so wide, they almost sprang their lids. “You what?”

“I pretended I was Emma. I told you, he gave me the idea. I knew enough to bluff and it's been so long, almost thirty years, you know.” She frowned. “I didn't count on him hitting on me, though.”

Dorothy sagged back against the chair. Then she started to laugh. “You mean he bought it?”

“Hook, line and tee shirt.” She leaned forward. “But that wasn't the most interesting part. I...kind of let him think that I had the info exposing who was involved with Vance. He said that then I must know he wasn't involved. Obviously I don't know him that well, but it seemed to me he was telling the truth.”