Safe In His Arms
Kay David
Ninety percent of what every cop hears is a lieAnd Daniel Bishop knows it. Which is why he' s surprised to realize he wants the beautiful Anise Borden to be telling the truth.Anise' s soon-to-be ex was shot as she hugged him goodbye. And that makes Anise the prime suspect. If she' s guilty, it' s Bishop' s job to put her away.But as he starts building his case, another body turns up. Is Anise a coldhearted killer? Or a potential victim? He has to find out before it' s too late for Anise…and his heart.COUNT ON A COPWhen there's nowhere else to turn.
“I’m spending the night.”
Anise’s fingers flew to her throat. “That isn’t necessary. I don’t need a babysitter—”
“I know that,” Bishop answered, his voice calm and relaxed. “But you were clearly frightened or you wouldn’t have called me in the first place. Why not let me sleep on the couch?” He grinned unexpectedly. “I promise I’ll stay there unless you’d prefer a different arrangement.”
Something entered her expression and then it was gone. He told himself it was his imagination. Breaking every rule he’d ever heard about maintaining personal distance, he put his hand on her cheek. “Let me stay, Anise.”
“It’s not part of your job description and I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”
“But maybe I’d like to take care of you. Have you considered that?”
To his surprise, she nodded. And it was his turn to raise an eyebrow.
“But I don’t want to want that,” she said quietly. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Yes, I do. But I think you’re wrong. It’s okay to need someone on occasion.”
She stared at him for a moment, then reached up and hooked her hand behind his head, pulling him closer. “I think you’re wrong,” she said, “but for one tiny second I’m going to pretend that’s not the case.”
Then her lips closed over his.
Dear Reader,
In Safe in His Arms, Anise Borden has two havens of safety—her friendship with Sarah Levy and her work. Anise was raised by Sarah’s parents following the tragic loss of her mother in a house fire. The two girls share a relationship that is special to them both. As an adult, Anise finds peace by dedicating herself to her artistic creations, the shadow boxes she sells through Sarah’s art gallery. When she is troubled or confused, she turns to these two outlets, sometimes consciously, sometimes not, for comfort and reassurance.
I believe everyone needs a place where they can go and feel safe, a refuge they can retreat to when the world becomes too difficult. For some, that haven may be a physical location: a quiet maze, the beach in winter, a church caught in the ritual of Sunday morning. For others, it may be a state of mind. They lose themselves in a good book or a movie. Sometimes a daydream will suffice. The luckiest of us have found this shelter in the arms of our loving families.
These sanctuaries aren’t just for adults, either. Have you ever seen a toddler curled up and asleep under the dining-room table after a chaotic family feast? They’re looking for a quiet place in the midst of confusion. Even animals seek places of security. My cats will sometimes hide under the bed when the doorbell rings. They aren’t sure who’s coming, but they do know where they’ll be safe.
In our ever hectic, ever chaotic life, these sanctuaries, be they imaginary or real, are more and more necessary. They keep us sane and balanced. I hope you enjoy Anise’s journey to that realization in Safe in His Arms, then go on to find your own special place.
Kay David
Safe in His Arms
Kay David
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Kay David is the author of over thirty books. She splits her time between the Texas Hill Country and the Gulf coast, where she lives with her husband and her two Bengal cats, Jake and Elwood.
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
PROLOGUE
Houston, Texas
August 1982
HER EYES WERE OPEN but she couldn’t see.
Huddled in her bed, eight-year-old Anise lifted her fingers in front of her face and wiggled them. She actually could see them if she narrowed her eyes and wrinkled her nose but something wasn’t right.
Because she couldn’t breathe any better than she could see. The air in her tiny bedroom was hot and smoky. Sometimes at night her mom cut the AC off to save money but the heat Anise felt now wasn’t like that. This was really, really…hot.
The realization was slow in coming but when it came, it hit her hard.
She sat up and blinked, her chest aching, her arms and legs unwilling to move. Her teacher had talked about this once at school. What to do if you were trapped in a fire. They’d read a book about a little boy who climbed out his bedroom window. He’d run down the street and gotten help but Anise couldn’t do that. She was on the second floor.
“Mommy?” Her voice sounded fuzzy. She tried again, this time forcing the word out a little louder. “Mommy?”
Her mother didn’t come but the act of speaking freed Anise from the fear that was holding her down. She sprang from the tangle of sheets and leapt across the room, the wooden floor scorching her toes.
“Mommy? Mommy?” She was yelling by the time she got to the door, her feet doing a painful dance. Her fingers found the doorknob and she gripped it hard.
A blistering heat instantly fused her tender palms to the metal. She shrieked then jerked away to stare in horror at her hands; the skin was curling back like waxed paper freshly cut from a roll. She screamed even louder.
But nobody heard.
Panic took over. Her palms throbbing, her lungs burning, Anise darted through the darkness to the corner of her room and wrenched open her closet door using the tips of her fingers. The smoke had yet to reach the confines of the closet and she gulped the air as she dropped to her knees. Crawling to the back, she drew the clothes around her in a futile attempt to hide from the growing heat, her sobs wracking her body. She cradled her hands against her chest.
“Mommy, Mommy, Mommy…”
But it wasn’t her mommy who carried her out.
It was Sarah who saved her. Again and again and again.
CHAPTER ONE
Houston, Texas
May 2007
SHE SHOULD HAVE parked closer. By the time Anise reached the gallery, the makeup she’d applied an hour before was sliding off her face. Summers in Houston were brutal but heading for a meeting with a soon-to-be ex-husband didn’t help matters.
She had no reason to be nervous, she told herself, pulling open the door to the Levy Gallery. Kenneth had finally agreed that the time had come to part ways and he’d promised to sign the papers when they met for drinks this evening. He wasn’t happy about the situation—who ever was happy about divorce?—but he’d assured her there would be no more delays. He accepted the fact that their short marriage was over.
Or so he said.
She stepped into the frigid art gallery and paused under a black vent pouring out icy air. Sarah was nowhere to be seen, but Anise could hear her best friend. She let the cold blast wash over her cheeks and closed her eyes for a second.
“This isn’t the right piece for you, Mrs. Worthington, and I’ll tell you exactly why.” Sarah’s voice was full of authority. “Your home is a reflection of your standing in the community. You and Mr. Worthington are stars in the Houston galaxy. You need important art on your walls. Art that demands attention and expects to receive it. You represent the old guard. You can afford the most expensive things. Why not buy them?”
Anise could hear the murmur of another woman’s voice but her words were indistinct.
“Yes,” Sarah replied, her tone on the verge of condescension. “You’re correct there. Borden’s pieces are developing a following. But you don’t need something from an artist who’s developing. You require art from people who’ve already arrived. Anise’s shadow boxes are almost there, but not quite.” Sarah’s voice faded as she directed the customer to another part of the gallery.
Anise walked to the corner where Sarah and the woman had obviously been viewing her work. More than once, Sarah had explained her reasons for discouraging people from buying Anise’s creations but Anise wasn’t sure she agreed with the technique. A sale was a sale and she could always use the money. Sarah was in charge of the business end, though, so Anise handled her concern like she did everything that distracted her, by placing it into a box of its own and filing it in the back of her mind.
She focused instead on the display before her. A single black wall hung in front of her, suspended from chains that stretched into the darkness overhead. It swung gently in the air-conditioning. Six black pedestals made of iron were set before it with six spotlights shining down, one light on each stand.
Sitting on top of each plinth was a box. They ranged in size from six inches square to more than a foot. The bottoms were fashioned from wood but the sides and front were made of glass that had been smeared with petroleum jelly. It was impossible to view the interiors distinctly but inside each box were various items that expressed a theme. Resurrection. Absence. Light. Death. No one knew the titles, but in her mind that’s what she called them.
She’d sold her first one six years ago for a few hundred dollars. Sarah never let them go now for under five figures.
Anise heard the front door open and close, its chimes sounding softly. Sarah’s quick step came next, her progress audible as she cut through the gallery. Like a miniature whirlwind, Sarah projected energy and power, from her mass of dark, curly hair to the brightly colored suits she favored. There were days when just looking at Sarah made Anise tired.
“I thought that was you who came in.” She wrapped Anise in a quick hug then let her go. “Guess you heard me not make a sale for you, huh?”
