A Deadly Game

“Mr. Townsend told us that his father sent him there on the same errand. Is there something special about this Corvette?”

“Other than the fact that it’s a really hot sports car? I don’t think so.” Susanna leaned forward to grab the handbag she had shoved beneath the chair. She fished inside until she found the auction catalog Mr. Ingram had given her yesterday. It was already opened to the appropriate page. “I wondered at the time if it was…” She bit her lip and battled feelings of disloyalty before she continued. “A midlife crisis.”

Detective Rollins inspected the picture of the bright red Corvette—bloodred was the term Mr. Ingram had used to describe it. The uniformed officer peered over the detective’s shoulder.

Rollins’s lips twitched. “Speaking as a man of around the same age, I can affirm that if I could afford to buy a car to help me over a midlife crisis, that’s one I’d pick.” He returned the catalog, and Susanna shoved it back into the depths of her purse. “Ms. Trent, are you aware of anyone who might want to harm the victim?”

Since the moment she’d realized Mr. Ingram was dead, Susanna had been racking her brain trying to think who would do something so horrible to such a nice man. She’d drawn a complete blank.

“I can’t think of anyone who would want to hurt Mr. Ingram. He is—” she bit her lip “—was well respected by everyone—all the employees here at Ingram Industries. The customers. Everyone.”

“What about competitors?” Rollins tapped the issue of American Coal magazine that topped the stack on the table between them. “I imagine the coal industry is fairly competitive.”

“Of course there’s competition in any business, but nothing serious enough to kill someone over.”

“A disgruntled employee, maybe? Anyone been fired lately?”

Susanna shook her head. “No.”

Footsteps sounded in the hallway, and she looked up in time to see Jack step into the room. What was he doing here? She’d thought he had gone home.

After a quick glance in his direction, Rollins focused all his attention on her. “Who would be the most knowledgeable about the victim’s day-to-day business dealings?”

Jack wandered over to her desk and picked up the framed photo on the corner, the one of her and Lizzie taken at last summer’s company picnic.

“That would be me.” She smoothed a lock of hair behind her ear. “I maintain Mr. Ingram’s calendar, both business and personal. I arrange all his meetings, screen all his calls, draft his correspondence. And I can’t think of a single issue that’s come up lately with even the slightest bit of conflict.”

The detective studied her for a moment, then gave a nod and slapped his hands on his knees before standing. “We’ll need some information from you. The names of anyone who’s had contact with the victim in the past few weeks, to begin with. His appointment calendar, phone records, things like that. Then we’ll need the company’s employee roster with contact information.”

Susanna followed the detective’s example and rose. A list began to compile itself in her mind, beginning with those who had closest contact with Mr. Ingram—the executives at Ingram Industries. And what about the board of directors? Detective Rollins would probably want their phone numbers, as well. Her conscience prickled, but she dismissed the feeling. No one would fault her for providing their private contact numbers to the police if it helped to apprehend a murderer.

“Hopefully it won’t take you too long to pull that together. When you’ve finished, you’re free to go.” Rollins shifted his gaze to Jack. “Perhaps Mr. Townsend would be kind enough to escort you home.”

A hot flush threatened to flood her cheeks. A glance at Jack’s face showed he was as surprised at the detective’s suggestion as her.

“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary,” she assured Rollins. “My car is in the parking lot.”

The detective stopped in the act of walking away and turned to face her with a sober expression. “I don’t want to frighten you, Ms. Trent, but I hope you understand how serious this situation is. You could be in danger yourself.”

“Me?” Her voice came out in a frightened rush. “Why would I be in danger?”

Rollins’s eyes flicked toward the inner office, where the low murmur of voices blended with the mechanical click of a camera. “A man has been killed in this office. Until we know more, we can’t rule out the possibility that the killer’s motive has something to do with the victim’s business. And who is most closely acquainted with his business dealings?”

Susanna’s mouth dried. Her lungs refused to cooperate, refused to draw in a breath. Fear paralyzed them.

The detective saw her reaction, and gave a nod. “Just so you understand the gravity of the situation. If you prefer, I’ll have Officer Bledsoe make sure you get home safely.”

