Trust No One

  “When I think of how many times I went out for after-work drinks with Millicent—”

  Julius ignored that, following the bright red line that connected the dots. “Things must have gone wrong between Millicent and Burke. Maybe he thought she was going to betray him and keep all the money for herself. Whatever the case, he tried to kill her and failed. He took her computer, assuming that he could find the offshore account. But he didn’t.”

  “Millicent was very, very big on encryption,” Grace said. “She was obsessive about it. Marrick may be good but I’ll bet you Millicent was better when it came to hiding stuff online.”

  “Marrick must have been ready to pull the plug on the whole operation. But suddenly Nyla informs him that she has recovered her inheritance and he realizes he’s got a second chance.”

  “But he knew you wouldn’t quit turning over rocks,” Grace said. “He was afraid that sooner or later you would ask one question too many and expose him for the fake that he was.”

  Devlin appeared in the doorway. “We’ll get more answers out of Marrick when he wakes up. How are you doing, Mr. Venture Capitalist with a gun?”

  “Let’s just say I’m not focusing on a lot of positive thoughts at the moment,” Julius said. “But I do have some negative things I’d like to go over with you.”

  Grace smiled. “You two spend some quality time together. I’m going home to take a shower and get something to eat. I haven’t had any sleep and the hospital cafeteria food is downright hazardous to the health. Wall-to-wall fried things.”

  “Okay,” Julius said. He knew he sounded grudging about it. He couldn’t help it. He didn’t want her to leave. He still had things to say to her. Not that he could say them in front of Devlin.

  She leaned over the bed and kissed him on the forehead. She stepped away before he could figure out how to hang on to her.

  “Are you coming back?” he asked before he could stop himself. He was immediately stricken with guilt. The woman had spent the night keeping watch at his bedside. She deserved a shower and a nap, at the very least. It wasn’t like he had a right to have her dance attendance on him. It wasn’t like he had any rights at all where she was concerned. Still, he did not want her to leave.

  Grace paused in the doorway. “Don’t worry, I’m going to make up a batch of the Witherspoon Way Harmony Vegetable Soup for your lunch.”

  “Yikes,” he said. But something inside him relaxed. “Will there be an affirmation included?”

  “Absolutely. I’ll bring you some fresh clothes, too. They’re saying you can probably go home later today.”

  “Home sounds good,” he said.

  Grace vanished out into the hall.

  Devlin waited until she was gone. Then he smiled a beatific smile.

  “I knew the two of you were perfect for each other,” he said. “Am I born for matchmaking or what?”

  “Bullshit.” Julius levered himself up a little higher on the stack of pillows. He sucked in a deep breath and waited for the pain to retreat. “You suspected that she might have killed her boss.”

  “I never actually believed that,” Devlin said. “I just wanted to be sure. Now, do you want to hear the details of my big case or not?”

  “I want the details,” Julius said. “All of them.”

  Forty-Four

  After an hour of tossing and turning, Grace gave up trying to nap. The sleepless night in Julius’s hospital room had left her feeling wired. She never had been able to sleep during the day, anyway.

  She took a shower instead. It did wonders.

  She breakfasted on a high protein meal of scrambled eggs and whole-grain toast and then she set about the task of making up a batch of Harmony Vegetable Soup.

  She was slicing the carrots when she heard a car in the driveway.

  She put down the knife, grabbed a paper towel to dry her hands and went into the front room. She pulled the curtain aside and watched Nyla get out from behind the wheel of a gray sedan.

  She stifled a groan. The last thing she wanted was an extended conversation with Nyla but the woman had been traumatized twice in recent days. The loss of her father followed by the discovery that her fiancé was probably the killer would have been too much for anyone.

  If Nyla wanted to talk, it would be unkind to refuse to listen, Grace thought.

  She opened the door and stepped out onto the porch.

  “Nyla, I’m so sorry,” she said.

  Nyla came up the steps, her sharp face tight and bleak. She clutched the strap of her purse as though it were a lifeline.

  “I’m the one who needs to apologize,” she said. “That’s why I’m here. I accused you of murder and embezzlement. I’m sorry, Grace. I can’t really explain why I was so sure you were the one who killed Dad and stole the money. I think it must have had something to do with the fact that you were the person who had done so much to make the Witherspoon Way successful. Dad was always singing your praises. I guess I was just flat-out jealous. But that’s no excuse.”

  “It’s okay, I understand. Please come in. I just made a pot of coffee. Would you like some?”

  Nyla blinked, evidently surprised by the offer. Some of the tension went out of her face, exposing the attractive, elfin features that had been concealed all along. Regret and a deep weariness were also revealed.

  “Coffee would be very nice,” she said. “Thanks.”

  Agnes’s front door banged open.

  “Hello,” Agnes sang out. She waved her pruning shears. “How are things over there?”

  “Just fine,” Grace said. “This is Nyla Witherspoon, Sprague’s daughter. You remember she visited the other day.”

