Coached to Death Page 7

  Gilley smiled at me and tucked the afghan around my shoulders and feet; then he got up to pace the room. “Even after we find you a good defense attorney, we’ll still need to work on solving this case.”

  I blinked. “Work on what now?”

  “Cat, your attorney will defend you in court, should it come to that, which, given the evidence that Shepherd just talked about, I can’t imagine why you haven’t been arrested yet, but that’ll probably change once they get the coroner’s report.”

  “Coroner’s report?”

  Gilley waved his hand dismissively. “Coroner, medical examiner, whatever they’re calling them these days. Anyway, the point is that I think an arrest is imminent.”

  I felt my chest constrict in a spasm of fear. “You do?”

  “Yep. That’s the way these things go. The cops always look to the most obvious suspect, and if there’s enough to build a case, they rarely bother looking at any other potential suspects.”

  The constriction grew worse.

  “The good news is that you’re ridiculously wealthy, and posting bond shouldn’t be a problem, but they may limit your movements, and you’ll probably have to give up your passport.”

  I opened my mouth, trying to inhale, but only a sliver of breath came into my lungs.

  Gilley continued, unaware of the panic overtaking me. “Now, I’ve been on a few of these investigations with M.J., so I know how to get to the bottom of a case like this. We could always hire our own private investigator, of course, but we should still cover some of the legwork ourselves. All we need are a few really good suspects to help create reasonable doubt, and hopefully that’ll sway the jury enough to acquit you, but if not, at least we’re not in a death-penalty state.”

  Darkness began to close around my vision. Sparks of light flashed in the periphery, and I felt myself falling forward. I tried to lift my arm to the table to steady myself, but I couldn’t seem to manage it in time to prevent myself from falling forward onto the floor.

  The pain of the hard wood against my shoulder was stunning, and I finally managed to inhale a gulp of oxygen that cleared my vision for all of two seconds—long enough to see Gilley’s terrified face hovering above me. A searing pain in my chest distorted the image, however, and I slipped away into darkness.

  * * *

  I came to, still on the floor, to find myself being cradled by Gilley and aware of a second presence in the room. “Why the hell would you say that to her?” shouted a voice I recognized.

  “I was just talking through what’s likely to happen! I was trying to prepare her!” Gilley cried.

  I blinked. It took effort, but at least I seemed to be breathing with ease again.

  “You don’t say that to someone who’s just been questioned by the police, you dolt!”

  Tony Bianchi—my attorney—came into view; he laid a cold compress on my head. “Catherine?” he said when he saw me looking up at him.

  “I’m sorry!” Gilley wailed.

  I raised a feeble hand and laid it on Gil’s arm. “It’s okay,” I mumbled.

  Gilley bit his lip. “Cat? Oh, Cat! Don’t move. I’ve called an ambulance.”

  “You what?” I said, trying to sit up. The world spun a little, and I laid my head back in Gilley’s lap.

  “Catherine, lie still,” said Tony.

  “Thanks for coming,” I said to him.

  “Sorry I got here too late to intercept Detective Columbo,” he said, glaring at poor Gil.

  “I said I was sorry!”

  “Boys!” I said, making another effort to sit up, and this time succeeding. “Stop. I’m fine.”

  In the background, the sound of an approaching siren made all of us turn toward the door. “Send them away,” I told Gil.

  “I think it’s best if they check you out,” Tony said.

  I pushed myself to a better seated position on the floor. “I’m fine. I am. Just a little overwhelmed by the possibilities.”

  Gilley sniffled, and I noticed that he’d been crying. “Cat, I’m so, so sorry!”

  The siren drowned out any further chance at conversation, but right when it was at its loudest, it abruptly stopped, and three short moments later, there was a knock on the door. Tony answered it, and two paramedics entered.

  “For heaven’s sake,” I said after Tony pointed to me and they approached. “I’m fine!”

  “Hello, ma’am,” said the first paramedic with a nod to me as she set down her black medical kit. “You know, you actually do look fine, but would you mind if we just made sure of that?” She had an easy smile, and it calmed me immediately.

