Killing Her Softly. Beverly Barton

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      “Yes, Hiram, what is it?”

      “Sheriff Brody’s at the front door, ma’am, and he’s asked to speak to you.”

      “Sheriff Brody? Did he say what it’s about?” Had Wythe gotten in trouble again? Except for Uncle Louis’s wealth and political connections, Wythe would already be in prison for statutory rape. Everyone in the county knew Wythe Vanderley had a penchant for teenage girls. And a sick hunger for rough sex.

      “No, ma’am, but it can’t be good. He said it’s about Miss Lulu and he wanted to speak only to you.”

      How could something Lulu had done be of any concern to Sheriff Brody? Lulu had moved off to Memphis five years ago and was living in her mother’s old house there in Chickasaw Gardens, the house Uncle Louis had bought his ex-wife as part of their divorce settlement when Lulu was twelve.

      “Show Sheriff Brody into Uncle Louis’s study, please, Hiram, and take him around the back way. Tell him I’ll join him as soon as possible.”

      “Yes, ma’am.”

      Whatever had brought the sheriff to their door, Annabelle didn’t want their guests to be aware of the lawman’s presence. After making her rounds through the dining room to check that the champagne was ready for the midnight toasts due to begin shortly, Annabelle discreetly slipped away and hurried to her uncle’s study. The minute she entered the room, Sheriff Brody, a stocky, middle-aged man, removed his hat and walked toward her.

      “Ms. Vanderley, I’m afraid I’ve come with some awfully bad news,” he said.

      Annabelle’s heart caught in her throat. “Bad news about Lulu?”

      “Yes, ma’am.”

      “Has she been in an accident? Is she badly hurt?”

      “I hate to be the one to tell you, but…your cousin Lulu is dead.”

      Annabelle’s stomach knotted painfully. “Lulu’s dead? How? When?”

      “Tonight,” Sheriff Brody said. “She was found dead in her bedroom. The Memphis police are treating her death as a homicide.”

      “Are you saying someone murdered Lulu?”

      “It appears so. I’m terribly sorry, Ms. Vanderley. You can contact the Memphis PD, if you’d like, either tonight or in the morning. The lead detective on the case is Lieutenant Norton.”

      Annabelle shook hands with the sheriff and thanked him for coming personally to give her the terrible news about her cousin. As she turned and asked Hiram, who’d been waiting in the hallway, to escort the sheriff out, all Annabelle could think about was how on earth she was going to break the news to her uncle. Lulu was—had been—the apple of Uncle Louis’s eye. He doted on his younger child, who’d been born when he was fifty. With his health already so precarious, learning that the little girl he’d spoiled rotten and loved to distraction was now dead might easily kill him.

      Chapter 2

      Sitting alone in a quiet tenth-floor office of the Criminal Justice Center on Poplar Avenue, drinking a cup of coffee and waiting for his lawyer, Quinn Cortez kept telling himself that things weren’t as bad as they seemed. After all, the police hadn’t arrested him. He hadn’t been charged with Lulu’s murder. Not yet.

      Not yet? Not ever. You didn’t kill her. There is absolutely no evidence that you did. If the detectives suspect you—and they probably do—there is no way in hell they can prove you murdered Lulu.

      Yeah, but there’s no way you can prove you didn’t.

      Quinn’s head pounded as if a couple of giant hammers were being repeatedly thumped against each temple. He leaned his head back against the wall and using his forefingers, massaged the pressure points.

      When he had awakened from the nap he’d taken when he’d pulled off the road on his trip from Nashville to Memphis, his head had been throbbing; and downing a couple of aspirins hadn’t helped. Finding Lulu dead and then dealing with the police had only increased the tension, which had reached migraine proportions. He’d been healthy as a horse all his life, but during the past eight or nine months he’d had several really bad headaches. First came the extreme grogginess that led to an odd blackout spell. The headaches came after he awakened, lasted for a while and then went away. He probably should have seen a doctor, but he’d kept putting it off, thinking each headache would be the last. After all, there hadn’t been all that many spells—only three, counting the one tonight.

      Although he’d defended countless clients accused of murder, he’d never been on this end of a murder case. Never been a suspect. And he’d never discovered a dead body.

      Poor Lulu. God in heaven, who could have killed her? And why? She might have been practically worthless as a human being, having never worked a day in her life or gone out of her way to help another living soul, but she certainly had never intentionally harmed anyone. She’d been a free spirit, living life for the sheer pleasure of it. She was a goodtime girl, fun to be around, and a damn good lay.

      Quinn winced. That’s no way to think of the dead, he reminded himself, then huffed out a pained chuckle. Who was he kidding? Lulu would love being described as a damn good lay. She prided herself on her sexual prowess. The woman had been a tiger in the bedroom.

      I don’t know who killed you, honey, or why, but if the police can’t find your murderer, I will.

      The door opened and Sergeant George poked his head in and said, “Your lawyer’s here.”

      George had been a real pain in the ass, but Lieutenant Norton had conducted himself like the old pro he was. And it wasn’t a matter of good cop/bad cop. It was a basic difference in men.

      Quinn eased his fingers down over his cheekbones, then let his hands drop to the tops of his thighs as he glanced up at the cocky, young policeman. His gut instincts told him that no matter what the circumstances were under which he might have met Chad George, he wouldn’t have liked the guy.

      “We haven’t charged you with anything. And we weren’t interrogating you, just asking you a few questions,” the sergeant said. “You really didn’t need to call in a lawyer.”

      “Oh yeah, I think I did.” Quinn rose to his full six-one height and looked the policeman in the eyes. George wasn’t a large man. Five ten, one sixty-five. And too damn pretty to be a man. Bet he got plenty of ribbing from the other officers about being so movie-star handsome. Like a young, redheaded Brat Pitt.

      George’s lips lifted in a hint of a smile, then he stepped backward and out of the way as Kendall Wells charged past him. She ignored the sergeant as if he were invisible. And when she closed the door behind her, Quinn grinned, imagining the guy’s indignant reaction to not only being ignored, but also having the door practically slammed in his face. Bet Chad George wasn’t accustomed to women treating him that way. But then, Kendall was no ordinary woman.

      “I hope you’ve kept your mouth shut,” Kendall said as she approached Quinn, her three-inch black heels tapping against the floor.

      Quinn inspected his lawyer from head to toe. Ms. Wells was a looker. Tall, slender, leggy and though not classically pretty, attractive nonetheless. She dressed in the best her money СКАЧАТЬ