Chapter Twelve

Cilla called Honey with the news. Honey had been downstairs in the conservatory. Since Craig’s death, she’d craved light, and apart from her own rooms, it was her favourite place in the house. Having made herself a pot of coffee and warmed a ham and cheese croissant to go with it, she’d actually been almost enjoying her morning—in spite of what had happened at Brian’s the previous afternoon. At least she felt alive.  She was angry with him, and more than a little disappointed, but she was no longer in a fog of fear or indecision.  Then the phone rang, and a little of that fear came back with it.
              Cilla offered to come over with a copy of the paper, but Honey assured her it wasn’t necessary. She wanted to deal with this without an audience. Without someone who would pat her shoulder and hold her hand and tell her that everything was going to be fine.
            Of course, it could be worse, she told herself. They could have snapped a photo of her and Brian in his bed—that would definitely have been worse.  For a moment an image of them together sprang into her mind—two lean naked bodies, meeting, merging, urgent.  Cilla’s words of warning echoed in her mind, and she pushed them away. No matter what her friend thought, she did not believe that Brian had had a hand in that story or the picture. It may have been bad for her, but she was fairly sure he wouldn’t be fielding congratulatory calls and emails either.
            She did have to do something though and there was no putting it off.  Reaching for the phone, she took a deep breath and dialled. It only rang twice before being answered.
            “Hi, Daddy,” she said. “I need to talk to you about something and you’re not going to like it.”
            A few minutes later, she hung up and poured some more coffee.  Her father had taken the news quite well. Once he’d calmed down and she’d convinced him that no one else needed to die that week. A half-smile crossed her face. She supposed it was a normal enough reaction for a father. Now, she had to talk to an almost- brother, and she wasn’t sure he’d be quite so easy to deal with.
            She took another bite of her croissant—it was still warm and she sipped her coffee, thinking how very well the two things went together. Calling Jim could at least wait until after she’d finished her breakfast. God knew she’d need her strength to do it. The sudden ringing of the doorbell made her jump. She could ignore it. She could run away and hide. Frowning, she placed her coffee cup back on the tray. She could also go and answer it. This was her house—her life—hiding was something she was no longer prepared to do.
            Striding down the long wide hall that led from the conservatory to the foyer, she noted the way the house became less and less like her, and it struck her that her world had spun on its axis in the past forty-eight hours. Well, she’d been looking for change. Maybe that whole “be careful what you wish for” thing was real, after all.
            She would open the door and tell whoever was on the other side to get the hell off of her porch. Steeling herself, she reached out to unbolt the deadlock. Of course, she should probably check to see who was standing on her doorstep. It might be Cilla, unable to stay away from her friend, or Diana who already knew about Brian. Or a photographer with remarkable athletic skills might have found a way over the fifteen-foot fence that surrounded the grounds, or…she pressed her face against the leaded glass and released the lock.  She should have known, she thought, as she stepped back to allow her visitor to enter the house.
            “Where the hell does this guy live?” Jim demanded. “Because I am going to break his legs!”

            “Is this why you insisted on Eloise coming with us and Wong being with you in the conservatory last night, instead of me?” Trixie asked her brother as she waited for him to gather his things from his desk. At least they were a safe distance from the Deputy Chief.
Brian nodded. “I didn’t expect it to come out like this, but I still wanted a clear chain of custody and an unbiased witness to the blood sample.”
“So you haven’t completely lost it,” Dan observed. He had wondered why Brian had brought El with him. Now, he knew.
“She didn’t have to say yes.” Brian didn’t know it, but his expression was hopeful and vulnerable and it tugged at his sister’s heartstrings.
“No, and I take it as another good sign, but Houghton being drugged with something she has in her bathroom cabinet—that’s not great,” Dan said.
“Maybe, maybe not,” Trixie said, making Brian want to hug her. “Those prints on that bottle were nothing but smudges—to the naked eye anyway. How does that make any sense?”
