Fatal Trust (4 page)

“About the
Playboy
s
.”
Although his helmet hid his mouth, she could hear his smile. “I don’t think
I’ve even seen one since high school. I actually knew about the jeans because
my ex-wife had a couple of pairs.”

He turned his head and restarted the engine. Lexie closed
her eyes again, said a quick prayer, and hung on as he took off toward the
road. Between a clenching stomach and a heart beating nearly hard enough to
burst through her chest, she could barely breathe. Addendum to Rule Number 148:
Avoid involvement with any man who calls women “babe” and/or rides a
motorcycle.

Ben drove fast, although not so fast he had any trouble with
the curves, and the motorcycle didn’t wobble or swerve or do anything that made
Lexie feel they were about to tip, flip, or rocket off the road. But Ben’s
relatively smooth driving didn’t change that she was on a motor vehicle going
fast, with no protection besides a helmet, and they called things “accidents”
for a reason.

After what seemed forever, he slowed, and then drove off the
road. Lexie opened her eyes to see that they were in a grove of pines. “Why are
we stopping?” Not that she was complaining.

“Because we’ve reached the lot. Take off your helmet and
come on.”

She removed her helmet and shook out her sweaty hair. Fear
combined with the motorcycle’s vibrations had weakened her legs, and she
stumbled a couple of times as she followed Ben out of the trees. She couldn’t
see Lakeview, but lights glimmered to the south, and she could hear Lake
Superior’s quiet lapping, so they must be near town.

They walked until they reached a chain link fence about six
feet high, enclosing a brick building and a couple dozen cars. Ben grabbed onto
the top of the fence and pulled himself up.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going over. I’ll unlock the gate and let you in. Unless
you want to scale the fence, too.”

Lexie snagged his foot. “We are not breaking in.”

Ben lowered himself back down beside her. “It’s not like I
plan to steal or damage anything. All I’m doing is checking out Grandfather’s
car, which I have a right to do.”

“Why don’t we come back during business hours?”

“Because I don’t want anyone to know I suspect Grandfather’s
death wasn’t an accident.” Before Lexie had a chance to object, he was over the
fence.

Since her only alternative was waiting outside the fence—and
Ben had a point about secrecy—Lexie stepped through the gate once he opened it.
Then she followed him across the gravel-paved lot, navigating through cars
displaying rusty holes, cardboarded windows, duct-taped parts, and evidence of
collisions past.

Three-quarters of the way in, Ben stopped. “This is it.”

Directly in front of them were the charred remains of an
automobile.

Max’s Ferrari.

Lexie’s eyes filled and her chest tightened as she stared at
the car. The odor of burned metal clogged her nose and throat. “Max’s death
never seemed real before,” she got out over a lump. “But seeing this, it’s very
real.”

Ben took her hand and squeezed it. “We have to believe that
wherever Grandfather is, he’s enjoying it as much as he always enjoyed life.”

She swiped at her overflowing eyes with the back of her free
hand, smearing tears over her cheekbones. Max had been demanding and
occasionally a pain, but she’d been genuinely fond of him. She’d miss him, miss
his wit, his warmth, his concern about her. She’d even miss the lectures that
resulted from that concern. And he’d been her last real connection to her aunt.
“I hope he died right away. I hate to think of him suffering.”

“The coroner said he probably died on impact, before the
fire.”

“Were there any remains?”

“A few bones. Enough of his jaw to match dental records and
confirm it was Grandfather. Not that he’d have let anyone else drive his
Ferrari.”

Lexie closed her eyes for a moment, her fingers tightening
around Ben’s. It was hard to think of a vibrant person like Max reduced to
blackened bone fragments. “He wanted to be cremated, but I don’t think this was
exactly what he had in mind.”

“The only thing we can do for him now is figure out who
killed him.”

“Assuming anyone did.”

Ben released her hand. “That’s what we’re here to find out.”
He slipped under the car.

Rosy dusk had darkened to an eerie gray, turning the other
vehicles into shadowy forms. Lexie’s pulse accelerated, and a shiver slithered
across her shoulders and neck, then slid down her spine. “This place gives me
the creeps,” she said, hoping the sound of her voice would calm her. “Max
should have used it in one of his books.”

“He did, or at least a place like it,” Ben answered from
beneath the car. She could see the reflected light of his flashlight. “In
The Key.
”

“His second book,” Lexie said, nodding. “He wrote that so
long ago I forgot about it.” Maybe that was why her subconscious found this
place spooky. “Didn’t a woman die in a car lot?”

“The accountant pushed a car on top of her to keep her from
disclosing that he was an embezzler,” Ben said. “He later hid in a car wash and
was electrocuted when he accidentally turned it on and it shorted out. That
book was followed by
Water over the Bridge
, where the
sleazy lawyer tried to drown the hero and instead fell into the water himself
and was eaten by an alligator.”

Lexie smiled faintly. “Max wrote both of those before he was
successful enough to have to admit accountants and lawyers have their uses.”

