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The Lovebirds
B.J. Daniels
Old rivalries and long-buried passions are reignited by a Valentine's Day murder in this classic mystery by New York Times bestselling author B.J. Daniels.Jack McAllister is pulled right back to his past when he returns to his hometown. As the sheriff of River's Edge, Montana, he is called on to solve the gruesome murder of former classmate Peggy Kane, secretary to the resort community's most prominent citizen—and Jack's high school rival—Oliver Sanders. The case is further complicated by the presence of Jack's former sweetheart, Detective Tempest Bailey. Jack and Tempest will have to reconcile old feelings and untangle a complicated web of deceit to catch the killer and get justice for the past.


Old rivalries and long-buried passions are reignited by a Valentine’s Day murder in this classic mystery by New York Times bestselling author B.J. Daniels.
Jack McAllister is pulled right back to his past when he returns to his hometown. As the sheriff of River’s Edge, Montana, he is called on to solve the gruesome murder of former classmate Peggy Kane, secretary to the resort community’s most prominent citizen—and Jack’s high school rival—Oliver Sanders. The case is further complicated by the presence of Jack’s former sweetheart, Detective Tempest Bailey. Jack and Tempest will have to reconcile old feelings and untangle a complicated web of deceit to catch the killer and get justice for the past.
Praise for B.J. Daniels (#ulink_b8dcfdca-b994-59c1-8b08-9db0cbc0048f)
STOLEN MOMENTS
“Suspense dominates the pages of this book. Readers won’t want to put it down...worth every second of reading, even if it means losing a few hours sleep!”
—Rendezvous
LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT
“A mystery of the highest order, this is a must read.”
—Rendezvous
MYSTERY BRIDE
“Oh, what fun! Enjoy!”
—Rendezvous
The Lovebirds
B.J. Daniels


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Acknowledgments (#ulink_e465779c-6f9d-5a97-98dd-406e4e4c8170)
With special thanks to former Gallatin County Coroner Rob Myers for his expertise when it comes to corpses; to fellow writers Carmen Lassiter and Judy Kinnaman for their input and encouragement; and as always, to my loving husband, Parker.
CONTENTS
Cover (#ufb2b63c4-6f53-529e-a3ea-7ae06f83b9a9)
Back Cover Text (#u938567fb-4f03-5ae7-b87c-970573bf51c0)
Praise (#u289edb72-b85b-50d4-a1cb-cfc6a2681dd6)
Title Page (#u14f503e0-2c38-5c03-8202-c4bcf564423b)
Acknowledgement (#u89516ba6-ef89-57f4-ba3a-c2a70f05fbff)
CHAPTER ONE (#udfe0a516-b7e3-5b99-a98c-fc5f5a7613e8)
CHAPTER TWO (#u97a88a97-ffe7-57fb-8666-09f472f50627)
CHAPTER THREE (#ub040a084-2d0e-5ad6-b7bf-18c1a544b2fc)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_5affaead-e4c9-5550-acba-63a1b4504c8a)
PEGGY KANE GLARED at the string of naked pink cupids fluttering over the floral shop counter. ‘‘Lovebirds?’’ she demanded into the cell phone as she turned her back to the cupids—and the clerk.
‘‘Yes.’’ Oliver Sanders sounded distracted. She could imagine him behind his big mahogany desk loosening his tie, his suit jacket already off and hanging neatly over the back of his chair, the scent of his expensive cologne mingling with the rich smell of leather and wood.
‘‘I should have thought of them before,’’ he said. She could hear the scrape of a pen on paper. He must be signing the letters she’d typed for him before he sent her to buy Valentine’s Day presents for his wife. ‘‘You got the good chocolate right, the stuff from Bulgaria or whatever?’’
‘‘Belgium. Yes.’’ Only the best for Mitzy Baxter Sanders. ‘‘I went to the little shop you told me to go to.’’
‘‘And the flowers?’’ Peggy could tell by his tone that he’d stopped what he was doing and was finally giving her his undivided attention. ‘‘You didn’t forget flowers?’’
He didn’t call her Miss Efficiency for nothing. ‘‘Roses. Red Beauties. Two dozen. They are the largest, reddest and sweetest ones you can buy.’’
She could hear the smile of approval in his voice. ‘‘I knew I could count on you. And you’ve got the key I gave you for the elevator to the penthouse. You’re going to have to hurry to get everything there before she gets home. It has to be perfect. You know how important tonight is.’’
