Now You See Her Linda Howard(64)

Ah, hell, I forgot to make their hotel reservations. Would you do that for me? The Plaza. I'll pick up the tab."

"Sure thing. Oh, Ms. Sweeney called this morning. I told her I'd tell you."

"Thanks." He wanted to ask how Sweeney had sounded, but couldn't. "What time was that?"

"I think it was close to eleven. I made a note.... Here it is. Ten-fifty-seven."

Fairly late in the morning. She should have been okay by then. He breathed a sigh of relief. "Okay.

Thanks."



"Will you be in this afternoon?"

Richard glanced over at Ritenour. "This will take another couple of hours, right?"

"Right." Ritenour gave a faintly apologetic shrug. He wasn't nearly as pugnacious as he had been before the interview.

"No, I won't make it in. I'll see you in the morning."

He hung up and worked his shoulders, shrugging the kinks out of them. Aquino appeared with three cups of coffee sandwiched in his hands. Richard took the one that was black. Aquino and Ritenour both drank theirs with so much cream the liquid was barely brown. After the first sip, Richard knew why. But in the military he had gotten accustomed to drinking coffee this strong, for the caffeine kick.

The coffee made him think of Sweeney again, and her need for it. He needed her as he had never needed anyone, and right now he didn't dare go anywhere near her.




Chapter 16


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Richard kept tight control of himself as the afternoon dragged on. He didn't fidget; he didn't protest; he didn't threaten. The detectives were doing their job, and it wasn't their fault the things he had told them took longer to verify than he had expected. He wasn't officially under arrest; judging from the detectives' attitude, they no longer suspected him, or at least not much. He could have left. But they kept coming back to him with questions that would help them put together a picture, questions about Candra's habits and friends. Though he and Candra had been separated for a year, they had lived together for ten, and he knew her better than even her parents did.

Tabitha had canceled all his appointments. Candra's parents had arrived and were installed in the Plaza; he had spoken to them on the phone—with Detective Ritenour listening—and apologized for not being able to see them that evening. The Maxson's weren't alone; in the background he could hear the rise and fall of several voices, and knew they had called some of their old friends as soon as they checked into the hotel.

The urge to call Sweeney was almost overwhelming, and that was the one urge he had to resist. In his shock at Candra's murder, he had left his cell phone at home; he had no way of knowing if Sweeney had tried to contact him by that number. The sense of being out of touch with her gnawed at him, as if part of him were missing. He needed her, needed to feel the freshness of her personality, see the clear honesty of her gaze. It was unfair of him, now that Candra was dead, but he couldn't help comparing the two women. Candra had come from a privileged background; she had been pampered and adored, her every whim satisfied, always certain she was loved—and she had grown up to be innately selfish, unable to handle situations in which she didn't get what she wanted. She had been undeniably charming and friendly—God, it was jarring to think of her in the past tense!—so those situations hadn't come about very often, but when they did, she erupted.



On the other hand, from what little Sweeney had told him, she had been mostly ignored by her parents.

Her mother's lack of feeling for her own children was appalling. He knew Sweeney's mother, though he had never met her. He had met her type. Because she was artistic, she thought that excused her from responsible behavior. She probably indulged in indiscriminate sex and drugs, and had exposed her children to God knows what.

Sweeney had grown up without love and had closed herself off from the pain by simply not letting herself form attachments. Richard strongly suspected he wouldn't have been able to get to her so fast if he hadn't caught her at this particular time, when the shock of those psychic episodes was sending her into a form of shock. Otherwise, she would have kept him at a distance for months. But despite her parents' example, or maybe because of it, she shunned their dangerous, juvenile lifestyle and had made herself into a woman of strong moral fiber.

He didn't want her touched by this, not any more than she already was. The painting involved her; if she eventually painted the face of the man standing over Candra's body—and he had no reason to doubt she would—then that knowledge would have to be shared with the detectives. It wasn't proof; the painting would in no way be admissible in court. But, if the detectives gave the information any credence, it would point them in the right direction. If they knew where to look, they would probably find the proof they needed. Perhaps he could steer them in that direction without mentioning the painting or involving Sweeney at all.

"Did Mrs. Worth have a will?" Detective Aquino asked abruptly.

"I don't know," Richard replied, dragging his thoughts away from Sweeney. "We had one when we were together, but as soon as we separated, I made a new one. She didn't have a lot of assets, though. I own the gallery, and from what I gather, she ran up a lot of debt in the past year. I had agreed to give her the gallery as part of the settlement, but that wouldn't have been included in any new will she made, if she made one at all."