  “Yes, of course,” Agnes said. She beamed at Nyla. “Your father was a good man, dear. He was all about positive energy. The world needs more of that commodity, doesn’t it?”

  Nyla flushed. “Yes, it does.”

  She went up the steps and moved cautiously into the living room. Once there she stopped, clearly uncertain what to do next.

  “This way.” Grace shut the door and led the way into the kitchen. She gestured toward a chair. “Have a seat.”

  She had long ago concluded that something about kitchens made it easier for people to relax.

  Nyla sank slowly, tentatively, into the nearest chair. “Is Julius Arkwright going to be okay?”

  “Julius will be fine. Thanks for asking.” Grace set a mug of coffee in front of Nyla. “I just came from the hospital. The doctors expect him to make a full recovery.”

  There was a short pause. “What about Burke? I was told his condition was listed as serious.”

  “All I know is that he is out of surgery. I got the impression that he’s expected to survive.”

  Nyla shook her head. “I couldn’t believe it when I got the call from the police this morning. Or, maybe I should say I didn’t want to believe it. But somewhere deep down inside I knew that Burke was just too good to be true. The perfect man. Dad was right about him all along.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, I was just as shocked to find out that Millicent Chartwell was embezzling from your father, even though in hindsight, she was the most logical suspect. Frankly, after it was discovered that the money was missing, I thought Millicent was just too obvious. I mean, really, the company bookkeeper skimming off the profits? How ordinary is that?”

  “That’s probably why she almost got away with it.”

  “I think you’re right,” Grace said. She glanced at the colorful heap of vegetables on the kitchen counter. “I was about to make some soup. Do you mind if I continue?”

  “No, of course not.” Nyla cradled the mug in both hands and looked out the window at the lake. “I suppose my father must have discovered what was going on and confronted her or maybe Burke.”

  Grace picked up the knife and began slicing the red peppers.
“Probably.”

  “I wonder which one actually killed him?”

  “No one knows for sure, not yet. But given the fact that Burke used a gun to try to kill Julius last night, he’s probably the one who murdered your father.”

  “The police implied that Burke was sleeping with Millicent.” Nyla’s jaw clenched. “How could I have been so blind?”

  “A successful sociopath has to be brilliant when it comes to deceiving others,” Grace said gently. She pushed the peppers aside, rinsed her hands and snagged a paper towel off the roll. “The ability to charm you and look you right in the eye while they lie to you and break your heart is their natural camouflage.”

  “Are you and Kristy going to be okay?” Nyla asked. “I mean, will you be able to find new jobs?”

  “We’ll both be fine.” Grace tossed the carrots and peppers into the simmering broth. “Kristy will probably take a position with Rayner Seminars. Larson Rayner could use her expertise. She’s very good with scheduling and she’s got excellent relationships with the clients. I expect she could move most of them to Rayner Seminars.”

  “I don’t know how many times Kristy said that Sprague was like a father to her.” Nyla sighed. “I can’t begin to tell you how much I hated hearing that. Sometimes I got the impression she said it because she knew it upset me.”

  Grace went to work on the kale, stripping the leaves from the tough stems. “I think she was trying to convince you that she had your father’s best interests at heart. She didn’t realize how her words would be interpreted.”

  “It wasn’t just the way she talked about Dad. I thought she might be trying to get her hooks into Burke.”

  Grace paused in mid-rip and considered that comment. Then she shook her head. “That does surprise me. I never saw anything going on between the two of them. She was as suspicious of Burke as Millicent and I were.”

  “But then, you didn’t know that Millicent and Burke were partners in the scam, did you?”

  “No,” Grace admitted. “What made you think that Kristy was after Burke?”

  “I was so worried about losing him. Like I said, deep down, I knew that he was too damned perfect. So I hired a private investigator to watch him for a while. I was told that Burke met another woman on at least one occasion quite recently at a coffee shop on Queen Anne. The PI took a photo of the two.”

  “Who was the woman?”

  “There’s no way to be certain. In the shot she’s wearing dark glasses and a tracksuit with the hood pulled up over her head. But the investigator followed her back to the apartment complex where Kristy lives. I was sure it was her.”

  Grace picked up the knife and began chopping the kale. “Well, Kristy did mention running into Burke at a coffee shop on one occasion. It didn’t seem to be any big deal. It was after that meeting that she said she thought there was something a little off about him. She said she got the impression he was trying to pump her for information on your father’s business affairs.”

  “That was probably exactly what happened, but at the time I was convinced that she and Burke were sneaking around behind my back. I confronted him about it. He gave me the story about the accidental meeting at the coffee shop, too. At the time, I believed him.”

  “Kristy was inclined to be chatty. Burke may have hoped to take advantage of that fact.”

  “Yes, I suppose so.”

  Grace tossed the kale into the broth and turned to look at Nyla. “I need to ask you again if you’re the one who sent me those weird affirmation emails from your father’s account. And this time I’d like the truth.”

  “I never sent you any emails from Dad’s account, I swear it. I don’t even know the password.” Nyla frowned over the rim of the coffee mug. “Why would I do such a thing?”

