Mysterious Millionaire

“Forget it. Just drive back to the office.”

Checking her rearview mirrors, she continued along Colfax Avenue. She didn’t see anyone following them; they’d made a clean getaway. Just in case, she turned south at the next intersection and drove toward the highway. “We need to call the police.”

“Nope.”

“Harry, those guys shot at us. They assaulted us.”

“But I returned fire.” He cleared his throat, breathing more easily. His clenched fist lifted from his chest. “And you kicked ass. You might look like a Pop-Tart, but you were a fire-breathing dragon.”

“My form wasn’t terrific.”

“You did good.” He reached over and patted her shoulder. Always stingy with his compliments, Harry followed up with a complaint. “Too bad you messed up and lost the camera.”

“Don’t even think about taking the cost out of my wages.” At a stoplight, she studied him again. He seemed to have recovered. “We need to fill out a police report. Those people are dealing drugs.”

“And I guarantee that the narcs are well aware. Leave the drug dealers to the cops, we’ve got problems of our own. Like how to get that juicy bonus from Victoria.”

Tomorrow, she’d put in a call to a friend at the Denver PD. At the very least, she wanted to see those children removed from a dangerous environment.

Harry sat up straighter. “Time to switch to Plan B.”

“I don’t like the sound of this.”

“My source is the housekeeper who works at the Crawford estate near Evergreen. She can—”

“Wait a sec. How did you get to know a housekeeper?” She glanced toward the backseat. “You’ve never tidied up anything in your whole life.”

“I served with her dad in Vietnam, and we stay in touch. Her name is Rachel Frakes. She’s actually the one who recommended me to Victoria.”

That connection explained a lot. The Schooner Detective Agency wasn’t usually the first choice of the rich and famous. “What’s Plan B?”

“Rachel gets you inside the estate. While you’re there, you dig up the dirt on Ben.”

“An undercover assignment.”

That didn’t sound too shabby. Maybe she’d impersonate a fancy-pants interior decorator. Or a horse wrangler. An upscale estate near Evergreen had to have several acres and a stable. Or she could be a guest—maybe an eccentric jet-setting heiress. A descendant of the Romanov czars. “Who am I supposed to be?”

He almost smiled. “You’ll see.”

Chapter Two

The next afternoon, Liz tromped down the back staircase from her brand-new undercover home—a third-floor garret at the Crawford mansion. Her starched gray uniform with the white apron reminded her of a Pilgrim costume she’d worn in fourth grade. The hem drooped below her knees, which was probably a good thing because she belatedly realized that she hadn’t shaved her legs since before she started studying for final exams. Entering the kitchen, she adjusted the starched white cap that clung with four bobby pins to her unruly blond hair.

A maid. She was supposed to be a maid. The thrills just kept coming.

At the bottom of the staircase, Rachel the housekeeper stood with fists planted on her hips. She was a tall, solidly built woman who would have fit right in with the Russian women’s weightlifting team. Her short blond hair was neatly slicked back away from her face. “Liz, may I remind you that a maid is supposed to be as unobtrusive as a piece of furniture.”

“Okay.” Call me Chippendale.

“While descending the staircase, you sounded like a herd of bison. We walk softly on the pads of our feet.”

“If I walk softly, can I carry a big stick?”

Rachel’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline. “Surely, you don’t intend to hit anything.”

“I’m joking.” If this had been a real job, Liz would have already quit. “Any other advice?”

“The proper answer to a question is yes or no. Not ‘okay.’ And certainly not a joke. Is that clear?”

Liz poked at her silly white cap. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Do something with your hair. It’s all over the place.”

She bit the inside of her mouth. “Yes, ma’am.”

“No perfume. No nail polish. No makeup.”

“No problem.” That part of the assignment suited her normal procedure. “You know, Rachel, Harry and I really appreciate this—”

“Say nothing more.” She pulled the door to the stairwell closed, making sure they were alone. “If anyone finds out what you’re doing here, I’ll deny any knowledge of your true profession.”

“Yes, ma’am.” In a low voice, she asked, “What can you tell me about Ben?”

“A fine-looking man but brooding. When Victoria told me about his drug problem, I had to act. I can’t stand the thought of his daughter being raised by an addict.”

“He doesn’t usually live here, does he?”

“His home is in Seattle where he runs Crawford Aero-Equipment. They supply parts to the big airplane manufacturers and also build small custom jets.”

Seemed like an extremely responsible job for a drug addict. “Why is he in Colorado?”

“This is his grandfather’s house. Jerod Crawford.” Her forehead pinched. “Jerod is a generous, brave man. He’s dying from a brain tumor.”

“And his grandson came home to take care of him.”

Again, Ben’s behavior wasn’t what she’d expect from a druggie degenerate. Maybe he was here to make sure he inherited big bucks when grandpa died.

“For right now, you’re needed in the kitchen,” Rachel said. “We have a dinner party for sixteen scheduled for this evening.”

Maybe some of these guests would provide negative evidence she could use against Ben. “Anybody I should watch for?”

“In what sense?”

“Other drug users. He must have gotten the name of his dealer from somebody.”

“That’s for you to investigate,” Rachel said. “In the meantime, report to the kitchen.”

“I’ll be there in a flash. Right after I comb my hair.”