Money is a singular thing.
It ranks with love as man’s
greatest source of joy. And with
his death as his greatest
source of anxiety.
— John Kenneth Galbraith
Heavy breathing. Hands moving, mouths tasting, bodies straining. Two sighs that melded, became one. A slight reshuffling of bodies, and then a shared silence.
Curly-haired head resting on chest; strong, tanned arm wrapped around softness.
The indescribable mellowness of completion. The calm after the storm. Blessed peace...
“I’ve got it! We’ll kill him!”
Annie opened one eye, disturbed from her very pleasant afterglow as Grady sat up, and she found herself ignominiously rolling sideways onto the mattress. “Say what?” she grumbled, opening the second eye, trying to focus. “No, let me guess. This is your version of pillow talk. Don’t be insulted, but I think it’s lacking... a certain something.”
“No, no, listen a minute,” Grady said, pulling her up next to him, kissing the tip of her nose. “You said nobody will make another attempt on Archie while I’m still here.”
“You were listening? When were you listening? And with what? I didn’t know men could think about sex and still listen at the same time.”
“I’m the last of a dying breed. But you’re right, Annie. We’re just spinning our wheels here. Archie knows about Double A, and he’s not blowing the whistle. Someone shot an arrow into the air, and nobody called the cops. Not to mention what happened to you. We look like wimps, with Archie calling all the shots. So all the bad guy has to do is lie low, wait for the month to be up, and then take Archie out. Unless he hires someone else. There isn’t enough money in the world to keep me here, that’s for sure. Anyway, in the meantime...”
“We’re just spinning our wheels. I think I’ve got that part. I might even have said it first,” Annie said, pushing her hair out of her eyes as she looked at Grady. God, he was gorgeous with a morning beard. Did he know that? Yeah, he probably did. “Still, and I may be overreacting here, don’t you think killing Archie ourselves might be a little, well, a little much?”
Grady climbed out of bed, reaching for his slacks. “Okay, okay, so maybe I haven’t thought it out completely yet,” he said. He looked at Annie for a moment “Pull up the sheet, please. I’m trying to concentrate here.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“Probably more of a warning, because if you don’t cover up I’m going to have to pounce on you again.”
Annie grinned, amazed at her lack of modesty where this man was concerned.
“Annie...” he said warningly.
“I’m thinking, I’m thinking,” she teased, then added, “oh, all right,” and pulled the sheet up over her breasts. “Happy now?”
“Actually, no, but I want to think this through.” Annie lifted an arm, indicating that she had given her permission. “Commence pacing, Mr. Sullivan. Should I be taking notes? Oh, and you didn’t zip your slacks. Just thought I’d mention that, as my powers of concentration are sort of being diverted now.”
“Damn.” Grady turned his back, and Annie giggled at the sound of the zipper being closed. And then he paced. And talked. And paced some more. “Okay, let’s think about this. We kill Archie—”
“We pretend that Archie’s been killed,” Annie interrupted.
“Right. Glad you’re sticking with me.”
“My pleasure, plus my clothing is on the other side of the room, so I’m sort of stuck here if I don’t want to set off your hair-trigger libido. Hey, your words, not mine!” she ended as he turned, glared at her. “Are we having fun yet? I’m having fun.”
He kept looking at her, raked his fingers through his already mussed hair. “You know, Annie, until you came along I thought all I wanted was a willing woman. Preferably one who didn’t talk much, then went away. I didn’t want a smart woman. I sure didn’t want a smart woman in my bed. So can you please tell me what I’m doing here?”
Annie’s toes curled beneath the sheet. “I’d say it’s my perfume, except Maisie’s wearing it,” she offered weakly. “Do I really get on your nerves? Is that what you’re trying to say?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know that I’m trying to i say anything. No, that’s not true. I’m trying not to say anything. Because we’ve still got issues, don’t we?”
“Meaning I still won’t tell you about myself?”
“Meaning you don’t trust me enough to tell me about yourself.”
Annie plucked at the sheet, avoiding his eyes. “Please don’t think of it that way. It’s not just my secret. Just solve this attempted murder stuff, okay, and then I can tell you everything.”
