Chapter 17

Friday, October 7, 6 P.M.

The Cross mansion was located just north of Mount Vernon and sandwiched between Route One and the Potomac River. The rolling riverfront land in this area was premium and beyond expensive. A half acre could run millions. The Cross family owned six acres along the river. If you have to ask about the land’s cost, then you can’t afford it, Malcolm mused.

Garrison drove down a gravel driveway lined with cypress. “Easy to imagine we’ve left the real world.”

Malcolm shook his head. “I know the rich put their pants on just like me, but they are a different breed of cat. They live in a rarified league of their own.”

“They make their own rules.” Hostility rarely crept into Garrison’s voice as it did now.

“I guess from your tone you and Eva are still on the outs?”

“She won’t talk to me.”

“Go by King’s and see her.”

“I did. She wasn’t there. King said she took a couple of days off to finish a paper. She’ll be in tonight.”

“And?”

“And one way or another she’s going to tell me what’s eating her.”

“Just like that?”

“Damn right.”

“Best of luck.”

Garrison parked the car at the top of a circular drive behind two construction vehicles. The name on the truck doors read LANE CONSTRUCTION.

Black lacquer covered the front doors and reflected the afternoon light. The house was constructed of an ancient brick, and the windows had the wavy appearance of hand-blown glass. The house screamed old money, but the Cross family was anything but. Darius Cross had grown up poor and had clawed and scraped his way to the top. It was often said of him, “He’d drive a pike in his mother’s back to get ahead.”

No truer words had been spoken. Cross had locked up his homicidal wife in a home for the mentally ill. She’d languished there almost twenty years. And then when Cross realized he was dying, he had turned his wife free so she could kill and maim the last of his enemies.

Garrison tightened his hands on the wheel. “I hate this guy.”

His partner rarely spoke so frankly. “Micah’s been nothing but helpful.”

“I know. But he has a way of worming under my skin.”

“You’re tense about Eva. Why don’t you let me do the talking?”

Garrison rattled change in his pocket. “I’ll be fine. I won’t blow this.”

“Let me do the talking.”

Garrison’s jawline tightened and then released. “Sure, fine.”

Seconds after they rang the front bell it opened. A woman dressed in a maid’s uniform greeted them. They showed her their badges; she nodded and invited them in to the foyer.

Inside the house, the sound of hammers clanged and banged from the upstairs. The scent of fresh paint wafted through the house. “Doing a bit of work?” Malcolm said.

The woman nodded. “Mr. Cross is redoing the house top to bottom. Said it’s time for a change.”

So the new head of the clan was feeling his oats and was ready to make his mark.

The maid escorted them into a side room. When they’d been here a year ago the room had been filled with heavy mission-style furniture, and the walls had been papered in a heavy green pattern. Now a light beige coated the walls, and the antique furniture had been replaced with Scandinavian-style furniture that gave the room a more modern feel.

A fire crackled in a large stone hearth as it had a year ago, but above the mantel the portrait of Darius had been replaced with an impressionistic painting that featured light blues and hints of red. The photos of Micah and his twin Josiah were also gone.

“Doing his best to erase all traces of the old man,” Malcolm said.

“Can’t blame me, can you?” The response came from behind them.

The detectives turned and found Micah Cross standing on the threshold. He wore jeans, a black turtle-neck, loafers, and horn-rimmed glasses. His hair was slicked back.

Malcolm opted not to respond to the comment. “Thank you for seeing us.”

“I’m a friend to the police. I am here to serve.” He held out his hand, indicating the two should sit. “What can I help you with today?”

“We’re investigating a current murder that matches an older killing that took place almost thirty years ago. The victim’s name was Fay Willow. Rumor had it she was having an affair with your father.”

Micah raised a brow. “I was two then, and I have no memory of this woman. But it wouldn’t be a stretch to say my father had a mistress. He had many.”

“Would your mother have known Fay?” Malcolm asked.

Micah frowned. “Hard to tell what Mother knows and doesn’t know.”

“Would you be willing to visit her with us and ask her a few questions about the woman?”

“She’s refused my last six visits. And I doubt she’d speak to either of you. She would talk to Eva.”

Garrison’s jaw tightened, and a small muscle pulsed. “No.”

