Читать книгу Christmas Cover-up - Cassie Miles, Cassie Miles - Страница 8

Chapter Two

Cody was standing near the door when he heard the commotion out front. Gunshots? He dropped the gym bag holding the Santa outfit and went outside onto the long porch that stretched across the front of the house behind six white pillars.

Other people were pointing, shouting, reacting with varying degrees of panic. Their focus was Rue Harris. She stood in the street, with a gun in her fist. When she gestured helplessly and waved the gun, a woman standing beside Cody shrieked in terror.

To his left, he saw several people gathered beside the maroon van with the Ruth Ann’s Cakes logo. Someone was yelling for help. He saw Bob Lindahl’s legs in red and green plaid trousers lying on the pavement. What the hell had Rue done?

She took a step toward the house. The people around him gasped and ducked behind the pillars on the wide verandah. Cowards and imbeciles. Couldn’t they see she was in shock? Her legs wobbled. She could barely stand.

He went toward her.

“Rue.” He spoke her name loudly. Her eyes were glassy and dazed. “Rue, are you all right?”

She nodded.

“Give me the gun.”

Eagerly, she held out the black automatic. He took it from her and gathered her into his arms. Her cheek rested against his chest. He could feel her trembling, delicate as a butterfly. “Don’t pass out,” he said.

“I need to sit down.”

With his arm around her shoulders, he guided her back toward the house. The crowd parted before them. From far away, he heard the siren of an ambulance.

When they reached the three steps leading up to the pillared verandah, she sank down onto the stair and leaned forward with her elbows on her knees. Her head drooped.

He sat beside her, arm around her shoulder. “Where did you get the gun, Rue?”

“Carlos the bodyguard.” Her voice was barely audible. “He was shot in the leg. The bad man was getting away. I tried to stop him. I tried.”

“Everything is going to be okay,” he reassured her.

“It’s not.” She stiffened. “Uncle Bob was shot in the chest. Three times.”

Sounded like an assassination. Cody wasn’t sure how the murder fit into his own personal agenda, but it couldn’t be a coincidence. He was meant to be here. At this particular time. In this particular place.

One of the uniformed officers from the party came up beside them, and Cody handed over the gun.

The officer said, “I’m taking this lady into custody.”

“Give us a minute,” Cody said. “This is Danny’s stepdaughter.”

“Oh.” The officer took a step back but stayed close, watching in case Rue decided to make a run for it.

Not much chance of that. She was limp, boneless.

Cody held her protectively and watched as another cop, the assistant chief of police, took charge of the scene on the lawn, herding people back into the house and making room for the ambulance.

Rue looked up at Cody. Strands of her wavy brown hair had fallen loose from her ponytail and framed her face. Her complexion was as white as her blood-spattered shirt, but she seemed more controlled. “Why are you helping me?”

A damn good question. Even though he’d decided Rue might be useful to him, that didn’t mean he had to come to her rescue. He shrugged. “Somebody had to step up before you shot yourself in the foot.”

“Do you think Bob Lindahl will be all right? I’ve never seen anything like…” Her words trailed off, and she covered her face with her hands.

A light vanilla scent rose from her silky hair. She was sweet and quirky—very different from the perfectly packaged women he usually dated. Those ladies wore the right clothes, knew the right people and said the right things. Not one of them would have been caught dead at a social event waving a gun.

Fighting for composure, she looked toward him again. “I really screwed up.”

“What happened?”

“We came out to get the cakes from my van. It was me, Bob and his bodyguard, Carlos. And another guy. His name is Tyler Zubek. We had the cakes in our hands.”

She pantomimed holding a tray. “Then this guy started shooting at us. God, it was loud. The only defense I could come up with was to throw my cake at him.”

Cody bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing out loud. She tried to fight off a gunman with a cake?

“It was a beautiful sheet cake,” she said. “A low-fat, gluten-free recipe.”

“It’s good to know you didn’t throw anything fattening.”

“But both of my cakes are ruined.” A tear slipped down her cheek. “Oh my God, what am I saying? How can I even think about cake? Bob Lindahl might be dead.”

He heard the rising panic in her voice and tried to reassure her. “It’s okay. You did everything you could.”

“Danny is going to be so disappointed in me. I didn’t even get the license plate on the getaway car.”

