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  “You do realize,” he said eventually, “that we haven’t got enough yet to take to the cops?”

  “Of course I do. That’s why I hired you to look into it.”

  “Correction, you came to me because Radnor was a lot more expensive, but we’ll let that pass for now.” He closed the notepad and dropped it into his shirt pocket. “We’ve got other things to do.”

  “Such as?”

  “I want to get a look inside the Mason house. I beg your pardon, the Mason residence.”

  She stared at him, intrigued in spite of her misgivings. “You’re going to break in?”

  “Hell, no. Private investigators only get to do stuff like that on television. You think I want to risk my license?”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  His reaction to her question was entirely logical, but for some reason she felt a flicker of disappointment. Maybe she had allowed her fantasies about private investigators to run amuck.

  “It probably wouldn’t be possible for you to sneak in, anyway,” she said coolly. “Desert View is a very secure, gated community. I doubt if you would have been able to get past the guards.”

  Ethan said nothing, just sat there doing enigmatic. For some reason, she was suddenly uneasy.

  She wondered if she’d offended him or, worse yet, made him feel awkward or embarrassed. Truax Investigations was a one-person agency, she reminded herself. He did not have the resources of a large security firm such as Radnor. She could not expect miracles. And you got what you paid for, she reminded herself for the ninth or tenth time.

  She cleared her throat. “I assume you’ve used up the two-hour minimum advance I gave you.”

  “You assume right,” he assured her a little too easily. “Blew right through it last night.”

  “I was afraid of that.” She drew herself up and fixed him with what she hoped was a steely glare. “How much more is this investigation going to cost me?”

  “Can’t say for sure, yet. Could be another day or two before I figure out what’s going on here.”

  “Another day or two?” She was appalled. “I can’t afford to pay you for that much time. Not at your rates.”

  “Relax. I think we can work something out. After all, I’m trying to get my business up and running here in Whispering Springs and you’re my first client. I want to make a good impression. Got to think of future referrals.”

  “What terms are you offering?” she asked warily.

  “My sister-in-law came up with an idea. I didn’t pay any attention at the time, but last night when I realized this case was going to take longer than expected, it occurred to me that her plan had some possibilities.”

  “Describe these possibilities.”

  “I need a little interior decorating work,” he said.

  That made her pause. “I rather like the look of your office. It has a certain shabby charm.”

  “Shabby charm?”

  “If you just replaced that oversized client chair and moved your desk into a better position and got rid of that mirror, I think you’ll find that the energy flow works very well.”

  “The energy flow works fine the way it is. The oversized chair is useful because it makes clients aware that they aren’t the ones in control in that room. Makes ’em want to turn all their problems over to me. And if the desk interrupts the energy flow that’s okay, too. I like it right where it is. Ditto with the mirror. It’s not my office that needs redecorating.”

  “What, then?”

  “My new house.” He smiled. “I mean, my new residence.”

  “Your residence?” She flattened her hands on the desk and shot to her feet. “Are you serious? You expect me to redesign your entire living space in exchange for a little more detective work?”

  “Sounded fair to me.”

  “Well, it certainly doesn’t sound that way to me. It sounds like you’re trying to—” she broke off abruptly, aware that the phrase, screw me did not seem appropriate.

  Ethan watched her, politely expectant. Something in his expression told her he knew exactly what she had been about to say. She felt the heat rise in her cheeks.

  She straightened her shoulders and folded her arms. “It sounds as if you intend for me to get the raw end of this deal. My fees for redesigning an entire residence are quite high, Mr. Truax. There is no way that I would spend that much on your detecting services.”

  “Okay, like I told you, I’m flexible. How about one room?”

  She hesitated and then shrugged. “Okay, one room.”

  “Deal. But I get to pick the room.”

  “Fine. Deal. Now tell me: how you plan to get into the Mason residence?”

  “That’s the easy part.” Ethan replied. “You’re going to get me inside.”

  “How?”

  “You can start by calling me Bob.”

  An hour later Ethan stood in the center of the master bedroom of the Mason house and tried to ignore the little tingle of adrenaline that was humming through him. He understood the source of the sensation. If he and Zoe were right about Jennifer Mason’s fate, they were standing in the same room as a killer.

  At least he was standing in the same room with Mason, he thought. Zoe, on the other hand, still had both feet out in the hall. She hovered in the bedroom doorway, arms crossed tightly beneath her breasts. Until now she had been doing a very good job of acting but he had noticed a new level of tension in her when they had reached this bedroom.

  Davis Mason watched him from a short distance away. Zoe had reported that he’d sounded somewhat surprised when she’d phoned to say that she wanted to bring a contractor to his house. But he had not had a problem with the suggestion. In fact, he had offered to leave his office early to meet them.

  “What do you think about my lighting ideas for this space, Bob?” Zoe asked from the door.

  “No problem,” Ethan said easily. “Plenty of room in here to drop the ceiling and put in recessed lighting. You want me to work up a detailed estimate?”

  “Not at this stage,” she said. “I just wanted your opinion on whether or not you thought the concept was feasible.”

  “Hell, yeah, it’ll work. The lighting won’t be a problem. Picture on the ceiling sounds weird, though.”