Micah smiled and shifted his gaze to Garrison. “How is Eva doing? I think about her a lot. I worry about her.”

Garrison looked relaxed, but Malcolm knew tension rippled through his partner’s limbs. “No need to worry.”

If Micah sensed the tension, he didn’t care. “You two are still together, I assume?”

Garrison grinned, a sign of danger. “So you won’t visit your mother with us?”

“It would be a waste of time.” Micah’s eyes narrowed barely a fraction.

“Do you have any papers, records, or diaries that might have belonged to your father? Something that might have referenced Fay?”

“My father burned all his personal papers before he died.” Micah shifted his attention back to Eva. “Is Eva still working at King’s? I’ve been meaning to visit her. She’s come so far. I hear she graduates in the spring.”

Garrison’s grin did not waver. “Have a nice day, Mr. Cross.”

“Can’t you answer a few simple questions about Eva? Deep connections run between us.”

For a split second, fury blazed in Garrison’s eyes. “No, they do not.”

The text Olivia had sent Malcolm had been uncharacteristically brief.

Normally, Olivia sent chatty texts that highlighted tidbits from her day.

But not today.

This text sounded like an order.

Malcolm had been back in town for three days, and he’d yet to see his girlfriend Olivia. They had spoken on the phone a couple of times, but with the Day investigation going full throttle, he’d not been able to break away. This terse text reminded him he owed her a meal and a visit.

When she’d chosen King’s he’d almost said no. They’d never eaten there as a couple. King’s was where he ate with cops. And until this moment he’d been careful to keep his personal and private lives separate. But she’d been complaining that he compartmentalized too much, so he’d said yes.

He had arrived on King Street a few minutes early, found a great parking spot, and realized he had time for a quick shower and shave. So he’d jogged across the street to the deco building and climbed the steps to his third-floor apartment.

He pulled off clothes as he crossed the large Spartan room, furnished with a huge couch and a wide-screen television. He jumped in the shower and ducked his head under the hot spray. It felt good to get the grime of the day off him.

Ten minutes later he had showered, changed into khakis and a dark turtleneck, and shrugged on his leather jacket over his brown leather gun holster.

He paused at the kitchen bar, flipped through his mail, and then glanced through the picture window toward King’s. There was a time when seeing Olivia sent a thrill of excitement through him. Not tonight. And that surprised him. He liked Olivia. She’d done nothing wrong.

“Fatigue,” he muttered.

He saw Olivia push through the front door of King’s.

Malcolm dashed down the steps and shoved through the pub’s front door just after seven. The place was packed, each table and booth filled with a variety of customers: tourists, squeezing in the last of the fall-season tours; folks who worked in the shops nearby; and a handful of cops.

Olivia had gotten a booth in the back. She raised her hand to catch his attention.

Smiling, he nodded and moved toward her, leaned in, and kissed her on the cheek. Her dark hair smelled of roses and crayons; her pale skin felt so soft to the touch. “You smell like an art project.”

She kissed him back. “Hazard of being a kindergarten teacher. We began our section on Halloween and the letter T today.”

He liked hearing about the kids in her classroom. He slid into the seat across from her. “So is that towheaded kid learning to stay in the classroom?”

“Andy. He and I drew a line across the threshold yesterday. We discussed that it’s the line he’s not supposed to cross.” Kindergarten had been Andy’s first experience with formal school. For the last few weeks he’d taken to running out of the classroom and down the hall when the mood struck.

Malcolm laughed. “And that worked?”

“He’s very proud of his line. In fact he showed it to his mom today.”

He traced circles on the table with his thumb. “I got to feel for the little guy. He’s got a lifetime of rules waiting for him.”

She feigned sadness. “Look who’s talking; the man who never met a rule he liked. You’re the worst for following rules.”

“I follow them.”

“When you make them.”

He shrugged, no hint of apology in his demeanor.

A waitress, a cool blonde with a perky face, arrived at the table and laid menus in front of them. “What can I start you folks off with?”

Malcolm sat back in the booth, dearly wishing he could order a beer and knowing he had too much work in front of him to allow the luxury. “Coffee.”

Olivia smiled. “White wine.”

“Mind if I go ahead and place my order? I’ve got to get back to work soon,” Malcolm said.

Olivia, ever calm, smiled. “Sure.”

