Читать книгу Romancing the Crown: Nina & Dominic: A Royal Murder - Lyn Stone - Страница 7

Chapter 3

When they emerged from the hospital, Ryan sucked in a deep breath of fresh air. Better. He squinted against the bright sunlight, welcoming it.

The limo cruised up to the curb and Ryan automatically reached past Nina to open her door. She slid inside.

When he got in, she turned to him and said the last thing he would have expected. “He wasn’t struck from behind.”

“No,” Ryan agreed as he fastened his seat belt and motioned for her to do the same.

“Then whoever did it was facing him, holding the statuette?” “Yes, given the placement of the wound.”

“Could I see the weapon?” she asked.

He sighed. “Nina, you’re taking this Murder She Wrote business a little too seriously, you know that?”

“Maybe,” she admitted, “but I think you should humor me. I do have permission to assist you.”

Well, hell. Ryan couldn’t tell her the real reason the king had sent her directly to him.

“Okay. Tomorrow. We’ll go over the evidence then. Today I think you’ve done enough, don’t you?”

She looked pointedly at her watch. “It’s barely one o’clock.”

“We’ll grab a bite of lunch and drop you at the apartment so you can rest.”

“But—”

“No buts,” he warned. “This is not the only case I’m working on, Nina. There’s plenty I have to do this afternoon that has nothing to do with this. I can’t drag you all over the island while I take care of business.”

“But tomorrow you’ll be back on this case, right?”

“Yes, tomorrow morning.”

“And I can go with you?”

He nodded emphatically. “Now, what would you like to eat?”

In a self-conscious gesture, she tucked her hair behind her ears, crossed her arms beneath her breasts and looked out the opposite window. “Oatmeal,” she mumbled.

“Excuse me?”

Defiantly, she turned her head and pinned him with a glare. “I said oatmeal. With wheat toast and butter and cinnamon. And hot tea. Earl Grey with lemon.”

“You’re joking, right? I don’t know anywhere in San Sebastian that serves oatmeal.”

She raised one dark brow in challenge. “Well, you did ask.”

Ryan shook his head. He’d known she would be trouble from the minute he’d laid eyes on her. “Your wish is my command. Apparently that’s turning out to be my phrase for the day.”

He leaned forward, pushed the intercom button and ordered the driver to stop at the nearest grocery.

“You’ll have to cook it yourself unless you want me to send you back to the palace,” he told her emphatically. “I don’t do oatmeal.”

* * *

Almost an hour and three grocery stores later, Nina Caruso, her oatmeal, Earl Grey tea, and various other containers of comfort food were safely deposited in the apartment adjacent to his.

She could eat her wallpaper paste and take a nap. He had to figure out how he was going to solve this murder while she was poking her lovely little nose into every aspect of it. All in all, he’d rather stick pins in his eyes, but he had his orders.

Her presence and demands had crowded out the possibility of his lapsing into a couple of hours of depression after the visit to the morgue the way he usually did. For that distraction, he ought to thank her.

It bothered him that she hadn’t seemed all that upset to see her brother’s body. Oh, she’d acted nervous and cried a little, but that could have been for show. Ryan just wished he hadn’t had his own renewal of grief to deal with at the time. He could have been a hell of a lot more accurate in judging whether hers really existed.

He arrived back at his office and went over the other cases he had pending, made a few necessary phone calls and worked on putting Nina Caruso out of his mind until Joe called just before six. “Turn on the news,” Joe advised.

Ortano’s news clip stated that Nina had never been to the island before. She had come now to see that the investigation of her brother’s murder was carried out expeditiously and to offer what assistance she could. Her words to Ortano verified that.

Other than stating the family connection and capitalizing a bit on the emotional aspect of the event, the reporter had little to add of any consequence. The clip was surprisingly low-key. The video was fantastic. Ryan switched off the set and returned to the phone call.

Joe assured Ryan that calls between Nina and her brother—all except the last of which had originated with her—had been few and far between and of brief duration. The last had been two weeks ago, placed from Desmond’s guesthouse to La Jolla, California, where Nina lived. She had neither made nor received any calls since she’d arrived in Montebello.

As for her possessing a motive to have Desmond killed, Joe had not discovered one. Fear, Ryan dismissed. Revenge or jealousy were possibilities. Greed was a contender, too, but Joe assured him that Nina Caruso had a substantial trust fund and a very healthy investment portfolio.

