Beguiled (28 page)

They went to Liz’s apartment after Logan called the police. Rylee curled up on the futon, wrapped an afghan around her shoulders, and buried her head in her hands. The thought of detectives going through her shredded things was just as repugnant as the monster who’d done the original damage.

Liz hovered like a timid hummingbird. “Can I get you something? You hungry? Or how ’bout a shower? You wanna get cleaned up?”

Rylee got tired of shaking her head. “We need to call Mr. Sebastian. He won’t want me talking to the cops without him here.”

As she spoke, she looked to Logan, expecting him to fly into action. But he was strangely still.

“What’s wrong?”

He ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know. Nothing, I guess.”

She sighed. “Would you rather I call Karl?”

“No.” Picking up her phone, he scrolled through it and stepped outside, shutting the door softly behind him.

When the police arrived, she stayed with Liz. At the thought of all the damage, her eyes started to melt again. Liz put an arm around her.

“I’m just glad you weren’t home when it happened,” Rylee said.

A knock at the door, and a middle-aged lady slipped through. Her short black hair and unflatteringly tight pantsuit meant business. A badge dangled around her neck. She introduced herself, but Rylee missed her name. She expected the woman to be gruff, but instead she spoke to Rylee in the softest of tones.

“Is Detective Campbell going to be here?” Rylee asked.

At the sound of his name, the woman detective gave the thinnest of smiles. “Any minute now.”

Rylee nodded, then clasped her hands together. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’ve called my lawyer, and I’d prefer not to say anything until he arrives.”

The woman nodded. “Under the circumstances, I understand.” After she left, Rylee heard her lecturing another officer out on the walkway.

“You know something?” she was saying. “I don’t believe everything I read in the papers or see on tv. I look at the scene. And until the scene tells me otherwise, that girl in there is a victim.”

A spark of warmth entered Rylee’s heart. She caught Liz’s eye. “I like her.”

Logan appeared at the door, ushering Grant Sebastian through.

Judging from the lawyer’s stricken expression, he’d already looked in on the apartment. “I’m so sorry, Rylee. Are you all right?”

Before he spoke, she’d have bet money all her tears had dried up. But the well turned out to be inexhaustible.

“I’m sorry,” she said, dabbing her raw eyes. “Anyway, who’s the lady detective?”

Logan jumped in. “Sheila Santos. Nate can’t stand the woman.”

That’s enough for me,
Rylee thought.

“You haven’t made a statement, have you?” Sebastian asked.

She shook her head.

“Good. Then I’m going to go out there and see if I can learn anything. If you need me, I’ll be right outside.”

He excused himself, and Logan followed. After several moments, Rylee stood.

“Where are you going?” Liz asked.

“Out there.” She paused at the door, reluctant to go.

“Why?”

“Because it occurred to me that all of a sudden I’ve been letting Logan and Mr. Sebastian handle all my problems for me.”

Liz gave a sniffly laugh. “Girl, in the last twenty-four hours you’ve been arrested, vandalized, and threatened. Under the circumstances, I’d say it’s okay to coast a little. So just sit yourself back down and chill.”

Rylee compromised by posting herself at the door, listening to the activity outside through the narrow opening. Logan and Sebastian were conversing in hushed tones.

“I spoke with Ann Davidson earlier,” Logan said. “She claims her stolen painting was originally acquired through you. That you were selling it for Flora Monroe.”

Sucking in her breath, Rylee adjusted the window curtain slightly so she could peer through with one eye.

“It was a confidential transaction. I’m not at liberty to discuss it.”

“Well, I have reason to believe that some, maybe all, of the things the Robin Hood burglar has stolen were originally in the Monroe family.”

Sebastian’s whole face—from his crow’s feet to jowls—suddenly collapsed. His body staggered visibly, his hand gripping Logan’s bicep for support. “Are you serious about that?”

He nodded.

The old man’s voice was little more than a whisper. “What reason do you have?”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss it.”

Drawing up to his full height, Sebastian fixed him with a steady glare. “I thought you were on Rylee’s side.”

Logan stiffened. “I am.”