  I sighed. “What do I have to do?”

  “Well,” she said, opening her kit and reaching for a blood-pressure cuff. “How about you let us do all the work and you just sit there and relax?”

  “Okay,” I said on a sigh.

  The two medics worked for a solid twenty minutes to determine whether or not I was worthy of transport to the hospital. In the end, the lead medic said, “Well, it looks like you’ve only had a panic attack. Your blood pressure is normal, and your EKG reading is also well within the normal range. I’m not a medical doctor, though, so I think it might be wise to transport you to the hospital and let them have a more thorough look.”

  I offered her a half-hearted smile. “I bet you say that to all your patients.”

  She raised her right hand. “Guilty as charged.”

  At the sound of the word “guilty,” I flinched again but tried to hide it. “I’m fine. Really. It’s just been a stressful day.”

  “All right,” she agreed, pulling out her iPad, which had what looked like a legal document on it. “Then I’m going to ask you to sign this release form, which states that you’re refusing our recommendation to be transported to the hospital.”

  “Catherine,” Tony began, but I was already reaching for the iPad and doodling my name with my finger.

  “Thank you very much for coming,” I said to the medics. “I’ll await your bill in the mail.”

  Gilley helped me to the sofa, and Tony walked the medics out. Gil fussed over me for a few extra moments, no doubt driven by guilt.

  “Gil,” I finally said, as he tucked, and tucked, and tucked the afghan around my legs and feet.

  He stopped and stepped away, blushing. “Sorry. I just feel bad.”

  “You should,” Tony snapped.

  I rubbed my temples. “Can we all just please have some peace?”

  “Sorry, Catherine,” Tony said.

  When the silence carried on a bit longer than it should’ve, I looked up and saw Tony fidgeting with his wedding ring. “What?” I asked him.

  His hands fell to his sides. “Nothing. It’s nothing. I don’t want you to worry. I have a good friend, Raymond Kovac, who’s an excellent defense attorney. I’ve just left him a voice mail.”

  “You’ve already reached out to a defense attorney on my behalf?” I asked.

  Tony’s face reddened ever so slightly. “I have.”

  “Then you think I’ll need one.”

  He tugged at his tie. “I do.”

  I went back to rubbing my temples. “So, what Gilley said might happen—actually could?”

  “If the synopsis he gave me about your conversation with Detective Shepherd is true—”

  “It’s true,” Gilley said, vouching for himself.

  “Then worst-case scenario, yes, it could happen. Which is why I called the best criminal defense attorney I know.”

  I looked up at him. “I didn’t do it, Tony.”

  He softened and said quickly, “Of course you didn’t.”

  That statement from someone I trusted was so heartening. “What’s my next move?” I asked.

  “Well,” he said, gathering up his coat; he pulled a card out of his pocket and laid it on the table. “For now, you sit tight and wait for the police to come back to you for more questioning. If they come back tonight, you call me before you even answer the door, and if they arrest you,
you don’t say a word without either me or Ray. If they come back tomorrow, call Ray. His cell and office numbers are on the card.”

  After Tony left, Gilley and I sat in silence for a long time. My mind was spinning, and I couldn’t seem to stop shivering. At last, Gilley called out to Sebastian to turn up the heat, and then he got up and headed into the kitchen. I heard him fussing in there for a while, but I didn’t turn my head to look. I was too wrapped up in my worried mind to do much more than stare listlessly out in front of me.

  “Here you go,” Gil said, setting a plate of cheese and fruit in my lap.

  “I’m not hungry,” I told him, trying to push the plate away.

  He pushed it back into my lap. “Yes, I know you’re not hungry, but you’ve had a terrible day, and you need to eat something before I hustle you off to bed.”

  I looked up at him. “What time is it, anyway?”

  “It’s after nine.”

  “Whoa,” I said. “I had no idea it was so late.”

  “Eat,” he insisted.

  I sighed and picked up a piece of melon. Taking a small nibble, I had to admit that the fruit was at least sweet and easy to swallow. “Thank you,” I said after a few more bites.