“Promise?”
“Pinky-swear,” she said, trying to smile. “Now, why would we want everyone to think someone succeeded in killing Archie?”
Again with the pacing. A person could not buy cheap carpeting if Grady Sullivan was to be a frequent guest Annie sighed, leaned back against the pillows, and waited.
“If we say he’s dead, then the person who really wanted him dead will think someone else also wanted him dead, and if anyone takes it far enough to realize that the murderer would want any of Archie’s heirs dead, then everyone will be accusing everyone else, and we might finally get at the truth.”
“Could you say that again?”
Grady took a deep breath, shook his head, and sat down on the edge of the mattress. “No, and it wouldn’t matter, because it won’t work. Not now that I’ve said it out loud. Yeah, well, back to the drawing board.”
Annie sat up, leaned her cheek against his back as she wrapped her arms around his waist. “There is another way, you know. Archie’s way.”
He turned in her arms, slowly lowered her back on the bed, followed her down. “Am I going to like this? I don’t think I’m going to like this.”
“Probably not,” she said, rubbing a fingertip over the stubble on his chin. “But Archie will. We have Dickens announce that everyone is expected in Archie’s rooms tonight after dinner, because Archie has an announcement of his own. He’s going to name his heir—his sole heir, now that his hired investigator-cum-bodyguard has finished his research—and that he’s already changed his will accordingly, having called in a new lawyer when nobody was looking. Can’t you just see it now? Archie would be in his glory. Telling everyone I’m definitely his long-lost granddaughter, and then watching while his children go berserk? I think he goes to sleep at night, dreaming about ways to make them all go berserk.”
Grady pressed his forehead against hers and looked deeply into her eyes. “No. N—O, no way in hell. Not on your life, Annie, and I mean that literally.”
“But you’d be there, to protect me.”
“And who would protect you from me?” He rolled onto his back, taking her with him. “Don’t do it, Annie. I can see it in your eyes. You’re already halfway to Archie’s rooms, to tell him to get the ball rolling. Don’t do it.”
“You have a better way? I haven’t heard it so far, if you do.”
Grady lightly rubbed his hands on her back. “I’d say we’re having our first fight, but we’ve already had so many I’ve actually lost count. I’m close, Annie. I’m really, really close. Let me finish it.” Then he smiled, lifting his head to nip at her chin. “It’s either that, or you’re going to be walking around here in a flak jacket and combat helmet. I don’t think it’s a good look for you.”
Annie frowned. “Didn’t do a lot for Dukakis,” she said, biting her bottom lip. “Okay, tell you what. We’ll make a bargain. I don’t tell Archie my idea, and you back off on trying to find the real me, if you understand what I mean. You’re letting Dickens play his game, and A.W. and Junior played theirs. I need you to let me play mine out as well, without interference. You’re getting too close.”
Grady shifted his weight slightly, sliding his hands lower, gently urging her to spread her legs. “I could get closer.”
“Is that a yes?”
“Not last time I looked. Last time I looked, it was what Archie so genteelly described as his little soldier. Archie’s got quite a way with words.”
“His little—? Oh, that’s gross!” Annie pushed herself off him, intent on leaving the bed. But she moved slowly, so Grady could catch her.
He caught her around the waist, and she squealed as he pulled her back down onto the mattress, tickling her unmercifully. She swatted at his hands, laughing, then tried to tickle him back. “Oh, stop, stop! I’m injured!”
His hands stilled, and his smile faded. “Did I hurt you? God, Annie, I forgot. Did I really hurt you?”
“Nope,” she said, then grabbed on to both of his ears and pulled him down for her kiss.
Grady finally came up for air. “End of discussion?” he asked, gasping for breath.
“End of discussion,” Annie promised, then ran the tip of her tongue along his shoulder blade. “You stop trying to find out what I’m going to tell you anyway when it’s time, and I give you time. One more day, Grady.”
He levered himself up onto his elbows. “Then I guess I’d better get out of here and get started,” he said, looking as innocent as a fox on his way out of the henhouse.
“You just try it, buster,” Annie said.
It was the last thing either of them said for a long time.
