Wild Ride: A Changing Gears Novel (6 page)

But then she wasn’t crying for him, she realized with a sniffle. She was crying for herself. Because she missed him.

Tossing the tissue in the trash, she got to work and let her grandfather’s voice lull her as he talked of seeing the woman he would marry. “She was my heart,” he said gently, “and my greatest treasure.”

Alex grabbed another tissue and then her fingers had to race to catch up with his next words. She loved listening to his stories of courtship and marriage—they sounded so safe and happy on this day when she’d faced violence and death.

And passion. She licked her lips recalling, and then swiftly banishing, Duncan Forbes’s kiss.

She was typing up the details of her grandmother and grandfather’s early marriage. The decorating of the house that was already old, even then; their first car, a Ford Packard. She could almost see her grandmother through her young husband’s eyes as she sat contentedly rocking on the front porch, her needlework in her hands. Their grandmother’s work adorned samplers, footstools, cushions, household linens and they still used the communion cloth she’d done in crewel-work at the Swiftcurrent Presbyterian church.

Alex started when her cell phone rang, pulling her sharply forward half a century.

She scrambled in her bag for it and answered. Pausing the tape.

“Hey, Alex. How are you holding up?”

“I’m okay, Tom. Thanks for calling me back.”

“No problem. I guess you’re wondering about when you can open the library. We’re going to need another day. You can open the day after tomorrow. Okay by you?”

“Yes. That’s fine.”

“Do you want to book the cleaners for tomorrow night?”

“Yes. If you’re sure. Did you interview the cleaners?”

“Of course we did. Mrs. Rodriguez went straight to the hospital after they finished cleaning the library, around ten-fifteen last night. She says that when they were cleaning she didn’t see or hear anything out of the ordinary. Her husband did one more job and then joined her at the hospital. Their daughter gave birth to a nine-pound baby boy right around the time of the murder. They were there along with nurses, family, and friends. All right?”

It was hard not to worry. She was suspicious of everyone from the cleaners to a visiting art professor. And on top of all that, now she had to feel guilty that she’d been too preoccupied to know that the Rodriguez’s first grandchild had entered the world.

“You have a time of death?”

“Around one or two in the morning, close as we can figure.”

“Thanks for letting me know.” She repressed a shudder.”Look, Tom. I’m not sure if this is important, but–” It was harder to tattletale on a man she’d kissed passionately than she would have believed.

“Go ahead and tell me. If you think it’s important, it probably is.”

“It’s about Duncan Forbes. As I was leaving him today, I noticed he had a streak of blood on his wrist and the sleeve of his shirt. He probably got it when he turned the body, but I thought you should know.”

She heard a creak and pop from the direction of the old couch on the other side of the office. She started, then realized she was hearing the normal noises of an old house settling for the night. She shook her head. Her crazy day was making her fanciful.

“Thanks,” Tom said grimly. “I didn’t notice that. I’ll check it out.”

Suddenly, she didn’t feel that she’d been fanciful at all. Obviously, Tom
had suspicions about Duncan. She ran her tongue around her mouth, wishing she had her mouthwash with her to rinse out even the memory of those kisses.

She was past the halfway point in the tape, and she was pretty sure she was about to find out that her grandmother was pregnant with her own mother, when someone knocked on the door.

She paused the tape and glanced toward the front of the house. Neighbors? Polite burglars?

She crept soundlessly out of the study and into the dining room where she could see the front porch without being seen. And then quickly went to open the door.

“Eric,” she greeted her former brother-in-law with pleasure. As always when she saw him, she was amazed at how well he’d cleaned up, the long-haired, drug-addicted boyfriend Gill had brought home with her from California, and who was now as clean-cut and polished as the businessman and politician he’d become.

He’d taken over Forrest Art and Antiquities when her grandfather retired—and had pleased the older man no end when he refused to change the name of the store. In the last election, he’d also won a seat on city council.

The transformation suited him, and she had to admit her grandfather’s faith had been justified. The modest mail-order venture her grandparents had added to the retail portion of their business had blossomed with the advent of the internet and online auctions. Eric was busy enough to employ a full-time staff of two to work with him.

“What are you doing out this way?”

“I drive by if I’m in the area to make sure everything’s all right. I saw your car out front.”

“Well, come in.”

