Chapter Three

            “We’re not going to get anymore out of her tonight,” Dan said resignedly.
            “Maybe that’s why she looked familiar,” Brian mused.
            “She looked familiar?” Trixie raised her brows.
            “Kind of. I can’t quite explain it,” her brother returned.
            “Just add it to the list of inexplicable things for this evening.” Dan shook his head. “What the hell got into the two of you tonight?”
             Trixie clutched her sandy curls. “I don’t know what was wrong with me. For a minute there she felt like a friend.  This room,” she waved her hand around, “it’s cosy and I felt comfortable.”
            “Brilliant!” Dan snorted. “What about you, Doc?”
            “Same sort of thing, I guess,” Brian answered.  No way was he ready to admit to the feelings that had been tugging at him since he arrived. He didn’t understand it. How could he expect anyone else to?
            “As the lead investigator, I’m going to talk to our billionaire one-on-one. Trixie, why don’t you check and make sure the scene’s secure, that forensics are done, and Brian, you may as well head on home or to the morgue— you choose.”
            Brother and sister did as asked.
            “That CD she mentioned was in the player and some Bach thing was open next to it,” Trixie said as they made their way down to the floor below. “So she wasn’t lying about the music.”
            “I don’t think she’s lying at all,” Brian said simply.
            Trixie stopped and looked up at her brother. “She’s really got to you, hasn’t she?”
            “I guess she has.” He caught sight of the concern in his sister’s face and gave her a rueful smile. “I’m probably just tired. I’ve worked a lot of hours this week. Maybe she reminds me of someone. I promise to be my sensible, professional, vaguely suspicious self tomorrow.”
            “Maybe you’re right,” Trixie said as the two arrived at the victim’s study. “Just because she’s the most obvious suspect statistically, it doesn’t make her guilty. There has to be a reason she and her husband had separate rooms, hell, separate floors. And if there was trouble, I’ll just bet daddy dearest wasn’t fond of old Craig.”
            Brian smothered a grin. There she was in all her leap-to conclusion-glory. He wrapped an arm around Trixie’s shoulders and gave them an affectionate squeeze. “I’m going to check in with Eloise and then head home. I’m bushed.  I’ll see you tomorrow, Trix.”
            “Drive safe, Bri.” Trixie headed into the room, and he could hear her asking questions and issuing instructions as he made his way down to the ground floor and was shown out the front door.
 
            He drove carefully, partly because he was tired and knew that meant increasing his concentration, and partly because the twisting winding road that led to the exclusive hillside neighbourhood required careful negotiating. Eloise had everything under control, and he was going home to get some much-needed rest.  He wound down his window, allowing the late night breeze to flood the car. This was not his place, but it had a beauty that even the darkness could not obscure.  There were only a handful of properties dotted along the hillside road, with the Houghton mansion taking pride of the place at the very top.
            The night’s events puzzled him. He was a doctor, first and foremost, and almost always aligned his sympathies, or at least his skills, with the victim.  But somehow, Craig Houghton had become lost—almost forgotten—and he needed to rectify that.  What was it about that slip of a woman with her huge hazel eyes that had rendered him virtually speechless? Worse, fragmented his famous focus and left him bewildered—drifting.
            Brian prided himself on his logical approach to the world, to life. He had feelings, of course he did, but unlike his brothers and sister, he rarely let them take control. He liked structure and planning and purpose. But tonight, not only had Honey—even that absurd name seemed deliciously sweet on his tongue—captured, even captivated him, but both his sister and his pal, Eloise, had chosen tonight to take him to task about his dating habits.
He liked women. He enjoyed sex. But were they right? Were his serial dates doomed to failure because he longed for a relationship like that of his parents? Maybe so. In his mind he’d imagined meeting someone, settling down, a family, a home. But he was still young—only thirty-two—he had plenty of time. And in the meanwhile, he had casual but honest relationships with women who knew he wasn’t in it for the long haul. What was wrong with that? He didn’t lie or cheat or misrepresent himself. He didn’t sleep with multiple partners at any one time—that was messy, and Brian Belden did not do messy.
 Okay, so once or twice over the years a woman had decided his  ‘I enjoy your company, but am not looking for a serious involvement’ was code for ‘but you are the one to change my mind and my life’. He’d been quick to break those connections and had always tried to do it as painlessly as possible.
 His first serious girlfriend had been in college, and they had been typical of any young couple, testing their newfound adulthood. But between the demands of his course, the part-time job he worked to help pay his way and his regular trips home to help out, there hadn’t been a lot of time left for romance.  The end result had been tears and recriminations and endless arguments and apologies. He’d hated the guilt it had aroused in him and was determined not to get so emotionally involved until he was better equipped to deal with the demands of a relationship. And that strategy had become a habit.
And now, a few minutes with a distraught woman—a woman who’d only been a widow for a number of hours—had him in a tailspin. And she was a suspect in a murder inquiry he was a part of. That sounded pretty messy to him.
 Plus, he had a girlfriend didn’t he? Sort of, anyway.  He and Karen had only been on their second date, but still…she was right for him, for now, wasn’t she? Recalling the woman’s sulky response to the murder call, he wondered if that was true. That had all the hallmarks of needy, and he didn’t do needy. Pulling into the underground parking of his apartment building, he switched off the engine, grabbed his bag and headed for the elevator.
            Once inside his apartment, he slipped a meal into the microwave and headed for the bathroom. Brian stepped into the shower and allowed the steaming hot water to wash over him. He’d been vaguely annoyed when he’d seen the summons to yet another crime scene. Who knew Westchester County had so much crime? Karen, his date, had pouted prettily, and although he’d apologized, he’d envisaged himself buying exorbitantly expensive flowers and forking out for a far more upmarket meal than the one they’d been planning. Funnily, he was having a hard time recalling why he’d found the sultry redhead so attractive. 
Now, he found his thoughts straying again to a slender woman with huge hazel eyes and silky, tousled dark gold hair he longed to run his fingers through.  “Enough,” he said aloud, turning off the tap that supplied hot water and shocking his body with a blast of cold, the heavy droplets stinging against his skin. Tomorrow he would call Karen, make amends and be back to his normal sensible self and this whole mooning over a murder suspect would be behind him.
 