  “You’re welcome, sugar,” he said, before trotting off toward the bedrooms.

  Alone with my spinning mind, I ate the plate of fruit and cheese and was surprised to see that I actually felt much better for it. I stopped shivering, and my headache went away.

  Gilley finally returned to the living room, wearing a set of silk pajamas and matching robe. “You’re probably as tired as I am,” I said, stifling a yawn. “I should head on home and let you get some sleep.”

  “You’re not going anywhere,” he said.

  “What do you mean I’m not going anywhere?”

  Gilley stretched out his hand toward me. “Come,” he commanded.

  I took his hand, and he led me to the master bedroom. The bed looked freshly made with clean sheets, and there was a small chocolate bar on the pillow. A glass of water sat on the nightstand, and a book I’d left here before moving to the main house was on the nightstand. “You’re in here tonight, Cat,” Gilley said. “I’m taking the spare bedroom.”

  “What? Why?”

  Gil eyed me seriously. “Because someone out there is using you to get away with murder, and until he or she is caught, I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

  I felt woozy all over again, and my mouth went dry. “Oh,” I managed. I hadn’t even considered that I might be in any kind of danger.

  Gilley leaned in and hugged me tight. “Try not to worry,” he said as he let go and left the room.

  “Too late,” I whispered.

  * * *

  I found Gilley up and busy in the kitchen early the next morning. “Hey,” I said in greeting, adding a yawn.

  He turned away from the stove to look me up and down. “Did you get any sleep?”

  I sat heavily in the chair at the table and rested my chin on my hand. “Maybe an hour or two, but mostly I just tossed and turned all night.”

  “Oh, honey,” he said. “We’ll figure this out.”

  “How?” I asked. “I mean, how exactly are we going to figure this out, Gilley?”

  He looked a bit lost for a second and turned back toward the stove. “I’m making crèpes,” he said. “With Nutella. Everything tastes better with Nutella, and it’ll be the perfect food to fuel us while we come up with a plan.”

  “I don’t know that I can eat anything.”

  Gil flipped a crèpe onto a plate and hustled some Nutella into the center. I watched as he carefully rolled the crèpe and opened the oven door, where he added it to a plateful of identical siblings. “Coffee?” he asked after a bit.

  I yawned. “Yes, please.”

  Gil came to the table carrying a French press and two mugs. He set the press in front of me. “You can work the plunger. Pour me a cup too, would you?”

  I poured both of us a cup of steaming hot coffee, and it smelled heavenly.

  “Is there cream?”

  Gilley loaded the last crèpe onto the stack from the oven and brought the plate to the table, along with a small pitcher of cream. He then returned to the counter for powdered sugar and a platter of bacon.

  After setting everything down, he settled into a chair and took up the empty plate in front of me. Loading it with three crèpes, he set the plate back down, then sprinkled the crèpes with powdered sugar and used a pair of tongs to dish out two pieces of bacon.

  “This looks entirely too decadent,” I said.

  “Which is fair. It’s the least you deserve, sugar.”

  My eyes misted. Gilley didn’t always say the right thing . . . okay, he almost never said the right thing, but sometimes he’d come up with the exact perfect thing, said in the exact perfect tone at the exact perfect moment, and I rather loved that about him. “Thank you,” I said, reaching for his hand and squeezing it.

  “You’re going to be okay,” he told me, and I was further heartened that he looked me straight in the eyes as he spoke.

  I nodded, wanting to reply, but I didn’t trust that I could, so I let go of Gil’s hand and reached for my fork. The least I could do was nibble a little at his delicious-looking breakfast.

  As it turned out, I did more than nibble. The crèpes were so delicious that I ate all three and most of the bacon to boot. “That was heaven,” I said, sitting back in my chair with a satisfied sigh.

  “Crèpes make everything better.”

  “I thought Nutella made everything better.”

  “Pardon me,” Gilley said, laying a hand to his chest. “What I meant to say was, Nutella crèpes make everything perfect.”