“Then I shouldn’t have to tell you how prejudicial the statement you just made could be to her case, assuming it were to be repeated. Your theory would give the police precisely what they lack, a plausible motive. You realize that, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.”

“Well, if you are on her side, I hope you’ll keep that in mind from now on. If you don’t, it’s Rylee who will suffer. This may be just a story to you, but it’s
her
life.”

They moved farther down the walkway, taking their conversation with them.

Rylee eased the door closed and flattened a hand against the frame. Pulse pounding in her temples, lungs filling, she could hardly catch her breath.

Liz came over to her. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know.”

You were selling it for Flora Monroe. . . .

“Maybe you should sit down. You look—well, never mind how you look.”

Some, maybe all, of the things the Robin Hood burglar has stolen were originally in the Monroe family. . . .

She leaned her head against the door. The things Robin Hood had stolen were connected to her? How? And why hadn’t Logan said something to her?

This may be just a story to you, but it’s her life. . . .

Was it just a story to him? Karl had warned her time and again.

But she hadn’t believed him. Didn’t want to believe him.

Yet, Logan had acted funny when she’d wanted to call Mr.

Sebastian and he’d no more gotten her into his car tonight than he began asking her about some dog. Butterscotch. Something was definitely going on. And he was obviously keeping it from her.

“Rylee, I’m serious.” Liz pulled her by the wrist. “You need to sit down. I’m going to get you some Tylenol. I guess everything’s finally catching up to you.”

“Yeah.” She allowed Liz to lead her back to the futon. “I think it is.”

“I’m heading out, my dear.” Mr. Sebastian pulled an envelope from inside his jacket and handed it to Rylee. “Now that Amelia and I are back, there’s no reason for you to worry with Romeo. I really appreciate you taking care of him while we were gone.”

She set the envelope on Liz’s table. “It was no trouble. He’s a real sweetie. You can call me anytime.”

The door opened. She’d expected Logan, but the first one over the threshold was Nate Campbell. Detective Santos followed on his heels, then Logan. The little living room could barely hold them all. They shared an uncomfortable look, uncertain who was going to take the lead.

“Miss Monroe.” Campbell had to clear his throat before continuing. “I’m going to have to request a handwriting sample from you.”

Logan threw his hands up. “Give us a break, Nate. What, are you blind?”

Santos leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, enjoying the moment.

“My client isn’t obligated to give you anything,” Mr. Sebastian said. “And under the circumstances, this is starting to look like harassment.”

Campbell ignored them both, crouching down to Rylee’s eye level. “Listen to me. The best thing you can do is cooperate with my investigation.”

“Detective—” Mr. Sebastian began.

Rylee stopped him. “It’s all right. I’d give you a diary or a letter or something like that, but it might take too long to reassemble all the confetti. Why don’t I just write something for you, and then you can go have it analyzed.”

He handed her his notebook and pen. She didn’t even hesitate before leaning over the pad to write.

After one look at the sentence, Campbell snapped the notebook shut and walked stiffly out of the apartment.

Before following him, Detective Santos put a card in Rylee’s hand. “If you need anything, I want you to call.”

“Thanks.” She slipped it into her pocket.

Logan watched them go, then closed the door. “What did you write?”

She smiled for the first time since arriving home. “ ‘Detective Campbell is a doofus with a badge.’ ”

She took a shower first, then a bath, then another shower. By the time she was finished, her skin had pruned up, but she felt clean.

Wonderfully, blessedly clean.

Pulling on a pair of Liz’s sweats and a T-shirt, she toweled her hair dry, and padded out to the living room. Liz was nowhere in sight. She’d left to get takeout, but not before insisting that Rylee stay with her as long as necessary.

Logan was asleep on the futon. Her messenger bag lay on the coffee table.

Sitting on the edge of the table, she riffled through the bag for her phone. Dialing her voice mail, she set the phone between her ear and her shoulder, and began to clean her nails.

“Rylee. This is Doug Bostick. I can’t begin to tell you how shocked and disappointed I am. You are obviously relieved of all duties. Effective immediately. You can put the keys in the mail.”

Beep
.

