The Lovebirds

He realized he was staring at her. ‘‘Temporarily?’’ he asked when her words finally registered.

‘‘I’ve been offered the undersheriff job,’’ she said, tilting her head a little, her eyes glinting.

T. J. Bailey. My God, he’d never dreamed the T. J. Bailey, the applicant the town council had offered the undersheriff position to, was Tempest. He tried to think of something to say to cover his shock and discomfort, but it was impossible with his foot stuck in his mouth.

‘‘Congratulations,’’ he finally managed.

She cocked her head. ‘‘It’s a little premature for that. I haven’t accepted.’’ She met his gaze, her eyes as dark as an abyss.

‘‘Jack!’’ Mitzy cried, reminding him she had to be the center of attention. ‘‘I have a dead woman in my foyer!’’

‘‘Yes.’’ It didn’t surprise him that she wouldn’t refer to Peggy Kane by name. ‘‘That’s why I’m here. I’ll need to get statements from all of you.’’

‘‘Statements?’’ Mitzy looked horrified. ‘‘She choked to death on one of my chocolates. What more is there to say?’’

‘‘We won’t know what killed her until the coroner—’’

‘‘Of course, she choked,’’ Mitzy interrupted. ‘‘What else could it have been? Unless it was a heart attack. She did carry a lot of weight for a lot of years.’’ She must have seen his expression. ‘‘I’m not speaking ill of the dead. You all know it’s the truth. She was huge.’’

Jack pulled the tape recorder from his pocket as Oliver pushed a large martini into his wife’s hand.

‘‘I’d offer you a drink, Jack,’’ Oliver said, motioning to his own glass, ‘‘but you’re on duty, right? Just like Tempest here.’’

‘‘Why don’t we all sit,’’ Jack suggested as he took Mitzy’s drink from her hand and put it down on the glass coffee table out of her reach. ‘‘If you don’t mind.’’

‘‘I think he’d like to get your statement while you’re still halfway sober, my dear,’’ Oliver said to his wife. ‘‘Jack obviously knows you.’’

The tension in the room jumped up a notch as Mitzy shot her husband a .357 point-blank, drop-dead look, but it didn’t even seem to wound him, making Jack wonder about their relationship.

‘‘You might want to slow down a little yourself,’’ Jack suggested to Oliver. ‘‘Just until I get your statement.’’

Mitzy smiled at that, then sat on the couch, smoothing the pink fabric over her thighs with both hands. ‘‘To think she choked to death on my chocolates.’’

Jack didn’t correct her. For all he knew, she might be right. He met Tempest’s gaze across the expanse of glass coffee table as she took a chair opposite the couch. He got the distinct impression she didn’t think Peggy Kane had choked to death. At least not without help.

He sat in the chair at the end of the coffee table between Mitzy and Tempest. Oliver continued to stand behind the couch, sipping his drink. It was just like him to refuse to sit. After all, he was a Sanders and they didn’t take orders from anyone in River’s Edge. Especially from some ex-high-school-jock from the wrong side of the tracks named Jack McAllister, even if he was the new sheriff.

‘‘Mitzy, why don’t you tell me exactly what you remember,’’ Jack said as he set the tape recorder on the table. ‘‘I’d appreciate it if no one interrupted her.’’ He glanced pointedly at Oliver, who bristled visibly.

‘‘I already told everything to that other cop,’’ Mitzy said irritably. ‘‘I don’t see why I have to go over it again. It’s just all so...ghastly.’’

‘‘I need to hear it for the record,’’ Jack said as he pushed the record button.

Mitzy stared at the tape recorder, then at her drink for a moment, before she wet her lips and began speaking. ‘‘I came home at my usual time. I’m a Realtor, a very good one, in case you haven’t heard.’’ She directed the comment and a broad smile at Jack.

‘‘You came home at your usual time,’’ he prompted.

‘‘Yes, I was anxious to get home. It’s Valentine’s Day,’’ she said and looked from Jack to Tempest as if she doubted either was aware of that fact. ‘‘Anyway,’’ she sighed, ‘‘I got into the private elevator, started to insert my key for the penthouse when I noticed there was already a key in it.’’ She rolled her eyes. ‘‘I thought, damn Oliver! How many times have I told him not to leave his key in the elevator where anyone off the street can just walk right into our penthouse.’’

‘‘Oliver’s left his key in before?’’ Jack asked.

‘‘Only once or twice,’’ he said with obvious irritation. ‘‘The bellhop usually sees it and either brings it up or calls to let me know it’s at the desk. It really isn’t a big deal. I find the whole key thing to be a real nuisance.’’

