Finlay Donovan Is Killing It

by Elle Cosimano

  “Hey,” he said, bending low to catch my eye. “Don’t worry about the custody hearing. By the end of this investigation, I’ll have enough dirt on Theresa to give any judge a reason to put on the brakes. And Georgia told me about your book deal. With paychecks like that, your ex won’t have a leg to stand on.”

  My polite smile crumbled. “Georgia told you about that?” The last thing I needed was for Nick to ask me what the book was about.

  “She paraded the news around the whole damn department. She’s pretty proud of you.”

  My throat closed around a mountain of guilt. If Georgia had any idea where my source material came from, she wouldn’t be bragging about me. I rose to my feet. “Speaking of that, I should probably get inside and get back to work.” Nick stood up, too, his attention shifting to the narrow gap between Mrs. Haggerty’s bedroom curtains.

  “You doing anything tomorrow?” he asked as I reached for the door.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Feel up to a little field trip?” His eyes gleamed in the dark.

  “What kind of field trip?” I asked warily.

  “Just a little research for your book.” This was probably Georgia’s idea. She’d probably put him up to this. And right now, I didn’t have the heart to disappoint her.

  “Sure, I guess.”

  He slid his hands in his pockets as he backed down the sidewalk to his car. “I’ll pick you up at eleven.”

  I watched him go, wondering if he would be so excited about this field trip if he knew how steeped in my research he already was.

  CHAPTER 30

  “You do realize this is breaking and entering,” Vero said stubbornly.

  I wedged my cell phone under my jaw and adjusted my wig-scarf in the rearview mirror. “This is not breaking and entering. I have a key.”

  “A stolen key,” she pointed out.

  “It’s not stolen,” I argued into the phone. I had offered to drive Steven home, and in his inebriated state he had relinquished his keys. I had just neglected to give this particular one back.

  “Well, don’t get caught. Detective Anthony is picking you up for your field trip in an hour.”

  Theresa didn’t have a Mrs. Haggerty to worry about as far as I could tell. Still, I parked Ramón’s loaner a few car lengths farther away than the circumstances called for and pushed my oversize sunglasses higher on my nose. My wig-scarf itched like hell. I resisted the urge to rip it off until I was safely inside Steven and Theresa’s house.

  I shut myself in, my back against the door, my cell pressed against my ear, breath held as I listened. The house was quiet; the only sound was Zach’s babbling in the background through the phone.

  “I’m in,” I whispered. I stuffed my scarf in the pocket of my sweatshirt and slipped off my sneakers, tucking my keys inside them and leaving them beside the door.

  I crept upstairs to Theresa’s bedroom.

  “Find what you need and get out of there.” My anxiety spiked with every squeak in the floor, and Vero’s nagging wasn’t helping my nerves.

  The bedroom door swished open over the dense carpet. The blinds were drawn, and the room still smelled faintly of Steven’s hangover—stale liquor, sweat, and unwashed breath. His side of the bed was a restless mess of tangled sheets, and a packet of Excedrin sat on his nightstand beside a bottle of Mylanta.

  “Where are you?” Vero asked.

  “Theresa and Steven’s bedroom.” I slid open Theresa’s nightstand drawer and rummaged through the contents. I wasn’t sure exactly what I was looking for. A note, a phone number, or a receipt. Some clue to Aimee R’s identity. Proof that they’d definitely been together that Tuesday night, preferably nowhere near The Lush.

  I closed the drawer and crept down the hall, pausing in front of Delia’s room. The bed was unmade, the pink princess sheets rumpled, the dense feather pillow hollowed in the shape of a grown woman’s head. A pair of Theresa’s dress heels was tossed on the floor beside the Dreamhouse. “Looks like Theresa slept in the spare room last night.”

  Vero choked on a laugh. “Good old Mrs. Haggerty must have told the whole neighborhood Steven got drunk and came looking for you.”

  “I just hope she didn’t mention anything about Nick,” I muttered.

