Fatal Trust (10 page)

“I thought you planned to skip the dance, Lexie,” Ben said.

Lexie met the other woman’s eyes. “You misunderstood, Ben. I
wouldn’t miss it.”

The woman stared at Lexie for a moment. Then she turned and
sauntered away.

“What was that about?” Ben asked. “I thought you refused to
go.”

“What you do behind my back is your own business, but I
don’t appreciate you acting like that in front of me,” Lexie said. “I’ll see
you later.”

Then she turned and strode out of the garage, frowning. Why
the hell had she agreed to go to that dance, especially since she suspected Ben
had manipulated her into it? But it was too late to get out of it. Rule Number
6—once an invitation has been accepted, it’s as binding as any written
contract. She’d bested that woman, but now she was obligated to go to a street
dance with Ben. Life just kept getting better and better.

She also didn’t have a thing to wear. The four suits she’d
brought were out, she was sick of her jeans and her khaki skirt, and the only
tops that might be appropriate were dirty and had to be dry-cleaned. She was
going to have to check out The Clothes Garden after all. God willing, they’d
have something without ruffles and flowers. Her frown deepened. And something
that was appropriate for an exotic dancer.

At least they wouldn’t be surprised when she paid cash.

The entire Main Street had been cordoned off for the dance.
Porta Potties were strategically placed all around the area. A six-member band
with guitars, fiddles, and too much facial hair was twanging up-tempo tunes on
a raised wooden stage as dancing couples swirled around them. A refreshment
counter set up in front of Lee’s Market already had long lines at the four beer
windows.

Lexie had been hoping rain—or even a June snowstorm—would
force a cancellation, but no such luck. The night was clear and warm, the sun
turning the sky a peachy rose and making the scene glow.

“Thanks for coming with me,” she told Cecilia as they walked
to the edge of the dancing area.

“I was planning to go even before Ben got held up at work,”
Cecilia said. “I’ve never been to a street dance, but it’s got to be more fun
than watching Aunt Muriel say rosaries for Grandfather’s soul, or reruns of TV
shows that shouldn’t have been broadcast the first time. That dress looks great
on you, by the way.”

Lexie smoothed the skirt of her sapphire cotton sundress.
“Thanks. I got it at The Clothes Garden, along with these.” She lifted one
foot. “I’ve always wanted silver sandals, and not just because my mother would
have a fit if she saw them. Did Ben have any idea when he’d get here?” He
hadn’t bothered to call her but had instead phoned Cecilia, asking her to drive
Lexie and relay the message he was stuck at work and would meet her at the
dance.

“He didn’t think it would take very long, but who knows?”

Lexie nodded. Who knows how long it would take Ben to
satisfy the brunette he’d no doubt arranged to meet at the garage, since his
pretend girlfriend had made fun at the dance with the brunette an
impossibility. After he’d used said brunette to convince said girlfriend to go
to this stupid street dance.

“Ben told me he knew how much you were looking forward to
the street dance and didn’t want you to miss out on a single minute of it,”
Cecilia continued.

“How sweet of him,” Lexie said. “Let’s go get something to
drink.”

Ben paced back and forth between the bed and chair. “We’ve
got a problem,” he said, raking his fingers through his hair. “Catherine plans
to go back to Philadelphia and hire a P.I. to investigate. She doesn’t think
she should be wasting the trust’s money when she isn’t accomplishing anything.
Especially since she’s not even convinced there really was a murder.”

Max Windsor smiled. “I told you she was damn smart.”

“If Catherine wants to leave, you’ll have to convince her to
stay,” Max continued, rocking back in his chair. “We need her.”

Ben stopped pacing and narrowed his eyes at his grandfather.
“Just like you could convince her aunt to do something she didn’t want to?”

Max grinned, righting his chair. “She told you about
Jessica, did she?”

“It would have been nice if you had. I think Catherine
inherited the stubborn streak you complained Jessica had.”

“Catherine’s always been agreeable to me.”

“That’s because you’re her client. Trey figured out who she
is, by the way. When he confronted her, she admitted what we’re doing.”