She knew. ‘‘It will be,’’ she said glancing at her watch. How was she expected to get everything to the hotel before Mitzy got home, she wanted to know, but didn’t ask, reminding herself how lucky she was. The day she’d become Oliver Sanders’ secretary, her dreams had finally begun to come true.
She hung up and asked the florist behind the counter where she could find lovebirds in a resort town like River’s Edge, Montana.
‘‘There’s a new pet shop in that mall on the way to the ski hill,’’ the starry-eyed young woman told her. ‘‘Roses and lovebirds?’’
Peggy nodded as she gathered up all of her purchases.
‘‘Oh, how sweet and so-o-o-o romantic!’’ the clerk cooed.
Yeah. Peggy batted away one of the cupids hanging over the door as she left, sick to death of hearts and flowers. She’d spent years of watching other women get boxes filled with chocolate and big, bright bouquets in pretty vases.
‘‘Oh, look, I got flowers! Here, smell them!’’
Smell them?
Peggy swore under her breath. What sadist, she wanted to know, had come up with a holiday that so flaunted the fact you didn’t have anyone? Wasn’t it bad enough that all year long someone was trying to fix you up with blind dates? That your mother probably thought you were a lesbian since you were thirty-two and manless? That the man of your dreams was married to someone else and buying her all the wonderful Valentine’s Day presents you’d ever dreamed of? And some presents you hadn’t even thought of? Like lovebirds?
Lovebirds! She bought a peach-colored pair, trying not to gag at the sight of them cuddled together before she covered them. Then with her car full, she headed for The Riverside.
The Riverside was once a stagecoach stop in the middle of nowhere until the ski hill went in and River’s Edge was born as a winter ski and summer fishing resort. Oliver Sanders’s father, Otto, bought the massive stone building and turned it into an elegant old-style hotel complete with a penthouse that overlooked the town, the ski hill and the river.
Peggy slipped past the desk clerk, a fastidious man in a blue and gold uniform who was busy on the phone but motioned frantically for her to wait for a bellhop to help her. Luckily for her, both the clerk and bellhop were busy with a busload of Minnesota skiers.
She was dying to see the penthouse where Oliver lived and she didn’t want some bellhop watching her every move. She hurried into the private elevator. The door closed before the bellhop could get a cart for her purchases, let alone catch her. She used the key for access to the penthouse.
In the quiet of the elevator, she leaned against the wall, tired, hungry and irritable. The coo of the lovebirds irritated the hell out of her and she felt antsy.
Only one thing made her feel better. Thinking about Oliver. That alone had sustained her all these years. It hadn’t been easy, feeling the way she did about him. She had to leave town when he married Mitzy right after high school, unable to stand it.
Mitzy. Her momentary good mood evaporated at just the thought of Mitzy as the elevator slowed to a stop. Mitzy was two years younger and had captured Oliver’s attention from the time they were all kids. Mitzy in her twin blond ponytails bobbing under pretty pink bows. Mitzy in high school in the same color pink, but only a cashmere sweater that stretched over her twin perky breasts that bobbed as she walked. The same pink as cupids.
The elevator door opened directly into the penthouse foyer. Gathering up the presents, Peggy stepped onto the shining white marble and braced herself for the wave of jealousy she knew was about to hit her.
It was worse than she’d thought. She put down the lovebirds, the roses, the massive box of chocolates, the champagne, the velvet box with the diamond tennis bracelet nestled in it and the tiny vial of one-of-a-kind perfume. She carefully put the last beside all the rest on the antique table next to the door, arranging them, just as Oliver had instructed.
Then she moved slowly into the apartment, trying not to drool. This was exactly what she’d always dreamed of. A life like this. With Oliver. It would silence all the years of being called Piggy and pudgy and plain old fat. She hadn’t been fat for several years but she still felt fat inside. Probably because she knew Piggy Kane was only a Sara Lee cheesecake away.
She didn’t have much time. Mitzy would be home soon. Mitzy, who’d taken one look at her after returning to town and said, ‘‘My God, you’ve lost a ton of weight. I barely recognized you!’’
Mitzy, who’d suggested lining her up with Oliver’s aging mechanic. The same Mitzy who would never know that her husband had sent his secretary out to do his Valentine’s Day shopping at the very last minute. That is, she’d never know as long as Peggy got out of the penthouse and soon.
Peggy walked through the apartment, touching the lush furnishings, wanting to lick her fingers everything felt so good. In the bedroom, she opened the door to the huge walk-in closet and stepped in to feel the fine fabric of Oliver’s suits. When she pressed a sleeve to her face, she could smell his cologne and almost imagine him here in this room with her.