  Vero sobered. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  I walked toward the cone of sunlight streaming through the door of Theresa’s home office. Her desk was cleared of clutter. A loose connector hung where her laptop should have been plugged in. No antiquated PC. Not a speck of dust. I drew open the top drawer, the random contents threatening to spill over the edge onto the floor. Nothing inside revealed who Aimee was or where they had been the night Harris Mickler was murdered, but knowing the mess was there made me feel better.

  I turned to the bookshelves on the opposite wall. “Bingo.”

  “What is it?”

  “Her college yearbooks.” I pulled a thick hardbound book from the shelf: GMU Class of 2009. I sank to the floor and opened it to the index, then flipped back to Theresa’s sorority photo, skimming the names in the caption. Her sorority sisters were identified in order by row, and there beside Theresa was Aimee.

  “Aimee Shapiro,” I told Vero.

  “Her online profile said her name was Aimee R.”

  “Aimee must have taken her husband’s name when they married.”

  A door slammed downstairs.

  “What was that?” Vero asked.

  I sat bolt upright as a set of keys dropped against the table in the foyer. Heels clicked across the hardwood floors.

  Theresa.

  I disconnected the call and silenced my phone. Then I slipped the yearbook back in place on the shelf and eased to my feet. My socks were silent on the plush carpet, and I was grateful I’d thought to leave my shoes by the …

  Oh, no.

  My shoes.

  I pressed myself into the corner beside the bookshelf, certain my heart was pounding loud enough for Mrs. Haggerty to hear it down the road. Maybe Theresa had only forgotten something. Maybe she’d have a quick lunch and leave without noticing my shoes beside the door. Maybe she’d go to the bathroom and I could slip out without her knowing.

  Her feet thudded up the stairs.

  My gaze shot to the window across the room. I was only one story up. I could probably jump without killing myself … if I had my shoes. And if I didn’t have to worry about kicking out screens or bleeding all over the rhododendrons under the windows.

  I fished my phone from my pocket and texted Vero.

  Finn: Need help. Trapped. Theresa’s home.

  Vero: Try a window.

  Finn: My shoes and keys are in the foyer.

  Vero: You suck at this.

  Finn: I know!

  The phone stayed dark for an interminable amount of time.

  Vero: I’ve got a plan. Hang tight. Ten minutes.

  I pressed back against the wall, willing myself invisible as Theresa loaded the washer and dryer across the hall and returned to her bedroom to watch TV. Her room was beside the stairs. There was no way to sneak past without being seen.

  Her cell phone rang. She muted the television.

  “Thank god it’s you. What am I supposed to do?” Theresa’s voice grew louder, then quieter as she paced up and down the hall. “I can’t tell him where I was. He’ll completely freak out. And now I’ve got this detective calling…” I held my breath, struggling to hear as her voice faded into her bedroom. “I can’t risk Steven finding out. We’re in the middle of this damn custody thing with his ex and he says she’s hired a lawyer.” Theresa blew her nose into a tissue. She sniffled through a pause. “Apparently, she found some money somewhere. Something about a book. All I know is that the old crone saw her get into Steven’s truck last night, and by the time I got home, he was passed out drunk … Can you come by tomorrow? I could really use a—”

  The conversation was lost in a deafening clatter. A diesel engine rumbled outside Theresa’s office window. Hydrauli
cs whined. Chains rattled.

  “Hold on, I’m having trouble hearing you.” Theresa stormed into the office, using her free hand to push down the plastic slats of the window blinds. I pressed back into the wall, breath held and eyes wide, praying she didn’t turn around and see me crouched in the corner beside her bookshelves. “Some asshole’s towing my car!” Theresa spun on her heel and rushed past me, her feet flying down the stairs as an engine revved.

  I snuck to the window as a white tow truck labeled RAMÓN’S TOWING AND SALVAGE dragged Theresa’s BMW down the street. Theresa ran after it, barefoot and shouting, waving her phone. I sprinted downstairs and grabbed my shoes, checking to make sure Theresa wasn’t looking back before tearing out of her house. The tow truck had stopped a block away. A man, presumably Ramón, wrote on a clipboard, ignoring Theresa’s demands to put the car back where he found it. I dragged on a shoe as I stumbled over her lawn, nearly tripping myself in my rush to get back to the loaner car. As I fought to pull on the second one, I looked up. And froze.