“As a matter of fact, I did hear what you told that poor woman.” Anise made a wry face. “What do you mean I’m still ‘developing?’ If I had an ego, it might be a little bruised.”
Sarah tossed her head, her hair shimmering under the halogen lights. “We’ve talked about this before, Anise. That old witch wouldn’t know a Van Gogh if it bit her on the butt. I can’t let someone like her have one of your pieces.”
“I appreciate the sentiment,” Anise answered, “but I’m not sure Kenneth would agree.”
At the mention of Anise’s almost ex-husband’s name, Sarah’s face darkened but the expression came and went so fast, no one except Anise would have caught it.
“Louisa Worthington is eighty-five, if she’s a day. We want the younger crowd buying you. Her patronage would be the kiss of death. If word got out she was acquiring you, anyone with half a brain would run the other way.”
She took a breath and continued before Anise could comment.
“You have money. You need cachet. It’s more important that we build your name. And to build your name, we have to make your boxes exclusive. I’d be happy to explain that concept to Kenneth. Even an asshole like him should be able to understand it.”
Anise ignored the name-calling. Sarah had never made her disapproval of Kenneth a secret. “I’m on my way to meet him. Why don’t you come with me and the two of you can argue about it?” Anise teased instead. “I’d rather listen to you guys fight than talk about the divorce.”
“But he already agreed to everything, didn’t he?” Sarah’s eyes widened, an instant’s gleam of alarm coming into them. “I thought you said he’d told you—”
Anise held up her hand. “He agreed, but you know how Kenneth can be. I wouldn’t be surprised if he changed his mind at the last minute and said no again.”
“He better not if he knows what’s good for him.” Stepping closer to one of the shadow boxes, Sarah adjusted it as she rejected Anise’s words. “This whole mess was Kenneth’s fault from the very beginning.” She tightened her lips, two angry lines forming around her mouth. “He’s an idiot and he has never appreciated you or your work. You’re amazing and he can’t see that. If there’s a failure here, it’s his, not yours.”
Anise reached out and squeezed Sarah’s hand. “I don’t deserve a friend as good as you.”
“You’re right,” Sarah retorted. “You don’t deserve me but unfortunately for you, I’m all you’ve got.”
Anise and Sarah had been more than best friends since elementary school when Anise’s single mother had died in a house fire. Abraham and Rachel, Sarah’s parents and the Bordens’ next-door neighbors at the time, took Anise into their home and their family, and she’d been there ever since. After Abe had died and Rachel retired, Sarah had taken over the gallery even though she’d only been twenty-five.
Despite their closeness, Anise and Sarah were very different from one another, their opposing sexual orientation the least of it. Anise was the artist but she wasn’t a flamboyant diva. She had barely dated before marrying Kenneth and her favorite evening was a quiet one by the fire with a good book. Sarah was never at home and she went through relationships like candy, the women in her world forming an ever-changing parade. She couldn’t seem to settle down with one person. Neither could Anise, but their reasons were as different as their lovers.
“Which just means you should go with me tonight,” Anise replied. “What kind of friend would make me do this alone?”
Sarah shook her head. “Can’t oblige, sorry. Robin’s coming over—” She glanced down at her watch. “In fact, she should be here by now. We’re going out ourselves.”
“You could bring her with us. The more the merrier?”
Sarah shook her head. “I don’t think so. Robin sees enough of Kenneth at the office. Another hour might just put her over the edge.”
Anise nodded. Sarah’s on-again, off-again lover, Robin Estes, worked as Kenneth’s assistant. In fact, Robin was the one who’d introduced Anise and her husband two years before when she’d brought the handsome tax attorney to one of Anise’s shows. They’d hit it off and before she’d known what she was doing, Anise had accepted his proposal, their whirlwind romance and impulsive elopement the only hasty decision she’d ever made in her life.
Anise sighed dramatically. “All right. I guess I’m going to have to tackle this one on my own.”
“You’ll do fine.” As they walked toward the front door, Sarah spoke with even more conviction than she’d used when she’d been talking to her customer earlier. “Getting rid of Kenneth is the absolute right thing to do. You won’t regret it for a minute.” She swung the door open and the humidity rolled over both of them.
“Maybe.” Anise glanced back at her friend. “But I don’t intend to go through this kind of turmoil again. It’s not worth it.”
“Ending a relationship is always tough.”
Anise shook her head. “I’m not talking about splitting up. That’s the easy part,” she said. “Falling in love is what I mean. I don’t care who comes along next, I’m sticking with my work. It’s never let me down.”
ANISE CONTINUED up the street to the restaurant where she was supposed to meet Kenneth. Over the past few years, downtown Houston had made its predictable swing back into popularity, exploding with swanky new spots and upscale restaurants. Anise tended to avoid it. She liked the old places where they knew which table she preferred and what she wanted to eat when she walked in the door. Kenneth had picked the spot tonight, though, and she hadn’t cared enough to argue. All she wanted was to put the meeting behind her.
She didn’t rush as she walked down the sidewalk. He would be late, because he was always late. She’d use the extra time to gather her thoughts and organize her feelings. She hadn’t been lying when she’d told Sarah she felt like a failure. Anise wasn’t happy with the way her brief marriage had ended but she was looking forward to having Kenneth out of her life. He’d never understood her friendship with Sarah or the time Anise devoted to her art, seeming to be jealous of each, although he’d had no basis in fact for either. They’d argued about it more and more until his constant demands had turned unbearable. At that point, she’d realized that Kenneth’s world consisted of Kenneth and no one else. The sun, the moon and the stars all revolved around him. Anything outside of that simply didn’t exist. He was never going to change. And neither was she. Her boxes were her life. After a year of marriage, she told him she’d wanted out. He’d fought her for six months and she wasn’t sure why but he’d finally come around.
The small restaurant was packed. Had she been on her own, she would have turned around and left but she didn’t have that luxury tonight. She gave a groan and fought her way to the hostess stand. To her surprise, Kenneth had made a dinner reservation and the young girl seated her immediately. Even more surprisingly, before Anise could order a drink, Kenneth appeared in the doorway. He waved to her, then started across the crowded room.
Most of the women, and some of the men, watched as he came toward her. At six-one, with dark hair, blue eyes and a self-confident air, Kenneth was a handsome man and he knew it. He would be a very eligible bachelor again.
Arriving at their table, he kissed her, smoothed his jacket then slid into the booth beside her. “I’m on time,” he announced. “Aren’t you proud of me?”
Anise looked at him and shook her head. He actually thought she should be impressed because he had managed the simple courtesy.
The waitress materialized beside their table. She zeroed in on Kenneth and Anise became invisible. Kenneth proceeded to flirt with the woman then ask her which drinks the bartender specialized in. Anise sat quietly and let him have his fun. This was the last time she’d have to put up with it so why not? After a few more minutes of discussion, the waitress wrote something on her pad then waded through the throng to the bar.
Kenneth turned to Anise. “I’m sure you’ll like the Cosmos. That’s what she recommended and I’ve heard they really are the best—”
“I could care less what we drink, Kenneth. I’m here for one thing and that’s to get these papers signed.” Anise went for her purse but Kenneth stopped her, his hand on her arm.
“Can’t that wait a bit?”
She raised her eyes to his and started to argue but behind the polished facade Kenneth wore like a second skin, a glimmer of something unfamiliar caught her attention. It looked like anxiety but she decided she was wrong. Kenneth didn’t worry about anything, including his practice. His ability to navigate the federal tax law labyrinth was amazing but he had never pushed himself to build his clientele. He puttered along, making a mediocre amount but living large.
“I’ll sign them,” he promised, “But first I need a few minutes to catch my breath. It was a hell of a day.” He put his cell phone on the table between them. “Hope you don’t mind, but I’m expecting a call I need to catch…”
Before Anise could reply, the waitress reappeared. She held a tray with two glistening drinks on it, their color matching her nail polish so perfectly Anise wondered if she’d planned it. With a flourish she put the drinks down then walked away, sending Kenneth a smile over her shoulder he didn’t catch.
It had to have been a bad day for Kenneth to miss that….
Anise’s mind skipped over the probable causes before it landed on the most obvious reason. “Is it Brittany?” she asked. “Is she okay?”
Kenneth’s previous marriage had produced a daughter. Wild and unpredictable, Brittany had been a huge source of problems for Kenneth over the past sixteen years. Her latest round with drugs and alcohol would have been a cliché had the situation not been so serious.
