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“Laura, surely you’re not thinking of coming into the office tomorrow,” she exclaimed. “No one expects you to plunge right back in.”
“Foster would,” she said with a brief smile. “Two o’clock. Please, Kay,” she added when she saw that her assistant was about to protest. “Make my excuses now. I must go upstairs. Let me know when everyone’s gone.”
Half an hour later Kay tapped on her bedroom door. “It’s me,” she said, stepping into the room. “Everyone’s gone except the caterer’s crew. They’re loading up their vans now and will soon be out.” She glanced at the suitcase lying open on Laura’s bed. “Explain to me again why you’re being moved out of your own home?”
“Detective Rodarte believes I’ll be safer in a hotel.”
“Safer from whom? Griff Burkett?” Kay scoffed. “He’s probably in Mexico or someplace by now. You’ve got twenty-four-hour guards here. He couldn’t get to you if he wanted to, and he would be crazy to try.”
“Well, the detective believes he might be just that crazy. And Burkett hasn’t left the area. At least he was still around three days ago. He went to his attorney’s house in the middle of the night. The attorney called the police. Burkett managed to get away. But on foot.” She zipped the suitcase closed and pulled it off the bed. “Detective Rodarte is of the mind that he’s desperate and dangerous, and until he’s captured, he poses a threat to my safety.”
And, she thought, he’s afraid I’ll protect my lover from capture. He hadn’t said as much, but his insinuations hadn’t required any guesswork.
Kay said, “I think it’s criminal that you’re being forced out of your home, particularly now, when you need a haven.”
Laura looked at the beautiful surroundings wistfully. “Actually, Kay, I probably wouldn’t stay here anyway. It’s an awfully large house for one person. Anyway, it never really was mine.”
She didn’t explain the statement. She wasn’t certain she could. Ove
r the course of the past few days, she’d come to realize that she felt like a visitor here. A welcome visitor, but a visitor all the same. Foster had never treated her as such. In fact, he had encouraged her to change the decor to her liking, to make it her house. But she’d felt it would be improper to do so. It had been his family’s home for much longer than she’d been a member of his family. He was her only reason for being here and her only connection to the house. His death had severed that connection.
Besides, she wasn’t sure she could ever go into the library again.
Kay took the suitcase from her. “Let me carry that. You look like you’re about to collapse. Did you eat anything?”
“A little,” she lied. She’d thrown up the English muffin she forced down for breakfast. As for the carafe of coffee that had been on the tray, she couldn’t bear the smell of it and had poured it down the bathroom sink. So far, no one knew about her morning sickness.
She and Kay descended the sweeping staircase. Rodarte was waiting at the bottom of it, leaning against the carved newel post, cleaning his fingernails with the tip of a pocketknife that he should have been using to pare them.
“Ready?” He closed the knife and slipped it into his pants pocket, pushed himself away from the banister, and headed for the front door. There was a squad car waiting just beyond the entrance.
When Laura saw it, she drew up short. “I’m driving myself.”
“Are you sure you’re up to it, Mrs. Speakman? The DPD would like to extend you the courtesy of—”
“Thank you, but I prefer taking my own car.”
“You won’t be needing it,” Rodarte argued. “You’ll be driven wherever you want to go.”
“Are you placing me under arrest, Detective?” It was the first direct challenge she’d issued him.
“Nothing of the sort.”
“Because if that’s your intention, do it properly. I want to be read my rights, and then I want to call my attorney.” Probably she should have sought legal counsel already, but doing so would have implied guilt. At least she feared that’s how Rodarte would see it. It was equally possible that by not calling in an attorney she was playing right into the detective’s hands. The car issue was a means of testing the nature of the “protection” he insisted on extending her.
Rodarte looked over at Kay and shook his head with regret, as though to say that Laura was becoming hysterical and that under the circumstances her fraying nerves were understandable. Looking back at Laura, he spoke to her as though she were mentally unstable. “These measures are for your protection, Mrs. Speakman.”
“I’m taking my car,” she declared, enunciating each word.
He tried to stare her down, but she didn’t budge. Finally he heaved a theatrical sigh and said to one of the uniformed policemen loitering near the patrol car, “Go get her car.”
Laura passed the policeman her keys. No one said anything until he returned driving the car. He climbed out, and Laura took his place behind the wheel. Before she shut the door, Kay leaned in.
“I’ll finish here and help Mrs. Dobbins lock up. After that, you can reach me at home.” She scanned Laura’s face, looking worried about what she saw. “Order room service. Take a long bath. Promise me you’ll get some rest.”
“I promise. Don’t forget to schedule the meeting. You should call everyone tonight.”
“I will.”
