Читать книгу The Black Widow - BEVERLY BARTON, Beverly Barton - Страница 7

“Oh, Jordan, I’m so sorry.” Claire pulled away from Ryan and took a tentative step toward her sister-in-law. “We wanted to spare you—”

“Exactly what’s going on here?” Jordan asked as her gaze quickly flashed around the room, scanning the four people in her husband’s study.

Claire, all wide-eyed guilt but genuine concern, halted a few feet from Jordan as if uncertain of what to do or say.

“I wanted to wait until later to speak to you about this,” Ryan said. “You have enough to deal with as it is.”

With thick auburn hair, the tall, slender Ryan was a younger version of Dan. Only Dan’s eyes had been a brilliant topaz and Ryan’s were a honeyed brown.

Nicole Baxter Powell remained silent, her compassionate gaze focusing steadily on Jordan. Although Jordan had met the former FBI agent only a few times, she liked Claire’s cousin and had no reason to distrust her.

The man at Nicole’s side was a stranger, someone she’d never seen before today. His eyes, so dark they appeared almost black, bored into her, his stare intense and hostile. Hostile? Was her imagination working overtime? This man had no reason to be antagonistic toward her. They didn’t even know each other.

Jordan looked directly at Ryan. “Answer the man’s question. Do you have any reason to believe that someone murdered Dan, that his death wasn’t a suicide?”

Ryan frowned, emotional pain etched on his features as he faced Jordan. “I don’t believe Dan killed himself. It went against his very nature to take the coward’s way out. He was one of the strongest, bravest men I’ve ever known.”

“Dan was also loving and protective,” Jordan said. “If he believed that by taking his own life, he might spare us the agony of watching him die by slow degrees, then he might have—”

“No!” Ryan bellowed the one word as he clenched his hands into stiff fists and closed his eyes for a split second.

Startled by her brother-in-law’s vehement response, she tensed, every muscle in her body suddenly taut. “There’s more to this than just your belief that Dan wouldn’t commit suicide, isn’t there?”

“Tell her. She’ll find out sooner or later.” Claire looked from her husband to Jordan and then back to Ryan as if she couldn’t decide who needed her comfort more.

“Tell me what?” Jordan asked.

“I spoke to Steve privately the day the autopsy report came in,” Ryan said. “You know that Steve and I go way back, that we’ve been—”

“Yes, I know that you and Sheriff Corbett are good friends, so please stop stalling and just come right out and tell me whatever it is.”

“Steve agrees with me that, despite the coroner ruling Dan’s death a suicide and the fact he has no solid proof to the contrary, it’s possible that Dan didn’t kill himself. Steve says that details about a gunshot wound can rule out suicide, but they can’t prove it conclusively, that sometimes it’s a judgment call.”

Jordan felt cold, as if the temperature in the room had dropped a good 20 degrees in a matter of seconds. A chill rippled over her body causing her to quiver.

“You realize what you’re saying, don’t you? If Dan didn’t…if he wasn’t responsible, then that means someone else…” No, she refused to believe that anyone would kill Dan. “But that’s not possible. I found Dan lying over there—” she indicated the sofa with a glance “—with the gun still in his hand. The doors were locked and there was no evidence that anyone had broken into the house.”

“Who else was in the house other than you and the senator?” Mr. Carson asked.

Surprised by his question and by the fact that he had injected himself into what was a family matter, Jordan snapped her head around and glared at him.

“Rick!” Nicole Powell frowned at her companion.

“No, it’s quite all right,” Ryan said. “I want Mr. Carson to ask questions. If I hire Powell’s to do an independent investigation into Dan’s death, then—”

“If you do what?” Jordan felt as if she might faint. Had she heard Ryan correctly? Did he intend to hire an outside agency to dig deeper into the events surrounding Dan’s death? What was he thinking? Didn’t he realize that if the investigators unearthed too many facts about Dan’s life, they might discover a truth that Dan had kept hidden for years, one that could destroy his reputation?

“I know why you’re concerned,” Ryan told her. “That’s why I want to hire Powell’s, a firm with a solid reputation for honesty and integrity. Any information they uncover will be kept in strictest confidence.” He looked at Nicole. “Isn’t that right, Nic?”

“Yes, of course,” she replied.

“Do you need a glass of water, Mrs. Price?” Rick Carson asked. “Or maybe something a little stronger. You look as if you’re going to pass out.”

