Page 25

Chapter Twenty-One

T wo days had blissfully passed, and Claire and Joe were settling into a routine, dancing around the attraction they felt toward each other.

A touch as they passed each other in the hallway, a shared look when they did the dishes.

Claire thought Joe wanted more. For sure she did, but nothing had happened.

It was wishful thinking on her part because she wouldn’t pursue him until she met with the divorce lawyer, and Joe was honorable enough not to take advantage.

She was meeting the divorce lawyer the next day.

She was hopeful that Keith meant what he said about a divorce, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of impending doom.

There had been no more information on the mysterious man.

She didn’t have a reason for the nagging suspicion that things weren’t going to go well for her.

She was on her second cup of coffee, staring out the window, when Joe’s voice came from behind her. She yelped. The coffee sloshed onto the counter and floor. “Darn. You scared me.”

“Sorry.” He didn’t look sorry, though. “Claire, I have to go to the office for a while. Why don’t you come with me?”

Claire glanced at Joe, who was standing in the doorway.

The sunlight filtered through his short black hair, highlighting his dusky blue eyes, which were staring intently at her.

His broad shoulders filled the space, and he looked yummy in a black T-shirt and black jeans that accented his assets.

A pair of worn boots completed the outfit.

She couldn’t take her eyes off him. Damn. Could he tell she was ogling him?

Joe smirked. Yeah, he knew.

“Want to go?”

Oh, yes. She would go anywhere with him but to see where he worked—double yes. “Yes. I want to see where you work, and I’d like to see Sam again.”

“Well, lazybones, go shower and get ready.” He waved his hands and shooed her out of the kitchen.

They were on their way a half hour later. Joe was quiet on the way over, giving Claire time to think about the trip she took with the mystery man, who he was and where he went.

Too soon, Joe pulled his truck into the parking lot of an old warehouse.

“Wow, this is huge.” Claire noticed about ten cars in the lot, but the two-story brick warehouse took over half a block.

“Yeah,” he said as he helped her out of the truck. “Not only is the office here, but Sam uses the upstairs as her living space. I’ll give you a tour of downstairs before I meet with her.”

He introduced Claire to Sam’s Aunt Marcia, who was the receptionist. Claire followed Joe through a maze of semi-empty cubicles. There were only a few employees at their desks, but they waved as Joe and Claire passed by.

“Joe. ”

They turned toward Sam’s office. She was standing at her office door and motioned them in with her finger.

“Bring Claire in here with you.”

Claire started trembling. Sam was clearly unhappy and upset about something. What were the chances it was about Keith? Impending doom. Wasn’t that what she felt all morning long?

They walked in.

“Close the door and sit down.” Sam sat at her desk, her hands steepled. She let out a heavy sigh.

“I hate this,” she mumbled.

Joe didn’t say a word, but Claire couldn’t hold it in anymore. “It’s Keith, isn’t it? Has he made any more threats?”

Sam shook her head. “If only. No. Claire, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Keith is dead.”

Claire gasped. “De—dead?” She covered her mouth. “Oh my God.” Her stomach clenched, and she slumped forward. “Oh my God.”

Joe reached over and put his arm around her.

“What do you mean, he’s dead?” he asked.

“Joe, I mean Keith is dead.”

“How? He was always so healthy,” said Claire.

Sam rubbed her brow. She held up the front page of the newspaper. “As you can see, the police are looking for Claire.”

“Whaaat?” Claire shrieked. “For me?”

“Calm down, Claire.” Sam exhaled. “I called a friend at the station. He told me they tried to get in touch with you and couldn’t. Housekeeping found Keith’s body yesterday. After checking with the front desk, they saw that you were in the hotel and met with him. Twice.”

“Twice?” Claire shook her head. “I only saw him that one time, and that was in the lobby.”

“I know.” Sam nodded. “I know. Listen, I have my lawyer, Earle Conway, coming over. You need to talk to the police, and you need a lawyer with you.”

Claire slid down into the chair. The only comfort she felt was Joe’s warm arm around her shoulders. What a disaster. She couldn’t get rid of Keith in life, and now, she couldn’t get rid of him in death.