There was an insurance policy her father had taken out on Desmond when he was a child. The premiums on it were paid through a trust which, now that the original capital was no longer needed, would also become Nina’s. But was that enough to prompt her to arrange a murder when she was already fairly well off?

Ryan’s gut told him no. At least, he hoped that was his gut and not another part of his anatomy.

When he called her around seven o’clock to make dinner arrangements, he received no answer. Jet lag must have finally caught up with her, he supposed. Just as well, Ryan thought, totally denying the spark of disappointment he felt that he wouldn’t see her again until morning.

Maybe he should stop in and check on her. She could have experienced a delayed reaction to all that had happened, he told himself. She might be all alone and crying herself sick right now. Suddenly he found himself hurrying to get there and see if that was so.

Nina wasted little time planning the rest of her day after Ryan McDonough left her alone. It was like pulling teeth to get him to let her do anything with regard to Desmond’s murder, and she needed to get on with it. She had a few weeks’ vacation built up, but her job at home wouldn’t wait forever.

She mapped out what she would do as she prepared her lunch and ate it. Rest was necessary. Ryan had been right about that, so she would take an hour or so in preparation for tonight. Later, she would call a cab, return to the palace and see what she could learn about the last days of Desmond’s life. After that, she meant to go over the scene of the crime with a fine-tooth comb.

Forensics should be finished with their official duties there by now. They’d had all day yesterday and today. Nina seriously doubted she would find anything significant that professionals had overlooked, but she needed to get back into that guesthouse all the same.

If nothing else, seeing how Desmond had lived, getting a feeling for his lifestyle here and walking the rooms he had inhabited might give her some clue as to the man he had become since they had last seen each other.

If Ryan McDonough objected when he found out she’d been there, too bad. At least he’d know she wasn’t going to be satisfied with little pats on the head in lieu of his accepting her help. She might not be a qualified investigator, but at least her dedicated involvement might speed things up a little.

When she’d finished eating and cleared the dishes, Nina went into the bedroom, kicked off her shoes, lay down on the puffy slate-blue comforter and closed her eyes.

She liked the accommodations arranged for her well enough. Efficiency over elegance, more practical than pretty. It suited her. Nina liked to think of herself in just those terms. She wondered whether Ryan McDonough’s place next-door suited him. She fell asleep trying to decide what sort of decor would.

She awoke at seven-thirty, disgruntled when she realized she’d slept most of the day. Hurriedly she showered, then chose a lightweight navy jacket and skirt with a matching silk shell. She found her lowest-heeled pumps—dressy, but still great for walking.

What she was wearing looked businesslike, she thought, like something an investigator should wear. It wouldn’t quite do for dinner at the palace, of course, but she wouldn’t presume to impose on the royal family anyway. If she could manage to avoid them, they wouldn’t even realize she was there. This evening, she’d stick to speaking with employees who might have served Desmond in some capacity. Surely there would be footmen or maids around somewhere to give her some names and locations of people who had served at the guesthouse. She would simply explain what she needed and tell them she was working with Ryan.

And then she would see inside his home. She nodded with self-satisfaction, recalling how stealthily she had checked the French doors at the back of the place and noticed that someone had left them unlocked. Didn’t leaving the crime scene vulnerable that way indicate McDonough was not taking his job seriously enough?

She couldn’t figure the man out. She’d only known him for a day and during that short span, he’d exuded charm and exhibited annoyance, very nearly simultaneously. He’d declared his dedication to the job and talked a good game, but had done remarkably little in the way of investigating, as far as she could tell.

He had offered her compassion when they’d gone to see Desmond’s body, but had broken out in a sweat himself. He hadn’t even asked the doctor many pertinent questions.

She picked up a hint of humor occasionally, yet he certainly could be brusque.

What a mass of contradictions the man was. She wasn’t at all sure she wanted to know him any better than she already did. He made her nervous, and she wasn’t certain why.

But leaving the back entrance to the victim’s guesthouse open was definitely careless on the part of the investigator in charge of the murder case. If he gave her any grief when he found out what she had done tonight, she’d be quick to point that out to him.

The best defense was a good offense, and that was a fact.

Nina called a cab. When the doorbell chimed a few minutes later, she grabbed her purse and headed for the door, remarking to herself how prompt the taxi service was here.

