“Someone has lied to us,” Louis said, his voice a mere whisper. “Lulu isn’t dead.”
Annabelle leaned over and kissed her uncle’s forehead. He closed his eyes and sighed heavily. She eased the satin coverlet up and over his chest. Uncle Louis was her father’s elder brother. Her father had been the youngest of four, fifteen years his elder brother’s junior. There had been two sisters born between them. Meta Anne, who’d passed away only a few years ago, an unmarried, childless career woman who’d devoted herself to helping Louis oversee the vast Vanderley empire. And Annabelle, the sister who’d died in the forties with infantile paralysis at the age of three. That Annabelle, as well as the present Annabelle Vanderley, had been named in honor of a great-great-grandmother who’d come from France as the bride of Edward Vanderley in 1855.
“Rest, dearest.” Annabelle adored her uncle Louis, who’d been a second father to her since her own father had died of a heart attack seven years ago. “I’ll find out what happened to Lulu. I promise.”
Dr. Martin stopped her on her way out of the room. “Annabelle?”
“Yes?”
“He’s seventy-eight, in poor health and has received a terrible shock,” Dr. Martin said.
“Are you trying to tell us that he might die?” Wythe asked.
“Hush.” Annabelle glanced at her uncle, who seemed to be asleep, then glowered at Wythe. “He might hear you.”
“He’s out cold,” Wythe told her.
“All I’m saying is to prepare yourselves,” Dr. Martin said. “Louis could well survive this, but…Well, it will depend on his will to live, at least in part. I’ve seen it happen before, patients who give up the will to live and die in a few weeks or a few months.”
“I’ll give him something to live for,” Annabelle said. “Once he accepts that Lulu is dead, he’ll want to see her killer punished. That alone will keep him going.”
Dr. Martin shook his head. “Revenge can be a strong motivator. Just be careful that it doesn’t turn on him. And on you.”
“I wasn’t referring to revenge. What I want—what Uncle Louis will want—is justice.”
Quinn lay in the bed, the back of his head resting in his cupped hands, his fingers entwined. A cup of tea, a couple more aspirins and a sympathetic ear had partially eased his headache but hadn’t helped him fall asleep. In a few short hours, he would have to return to police headquarters and answer more questions. Be grilled about Lulu’s death.
God, how he wanted to turn back the clock and—and do what? Decline Lulu’s offer to come to Memphis? Arrive at Lulu’s house in time to stop her killer?
He flopped over and glanced at the digital bedside clock. Four forty-three.
Lulu had loved life about as much as anybody he’d ever known. There wasn’t anything she wouldn’t try, at least once. At twenty-seven, she’d had her whole life ahead of her. Marriage, kids, divorces and more marriages and divorces. Quinn laughed quietly to himself, remembering Lulu and the fun times they’d had. She’d been his female equivalent. Unkind people called her a whore. Those who knew her well thought of her as a free spirit. She enjoyed men in the same way he enjoyed women. Their rules of encounter were pretty much the same. No holds barred. Everyone was fair game. No commitments. No promises. Sex for the sake of sex. And love was never involved. Love was for fools. And Lulu had no more been a fool than Quinn. She knew the score.
Had she gotten herself involved with someone who had refused to play the game by her rules? Had someone decided that if they couldn’t have Lulu exclusively, then no one could have her?
If the police concentrated all their efforts on proving he killed Lulu, then the real killer might escape. He couldn’t let that happen. He would not only find a way to prove his innocence, but he’d also move heaven and earth to bring Lulu’s murderer to justice.
Chapter 3
Mary Lee Norton cried out with release when her climax exploded inside her. She was a screamer. Something he liked in a woman. He never wondered with Mary Lee whether or not he’d satisfied her. He’d heard that women in their mid to late-thirties were in their sexual prime and from his experience with older women, he’d found that to be true. It was certainly true of his partner’s ex-wife. The woman had an insatiable hunger for sex.
Chad grasped her hips and tossed her off him and over onto her back, then delved deep and hard, seeking his own release. Within a couple of minutes, he came. Groaning with the headiness of satisfaction, he slid off her damp body and onto the bed. She cuddled against him and kissed his shoulder.
“You’re good, sugar pie,” she whispered in a husky, Southern drawl that hinted she was a heavy smoker.
Turning to her, he smiled as he noted the faint lines that edged her hazel eyes. At thirty-seven, she was still a looker, but give her a few more years and a couple of decades of smoking and sun worship would catch up with her. By the time she was forty-five, she’d need a face-lift. Of course, what she looked liked a few years down the road was no concern of his. Mary Lee was a temporary fixture in his life, a brief liaison that had to end before Jim Norton found out his partner was bonking his ex-wife.
“Am I as good as your ex?” he asked and could have kicked his own ass for letting his insecurity show.
Usually Chad was confident. Some said overconfident. And about most things he was. After all, why shouldn’t he be? He was highly intelligent, good-looking, the ladies loved him and he was moving up fast in the department. But ever since he’d been paired with Jim Norton, he’d had a few moments of self-doubt. Without consciously doing anything to cause the effect, Jim intimidated the hell out of other guys. Even Chad. And why that was, he didn’t know for sure. After all, Norton was nothing more than an ex-jock who’d nearly ruined his life and his career before Chad had graduated from college.
Mary Lee curled herself around Chad like a purring kitten and laughed as she ran her fingernails up and down his chest. “Comparing you to Jim is like comparing apples to oranges, sugar.”
He grabbed her by the nape of her neck, trapping a few strands of her short black hair between his fingers. “Are you screwing him, too? Everybody knows that he’s still got a thing for you.”
“So I’ve been told, but you can’t prove it by me.” She stared right at Chad. “I’ve made the offer more than once since our divorce, but he hasn’t accepted.”
“He must be nuts to turn you down.”
“Jim’s unforgiving,” she said. “I’m warning you, if you ever do anything to get on his shit list, you’ll be on it for life. He doesn’t forgive and he doesn’t suffer fools gladly.”
“So, what’d you do that was so unforgivable?”
Mary Lee pulled away from him, reached over on the nightstand and picked up a pack of cigarettes. He watched her as she lit the cigarette and took a couple of draws off it. After blowing out a puff of smoke, she grinned at him. “I got tired of being ignored, of him working all the time. I looked elsewhere.”
“And Jim found out.”
“Jim caught us in the act. He came home unexpectedly and found our son’s T-ball coach scoring a home run with me.”
“What’d he do? Beat the hell out of the T-ball coach?”
“You’d think that’s what a rough and rugged guy like Jim would do, wouldn’t you?” She shook her head, then puffed on the cigarette. “He just stood there in the doorway for a couple of minutes. Didn’t say a word. Then he turned around and walked away, right out of the house, and got back into his car and drove off.”
“I’d never peg Jim for—”
She