My family could really use money like that. I knew it was foolish to think I might be capable of something like that, but . . . what if it wasn’t?
Out of curiosity, I typed in “Beltway Killer” to my search bar. Pages and pages of results popped up.
The first murder had been three years ago. All the victims were female in their twenties. The killer’s manner of death was strangulation.
The women had disappeared, not to be seen or heard from for weeks. Then, one day, their bodies had appeared in a public location.
The police had only one lead in the case—a postal carrier. But he’d been cleared, and there were no other suspects listed in the articles I read.
I scanned the photos of his victims. The first was an African American woman with a bright smile. The second victim was a redhead. The third victim—
I paused.
Was that . . . ?
I squinted, looking closer.
It was.
This was the same woman I’d seen in the photo on Hunter’s desk.
His wife or girlfriend had been one of the killer’s victims.
The air left my lungs at the thought of it.
I couldn’t even imagine what that might be like.
I glanced at her name. Kate Snelling.
They hadn’t been married.
My curiosity about the detective grew even larger now that I knew what he’d been through. No wonder he always had that intense look in his eyes.
Chapter Twenty-One
Ruth and I talked over a breakfast of fruit and yogurt the next morning. As we did, all I could think about were my father’s words that I’d read last night.
I stuck with my plan to just read one journal entry per day to keep me going for now. That way I could spread all of this out and feel like I was reconnecting with my father even though he was no longer here on this earth.
Smarts will keep you alive. Integrity will keep you sane.
Words of wisdom from my dad.
“Have a great day, Sis.” Ruth leaned forward and kissed my cheek. “Maybe this weekend we can catch up. Maybe we can make some popcorn and play Sapo?” It was our favorite South American game, one where you tossed coins and tried to get them into a frog’s mouth.
I smiled and patted her hand. “I would love to do that. It sounds perfect.”
“Then I’m going to put it on my calendar.”
“You keep a calendar?” That didn’t sound like my sister.
“No, but I’m trying to be more American.”
We both exchanged a chuckle.
Ruth’s smile faded, though. “I miss Papa, Elliot.”
I reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “I miss him too.”
“It just doesn’t seem fair that he was taken from us so early. He was perfectly healthy one day and gone the next.”
“I still expect to hear him coming home sometimes,” I admitted. “I’d give anything to talk to him.”
“Me too.” Ruth rubbed beneath her eye. “I miss Yerba too. I never thought I’d say that. But I think just knowing that we can’t go back . . . it makes me want to go even more. I just want to catch up with my friends. And I want fresh fruit. And to sleep in my bed and wake up hearing the sounds of the jungle.”
“I’ve thought those exact same things. But we’ll get through this. Together.”
She offered a sad smile. “I know. Thanks. I’m so glad I have a sister to go through this with.”
“Me too, Ruth. Me too.”
A few minutes later, we were both out the door, and I was headed to my job.
As soon as I walked into Driscoll and Associates, the rest of the crew met me at the door.
“I heard what happened last night at the police station,” Michael said. “Are you okay?”
“I can’t believe that man put a gun to your head,” Oscar said.
“Did you blow your cover in the process?” Velma asked.
I stepped back, feeling a bit overwhelmed at their care and concern.
“Give her space everybody.” Michael raised his arms as if to push everyone back. “So let’s start at the beginning. Are you okay?”
I rubbed my head, feeling a tremble rush through me as I thought about last night’s events. It would be a long time before I could forget about that gun against my head. Flashes of the incident kept replaying in my mind, causing my muscles to pull taut with fear.
Then I remembered I was okay, and my breathing returned to normal.
“I’ll be fine. It could’ve been much worse.” I glanced at each of them. “How did you guys even know about what happened?”
“It was in the newspaper this morning,” Velma said.
“They didn’t have my picture, did they?” Horror raced through me at the thought. What if my mom saw it and found out the truth that way?
“No picture,” Michael said. “But we put the pieces together. Especially when we read that one of the housekeeping staff helped take him down.”
“You assumed it was me from that statement?” I didn’t think that fit my reputation.
“It made sense.” Velma widened her eyes and nodded. “Especially after what happened the night before when you saved Oscar. You’re one of the bravest people I’ve ever met.”
“I’m not really that brave.”
“I got this for you.” She extended her hand, a coffee mug there.
I took it from her and read the words. “I am woman. Hear me roar.”
“You didn’t have to.”
She shrugged. “I found it two years ago, and I’ve just been waiting to find someone to give it to.”
“I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”
She beamed. “You’re welcome.”
I turned to Oscar, desperate to take the attention off myself. “He’s the same man who tried to shoot you. Did you see his picture? Did you recognize him?”
Oscar muttered something beneath his breath. “Yes, his picture was in the paper. Are you sure?”
“I’m positive. He had the same smell. The same feel. The same breathing. I’m a detail person.”
