Dying to Please Read online

  He quickly scanned it, flipping the pages. Suddenly he paused, and his head came up, sharp blue eyes fastening on Sarah.

  “Miss Stevens, did you know under the terms of this will you inherit a substantial sum of money?”

  CHAPTER 10

  SARAH BLINKED, MORE BEMUSED THAN STUNNED. SHE WAS a little punchy and so tired that she wasn't certain she had heard him correctly. She even looked around, as if there might be another Miss Stevens in the room. Not finding anyone, she looked back at Cahill to find him still focused on her. “Do you mean me?” she asked, still not quite making the connection.

  “Judge Roberts's butler, Sarah Stevens. That's you.”

  She nodded, and in the middle of a nod brought her hand up to rub her forehead. Maybe it was lack of sleep, maybe it was too much caffeine, but she was developing a wall-banger of a headache. “He left something to me?” To her distress, her voice wavered, and she felt her lower lip begin to quiver before she sternly bit down on it. She couldn't do anything, however, to hide the bright sheen of tears in her eyes.

  “Of course he did,” Barbara said. “He told us he was going to.”

  “He . . . he never mentioned anything to me.”

  “He thought you'd argue,” Jon explained.

  “Excuse me,” Sarah said abruptly, and fled to the bathroom before she disgraced herself by breaking down and sobbing like a child. Her face crumpled as soon as she shut the bathroom door, and she grabbed a towel to hold over her mouth to muffle the sound.

  By sheer force of will she brought herself back under control, choked back the sobs, and with a tissue blotted her eyes before the tears could fall. A few deep breaths brought a small measure of calm.

  She didn't think anything had ever touched her so much as learning the Judge had left a bequest to her. She was well paid, and she had loved taking care of him. She had loved him, for his sweetness and humor, his old-fashioned manners, his basic goodness. She hadn't expected any inheritance, and in truth would indeed have argued against it. She had been with him not quite three years; how could that in any way supplant his children, his lifetime friends?

  But evidently he hadn't thought the same, and neither did his family. The thought of their generosity brought the tears welling again, and she determinedly blotted them away. She would not cry, not here and not now. The family had enough to bear without her adding her own emotional distress to the load.

  A cold wet washcloth cooled her cheeks, and felt good to her aching head when she pressed it to her forehead. She would have liked to lie down with an ice pack on her head, but, like crying, that, too, would have to be postponed.

  Feeling more in control, she rejoined them in the parlor. “I'm sorry,” she murmured, resuming her seat beside Cahill.

  “I take it you didn't know.'

  She shook her head. He either believed her or he didn't. She couldn't work up enough energy to care.

  “Daddy swore us to secrecy,” Barbara said. A tiny, sad smile wavered on her mouth. “He got a kick out of sneaking something by you. He said it was the only thing he ever got by you.”

  “He said you confiscated his Snickers bars,” Shaw put in, a real smile breaking over his face and banishing the sadness and tension. “He always gorged on them when he came to visit, because he knew he couldn't have them when he got home.”

  “And his Twinkies. I'd sneak Twinkies to him when I came,” Blair confessed.

  Sarah groaned, looking at a roomful of guilty, suddenly smiling faces. “No wonder I had such a time getting his cholesterol level down!”

  Barbara patted her knee. “He loved you for taking care of him. We love you for taking care of him. When he mentioned putting you in his will, we were all for it.”

  Cahill cleared his throat, drawing attention back to him. “Thank you for the information,” he said, getting to his feet. “I know this is a difficult time for you all, and I appreciate your help. I want you to know I'm sorry about your father, and we're doing everything we can to find the perpetrator. I'll run these names, and with any luck we'll find one of these guys in the area.”

  Like lemmings, everyone else stood, and a flurry of handshakes and thank-yous broke out as Cahill slowly but inexorably inched his way toward the door. Somehow he had Sarah by the elbow and was pulling her with him. “I'll walk you to your truck,” he said.

  Inwardly she sighed. He probably had some more questions to ask her. Since she was included in the will, in his mind she was probably that much more suspect. But he was doing his job, so she grabbed her bag and sunglasses and managed a quick good-bye to everyone, with instructions to call her if they needed anything, before he had her out the door.

  There was a couple in the elevator, so he didn't say anything on the ride down to the lobby. They stepped outside, and the cold, damp wind slapped her in the face, making her shiver. The temperature seemed to be dropping, and the drizzle had progressed to a steady light rain. She hugged her arms and said, “I didn't kill him.”

  “I'm fairly sure of that myself,” he said mildly.

  Startled, she looked up at him. “Then why all the suspicious questions?”

  “Because it's my job. You'll be checked out, you'll be looked at, and you'll be questioned.”

  “Cross every t and dot every i.”

  “You got it.” He took off his jacket and held it over her head. “Come on.”

  She shivered and hurried her steps as he strode across the parking lot, with her huddled under his jacket like a chick under his wing. The first thing she was going to do when she got into the TrailBlazer was turn on the seat heater.

  “What's your room number?” he asked. “I'll have someone bring a jacket to you. That's if you're going back to the inn now, that is.”

  She gave him her room number and added wryly, “I hope I make it back there without falling asleep.”

  His hand abruptly tightened on her elbow, hauling her to a stop. “I'll drive you.”

  “And then I'd be stranded. Thanks, but I'll make it. I'm punchy and I have a killer headache, but the coffee will keep me awake for a little while.”

  “You need to eat.”

  “I ate,” she said, startled by all this concern. “You watched me.”

  “You ate four bites. I counted.”

  “And it was all I could do to swallow those. Don't push, Cahill.”

  He had shifted so that he was between her and the truck, the breadth of his shoulders blocking some of the wind from her. The rain was soaking his back, but he ignored it as he stared silently down at her, his expression unreadable. Even through her fatigue, she felt something uneasy begin to stir. “What?” she demanded, moving back half a step.

  He shook his head. “Nothing. You're out on your feet. Go get some sleep.”

  “That sounds like a plan.” He moved out of the way, and Sarah hit the remote to unlock the door, hurrying to get out of the wind and rain.

  “Sarah,” he said as she put the key in the ignition. He still held his jacket, rather than putting it back on.

  “Yes?”

  “I probably don't have to say this, but don't leave town.”

  Cahill followed her to the Mountain Brook Inn, just to make certain she got there, and that she didn't endanger herself or any other motorist. When she turned left into the inn's parking lot, he tapped his horn lightly in good-bye, and she lifted one hand in acknowledgment but she didn't turn her head to look.

  She was holding up okay, but the stunned, desolate expression in her dark eyes was arousing his protective instincts. Not cop instincts, but man-woman instincts, exactly what he didn't need.

  For one thing, he'd been telling the truth when he said he was fairly certain she hadn't killed the Judge. Fairly certain, though, was a long way from completely certain. She hadn't even asked how much money she would inherit, which wasn't normal. Maybe she would have held off in front of the family, but when they were alone, she should have asked . . . unless she already knew. And if she knew she stood to inherit a h