The Virgin Mistress (15 page)

He shouldn't have worked. It wasn't as if one day off would make a difference one way or the other—the investigation wasn't going anywhere fast anyway. But he needed a distraction, something to take his mind off the sense of loss that squeezed his heart, and he still hadn't finished questioning everyone who'd had access to the ranch the day of the party. So with nothing better to do, he went in search of the last possible witnesses to the shooting.

By noon, he'd tracked down and interviewed all six people left on his list. Not surprisingly, none of them could tell him anything of importance. He'd talked to everyone who had been at the ranch the day of the shooting, and he had a list of suspects that included at least half of the entire guest list. The only thing he knew for sure was that all of them hadn't tried to kill Joe.

His mood darker than ever, he headed for Ruby's Café, where he grabbed a booth at the back, ordered coffee and a turkey sandwich he didn't really want, and considered his options. There weren't many. He could start over, do what the police were doing and focus on immediate family and close friends, or give Joe back the money he had advanced him as partial payment for the job and concede defeat.

The problem was, neither option appealed to him. He'd
never liked playing the odds in an investigation. He knew why the police did it—they were underpaid and overworked and the faster they named a suspect and had him in custody, the quicker they could proceed to the next case. But the odds didn't always play out, and he didn't like dismissing anyone as a suspect just because he or she didn't happen to be a close friend or family member.

And he sure as hell didn't like the idea of admitting to Joe or anyone else that he'd been outsmarted by the shooter. He wasn't a quitter. Over the course of his entire career, there were only two cases he'd given up on, and that was only when he'd exhausted all leads and hadn't had a single suspect to show for it. That wasn't the case here. The problem wasn't that there were no suspects, but too many. Narrowing it down was turning out to be much more difficult than he'd anticipated.

Brooding, he stirred his coffee absently, and still didn't know what he was going to do when his cell phone rang. Reaching for it, he frowned when he saw the call was from Coker Elementary, where Rebecca worked. “Rebecca? What's wrong?” he asked the second she came on the line. “Are you okay? Foster hasn't been bothering you, has he?”

“No,” she said, chuckling. “I know I shouldn't be so happy—I just found out this morning that he has a serious blood pressure problem I didn't know anything about—but it's just so perfect. He's taken an early retirement. Can you believe it? I won't ever have to deal with him again. He quit.”

“You're kidding! When?”

“This morning. I don't know if his conscience was bothering him or what, but his blood pressure skyrocketed last night and he had to be rushed to the hospital. His
doctor recommended early retirement, and he took it. He didn't even put in an appearance this morning.”

She chattered happily about how great it was that things had worked out so easily, and Austin didn't have the heart to tell her that it wasn't just dumb luck. If Foster really did have high blood pressure—and he found it odd that Rebecca was only just now hearing about it—Austin doubted it was that that had caused him to put in for early retirement. More likely, it was due to the little visit Austin himself had paid him last night. Foster had realized he'd screwed up and it was only a matter of time before others knew it, too, and he hadn't been able to face that. So, like a coward, he'd cut and run.

And for Rebecca's sake, he was glad. She'd been through enough. “That's great, honey. I was wondering how your day was going. I knew you were dreading seeing him again.”

“Oh, I was! My stomach was in knots. Then when I found out he was gone for good, I was thrilled. Not that I would ever want him to be sick,” she quickly added. “I would never wish that on anyone.”

“Of course you wouldn't. Anyone who knows you knows that.”

“I hope so. I was just so relieved, I had a hard time hiding it.” Her news now told, she said brightly, “Enough about me. What about you? How's the investigation going?”

“I finally wrapped up the last of the interviews, so at least that's finished. Where the investigation goes from here is still up for grabs, but I'll figure something out.”

He would have sworn that his tone was positive and disguised his low mood, but Rebecca was more discerning than most. “Is something wrong?” she asked worriedly. “You sound down.”

“I'm just frustrated,” he said with a shrug, skirting the whole truth.

“Maybe it would help if you reenacted the shooting,” she suggested. “I know you have it all drawn on paper, but actually seeing where everyone was standing, who might have had an opportunity to fire a gun without anyone else seeing, might give you some real insight. If nothing else, it should help narrow down the list of suspects.”