  I poured more of the coffee into each of our cups. It was only lukewarm by now, but I didn’t care. I loved the silky-smooth flavor of it. “I feel like I should be doing something.”

  “We still have to shop for the perfect outfit for your hot date,” Gil suggested.

  A jolt went through me, and I sat up straight. “Ohmigod! I forgot all about Maks!”

  “Aw, sugar, don’t worry. We’ve got the whole day to shop.”

  “No, no,” I said. “I can’t go now, Gilley.”

  “Okay. We’ll go after lunch.”

  I shook my head, frustrated and flustered at the same time. “No, what I mean is, I can’t possibly go out with Maks now.”

  “Why not?”

  “Are you kidding?”

  Gilley appeared confused. “I never kid about a hot man. Why can’t you go out with him?”

  “Because I’m a suspect!” I shouted. I hadn’t meant to. The stress of the situation and the lack of sleep were getting to me.

  Gilley’s eyes widened, but he recovered quickly. I think he understood. “Cat,” he said reasonably, “right now, the police have only a small piece of the puzzle that includes you. At most, you’re a person of interest, among probably at least a few others. I’m positive they’ll figure out very quickly that you had nothing to do with Heather’s murder.”

  “That’s not what you said last night.”

  Gilley dipped his chin and put a hand to his heart. “I misspoke. I’m sorry that I frightened you. I think I was just freaked out.”

  “Imagine how I feel.”

  “Actually, I can.”

  And then I remembered Gilley telling me the story of how he’d once been accused of murder, and that made me soften a bit toward him. “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “Think nothing of it. But you are going out on that date. It’ll be the perfect distraction.”

  “You got that almost right. I’m going to be far too distracted to have any fun. Or to be any fun.”

  “I doubt that. Now, no more arguing the point. You’re going on the date, and we are going to find you the perfect outfit right after you scoot home and change into something fabulous enough for Bloomingdale’s!”

  * * *

  Many hours later, Gilley and I were in my bedroom, surr
ounded by shopping bags and tissue paper. “Black pumps or red?” I asked, standing in front of the mirror with a skeptical eye toward the perfect shoes and handbag to go with the absolutely gorgeous Sachin & Babi black A-line dress adorned with bursts of red poppies placed almost randomly about the skirt and bodice.

  “Wear the Louboutins,” Gil suggested. “That way you’ll cover both colors without looking like you’re trying too hard.”

  I smiled at him while I headed to the closet. “You’re so right.” Once there, I grabbed the black pumps with the distinctive red sole along with three choices for a handbag. Gilley immediately pointed to the clutch in my left hand. “That one.”

  I tossed the other two on the bed, slipped on the pumps, and considered my reflection. “Well?” I said to Gilley as I saw him also looking over my shoulder.

  “Honey, if gorgeous were currency, you’d be rich!”

  I giggled. “I’m already rich.”

  “Which makes you even more gorgeous!”

  I rolled my eyes as Gilley chuckled, but he knew I was pleased by the compliment. Turning my wrist to catch the time, I said, “Ooo! He should be here any min—”

  The sound of the doorbell cut me off.

  “He’s here!” Gilley said, dashing out of the room.

  “Gilley!” I called, but there was no stopping him.

  With a groan, I reached for my wool coat and hurried after him.

  By the time I reached the stairs, Gilley was already opening the door. “Well!” he said almost breathlessly. “Hello there, handsome. Those for me?”

  I had to descend a few stairs before I could see Maks in the doorway, holding a small bouquet of white roses in his hand and a completely confused look on his face. “Uh . . . er . . . I believe I might have the wrong address,” he said, reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone.

  I descended the stairs a little faster. “No, you’ve arrived at the correct address, Maks. My friend Gilley is a bit too mischievous for his own good.”

  “I was just having a little fun,” Gil said, winking at me in that way that suggested he approved.

  When I finally stood in front of Maks, I could understand why. Not only was the man even more sexy than he’d been the day before, but he smelled even more wonderful. “Oh, my, what is that scent?” I asked, taking in a whiff of the citrus mixed with a hint of musk that subtly enveloped him.