“That’s probably a good thing,” Max said. “Trey might be
able to help you.”

“Of course, Catherine has no clue what we’re really doing.”
Ben didn’t even try to hide his disgust. “I think I should tell her the truth.
She’d be more help with all the facts. And I feel guilty about keeping her in
the dark.” So guilty that if he hadn’t been interrupted by Tina, he would have told
her the truth this morning when she was discussing the possibility Nevermore
was haunted.

“You can’t tell her,” Max said, his tone encased in steel.
“The more people who know, the more chance it will leak out.”

Ben resumed pacing in the windowless secret room that he’d
no idea existed until Grandfather had proposed playing dead and haunting people
by using secret passages Ben also hadn’t realized existed. “Catherine’s not
going to tell anyone. Maybe knowing the truth will make her more willing to stay.”

“It could also make her more likely to leave, since if I’m
not dead, she doesn’t have to worry about who gets the trust. She’ll also be
upset she was kept in the dark this long.”

“We might as well risk it. She plans to leave anyway.”

“I’m sure you won’t let that happen.”

Ben stopped pacing and turned on his grandfather, resting
his hand on the microwave atop the dresser. “How the hell am I supposed to
prevent it?”

“You could take her to bed. That always made Jessica more
agreeable.”

Ben snorted. “I think trying that would have the opposite
effect on Catherine. Even if she stays, we’re at a dead end. Look at this.” He
walked over to the nightstand, picked up the notebook he’d set on top of a pile
of mail, and flipped through it. He handed the open notebook to his
grandfather.

“What is this?” Max asked.

“A list of everyone’s possible motives.”

Max raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were opposed to making
lists on principle.”

“Only To Do lists, and that’s because they can distract you
from what’s really important. Catherine wants to discuss everything we found
out, and I didn’t want to risk forgetting anything. By the way, she’s addicted
to lists. Including To Do lists.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“The bottom line is that every single trust beneficiary theoretically
has motive and opportunity, but there’s absolutely no evidence who made the
attempts on your life,” Ben said. “Catherine thinks we should hire a P.I. to
investigate, and I agree.”

“I told you why I don’t want an outsider involved.”

Ben threw up his hands. “Because you’re afraid family
secrets will come out. Yet you won’t tell me
what
family
secrets.”

“That’s because I don’t know what they are.”

Ben’s temper flared, and his tone sharpened. “You mean there
aren’t any secrets? You just used that possibility to convince us not to hire a
P.I.?”

“I didn’t say that,” Max said calmly. “Considering my
family, there could very well be all sorts of secrets out there, especially
where my son Allen was involved. Dylan definitely takes after him, and not in a
good way. Besides, a P.I. would have a better chance of discovering I’m still
alive. You can distract Catherine, but you’d have a tougher time with a P.I. As
long as no one knows I’m alive, I’m safe.”

“A P.I. would also have a better chance of finding whoever
tried to murder you.”

“I’m not convinced of that,” Max said, rubbing his chin
again. “Catherine is extremely perceptive, and the two of you are more likely
to get information than a P.I. would. Especially since right now the guilty
party doesn’t suspect anyone even knows a crime was committed.”

“You blew that by telling Aunt Muriel you were murdered,”
Ben said.

“It slipped out,” Max said. “No one takes anything my sister
says seriously. But hiring a P.I. would broadcast to everyone that you suspect
I was murdered.” He let out a long breath. “It would also mean I’d have to turn
the guilty party over to the police.”

Ben’s jaw dropped. He plopped down on the bed and stared at
his grandfather. “You might not prosecute whoever’s trying to kill you?”

Max shrugged. “It depends on who it is and the
circumstances. I want to keep that option open.”

“We’re talking about attempted murder, not stealing a couple
of candlesticks from your parlor,” Ben said, gesturing broadly.

“We’re also talking about family,” Max said. “I don’t think
Catherine believed me when I said my motivation for the two-week requirement
was my hope that you all would realize how important family is and start
getting along better.”

“Your motivation for that provision was because you wanted
to help Catherine and me identify whoever’s trying to kill you.”

