“I haven’t quite worked it out,” Flynn said truthfully. “But you can’t dismiss the fact that a paroled armed robber with a history of assault is suspected in two recent robberies in the area.”
“All right . . . but what about the visit we paid to the waterfront? That guy has an alibi a mile long that says he wasn’t anywhere near the area that day. Thought that black eye convinced you of that.”
“Hardly. If not him, perhaps someone like him.”
“Okay, so say we go with your robber theory,” Joe continued. “The dogs would have barked, dude. And no one heard a dog bark all afternoon. It was Wasserman, I am telling you. So now our task is to figure out why Wasserman might want his wife dead. And if you ask me, going to a shindig like this not two weeks after burying her is not cool.”
“He was actually quite reverent of her memory this evening.”
“Uh-huh. And the chicks hanging all over him?”
“Merely passing along their condolences to a bereaved, yet wealthy chap,” Flynn said with a grin.
Joe looked at him sidelong as he pulled into the parking lot where Flynn had left his rental. “You really believe it wasn’t him?”
“I really believe it.”
Joe sighed, shook his head. “This is the problem with the U.K., you know. Not enough homicides to give you guys some instincts.”
Flynn laughed, opened the passenger door. “See you tomorrow, eh?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Joe said.
Flynn got out, waited until Joe drove away before getting in his car.
Then, instead of pointing his car home, he drove in the direction of the Feizel mansion to have the last word with Rachel Lear.
When he arrived back at the mansion, the party was clearly winding down. Several happy guests were on the drive, laughing and screeching at one another as they attempted to find their automobiles. The two footmen were ushering them into the nearest vehicle they could and directing traffic.
Flynn parked at the bottom of the drive and walked up to the house. He did not go in the front door, however, but kept walking straight on, into the shadowy drive that led up to the service entrance.
He heard Rachel’s laugh as he rounded a flower bed, then saw her near the garage in the company of the bartender. They were laughing, talking low. Flynn stopped, stepped back, beneath the shadow of a tree. He couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, but he got the distinct impression that the chap wanted Rachel to come along with him. After some giggling and nattering on, she gestured behind her, to the mansion. After a few moments, the chap walked on, shoving his hands into his Members Only jacket as he strolled down the drive.
Splendid, Flynn thought. He stepped out of the trees, looked back to where they’d been standing. Rachel was there, walking just outside the service entrance with something draped over her arm. But instead of proceeding down the drive, she paused near the rubbish bins, had a quick look around, shoved the thing on her arm into her bag, had another quick look around, then stepped behind the bins . . . and knelt down, out of his sight.
What in God’s name is she about?
Flynn couldn’t stand it. He moved in that direction, but he heard her voice and stopped again.
“Stop it,” she was saying. But to whom? “You want to live like this for the rest of your life? Then stop it.”
The shrill sound of an angry mewling cat startled Flynn, and it got louder and louder as he stood there. At least he thought it was a cat—it might also have been a shrieking banshee.
Then Rachel suddenly screeched, and the animal howled, and a horrible noise of chains and breaking glass and God knew what else could be heard as she suddenly appeared from behind the rubbish bin and began running down the drive.
Flynn stepped in her path. Rachel shrieked again, clamped a hand over her mouth once she recognized him, grabbed his arm, and very nervously glanced over her shoulder. “What are you doing here?” she demanded in a very hot whisper.
“One might ask the same of you.”
“I’m—”
She was interrupted by a sudden flood of light everywhere, the sound of a door swinging open, and a male voice calling, “Boots?”
But Rachel was suddenly and wildly waving her hands at Flynn, gesturing for him to run, and she obviously meant it, for she was running. Flynn looked back, saw the shoulder of a man. “What the hell?” the man exclaimed, and Flynn did what Rachel suggested.
He ran.
Chapter Eighteen
He caught her just past the garage, and with a firm grip on her elbow, forced her to run to his car faster than he would have thought possible in those high-heeled boots. Opening the passenger door, he shoved her inside, then rushed around to the driver’s seat, turned over the ignition, and threw the auto into gear before he asked, “Why are we running?”
“Because I just did something I shouldn’t have done!” she exclaimed breathlessly, twisting in her seat to peer behind them as he drove around the circle drive and down again.