Scandal in Copper Lake (7 page)

She could tell him the offer stood. She could let him believe her only intent had been to shock. She could tell him it was inevitable, if they kept seeing each other, if nothing cooled this ardor between them.

Her smile formed slowly, growing until it was full and sly, looking as real as she knew it wasn’t. “In a lawyer, ‘speechless’ is a good thing,” she said, her voice huskier than usual. She pulled on her sunglasses, then slid behind the steering wheel, gazing up at the dark-tinted view of him. “I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

He was still standing in the street when she drove away. She wasn’t sure as she watched him in the rearview mirror whether she’d saved herself from a huge mistake.

Or made one.

Robbie wasn’t sure how long he stood there—long enough for his brother to come along, thumping him on the back of the head as he came up from behind.

“I know Mom taught you not to play in the street despite Rick’s and my best efforts to convince you otherwise,” Russ said, not breaking stride until he reached the sidewalk.

His scalp stinging, Robbie took the few steps necessary to bring Russ into punching range, then shoved him on the shoulder. “I’m not ten years old anymore. Quit hitting me.”

“I’ve been hitting you since you were old enough to
understand the threat implied in ‘Don’t tell Mom.’ Why would I stop now?”

“Jeez, I don’t know. Because I’m thirty-two freakin’ years old, maybe?” Robbie asked snidely. “Where are you going?”

“To see my wife.” Russ gestured to Jamie’s office, down the block twenty feet and across the corner.

“I’ll walk with you. My car’s in her parking lot.”

“What were you doing in the street?”

Wondering what the hell was wrong with him. Why he hadn’t gotten in his car—hell, gotten in Anamaria’s car—and gone home with her. It wasn’t the first time a woman had come on to him, but it was the first time he hadn’t jumped at the chance. Anamaria was gorgeous. She was hot. The way she looked, the way she moved, the way she smiled…He choked back a groan.

He must have made some sound, though, because Russ frowned at him. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Just nuts.

“You working today?”

“Yeah. Sort of.” Technically he was—Harrison Kennedy had asked him to keep watch on Anamaria. He could take her up on her offer, have incredible sex and get paid for his fun. Normally, the possibility would amuse him, but he was having trouble thinking clearly today. Lack of blood flow to the brain, he figured.

On the sidewalk outside Jamie’s office, Russ stopped. She was standing behind her desk, flipping through a stack of papers. He tapped on the glass, and she gave him the kind of smile that could cut a man off at the knees.

No woman had ever smiled at Robbie that way, as if he’d brightened her world merely by being part of it. There had been a few who’d gotten close, but he’d ended things with them before it could develop any further, because he’d never
come close to feeling that way about them. He expected that someday he would. It had happened to Mitch. To Rick. To Russ. Odds were, it would happen to him.

And, no, damn it, he was not going to think about black hair, liquid-chocolate eyes or powerful touches.

Jamie held up two fingers, and Russ nodded, then leaned against the brick building. “Two minutes, my ass. The more pregnant she gets, the slower she gets. By the time this kid pops, her mama’s going to be slow as a snail.” He didn’t look annoyed, though. He was so excited about the baby that no one could stand him besides Mitch, who had one daughter and another on the way. “We’re having lunch at Ellie’s. Want to go?”

“I’ve already eaten.” With all the restaurants in town, of course they were going to the deli today. Ellie would give them about five minutes to order, and then she would tell them about him being in there with Anamaria, along with a description that would detail everything down to the color of polish on her toes. Then Russ would know at least part of the reason he’d been standing in the street like a dumbstruck moron.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he claimed another portion of brick. It retained the heat of the morning sun that had moved overhead. “Do you remember a family who used to live here named Duquesne? Mother and daughter?”

Russ rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “Anamaria Duquesne? I met her today.”

That was right. She’d been surprised that Robbie’s brother would be nice. “You don’t remember her from twenty-three years ago?”

Russ snorted. “Jeez, I was eleven. If I couldn’t hook it on a line, shoot it, tackle it or beat it up, I wasn’t interested. How do you know her?”

Robbie shrugged.

