An Equation For Murder Read online

  AN EQUATION FOR MURDER

  Jayne Nichols

  NICHOLS AND DYMES

  WHERE A SATISFYING ENDING IS A MUST

  Books by Jayne Nichols

  Contemporary Romance

  Wish Fulfilled Series

  Once in a Lifetime

  Twice in a Blue Moon

  Third Time’s the Charm

  Romantic Suspense

  Single Title

  Death By Design

  An Equation For Murder

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  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Epilogue

  Author Bio

  Other Books By Jayne Nichols

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  AN EQUATION FOR MURDER

  Prologue

  Casa Rojas, Cabo San Lucas, Mexico

  Late August

  The man was tall, well built, and carried himself with exactly the right amount of self-assurance as he crossed the tile breezeway that separated the house from the pool. He hoped his employer would be reasonable. Even the best of plans didn’t always work as expected.

  “Señor Rojas,” he said, approaching the silver-haired man standing in the shallow end of the pool. He stopped at the edge, then bowed slightly from the waist.

  “What is it, Manuel?”

  Dark circles shadowed his employer’s eyes, and all the sun in the world would not add color to the pallid, sunken cheeks. Javier Rojas was ill. Manuel suspected the man was dying, though he would never be so bold as to speak of it within his hearing. However, the servants all knew the master of the house had cancer.

  “Carlos has returned.”

  “And has he good news for me?” Javier Rojas squinted into the sun, his lips drawn tight across what might have passed for a smile but was, in reality, a grimace of pain.

  “It seems the entire Mayan display is being readied for a tour of the United States. An exchange of cultures with that of the American Indian, I’m told. The tour will begin in mid-October, and until then the entire display is being kept under heavy guard at the Museo Nacional de Anthropologia in Mexico City.”

  “I assume Carlos was unable to retrieve the mask for me.”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  Javier moved slowly to the steps, then pointed to the white robe resting on a nearby chair. His bony fingers shook faintly. “I want the mask, Manuel. I need it.”

  Manuel held the robe open, remaining silent while the older man slid his thin, emaciated arms into the sleeves. Death was closing in. Manuel could feel its heaviness hovering close by, waiting. Doctors had come and gone, offering no real solution, only pills and chemotherapy. Neither had worked. If such modern medicines could not cure the disease, Manuel doubted that an ancient, mystical mask would either. However, that was not his decision to make. He only followed orders.

  “I have a plan,” Manuel offered.

  Without further assistance, Javier seated himself at the nearest table shaded by a multi-colored umbrella. He signaled to a young, female servant who returned immediately with a frosty glass of lemonade.

  “This is all I’m allowed these days.” The old man sighed, his gaze following the woman as she returned to her duties. “I long for my youth.” He sipped at the drink. “What is this plan?”

  There was no offer of a drink or chair. Manuel didn’t expect one. He knew his place. “The American tour opens in California. A small city called San Sebastian to the north of San Diego. Carlos should be able to retrieve the relic then.”

  “I don’t want an international incident.”

  “He will be very careful,” Manuel assured the older man, then explained his plan. “The mask will be in your hands before anyone discovers it is missing.”

  Javier’s fingers tightened around the glass. “So long to wait.”

  “Only eight weeks.” Manuel held his breath. Though eight weeks seemed an eternity to his employer, it would be barely enough time to implement his plan. He didn’t relish committing such a theft on foreign soil. No matter how careful the preparation, too many things could go wrong. “The time will pass quickly.”

  “Let us hope so, Manuel. I am not ready to die. In fact, I would like very much to prove the doctor’s six-month prediction of my death to be greatly exaggerated.” Javier stood, then handed his empty glass to Manuel. “Very well. I approve of your plan, but this time I expect success. Is that understood?”

  “Si, Señor Rojas.” Manuel knew all too well what the consequences would be if Carlos failed a second time.

  “You will go with Carlos this time to make sure he makes no mistakes. Since he is my sister’s son, I would not like to have his death on my conscience.”

  Chapter One

  San Sebastian Hospital

  San Sebastian, CA

  Lullaby and good night. Close your baby brown eyes.

  Lillian Moore hummed the old lullaby softly as she shuffled from one end of the darkened room to the other, her feet encased in aqua colored, paper booties. When she stopped pacing to gaze through the window into the empty hallway, the infant boy she held in her arms began to squirm and fuss. He didn’t like the interruption, the loss of her attention assured by her whispered voice in his ear, and he was quick to tell her so.

  In his own way.

  At just five days old, he could offer no words, only the piercing cry of a child in pain. Born addicted to crack cocaine, he was paying the price of his mother’s drug habit. Nothing soothed him except the constant movement and the beat of Lillian’s heart against his tiny ear.