* * *
Maisie was still asleep when Grady stepped through the connecting door and shook his head, seeing her lying there, green-satin sleep mask over her eyes, black furry earmuffs blocking out sound. No wonder she hadn’t shown up the night the arrow had come through Archie’s window, or the afternoon Archie had been taking target practice.
It would take a nuclear explosion to get Maisie’s attention.
That, or somebody touching her precious computer, which was Grady’s intention.
He had just typed in her password, which prompted the voice of some faceless sexy male saying, “Hello, honey, you’re looking gorgeous,” when she sat up, slipped off the sleep mask, and said, “How do you know my password?”
Grady slowly turned on the chair, watching as his redheaded assistant slid out of bed and covered a short chartreuse nightgown with a bright yellow satin robe. “Are most of your boyfriends color-blind, I most sincerely hope?”
“Ha-ha. If you ever thought I was a morning person, honey, you’d be wrong, so no more jokes. Now, how do you know my password?”
“I’m a detective, Maisie, I know these things. Besides, you change it so often you keep the latest one taped to the bottom of the desk. You do it at work, and you’re doing it here. Now, come on, splash some water on your face, brush your teeth, order up some coffee—lots of it—and let’s get to work. I’ve got twenty-four hours to solve this thing before Annie does something I’m going to regret like hell.”
* * *
“A new car?” Annie sat down with a thump, looking bug-eyed at Archie even as she clutched the keys tight in her fist. “You bought me a new car? Why?”
“Do the words ‘guilty conscience’ ring a bell?” Dr. Milton Sandborn asked as he eyed the level of liquid in the syringe he was holding in the air. He squirted out a small stream of the fluid, then sighed, obviously content. “That, and I told him no more vitamin shots until he replaced your car. Isn’t that right, Archie?”
“Just shut up and give me the shot,” Archie grumbled, already turning onto his side and hiking up his nightshirt.
Annie turned her head, not at all afraid of needles, but willing to run a mile to get away from even the possibility of seeing Archie’s skinny behind.
“You can turn around now,” Sandborn said after a moment, and she did so, in time to see him breaking off the needle and tossing both ends of the syringe in the nearest trash can. “And it’s simple, my dear. It was our idea you come here, so it’s up to us to recompense you for losses sustained while you are in residence. Archie, does that sound high-flown enough for you?”
“You blackmailed me into it,” Archie said, wincing slightly as he resettled himself against the mattress. “The girl couldn’t have been so stupid as not to have insurance. She could have bought herself another car.”
“True enough, but until then, she’d be stuck here, without wheels. Kind and caring person that I am, and knowing firsthand how oppressive this place is, I thought she shouldn’t have to wait for the insurance check. God knows a person could go straight around the bend if unable to escape this place. Not everyone is enthralled with your company as much as you are, Archie, you understand. That said,” he ended, snapping closed his black bag, “I believe I have pressing business elsewhere. A visit to my vintner, as a matter of fact.”
Archie waved him away, languidly, as his muscles were relaxing at a pretty fast clip. “Oh, go, go. You’re hurting my head with your highfalutin words. Amuse the hell out of yourself, I’m sure, but you’re really just a big bag of wind.”
“Fight nice, boys,” Annie said, having at last recovered her voice. “And I do thank you, both of you. What kind of car is it? Is it out front now? Oh, and I’ll sign over the insurance check when I get it. That’s only fair.”
Both Sandborn and Archie stared at her.
“Frightening, isn’t she? All those scruples,” Sandborn said at last. “It’s a good thing you didn’t try to palm her off as a Peevers. Nobody would ever believe it.”
“About that...” Annie said, standing up, smoothing down her skirt. “I’ve been thinking, Archie, and hiding up here isn’t getting us anywhere. Grady is trying really hard, but except for that Double A thing, he hasn’t been able to figure out who might want you dead.”
“Might want me dead?” Archie leaned over and opened the drawer of the nightstand, pulling out the arrow. He waved it in the air. “What’s this, you twit? My new toothpick?”
