Share No Secrets (30 page)

Miles threw back his head and laughed, jarring Lucas although he tried not to show it. “Strong-willed is one way to describe Adrienne. I can think of more apt terms.”

Lucas stared hard at Miles, knowing the man was trying to bait him by implying he knew Adrienne more intimately than Lucas thought. But the sheriff wasn’t about to give Miles the satisfaction of appearing fazed by innuendo. “We need to establish your alibi, Shaw, if you have one,” he said coldly. “Where did you go after you left Margaret?”

“Heaven’s Door. That place out on Route 2.”

“What time did you arrive?”

“I don’t know. Between ten and ten-thirty.”

“No grandfather clock chiming to announce the exact hour?”

“No,” Miles said coolly. “But I went there directly after I left Margaret’s.”

“Why didn’t you go home?”

“I didn’t feel like it. Too much energy to burn.”

“And you like to dance.”

“No, I don’t like to dance, but I do like to listen to music. They have a good band.”

“Several bands play at Heaven’s Door. Which band was playing there last night?”

“Nepenthe. The word is Native American for
peace.”

“Thank you for the vocabulary lesson, Mr. Shaw. Have you ever gone to Heaven’s Door before?” Lucas asked.

“Several times.”

“Alone?”

A slight hesitation. A slight waver of the eyes. “I’ve always gone alone, yes. But sometimes I meet someone there.” “Anyone in particular?”

A pause. “Well, yes. There’s a girl. Her name is Nikki. That’s all I know about her. And before you ask, I’ve left with her.”

“Care to give me more information so I can check your alibi with her?”

“She’s about five six or five seven, dark-haired, attractive, young. I don’t know her last name. I don’t know where she Uves. We never go back to her place. Relatives live with her. And she wasn’t there last night, so you couldn’t check anything with her anyway.”

“Really? Nikki with no last name, no known address, and missing last night just when she could provide an alibi for you. Once again, very convenient, Mr. Shaw.”

Miles fell silent, clearly trying to control anger. And maybe a growing sense of fear. Finally, he lifted his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “Look, I can’t help it. I’ve only been with Nikki a couple of times, and believe me, if I could use her for an alibi, I sure as hell wouldn’t hold out on you. But I can’t be the only person who’s seen her at Heaven’s Door. And I’m sure people must have seen
me
at Heaven’s Door last night.”

“You? Oh sure. What was I thinking? Fans must be all over a famous artist like you. Sort of the local Andy Warhol, aren’t you? Do they drive you nuts for autographs, that kind ofthing?”

“I’m not a thing like Andy Warhol, although we share something in the looks department.
Distinctiveness,
Sheriff Flynn,” Shaw said in a maddeningly self-satisfied voice. “I am six feet four inches tall. I have black hair that is almost waist length. I have definite Native American looks.
Good
looks. In other words, I stand out in a local crowd.”

Shaw smirked at Lucas, then lounged back in his chair like some smart-ass juvenile delinquent. Lucas felt like kicking the leg out from under Shaw’s chair.

“Well, Mr. Shaw, you’d better
hope
you stand out in a crowd,” Lucas said with quiet force, “because otherwise you have no alibi. Without an alibi, the prosecuting attorney and I are going to think you savagely murdered and mutilated a young, respected, innocent woman who just happens to be the campaign manager for a gubernatorial candidate. And if we arrest you for that murder, don’t expect a groundswell of support, because people aren’t going to have much sympathy for you, Miles my boy. Not much sympathy at all.”

At six o’clock, Adrienne and Skye sat down to watch the evening news. Raptly, they listened to the opening jingle, which ended to show the face of a twenty-something anchorwoman with the orthodox, polished good looks of a thousand other anchorwomen. She beamed at her audience. “Good evening, everybody! Thanks for joining us!”

Immediately her sparkling expression turned solemn. “First tonight, police tell us thirty-two-year-old Margaret Taylor was beaten to death in her home in Point Pleasant some time around midnight. Ms. Taylor was the campaign manager for gubernatorial candidate Philip Hamilton.”

The image of the anchorwoman vanished to be replaced by a still picture of Margaret alone, her olive-skinned face touched by a gentle smile, her almond eyes lovely and vulnerable, her black hair uncharacteristically falling in shining waves over her shoulders. Next flashed a photo of a trim and smartly dressed Margaret smiling radiantly up at Philip with Vicky pushed slightly into the background looking careworn, narrow-eyed, grim, and a bit hostile. “Oh no,” Adrienne moaned.