“Number six,” he said without opening the menu. “Mustard on the side.”

Olivia glanced at the waitress. “Give me the same.”

“You don’t like red meat,” Malcolm said.

“Oh, well, that’s what I get for hurrying things along. Just a salad then.”

As Malcolm watched the waitress walk away he couldn’t help but scan the room for Angie. She came in here for dinner a lot. But not tonight. Disappointment tweaked.

“You must eat here more than I realized,” Olivia said.

“Food is good. And you know Garrison dates a gal that works here.” He still wasn’t sure how he felt about sharing this part of his life with her.

The waitress reappeared and served Malcolm his coffee and Olivia her wine. He sipped, grateful to have something to do. A coworker had once told him he had ice water in his veins. He wished now that were so.

Olivia sipped her wine. “Look, Malcolm, I’m not one to beat around the bush.”

And he’d appreciated that about her. “Sounds ominous.”

“Not really. It’s time we talked.”

“About what?” Damn. The M-word.

She sat back in her seat, a frustrated sigh escaping her lips. “It just seems like if we were really that close, we would talk more about what you do.”

“I like to keep you away from that kind of stuff. It’s not nice or pretty, and I don’t want that hanging between us.”

“But I don’t mind hearing your problems.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to talk about them.”

She stared at him as if trying to peel away his skull and peer into his brain. “Where do you see us going?”

He wished he’d ordered that beer now. “I see us together down the road.”

“‘Down the road.’ Is that code for, I see us getting married one day?” She enunciated each word, and he had the sense that she’d used the same tone with Andy when she’d drawn the line over the threshold.

He met her gaze. “I still haven’t thought that far.”

“Well, I have. I love you, Malcolm. I’ve told you that often enough. I know you’re not a hearts-and-flowers kind of guy, so I’ve not worried so much that you never say it back. But we’ve been together nine months. And I still remember the panic in your eyes when I mentioned marriage a couple of weeks ago.”

He arched a brow.

She pressed her palms on the table. “Nine months is long enough for me to know I want marriage, Malcolm. A family. A home. I want more than to just be your girlfriend.”

Tension rippled through his body. He did not want to have this conversation any more than he had wanted to have it the last time. “Your timing is really bad, Olivia.”

“I know. You’re on a case. But the fact is that you’re on a case most days. Cases are a fact of life for you. So now is as good a time as any.”

“What are you asking?”

She laid her hand on his. “I’m saying I want marriage. And I want you to think long and hard about what you want. If you don’t want marriage you need to tell me.”

“I just haven’t thought that far ahead.”

“You know where this is headed whether you realize it or not.”

He felt backed into a corner. “And if I don’t want marriage?”

“Then we move on with our lives. We find people that will give us what we really want. I’m not trying to be a bitch, Malcolm. I just want more.”

More. A lumbering heaviness settled in his limbs. “I can’t do more now.”

“When then?” Her voice was whisper soft and full of sadness.

“I don’t know.” And he really didn’t. All he knew now was that he had a killer to catch.

She took a healthy gulp of wine before she set the glass down. “I don’t want to wait anymore.”

He couldn’t summon any anger. She’d been clear about what she’d wanted from the beginning, and he’d loved that about her. He’d thought he’d wanted her and all the traditional things she represented. But now he wasn’t so sure. “How long do I have?”

“I turn thirty in two weeks. Two weeks should be enough time for you to figure it out.”

A huge decision and she gave him two weeks. It seemed like the blink of an eye. But when he had a suspect in his sights he could make life-or-death decisions in seconds. “Olivia, I’m not going to be much smarter about life in two weeks.”

She hesitated as if she’d half expected him to reconsider the whole conversation and ask her to marry him. But when he didn’t speak, she nodded. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry.”

She rose and kissed him on the cheek. “Take care of yourself.”

He could have grabbed her forearm but didn’t. “You don’t have to leave. Stay and eat your dinner.”

Olivia’s smile was tight and controlled, and he had the sense she might cry. She never cried. He felt like a schmuck. “I’ll take a pass.”

He rose, a little annoyed. “So when did it become so black and white between us, Olivia?”

“When you went to the cabin without me.”

“You hate the cabin.”

“Because it’s just another slice of your life where I don’t fit.”

“I thought I was doing you a favor by not asking you to come.”

