The Black Widow

“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.”

Chapter 3

Robby Joe smiled and held open his arms. She went flying into his loving embrace, feelings of pure happiness enveloping her. He was the most important person in the world to her. He was the man she loved, her future husband, the father of the children she would have one day.

When she was with Robby Joe, she felt that nothing bad could ever happen to her again, that all the bad things in her life were behind her forever. Their June wedding was only a month away, an elaborate affair that his mother had insisted on paying for, even down to helping Jordan pay for a beautiful wedding dress that she otherwise couldn’t have afforded.

With her arms wrapped around Robby Joe’s neck and her head resting against his shoulder, Jordan sighed with deep contentment. Sunlight struck the one-carat diamond on her finger. Gazing at her engagement ring, she thought about the night this past October when Robby Joe had proposed. A starlit night, a carriage ride, a declaration of love.

“I love you,” she whispered in his ear. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” he told her.

Jordan closed her eyes, savoring this moment of pure joy.

Suddenly, she could no longer feel Robby Joe’s arms around her, couldn’t feel his warmth and his strength.

“Robby Joe?”

When she opened her eyes, she found herself all alone. She held up her left hand. Her engagement ring sparkled on her third finger.

She heard someone weeping, soft, mournful sobs. Who was crying and why? Something terrible must have happened. Someone was very sad.

“Robby Joe, where are you? Do you hear that woman crying? Why is she crying?”

Jordan woke with a start, gasping for breath, her heart racing and perspiration dampening her skin. She opened her eyes and tossed back the covers. Her bedroom lay in semi-darkness, the only illumination coming from the mellow glimmer of moonlight shining through the French doors leading to the balcony. She swung out of bed, slipped her feet into the quilted satin house shoes in front of the nightstand, and reached for the satin robe lying across the antique cedar chest at the foot of the mahogany sleigh bed.

The pain radiating from deep inside her seemed as immediate and potent as it had the day she and Darlene buried Robby Joe. Twelve years ago.

Jordan unlocked the French doors, opened them, and stepped out onto the balcony that overlooked the back courtyard and the rose garden. After yesterday’s heavy rain, the earth smelled rich and fresh, and a hint of gold overspread the dark sky, a prelude to the approaching dawn.

She hadn’t dreamed about Robby Joe in a long time, not in years. But she supposed that Dan’s recent death and funeral had reawakened long-buried memories in her subconscious. Like so many of her memories, those of Robby Joe were memories of happiness that had ended in sorrow. Sometimes it seemed that her life had been little more than a series of tragic events.

Watching her mother dying a little each day with the cancer that ravaged her body would have been traumatic for anyone, but for a child of ten, it had been devastating. During that final year, she had been the glue that held her family together. She, a mere child, had been the one who had comforted her dying mother and consoled her grief-stricken father.

And then less than two years later, when Daddy had brought home a new bride, a woman as different from her own mother as night is from day, Jordan had withdrawn into a secret place inside herself. She had been polite to her stepmother, even though in the beginning she had intensely disliked the loud, flashy, bleached blonde. She had shared her room with her shy little stepsister without complaint and endured her teenage stepbrother, who at the age of fourteen, smoked, cursed, drank beer and claimed he was screwing their 17-year-old neighbor.

Meeting Robby Joe her sophomore year of college had changed her life. He was such a dreamboat: good looking, smart, kind and caring. And he came from a good family. They dated on and off for over a year, falling in love slowly. Their junior year, he had invited her home with him for Thanksgiving. Since Robby Joe was an only child, Jordan had been afraid his widowed mother would resent her, perhaps even dislike her. But nothing could have been further from the truth. As it turned out, Darlene Wright and Jordan’s mother had been sorority sisters at Ole Miss. And Darlene’s genteel, cultured persona reminded Jordan of her mother. By the time she and Robby Joe had become engaged, she thought of his mother as her second mom. They had far more in common than Jordan would ever have with her stepmother.

Everything had been so perfect, perhaps too perfect.

If only Robby Joe hadn’t died. How different her life would have been if—

Damn it, don’t do this to yourself!

She had stopped playing the “what if ” game years ago. She had given up all her foolish young dreams of passionate love, of children born from that love, of a happily-ever-after. Harsh reality had slapped her in the face repeatedly, knocking all romantic notions out of her head.

She had cared for Dan and had respected him. But she had not been in love with him. She had lost a dear friend and she would miss him terribly. But her heart wasn’t shattered. She didn’t feel as if she, too, had died. It wasn’t the same as it had been when she lost Robby Joe.

