Part 51 (1/2)

Someone had killed her father. Someone had killed a friend of her mother's. Her great-aunt might well have been murdered. There was no way she could continue to live under that shadow. Nor would she give up her search for her sister or the truth about what had destroyed her mother's happiness.

She still had avenues to explore. Her father's records, for one. He kept meticulous notes on everything. She wanted to go through each of his files at the office. There was still the attorney in Memphis. And now they had one more piece of the puzzle: Dom's arrest. It placed Prescott's murder right in the middle of that puzzle.

Meredith was conscious of all the eyes on her. Sympathetic eyes. Curious eyes. Malevolent eyes?

The minister referred to her mother's many charitable endeavors, calling her the heart of the city. Meredith had chosen the music, distressed that she didn't even know what her mother's favorite hymns might be. She had selected her own.

She felt numb as the last prayer was said and the pallbearers escorted the coffin out. There would be a brief graveside service, then the reception at her parents' home. The second in a week.

Caterers were already there, along with Sarah and Becky, who had volunteered again to stay during the service and supervise. Gage had also sent his detective friend Mack to ensure their safety. The private detective had been mortified at losing her when she'd gone to Memphis. He had been told to stay with her whether she wanted his protection or not.

He wanted to make amends.

And then?

There were a million things to do. Both her father's and mother's wills would have to be probated. She would have to make decisions about their estates, particularly the house.

More importantly, there was a killer--or killers--to be found.

There was, of course, the matter of survival as well.

She accepted condolences from those who wouldn't attend the graveside service, then rode with Gage in the limousine to the cemetery. She wondered whether she could get through the next few hours. Her heart cried, even if her eyes didn't. She still couldn't quite comprehend everything that had happened and the impact it would have on her .life.

Gage said little, but his hand had been at the small of her back as they left the church. It was protective, proprietary and evident. They had discussed the wisdom of his appearing as an escort, but he had ended the discussion abruptly by saying he was going to be there ... by her side.

Thank G.o.d. She felt wrapped in his warmth. It helped fill the emptiness that continued to haunt her. In the limousine, he'd recaptured her hand, entwining his fingers with hers.

”Do you think he was there?” she asked. She didn't have to say who. The killer. Or killers.

”I would bet my last dollar on it.”

”The cream of New Orleans society,” she said bitterly.

”Not all of them, love. Just one.”

”Or two. Or three,” she amended. ”How many lives have they destroyed? And for what reason? Everything comes back to that.”

He put an arm around her and pulled her close to him. They rode in silence the rest of the way.

They would discuss murder later. Now was the time to mourn.

Gage watched as the last person left the Rawson home.

Meredith had thanked Sarah and Becky for their help and sent Mrs. Edwards home. Then Meredith, looking exhausted, collapsed on a sofa.

She looked vulnerable, but he knew that wasn't true. She had a core of pure steel. His admiration had grown steadily in the past two weeks.

She gave him a wan smile. ”I survived.”

”With flying colors. I don't know if I could have done it.”

She gave him a long look. ”I have no doubts you could.”

He liked that vote of confidence. He'd experienced any number of emotions today. One of them, he realize with dismay, that he was falling in love.

Dammit. He didn't want those feelings. She was emotionally vulnerable now.

No amount of practicality or reason could have kept him from her side today.

As for increasing the danger to Meredith, he didn't think it could become any more intense than it already was. Someone was determined to stop at any cost inquiries into events of three years ago. Each succeeding death only added to the desperate need to protect one particular secret.

He was very aware that whoever was behind the deaths would probably come after him now. He welcomed that. He was prepared.

He also realized they had more discreet ways of destroying him than murder. Most likely they would try to plant drugs on him or his property. Both his troubled history at the department and a brother who was serving time for drug distribution would a.s.sist any such effort.

He didn't intend for that to happen. Nor did he intend to discuss it with Meredith. He wouldn't give her an excuse to escape his protection again.

As smart as she was, she'd probably already considered the possibility.

”Want a drink?” he asked her now.

”I would love one,” she replied, ”but I don't think I should. I need to keep all my wits about me.”

He sat down next to her. ”Do you remember everyone you saw today at the funeral? I know some of them but not all.”

”I think so.”

He had taken the guest book after the service. He handed it to her. ”See if there is anyone you remember who didn't sign the book.”

She worked mechanically, jotted down a few more names, then gave it back to him.

”I think we can delete the mayor,” he said. ”He was too young at the time.” He went through them all, crossing them off or putting a check next to their names as possibles. The possibles were people who were in their mid-fifties or older. Another requirement was someone with political power. Someone had exerted influence to have him taken off the Prescott case.

Newcomers--anyone who hadn't lived in New Orleans for the past thirty years--were crossed off the list.

When they finished, he had sixteen names of possible suspects, all of whom were considered among the city's elite.

He handed the list to Meredith. She studied it silently. ”And now we see whether any of them has a daughter born in February 1970.”

”Yep.”

”They are all prominent enough to be subjects of newspaper stories. We can eliminate them one by one.”

”Bingo,” he said.

”We might be on the wrong track.”

”But it's the fastest train we have now. You could go through your father's files, but that might take weeks, even months.”

She stood, looking uncertain.