“Thanks. I’m glad you’re here.” He let out a breath. “Alex, I need to talk to you.”

Hidden behind the big leather couch, Duncan felt as though he were locked inside a very old trunk. Forty minutes of crouching was enough for any man and he’d thanked the powers above when the doorbell sounded and Alex left the room, thinking he’d hightail it out of there.

If he knew the stolid sergeant, he’d only stop to iron his uniform before heading out to interview Duncan Forbes about the “blood” on his inner wrist. He hadn’t noticed the streak himself until he’d climbed into the shower late this afternoon. He ought to be there to explain to the sergeant when he called.

But, perversely, the minute he heard a man’s voice at the front door and Alex’s friendly reply, Duncan made do with a quick stretch and refolded his limbs. He took a chance they’d be too busy chatting to look behind the couch and eased his way to the end where he could eyeball the doorway.

Sure enough, the two who came in weren’t looking in any corners, but at each other. And with obvious affection.

He stifled a quick flare of annoyance. Oh, the sexy librarian had played him, all right. No man in her life, huh? He disliked the smooth-looking blond man with the politician’s smile on sight. He’d bet his left nut the guy was trying to look down her top.

He knew, because he’d had his head bent that exact same way for most of the day, trying to do the very same thing. Yeah, men are pigs, but it takes one to know one.

He stuffed himself back behind the couch and eavesdropped shamelessly.
“I’m sorry I can’t offer you a soda—all we have is water,” Alex said.

Leather squeaked as she seated herself on the couch, not a foot from his head. What was she talking about? He’d spotted a crystal decanter that glowed gold in the light. Scotch, and a good one, he guessed. He’d been salivating over it as he crouched back here, his throat getting drier and drier in the dust.

The man sat beside Alex, of course, and Duncan was only happy he didn’t have to be further tortured by the sounds of ice clinking in drinks while he performed his impression of an earthworm rolled up at the side of the road, slowly drying out in the sun.

If they started going at it, his predicament was going to get a lot worse, and fast. He wanted to be the man rolling on the couch with Alex, not stuck between the creaky old couch and the wall when the former started rocking with passion.

“I don’t want a drink. I wanted to see you.”

Here we go, thought Duncan, wondering what he could use to stick in his ears so he wouldn’t have to listen to a woman he desired putting out for a guy who belonged on a toothpaste commercial.

“Why?” She sounded surprised, which had to be good. Maybe she wasn’t as fixated on a roll on the couch as her boyfriend.

“The murder, of course. I should have been there for you today. I wanted to, tried to get in the library, but they wouldn’t let me in. I even pulled the family connection, but no dice. Sergeant’s orders.” He snorted. “Jumped-up Boy Scout.”

“I’m sure Tom was only doing what he thought was right. He had to secure the crime scene.”

“For Christ’s sake, I wasn’t going to mess anything up. I’m a city councilor and a relative. I only wanted to be there for you. It must have been hell discovering a murdered man in your library.”

And nice of you to remind her of that and put her through it again, Duncan thought. The man sneezed—once, twice, three times—and each time Duncan felt his head squished against the back wall. Then he felt the load lighten and the sound of a nose blowing.

“Have you been around a cat?” Alex asked.

“Or something. I’ve got so many allergies I can’t keep track. Might just be the dust in here.”

“It’s nice of you to worry, Eric. Thanks. I never want to go through anything like that again. But I’m fine.”

“That’s why you’re sitting here in this old house alone.” Duncan heard the squeak of a spring and felt the sofa shift. He guessed Eric was taking her hand. Or getting ready to maul her. Family, he’d said. What family? He thought she didn’t have anyone locally but a cousin. A female cousin.

“Well, there are things to do and decisions to make. I don’t like leaving the house empty–” Alex laughed softly, but with a sad note running through it. He could imagine her eyes sparkling. “You’re right. After a traumatic day, I ran straight to Grandpa.”

“Next time, come to me,” the man said in a nasal tone, and then blew his nose again.

There was a short pause. “Thank you, Eric.”

Behind the couch, Duncan rolled his eyes.

“No. I mean that. You seem troubled. If there’s anything you want to talk about, any way I could advise you. Franklin—well, he was like a father to me, you know that. I’d like to feel I could pay him back in some way by giving you a shoulder to lean on.”

A cock to suck on.
Slimy bastard.

