Chapter 27
He sure hated to break the mood, but this was important. Still, he nearly lost his train of thought at the sight of Gabby’s glowing brown skin against the tangle of sheets. She was so stunning. Clothed Gabby was distracting enough, but naked? He could barely wrench his mind back to the main point.
“The tea they tested showed no signs of any kind of toxin, plant, chemical or otherwise.”
She blinked and put a hand to her hair, which was coming loose from its pretty twists. “So the tea wasn’t to blame? This is great news for Tamara!”
“Not so fast. The police said they did find faint traces of something, but it was too inconclusive. That’s different from what this test is showing.”
He watched as she sorted through possibilities. “Maybe someone dosed the tea she was drinking. That would narrow it down to someone at the hotel. Which would also rule out Tamara. Tamara never goes to the Lightkeeper Inn. I still don’t see how this doesn’t help her.”
“I can’t help thinking about another possibility,” he said carefully. Her brother was a cop, and her mother a politician. She wouldn’t like this.
“What’s that?”
“That the police misrepresented the test results in order to justify investigating Tamara.”
Her expression shifted from puzzled to pure alarm. “Oh shit. I don’t know, that sounds like a big jump, and a big accusation.”
“I’m not accusing them, I’m just looking at possible explanations.”
“There could be others. Maybe someone at the lab or the hospital messed up. Besides, something poisoned her, right? They were sure of that, and she wasn’t the only one. Four victims is not a coincidence.”
He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Sure. Of course.”
She gave herself a shake, as if waking herself up. “I’m just saying, we can’t make accusations against the police without solid proof. But I’m a professional. I go where the evidence leads.”
Fair enough. He could spot a “keep out” sign when he saw one.
He’d just have to trust her when she said she’d be professional and not jump to defend the police work at the cost of Tamara’s freedom.
“How do you want to handle this? Do you want to share these test results with the police? They do help clear Tamara. But they also put a spotlight on their investigation.”
“It’s tricky,” she said soberly. “If there are police shenanigans going on, we don’t want to reveal that we know too early on. If we can’t trust them, we shouldn’t trust them, if that makes sense.”
Good point. “Fuck.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “What a mess.”
With a sheet clutched to her chest, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up. “Like I said, we need proof if the police are fudging things. Did they share the report from the hospital with you, the one they said was inconclusive but somehow pointed to a plant toxin?”
“No, I just heard about it from Luke, who was told about it by the Harbortown police. There are probably patient confidentiality issues.”
“Then let’s ask Safiya to request it. We need to see it for ourselves.”
He grinned at her. “I see why you’re so good at what you do. That’s a brilliant idea. They can’t keep her own blood test results from her. Want to call her while I make us some coffee?”
“I’ll call her right now. I won’t even wait to get dressed.” She padded to the nightstand where she’d left her phone.
“I’m a fan of that.”
I’m a fan of you, he wanted to add. Everything about you. Even your wariness.
Which was why he didn’t say it out loud. He didn’t want to rush her. She was like a cat. She needed to make up her own mind in her own time, and the best thing he could do would be to be there when she was ready.
After one last lingering look at her nakedness, he went to the kitchen to get the coffee going. Someone had added a new bright yellow espresso machine to the scene, and he busied himself with tamping the coffee grounds and locating cups.
The condo was available to any of the Carmichaels any time they needed a place to crash while in Portland, but some people spent more time here than others.
Fiona often stayed here after a night out, as had Carson.
But since they were both currently behind bars, the last thing he expected was the beep of the key code and the click of the door unlocking.
His entire body went tense—was it Fiona, just out on bail, which could happen at any moment? Had Carson finagled an escape? The twins, back from college and planning secret mischief?
But no—it was Celine, dressed casually in white jeans and a flowy tunic top, with gold-rimmed sunglasses perched on top of her head. She gave a low whistle at the sight of him in his t-shirt and briefs.
“My lucky day.”
His back teeth clenched. Celine wasn’t much older than him—late thirties—and this wasn’t the first time she’d struck a flirtatious tone with him. He kept his own voice cold. “What are you doing here?”
“I have every right to be here. Nothing’s finalized yet. I’m still Mrs. John Carmichael the Third and you should show me some respect.” She breezed past him, bringing him a sniff of her extremely expensive Guerlain perfume.
“Not a chance, traitor. What are you doing here?” he repeated.
“You don’t want to know. And I mean that sincerely.”
She kept on walking, past the kitchen, and he realized she was heading for the bedroom where he and Gabby had slept last night. “Wait—” he called, but it was too late.
Gabby emerged from the room, nearly colliding with Celine. At least she was fully dressed, though not quite finished buttoning her blouse.
“Well then,” said Celine, sounding genuinely surprised.
“Hi, Celine. We met once before, at the inn. Gabby Ramon.” Gabby offered her hand in an oddly formal way. Taking the dignified approach.
“Yes, I remember it well. You quizzed my husband about everything related to the hotel’s history, and the whole time you intended to sabotage us.”
