“For chrissake, don’t you guys know anything about Roman or Greek mythology?”
Jackson’s toe tapping urged Marsh to enlighten them further. That was her thing; tapping her toe, and it always seemed to work.
Marsh rolled his eyes. “In Roman mythology, Cupid is the god of desire. His Greek counterpart is Eros,” he paused briefly, “and just a little FYI, in case it ever comes up again, Cupid is known in Latin as Amor.”
“Wait a minute. This morning when I asked you about cupid you didn’t know shit.”
Marsh chuckled. “I Googled it this afternoon.”
He’s such a smartass.
Jackson looked up at Marsh. “Is there anything else of use in the email?”
Marsh’s smile stretched. “Just that she was going to pick up Eros from the airport at 11:00 a.m. today.”
“Christ, she’s making this too easy. It’s almost as if she wanted to get caught,” Jackson commented, “but how or why did she bring him in from Nicaragua. She already pulled together three of Shannon’s exes. Why did he agree to come?”
“I’m guessing she wanted a full-sweep. Shannon invaded her territory, and Meyers was the only one left. The rest of them were at her fingertips.” Walker commented as he ran his hand over his face.
Spinelli could nearly see the wheels turning in Walker’s head.
Walker pressed on. “She put a lot of planning into this it must have taken weeks if not months. She staged all the murders to take place before Shannon would arrive at work, probably hoping she would have no alibi. But due to Meyers’ flight time, she couldn’t get that one done before 8:00 a.m.” Walker cocked a brow, “How do you suppose she got him to agree to come here to see Shannon?”
“Perhaps he’s the jealous type,” Marsh interjected as he glanced at Spinelli. Shannon told us how he didn’t seem to take her breakup seriously. “Maybe Bethany got word to him of the seriousness of her relationship with Spinelli, and he came home to interfere. Up until Spinelli entered the picture, she hadn’t had any serious prospects; therefore, Meyers didn’t have to worry about losing her while he was away. He probably figured she was just sitting here patiently awaiting his return.”
Walker stepped toward the two-way mirror. Spinelli shifted his gaze to the mirror as well. Bethany chewed on her nails. Had Jackson’s extended absence from the room made her nervous?
“I suppose that theory is possible. Let’s see if I can get anything else out of her,” Jackson said as she grabbed the stack of papers off the table, stuffed them into a manila folder, and exited the room.
Spinelli, Walker, and Marsh stood with their noses pressed against the two-way mirror. Jackson entered the interrogation room with the folder tucked under her arm.
Bethany’s brown-eyed gaze shifted to Jackson. She stopped chewing on her fingernails and rested her arms on the table.
“Let’s see. Where were we? Oh yes, you were telling me you didn’t know much about tropical fish and that you didn’t know Dr. Joshua Meyers. Is that correct?”
Bethany sighed. “Yes, I think we’ve already established that.” She cocked her jaw and ran her hand through her short, brown, wispy hair. She seemed more annoyed than nervous by the questioning.
“Pathological liar?” Spinelli questioned as he looked at Walker and Marsh.
“Could be,” Marsh replied.
Jackson pulled the folder from under her arm and flipped it open. She stared at the contents for a while. Silence—an interrogation ploy. Bethany picked at her fingernails then resumed chewing on them. “Maybe she’s a neurotic?” Spinelli questioned.
“That would seem to fit. Difficulty with relationships, functions in society as a fairly normal person, and she always appears somewhat nervous and tense,” Marsh recapped.
“And extremely hyperactive,” Spinelli added. “Part of what turned me off. That and the fact she always seemed so unhappy.”
Spinelli turned his attention back to the activity in the interrogation room.
Jackson shifted her gaze from the folder back to Bethany. “Do you have a Hotmail account?”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“The question is do you have one?”
“Yes.”
“What name do you go by when you use that account?” Bethany rolled her eyes. “I use my name, bdier at hotmail.com.”
“Hmm, do you use any other Hotmail accounts?”
“Nope.”
“Does anyone else have access to your office computer?”