“Brittany hasn’t been okay since she was two,” Kenneth said wearily.
His truthful reply surprised her. Despite Anise’s numerous attempts to make him see things differently, Kenneth generally tried to downplay his daughter’s “growing pains,” as he put them.
“What’s wrong?”
“What’s always wrong with Brittany? It’s her mother, of course.” He picked up his drink and half emptied it, the thought of his first wife apparently leaving him with the urge to get drunk.
Anise could appreciate the sentiment.
Donna Capanna was an angry woman and she didn’t bother to hide it. She and Kenneth had already been divorced when she found out he and Anise were marrying, but she’d been upset and resentful. Her irrational reaction had been bad enough, but she’d infected her daughter with her poisonous feelings, turning the girl against Kenneth as well. Anise had been appalled. What kind of woman used a child—her own daughter at that—as a weapon?
“She’s demanding I put another ten thousand into Brittany’s college fund.” Kenneth stared into his drink and shook his head. “We’ll be lucky if Britt gets out of high school. I don’t know where Donna’s coming from.”
“Have you talked to her about it?”
“Talk to Donna? Are you kidding? That paint you use must be getting to your brain.” He caught the waitress’s eye and twirled his finger for another round. “She’s too busy playing with her latest conquest to talk about her daughter. You should know that by now.”
Anise squirmed. Discussing Kenneth’s ex, no matter how irresponsible she was, had never made Anise comfortable and now, she was about to earn that label herself. She would be the “ex.” She flashed ahead five years and imagined Kenneth sitting in another booth with another woman talking about Anise. “She was crazy,” he would pronounce. She imagined him twirling that same finger in a circular motion only this time beside his ear. “An artist. A real nutcase…”
“…damn business doing just about as bad, too. Robin’s driving me nuts. I don’t know what the hell’s happening with my life.”
Anise blinked and came back to the moment. “Why is Robin upset? What’s wrong at work?”
His lips tightened with anger. “I just told you,” he said, his attitude nudging its way past edginess and into impatience. “You weren’t even listening, were you? Some things never change.”
“Tell me again,” she said.
Staring at her, he downed the rest of his drink then picked up the second one the waitress had delivered, his irritation deflating as quickly as it had come.
“It’s nothing,” he said with a wave of his hand. “It doesn’t matter.”
Anise started to press him, then stopped.
The problem he had was most likely the same one that he usually had.
Kenneth was always broke.
The whole time they’d lived together, Anise had supported them. The money he made seemed to evaporate. Sarah had continually tried to get Anise to make Kenneth cut back, but she had never been successful.
He grinned, his mood shifting again as he put his arm on the back of the booth, his eyes falling on her face. “You didn’t come here to listen to me complain, did you? You came here to get rid of my sorry ass….”
Anise returned his smile before she could help herself. He could be so charming when he wanted to be. “I wouldn’t put it that way….”
“But…”
“But I do need your signature on some things, Kenneth. It’s time. We’ve gone over the details enough and my attorney is ready to move on. He wants to file next week. You have to sign these papers before we can do that.”
He leaned across the table and put his hands on hers. “I think you’re making a mistake,” he said. “I think we’re making a mistake. I still love you, baby. And you love me. We could make this work if we tried a little harder.”
“That’s not going to happen, Kenneth, and you know it. Don’t do this.”
He stared at her a moment longer, then he leaned back and pressed his spine against the soft leather booth, his gaze distant, his mood swinging this time to thoughtfulness. Kenneth usually stayed on a pretty even keel but he was making her nervous tonight. The idea crossed her mind that he might even be taking something. It wouldn’t be the first time. For another two seconds, he simply sat there, then he seemed to wake up. Thrusting his hand inside his coat pocket, he pulled out the black Mont Blanc she’d given him for their first anniversary. The irony apparently escaped him.
“Where do I sign?”
She removed the sheaf of blue-covered documents from her purse and pointed to the spots her attorney’s secretary had flagged. Kenneth scratched his signature on each line without comment then capped the pen. His gaze met hers. “So that’s it?”
She nodded.
He waited a beat and for some reason she thought he might kiss her but he reached for his wallet instead. Throwing some bills on the table, he slid out of the booth then held his hand to hers. Surprised by his readiness to leave but too grateful to question it, she stood as well.
“Let me walk you to your car,” he said.
“That’s not necessary….”
“I know it’s not,” he answered, “but I want to.”
She hesitated because of his erratic behavior then chastised herself. He was upset and had had a bad day but he was trying to be nice. What was her problem? “Sure,” she said. “That’d be fine….”
“Great. I’ll just be a minute.” He headed for the rear of the restaurant where the restrooms were located, the crowd swallowing him. Before Anise could decide to wait outside or in, a cell phone started to ring. The sound drew her eyes to the table they’d just vacated. Kenneth’s black Motorola was still on the marble top. He’d forgotten it.
She debated whether or not to answer, then remembered what he’d said about a phone call. It might be Brittany. She’d hate for the girl to think he was ignoring her. Misunderstandings like that fed right into Donna’s lies. Anise picked up the phone and hit the receive button. An angry female voice buzzed in her ear.
“You aren’t going to get away with this, Kenneth. I know what you’re trying to do and it’s not going to happen. I don’t give a damn what else is going on, I’ve had enough. I’m ready for this to stop and I’m not kidding this time!”
The venom behind the speaker’s voice shocked Anise into silence. She’d never heard anyone speak with such virulent rage.
The caller continued, the malice only growing more intense. “I’ll see you dead first, Kenneth. I swear to God, I’ll see you dead. And that’s not a threat…it’s a promise.”
CHAPTER TWO
THE LINE WENT SILENT after that.
Standing in the center of the now-packed bar, Anise closed the phone to stare at the blinking display. A single word filled the caller ID screen. Private.
The next instant the hostess went by, a cadre of laughing women following her to the table Anise and Kenneth had just abandoned. Moving as quickly as she could, Anise waded through the crowd and stepped outside. The muggy air she’d cursed thirty minutes before suddenly felt good. She was chilled, she realized, even a little shaky.
Who on earth would want to say such vicious things to Kenneth? What had he gotten himself into? Was his business situation that bad? She wished she’d listened closer even though it wasn’t really her problem anymore. Maybe his money troubles were more serious than she’d thought. The idea took her straight to Donna. Had it been her? Anise bit her bottom lip and tried to recall the voice but she’d been so surprised by the words she hadn’t concentrated on the speaker. She couldn’t discount Brittany, either. More than once, she’d heard the girl refer to her father by his given name. With the instinctive cruelty of a teenager she’d known calling him Kenneth would hurt him.
But a death threat was pretty serious. Even for Brittany.
Anise heard her name and turned in time to see Kenneth pushing his way out the door. “My God, it’s getting packed in there,” he said as he reached her side. “Where did all these people come from?”
She shook her head; then a stretch SUV pulled to the curb right in front of them and disgorged a group of kids who headed en masse to the restaurant behind them. The boys were wearing tuxes and the girls had on matching satin and silk, their hair upswept, their makeup sparkling. A quinceañera, Anise thought with distraction. The teens forced Kenneth and Anise apart for a moment before he found her again and took her elbow, laughing as he did so. “What a crowd…”
“Listen, Kenneth, while you were in the restroom, your phone rang. You said you were expecting a call and I thought it might be Brittany so I answered it, but maybe I shouldn’t have….” She handed him his phone then hesitated. She didn’t even know how to explain.
“Who was it?”
“I don’t know.” She licked her lips and relayed the conversation. “Whoever it was was very upset.”
To her surprise, he blew it off. “I’ve got an unhappy client. She hasn’t paid her taxes in four years and she refuses to understand why I can’t get the IRS off her back,” he explained. “It’s not important. She calls me all the time and threatens to do stuff.”
“She sounded serious this time.”
“She is,” he grinned.
“Aren’t you worried?”
“She’ll get over it.” He paused and gave her a rueful smile. “It’s not like she’s getting a divorce or something.”
“Oh, Kenneth…” Anise rolled her eyes at his drama. “You’re going to be fine. In fact, you’ll be better off without me. Let’s just say goodbye—”
He put a finger against her lips, his eyes turning dark, the noise of the people around them fading as they stared at each other. “Don’t say it, Anise. Please… I don’t think I can handle it if you say goodbye.”