Her former stepfather. Danny Mason. He was the reason Cody had come to this party.

Shortly after Danny was elected mayor, Cody had received a manila envelope marked Personal and Confidential. Inside was a green shamrock tiepin, similar to the one his father had been wearing on the day he’d died. There was also a folded bumper sticker in red, white and blue that said, Danny Mason—Building a Better Denver. The implication? Danny knew something about his father’s murder. Cody intended to follow this lead.

Going to the police was a waste of time. They didn’t have the manpower to reopen a twenty-year-old case. Nor could Cody march up to the new mayor and start asking pointed questions.

When Rue had introduced herself, he’d seen his opportunity. If he got closer to her, he’d get closer to Danny.

Her eyebrows pinched in a frown. “The gunman did the strangest thing after he shot Bob. He dropped his weapon. Just left it there. Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know.”

The ambulance arrived and two paramedics raced toward her van. He gave her arm a squeeze and helped her to her feet. “I think we should have the EMTs take a look at you.”

“I didn’t hurt myself,” she protested. “I know how to handle a weapon. Danny taught me.”

Speaking of the devil, Danny Mason was coming toward them. In spite of the chill, the sleeves of his green shirt were rolled up to the elbow. He had the forearms of a bricklayer. Or a boxer. If Cody remembered correctly, Danny had once been a Golden Gloves middleweight contender, and he’d stayed in shape. His dark-red hair swept back from a concerned forehead. Though his focus was on Rue, his gaze darted, taking in every detail. He might be mayor, but his cop instincts were still in force.

As he folded Rue into an embrace, he scowled at Cody. “I didn’t know you two were friends.”

“We just met.” Cody wasn’t intimidated. “I intend to see more of your former stepdaughter.”

“Is that so?”

“Dinner on Saturday.” Cody named the most romantic restaurant he could think of. “Chez Mona.”

Rue turned her head toward him. “I’ve been dying to go there. They have a new chef.”

“I’ve met him.”

She wriggled out of Danny’s embrace and came back toward Cody. “If I could get Chez Mona to serve some of my pastries, my business would take off.”

“I can’t make any promises,” he said. “We’ll talk to the chef.”

“Hey,” Danny interrupted. Like all politicians, he hated being ignored. “This isn’t a dating service.”

“I know,” Rue said crisply. “I was almost killed.”

“That’s not the way I heard the story,” Danny said. “You chased after the shooter. Damn it, Rue. What the hell were you thinking?”

“I did what I thought was right.” She stood up straighter, stretching her height to maybe five feet, four inches. “It’s like you always used to tell me. Sometimes you have to use your weapon to fight the bad guys.”

She must have touched a nerve because Danny looked surprised. “Did I say that?”

“Frequently,” she assured him. “You always told me to aim at the midsection. The largest target.”

Though she looked as innocent as a newborn fawn, she didn’t seem to have any trouble standing up for herself. Cody was beginning to be intrigued by this sweet little cake-baker with a backbone of tempered steel.

A second ambulance parked at the end of the driveway as the first team finished loading Carlos the bodyguard into the rear and pulled away.

“Will Carlos be all right?” she asked.

“Should be.” Danny squinted after the ambulance. “One bullet to the thigh.”

“And Mr. Lindahl? Is he…”

“Dead,” Danny said. “It was fast. There was nothing you could have done to save him.”

“Three bullets in the chest,” Cody said. “Sounds like a professional hit.”

“Let’s leave the investigating up to the police,” Danny said coldly. “Thanks for keeping an eye on my stepdaughter. I’ll take it from here.”

Cody wouldn’t allow himself to be so easily brushed aside. Rue was his ticket to the inner circle, and he wasn’t going to let her get away. “It’s no problem,” he said as he took her arm. “I’ll be happy to escort you over to the ambulance so the EMTs can take a look at you.”

“Really,” she said. “I’m fine.”

“You’re shivering like a leaf in the wind.” He turned up the charm. With a smile calculated to melt butter, he leaned close and whispered, “Let me take care of you.”

Though he recognized suspicion in her gaze, she was too disoriented to object. She trusted him to walk toward the ambulance. Later, she might trust him enough to tell him the family secrets.