“Doesn’t,” Dan conceded, “but let’s wait until Carter confirms your supersonic visual acuity before we start creating theories.”
“Fine,” Trixie agreed.  “But I have something else to throw into the mix. Jim grabbed me last night.”
“He did, did he?” Dan’s brows shot up suggestively.
“Not that kind of grab,” Trixie retorted, but the memory of Jim’s strong hand on her arm was clear.
 
“Nice work! You must be laughing up your sleeve!” Jim hissed.
Trixie shook his hand off, trying not to think about how firm his fingers were as they pressed into her flesh.  “Take a look at my face, green-eyes. Does it look like I’m in a comedic mood?”
“I tend to judge situations on what’s actually taking place,” Jim said grimly. “And to me, this looks as if you played me for a sucker, pumped me for information and then set your sights squarely on my friend! You’re a cool liar, you know that, Belden?”
“I didn’t lie to you.” Trixie kept her voice down. “Though I’m well within my rights to do so. This is a murder investigation, and I’m a cop!”
“Nice to know. I’ll offer you some more information for free then. Everyone knows now Craig was fooling around, but he had enough sense not to flaunt it.”
“We haven’t connected to him to anyone specific yet,” Trixie admitted, figuring it wasn’t exactly a secret.
“Well, he’d flirted and more before this, but lately he was more secretive—even with some of his cronies, cause I’ve checked. We think it’s because his affair with this woman would give him grief if it got out.”
“Makes sense.”
“So take a look a Richter’s wife. There are a couple of cosy pictures taken at a dinner recently, and she and Craig were both on a project a while ago.”
“Worth looking at then,” Trixie said.
“So did you pay any attention to what I told you or was it just another way to get at Honey?”
“We were not trying to get at Honey.” Trixie’s blue eyes narrowed and she leaned closer to him, ignoring the angry set of his jaw.  “Richter’s name came up, and he’s come close to trouble a couple of times. Plus, he doesn’t have what I’d call nice friends. Our visit and my questions were genuine.”
“And still, here you are.”
“We’re here,” Trixie said. “Because the evidence has brought us back here.”
“Well your evidence is lousy or is planted.”
“You could be right.”
“What?” Jim spun around, but Officer Wong was now heading towards them.
“Keep your shirt on, Red,” Trixie instructed. “It ain’t over yet.”
 
“He wanted to remind us that they were pretty sure Houghton had a mistress and that they also had an idea about who she might be.”
“Enlighten me,” Dan said.
“What would you say to Kayla Richter?”
“I’d say that could make things interesting. We might have a chat with the lady. And Brian…” Dan turned to his friend. “Might be wise to stay away from your new girlfriend.” 
 “Not a problem,” Brian replied. “My guess is she doesn’t want anything to do with me anyway.”
 
Honey made fresh coffee and warmed more croissants in the oven. She and Jim were in the kitchen.  It was the Batemans’ day off, and it was easier to deal with her angry almost-brother while she was doing something, rather than just sitting facing those flashing green eyes without any distractions.
Jim had dropped a copy of the offending newspaper on the island counter, and she glanced at it as he slathered his croissant with butter and jam. Jim always did have a sweet tooth.
“It’s not a particularly flattering picture,” she mused. “Or a good one—quality wise.”
“That’s definitely what we should focus on now,” Jim said with a shake of his redhead.
“I was just about to call you,” Honey said appeasingly. “I didn’t know myself until Cilla called me. She pretty much wanted to sue the paper and the journalist and who knows who else.”
“Is it true?”
“Yes,” she replied simply.
“I told this Belden guy’s sister that I would hurt him if he messed with you,” Jim snarled, looking so much like the angry, wary teen Honey had met all those years ago that she had to smile.
“I’d really rather you didn’t,” she said, placing a hand on his forearm and squeezing it gently.
“Honey, the guy made a move on you when you were vulnerable. A lousy enough thing for any guy to do, but you’re still a murder suspect, and he’s working with the police. What does that tell you?”