His plea stunned her. He sounded genuine.
“Just let me kiss you, okay? Let’s leave it at that. I won’t ask you for anything else, I promise.”
Without waiting for her answer, he pulled her to him, his embrace as warm as it’d ever been, the scent of his aftershave bringing with it memories she didn’t want. Their lips met just as a crack rang out.
A second later, Kenneth slumped against her. Puzzled by his actions, Anise struggled to stay upright but he weighed too much and they both went down, Anise crying out as she hit the sidewalk, her ankle twisting beneath her at an awkward angle.
She didn’t understand what had happened until she saw the blood.
DANIEL BISHOP STEPPED through the front door of his two-bedroom apartment just as the phone on his belt began to ring. One of the rookies had slipped a bright red plastic cover on it the day before and Bishop couldn’t peel the damned thing off. It looked like a phone a working girl would carry, but for the time being he was stuck. He yanked the phone off his belt, stared at the display, then cursed as he read the number. But he answered it.
“Bishop.”
“We got a body downtown, corner of Smith and Rusk streets.” Rudy Castillo sounded bored. “White male, DOA, name of Kenneth Capanna. He was an attorney so don’t screw anything up. The uniforms are waiting. Wits on site.”
The cop shop was so close his captain could have jumped out his window and landed in the intersection he’d just named but Bishop didn’t point that out. Investigators who did things like that ended up getting even more calls. “I’m on my way.” He pivoted then found his progress blocked by Blanco, his eighty-five-pound yellow Labrador.
“I’m sorry, buddy.” Bishop bent over and stroked the animal’s head. “I got a dead lawyer off Smith. I’ll call Brenda for you, okay?”
The dog seemed to sigh, which Bishop took as an exasperated okay. Opening his front door, Bishop called the girl down the street who walked the dog when Bishop couldn’t. She agreed to take him out as Bishop climbed back inside his Crown Vic. The seat was still hot as he started the engine. It was May in Houston. Everything was hot. The city had already had more murders than it had had by the middle of last year and there didn’t appear to be an end in sight. Every HPD cop Bishop knew had more cases than he could handle.
He put the car in gear and headed out. Twenty minutes later he reached downtown, lights from half a dozen cop cars bouncing off the offices and restaurants and bars that lined the busy area. Parking as close as he could, Bishop flashed his gold badge at the uniforms guarding the perimeter. They lifted the tape and let him in. The jagged gasps of a crying woman cut through the warm night air. She sounded out of control and he winced.
“Who’s bawling?”
Jackie Hunter lifted her head as Bishop spoke, one camera in her hand, two more strung around her neck. She snapped another picture of the body stretched out on the sidewalk then answered. “One of the waitresses is grief-stricken. Apparently they got real close when she took his drink order.” The crime scene tech used one of her cameras to point south of where they stood “That’s the widow.”
A fancy upholstered chair had been hauled out of the restaurant and set in front of the valet’s stand. Between the milling cops and frightened witnesses, the woman who occupied it looked as incongruent as the chair itself. Ivory skin, auburn hair, an ethereal air… Except for the splash of red that stained her white jacket. She should have been in a church, Bishop thought unexpectedly, frozen over the altar, her hands crossed over her chest. He’d never seen anyone sit so still. Especially at a murder scene.
When their husband was dead on the ground ten feet away.
He filed away the image for future examination. “Who was the responding?”
Hunter flapped a hand toward a group of uniformed officers huddled beside the curb. One of them lifted his head at the movement and peeled away from the others to come toward them. He was a rookie named Carter and he did good work. Shaking Bishop’s hand, the cop briefed him quickly.
“Witnesses?” Bishop asked when he finished.
“Too many to count,” Carter said. “But none of them saw a thing.”
“Drive-by?”
“No one noticed a car. Lot of folks milling around, though. Shooter could have disappeared in the crowd and no one would have caught it.”
Bishop glanced at the high-rises around them. “You checked out those offices?”
“Doing it right now.”
They went over a few more details then Bishop nodded toward the redheaded woman. “I understand that’s the widow.”
Flipping through the small notebook he’d been consulting, the younger cop read from his notes. “Anise Borden. Self-employed. 6789 Seventeenth Avenue.”
“I thought you said they were married.”
He looked up from his notes. “They are…or were, I guess I should say. But she uses her name. She’s some kinda artist.”
“What else?”
“That’s it.” Carter dropped his voice. “I took a statement from her but maybe you can make more headway. It was ‘yes’ and ‘no’ and not much else. She couldn’t have plugged the guy herself since she was standing right beside him but she’s an icicle.”
“Is she in shock?”
“The medics checked her out and said she’s fine.”
Bishop stared at the widow. “Then I guess I better see what I can do.”
“Good luck. I think you’re gonna need a blow-torch to thaw that one out.”
Bishop made his way toward the woman, stopping first to check with the medical people then talking with some of the other crime scene investigators. He wanted to give her plenty of time. It took some folks longer than others for reality to soak in.
Ten minutes later, when he stood directly before Anise Borden, she lifted her eyes. He would have bet green, but they were blue. A pale, almost colorless blue.
“I’m Daniel Bishop,” he said. “Investigator, HPD. People call me Bishop.”
She held out her hand and he shook it. In contrast to the rest of her polished perfection, her palm was rough, the skin etched with lines. He wondered about it then spoke. “I’m sorry about what happened here tonight. It’s bad enough to lose someone but to have to go through this, too.”
“Thank you,” she said. Her voice was low and soft, as controlled as her expression. “Can you catch whoever did this?”
“We intend to,” he said. “But we’ll need your help.”
“Of course. I’ll do whatever I can.”
He studied her as she spoke, the details he’d missed from down the street registering now. Beneath the white jacket, she wore jeans and a black T-shirt. She didn’t have on a wedding band, but the rest of her jewelry, a gold chain and hoop earrings, was simple and elegant. He’d dated a woman once who worked at Tiffany’s and she’d told him nice jewelry was like a designer swimsuit—the less there was to it, the more it cost. An equally expensivelooking leather handbag sat at Anise Borden’s feet. It was covered in blood.
He asked her to tell him what had happened and she did, her manner composed. He interrupted once to ask her to point out where she’d been standing and when she finished, he spoke bluntly.
“I’ll need to question you more later but the first thing I want to ask is the most obvious. Do you have any idea who might want him dead?”
She blinked then looked him straight in the eye. “I know exactly who wanted him dead. Unfortunately I don’t have a clue what her name is.”
THE TALL COP DIDN’T REACT to her words. He simply nodded. “Tell me more.”
Anise handed him Kenneth’s cell phone. “He got a call right as we were leaving the bar. I answered it because he was in the restroom. It was a woman and she said—no, she promised—she would see him dead.”
“That must have been upsetting.”
“I was surprised, to say the least. When he came out, I gave him the phone and asked him about it, but he said it wasn’t important. He said he had a client who was in trouble with the IRS and she’d been threatening him for quite some time.”
“What was her name?”
“He didn’t tell me. We walked to the curb and then…” She stopped and gathered herself. “Then he was shot.”
“What did Mr. Capanna do?”
“He’s an attorney. A tax attorney. He helped people manage their income so their taxes would be as low as possible. He assisted with audits and things like that—”
She broke off when she looked at her hands. They were still red with Kenneth’s blood, the lines and scars filled with it. If she didn’t know better she would have thought she’d been using Gamblin’s alizarin crimson with maybe a bit of cadmium red medium thrown in to bring out the blue. The color under her nails would have matched the paint perfectly. Her chest went tight in midbreath, a band of disbelief cutting off air as the cop spoke again.
“Had he lost any big cases lately? Someone who might be mad at him?”
She shrugged in an expression of helplessness. “I don’t know. He said he was having problems at the office but I wasn’t listening….”
“What’s the name of his firm?”
“He has an office off Richmond and Sage. The name of his company is Capanna and—”
Before she could finish, the sound of Sarah’s strident voice cut through the crowd of milling cops and curious bystanders. Anise jumped to her feet, her eyes searching for her friend. A second later she spotted her and began to wave. “Sarah! Over here!”
Sarah started forward but a uniformed woman reached out and stopped her. The argument escalated until Anise turned to the man beside her and put her hand on his arm. “Please tell them it’s okay. She’s my friend.”
