Discarded Promises Page 6

  One glance down the hall and the bird was quickly forgotten. Denton, standing next to the bulletin board, glared down the hallway at her. She was beyond frustrated with that man. He must have known what Hattie had told her. Just about everyone in this building was keeping secrets, and Quilla was going to get to the bottom of the conspiracy. Right now. Denton might not think too much of her spin on Sadie’s disappearance, but with Hattie’s help, Quilla had more concrete information to work with, even though Hattie kept her secrets, too. Quilla was ticked off at the lot of them.

  Denton glanced at the bulletin board. Must be reading my note. She strolled down the corridor with determination in her steps. And this time she wasn’t thinking about how striking he looked in stonewashed jeans and a short leather jacket. She had business on her mind.

  “I’ve got a motive for Sadie’s death,” she said once she halted in front of him. Swiping his tongue over his teeth, he pulled her note off the board.

  “You’re asking for trouble, Quilla.”

  Ignoring his prediction of doom, she said, “I have to get back into Sadie’s apartment. At least now I know what I’m looking for.”

  Denton took a long breath and moaned like a man in pain—or ecstasy. “You don’t know anything.”

  Lucky must have heard their voices, because she barked on the other side of the door and scratched at the surface.

  Quilla took her note out of Denton’s hand and pinned it back in place. “If you don’t give me the information I need, I’ll get it someplace else. I’m tired of second-guessing and the secrecy. Now, are you going to help me or not?”

  Chapter 4

  Denton grasped Quilla’s arm and all but dragged her to his apartment. The last thing he needed was Sadie’s nosy friend who couldn’t mind her own damn business messing up things for him.

  After tugging her inside he slammed the door.

  “Why can’t you leave well enough alone?” he asked. “If, and I’m saying if, she was attacked—

  “Not just attacked, she’s dead. And she has a name.”

  He took a deep breath, meeting the angry stare. And darned if he wasn’t hit with the sharp stab of desire. Angry sparks livened her eyes. Her face was animated and flushed with stubbornness and determination. He wanted to haul her into his arms, kiss the stubbornness out of her, carry her to his bed, and . . . He was out of his mind. He did his best to diffuse the tension.

  “The body will show up sooner or later,” he said, feeling like a parrot. He’d told her this countless times and she hadn’t listened before, and he was certain she wasn’t listening now. “You’re upsetting the neighbors.”

  “I want to upset the police. I want somebody to take Sadie’s death seriously. She might not be a politician’s mistress, but she’s somebody just the same.”

  “Of course she’s somebody.”

  Quilla turned her back on him. “Seems I’m the only one who thinks so.”

  Denton rubbed a hand across his face. For the first time, he smelled her perfume. The aroma suited her and it drove him crazy. Her shoulders were stiff as if she stood alone, as if she carried the burdens of the world on them. He wanted to help her, damn it, but he couldn’t get involved. Things were too precarious with Tom. He couldn’t have the man suspicious of him. Tom was distrustful and resentful because his father-in-law, George Macdougal, had hired Denton. And Denton had sensed early on the deep-seated animosity Tom had for George. It was that building rage a person had for someone he was forced to cater to and who was helpless to show his true emotions—a dangerous combination, Denton knew.

  But now Denton focused on Quilla. He sighed, stifling the urge to gather her in his arms and hold her close. He wanted to rub the tension from her neck and shoulders. She always seemed tense. He wondered if she was dating. Wondered if a man ever massaged her body from head to toe. He imagined her seductive reaction, felt his body responding, and cleared his throat. She pulled at the inner core of his protective instincts. And as independent as she acted, he was sure she was the last woman who needed protection from any man.

  “Okay, I’ll look into it, see what I can come up with.”

  She faced him once again and fired questions off like bullets. “Who are you that you think you can do more than I can? Are you going to the police? Do you know where she was going? Are you going to offer information you haven’t revealed so far? Do you think the fact that you’re a man gives you an advantage?” The breath whooshed out of him. Sadie was her friend, and his in a sense. This woman cared. He couldn’t shrug her off as if Sadie’s death was inconsequential. His vow not to become involved shattered.