“That his judgment is a little off.” Honey smiled again and Jim frowned. He’d expected to find her fragile, in tears, but she seemed strong and focused. “Besides, he didn’t make a move on me. He just responded to the move I made on him.”
“He what?” Jim shook his head again, but this time as if he were a swimmer with water-clogged ears.
“I made the first move,” Honey said slowly, sounding out each word. It was odd. She was almost enjoying herself. She was front page news—something she had always avoided, she was pretty sure she had feelings for Brian Belden, and he had another woman in his life already—meaning Jim was probably right about him, and her own husband of four years was dead—murdered in their own home. If she had any sense at all, she’d be curled up in a ball with her eyes squeezed tightly shut.
“Well, that’s just because you’re vulnerable at the moment. He caught you off guard and…” Jim trailed off. “You made the first move? For real?”
“Yes, for real!” Honey said slightly annoyed by his incredulity. “I’m not some delicate little shy retiring flower. I thought you knew that!”
“I do. I do.” Jim took a long swallow of coffee.  “So you’re okay?”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Honey admitted.  “But I do not need you to break Brian’s legs. If anyone’s going to inflict an injury on him, I want it to be me.”
Jim grinned at this.  “Fine. I’ll have another croissant, thanks.”
“No problems,” Honey smiled at him. “And while I’m fixing it, you can tell me all about your talk with Detective Trixie Belden. I imagine it was fascinating.”
 
Kayla Richter sat opposite the lean, dark-haired man with the long, narrow jaw; her ankles were crossed, her hands resting in her lap, her expression concerned but composed. She hoped it was enough to keep the interview brief.
When her secretary had announced that the police were here to see her, her first instinct had been to refuse. To come up with some sort of excuse that would buy her some time. Then she realised that here in her own office, she had home field advantage. She’d designed this space—her colours, her style.
“We imagine you’ve heard about the death of Craig Houghton,” Dan said, his tone casual.
“Yes, of course. It’s been on the news.”
“We understand he was a friend of yours,” Dan continued, his dark gray eyes unreadable, while the woman with him, attractive, African-American, with great bone structure, made notes on a pad.
Kayla wondered what she was writing. After all, they’d barely asked any questions so far.
“I did know him,” she answered, surprised to hear she sounded calm. “He worked for Wheeler International, and my company worked on a project with them some time ago. And he was looking at a business venture with my husband.”
“We’ve spoken to your husband.” The detective who gave his name as Mangan said.
Was there some special meaning in his remark? She wondered. Had Neil known the truth?
“I’m sure he was more help than I can be,” she said, hoping she sounded sincere. “I imagine he spent more time with Craig than I did.”
“Really?” The woman, whose name she couldn’t remember, spoke for the first time since the interview had begun. “We were led to believe that you and Mr. Houghton had spent a significant amount of time together.” Thanks to Rachel and her computer savvy, they had already traced the two to a hotel out of town. Houghton had used his name but in true clichéd fashion booked their room as a married couple. A quick check with the hotel staff had confirmed Kayla Richter as the woman with him.
Kayla flushed and shifted in her chair. “I suppose the project we worked on did involve quite a few meetings,” she conceded. “And we sometimes met at other functions.”
“Or perhaps, Alexander Hamilton House?” The woman with the notepad smiled. “I’ve never been there, but I’ve heard it’s lovely.”
Kayla flinched. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said coolly.
“We think you do.” Detective Mangan leaned forward. “And trust me, the best thing you can do is come clean.”
Crossing her arms over her body, Kayla met his gaze as evenly as she could. “I suspect the best thing I can do is consult an attorney.”
“Your funeral,” the woman said, shrugging her shoulders when the detective raised his dark brows.  “You wanted a professional cop, Mangan, you should have brought Detective Belden with you.”
Dan did his best to ignore her.  She was probably right, but some things were outside of a person’s control.
 
  The Bluff Point City morgue was probably not the place to have a deep and meaningful conversation, but neither Honey Wheeler Houghton nor Doctor Brian Belden were behaving according to their normal pattern.