Back to the solemn-faced anchorwoman. “Ms. Taylor was found in her home at seven o’clock this morning by her cleaning lady, Ruby Fincher.” On came a video. A woman’s eyes darted nervously sideways as someone obviously motioned her to “go.” She then looked bug-eyed at the camera and drew a deep breath. “I’ve never seen anything so terrible in all my thirty-five years!” Ruby began with gusto. “I was
horrified! Terrified!
Sick to my
stomach!
Why, I had to go take a
nerve
pill!”

Ruby Fincher paused but continued to stare straight into the camera, her moon face reddened by excitement, her blue eyes bright and avid. Clearly, she was having a difficult time not smiling for her audience. She did not look the thirty-five she claimed to be, but she did look like she was having the time of her life. The woman who had found the grotesquely battered body of Margaret Taylor was a media star and enjoying every moment of it.

Ruby vanished. On came the lovely news anchor still looking grave. “Officers say Ms. Taylor’s house did not appear to have been broken into, nor were there signs of burglary. Police are conducting an intensive investigation. Although they have several suspects, no arrests have been made.”

Skye continued to stare quietly at the television while Adrienne sat with her mouth open for a few seconds. Finally, she recovered, closed her mouth, swallowed, and said, “That Fincher woman was a disaster.”

“No kidding,” Skye agreed. “And did you see that picture of Margaret with Uncle Philip? They looked like they were in love. Now it won’t just be Aunt Vicky who thinks Uncle Philip and Margaret were having an affair.”

“How do you know what Vicky thinks?” Adrienne asked, surprised.

“Rachel told me. But I knew anyway. Aunt Vicky always watches Uncle Philip really close and she gets all jumpy and weird when Margaret is—
was
—around.” The anchorwoman was now babbling happily about a cookout being held for charity. While she talked, the station showed some truly awful video footage of people lumbering slowly around a picnic table heaping food on paper plates, then stuffing their mouths. Adrienne thought that newspeople always seemed to pick out the biggest eaters for such shots, giving the impression the town was populated by gluttons.

“I bet Miles Shaw killed Margaret,” Skye said abruptly. “He’s so strange. He totally creeps me out.”

“Did you ever see Margaret with Miles?” Adrienne asked, because Skye had spent much more time at the Hamilton household in the last few months than she had. “Did he come to any of the parties?”

Skye shook her head. “None that I went to. Rachel said her dad doesn’t like Miles. She thinks that’s probably why Margaret didn’t want Uncle Philip to know she was dating him.”

“Oh.” Adrienne made a decision. “Don’t tell Sherry and all your friends. Don’t tell a soul, but I talked to Lucas this afternoon. He said he questioned Miles, and he has an alibi. He was at this place called Heaven’s Gate—”

“Door, Mom. Heaven’s Door.”

“How do you know?”

“Gosh, Mom, everyone’s heard about it. It’s
the
place to be if you’re older and cool. But go on.”

“Anyway, Miles was at Heaven’s
Door
at the time of Margaret’s murder. He was there for a couple of hours. A lot of people saw him. He’s kind of hard to miss with his height and his hair.”

“Yeah, I guess he is.” Skye thought this over. Then she looked at Adrienne earnestly. “I promise not to tell
anyone,
Mom, but I still think he did it. Somehow, he killed Margaret and he’s gonna get away with it.”

After the evening news ended, Adrienne had a feeling of expectancy. It lasted through the huge pizza they had delivered from Fox’s Pizza Den and devoured with their usual record speed. It lasted while Adrienne watched an unfunny situation comedy and Skye had an extended conversation with Sherry, whom she had not seen for an almost unbearable twenty-four hours. It lasted through Adrienne’s attempt to burn off nervous energy by rearranging contents of the kitchen cabinets and forcing an offended Skye to go to bed to make up for her postmidnight bedtime the previous night.

At eleven o’clock, as Adrienne sat on the patio soaking up the cool night breeze, the phone rang. Adrienne knew the bad thing she’d tensed for all evening had finally arrived with the summoning of a telephone.

She ran into the house, not bothering to close the patio doors, and picked up the phone receiver. After she said hello, a short pause followed. Then a scratchy, thin voice asked, “Adrienne?”

“This is Adrienne Reynolds.” The voice sounded vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it. “To whom am I speaking?”

