by Quinn Avery
Crossing his thick arms over his broad chest, Colt laughed. “How’d that turn out for ya?”
“She was hooking up with Brewer Hawkins…and very much alive, I might add.” She extended her hand between them. “Bexley Squires. I’m a private investigator. I was hired by Brewer to help him out of a delicate situation.”
Shaking her hand, Colt nodded. “I figured somethin’ was up, considerin’ his bike has been here since the other night. This is my wife Harley, and my brother, Ranger. Let’s have us a seat.” He caught Mikey’s attention. “Bring us a round of Jameson—get one for yourself too.”
Mikey lifted his chin high before Colt led them to a long table located far from the only other occupants. Harley finally relaxed when she settled at her husband’s side.
“Is Brewer alright?” Colt asked. “A couple of sheriff’s deputies stopped by my clubhouse, askin’ if I knew where they could find ‘im.”
Bexley’s entire body tensed. “Did they say why?”
“They didn’t seem too keen on sharin’ details,” Ranger commented in a deep, barking tone. “Can’t say I’d trust a single one of ‘em.”
Bexley swung her gaze back on Colt. “He’s having a hard time remembering the events of last Friday after the two of you got together. Can you walk me through that night?”
“Met ‘im here…around seven,” he said. “He only had a few drinks—no more than usual. Yet somehow he was a mess, slurrin’ his words and wobblin’ on his feet. Harley had planned to come give ‘im a ride home once he was ready to head out.”
Interesting, Bexley thought. It almost sounded as if Brewer had been drugged. “How long was he here? Did you see him leave?”
“He’d been flirtin’ all night with a fiery little thing…wouldn’t leave ‘im alone from the moment he walked through the door.” The side of Colt’s mouth lifted with a smirk. “They eventually started makin’ out…got real hot and heavy. Then she suggested they go out back…told me he’d return in a few. When he didn’t show, I figured she’d taken ‘im to her place for the night.”
Bexley loathed the surge of red-hot jealousy that overshadowed every other emotional response to the story. “Did you catch this woman’s name?” she asked. “Had anyone seen her around here before?”
The biker shrugged. “Don’t think she said.”
Mikey arrived with their drinks just then. “You ever seen that woman Brewer hooked up with on Friday night?” Colt asked.
Mikey looked up at the ceiling, scratching his head. “Not that I remember.”
Bexley waited until Mikey headed back to the bar to ask, “Why did you meet with him that night, Colt?”
“He wanted to explain why he’d left the club,” he said. “He was hopin’ I’d know a way to help ‘im out of a problem. Guessin’ by the way law enforcement seems to want a piece of ‘im, things have gotten worse.”
Brewer left the club? Why hadn’t he mentioned that to Bexley? He also hadn’t explained why he met with Colt that night. She asked him straight out if there was anything he needed to share. Hearing that he came to Colt for help with something annoyed her more than she could handle.
He already knew he was in trouble long before the incident in Mexico.
“What problem are you referring to?” she asked.
Colt’s beautiful sky-blue eyes cut to Ranger, then fell back on Bexley. “If you don’t know, darlin’, then I’ve already said too much. I think maybe it’s time for you to leave.”
Bexley agreed. Standing, she tossed a business card on the table. “If you remember any other important details about that night, give me a call.”
4
Because of the note she’d left in her office, Bexley knew she had to stop by to check in with J.J. before confronting Brewer. The bossman was out, likely for lunch, so she scrawled a note on his desk before grabbing the information Red had printed on the deceased men. When she started for the front door, she came face-to-face with Kiersten.
“Sexy Bexley!” her friend squeaked, flinging her arms around Bexley’s neck. “I haven’t seen you in forever!”
Bexley patted Kiersten’s back before maneuvering away. “That’s because you’re too busy playing tonsil hockey with my attorney.”
Kiersten crossed her arms over her pale blue designer suit jacket, and snorted. “What is this, junior high? I thought you liked Luke.”
