The Detective's Dilemma

“I know the one you’re talking about!” Ty snapped, thinking he’d have to have a careful word with his mother. It was unlike her to discuss his personal business even with his closest friends. “What did my mother tell you about her, anyway?”

Paul shrugged. “Just that she was from a prominent Houston family who didn’t like the idea of their little debutante hooking up with a Native American.”

A dirt-poor redskin, her daddy had called him, a breech-clout gigolo without so much as his own tom-tom to his name. The insult still burned rancorously in his gut whenever he thought about it. He was very, very proud of his heritage. At the time, however, his erstwhile girlfriend’s tearful wailing that her daddy was going to revoke her credit cards if she didn’t stop seeing him had seemed the worse insult. He’d been stupid enough to think that, because she’d hopped into his bed every chance she got, she’d loved him. He’d found out rather graphically how he’d stacked up against her plastic money and her society friends. It had been a brutal reality check, and one he wouldn’t need again, but Paul didn’t have to know that.

“She was nothing, that girl,” Ty said evenly, “just a little passing infatuation. My mother shouldn’t read so much into things.”

“Your mother is a very wise woman,” Paul responded.

“Well, her wisdom sometimes gets a little tangled up when it comes to her children,” Ty remarked. “But if you tell her I said such a thing, I’ll have to cut your nose off.”

“Crow punishment for betrayal,” Paul exclaimed delightedly. He loved hearing about the old lore and traditions.

Ty chuckled. “Maybe I’ll have to strip the skin off the soles of your feet and stake them to a fire-ant hill. Punishment for trespassing in private territory.”

Paul frowned, and Ty could almost see the wheels turning behind his eyes. “You made that up!” he finally declared. “The People never did any such thing.”

“Who said it was Crow punishment?” Ty teased. “It’s just my personal remedy for nosy partners.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, have I ever told you my remedy for smart-aleck Indians?”

“Indian is an incorrect and unacceptable label,” Ty said, deadpan.

“So sue me, native boy,” Paul retorted, reaching into his desk drawer for a rubber band, which he shot from between his fingers. Ty dodged the harmless missile and pulled out his drawer to get at his weapons stash.

The serviceable gray-carpeted floor around their abutted desks was littered with red and green rubber bands, and the mood had lightened considerably by the time Ty finally looked up Beth Maitland’s telephone number and made that call. The play had done nothing, however, to prevent the slow thickening of his blood that occurred when her light, musical voice brought back to mind her sexy image. He reminded himself that Beth Maitland was not a woman in whom he should feel the slightest interest. Now all he had to do was silence that whisper in his soul, the one that brought a vision of her to the mind’s eye and promised that here was fire to melt the ice of his heart.

CHAPTER THREE

TY WAS COOL. He didn’t blink an eye when Beth Maitland sauntered in wearing tan suede slacks that showed off her long, slender legs and tight, round bottom. He said nothing about the matching fringed jacket that she wore over a tight, wine red knit shirt that left no doubt as to the strength of her feminine attributes. He did not compliment her suede half-boots, which matched her shirt in color, or comment upon the way she had twisted her long, lush hair into a plump, frothy roll skewered with a trio of silver-and-turquoise pins. He failed to remark that the open, turned-up collar of her shirt emphasized the creamy length of her slender neck, or that an expensive silver-and-turquoise beaded necklace called eye-catching attention to the deep crevice of her cleavage. To the casual observer, his fascination and appreciation would not have been unduly marked. Only he knew that she amazed him by looking even better than he remembered. Moreover, she possessed a quirky, natural style that was wholly her own, and being a man of a certain personal style himself, Ty could only applaud. Silently, of course.

He got to his feet and greeted her impersonally. “Ms. Maitland, thank you for coming.”

She nodded and glanced past him to Brandon Dumont, her eyes going wide then clouding with confusion as she took in the small, dark woman next to him. Ty brushed back the sides of his suit coat and parked his hands at his waist, watching the byplay. Looking bored, Dumont pinched the crease of his navy slacks where one knee crossed the other. The Mexican woman next to him bowed her head and did not look up again, as if avoiding Beth Maitland’s gaze. Beth tilted her head to one side, questioning Ty with her eyes. He smiled reassuringly, realized what he was doing and quickly blanked his face.

