“McAllister wasn’t murdered with an ax.”
“Details.” She waved that off. “The bottom line is my fiancé had good reason to get cold feet.”
“Did he?”
She frowned. “Well, yes. What would you have done in his shoes?”
“If I had questions, I would have gone hunting.”
She stilled in the act of taking another sip of wine. Slowly she lowered the glass. “I beg your pardon?”
He stretched out his legs and contemplated the jeweled pool. “You heard me.”
“You would have gone hunting for what, exactly?”
“Answers.” He picked up his wine and drank what was left in the glass.
“Answers aren’t always available. This isn’t exactly a pension and benefits issue. The police think a burglar killed Brad. That kind of crime is notoriously hard to solve. It’s quite possible the murderer is in jail now for some other offense.”
“Do you believe that?”
It was getting a little hard to breathe. She tried another sip of wine in hopes of calming her jittery nerves.
“It’s comforting to think that the killer is probably off the streets,” she said.
“You don’t look particularly comforted. I assume that is because you believe that whoever murdered McAllister is probably not sitting in jail.”
How had the conversation strayed into such dangerous territory? Not an accident, that was certain. It was time to take the offensive.
“Why are you so interested in Brad’s death?” she asked coolly.
“Because you interest me, Clare Lancaster. What happened to your sister’s husband had a major impact on your life. It cost you a fiancé and it’s the reason you’re currently unemployed. Therefore it follows that I’m curious.”
She dared not move. “Why are you interested in me? Is it because Archer is your client?”
“No, Clare.” He smiled slowly, letting her see the hunter beneath the surface. “This is personal.”
Chapter Twelve
The incident in the parking garage had been a reckless, idiotic, potentially disastrous act, Valerie thought. She was still shaking.
She had made the mistake of giving in to impulse and an irresistible moment of opportunity. That must not happen again.
Luckily she had failed. What if she had succeeded? Yes, Clare would have been dead or grievously injured and that would have been enormously satisfying. But there would have been so many problems. How would she have concealed the damage to the car, for instance? Owen would most certainly have demanded an explanation. There would have been blood or some other type of forensic evidence left behind.
She might have been arrested, Valerie thought, horrified.
Shuddering, she gulped down half the martini and topped off the glass.
She had not followed Clare from the Glazebrook house with the intention of running her down. The plan had been to find out where she was staying in Phoenix. No one seemed to know anything other than that she was at a hotel near the airport.
Valerie clenched one hand into a fist. This morning she had opened a city map of Phoenix and drawn a circle around Phoenix Sky Harbor. She methodically called every hotel and motel within a two-mile radius of the airport. There was no Clare Lancaster registered at any of them.
Clever bitch. You know you’ve got a reason to be careful, don’t you?
The idea of watching the entrance to the gated community where she and Owen and the Glazebrooks lived had come to her that morning. Owen had said Clare had returned to Arizona because she was summoned by Archer Glazebrook. It made sense that sooner or later she would show up at the house again, if only to deal with the damaged rental car and pick up a new one.
The detour into the mall parking garage had come as a surprise. Valerie remembered how she had sat there, waiting, for nearly two hours in the damned heat before Clare returned. At the sight of her carrying shopping bags and acting so normal, just as if she hadn’t murdered Brad in cold blood, rage boiled up and spilled over.
Stupid, Valerie thought. So stupid.
Cradling the full martini glass in both hands, she walked gingerly across the white-on-white great room and sat down on the white leather sofa. She had to be careful. Owen had been furious two days before when she accidentally spilled a whole pitcher of martinis on the rug.
But she needed this drink badly. Her nerves were shot. She took another long swallow and set the glass on the table.
She held up her hand and stared at her shaking fingers. Maybe she ought to take one of the pills the doctor had given her. He warned her not to mix the meds with booze but she knew for a fact that people did it all the time. She had done it herself, more than once, recently. A good night’s sleep had been impossible to come by since the night of Brad’s murder, but she had discovered that a judicious mix of pills and alcohol made it possible to escape into oblivion for a few hours at a time.
No pills this evening, she decided. She did not want to sleep. She needed to think. She had to concentrate on what to do about Clare Lancaster.
Rage flashed through her. How dare Clare come back here after what she did?
Valerie took another fortifying gulp of martini and looked out the wall of windows toward the mountains.
She hated this place. She detested everything about the desert with its harsh, ugly plant life, its stinging insects and snakes, the relentless summer heat and the intense light. But most of all she hated knowing that Brad’s killer was walking around Stone Canyon as free as a bird.
Seeing Clare enter the Glazebrook house just as though she deserved to be treated like a member of the family was too much. No mother who had lost a son could be expected to tolerate that kind of affront.
She used both hands to raise the martini glass to her lips again. This time she hesitated. Then, very carefully, she set the glass back down on the white stone coffee table without taking a sip.
She really did need to think.
For a while the vengeance she had pursued these past six months had been enough to satisfy her. The first phone call, the one to Clare’s fiancé, had been extremely gratifying. Poor Greg Washburn was horrified to discover that Clare had been having an affair with her half sister’s husband. He was even more stunned to discover that, although she had not been arrested, many of those closest to the victim were convinced that Clare killed him. That kind of gossip was too much for any decent man. He’d had no choice but to end the engagement.
The phone call to the head of the Draper Trust where Clare worked had been just as satisfactory. Valerie placed the call in her capacity as president of the board of the Stone Canyon Arts Academy. Due diligence and all that. Just a word to the wise. Everyone in the charitable foundation business understood that the employees had to be purer than Caesar’s wife. If word got out that a member of the staff had been involved in an illicit love triangle that ended in murder the impact on future fund-raising efforts could be devastating. Reputation was everything in the world of high-end philanthropy.