She turned and saw Mitzy’s side of the closet filled with more clothes than Peggy had even dreamed of ever owning in a lifetime. Fancy gowns, nice suits, beautiful dresses, lush furs. All in size six. Little, cute Mitzy.
Peggy frowned, the old bitter taste in her mouth reminding her that she would never be a size six, would never be prom queen, would never be Mitzy—even if she were married to Oliver. And because of that she would never forgive Mitzy.
But then, like poking a stick in an open wound, she reminded herself that it hadn’t just been Mitzy who’d made fun of her when she was overweight. Oliver had laughed, then pretended he didn’t think it was funny, when Mitzy nicknamed her Piggy, a nickname that had stuck like fat.
Peggy shoved the thought away. It had been her own fault, sitting off by herself at lunchtime, stuffing her face with food, watching Mitzy and Oliver with such envy, wishing— She’d spent years wishing. Then finally done something about it. She’d come back here and gotten the job as Oliver’s secretary. Not that she hadn’t tortured herself at first with the thought that he’d only hired her out of guilt or pity or both.
As she closed the closet, she turned to stare at the king-size bed, seeing herself between the satin sheets with Oliver.
A sound from the foyer startled her. She froze, listening. The elevator. She heard it open and close again. Hurriedly, she glanced at her watch. Had Mitzy come home early?
Her heart began to race and she felt sick to her stomach. If she got caught in Mitzy’s bedroom— She couldn’t hide in the closet. Or under the bed. She’d be trapped and eventually discovered. Her humiliations in high school would pale next to this. Everything would be ruined and Oliver would be furious!
Her stomach growled loudly. Right now, she would have killed for a Big Mac and fries. She closed her eyes, listening with every cell of her body. She should have just dropped off the presents and left. She’d known this place was going to upset her and now all she wanted to do was get out of here and go some place and eat. Eat something rich and fattening that would make her feel better. Something forbidden.
She thought she heard the elevator open again. And close. Was it possible the bellhop had come up looking for her, seen the presents and just assumed she’d left already?
She glanced at her watch again. She still had time to get out of here without being caught by Mitzy. Without upsetting Oliver. If she left right now.
She crept soundlessly over the thick, plush carpet, peering in doorways as she went, trying to convince herself she really was alone in the apartment. She could smell Mitzy’s perfume. And Oliver’s cologne. The mingling of the two made her sick to her stomach.
The presents were where she’d left them on the table, the lovebirds cuddling and cooing. Everything looked just as she’d left it, except....
The bow on the candy box had fallen to the floor.
She stepped closer, counting off the gifts, almost afraid she’d find one missing. Birds, flowers, perfume, champagne, jewelry, candy— That was odd. The lid on the heart-shaped box of chocolates!
Someone had opened the box and left the lid half off, probably in a hurry to get out of the penthouse.
Her heart lurched at a sudden thought. Surely the bellhop wouldn’t have taken a piece of the chocolate. No! Panic filled her, making her grab the edge of the table for support. Oliver had been very specific about how everything had to be. It had to be perfect.
He’d think she took the candy! That she hadn’t overcome her ‘‘problem’’ with food. That it was just a matter of time before she became Piggy Kane again. He would never believe the bellhop had taken the candy even if Peggy got the chance to explain. Not that she could admit she’d been in the bedroom snooping around and heard the bellhop come in.
She felt sicker. How much had he taken? Maybe none. Maybe he’d just looked into the box. Her fingers trembled as she slowly lifted the lid all the way off, praying all of the chocolate would be nestled in their little red foil cups.
One was missing!
Peggy had watched the woman at the candy shop place the chocolate in an intricate heart pattern. The air thick with the smell of chocolate, she’d watched each specially made morsel go in, right up until the last piece—a perfect heart of milk chocolate drizzled with semi-sweet chocolate.
And now it was gone, leaving only an empty bright red foil hole gaping at the center of the design and all of the pieces askew and no longer resembling a heart at all as if the box had been dropped!
In horror, Peggy realized Mitzy would notice immediately and call it to her husband’s attention. Oliver would have to confess that Peggy had picked up the presents. Had to have been Peggy who’d taken the piece of candy.
Mitzy would make a big deal out of it. Peggy could just hear her, ‘‘Poor Piggy Kane, had to steal Valentine’s Day chocolate because it wasn’t like anyone was going to give her chocolate. That would be like giving tequila to an alcoholic.’’
But that wasn’t the worst part. Mitzy wouldn’t want the chocolates, not after Piggy Kane had been in them. Oliver would be furious. Didn’t Peggy know how important it was for tonight to be perfect?
