Chapter 25

Shane stood beside Brianna, who was talking to Caleb. Doyle was at the bar set up near the pool, getting Caleb another Johnnie Walker.

What a crock!

The jerk-off did not need another drink. He was in the bag already.

Taylor and Trent told Caleb they were putting their mother to bed. The man was too busy drooling over Brianna and kicking back expensive Johnnie Walker Blue Label to pay much attention to what Vanessa was doing.

“Where did you live before New Orleans?” Brianna asked Caleb.

Shane had coached Brianna and Doyle about information the three of them should try to get out of Bassett. It wasn’t going to be easy. Bassett’s eyes had shifted to the side at the question.

The man was drunk but not stupid.

“Lived here and there, darlin’, here and there. Why?”

“Your accent is so interesting. When we met you in New Orleans, you sounded British. Now you seem Southern. Mississippi or Arkansas.”

Caleb’s sly smile revealed little.

He shrugged, lifting the shoulders of the lizard-green-and-purple print Versace sport coat he’d put on after the funeral. No doubt the guy didn’t think black was his color. The trendy Versace jacket could have got him arrested in Des Moines, but no one looked twice in Miami.

“Here’s your Johnnie Walker,” Doyle said as he walked up and handed Caleb another drink.

“Thanks.” He looked around at the nearly empty pool area. “It was a helluva’ party. A nice send-off for my baby.”

“Do you think the police are going to solve the crime?” Brianna asked.

“Nah, they aren’t even trying.”

Caleb swigged his whiskey, then leered at Brianna’s low-cut neckline. For a grief-stricken father, the man was having a damn good time.

“Do you think Renata had made enemies where she lived before?” Doyle asked. “That person could have—”

“Nah. Everyone in New Orleans adored her.”

Gimme a break.

“It’s a shame. She was so young,” Brianna said. “She had her whole life ahead of her. I started out as a lap dancer not much different than what Renata was doing, and look at me now.”

Caleb didn’t need any encouragement. He couldn’t keep his eyes off Brianna’s impressive cleavage.

“I’m starting a new life here in Miami,” Caleb announced, after kicking back the rest of his drink. “No more selling insurance for me. No, siree.”

“What are your plans?” Doyle asked.

“I’ve always been innerested in real estate. I’ve got a hankering to sell condos. There are a lot of retirees down here looking for them.”

Shane could see Caleb as a successful real estate salesman. Stranger things had happened. The man could be persuasive and charming. When he wanted, he could beam a smile bright enough to light up Miami.

“May I get you another drink?” he asked Caleb. “I’m getting myself one.”

“Sure. Johnnie Walker Blue Label. Make sure they don’t give me the rotgut Johnnie Walker.”

“Gotcha’.”

Shane would have bet his life Caleb hadn’t had Blue Label until he came to Miami. He held out his hand palm up, took the glass, and turned before Caleb could notice he wasn’t letting his fingers touch the glass.

Not that Caleb was paying attention to anything but Brianna.

While they’d been talking, Shane had an idea. Lift Caleb’s fingerprints off the glass, make copies of the print, and run it through police databases in nearby states.

See what turned up.

Swans do not wax poetic about their lives as ugly ducklings, but Caleb’s reluctance to discuss his past indicated the man had something to hide. Shane had noted the comment about selling insurance. Caleb hadn’t been doing squat in New Orleans.

So why had he mentioned selling insurance? Granted, he had been selling insurance long ago when his house had burned down. Had he continued to sell it for years?

There weren’t many insurance companies. As with most other businesses, the sharks had gobbled up the little fish. Assuming he’d been using the name Caleb Bassett, it shouldn’t be hard to check.

“The guy over there in the green jacket needs a Johnnie Walker Blue Label on the rocks,” Shane told the bartender. “Make sure it’s Blue Label.”

“We’re out of Blue. He drank it all. We’ve got Johnnie Walker Gold Label. Will that do?”

Shane nodded, thinking Caleb had consumed a fifth of whiskey. Okay, it had been over a five hour period, but still …

He slipped into the kitchen, where the caterers were cleaning up, and wrapped the glass in a paper towel to preserve the fingerprints. He caught a glimpse of Raoul down the hall. He was kissing the blonde who was supposed to be keeping him off drugs.

Go figure.

He dumped the ice in the sink and ducked into the pantry to use his cell phone. Vince answered on the first ring. Shane explained what he wanted to do, and Vince agreed it was a good idea.

“I wish I had the time to go to Arkansas and do some checking on Bassett. But I don’t want to leave Taylor right now. I can be more help here with the murder investigation.”

“If my company was bigger and had more men, I could send one of them.”