TWO HOURS LATER Rue stood alone at the window of a professionally decorated parlor and looked out at the cul-de-sac in front of Bob Lindahl’s house. It was almost five o’clock, and the sun had begun its descent behind the mountains. Streaks of gold colored the sky and glimmered on the faded lawn and shrubs. The bare branches of a honey locust danced in the winter breeze. If there hadn’t been five police cars and a television van parked farther down the street, this view might have been serene.

Most of the other cars were gone. The guests had been interviewed and sent home. The caterer and his crew had packed up and left. She hadn’t seen Cody Berringer leave, and she found herself hoping that he was still here.

Though she had no explanation for why he was so concerned about her, she liked his attention. Who wouldn’t? With his black hair and blue eyes, he was every woman’s dream date. Protecting her seemed to come naturally to him.

With her fingers, she twirled a long curl. Her hair hung loose past her shoulders. After the paramedics had checked her out, she’d run a brush through her hair and splashed water on her face. Though she’d taken off her burgundy apron, she still wore the bloodstained white blouse and black slacks.

Repeatedly, Rue had spoken to various homicide detectives and given her story so many times that the sequence of events was permanently imprinted in her brain. The image that stuck with her was Uncle Bob on his knees with his chest covered in blood.

Danny told her that one of the bullets had punctured his heart. A direct hit. He also told her that the gunman had gotten away without a trace—except for the murder weapon, which he so thoughtfully had left behind.

The door to the parlor opened and Danny stepped inside. He had his campaign manager with him. Jerome Samuels was an athletic-looking blond guy in his thirties whom she’d known since childhood. Politically savvy and ambitious, Jerome was looking forward to being appointed to an important position when Danny took the oath of office.

He gave her a calculated but friendly grin. “You ought to be able to leave in just a few minutes.”

“Good.”

“Here’s the deal,” Danny said. “I want you to come home with me, Rue.”

“Why?”

“Bob Lindahl’s murder looks like a professional hit, and you’re a witness.” Danny never sugarcoated the truth. “Somebody might come after you.”

“I can’t identify him. He wore sunglasses and the hood of his sweatshirt was pulled up. I didn’t even see his hair color.”

“You shouldn’t be alone,” Danny said. “I have plenty of security at my house.”

There was also a new wife and her young children from a previous marriage who wouldn’t be thrilled to have Rue as a guest. “I have to work,” she said.

“Someone else can do it.”

“No way. I make custom cakes. They’re unique.” Her business was brand-new, and she had a reputation to build. “I have to decorate these cakes myself.”

“You’re being unreasonable.”

“Nothing new about that,” Jerome added.

Usually, she didn’t mind Jerome’s teasing, but he’d changed, taken on an air of self-importance that matched his designer suit and solid-gold wristwatch. Plus she was in no mood to be pushed around. “I’m going home to my house. And that’s final.”

“Think again,” Jerome advised.

“My mind is made up, Jerry.”

He hated being called Jerry. His full name—Jerome—had dignity. Jerry was a cartoon character. His upper lip curled in disgust. “You sound like your mother, Ruth Ann.”

Low blow. Her mother had called three times and was on her way here. “Not even close, Jerry. But you might want to brace yourself.”

“Why?”

“She’s on her way. Ought to be here any minute.”

She turned toward the window again and looked out as a familiar car pulled up and parked. The driver’s-side door flung open and a well-dressed woman burst out. “Speak of the devil. It’s Mom.”

“Your mother?” Danny’s voice sounded as if his lungs were being squeezed in a vise. He turned to Jerome. “See if you can stop her.”

Attempting to control Rue’s mother was like commanding a hurricane to turn the other way. She didn’t envy Jerome.

“She’s not going to listen to me,” he said.

He was well-acquainted with Leticia Grant-Harris-Mason-Lopez-Jones-Wyndemere. Adding to his woes, Rue said, “She’s married to a judge now. If she doesn’t get what she wants, she’ll take you to court.”

“Aw, hell,” Danny muttered. “Might as well get this over with. Come with me, Rue.”

They left the parlor and went down the hallway to a grand foyer with marble floors, a sweeping staircase and an ornate crystal chandelier. A couple of the plainclothes detectives were talking to Cody Berringer. As soon as Cody spotted her, he moved to her side.

