Fatal Impulse: A Widow's Web Novel (22 page)

P
ortia turned, and her features sharpened as confusion morphed into recognition. Her eyes widened and she spat, “What are you doing here?”

All the fear, frustration and anger of the past couple of months coiled up in her belly and gave her strength. Andi hissed, “I’m here to tell you to back off.”

“Excuse me?”

Her heart thumped in her chest. Boy, the gals from book club would be so surprised if they could see her now. “You heard me. Whatever your beef is with me, it ends now.”

Their heiress laughed, and her sapphire blue eyes narrowed, “Why should it?”

“Just tell me what you want and let’s get it over with.”

“I want you to pay for what you did.” The other woman lifted her chin.

Andi held her back ramrod straight. “I didn’t
do
anything. Besides, you have no idea what he was like. What my life with him was like.”

“I have a pretty good idea.”

“No,” Andi shook her head, disgusted with the other woman's naiveté, “You don’t. Tell me, how’d you meet him?”

The brunette's eyes lit up, and she said wistfully, “My brother-in-law introduced us. They’ve been friends since college. The four of us had so much fun together . . . ”

Her voice trailed off, and Andi let that last word hang in the air for a moment, then said, “So, you had fun with a married man. Great way to build trust. Now it’s time for both of us to get on with our lives. What’s it going to take to get you to leave me alone?”

“It’s not about money. I have plenty of that.” She turned and faced Andi, toe to toe. “You took him away from me. He was leaving you for me. And you couldn’t stand to lose him.”

Blood rushed in Andi's ears as she glared up at the heiress. “You’re full of shit.”

The woman brushed by Andi and waved a hand in a dismissive gesture, but Andi grabbed her arm and spun her around. “I’m telling you, it stops now. Get on with your life and leave me the hell alone.”

Andi dropped the woman's arm like a hot poker and stalked out of the B&B, letting the door slam behind her. At least she said her piece. Her blood ran cold and her heart thumped like mad. She couldn't believe she'd actually had the nerve to confront Portia.

The door slammed again and Andi turned to see the brunette stomping towards her. “You have some gall, following me--”

Andi cut her off, “What?!
You
are the one following
me
.”

The woman sputtered, “I’m on vacation.”

“Why Buccaneer Bay?”

The young woman's chest heaved, and Andi wasn’t sure if it was from the exertion or worry. She hadn’t noticed that inside, but she'd been focused on the woman's face. It made Andi feel good to know she could make Portia a little nervous. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. The heiress probably thought she looked quite mad, like a killer. Andi tilted her head and repeated the question.

The other woman settled her hands on her hips and glared. “You know damn good and well why I’m here.”

“You want the stock certificate stuff and the deed, but I don't have them.”

"Wait! What?" Portia stopped, jerked her head back and blinked. “I’m here because of Chad. I know what you did to him. You killed him!”

Andi shook her head. “It was an accident. A horrible, terrible accident.” A shiver ran up her spine at the memory.

The brunette's eyes narrowed. “I’ve seen the pictures.”

Andi jumped on the girl's words, determined to get to the bottom of things. “What pictures?”

“The pictures of you and him that night. The night you killed him,” Her sapphire eyes flashed with anger. “You know exactly what pictures I’m talking about.”

Andi crossed her arms. “How’d you find out about the pictures?”

The young woman glared, but Andi held her gaze. Finally, the other woman sighed. “I'm the reason those pictures were taken. Daddy hired a private investigator to find out . . .”

Andi blinked in surprise, then cut in and demanded, “To find out what?”

Portia looked like a poised adult, but sounded like little more than a child. Her chin jutted forward defiantly, “To find out what was going on with Chad. Daddy knew something was- I don’t know - off.”

Andi pressed on, “What’s your connection with Chad?”

“He was my boyfriend.”

She laughed, “Your boyfriend? Are you kidding me? How old are you?”

The brunette tilted her chin up, “I’ll be twenty-three next week.”

“And it didn’t bother you that he was married?”

Portia squeezed her eyes closed and a single tear slipped down her perfect cheek. “I didn’t know he was married. At least not when we started seeing each other.”

Andi shrugged, suddenly deflated. It didn’t really matter anymore. All that mattered was that a horrible man was dead, and she was finally free of him. But now she wanted to be free of this spoiled little rich girl.

She walked down the drive, then stopped and looked over her shoulder at the other woman. “Look, I’m sorry you got caught up with him, but trust me, he is not worth what you’re putting yourself through, or what you’re putting me through.”

The girl bit her lip and frowned, “Someday the authorities are going to figure out what you did.”

“I didn't do anything. It was an accident. Please, just let it go and get on with your life.” Andi smiled sadly, opened the car door and turned the key in the ignition. The brunette stopped at the end of the drive. As Andi pulled out of the lot, she glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the girl still standing there, alone.