“It would have been nice to be asked.”

He ran fingers over his short hair. The truth was he’d really wanted to go alone. He’d not wanted her with him. He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. “If you need anything.”

“I’ll be fine.” She walked across the pub, calmly, quietly, with no drama. Even Olivia could make a breakup seem sensible. She opened the pub’s front door, waited for another to enter, and then left.

Angie entered the pub, her gaze tracking the room for Eva. The day’s grind had kept her on the go, and after her first call to Eva she’d not had spare time. And of course, Eva had not called her back. No doubt her sister hadn’t even checked her messages.

Angie didn’t bother to take her place at the bar. Instead she moved around it and shoved the door open to the kitchen. King stood at the stove mixing a pot of stew. Brenda, his other waitress, frowned over an order pad as if trying to remember who ordered what. And King’s newly adopted son Bobby, now eleven, sat at a side table doing what looked like math homework. The kid wore a Redskins football T-shirt and jeans. Freckles peppered the bridge of his nose, and his hair was slung over his eyes.

Bobby glanced up, his frown vanishing when he saw Angie. “Hey, Angie!” He got up.

“Sit,” King said without tossing the boy a glance. “Homework first.”

“Yeah, but Angie is here.”

King shook his head. “Yeah, but you should have done your homework two hours ago. Sit. Finish. Then play.”

The boy grumbled but sat back down. He didn’t look all that distraught, and Angie guessed if she pushed, the kid would have told her it felt good to have a caring dad in charge of his life now.

She rumpled Bobby’s hair. “Hey, kid.”

He grinned. “Hey, yourself.”

“Eva should be up in a minute,” King said. “She just went to get a bushel of potatoes from the basement.”

An image of her pregnant sister struggling up the stairs with a loaded basket had her moving to the basement stairs. She might be in heels and a skirt, but better she did the heavy lifting than Eva. As she opened the basement door, she found Eva poised on the top step with her bundle.

“Give it to me,” Angie said. She took the basket, wobbled a bit on her heels, and then carried her load into the kitchen. “Where do you want it?”

“On the counter.” King glanced over his shoulder and saw that it was Angie who’d spoken. Frowning, he looked at Eva but didn’t comment.

Angie set the potatoes on the stainless-steel worktable in the center of the kitchen.

Eva said in a low voice, “I could have done that.”

“Yeah, well, you shouldn’t. We need to talk.”

“I’ve got to work.”

“It can wait,” King said without glancing up from his stew. “See if you can talk some sense into her while you’re at it, Angie. She’s been in a foul mood for a couple of days now.”

Angie took Eva by the elbow. “That is my intention.”

Eva pulled her arm free. “You can talk, but I’m going to bartend. Brenda can’t hold down the fort alone.”

King opened his mouth to argue but then closed it as if hearing the wisdom. “Okay, but I can break from the stove in a half hour if you need help.”

“I can do both,” Eva said.

Angie pushed out into the bar area and took her regular corner seat. Eva set about mixing and filling several orders before she found her way back to Angie. “So what gives? And if it’s about what I told you, I don’t want to talk about it.”

She lightly drummed long fingers on the bar. “Oh, we’ll get to that gem soon enough. I’ve come bearing different news.”

She grimaced. “I don’t know if I want any more news.”

“I hired a private investigator to find your dad.”

Eva blinked several times slowly. “You went looking for Blue?”

“I did.” She held her breath, waiting for an explosion.

“Why?”

“Because I can’t keep my nose out of other people’s business.”

“So I see.” A weight of silence settled between them as Eva seemed to teeter between anger and curiosity. Curiosity won out. “And did you find him?”

Angie rattled off the facts of Blue Rayburn’s life and eventual disappearance. Eva listened, her gaze never wavering from her sister. “And here’s the real kicker. Do you know who one of the biggest contributors to the Talbot Museum was?” Angie held up her hand. “Don’t bother to guess. I’ll tell. Cross Industries.”

Eva leaned forward, her pale fingers splaying on the bar. “As in Darius Cross?”

Angie didn’t feel so pleased with herself for unearthing the detail. “The one and only.”

Eva looked sick. “Why the hell would he give your father money?”

Angie shrugged. “It made him look like a big deal in the community? The perfect image was very important to Darius.”

