Christmas Cover-up

He was well-acquainted with Leticia Grant-Harris-Mason-Lopez-Jones-Wyndemere. Adding to his woes, Rue said, “She’s married to a judge now. If she doesn’t get what she wants, she’ll take you to court.”

“Aw, hell,” Danny muttered. “Might as well get this over with. Come with me, Rue.”

They left the parlor and went down the hallway to a grand foyer with marble floors, a sweeping staircase and an ornate crystal chandelier. A couple of the plainclothes detectives were talking to Cody Berringer. As soon as Cody spotted her, he moved to her side.

In spite of everything that was going on—the cops, the danger, the murder—Cody’s nearness ignited a happy little spark inside her. When he took her hand, the flicker became a warm glow.

The front door swung open and her mother stalked inside. Her blond-streaked hair swept back from her forehead. Her crimson silk blouse and black wool suit outlined a slender, expensively maintained figure. She went directly to Danny and confronted him. “I told Ruth Ann that it was a mistake to bake cakes for your party.”

“It should have been a good opportunity,” Danny said.

“Nothing good ever came from Bob Lindahl.” Her blue eyes scanned the opulent foyer. “Although I’ve got to admit that this house is impressive.”

Rue could almost hear the cash register in her mother’s head ringing up the cost of the chandelier and the oil paintings on the walls. Leticia had a sensible appreciation for the bottom line.

She held out her arms. “Oh, Ruth Ann. If anything had happened to you—” Her voice choked off. Her eyes welled. Tears? That was so out of character. Her mother never cried.

Leticia pulled her into a ferocious embrace that went on long enough for Rue to begin to feel a little uncomfortable. Then Leticia held her at arm’s length, studied her and frowned. “Is that blood on your sleeves?”

“It’s not mine.”

“Why are you still wearing that shirt?” She swung back toward Danny. “Couldn’t you find her some clean clothing?”

Cody stepped forward. “You’re right, Mrs. Wyndemere. Rue needs to get home and change clothes. She’s had one hell of a rough day.”

Leticia surveyed him from head to toe. “Who are you?”

“Cody Berringer.”

As he shook her hand, she said, “I’ve heard of you. You work at T&T. Taylor and Tomlinson.”

“That’s correct.”

“A very successful firm,” she said.

Rue wasn’t in the least bit surprised that her mother knew of Cody. Leticia had an encyclopedic knowledge of Denver’s social scene. It was part of her job as a wedding planner—a skill she’d developed when planning her own five marriages.

“And you’re Judge Wyndemere’s wife,” Cody said.

“Small world.” The barest hint of a smile touched her mother’s lips. “How do you know Ruth Ann?”

“We’re going to dinner on Saturday. At Chez Mona.”

Hoping to head off any questions about how long she’d been dating Cody, Rue said, “I’m tired. I’d like to leave now.”

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine, Mom. This is nobody’s fault. I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“The wrong place.” Leticia shot another glare at Danny. “What kind of mayor are you going to be? You can’t even keep your own stepdaughter safe.”

“We had plenty of security at this event. Bodyguards. Four of the top cops in the city.”

“And a lot of good it did.” She jabbed an accusing finger. “You and Bob used to always get into trouble together. And your other cop buddy, Mike Blanco. Oh, I remember—you called yourselves the three amigos. The three stooges is more like it.”

Rue tightened her grip on her mother’s hand, hoping to rein her in. “It’s okay, Mom. Calm down.”

“I’m taking you home with me, Ruth Ann.”

Danny cleared his throat. “It’s best if she comes with me. I have better security at my house.”

“Why does she need security? Is she in danger?”

Before they could get into a discussion of profes sional hit men, Rue said, “I’m not going home with you, Mom. Or with Danny. I have my own place.”

“Half a duplex in the middle of town,” her mother said disparagingly. “Crime central.”

“Is it? I never saw anybody killed until I came out here to the suburbs.” She looked toward the homicide detective who stood near the door. “Are we done here?”

The detective nodded. “I’ll be in touch. We need to schedule a time for you to look through mug shots.”

It went without saying that she’d do anything to help their investigation. “I’ll call first thing in the morning.”

“There’s one more thing,” the detective said. “Don’t talk to the media. We need to control the flow of information.”

She nodded. “Do you have the keys to my van?”

“I’m sorry, Miss. Forensics is still going over your vehicle. There might be trace evidence.”

Swell. “That kind of leaves me stranded, Detective.”

Cody stepped forward. “I’ll give you a ride.”

My hero. Once again, he was coming to her rescue. “Thank you.”

She’d go home, get a good night’s sleep and try to forget that she’d had a front-row seat at a professional assassination. She wanted to banish the image of Bob Lindahl, bloody and dying, into the dark recesses of her mind where she locked away all her other bad memories—all those things that were better left unsaid.

Chapter Three

Rue leaned back against the smooth leather seat in Cody’s Mercedes sedan. Compared to the way she bounced along in her cake van, this was like riding on a thick, luxurious, heavenly cloud. If that were true, then Cody must be an angel. Yeah, right.

She wasn’t that naive. Though she hadn’t figured out why Cody was being so attentive to her, there had to be an ulterior motive.

Her gaze slid to the left, and she studied him. His dark-gray suit jacket fitted perfectly. On the cuff of his white shirt, she saw a monogram. These were expensive clothes, tailor-made. Definitely not the flowing robes of an angel.

And he was devilishly handsome. Shadows outlined his cheekbones and chiseled jawline. A lock of black hair fell across his forehead.

He adjusted one of the dials on the dashboard. “Warm enough for you? Should I turn up the heat?”