Gabby dropped her hand, but not her smile. “I’m sorry, don’t you mean ex-husband?”
Barnaby wanted to laugh out loud at the expression on Celine’s face. No need to jump to Gabby’s rescue. She could handle herself.
“Such a smart girl.” Changing her approach, Celine shifted to her patented breathy coo. “You’ve chosen the cream of the Carmichael crop, haven’t you?”
“Excuse me?”
“Well, Carson’s a lost cause, Luke’s taken, Fiona likes men for the most part, and the twins are a little young for you. Nice work snagging the one good option. I just hope there’s something left for you two after the divorce and the fund and all that nonsense.”
Such poison, delivered in such a soft voice. Had Celine always been that way? He didn’t think so, because in the beginning, she’d been different. Sweet. But maybe it had all been an act. Access to money could change people, he’d seen it many times.
“Then again,” she went on, “I doubt there’s much to worry about. Barnaby will never settle down. That’s not his jam. And a Black Carmichael? That would be the day. It would almost be entertaining to see the family deal with that. It might be a bigger scandal than our little shenanigans.”
Barnaby felt a sense of shame come over him. Being spoken about like an object to be acquired, rather than a human being, was demeaning. But not quite as offensive as what she’d said to Gabby. If not for him, she wouldn’t be subjected to Celine’s nastiness.
“If Gabby agreed to become a Carmichael, it would be the best thing to ever happen to our family.” His intense tone made her draw back in surprise. “And you have no idea what I will or won’t do. You should stick with worrying about your court case.”
He didn’t dare look at Gabby, since you could interpret what he’d said as a kind of ass-backwards proposal—definitely not what she’d be after right now. Was he going to make her run for the hills by coming on too strong?
But he shouldn’t have underestimated Gabby.
“Yes, how’s that court case coming, Celine? Last I heard, the settlement conferences weren’t going well. Something about breaking the prenup with those misdemeanor charges? My guess is that’s why you’re here right now. There’s something in this condo you want to use to help yourself.”
If possible, Barnaby’s admiration for Gabby went up another notch. Not only did she keep her cool, but she’d turned the tables on Celine. She’d caught his stepmother by surprise with that move. “I don’t know what you mean,” she snipped.
“That’s cool if you want to play it that way.” Gabby shrugged and leaned against the door jamb, blocking the entrance to the bedroom. “But we’re still using that room you’re headed for. I haven’t even finished changing from all that hot interracial sex we just had.”
Barnaby nearly choked at that one. So did Celine. “Just who do you think you are, anyway?”
“Gabby Ramon. Didn’t I already cover that?”
Barnaby stepped to Gabby’s side to emphasize her claim to the room. “What are you after, Celine? Maybe if you come clean we can help.”
“Why would you do that?” Looking sullen, she cocked one hip, resting a hand on it.
Her manicure was perfect, a pale oyster shade that showed off the subtle shine of her stack of rings.
Even if she came away with nothing in the divorce, she’d keep her jewels.
Maybe that was what she wanted from the bedroom.
“I’m not promising anything. But you’re still negotiating your settlement with Dad. With the position I’m now in, why would you want to alienate me?”
Her glance flicked between them a few times.
Finally, she threw up her hands. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.
There’s a reason I said you don’t want to know what I’m looking for.
” All of her floaty, flirty mannerisms gone, she looked directly into Barnaby’s eyes.
“It’s about you and your mother. Now let me in. ”
Celine took advantage of his shock by pushing past him, into the bedroom. Gabby followed close behind her, nudging Barnaby with her elbow on her way past.
“What does that mean?” he demanded. “What about me?”
“And your mother.” She crossed to a painting on the wall, an airy watercolor of a generic lighthouse that maybe looked vaguely like the one in Lightkeeper Bay. She pushed it aside to reveal a safe embedded in the wall.
He caught Gabby’s questioning glance and shook his head. No, he hadn’t known there was a safe back there. Just another secret in the Carmichael world.
“What about Annabeth?”
“Not her. The other one. Sophie.”
Another shock traveled through him. His father had demanded that Barnaby keep the real identity of his mother to himself. Had he told Celine? Typical John Carmichael III, believing the rules never applied to him.
“So you know about Sophie.”
“Only recently. With John’s dementia, things started coming out that he used to keep to himself. Don’t blame him.” She punched in a code to the safe and the door sprang open. It was empty.
She whirled around. “What did you do with it?”
“With what?” He and Gabby exchanged a mystified glance. “What was in there?”
“Proof.” She scanned the rest of the room, the messy bed, the clothes still littered about. “I guess you wouldn’t have spent the night like that if you’d taken it.”
He’d had enough of her cryptic game. “Proof of what? Come on, Celine. What’s going on?”
“Proof that your father is no angel either,” she burst out. “He’s trying to break our prenup because of some bullshit about my legal issues. But he did much worse than me.”
Legal issues seemed like a strange way to refer to her conspiring against her husband, but whatever. “What did he do, other than the usual infidelity and ruthless business practices?”
“He helped cover up a murder. Your mother’s murder.”