Vince was just starting out and specializing in computer security. He’d given Shane a job because they’d known each other from the DIA. In a year, if they worked well together, Shane was going to buy half the business. Then they could expand.

“I doubt a hundred men could turn up much on Bassett. I’m betting he covered his tracks.”

While Trent pulled the drapes and turned down the bed, Taylor took her mother into the dressing room and helped her change out of the black Chanel suit she’d worn to the funeral. Her mother was unsteady on her feet and her hands shook. Taylor couldn’t tell if it was from exhaustion or drugs.

“It was lovely,” Taylor said because she felt she should. “Everything was perfect.”

“Yes. I thought it went well. So many of my friends came.”

“We have Brianna to thank for that. She did the lion’s share of the calling.”

Her mother didn’t comment. She tottered off into the bathroom. Taylor didn’t follow. Instead, she returned to the bedroom area.

“Mother is in the bathroom.”

Trent was standing in front of a table where there was an arrangement of family photographs in sterling-silver frames. In the center was the last publicity picture taken of Duncan Maxwell for the To The Maxx catalogue.

“I miss him. Don’t you?” Taylor asked.

“Totally. He’d know what to do.”

“He wouldn’t want us to sell the company.”

“I’d like to keep it and run it with Raoul, but I don’t have the money for the buyout.”

“Trent, why are you so pressed for money? If it’s none of my business, just tell me, but if there’s any way I can help, I will.”

Trent turned to her, a glimmer of the brother she once knew reflected in his eyes.

“Thanks. I appreciate the support. I don’t need the money right this minute, but I will. It’s going to take a lot to get Raoul back on track.”

That’s exactly what she thought the money was for. Maybe she’d misjudged Raoul. She’d like to believe her brother’s time, money, and most of all, love wasn’t wasted on a vain man who’d dump him in a heartbeat if something better came along.

“What are you doing?” Their mother’s soft voice came from behind them.

Taylor turned, saying, “Looking at the picture of Dad. Missing him.”

“I miss him, too.” Tears glistened in her eyes.

Taylor rushed to her side. “Let me help you to bed.” She guided her mother to the bed and steadied her as she slipped between the sheets.

Without makeup, her mother’s skin was a worrisome ash color. Her eyes seemed clearer than they had the other day, but they held a world-weary expression.

The day had taken its toll, the way Taylor had known it would. It didn’t seem fair to have this discussion now, but who knew when they’d have another chance?

Trent sat down on the foot of the bed. “Mother, we’re concerned about you.”

She looked up at them from beneath half-closed lids. “It was an exhausting day, that’s all.”

Taylor eased herself down onto the bed, not knowing how to begin even though she’d mentally rehearsed this at least a dozen times. “We’re worried because your blood work isn’t good.”

“We knew this day would come. Didn’t we?”

Taylor nodded with a quick glance at Trent. This sounded like the woman who’d raised her. She faced the world head-on.

“Yes, we’ve all been aware of the progression of the disease,” Trent said.

“It’s only a matter of time until I die.”

Taylor wanted to deny it, wanted to shout it to the heavens, but what would be the use. They all knew the truth.

“With luck and proper treatment, you’ll have quite some time,” Trent said.

“We’re concerned about the amount of painkillers you’re taking,” Taylor said.

“How do you know how much I’m taking?” Her mother’s voice was soft, as if she didn’t have the strength to raise it, but there was a distinct bite in her tone.

Rather than get Maria in trouble, Taylor said, “We see it in the way you look, the way you talk. Your eyes don’t look … right.”

“I haven’t had a pain pill all day. Caleb wanted to give me one several times, but I didn’t want to miss a thing. I just took one now. I’m waiting for it to work.”

“Is Caleb giving you those pills more often than you’re supposed to take them?” Taylor asked.

“I-I’m not sure. I’m in a lot of pain, you know. I-I need …”

Taylor reached for her mother’s hand. “We know you’re in pain, and we don’t want you to suffer. But … if you’re doped up and groggy how can you enjoy yourself?”

“We’d like to have a nurse come in to help you. She can administer the proper amount of medication and take care of you,” Trent added.

“I don’t want a nurse. I’ve got Caleb.”

“Mother, he doesn’t dress you or put you to bed,” Taylor pointed out.

“Maria is here if I need her.”

“That means Caleb gives you all your medication,” Trent said. “What happens when he leaves? I’m sure he’ll be going soon, now the funeral is over.”

Her mother’s head slowly swung from one side of the pillow to the other in an attempt to shake her head. “He’s staying here with me while he gets a real estate license.”

Oh, great, Taylor thought. Just great.

