the wife of either the governor or a senator. Chris had been destined to follow in his father’s and grandfather’s political footsteps. But instead of living her dream, she was still single, childless and filled her days—and as many nights as possible— with overseeing the various Austin and Vanderley philanthropic organizations.
“You look lovely tonight, Annabelle,” her cousin, Wythe Vanderley, said as he came up behind her and slipped his arm around her waist.
Annabelle froze to the spot. Then forcing a smile, she eased away from Wythe and turned to face him. “And you look handsome, as always.” Wythe was an attractive man, in an aristocratic way that drew women to him like moths to a flame. And most of those women—the ones who’d gotten too close to that flame—had been badly burned. Wythe was a scoundrel and despite their being first cousins, Annabelle disliked him intensely. He’d been a disappointment to Uncle Louis, who supported Wythe in grand style, as he did Wythe’s younger half sister, Lulu. To quote her aunt, Perdita Austin, “Neither of Louis’s children are worth a damn.”
“Lovely but cold Annabelle,” Wythe said softly so that no one passing them in the hallway could overhear. “The right man could thaw you out and melt that frigid heart of yours.”
“If you’ll excuse me, I have—”
Before Annabelle could escape her annoying cousin, he grasped her wrist to halt her. She glared at him, her look demanding he release her immediately.
“I’m volunteering for the job, you know,” he told her. “I’m just the man who could heat you—”
“Unless you want to make a spectacle of yourself, I suggest you release me,” Annabelle said with absolute conviction. “Otherwise, I’ll have no choice but to slap that smug look off your silly face.”
He released her instantly, but leaned close and whispered, “One of these days, bitch, you’ll get yours.”
She offered him a deadly smile. “Maybe so, but I won’t get it from you.”
Annabelle rushed away as fast as she could walk without bringing undue attention to herself. If she didn’t adore Uncle Louis and feel tremendously sorry for him, she’d never come to this house again, never subject herself to her cousin’s harassment. As she made her way down the hall toward the dining room, intending to make sure everything was in order, she smiled and spoke to half a dozen acquaintances. Anna-belle knew everybody who was anybody and cultivated superficial friendships as easily as she performed her hostess duties.
When she entered the dining room, her uncle Louis’s butler, Hiram, spoke her name quietly as he came to her side. “Miss Annabelle…”
“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.
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.