She shook her head. “Darius made lots of contributions to lots of different organizations. He sat on countless boards. He didn’t need the Talbot.”

“Just another feather in his cap.”

“I promise you, Darius Cross had a very specific reason for tossing money at your father. He never did anything without a string attached.”

Drumming fingers moved faster. “I called my private detective and told him to dig deeper. I want to know more about the Cross/Talbot connection. We’ll see what he discovers.”

“I don’t believe in coincidences, Angie. Cross was using the museum for something.”

“You sound like Garrison,” Angie said.

Eva shrugged.

“Speaking of which, don’t tell Garrison what I’ve found. Let’s really understand what we have here before we tell anyone.”

A frown furrowed Eva’s brow. “Why? It’s ancient history.”

“Like you said, Darius only gave money when it suited him. I’m afraid he pulled Dad into something.” She sighed. “About all Dad had when he died was his reputation. His wife was gone. His museum had closed. I just don’t want to taint his memory.”

“He had you, Angie.”

I wasn’t enough. The unspoken words tightened around her chest.

Frank Carlson glanced down at the term paper that had a bold red A written on the top. She’d been a junior in high school and was in the top five percent of her class.

Her father frowned and laid the paper back down on his desk. “Why wasn’t it an A-plus?”

Angie blinked, her pride exploding like a balloon that had been pricked. She fumbled with the cuff of her school uniform jacket, balancing on a tightrope above anger and pain. “The teacher said it was the best in the class”.

“I can promise you, Angelina, that the world is far bigger than that classroom. You better learn that only the perfect survive.” He glanced up at her. “Tuck in your blouse. Your shirttail is out.”

She tucked in the blouse and picked up her paper. She hesitated, waiting for some kind word or bit of praise.

Frank glanced up at her, his gray eyes impatient. “Was there something else?”

Outrage and anger bubbled inside her, and before she thought, she said, “Did Mom leave you because you weren’t perfect?” She was hurt, and she wanted to jab into a wound she’d known he could not heal.

His face paled. “What did you say?”

She’d hit her mark. She’d just spent last Saturday with her mother and Eva. Her mother and sister had seemed so close to each other. Eva spoke about teachers and friends that her mother knew so well, whereas Angie didn’t recognize a single name. She’d felt like the interloper.

“Why did Mom leave you?”

He cleared his throat. “There’s a lot you don’t understand.”

“Was it because you weren’t perfect?”

He rose. “That’s enough. Leave my study.”

She stalked over the threshold, her paper clutched in her hand. “You are so intent on making me perfect because you know you’re not. You are trying to fix in me what you can’t fix in yourself!”

He moved toward the door, staring at her with a mixture of anger and pain, and then without another word closed the door in her face.

Anger churned in her, and she stood outside the door debating whether or not to storm in. And then she heard a sound she’d never heard before.

Her father was weeping.

Needing a distraction from the memory, Angie sat straighter and glanced in the mirror behind the bar. She spotted Kier in a booth. “I see only half of the dynamic duo. Where’s Garrison?”

The mention of Garrison darkened Eva’s eyes. “I’m not so sure he’ll be coming around for a while.”

“Why not?”

She shrugged. “I broke up with him.”

Angie blinked. “You did what? Why?”

“I kind of freaked out. He wanted to know what was going on with me, and I felt backed into a corner. You know I can dig my heels in when I feel trapped.”

Angie blew out a breath. “You have got to talk to him. Now.”

“I know. I know. I just haven’t found the right words.”

“You’ve got an IQ of a million, and you can’t find the right words?”

“Math and computers I get. The rest is just as confusing to me as the rest of the world.”

The door to the pub opened and shut with a rush of energy. Eva’s gaze rose. She paled. “Crap.”

Angie glanced over her shoulder. Garrison stood in the doorway. He didn’t look angry, but a grim determination deepened the lines on his face.

Her respect for Garrison grew by leaps and bounds. “He’s not so easy to get rid of, and looks like you might be having that talk now.”

She raised her chin. “What if I’m not ready?”

It would be easier to stop a freight train than Deacon Garrison. “I don’t think that much matters.”

As Garrison approached, his gaze remained locked on Eva. “Angie, can you give us a moment?”

She didn’t feel snubbed, understanding that he was focused like a laser.

