A Royal Murder
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Lyn Stone
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Chapter 1
Ryan McDonough gave the woman the once-over, noting the thinly concealed frustration in her sin-dark eyes and her subtly defensive stance. “I’m sorry for your loss, Ms. Caruso,” he said automatically, words repeated countless times to families of countless victims. “I understand your offer to help, but what you want is not possible.”
He was sorry to see anyone grieve. God knows he knew what it was like. Grief in this instance must already have passed beyond tears to the second phase. Anger. She was gritting her teeth.
The Caruso woman inclined her head and said, “Thank you for your condolences, but I must insist.” Very proper. But still not acceptable.
Ryan turned to Vincente Pavelli, the royal messenger, or crown gofer, or whatever the hell the man’s title was. “Tell His Majesty I said thank you, but no dice. Phrase it however you want to, just get the message across.”
“But Mr. McDonough…” Pavelli’s swarthy face fell and he started to hyperventilate. Sweat popped out in little beads on the forehead that extended to the back of his head as he slid a shaking finger beneath his collar to loosen it.
“Hey, it’s not like he shoots the bearer of bad tidings, man. Lighten up.” Ryan came around his desk to usher them out. He clapped the man on his skinny, expensively padded shoulder. “Tell him I make it a policy never to include civilians while conducting an investigation. Hard and fast rule. Capisce?”
The gofer took several jerky steps toward the door, still looking as if he wanted to argue about it.
“Wait just a minute,” Ryan said, his voice a warning growl. “You forgot something.” He turned and gestured at the woman, who seemed determined to hold her ground.
She ignored him. “Go ahead and wait in the car, Mr. Pavelli. I need to speak with Mr. McDonough alone.”
Pavelli left hurriedly, closing the door, leaving them alone.
Ryan kept a cool head. It usually gave him the advantage. Neither the Montebellans nor the Italians passed on many even-tempered genes to their progeny. Nina Caruso was descended from both. Being raised in America obviously hadn’t altered her temperament much. While all that fire just beneath her surface intrigued him, he didn’t need to deal with it right now.
“We have nothing to discuss, ma’am,” he told her calmly. “The king will have my preliminary report on your brother’s death first thing in the morning and any further information as soon as I discover it. His Majesty’s advisors will keep you up to date.”
She sighed, walked around his desk and sat down in his chair, bold as you please. His chair. Propping her elbows on the arms of it, she steepled her fingers under her chin. She had great hands. Long, supple fingers tipped with fairly short nails, painted wine red to match her lips. He tried not to look at the lips, but they kept drawing his attention even when she wasn’t speaking.
Ryan shook off his fascination, disgruntled with himself for noticing her looks and with her for provoking him to notice.
“I didn’t come halfway around the world to sit somewhere and wait,” she declared, her voice clipped and precise, totally devoid of an accent. “My brother’s been killed and I’m sticking to you like Super Glue until we find out who did it. Get used to it.”
Ryan fought hard for patience. She might be rude, but he hated to be sharp with her. That wasn’t his way, especially when she was probably just upset about her half brother’s violent death.
Probably being the key word here. Now that he looked at her more objectively, she didn’t appear to be all that grief stricken. And she was dangerously close to pushing the wrong button on his control panel, barging in here demanding to know what he’d been doing on the case.
Hell, he was tired. Clearing out all his most urgent cases had eaten up most of yesterday and last night. Since the prime suspect had been cleared, Ryan had yet to decide where he’d go first with the investigation he’d just been assigned. There were forensics reports to go over. He’d only thumbed through the prelims, knowing they weren’t yet complete.
Also, he needed to plan interviews, conduct them, talk with the coroner and also do an additional forensics sweep. The police had done the initial investigation of the scene, but he wanted to be thorough now that he was in charge.
First things first. He needed to unload the little baggage who had just arrived.
He sat on the corner of his desk and assumed a relaxed pose, wishing he felt relaxed. “Look, Ms. Caruso—”
“Nina,” she said curtly. “We might as well use first names since we’ll be spending a great deal of time together. Why don’t you begin by listing what you’ve found out so far. You’ve had two full days and part of this one.” She paused for a second, then added, “Ryan.”