Jack returned the picture to the desk and stepped forward. “I don’t mind following you home.” The smile he flashed at her held a note of apology. “We need to talk about what happens with the car anyway.”

Though she far preferred the officer as an escort, Susanna couldn’t think of a polite reason to refuse Jack’s offer. Her mind was still reeling from Detective Rollins’s warning. And the image of Mr. Ingram’s lifeless eyes. And the thought of going into her dark, empty house alone.

Mutely, Susanna nodded.

Light shone from the windows of the houses on either side of Susanna’s, but hers was covered in blackness. Even the porch light was dark, burnt out a few weeks ago. She pulled her car into the driveway and made a mental note to replace the bulb as she slid out of the driver’s seat. The rattle of Jack’s diesel engine interrupted the neighborhood’s peaceful silence. Susanna stood in the dim circle of light from her car’s interior, her hand resting on the rim of the open door, as the pickup and trailer rolled to a stop at the curb in front of the house.

A sound broke the silence behind her. Startled, she whirled and peered into the deep shadow of overgrown evergreen shrubs that separated her house from the one next door. Was something there? Yes, the branches were moving. Her pulse kicked into high speed as she strained to make out details. Though clouds obscured the moon, there was no wind tonight. Was someone hiding there, between the houses?

The bushes moved again. In the second before she leaped back into her car, ready to slam the door and punch the lock button, she realized the movement was too low to be a person. She strained to discern black from pitch-black as the figure moved toward her. A tense breath left her lungs in a rush when the shadows materialized into the neighbor’s cat, sauntering toward her with an unhurried gait. It disappeared beneath her car, apparently in search of a warm place to sleep. Susanna released her death grip on the door. How foolish of her, afraid of a cat. That detective had her jumping at shadows.

The truck’s door slammed, and she turned to see Jack striding toward her across the grass.

Susanna closed her own car door and pointed toward the trailer as he approached. “I don’t know what to do about the car. I don’t have a garage to park it in.”

Jack shoved his hands in the front pocket of his jeans, shoulders hunched against the cold. “I overheard you saying Ingram has two daughters. What about taking it to one of them?”

“The oldest lives in California, and the youngest is studying in Europe.” She had given the police their contact information. Did they know yet that their father was dead? Susanna intended to call tomorrow, to see if they needed her to help with the arrangements.

“Does Ingram have a garage?”

Of course. Why didn’t she think of that before they left the office? She massaged the back of her neck. Her brain wasn’t working right tonight. Shock, probably. “Yes, he does. I guess we ought to go back to the office and get his house keys so we can take it over there.”

Jack scuffed at the driveway with his shoe. “I hesitate to bring this up, but my father said he’d be happy to buy the Corvette now that Ingram—” he paused, embarrassed “—uh, won’t be needing it. I’m sure he would store it at his house until the arrangements can be made.”

For a moment, Susanna was speechless. How utterly mercenary of Jack’s father to suggest such a thing while Mr. Ingram’s strangled body still lay on the floor of his office. And how completely in character for a self-centered man who was used to getting whatever he wanted, regardless of the circumstances. People talked, and she’d heard rumors about R. H. Townsend and the ruthless way he ran his business. For office workers searching for a job, Townsend Steakhouses, Inc., was at the bottom of the list unless you were desperate.

She’d thought better of Jack, though. In the few hours she had known him, he’d seemed like a nice guy, with his generous offer to deliver the Corvette to Mr. Ingram. How could he bring himself to relay the request?

Or maybe she had misjudged Jack all along. His helpful gesture might not have been an act of kindness at all. Having failed to buy the car for his father at the auction, his good deed might have been a last-ditch effort to convince Mr. Ingram to sell it to him. Bitterly, Susanna realized she wasn’t surprised. Her former fiancé, Bruce, would have acted the same heartless way if it meant getting something he wanted. Maybe Jack and Bruce were two of a kind. The thought soured her stomach. She was still searching for an appropriately scathing response when the porch light of the house across the street came on.

The front door opened and a figure appeared. Her neighbor, Kathy, made her way carefully across the street carrying a blanketed bundle.

“Hey, I saw you were here, so I thought I’d bring Lizzie home. She just fell asleep about half an hour ago.”