  Detective Anthony was parked across the street with his window down, listening as Theresa threatened to kill Ramón twenty ways from Sunday. But it wasn’t Theresa Nick was watching.

  He crooked a finger at me, beckoning me to his car. His stern expression left no room for argument.

  Shoe in hand, I dashed for his car, slung open the door, and collapsed inside.

  CHAPTER 31

  Nick’s sedan was a standard-issue retired police cruiser. Navy blue and obvious as hell. I lowered the visor and ducked, peeking out from below the dashboard as Ramón backed Theresa’s car slowly into her driveway while Theresa watched him like a hawk.

  “Do I want to know what’s happening here?” Nick asked. I shoved my hands in my pockets, making sure my wig-scarf was tucked safely out of sight. As I opened my mouth to defend myself, Nick raised a finger. “Be very careful how you answer that.”

  “Can we please just go now?” I sank low in my seat, arms folded over my chest as Nick shook his head and put the car in gear. He hadn’t recognized the loaner car I’d left parked down the block, and I didn’t feel like making a spectacle of myself to get it now.

  “What are you doing here? You weren’t supposed to pick me up until eleven.”

  “I got here early. I saw Theresa’s car pull up as I was heading to your place. Figured I’d watch the house and see if anyone interesting showed up.” A slow grin spread over his face as he turned into my driveway.

  “I’m glad you’re amused.” I stormed out of his car and stuck my key in my front door, but Vero threw it open before I could turn the lock. Her jaw hung open when she saw Nick standing behind me.

  “Tell Ramón I owe him one,” I said as I brushed past her into the house.

  “Detective Anthony, so good to see you.” Vero’s gaze slipped down the length of him as he followed me in. I threw her a reprimanding glare as I peeled off my sweatshirt and draped it over the railing at the foot of the stairs.

  Delia peeked around it at Nick. “Who’s that?”

  “This is your Aunt Georgia’s friend from work,” I said, trying and failing to smooth down the staticky pieces of my hair that had come loose under the wig-scarf. I tore out the elastic band and scratched the ghost of the itch from my scalp. “His name is Nick.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “What’s he doing here?”

  I sniffed my shirt. “He’s helping me with research for my new book.”

  “Are you going to date him?”

  I choked on my tongue. Nick suppressed a smile, daring a sideways glance at me.

  “Delia Marie Donovan,” I sputtered, “what kind of question is that?”

  “Come on.” Vero snickered as she took Delia’s hand. “Let’s let your mom and Detective Nick talk for a bit.” She turned over her shoulder as she led the kids up the stairs. “Why don’t you all take this conversation somewhere little ears won’t hear you?”

  “I’m right here, you know,” Delia huffed. “And I’m not little. I know what a date is…” Her argument trailed into her bedroom as Vero closed the door.

  “I’m sorry about that. She’s five,” I said, as if that was explanation enough. He scratched the back of his neck, loosening the reins on his smile.

  “Kid doesn’t pull any punches. She’d make a heck of a detective.”

  I reached to take his coat. “Don’t tell my sister that. We’ve got enough interrogators in the family.”

  Nick slipped out of his jacket. The leather was supple, the liner warm from his body. The coatrack was behind him, and I maneuvered awkwardly around him, accidentally brushing his shoulder holster as I reached to hang it up. The hall suddenly felt too small. Too close. Nick’s face was freshly shaven, and he smelled like mouthwash and musk. Even in jeans and a tight, dark Henley, he looked sharp, his focus on me far from casual.

  “I need to clean up a bit,” I said, gesturing loosely to the stairs behind me. “You want something to drink while you wait?” Heat flooded my cheeks as he followed me to the kitchen. I grabbed a glass from the drainboard and reached into the freezer for some ice. A ziplock bag full of money peeked out from under a bag of broccoli.

  I slammed the freezer closed.

