Sandra Brown - Ricochet

Duncan wasn’t surprised that Adams knew of the incident. As DeeDee’s society friend had said, the story had created a buzz. It also had been reported in the newspaper. Subtly. The judge, who usually basked in the glow of media attention, must have called in a favor with the managing editor.

The story had been buried on page ten and details were practically nonexistent. According to the brief story, Trotter was an intruder who had made an attempt on Mrs. Laird’s life, then later died. He could have died of a heart attack or cholera for all the reading public knew.

Stan Adams said, “I thought it was self-defense. How come y’all are on it?”

“Like you, we’re always trying to drum up business.” Duncan ’s grin was as affable as the attorney’s, but equally insincere.

Adams knew he would get no more information from them. “Well, if it turns out that Mrs. Laird needs a good defense lawyer, I hope you’ll recommend me.”

He walked away and had reached the double entrance doors, when DeeDee called out to him. “Oh, Mr. Adams, I just remembered. Your dentist called. It’s time you had them bleached again.” She tapped her front teeth.

The attorney fired a finger pistol at her and said, “Good one, Detective. Good one.”

Then he was gone. DeeDee muttered under her breath, “Asshole. Every time I think of that mistrial…” She made a snarling sound and clenched her fist.

Duncan was looking at her, but not really seeing her. His mind wasn’t on Savich or his oily attorney. It was on the judge. His cream-colored linen trousers, his cool and courteous manner.

“A drink at least… They make an excellent shrimp salad.”

He hadn’t even broken a sweat.

“Here’s the car,” DeeDee said and started for the door. Realizing he wasn’t following, she turned back. “ Duncan?”

But his mind was still on the judge. Tucking his wife’s hand into the crook of his elbow. Possessively.

“Tell me what possible motive Cato Laird could have for wanting to kill you.”

“You wouldn’t believe me.”

Making a split-second decision, Duncan told DeeDee to go on ahead. “I’m going to stick around here for a while.”

JUDGE AND MRS. LAIRD TOOK THEIR TIME OVER LUNCH. DUNCAN had been spying for-he checked his wristwatch-one hour and twelve minutes.

DeeDee had argued against leaving, reminding him that if she did, he would be on foot. He said he would call a taxi and insisted that she return to the Barracks and see if they’d received the ballistics reports on the two weapons fired in the Lairds’ house.

Primarily they’d been interested to learn if Trotter’s pistol had been used in the commission of another crime, but had decided, what the hell, while they were at it, it wouldn’t hurt also to test the one Elise Laird had fired.

Duncan had also asked DeeDee to check with Kong for any updates on the missing Meyer Napoli. “If Kong’s not in today, call his cell phone.” It was possible that the PI’s secretary was wrong and that her boss was shacked up with a new girlfriend. If so, this case, and by extension Duncan ’s life, would be made simpler.

After seeing DeeDee off, Duncan returned to the country club’s casual dining room and claimed a table that provided an unobstructed view of the Lairds’ table on the terrace. The judge had ordered a roast beef sandwich, Elise the recommended shrimp salad. Two parties had stopped at their table to chat briefly, but their exchanges had been mostly with the judge.

There were few lapses in the Lairds’ conversation with each other, and both seemed totally absorbed in it. After they finished the meal and were waiting for their plates to be removed, he stroked her bare arm from shoulder to elbow, and once he raised her hand to his mouth and kissed the palm of it.

For the whole seventy-two minutes that Duncan had been observing them, he saw nothing to indicate that the judge wanted her dead. Instead, Cato Laird seemed like a man totally besotted with a woman that he might want to fuck to death, but otherwise had no intention of killing.

When the judge signaled for the check, Elise excused herself and left the table. She didn’t see Duncan when she passed through the dining room in which he was seated. He got up and followed into an empty hallway, and saw her go into the ladies’ room.

He waited, he paced, keeping a nervous eye on the terrace. The judge signed the tab, pocketed his receipt, and left the table. “Shit!” Duncan hissed. But, fortunately for him, before the judge reached the door, a group of men at another table hailed him and he stopped to chat. Duncan hoped they had a lot of breeze to shoot.

Sensing movement behind him, he turned. When Elise saw him she drew up short, half in, half out the door.

“Trying to decide whether to brave it or slink back into the powder room?”

She stepped into the hallway and let the door close behind her. “I thought you’d left.”

“And I thought you might have changed your mind.”

“About what?”

“That crock of crap you told me this morning.”

“It’s the truth.”

“Now, now. Is that any way to talk about your husband after he treated you to that romantic lunch?” Her eyes flashed angrily. She tried to sidestep him, but he didn’t let her, saying, “I caught your trick with the cherry.”

For dessert, both she and the judge had ordered iced coffee drinks with whipped cream on top. The judge had offered his to her.

“I watched you lean in and pull that cherry off the stem with your lips. And I gotta tell you, Mrs. Laird, it was sexy as all get-out. The kind of come-on a man can’t mistake. Even with a tinted window between us, I got aroused.”

“I have to act as though everything is normal.”

“You normally do things for him like sucking that fruit into your mouth?” He snuffled a laugh. “That bastard’s got all the luck.”

Color spread up from her chest into her cheeks. Whether the blush was from embarrassment or anger, he didn’t know, but he suspected she was getting angrier by the moment. She barely moved her lips, pushing the words through her teeth. “Don’t you understand? If I tip my hand, I’ll be dead.”

“Hmm. Okay. Makes sense. And the reason your husband wants you dead is…why?”

She remained silent.

“Oh, right.” He snapped his fingers. “He’s got no motive.”

“He has motive.”

Duncan moved closer, lowered his volume, but increased the intensity of his voice. “Then tell me what it is.”

“I can’t!” She looked beyond his shoulder, registering alarm. “Cato.”

He turned to see Laird entering the dining room. He spotted them immediately. Coming back around to Elise, Duncan said, “You know, I could just ask him if he wants you dead and why.”

He’d tossed that out there just to see her reaction.

Her face drained of the color that had filled it only moments before. The fear looked genuine. Either that, or she was very good.

No. Please.

Reading the soundless words on her lips worked more effectively than if she’d spoken them aloud.

“Detective Hatcher, I thought you’d left hours ago.” As he joined them, the judge was smiling, but Duncan could tell that he wasn’t pleased to see him. He divided a curious look between him and Elise. “You seemed awfully engrossed in your conversation.”

She said, “I bumped into him on my way out of the restroom.”

“And I told Mrs. Laird that I needed to talk to you. Alone.” Out the corner of his eye, he watched Elise. He saw her breath catch.

“I’m scheduled for a massage,” the judge said. “You can follow me to the locker room and talk to me while I change.”

“Downstairs?” The judge nodded. “I’ll wait for you there. Mrs. Laird.”