Ryan bit his tongue and unclenched his fist, deliberately projecting benevolence and goodwill. She didn’t react as expected to outright dismissal. He’d try manners. Not usually his last resort and shouldn’t be now, but they had gotten off on the wrong foot the minute she’d walked in.
Empathize first, he thought. “Of course you want to know what’s going on and I understand that completely. You may read copies of the reports tomorrow if His Majesty sees fit to share them with you. Until then, I must ask you to excuse me so that I can continue to do my job.” There. Polite and to the point. Get lost, cookie.
“Exactly what is your job?” she asked, not moving a hair.
“I’m a private investigator frequently employed by the Crown,” he answered. “Surely you knew that already.”
She nodded. “Not chief of criminal investigations.”
So she was capable of a neatly placed low blow. “There is no one with that particular title in Montebello. But I assure you, I am qualified to undertake the investigation. I was a homicide detective in a former life.” He offered her another smile. “Savannah.”
“You were fired?” she guessed.
“No, I resigned.” He looked around his well-appointed office as if that was explanation enough for changing jobs. The light gray walls and expensive carpet, sturdy black furniture and maroon leather chairs beat the hell out of his corner of the precinct where he’d spent his first twelve years in law enforcement. And the job here had literally saved his life and sanity.
Lorenzo Sebastiani, chief of royal intelligence, whom Ryan knew well, often called on him to dabble a little in the political intrigue so prevalent in this area of the world. In fact, Lorenzo had recommended him to the king for this particular investigation. Lorenzo had a personal interest in it. He was also half brother to Desmond Caruso, the victim in this case. Both were sons of the king’s brother, Duke Antonio Sebastiani, who had died some years ago.
Desmond’s mother had been one of the palace maids. She had married an Italian businessman, Guiseppe Caruso, and had moved to the States. Ryan studied the young woman sitting in his chair, a product of that marriage.
“King Marcus assured me you would welcome my help,” she said.
“I regret to say he was wrong.”
The door opened. Duke Lorenzo entered without preamble. “Good morning,” he said formally. Nina rose from the chair.
Ryan eyed him with suspicion. “In case you two haven’t met, Nina Caruso, this is His Grace, Duke Lorenzo Sebastiani.”
Lorenzo reached for her hand and bowed over it. “Little sister. I regret we must meet for the first time in such terrible circumstances. I share in your grief for the loss of our brother.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she mumbled, obviously a little taken aback and unsure what else she should say.
She made a perfect curtsy, however. Her mother must have taught her court manners, Ryan decided.
Ryan managed a nod, his version of a bow, in Lorenzo’s direction.
Americans generally had problems kowtowing, and Ryan admitted he was the rule rather than the exception. Also, he knew the duke well enough to know when Lorenzo was putting on airs. Ryan had seen him in his shirtsleeves, smoking cigars and dealing cards across the table.
Not that Lorenzo even noticed Ryan’s nod. He was too busy taking Nina Caruso’s measure.
“I am so sorry to have missed your arrival at the palace,” Lorenzo said graciously. “The king has explained your mission to me.”
He then addressed Ryan. “And Pavelli just informed me of your objection. I should reiterate that our Nina’s participation in the investigation is not simply a request. It is her right as a sister, I believe.”
“I see,” Ryan said, tasting dry defeat. “Her right? Some new custom I’m not aware of?”
“Precisely,” Lorenzo affirmed. “There will be no problem accommodating her in this endeavor?” Though phrased as a question, Ryan knew very well it wasn’t.
He shrugged. “Probably, but I guess I’ll work around it if I have to.” His continued employment might be contingent on doing that, and this job was everything to him right now.
Work was his life. It was all he had left, and damned if he planned to junk it over something like this. He’d just have to invent some busywork to keep the woman out of his way while he was doing what had to be done.
“Excellent.” Lorenzo offered his hand and firmly shook Ryan’s, then smiled in Nina Caruso’s direction. “I shall tell the king that all systems are go. A space term for launching success, yes?” He raised an eyebrow at Ryan.
“Yes. Just before blastoff. Then everybody prays there’s no malfunction,” Ryan said wryly.
“As we all shall do. Grazie.”