“He’s someone I put in jail about two years ago. But he just got out about a week ago. He vowed revenge on me, but I didn’t know he was serious.” Oscar ran a hand over his face.
“Apparently, he was,” Michael said. “But that doesn’t explain why he tried to kill Elliot. Was it just a matter of you being in the wrong place at the wrong time?”
As I replayed the scene in my head, I remembered seeing something change in the man’s eyes right before he grabbed me. The flash of recognition.
“Seeing me brought back something in him,” I said. “Damien must have remembered how I tackled him before he could shoot Oscar. It was like something barbaric rose in him, and he grabbed me.”
“Unfortunate.” Velma offered an overblown frown.
My gaze shot from Michael to Oscar. “What if he tells the police he recognized me?”
“Then, hopefully, the two detectives on the case won’t compare notes,” Oscar said. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there. Not to change the subject, but did you find out anything last night?”
I remembered what I’d heard the tech telling Hunter. But I hesitated before sharing it.
“Well?” Oscar practically tapped his foot as he waited.
“I did overhear that detective saying something.” I repeated what I had learned about the blood spatter and the killer most likely being left-handed.
Oscar’s eyes lit with satisfaction. “That is great news. Magnifico!”
“However . . . the detective didn’t look convinced,” I added, trying not to get his hopes up.
“It doesn’t matter if the detective is convinced. If they have the evidence to prove Flash isn’t guilty, then he’s going to be a free man.” A strange smile tugged at Oscar’s lips.
“The ultimate way that we can prove that he’s innocent is by finding the killer, though, right?” I asked. I thought about Sarah Vance. Her
family still needed answers.
Oscar met my gaze. “Yes, you are correct. Flash seemed to like you. He wants you on this case. I suppose that’s good news for us because, the more work we do for him, the more we get paid.”
Money. Was that what this all boiled down to?
The love of money is the root of all evil. The longer I lived, the more I felt certain this Scripture was true.
“The fundraiser is tonight so maybe I’ll find out something when I talk to Emily,” I said. “I already told Rosa I needed—”
“Who’s Rosa?” Oscar interrupted.
“My boss. With the cleaning crew.” I stared at him until he nodded. “Anyway, I already told her I couldn’t make it in tonight.”
“Speaking of which.” Velma held up a credit card and her eyes lit. “The two of us are going to go shopping.”
“Shopping for what?” At least she hadn’t said dumpster diving.
“Shopping for a new dress for you. We can’t have you stick out like a sore thumb at this soirée tonight. We need to get you a dress and shoes and jewelry. We need to fix your hair and do your makeup. It’s going to be an all-day thing.”
“But wouldn’t my time be better served by researching . . .”
Velma grabbed my arm. “Nope. It’s already been decided. You and I are taking a day to get you all fixed up.”
I exchanged a helpless glance with Michael, who shrugged.
I sighed. I knew what that meant.
It meant that I was doing this whether I liked it or not.
“So how did you ever end up working for Oscar?” I asked Velma as we walked between rows of dresses at a high-end boutique in Storm River.
The place smelled like expensive perfume, and the minimalist design seemed more like a roadshow closet than a shop for the wealthy. But I supposed this was the style they’d been looking for, and it meant nothing to me either way.
In our short amount of time together, I’d learned that Velma was frugal with her own money. But when it came to spending other people’s? She was a World Champion Shopper.
She glanced at me and smiled. “Oscar actually helped me out of a very tough spot. When he offered me a job, I knew I couldn’t turn it down. He’s not the easiest man to work with, but I wish you knew him before he was like he is today.”
Her statement was unexpected. “What did he used to be like?”
She began sorting through some dresses and holding several up to see if they met her approval. None did. Not yet.
“He was kind,” she said. “Still a little rough around the edges, I suppose. But he was determined to make the world a better place. You know he used to be a cop, right?”
“I had no idea.” I couldn’t see the man in uniform. He was too lazy. Too out of shape. Too focused on money and status. Besides, why had an ex-cop run away and let his newbie assistant tackle a gunman outside his office?
“He was framed and let go. He never got over it. But he was so good at what he did. I’m glad he didn’t give up investigating altogether.”
“Did he help you when he was a cop or when he was a PI?”
She continued to riffle through the designer dresses with the efficiency of a professional shopaholic. “When he was a cop. The early days of him being a PI, he was determined to prove himself. There were a lot of good times. But ever since the Ernesto case, things really went downhill . . .”
“That was the woman who killed her husband, correct?”
Velma frowned and nodded. “That’s right. That case was really a life-changer, in more ways than one.”
I wanted to ask why, but, before I could, she held up a dress. “This is it. It’s perfect. I think you’re going to look fantastic.”
I eyed the outfit. “Doesn’t it look too small?”
“No, this is going to look great on you. Michael’s tongue is going to fall out of his mouth. Every man at the fundraiser’s will, for that matter.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know about that.”
She gave me a what-for look. “Girl, you might not think you’ve got a great body, but you’ve got just the right amount of skinny and curves. You just need to accentuate what you’ve got.”