Jordan laid her open palms on her still flat belly. She was barely six weeks pregnant. Only her family and closest friends knew, but sometime soon, she would have to share her news with the world. She wanted this baby, who would be raised as Dan Price’s child and would be Dan’s heir. But she wouldn’t have to raise her son or daughter alone. Devon would be a father to the child, loving it for so many reasons.

Rick parked his Jeep Wrangler down the street from the Dade County Courthouse. After getting out, locking up, and stuffing his keys into the pocket of his jeans, he jaywalked across Case Avenue. He located the sheriff’s department without any trouble since he’d called ahead this morning and asked for exact directions. Trenton, the county seat, with a population of less than 2000, was located south of Priceville, so after he finished his business here, he’d have to backtrack a few miles.

Although the Powell Agency would do in-depth research during the course of this case, an agent always began an assignment with basic info. While compiling barebones information about Priceville and the Price family, Rick had looked up Sheriff Steve Corbett. The guy had been sheriff since the late nineties and had worked as a Trenton policeman for a number of years before running for elected office. He had a spotless reputation, was known as a straight arrow kind of man with a wife and two kids, and he taught Sunday school.

Rick had spoken to Sheriff Corbett personally on his drive from Knoxville. He had set up an appointment for 11:30 to meet with the sheriff and the two officers in charge of the investigation into Dan Price’s death: Lt. Nolan Trumbo and Lt. Haley McLain.

The minute he announced himself, he was shown into the sheriff’s office. A broad-shouldered, heavy-set man with a thick, dark mustache and military-short graying hair came from around the desk and offered Rick his hand. In his peripheral vision, Rick noticed a female officer immediately stand at attention.

Sheriff Corbett pumped Rick’s hand in a cordial, good old boy way. “Come on in, Mr. Carson, and meet Lt. McLain. I’m afraid Nolan Trumbo had a family emergency this morning. You’ll meet him later.”

They exchanged a strong cordial handshake; then Rick turned to the lieutenant. “Ma’am.”

She nodded and offered him a hint of a smile, responding in a friendly manner without being flirty. The deputy, probably in her mid-to-late thirties, filled out her uniform quite nicely, with curves in all the right places. She wore her light brown hair cut short with wispy curls framing her heart-shaped face.

“Take a seat.” Sheriff Corbett indicated a chair to the right of his desk as he sat down in his leather swivel chair behind the desk. “I’ve spoken to Ryan and assured him that this office will cooperate with the Powell Agency’s independent investigation.”

“We appreciate that,” Rick said as he lowered himself onto the metal folding chair.

“You understand that the Georgia Bureau of Investigation took over and it was their medical examiner who did the autopsy on Dan, so, in a way, my hands have been tied,” Corbett explained. “Officially, Dan’s death has been ruled a suicide, but with Ryan’s doubts and Haley here not a hundred percent convinced, I’m glad Ryan hired your outfit to dig around and see what y’all can find.”

“I’m working for Jordan Price, too,” Rick said. “She and her brother-in-law hired Powell’s.”

“Yeah, that’s what Ryan told me. He sure hated to upset Jordan so soon after the funeral.” Corbett made a clicking sound with his tongue as he shook his head. “It was hard enough for her to have to accept that Dan killed himself, but if Ryan’s right, it’s going to be even more difficult for her to know somebody murdered her husband. She’s been a pillar of strength for Ryan and Claire. I don’t know what they’d have done without her to step in and handle all the details. She’s a mighty fine lady and Dan was as lucky as a man could be to have had her for his wife.”

How could he reply to that comment? Obviously Sheriff Corbett had fallen under the Jordan Price spell. Rick glanced up at the deputy, who stood rigid and silent. “Do you agree with Ryan Price that his brother didn’t kill himself?”

She looked to the sheriff for permission to speak, and answered only after he nodded. “I have my doubts.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“The evidence points to suicide,” Lt. McLain said. “Senator Price’s right hand showed evidence of firearms residue and trace metal indicating he was holding the gun when it was fired. Also, the skin around the wound showed a powder tattoo, which indicates—”

“That the weapon was fired from no more than two feet away,” Rick completed her statement.

“That’s right.” She nodded. “The GBI ballistics lab did a test firing, and their findings, along with one other fact— that there was a contact wound and an impression of the muzzle on the senator’s head, indicating the weapon came in direct contact—suggest suicide.”

“What makes you think it wasn’t suicide?” Rick looked her right in the eye. “Nothing you’ve told me indicates that the senator’s death wasn’t—”

“You’re right,” she replied. “On the surface, the evidence points to suicide. But since this was my case, I made a point of thoroughly studying the autopsy report— even reading between the lines, if you want to call it that. A few things seemed a bit off to me, but I dismissed them as nothing but my investigator’s curiosity and possibly my imagination. But the more I thought about it, the more I knew I couldn’t let it go. So, I told Steve…uh, Sheriff Corbett and he agreed with me.”