He looked over Anise’s head and called out someone’s name. The cop who’d been restraining Sarah turned, saw Bishop, then lifted the tape. A moment later, Sarah was there, her strong arms wrapping Anise in a hug that almost made her break down. She managed to pull herself together before she did and introduced Sarah to the investigator.
Sarah ignored Bishop. “My God, Anise, what happened? Robin and I were leaving the gallery and the lights caught our attention so we came down to see what was going on. Then I—I saw Kenneth. I don’t understand….”
“I don’t, either,” Anise answered. “We walked outside the restaurant and someone shot him. Just like that. Out of the blue. I…I don’t know why or who or—”
The policeman interrupted Anise’s stuttering explanation. “I’m sorry, I know this is difficult, but I have to ask you some more questions. Perhaps your friend could wait?”
Sarah turned to the cop with the fury of a mother bear. “You’re going to have to ask those questions later, Mr. Bishop. This woman is in shock and I need to get her to a hospital. In fact, I can’t believe you’re holding her here like this! Can’t you see she’s shaking?”
Anise tried to intervene but she realized Sarah was right. She had begun to tremble—violently. She clenched her teeth in an effort to make the quivering stop but it didn’t work. Lifting her gaze to Bishop’s, she spoke. “I…I think Sarah might have a point. Could this wait?”
Anise could see he wanted to refuse, but when their eyes met, he couldn’t. A wave of gratitude hit her as he gave in.
“Of course,” he said. “We have your address. I’ll be by as soon as I finish up here.”
THEY ARGUED BRIEFLY over whether or not Anise should go to the hospital. Disagreeing with Sarah was generally a pointless activity but this time, Anise won. She didn’t bother to question why; she just closed her eyes and let Sarah drive her home. By the time they arrived, her trembling had subsided but on the inside a sick feeling had started to take hold.
“You go take a hot shower,” Sarah instructed once they were inside. “I’ll make some tea.” She started down the narrow hallway to the kitchen then stopped. “Why don’t you give me your clothes? I’ll take care of them.”
Anise looked down at her bloody jacket. “I can’t,” she said woodenly. “The police…they want them. Could you get me a paper bag?”
Sarah nodded, then hurried down the hall. When she came back, a brown grocery sack in her hands, Anise was standing in the same spot. Sarah led her to the bathroom. Pulling the shower curtain, she twisted the faucets on full force. “Can you get undressed by yourself?”
“I think so.”
“I’ll be in the kitchen. Call me if you need me.”
“I will.”
The door closed behind her and Anise sat down on the toilet, the tiny room filling with steam as her fingers went to her T-shirt and then her jacket. The fabric was stiff but she managed to get the buttons undone. Slipping out of her jeans, she folded everything carefully and put it all in the paper bag. She creased the top of the bag and set it aside.
Nausea swamped her a moment later. She barely had time to get the lid up before the hot gush came. When it was over, she stepped into the shower.
The tears that came next were as unexpected as the vomiting. And just as violent. For a heartbeat, she couldn’t catch her breath and that brought with it a claustrophobic panic. Then she gasped loudly and air filled her lungs once again. The last time Anise had cried had been the day of the fire. Crying hadn’t helped her then, she’d realized, so why bother? She hadn’t shed a single tear over anything since and she tried to keep her emotions in just as tight a check.
Her efforts to stay in control failed her tonight, though, and she didn’t know why. Grief wasn’t the reaction sweeping over her; she and Kenneth hadn’t been close for months. It was simple horror. She couldn’t forget the image of him in her arms. The sounds he’d made, the blood everywhere, his body going limp…
She held her face under the showerhead and let the water pelt her. For five minutes she didn’t move, then finally she reached for the soap and began to scrub. When she cut off the water and pulled the curtain back, Sarah had opened the door.
She stood on the threshold, a mug in one hand, alarm on her face. She’d obviously heard Anise crying. “Do you want your tea or something else?”
Shaken by the storm still swirling inside her, Anise didn’t move. She couldn’t move. Sarah pulled a towel from the bar beside the shower and handed it to her. “Dry off,” she fussed. “You’re gonna get chilled.”
Anise took the towel from Sarah’s hands and dropped her face into its warmth. For a second she hid her face in it, her hair dripping, then she wrapped it around her body and accepted the mug of tea.
Sarah leaned against the door frame, a frown on her forehead. “Are you okay?”
“As okay as I’m going to be, at least for a while.” Her voice trailed off and she had to force herself to speak again. “I…I don’t even know how I feel, to be honest. It’s not like we were still in love or anything but I can’t stop shaking. And I keep thinking about what he looked like.” She shuddered. “I’ve never had anyone die in my arms before….”
“I can’t believe it even happened.” Sarah shook her head. “Who on earth would do such a thing? Do they think it was random or…”
“I don’t think they think anything right now,” Anise answered. She took a sip of the hot tea, some of her equilibrium returning as she told Sarah about the phone call Kenneth had received. The doorbell rang in the middle of her explanation.
“That’s Madelyn. I called her as soon as I could.” Sarah straightened then went to open the door for Anise’s neighbor. Madelyn Sutcliff had been friends with Anise and Sarah since they’d met ten years previous. Sarah had taken on one of Madelyn’s sculptures to sell and over time, the three had grown close. Madelyn served as the mother figure, the wise older woman, the one who had all the answers. Having a master’s degree in counseling helped as well. When she entered Anise’s living room a few minutes later, though, she had nothing but questions, her expression pained, her apprehension obvious.
“Oh, Anise…sweetheart! I don’t know what to say!” She crossed the room and enveloped Anise in her arms, her touch as comforting as the heavy bathrobe Anise had put on. “I’m so sorry!”
Anise patted Madelyn on the arm. “I’m sorry, too,” she said. “It’s so awful….”
“Tell me what happened.”
The three women took their usual places in Anise’s living room but the conversation was so far removed from anything they’d ever discussed before the situation felt surreal. For what was beginning to feel like the hundredth time, Anise explained how Kenneth had died. Thirty minutes after Madelyn arrived, the doorbell rang again. They looked at each other then Anise spoke. “That’s got to be the cop.”
“He’s just going to have to wait,” Sarah announced, jumping up from the couch. “You’re exhausted! You can’t talk to him now. I’ll tell him he has to come back later—”
“No.” Anise rose to her feet as well, her answer stopping Sarah’s progress toward the door. “I want to get it over with. I’ll talk to him.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea—”
“I know what you think, Sarah. Everyone always knows what you think. But this time, you’re wrong. I…I need to talk to him, okay?”
Anyone else would have taken offense at Anise’s words; Sarah ignored them. She threw open the front door and glared at the detective on the front porch.
“Anise can’t talk to you right now,” she said. “She’s too upset. You’re going to have to come back tomorrow.”
Before the man could answer, Anise came up behind Sarah and put a restraining hand on her shoulder. “That won’t be necessary. I can talk to you now.” Her eyes met Daniel Bishop’s, and underneath her touch, she felt Sarah stiffen.
“That’s good.” He ignored Sarah as effectively as Anise did, his own gaze steady and direct. “Because tomorrow might be too late. I need some answers tonight if I’m going to catch who did this.”
Sarah huffed her indignation. “You can’t be serious, Anise! You need to res—”
The investigator’s attitude was mellow but beneath it was a subtle strength impossible to dismiss. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave, Ms. Levy. I’m sure you understand why.”
“I don’t understand at all.” Sarah crossed her arms and stood her ground.
Anise felt Madelyn at her elbow. She introduced the older woman to Bishop, then watched as she took Sarah’s arm.
“We have to let the man do his work, Sarah. You come to my house. Anise can call us when they finish and we’ll come back.” She flashed Anise a look of sympathy. “We’ll spend the night with you, sweetheart.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Anise leaned over and kissed Sarah on the cheek, then did the same with Madelyn. “I’ll be fine. You two go on.”
Madelyn nodded but Sarah began to shake her head.
“Leave,” Anise said firmly. “I’ll call you after we finish.”
“You promise?” Sarah asked. “Cross your heart and hope to die? Stick a needle in your eye?”
Anise smiled at the childhood whimsy. How many times had she and Sarah made those pledges to each other? Too many to count, she was sure. She made an X over her chest. “I promise.”
Bishop stepped aside and held the door open. Sending him one last glare, Sarah walked past the cop and Madelyn followed.