The casual effort didn’t fool Russ or stop his grin. “There
was a time when the sight of her could have left me standing in the street, too, with my tongue hanging out.”

“It’s just a case,” Robbie said sullenly, irritated by how accurate his brother’s description was. Okay, so his tongue hadn’t been hanging out literally. Figuratively, it had, and damned if Anamaria hadn’t known it. That big wicked smile before she’d covered her eyes with those ridiculous glasses…

“Oh, man, are you gonna get in an ethical dilemma here?”

“I don’t have ethics.”

Russ snorted again. “You’re not half as superficial as you want people to think.”

His brother was giving him credit for being a better person than he really was. Among their branch of the family, Robbie was the superficial one, the shallow one, the irresponsible one. He was the one who’d taken most advantage of the family name, the one who’d really believed that Calloways
were
better, privileged, entitled. While he’d dated a lot of women, the only ones he’d taken seriously were just like him, with family money, influence and social standing.

He’d never gone out with a black woman. Never been involved with a woman whose occupation was less than respectable. Never dated a woman he wouldn’t want to introduce to his family and friends.

But Anamaria hadn’t asked him for a date.

She’d offered him sex.

And he hadn’t taken her up on it. Didn’t know if he could say yes. Didn’t know if he could say no.

“Is she a client or an adversary?” Russ asked.

“You’re a lawyer, too. Don’t ask me questions.”

“I have a law degree,” Russ corrected him. “I’ve handled only one case, and you know how that turned out.”

He’d handled his own divorce. Bad idea, Robbie had tried to tell him, but Russ hadn’t been in the mood to listen to his
irresponsible kid brother. It had taken losing half of everything he owned and three long years for him to forgive Jamie for representing his ex-wife. And look at them now.

Not wanting to look at them now, as Jamie came out of the building, Robbie dug his keys from his pocket. “Hey, Jamie.”

He bent and she pressed a kiss to his cheek before sliding her arm through Russ’s. “Want to have lunch with us?”

“No, thanks. Have a good time.”

He picked up the Vette, drove home and stretched out on the couch before opening the envelope. Glory Duquesne’s life might have been full, but the folder regarding her death was pretty thin. Reports from the officer who’d been assigned the call and the detective who’d investigated, a witness statement from the fisherman who’d found the body and the autopsy report—a significant event summed up in a handful of pages. If not for the photographs, the file would have been depressingly flimsy.

He hadn’t seen many dead people who hadn’t already been prepared for viewing, so he wasn’t sure what to expect from the photos. They were clear, color, glossy shots, exactly what Harrison had described: a woman lying at the foot of the riverbank, snagged on branches. There was a gash on her forehead, but the night’s steady rain had washed away the blood. She looked as if she might have been sleeping, except for her position—half in mud, half in water.

But she wasn’t sleeping. She was dead. And twelve hours before, her belly had been swollen, heavy with a baby, a living, breathing child who’d needed only to be born to live on her own. To be born anyplace besides half in the river to a dying mother.

The last photograph wasn’t from the scene. It was Glory alive and laughing outside the AME Zion church. He was vaguely familiar with it—knew the land it sat on had once
been Calloway land, that most of its members had worked for one Calloway or another at some time in their lives. It was a neat white building, the grass around it trimmed and green. Other people stood in the background, but the camera’s focus was on Glory and Anamaria.

The mother wore a pink dress—hot pink and fitted, not quite what he’d expect of a psychic/fraud but exactly what he’d expect of a woman who liked the attention of men. A straw hat shading her face from the noonday sun, she smiled brightly as she held her daughter’s hand.

Anamaria’s dress was pink, too, but the color was paler, more delicate. Her straw hat was white, with pink ribbons that streamed down and tangled in her hair. She was grinning, her cheeks chubby, her eyes sparkling, and she was missing a front tooth. In her free hand, she clutched a small Bible, the edges of a crayon drawing sticking out.

One pretty woman, one destined to steal a man’s breath. One dead, the other very much alive.