“Exactly what seemed ‘off’ to you?” Rick asked.

“For one thing, the autopsy report showed arthritis in the senator’s hands, including the fingers of his right hand, which might have made pulling the trigger painful.”

“Painful but not impossible,” Rick said. “The evidence clearly showed that his finger pulled the trigger, right?”

“Right. He could have pulled the trigger. But there was something else—the senator’s trigger finger was broken and there was bruising on the top of his hand.”

Son of a bitch!

“You think that somebody grabbed the senator’s hand, forced the gun into it, and squeezed their hand over his hard enough to bruise his hand. And this person pressed down so hard when they forced his finger against the trigger that it broke the bones.”

“It’s all speculation,” Sheriff Corbett said. “But coupled with Ryan’s sincere conviction that his brother would never have killed himself, it’s enough to question if the senator might have had a little assistance in shooting himself.”

“The senator wasn’t a small or weak man,” Lt. McLain said. “Either he would have had to have been drugged or the person who forced the gun into his hand had to be quite strong. The autopsy showed no evidence of drugs, but I found evidence at the scene that he’d been drinking.”

“Apparently the GBI didn’t think this info was significant proof of murder or they wouldn’t have ruled the death a suicide.”

“Apparently,” Lt. McLain said. “And you do realize that it’s highly unlikely that we can prove it was murder.”

“But if we work under the assumption that it was murder and not suicide, we can look for a killer. In order to prove our theory, we will have to find the murderer and if possible, get a confession.”

“Then you believe I might be right to question the GBI’s Medical Examiner?” she asked.

“Yeah, I think there’s a good possibility you’re right and he’s wrong.”

“I know what we’ve got isn’t much,” the sheriff said, “but it’s a start. Anything you need from us, just let us know. You can contact Haley day or night while you’re on this case. She’ll be available.”

When Corbett glanced at her, Haley McLain said, “Yes, sir.” Then she looked at Rick. “Our department doesn’t have the budget or the manpower—or for that matter, the authority—to investigate further. The M.E.’s official decision was suicide, but if Powell’s can prove otherwise, then we can reopen this case.”

“I don’t suppose you’ve got a list of possible suspects, do you, Lieutenant?”

Haley cleared her throat. “No, I’m afraid I don’t.”

Rick figured by the nervous way she cut her eyes toward Corbett and then cast her gaze to the floor that the deputy did have a list, even if it was just a mental tally of who might have had a reason to murder Senator Daniel Price.

“I’d like to take a look at the case files, including the autopsy report,” Rick said.

Corbett nodded. “Haley, why don’t you walk Mr. Carson out and see that he gets copies of whatever he needs.”

“Yes, sir.”

Rick fell into step behind the curvy brunette, his gaze settling on the sway of her trim hips, noting how her slacks cupped her firm buttocks, not a panty line in sight. That meant one of two things: either she wasn’t wearing panties or she was wearing a thong. Either was damn sexy. And the thought intrigued him.

While they waited for the sheriff’s secretary to copy the files on the Price case, Haley offered Rick a cup of coffee, which he accepted.

“If Dan Price was murdered, who heads your suspects list?” Rick asked.

“I told you that I don’t have a—”

“A political adversary? A disgruntled constituent? The loyal assistant? The grieving widow?”

Haley eyed him over her half empty coffee cup and took a sip before responding. “The husband or wife is usually the chief suspect until he or she is ruled out. But from what I know about Mrs. Price, people believe she’s practically a saint.”

Rick grunted. “I guess I’ll find out for myself pretty soon. I’m going to be staying at Price Manor for the duration of this investigation.”

“And whose idea was that?”

“Mrs. Price invited me to stay.”

“And naturally you agreed.”

Rick shrugged.

“There’s something else I’ve heard about Mrs. Price.”

“What’s that?” Rick asked.

“That the lady can be very persuasive.”

She watched from the upstairs window while the Powell agent parked his Jeep in front of the house. They didn’t want him here. He was not welcome, but he mustn’t know that, just as no one must ever find out that Dan had told her about the Alzheimer’s diagnosis. How fortunate that he had trusted her so completely, enough so that she was able to plant the idea of suicide in his mind. If only he had followed through…Water under the bridge. She had to accept the reality of their situation and deal with it accordingly.

They would have to be polite to Mr. Carson; how ever, there was no reason for them to be friendly.

Ryan had done what he thought best and the rest of them had to live with his decision. She’d had no idea that Dan’s brother would refuse to believe he had killed himself, especially not after the medical examiner ruled his death a suicide. Why couldn’t he have accepted their findings? If he had, they could all move on and put the unfortunate incident behind them.