She probably should have rented a car on her arrival, but she hadn’t had time to go online and see if there were any peculiar driving rules in Montebello. Or if an international license would be required to drive here. Besides, she absolutely hated driving unfamiliar vehicles. With her luck, she’d have to accept one without an automatic transmission and with the steering wheel on the wrong side. Montebello wasn’t that large. Wherever she couldn’t walk, she’d take a cab.

When she opened the door, her heart sank. “McDonough!”

He smiled, his eyes focused on her shoulder bag. “Going somewhere?”

“Uh, out to eat.” Nina couldn’t meet his eyes. He seemed to divine her every thought, and she was no good at lying. Would he guess what she was planning?

“I’ll join you,” he said.

Ryan had no clue where she’d been planning to go. If he’d been using his brain at the time, he would have pretended not to notice she was holding that purse and how she was dressed when she answered the door. He would have asked how she was doing, wished her good-night, then waited out of sight and followed her. But she could be telling the truth about going out to eat, in which case, he was only doing the hospitable thing, escorting her to a nice restaurant and buying her evening meal.

He knew he was bending too far backward, giving her too much benefit of the doubt because he didn’t want her to be involved in this murder. And to be honest, he really didn’t believe she was. Given how attracted he was to her, however, Ryan wasn’t sure he could trust his instincts right now.

“We’ll go somewhere close by,” he said, determined to give her the chance later to do whatever she intended. And he would follow. It was his job, after all. “It would be best if we make an early evening of it so you can rest.”

“Yes, that would be good,” she agreed, still not looking directly at him. Guilt was written all over her.

Either she was up to no good or his presence made her uncomfortable. She sure as hell had that effect on him.

“I’m expecting a cab,” she told him.

He smiled cordially. “We’ll wait for it then.” His own car was less than thirty feet away, but she didn’t know what he drove and he wanted to keep it that way, at least for tonight.

It was no chore to keep up a running patter about the local sights she should see while she was in Montebello. She didn’t seem to be paying much attention anyway, preoccupied as she was.

“Ah, here we go,” he announced as the white Audi pulled up to the entrance to the building. He took her arm and led her out to the vehicle where the driver was already opening the door for them. “Hey, Luigi. How’s the wife?” he asked the man.

“She is good, sir. We have another son since last I saw you.”

“Congratulations, Mano! That makes five, right?” Ryan asked as he got in.

“Four, sir. Our second was a daughter,” the driver said, beaming.

Ryan noted Nina’s consternation. He smiled again. “Our world is small here. Tourists and visiting businesspeople are the only strangers.”

She made no comment on that, but he could see that it upset her. Another mistake on his part, giving her that information. Now she would be leery of hiring another cab for fear he’d find out where she was going. If she planned on going anywhere she didn’t want him to know about, of course.

Ryan felt a little better about his lack of objectivity now. He was back on the job as he should be. Everyone was a suspect, even the woman who had temporarily thrown him for a loop.

“You like Thai cuisine?” he asked hopefully. Ryan hadn’t been crazy about the time he’d spent bumming around in that country, but the food had been good. He had regained a few of the pounds he’d lost and begun his recovery there.

“No, nothing oriental,” she said, looking rather glum.

“Please tell me you eat something besides hot cereal or we’re out of luck.”

To her credit, she managed a grin. “I love Italian food.”

“Well, you’re in luck.” He nodded and instructed Luigi, “Take us to Pirandello’s.”

“They have a new chef there,” he informed Ryan. “You must try his tortellini.”

“Will do.” He turned again to Nina. “I hope you have a good appetite. Picky eaters annoy me.”

She pursed her lips for a second. “Well, I surely wouldn’t want to annoy you.”

Ryan laughed full out, thinking about how annoyed he’d been for most of the day because of her. Right now he was feeling pretty damned confident again, since he was on top of the whole situation.

So she was beautiful, he thought as he looked at her without even trying to conceal his interest. So she rang his chimes a little. Okay, a lot. He had faced the worst nightmare included in this job with that trip to the morgue today and had managed to handle it much better than usual. Maybe his heart had hardened enough now that nothing could affect him to the point where he couldn’t function.

Even if he discovered Nina Caruso had paid someone to cap Desmond, Ryan could do what had to be done. He’d feel disappointed, sure, but he would be able to carry through and process her as he would anyone else.

Feelings did pass, he knew now, if you shoved them aside enough times and replaced them with a purpose. Giving in to them could wreck your life in nothing flat. He’d found that out the hard way.