            Dan Mangan rarely felt intimidated by anyone. He’d survived the tough streets of New York as a teenager, and he’d learned not to show fear. Matthew Wheeler didn’t exactly intimidate him, but the man definitely had more than money going for him. He’d joined Dan in Craig Houghton’s study and settled his long frame in one of the chairs on the other side of the large black desk. No need to stake a claim of ownership. No attempt to assume the psychological seat of power in the oversized black leather chair his son-in-law must have used.
            “I am sorry for your loss,” Dan used the standard line deliberately, wondering how Matthew Wheeler would play it.
            “Death, while inevitable, is never easy to deal with,” Wheeler said.  “And violent death is particularly hard. I won’t waste your time by pretending grief at my son-in-law’s death, but I am sorry he died and even more sorry that he died in this manner. I wasn’t overly fond of him, but very few people should die that way.”
            It was an interesting turn of phrase, and if Dan hadn’t been at the beginning of a murder investigation, he might have pressed the older man for clarification. “Were you aware of the problems in your daughter’s marriage?”
            “Let’s just say that I realised they’d grown apart. My daughter, despite what you might think, is disinclined to discuss her private life with me. I imagine her friends could give you more information.”
            “What about the work situation? What exactly were his responsibilities? Were you happy with his performance?”
            “For a long time, Craig’s performance was solid. Not remarkable—he’s not— wasn’t, a visionary, but he put in the hours, was diligent, built relationships.  Then he started looking for more…opportunities, challenges. Eventually, he sounded me out on taking on some outside work. I agreed, provided it involved neither competition with Wheeler International nor anything…unsavoury.”
            Dan raised his brows.
            “I might have a reputation for being ruthless in business, Detective, but there are lines I’d never cross and ventures I would never consider, and Craig was very clear on that.”
            “What would have happened if he’d gone against your wishes?”
            “I’d have had him eliminated, of course.”
            It took Dan a moment to register his words. “You’d have…”
            “Sorry, that was in very poor taste. It’s just been my experience that people seem to confuse extreme wealth with an absence of morals. You know the whole ‘nothing would surprise me’ routine.” He sighed heavily. “If Craig had chosen to go against my wishes, I’d have dismissed him, just as I would any other employee.”
            “Even though he was married to your daughter.”
            “Trust me, Detective, Honey would not have objected. I give my workers the chance to question me, our policies, and our procedures. Where possible I grant autonomy—you get better results when your staff are invested and engaged, but if Craig had done what I think you’re suggesting, Honey herself would have expected me to terminate his employment. My daughter may be delicate but she is not weak. She values loyalty, as do I.”
            “Had he crossed that line?”
            “Frankly, I don’t know. I’ve been in Europe for six weeks and this only came up just before I left. The person most likely to know is Craig’s assistant. I’ve already asked someone from the office to contact him.”
            There was the sound of voices in the downstairs foyer, and Matthew Wheeler got to his feet.
            “That will be the doctor. Excuse me, Detective. If you have more questions, which I’m certain you will, they’ll need to wait until tomorrow. If you’ve finished here…”
            Dan stood, too.  He could have stood his ground. Insisted he needed to go over more things, re-examine the scene, but what he saw in the older man’s eyes was concern for his child and nothing else. Besides, he was beat and still had Wheathead to deal with back at the station.
            “We’ll be in touch, Mr. Wheeler. Thanks for you co-operation.”
           