  “How about we grab something on the way?” I said in a strained voice. I held up a finger and sidestepped away from the fridge. “I’ll be two seconds. Don’t … go anywhere.” I set the glass in the sink and raced to my room to change. After a quick scrub in the sink, I dragged a comb through my hair, threw on a pair of clean jeans, a T, and a fresh hoodie, and skidded back down the stairs.

  “Come on,” I said, grabbing his coat and my purse from the rack. “Let’s get out of here.” I shouted a rushed good-bye to Vero and locked the door behind me, catching the quick flash of Mrs. Haggerty’s curtains as I slid into Nick’s passenger seat. “Jesus, does the woman have nothing better to do?”

  Nick clicked his seat belt and started the car. The radio under the dash squawked to life. “Who? Your neighbor?” He adjusted his rearview mirror, his eyes crinkling at her reflection in her kitchen window.

  “The woman’s a nuisance.” I resisted the urge to flip her off as we rolled out of my driveway.

  “Are you kidding? Neighbors like that are a detective’s dream. I bet nothing happens on this street that old lady doesn’t see.” He moved his mirror back in place and rolled down the street.

  “She sees plenty,” I said bitterly. I stiffened as he eased to a stop near Theresa’s house, directly behind Ramón’s loaner. “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “We’re taking your car.”

  “But that’s not my—” Nick was already out of the sedan, my car keys in his hand. He unlocked the driver’s-side door and let himself in. I followed, trailing a string of whispered expletives as I dropped into the passenger seat.

  “How did you get my keys? And how did you know this was my car?”

  “You left your keys on your kitchen counter when you went upstairs. And I was behind you this morning when you parked.” He pulled the loaner away from the curb. Theresa’s BMW wasn’t in the driveway. Still, I relaxed when her house disappeared in my side mirror. “That was a pretty sloppy B and E, by the way. You’re lucky you didn’t get caught.”

  I gaped at him. “You knew I was stuck in that house with her, and you did nothing?”

  “That would be aiding and abetting.”

  “I wasn’t a criminal,” I said stubbornly. “I had a key.”

  His lip curled with a self-satisfied grin. “I’ll admit your getaway was impressive.”

  “That was Vero’s idea. And it was your fault I was in her house.”

  “My fault?” He swung Ramón’s car into a fast-food drive-through.

  “You told me to dig into her secrets. So I was digging.”

  He chuckled darkly. “And what’d you find?”

  “Nothing. She came home right after I got there.” It was unnerving how perceptive he was. How he always seemed to be one step in front o
f me.

  Nick ordered two burgers for himself, then called my order into the intercom. He ate both of his as we drove, which made me feel better that Delia was wrong and at least this wasn’t a date. I scarfed down my burger and fries, watching the buildings roll by as Nick turned down a side street and slowed as we passed Theresa’s real estate office.

  “Where are we going?” I asked, crumpling my wrappers and dumping them in the empty bag. The car braked and swung around, flinging me against the side panel as Nick made an illegal U-turn.

  “You wanted to play detective, right? I’m taking you on a real stakeout.” He pulled the loaner car to the curb and cut off the engine. The burger turned to cement in my stomach.

  “Why are we staking out Theresa if the bartender said that it wasn’t her in the bar?”

  Nick wiped his greasy fingers on a napkin, his eyes raking the parking lot until he spotted Theresa’s car. “Because I think they’re both hiding something, and I want to know who she was with that night.”

  “How are we going to do that?”

  He reclined his seat back, crossed his arms, and closed his eyes. “We’re going to wait for her boyfriend to show up.”

  * * *

  Twenty minutes passed. I was pretty sure Nick spent most of it with his eyes closed, a ball cap draped loosely over them. At least now I understood why he hadn’t ordered us anything to drink.

  “What am I supposed to be looking for anyway?” The vinyl seat creaked as I tried and failed to get comfortable. If I reclined my seat back as far as Nick had, neither one of us would be able to see.

  His voice was groggy when he finally answered. “Just tell me when Feliks’s Lincoln shows up.”

  My spine went rigid. “Feliks?” I plucked the cap off Nick’s face. “So all this time you knew who Theresa’s client was? At what point were you planning to tell me?”