  “What do you have so far?” he finally asked and motioned her to a seat. “And how do you think it’s connected with Sadie?”

  Quilla stared at him as if she didn’t trust him. And why should she? Finally she headed across the room and dropped onto the couch. Lucky trotted to her and put her paws on Quilla’s leg. Quilla picked the dog up and held her on her lap, stroking her gently before she met his eyes again.

  “I don’t know the connection. I’m just starting from somewhere and hoping that it leads to clues. Then I can present solid evidence to the police. Otherwise we’ll never hear from Sadie again and her murder will be another unsolved case.”

  “You’re a very passionate woman, aren’t you?”

  Speechless, Quilla blinked. His eyes narrowed slightly. He looked at her hands, then back up at her eyes. A drumroll of sexual energy crept into the moment, and Quilla wondered what being encircled in his arms, his hands stroking her body, would be like. She experienced a mere teaser the other night.

  He nodded. “You are.”

  His comment took the wind out of her sails. “What do my passions have to do with Sadie?”

  A sensual light flashed in his eyes. “Just an observation. Bet it gets you into trouble a lot.”

  Quilla cleared her throat. “About Sadie.”

  “Tell me what you have so far.” Denton checked his watch as if he was late for an appointment.

  “It might be connected to a man named Tom Goodwill. Sadie was . . .” She paused.

  “What?” Denton asked.

  “Well,” she glanced away. “I don’t know if it’s accurate, but Hattie Dean thinks Sadie was his mistress. That she wrote the book from personal experience.”

  Denton stared at her. “Really?”

  Her gaze met his once again. “She acted as if it were common knowledge, as if everyone here knew about it. I imagine you don’t talk to your neighbors often.”

  “I’m pretty new here. I haven’t connected with the inner gossip circle yet.”

  “In that case why would she leave her dog with you?”

  “Remember, I gave her the dog. Besides, can you imagine her leaving it with the man in apartment seven?”

  The dour-faced man who had slammed the door in Quilla’s face. “No.”

  “Since we live across from each other, it makes sense.”

  “I wonder what Jake knows.” Quilla mused.

  “Not a thing. I ran it past him already.”

  Quilla’s spirit was flagging. She’d hoped for more than this. “Maybe we should go through her apartment again in case we missed something.”

  Denton shook his head. “I allowed you to enter the first time to calm your fears. But we can’t again. If she turns up dead, we’ll be disturbing crucial evidence. Besides, I didn’t see anything that was helpful when I was there.”

  They sat quietly for a while. Lucky was snoozing on her lap. Quilla was so deep in thought, she was surprised when Denton handed her a glass of wine.

  She shook her head. Just the scent of liquor after her father’s call was enough to bring flashbacks of her childhood.

  “Why did Sadie do that?” she asked quietly. “Become his mistress? She was beautiful, she was caring. She could get any man she wanted. When she entered a room, it was as if time stood still and focused on her. Why would she settle for Tom Goodwill’s scraps?”

/>   Denton shrugged. “Who knows?”

  “I know a Wendy Goodwill. Is she related to him?”

  “His wife,” Denton said. “How do you know her?”

  “She buys treats for her dogs at my shop. I don’t really know her, just a speaking relationship, but she seems kind.”

  “You don’t really know the people you meet in passing,” he said.

  “I know. It’s just . . .”

  Denton glanced at his watch again.

  Quilla gently placed Lucky on the floor. Her small body stretched to its full length.

  “I better go.”

  “Give me a few minutes and I’ll walk you home.”

  “You don’t have to. You seem to . . .”

  “I’m expecting someone.”

  “Sorry to take up your time.”

  “It’s not that. I tried to reach him earlier and reschedule. I’ll try again.” As Denton headed to the phone, the outside buzzer for his apartment sounded. After finding out who was there, he depressed a button, then opened the door. Seconds later, Jake came through, as jovial as ever.