“Look, it’s fine, Brian, really. I just don’t have very good taste in men.” Honey said. Except for her first boyfriend. Mark Baker had been a real sweetie. He was married now, she’d heard, with a little boy.
“I’m not a man!” Brian said, dark eyes flashing. The conversation was not going the way he expected it to—well, he hadn’t exactly had expectations, but he still didn’t think this would be her reaction.  Having found out from Carter that she was coming into the morgue to begin arrangements for her husband, he’d come in through the basement, knowing it was something he shouldn’t be doing.  He’d seen her, approached her and started out talking to her about the pills and the prints. Something that could turn his suspension into a permanent thing and get his sister into a hell of a lot of trouble. Then he’d tried to explain about Karen. Fat lot of good it was doing him.
Honey raised her brows. “Really? Then I’m even more out of practice with the whole sex thing than I realised. Perhaps I should take up watching porn—it might keep my hand or at least my eyes in—so to speak.”
“I mean I’m not one of those men.”
“Which men?”
“The ones who’d hurt you.”
“Who said you’d hurt me?” Honey demanded, folding her arms across her chest. “We had sex, Brian. We’ve both had it before. Undoubtedly, we’ll have it again. Maybe we already have.”
“I wasn’t suggesting that I’d hurt…what do you mean? Already have? Have you lost your mind?” He grabbed her arm, but even in the heat of the moment, Honey noticed that his grip wasn’t hard enough to hurt her.
“What do you mean have I lost my mind?”
He leaned closer to her, lowering his voice. “You cannot go around having sex with random men at this point in time. It doesn’t look good.”
Honey pulled herself free. “You’re the only random man I’ve had sex with, and you’re right, it doesn’t look good.” Especially on the front page of a newspaper. Not that the actual sex thing was on the front page, but it was implied and that was enough, surely? Honey reeled in her rambling thoughts and focused. I am a worldly, grown woman—it was just sex, right?
“I’m the only…” Brian faltered. “Then what were you talking about?”
Honey blew her hair out of her eyes, which were narrowed, all traces of that signature softness gone. “You and Miss double-D, of course—though I wouldn’t be surprised if they were fake. Not that it matters to me, your reputation, not her breasts, but you’re the one who’s suspended.” That news had surprised her, and she felt bad for him, but he was responsible for his own choices, wasn’t he? “I’m not sure sleeping with two women in the same day makes you look any more…dependable or reliable or whatever it is coroner… ME… police surgeon people are supposed to be.”
“That is… you are… I don’t….” Brian ground his teeth in frustration.
“Do you suffer from some sort of sentence fragment disorder?” Honey asked sweetly. “Because there are books and courses for that.”
“I did not have sex with Karen on the same day as I had sex with you.” Brian said, forcing himself to speak calmly. “Not that I would need to justify myself to you if I had. I’m a free agent.  I—”
“I know all about your no commitments, no connections approach to relationships,” Honey said dismissively.  “Not impressed. I didn’t think you were an emotional coward.”
“A what?” Brian could hardly believe what he was hearing.
“It’s easy to not give yourself. What you do is clean, neat, manageable, which I guess is what you like.”
“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think.” Her words struck home though.
“I know you well enough,” Honey said. “Now why don’t you run along and see…Karen, was that her name?”
“I’ll see Karen when and if I choose, but for your information. I haven’t seen her since that afternoon when I told her that I didn’t think we should keep dating.”
“Before or after you had sex with her?” Honey asked, though both her eyes and voice had lost some of their icy fire.
“Neither. We did not have sex. Only you and I had sex. I have had no sex with anyone but you since we met. Are those sentences complete enough for you?”
Honey’s chin lifted, and she met his angry dark eyes without flinching.
“And at least my relationships have been open and honest. I’m not the one who’s been hiding behind the respectability of a loveless marriage.”
She drew back at this.
