GODDESS OF THE MOON (A Diana Racine Psychic Suspense) (48 page)

“Jeez, will
ya
look at this place,” Cash whispered. “It’s like out of a magazine.”

“Actually, it
wa
s,” Martin Easley said, entering the room.
“
Architectural Digest
featured
the house
after the renovations were completed last year.
Sophia Reyes did the design. She’s amazing, really.
Martin Easley
.
”
He offered
his hand to the two cops.

Beecher introduced himself and Cash.
Easley motioned the men ba
ck to their seats.
Tall and lean, almost gaunt, Easley
wore
slacks and a short-sleeve knit shirt sporting the
p
olo
-playing logo.
His
weathered look reminded Beecher of a lifelong mariner
―
tan, crinkled skin,
sun
-bleached hair.
But instead of confidence, Beecher noticed
shaky
hands
with
nails bitten to the quick.

“What can I do for you gentlemen?”
Easley
said.

“We understand you were recently in the company of Diana Racine.”

“Yes,” he answered, eyes darting between the two cops.
“Silas
―
Mr. Compton
―
invited Ms. Racine and her friend for a delightful evening a week or so ago.
Why?”

“Ms. Racine’s friend, Lieutenant Lucier, is our boss. They were invited to Mr. Compton’s house again. Now
they’re
missing.”

Easley
swallowed, his
A
dam’s
apple bobbing in his throat.
“How strange.
My wife and I were
als
o
invited to attend, but we had
a previous
engagement.”

“Do you mind telling us where?” Beecher asked.

Easley seemed at a loss for words, but he recovered. “
D
oes it matter? I said we weren’t there.
What’s this about, Detective?
Am I under suspicion for something?”

“No
sir
, but we
haven’t been able to
connect with your friends.
They’ve
all
left town
for the weekend and haven’t returned. We’d like to ask them some questions. The captain thought you
or
your wife might help us.”

“I’d like to, but I haven’t a clue where they are. We’re good friends, but we’re not joined at the hip.”

Beecher found the temperature in the house to be on the chilly side, but Easley was sweating like
he’d just run a marathon
. “Is there someplace you all go on either Mr. Compton’s private jet or on Mr. Crane’s? Some
place se
cret
?
A hideaway,
if you will
?”

“Are you accusing me of complicity in the disappearance of your boss and Ms. Racine? Becau
se that’s what it sounds like.”

Easley ran a shaky finger across the top of his sweaty lip, glistening from the sun streaming in the bay windows. He acted nonchalant, but any idiot could see Martin Easley
verged on falling apart
. Beecher had never seen a thin man sweat so
heavily
.

“Do I need a lawyer present?” Easley asked.

“
Any
reason why you need o
ne?”
Beecher asked.

Easley
squared his shoulders
. “I know nothing about where your lieutenant is, nor do I know
the
where
abouts of Ms. Racine
. And since that seems to be what you’re implying, I think you gentlemen should leave. If you have further questions, make it official and I shall arrange a lawyer
to be
present.”

Beecher rose and stood face to face with Easley. “I’m sure the captain will find that satisfactory.”

Easley stuttered a few unintelligible words, and was about to say something when Anastasia Easley sauntered confidently into the room. Beecher was struck by her classic green-eyed beauty.
Her
dark hair
swept
loosely
into
a topknot around her fine-featured face.
A
silk caftan
cut low enough to expose two assets many women would pay good money for,
clung to the contours of her body as she floated into the room. Beecher forced his focus away.

“There’s no need, Detective,” she said. “The fact is my husband is being gracious. We begged off Saturday because we really don’t believe in psychics. It makes us uncomfortable. Even if Ms. Racine is on the level, I’m not interested in knowing what will happen in my life, and neither is Martin. I made up the excuse to Silas that we had other plans we couldn’t break.” She exchanged glances with all three men. “Silas doesn’t like to be refused. Neither does my father.”

“So you intentionally begged off.”

“Yes.”

“
Do
you
know where your friends are, Mrs. Easley?” Beecher asked. “The dinner was supposed to be at the
Comptons
’ on Saturday, yet no one was in town Sunday morning, nor are they at their offices today.” Beecher paused
.
“The ladies are your sisters
, correct
?”

“Yes, but they don’t tell me every move they make. Have you tried my father’s lake house? Sometimes
we
go there on Sunday for a barbeque.”

Beecher shook his head.
“Nope.
We checked.”

“Sorry we ca
n’t be more help, Detective. Now
Martin and I must ask you to leave. If you have any
other
questions, we’ll be happy to meet your captain downtown—with our attorney.” Clearly uncomfortable,
Martin
Easley nodded, but
his wife
strode
confidently
to the door and opened it. “Good day, gentlemen.”