  “I take it you didn’t get the message I left on your phone,” Denton said.

  Jake took the cell phone out of his pocket, turned it on, and glanced at the face. “Oh, there is a message.” He shrugged. “I’m here now.”

  “It helps to keep the phone on.”

  Quilla irritably brushed hair off her forehead, feeling the long day in her weary shoulders. Jake opened a bag of potato chips. Lucky followed a trail to Jake and begged.

  “You’re hungry, darling, aren’t you?” Quilla asked. “Where’s her food?”

  Denton reached under the kitchen cabinet for the bag. Lucky wagged her tail as he poured her food in a bowl and set it in a corner while Quilla filled another one with water.

  “You didn’t have to leave her alone all day. You could have brought her to me.”

  “I checked on her at lunch,” Jake said. “She was okay. Frisky as ever.”

  Lucky gobbled down the food like she hadn’t eaten for a week. “Doesn’t look like you fed her,” Quilla said.

  “Denton didn’t say anything about feeding her.”

  “I bet you ate,” Denton said.

  “It was lunchtime.”

  Lucky finished her food. Denton clipped the leash on her. “You can walk her now,” Denton said to Jake.

  Jake groaned, but without an argument he and Lucky left. Denton and Quilla were alone once again. When Denton gave her his undivided attention, it seemed Jake had sucked the air out of the room with him. Suddenly Quilla’s breath was as short as if she’d run ten miles.

  “I work with Tom Goodwill,” he said.

  The sexual tension disappeared as if it had never been there. “Why didn’t you say something before? I mentioned Tom’s name to you. You heard his messages.”

  “Just because she was his mistress doesn’t mean he wants to kill her.”

  “I think the fact that his affair is going to be revealed in a tell-all book is plenty of motive.”

  “First of all, a publisher isn’t going to let her use actual names. She’s going to create fictitious characters and scenes. I doubt Wendy even knows about the affair. With her attitude, she’d kick Tom to the curb if she knew.”

  “What a mess. I’m supposed to make small talk with her as if her life is normal every time I see her and I know it’s not.”

  “What’s normal anymore? Everybody has skeletons. You can’t take on the world.”

  Everybody has skeletons. Quilla knew that better than most.

  Soon after Jake left with Lucky, Denton had walked her to her apartment but left quickly afterward as if he were afraid to be alone with her. But not before she scolded him about Lucky’s care.

  And she didn’t understand or want this unbidden attraction she’d felt for him from the moment she saw him the first time. Sometimes it was only a glance or the way his eyes measured her, as if he were undressing her slowly, inch by inch, wondering at the curves beneath. It set her body flaming, as if a match had struck her. But she didn’t act on it. She’d learned to curtail those emotions as she’d learned to live with others.

  She remembered her childhood, the times she was fast asleep and was suddenly awakened by her mother’s screams. There wasn’t a worse awakening, Quilla thought, than when you were pulled out of a deep sleep, wondering if a killer had entered your house, then hearing your mother’s screams and pleas. And when Quilla would run to her parents’ bedroom to help, her mother would push her out, telling her to go to her room and stay there.

  She’d learned to hate weekends. On Friday and Saturday nights she was afraid to go to sleep. She’d lay awake late into the night, fear clutching her stomach, waiting for her father’s key in the lock. She’d beg her mother to leave, to go anywhere to get away from the terror, just on the weekends, she’d insisted when Owen Day drank as if whiskey was going out of production. But her mother wouldn’t be budged.

  Quilla had vowed long ago never to put herself in anyone’s control. So what was she doing lusting after Denton Manning? she thought as she ate a bowl of leftover clam chowder for dinner, alone in her tiny kitchen.

  She might not have family around, but her home, though small, was homey, from the red bowl filled with fruit to the ladder-back chairs and comfortable back and seat cushions made out of the same fabric as the curtains.

  She’d painted the old cabinets a cheerful lemon meringue, but the curtains were a brilliant splash of red, yellow, blue, and green over the vintage white sink.

