“I don’t want another debacle like Sunday.”
“Neither do I,” Jenks said. “I got this.”
Hank clicked off and lay back down on the sofa. He needed to catch some shut-eye before his mother woke up, discovered that Glenn wasn’t in bed with her, and came downstairs looking for him.
Chapter 32
Thomas reached for his cell phone on the bedside table before realizing that the chime was coming not from it but from the intercom panel. He threw off the covers and went over to the keypad on the wall. The blinking red light was labeled “Front Gate.” Parting the window drapes, he saw a pair of headlights shining through the iron pickets. Swearing under his breath, he returned to the keypad and pressed the button. “Jenks?”
“Wrong. But that’s an interesting guess.”
Trapper.
“What do you want?”
“Well, for one thing I want to know why you would assume I was Deputy Sheriff Jenks, dropping by in the middle of the night, when this isn’t even his county.” He waited, then taunted, “Nothing? Not even a plausible lie? We can’t be friends if you don’t open up to me, Tom.”
“I hope you have good news.”
“Matter of fact, I do. I’ve got such a tight grip on your balls they’re turning blue. Oh, you meant good news for you? No, sorry.” Changing his tone to one of no nonsense, he said, “Open the gate.”
Thomas pressed the button.
He pulled on the cashmere sweat suit he’d been lounging in before going to bed, slid his feet into leather slippers, and left his bedroom. He’d reached the top of the staircase before he thought to go back. He tiptoed to the closed door of Greta’s room and put his ear to it. He didn’t hear a sound, and no light shone beneath the door.
Stepping quickly but as quietly as possible, he retraced his steps, descended the stairs, disengaged the security alarm, and pulled open the front door just as Trapper was reaching for the bell.
“Please don’t. My wife’s asleep.”
Trapper said, “I was beginning to wonder if you’d rolled back over.”
Kerra Bailey was with him. Both looked untidy and tired, but Thomas was discomfited by the way Kerra was staring at him, with perplexed concentration, as though trying to discern what was behind his eyes.
“Did you know when I interviewed you last year that I was the girl in the Pegasus Hotel picture?”
Her question caught him off guard. Unprepared to answer just yet, he opened the door wider. “Come in.” The pair stepped into the foyer. Thomas reset the alarm system, then motioned them toward his study.
“I’m surprised you don’t have guards,” Trapper remarked. “Or do you, and they’re hiding in the bushes? Snipers on the roof? Dobermans on sentry?”
Thomas steeled himself against Trapper’s wisecracking. He wasn’t going to let it get to him tonight. “After Tiffany’s murder, although there hadn’t been a breach of our property, we did employ security guards for a time. But rather than giving Greta peace of mind, their ‘lurking,’ as she called it, only made her more nervous.”
“Security cameras?” Trapper asked.
“No.”
“Right. You wouldn’t. They could catch a corrupt cop paying you a call at an ungodly hour.”
As they entered the study, Kerra went directly to the fireplace and looked up at the portrait above it. “Your daughter was beautiful.”
“Inside and out.” Thomas gestured to the bar in the corner. “Can I get you something to drink?” They declined. “You don’t mind if I do?”
“It’s your liquor,” Trapper replied.
Thomas poured himself a neat scotch from the Baccarat decanter. When he turned back around, Trapper was twirling the madam’s pearl-handled pistol around his index finger like a gunslinger.
“Look what I found in your desk drawer, Tom. I’ll hold on to it for the time being. Not that there’s any mistrust between us.”
Thomas indicated an armchair to Kerra. She sat. He calmly walked over to the leather love seat and sat down. Trapper remained with his rear end propped against the edge of Thomas’s desk. He had put the pistol down but within his reach.