Ignoring Jack, Susanna took the bundle from Kathy’s arms. The child cocooned inside stirred during the transfer. A whimper sounded when the blanket fell open, exposing the little girl to the frigid night air.

“I don’t wanna go home,” Lizzie complained in a sleepy voice. “I wanna have a sleepover.”

“Shh.” Susanna tucked the blanket more snugly around her. “We’ll have a sleepover another time.” She looked up at Kathy. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“No problem.” She rubbed her hands on her arms and shivered. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?” She flashed a quick smile at Jack as she left.

Jack watched, silent, as Susanna hugged the blanketed child close. She could see the questions in his wide eyes, but she left them unanswered. Her life was none of his business.

“I need to get her out of this cold air.” She glanced toward the car trailer. “I hate to park an attention magnet like that Corvette openly in my driveway. Would it be all right if you left the trailer here tonight? Mr. Ingram’s daughters will need to decide what they want to do with it.” She pressed her lips together. “I’ll get in touch with them tomorrow and pass along your offer.”

He jerked away his curious stare at Lizzie, and whipped out a business card from his pocket. “Sure. Probably not a good idea to leave it on the street, so I’ll put it in your driveway. My cell phone number is on that card. Just give me a call and let me know what they decide.”

She took the card awkwardly while she balanced her sleeping bundle, and then turned her back on him to march toward the house.

“Here, let me get that.” He leaped ahead of her up the concrete steps of her small porch and held his hand out for the keys. “I’ll take a look inside, just to be on the safe side.”

Susanna hesitated, but the thought of all those dark rooms inside—from now on she would leave a light burning, regardless of the electricity bill—made her decision for her. She handed him the keys and stood waiting while he unlocked the door, flipped the living-room light switch and stepped inside.

The warmth in the house was a comforting contrast to the biting cold of the porch. Susanna followed him in and stood, hugging Lizzie tight, while Jack made a tour through her small home. He was certainly thorough. By sound she tracked his progress through the kitchen, laundry, both bedrooms and the bathroom. He even peeked inside closets. Embarrassment that he was seeing the private rooms of her home warred with relief inside her, but she consciously grasped at the latter. The alarm created by Detective Rollins’s warning was fading. She would feel much safer now, knowing a killer wasn’t waiting to jump out at her the moment she and Lizzie were alone.

Jack reappeared in the living room. “Everything’s fine. I made sure all the windows were locked, too.”

“Thank you.” She forced herself to smile. This guy was certainly an anomaly. One minute he offended her with an inappropriate offer to buy the Corvette, and the next he was going the extra mile to make sure she felt safe. “I appreciate that.”

“No problem. Oh. Here.” He extracted a key ring with a single key from his pocket and, since her hands were full, set it on the coffee table. “The key to the car trailer.”

He left, and Susanna stood in the doorway watching as he crossed the yard and climbed into the pickup. The engine roared to life, and he maneuvered the trailer backward into her driveway. When it came to a stop on the other side of her car, she pushed the door closed and threw the dead bolt before heading down the short hallway to Lizzie’s bedroom.

She was still getting the child settled in bed when the engine revved again. A peek through the pink curtains revealed the taillights disappearing down the street. When the truck turned the corner, a wave of anxiety threatened her composure.

What if the detective was right? What if someone is watching, waiting to get me alone? I should have asked Jack to check the backyard, too.

With an effort, she forced the haunting image of Mr. Ingram’s body from her mind. If she dwelt on thoughts like that, she would become paranoid. She posed no threat to whoever killed Mr. Ingram, because she didn’t know anything. She hadn’t even been near the office at all today.

There’s nothing to worry about. I need to relax and get some sleep. Things always look better in the morning.

Still, she decided to make one more round through the house and check all the locks before she got ready for bed. Just to be sure.

THREE

Jack steered the pickup through Susanna’s modest neighborhood. Though he had lived in Lexington his whole life, he’d never been on these streets. The yards were all clean and neatly landscaped, as far as he could tell in the dark. Mature trees testified to the age of the homes, which were single-story rectangles made of brick. The small size of Susanna’s had surprised him. The whole house would fit inside the kitchen in his family home, where he had grown up and where his father still lived. Even Jack’s apartment was half again as big. But every room in Susanna’s house had been spotlessly clean, the decorations tastefully elegant. The little girl’s room had pink frills everywhere, an overflowing toy box and a bedspread with princesses.