  But Lillian was tired. She had been here most of the night, and the only time the child had not been in her arms was during his medical treatments. He didn’t like to be rocked or shaken, so she continued to walk slowly around the room, whispering words of encouragement. Crooning old, nearly forgotten lullabies while making the turns as gently as she could so as not to agitate him.

  He had no name yet. The nurses had christened him Baby John. Lillian always called him sweetheart, and Baby John seemed to like that best. She was his favorite walker. The nurses had told her so, and the memory of it made her smile into the darkness. He was so tiny and fragile. No child should be born into such agony. If it were possible, she would take it all away. But it wasn’t within her power, and all she could do was hold him in her arms. Give him he
r strength to fight the addiction.

  “You’re going to be just fine, sweetheart,” she murmured, her lips brushing his cheek. “I’ll keep you safe.”

  Lillian continued to hum softly. She had just turned the corner at the far end of the room when Baby John’s head, nestled in the crook of her left arm, began to thrash from side to side. Miniature fingers tightened around her thumb. His free hand slapped repeatedly against her breast. “What is it, sweetheart? What’s the matter?”

  His answer was a whimper that grew quickly into a wail and finally into a high-pitched screech. He gasped for breath, his body rigid in her arms. His legs kicked rhythmically against her. Lillian tried to remain calm while inside her heart rate tripled. She freed her hand to press the call button hanging around her neck. A nurse was beside her instantly, taking Baby John from her arms.

  “What happened?” the nurse asked.

  “I don’t know, Beth. He was fine, then all of a sudden he was in distress.”

  Beth laid the baby in his infant cart and began to check his vital signs. Lillian watched quietly from the sidelines, her hands folded, her lips moving in silent prayer. When his little chest with all its various connections shuddered several times, then went still, she cried out. “Oh, no, sweetheart. Please no.” Tears rushed into her eyes and down her cheeks. “Beth, what is it? What’s happening?”

  “He’s seizing.” Beth turned to a second nurse. “Send for Dr. Ames,” she ordered.

  Lillian stood in the doorway, watching in silent misery while Baby John’s cart was moved back into the urgent care area of the nursery. She stepped back when the doctor pushed past her and into the room.

  “Get this woman out of here,” the doctor ordered, pointing back at Lillian. “I don’t need the interference of a worthless civilian.”

  Worthless civilian? Lillian stood rooted to the floor, her mouth open in shock. That baby was her world!

  “I’m sorry, Lillian,” Beth said, guiding her into the hallway. “You’ll have to wait out here.”

  “I’ll be in the cafeteria. Please let me know what happens.” Without waiting for a response, Lillian fled the area.

  Her stomach still in a knot of apprehension, Lillian entered the cafeteria where the aroma of strong, freshly brewed coffee masked the antiseptic odor of medical personnel taking a quick break from emergency room duty. At a table by the window sat three vigilant relatives or friends, their anxiety apparent in the hushed tone of their conversation. Lillian headed straight for the coffee urn. Her hand trembling, she filled a white ceramic cup with the distinctive SSH logo on it, then carried it to a quiet table at the far end of the room.

  Worthless civilian. Lillian sighed before taking her first cautious sip of the coffee. It’s not like I do this for a pat on the back. That child needs love and security, and I can give both in abundance. She closed her eyes, fought the tears threatening to fall. I may be a civilian, but I’m not totally worthless. I have Michael and Amanda. And Jennifer.

  “I’m glad you’re still smiling,” Beth said, pulling out the chair next to her.

  “I was just thinking about my granddaughter.”

  “How old is she now?”

  “Jenny is a big girl now,” Lillian said very soberly, imitating her precocious granddaughter. “She turned six in June and will be starting first grade next week.”

  “Our children grow up so fast.” Beth sighed, pouring cream into her coffee.

  Lillian folded her arms on top of the table, then carefully, almost reluctantly, gazed at the woman who had become her friend two years ago when she’d first entered the hospital’s baby-holding program. She had to know. “How is Baby John? Did he make it?”

  Beth smiled. “Yes, he did.” She patted Lillian’s hand. “It was pretty close there for a few minutes, but Dr. Ames is the best.”

  “She’s certainly the rudest.”

  “And you just saw her good side.” Beth rose to help herself to more coffee. “Don’t worry about her, Lillian. She’s new here and flexing muscle in her role as the head of our Neo-Natal Urgent Care department. I’m afraid she doesn’t think much of hospitals having baby-holding programs. It didn’t work at her last one, and she’s against it here. So far, the hospital board isn’t listening to her.”

  “Will tonight make a better case for her?”

  Beth frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Baby John could’ve died.”

  “But he didn’t, and believe me, that was mostly due to you.”