“And I don’t appreciate having my morals attacked by a woman who as I recall was a more than willing participant in our sexual encounter!” He strode towards her and snaked out an arm, pulling her close. “As for sex, I do want more of it. And I want it with you. And I think you want it with me.” He lowered his head and covered her mouth with his.
Honey responded immediately, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her slender body against his. He wasn’t lying about wanting her. His hand covered her breast and their tongues danced.
The sound of approaching footsteps forced them apart.
“What the hell is it about you?” Brian’s breath was ragged. “I must have lost my mind.”  He turned away, barely acknowledging his sister, who gave his retreating back a long hard stare.
“So,” she said eyeing Honey warily. “Looks like you’re not done with my brother yet.”
To Trixie’s surprise, the woman before her gave a brittle laugh and covered her face with her hands.
“I think that might be the other way around,” Honey said, sinking into a nearby chair. No man had ever had the effect on her that Brian Belden had. If Trixie hadn’t interrupted she wasn’t sure that she wouldn’t have willingly had sex again—right there in that place.
“He is currently on suspension, you know.” Trixie took the chair opposite. “Brian, in case you haven’t worked it out, is not the kind of guy who gets suspended, or gets traffic tickets, or forgets to brush his teeth.”
Honey laughed again, but this time it was a soft, warm sound that rippled around the room. “I like you, Trixie.”
Trixie tilted her head to one side. “I think I might like you, too. Provided you didn’t actually kill your husband and you’re not just using my brother like some movie femme fatale. I guess especially the latter, ‘cause I love my brother and your husband was kind of a scumbag.”
“That’s truer than I wish it was,” Honey returned. “You know, I don’t think anyone has ever considered me to be a femme fatale,” she added ruefully. “For the record, I did not kill my husband—and Craig might not have been perfect, but he wasn’t a bad man, and I am not using your brother. I think I might…anyway, I’m sorry he’s suspended. I didn’t mean to sleep with him.”
“You just sort of had accidental intercourse?”
A giggle this time.  “You could describe it that way.”
“And now?”
“Now, we realise that wasn’t very smart of us. My husband’s only been dead for a couple of days and your brother has…romantic entanglements.”
“Please!” Trixie snorted. “Brian has a clean-cut, above-board dating strategy. None of them last long, and there is never more than one at a time. If he’s sleeping with you, trust me, he’s not sleeping with anyone else.”
“You think so?” Honey couldn’t keep the hopeful note out of her voice no matter how hard she tried.
“Know so,” Trixie affirmed. “Brian says, and because he’s my brother, it’s a little icky to repeat it, that sex is a perfectly natural, enjoyable activity, but it’s hard to keep emotions out of it, so a person should be very particular about how they conduct themselves.”
“That sounds very scientific,” Honey said.
“You have met him, right?” Trixie’s sandy brows shot up. “Logic dictates, blah-blah, the practical thing to do, blah-blah, rationally speaking, etcetera.”
“I guess I’ve seen that side, but…”
“He’s different around you.”
“I know how that sounds.”
“Sounds true to me.”
“He does remind me a little of Jim, my friend, you know.”
“Sure. I know him.” Trixie hoped she wasn’t flushing.
“He’s very practical and capable. More of a temper than Brian, though the way he was just now…”
“Yeah,” Trixie unsuccessfully tried to smother a grin. “Guess he’s more like his siblings that he thought he was.”
“I know those pills must make me look bad,” Honey said, knowing Cilla and any other attorney would be furious with her. “But I did not drug and then kill my husband.” According to Cilla, the main reason she hadn’t been arrested was that the evidence was circumstantial, so she should be careful not to give the police any more information or ammunition. “I hardly ever took them,” she added. “I don’t even remember the last time. Though I guess I would say that anyhow.”
Trixie shrugged. “Maybe, but frankly, someone in your position who was planning on killing her husband would be stupid to use their own pills.  And there were no usable prints, only smudges.”
“Brian said that was a good thing,” Honey admitted. “But maybe I’m just a very wily criminal, who knew that no prints would look strange seeing that they belong to me. After all, as you know I did take a couple of criminology courses in college.”