  Davis looked at Zoe. “You’re going to paint a picture on my ceiling?”

  “It’s an option that interests me. There are some excellent mural artists here in town who could do something very special in this space. An evening sky scene, perhaps.”

  Davis nodded thoughtfully. “I like the idea. Never would have thought of it myself.”

  “Gonna be expensive,” Ethan warned him. “The recessed lighting she wants to illuminate the ceiling doesn’t come cheap, and Lord only knows what the artist will charge.”

  Zoe fixed him with a steely look. “The cost is not your problem, Bob.”

  “She’s right,” Davis said. “Price is no object for me. My wife and I recently parted ways. I want a whole new look for this bedroom.”

  “Oh, man,” Ethan whistled softly. “Been there, done that a few times myself. I know all about the bedroom thing.”

  He caught Zoe’s startled reaction to that comment, but he ignored it. He was more interested in Davis’s frown.

  “The bedroom thing?” Davis stood unmoving. “I don’t understand.”

  Ethan shook his head. “This is the voice of experience talking. I’ve had three wives walk out on me and file for divorce. Just no pleasing some women, I guess.”

  “No,” Davis said evenly. “Women can be difficult.” He did not look in Zoe’s direction.

  “Difficult and damned expensive,” Ethan said. “Especially when it comes to beds. Beds cost a lot of money, you know.”

  “What does this have to do with beds?” Davis asked.

  Ethan shrugged. “The first thing you do, after you finish paying off your ex and the lawyers, is you start dating again, right? Hell, maybe you don’t even wait until the paperwork is finished. Maybe you ne
ed some understanding companionship right away, know what I mean?”

  “No, Bob,” Zoe said coldly from the hall. “I, for one, don’t know what you mean.”

  “No offense, Ms. Luce,” he said, making a show of exaggerated patience, “but these are facts of life for a guy in this situation. Like I was saying, you want to start dating again so you bring a new lady friend home. You turn on the music, have a couple of drinks, and you tell her your sad story.” He winked at Davis. “Am I right?”

  “I don’t know yet,” Davis said. “I haven’t resumed my social life.”

  “Yeah, well, take it from me, this is how it works. Anyhow, things are going fine out in the front room, so you suggest that the two of you adjourn to the bedroom. She’s okay with that. So far, so good. The two of you walk down the hall, enter the bedroom, and wham, no warning at all, the lady takes one look at the bed and stops cold.”

  Davis and Zoe were both watching him as if he had turned them to stone.

  “Why does she stop?” Davis sounded baffled.

  “Because of the damned bed, of course,” Ethan said. “She gets this weird expression on her face and she looks right at you and she asks you if that’s the bed where you and your ex-wife slept. Talk about a loaded question.”

  “Loaded is right,” Davis grimaced. “I think I’m beginning to get the picture here.”

  “Women don’t like to sleep or do anything else in the same bed you used with the ex, you see?” Ethan said. “Some kind of female thing, I guess.”

  He glanced at Zoe. She looked pained, but she kept silent.

  Davis, on the other hand, was at ease again, relaxed and smiling. He gave Ethan a knowing, man-to-man look. “I must admit, I hadn’t thought about that angle. Now that you’ve pointed it out, I can see where an old bed could be a bit awkward. However, that is one problem I’m happy to say that I don’t have.”

  “Yeah.” Ethan surveyed the large empty space in the center of the room. “I can see that. The bed’s gone.”

  “My ex took it with her when she left.”

  “Just backed up a truck and hauled it off, huh? Talk about insensitive.”

  “Along with the rest of her personal possessions. To be honest, I helped her pack.”

  “Yeah, I’ve done that a few times, too,” Ethan admitted. “I know where you’re coming from. Well, as far as the bed goes, count yourself lucky. It’ll cost you to replace it, but in the long run, it will be worth it. Trust me.”

  “I’ll take your word for it, Bob,” Davis murmured. “As you said, yours is the voice of experience. Three divorces?”

  “My lawyer sends me cards on my birthday and most major holidays.”

  “Sounds like he should send flowers,” Zoe said tightly. She took a decisive step back, moving away from the bedroom door. “I think we’ve seen enough, Bob. We’d better be on our way. If you will work up a rough idea on where you think the fixtures and electrical outlets could be located, I’ll include the information in my presentation to Davis on Friday.”

  “Sure.” Ethan paused in front of Davis and stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Mason. Good luck with the remodel. You can’t go wrong with Ms. Luce, here. She really knows her stuff.”

  Davis shook hands briefly, but his eyes were on Zoe. “I’m looking forward to working with her.”

  “Me, too,” Ethan said. “It’s always interesting, know what I mean?”

  Zoe did not respond. She turned on her heel and disappeared down the hall.

  She was certainly in a big hurry to leave the bedroom, Ethan thought. He wondered about that as he followed her outside to her car. He was aware that she had been tense when he had explained his plans for getting inside Mason’s home, but she had cooperated willingly. Her nerves had seemed steady enough throughout the tour of the house. But all that had changed when they’d reached the master bedroom.

