Dangerous Relations (5 page)

"I stopped by to find out if you're having dinner with me tonight. What's wrong?"

Ardin shook her head. "Nothing. Everything! Why don't I call you in half an hour? We'll talk
then."

The door behind her opened and Detective Rabe appeared.

"Ah, Mr. Waterstone. Ms. Wesley didn't mention you were expected."

Brett looked from Ardin's horrified face to the detective's and frowned. This was the same
man who had badgered him for hours about his movements the day Suziette had died.

"Hounding another innocent person?" he said, not hiding his dislike.

"Ms. Wesley is helping us with our investigation into your wife's death."

He looked at her. "Is that true?"

The color rose to her ears as she said, "They were asking about the roses you sent
me."

Their voices brought Mrs. Katz from her apartment. "Ardin dear, is everything all
right?"

Paler than ever, Ardin nodded. "Everything's fine, Mrs. Katz. The police have come to talk
about Suziette."

Mrs. Katz sighed. "Such a terrible thing to happen to a beautiful young girl." She withdrew
and closed the door.

Her sympathy seemed to bolster Ardin's spirits. She drew herself up. "Come inside. I don't
feel like putting on a show for the neighbors." When Brett hesitated, she said, "You, too."

Detective Rabe started to object.

She cut him short. "He stays or you leave."

He shrugged and reentered the apartment. Brett smiled as she directed them into
the unfurnished living room. Smart girl. Keep them standing. Detective Rabe and Officer
Devine positioned themselves on either side of the window, Ardin perched on her father's
old desk, and Brett leaned against the inside wall.
All the players in place
.

"You wanted to ask me some questions related to my cousin's murder, Detective
Rabe?"

Brett marveled at her poise.

The detective nodded. "What do you know about any relationships Mrs. Waterstone might
have had with--" He glanced at Brett, "-- men other than her husband?"

"I've heard of two," she answered coolly, "neither of which I can substantiate."

"Their names, please?" the young officer said.

"Corey MacAllister, my ex-husband, and Dimitri. I don't know his last name, only that he
was Suziette's personal trainer at her gym."

Her personal trainer!
Rage flared up like brush fire in his chest. He hadn't felt
such anger since he was a kid. Then he caught Ardin's wink. It sustained him, made him feel
they were a team. He unclenched his fists and exhaled slowly.

He had to stay cool and collected. The cops had come for information, and anything that
rose to the surface about his betraying, two-timing wife was bound to be another thrust of the
knife.

The questions continued. Did Ardin know why anyone would want to hurt her cousin? Had
anyone ever threatened Suziette, even in jest?

"How long have you known Mr. Waterstone?" Officer Devine asked Ardin.

Brett watched her stiffen. "We knew each other when we were kids. Brett moved away
when I was eight and he was ten. The next time I saw him was the weekend he married my
cousin."

"Are you close friends?" Rabe said.

Ardin shrugged. "Hardly. We've met perhaps half a dozen times the entire month I've been
in Thornedale."

Brett released the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding.

"Then why the flowers?"

"Mr. Waterstone wants to adopt my cousin's little girl. They're devoted to each other. He
was understandably upset when I told him my cousin left a will in which she named her mother
Leonie's guardian and myself as successor guardian."

"I see," the detective said, clearly disappointed. But then his beady eyes fixed on Brett. "You
said he was upset?"

"Yes." Ardin hugged herself.

The detective noticed. "Did Mr. Waterstone strike you?"

Ardin glared. "Certainly not!" Before either policemen could comment, she went on, an
edge to her voice. "I'm afraid that's all I have to say and all the time I have to answer
questions."

Officer Devine closed his notebook and followed Detective Rabe to the door.

The detective handed Ardin a card. "Ms. Wesley, Mr. Waterstone, if you think of
anything,
anything,
that might be relevant to the murder, call immediately." His
expression was aggrieved as he looked from Ardin to Brett. "Remember, we're here to find
out who killed Mrs. Waterstone and to bring the murderer to justice."

"Our sentiments exactly, Detective Rabe," Ardin agreed. She slammed the door behind
them, barely missing the detective's heel.

