Fatal Trust by Diana Miller

As if I could write a Max Windsor bestseller even
with a hundred-page detailed outline.” Lexie returned her attention to the
curve. “If Max’s death was a murder, then someone either forced him off the
road or tampered with his car. Or possibly drugged him. Were you and Muriel the
only beneficiaries in Rockville when he was killed?”
    “Far as I know, but someone else could have sneaked into
town. Or paid to have it done.”
    Lexie raised her chin from her knees and looked at him, her
eyes widening. “Hired someone to kill Max?” From her tone, she’d never
considered that.
    “Believe it or not, finding a hit man isn’t too tough.”
    “You’ve tried?”
    Memory curved his lips. “No, but Grandfather did. For a
book.”
    “ Hitchhiking Through Hell. ”
    “Give the lady a gold star,” Ben said, raising one finger.
“He wanted to make sure it was doable. According to him, it definitely was.”
    Lexie released her legs and stretched them out in front of
her. They sat in silence for a couple of minutes, and then she let out an
audible breath. “So assuming it was murder, what do we do next?”
    Muscles Ben hadn’t realized he’d been tensing relaxed. He
really did need her help. “First I think we should get some sleep.” He got to
his feet, then offered her his hand. “We’ve both had long days. We’ll come up
with a plan tomorrow.”
# # #
    Lexie spent the ride back to Nevermore lost in thought. Max
was dead, and it was unlikely his death had been accidental. Seeing the car and
curve and talking to Ben had made that clear. Maybe she wasn’t a trained
detective, but Max had asked her to investigate and had confidence in her
abilities. She’d give it her best shot.
    By the time the motorcycle entered the Nevermore grounds, it
was dark and the spotlights were on. The rose house was now dull gray with a
single illuminated window, the sky behind it pitch black except for the
half-moon and a couple of stars. Fog seemed to swirl around the porch and
towers, although the night otherwise was clear. Maybe the money Max claimed to
have spent buying ghosts to haunt Nevermore hadn’t been wasted.
    Ben pulled the motorcycle up beside his pickup and removed
his helmet. “Admit it. You liked riding tonight.”
    To be honest, by their final trek Lexie had been
enjoying herself, but no way was she admitting that to Ben. Her enjoyment just
meant that the stresses of today had her brain too exhausted to recognize
danger. She got off the bike. “I like that I got back here alive.”
    “Bull. At the end you were barely holding on to me. Next
time you’ll be begging me to go faster.”
    “There won’t be a next time.” She pulled off her helmet and
set it on the grass, then combed her fingers through her damp, flattened hair
as they started to the house.
    “Hell,” Ben said, stopping abruptly. He looked as if he’d
mistaken a cup of Pennzoil for his morning coffee. “The perfect end to a lousy
day.”
    Lexie followed Ben’s gaze to a man walking toward them from
a dark Mercedes, wheeling a suitcase bag behind him.
    “How are you, Ben?” the man asked.
    “Do you care?”
    “I was being polite, a concept that’s clearly beyond you.”
The man turned his attention to Lexie, extending his free hand and smiling
warmly. “I’m Jeremy Windsor.”
    Jeremy was tall, dark, and classically handsome, his suit
and tie clearly expensive. Exactly her type. A pity she’d sworn off men.
    “I’m Ca—Lexie,” she said, returning his smile as she shook
his hand.
    Ben draped an arm around her shoulders. “Lexie came from
Kentucky to comfort me.”
    And an even greater pity she was pretending to be involved
with Ben.
    “Where in Kentucky?” Jeremy asked.
    “Lexington. I did a year at the University of Kentucky and
stuck around. Now I’m a cocktail waitress and an aspiring novelist. I’m sorry
about your grandfather’s death.”
    “Thank you. Did you ever meet him?”
    She shook her head. “I only met Ben a