“You know Mr. Dumont,” he said, “and my partner, Paul Jester.” Paul was standing on the other side of the table, and he nodded at Beth. Ty went on. “You may also know Ms. Letitia Velasquez, Mr. Dumont’s housekeeper.”

Beth fixed the woman with a curious gaze. “Yes. Hello, Letitia. It’s nice to see you again.”

The housekeeper lifted a trembling smile in acknowledgment of the greeting, then quickly bowed her head again. Dumont frowned at the housekeeper but in no way acknowledged Beth Maitland. Paul pulled out the chair next to him at the table, leaving the end seat for Ty and keeping Dumont and the housekeeper on the opposite side. Beth walked around to the chair and gracefully lowered herself into the seat, smiling at Paul as he pushed the chair beneath her. She slipped the strap of a small, hand-tooled leather purse from her shoulder and placed the purse on the table in front of her. She looked across the table directly at Brandon Dumont.

“Hello, Brandon. How are you?”

“As well as can be expected,” he said tonelessly without looking at her.

Beth glanced at Ty, then turned her gaze on the housekeeper. “Letitia,” she said gently, “how is Frankie?”

Letitia Velasquez slowly lifted her head. “He is worried, Ms. Maitland,” she answered just above a whisper.

Brandon Dumont suddenly jerked his head up and looked at Ty, demanding testily, “Can we get on with it, please?”

Ty froze the man with a cold, hard glare and watched with satisfaction as the color drained from his already pale face. Dumont reminded Ty of a banked fish, pale and slimy, but he supposed that he was attractive enough, with his soft good looks, trendy spiked haircut and expensive clothes. Ty suspected that his medium brown hair had been artfully highlighted and that the shocking blue of his eyes was achieved via colored contact lenses. The artifice disgusted Ty. He had no respect for this man, but he attempted to submerge that emotion in the determination to do his duty. He turned his gaze to Beth Maitland.

Calmly, Beth linked her hands and rested them atop her purse. She was the one Ty addressed. “Are we expecting your attorney?”

“No,” she said. “He’s in court today, but I’m perfectly willing to carry on without him.”

Ty knew that he ought to be glad about that. Lawyers tended to gum up the works. But he didn’t much like the idea of her being here on her own, not with Dumont dropping unexpected witnesses on them.

“Are you sure about that?” he asked. “Because we can reschedule.”

Her generous mouth curved softly as she smiled at him, genuine blue eyes warm enough to speed up his heartbeat. Definite vibes. “It’s all right,” she said. “I want to get this over with. Besides, what do I have to fear? I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Dumont made a sound in the back of his throat, but when Ty looked at him, he was studying his fingernails. Ty pulled out his chair and straddled it.

“Okay.” He flipped open the file folder he had placed on the table in front of his seat earlier, extracted a pen from his inside coat pocket and clicked the point down. “I had intended to go over your individual statements with you, Ms. Maitland and Mr. Dumont. See if we can’t clear up some of the discrepancies. But the presence of Ms. Velasquez has changed the agenda.”

“How so?” Beth asked, clearly puzzled.

Ty glanced at Paul, wondering if his partner disliked this unexpected twist as much as he did, and chose his words carefully. “Ms. Maitland, during our last interview, you denied harassing Mr. Dumont and his wife, the deceased, did you not?”

Beth blinked. “Yes, I did. I do.”

“You never called the Dumonts on the telephone to complain that they had ruined your life by getting married?”

“No, never.”

“You didn’t go to the Dumont home, demanding to speak with Brianne Dumont and making a scene?”

“Of course not!”

Ty glanced at Paul, who quickly spoke. “Ms. Velasquez says you did.”

Beth’s mouth fell open and her eyes went wide. She turned an incredulous gaze down the table. “Letitia?”

The housekeeper raised her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Ms. Maitland. I say only what I must. I’m so sorry.”

“No need to apologize, Letitia,” Brandon Dumont said flatly. “Ms. Maitland knows what she’s done.”

“I know I did not harass or kill Brianne!” Beth exclaimed. “And you know it, too, Brandon Dumont!”

“Do I?” he replied coolly. “You were always fond of telling me what I knew and what I meant. Perhaps if you hadn’t been, I wouldn’t have left you for Brianne.”

Ty saw that she was trembling, but when she turned her blue gaze on him, he realized that the emotion racking her body was pure anger. “He’s lying! I broke up with him. He asked me to say that it was the other way around.”

“And you never harassed the Dumonts?” Ty asked.

“Never!”