Grazie for nothing, Ryan thought. He liked to think this was his investigation. The king had brought him in on it, but there wasn’t much doubt it had been Lorenzo’s idea to do so. And no doubt at all that Lorenzo was running the show. Ryan needed to know. “Shouldn’t we put all our cards on the table now. Decide who does what?”
The duke shrugged. “I provide you whatever access you need. You and your people follow through. Keep me up to date.”
“Fair enough,” Ryan agreed. It would simplify matters not to have to plow through the usual red tape involving court orders and search warrants. “I’ll be in touch.”
Lorenzo nodded, started to leave, then turned at the door. “When things settle a bit, we should arrange for another game. It has been a while.”
“Any time,” Ryan said, recalling the night at Pete’s not long ago when he had beat the royal socks off Prince Lucas, his chauffeur and Lorenzo. A strange, if rewarding, experience.
Ryan was usually up for a card game. And the winnings were nice, but he also gleaned information from those get-togethers that sometimes proved valuable. He smiled at the thought.
“I shall leave you both to it then,” Lorenzo said and exited as swiftly as he had entered.
The determined look on Nina Caruso’s face instantly sobered Ryan’s smile, as did the prospect of stumbling over a family member of the victim while he concentrated on finding a murderer. Lorenzo would stay out of his way and allow him to do what he’d been hired to do, but it was clear this woman wouldn’t. Not when she had royal sanction to interfere.
“So, do I need to ask again for your consent in this?” she asked.
“Nope. Not necessary,” Ryan said. “It’s all in the way you put the question, I guess. A duke for backup definitely helped.”
This was Ryan’s first homicide in nearly a year. How was he supposed to give it his undivided attention and baby-sit at the same time? Nina Caruso was going to be trouble with a capital T, he just knew it.
In the first place, she was highly distracting. In the second place…she was highly distracting.
“You’re not going to be one of those condescending types, are you?” she asked as she rounded his desk, picked up her purse and slung the strap over her shoulder. “You should know, I loathe being patronized in any way.”
“Why, no, ma’am, I wouldn’t dream of it,” he assured her, sounding as superciliously indulgent as he possibly could. And as Southern as anybody from Savannah, Georgia, ever had.
The phone rang. “Would you excuse me a moment, please?” he asked her, looking meaningfully at the door.
Reluctantly she nodded and stepped just outside and closed it as Ryan answered, “McDonough.”
“My, but you do sound put upon, my friend.” It was Lorenzo again, obviously calling from his cell phone.
“That’s only because I am,” Ryan said conversationally, then added the requisite, “Your Grace.”
Lorenzo continued, speaking swiftly and much more seriously, “I had hoped to arrive before she did, but I was delayed. There was no time to arrange another audience with the king so that he could make you aware of the situation. He sent me to inform you that Nina Caruso is to be closely watched and that he wishes you to do this personally. Her motive for coming here bears careful scrutiny.”
“Why is that? Her brother’s dead and she’s come to find out what happened. Isn’t that motive enough?”
Lorenzo issued a little hum of suspicion. “So she told the reporters at the airport when she arrived this morning.”
“Reporters?” Ryan asked.
“TV-news team and the usual print hounds. She must have notified them herself. How else would they have known she was coming?”
Ryan shook his head. “Not necessarily. You know the papers keep a file on all you royals and everybody associated with you. Once word got out that Desmond had been killed, they would have started calling his family to get a reaction. If they found out where Nina worked, anybody in her office could have told them she was on her way over here. Especially if the caller represented himself as a friend who was worried about her, or used some ruse like that. The paparazzi are experts at that kind of thing. They’d have been lying in wait when she got off the plane.”
“I hadn’t thought of that. Good point. But still supposition.”
“You think she had prior knowledge, maybe conspired to have Desmond killed?” Ryan asked.
“Possibly. Find out and keep an eye on her while you do. A very close eye, my friend.”
“Count on it.”
So Nina Caruso was a suspect. Her motive for coming might be to insinuate herself into the royal family, play on their loyalty and gain their sympathy and acceptance by showing her grief. However, it was also possible that she was the one who had arranged Desmond’s murder and planned to cash in on his death. No doubt there was an inheritance of some kind.
He couldn’t deny she bore watching. Ryan just wished he wasn’t the one directed to do it.