I don’t like you, Mr. Carson. I don’t like the way you look at me, as if you think you know something about me that no one else knows.

Claire rushed to Jordan, cupped her elbow and said, “Come sit down. Please. Would you like a drink? Ryan can fix you something or I can ring for Tobias—”

“No, I’m all right.” Jordan jerked away from her sister-in-law’s gentle hold and marched across the room, stopping directly in front of the rough-looking Powell agent. Although he wore a suit and tie, he exuded a raw, rugged masculinity that hinted that beneath the neat façade beat the heart of a primitive male.

“We don’t have to do this now, Mrs. Price,” Mr. Carson said.

“We had a full house that weekend because of the Easter holiday. The live-in servants were here. Tobias and Vadonna. My stepchildren, Kendra and Wes Brannon, were both home from college. Dan’s personal assistant, Devon Markham was here, as was my assistant, Rene Burke.”

Rick Carson’s gaze met hers head-on. Neither of them blinked.

“Who has a key to the house and knows the code for the security system?” he asked.

“Really, Mr. Carson, now is hardly the time to—” Claire injected.

“No, no, it’s perfectly all right,” Jordan said. “If Ryan hires the Powell Agency and Mr. Carson heads the investigation, I’m sure he’ll ask far more personal questions than that. We might as well get used to being interrogated.”

“Oh, please, let’s not do this now.” Claire slid her arm through her husband’s and reached for his hand.

“Claire’s right,” Ryan said. “This can wait. Jordan’s near collapse.” He looked pleadingly at Jordan. “I’m sorry. I didn’t handle this very well.”

“No, let’s do this now.” Jordan returned her gaze to Rick Carson. “If there is any possibility that Dan was murdered, I want to know. Consider yourself hired, Mr. Carson.”

Rick glanced from Jordan to Ryan, then looked directly at Nicole.

“Am I to consider this a firm offer?” Nic asked. “If so, then is Powell’s working for you, Ryan, or for Jordan?”

“For both of us,” Jordan replied. “Unless Ryan has any objections.”

“Of course not,” Ryan said. “If you’d like for me to handle the details—”

“And Mr. Carson will be in charge of the investigation, right?” Jordan asked.

“Yes,” Nic replied. “Unless you’d prefer another agent, Rick will head the investigation and will have all of Powell’s resources at his disposal. If, once he begins the investigation, he feels that more agents are needed, he will make the request to you and Ryan for your approval before contacting headquarters. And since y’all are family—” she glanced pointedly at Claire—“Powell’s will offer a discounted rate for our services.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Jordan’s jaw tightened. “Spare no expense. You agree, don’t you, Ryan?”

“Yes, of course,” he replied.

“I’ll fax y’all the contract first thing in the morning and Rick will return and begin the investigation tomorrow,” Nicole explained, then walked over and offered her hand to Jordan, who accepted it immediately. “We’ll find out what happened to Dan. I promise. If he was murdered…” She squeezed Jordan’s hand, then released it and nodded to Rick. “We should get going.”

“I’ll see y’all out,” Claire said, then followed her cousin and Rick Carson as they left the study.

When she and Ryan were alone, Jordan stared at the new sofa which had replaced the one where only weeks ago she had discovered her husband’s lifeless body on Good Friday. On first awakening that morning, she had gone to his room, hoping to share the good news of her pregnancy with him while everyone else was still asleep. But when she saw that his bed had not been slept in, she suspected he had fallen asleep in his study the night before, as he occasionally did. Upon entering the study, she had called his name, but he hadn’t answered.

Now, with her eyes wide open, she could still envision the exact moment she realized Dan was dead. Before she noticed the bullet hole in his right temple, a single wound just above his cheekbone, she saw the dark red blood that discolored the gold silk cushion under his head and the gun that he clutched in his hand.

“Jordan?”

Ryan’s soft, smooth voice snapped her out of her thoughts and brought her back to the present moment.

He laid his hand on her shoulder. She heaved a deep sigh.

“I don’t know which I hate more,” Ryan said. “The thought that Dan would actually kill himself or that someone murdered him.”

Jordan shrugged off Ryan’s hand and walked away. Pausing as she reached out to open the door, she glanced over her shoulder. “If Dan was murdered, I want his murderer found and punished. But I do not want Dan’s good name sullied. I’ll hold you personally responsible for making sure of that.”