He turned back to the notes and began reading. The first contact with the police had come not from the fisherman but from the elderly neighbor babysitting Anamaria that evening. Glory had promised she’d be home by eight; there’d been no sign of her by eight-thirty, and her hysterical daughter insisted that something was wrong, that her mama was in the water. The babysitter was a believer, the dispatcher was not.

There had been another call at ten, another at midnight, both brushed off. Then the fisherman had called in shortly before six the next morning.

That baby’s crying that her mama’s in the water. She’s scared to death, and she’s making herself sick. You’ve got to do something.

Do you see dead people?
he’d asked Anamaria over lunch, making a joke of it.

I have visions,
she’d replied.

He hadn’t believed her. It was so easy to claim parapsychological abilities, and so hard to prove. So easy to prey on people who were vulnerable, seeking peace, trying to ease a loss, and so easy to dismiss anyone who was less gullible as a nonbeliever.
I don’t waste my time on skeptics,
Anamaria had said.

But according to the police dispatch tapes, she had known her mother was in the river at least ten hours before Glory was found. How? Could she have seen a vision of Glory’s death?

He’d find it easier to believe that she had literally seen Glory in the water. The river ran just behind the trees that bordered the Duquesne house, less than two hundred feet away. Maybe she’d gone on that walk with Glory—or sneaked out and followed her—and had seen her mother fall. Or maybe she’d even caused her to fall…

Either way, psychic vision or real life, how traumatic would such a sight have been for a five-year-old?

After rereading the witness statement, he returned the file to the envelope, laid it on the coffee table and got to his feet. He was halfway to the door when his cell phone rang. Harrison Kennedy’s name on the caller ID display made him grimace, but he answered.

“You know, the girl met with Liddy this morning.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“What did they talk about?”

“I don’t know, Harrison. There were only two people there. Anamaria’s likely to tell me it’s none of my business or to ask Lydia, and you told me not to ask Lydia anything.” He let himself into the garage, opening the door as he settled in the Vette’s driver’s seat, then switched the phone to speaker as he backed out. “Have you asked Lydia?”

“She said they talked mostly about her mother.”

“Lydia’s mother?”

Harrison sounded impatient. “No. The girl’s mother. Why would they talk about Lydia’s mother? Marcette’s been dead for years.”

Why would they talk about a white-haired man and flowers the first time? Robbie thought irritably. People didn’t go to psychics to get messages from the living.

“Lydia says she’s here to find out more about her mother. Says she’s curious. She didn’t ask for any money, but she said something to Lydia that made her…I don’t know. Sad. Worried.”

Why are you here?
Robbie had asked, and Anamaria had smiled.
Because I used to live here.
She’d added other reasons: she was resting, retreating, taking a break from her regular life.

He hadn’t believed her about that, either. If her purpose for coming to Copper Lake was as simple as a vacation, why had her first act been to contact Lydia? Why had she asked to meet with her a second time? He supposed even scam artists needed a break from time to time, but a few slick tricks with Lydia here could pay for a real vacation somewhere else.

“Did you ask Lydia why she was sad?”

“She acted like it was nothing. Just that the girl made her think about the mother.”

The girl had a name, and so did the mother. Was it asking too much for Harrison to use them? “She did see Glory regularly for a year,” Robbie reminded him. “Some people might consider that a basis for friendship.”

“I have no doubt Lydia liked the woman, but they weren’t friends. Lydia was a source of income for her. Nothing more.”

Maybe. “Will you change your mind about letting me talk to her?”

“No. I don’t want her upset any more than she already is.”

“Look, I’ve got to go,” Robbie said as he turned into the riverfront parking lot. “I’ll be in touch with you soon.” He dis
connected before Harrison could say anything else and got out of the car.

He didn’t usually walk along the river if he had a chance to be out on it instead. Before Jamie had gotten married, they’d met here at least once a week to exercise her mutt and talk, but she and Mischa were taking their walks with Russ now. Sometimes Robbie missed her. They’d been close for years. She was the one person he’d told almost everything, but her marrying Russ had changed things. Now she was family, and her focus was on a different Calloway.

Not that he begrudged Russ being happy. God knows, after the hell Melinda had put him through in their marriage, he deserved every minute with Jamie.