Brett stifled the urge to throw his arms around her. Instead, he shot her a victorious
grin.

"You were brilliant, Ms. Wesley! Remind me to call on you when I need an attorney."

She beamed back at him, happy that he'd come. He looked ruggedly handsome in his jeans,
denim shirt, and work boots. And he'd shown up just in time. Not to save her, as if she were a
faint-hearted Victorian heroine, but to remind her that no man--be he policeman or president of the
United States--could intimidate her ever again.

"That detective needs lessons in communication skills," she said. "He treats us like
suspects, and then complains we're not being more helpful."

Brett winced. "Don't I know it. He and his partner drilled away at me the other night till I
started believing I'd done something wrong."

"What made them finally let up?" she said, curious.

"The coroner called in the estimated time of death. They had a statement from the cabby
who brought me home from the airport. He'd dropped me off almost an hour past their outside
time."

A pile of bricks seemed to slide from her shoulders. Though she believed in her heart that
Brett was innocent, she welcomed this piece of indisputable hard evidence.

"Saved by the taxi driver's time sheet."

"Lucky me." Brett tried for humor, but his resentment came through loud and clear. The
telltale blush burned his cheeks, and she knew he was embarrassed that she might think less of him
for wallowing in self-pity.

Ardin gave him a friendly pat. The pulsing vitality of his well-muscled arm sent a thrill
through her body, and she jerked her hand away. "You're entitled to feel bitter and disgruntled after
all you've been through."

"Thanks. But you still haven't told me if you'll have dinner with me tonight."

His teasing tone sent her heart soaring, until she remembered he was inviting her out to
talk about Leonie. She tried to sound casual. "Sure. That would be nice."

"And I've great news. I'm picking up Leonie from nursery school tomorrow, and she's
staying overnight."

"Really? Aunt Julia didn't mention it."

Brett laughed. "Believe me, it wasn't her idea. Leonie answered the phone when I called to
see if you were there. The little devil carried on until Julia promised she could come home, at least
for one night."

Ardin felt a pang of envy. No child would ever love her the way Leonie loved Brett. "She
misses you," she admitted.

"Did she tell you that?" Brett's face took on a tender expression.

"Uh huh."

"Does that mean you'll help me adopt her?"

Ardin bit her lip. She didn't know what kept her from agreeing to do what little she could.
Certainly, Brett cared for Leonie as if she were his own. Aunt Julia was in no position to raise a child.
She remembered Leonie's asking if she'd be her mommy, and then she knew exactly what was
holding her back.

She wanted to raise Leonie herself.
Silly.
She shook her head to get rid of the
preposterous idea.

Her voice was steady, her logic airtight, when she answered. "Brett, you know I can't help
you. I'm Leonie's successor guardian. It would be a conflict of interest."

His shoulders slumped with disappointment. She was unprepared for the pain that pierced
her heart. She wanted to adopt Leonie, but at the same time she couldn't bear to see Brett stripped
of hope.

"Of course there's nothing to stop you from contesting the will. I can't imagine what
was going through Suziette's head when she drew it up."

His eyes lit up; a slow smile graced his lips. "Thanks, Ardin. It means a lot to hear you say
out loud what I've been thinking."

He gave her a quick hug that ended before she realized she'd been in his arms. The moment
of closeness left her feeling lightheaded and vulnerable. She wished he would hug her again. At the
same time she wanted him to leave. "Let's talk about it over dinner."

"Sure. Want to go to Houdini's? I haven't eaten there, but everyone says the food's
terrific."

"It's the best offer I've had all month."

"That's settled then. Pick you up at seven-fifteen?"

"You look elegant tonight," Brett said as they stepped into the elevator.

"Why, thank you." His compliment and appreciative glance sent a delicious frisson of
pleasure down her spine. Ardin smoothed the sleeve of the black jacket she wore over her new silk
dress. She was glad she'd tossed both into her suitcase when Dr. Addison's middle-of-the-night call
had sent her speeding to Thornedale.

Brett's nearness upped the frisson to a powerful surge of electricity. He looked fantastic in
his brown suede blazer, muted print shirt, and tan trousers. She breathed in his spicy aftershave.
Without thinking, she said, "Mmmm, you smell nice."