The idea was so simple, Austin wondered why he hadn't thought of it himself. Grinning for the first time all day, he teased, “Are you sure you were never a P.I.? That's a terrific idea. I'll call Joe and set it up for this afternoon. You're going to help me with this, aren't you?”

“I wouldn't miss it for the world,” she assured him with a chuckle. “I'll meet you at the ranch after school.”

She hung up soon after that—she had to get back to class—and had no idea what her call had done for him. His mood lighter, he reached for his sandwich. Maybe he'd eat, after all.

W
hen the call came at two o'clock that afternoon, Patsy was just on her way out the door to go shopping for a new dress to wear to the Governor's Ball. It was the social event of the summer and still a month away, but it took time to find just the right dress. Maybe she'd make a quick trip to Beverly Hills. She was bound to find something there that would be perfect for her and outrageously expensive. Smiling at the thought, her brown eyes gleamed with malice. She did so love spending Joe's money.

“Wait, Miss Meredith,” Inez called before she could slip out the front door to where her Mercedes waited in the drive. “There's a call for you.”

“Take a message,” she said coldly, not sparing her so much as a glance. “I'm going shopping.”

“But it's the police! That nice Detective Law.”

Dread striking her heart, Patsy stopped in her tracks. Every instinct she had urged her to run, to pretend that
she'd already left before the call came in, but it would be just like that bitch Inez to tell that awful Thaddeus Law that she refused to talk to him. Then he'd start to wonder why.

Sick with fear at the thought, she shot Inez a murderous look. “I'll take it in my sitting room,” she snarled, and stormed upstairs to the intimate room at the back of her bedroom. Furious, she would have liked nothing more than to snatch up the phone and demand to know what Thaddeus Law thought he was doing, harassing her the way he was. Damn him, didn't he know who she was? She could have him fired. She knew the right people. All she had to do was make one phone call. One stinking phone call!

For a moment, a cunning smile curled her mouth. But even as she toyed with the idea, she knew she couldn't. The man was already too suspicious of her as it was. She had to handle him with kid gloves, or everything was going to come tumbling down around her ears, and that scared the hell out of her.

“You can't screw this up,” she said fiercely. “Just remember who you are—Mrs. Joe Colton—and no one can touch you.”

But pretending to be sweet, syrupy Meredith wasn't nearly as easy as she'd have liked when she picked up the phone and greeted the man who wanted to bring her down. “Goodness, Detective, you almost missed me. I was just on my way out the door to buy a dress for the Governor's Ball. What can I do for you?”

“Actually, Mrs. Colton, I need to speak to you about the shooting,” he said smoothly. “Since you're on your way out, anyway, why don't you stop by the station before you go shopping? Do you think you can be here in fifteen minutes?”

Trapped, fury flashing in her eyes, Patsy just barely resisted the urge to tell him to go to hell. What kind of idiot did he think she was? She wasn't going anywhere near him or the police station!

Then he'll just come after you,
a snide voice in her head taunted,
and lock you up. Is that what you want?

No! She didn't even have to think twice about that. She broke out in a cold sweat just at the thought of being caged again like an animal. “Fifteen minutes should be more than enough time,” she said in a voice that wasn't nearly as steady and confident as she would have liked. “I'll see you then.”

With barely controlled rage, she hung up the phone, then lightning quick, hurled it across the room. “Cocky son of a bitch!” She would come in, all right, she fumed. Then she'd go straight to the police commissioner, who was a good friend of Joe's, and tell him exactly what she thought of the oh-so-irritating Detective Law. Then they'd see who had the last laugh.

But even as she imagined herself taking advantage of Joe's connections, she knew she couldn't. Not without casting suspicion on herself. She could just hear Thaddeus Law now. If she was innocent of any wrongdoing, why would she object to answering a few questions? Didn't she want to help the police catch the man who had tried to kill her husband?

“Bastard!” she raged. They were all bastards—Joe, the police, Austin McGrath. And they all wanted to bring her down, especially Joe. He'd never forgiven her for getting pregnant with Teddy. Oh, he'd stuck by their bargain—in public, he gave her all the attention and respect due his wife, and he raised Teddy as his own even though they both knew he wasn't—but he despised her and their sham
of a marriage. He was just waiting for the day she left him.

“Not till hell freezes over,” she vowed grimly. She'd see him dead first.

