“Nice to see you too.”
A vein in his neck bulged. I’d never noticed it before.
“Do you know how much worse it could have been if I was another half an hour away? From now on, you’ll do as I say. No arguments.”
As he spoke, memories of my solo investigation came trickling in, like ice water spilling down my back. I shivered and felt my face grow hot at the same time. “Did you at least find out anything worthwhile from the mother?”
“She died two years ago.” He strode out of the room and shut the door louder than necessary.
I dragged myself out of bed, stumbled into the shower, and stood under the stream of hot water until my fingers started to wrinkle. I didn’t try to keep my face or hair dry this time. Or to process what had happened. Instead, I focused on the water that ran in soothing rivulets down my body and then on the business of drying myself. Dried and naked, I realized I didn’t have a change of underwear. Again. I rummaged through Connor’s and vowed to put a spare pair in my handbag when I got home.
Leaving my hair wet and my face makeup free, I searched for Connor and found him in his office.
Hoping to lighten his mood, I stood in the doorway and saluted. “Reporting for duty, sir.”
His expression informed me I wasn’t funny.
I dropped my hand. “What’s next?”
“I received a message from my street contact. He dug around on my behalf and said there are whispers of a local hit out on Josh Summers. But he doesn’t have any more details.”
“Where does that leave us?”
“Without more information, it just corroborates the theory that someone in addition to Tahlia, Colette, and Juan had opportunity to plant the poison. Which means Albert and everyone else Josh ever slighted are still on the table.”
“Oh.” That was less helpful than I’d hoped.
“With Albert’s stunt this afternoon, we can assume he has a contact high up in the illicit drugs and poisons scene. Only a small group of people know about GHB-X, and even fewer can get their hands on it. Albert’s casual use of it suggests he has a steady supply.”
“And no qualms about drugging people.”
The memories I’d been suppressing reared up again, and I shuddered despite my best efforts to clamp down on it. Connor’s expression was already hard and unforgiving, but at this, his gray eyes turned hostile. For the first time, I glimpsed someone I should be scared of.
He took a few controlled breaths, and his eyes returned to their usual unreadable wall of cinder-block gray. “The research team found nothing of use on Dana’s laptop. She’s one of those rare people who delete their emails. Her browser history didn’t contain anything suspicious, and her files were mostly work or tax related. No photos either, just a collection of pirated and purchased music. She doesn’t even have a Facebook account.”
I nodded. “I’m not surprised. She’s a private person. She barely said anything about her past in all the time we spent together, and I knew she wasn’t on Facebook. Once she saw me checking it and told me that most of the people on there are self-absorbed asses using it to validate their own importance.”
The corners of Connor’s mouth tilted upward a tiny bit. “Is that why you use it?”
“Of course.”
He handed me a piece of paper. “Remember that newspaper clipping you found? This is the article it came from.”
The article told the tragic story of a car accident that left the driver, Henry Smythe, dead at just seventeen years old. Henry, the boy pictured on the left, wasn’t wearing his seat belt, so when the car smashed into a tree, he’d flown through the windshield and broken his neck, dying on impact. The two passengers, Josh Summers and his girlfriend, Kate Williamson, had both been wearing seat belts and escaped with only minor injuries. The article went on to say that the police were still waiting on results to find out whether Henry had been under the influence of alcohol or drugs, but that he was an honor roll student with no prior accidents or run-ins with the law. It was noted that Henry and Josh had been best friends since elementary school, but Josh had not been available for comment.
I mulled it over but couldn’t make the pieces fit together. “Why would Dana have this?”
Connor shrugged. “The only reasons for someone unconnected to a tragedy to have clippings of it are blackmail or research. So, you tell me.”
“Is it possible she was wrapped up in something she shouldn’t have been?”
“Yes, but there was nothing on her laptop to lead us to it, so your guess is as good as mine.”
“We could ask Josh about it.”
“It can’t hurt. From what we know right now, it doesn’t make any sense, and I don’t like pieces of information not making sense. We should compare his keys with the photos you took of Colette’s at some point and also ask him why he tripled her wages, so I’ll see if he’s available.” He sent a text message.
“You have Josh’s private number?”
“For emergencies, yes, but I texted his new Shade.” Connor’s phone vibrated. “They’re home. Let’s go.”
I remembered my hair and makeup. “Um…”
Connor looked me over. “You have five minutes.”
“What about your reputation?”
He eyed the dark window. “We’ll hope he’s using mood lighting.”
13
Armed only with mascara and lip gloss, I found myself once again a passenger in Connor’s car driving to see Josh Summers. After being poisoned, again. Wearing Connor’s underwear, again. At least he hadn’t noticed this time. I let my hair fall to cover my face and pretended to be enthralled by something on my phone.
Josh met us at the door in a casual outfit of T-shirt, shorts, and suede moccasins. He mustn’t have been expecting guests this evening. He led us back to the same sitting room with its brown leather chairs and now darkened view out the double-height window. We were in luck with the mood lighting—several floor lamps filled the room with a soft glow and cast warm reflections on the glass.