Annie held up her hands in surrender. “All right, all right. Somebody really did try to kill you. And somebody has tried, twice, to scare me away. Maybe because your heirs still think Grady is here to investigate my claim as your lost granddaughter, but more probably, now that I’ve considered the thing from another angle, because Grady and I are... well, we’re sort of... involved—”
“You’re sleeping with him,” Archie said. “Screwing like rabbits while I’m lying here, waiting for someone to kill me. And I’m paying for it. I feel like a damn pimp!”
Dr. Sandborn was looking at Annie. She could feel his eyes on her, but she refused to return his gaze.
“All right, Archie, I think that was clear enough. But, with it looking as if I’m in danger, Grady has been concentrating more on protecting me than watching you. Which makes it easier for someone to get to you. Which also is why I think we ought to tell everyone Grady has finished his investigation, and I am your granddaughter.
I’m your granddaughter, and you’re going to leave all of your fortune to me. We could do it tomorrow, right after Grady says uncle and agrees to play it your way.”
Archie’s eyelids were getting heavy, and he had this fairly obnoxious grin on his face, but it was clear he was still listening. “So then the killer comes after you, and we catch him in the act.”
“Hopefully before the act,” Annie corrected, still not looking at Dr. Sandborn, who had opened his black case again, this time pulling out a silver flask he then uncapped and lifted to his lips.
“What does Mr. Sullivan say about this?” Sandborn asked after taking a long drink, then wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand.
“He says he’s going to solve the whole case today,” Annie told him, finally looking at the man. “If he does, fine. If not, we go with my plan. Your plan,” she amended, after first glancing at Archie, who was by then snoring softly. “And, in the meantime, Grady has agreed to stop trying to investigate me. He’s getting close. Too close, Poppy, if we’re going to do this the way you want it done. But we have to find out who’s behind the attempts on Archie’s life, and maybe on mine. We want the old man’s full attention when we lower the boom. That is still the plan, right?”
“It is. I’ve had some second thoughts, but, yes, it’s still the plan. Although I’ve made sure you have wheels, just in case you need to get out of here in a hurry. But I’ve waited too long for this chance, for any chance. And now you’ve got Archie thinking the same way again,” Sandborn said, taking a single step in Annie’s direction, holding out his hand to her. “I’m doing this for you, you know. It’s always been for you.”
“Yeah, right. Just for me,” Annie said, her smile tight, her voice clipped. “I just want this over, Poppy, so I can get out of here, okay, and back to my own life.”
“And Sullivan? Archie says you’re... involved. How involved?”
Annie lifted her chin, took a quick breath. “I’ll know that once we’re done here, won’t I, not that you have any right to know. I’ve kept the truth away from him because I promised you your big scene. Because, in a way, I do owe you. But he doesn’t like secrets. He thinks I don’t trust him.”
“Do you trust him?”
“I love him, Poppy,” Annie said quietly. “Anything else will be up to him.”
* * *
It was after midnight. Grady had returned to Maisie’s room after an evening spent watching Archie pull long grey hairs out of his chin with a tweezers and, later, listening to him snore. A true waste of six very precious hours, because even after a full day of detecting, he was no closer to an answer than he’d been that morning.
“Anything?” he asked, stripping off his jacket and tie, opening his collar button as he pulled up a chair beside the desk.
“Carpal tunnel, I’m thinking,” Maisie said, not looking up. “Oh, and I finally hit pay dirt on Mitzi.”
“Stocks? Bonds? Under what name?”
“Personal diary she keeps in her makeup case,” Maisie said, getting up from the chair to stretch her legs. “Hey, don’t look at me like that. I have to get some exercise, honey, or do you think I can sit here for twelve hours at a stretch? Besides, she bought this really fantastic lipstick the other day that would go just great with my new— okay, okay, stop glaring at me, I’ll get to the point.”
“You have the diary?”
Maisie put her hands on her hips, shaking her head. “No-o-o,” she said, dragging out the word as if trying to get through to an uncomprehending child. “She’d miss that. I just took the lipstick. Borrowed the lipstick.”
“Some people get ten to twenty for borrowing the way you do, Maisie,” Grady said, then waved his hand in front of his face, as if erasing his words. “So what was in the diary?”