Hesitating, Bexley assessed her blonde fashionista friend. She didn’t think she’d ever seen Kiersten not perfectly made up, with a single hair out of place. Yet that day, something was amiss. The foundation under Kiersten’s eyes was caked on, her dress capris weren’t crisply ironed, and her golden locks spilled from the kind of lazy bun Bexley wore to the gym.
“Luke’s a good guy,” Bexley conceded. You just haven’t been around when I needed you, she thought to herself. She added with caution, “If you’re happy with him, I’m happy.”
Kiersten’s smile wavered. “Have you and Grayson tried working things out?”
Mentally bracing herself, Bexley willed her eyeballs not to roll. “As much as I’d love to catch up with you, I was just on my way out for lunch.”
“Perfect!” Kiersten hooked her arm through Bexley’s. “I’m starving, and there’s a new little vegan cafe down on the boardwalk I’ve been dying to try. Come on, it’ll be my treat. I’ll even drive.”
Bexley gave in, knowing she’d hurt her friend’s feelings if she refused. Besides, she wanted to make sure there wasn’t more in Kiersten’s seemingly perfect life that was amiss beyond her appearance.
As soon as she was seated in the soft passenger seat of Kiersten’s new Lexus, she sent a text to the burner phone.
Was planning to bring you lunch. Plans changed. Should be a box of mac & cheese in the pantry. I’ll be there as soon as I can.
Remembering Colt’s story about the woman at the bar, Bexley wanted to chuck her phone out the window. She couldn’t wait to hear Brewer’s reasoning as to why he wanted to meet the club president on Friday night, and why he hadn’t mentioned it sooner.
On the short drive to the beach, Kiersten chatted happily about her recent dates with Luke. The conversation was one-sided, with Bexley merely humming and uttering an occasional, “wow” in response. The way Kiersten carried on, almost to herself, Bexley suspected her friend was nervous. Her intuition was confirmed as soon as they were seated at a table on the cafe’s patio, and Kiersten’s cheery demeanor vanished. Face ashen, she reached out to place her hand over Bexley’s.
“Bex, I have a confession to make. I asked you to lunch because I need your help.”
A protective feeling seized Bexley’s insides. “Is this about Luke? Because if he’s done something to you, I’ll cut his—”
“Oh my god, no!” Kiersten released a little nervous giggle and withdrew her hand. “Luke’s amazing…treats me like a queen. He’s actually the one who suggested I come to you.”
“In that case, how can I be of service, your highness?”
“Something happened at work. Something I can’t wrap my head around. And if my boss finds out, I’ll be fired and ostracized from the industry.” With a trembling hand, she lifted her water for a delicate sip before setting the glass down again. “I was in charge of a fashion show over the weekend—the biggest Papaya Springs has ever seen. I was entrusted with dozens of designs from some of the biggest names in the industry, and rare pieces from world-renowned jewelers. We’re talking millions of dollars’ worth of inventory. I’d hired fifty security guards to cover the event. There were two posted at every exit, and ten assigned to watch over the models and inventory.” Her eyes glistened with tears. “I didn’t take the responsibility given to me lightly.”
“I can’t imagine you would,” Bexley said, nodding. Guilt for assuming Kiersten was ignoring her because of Luke scratched at her conscience. She wished she’d known her friend was taking on such a large project.
“The show itself went smoothly for the most part—nothing a safety pin an
d body tape couldn’t fix anyway. We were given a five minute standing ovation. It was insane.”
“I wish you would’ve told me about the show. I would’ve been there in a heartbeat.”
Kiersten laughed. “I know it’s not really your kind of thing.” She wiped at a fallen tear. “Anyway, it wasn’t until after the models had left and I was helping security pack up the inventory when I realized there was something off about one of the most valuable pair of earrings. They were too flawless. They’d been swapped out for the originals at some point while they were in my custody. They were designed by Shantel de Ellis in the forties. I know that name probably doesn’t mean much to you, but they featured four hundred thousand dollars in emeralds. What I found in the box was an expertly constructed knock-off.”
Bexley uttered a low whistle. “With that much on the line, I completely understand your concern. Sounds like someone planned the heist ahead of time. How far in advance did you know you were getting those specific earrings?”