CHAPTER THREE
“YOUR FRIENDS ARE very protective,” Bishop said as soon as the door closed behind the women. “How long have you known each other?”
“Forever.” Anise led him into her living room. “Would you like a cup of tea? We were having one when you came.”
A drink would have been better but he kept that to himself. “Tea would be nice,” he said. “Thank you.”
He followed her to the kitchen, taking in the small house as they went down a short hallway. He’d been surprised when he’d learned she lived in the Heights. The modest one-story bungalow was typical for the older neighborhood but he’d mentally put her in a classier, more expensive part of town. A lot of artist types were fond of the area, though, so it made sense.
The hall opened into a galley kitchen, a glass-topped table at one end in front of a wall of windows that revealed a well-tended backyard. She had lights at the base of all the trees. They threw spooky shadows everywhere.
“How long is forever?”
She looked at him over her shoulder. “A very long time. Sarah’s parents raised me after my mother died and I met Madelyn through the gallery when I was in my twenties. Sarah owns Levy’s Art Gallery downtown and she represents both of us.”
“Officer Carter told me you’re an artist.”
“That’s right.”
He expected her to elaborate but she didn’t so he said nothing more. There would be time for that later. The answers he didn’t get usually told him more than the ones he got, regardless.
“You have a nice place here.” Turning to the window, he watched her reflection in the glass. She moved with grace as she filled the kettle and gathered the tea supplies. “It’s very comfortable. The Heights is getting popular. Prices are rising.”
“I bought it ten years ago.”
“Was that before you got married?”
As if suddenly remembering why he was there, she stopped and stared at him. “Yes. Kenneth moved in with me. He was in a condo at the time and he sold it.” She paused. “His ex got the big house.”
Bishop gave her a one-sided smile. “From what I understand that happens a lot. At least that’s what my ex told me when it came time to divide up the spoils.”
Anise Borden returned Bishop’s smile but the expression faded quickly. “I need to call her,” she said. “Kenneth’s ex-wife, I mean. You haven’t talked to her, have you?”
“Didn’t even know he had one. I’ll need her contact information, though, along with a list of anyone else you might think of who could add something to the investigation. If you’d like to phone her first, that’s fine.”
“Her name is Donna Capanna.” She gave him her address and number. “They have a daughter named Brittany. She’s sixteen. I’m not their favorite person but it would probably be better to hear the news from me rather than the television.”
“This could be obvious but humor me…why aren’t you their favorite person?”
“Donna thinks I stole Kenneth from her.”
“Did you?”
“They’d been divorced for two years when Kenneth and I started dating.”
“I guess she wasn’t ready to turn loose, eh? Especially since she kept his name?”
“You could say that.”
“Would you say that?”
Her eyes were emotionless as she considered the question. “Donna’s a very bitter, unhappy woman. It was easier for her to blame me than to examine their relationship.”
“Was she unhappy enough to kill him?”
The candor of his question took her by surprise, which is exactly why he asked it. Her hand snaked up to the lapels of her robe. She hesitated then answered. “I don’t think so…but who can say for sure? I have to admit I wondered if that was her on the phone.”
“Did the voice sound like hers?”
“I can’t say for sure.”
“Is she capable of being violent?”
“Maybe. When it comes to money.” The teakettle behind her began to whistle and she jumped. Filling two mugs with hot water, she added tea bags, then brought the cups to the table. Bishop pulled out the chair closest to her and sat down himself.
“Did Mr. Capanna and his ex-wife argue over their finances?”
“Constantly. She wanted more of it and he didn’t have it.”
Bishop cocked his head. “I thought you said he was an attorney?”
“He is…or was.” She bit her bottom lip then released it. “But money wasn’t something Kenneth handled well. He never had enough of it.”
“Why is that?”
“For the same reason most people can’t, I suppose. He liked to spend it more than he liked to make it.”
“And the former Mrs. Capanna shared this problem?”
“No. Her family has plenty of money and her parents have always been very generous with her. She liked to use Kenneth’s financial situation against him, though. It was a big stick and she could hammer him with it. He told me tonight that she’d just asked him for more to put into Brittany’s college fund. He wasn’t happy about that.”
“He didn’t want his daughter to go to college?”
“He didn’t think she could make it.” She explained the girl’s troubled background then said, “Brittany’s had a bad go of it but I don’t see her shooting her father. Underneath it all, she loves him.”
“What about you?” he asked. “Did you love him, too?”
Her expression didn’t change. “We were separated. The divorce papers are in my purse. That’s the only reason we were together tonight—we met at the bar so Kenneth could sign everything.”
He processed the information slowly, her reaction at the crime scene, or lack thereof, making more sense than it had before. “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”
“I didn’t think it mattered.”
“I guess I don’t understand, then.”
“What’s not to understand?”
He pulled a spiral notebook from his jacket and thumbed through the pages as if he was looking for something. In reality he was giving himself some time to think. A pending divorce had been the last thing he’d expected but he couldn’t say why. Maybe Anise Borden’s elegance had gotten to him. The longer he sat in front of her, the more impressive it had become. He couldn’t imagine a guy who wouldn’t want a woman like her on his arm.
“Here it is….” He tapped the notebook page before him as if he’d found what he was looking for. “This says you were embracing Mr. Capanna when the shot came. You were in his arms, he kissed you, then he was hit and you both fell to the sidewalk.”
She closed her eyes but only for a second. “That is what happened.”
“He was kissing you? But you’d just had him sign divorce papers?”
“We weren’t going for each other’s throats. It was a different kind of divorce.”
“I didn’t know there was another kind.”
She didn’t smile this time. “Kenneth wasn’t happy about the situation but I’d convinced him a divorce was the best thing for both of us.”
“Because?”
“Because it wasn’t working out,” she said. “We needed to move on. It was a mistake from the very beginning.”
“Okay. I guess I can understand.”
“I doubt that,” she said. “But it doesn’t matter, does it? He’s gone. And you’ve got to figure out who did this.”
Bishop turned the conversation in a different direction. “Do you have a list of his employees?”
“There was only one. Robin Estes, his assistant. I can give you her name and address if you like.”
He copied down the information she recited. “I’ll need access to his files.”
“I can let you in the office. Just let me know when.”
“I’d like to go as early as we can in the morning. Did you have anything to do with the company?”
She smiled briefly. “I bailed it out whenever he needed funds but that’s about it. I’m no good when it comes to things like that.”
“You must be good when it comes to your own work.”
“Have you seen it?”
“No. But you support yourself and it looks like you did the same for him. I’d define that as success.”
“I suppose you’re right. I tend to define success differently than most people.”
“How is that?”
“All I’m interested in is my art. If I’m able to create something that expresses the emotion I’m after then I’ve been successful.”
“Tell me what you do.”
Like before, it seemed as if she didn’t want to answer him. Her expression shut down and she leaned back in her chair. He let the silence grow and wondered why she was so reluctant to discuss what she did.
“I build shadow boxes,” she said finally.
Again he waited for an explanation. When the silence reached the awkward stage, she spoke once more.
“They’re small boxes,” she explained. “Glass on the front and sides, a tableau inside. They’re…different.”
He didn’t force her. “And Sarah Levy sells them for you?”
“Yes.”
She waited for more questions and he had them, but he wanted to get back to the scene and see if Carter had come up with anything. A quick glance at his watch told him how late it was.
He stood and tucked his notebook into his suit pocket. “We’ll be talking again but I think we’ve covered enough tonight. In the meantime, don’t forget my list.” He paused. “Call your friends back and get them to stay with you. You’ve had a pretty traumatic evening.”
“I’ve gone through worse by myself and made it to the other side.” She looked out the darkened window behind him. “I’ll do the same with this.”
ANISE SHUT THE DOOR behind the cop, then rested her forehead against the wooden frame. She wanted to go to bed, to sleep and dream a senseless dream but she couldn’t. She had to call Donna. As much as she disliked the woman, no one deserved to hear about the death of someone they once loved on the morning news.
She went to the desk in the living room and pulled the phone toward her. Her fingers felt numb as she dialed. When Donna answered, Anise tried to compare her voice to the person who’d called Kenneth earlier but the slurred “hello” didn’t sound like the caller. It was two in the morning, though. Few people sounded like themselves when the phone rang at that time.
“Donna, this is Anise. Are you awake?”
“I am now. What the hell do you want? Do you know what time it is? For God’s sake—”
That was typical Donna. Anise interrupted her tirade. “Donna, I have some bad news. I need you to listen to me.”