  “I have no idea, but someone sent me emails with Witherspoon affirmations for several nights in a row after your father was murdered. I think they were intended to rattle me.”

  Nyla’s brows scrunched together. “It must have been Burke who sent the emails.”

  Burke sent the emails for the same reason he left the vodka bottles at the scenes of the crimes, Grace thought. He was after the money but he could not resist stalking her. He would have known about the forty-eight-hour deadline that Nyla had set down. He had wanted to exact some revenge for his father’s death at her hands.

  “Yes,” she said. “That makes sense.”

  Nyla put down her mug. “I should let you get on with your day. You probably want to return to the hospital to see Arkwright. I just wanted to thank you for letting me know about the money.”

  “It’s yours,” Grace said. “Your father wanted you to have it.”

  “It’s strange.”

  “What is?”

  “I thought that if I got my inheritance from Dad, I would feel better. Now all I can think about is that he’s gone and there’s no way to make up for the disaster of our relationship. I blamed him for my mother’s suicide, you see. But it wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. I wish I had understood that sooner.”

  It dawned on Grace that Nyla still did not know about her father’s other life as a con man. The truth would probably come out at some point but there was no need to be the one to tell her.

  “I can think of a couple of affirmations that might give you some comfort,” Grace said.

  Nyla turned wary. “What are they?”

  “Well, the first one is You can’t go back to change things but you can move forward on a different path. Your father loved you and regretted the way things were between the two of you. Leaving you that money was his attempt to make amends. The best way to honor his memory is to accept your inheritance and try not to repeat the mistakes of the past as you move into the future.”

  Nyla’s expression was ruefully amused. “That’s a very Witherspoon Way thing to say. What’s the other affirmation that applies?”

  Grace smiled. “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

  Forty-Five

  Grace added the rest of the vegetables to the pot and left the soup to simmer gently. She sat down at the kitchen table and opened her laptop. One by one she went through the stalker’s emails. They must have been sent by Burke. But he had been after the money and he was evidently a professional con man. The taunting emails didn’t seem like something a pro would risk sending.

  But in this case, the pro had also wanted revenge. He had left a vodka bottle at the scenes of the crimes to point the police toward her. Sure, he had wanted the money but he also wanted vengeance.

  One thing was true of Burke Marrick—he was a professional liar. That meant everything he had told Nyla was false.

  Julius’s words echoed soundlessly in the kitchen.

  Rule Number One: Trust no one.

  Rule Number Two: Everyone has a hidden agenda.

  Grace gave up and closed down the laptop. There was no point wasting time on the emails. That was a side issue. The important thing was that Burke and Millicent were both under guard in the hospital.

  The soup was starting to smell very good. The ginger, soy and kombu-based broth spiced the atmosphere of the kitchen. Grace got to her feet and went back to the stove. Picking up the big wooden spoon, she stirred gently.

  Kristy had told Nyla that Sprague was like a father to her.

  But Kristy had the picture of the perfect family on her office desk. She did not need another father figure in her life. Her father was perfect. Just ask her.

  And Burke had appeared to be the perfect fiancé. Just ask Nyla. Except that he was a con man and probably a killer.

  Just ask Julius and Devlin.

  Burke had invented one life story, why not two? He wasn’t the kind of guy to do favors—except, perhaps, for someone who was in a position to do him a favor. Or someone in the family. Hey, even sociopaths had families, right?

  Tr
ust no one.

  This was not good, Grace thought. She was starting to think like Julius—the same Julius who was currently in the hospital recovering from a gunshot wound because she had involved him in her positive-thinking world.

  Kristy and Burke had met at least once for coffee. But Burke hadn’t needed a second source in the Witherspoon offices, not if he had been working with Millicent from the start. Why risk trying to get info from Kristy? He must have known that Nyla would be upset if she found out—which was apparently what had happened.

  But Burke hadn’t appeared on the scene until about three months ago. Millicent had started skimming Witherspoon money long before that. Burke had, in fact, arrived shortly after Kristy had been installed as the receptionist.

  Sprague was like a father to me.

  That was a lie. Sprague had been a good employer but he had not tried to be a father figure to any of his employees. He had enough trouble with his real daughter.

  Grace took the spoon out of the pot and set it in the small dish on the counter. She went to the table and picked up her phone, intending to call Julius. The sound of heavy footsteps on the back porch stopped her.

  . . . And she was sixteen years old again, nearly frozen with panic, listening to the echoing thud-thud-thud of the killer’s boots. Trager was returning to the scene of the crime. He had come back to kill the witness.

  Breathe.

  She looked at the kitchen door, double-checking to make certain it was still locked. The bolt was in place.

  This was ridiculous. It was not yet night. Don’t even think of looking under the beds. Don’t go there. You don’t want to make the compulsion any worse by firing up a daytime ritual.

  Trager was dead. She had killed him. His son, who may have wanted revenge, was in the hospital. There was no way either of them could be on the back porch today.

  That left Kristy but it was not Kristy’s footsteps she heard on the back porch.