“True.” The light flickered, and she heard Ben fiddling with
something under the car. “Don’t worry. If this car crushes anyone, it’ll be
me.”

While he examined the car, Lexie stood hugging herself and
looking around, alert for the slightest movement. After several minutes Ben
emerged from beneath the car and flipped his flashlight off.

“Did you find anything?” she asked.

He shook his head, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Too much
fire damage.
Damn
.”

The flash of approaching car lights and roar of an engine
indicated someone was pulling up to the fence.

Ben grabbed Lexie’s hand and started sprinting. “Come on.”

“Who is it?” she asked, running beside him.

“Be quiet.” He pulled her behind the building.

She had no idea what was going on, but from Ben’s reaction,
it wasn’t good. Over the heartbeat drumming in her ears, Lexie heard a metallic
rattle, then the creak of the gate opening. Heavy footsteps crunched over
gravel, coming nearer, stopping. A flashlight shone along the edge of the
building.

She pressed her back against the bricks to make herself as
flat as possible, trying not to breathe.

The gravelly footsteps resumed, but this time they were
moving away. A moment later Lexie heard the gate close, followed by a car door
slamming and an engine turning over. She let out a relieved breath.

“We’re lucky Al’s in a hurry to finish his rounds tonight,”
Ben said. “Otherwise he would have checked this place out closer.”

Lexie released her tight grip on Ben’s hand, relief shifting
to anger. “You made me sneak in here tonight when you knew there was a security
guard?”

“I didn’t expect anyone to show up this early,” Ben said.
“Al’s actually a cop. This is the police impound lot. They’re holding the
Ferrari until the beneficiaries tell them what to do with it.”

She forced herself to count to ten. Twice. Getting angry was
a waste of what little energy she had left after today’s events. “Great,” she
said, managing with monumental effort to keep her tone level. “I’ve been here
less than a day and was already nearly arrested.”

“We’ve still got time.” Ben took her arm.

She dug in her heels. “Sorry, but I have no desire to see
the inside of a Minnesota jail cell.”

“I was kidding,” he said. “This time we won’t do anything
remotely illegal. On the way back, I thought we’d stop and check out the curve
Grandfather’s car missed.”

Even riding wasn’t helping tonight, Ben acknowledged as he
sped over the deserted blacktop. Usually there was nothing better than flying
through a summer night, especially with a woman plastered against his back.
Lexie might not be a double D, but she was more than adequate in that
department, and the legs that were currently pressing into his hips were
world-class. She was attractive enough that under normal circumstances, he’d be
enjoying having at least a little trouble keeping his thoughts on his driving. But
he still felt as lousy as he had when they’d left Nevermore.

Lexie’s arms tightened, and Ben checked the speedometer, saw
he’d accelerated, and slowed. He felt bad about the way he’d pushed her so hard
to ride with him in the first place. He’d dismissed her objections because he’d
assumed she was a snob like Olivia, thinking that riding a motorcycle was
beneath her. He’d been so upset about everything that they’d nearly reached the
impound lot before he’d realized Lexie’s crushing grip meant she was scared.
She wasn’t hanging on quite so tightly now—as long as he didn’t speed up—so
hopefully she’d gotten over the worst of her fear.

The Ferrari had plummeted off a downhill curve three miles
from Nevermore. Ben pulled onto the grassy shoulder and parked his bike. Then
he and Lexie walked along the gradual uphill. The sun was down, but a half-moon
provided some light.

“This doesn’t look that dangerous,” she said. “I assumed it
was an S curve, or something a lot sharper.” The curve in question was more an
elongated “C.”

“The road plunges into a ravine, and the shoulder’s so
narrow that if you lose control, you don’t have much recovery room.” He pointed
down the hill. “It’s too dark to see, but it’s a long way down, and there
aren’t many trees to stop you. The Ferrari hit the bottom, then flipped over
and started on fire.”

“How horrible.”

The waver in Lexie’s voice confirmed what Ben had recognized
at the impound lot. He’d misjudged her about one thing—she wasn’t here solely
because of her job or the fees the trust would pay her law firm. She’d honestly
cared about Grandfather.

“You’ve got that right,” he said. “Let’s sit for a few
minutes.” He plopped down on the grass at the edge of the ravine.

Lexie sat beside him, hugging her knees to her chest. “Could
Max have had a heart attack or stroke?”

“It’s possible, although he had his annual exam last month
and was declared healthy as a horse,” Ben said. “And I guarantee he wasn’t
drunk. He believed in drinking and writing, but drinking and driving was an
absolute no. Especially in his precious Ferrari.”

She rested her chin on her bent knees. “Was he upset about
anything? Not that I can imagine Max committing suicide, but—

“No way. He loved life too much.” Ben stretched out his
legs, bracing his hands behind him, and shifted to a subject easier to discuss.
“Trey saw Grandfather earlier that day, and he was in a terrific mood. His
latest book had just knocked Stephen King’s off the top spot on the
New York Times’
hardcover bestseller list.”

“Was he working on anything new?”