“I’m listening.”
“Kenneth’s been shot. We met tonight to sign our divorce papers and when we walked out of the restaurant, someone…shot him.”
Stunned silence echoed at Donna’s end. “What is this? Are you kidding me? Is this some kinda sick joke like one of your sick pieces of art?”
“I’m telling you the truth.” Anise closed her eyes and rubbed them with her thumb and forefinger. Star-bursts formed in the blackness. “He’s dead.” She took a deep breath and the reality hit her all over again. “Kenneth’s dead. He died in my arms in front of the restaurant.”
Donna’s gasp was loud, like fabric ripping. “He’s dead… Are you sure?” Before Anise could answer, Donna asked a second question. “What time did this happen? Where were you?”
Her queries made no sense but few things Donna said ever did. “It was around seven or eight, I guess. I’m not sure. We were at Lido’s—downtown.”
She expected Donna to start crying but she didn’t say a word. Anise wondered if she’d hung up. “Donna?”
Her answer was barely a whisper. “I’m here….”
“Can you tell Brittany?”
“Brittany…” She said her daughter’s name as if it were a stranger’s.
“Can you break the news to her?” Anise forged ahead with dogged determination. “She needs to hear it from you, not the TV or something. There might be reporters contacting you later. You don’t want her to be blindsided.”
She seemed to gather herself, although Anise couldn’t really imagine that happening. “I’ll talk to her,” Donna promised. “I’ll find her right now and tell her what happened.”
Anise weighed the odds over whether or not Donna would follow through. Whatever they were, she couldn’t worry about them now. She had enough to handle on her own. “I’ll call you when I know more.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
DESPITE HER PROMISE, Anise didn’t call Sarah. She didn’t have the emotional strength to fight with her friend and that’s how the conversation would turn out because Anise didn’t want her or Madelyn to come back. She wanted to be by herself and went straight to bed after talking to Donna even though she didn’t expect to sleep. She dozed restlessly when things were going well. Tonight she’d do nothing but stare at the ceiling and replay the events of the day.
She closed her eyes and pretended regardless. Sometimes she could fool herself into a short nap.
It took less than a minute to realize that wasn’t going to happen.
Behind her eyelids, the images came fast and furious, a slide show running amok. Everything that had happened from Kenneth easing into their booth on time to his final, dying gasp replayed itself behind her shuttered gaze. She tried to stop the visions from coming, but realized her efforts were pointless.
She got up, threw on her robe and went into her studio.
In the streetlight filtering through the windows everything looked just as it had earlier when she’d left to go meet Kenneth. The worktable was strewn with pieces of broken glass and lengths of wood. At her painting station by the window, brushes soaked in glass jars while tubes of paint littered the tabletop. Beside another window, her drawing easel stood ready. She’d half expected a tornado-like path of destruction to greet her.
She tightened her belt and walked slowly to her stool and the pad of paper propped up before it. Before she started a project she always sketched it out, the concept flowing from her brain to her fingertips without much conscious thought. She picked up the pencil and looked at it, her mind drifting back to her childhood. There had only been the two of them. Anise had no idea who her father was, and her mother hadn’t had contact with her family for years. Mother and daughter had been incredibly close. Her mother had seen her talent early. When she’d hardly been able to feed them, she’d encouraged Anise with sets of colored pens and bordered papers. “Someday you’ll be a famous artist,” she’d predicted. “Your pretty pictures will hang everywhere—in fancy houses and important museums. You’ll be legendary.”
Anise hadn’t known what legendary meant but from the shine in her mother’s eyes when she made the pronouncement, Anise had known it was a good thing. Too bad her mother hadn’t lived long enough to see part of her prediction come true. Anise was well-known in the art world and her pieces were displayed in “fancy houses.” She wasn’t legendary, though, and she didn’t do “pretty pictures.”
Any desire she might have had to do that had vanished the night her mother died. After she’d been pulled from the closet where she’d hidden, Anise had begun to see the universe differently than she had before. It had changed, just like the skin on her palms. It was full of danger and scary things and situations that could go wrong. If you weren’t careful enough, you could die. People died every day. They left and you had to cope all by yourself.
From that point on, she’d been another person and no one, except Sarah, had even known she changed because no one else had known her that well before. She looked three times before she crossed the street. She wore a cross and the Star of David. She guarded her emotions and her body and most of all her heart. That’s why she’d married Kenneth. She hadn’t loved him so she’d thought it might be safe. Her plan had worked for a while, but then she’d come to care for him. In return, he’d wanted more of her and she hadn’t been able to give it to him. Now he was gone, too.
She sat down on the stool, with only the streetlight for illumination. A pattern of leaves from the pin oak danced across the tablet before her and her pencil drifted over the paper trying to catch the design.
When the sun came up, she was still drawing. The doorbell brought her out of the trance and her eyes shot to the clock that hung between the windows on her right. It was seven.
BISHOP STARTED TO CURSE. He’d told her he would call first but he hadn’t had the time; now he was standing on Anise’s front porch with ten dollars’ worth of fancy coffee and she wasn’t answering her door. He’d left last night with the impression she wanted to be by herself but maybe she’d changed her mind—or her friends had changed it for her—and she’d gone to spend the night with them after all. He wouldn’t have wanted to be alone if he had gone through what she had. But a moment later, the door swung open.
She wore the same thick robe she’d had on before, her hair pulled back from her face, no makeup on her skin. Nothing was different about her but she looked smaller in the morning light, less in control. Her expression was startled—she’d clearly forgotten he was coming over.
“I’m sorry I didn’t phone first,” he said. “I got busy. But I did bring coffee….”
“No…no, it’s fine.” She looked at the Starbucks cups in his hand and held her door open wider. He stepped inside the house he’d left only a few hours earlier and handed her one of the coffees.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said. “But thank you anyway.”
“I thought you could use the extra caffeine.”
“I never went to sleep,” she said. “So I didn’t have to wake up.”
He understood now. “I can come back later if you’re not ready.”
“No, that’s not necessary.” She smoothed her free hand down her ponytail. “If you don’t mind waiting, I can be ready in ten minutes. I know you need to get into Kenneth’s office.”
Once again, she managed to surprise him. He would have taken her for a woman who needed hours to get dressed. It took his ex ten minutes to even prepare her face to put on her makeup.
“That would really be great,” he said.
“I can’t be gone all day,” she warned. “I have a lot to do.”
“Ms. Estes can drive you back. I want us to ride together so I can tell you on the way about the headway we’ve made.”
Her eyes opened wide. “Did you cat—”
“No, nothing like that,” he said. “But we’ve gotten a few leads.”
She spoke over her shoulder as she left the room. “I won’t be long. Make yourself at home.”
He’d been hoping she’d say something like that.
Sipping his coffee, he looked around the living room he’d only passed through the night before. The area was nicely decorated but it could have been a hotel lobby. It didn’t seem lived-in. There were no personal photos or travel mementoes or knickknacks of the sort people usually picked up during a lifetime. Hoping to learn more about who Anise really was, he made quick work of the kitchen and dining room, then headed down the hallway that went the opposite direction from her bedroom. From outside he’d guessed it was her studio and when he stepped inside, he saw he’d been right.
He realized something else as well. The rest of the house served its purpose but here was where she really existed.
Windows lined every wall. In the past this had been someone’s sunroom, a place to retreat and view the garden and sip iced tea. The comfortable couches and hooked rugs he imagined were long gone, though. Brick pavers lined the floor and worktables filled the space. He took another sip of coffee and walked to the nearest one. It was covered with scraps of wood and fabric. A tiny plastic doll was propped up at one end, a miniature snake lying beside her. He stared at the bits and pieces and wondered how it all went together. Then something on one of the other tables caught his eye. He put down his cup and crossed the space to look.
It was a shallow glass box, about ten inches wide and twelve long. The lid, also made of glass and framed in wood, was smeared with something that obscured the contents.
He lifted the top and peered inside. Lined in red velvet, the box held a collection of tiny objects, none bigger than his thumb, dividers creating three distinct areas. One part held a diminutive bed with a tiny painted chest beside it, one held a small black table, and in the third sat a piece of paper cut like a heart with a ragged slash running down the length of it. It looked like a Valentine, the kind that kids made and gave to each other. Each of the items had been placed precisely but other things had the look of being tossed in. A doll’s tennis shoe, the eraser from a pencil, a glittering sequin…
None of it made sense to Bishop. But he was fascinated by it. And that’s why he didn’t hear Anise when she walked into the room.