She stared down at the box of candy. Smooth pale milk chocolates. Dark rich bittersweet chocolates. All filled with heavenly cremes, mouth-melting caramels and buttery nuts.
She watched her hand as if seeing it from a great distance away. Watched her finger and thumb gently lift one of the milk chocolate cremes from its foil nest as if lifting out a priceless jewel. Watched the chocolate approach her mouth, the sight of it making her dizzy, the intoxicating scent of it making her weak with anticipation.
The forbidden chocolate brushed her lips as lightly as a kiss and then it was on her tongue. She closed her warm mouth around it, sucking it in, lips parting slightly as she released a cocoa-scented sigh. Her breath caught in her throat as the chocolate slowly, achingly began to melt.
She had never tasted anything so smooth, so rich. She deserved this. She deserved so...much...more. Then the warm chocolate seemed to burst and the sweet, incredible creme oozed out, filling her mouth. She groaned from the pleasure of it, licking her lips as she closed her eyes, willing herself to fight the urge and hold it in her mouth as long as she could, knowing how quickly the sensation would be gone once she swallowed.
This was heaven. Unfortunately, she knew from experience, it never lasted long enough.
Her hand was already reaching for another chocolate, her mind already crumpling the empty incriminating red foil into her coat pocket and rearranging the chocolates, already convincing herself that no one would ever have to know, especially Oliver. That was when the poison hit.
She had only enough time to pull the Valentine from her pocket before she hit the floor.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_aaa163a6-604c-5d38-a10b-33af19e6db93)
‘‘WHO FOUND THE BODY?’’ Sheriff Jack McAllister asked the deputy as he rode up the elevator to The Riverside penthouse. He couldn’t believe it. He’d been sheriff for less than twenty-four hours and he already had a dead body on his hands. Just his luck, since he’d come home to River’s Edge to get away from this very thing.
‘‘Mrs. Sanders found her.’’
He shot a look at the deputy and realized the only Mrs. Sanders he knew would be hugging eighty by now—if she was still alive. He hadn’t thought about which Sanders lived in the hotel penthouse. ‘‘Ellie Sanders, old man Sanders’s wife?’’
Deputy Reed, whom Jack had just met that morning, shook his head, his expression suspiciously closed. ‘‘Mrs. Oliver Sanders. Old man—Mr. Otto Sanders is deceased. His wife, Ellie, resides in Hawaii now.’’
Good for Ellie. Jack hoped she was having a great time, spending the old man’s money.
‘‘Who’d Oliver marry?’’ he had to ask. Keeping track of the comings and goings in River’s Edge had been the last thing on his mind. He’d left pretty soon after high school, taking the best of River’s Edge with him, and had never looked back, never planned to come back. As he rode up the elevator, he was starting to remember why.
‘‘Oliver married Mitzy Baxter,’’ Reed said and had to clear his throat.
Jack let out a low whistle. Mitzy Baxter Sanders. Mitzy. Oh, boy.
The elevator door opened onto a slab of white marble floor complete with a dead body and a hysterical woman. He recognized the loud high-pitched complaining voice in the background as Mitzy’s. Some things did not change.
A second deputy stood next to the elevator door, protecting the possible crime scene just as Jack had asked. But the poor man looked as if he’d rather be anywhere than here. Jack understood perfectly.
‘‘Mrs. Sanders is a little upset,’’ Deputy Dodson said. ‘‘As would be expected,’’ he added quickly.
Jack had to smile. ‘‘Yes, as would be expected.’’ He looked from the deputy to the foyer table covered in gifts and the body of a woman lying on the floor beside it. A box of spilled chocolates dotted the marble floor around the body like thrown dirt clods.
Under the table was a woman’s large black leather purse with a shopping bag next to it. Against the opposite foyer wall were two more shopping bags and another purse, this one pink and dainty.
Jack bent down, and without touching anything, took a look at the murder victim.
‘‘She’s Mr. Sanders’s secretary,’’ Dodson informed him. ‘‘Her name is Peggy Kane.’’
That news startled him. Both seemed implausible. He’d gone to school with Peggy Kane. Knew her relationship with not only Oliver, but Mitzy. At least he thought he did. It seemed a number of things had changed since he’d been gone—and Peggy Kane had changed the most.
This woman looked nothing like the one he remembered even if her face hadn’t been blue. Peggy Kane had lost a lot of weight, but it was more than that, he realized. It was the way she was dressed, the expensive jewelry, the hair, the whole look. It made him wonder what Oliver paid her.