“Thanks—there is something preying on my mind.” Duncan’s ears perked up, hoping she’d reveal to Mr. Toothpaste the whereabouts of the painting. Once he knew the Van Gogh’s location, it was game over.

There was a pause and he waited with growing excitement, his leg muscles already tensing, ready to run for the treasure. He slowly breathed the smells of dust and old man, until he heard the voice again. “Why would anyone put a dead man in my library?”

To scare you into revealing the whereabouts of the Van Gogh?

Mr. Whiter than white said, “What are you implying? That the victim didn’t die there?”

“No. The police think he was killed somewhere else and moved.” Duncan heard the slight tremor in her voice, and then nothing as both speakers paused.

“That’s insane. Do you have any idea why someone would do that?”

“No. Of course not.”

“I wasn’t able to find out much. Do you know who the dead man was or why he was in town?”

“No. Everyone keeps asking me that. I’d never seen him before. It doesn’t make sense.”

More silence.

“Well, maybe someone will come forward who knew him or saw something. I’m sure they’ll get whoever did this, Alex. But in the meantime, if you think of anything or remember anything, anything at all, you can come to me day or night.”

“It’s good to know there’s someone in town I can trust. But we need to change the subject now. I’ll never sleep if I start obsessing over that poor man.”

“Right. Of course. I’m so sorry this happened to you.” There was a pause. “Have you talked to Gillian lately?” Another heavy pause, dripping with unspoken meaning. Conversation between these two was like a Bergman film.

“Yes. She called me earlier this evening.” Alex made a sound between a sigh and a groan. “My day’s been one high point after another.”

Excuse me? What about lunch with an exciting new man in town? What about the scorching kisses and the fact that you’re about to have the sex of your life?

A heavy sigh. “Don’t spare me. Did Gill sound high?”

Alex spoke in an expressionless tone, like someone delivering bad news and trying hard not to have an opinion about it. “She said you wanted to get back together.”

The couch jerked and he heard footsteps pacing. “Oh God, Alex. I don’t know what I’m going to do. She needs help, more than I can provide.”

“So it wasn’t true.”

“I’m sorry. I know it’s making your life even tougher that Gill and I broke up. Maybe if I’d known Franklin was going to — that there wasn’t much time left, I’d have stuck with the marriage longer. Well, I didn’t.

“It was hell walking out on her, you have to know that, but I’ve propped her up for eight years. The drugs, the booze, the lies. I couldn’t take it anymore. I dropped by a couple of days ago to see how she was holding up. She wasn’t as close as you were to Franklin, but well, he was always so good to her.”

“Yes. Yes, he was.”

“She was high as a kite. I guess in her deluded brain she thought me dropping by meant I wanted to get back together.”

“I’ll be honest,” Alex said. “A part of me hoped it was true, even though I didn’t believe her story. You helped her a lot. It’s been years since she’s made a fool of herself in public or showed up drunk or high at a family function.”

“I hoped we could get clean and sober together. But she never stuck to the program.”

“I’m so sorry. But thank you for not letting Grandpa know. At least he died happy, and thinking Gill was taken care of.”

“I’ll still do everything I can for her. I won’t let you take on the entire burden of your cousin.”

“You’ve got your business to think of—and your political career. The next mayor of Swiftcurrent needs to be squeaky clean.”

A deep-throated chuckle answered her. “I haven’t decided if I’ll run for the mayor’s job yet, but I appreciate the support.”

Duncan was going to puke if he had to listen to much more of this. Were they lovers? Was that the real reason this guy had left his wife? The woman who had to be Alex’s cousin and obviously the skeleton in the Forrest family closet. One of them, anyway.

The two didn’t sound like lovers, but the way Mr. Smarmy had been checking out Alex’s cleavage, Duncan was fairly certain he wanted her buck naked and writhing beneath him on this very couch.

But it turned out sweaty sex on the old couch, with Duncan’s head getting smacked rhythmically against the wall, wasn’t on the agenda tonight.

“Alex, I’ve been wondering — this isn’t easy for me to tell you, but we’re going to have to sell the house.”

“This house?” She sounded a little surprised, and no wonder. The Forrest ancestral home wasn’t anything to do with the ex-husband of one of the beneficiaries. Was it?