“God, Jordan, do you think I want anyone to find out the truth about Dan or about his relationship with you?”

“Then see to it that what was our personal business remains just that.” She narrowed her gaze, issuing her brother-in-law a gentle warning. “And from now on, no more secret meetings with the Powell Agency. I’m to be included in any discussions with Mr. Carson. Is that understood?”

She didn’t give Ryan a chance to reply. She’d made her point. Her brother-in-law’s motives had been admirable— he had wanted to spare her more anguish, especially today. But he had underestimated her as so many people did. Even after knowing her for several years, he saw only the façade that she presented to the world. Few people knew the real Jordan Harris Brannon Price. Sometimes, she wasn’t sure she knew herself. She had buried her true self beneath so many protective layers in order to survive that very little, if any, of the sweet, innocent, somewhat naïve girl she’d once been still remained.

Nothing in her life had turned out the way she had hoped it would. None of her youthful dreams had come true. The girl who had been engaged to Robby Joe Wright, who had longed to be a grade school teacher and the mother of at least three children, was only a vague, melancholy memory.

Twice before, fate had given her two choices: let tragedy defeat her or make her stronger. She had that same choice now. And if she knew nothing else about herself, she knew one thing—Jordan Price was a survivor.

Rick kicked back in Nicole’s Cadillac Escalade and relaxed as they flew along Interstate 75, halfway between Priceville and Chattanooga. The lady drove like a bat out of hell, slowing down only when absolutely necessary. Right now she was speeding along at 85 and the limit was 70.

“If you don’t want to head this case, I can assign someone else.” Nic cast a sidelong glance his way.

“What makes you think I don’t want the case?”

Nic chuckled softly. “Oh, maybe your obvious animosity toward Jordan Price for one thing. You can’t go into an assignment with an open mind if you’ve already found the client guilty.”

“You think I believe Mrs. Price killed her husband?”

“Do you?”

“Do I think the lady is capable of murder? I’m not sure. Maybe. She’s one cool customer.”

“Just because she wasn’t hysterical with grief today doesn’t mean she didn’t love Dan.”

“You’re right, it doesn’t,” Rick agreed. “But look at the facts. He was twenty years older, rich and powerful, and his death may not have been suicide. What’s the first rule of thumb in a case such as this?”

“Suspect the wife.”

“Right. And add to that scenario a young lover and you’ve got a recipe for murder.”

“You’re assuming that Jordan and Devon Markham are lovers,” Nic said. “I think you’re wrong about that.”

“Why do you think I’m wrong?”

“Woman’s instinct.”

Rick laughed. “Care to elaborate?”

“Yes, I think they love each other, but they’re not in love. They don’t look at each other or touch each other the way a couple in love does.”

“You can tell if a couple is in love from watching the way they look at each other?”

“I told you that my theory is not based on scientific facts, just good old-fashioned woman’s intuition.”

“Okay, say I buy your theory. That doesn’t rule out Jordan Price as a suspect.”

“Jordan is not a suspect. She’s our client,” Nic reminded him. “She hired us, remember?”

“Ryan Price hired us. She jumped on the bandwagon when she realized that we were going to do an investigation. After all, if she had put up a protest, it would have made her look guilty.”

“I think maybe I should put Holt Keinan or Maleah Perdue on this case.”

“Don’t.”

Nic gave him another sidelong glance, her gaze questioning him. “Give me one good reason why I should hand this case over to you, all things considered?”

“Because I want to be proven wrong,” he admitted. “I don’t want Jordan Price to be guilty.”

“Hmm…You surprise me. I never suspected—”

“That I find the lady intriguing? That I’m as susceptible as the next guy to a beautiful, vulnerable woman?”

“Okay, the case is yours,” Nic told him. “But if I get one complaint from either Jordan or Ryan, I’ll jerk your ass off the case and put another agent in charge. Understand?”

“Yes, ma’am. I understand.”

By seven that evening, the house had cleared, the string quartet had left and the caterers had cleaned up and gone. Only family and close friends remained, only those to whom Dan Price had been far more than a colleague, an acquaintance, another good old boy, or just their senator. The numbness that had encompassed Jordan for the past few weeks, from the moment she discovered Dan’s body until this evening, began to fade. She wished that she could remain in the semi-frozen emotional state, acting and reacting with control and logic. But sooner or later, she would have to confront the truth and deal with her personal grief.