In River’s Edge, there were two classes of families. The ones with money who owned the condos, huge seasonal homes and the businesses that thrived because of them. And the ones who worked for the businesses. The Kane family fell into the latter group, just as the McAllisters had.
Peggy had a piece of chocolate gripped in her right hand. It had melted down to just the nut. On closer inspection, in her other hand was what appeared to be a crumpled piece of white paper. He didn’t touch it and wondered if anyone else had noticed it.
‘‘I took down everyone’s statement, just as you instructed,’’ Dobson said. ‘‘I’m also the crime photographer. I shot the elevator, all of the rooms in the penthouse and the possible crime scene.’’ Standard procedure in a sudden death of this nature. ‘‘I’ve sent the photos to the lab. You should have them within the hour.’’
‘‘Good work,’’ Jack said, pushing himself to his feet again. He asked both deputies to remain at the elevator door and protect the scene until the coroner arrived to tell them whether or not a crime had actually been committed. Then bracing himself, he followed the irritating sound of Mitzy’s voice into the living room.
Mitzy actually stopped talking when she saw him. Her mouth remained open, but thankfully nothing came out. Her husband, Oliver Sanders, was at the bar making drinks, his back to Jack. Jack caught his own reflection in the mirror over the bar, seeing himself the way Mitzy must. Older. His dark blond hair still thick although graying at the temples. His blue eyes faded like old denim and lined from the sun. Just seeing how life had weathered and aged him, he remembered with a jolt his real reason for coming back here.
Oliver turned at the sudden quiet, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the new sheriff.
‘‘Well, I’ll be damned,’’ was all Oliver said, but he seemed to tense as if expecting a blow.
Jack knew that one of the town councilmen had voted against hiring him as sheriff and figured it had been Oliver Sanders. He told himself that Oliver’s obvious anxiety at seeing him could be nothing more than having a dead woman in his foyer. Or it could be the past. Considering his and Jack’s past, it could easily have been that alone.
‘‘Jack?’’ Mitzy cried, finding her voice too soon. ‘‘Jack McAllister?’’
She’d remembered his name. But he’d have hoped as much considering how...intimate they’d been for a short period of time during his junior year in high school—a time he would have just as soon forgotten.
He reminded himself that she probably felt the same way, in fact, might have forgotten him and only remembered when she saw his photo in today’s paper. Then again, the story about the new sheriff moving into his office hadn’t gotten a lot of play in the resort town’s only newspaper—not like Oliver Sanders’s new expensive condo development.
Mitzy pushed herself up from a plump velvet couch, but appeared uncertain what to do next. Running into his arms seemed somehow inappropriate, he thought. So did shaking hands, but he held his hand out to her.
‘‘Mrs. Sanders,’’ he said in his cop voice, amazed how much she looked like she had in high school. He’d almost forgotten how partial she was to pink. She wore a pale pink suit with matching high heels and a white silk blouse, all expensive and carefully chosen for effect rather than comfort, just like the decor of this place.
Her sculpted blond hair curled at her suit jacket collar and framed her doll-adorable face, accenting her big baby blues in a way that told him it hadn’t been unwittingly. Her still very nicely rounded body had fitness center written all over it.
She took his hand almost coyly, something Jack was sure Oliver hadn’t missed. Some things just didn’t change.
‘‘Oh, Jack,’’ Mitzy said in that breathy voice of hers. ‘‘Sheriff? In River’s Edge?’’ She seemed to find humor in that. Or pity. With Mitzy it was hard to tell.
Jack’s gaze moved past Mitzy to the third person in the room.
A slim woman stood silhouetted against the bank of windows looking out over the town and the mountains. It wasn’t until she turned that he realized he knew her. That is, had known her. He fought to hide his surprise as she moved toward him, hand outstretched, amusement in her dark eyes.
‘‘Tempest Bailey,’’ she said, as if he wouldn’t remember her.
Not a chance. ‘‘Tempest,’’ he said, wondering what she was doing here.
She nodded as if seeing him wondering. She didn’t miss much. ‘‘I’m The Riverside’s version of a house detective—at least temporarily,’’ she said, making him remember her voice. Soft and deep with a hint of humor. It was one of the sexy things about her, although she hid the rest well. She wore khakis, a white blouse under a navy-blue sweater and cross-trainers. Her hair was long and dark, pulled back into a braid that hung to the center of her back. She wore no makeup, her face lightly freckled. There was something about the privileged. No matter how much they dressed down, they couldn’t hide the fact that they’d come from money.
