“It was pretty normal: a bunch of old guys like me drinking a few beers and talking about the good old days while the wives try to one-up each other with the best dress and side dish.”
“That sounds very 1950s.” I laughed.
“I said we were all old guys but maybe not from quite that far back.” My dad grinned and started the next record.
I headed to the kitchen area to begin my search for the ingredients to make a real breakfast.
“What are you hunting for?” Dad asked.
“Mom used to make bacon, eggs, pancakes—the works—on Christmas morning.”
Dad rubbed his belly. “She did. It makes my stomach growl just thinking about it.”
“We don’t have to think about it. We can make breakfast ourselves.”
“I make a mean bowl of cereal and jelly toast,” Dad offered.
“Come on. How hard can it be?” I was lying through my teeth, and I knew it. I couldn’t cook any more than Dad—It was possible that I might even be worse than him—but something about being home with Dad surrounded by my mom’s favorite decorations made it feel like it was the right thing to do.
We managed to pull off scrambled eggs and slightly burned bacon between the two of us. The pancakes rested peacefully In the trashcan after meeting an untimely end at the hands of an unskilled spatula.
“Your mom would be proud of us,” Dad said as he took a bite of his eggs.
“I think she would. As much as she traveled, she was always home for Christmas. It was important to her.”
Dad nodded. “Keeping you safe and happy was the most important thing to her.”
“Safe?” I asked. I took my plate to the sink to rinse it.
“Of course. All parents want to keep their children safe.” Dad stirred his eggs with a new intensity.
“Sure, but safe from what?” I asked.
“The world can be a scary place. Your mother never wanted you to feel that way, but we both knew it."
A sudden shiver made goose-bumps appear on my arms. “I can keep myself safe these days.” I wondered if I was telling the truth.
“I know you can.” Dad smiled. “Let’s open some presents!”
“Sounds good to me.” I smiled back, but I couldn’t help feeling like we'd crossed a line before either of us was prepared to do so.
Dad grinned from ear to ear when he opened the toolset. He gave me a new coat and a framed photo collage of my family from when I was little. I teared up a bit, looking at the pictures of my mother. It was good to be home, even if I was across the country from where I'd grown up.
Chapter 12
My phone rang, waking me from the first time I’d slept-in in a long time. I grabbed it off the nightstand, almost falling out of bed and pushed the button to accept the call. I wished I'd just rolled over and ignored it.
"Good morning, Avery." Genevieve Richards sounded much too cheery for first thing in the morning and way more chipper than I ever remembered her sounding before." My flight just got in. I'm renting a car, and I'll be staying at the Emery Hotel. I was hoping we could meet for brunch and go over the case."
"Brunch? People really do that?" My voice sounded hoarse.
"They do. I'll figure out a place—I'm sure the hotel can recommend something—and I'll text you. Bring whatever you've dug up so far, and we'll come up with a plan."
"I will. To be honest, I’ve found more questions than answers."
"Well, in most investigations it’s all about asking the right question, so I’ll take that as progress."
"I sure hope so." I clenched my eyes closed, wishing I could stay in bed a while longer.
"I'll see you in a couple of hours."
"See you then." I ended the call and attempted to drag myself out of bed. I made it to the bathroom and looked at my reflection with disdain. One good night's sleep had done nothing to erase the dark circles from under my eyes. I'd hoped for a miracle. I pulled my reclaimed dark hair into a bun and brushed my teeth before heading downstairs to take Milly for a walk. Milly spotted the leash and went through the motions of her happy dance. I wished something as simple as that could give me that much joy.
As we jogged down the street, my mind raced. I scanned the area trying to figure out what was bothering me, but nothing looked out of place.
Milly moved with ease. She seemed even more calm than normal.
I picked up the pace. I had to make it back and take a shower before meeting Genevieve.
Milly stopped in her tracks. I almost face-planted the sidewalk, trying to accommodate her unexpected stop. "What in the world, girl?" I looked in the direction she'd turned. The fur on the back of her neck stood up. Her ears perked, searching for something I couldn't see. A terrible feeling came over me. Milly wasn't a jumpy dog or one to overreact.
"Let's go. We have to go," I pleaded with the dog.
Milly broke her concentration from whatever had stopped her and came with me willingly as I turned and headed back to Dad's house. As I did, I heard a sound like someone running through the leaves somewhere close by, behind the wall of bamboo growing along the path. We didn't see a single person on the sidewalk the whole way home. I ran flat out as though the hounds of Hell were chasing me. Milly kept pace. She must've felt my fear because she never slowed to sniff or go the whole way back.
I told myself I was being stupid and that I should stop it. I leaned over with my hands on my knees as I tried to catch my breath.
Dad was on the couch when I came huffing and puffing through the front door. "Wow, that must have been some run. Did you sprint the whole way?"
"Yeah, I sure did." There was no reason to upset Dad. The whole thing was an overreaction, I was sure. At least, I wanted to be sure.
***
Genevieve was dressed in a tailored pantsuit. Her dark hair was cropped in a chin-skimming bob. She looked put together despite having arrived on the red-eye. I felt like I was in disarray in my jeans and sweater in comparison.