A
s soon as Andi pulled in the garage, she went in and checked the machine. She had two messages, one from Paul and one from Dana, but didn't return either. It was too late to call Dana, and she couldn't call Paul, regardless of the time. She went downstairs to the basement to put the gun back in the gun cabinet. She felt guilty for even carrying it. If push came to shove, she wasn't sure she could pull the trigger, especially now that she knew Portia was just a kid. There had been enough pain without inflicting more.

She opened the lower drawer and laid the gun inside. When she closed the drawer, the gun caught. She tugged the drawer open and moved the pistol forward a little. Something was off. The front of the drawer was deeper than the back.

She pulled the drawer out. It was heavy and she sat it on the floor to take a closer look at it. She removed both guns and set them on the floor, then ran her fingers over the soft green felt covering the bottom of the drawer. The fabric wrinkled where it met the back of the drawer, and pulled away from the wood.

Andi ran upstairs and rummaged through the junk drawer in the kitchen for a nail file, then hurried back downstairs. She worked the file along the back edge of the drawer. The thin wood popped up with little effort. The false bottom popped out to reveal a thick white envelope.

She removed the papers from the envelope and spread them out on the floor. It was like getting a glimpse of a man she didn’t know. The man she lived with for years, the man she slept with every night. How had he managed this? The thickest document was something called an Operating Agreement for Flatlander Holdings, and there were certificates of membership in the company. There were also stock certificates for Woodson Enterprises dated just a few days before the accident. Her eyebrows arched.

So these were the certificates the blackmailer wanted.

She flipped the membership certificates over. Chad had signed a transfer on death clause, dated a few days before the accident, stating that on his death his membership interest would be transferred to his trust. The typing was slightly blurry. She ran her index finger over the print and felt the uneven texture of white out. She held it up to the light and saw the faint outline of other printing. He'd changed the TOD clause to his trust, but she couldn’t make out what it replaced.

She picked up the Operating Agreement and skimmed it. The Agreement named Chad as the sole member and manager.

Naturally.

There were also maps of the area, with a few pencil marks, most near Black Bear Cove. Notations filled the margins of the map, about pegmatite, elbaite, terminated crystals, and numbers that looked like GPS coordinates.

The last thing in the envelope was a smaller brown envelope containing a checkbook with several bank statements folded up and stuck in the cover. She flipped open the register. The first entry was a deposit dated January 4, in the amount of an even $9,000. He'd made other smaller deposits, and a few checks were written out to what looked like building contractors and suppliers.

She examined the bank statements, starting with the January statement and ending with the April statement, which would have been the last one before Chad’s death. She'd never seen so many zeroes. Most entries were deposits, all below $9,000, except for one which was a deposit in mid-April for nearly $1.5 million. The notation said simply “sale of condo,” which struck her as rather odd since they didn’t own a condo. At least not that she knew of, she reminded herself wryly.

Two checks written in January and one in February caught her eye. All three were made out to Woodson Enterprises, and said “Purchase of Condo.” The checks were $25,000 each. She didn’t claim to have any special knowledge of real estate, but that was a steal. The ending balance on the last bank statement was well over a million dollars.

She turned the checkbook over and shook it. A debit card dropped out. After a moment's hesitation, she stuck the debit card in her back pocket, and returned everything else to the envelope, then put it all back exactly as she'd found it. With a turn of the key, she locked the drawer and stood on her tiptoes to put the key back on top of the gun cabinet.

At least now she knew what the intruder was looking for, what the blackmailer was after. How much did Detective Johnson knew. Did he think she was involved?

The phone jangled above her, so she jogged up the steps and snatched the receiver up on the third ring, just before the machine picked up.

It was Dr. McKenzie, from the hospital. “Mrs. Adams, I’m sorry to be bothering you so late, but I have some disturbing news for you that can’t wait.”

She chewed her lower lip. “Really? What?”

“We got back the complete blood test results from when you were in the hospital, and the results concern me.”

She slid onto a bar stool, worried at the tone of his voice. “What?”

“Your test indicates a steady dosing of high levels of ethylene glycol. This wasn't an accidental, one-off ingestion. Someone is poisoning you.”

"Wait. What?" That thought simply didn’t process. “Poison?”

“Yes. We’ve got to figure out where you’re getting the substance. Have you eaten anything unusual lately?”

She gripped the phone tighter. “No, nothing I can think of. Where would it come from?”

“Ethylene glycol is usually from antifreeze, but it has a bitter taste added to it now. The police will be contacting you - I've alerted them, and I know they'll want to talk to you. In the meantime, don't eat or drink anything you don't absolutely trust. And if you notice anything with a bitter taste, don't drink it."

“Doctor,” Her mind spun, wondering how she could've been exposed. “How bad is this glycol stuff? What’s it do?”

“It makes you seem drunk, and,” he hesitated. “It can cause death.”

She gulped. “I see.”