Toothpaste answered Duncan’s silent question. “No. No. Your grandfather left this place to you and Gill. It’s nothing to do with me. I’m talking about my house. Gill’s and mine. Now that we’re going ahead with the divorce, it’s got to be sold.”

“But that’s Gillian’s home. With her problems, and the breakup, doesn’t she need stability right now more than anything?”

A heavy sigh—that was going to be dynamite if this guy ever went into serious politics—issued with slow expulsion, sounding as though it came straight from his heart. “I hate to sell the house from under her, but it’s inevitable. There are debts.”

“Oh, Eric, no. Her drug habit?”

“I didn’t say that.” Hah, what a prince.

“You didn’t have to.” Again the couch rocked, and Duncan bet the woman was treating her cousin’s ex to a big, lay-your-head-on-my-shoulder hug. “Every time I start to think maybe there’s hope…”

“It’s embarrassing to admit this to anyone, but I need the cash to pay off the debts. The place needs painting and the carpets have to be cleaned before it goes on the market—then there are the realtors coming through. I’m sure you can appreciate, that is, under the circumstances, it would be better if she wasn’t there.”

“I understand.” Another Bergmanesque pause for deep contemplation of the human condition, while Duncan tried not to contemplate his own all-too-human incipient emphysema from inhaling dust balls all evening. “Where will she go?”

That heart-tugging sigh again. “Could she stay here for a while?”

“Here?” Alex sounded horrified. “In Grandpa’s house?”

“I know it’s an imposition, but it is half hers and, frankly, it’s all I can think of. I thought of a few places downtown but—”

“With her history, no one will rent to her.”

For all her milk of human kindness posturing, Ms. A. M. Forrest was amazingly reluctant to let her soon-to-be-homeless cousin into the home of which she was now co-owner.

Interesting. Could it be there was something here Alex didn’t want her cousin stumbling over? Something about seventy-two and a half by ninety-two centimeters covered with bold swirls of color and signed Vincent?

“But I want to get this house ready to go on the market, too. Frankly, I have the same issues.”

“You’re selling?” Eric sounded appalled. Duncan wasn’t thrilled, either. Damn, he needed to find that painting.

“I imagine it’s what Gillian and I will agree to do.”

Of course, no man succeeded in politics without some pretty sophisticated persuasive abilities, and Mr. Toothpaste didn’t stint. Whether she wanted to do a favor for this guy, who seemed awfully close for a cousin-in-law, or to help out the cousin with the little chemical abuse problem, Duncan wasn’t certain, but within five minutes of her horrified reaction to the idea, Alex agreed to postpone any immediate plans to list the house for sale and let her cousin move in.

“But it’s only for a few months until she finds something else. And I’m operating on a zero-tolerance agenda. I mean it, Eric. I won’t have our grandparents’ home turning into a crack house. It would be so disrespectful.”

“I’ll explain that to her, naturally. Thanks, Alex. It will help me out enormously. Um, maybe we’d better remove any temptation.”

“I’m not—oh, you mean Grandpa’s whiskey decanter. It’s the only alcohol still in the house. It reminds me of him to see it sitting there.”

“Would you like me to—”

“And risk your teetotalling reputation?” She laughed lightly. “No. I’ll take it to my place. But thanks.”

Duncan felt like leaping to his feet and offering to take the decanter off her hands. A good, thorough soaking with single malt was the best cure he could think of to clear the dust from his tongue, and the treacly sweetness of tonight’s overheard conversation from his gullet.

“Look, I know this place is half hers, but can you give me a week? I’d like to finish transcribing these notes. I like to do the work here.”

“A week.”

“Maybe less. The library will open again day after tomorrow, and I’ve got the evening book club Thursday night. Other than that, I’ll have lots of time to devote to these tapes.”

“Of course. And I do have some good news. Forrest Art and Antiquities is going to pay to publish a thousand copies of Franklin’s memoirs when you finish them. We’ll donate them to libraries, university archives, and schools.”

“Oh, Eric, you don’t have to—”

“Yes, I do. It’s my memorial to the man who turned my life around.”
Where did this guy come up with these lines? Daytime soap operas?

“I’m touched. I know Grandpa would be so honored.”

“I hope so. I promise I’ll keep a good eye on Gillian while she’s here. I’ll stop by regularly to make certain she’s all right and respecting your wishes.” He sighed. “But if things don’t improve–”