“Do you want us to stay here tonight?” Claire asked. “I can call my mother and ask her to either keep Michael until tomorrow or bring him here.”

Jordan tried to smile at her sister-in-law, but the effort failed. “No, please, you and Ryan should go home. You’re less than five miles away, if I were to need you. Besides”— she glanced over her shoulder into the parlor—“I have more than enough company.”

“How is Devon holding up?” Claire whispered.

“In public, he’s holding it together. In private…he’ll make it through this somehow. I’ll take care of him.”

“You always have, haven’t you?”

Jordan nodded. “Making plans for the baby will help us both. I just wish I’d had the chance to tell Dan…”

“You’re thinking that if he’d known about the baby, he wouldn’t have…that he might still be alive.”

Jordan’s gaze connected directly with her sister-in-law’s. “Claire, do you believe that Dan was murdered?”

Claire sighed heavily. “I don’t know. Ryan is convinced that Dan didn’t kill himself. It definitely wasn’t an accident, so that leaves only murder.”

“I can hardly bear the thought that Dan committed suicide, but the thought that someone murdered him is almost more than…” Jordan paused and took a deep breath. “Whatever happens, we’ll face it together, the family, those of us who loved Dan.”

Ryan came up to them and draped his arm around Claire’s shoulders. “Ready?”

“Yes, whenever you are.”

He looked at Jordan. “I’ll let Nicole know that Mr. Carson can stay with us during the investigation. And I apologize again for not consulting you first.”

“I understand your motives,” Jordan said. “And as for Mr. Carson staying with you and Claire—that won’t be necessary. We have more than enough room for him here, far more room than y’all have.”

“Are you sure?” Ryan asked. “I got the feeling that you didn’t especially like Mr. Carson.”

“I don’t know Mr. Carson. But if Nicole thinks he’s the best agent to spearhead the private investigation, then I have no objections. After all, she’s the expert, not you or I.”

“Believe me, I don’t want to think that someone murdered Dan, but it’s the only explanation that makes sense to me.”

“You mean that it’s the only explanation you will accept.”

“Yes, it is the only explanation I’ll accept,” Ryan agreed. “I refuse to believe that Dan would commit suicide, not even after being diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.” His face flushed with aggravation. When Claire leaned into him, he tightened his hold around her shoulders and gave her a reassuring hug. “I’m okay, honey.”

“You should both go home and try to get some rest,” Jordan said. “I’ll contact Nicole and inform her that we decided Mr. Carson will stay here at Price Manor during the investigation. And I’ll tell the others tonight that we have hired the Powell Agency to look into the circumstances surrounding Dan’s death.”

Claire offered her a wavering smile, and then she ushered Ryan out the front door. Jordan closed her eyes and prayed for strength. The very last thing she and this family needed right now was a private detective sticking his nose into matters that were highly confidential.

But if Dan really had been murdered?

“Jordan, are you all right? You’re as white as a sheet.” The country twang to Roselynne’s voice was quite distinctive. Her stepmother had been raised on a farm on Sand Mountain in the northeastern tip of Alabama and had lived a rather hard life before marrying Jordan’s father. Jordan had been twelve years old. Her own much-adored mother had been dead for less than two years and in the beginning, Jordan had despised Roselynne.

She turned to face her stepmother, a voluptuous blonde whose clothing tastes ran to animal prints, four-inch heels, and oversized jewelry. Today, even though her hair was teased and her makeup was heavy, she wore a simple black dress, albeit one that hugged every generous curve of her 58-year-old body. Trailing along behind Roselynne, her daughter Tammy paled in comparison, like a little brown wren alongside a red bird.

“I’m all right. Just tired.”

“Well, of course, you’re tired. Who wouldn’t be after the day you’ve had. Good God, I think the whole damn state of Georgia tramped through this house and probably half of Tennessee to boot.” Roselynne placed her fleshy arm around Jordan’s shoulders. “Are you hungry, honey?” She snapped her fingers at Tammy. “Go get your sister a plate of food and some iced tea.”

“No, please, I couldn’t eat a bite.” Jordan looked at her stepsister, their gazes meeting for a millisecond before Tammy bowed her head shyly and clasped her hands together in front of her.

“Lord help you, girl,” Roselynne hugged Jordan to her side. “You’re going to waste away to nothing.”

“I’d be more than happy to fix something for you,” Tammy offered, her voice not much more than a whisper.