‘‘Anyway,’’ Mitzy continued. ‘‘There was the key, so I just assumed Oliver had beat me home. I came up, excited to give him his gift. I bought him a new Rolex. Oh, sorry, dear,’’ she added quickly, glancing at her husband. ‘‘I guess it won’t be much of a surprise now.’’ Her gaze swung back to Jack. ‘‘But then my Valentine’s Day was ruined the moment I saw Peggy sprawled dead in the middle of my chocolates, wasn’t it?’’ She was completely ignoring Tempest. Nothing new here.

‘‘You were saying what happened when the elevator door opened,’’ Jack reminded her.

She looked at him aghast. ‘‘What do you think happened? I saw Peggy and screamed.’’

‘‘Did you check for a pulse or see if you could help her?’’ Jack asked.

Mitzy blinked. ‘‘I could see that she was dead. I wasn’t about to...touch her.’’

Jack looked to Tempest. ‘‘So that’s when you came on the scene?’’

She nodded. ‘‘I was on the floor below. I came right up.’’

‘‘By elevator?’’ he asked.

‘‘No, Mrs. Sanders had the elevator door blocked open with her bags. I took the emergency stairs off the fire escape and entered through the fire exit door.’’ Tempest seemed to read his mind. ‘‘I insisted Mrs. Sanders leave everything just as she’d found it—including the bags she’d used to block the elevator.’’

The two shopping bags he’d noticed against the opposite wall from the body.

He turned his attention back to Mitzy, trying not to think about the possibility of working with Tempest Bailey. With luck, she wouldn’t take the job. ‘‘Did you touch anything?’’ he asked Mitzy.

‘‘I just screamed and the next thing I knew—’’ she swung her gaze at Tempest ‘‘—she came through my house. It appears Oliver didn’t use the dead bolt on the fire escape exit.’’ Mitzy shook her head in disgust. ‘‘Then she called your office and ordered me to go back down to the lobby.’’

Jack knew the answer to this one. ‘‘But you didn’t.’’

‘‘Of course not,’’ Mitzy said. ‘‘I couldn’t have a bunch of strangers up here unsupervised.’’ Tempest Bailey was far from a stranger to Mitzy even if Tempest hadn’t been the hotel detective. ‘‘There wasn’t any reason I couldn’t wait in the living room and just step around the body if I had to.’’

He glanced at Tempest. She said nothing, but her expression told him everything he needed to know about her confrontation with Mitzy. ‘‘You called the sheriff’s department from your own cell phone?’’

Tempest nodded. ‘‘I touched nothing nor did I let anyone else touch anything around the victim or the penthouse until I turned it over to the two deputies and it could be photographed and fingerprints taken. I have been here with both...witnesses the entire time.’’

‘‘Good work.’’

‘‘I was just doing my job.’’

Mitzy looked as if she wanted to argue that.

‘‘How many keys are there to the penthouse?’’ he asked Tempest.

‘‘Four,’’ she answered without hesitation. ‘‘Mrs. Sanders and I each have one. Mr. Sanders has two.’’

Jack shot Oliver a look.

‘‘I have a tendency to misplace mine,’’ he said.

So it seemed. ‘‘May I see everyone’s key?’’ Jack asked.

Tempest produced hers. Mitzy had to have her little pink bag brought in from the foyer. She dug around for a moment, then finally came up with it. Out of the corner of his eye, Jack saw Oliver reach into the pocket of his suit pants, frown, then move to the bar where he began to mix himself another drink.

‘‘Don’t you have your keys?’’ Jack asked.

‘‘No, I guess I left mine at my office,’’ Oliver said after a moment, his back to everyone.

‘‘So whose key did Peggy have?’’ Jack asked as if he didn’t know the answer.

Oliver turned slowly from the bar, another full drink in his hand. He stared down into the frothy liquid for a moment, then glanced at his wife, who’d swung around on the couch to look at him. He let out a long sigh. ‘‘I asked Peggy to drop off the presents I’d purchased for Mitzy. She offered and since she didn’t have any plans and I wanted everything here before Mitzy got home and I wasn’t sure what time I could get off work, I thought, why not?’’

Oliver had rattled that off a little too quickly. Jack looked at him, wondering why the man would lie about something as innocuous as having Peggy drop off the gifts. Except for the fact that the woman was now dead in his foyer.

‘‘So you had already bought all the presents?’’ Jack asked, trying to pin down the lie. ‘‘When was that?’’