“Several weeks.”
“Other than you and the jeweler, who knew about them?”
“The models involved, and everyone on my design team,” Kiersten explained as more tears fell. “They were posted on the visual board for the past week and a half. The model who wore them the night of the show rehearsed with them two nights prior.”
“Have you interviewed each of the models and your design team? What about your security guards? Have you asked to review the surveillance footage from the venue?”
“The venue said it’s going to take some time to burn the feed to a CD since the head of their security is the only one who knows how to properly do it, and he’s out of the office until tomorrow. I’ve been calling people non-stop since Saturday night. Everyone I spoke with doesn’t remember seeing anything unusual. Simone, the model who wore the earrings, broke down in tears, said I could give her a polygraph and whatever else was necessary to prove her innocence. She swears she had nothing to do with their disappearance. She claims she handed them off to a security guard, and watched him place them inside the jeweler’s box. Thing is, I’ve worked with that girl for several years. Simone’s a sweetheart. She wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
Bexley hoped to meet with this Simone to see for herself if she was as innocent as Kiersten believed. She’d been duped enough times that she’d started to understand everyone involved was a suspect. “What did that security guard have to say?”
“He swears he secured the earrings the way I’d instructed, and said they looked exactly the same as they had when he handed them to Simone. I called his employer, and they had nothing but praise for him…said he was coming up on twenty years with them.”
“Did anyone else have access to that area? Building personnel? Caterers? Photographers?”
“There were at least a hundred people cleared for backstage access. I’ve only managed to interview, like, thirty so far.” She sniffled, swiping the back of her hand over her wet cheeks. “At first I tried to keep what happened a secret from Luke, but he figured it out on his own and said this was too monumental for me to handle on my own. He told me I either needed to contact you or the police. I chose you for obvious reasons. I called in sick to work this morning, and was able to convince the Shantel de Ellis representative that their earrings will be returned by the end of the day.” She let out a small, muffled sob. “Bex, no one in the business will ever trust me again! My career is over!”
Bexley reached out to squeeze Kiersten’s trembling hands. “Not if I can get to the bottom of this. I’ll come up with a way to stall their return to the jeweler. I’m going to need you to give me the counterfeit earrings, and the names of everyone given backstage clearance. In the meantime, I’ll meet with Simone and the security guard in person to see if there’s anything important they failed to mention.”
Simone Paxton’s 4-story apartment complex was located on the east side where the service industry workers resided. Housing was more affordable, although still not inexpensive by any means, and the crime rate was low. Lawns were uniformly mowed, bushes trimmed, houses well-maintained, and basketball hoops adorned every third garage. In most communities, it would’ve been considered a middle class neighborhood. To the wealthy residents of Papaya Springs, anyone who lived on the east side was regarded as being hardly one step above cockroaches.
As soon as Bexley rang the doorbell to unit 105, she was greeted by the annoying yip of a small dog. A moment later, she heard a man yell, “Shut the hell up, stupid mutt! Go find your mom!”
There was a high-pitched squeal, then the door swung open. A caucasian man in his mid-twenties with a surfer-style shag haircut and bloodshot green eyes greeted Bexley, pale lips twisted in a sly grin. A dry wet-suit hung from his waist, showcasing a decently toned chest featuring a tribal tattoo. Bracing a flexed bicep against the doorframe, he flicked his head, causing his bronzed bangs to feather out across his forehead. “What can I do you for, sweetheart?”
“Oh you’ve got to be kidding,” Bexley muttered under her breath. She straightened her spine and forced a passable smile. “Hello, Travis. Remember me?”
The cook from La Belle tilted his head, eyes wide. “Bruh! You’re that hot lady that came around the restaurant, askin’ about some dog collar! You here to take me up on that date?”
Bexley’s artificial smile suddenly felt cemented in place. “Does Simone Paxton live here, or have I merely entered some bizarre universe in which nightmares come to life?”
“Yeah, this is her place.” His eyebrows lowered with a suspicious stare. “What do you want with my sister?”