Since he had no choice, he assured Lorenzo he understood and would comply. Then he went to join Ms. Caruso in the outer office.
“So, we are to be partners,” Ryan said, but he did so pleasantly, as if perfectly resigned to the situation.
She yanked the outer door open and stood aside for him to exit. “I’ll pull my weight,” she announced, her classic features set with fierce determination. “You’ll see.”
“Of course you will,” he answered idly. As if any cop in his right mind would actually allow a civilian and family member to take part in a murder case. And he was still a cop at heart.
Pavelli was waiting for them outside. “Ms. Caruso’s bags are in the boot,” he told Ryan. “If you like, Marcello and the car are at your disposal today.
Ryan accepted the offer, gesturing grandly toward the long black beast as if he owned it. “Your carriage awaits.”
She climbed into the limo and settled back against the butter-soft leather. Pavelli got in front with the driver as Ryan joined Nina Caruso in the back. He was glad to see that the glass partition was closed. It gave them privacy.
Ryan looked at her and imagined he saw her chin tremble. Had to be a trick of light. Nevertheless, he was prompted by it to ask, “Why are you really so intent on doing this, Ms. Caruso?”
She met his gaze with one just as intent as his. “Because Desmond was my brother.”
“He was Duke Lorenzo’s brother, too, and the duke trusts me to handle this.”
She granted him a short nod. “That may be, but I still want to be involved.”
“I can understand if you came over for the funeral, but why horn in on my duties? You don’t know a thing about investigations.” Then it occurred to him that she might. “Do you? Are you a cop or something?”
“No, I’m a graphic designer.”
Ryan snorted, not knowing—or caring much—what that entailed. He knew it didn’t have a damned thing to do with detective work.
“I have an excellent eye for detail,” she assured him, chafing her arms with her palms as if she were cold. “To tell the truth, I have to do something. Can’t you understand that? I have to do something for Desmond.”
“You and your brother must have been very close,” he said.
“Yes, of course.” Then she added, “But he’s been away a long time. Since he was twenty.” The admission cost her, he thought. She didn’t like confiding anything about herself, but it was his business to pry out secrets. And he was curious.
If she was anything at all like Desmond Caruso, there might be excellent reason to keep close tabs on her. By most accounts, the man had been a crass opportunist. Ryan had met him once and thought he was a jerk. But even jerks deserved justice.
“How did you find out about the murder?” he asked, carefully noting her body language for an indication that she would lie.
She sighed. “Someone from the palace phoned me. I’m sorry, I didn’t get the name. The call woke me, then I was so upset.”
“Yeah, well, that’s understandable,” Ryan granted. “When did you receive the call?”
“The morning he…his body…was discovered. The person who called me suggested that I would be welcome if I decided to come. But I would have anyway,” she added.
“I see,” Ryan commented. “Was this official who notified you a man?”
She looked directly at him then and frowned in consternation. “I couldn’t say for certain. A husky voice, but not too deep.”
Couldn’t say, or wouldn’t? Ryan wondered. She gave no outward signs that she was lying or withholding the truth, but that meant very little other than that she could be accomplished at it and had studied body language herself.
Nina understood why she was being so adamant about participating personally in the investigation of Desmond’s death, even if Ryan McDonough didn’t. She did think it surprising and somewhat peculiar that the king would allow and even encourage it. The best she had hoped for when she’d asked permission was, as McDonough had suggested, to be kept informed as events unfolded. And to hound someone for answers if they weren’t forthcoming.
Much to her surprise, the king had sent her to the P.I.’s office with the suggestion that she assist him. That alone indicated to her that the investigator might need a push to get things done, that the king either knew him to be shorthanded or lacking in initiative.
Nina glanced out the tinted windows at the city surrounding them. It was so lovely here in San Sebastian, an interesting combination of old-world architecture and innovative modern buildings that signified a successful transition into the twenty-first century.
Had Desmond loved it? Had he felt at home here? Accepted?
There had been a time in her life when she had absolutely idolized her older brother. He had been so handsome, so aloof and tragic even as a teenager. How proud she had felt whenever he took the time to notice her and smile down at her.