“I just prefer something more modest.” I picked up a dress that had a flowy skirt and slightly fitted bodice with some flowers.
Velma snatched it from my hand and put it back on the rack. “Girlfriend, if I let you wear that, then you should put me on your enemy list. You won’t be winning any points tonight if you don that outfit.”
“It’s perfectly respectable.”
“If you’re going to church. In the country. With your dead grandmother.”
I tried not to roll my eyes, but I was slightly insulted. My style wasn’t that bad . . . was it?
She thrust the red dress at me. “Now, try it on.”
I stared at it and found my winning argument. “It’s red. You warned me against wearing red dresses.”
She flapped her hand in the air, blowing my concern off. “It’s okay because Oscar won’t see you.”
We stared off for a moment until finally Velma won. I was going to try this dress on, and I was going to hate it. I’d do that and go from there.
I slipped into the dressing room to begin the torture.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Instead of trying the dress on right away, I sat down in a little chair and pulled out my phone. I’d been dying for a minute alone. It was an introvert thing. Sometimes, I even escaped to bathroom stalls for the same reason—because I was all peopled out.
I turned on my phone. Something was bugging me, and I wanted to check it out before not knowing killed me.
I quickly did a search of our suspects—I even included Art, just in case. But I also looked up Bernard and Emily. I studied the pictures.
Two of them were left-handed.
Two? What were the odds?
Bernard Sutherland was the first. It was obvious by the way he held his cups, his pen, microphones.
But so was Emily Riviera. She even made a big deal about it in a couple of her social media posts.
Could this be the evidence we’d been looking for? It wouldn’t hold up in court, but it gave us direction as to where to keep looking.
“How’s it going in there?” Velma called.
I put my phone away, knowing I’d need to change quickly. “Almost done!” I called, slipping out of my jeans.
“Guess what? I just got a phone call.”
“Okay? And?”
“We just had a witness come forward saying they saw Emily and Flash together on the day before Sarah died. The two were arguing. Michael is going to talk to the witness now.”
“That’s great.” It was. Emily needed to be more carefully examined. So did Bernard.
I finished putting the dress on and stepped out of the dressing room, sure I was going to be escorted out of this boutique purely for the crime of looking absolutely ridiculous.
I frowned as I turned toward Velma.
Her eyes widened, and I waited to see her head shake in agreement. She was going to think this was awful also.
“Oh, Elliot . . . you look gorgeous.” She led me to a three-way mirror and stood me in front of the lights there. “You look like someone who could have any man you wanted.”
“I am not that kind of girl. I’ve always been the smart one.” I’d wanted to be applauded for my achievements more than my looks.
“Then who would’ve known you had this fox hiding down inside you?”
I had to admit when I looked into the mirror under these lights that I looked different here than in the dressing room. Sure, the red dress hugged my hips, but it wasn’t as short as I’d thought.
The front came down in a V, but it wasn’t as plunging as I’d assumed. The sleeveless style accentuated my toned arms—toned because of genetics, not working out.
“All we need to do is get the right shoes, fix that hair, do your makeup, and we’re going to be golden. Or should I say red? Red
hot?”
“You really think so?” Because I had a lot of doubts.
“Oh, I know so.” She grinned and nodded like I was her biggest dumpster diving find of the day.
However, I still wasn’t convinced.
One of the sales associates sauntered up to us and looked me up and down. “I don’t know who your date is, but he’s going to be a very happy man.”
I really wished they would stop referring to Michael as my date. But, for the sake of ease, I didn’t correct them.
I wondered if Michael was having to go through all of this for his tux, but I imagined he wasn’t. Guys had it so easy sometimes.
“Okay, we’ll take this and some shoes and maybe a nice necklace to go with it,” Velma said. “Then we’ll get you checked out of here, and we’re going to grab some lunch. I know this place that has some great soups and salads. You are going to love it. After that, I’ll do your hair and makeup. I’m just so happy to have another woman working at the office with me. Things are going to be so much more fun now.”
I took one more glance at myself in the mirror. Was this really happening? This was the dress that I was going to wear?
My new life in America was so much different than what I’d left behind. Part of me was afraid I’d start liking it too much and forget the values I’d grown up with.
But just wearing the red dress once wouldn’t hurt . . . would it?
I decided to avoid my mom’s questions and get ready for the fundraiser at the office. It was just as well. Michael had run home to get dressed and see his daughter. He’d told me he’d meet me back here at 7:30.
A rush of nerves washed through me as I waited for him.
He’d also told me he’d been researching Bernard. The man was currently in Boston, and it seemed impossible to speak with him in person. Michael had also looked into several of Flash’s competitors, but he couldn’t find anything on them.
I glanced at the time on my phone again. It was 7:31. Was Michael one of those chronically late people? I didn’t know him well enough to draw any conclusions.
The Art of Eavesdropping Page 13
