Cold Hearted. Beverly Barton

them? That’s Kendra and Wes Brannon. But they’re not twins, just brother and sister. She’s eighteen and he’s twenty. They’re Jordan’s stepchildren.”

      “Hmm…They were here Easter weekend when Senator Price died, weren’t they?”

      “Uh, yeah, I guess they were. That was that weekend. We were all in and out. The kids were in from college. He goes to Auburn and she’s over at the University of Georgia, where Jordan went.”

      “You said that y’all were in and out during that weekend. Do you know if everyone here tonight was in and out of the house when Dan Price died?”

      Roselynne paused before she spoke, something Rick figured she didn’t do all that often. He had her pegged for the type who seldom wasted time thinking about what she said. “Devon is—was Dan’s assistant. He lived wherever Dan and Jordan lived. And Rene—” she pointed to the attractive brunette deep in conversation with Devon Markham “—is Jordan’s assistant and lives here, too, when they’re in Georgia. I believe she has her own place in D.C.”

      “What about you and your children, where do y’all live?”

      “Playing investigator?”

      “Not playing, Mrs. Harris. Just doing my job.”

      She grinned. “Call me Roselynne. Everybody does.”

      Yeah, he’d bet everybody did. Every man she’d ever met. “Okay, Roselynne, so where do you—?”

      “J.C. travels quite a bit, but when he’s in town, he stays with me part of the time. Tammy’s got some health issues, needs some looking after, if you know what I mean.” Roselynne tapped her right temple. “My girl’s high strung and nervous.”

      Was that Roselynne’s motherly way of saying her daughter was mentally unbalanced?

      “Jordan’s kids are away at college, but home to them is wherever Jordan is. They adore her, just like we all do.”

      “I hear the lady is practically a saint.”

      “As far as I’m concerned she is.” Roselynne’s eyes misted. “To know Jordan is to love her. Take my word on that. You won’t find a single solitary soul who’ll say one word against her.”

      “I find that hard to believe. Even saints have enemies.”

      “Not our Jordan,” Roselynne said emphatically.

      “What are you telling this man about Jordan?” The woman who had just walked up in front of them glared at Roselynne, contempt in her gaze.

      “Mrs. Harris was just telling me what a saint Jordan is,” Rick said.

      The woman turned her sharp stare at him, her eyes small and dark. She looked down her thin, hawkish nose at Rick, dismissing him as an inferior being.

      “I’m Rick Carson, the Powell agent that Mrs. Price and her brother-in-law hired to investigate Senator Price’s death.” Rick offered her his hand.

      She glowered at his hand for a good half minute, as if considering the possibility that he was somehow contaminated. Finally she grasped his hand in a firm, confident shake.

      “I’m Darlene Wright. Jordan’s—” she hesitated, as if uncertain of their relationship “—Jordan’s friend. Jordan’s mother, Helene, and I were sorority sisters and friends. I think of Jordan as my daughter and she thinks of me as her mother.” Darlene cast Roselynne a sidelong glance, her expression daring the other woman to contradict her.

      “So it seems that Mrs. Price is a fortunate woman—she has two mothers.”

      Before either woman could respond, the room fell into an instant hush and all eyes turned to the doorway. Jordan entered the dining room quietly. But her presence captured everyone’s attention, their reaction to her entrance as reverent as if she were the Queen of England, or maybe an angel come down from heaven.

      How did one small, fragile woman command such devotion?

      Had he pegged her all wrong? Was she the cold-hearted bitch who hadn’t shed a tear at her husband’s funeral? Was she the beautiful, vulnerable widow he instinctively wanted to comfort? Was she the adulterous wife who was having an affair with her husband’s assistant? Was she the much adored daughter to two women? Was Jordan Price really a candidate for sainthood or was she a heartless murderer?

      Rick watched as, one by one, Jordan’s admirers swarmed around her. Although they showed concern for her, and it was obvious that they all cared about her and she them, Rick got an odd vibe. It was almost as if they fed off her, draining her of her strength and energy, absorbing her light into their darkness.

      Hell, where had that weird thought come from? Absorbing her light into their darkness. Getting a little deep there, Carson. Next thing you know, you’ll need some hip boots to wade through the crap.

      Jordan parted her sea of devotees and came to him, pausing when she was within arm’s reach. “Good evening, Mr. Carson…Rick.”

      “Jordan.” He nodded.

      “I hope your accommodations are satisfactory. If not—”

      “The room is fine. Thanks.”

      “I apologize for keeping y’all waiting,” she said. “I was on the phone with the governor. He wanted me to know that he’s appointing Gary Werneth to complete Dan’s term. He—” Her voice trembled. She closed her eyes and bowed her head.

      Everyone in the room seemed to move forward, as if ready to envelop Jordan with comfort or catch her if she fell. But it was Kendra Brannon who actually wrapped her arms around her stepmother and hugged her.

      Jordan returned the hug, then pulled free and announced, “Please be seated, everyone. I’ll let Vadonna know we’re ready for dinner to be served.”

      During the hour and a half it took to complete the four-course meal, Jordan made a great effort to put everyone at ease. Rick had been placed between Rene Burke, Jordan’s assistant, and Darlene Wright. Both women treated him with cordial respect, but neither was actually friendly. Across from him, Tammy Harris spoke only when spoken to, and eyed Rick shyly when she thought he wasn’t looking. Jordan included Rick in the conversation whenever possible, as did her stepmother, Roselynne, but for the most part, everyone ignored him. They probably thought of him as the proverbial white elephant in the room. No one was openly rude to him, but he sensed a mixture of antagonism and curiosity from Jordan’s family and friends.

      After dinner, as everyone rose to their feet and milled around the room, Jordan made her way to him, pulled him aside, and asked, “Would you join Devon and me in my study?”

      “Sure.”

      She motioned to Markham who stood halfway across the room, watching and waiting. She snaps her fingers and he comes running, Rick thought. How many poor bastards had been at her beck and call the way her husband’s handsome young assistant was?

      Both Rick and Markham fell into step behind Jordan as she led them away from the others, down the hall and into her private sanctum. After closing the door behind her, she reached out and took Markham’s hand in hers. Rick looked from their clasped hands to their faces. Whatever this was about, they were presenting a united front.

      “I want to clear something up right now,” Jordan said. “There is no need for you to try to find out what my relationship with Devon is. Don’t waste your time when it’s better spent trying to find out if Dan was murdered and if so, who killed him.”

      “Are you ordering me not to—”

      “Jordan and I are not lovers,” Markham said.

      Yeah, tell me another one and maybe I’ll believe it. “If you say so.”

      “Devon and I have known each other since we were children,” Jordan said. “He’s been my best friend for as long as I can remember, in grade school and in high school.