Joan Pickart - Body of Evidence

“Uh-oh,” Belinda said.

“Until,” Jennifer said, then dissolved in a fit of laughter and shook her head.

“Evan Stone,” Belinda said, narrowing her eyes, “spill it.”

“Well, hell, is it any of their business? No. So I decided to end the speculation, the questions and rumors, the whole nine yards. I said that yes, Jennifer Anderson and I were planning to be married and that baby boy Stone would be attending the wedding, much to our joyous delight.”

Henry put his head back and roared with laughter, which set Jennifer off again. The sound was infectious and Belinda and Evan’s laughter soon intertwined. People near the table glanced over, wondering enviously what joke they had missed. When the four finally settled down, Henry became quite serious.

“Humor me here, Evan,” he said, “then I promise to change the subject to something more pleasant. I’ve been out of the country for weeks on business and just flew in this evening.

“I scanned the newspapers Belinda had saved for me for details of the Gardner case, but didn’t have a chance to really digest it, then my beloved wife was bringing me up to date on family news during the drive from home to the party. Would you mind clearing up a question for me?”

“No, I don’t mind. What has your brilliant brain baffled, Henry?”

“I know about the prostitution ring that Franklin Gardner was running, fine fella that he was,” Henry said. “Then, I take it, Lyle discovered the truth about his younger brother and confronted him, resulting in the nasty fistfight between the two.”

Evan nodded.

“Lyle panicked,” Belinda said, “and tried to make it look like Franklin interrupted a burglary of his fancy-dancy apartment. Lyle stabbed him with an ice pick after Franklin was already dead from whopping his head on a table. Lyle might have gotten away with it if it hadn’t been for the impression left of Lyle’s ring in the bruises on Franklin ’s face. Then Lyle stashed the ring in a pawnshop in Michigan and on the story goes. You know all that part, Henry.”

“Yes, that much is clear,” Henry said. “Those two detectives did a heck of a fine job by finding that ring. Incredible.”

“Jennifer, tell the baby not to listen to this terrible tale about ice picks and dead bodies,” Belinda said. “The poor little darling will have nightmares in there.”

“Oh, okay,” Jennifer said, patting her stomach.

“What was your question, Henry?” Evan said, raising his eyebrows.

“It doesn’t work for me, that’s all. Here we have a man…Lyle…who is so distraught about his brother…Franklin…destroying lives of innocent young girls that he confronts his brother about the prostitution business.”

“Mmm,” Evan said.

“How can a man…and this is my question finally…who is that sensitive and sickened by the horror befalling those girls turn around and beat the pulp out of his brother, then stick him with an ice pick, for heaven’s sake? Panicked or not, the two sides of the man don’t match up. They really don’t.” Henry shook his head.

“Because you’ve assumed that Lyle was concerned for the young girls, Henry,” Jennifer said. “That’s not why he confronted Franklin. Lyle was worried that if what Franklin was doing was ever made public knowledge the Gardner name would be tarnished, leading to the Gardner power and social status being diminished. He couldn’t bear the thought of that.” She nodded decisively. “Lyle definitely learned his attitude at his mother’s knee.”

“Oh, I see,” Henry said. “Well, that makes sense then. Lyle was a scumball.”

“Right.” Jennifer turned to Evan. “You’ve been so patient with everyone who has stopped you and blithered on about the case, and it was really nice of you to answer Henry’s question, Evan, but this is a party and I think we should go visit that yummy-looking buffet over there.”

“Hear, hear,” Belinda said. “Jennifer is eating for two now, and I’m going to do the same because I’m such a dedicated friend.”

Jennifer and Belinda got to their feet and began to chat as Henry and Evan rose more slowly.

“You didn’t answer my question, Evan,” Henry said, frowning. “It was Belinda and Jennifer who…”

“I know,” Evan said, smiling, “and I doubt seriously that they realize it. Trust me, Henry, I understand this stuff. It’s a woman thing. And as far as my woman goes? I intend to enjoy every crazy, wonderful, loving minute with Jennifer for the rest of my life.”

JOAN ELLIOTT PICKART is the author of over eighty-five novels. She is a two-time Romance Writers of America RITA ®Award finalist. When she isn’t writing, she has tea parties, reads stories, plays dress up-and the list goes on-with her young daughter, Autumn. Joan also has three grown daughters and three wonderful little grandchildren. Joan and Autumn live in a small town in the high pine country of Arizona.

JUSTINE DAVIS sold her first book in 1989 and followed that up with the sale of nineteen novels in less than two years. Her first four books were published in 1991, and she has since won the RITA ®Award four times. At the 1998 national conference, Justine was inducted into the RWA Hall of Fame, making her one of a very select group. She also had four titles on the Romantic Times “Top 200 of All Time” list. Her books have appeared regularly on bestseller lists, including the USA TODAY list. Justine accomplished much of this while maintaining her full-time job at a city police department until she retired to write full-time. She now lives with her husband and the perfect dog-plus a family of eagles-on Puget Sound in Washington State.

JACKIE MERRITT is a bestselling author of fifty category romances. She and her husband are living in southern Nevada again, falling back on old habits of loving the long warm or slightly cool winters and trying almost desperately to head north for the months of July and August, when the fiery sun bakes people and cacti alike.