“What is it? What’s the matter?” she asked. Demanded.

Ryan forced a smile. “Nothing. Just hungry.” And he was. “I skipped lunch,” he said.

And he would skip feeding this hunger for her, too, he thought as he tried not to devour her with his eyes. “Sometimes I get busy and forget,” he admitted.

But he wouldn’t forget what he was supposed to do with respect to Nina Caruso, he promised himself. Or what he was not supposed to do.

Nina had hardly been able to do justice to the meal. McDonough’s arrival had thrown her plans off-kilter. Now she wouldn’t arrive at the palace in time to interview anyone about Desmond. But she could still go to the guesthouse, if the guards would let her onto the grounds. There had been no problem that morning when she had identified herself, so she didn’t anticipate any tonight.

As soon as McDonough said good-night and left, she hurried to the phone and called a different cab company. Thankfully, there were three to choose from. Hopefully, this driver wouldn’t be one of the detective’s friends.

Perhaps she had lucked out, Nina thought, as she entered the taxi a quarter hour later. This guy was obviously Middle Eastern and both his English and Italian were nearly nonexistent. He did understand where she wanted to go, however, and took her straight to the palace.

Nina paid the cabbie at the gates and then identified herself to the smartly uniformed guard who stood there holding a wicked-looking machine gun. He examined the pass she’d been given that morning when she had first arrived, compared it to her passport, gave both back to her. He required her to open her purse, which he gave a cursory examination. “Shall I phone for a cart to transport you to the palace?” he asked politely. “It is some distance.”

She smiled up at him. “No, thank you. It is such a beautiful night, I prefer to stroll. That is allowed, isn’t it?”

“If you wish. May I ask the purpose of your visit this evening, the better to give you direction?”

Nina knew he was not asking out of politeness, but that he was required to know. “My half brother was the king’s nephew. The one who was recently killed. A couple of the maids who knew him invited me by to talk.”

“Ah yes, such a tragedy that was. Please approach through the main entrance. I will ring up and have someone meet you at the door. Have a pleasant visit, signorina.”

“Thank you very much,” she said, smiling, amazed that he was actually going to let her roam around unaccompanied. She took the well-lighted path to the left of the fountain and flower beds that graced the center of the enormous courtyard, though it led to the opposite side of the palace from the guesthouse where Desmond had lived. Periodically, she glanced over her shoulder until she saw that the guard had turned to mind his station at the gate. Then she quickly cut across to the other side.

Once surrounded by the verdant gardens, Nina felt even more vulnerable, rather than safe as she’d expected. So many times she had read about people experiencing the feeling of being followed and she felt that now. It must be guilt that prompted it, she realized, since she was not supposed to be here doing what she was doing.

So large were the palace grounds, it took her a good half hour, squeezing around hedges and ducking low-hanging limbs of trees to reach the back entrance to the guesthouse. She stopped to listen often to see whether anyone was behind her, but never saw or heard any indication that there was.

She had been on the lookout for guards patrolling, but had only noticed two marching slowly around the outer wings of the palace itself. They looked as if they were there for show more than anything else since they stared straight ahead, didn’t alter the precision of their steps and never even scanned the grounds. Those offering real protection would probably be outside the walls to prevent the entry of anyone unauthorized. Nina shivered to think how easily she had gotten in. Had Desmond’s killer gained entry this way? Surely the police had interviewed the guards on duty to find that out. She’d remind Ryan to get the names and do just that.

The lights were off in the guesthouse, and no one stood guard out back. There might be someone in front, she figured, so she would have to be careful, at least until she had completed her search. At that point, she wouldn’t really care if she were caught. She would enjoy informing McDonough that he should have secured the place if he didn’t want people inside it.

Boldly, Nina walked up to the back doors and opened them. One of the hinges squeaked in protest. Just inside the doorway, she slipped off her pumps and picked them up.

Through the large back windows, moonlight combined with the muted electric lanterns placed about the garden provided enough illumination to see her way around the dining and living room areas. Nina had a penlight in her purse, but didn’t want to use it unless she had to.

The place seemed sterile as a newly built home, containing no feeling that anyone had ever lived here.

The floor felt a bit gritty beneath her feet. Nina crouched down and touched it, discovering another reason why the room lacked any warmth or lived-in qualities. Someone had rolled up the plush Persian rugs and removed them since she had been there.