"It is great to see you looking so well." She stood and grasped my hand in a greeting.
"And you. I'd never know you just got off of a plane."
"Well, quality traveling takes practice, and I get plenty."
"I can imagine." We sat across from one another in a booth. The waitress brought us menus and took our drink orders. I looked around the place and realized I was underdressed.
"So, the Maddox murder: have you met with the brother?"
"I’ve spoken to him twice. Both times he denied having anything to do with his brother's murder."
"Plenty of guilty people claim they’re innocent." Genevieve took a sip of her coffee.
I pushed the photos over to Genevieve. "I met with the photographer. She only followed them for a block or so, but the photos confirm that Ava's stalker was there the day of the attack." I pointed out the photo of Beck getting out of the cab. "Beck Oliver, here was an eyewitness. He followed our lovely couple until the attack. Unfortunately, he wasn't able to see exactly what happened because he was trying to avoid being spotted." I pulled out the restraining order and showed it to Genevieve.
"Hmm. I'm surprised you got him to admit he followed them at all," she said.
"He was hesitant, but really, this guy is ill, not simply obsessed. He believes he’s protecting Ava, and it turns out she was in danger. He has some real OCD habits—I don't think he can stop himself."
Richards paused, examined each of the photos, and then read my notes from each interview. "It sounds like your stalker described Bob Maddox as the attacker. I have to say, Avery, this one looks open and shut."
"I feel the same way, but there’s something in Ava's story that isn't adding up. Why did the attacker tell her the blood was on her hands, and why did they have a casual conversation right after the murder?"
Genevieve raised her groomed eyebrow. "It sounds like maybe we missed a suspect. It’s possible that Ava's involved."
“Do you think she was in on it?” I asked. “She was injured in
the attack.”
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and saw a new text from Tori: “We need to talk.”
I wasn't interested in whatever Tori wanted. I stuffed the phone back in my pocket.
Genevieve finished stirring sugar into her coffee. "Ava was only slightly injured, and your witness saw no one hurting her. Why would an attacker with a blade grab her and hit her but not stab her?"
"You have a valid point. It would suggest that she never was the target. It makes the whole random homeless person goes off the cusp theory fall flat. If the attacker were mentally ill and out for blood, it wouldn't have mattered if he'd carved Ava up first or Ralph. He wouldn't have been so easy to redirect."
"It sounds like it’s time to give Ava a visit."
Richards nodded. "I want to give the local ME a visit first and see what the crime scene people collected. If we put what you found with the rest of the investigation, we may have a better picture of what really happened. We could read whatever Ava tells us better if we can fill in more of the facts first."
"Sounds like a plan. I'd like to visit the medical examiner today if that's possible."
"I'll go by the police station when we leave here and introduce myself, and we can go from there." Richards pushed her plate to the edge of the table.
I took my last bite of bacon and took a moment to savor it. "I met the chief, David Morris, last week, and he seems like a good guy."
"You met the chief? Avery, what did you do?"
"Oh, it was nothing, really. I guess I was just in the right place at the right time."
"You promised to try not to get yourself killed."
"And here I am, alive and well."
"Wait—don't tell me. I can be surprised when the department I'm collaborating with tells me something off the wall about the consultant I hired."
"Hired? I wasn't expecting to be paid for working this case."
"No? Well, either way, I have to hire you to allow you access to the information."
"I appreciate what you're doing for me. This means a lot to my dad."
"I'm pleasantly surprised to see you on another investigation. That mess that landed in Smithville could've put you off police work for good."
I took a sip of my water while I considered Genevieve's statement. "I thought so, too, but now that I'm back on a case, I realize I miss investigating."
"It becomes a part of you if you let it." The server brought the check, and we settled up. "I'll go get things squared away at the police station. I'll see if I can make a copy of the case file so we'll have something else to go on."
"That sounds good," I said. "If it's all right, I'd like to meet you at the Medical Examiner's office when you go later."
"That's fine. I'll meet you there around three o'clock."
***
All afternoon, something about the case bothered me. Ava's news interview and Beck's account of the murder didn't line up. Somebody wasn't telling the complete truth. I compared the two witnesses and tried to understand which of them would have a reason to lie, but they were even in their culpability.
The afternoon flew by. Before I knew it, it was time to meet Genevieve at the Medical Examiner's office. The city's ME was housed in the Santa Maria Hospital. I pulled up, marveling at the size of the complex. The building was five stories tall and sprawled over several city blocks. I wondered how they could have enough sick people to fill up a building that size.
I checked my gun as I got out of Dad's car. The environment made me feel on alert, and I couldn't push the anxiety from my mind. I tried taking slow, deep breaths as I walked into the building. I checked in with the people at the front desk, and they directed me to the area of the hospital I needed to find. As I'd feared, the Medical Examiner's offices were well hidden in the basement level of the building.
I spotted Genevieve waiting outside the double doors labeled "Morgue."
"Ah, there you are."
I felt self-conscious. Was I late? "I'm here. This place is like a maze."
"It really is." Genevieve smiled. We went through the doors, and Genevieve spoke to the woman at the counter. She picked up the phone and announced us before she walked us back to an office down the hall. She knocked twice on the door, and a man's voice called out, "Come in."