A small, rusty laugh. “Adrienne, dear, it’s Lottie. Julianna’s mother.”

“Lottie!” Adrienne burst out. “Lottie, we’ve all been worried sick about you.”

“I’m quite all right. I told Kit I would be. You shouldn’t have been worried.”

“Where are you?”

Another pause. “I’d rather not say.”

“But Lottie—”

“Please, dear, let’s not waste time worrying about me. I have someone else’s safety on my mind, and something I feel I must tell you. The time has finally come’

“Lottie, let me bring you to my house. Then you can tell me what you need to.”

“No, Adrienne. You must let me do this my way, or I won’t do it at all. I don’t mean to be difficult, but I have my reasons.”

Adrienne sighed, feeling helpless, but Lottie was in control now. There was nothing Adrienne could do except to go along with her. “Okay, Lottie. You have my full attention.”

“You’ve always been such a good girl, Adrienne. Skye is fortunate to have you for a mother.”

“I think she might disagree with you on that matter right now. I’m enforcing a bedtime.”

Lottie chuckled, then coughed. Adrienne started to ask again if she could pick up Lottie, but she’d already been given her orders, and she knew Lottie could be inflexible when her mind was made up. She didn’t want to annoy the woman and have her hang up. “I’m sure Skye will forgive you by morning,” Lottie finally said when the cough subsided. “And now for the reason I called. I heard today that Margaret Taylor was murdered. I met her once when I was at your sister’s house and Vicky was buying candles from me. More candles than she needed, I’m sure, but Vicky is a generous soul. I can’t say the same for Miss Taylor. I didn’t care for her. Nevertheless, I’m sorry she came to such a tragic end. But I also learned that Miles Shaw is, as I believe they say, the prime suspect in her murder.” Lottie paused, then said emotionally, “Adrienne, Miles did not murder
anyone.”

“We don’t know that, Lottie.”

“I know it.”

Adrienne knew Lottie had always been fond of Miles. She’d been heartbroken when Julianna left him, and Adrienne had understood Lottie’s disappointment Although Miles was eccentric and off-putting to many people, Adrienne never doubted he’d genuinely loved Julianna, and he’d been a stabilizing influence on her tempestuous, impulsive, often reckless nature. But Adrienne’s opinion of Miles had changed over the last four years. His manner had grown biting since the breakup, his behavior changing from eccentric to erratic. Adrienne didn’t trust Miles anymore. She no longer felt she knew what he might be capable of doing.

“Lottie, the sheriff told me Miles admitted to having an affair with Margaret,” Adrienne said gently. “He even admitted to being with her the night she was murdered.”

“He did not kill her, Adrienne. Miles doesn’t have murder in him.”

“Lottie, how can you be sure?” Adrienne braced herself for a harsh question. “For that matter, how can you be sure he didn’t murder Julianna out of jealousy because she had a lover?”

“I
am
sure,” Lottie said emphatically. “Miles loved Julianna. He hated the man she was involved with at the time of her death, but he didn’t hate
her.”

“Miles
knew
who Julianna’s lover was?” Adrienne burst out. “Do you?”

Silence seemed to vibrate over the phone line for a few moments. Then Lottie said reluctantly, “Yes, dear, I know who it was.”

“Are you going to tell me?”

“Only because the situation has escalated to the point where I think you
need
to know.” Lottie drew a deep, slightly raspy breath. “I’m sorry to tell you that Julianna was having an affair with your brother-in-law. Philip Hamilton.”

Adrienne carried the cordless phone receiver into the living room and sat down in the studio chair across from the picture window, far away from Skye’s room, where she could talk without being overheard.

“Lottie, if Philip was having an affair, it was probably with Margaret He barely knew Julianna.”

“That’s what most people think, Adrienne. That’s what Julianna and Philip wanted them to think. But the truth is quite different. Julianna met Philip when you girls were young and he was engaged to Vicky. Julianna and Philip fell in love then, dear. They’ve been in love ever since.”

Adrienne was astounded. She remembered how she, Kit, and Julianna had hovered around Vicky, enraptured by the idea of her marrying a handsome, wealthy young man in a beautiful ceremony followed by a lavish reception at la Belle. They’d gotten on Vicky’s nerves, but she’d been so happy, she’d endured their constant presence, endless questions, and squeals of delight. And Adrienne remembered Philip drifting in and out of the frantic preparations, seeming not to notice anyone in particular. Not even Vicky, now that she thought of it.