One arm draped across Cassie’s shoulders, Kimball turned to Luke while Cassie performed the introductions. “Slater?” He rolled the name across his tongue as though trying to solve a puzzle, although Luke suspected he already knew everything he needed to know about Luke. “Weren’t you and Cassie once…”
“Married? Yes.” It was obvious the judge expected more of an explanation, but Luke refused to elaborate. Uncle or not, it was none of Kimball’s business why Cassie and Luke were together.
Evidently, good manners won out over curiosity, for after a moment’s hesitation, Kimball extended his hand. “Pleased to meet you, detective.”
Like most cops, Luke dealt in impressions, and early on he’d learned to draw conclusions about a man based on the way he shook hands. If asked to guess, Luke would have pegged Kimball a political, two-handed shaker, for despite the manicured nails and custom-tailored suit, he wasn’t the least reserved. Unfortunately, Judge Kimball’s generic handshake netted Luke little new about his character.
“How about it? Do you have time for a few questions?”
Tilting his right wrist, Kimball exposed a slim Rolex. “I’m due in court in forty minutes.”
“Plenty of time. Shall we adjourn?” Without waiting for a response, Luke stepped into the judge’s private office.
Seemingly unconcerned by Luke’s presumption, Kimball ushered Cassie through the door. Only a slight tightening of muscles around his mouth betrayed his true feelings. Luke pretended not to notice. This was an investigation, not a cocktail party, and the sooner Kimball cut the social amenities, the sooner they could get down to business.
Attempting to curb his impatience, Luke settled into a chair and mentally inventoried the room. Although not an exact duplicate of Judge Wainright’s chambers, it was similar in size and shape. Cases filled with leather-bound legal references and a few mementos took up most of the open wall space. He focused on a grouping of framed certificates that proclaimed Harold Kimball to be a graduate of Harvard Law School, as well as a member of the Illinois and Colorado Bar Associations.
Money, Luke guessed. Conservative, old money, he added as he noted the lone photograph of a younger Kimball shaking hands with Ronald Reagan in the Oval Office.
Cassie, accompanied by the scent of wildflowers, slipped into the chair next to him. Just as they already had a dozen times today, his thoughts scattered before the tantalizing odor, and his body responded to her nearness. Grimly he squared one leg over the opposite knee, his foot aimed away from her.
Waiting only long enough for Kimball to settle behind the desk, Cassie edged forward on her chair, sending her snug, cotton skirt a few inches up her thigh. “Uncle Harry, I need a favor.”
A person would have to be blind not to notice how Kimball ogled the exposed expanse of tanned leg she was displaying, and Luke wasn’t blind. The fact that he himself hadn’t missed the mouth-watering sight was beside the point.
Oblivious to Luke’s chilling glance, Kimball smiled. “A favor? Name it, sweetheart.”
Kimball’s proprietary air and the syrupy names he called Cassie rubbed Luke the wrong way. Nerves twitching, he wondered how far the judge would like to stretch the tenuous bonds of kinship.
“Judge Wainright ordered some transcripts I’d like to look through. Nothing confidential, but I thought they might provide me with additional information for my series.”
“Say no more.” Kimball lifted a rock paperweight and offered Cassie the single manila folder trapped beneath. “Chelsea called, and when I found you had an appointment scheduled with me after lunch, I decided to save you the trouble of going back. That was the only one Chelsea found.” Taking care not to mar the spotless surface of the desk, he set the rock down, turned it a few degrees, then settled back to admire the effect of the glittering amethyst crystals at its hollowed center. “Now I want to know how you really are. Your father assured me you were doing fine, but I couldn’t believe you’d be out so soon.”
“You don’t need to worry, Uncle Harry. Luke’s looking after me.”
“Not too arduous an undertaking, I trust.”
Figuring the comment was rhetorical, Luke met the judge’s unctuous smile with impassive silence.
Cassie tightened her lips in obvious irritation, but evidently decided her best course of action was to ignore the silent innuendo. “Luke’s a little overcautious. Judge Wainright’s death had nothing to do with me, and as far as I can tell I wasn’t even a witness. But—” she shot Luke a sly glance, “—you know how cops are.”
“As far as you can tell?” Kimball’s brows knit in confusion.
“I don’t remember anything that happened. Blank. Zippo.”
“No?” Kimball gazed thoughtfully at Cassie and rubbed the side of his neck. “Even so, it’s usually better to err on the side of caution.”
Cassie stiffened. “Not you too, Uncle Harry.”
“I just wonder if it might not be best for you to— What’s the term?” He glanced toward Luke for help, then supplied the answer himself. “‘Lay low.’ Until the police have cleared up this matter.”
The murderous look Cassie threw Luke told him she suspected him of collusion, but he was too surprised at the judge’s unexpected support to do more than shrug.
“I have work to do,” Cassie insisted.
“I’m not suggesting you abdicate your responsibilities, merely that you table them until the police have done their job. Until it’s safe for you to be out and about.”
“And how long will that be? A week, months? What if they never solve the case?” Cassie was indignant. “No. I have a deadline, and I’m going to meet it whether you help me or not.”
Luke’s heart warmed to see someone besides himself provoking Cassie to rebellion. For a split second he nearly felt sorry for Harry Kimball.
“Now don’t get yourself worked up. I didn’t say I wouldn’t help.” It was apparent from his placating tone that Kimball had dealt with Cassie’s stubbornness in the past. “I just haven’t had a lot of dealings with drug cases. It’s why I referred you to Thomas in the first place.” He paused, then added hopefully, “Surely by now you’ve collected enough material…”
“I thought so until Friday, when Judge Wainright called,” she admitted. “But now my instincts tell me he had something more—something important. I have to find out what.”
“Knowing Thomas, he was probably making sure he wouldn’t be misquoted.” When his attempt at levity fell flat, the smile faded from Kimball’s face. Frowning, he stared at Cassie for several moments before picking up a pen from the desk blotter. “Tell you what. I’ll make you a deal.”
Cassie waited, her expression wary, as Kimball rolled the pen between his palms.
“Go through the papers.” He nodded toward the file in her lap. “I’ll see what I can find out. We’ll give it—say, three days. Then, if nothing new shows up, you write the articles with what you already have. Deal?” His hands halted their restless movement while he waited for Cassie to respond.
Luke didn’t have time to wait. Each second that ticked away was one less question he could ask, one less answer to analyze. In a few minutes Kimball was due back in court, and Luke still hadn’t gotten in word one. It was time to take matters into his own hands. “Sounds like a good idea to me, Cassie,” he said with only a hint of impatience. “Why don’t you think about it while Judge Kimball and I talk?”
Then, before