Brett smiled. "Happy to oblige."

Whoa, girl
.
Calm down.
She welcomed the brisk evening air, which
dispelled the hothouse atmosphere of the elevator and restored her equanimity. They
walked in companionable silence to the Jeep, and drove off in the direction of town.

They'd only gone half a block, when Brett said, "Frank MacAllister tells me the restaurant's
doing well. He's a part-owner, you know."

"Frank's part-owner of lots of businesses in town. Not to mention all those development
schemes he dreams up." Curious, she said, "Did he tell you about Houdini's at the funeral?"

"No. Over a business dinner of sorts."

"Oh?"

Brett turned to catch her expression. "Does that mean you don't approve of Frank
MacAllister?"

She grimaced. "I'm rather annoyed with him at the moment, but I don't disapprove of him
especially, except for having fathered Corey. Why?"

"Just wondering." She waited as he seemed to debate whether or not to share what was on
his mind, and felt a stab of pleasure when he continued.

"He invited Rob and me to go into a deal building luxury condos, and now he's pressing for
an answer. Frank said our company would be doing most of the construction. We stand to make a
small fortune."

"So? What's the catch?"

Brett took a deep breath. "We'd have to put a hefty sum of money up front. It's a little
unusual, but it's done. Frank strikes me as an all-right guy, and I haven't found anything against him
in the county records. But I'm cautious when it comes to choosing business partners." He gave a
self-deprecating smile. "Obviously, more so than in my personal life."

Ardin ignored this last comment, and focused on Frank MacAllister. "Uncle Pete backed
Frank's deals often enough, and he left Aunt Julia in good financial shape. Though my
mother--"

She stopped, drifting off in thought.

"What about your mother?"

"She claimed Daddy lost all our money because Frank urged him to go in over his head."
She decided to be fair. "But I've no idea if that's true. Those days she was drinking nonstop."

"I'll tuck it away for future reference. The way I do all hearsay and rumors." His
green eyes flashed mischievously. "You'd be surprised how often they turn out to be
true--and false. I'd say fifty-fifty."

His laughter was infectious.

The restaurant was three-quarters full. The ma�tre d' led them to a table near the diorama,
which extended the length of the back wall. Ardin peered through the Plexiglas at the thirty-or-so
figures frozen in action on a beach under a bright noonday sun. They were so lifelike.

"Totally amazing!" she said as she sat down.

Brett faced her across the table. "Frank says they plan to change the scene every six
months. I guess this proves things happen outside of New York City."

Ardin grinned. "Still, nothing comes close to the biggies--Broadway shows, the
ballet, the two Mets--no, make that
three
Mets. Can't forget the baseball team."

"Is that why you're in a hurry to go back?"

"I can't stay here. Thornedale holds too many bad memories." The words came out with a
force of their own.

"Aside from your ex-husband?"

"Oh, yes." She gnawed at her lip. "The disgrace of turning poor. Losing our house." She
hesitated. "My father's so-called accident. Didn't Suziette tell you?"

Brett shook his head.

"I was the one who found him, face down in a pool of blood. He'd shot himself."

"Poor Ardin."

Now that she'd started, she couldn't stop. "I was fourteen. It went downhill from there. My
mother drank more and more. Aunt Julia and Uncle Pete paid the rent for that dinky apartment we
moved to. They saw to it I had a decent meal now and then."

"I'm so sorry."

She grimaced. "When I was eighteen, I thought my life had finally taken an upswing.
Instead, it sank even lower. Into hell."

"Corey MacAllister?"

She nodded. "He was as considerate as a choir boy when we started going out. His
consideration turned to protection about the time we married." She frowned. "Soon I
needed protection
from
him, whenever he got into one of his furies. Let's see--three
broken ribs, a dislocated wrist, two black eyes, and that time I lost consciousness when he
nearly choked me to death." She watched the color rise in his face.

"My God, Ardin! Why didn't you leave?"

"Why didn't I leave?" she echoed. "And go where? Do what? I was so beaten down, literally
and figuratively, I spent every waking minute trying to come up with ways to make our marriage
better. Hah!" Her voice sounded harsh, even to herself. Self-mocking.