That night she laid awake for hours worrying, turning over what she knew, what she didn’t, and realized that the latter was a much bigger bunch of stuff. She felt as if she were putting together a jigsaw puzzle, missing a corner piece.

The next morning, Andi called Dana as soon as she got out of the shower. She looked at the clock – only an hour and half to get ready! Dana's excitement about the trip to Atlantic City was contagious. Andi had gotten so caught up in her own problems, she'd nearly forgotten all about her best friend's impending nuptials. Dana's enthusiasm was catching, and by the time Andi hung up the phone, she was looking forward to the trip, too. A change of scenery might be exactly what she needed - and might get her away from whoever wanted to do her harm, whether that be Portia or the investigator. She grabbed the small suitcase from the top of the closet and tossed it on the bed. A flash of white caught her eye.

Inside was a brochure from the Chapel of the Stars, and a note scribbled in Chad's distinctive neat writing that said “$55 – no blood test – 3-day needed.” 

The room tilted dangerously, and she felt as though the floor had dropped out from under her.

Her husband had been planning a wedding.

She took a deep breath. Even though her feelings about Atlantic City were tainted now, she decided it would be good to go. She had to, for Dana's sake. She would check out this Chapel and do a little digging while there. Maybe she could find something out, though she had no idea what.

She left the brochure and note in the suitcase, and covered them with her things. Her favorite clothes went in. She intended to look good while there. Just as she flipped her bag closed and latched it, the phone rang. She picked it up and answered.

A gravelly voice greeted her. “Hey, lover.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “Hey, yourself.”

“What are you doing?”

“Packing.”

“Packing? For what?”

“I’m going to Atlantic City with Dana. Remember? She’s getting married this weekend.”

“Oh. Well,” He paused a beat, then murmured seductively, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“I think I’m safe in saying I can do that.” She squeezed her eyes closed and reminded herself that he was married.

“When will you be back?”

She felt a little thrill at his question, and immediately hated herself for it. “Just a couple of days. We’re coming back Tuesday.” Dana getting married reminded Andi of how much she missed being a couple.

“I’ll miss you.”

She couldn’t keep the jealous bite out of her voice, “No, you won’t. Just snuggle up with your wife.”

“Hey,” he said, sounding genuinely hurt. “That’s not fair.”

“Who said life is fair?” She hated the bitterness in her voice. All she wanted was for Caren to disappear so that Paul would be free. After meeting Portia face to face, Andi felt like one big raw nerve.

“She won’t be home anyway. I’ll be here all by myself, thinking about you.”

“You poor thing. Where will she be?” She fought the urge to add, with her lover?

“She’s visiting family in Massachusetts.”

“And not taking her loving husband?”
Meow
. What was wrong with her? She wasn't usually this catty.

“I’ve got other obligations. And this way she can go shopping in New York City with her friends one day. That’s not my thing.”

“I see. Don’t suppose you’d want to take advantage of your time as a bachelor and join me in A.C.?” She chewed her lower lip, immediately sorry she'd asked. Desperation wasn't sexy.

He hesitated. “You know I can’t do that. Besides, you and Dana need the time together.”

She sat on the edge of the bed and examined her neglected fingernails, “She’ll be busy with her husband. I’ll be free to paint the town red. And since this is my first trip as a single woman, I intend to do just that.”

He sighed. “Just be careful. Please.”

"Call me Tuesday night?" As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. She didn't want to seem needy. She hated that about herself.

After a beat, he said, "Talk to you soon."

Then there was silence.

She stared at the phone for a moment, aching with the desire to be needed and loved. It had been so long since anyone had said they loved her. Chad never said it unless they were within earshot of someone he wanted to impress. And Paul was such a nice guy, and handsome to boot. Being with him was exciting and fresh, yet as comfortable as her favorite pair of faded jeans. She could picture them walking together hand in hand through life, them against the world.

She felt restless and anxious to get going on this trip, to get out of town, but most of all, to get out of the house that constantly reminded her of her dead husband. She ran to the post office to get stamps, then stopped at the grocery store to pick up some chocolate syrup for the ice cream Paul had dropped off, and decided it wouldn’t hurt to drive by his house.

It was silly and childish, she knew, but she felt drawn to him. She slowed when she got close, squinting against the glare of the sun on the car parked in his driveway. The glare lessened as she pulled even with their house, and she nearly drove off the road. Sunlight glinted off the back of a black Mercedes sedan, just like the one Portia drove. A horn beeped impatiently, and she glanced in her rearview mirror. A little white sports car hovered right on her bumper. She slowed and eased right to let the coupe pass her.

Surely there has to be more than one black Mercedes sedan in Buccaneer Bay, although she couldn’t think of one to save her soul.

There was no traffic coming so she spun the steering wheel to the left and did a U-turn. She made it back to the city limits in record time and didn’t slow down until she reached the Seaside B&B. She hit the brakes and pulled up to the gate. Not a Mercedes in sight.