Perhaps McDonough had ordered it done to go over the rugs for further traces of evidence. She hadn’t thought he would be that thorough. Maybe she would have to reassess her opinion of him if that were the case.

She approached the area where the bloodstain had been, where Desmond had lain after the attack. She could see where his lifeblood had seeped through the rug and stained the light marble tiles. Unwilling to stand on the exact spot, Nina kept as close to the wall as possible.

“Ouch!” she yipped as she stepped on what felt like a tack. Quickly, she backed up to the hearth, dropped her shoes and sat down to pull the sharp object out of her instep. When she extracted it, she found it was not the tack she’d expected. Fishing out her penlight, she held it close to the object and examined it.

An earring! A clue? She had found a clue!

Of course, it might have been here for ages. Or it could belong to one of Desmond’s friends, not the person who killed him. Still, it was something Mr. Royal Investigator had missed. Nina felt a glimmer of satisfaction in that. Now he would have to admit she could be of help to him.

She tucked the earring into the zippered compartment inside her purse, switched off the penlight, slung the purse over her shoulder and continued her search. Maybe she could find something else.

The house was larger than it seemed from the outside. The second bedroom she checked was the largest and probably the one Desmond had used. There were no clues to be found as far as Nina could determine. The drawers and wardrobe had been emptied. A fine dust coated everything. Fingerprinting dust, she supposed.

Nina had just reached the open door to the bathroom when she heard the noise. The hinge from the French doors off the dining room creaked.

It must be the guard from out front doing a routine check, she thought. She listened for a few seconds, then ducked into the bathroom and quietly closed the door. She stepped into the bathtub and crouched low behind the door of thick frosted glass to hide.

Oh, lord, where were her shoes? By the door? On the hearth?

Her heart hammered so loudly, she was afraid whoever had come in would hear it and find her immediately. Surely it was the guard from the front door doing a regular check. She hated to think who else it could be or why she was so frantic not to be discovered after all.

In spite of that reluctance to guess who was in the house with her, Nina did recall that no lights had come on just prior to or just after she’d heard that creak of the door. Wouldn’t a guard need light to check the place out? No reason for him not to light up the place. Oh, God.

She remained exactly where she was as time passed, scarcely daring to breathe or shift her position against the end of the tub enclosure.

The air inside the bathroom felt exceedingly warm and she wished she could shrug out of her suit jacket. But she didn’t dare move. Her silk blouse clung to her skin and her hose felt like they would melt on her legs. Perspiration dotted her face and made her scalp tingle. She was breathing through her mouth, practically panting. Nerves.

Now was no time to develop panic attacks, she cautioned herself. Be calm. Wait till they leave. Grab your shoes and get the heck out of here.

Furtive rustling sounds from the bedroom had her scrunching down even farther in the bathtub, holding her breath until there was a roaring in her ears. When she did draw in a deep breath, she recognized the acrid odor. Her nostrils began to burn and her eyes stung. Smoke!

The place was on fire!

In full-blown panic now, she scrambled to her feet and out of the tub. She grabbed the door handle, then stopped herself and flattened her palm against the door. Hot! She didn’t dare open it. The fire roared and crackled audibly on the other side.

Hurriedly climbing up on the commode, Nina raked the curtains aside and shoved open the tiny window. No way could she fit through it, she thought, but she had to try.

Shoving her head, one shoulder and arm through the opening, she screamed for all she was worth. When she grew hoarse, she stopped and began wriggling, gaining only an inch now and then in her struggle to break free. Frustrated and panicked, she screamed again.

This time a siren screamed back. She glanced to her left. Glass and flames had burst outward through the front window of the living room.

People were running toward the guesthouse through the gardens, two men dashing toward her. McDonough shouted, but she couldn’t distinguish his words.

“Help!” she cried. “Over here! I’m stuck!”

Together, Ryan and the other man dragged over a wrought-iron bench, climbed up and began hammering at the top part of the window that had her trapped, breaking the panes and mullions until the entire thing gave way. They roughly shifted her sideways so that her hips fit through the opening and finally yanked her free. The three of them tumbled into the bushes below, landing in a heap.

She’d no sooner hit the ground than McDonough had her in his arms and was running away from the building. Oddly, she thought of the purse and the earring inside it. Grasping at the shoulder bag, she clutched it to her and sighed with relief. It was still on her shoulder. She hadn’t lost her clue.

If it was a clue.