He realized he was staring at her. ‘‘Temporarily?’’ he asked when her words finally registered.
‘‘I’ve been offered the undersheriff job,’’ she said, tilting her head a little, her eyes glinting.
T. J. Bailey. My God, he’d never dreamed the T. J. Bailey, the applicant the town council had offered the undersheriff position to, was Tempest. He tried to think of something to say to cover his shock and discomfort, but it was impossible with his foot stuck in his mouth.
‘‘Congratulations,’’ he finally managed.
She cocked her head. ‘‘It’s a little premature for that. I haven’t accepted.’’ She met his gaze, her eyes as dark as an abyss.
‘‘Jack!’’ Mitzy cried, reminding him she had to be the center of attention. ‘‘I have a dead woman in my foyer!’’
‘‘Yes.’’ It didn’t surprise him that she wouldn’t refer to Peggy Kane by name. ‘‘That’s why I’m here. I’ll need to get statements from all of you.’’
‘‘Statements?’’ Mitzy looked horrified. ‘‘She choked to death on one of my chocolates. What more is there to say?’’
‘‘We won’t know what killed her until the coroner—’’
‘‘Of course, she choked,’’ Mitzy interrupted. ‘‘What else could it have been? Unless it was a heart attack. She did carry a lot of weight for a lot of years.’’ She must have seen his expression. ‘‘I’m not speaking ill of the dead. You all know it’s the truth. She was huge.’’
Jack pulled the tape recorder from his pocket as Oliver pushed a large martini into his wife’s hand.
‘‘I’d offer you a drink, Jack,’’ Oliver said, motioning to his own glass, ‘‘but you’re on duty, right? Just like Tempest here.’’
‘‘Why don’t we all sit,’’ Jack suggested as he took Mitzy’s drink from her hand and put it down on the glass coffee table out of her reach. ‘‘If you don’t mind.’’
‘‘I think he’d like to get your statement while you’re still halfway sober, my dear,’’ Oliver said to his wife. ‘‘Jack obviously knows you.’’
The tension in the room jumped up a notch as Mitzy shot her husband a .357 point-blank, drop-dead look, but it didn’t even seem to wound him, making Jack wonder about their relationship.
‘‘You might want to slow down a little yourself,’’ Jack suggested to Oliver. ‘‘Just until I get your statement.’’
Mitzy smiled at that, then sat on the couch, smoothing the pink fabric over her thighs with both hands. ‘‘To think she choked to death on my chocolates.’’
Jack didn’t correct her. For all he knew, she might be right. He met Tempest’s gaze across the expanse of glass coffee table as she took a chair opposite the couch. He got the distinct impression she didn’t think Peggy Kane had choked to death. At least not without help.
He sat in the chair at the end of the coffee table between Mitzy and Tempest. Oliver continued to stand behind the couch, sipping his drink. It was just like him to refuse to sit. After all, he was a Sanders and they didn’t take orders from anyone in River’s Edge. Especially from some ex-high-school-jock from the wrong side of the tracks named Jack McAllister, even if he was the new sheriff.
‘‘Mitzy, why don’t you tell me exactly what you remember,’’ Jack said as he set the tape recorder on the table. ‘‘I’d appreciate it if no one interrupted her.’’ He glanced pointedly at Oliver, who bristled visibly.
‘‘I already told everything to that other cop,’’ Mitzy said irritably. ‘‘I don’t see why I have to go over it again. It’s just all so...ghastly.’’
‘‘I need to hear it for the record,’’ Jack said as he pushed the record button.
Mitzy stared at the tape recorder, then at her drink for a moment, before she wet her lips and began speaking. ‘‘I came home at my usual time. I’m a Realtor, a very good one, in case you haven’t heard.’’ She directed the comment and a broad smile at Jack.
‘‘You came home at your usual time,’’ he prompted.
‘‘Yes, I was anxious to get home. It’s Valentine’s Day,’’ she said and looked from Jack to Tempest as if she doubted either was aware of that fact. ‘‘Anyway,’’ she sighed, ‘‘I got into the private elevator, started to insert my key for the penthouse when I noticed there was already a key in it.’’ She rolled her eyes. ‘‘I thought, damn Oliver! How many times have I told him not to leave his key in the elevator where anyone off the street can just walk right into our penthouse.’’
‘‘Oliver’s left his key in before?’’ Jack asked.
‘‘Only once or twice,’’ he said with obvious irritation. ‘‘The bellhop usually sees it and either brings it up or calls to let me know it’s at the desk. It really isn’t a big deal. I find the whole key thing to be a real nuisance.’’