The ride to the station the next day was quiet. Sam was driving. Earle sat in the front, and Claire huddled in the corner of the back seat.

Her body was trembling, and bile was having a party in her stomach. She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on happy thoughts, like how luscious Joe looked at the house that morning and his warm arms surrounding her—comforting her.

Sam had asked Joe not to come to the station. Claire would have liked him along, but that wasn’t her call. Joe had been with her yesterday afternoon to identify Keith’s body at the morgue, for which she had been grateful.

They arrived at the station and parked in the garage. They walked in the front door in silence. Earle announced to the cop on desk duty who they were and why they were there.

A few minutes later, a detective opened the door and called them in.

Sam said she would wait for them in the lobby.

Claire and Earle followed the detective through a maze of desks, telephones ringing, yelling, people being led out in handcuffs—a cacophony of noise and the smell of fear and sweat. They got a few curious looks.

The detective led them into a small room with a metal table and four chairs. The prerequisite one-way mirror was opposite them, smeared with fingerprints. Was there someone on the other side looking in? Bah. What did she care? That was the least of her problems.

He identified himself as Detective Stevens.

“Mrs. Willis, I understand you have identified the deceased as your husband.”

She nodded, closed her eyes and opened them. “Oh my God. I can’t believe Keith is dead.”

“What was his health like? The better question is, why weren’t you in the room with him?” Detective Stevens asked.

Damn. She did not want to go into her personal story with the detective. She opened her mouth to answer, but Earle beat her to it.

“Mrs. Willis is estranged from her husband and is staying with friends.”

The detective lifted an eyebrow. “So, you had no idea why your husband was in Florida?”

Claire let out a heavy sigh. “I knew. He was here to ask me to come back to him.”

“When was this?”

“Two nights ago.”

The detective tapped his fingers on the table, squinted his eyes and sat back.

Silence.

Claire thought this was a police tactic to get criminals to talk, and it was working. “I went to the hotel to tell him I wasn’t ever going back to him and wanted a divorce.”

“He took that well, I guess.” Sarcasm. The detective sat back in his chair. Tap. Tap. Tap.

She ignored it.

“He took it as well as could be expected. He wasn’t happy but said he would sign the papers,” said Claire.

“So, before that, you had no idea that he was in Black Pointe or for how long?”

“No. ”

There was that tapping of his fingers against the table again. Silence. Then a knock on the door. An officer poked his head in and handed the detective a piece of paper.

Tap, tap, tap.

If there was a way of torturing a person with just your fingers, Claire thought this was it.

The detective rubbed his forehead, looked at the paper and looked at Claire.

“Mrs. Willis, did you know your husband was allergic to bees?”

“Yes. Why?”

Tap, tap, tap.

“So, did you kill him because you wanted a divorce and he didn’t want to give you one?”

Claire’s mouth fell open. “Ki—kill?”

Earle broke in. “What’s this about, detective?”

“Mr. Willis died from anaphylactic shock from ingesting bee pollen.”

“That’s impossible,” Claire exclaimed. “Keith would never have anything to do with bees, honey, or pollen. Besides, he always had an EpiPen with him, just in case.”

“There were no EpiPens found in the room.”

“I don’t believe that. Keith was meticulous about his allergy.” Visions of Keith packing an EpiPen in his suitcase flitted through her mind. He always had one with him.

“Hmmm.” Detective Steven’s phone rang. He listened to someone and hung up. “I’ll have more questions for you later.” They got up and followed him out. “Oh, and make sure you’re available for further questioning. So, don’t leave town.”

Were the police going to charge her for Keith’s murder? On what evidence? Where was the mystery man? He could verify that she never went up to Keith’s room. And what was that about a second visit to Keith’s hotel room? Who was there? Another woman? The killer ?

They followed Detective Stevens through the bullpen. Was everyone staring at her? Did they think she was a murderer or even capable of murder? What did she care?

Earle didn’t say a word. Claire refused to believe Keith was dead. He was always larger than life. He was a bully for sure. She may have wished him dead. But did he deserve to die? Especially like that?