money. Now, as to Danny…
The poor cops. They didn’t even have an obvious motive. In the murder of a husband or wife, as he well knew, the cops instantly looked to the surviving spouse.
Spencer had inherited a fortune on her husband’s death, but what did that matter to a woman who had several fortunes of her own already. Then there was jealousy. A lover, perhaps?
But, alas again for the poor cops! Spencer Huntington seemed purer than the driven snow. Where to go from there. To a best friend?
To all those crooks Danny Huntington had been after?
A friend, a foe—a snitch?
He laughed out loud softly. He could almost feel it in the air. Fur was going to fly again.
Ricky Garcia swore violently in his native Spanish and threw the paper on the floor.
¡Merde! The cops were going to be crawling all over him again. Coming down on his gambling, on his prostitutes.
All because the wife was back in town, stirring up trouble!
Jared Monteith hadn’t read the paper at home that morning. He didn’t see the headline until he sat down behind his desk. Even as he sat, his line rang. He winced before picking up the receiver, knowing full well that it was going to be his wife.
“Did you read the damned paper?” Cecily could screech extremely well when she wanted to.
“Yes, I’m looking at it right now.”
“I told you Spencer was trouble.”
“Cecily—the reporter is down on Spencer!”
Cecily sniffed. “As if Spencer is going to worry!”
“Sly’s calling me,” Jared said and sighed. “Cecily, no big deal, okay? Gotta go.”
Trey Delia read the paper in his incense-filled room. He was sitting cross-legged and naked on his floor. The two young women who had recently come to fulfill his needs giggled softly from somewhere behind him as he sipped herbal tea laced with ox blood. Raw chicken hearts sat on a plate before him.
Something human would have been better.
The ancients understood. Consuming an enemy gave a man his enemy’s strength. A heart offered courage and wisdom. Some organs gave strength. Bone-meal gave a man physical and mental powers.
Ah, and now this….
Everyone would be up in arms again.
The cops would be going crazy. It must be Danny’s widow stirring up the dust. Spencer, the beautiful wife. Trey had seen her picture. Very blond, elegant. Tempting.
He popped a chicken heart into his mouth and drew a deep breath from the hashish pipe at his side. The girls were still giggling.
Spencer…
She was trouble. So pretty. So much trouble. So pale, slim, elegant.
He wondered how she would taste.
In his office, Sly read the headline and groaned.
Audrey was sipping her coffee and reading, as well. Poor Spencer. The wound Danny’s death had left was being ripped open all over again. Of course, Spencer was doing it herself, but still, it was sad.
So many people would be upset! Dangerous people. But there would be no stopping Spencer. Audrey knew her well, and she didn’t really blame her.
Audrey bit her lip and continued to scan the paper.
Jon Monteith, Jared’s father, Spencer’s uncle, lay his head wearily on his pillow.
If only they could let matters rest!
After all, it hadn’t been a drive-by shooting, and any fool knew Spencer wasn’t guilty. It hadn’t been robbery.
So why kill a cop?
It was simple. The way he saw it, the cop had known too much.
A cop learned things on the streets. He was an investigator. He found things out, and sometimes he was careful about telling even his associates what he knew.
And pursuing what was going on could be dangerous. Danny had been bright. Danny had been on to so many things. And with Spencer raising a fuss and the newspapers going crazy, things were bound to happen.
Yes…
A veritable Pandora’s box could fly right open.
He swore and groaned.
Spencer had come home, and she wouldn’t let things rest. She just didn’t know what was good for her.
Spencer was one royal pain in the ass.
He picked up the phone and waited for an answer. “Have you seen the headline?”
“Yes,” came the reply. “I’m on it. I’ve been on it, damn it!”
“Make sure you stay on it. Make damned sure, because if you don’t…”
He let the force of the husky threat fade, then replaced the receiver with a sharp click.
Accidents did happen. Oh, yes. Accidents did happen.
3
There were at least a hundred good reasons she shouldn’t be in a cemetery in the dead of night, Spencer thought.
And the longer she stood in the darkness, the longer the list became and the more foolish her errand seemed to be.
It was just that…she had to do something. Someone had to do something. She had tried very hard to let the police do their work. She had even understood when they had grilled her, relentlessly, apologetically, relentlessly again. She applauded their efforts—at least it had seemed as if they were traveling along every possible avenue.
And she even believed—no, she knew—that David Delgado would have stopped at nothing to catch Danny’s killer.
It was just that they weren’t doing enough.
She’d gone away for a long time. She’d stopped working for a while, but idleness had been sheer misery. She knew that she couldn’t bring Danny back. But she also knew that she would never be able to live the new life David was ordering her to until she had laid Danny’s ghost to rest by seeing his killer caught.
But this…this was probably sheer stupidity. She might not find out anything, and she might well be mugged by some petty thief. Or worse. The casual crime in South Florida was as scary as the acts committed with premeditated malice.
Sly was worried about her, she knew. It was because of the beam that had collapsed in the old house she’d been working on last week. But the place had practically been condemned, and she’d