That thought brought her back to the police. Glancing at her watch, she blanched. Time was running out. Panic clawed at her from the inside out, tying her stomach in knots, and she could feel herself start to come undone. Horrified, she snatched up her purse. “Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God.” Where were her pills? She needed her pills to settle her nerves!

She found them almost immediately, but her hands were shaking so badly that it was several long, agonizing minutes before she could get the child safety lid off. Frantic by then, she poured four into her hand and popped them hurriedly into her mouth, swallowing them dry.

“Calm down,” she told herself, pacing the length of the room restlessly. “Everything's going to be fine. Just wait for the pills to kick in and you can handle that bully Law with one hand tied behind your back.”

She'd skipped lunch and hadn't had anything but toast for breakfast, so it didn't take long for the sedative to hit her bloodstream. Almost immediately, her panic subsided and she started to smile. That was more like it.

The flashback came out of nowhere. One second she was in her sitting room, plotting how she was going to outsmart Law, and the next, she was back in that flea-bitten motel room where she'd given birth to her daughter, Jewel, and Ellis Mayfair was lying dead at her feet. Horrified, she took a step back and bumped into her restoration French desk. In her mind, however, it was the cheap particle-board dresser at the Wayside Inn that cut into the back of her thighs.

“No!” she whispered. This couldn't be happening. She'd just taken too many pills.

The illusion, however, wouldn't go away, and suddenly, the police were swarming that long-ago hotel room and roughly dragging her from the dresser. Only hours before, she'd had a baby, her darling baby girl who had been stolen from her by Ellis, and the cops had treated her like
she
was the criminal! They'd clamped handcuffs on her wrists, read her her rights and bullied her when she refused to confess. And all the while, Meredith stood silently by and never said a word in her defense. Not then, and not later at the trial, when she could have lied and claimed she herself killed Ellis when she walked in and found him trying to hurt her sister.

“Bitch.” She'd always been the favored one, Saint Meredith, the one who could do no wrong, and she hadn't lifted a finger to help her. Right then, Patsy had started plotting her revenge.

The grandfather clock in the foyer struck the hour, jerking her drug-hazed mind back to the present. She had to get to the police station! A drink. She needed a drink to clear her head. Rushing to her private stash, she poured a stiff scotch.

She had it halfway to her mouth when she suddenly froze. Dear God, had she lost her mind? What was she doing? She had to be at the police station in fifteen minutes! What was she going to do? Stroll in there with liquor on her breath?

Muttering a curse, she slammed the glass back down, uncaring that she'd splashed the expensive liquor all over her hand. She had to get control of herself or she was going to blow this and end up in jail again! One misstep, one slip of the tongue, and Law would know she'd put poison in Joe's champagne….

Breaking out into a sweat at the thought, she stumbled toward the door. She had to sober herself up and get to the police station. “Inez!” she yelled harshly. “I need some coffee. Now!”

 

By the time she reached the police station, she'd downed an entire pot of coffee. It hadn't helped. Regardless of how hard she tried, she couldn't shake the image of Ellis's dead body from her mind. If the cops were somehow able to connect that murder committed by Patsy Portman to Joe Colton's wife, Meredith, it would be all over but the crying. She almost threw up in the parking lot just thinking about it.

“Don't go there,” she mumbled as she staggered from her Mercedes and smoothed the material of her black silk shift over her hips. She had to concentrate on Meredith.
She
was the one the police were interested in, not Patsy. All she had to do was convince that awful detective that she was Joe's faithful, loving wife, and no one would ever suspect that she had already killed one man and wanted another one dead.

Hanging on to that nasty little secret, she started up the stone steps to the front entrance, thankful that there was a balustrade to grab. Without it, she would have fallen flat on her face. She liked to think, however, that she hid it well. With her head held at a proud angle, she glided up the steps and walked into the station as if she owned the place. Adopting the same superior look that she'd seen Graham's wife, Cynthia, adopt countless times, she looked down her nose at the cops and criminals alike who littered the foyer and let them know without saying a word that she was someone to be reckoned with. After all, she was Mrs. Joe Colton, dammit! She didn't belong here.

“May I help you, ma'am?”