She squeezed her mother’s hand. “Do you think Caleb’s staying here is a good idea? What will your friends think?” Taylor asked because she thought her mother might still care about impressions the way she once did.

“You saw them today. They like Caleb.”

Being totally honest, Taylor said, “With him around, this place doesn’t seem like home. It’s not the family home it once was when Dad was alive.”

“You can’t blame Caleb for being a little hostile. You two are prime suspects. That’s why they searched your homes.”

“And didn’t find a thing,” Taylor reminded her.

“Mother,” Trent spoke up. “Uncle Doyle and I were in the library this afternoon. Someone has been going through the files. We think it’s Caleb.”

“Is your jewelry safe, Mother?” Taylor asked.

“And To The Maxx’s formulas,” Trent added.

“Of course, it’s all in the safe except for a few pieces of jewelry I wear every day.”

She studied them a moment, then closed her eyes. It was a few seconds before she opened them again.

“I know what you two are thinking, but you’re wrong. Caleb is a good man. He’s Renata’s father. He’d never do anything to hurt me.”

“I wish I could agree. You know he’s out at the clubs every night.”

Taylor didn’t know this for a fact, but judging from what Maria had told her, where else would he go at night?

“Of course he goes out at night. Caleb needs to have a little fun. He’s with me all day. It must be dreadfully depressing.”

“Why don’t you give him the money for his own apartment, where he can study for his real estate license?” suggested Trent.

“I need him. I need him here with me.”

Those words confirmed the full extent of the hold Caleb Bassett had on their mother. Taylor had suspected this, but held out hope that the woman who’d raised her would be savvy enough to see this man was a con artist.

“I love you both very much,” her mother told them. “I’m so proud of each of you.”

“And we love you.” Trent stood up and walked to the head of the bed and kissed his mother’s cheek.

Taylor leaned forward and kissed her other cheek. “Love you. Love you so much.”

“Hey, what’s all this lovey-dovey stuff?” Caleb sauntered into the room and the air filled with the scent of Johnnie Walker.

“We’re family,” Taylor said, forcing a pleasant tone. After all, it was clear they would have to deal with this man. “We love each other.”

“Sweet. Right sweet.” Caleb took her mother’s hand and kissed it. “Do you need your medication?”

“No. I’ve taken it.”

Caleb looked at Taylor and Trent. “Then we’ll get outta here and let you go to sleep.”

“Love you.” Taylor kissed her mother again. “I’ll drop by tomorrow on my way home from work.”

“Good night, Mother,” Trent said.

“I love you both,” their mother said, her voice faint but charged with emotion.

Caleb followed them out of the master suite. Taylor waited until they were in the foyer adjacent to the dining room before saying to Caleb, “Don’t overmedicate my mother. Don’t give her pain pills more often than the directions indicate.”

“She’s in a lot of pain.”

“I know, but being so doped up that she’s out of it isn’t good for her. I want her to enjoy what time she has left.”

Caleb shrugged. “Think of me as family. I’m Renata’s father. We’re as good as related.”

He left them and strode out toward the pool. As soon as Caleb was out of sight, Trent whispered in her ear, “Christ! You don’t suppose he’s convinced Mother that he’s family, and she’s going to include him in the will?”

“We got nowhere,” Taylor told Shane as they left the house and headed to her car. “My mother isn’t going to tell Caleb to leave.”

“We didn’t have much luck with him, either. He’s a wily old coot. But Caleb did give me a few ideas.”

She listened to him explain about the glass and the insurance angle as they walked through the sultry night. She could hardly concentrate. She was bone-weary and more worried than ever about her mother.

Thank you, God, for sending me Shane.

Her brother’s comment about the will disturbed her. At times he appeared to be himself. Yet at other times, he seemed obsessed with money.

And Raoul.

They’d parked her Beamer under a streetlight. It shone down on an envelope tucked between the windshield wiper and the glass.

“It can’t be a parking ticket,” she said as they approached.

“Don’t touch it.”

They stared down at the envelope. In big, bold computer generated block letters, TAYLOR MAXWELL was written across the front.

Taylor pulled it out, and Shane grabbed her hand. “It’s probably just a condolence note.”

“Maybe, but let me open it. If it’s a letter bomb, I don’t want it to explode in your pretty face.”

He walked about ten feet away, turned his back to her, and she heard him rip open the envelope.

Silence.

He turned around and strode back to her, a grim expression on his face.

“I was right.” He handed her the single sheet of paper. “You are in danger.”

She scanned the words.

EVERY WAKING MOMENT YOUR KILLER IS WATCHING YOU.

PREPARE TO DIE, TAYLOR. PREPARE TO JOIN RENATA.