“Partly. But getting older has made me appreciate the
importance of family. Especially now that I’ve faced death twice.”

“If we find the guilty party, don’t you think Catherine will
insist on going to the police?” Ben asked.

“I’ve got a better chance of convincing her to keep quiet
than I do a P.I.,” Max said. “I know you didn’t like this from the start. But
you said you’d do it because you love me—”

“
When
I thought Catherine and I had a reasonable
chance of identifying whoever wants to kill you,” Ben said. “I’ve changed my
mind. I worry you’ll get hurt.”

“How can I get hurt when everyone thinks I’m dead?” Max
asked. “I want to continue with the original plan. If you won’t go along out of
love, then do it because I rescued you from your father years ago. I did that
because I love you and because you’re Rebecca’s son, but it doesn’t alter the
fact that I had to make a lot of changes to accommodate a teenage boy. You owe
me. I’m cashing in my chips.”

Grandfather’s expression was so stony it could have graced
Mount Rushmore. Ben knew that look. He’d have more luck arguing with one of the
granite presidents. “All right. I’ll do my best to keep Catherine from leaving
or hiring anyone. Now I’d better get to the street dance.”

As he’d realized years ago, no one could ever convince
Grandfather of anything.

Lexie and Cecilia had been watching the dancers, sipping
Diet Cokes, and waiting for Ben for more than an hour when a blonde man approached
them. He had a typical Scandinavian build and features, attractive but not
heart-stoppingly handsome, with a slightly crooked nose that added character.
“You must be Cecilia,” he said, giving her a smile that shifted him into the
heart-stopping category. “Ben’s told me about you. I’m Peter Carlson.”

“I’m happy to meet you,” Cecilia said. “This is Lexie, Ben’s
girlfriend.”

Peter turned his smile on her. “I’ve heard about you, too.”

Lexie rolled her eyes. “I can imagine,” she said. “For your
information, I am not nor have I ever been an exotic dancer. And my mother
hasn’t been sick a day in her life.”

“What are you talking about?” Cecilia asked. From her
confused expression, at least one person didn’t inhale Lakeview gossip.

“Ask Ben,” Lexie said. “On second thought, don’t bother.
He’s enjoying this too much.”

“Where is Ben anyway?” Peter asked.

“He got stuck at work, and Cecilia was nice enough to
babysit me,” Lexie said. “If you two want to dance, go ahead.” If Ben had told
Peter about Cecilia, he’d probably been trying to fix them up.

“I’m enjoying talking to both of you,” Peter said gallantly.

“I think the point of a street dance is to dance,” Lexie
said. Despite the band’s unfortunate name, it was pretty good and more country
pop than hardcore country western. Especially now that their only female member
had shown up, a Carrie Underwood look-and-sound-alike who’d been delayed by
babysitter problems.

“While I wait for Ben, I’ll check on Dylan,” Lexie added.
“Make sure he isn’t drunk enough to have decided to take off to a casino for
the night.” A legitimate concern, as they were within easy driving distance of
a couple of Native American–operated casinos. J.P. might not hold her
responsible for Dylan’s behavior, but he’d probably appreciate it if she made
an effort. Even though he claimed to have stopped whacking people, she’d like
to stay on J.P.’s good side.

“Thanks,” Cecilia said. “I don’t see Dylan dancing, so I’ll
bet he’s near the beer.”

Lexie was halfway to the beer stand when she ran into
Jeremy. In black trousers and an olive silk shirt—both perfectly tailored and
obviously expensive—he looked more like he belonged at her country club than a
street dance.

”Where’s Ben?” Jeremy asked.

“At work. I came with Cecilia, who’s out dancing.”

“Let’s join her.” He took Lexie’s arm. “I heard you’re an
exotic dancer,” he said as they made their way to the dancing area.

“Sorry, but it isn’t true. My mother would probably keel
over dead if I were.”

“Your sick mother,” Jeremy said.

“Not sick, just stuffy and snobbish. That rumor’s false,
too.” She grinned. “Do you still want to dance with me?”

“Absolutely.”