Her head starting to throb and bile rising in her throat, Patsy looked down at the policewoman at the desk who'd finally noticed her and snapped, “It's about time! I'm here to see Detective Law.”

“Have a seat,” she said dryly, nodding to the benches that lined the walls on either side of the entry. “He'll be with you in a minute.”

Irritated that the stiff-necked woman actually expected her to wait, Patsy took one look at the grimy benches and the even grimier people sitting on them and sniffed disdainfully. “I don't think so.”

“Suit yourself,” the woman retorted and immediately turned her attention to the next person who walked in the door.

Tapping her foot impatiently, Patsy told herself she was giving Law five minutes, and not one second more. If he didn't put in an appearance by then, she was walking out the door. If he didn't like it, too damn bad. She wasn't standing around with the dregs of Prosperino while he sat on his butt upstairs eating doughnuts and drinking stale coffee. Her time was valuable, even if his wasn't.

One minute passed, then another, and with every tick of the clock, Patsy found it more and more difficult to focus on the anger that was the only thing holding her in the present. Clouds of images from the past swirled in her head like gathering thunderheads, threatening to break over her at any moment and drag her down into a living nightmare. Saliva pooling in her mouth, she swallowed, but it didn't help. She needed some air. Whirling, she took a step toward the entrance.

“Mrs. Colton?”

Her stomach reeling, she almost didn't stop. But then Thaddeus Law was standing directly in front of her, blocking her path, and she had no choice. He was a bear
of a man, six-two if he was an inch, with the muscled chest and broad shoulders of a linebacker, and nothing short of a backhoe was going to budge him when he didn't want to budge.

Neatly cornered, she fought back her nausea and lifted a delicate, disdaining hand to her mouth. “If you don't mind, Detective, I was going outside for some fresh air. The stench in here is abominable.”

“Police work is a dirty business,” he said wryly. “Criminals carry their own special odor. Why don't we go upstairs? It's not so bad up there.”

The last thing she wanted to do was step farther into the bowels of the police station, where the flashbacks to her interrogation after Ellis's murder would no doubt be worse than ever, but what else could she do? Law was already suspicious of her. His piercing blue eyes were as dark as midnight and seemed to see to her very soul. With one look, he struck fear in her.

She didn't, however, dare look away or let him see just how shaken she was. He would eat that up with a spoon, and she'd be damned if she'd give him the satisfaction. “Anywhere is better than here,” she said coolly, with her nose in the air. “Lead the way.”

For a moment she caught the gleam of something in his eyes—speculation or amusement, she wasn't sure which—then he led her to the elevator. When the doors slid shut on them and a half dozen other people, she felt like the walls of a cell were closing in on her. Perspiration beaded on her brow.

“Are you all right, Mrs. Colton? You look a little pale.”

He would notice, damn him. Staring straight ahead at the doors, she said stiffly, “I don't like elevators, Detective.”

The doors opened then, thankfully, but her ordeal was only just beginning. “This way,” Law said, and motioned her into what she immediately recognized as an interrogation room.

Horrified, Patsy stopped at the doorway and said sharply, “What's the meaning of this? I thought you just wanted to ask me a few questions about the party. You didn't say this was an interrogation!”

The second the words were out of her mouth, Patsy wanted to kick herself. Dammit all, she didn't want to give the jackass any reason to be suspicious of her, but that was exactly what she'd done. Any second now he was going to ask her why she was afraid of being interrogated. Did she have something to hide?

But instead of putting her on the spot, he only said, “Detectives Jones and Shoemaker are joining us, and my office isn't much bigger than the elevator. I thought you'd be more comfortable in here.”

It was a plausible excuse, but Patsy trusted cops about as much as she did a snake poised to strike. Still, if he could play games, so could she. Dredging up a self-deprecating smile, she said, “I guess I put my foot in it then, didn't I? Sorry about that.”

“Maybe some coffee would help,” he suggested. “Have a seat. I'll be right back.”

He was gone before she could tell him that she'd already drunk enough coffee to float a battleship, and she was left with no choice but to take a chair at the table in the middle of the room. Hiding her distaste, she didn't dare look at the mirror hanging on the wall opposite her. She wasn't a fool—she knew it was a two-way mirror and that even now someone was watching her. Let them look. If they thought she was going to give herself away by
doing something stupid, they were in for a rude awakening.