Before Jordan could reply, Darlene Wright came into the foyer and eyed Roselynne and Tammy with her usual disdain. “Will you please leave her alone and stop nagging her. What Jordan needs is peace and quiet.” She shooed Roselynne aside. “Why don’t we go up to your room? I’ll draw you a nice warm bath and if you’d like, I’ll have Vadonna bring up a tray later.”

“Jordan doesn’t need to be alone.” Roselynne squinched her face in a sourpuss frown directed at Darlene. “She needs to be surrounded by family.” She emphasized the word family.

Jordan closed her eyes for a moment, wishing that just this once her stepmother and Darlene could put aside their personal differences. From the moment the two women first met, more than a dozen years ago when Jordan became engaged to Darlene’s son, Robby Joe, they had disliked each other. During the years since, nothing had changed. Each laid claim to being Jordan’s surrogate mother, each loving Jordan in her own unique way, each adding immensely to the burden of family responsibility that weighed heavily on Jordan’s shoulders.

Within those brief minutes when Jordan gathered her thoughts before she took charge of the situation, the other members of her family-and-friends entourage migrated from the two parlors into the foyer. She had hoped to find a few moments alone with Devon to tell him about hiring the Powell Agency before telling everyone else. But with all those eyes focused on her, everyone waiting expectantly for her to say or do something that would put them at ease, she decided that there was no point in putting off the inevitable.

“Please, everyone, I need to share some information with y’all,” Jordan said. “Afterward, I’ll need a few moments alone with Devon and then I plan to go to my room—alone—and I’d appreciate no one disturbing me tonight.”

“Oh, Jordan, honey, you shouldn’t be alone,” Roselynne said.

“Good God, Mother, leave her alone,” J.C. called from the other side of the foyer. “Jordan doesn’t need you smothering her with your show of motherly affection.”

“Johnny Cash Harris, my affection for your sister is genuine and you damn well know it!” Roselynne glared at her son, who stood lounging insolently against the doorframe, a glass of his usual scotch and soda in his hand.

“Will all of you please listen to what I have to say.” Jordan spoke louder than she had intended, but her tone and volume achieved the effect she had wanted. To a person, everyone quieted and looked right at her.

“We’re listening,” Devon told her as he came forward, pausing a few feet away, his sky-blue eyes focused on her.

Jordan cleared her throat. “Y’all know that the GBI coroner ruled Dan’s death a suicide.” She took a deep breath. “But I’m afraid there is some question as to whether or not it’s possible that Dan didn’t kill himself.”

When rumbling noises spread through the foyer, Jordan held up a restraining hand. “Please, hush…right now. Ryan and I have hired the Powell Private Security and Investigation Agency to conduct an investigation into Dan’s death. Tomorrow, a Powell agent, Mr. Rick Carson, who was at the funeral today with Claire’s cousin, Nicole Powell, will arrive here at Price Manor. Mr. Carson will be staying here during the course of the investigation. I want y’all to treat Mr. Carson as our guest and cooperate with him fully.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying, that there is reason to believe that Dan was murdered?” Rene Burke, Jordan’s assistant and longtime friend voiced the question that no doubt was going through everyone’s mind.

“Yes.” Jordan held her hands open at either side of her body in a defensive stance, a silent warning for the others to keep their distance. She’d had as much sympathy and comforting today as she could endure. “Any questions or concerns you have will have to wait until tomorrow. I’ll see all of you in the morning.” She held out her hand to Devon. “I need to speak with you a moment. Alone.” Her gaze traveled around the room issuing a silent order to everyone present.

Within two minutes, the foyer had cleared, leaving Jordan and Devon completely alone.

“Hiring the Powell Agency wasn’t your idea,” Devon said, keeping his voice low and quiet.

“No, it was Ryan’s idea. I just happened to walk right into the middle of a secret meeting he and Claire were having with Nicole Powell and Mr. Carson.”

“Does Ryan really believe that Dan was murdered?”

“Yes, I think he does.”

“You realize what might happen, don’t you? If the investigator digs too deeply into Dan’s personal life—”

“I wish we could find a way to prevent him from finding out the truth,” Jordan said. “But I don’t know if that’s possible. I have the distinct impression that Mr. Carson already suspects something.”

“Suspects what?”

“I think he believes that I killed Dan or perhaps that you and I killed him because we’re lovers.”