‘‘What does it matter?’’ Oliver snapped. Mitzy hadn’t said a word but she was still looking at her husband, a hard brittleness in her gaze.

‘‘It matters to me,’’ Jack said. And it appeared to matter to Mitzy as well. ‘‘When did you purchase the gifts? I’m sure you have the receipts or the clerks at the stores can substantiate your story.’’

Oliver glared at him. ‘‘I had Peggy buy everything this afternoon.’’

Mitzy turned back around, picked up her martini and drained half of it.

‘‘Where did Ms. Kane buy the chocolates?’’ Jack asked.

Oliver seemed to hesitate as if he might be considering lying. ‘‘Sweet Things.’’

‘‘Her choice? Or yours?’’ Jack asked.

‘‘Mine. I’d called ahead so I got exactly what I wanted,’’ he said, glancing at his wife’s back, as if he thought that fact was going to save him. But Mitzy seemed more interested in her drink than her husband now. Jack could understand that.

‘‘Cash? Or charge?’’ Jack asked.

Again Oliver seemed to hesitate, then said, ‘‘Charge. I would imagine Peggy still has my credit card.’’ The realization definitely didn’t make him happy. ‘‘I should have known Peggy couldn’t handle this.’’ He didn’t seem torn up over his secretary’s death and that bothered Jack. But Oliver was upset over something and it had to be more than getting caught sending his secretary out to do his Valentine’s Day shopping.

It also made Jack wonder how Peggy had gotten the job and why. ‘‘How long has Peggy been your secretary?’’

‘‘Too long,’’ Mitzy commented under her breath, then turned her baby blues on Jack. ‘‘Obviously, Oliver only hired her because he felt sorry for her and look where it’s gotten him.’’

Where had it gotten him? Jack wondered.

‘‘Just a little over a year,’’ Oliver said as if Mitzy hadn’t spoken.

‘‘Are you saying she wasn’t a good secretary?’’

‘‘Adequate,’’ Oliver said and finished his drink.

‘‘But you kept her on,’’ Jack persisted.

‘‘Finding anyone who wants to work in River’s Edge is next to impossible,’’ Oliver said.

Mitzy emptied her glass.

‘‘When did you arrive at the penthouse?’’ Jack asked Oliver.

‘‘Right after Mitzy.’’ Oliver glanced at Tempest as if he expected her to either corroborate his story—or contradict it. ‘‘I came up the back stairs.’’

Jack lifted a brow.

‘‘The elevator was blocked, remember?’’ Oliver said. ‘‘I wasn’t even aware I didn’t have my key.’’

CHAPTER THREE

THE MISSING EXTRA KEY bothered Jack. But what bothered him more was the way Oliver had looked to Tempest.

Jack glanced at her now. She said nothing, but from the set of her jaw, Jack guessed she wasn’t happy about something.

‘‘Excuse me, Sheriff,’’ Deputy Reed said from the living room doorway. ‘‘The coroner is in the lobby.’’

‘‘Bring him up,’’ Jack said, reaching over to turn off the tape recorder.

Mitzy shoved herself up off the couch and headed for the bar, breezing past Oliver without looking at him.

Jack rose, tucking the recorder into his jacket pocket again. ‘‘I assume neither of you is planning to leave town?’’

He caught a look pass between Mitzy and Oliver.

‘‘We’re not going anywhere, Sheriff,’’ Oliver said impatiently.

Jack turned his attention to Tempest, anxious to talk to her alone. She was already on her feet, no doubt eager as anyone to get away from this pair. ‘‘If you have a few minutes....’’ He motioned toward the foyer.

She nodded and followed him out to where the coroner was just getting off the elevator.

‘‘Damn,’’ Lou Ramsey said, scowling down at the body, then at Jack. ‘‘You bring this kind of stuff with you from the big city?’’

It did feel as if he’d brought something back with him, more old baggage than even he’d realized. ‘‘I can’t believe you’re still alive—let alone still the coroner,’’ Jack said to the cantankerous old veterinarian/councilman/ coroner.

White-headed, stooped-shouldered and more temperamental than a de-hibernated grizzly in spring, Ramsey guffawed, then put down his bag. ‘‘I’m really looking forward to working with you,’’ he said. ‘‘Yeah, right.’’

Ramsey asked Dobson if he’d shot the scene as he snapped on a pair of latex gloves from his bag. Dobson nodded. Jack sent Deputy Reed to keep the Sanderses company and make sure they remained in the living room until they could have their foyer back.

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