And what about that child? He didn’t glimpse much more than a quick peek of a smooth cheek and bow-shaped lips inside the blanket. The picture on the desk at Ingram Industries had shown a happy little girl with sparkling blue eyes and blond hair, the same bright shade as Susanna’s. The child was around two or three years old, if he was to take a guess. Susanna obviously wasn’t married, since she and the girl lived alone. Divorced maybe? Or maybe she had never married. Was the child’s father in the picture at all? He gauged Susanna’s age at mid-twenties, plenty old enough to have a three-year-old daughter. Although, now that he thought about it, that was pretty young to have attained the status of executive secretary for a coal magnate like Ingram. How had she managed to land such an important job?

Jack gave a soundless laugh as he exited the neighborhood with a right turn onto the main road. What was this preoccupation with a woman and her child? They were none of his business. He’d done what he could for them, made sure the house was empty and secure. Though personally he thought Detective Rollins’s warning a bit on the dramatic side. The police had no idea why Ingram had been killed. To assume his secretary was in danger was too big a leap to make sense, in Jack’s opinion. But the police had to be extracautious, he supposed.

Lord, keep her safe tonight, please. And help her to get some rest. She’s had a pretty awful day.

The quick prayer on Susanna’s behalf put that part of his mind to rest. He had done the only thing—the best thing—he could do for her.

The traffic light up ahead turned yellow, and Jack slowed to a stop as it changed to red, gingerly pumping the brakes in case the evening’s sleet had left icy patches. A right turn would take him to the affluent neighborhood where he had grown up. He hadn’t lived there since college and his first apartment off campus, where he’d encountered a peaceful existence he hadn’t dreamed possible in the years of living under R.H.’s critical eye. Cheri, his older sister, had escaped four years before him when she went to Cornell University. She had never returned to Kentucky. Jack visited her in New York as often as he could.

A couple of cars passed by in front of him heading in the direction of his family home, where R.H. no doubt was still hard at work in his office, though the clock on Jack’s dash read ten-fourteen. Their earlier phone call replayed itself in his mind, as conversations with R.H. were wont to do. There had been one moment when Jack thought he detected a trace of emotion in the astringent voice. When R.H. had learned of Ingram’s death, he’d said, “That’s terrible. Just terrible.” He’d sounded shocked, and a little bit…vulnerable?

No, Jack must have imagined that part. Vulnerability was something he’d never seen his father display. It was a weakness, and R.H. had no patience for weakness in any form. He’d excised it from his life many years ago, when Mom died. But it was natural to feel shock at the violent death of a friend. Ingram and R.H. shared a lot in common, after all. They were roughly the same age. Ran in the same social circles. They both headed up powerful corporations, though in different industries. R.H. must have identified with Ingram to some extent. The death had to come as a blow, perhaps even give him a glimpse of his own mortality.

The light changed from red to green. At the same moment Jack took his foot off the brake, he came to a decision. He turned on his blinker, checked the mirror and made a quick right turn. If R.H. was feeling Ingram’s death personally, even a little, then he shouldn’t be alone. His questions might turn toward spiritual matters, and if they did, Jack wanted to be there with the answers he had found himself. No doubt he would be slapped down yet again, but the man was his father. Beneath the ridicule and the harsh behavior, Jack knew R.H. loved him and Cheri as much as he could. As much as he was able.

He punched in the code to open the gate at the entrance to the exclusive neighborhood, and then steered the truck through the familiar streets. The homes here were a far different style than the ones he had just seen. The price tag for many of them ranged into seven-digit territory, and every lawn had the unmistakable look of hours of care by professional landscapers.

Three turns and Jack arrived at the cul-de-sac where he had grown up. He pulled into the driveway of the house and followed the graceful, rosebush-lined curve around to the back. But the windows he’d expected to see lit up, the ones to his father’s study, were dark. In fact, there were no lights on anywhere in the house. Jack checked the clock on the dashboard again. Not even ten-thirty, and R.H. was already in bed?

