money and her looks, believe me,
she'd have men breaking down her door."
"Fine, then I guess Carson Brooks just turned her on. He's
far from an average guy. Maybe he knew exactly what women are about, even then.
Remember, this is the guy who invented C'est Moi."
"Yeah, right. How could I forget."
Jeannie gulped down the last of her coffee. "Speaking of
C'est Moi, what do you think about the idea that someone was trying to silence
Brooks because he was the only one who knew the formula?"
Frank grimaced. "I want to toss that theory in the garbage.
But the truth is, the stuff is raking in a fortune. And if Brooks is eccentric
enough to keep the formula to himself, yeah, I guess it's possible."
A corner of Jeannie's mouth lifted. "Don't sound so
skeptical. That whole pheromone thing is a big deal now. And Brooks
incorporated it in a product that does handsprings around his competitors. He
capitalized on a hot trend, and raked in a huge chunk of the perfume market.
The man's a genius."
"No arguments. I'm well acquainted with the C'est Moi rage.
My wife was first on line to buy a bottle. Said it was supposed to make the
wearer irresistible."
Jeannie grinned. "And did it work? Was she
irresistible?"
"I wouldn't know. She didn't buy it. She thought there was a
man's brand, too. Turned out they've only marketed a woman's so far."
The grin widened. "Linda wanted to buy it for you to
wear?"
"Yup. Like I'm not irresistible enough."
Jeannie patted his sleeve sympathetically. "Don't sweat it.
From the ads I've seen, they're coming out with the male version for Christmas.
I'll give Linda a heads-up call. That way, we'll make sure you find a bottle in
your stocking."
"Gee, thanks."
"Look at the bright side. Linda might be so turned on, you
won't see the light of day for a week. Think how much weight you'll lose."
"Cute. Really cute." Frank shot her a look. "I'm
not in the mood for jokes. In fact, I'm feeling pretty testy today."
"No kidding."
"Starving to death will do that to you. So will lack of sleep.
Especially when it comes from working on a case like this."
Sobering, Jeannie nodded. "I'm with you there. This
investigation gets more involved by the minute. Rather than narrowing things
down, we've got a growing list of suspects, a ton of alibis to confirm—and very
little to go on."
"I'd say I wish we already found the weapon, but I doubt
it'll help us, even when we do," Frank added in disgust. "We know
from the shell casings on Brooks's rug that the gun was a twenty-two caliber.
Not exactly an uncommon choice. And I doubt it'll have a name tag on it. More
likely, when we trace it, we'll find out it was hot. That'll be another dead
end."
"Let's hope we have
some luck at Ruisseau today." Jeannie glanced at her watch. "It's
eight-forty. Brooks must be out of radiology by now. Let's see if we can get a
word with him."
8:45 A.M.
Center for Creative Thinking and Leadership
Dylan swallowed the last of his muffin and coffee, then left the
lounge on his floor that served light breakfast, and headed down to the
reception desk for the third time that morning.
"Any word from Ms. Radcliffe?" he asked.
The young woman looked up from her paperwork. "No, Mr.
Newport. She's still not back." She cleared her throat, evidently deciding
he was losing patience with that response. "Why don't I buzz her
assistant, Melissa Andrews? She might have heard from Sabrina."
"There's no need, Kim." Sabrina's voice came from behind
him. "I'm here. I'll talk to Mr. Newport."
He turned, struck again by Sabrina Radcliffe's startling resemblance
to Carson. It wasn't so much her features, which were softer, more delicate and
refined. But her coloring—the contrast of jet black hair and intense blue
eyes—plus that high forehead, and her mannerisms—the way she held her head, the
stubborn line of her chin and jaw when she was speaking, the astute,
no-nonsense delivery... damn, it was like seeing a smaller, slighter, feminine
version of Carson.