Looking back, she realized that he’d had much the same affection for the family dog. Still, all her friends had sighed, giggled and mooned over Desmond. He had actually championed her a few times when Dad had called her on the carpet for one transgression or another. Later however, she had noticed that Desmond routinely argued with her father on just about everything.
Had they been close? No. As much as she had wished it so, her brother had been little more than an enigmatic stranger.
If she were perfectly honest, this hurried trip and her involvement here were more in the nature of alleviating her guilt. She had sailed through life without a glitch, taking for granted the love of her parents, her success in school, her wide circle of friends and her sense of belonging. Desmond had suffered every step of the way.
He had always been at odds with the adults in his life, parents and teachers. Desmond had been a loner and had never quite fit in anywhere. He’d either tried too hard or, in some instances, not tried at all.
Nina hoped he had found his place here in Montebello, where his birth father had once lived. She wished she had been able to discuss it with the duke, who must have known him very well. She had to admit, royalty intimidated her.
Desmond was born of royalty, though he hadn’t known about it until after Nina’s father had died. To a very young and impressionable Nina, that discovery had fully explained Desmond’s difficulties in adjusting to life as they had known it. A prince among paupers, she recalled thinking at the time.
Now she could laugh at that childish conclusion. Her family might not have been rich, but they were solid upper-middle class with a healthy bank account. Love and affection were also in ready supply. Neither she nor her brother had ever lacked for a single thing they truly needed.
Nina missed her parents. Her father had succumbed to a virulent case of pneumonia just before Desmond left. The revelation that followed his death—that Desmond wasn’t really his, but was instead the illegitimate son of a Montebellan Duke—had further alienated her brother. The loss of both husband and son had been too much for Nina’s mother. She had died only months later, finally giving in to the weak heart that had plagued her for years.
Of course she had romanticized the sad figure Desmond had become. Most of his problems were of his own making. But he was her brother, faults and all. Poor, handsome, tragic Desmond did not deserve such a sad end.
If she could just do this one last thing for him, see his killer brought to justice, Nina thought she might be able to put aside the guilt she felt for having a childhood that was so much better than his. She had always felt she owed him something to make up for what he had missed and she had enjoyed, and this was all there was left to do for him.
“When did you last hear from your brother?” McDonough asked, interrupting her bittersweet thoughts.
She turned to look at him. “The last time? A few weeks ago.” Desmond had contacted her for a loan, but that was none of this man’s business. It had nothing whatsoever to do with the murder.
“You said you once entertained a close bond with him. That was not true lately?” he asked, the intensity of his gaze absolutely unnerving.
“Is this an interrogation, Mr. McDonough?” she demanded, feeling defensive, especially since she did not want to answer the question.
“Yes,” he readily admitted. “And what happened to calling me Ryan? I thought we were supposed to become more familiar. It was your idea…Nina.”
They had stopped at a traffic light and she had the overwhelming impulse to get out and slam the door shut in his face. Instead, she took a deep breath and prayed for patience. Only when she had collected herself did she answer. “My brother and I were as close as can be expected given the eight-year difference in our ages and the fact that we had not visited much since he left home.” And not at all since he had come to Montebello.
He pursed his lips and nodded. Then he smiled sadly. “And there was also the fact that you had different fathers. How did that affect the two of you?”
Nina shifted in her seat, gritted her teeth and met his gaze with a glare. “If you’re considering sibling rivalry as a possible motive, I do have an alibi. I was on the other side of the world at the time Des was killed.”
He smiled more naturally. “And that can be verified quite easily, I’m sure.”
“Absolutely. So you can eliminate me from your list of suspects, McDonough,” she snapped. “If you have any suspects.”
“I have several hundred thousand at the moment. But you’re going to remedy that with your input on the investigation, aren’t you? When would you like to begin?”
“Now.”
“First I’d like an answer to my previous question. Was there any sibling rivalry between you and Desmond?”
“Certainly not on my part!” she exclaimed. “Are you always this abrasive?”
He shrugged those shoulders she couldn’t help but admire. “Nope. Sometimes I’m even more so. It’s a plus in this line of work, trust me. Looks like you have the attitude down pat, if nothing else.”
