Murder Takes the High Road(5)

“This was supposed to be my birthday treat.”

That was true and I felt a twinge of guilt. I shook it off.

“Your birthday was the justification for the expense, but you know as well as I do that it was for both of us. It was something we’d both talked about doing together for years.”

That was also true. But the reminder didn’t cut any ice with Trevor.

“The fact that you would force your way into our lives—”

“It was my life first! And anyway, I’m not forcing my way into anything. I paid for my ticket and I’m using it. Why the hell wouldn’t I? Why the hell would I pay that kind of money for a gift to Vance?”

It was Trevor’s turn to talk right over me. “Bad enough you wouldn’t give your ticket to him. But that you had the gall to use it. You don’t even like traveling. You hate traveling.”

At the far end of the hall, the elevator doors dinged and opened. A man in a tan trench coat stepped out, wheeling a suitcase behind him. He looked our way and hastily headed in the opposite direction.

I lowered my voice. “I don’t hate traveling. I never had the chance to travel before.”

Trevor’s face twisted in scorn. “That’s bullshit. How many times did I want to go away for the weekend or for a vacation? You would never go. All you’ve ever cared about is your garden and your books.”

“I’d have loved to travel. We didn’t have the money!”

“That was always your excuse.”

It wasn’t like vacations abroad had ever been a big point of contention between us, and the unfairness of it stung. “It wasn’t an excuse. You weren’t working. We didn’t have the money.”

His fair skin flushed even redder. “That’s right. Throw that in my face!”

“I’m not—it’s the truth. We didn’t have the money.”

“We all know you’re just doing this to ruin my trip.”

We all? Meaning him and Vance? Or had he aired our dirty linen at dinner? My heart sank at the idea. I said, “Believe it or not, my life doesn’t revolve around you anymore.”

He laughed in disbelief. Granted it was a stagy laugh—Trevor was active in our local amateur theater and had received a lot of compliments for his Inspector Bullock 2 in Murder Afoot. “Since. When? We all know you’re planning to spend the entire trip spying on me and Vance, trying to make me feel guilty.”

“Spying on you?” I had to lower my voice once more as the man in the trench coat—having disappeared down the hall and around the corner—reappeared, headed back our way, still dragging his suitcase. “You’re crazy!”

Trevor did not follow my cue, but then he was perfectly comfortable in front of an audience. “Are you going to pretend you weren’t watching us all through dinner?”

“You’re crazy,” I said again. “I wasn’t watching you. I don’t care what you do. I loved Vanessa way before you ever did.”

“I always loved Vanessa—” Trevor stopped and glared as the guy with the suitcase halted at my door, making himself part of our little tableau.

My heart dropped another couple of floors as I realized who he must be.

“Can I help you?” Trevor asked in his most forbidding tone.

Jesus, he could be such a prick. Why had it taken me so long to notice that about him? Or, rather, why had I convinced myself that his being such a prick didn’t matter?

The newcomer—medium height, brown hair, brown eyes—looked from Trevor to me. “Er, I think this is my room.”

“John Knight?” I said.

“That’s right.”

I offered my hand. “Carter Matheson.”

John had a firm grip. His hands were cold, and rain dotted the shoulders of his trench coat. “Nice to meet you, Carter.” His voice was a pleasant baritone. I don’t think I imagined the curiosity lurking in his gaze.

I nodded toward Trevor, who continued to glower. “And this is Trevor Temple. He’s also on the tour.”

“So I hear.” John said it so blandly I wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic or not.

Trevor’s eyes narrowed; he thought John was being sarcastic, but before he could respond, John offered his hand again.

“Nice to meet you, Trevor.”

Trevor shook hands automatically, and I moved aside so John could wheel his suitcase into the room.

“Not so bad,” John said with determined cheerfulness, glancing around the beige economy-sized cell.

“It’s a little cramped,” I said. “But we’re only here for the night. I took the bed nearest the window, but if you—”

“No, that’s fine. I prefer to be by the john.”

Hmm. Bathroom issues perhaps?

“Hello? Remember me, Carter?” My uneasy speculation was interrupted by Trevor, who could never stand to be ignored for long.

“How could I forget?” I retorted.

He looked from me to John, who eyed us both with polite interest.

Maybe Trevor found the presence of a grownup in the room as inhibiting as I did. He turned back to me and said darkly, “Just understand. This isn’t over.”

I amped my glare but otherwise restrained myself to closing the door in his face.