Josh offered us refreshments. Connor declined for both of us, not caring that I would’ve killed for a coffee from the Synesso Hydra.
“We’ll try not to take up too much of your time. First of all, would you mind if we take a look at your house key?”
Josh retrieved his key chain, and we flipped through the images on my phone. One of them was a match.
“Are you sure you never gave Colette a copy?” Connor asked Josh.
“Of course I’m sure.”
“Any idea how one ended up on her key ring then?”
Josh’s jaw tightened. “No. But I’ll be sure to ask her about it.”
“Please don’t address it with her until we’ve finalized the investigation. Just in case.”
“Fine.”
Connor handed the keys back. “Thank you. Have you ever slept with Colette?”
Josh gripped the keys hard enough to turn his fingers white. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“That’s a yes, then. What about with Dana?”
“No! And how is this helping her?”
Connor leaned forward. “I don’t tell you how to cook, Mr. Summers, so please don’t tell me which questions need asking.”
Josh stood up and ran his fingers through his hair in agitation.
“You said you wanted to help Dana,” Connor reminded him. “No lies, no secrets.”
Josh’s hand dropped to his side, and he lowered himself back into the chair. Even the blond hair that his fingers had drawn into a peak flopped over. “You’re right.”
“What was Dana like toward you? Was she distant, polite, a huge fan?”
“She was nice, but definitely not star-struck. She didn’t even laugh at most of my jokes.”
This made me smile. Dana was a hard nut to crack.
“Did she seem interested in your past?”
Josh gave him an odd look. “She did ask a couple of questions over the month we spent together, but she did
n’t push for answers. Why?”
“Are you being blackmailed, Mr. Summers?”
Josh went a shade lighter, and he hesitated too long before answering. “Where is this coming from?”
“I have no interest in uncovering your secrets. I’m trying to save Dana’s life.”
There was a long silence as each man tried to outwait the other.
Connor won. Of course.
“Fine,” Josh said. “Colette came on to me a few weeks ago, just after I supposedly started dating Dana. We slept together, as you figured out already. Colette told me to triple her pay or she’d tell. Dana wouldn’t have cared, obviously, but I couldn’t let Colette know that, so I went along with it.” He shrugged. “It pissed me off to give money to her rather than to people in need, but it’s not like I couldn’t afford it.”
So that’s how Colette earned so much. I’d bet my last four bucks that Josh wasn’t the first client she’d seduced and blackmailed. It was a stroke of genius to make it appear as a wage increase so it could be explained to significant others and the IRS.
Connor’s face showed no surprise. He probably had it figured out from the get-go. Nice of him to enlighten me.
“Any other blackmail you want to tell us about?” he asked.
Josh stared him down. “I already answered your question. If you don’t have anything further—”
Connor pulled out a copy of the newspaper clipping we’d found in Dana’s apartment and handed it to Josh. “Does this mean anything to you?”
Josh’s hand shook as he held it. He looked like he was going to be sick. “Henry. My good friend. He died in a car accident over twenty-five years ago. This is the picture they used in one of the news articles on it.”
“Any idea why Dana would have that in her apartment?”
Josh stared at the picture for a long moment before answering. “No.” He shook his head, as if to clear it. “It’s public knowledge, but I’d hate for the media to get hold of it and dredge it all up again.”
“Why?”
He didn’t look up, his eyes snared by the paper in his hands. “It was a senseless accident that never should have happened. No one can do anything to fix it. A media storm will just be painful for everyone who knew him.” He handed the paper back to Connor. “If that will be all?”
His escort to the door was a little less good-natured than his welcome had been.
We pulled away and turned toward Connor’s place in Beverly Hills. “Were you watching him when I asked about blackmail?” Connor asked.
“Yes, it shook him up pretty bad. Maybe more than the whole Colette thing warranted.”
Connor nodded. “That was my impression, too. You’re not bad at reading people. Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
“You didn’t read your ex-husband well.”
I bristled. “You read my file?”
“Of course.” He leveled his gaze at me, daring me to object.
I stifled my gut reaction. I should’ve known.
When I refused to take the bait, he continued. “He seemed very upset about a death that happened twenty-six years ago.”
Glad we were no longer talking about my ex, I thought about it. “If they were best friends his entire childhood, it makes sense it left a lasting wound. He seems to hold everyone at arm’s length these days. Maybe that’s why.”
“It’s possible. Too bad it doesn’t help us with the case.”
The case. I had no idea how we’d get to the bottom of it, and Dana’s numbered days were running out fast. “Why do you think Colette made a copy of the key?”
“Spite? I suspect it irked her that Tahlia was trusted with one and she wasn’t.”
Damn. That sounded plausible and didn’t make it any more likely that Colette was the person who planted the Ambience. So much for my sleuthing.
We drove in silence a while. “Why did you turn down refreshments for both of us anyway? I’m starving.”
Connor shook his head, still unable to believe he’d been saddled with me. “I wanted his Shade out of the room in case having him there would make Josh less talkative. If he ate, Caleb would’ve had to join us.”
“Right. Of course.”
“What do you want to eat?”
“Everything.”
“You realize that means an awful lot of taste testing?”
