Twice Kissed - Lisa Jackson [95]
“Right on, sister,” he mocked, and she nearly came out of her seat. “Now, Ms. McCrae, is that all?” His expression was unforgiving, his eyes as gray-blue and stormy as a raging sea in winter.
“For now.”
“Well, praise be!” He slammed the door shut and strode to the driver’s side, where he slid behind the steering wheel, twisted on the ignition, and pumped the gas pedal. When the truck started, he eased out of the parking lot. “Where to?”
“Marquise’s house.”
“Don’t you think it’s off-limits?”
“Maybe, but the detective didn’t say so, and I just happen to have a key.” She pulled out her key ring and flashed it in front of his eyes.
“You didn’t ask.”
“Because I didn’t want him to say no. This isn’t exactly a game of ‘Mother, may I?’ So if Henderson has a fit, I can plead innocence or at the very least ignorance.” She wiped some condensation from the passenger side of the windshield with her glove. “Besides, my sister gave me the key ‘in case of an emergency.’ I think this qualifies.”
Thane nosed the truck into a slow line of traffic heading for a bridge that spanned Cherry Creek. “You know, lady,” he said as they eased over the bridge, “you’re more like your sister than I thought.”
She felt an unwarranted jab of disappointment. The more she knew about Mary Theresa, the less she felt she had in common with the woman who had become Marquise. “From you, I’ll take it as a compliment,” she lied.
“Exactly how it was intended.”
“Oh, right.” Unable to hide her sarcasm, she opened her purse, found a pair of sunglasses, and forced them onto the bridge of her nose. She didn’t believe him for a moment.
In her estimation, Thane was hiding something. Something big. And she was bound and determined to find out what it was.
From his viewpoint at an upper-story window, Detective Henderson sipped his coffee around the wad of gum that had grown stale in his mouth. Squinting, he noticed Thane Walker’s black pickup meld into the steady flow of traffic. A few seconds later an unmarked police vehicle followed suit, and he felt a little better. He didn’t trust Walker, and, if his gut instincts were right, Marquise’s twin sister was holding something back, some piece of information.
But then everyone involved was tight-lipped—from Syd Gillette, the second husband, to Wade Pomeranian, Marquise’s latest lover—they all seemed to hold a secret. Even Eve Lawrence, Marquise’s secretary and a woman who seemed genuinely worried, wasn’t anxious to talk to anyone associated with the police department. The same could be said of Craig Beaumont, the cohost of Denver AM, who appeared to hold more than his share of grudges against his partner.
Sooner or later, Henderson knew, the truth would come out. It always did. It just took the right amount of digging and a lot of patience and perseverance.
Of all the people associated with the case, Thane Walker bothered him the most. Probably because he’d been in trouble before. Then there was that little domestic dispute that Marquise’s neighbor, Jane Stanton, had reported. Too bad the woman had heard only bits and pieces of the conversation, but Walker had threatened Marquise according to the woman. “If this is one more of your bullshit lies, Mary Theresa, I swear I’ll kill you.” Or so the neighbor who lived alone with six cats was willing to testify. What was that all about? And why was he so damned secretive? His I-don’t-give-a-good-goddamn attitude settled like lead in Henderson’s gut. “But why would he