Then he cocked his head to one side and raked his bottom lip with his straight, white teeth. She thought she saw a glint of amusement in his eyes. “But you obviously don’t trust me, do you? If you did, you would be content to lie around the palace eating grapes or whatever it is the royal cousins do, and let me handle this case.”
Nina refused to rise to the bait. Calmly she crossed one leg over the other and smoothed the knee-length skirt of her new gray suit. “You know very well I’m not a royal cousin. But Desmond was. You said we could begin the investigation now. Will you give me something specific to do?”
He cleared his throat, quickly looking away from her legs. “You should get settled first. Get over your jet lag.”
“I don’t have any. And I’m already settled, as you put it. Mr. Pavelli has arranged a flat for me.” She gave him a smug little smile and raised her brows. “The vacant apartment next to yours is no longer to let.”
To his credit, he managed not to groan. His sigh of resignation provided her a brief moment of victory. Then he seemed to recover. “I guess he thought it would be convenient for us. Would you like to go there first, or get right down to business?”
“Right down to business,” Nina declared. “That’s why I’m here.”
He nodded once and leaned forward to push a button, obviously an intercom, because he spoke to the driver. “The palace, please.”
“The palace? You’re not talking the king out of this,” Nina warned him. “You heard Lorenzo.”
“I did. And, good little Montebellan subject that I am, I wouldn’t dream of bucking the powers-that-be.”
Before Nina could comment, he continued, this time very seriously. “We’re going to the scene of the crime.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh.”
His eyes were piercing as his gaze fastened on hers. “This is for real, Ms. Caruso. Not like you see on television.”
“Please tell me you don’t believe I’m stupid enough to think it is.”
“All I’m saying is that if you’re going to help me, get objective because I don’t have time to baby you. A man has been killed. I need to discover who did it, and time is all-important. It’s already been nearly forty-eight hours. Will the sight of blood make you faint?”
Nina sucked in a sharp breath of shock. He sounded horribly heartless.
“I know that seems cold,” he admitted, his features rock hard and uncompromising. Unsympathetic. “But if you’re going to accomplish anything at all, you have to divorce your emotions from what you will be doing. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“I hope so. You cannot deal with murder if you don’t. It’s ugly. It will give you nightmares. Sometimes it will make you cry and wake up screaming. This is particularly true if you knew the victim.”
He was trying to scare her off. She had crossed her arms over her chest and was clenching her biceps until they hurt.
Then she saw something in his eyes that told her he was speaking from experience, that he knew exactly what he was talking about. He’d said he worked homicide before. Did he have these nightmares?
“That means I must see…the body.”
“I wouldn’t advise that.” His voice gentler now, thoughtful. “It shouldn’t be necessary.”
“I want to,” she said, steadying her voice, making up her mind to do it. What help could she be to this investigation if she allowed her emotions and her fears to rule every decision she made? “Yes. I should.”
McDonough shook his head and heaved out a deep breath. “You’re that afraid I might miss some clues?”
“Have you even looked for any?” Nina asked.
“I haven’t seen the body yet, if that’s what you’re asking. The king only put me on this late yesterday. I’ve been catching up on what the police have done so far.”
“A second pair of eyes never hurts, does it?” she asked.
“Your eyes will hurt if you insist on this,” he said, betraying a little of that emotion he had just warned her to bury. “I’m afraid yours will. It’s going to be difficult, if not impossible, Nina, to forget the victim was your brother.”
“I can do it,” she said as convincingly as she could. “I can be objective if that’s what it takes. Couldn’t you, if the victim was a relation of yours?”
He gave her the strangest look, then tore his gaze from hers. Well, let him be angry, she thought. This wasn’t about Ryan McDonough’s pride anyway. It was about Desmond and finding out who killed him.
She probably would be able to handle seeing Des. At least, she could fake it for the short time it would take. She’d never been squeamish. And she knew very well that a person’s essence left the body when that person died. It wouldn’t be Desmond she was seeing. Not really.
Suppose McDonough did miss something? Would she know enough to find it? And if she did, would he admit the error? At least if she was courageous enough to see what a real investigator should, he might take her wish to help more seriously.
“I won’t faint,” she assured him. “I’ve seen bodies before.”
He nodded and offered no further argument. Nina only wished she had convinced herself as easily as that.