“On second thought, maybe Maria can make us something for dinner. And dessert.”
Oliver was home when I got back around ten o’clock and came out of his bedroom to greet me. Meow stayed in bed.
“You’ve scored an admirer, I see,” he said.
“I have?”
He gestured to the dining table, which was overflowing with flowers. “I hope this doesn’t mean you’ll be leaving me to cook for myself.”
Red roses. Baby’s breath. Entirely unoriginal but expensive. I walked over and searched for a note amidst the blooms, my pulse thrumming in my ears. Who would send these? I used to love flowers, but now I associated them with Steve, who’d bought them for me on every occasion and divorced me at the first inconvenience. What good are pretty things without kept promises?
Oliver was watching me search, and there were so many of the damn things to dig through that after a whole minute I still hadn’t found the card. I’d pricked myself twice though. “Did you find the lasagna?” I asked.
“Yes. I ate it.”
“All of it?”
“It didn’t have any meat in it, so I needed extra to fill me up. It was delicious while it lasted.”
My hand brushed cardboard. The note.
Can’t stop thinking about you. Call me. A.
Albert’s personal number was included.
The thudding in my ears grew louder. Was he serious? Did he think I found him so irresistible I wouldn’t notice he’d drugged me? And if he believed that, why did he feel the need in the first place? I took a few deep breaths.
If he was really insecure, the drug would help his confidence, and if I was really his number one fan, I might not have noticed its effects, or at least put them down to the wine. Except he hadn’t been able to get it up.
“Izzy?” Oliver tapped my arm. “Don’t swoon on me now girl, I’m starving and have to go to work soon.”
Glad to be distracted, I considered my fast and simple recipes. “How do cheesy scones sound?”
“Superb.”
At least he was easy to please. I got the ingredients out and started the oven preheating. When I turned around, Oliver was fingering the note that had come with the flowers. “So, who’s responsible for ruining our perfectly good dining table, anyway? Look, you can’t even see the Ninja Turtle stickers anymore!”
“Connor, of course. Who else? And they’re beautiful.” My lying skills were improving.
“Then why is it signed A?”
I made a show of sighing. “It stands for a nickname, okay? A private one.”
“Oooh, let me guess. Aardvark? Angel-berries? Archetypal-God-of-Arousal?”
“Ugh. Stop or you can cook your own dinner.” In truth, I’d have hugged him for his ridiculous suggestions if it wouldn’t have made him suspicious. Imagining Connor going by Angel-berries dispelled the power of my bad memories, like flicking a light switch on the monsters under the bed.
I grabbed the cheese and started grating, holding back a smile.
“You’re no fun at all, Adorabubbles,” Oliver said, coming over to pinch some cheese.
I swatted at his hand. “You know having your own personal chef is a bit like being the Queen, right?”
He snickered. “Yeah, only I never waste it by ordering jam sandwiches with the crusts removed. And if I did order jam sandwiches, I would damn well eat the crusts too.”
“You’re the picture of frugality.”
“And I don’t wear silly hats.”
After fulfilling my housemate duties, I sat down on my bed to tackle another mountain of hate mail. Meow migrated to my pillow to keep me company as soon as Olive
r left for work. I thanked her with some neck scratches before concentrating on the task at hand.
Connor had warned me not to bring anything to his attention unless it was a much stronger lead than what I’d come up with so far. Except if it related to blackmail.
“Most murderers have better things to do than write us handy dandy letters that lead us to them,” he’d said. “That’s why I gave the job to you.”
I huffed again in remembrance. One minute Connor showed empathy and concern for me and others, the next he went back to being an arrogant ass. An arrogant ass with a particularly nice ass, but he didn’t have Levi’s dimples. Oh dear.
My phone buzzed with a text.
Did you like the flowers? Because I like you. A.
The bad memories crept back. I stared at the message longer than it warranted, unable to process it with my tired eyes and more tired brain. It was midnight. That meant four thirty p.m. in Australia. The perfect time to ring my best friend.
I couldn’t face going to sleep thinking about Albert, Steve, or Dana on her deathbed.
“Hey, doofus,” Lily greeted me. “How’re you doing?”
We’ve been best friends since third grade, when Sophia Yale, the most popular girl in class, blew a giant wad of pink bubblegum into Lily’s hair and I cut it out for her using blunt plastic art scissors. Her mother burst into tears when she saw my handiwork, but we were inseparable from that moment on.
“Oh, you know, I’m over eight thousand miles away from my dear ex-husband, and no one has asked me for a sticky bun in months. So, unbelievably marvelous,” I lied. “What about you?”
“Let’s see. Four hangovers. Three sexual encounters. Two pairs of new shoes. And zero ex-husbands and hundred-grand debts. So, I guess that would make me unbelievably more marvelous than you.”
“Gee, I don’t know how I’d cope without your support,” I said, feeling better already. “How many men made up the three sexual encounters?”
“Depends how you define men. Two were sexually inappropriate comments from my malodorous coworker—you guessed it, Chad—and one was with myself.”
Eat, Pray, Die Mystery Box Set Page 12