‘‘Anyway,’’ Mitzy continued. ‘‘There was the key, so I just assumed Oliver had beat me home. I came up, excited to give him his gift. I bought him a new Rolex. Oh, sorry, dear,’’ she added quickly, glancing at her husband. ‘‘I guess it won’t be much of a surprise now.’’ Her gaze swung back to Jack. ‘‘But then my Valentine’s Day was ruined the moment I saw Peggy sprawled dead in the middle of my chocolates, wasn’t it?’’ She was completely ignoring Tempest. Nothing new here.
‘‘You were saying what happened when the elevator door opened,’’ Jack reminded her.
She looked at him aghast. ‘‘What do you think happened? I saw Peggy and screamed.’’
‘‘Did you check for a pulse or see if you could help her?’’ Jack asked.
Mitzy blinked. ‘‘I could see that she was dead. I wasn’t about to...touch her.’’
Jack looked to Tempest. ‘‘So that’s when you came on the scene?’’
She nodded. ‘‘I was on the floor below. I came right up.’’
‘‘By elevator?’’ he asked.
‘‘No, Mrs. Sanders had the elevator door blocked open with her bags. I took the emergency stairs off the fire escape and entered through the fire exit door.’’ Tempest seemed to read his mind. ‘‘I insisted Mrs. Sanders leave everything just as she’d found it—including the bags she’d used to block the elevator.’’
The two shopping bags he’d noticed against the opposite wall from the body.
He turned his attention back to Mitzy, trying not to think about the possibility of working with Tempest Bailey. With luck, she wouldn’t take the job. ‘‘Did you touch anything?’’ he asked Mitzy.
‘‘I just screamed and the next thing I knew—’’ she swung her gaze at Tempest ‘‘—she came through my house. It appears Oliver didn’t use the dead bolt on the fire escape exit.’’ Mitzy shook her head in disgust. ‘‘Then she called your office and ordered me to go back down to the lobby.’’
Jack knew the answer to this one. ‘‘But you didn’t.’’
‘‘Of course not,’’ Mitzy said. ‘‘I couldn’t have a bunch of strangers up here unsupervised.’’ Tempest Bailey was far from a stranger to Mitzy even if Tempest hadn’t been the hotel detective. ‘‘There wasn’t any reason I couldn’t wait in the living room and just step around the body if I had to.’’
He glanced at Tempest. She said nothing, but her expression told him everything he needed to know about her confrontation with Mitzy. ‘‘You called the sheriff’s department from your own cell phone?’’
Tempest nodded. ‘‘I touched nothing nor did I let anyone else touch anything around the victim or the penthouse until I turned it over to the two deputies and it could be photographed and fingerprints taken. I have been here with both...witnesses the entire time.’’
‘‘Good work.’’
‘‘I was just doing my job.’’
Mitzy looked as if she wanted to argue that.
‘‘How many keys are there to the penthouse?’’ he asked Tempest.
‘‘Four,’’ she answered without hesitation. ‘‘Mrs. Sanders and I each have one. Mr. Sanders has two.’’
Jack shot Oliver a look.
‘‘I have a tendency to misplace mine,’’ he said.
So it seemed. ‘‘May I see everyone’s key?’’ Jack asked.
Tempest produced hers. Mitzy had to have her little pink bag brought in from the foyer. She dug around for a moment, then finally came up with it. Out of the corner of his eye, Jack saw Oliver reach into the pocket of his suit pants, frown, then move to the bar where he began to mix himself another drink.
‘‘Don’t you have your keys?’’ Jack asked.
‘‘No, I guess I left mine at my office,’’ Oliver said after a moment, his back to everyone.
‘‘So whose key did Peggy have?’’ Jack asked as if he didn’t know the answer.
Oliver turned slowly from the bar, another full drink in his hand. He stared down into the frothy liquid for a moment, then glanced at his wife, who’d swung around on the couch to look at him. He let out a long sigh. ‘‘I asked Peggy to drop off the presents I’d purchased for Mitzy. She offered and since she didn’t have any plans and I wanted everything here before Mitzy got home and I wasn’t sure what time I could get off work, I thought, why not?’’
Oliver had rattled that off a little too quickly. Jack looked at him, wondering why the man would lie about something as innocuous as having Peggy drop off the gifts. Except for the fact that the woman was now dead in his foyer.
‘‘So you had already bought all the presents?’’ Jack asked, trying to pin down the lie. ‘‘When was that?’’