“It’s Latisha. . . . I don’t even know what to say. Please . . . don’t bother coming back. I’m so . . . speechless. I just—”

Beep.

“Rylee. It’s . . .”

She put the phone on her lap and let the messages run. She recognized the voices, though she couldn’t understand the actual words. But there was no need. She knew what they were saying.

She fished inside her bag for the big ring of color-coded keys.

She unclipped one after another, dropping them on top of the growing pile beside her.

“What are you doing?”

She looked up. Logan sat staring at her.

“What does it look like?”

“Looks like you’re crying.”

“Am I?” She touched her cheek. “So I am.”

He pulled away from the futon, scooting forward until his legs formed a bracket on either side of her. He picked up her phone, listened for a minute, then silenced it with a push of a button. “You don’t need them.”

Oh, but she did. She needed them all, now more than ever. She started to say so, but her lips trembled violently.

He placed his hand over hers, stilling her movements. “Rylee.”

She blinked. A tear splashed onto his hand.

He tugged gently until she released the key ring.

“I love them.” She looked at him. “They’re . . . they’re my family.”

“The animals?”

She nodded. “And they love me, too.”

He pulled her closer, tucking her legs up so he could wrap her completely in his arms.

After a while, once she was breathing normally again and the sharp edge of the voice mails numbed to a dull pain, she slid away. “I heard you on the walkway earlier,” she said. “Talking to Mr. Sebastian. You said the things Robin Hood stole belonged to my family. That Mr. Sebastian had sold a painting for Nonie. What was that about?”

“You don’t know?”

She pulled back. “Would I be asking if I already knew?”

“We don’t have to talk about this now.”

“I want to talk about it.”

He rubbed her arms. “Tomorrow, okay?”

“Are you keeping something from me, Logan?” She finger-combed her damp hair. “You can’t. Don’t you see? If I’m going to trust you—and I need to trust you—then you have to trust me, too. You’ve been acting . . . differently. Ever since . . .” Her lips trembled. “Ever since I was arrested.”

He pushed his palms against his eyebrows, willing the conversation away.

“You have to tell me.”

He sighed. “All right. Wait here and I’ll be right back.”

Before she could say anything, he was on his feet, jogging for the door. She heard his footsteps on the walkway, then a distant pounding on the stairs. A car door opened, then closed. More pounding.

A moment later, he was back at the door. In his hand was a maroon leather photo album.

It was one of Nonie’s. He sat down next to her, flipping through the pages, then handed the book over, marking a spot with his finger.

It was a snapshot of her great-grandfather reading a book.

“I don’t understand.”

He flipped to another page, pointing out a picture of her great-uncle as a boy during one of his music lessons.

She grabbed the album away. “What are you even doing with this?”

“Just look. Are you telling me you’ve never seen them before?”

“Of course I have.” A sick feeling came over her. “Logan, did you take this from Nonie’s room? I thought you went there to tell her I was okay.”

His face reddened. “I did.”

“She would never have let this leave the room.”

“Well . . . she was sleeping. I didn’t want to disturb her.” He wouldn’t look her in the eye.

She swallowed. “I don’t believe you. This is for your story, isn’t it? That’s been it all along. The lunch at North of Broad. The visit to Nonie. The beach.”

“No, Rylee, I can—”

“Stop.” She touched her hand to his mouth. “Just stop talking, all right? You’re going to keep lying and it’s going to break my heart, so just . . . just shut up. And go.” She withdrew her hand. “I’m too tired for this. I’ll say things I don’t want to say. Just get out.”

He didn’t budge.

“I’m serious.” She clutched the album. “You took this.”

“I had to, Rylee. You didn’t give me much of a choice, did you?”

She stared at him. Same chocolate eyes. Same unruly hair. Same square jaw. But it was as if she didn’t know him at all.

“Just go,” she whispered.

“I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have done it. But that’s not the point. I—”

“It is the point. It’s the only point. You stole this from her. You did it behind my back. When I was in jail, no less. So don’t sit there and tell me what the point is. You betrayed me. You and everybody else.”

He tried to loop his arm around her.

She recoiled.

Her vehemence seemed to shock him into awareness. Did he think he could talk his way out? Not hardly.