“No offence, Honey, but I don’t see you as the criminal master mind type.”
“Another future career choice crossed off my list,” Honey said ruefully. 
Trixie grinned, and the honey-haired woman grinned back. “What do you think?” she asked. “Your brother says you have the best instincts of anyone he knows.”
“He does?” Trixie look vaguely surprised and pleased at this piece of information. “What I think is that your husband was killed by someone he knew, by someone who had access to your home, by someone he wasn’t afraid of. And if you really want to know, I do suspect a woman.”
“Great,” Honey said, holding out her arms. “You might as well arrest me now—that’s me!”
“Not just you,” Trixie corrected. “If you did it, why didn’t you plan it better? Why did you call us rather than your father, who—let’s face it—could probably fix just about anything? Why did you touch the body? Why not just go all frail and fainty? You could easily have gotten rid of what you wore when you killed him. And to be honest, having drugged him, then plugged him with three bullets, why would you have blood on you anyway? Add to that the fact that Ford Gray corroborates your story that you and Craig were separating. He’d even asked him to look for an apartment…”
“He had?” This was news to Honey.
Trixie nodded. “It took a while to get it out of him. He’s one of those nervous types and he was very…attached to your husband, who’d asked him to keep it private.”
“I wonder why?”
Trixie had wondered exactly the same thing. “Ford thought Craig was the one initiating the separation, but when we explained the situation, something in him shifted and he volunteered quite a bit.”
“Do you think there was someone else Craig was trying to hide the divorce from?’
It was what they thought, but Trixie was surprised that this woman, who often seemed delicate and unaware, was posing the question. “Those classes might have done more for you than you realise,” she said, reverting to an old habit of saying what was in her head.
Honey managed a half-smile. “What to hear something crazy? I used to love reading mysteries when I was growing up—still do. I always tried to work out why someone would commit a crime.”
“For me it was who. I almost always got that right,” Trixie laughed. “Why sometimes eluded me.”
“When I went to college, I thought…” Honey trailed off.
“Thought what?” Trixie asked.
“You’ll laugh at me. Everyone else did.”
“I don’t always see things the way everyone else does,” Trixie admitted with a rueful grin.
Honey smiled, a light, almost uncertain smile. “I thought about being some sort of investigator. Not a police officer. I don’t think I could do that, but something connected to it.”
“What’s so crazy about that?”
“I did take a couple of classes but ended up doing a business and history degree. My father says I’m very useful, but then he would, wouldn’t he?”
Trixie considered this.  “I might not be right, after all, I haven’t had much to do with your father, but my guess is that unless you are good at what you do, he wouldn’t let you anywhere near his business stuff.  You don’t get as successful as he is by pandering to friends and family.” She didn’t add that Jim had talked to her about at least one of Honey’s projects. Bringing up his name at this point in time seemed unnecessary.
Honey regarded the other woman thoughtfully. “You know, that is very smart. Daddy is generous to his family, but he rarely mixes business and pleasure and he’s told me more than once that he never would if either one of the things would be compromised.”
“See,” Trixie waved her hand. “He’d kick you to the curb or have you working on pointless projects—there’s a word for those, but I can’t remember what it is.”
“Vanity projects, maybe?” Honey suggested. “No, Trixie, you’re right. My work is real. Thank you.”
“Didn’t do anything, but you’re welcome.”
 
TB:MAIN                                                                                                                                                                               NEXT

Author's notes: Dana continues to edit with flair and compassion. There is a nod in this story to truly wonderful Jixster. I hope he has no objection as I was not taking his name in vain. Alexander Hamilton House (a BNB in Croton-on-Hudson) was but a dream of mine when I wrote this story. During my visit to the U.S. this year I was able to make it a reality, and it did not disappoint. It has recently been sold so I was lucky to spend time there. All the errors remaining in this tale are all mine as I have tweaked and added bits here and there.  Trixie Belden et al belong to Random House and not to me. No profit is being made from these scribblings.