A hand clamped over Lexie’s free arm. “I’m claiming this
dance.”

Lexie turned toward Ben, who’d managed to sneak up on her.
He was wearing a pair of tight jeans, a camp shirt that matched his eyes, and
cowboy boots. Unlike Jeremy, he definitely fit in with tonight’s crowd.

“She’s dancing with me,” Jeremy said, his hand tightening on
Lexie’s arm.

“Wrong,” Ben said. “Since she’s here as my date, she dances
with me. Her mother would be appalled if she didn’t. Right, Lexie?”

Rule Number 33. Lexie sighed. “He’s right, Jeremy. Sorry.
Maybe later.”

Jeremy released her arm as Ben led her toward the dancers.
“How do you know my mother would be appalled if I ever refused my date’s
request to dance?” she asked.

“I’m starting to figure her out. She’s big on manners and
propriety and that kind of crap, right?”

“Manners and propriety aren’t crap. They’re essential to a
civilized society.”

He snorted.

“Although you’re right about my mother,” Lexie admitted. “On
my eighth birthday, she gave me a leather-bound notebook containing thirty
rules of good manners, proper social behavior, and appropriate dress. The book
also had blank pages so I could add new rules whenever the situation warranted.
Rules Mother came up with and ordered me to write down.”

Ben dropped her arm. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

Lexie held up her hand. “Swear to God. My sister got one,
too. I actually still write in it, although now I put in my own rules. I’m up
to number 148.”

“Like what?”

Like never getting involved with any man who calls you
“babe,” but mentioning that one to the man who’d inspired it would violate
several other rules. “Like never drink anything with tequila or an umbrella in
it,” she said instead. “Or one of Walt’s specials, I guess I should add. Never
eat sushi in a restaurant that misspells it on the menu.” She grimaced. “And
never get a massage.”

“What do you have against massages?”

“Long story.”

Fortunately Ben let it go, since Lexie wasn’t in the mood to
discuss her failed marriage. He took her into his arms and started dancing what
must be a two-step. She’d never attempted it in her life, but thanks to years
of ballroom dance lessons, she picked it up fast. It helped that Ben was an
excellent dancer.

“You don’t have to worry about any of that now, since only
Trey and I know who you really are,” Ben said as he steered her through the
other dancers. “You get to act like a cocktail waitress who doesn’t give a damn
about what your mother considers appropriate behavior.”

“Pretending to be a college dropout cocktail waitress who’s
having an affair with a mechanic would already offend my mother’s idea of
appropriate behavior so much that anything else I do is superfluous,” Lexie
said. “She’s kind of a snob.”

“I got that impression,” Ben said. “Tell me honestly—aren’t
you enjoying not having to live up to her standards?”

She pondered that for a moment. “It’s fun, but only in the
short term. It’s like taking a vacation somewhere you enjoy visiting but would
never want to live.”

“You might be surprised.”

“I don’t think so,” Lexie said. “I can’t overcome the way I
was raised.”

“I assume your aunt was raised the same way as your mother
and managed to overcome it.”

Lexie chewed her lip. “I’d feel too guilty about how much I
was upsetting my mother. Even if I don’t like some of the things she does, I
still love her. Where does your dad live?” Her mother was up there with her
marriage on tonight’s Do Not Discuss list.

“In California,” Ben said. “I’m a complete failure in his
eyes. But I’m not in the mood to discuss that bastard.”

The dance had ended, and the group started playing a ballad.
Ben wrapped his arms around Lexie, and then pulled her close. “Act like you’re
crazy about me. We need to convince the local gossips we’re a real couple.
Especially the ones who noticed you were about to dance with Jeremy. Think you
can pull it off?”

“How can you ask that? Considering the exceptional job I’ve
been doing playing your dippy girlfriend.”

A smile ruffled his mouth. “To be honest, you’ve had
problems with the dippy part. But thanks to the exotic dancer rumor, most
people are too busy looking at you to listen to what you’re saying.” He pulled
her tighter against him, crushing her breasts against his chest and moving one
hand to her butt. “You really do have an exceptional ass.”