  And the fact that Quilla lacked a man didn’t keep her from indulging her feminine side. While most women used a weeknight to pamper themselves, Quilla used Friday, since it was an early workday for her and she didn’t have a date.

  She washed her dishes and made her way down the hall to the bathroom.

  She lit jasmine-scented candles around the tub. After selecting soft music to pipe in from the bedroom, she turned out the lights and slid into the warm water in her claw-foot tub. She sank into its depth until even her shoulders were submerged.

  For a time she rested and watched the light from the candles flicker on the white wall. The bathroom, with its natural colors, was as restful as the kitchen was cheerful. The bathroom was large, considering the small size of the apartment.

  As the music played she slid the cloth on her body and thought of Denton’s words—You are a passionate woman—and wished she could let loose and be free. That she could accept a man’s passion without fear of attachment. But life had thrown her so many curves, she couldn’t afford the luxury of trust.

  After taking a long soak, she gave herself a thick facial mask, removed the old polish from her nails, massaged and pushed back the cuticles, and painted them. She looked at herself in the mirror and thought she might be dolled up, but she had nowhere for that passion to go.

  The hardest thing Denton had ever done was to leave Quilla at the door. He seemed to go through that same exchange time and time again. But he couldn’t afford to take what he was feeling for her to another level.

  He had spent the day at the technical trade show at the convention center in D.C. Tom had given a seminar on the new semiconductor-manufacturing equipment Smitherton had just introduced. Its cutting-edge technology gave Smitherton a momentary jump. The industry changed and grew so rapidly, any advantage was usually short-lived. They now were waiting for government dual-use export approval to market it abroad. The semiconductor had a civilian use as well as being a major component in modern weapons systems, which presented a security concern.

  The problem was that semiconductor companies in America were competing with foreign technology. Other countries didn’t necessarily have to go through the licensing approvals required for American companies, which gave them a jump on overseas business. Now that the country was working in a global marketplace, American companies couldn’t afford to lag if they were to remain competitive.

  Although George Macdougal, Smitherto
n’s owner, played by the book, his son-in-law didn’t. Tom was trying to export semiconductor-manufacturing equipment secretly, without approval. The Bureau of Industry and Security, which now came under the Homeland Security blanket, discovered that sophisticated equipment was going to countries on the unapproved list by way of legitimate countries. And they knew the equipment was coming from Smitherton.

  Denton made it back to his apartment. Jake was waiting with a satisfied Lucky sitting by his chair.

  “That was quick,” Jake said.

  Denton grunted and disappeared into the bedroom. As he changed from his suit into sweats, he wondered what he was going to do about this growing attraction to Quilla. Damn, that woman crawled under his skin, rubbing his nerves raw. He could not lay in bed at night thinking about stroking her skin, about feeling her curves next to him.

  Sadie’s murder didn’t make the papers or the news. There was so much going on about the war and suicide bombing that it would take a heck of a lot more than Quilla seeing a body that had disappeared to capture any interest, she thought Monday morning.

  Wendy Goodwill was a regular customer. At five-nine she was as striking as she was statuesque, her bearing proud. She wore a short jacket over a cable-knit sweater and tight designer jeans. She was one of the social elite in Old Town. In a sense, Quilla felt sorry for her. Both Wendy and Sadie lived in Old Town, and Tom cheated on both of them.

  Wendy picked up her poodle, Agatha, as soon as they came into the shop. Wendy owned two show dogs. One won Westminster trophies and the other was runner-up. Although the dogs had trainers, Wendy stayed very active in their training. Since her father wouldn’t let her have control over the family business, it was something to take her mind off of her disappointment. And probably a refuge from a failed marriage.

  Besides, Wendy loved dogs. She’d hoped Agatha would work out as a show dog, but she was too stubborn. Neither she nor the trainer could ever get her to act the way a champion dog was supposed to in the show ring.

  “How is Agatha today?” Quilla asked.