  He got into the passenger seat and closed the door. Zoe slipped behind the wheel, fastened her seatbelt, started the engine, and drove away very quickly.

  He put on his dark glasses and studied her taut profile. Her delicate jaw was tight. She had a death grip on the wheel. She drove with the focused concentration of a professional race car driver closing in on the checkered flag.

  “Are you okay?” he asked when she slowed to approach the guardhouse.

  “Of course I’m okay.”

  “You did fine back there at Mason’s place,” he offered. “If I didn’t know you were a decorator, I’d have said you’d had some experience in my line.”

  Her knuckles whitened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Just that you did the undercover thing with flair.”

  “Flair.”

  “Yeah. Flair. At least until we got to the bedroom. You started to get a little shaky at that point.”

  “Maybe it was because you and Davis got into that ridiculous conversation about changing beds when you changed wives.”

  “Wasn’t ridiculous. It’s a fact. Like I told Mason, I’ve run into the problem a few times.”

  “You really have been through three divorces? I thought maybe you’d made up that story to get him to talk about the missing bed.”

  “It was the truth.”

  “Good grief.” She sounded dazed. “Children?”

  “No.” Okay, so she obviously did not think that he was Mr. Perfect. He already knew that. Why the hell did he care about her opinion on the subject? “What about you? I take it you’re not married?”

  “No.”

  “Divorced?”

  “No.” She braked for the guardhouse. “I was with someone for a long time. It didn’t work out.”

  He could have heard the slamming of that door from a mile away, he thought. Whatever it was that had happened in that relationship, it had left scars.

  Slammed doors always piqued his curiosity. He wondered what would happen if he probed a little deeper.

  At that moment, the guard emerged from the security station. Zoe lowered her window and murmured something brisk and polite. The guard nodded and wished her a good day.

  Zoe put her foot down on the throttle and sent the vehicle hurtling through the gates and out onto the main road. She was obviously keen to get away from Desert View.

  “Well?” she said. “Did you pick up any useful clues back there?”

  “Maybe.”

  She shot him an irritated look. “That’s the best you can do? Maybe?”

  “For the moment.” He glanced back over his shoulder. The security guard was making an entry in a log. Methodical type. Radnor Security Systems was big on procedures. It was probably the secret of their success.

  “What do we do now?” Zoe asked.

  He turned his attention back to the road. “Now I find the missing bed.”

  “Why on earth do you want to waste time tracking down the bed?”

  “Something tells me that when I find it, I’ll find out what happened to Jennifer Mason.”

  Chapter Seven

  The following afternoon, Zoe stood alone in the front hall of the Taylor residence and savored the gracious warmth that flowed through the space.

  After a year in her new profession, she had discovered that this was her favorite moment in the design process. Every detail from window treatments to carpets was in place. The furniture had been delivered and positioned. The craft and construction people were gone at last. Her creation was complete, but the owners had not yet moved into their new home.

  She had the place to herself. It was the only chance she would ever have to walk through the spaces alone and critique her own work. It was her one opportunity to decide whether or not she had achieved her design goals.

  This large residence had been one of her first big projects, and it had been a challenge. She had worked on it for months. After giving her a detailed list of their requirements, the Taylors had announced that they were leaving everything in her hands and had taken off on a world cruise.

  “My husband and I went throug
h one complete interior design experience together early on in our marriage,” Mary Taylor had explained with a shudder. “We almost got divorced because of the stress. We do many things well as a couple, but interior design is not one of them. This time around, we want a turnkey operation. When we get back, I want to walk back into a complete, finished home.”

  The Taylors were due to return next month. Zoe thought they would be pleased. They were in their sixties, successful, high-energy, gregarious people with an active lifestyle. She had set out to create a serene background against which their vivacious natures would shine.

  The residence was brand-new with well-proportioned lines, high ceilings, and sweeping vistas. She had worked closely with the architect because she had wanted to be certain that her designs enhanced his well-executed spaces. Granted, she had been new at the job, but her instincts and her degree in fine arts had both told her that harmony was best achieved when the architectural and interior elements worked together.

  She slipped the heavy crimson tote off her shoulder, put it down on the tile of the front hall, and walked into the spacious great room. The small, intimate seating groups that she had used to bring a comfortable sense of scale to the vast interior worked well. She imagined the room filled with a hundred guests. The energy and noise of a lot of people gathered in one space could be difficult to orchestrate, but she was confident that this room could handle the job.

  She continued her walk-through, making tiny adjustments here and there. A sense of calm and tranquility enveloped her. It occurred to her that she had come here today not just because it was a good opportunity to take one last look at her work, but because she had been badly in need of the serenity she had designed into this residence.

  The second visit to the master bedroom in Davis Mason’s house had left her more disturbed than ever. The screaming in the walls had not dimmed. The invisible pain was at such an intense level that she could not understand why others failed to notice it.

  Davis had appeared oblivious, just as he had the last time. But there had been a few seconds there when she had wondered if Ethan had unconsciously picked up some trace of what she felt emanating from the terrible room. It had to do with the way he had moved in that space, she decided. It was as if he’d become more alert or something. He hadn’t walked or strolled through the room; he had prowled.