 
            Honey Wheeler Houghton set aside the array of pills the doctor had handed her. Her head hurt and she was exhausted, but she was not going down the road of drug cocktail to oblivion. She’d done that once before and sworn never to do it again.  Her husband was dead. Dead. She’d wanted him out of her life, and now he was gone and it made her feel sick and confused and scared, but she didn’t want to wipe it out of her mind. What was the point of that? When she woke again or came out of that fugue-like state, everything would still be the same. She’d said as much to her father, who’d nodded his red head and held her close.
            He understood or at least he tried to. Her mother, who fortunately was in Paris, would have been horrified, would have insisted Honey take the pills. Would have wanted all of the unpleasantness to go away. Not because she didn’t care—though it had taken Honey a long time to realise that in her own way her mother did love her—but because she hated ugly things, painful things and did what ever she could to keep them away from her and those she cared about.
            Honey didn’t much care for ugly or painful either, but she’d learned they were preferable to frozen or paralysed. Her husband had lied and cheated and…she shook her head, making it throb even more. She would take some aspirin and make a cup of tea—herbal this time.
  Although the kitchenette was well-stocked with some of her favourite china, Honey went back the living room and collected the fine boned china mug she’d used earlier. She told herself it was because she hated leaving dirty dishes about, but the truth was it reminded her of him—Brian Belden—the tall, incredibly handsome, police surgeon. The man whose gentle, and strangely familiar, fingers had traced the scrape on her forehead and lightly fingered the fading bruises on her forearms. She glanced down at the latter wondering if he’d accepted her claim of clumsiness. She hoped so.
 In the tiny kitchenette, she rinsed the inside of the mug and waited for the kettle to boil before pouring water on the camomile and mint tea bag. Her father had insisted on staying in the house, but he was downstairs in one of the guest suites and she knew it was unlikely he would hear her. While she waited for the tea to steep, she filled a glass with water and swallowed a couple of aspirin.
  A few minutes later she was curled up in bed, sipping her tea, the soft cream and pale blue comforter pulled up over her knees. Wearily, she placed the almost-empty mug on the night table and slid down in the bed, willing its softness to engulf her, to protect her from what was to come. She always left a low light burning in the hallway. It kept the darkness at bay, and she was not fond of the deep inky blackness. Tonight, she needed reassurance more than ever, and leaving the lamp on the night table to cast its warm yellow glow on the bed and surrounding floor, she rolled onto her side, closed her eyes and prayed for sleep.
 
“What a mess! Deputy Chief Wheathead dropped the half-eaten pizza slice back into the open box and took another swig of his Coke.  He was a round man of medium height and ruddy complexion. “Matthew bloody Wheeler. Big time, big shot. Friend of the damned mayor. I’m not surprised he came running if his precious little girl’s been putting holes in her hubby.”
“We don’t know that’s what happened,” Dan said with a frown.
“She’s his only daughter—worth squillions,” the Chief continued. “And now that we’ve had some time to start digging, it’s looking like Houghton was doing the dirty on her.”
“She seemed pretty shaken, and she let us take a look around. We didn’t find a weapon.” Dan glanced at Trixie. They’d known this would complicate things.
“In that monstrosity of a place. You could look for a week.”
“You’ve been there?” Trixie knew she sounded surprised, but it was late and she was tired and the Chief didn’t like her anyway.
            “Imagine the legal team,” the Chief snorted, ignoring her question. “She’ll walk away from it for sure.”
            “We’ve barely begun investigating,” Trixie protested. “We need to run background checks, phone records, business dealings…if you’re right and he was messing around, that means other women—or a woman at least— and more suspects.”
            The Chief rolled his eyes. “Killed at home? She was in the house? Covered in blood? Give me a break.” He leaned across the desk shaking his finger. “I do not want them given an easy ride just because they’re rolling in money.” He and the mayor did not get on, and he was not about to be pushed around.
            “Glad to hear it,” Dan returned before Trixie could speak and land herself in hot water. “Because we have no intention of doing that, anymore than we would risk a prosecution by not running a thorough, unbiased investigation. Imagine how that would play out?”
            “You’ve got a point. Well, get on with it. I’ve had Villeneaux make a start on the background. You can take over. I’m going home.”
            “See you tomorrow,” Dan said, while Trixie merely smiled and waved her hand.
            “Don’t mind us, we can work sixteen hours straight,” she muttered at her boss’s retreating back, the smile still fixed in place should he happen to turn around.
            “It could be worse,” Dan said as he gathered up the files.
            Trixie caught his eye and grinned. “Sure it could. He could have stayed.”
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Author's Notes: More thanks to my incredible editor, Dana. Thank you for persevering. All things wrong and weird are mine and mine alone. Trixie Belden et al remain the property of Random House. No profit is being made from these scribblings