Genevieve opened the door, and we found ourselves in an office decorated with vintage seventies furniture. Judging by the doctor seated at a desk, the décor was original to him and not purchased to be intriguing.
Richards held out her hand, and the doctor stood to shake it. "Genevieve Richards, FBI," he said. "It's nice to meet you, Doctor…?"
"Turner. Dr. Turner." He turned to me. "And you are?" Dr. Turner wore his gray hair pulled back with a hair tie. He also had wire-rimmed glasses and a gray beard.
I took his hand and shook it. "Avery Rich. I'm here as a consultant on the Maddox case."
"I see. Maddox's body was released to his family. The funeral home picked it up yesterday. I'm sorry, I didn't realize the FBI was taking the lead on this case."
"We're working the case in collaboration with the local police. We have concerns about the far-reaching influence of the Maddox funds."
"I can't tell you anything about that."
"I'd like to hear your general impressions," I said.
“Of course.” Dr. Turner stood and went to a file cabinet with an odd, metal design on the side. He pulled the file out and plopped it on his desk in front of Richards. She flipped the folder open and pulled out the death certificate.
"I see Mr. Maddox died from a hemorrhage. He bled out?" she asked
"Yes, none of the stab wounds caused significant organ damage. The injury to his neck struck his carotid artery, causing him to bleed out."
"Could he have been saved?" I asked.
Dr. Turner flipped to a stack of photos and looked at the page for a long moment. "Possibly, if someone knew exactly where to apply pressure, but nobody helped Mr. Maddox in time. I saw no evidence of any sort of First Aid having being applied."
"So, the killer wasn't experienced with a blade?" Genevieve asked.
Dr. Turner shook his head. "No. This was a hack job. The attacker was likely right-handed, based on the angle of the cuts. There were defensive wounds; the victim fought back."
"I wonder if he injured the attacker," I said.
"If he did, I found no evidence," Dr. Turner said.
"The Maddox family identified the body?" Genevieve asked.
"It was a formality, but yes. A cousin came in and glanced at him. I thought she was about to vomit all over my exam table."
"It’s not something everybody can deal with," I agreed.
"Is there anything else that stood out to you?" Richards asked.
"The victim had had work done. More work than I'd normally notice on a man. He had rhinoplasty and adjustments to his chin and cheeks."
I flipped through the photos. Something didn't feel right about the victim. I found a photo showing the victim's face. He looked like Bob, but the resemblance wasn't that of identical twins. The plastic surgeries could explain the differences. In fact, the differences were not as extreme as I'd have expected, considering the number of plastic surgeries the doctor had described.
"Well, I suppose that when you’re wealthy, there's the temptation to update as you go. It didn't give him the long youth he was looking for," Genevieve said.
"It seems like a waste of money if you ask me," Dr. Turner said.
"I agree,” I said.
"I'll have my assistant send you the digital file when she comes back from her break. She'll need your contact information."
"That would be great," Genevieve said.
"I'd like to read the entire file," I said. Something about Ralph Maddox's remains had thrown a red flag in my direction, but I couldn't quite put my finger on why.
"Sure, I'll pass it along to you. Fresh eyes are always an asset," Genevieve said.
Chapter 13
I paced the kitc
hen floor. I was on the verge of something big, I could feel it, but I couldn't put my finger on the idea or put it into words. My mind kept going back to Ava Lenore. Her behavior had been completely out of character the day of the attack. If she loved the camera, why had she given the press the slip? Why would the attacker tell her the blood was on her hands if she wasn't somehow involved? And why was she certain enough of her safety following Ralph's murder to have a conversational exchange with his killer? Most people in her situation would've been terrified beyond words, but her reaction was low-key enough to keep Beck from intervening. The only witness besides Ava also had an unhealthy obsession with her. When I thought about it, the irony that both witnesses were fixated on Ava became clear.
What was Ava's part in this? Why was she spared while Ralph was savagely murdered? I queued up the digital recording of her interview. The Internet was great that way. The fleeting news clip I'd already viewed had been preserved for posterity. On Dad's ancient PC, the buffering was maddening.
After watching the entire interview several times, my sense of unease only increased. Ava’s story didn’t match what Beck had witnessed. She'd spoken about her attack and her escape, but there was nothing about her meet and greet with the killer. I was sure Ava wasn't telling the whole truth, but what reason would she have to lie on camera? Unless, as the killer suggested, she was responsible. If Ava was involved in the murder, then she'd definitely have something to hide, but why would she want her billionaire boyfriend dead? She didn't stand to inherit anything from him since they weren't married, at least, as far as I knew.
It was time to talk to Ava in person and hear her story and any changes she'd made to it.
I grabbed my phone and sent Genevieve a text message: “The more I think about it, the more I think Ava Lenore must be involved somehow. With Beck's statement and her easy escape, something isn't adding up."
I watched the video one more time. My phone buzzed before the segment ended, announcing Genevieve's return message. “You may be right. It’s time to give her a visit. Let's drop in nice and early before her makeup artist has had time to fix her face. I want to see this bruise first hand.”
Dressed to Kill Page 8