In spite of everything that was going on—the cops, the danger, the murder—Cody’s nearness ignited a happy little spark inside her. When he took her hand, the flicker became a warm glow.

The front door swung open and her mother stalked inside. Her blond-streaked hair swept back from her forehead. Her crimson silk blouse and black wool suit outlined a slender, expensively maintained figure. She went directly to Danny and confronted him. “I told Ruth Ann that it was a mistake to bake cakes for your party.”

“It should have been a good opportunity,” Danny said.

“Nothing good ever came from Bob Lindahl.” Her blue eyes scanned the opulent foyer. “Although I’ve got to admit that this house is impressive.”

Rue could almost hear the cash register in her mother’s head ringing up the cost of the chandelier and the oil paintings on the walls. Leticia had a sensible appreciation for the bottom line.

She held out her arms. “Oh, Ruth Ann. If anything had happened to you—” Her voice choked off. Her eyes welled. Tears? That was so out of character. Her mother never cried.

Leticia pulled her into a ferocious embrace that went on long enough for Rue to begin to feel a little uncomfortable. Then Leticia held her at arm’s length, studied her and frowned. “Is that blood on your sleeves?”

“It’s not mine.”

“Why are you still wearing that shirt?” She swung back toward Danny. “Couldn’t you find her some clean clothing?”

Cody stepped forward. “You’re right, Mrs. Wyndemere. Rue needs to get home and change clothes. She’s had one hell of a rough day.”

Leticia surveyed him from head to toe. “Who are you?”

“Cody Berringer.”

As he shook her hand, she said, “I’ve heard of you. You work at T&T. Taylor and Tomlinson.”

“That’s correct.”

“A very successful firm,” she said.

Rue wasn’t in the least bit surprised that her mother knew of Cody. Leticia had an encyclopedic knowledge of Denver’s social scene. It was part of her job as a wedding planner—a skill she’d developed when planning her own five marriages.

“And you’re Judge Wyndemere’s wife,” Cody said.

“Small world.” The barest hint of a smile touched her mother’s lips. “How do you know Ruth Ann?”

“We’re going to dinner on Saturday. At Chez Mona.”

Hoping to head off any questions about how long she’d been dating Cody, Rue said, “I’m tired. I’d like to leave now.”

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine, Mom. This is nobody’s fault. I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“The wrong place.” Leticia shot another glare at Danny. “What kind of mayor are you going to be? You can’t even keep your own stepdaughter safe.”

“We had plenty of security at this event. Bodyguards. Four of the top cops in the city.”

“And a lot of good it did.” She jabbed an accusing finger. “You and Bob used to always get into trouble together. And your other cop buddy, Mike Blanco. Oh, I remember—you called yourselves the three amigos. The three stooges is more like it.”

Rue tightened her grip on her mother’s hand, hoping to rein her in. “It’s okay, Mom. Calm down.”

“I’m taking you home with me, Ruth Ann.”

Danny cleared his throat. “It’s best if she comes with me. I have better security at my house.”

“Why does she need security? Is she in danger?”

Before they could get into a discussion of profes sional hit men, Rue said, “I’m not going home with you, Mom. Or with Danny. I have my own place.”

“Half a duplex in the middle of town,” her mother said disparagingly. “Crime central.”

“Is it? I never saw anybody killed until I came out here to the suburbs.” She looked toward the homicide detective who stood near the door. “Are we done here?”

The detective nodded. “I’ll be in touch. We need to schedule a time for you to look through mug shots.”

It went without saying that she’d do anything to help their investigation. “I’ll call first thing in the morning.”

“There’s one more thing,” the detective said. “Don’t talk to the media. We need to control the flow of information.”

She nodded. “Do you have the keys to my van?”

“I’m sorry, Miss. Forensics is still going over your vehicle. There might be trace evidence.”

Swell. “That kind of leaves me stranded, Detective.”

Cody stepped forward. “I’ll give you a ride.”

My hero. Once again, he was coming to her rescue. “Thank you.”

She’d go home, get a good night’s sleep and try to forget that she’d had a front-row seat at a professional assassination. She wanted to banish the image of Bob Lindahl, bloody and dying, into the dark recesses of her mind where she locked away all her other bad memories—all those things that were better left unsaid.