What were the chances that one of Kiersten’s coveted models was the sister of a stoner chef? Bexley made a mental note to check Travis’s criminal background. While she highly doubted Travis could be the mastermind behind an elaborate heist, he still could have some level of involvement. “I just need to ask her a few questions. Is she here?”
“Yeah hold on.” He turned to shout over his shoulder, “Simone, dude, get your ass out here! Some bangin’ hot chick wants you!”
“Classy as always, Travis,” Bexley commented dryly.
After yelling her name again, a tall, gangly young woman came stumbling in behind him in a leopard print cami pajama shorts set, black hair askew beneath a pink eye mask, eyelids nearly squinted shut against the sunlight streaming through the doorway. Bexley could envision how the woman’s narrow features and high cheek bones made her favorable runway material. But it appeared she was recovering from a wild night on the town. Celebrating a successful heist, perhaps?
A tawny Chihuahua with a pink bow secured to a collar yipped beside Simone’s ankle. “Are you a cop?” she grumbled, side-eying Bexley.
“Is there a reason you would expect one to come knocking on your door?” Bexley quipped.
Simone scooped the dog up from the floor, petting it with a frown. “Who are you?”
“My name’s Bexley Squires. I have a few questions about Saturday’s fashion show.”
“I already talked to that blonde chick that hired me,” Simone snapped while continuing to stroke the little dog’s head. “What else do you want me to say?”
And Kiersten described this girl as a sweetheart. “I’m a private investigator,” Bexley explained. “I may have some questions that Kiersten didn’t think of asking.” She glanced between the siblings. “Can I come in?”
“Hell yeah!” Travis exclaimed, stepping aside. With a click of her tongue, Simone smacked his arm.
The apartment's living room resembled a high school boy’s bedroom. Game controllers and gadgets piled in front of a flatscreen TV, pizza box and food crumbs covered the carpet, crumpled clothes littered the furniture, the smell of something decaying permeated the stale air. Judging by the pillow and sheet covering the couch, Bexley assumed Travis’s residency was temporary.
“You’re such a pig, Travis!” Simone scolded, kicking a stack of empty energy drinks aside. “And you seriously still wonder why your landlord kicked y
ou out of your house?” She swiped a hooded sweatshirt off a worn leather chair, and threw it across the room before plopping down.
“I’m jonesing for a pizza,” Travis announced. He pointed at Bexley. “What flavor you hungry for, Begsley?”
Bexley stood in the center of the room, fearful that the furniture may contain fleas. “I’m good.” When Travis sauntered into the kitchen, Bexley turned to Simone. “Did you notice a weight difference in the earrings between rehearsal and the night of the show?”
The girl’s bony shoulders rose. “Felt the same to me.”
“Do you remember seeing anyone who didn’t belong in that area? Maybe a boyfriend of one of the models, or anyone trying too hard to blend in?”
“I mean there was this photographer who was up in our faces the whole time.” Simone tilted her head and squinted. “I wanted to punch the guy. He was so annoying.”
A snort stuck in Bexley’s throat. “Was he hired to take pictures of the event?”
“Well…yeah. I guess.”
Running her fingertips back and forth along her forehead, Bexley willed herself to remain patient. She guessed the girl was several fries short of a Happy Meal. “What about the security guard you handed them off to? Do you remember anything unusual he may’ve done or said? Did he seem…on edge? Maybe you noticed him glancing over his shoulder often, or saw his eyes darting around the room more than necessary?”
“Are you suggesting Nick stole the earrings?” Simone let out a sharp laugh, causing the dog to pin its ears back. “Oh, that’s a good one!”
So they were on a first-name basis. Bexley’s eyebrows rose. “You must know this ‘Nick’ pretty well.”
Simone’s gaze darted to the corner of the room. “It wasn’t the first time we worked together.”
“What would make you believe he didn’t steal them?”
“Nick’s a goodie-two-shoes. He served in the Marine Corps, has a perfect wife and kids, does community service, blah blah blah.” Hand waving through the air, she rolled her eyes. “The guy’s literally a Boy Scout leader for his son. Stealing something worth that much is beyond his skill set. Trust me.”