Beecher would have tipped his hat if he wore one. “Thank you for your time.”

Outside, he loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top of his shirt, and not because of the heat. “She’s one beautiful woman.”

Cash
glanced
back at the house. “Damn straight. Did you see how she took control of the conversation?”

“Yeah, and she knew more than she let on.”

She sure as hell did.
I should
’
ve pushed harder, made them talk.
Should
’
ve
.
Both men got into the car.

“Bet she
knows where the lieutenant is
,
”
Cash said.

“I b
et she does too.
If he’s still alive
.
”
A
sick feeling lodged in the pit of
Beecher
’s
belly
.
“Shit.”

A R
ude Awakening

D
iana rummaged through the closet and chose a chiffon print dress with ruffles bordering the low neckline. She’d never buy anything like that.
Too fussy.
After she put it on and primped in the mirror, she looked like another person.
Wasn’t t
hat the point? She’d have to be another person to level the playing field. Her life and L
ucier’s
counted on how she controlled what happened next. She
stopped, shook her head,
chuckl
ing
. What was she thinking? A camera leered down at her from inside a locked room
. She wasn’t at all in control.

I
f a ruffled dress played into their idea of who she needed to be, fine. She carefully applied her makeup and stood back one more time to take in the whole picture.

Here I am. Diana, Goddess of the Freaking Moon
.

A knock on the door.
Dinner, the voice said, and asked permission to enter.
Diana
said okay
, and when the door slid open, a
girl
no more
twelve or thirteen
pushed
a
dinner cart holding plates with silver covers, then set the small table in the room with silver service and a bottle of expensive wi
ne. A large man waited outside.

“The leader would like to see you after dinner, Ms. Racine,” the girl said.

“
W
ho might that be?”

“That’s all I can say, but I was told to tell you there is nothing to fear.”

Yeah, right. I’m locked in a room
G
od knows where, Ernie’s probably dead, or will be soon, and she says there’s nothing to fear.
Diana
tried to erase the thought
about Lucier
from her mind, but it hung there like a recalcitr
ant child, unwilling to behave.

“You mean my food won’t be laced with drugs?”

The girl frowned, obviously perplexed
.

“You can tell whoever wants to see me
that
he can come in an hour’s time.”

She
nodded and turned for the door without saying anything more, the perfect servant delivering a message from her master.

Leader.
Is that what they called kidnappers these days? Diana referred to “the leader” as a man, and the girl made no correction. The women in Compton’s circle seemed to be
held
in an exalted state, maybe even in control. She pictured Selene and the others as examples of how to act when
the leader
came. She pictured Sophia Reyes with her husband’s hand tweaking her nipple while Diana watched. Was she in a bargaining position? She’d find out soon enough. If
so
, she’d do whatever it took to free Lucier. Then, one of those body shocks attacked her. The kind where her stomach somersaulted and her heart rate shot into the stratosphere.
Please, Ernie. Be alive.

She will
ed
away the bad thoughts
and forced herself to eat
. Whatever happened, she’d need strength
. T
he drugs had zapped most of hers. Eating wasn’t as much of a chore as she thought. Shrimp cocktail followed by prime rib, potatoes au gratin, and steamed green beans.
Crème
brulée
for dessert.
She devoured ever
y morsel and felt better.

The knock on the door came in exactly one hour. “Who is it?” she asked.

“May I
come in
, Diana?”

The voice sounded vaguely familiar
. I
t wasn’t Compton’s rasp
nor
the cultured tenor of Phillip Crane. Diana gave her permission, playing the diva. When the key turned and the door opened, her jaw dropped at the sight of her visi
tor.

Her vo
ice cracked in shock. “Edward.”

“May I come in?” He stood outside, waiting for permission.

She managed a nod because words stuck in her throat. He stepped inside. “I don’t understand. I thought
―
”

“I’m sorry I deceived you,” he said. “I didn’t think you’d understand.”

She slumped into a chair, her mouth still open, and her hand pressed hard against her chest
and rapidly beating heart
. How could she have been so wrong? How could Edward Slater have fooled her so
completely?

“I don’t
…
understand,” she stammered. “How could anyone understand this?”

“Give me a chance to explain,” he said.

She shook her head slowly, rejecting in advance anything Slater
said
. “You explained once, and I believed you.”
She
massage
d
her temples
, trying to finesse away the vice-tightening sensation.
This isn’t happening. I must be
in t
he throes of another nightmare?

“Lies.
All lies,” she mumbled.
S
he faced him. “You had me going, Edward. What could
you
say
now
I’d believe? You drugged me, imprisoned me in a room somewhere on the planet, the object of a bizarre ritual to the devil, and I’m supposed to understand?”