A niggling worry started in his mind, like an itch he couldn’t ignore. R.H. never went to bed before midnight. Was he sick? Had Ingram’s death affected him more than he let on?

Jack parked the truck and hopped out. He went to the back door, but hesitated before he put his key in the lock. It was possible his father had simply gone to bed earlier than usual. Even if he were upset by Ingram’s death, he wouldn’t appreciate Jack’s interference. In fact, any concern Jack was bold enough to voice would no doubt be met with scorn, and probably another angry tirade.

The window in the back door was covered with custom-fitted blinds, and Jack could see nothing through it. After a moment of indecision, he turned toward his truck. Tomorrow at the office he’d mention that he stopped by to give him an update on the Corvette, but left when he realized R.H. had turned in early. Maybe he’d learn something from the reaction he received.

He followed the cobbled walkway toward his pickup and passed the garage window. The blinds stood open and he glanced inside. He skidded to a stop. It was probably just the darkness, but from this distance it looked as if the garage bay nearest the window was empty. Curious, he stepped over the knee-high shrubs to take a closer look. His shoes scuffed in the winter mulch of the flower bed as he approached the window.

The three-car garage normally housed two vehicles. One bay had remained empty for as long as Jack could remember. R.H.’s main car was a BMW, and that was parked in its regular place, the bay closest to the door leading into the house. But he also had another car, a Lexus SUV, which he used on the rare occasions when he drove out in the country to the hunting lodge, or when the city roads were icy. The SUV was missing.

R.H. was not at home.

When Jack called earlier he had dialed the house phone, so he knew his father had been at home ninety minutes ago. Where would he go this late at night?

Though weariness dragged at Susanna’s body, sleep refused to come. The novel on her bedside table failed to either hold her attention or coax her to sleep. She gave up on the book, turned off the light and closed her eyes. But all she could see was the image of the body sprawled on the floor. Her eyes flew open. Maybe a hot cup of herbal tea would help her relax. Resigned, she got out of bed, slid her feet into her slippers and went to the kitchen.

A few minutes later, she carried a steaming mug to the soft comfort of the living-room sofa. Her purse lay on the cushion where she’d tossed it, the packet of papers she’d received from the auction inside. The last errand she would ever perform for her boss. She dropped onto the couch and sipped from her tea. There had been something else in the plastic envelope with the papers and keys, but she’d been too busy trying to find a company to transport the car tonight to pay much attention to it. And since then, she’d been…well, occupied.

She set the mug on the table, fished out the envelope and upended it onto the cushion beside her. Out tumbled the owner’s manual, registration, car title signed by the previous owner and a set of keys on a metal ring along with a key tag bearing the Corvette emblem. The bulk of the contents was a thick stack of papers held together with a large rubber band documenting the car’s maintenance history, which was apparently important to the value of a classic automobile. The auctioneer had made a big deal out of mentioning it.

Susanna fanned through the papers. They were in date order going all the way back to 1980, the year the car was manufactured. Oil changes, brake pad replacements, a receipt for new tires. Something dropped out of the bundle and landed on the cushion beside the owner’s manual—a small canvas pouch with a drawstring opening cinched shut. Curious, she opened it and emptied the contents into the palm of her hand: a silver coin, about the size and weight of a half dollar. One side was embossed with a single word—nine. She flipped it over. The other side contained the digit—9.

A comment from the car’s previous owner, whom she had met briefly while sitting at the auction desk signing papers, came back to her. He’d smiled as he shook her hand and said, “Congratulations. You got number nine.” She had assumed the man was a dealer or something, and the Corvette was the ninth car he’d sold today.

She weighed the token in the palm of her hand. How odd. Why would he put numbered coins in with each of the cars he sold? Maybe it had something to do with Corvettes, like a numbered painting or something. Or maybe it had something to do with the auction. Sort of like a proof of purchase, perhaps? She held the token up to the light and inspected it carefully for any other markings. Nothing. No Corvette emblems, nor the auction house’s logo. She’d have to remember to ask Mr. Ingram about—