Ben looked up at the moon. A couple of stars had joined it.
“He was always working on something new. He claimed this one was going to be
his best ever.”

“What’s it about?”

“Don’t know.” He shifted his gaze from the sky to Lexie.
“Grandfather considered talking about a work in progress bad luck.”

“I thought he wouldn’t tell me because he was afraid an
attorney would rip him off. As if I could write a Max Windsor bestseller even
with a hundred-page detailed outline.” Lexie returned her attention to the
curve. “If Max’s death was a murder, then someone either forced him off the
road or tampered with his car. Or possibly drugged him. Were you and Muriel the
only beneficiaries in Rockville when he was killed?”

“Far as I know, but someone else could have sneaked into
town. Or paid to have it done.”

Lexie raised her chin from her knees and looked at him, her
eyes widening. “Hired someone to kill Max?” From her tone, she’d never
considered that.

“Believe it or not, finding a hit man isn’t too tough.”

“You’ve tried?”

Memory curved his lips. “No, but Grandfather did. For a
book.”

“
Hitchhiking Through Hell.
”

“Give the lady a gold star,” Ben said, raising one finger.
“He wanted to make sure it was doable. According to him, it definitely was.”

Lexie released her legs and stretched them out in front of
her. They sat in silence for a couple of minutes, and then she let out an
audible breath. “So assuming it was murder, what do we do next?”

Muscles Ben hadn’t realized he’d been tensing relaxed. He
really did need her help. “First I think we should get some sleep.” He got to
his feet, then offered her his hand. “We’ve both had long days. We’ll come up
with a plan tomorrow.”

Lexie spent the ride back to Nevermore lost in thought. Max
was dead, and it was unlikely his death had been accidental. Seeing the car and
curve and talking to Ben had made that clear. Maybe she wasn’t a trained
detective, but Max had asked her to investigate and had confidence in her
abilities. She’d give it her best shot.

By the time the motorcycle entered the Nevermore grounds, it
was dark and the spotlights were on. The rose house was now dull gray with a
single illuminated window, the sky behind it pitch black except for the
half-moon and a couple of stars. Fog seemed to swirl around the porch and
towers, although the night otherwise was clear. Maybe the money Max claimed to
have spent buying ghosts to haunt Nevermore hadn’t been wasted.

Ben pulled the motorcycle up beside his pickup and removed
his helmet. “Admit it. You liked riding tonight.”

To be honest, by their final trek Lexie
had
been
enjoying herself, but no way was she admitting that to Ben. Her enjoyment just
meant that the stresses of today had her brain too exhausted to recognize
danger. She got off the bike. “I like that I got back here alive.”

“Bull. At the end you were barely holding on to me. Next
time you’ll be begging me to go faster.”

“There won’t be a next time.” She pulled off her helmet and
set it on the grass, then combed her fingers through her damp, flattened hair
as they started to the house.

“Hell,” Ben said, stopping abruptly. He looked as if he’d
mistaken a cup of Pennzoil for his morning coffee. “The perfect end to a lousy
day.”

Lexie followed Ben’s gaze to a man walking toward them from
a dark Mercedes, wheeling a suitcase bag behind him.

“How are you, Ben?” the man asked.

“Do you care?”

“I was being polite, a concept that’s clearly beyond you.”
The man turned his attention to Lexie, extending his free hand and smiling
warmly. “I’m Jeremy Windsor.”

Jeremy was tall, dark, and classically handsome, his suit
and tie clearly expensive. Exactly her type. A pity she’d sworn off men.

“I’m Ca—Lexie,” she said, returning his smile as she shook
his hand.

Ben draped an arm around her shoulders. “Lexie came from
Kentucky to comfort me.”

And an even greater pity she was pretending to be involved
with Ben.

“Where in Kentucky?” Jeremy asked.

“Lexington. I did a year at the University of Kentucky and
stuck around. Now I’m a cocktail waitress and an aspiring novelist. I’m sorry
about your grandfather’s death.”

“Thank you. Did you ever meet him?”

She shook her head. “I only met Ben a little over a month
ago, and this is my first trip here.”

“That’s too bad, since I’m sure Grandfather would have been
happy to help with your book. He always liked beautiful blondes.”

Ben’s arm tightened around her shoulders. “Let’s go, Lexie,”
he said as he steered her toward Nevermore’s front stairs.

“It’s been nice meeting you, Lexie,” Jeremy called after
them. “I look forward to getting to know you.”

“Why did you claim to be an aspiring novelist?” Ben asked
when they were inside Nevermore.

“You clearly won’t get a lot out of Jeremy, so it’s up to
me,” Lexie said. “I figured he’ll assume I latched on to you just so I could meet
your grandfather and maybe hit on me. I thought it was inspired.”

“And unnecessary,” Ben said. “You’re with me. Jeremy’s going
to hit on you.”

“
No
…”

Lexie bolted up in bed. The word was thin and metallic,
scraping down her spine like a steel blade.

Then silence.

She jumped out of bed, grabbed her robe, and raced into the
hallway.