CHAPTER FOUR
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”
Bishop turned as Anise spoke. She didn’t appreciate his presence in her studio and she wasn’t bothering to hide it.
“What are you doing in here?” she repeated.
“My job,” he said.
“Snooping in here won’t help you find Kenneth’s killer.”
“You never know,” he answered. “Sometimes things you think aren’t important turn out to be significant in a case like this. I have to get all the information then decide.”
His words didn’t seem to mollify her but he continued before she could say more. “Tell me about this.” He waved a hand toward the box. “What does it represent?”
“I don’t talk about my work.” Her words came out stiff. As if realizing how harsh she’d sounded, she tried again. “You know artists…they’re funny about stuff like that.”
“Actually I don’t know any artists,” he said. “So enlighten me.”
“It’s like a jinx, I guess. If I tell you what it’s all about, then it won’t come out right.” She took a piece of black silk from the table and draped it over the box, a phone starting to ring as she did so. She stepped to the desk in one corner of the room and answered.
The person on the other end of the line was angry. Bishop could hear the agitated voice from where he stood. When the caller paused, Anise spoke into the silence.
“I’m sorry, Sarah. I know I promised.”
The art dealer continued her harangue and Bishop began to understand. Anise hadn’t called her friend back. He wasn’t surprised by her reaction. Sarah Levy had grated on his nerves the night before but he also appreciated the fact that she wanted to protect her friend. He didn’t run across that too much anymore. People never seemed to put anyone else first.
“Yes, it was wrong…” More talk. “I’m sure you were worried, yes…” Anise let the other woman continue then finally, she raised her hand. “Look, Sarah, I’m sorry I upset you, okay? It was thoughtless and I won’t do it again, but I was tired and I thought you’d understand.”
The voice on the other end dropped and became conciliatory and Anise responded in kind. “No, no, it’s okay. But I can’t talk right now. I’ve got to go to Kenneth’s office with the investigator. He needs to examine the files and talk to Robin. I’ll call you later, okay?” A pause. “I will phone, I promise. I’m writing myself a note right now, okay? Good…bye-bye.”
She hung up the phone and turned, a sheepish expression on her face. “I didn’t call my friend last night.”
“Seems like she didn’t cut you any slack, either.”
“Sarah doesn’t know how to do that for anyone, including herself.” She smiled, then the expression slipped away. “I was just so out of it… All I wanted to do was work….”
“I’m sure she understood once you explained. I would.”
Her eyes met his and she lifted an eyebrow as if to ask why.
“Let’s just say, I have some experience in that area myself. Sometimes it’s easier to concentrate on work than to deal with the hard stuff.”
“The hard stuff being?”
He answered truthfully. It was the only way he knew how. “The hard stuff being life,” he said. “Nothing about it is easy. Not as far as I can see.”
TEN MINUTES LATER they were in Bishop’s car, heading for Kenneth’s office. The freeway was a mess as usual, the ever-present construction a daily occurrence for Houston drivers. They merged on I10 at a crawl then slowed down even further, all the lanes that ran downtown at a virtual standstill.
Anise turned to the cop sitting beside her. Finding him in her studio then getting Sarah’s call had flustered her but she didn’t want him to know that. She wasn’t sure why. Generally speaking, she didn’t care what people thought about her yet for some reason she wanted to impress him.
“Tell me what you learned,” she asked in an attempt to regain her bearings. “You said you’d found something?”
He glanced over his shoulder and bullied his way into another lane. “One of the kids who works the valet stand at the restaurant saw a guy running down a side street right after the shooting. He couldn’t see much beyond that, though. The runner had on a sweatshirt with a hood and it was pulled up to hide his face. We’re following up on that. If he saw him, then someone else probably saw him, too.”
She caught her breath. “Do you think it was the person who shot Kenneth?”
“I have no way of knowing.” His hands went tight on the steering wheel. “But I’m damn sure gonna try and find him so I can ask him that question myself.”
She nodded and looked out the window, her stomach in knots.
“Something else came up when I went back to the scene.”
She turned to stare at the detective’s profile again. The car they were in was a big one but he seemed to fill up more than his share of the front seat. “What?”
Instead of answering her question, he asked her another one. “Did your husband have a girlfriend?”
“Not that I knew about,” she said. “But I wouldn’t be surprised.”
He cut in front of a delivery truck and gained them an extra five feet before shooting her a glance. “Why is that?”
“Kenneth was a nice-looking man. He wouldn’t have been lonely for long.”
“The idea doesn’t disturb you? I mean, your divorce wasn’t final, was it? Some women might not like that.”
“At this point in the game, I hardly think it matters.”
“Not even to your ego?”
“I don’t have an ego. I’m not famous enough.”
“I’m not famous, period, but I wouldn’t appreciate my wife hooking up with someone else.”
She hesitated. She’d had her suspicions but she’d never confronted Kenneth so she wasn’t sure. Finally she answered. “If he’d had someone when we still cared for each other, that would have bothered me, I suppose. But he’d moved out and I’d moved on.”
“Do you have someone new?”
The question was so ludicrous, Anise almost laughed. At the last minute she managed to catch herself. “I’m too involved with my work. I don’t have time for anyone else and even if I did, I wouldn’t be interested.”
“Why?”
“I’m happy being alone. I should never have married Kenneth in the first place. It was a big mistake for me and an even bigger one for him.”
ROBIN ESTES WAS WAITING for them when they reached the office. She was one of those small, mousy women no one ever really saw. Medium height, medium build, medium everything. The only distinguishing thing about her was her nervousness and even that seemed ordinary. Cops tended to make people feel that way.
She jumped up from her desk and rushed to Anise as they walked inside. “Oh, Anise, I can’t believe what happened! I was so shocked last night.”
Anise let the woman run on, her platitudes the usual ones. When she paused to take a breath, Anise introduced her to Bishop. “We’re here so Investigator Bishop can look at the files, Robin. He needs to see what Kenneth was working on.”
He shook her hand and tried not to intimidate her but apparently he failed. Her eyes grew large.
“I’ll need to know more about all Mr. Capanna’s clients but I’m especially interested in the woman he told Anise about last night. The one with the IRS problems.”
The secretary blinked rapidly, shooting Anise a frightened look. “Who was Kenneth talking about?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t give me a name. He just said someone had been calling and threatening him but he didn’t think she was serious. He didn’t seem concerned.”
Her brown hair hanging in her eyes, Robin shook her head. “I—I don’t know who he meant. We don’t have anyone under audit right now.”
“Are you sure?” Bishop smiled encouragingly. “It would really help—”
She glared at him, her attitude going from anxious to arrogant. “I’m familiar with every client we have and I can assure you there are no cases like that in this office.”
Bishop held up his hands. “I understand. Maybe you could just show me the most recent ones, then. We’ll start there. I’ll glance over them while you take Ms. Borden home. By the time you get back, I may have some questions for you.”
Her eyes darted to Anise as if seeking permission. Anise gave it, repeating the words he’d said to her earlier in her studio. “We need to show him everything, Robin. The more information Bishop has, the better his chances are of catching Kenneth’s killer.”
She scurried out of the reception area and headed for Capanna’s office.
Bishop turned to Anise. “I almost forgot…I spoke with Donna Capanna early this morning and she told me about your conversation last night. Thank you for calling her.”
“It wasn’t a problem.”
“Good. In the meantime, I’d appreciate it if you’d keep close. If you have to go out of town, let me know first.”
In the silence that followed, she stared at him in surprise. Bishop doubted that Anise Borden had anything to do with Kenneth Capanna’s murder but he’d seen women who looked more innocent than her turn out to blood-thirsty killers. Anything was possible.
“This is standard in these kinds of cases,” he explained. “We always look at the family. Don’t take offense.”
“But I…I was standing right next to him! How could I have shot him?”
“Killings for hire happen more than you realize.”
A silence charged with animosity flared between them. “I won’t be going anywhere,” she said stiffly.
“That’s fine. And I’d like you to think about what I said earlier, too. If Kenneth was seeing someone, I need a name.”
“If I had one, I’d give it to you.”
“Maybe something will come to you.”
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