Angie rose. “Detective Kier looks lonely and could use the company. Excuse me.”

She didn’t bother to glance back as she moved across the bar and took the seat across from Kier. “Don’t worry, I’m not here to hassle you. I just need a place to park while Garrison and Eva talk.”

He kept his gaze on her, not bothering with a fleeting look toward the bar. “I doubt he’ll leave here this evening without answers.”

“Good. Eva needs him to be the rock and tell her it will be all right.”

“What’s wrong?”

She pushed Olivia’s wine aside. “Not wrong as much as there is a bit of a complication. Nothing that can’t be worked out.”

“Complication. Is she sick?”

“No. Don’t worry.They’ll be fine.” She looked toward the bar and saw Garrison leading Eva to the kitchen. Seconds later King appeared to tend bar. “So whom does the wine belong to? Hot date?”

“Olivia. My girlfriend.”

She glanced at the glass. “Is she hiding in the bathroom?”

“Funny you should put it that way. She just broke up with me and left.”

Angie stared at him, wondering if this was one of his jokes. His lips didn’t rise to a grin, nor did his eyes spark as they did when he was jerking her chain. Damn. She kinda felt sorry for him.

Brenda arrived with Kier’s order and Olivia’s salad. “Will there be anything else?”

Angie smiled. “Soda, twist of lime. And a roast beef sandwich.”

Brenda frowned as if the dots just connected. “Where’s the other lady?”

“Won’t be coming back,” Kier said. He reached for the mustard and loaded it on his sandwich.

Brenda looked at the salad. “Want me to take that?”

“I’ll eat it,” Angie said.

Brenda nodded and left.

Kier raised a brow. “Why does it not surprise me that you like red meat?”

She grinned and drove a fork into the green, crunchy lettuce. “I never know how anyone can make a meal out of food meant for a rabbit.” She enjoyed the taste of the salad. “You don’t look that torn up.”

“I probably will be tomorrow. She’s a great gal.”

“But.” The word dangled in the air like laundry from a clothesline.

“She wants to get married.”

“It’s not unreasonable.”

“It’s not. But I can’t right now.”

Angie nodded, accepted the soda that Brenda brought, and finished her salad while he ate his sandwich in silence. “I’ve officially sworn off the institution of marriage.”

“Because of Donovan?”

“In part. Hard to get your guts ripped out and not worry that it could happen again.”

“You’re stronger than him.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t. In fact, I’m a good bit wiser because of him. All I’m saying is I understand why you don’t want to get married.”

“Olivia is not like Donovan. She’s a great gal. I have a lot of respect for her. Any man would be a fool to let her go.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Did you just call yourself a fool?”

“I did. Shit. I know that I am.”

He was anything but a fool. Malcolm Kier was many things. He was domineering, stubborn, and pigheaded. But he was no fool. He knew his own mind. “So why don’t you go after her? Do what your partner is doing with my sister right now.”

“Garrison is different. He knows Eva is the one for him.”

She could read between the lines. “And you know Olivia is not for you.”

He shook his head and rested his hands in his lap. “She should be. She really should be. I want kids. She wants kids. She’d be a great wife and mother.”

Kids. Natural that he’d want children. Most men did. She’d never be able to give any man a child. The lightness in her mood plummeted as if someone had dropped an anvil.

“So what did I just say?” Malcolm said.

She refocused on him and realized she’d drifted. “What?”

He was totally focused on her. “I feel like I just said something that hurt you.”

“No. No, you didn’t.” It amazed her when she heard herself say, “Talk of kids always hits hard.”

“Why?”

She traced her fingertip in circles on the table. “I had cancer seven years ago. I can’t have children.” Nervous laughter bubbled. “And why I just told you that I have no idea.”

Genuine concern, something he’d never directed her way, darkened his eyes. “You’re cancer free?”

“I am. In fact, I just got the annual all clear. Doc thinks the chances are one in a billion that I’ll ever relapse. But the price is no kids.” She traced her finger over the rim of her glass. “In the long run, I come out ahead.”

“How about a beer?”

Angie laughed. “I don’t drink. Had an issue with that as well.” She sat back, just amazed that she’d just told Kier her two darkest secrets. “Let’s face it, Kier, I am nobody’s rose.”

He grunted and then chuckled. “Join the club.”