“We’ll all leave,” Cannon offered. “You know I have a house in Kentucky. I was going to ask Yvette to join me there.”
Yvette’s hand stilled against him.
“I wish that was true.” Slowly, Frank shook his head. “But she’s reopening the pawnshop, proof that she plans to stay. I knew eventually she’d find the gun. Don’t you see, I can’t risk having it discovered.”
Armie shifted. “How’d Yvette’s grandfather get it in the first place?”
Frank looked as if he wanted to shoot Armie right then, but he drew in a deep breath that tested the buttons on his dress shirt, then exhaled it with new calm. “Tipton and I were friends.” To Cannon, he said, “I told you that.”
“I remember.”
He nodded. “After my wife died—”
“After you killed her?”
“Not me!” Whitaker looked alarmed, insulted. He tugged at the collar of his shirt. “I told you, I don’t want to hurt anyone.”
“Then who?”
“Mindi. She said my wife had to go or we’d never be able to be together.” He swallowed audibly. “While I was in court, she...she took some of my wife’s things to make it look like a robbery, and then she shot her.”
Deadpan, Armie asked, “Ever heard of divorce?”
Whitaker shook his head. “I couldn’t, not without losing half of everything.” He swiped the sweat from his temple, his neck.
The man was sweating like a pig, his nervousness climbing the longer he talked.
Maybe because he thought he’d have to eventually kill them all?
“She refused to divorce me without making me pay, and Mindi refused to wait for me to work it out.” As if to convince them, Frank said, “I’m not a wealthy man! I’ve worked damned hard for everything I have, modest as it is. Half would only be... I’d be broke!”
“No way did my grandfather help you cover up a murder.”
At the quiet break of her voice, Frank looked past Cannon to Yvette’s angry face. “No. He wasn’t like that. He was a very good man.”
“Yes, he was.”
“One thing I don’t understand.” Cannon again blocked Yvette with his body. “Why the hell didn’t you just dump the gun somewhere?”
“Mindi.” Looking more miserable by the second, Frank nodded. “As my assistant, but acting on her own, she took a sealed box of my wife’s personal possessions to Tipton. She said she told him I was distraught and she was afraid if I got rid of the things, I’d later regret it.” He looked up, his eyes red rimmed. “She said it was leverage, that if I ever tried to turn her in for the murder, everyone would know I was involved, too.”
Cannon couldn’t fathom any man, much less an educated person of some means, being so stupid.
“And you still think you love her?” Armie whistled. “There’s no hope for you.”
“Armie,” Cannon warned. He did not want or need his friend to play the hero.
Tipton didn’t seem to hear him anyway. He stared toward them without really seeing. “Not knowing what was inside, Tipton agreed to hold it for me. I was going to get it back, but then he died....”
“He knew,” Cannon told him. “He was a good, honest man, and he knew you’d gotten involved in something you shouldn’t have. That’s why he had the gun—just the gun, Frank, nothing else—hidden in a lockbox up in the garage attic.”
Frank denied that. “No, he trusted me.”
“’Fraid not, pal.” Armie stood. “He was on to you—and who knows who he might have told? We only just found the key and pass code to the safe, but there could be other notes. You should book while you can.”
Shit. Cannon tensed, ready to charge the lawyer if it came to that. He wouldn’t let Yvette be hurt, but, damn it, he didn’t want Armie hurt either.
Alarmed, Whitaker took a step closer. “Was it in the letter he left you?”
“So you stole a key but didn’t read the letter?”
“I couldn’t.” His shoulders slumped and he sank back to lean on a counter. “Tipton had it sealed, so you’d have known....”
Miserable bastard.
“Did he ask you to stay?” Whitaker looked from Cannon to Yvette and back again. “Is that why you’re still here? He heaped on the guilt?”
Shit, shit, shit. Cannon said, “I’m here because I want to be,” at the same time Yvette asked, “What letter?”
“You should have gone!” Pushing away from the counter in a rush of frustration, Whitaker waved the gun. “It would have solved everything!”
“The pawnshop,” Cannon said, thinking back to that bucket of rags set by the door. “Did you and Mindi try to set that fire to drive us away?”
“I keep telling you!” Totally losing his cool, Whitaker’s voice rose to a ridiculously high octave. “It was Mindi, not me!”
“Mr. Whitaker.” After smoothing her hand over Cannon’s back again, Yvette peeked around Cannon. “None of this is your fault.”
He was breathing hard, sweat rolling down his jowls. “No, no, it’s not.”
Voice gentle and calm, Yvette asked, “Do you know where Mindi went?”
“Away.” He looked lost, forlorn, and jumped on the chance at an ally. “I don’t know where.” He dug in his pocket and extended a note in his shaky hand. “She left me this.”