‘‘What does it matter?’’ Oliver snapped. Mitzy hadn’t said a word but she was still looking at her husband, a hard brittleness in her gaze.
‘‘It matters to me,’’ Jack said. And it appeared to matter to Mitzy as well. ‘‘When did you purchase the gifts? I’m sure you have the receipts or the clerks at the stores can substantiate your story.’’
Oliver glared at him. ‘‘I had Peggy buy everything this afternoon.’’
Mitzy turned back around, picked up her martini and drained half of it.
‘‘Where did Ms. Kane buy the chocolates?’’ Jack asked.
Oliver seemed to hesitate as if he might be considering lying. ‘‘Sweet Things.’’
‘‘Her choice? Or yours?’’ Jack asked.
‘‘Mine. I’d called ahead so I got exactly what I wanted,’’ he said, glancing at his wife’s back, as if he thought that fact was going to save him. But Mitzy seemed more interested in her drink than her husband now. Jack could understand that.
‘‘Cash? Or charge?’’ Jack asked.
Again Oliver seemed to hesitate, then said, ‘‘Charge. I would imagine Peggy still has my credit card.’’ The realization definitely didn’t make him happy. ‘‘I should have known Peggy couldn’t handle this.’’ He didn’t seem torn up over his secretary’s death and that bothered Jack. But Oliver was upset over something and it had to be more than getting caught sending his secretary out to do his Valentine’s Day shopping.
It also made Jack wonder how Peggy had gotten the job and why. ‘‘How long has Peggy been your secretary?’’
‘‘Too long,’’ Mitzy commented under her breath, then turned her baby blues on Jack. ‘‘Obviously, Oliver only hired her because he felt sorry for her and look where it’s gotten him.’’
Where had it gotten him? Jack wondered.
‘‘Just a little over a year,’’ Oliver said as if Mitzy hadn’t spoken.
‘‘Are you saying she wasn’t a good secretary?’’
‘‘Adequate,’’ Oliver said and finished his drink.
‘‘But you kept her on,’’ Jack persisted.
‘‘Finding anyone who wants to work in River’s Edge is next to impossible,’’ Oliver said.
Mitzy emptied her glass.
‘‘When did you arrive at the penthouse?’’ Jack asked Oliver.
‘‘Right after Mitzy.’’ Oliver glanced at Tempest as if he expected her to either corroborate his story—or contradict it. ‘‘I came up the back stairs.’’
Jack lifted a brow.
‘‘The elevator was blocked, remember?’’ Oliver said. ‘‘I wasn’t even aware I didn’t have my key.’’
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_058384f4-2a00-5a4c-a77a-71c2693df7ac)
THE MISSING EXTRA KEY bothered Jack. But what bothered him more was the way Oliver had looked to Tempest.
Jack glanced at her now. She said nothing, but from the set of her jaw, Jack guessed she wasn’t happy about something.
‘‘Excuse me, Sheriff,’’ Deputy Reed said from the living room doorway. ‘‘The coroner is in the lobby.’’
‘‘Bring him up,’’ Jack said, reaching over to turn off the tape recorder.
Mitzy shoved herself up off the couch and headed for the bar, breezing past Oliver without looking at him.
Jack rose, tucking the recorder into his jacket pocket again. ‘‘I assume neither of you is planning to leave town?’’
He caught a look pass between Mitzy and Oliver.
‘‘We’re not going anywhere, Sheriff,’’ Oliver said impatiently.
Jack turned his attention to Tempest, anxious to talk to her alone. She was already on her feet, no doubt eager as anyone to get away from this pair. ‘‘If you have a few minutes....’’ He motioned toward the foyer.
She nodded and followed him out to where the coroner was just getting off the elevator.
‘‘Damn,’’ Lou Ramsey said, scowling down at the body, then at Jack. ‘‘You bring this kind of stuff with you from the big city?’’
It did feel as if he’d brought something back with him, more old baggage than even he’d realized. ‘‘I can’t believe you’re still alive—let alone still the coroner,’’ Jack said to the cantankerous old veterinarian/councilman/ coroner.
White-headed, stooped-shouldered and more temperamental than a de-hibernated grizzly in spring, Ramsey guffawed, then put down his bag. ‘‘I’m really looking forward to working with you,’’ he said. ‘‘Yeah, right.’’
Ramsey asked Dobson if he’d shot the scene as he snapped on a pair of latex gloves from his bag. Dobson nodded. Jack sent Deputy Reed to keep the Sanderses company and make sure they remained in the living room until they could have their foyer back.

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