  “Oh, Beth. Don’t be ridiculous. I didn’t do anything.” Lillian looked across the room at a table of nurses. “You saved his life. Not me. I just stood there, frozen in place like a statue. Dr. Ames is right. I am worthless.”

  “That’s not true, Lillian. What you do here is important.”

  “Not really. Not like what you do.” Lillian reached into her handbag for a tissue and dabbed at the wetness that had suddenly appeared in her eyes. “Do you know what I can do? I can give dinner parties and play golf with a three handicap. I’m in demand as a bridge partner, and I can create the most imaginative centerpieces, just ask anyone at the country club. My garden is a virtual showplace, and my house is immaculate.”

  “You don’t think any of those things are important?”

  “As compared with what you do, what Dr. Ames did in there?” Lillian gestured toward the nursery and shook her head. “No.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  Lillian smiled sadly at her friend. “I don’t know. Oh, Beth, you shouldn’t listen to me. I’m just feeling restless these days. Yesterday was my anniversary. Rusty and I would have been married twenty-nine years.”

  “That’s a long time.”

  “Yes, a very long time.” Lillian sighed. “It wasn’t easy to be the perfect Navy wife. The sudden posting changes when I could go, the loneliness when I couldn’t. My whole life revolved around his career, but I was merely an ornament on his arm.” She wrapped both hands around the coffee cup, stared into its emptiness and saw the futility that had been her life. “His career always came first. There was nothing left for me. Even though he’s been dead four years, I still don’t know how to be me.”

  “You didn’t finish college, did you?”

  “No. Just the one year.”

  “Why don’t you go back?”

  Lillian shook her head. “Beth, I’m going to be fifty in October. It’s too late for that.”

  “It’s never too late to learn. What was your major?”

  “As I recall, it was boys. Which, according to my father, turned out to be a complete and total waste of his hard earned money.” But Beth’s infectious laughter had Lillian rethinking her initial objection. “What would I study?”

  “Anything. Everything. Start with a liberal arts curriculum. Take some classes just for fun. See where it leads you.” Beth leaned close and grinned. “You never know. It could be a new beginning.”

  Chapter Two

  “So, what happens now?”

  Manuel stared quietly at the handsome young man shoveling the contents of a second plate full of beans and rice into his mouth at breakneck speed. Carlos obviously hadn’t missed many meals in his life, but he wore the pounds as solid muscle on a six-foot, four-inch weight-lifter’s frame. The opposite of his uncle. Or maybe Javier Rojas had been just as strong a man before the sickness overcame him. Manuel had only worked with the Rojas family for three years, and the disease had already eaten away most of his employer’s health.

  “You will need to try again.”

  Carlos sighed heavily, the spoon half way to his mouth. “It won’t help him. Can’t he see that?”

  “When you need to fight hard for your life, perhaps you will find the answer to that. In the meantime, we have a job to do.”

  Carlos pushed his plate aside. “The museum is too well guarded. It will be suicide.”

  Manuel smiled. For either of them to question orders would also be suicide. Carlos would do as he was told. “If your re
port was correct, the entire Mayan display is to be transported to America in eight weeks. We will steal it there.”

  “We?”

  “It seems that I am to assist you.”

  Frustration clouded Carlos’ face, followed quickly by a deep sigh of resignation. “I assume you have a plan?”

  “Only a partial one. I had to give your uncle something quickly.”

  “So, what is my part in this half-assed plan of yours?”

  “I want you to go back to Mexico City. Study the Mayan display. Get pictures and find out everything you can about the Jaguar mask.”

  “How do I do that?”

  Sometimes Manuel wondered why the muscle in Carlos’ brain hadn’t grown with as much speed as the ones in the rest of his body. “You’re twenty-three. You went to college. I’m sure you can think of a way. Just remember, if you get caught, you’re on your own.”

  “What will you be doing while I’m risking my neck collecting this information for you?”

  “I will be on a surveillance mission of my own.” Manuel smiled. “It’s been a long time since I visited America, and I have never been to San Sebastian. I’m hoping the rest of our plan will come to me.”

  * * *

  “Grandma, are you really going to school?” Jennifer glanced up from the book lying open in her lap, the look on her face both determined and delighted. “I’m going to be in first grade. What grade will you be in?”

  Lillian laughed. During the past four years, she had fallen into a routine of Friday night dinners at her daughter’s house, watching Jennifer grow from an inquisitive toddler into an even more curious six-year-old. “They don’t actually have grades in college. First year students, like I’ll be, are called Freshmen.”

  She hugged her lively, blue-eyed, strawberry blonde-haired granddaughter, wondering if her first day back on a campus wouldn’t feel the same as if she were starting grade school all over again. After all, it had been a lot of years since she had opened a textbook.