Yvette’s hand stilled against him.
“I wish that was true.” Slowly, Frank shook his head. “But she’s reopening the pawnshop, proof that she plans to stay. I knew eventually she’d find the gun. Don’t you see, I can’t risk having it discovered.”
Armie shifted. “How’d Yvette’s grandfather get it in the first place?”
Frank looked as if he wanted to shoot Armie right then, but he drew in a deep breath that tested the buttons on his dress shirt, then exhaled it with new calm. “Tipton and I were friends.” To Cannon, he said, “I told you that.”
“I remember.”
He nodded. “After my wife died—”
“After you killed her?”
“Not me!” Whitaker looked alarmed, insulted. He tugged at the collar of his shirt. “I told you, I don’t want to hurt anyone.”
“Then who?”
“Mindi. She said my wife had to go or we’d never be able to be together.” He swallowed audibly. “While I was in court, she...she took some of my wife’s things to make it look like a robbery, and then she shot her.”
Deadpan, Armie asked, “Ever heard of divorce?”
Whitaker shook his head. “I couldn’t, not without losing half of everything.” He swiped the sweat from his temple, his neck.
The man was sweating like a pig, his nervousness climbing the longer he talked.
Maybe because he thought he’d have to eventually kill them all?
“She refused to divorce me without making me pay, and Mindi refused to wait for me to work it out.” As if to convince them, Frank said, “I’m not a wealthy man! I’ve worked damned hard for everything I have, modest as it is. Half would only be... I’d be broke!”
“No way did my grandfather help you cover up a murder.”
At the quiet break of her voice, Frank looked past Cannon to Yvette’s angry face. “No. He wasn’t like that. He was a very good man.”
“Yes, he was.”
“One thing I don’t understand.” Cannon again blocked Yvette with his body. “Why the hell didn’t you just dump the gun somewhere?”
“Mindi.” Looking more miserable by the second, Frank nodded. “As my assistant, but acting on her own, she took a sealed box of my wife’s personal possessions to Tipton. She said she told him I was distraught and she was afraid if I got rid of the things, I’d later regret it.” He looked up, his eyes red rimmed. “She said it was leverage, that if I ever tried to turn her in for the murder, everyone would know I was involved, too.”
Cannon couldn’t fathom any man, much less an educated person of some means, being so stupid.
“And you still think you love her?” Armie whistled. “There’s no hope for you.”
“Armie,” Cannon warned. He did not want or need his friend to play the hero.
Tipton didn’t seem to hear him anyway. He stared toward them without really seeing. “Not knowing what was inside, Tipton agreed to hold it for me. I was going to get it back, but then he died....”
“He knew,” Cannon told him. “He was a good, honest man, and he knew you’d gotten involved in something you shouldn’t have. That’s why he had the gun—just the gun, Frank, nothing else—hidden in a lockbox up in the garage attic.”
Frank denied that. “No, he trusted me.”
“’Fraid not, pal.” Armie stood. “He was on to you—and who knows who he might have told? We only just found the key and pass code to the safe, but there could be other notes. You should book while you can.”
Shit. Cannon tensed, ready to charge the lawyer if it came to that. He wouldn’t let Yvette be hurt, but, damn it, he didn’t want Armie hurt either.
Alarmed, Whitaker took a step closer. “Was it in the letter he left you?”
“So you stole a key but didn’t read the letter?”
“I couldn’t.” His shoulders slumped and he sank back to lean on a counter. “Tipton had it sealed, so you’d have known....”
Miserable bastard.
“Did he ask you to stay?” Whitaker looked from Cannon to Yvette and back again. “Is that why you’re still here? He heaped on the guilt?”
Shit, shit, shit. Cannon said, “I’m here because I want to be,” at the same time Yvette asked, “What letter?”
“You should have gone!” Pushing away from the counter in a rush of frustration, Whitaker waved the gun. “It would have solved everything!”
“The pawnshop,” Cannon said, thinking back to that bucket of rags set by the door. “Did you and Mindi try to set that fire to drive us away?”
“I keep telling you!” Totally losing his cool, Whitaker’s voice rose to a ridiculously high octave. “It was Mindi, not me!”
“Mr. Whitaker.” After smoothing her hand over Cannon’s back again, Yvette peeked around Cannon. “None of this is your fault.”
He was breathing hard, sweat rolling down his jowls. “No, no, it’s not.”
Voice gentle and calm, Yvette asked, “Do you know where Mindi went?”
“Away.” He looked lost, forlorn, and jumped on the chance at an ally. “I don’t know where.” He dug in his pocket and extended a note in his shaky hand. “She left me this.”