“Vindication, for me,” she said, returning to her chair and picking up the ever present nail file. “That, and a lot of numbers. Account numbers listed under banks in the Cayman Islands, more numbers under some banks in Panama. A couple for Switzerland. And, in the back, columns of figures, along with dates. Those figures added up to a little over five mil. Oh, and there was an account at one of the local banks. Lots of money in it, all of it heading back out a couple of days later. Listed under her maiden name. So, are we done? Is Mitzi our culprit?”
Grady rubbed a hand across his eyes. He was tired, so damn tired. “One of them,” he said at last. “But there’s still the arrow. We have to find out who shot the arrow, who tossed Annie’s room and tried to run her off the road. I don’t think Mitzi’s into the physical stuff.”
“But if you confront her, maybe she’ll tell us?”
“Maybe. If Archie lets us confront her. Five million is chicken feed compared to his billion, and maybe not enough for him to go to the police with, so that the whole world knows his sons and his daughter-in-law were ripping him off. Honest to God, Maisie, I’m not sure he’d even turn in whoever took that shot at him. He just wants to know, and then cut whoever it is out of his will, get them out of his house, his business. Justice isn’t Archie’s bag. Revenge, however, is right up his alley.”
“Well, then, why doesn’t he just throw everybody out? He’s already pretty much three for three, with only Muriel still looking even vaguely honest.” She wrinkled up her nose. “Man, Muriel. Talk about a waste of a billion dollars. She’ll probably wait until Archie dies, then move in a couple of hundred hairball-hurling cats. And even designer clothes come in Ugly, honey, you know. Bet she corners the market.”
“If we could keep our eye on the ball here, Maisie?” Grady asked, looking at the computer screen. “What are you working on now?”
Maisie sat down again. “Nothing much. Just running Daisy Goodenough through one last time. Her site’s up to a little over forty-two thousand hits, by the way. Hard to believe there are people out there dumber than she is.”
Grady nodded, then stilled. “Say that again.”
“I said, it’s hard to believe there are—”
“Okay, okay, let’s go with that. Annie said something along those lines herself. Something about it being hard to believe anybody could be as dumb as Daisy.”
“Except for her parents,” Maisie added. “The Goodenough Bakery? That’s what I have here in my notes, although I never found it on the web. Daisy just mentioned it one day, and I filed it away in my steel-trap mind. Probably just a small-potatoes kind of mom-and-pop bakery. I mean, come on, honey. Goodenough? Is that what you’d want to call your bakery? Try our crullers— they’re good enough!” She wrinkled her nose again, shook her head. “Not exactly a killer come-on for the customers.”
“No, it isn’t, is it? What would you call your bakery?”
“Are we going somewhere with this, honey, or are you at the grasping at straws stage here?”
“Maisie,” Grady growled, “just give me some for instances. People don’t go too far when they use an alias. And the bakery is another clue—stick with the truth as much as possible so there’s less chance of tripping yourself up somewhere along the line. Her parents probably do own a bakery. Just not the Goodenough Bakery. Give me names. Think good enough, then go from there.”
“My master’s voice. Okay, I’m thinking, I’m thinking. Good enough. Mediocre. So-so. Ordinary. Average.”
“Think higher, Maisie. Something better than good enough.”
“Now I’m a thesaursus? All right. Excellent. Wonderful. Peachy keen. Better. Best. Spectacular—”
“Back up,” Grady said, standing up, beginning to pace. “Best. Let’s start with Best.” He leaned down over Maisie’s shoulder, watching the screen. Go to your people search, and type in Daisy Best.”
Maisie turned her head, looked up at him owlishly. “Honey, you are desperate.”
She typed in the name, sat back as the computer did its thing, then suddenly sat front, stared. Hit another button, waited, scrolled down the page, stared again. “Wow. You’re going to be insufferable now, honey, aren’t you?”
“This is entirely possible,” Grady said, all traces of fatigue gone as all his “I’m so close” feelings of the past few days combined in something close to “Eureka!”
He leaned his hands on Maisie’s shoulder, impulsively kissed the top of her head. “Ladies and germs, we have liftoff!”