Bethany’s eyes widened. Her fists balled, and she dropped them to her lap. Spinelli assumed it was a deliberate maneuver to hide her anxiety.
“Bethany, does anyone else have access to your office computer?” Jackson repeated.
“I don’t think so,” her voice squeaked in reply.
Jackson pulled a paper from the folder and set it on the table in front of Bethany. “So then likely it was you who drafted the email to Eros, using the name of Betta?” Jackson questioned as she pointed to the paper and returned her gaze to meet Bethany’s.
Bethany’s eyes never wavered from Jackson. Not once during the brief silence that followed Jackson’s question did Bethany look down at the papers. Spinelli suspected she had no need to.
“I think I’ll call my attorney now,” Bethany replied through gritted teeth.
Jackson closed the file and scooped it up. “Okay. I’ll send an officer in. He’ll take you to holding, and you can make your call.”
* * * *
Betta tilted her head back and stared at the ceiling while she waited for the officer to come get her. The corners of her mouth tugged upward. She’d succeeded. Two months of tedious planning, and it finally all came to fruition. The plan was foolproof. Any moron could have carried it out. But she did it. She did it herself and couldn’t have been more pleased with the outcome. She inhaled slowly and deeply and let her breath out. She felt cleansed. She’d rid the world of four problems.
She’d set out to make this one hell of a Valentine’s Day for the ever-famous womanizing Nick Spinelli and his whore girlfriend, Shannon O’Hara. Even though she knew she’d never win the heart of Nick Spinelli, the woman he loved would surely be through with him now as well. There was no way Shannon O’Hara would stay with a man that caused her so much grief. From now until the end of time, every time Spinelli and O’Hara looked at each other, they’d be reminded of their special Valentine’s Day.
Laughter rang from Betta’s mouth. She would have given anything to see the look on Spinelli’s face a moment ago when realization set in that he was the cause of death of all of Shannon’s past lovers. She’d considered poisoning him as well, but in the end, she figured the guilt associated with the blood on his hands was a more appropriate punishment for him. He’d need to learn to live with this for the rest of his life. The thought warmed her like a down quilt.
Betta rolled her eyes. Poor, sweet, innocent Shannon. She was just as much to blame for this entire mess, all pure and nice all the time. Nobody’s that nice. Betta’s eye twitched. She pressed her fingers to it. It wouldn’t stop. Thoughts of Shannon always made her eye twitch. She’d thought the day’s events would have taken care of the involuntary annoying movement. She shrugged. Oh well. She’d worry about that later.
Betta lifted her head from the back of the chair, leaned forward, and fixed her eyes on the two-way mirror. She wondered if Spinelli stared at her through the glass. She wondered if he was angry with her or sad. It didn’t matter. She’d made her point and made it quite clearly.
Her reflection in the glass faded, and Mike Carter’s light brown eyes suddenly stared back at her. Mike had sad, desperate eyes. They looked nothing now as they’d looked in the Prom picture Betta found on the Internet. He and Shannon stood up on their pedestal looking all smug, like they were some sort of special couple, just because they’d made the court. Facebook made it so easy to find Shannon’s high school sweetheart. Betta shook her head. When will people learn not to post so much personal inform
ation for the world to see? Idiots.
Mike’s new image was enough to make Betta feel sorry for him. Poor guy lost his job and had to resort to selling himself for bread and butter. Betta smiled. Adrenaline shot through her veins. Mike was definitely worth the $2,000 she’d paid him. He had slow hands and quickly figured out how to push her buttons, not just once, but twice. She’d actually considered sparing him, figuring it was a shame to remove him from the grasp of women. But hell, he was just a male slut selling himself.
She’d offered to drive him home when they’d finished. He’d accepted the ride. She’d fed him the chocolates she’d hand-prepared for him as she drove. It didn’t take long for the desperation and sadness to drain from his eyes.
Betta leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. The more she thought about it, she realized she’d probably done Mike a huge favor, releasing him from his pathetic, useless life. But she did feel kind of bad, leaving him the way she did, propped up on a snowbank wearing nothing but wings for the whole world to see. She shrugged. Oh well. She knew she had to get rid of him quickly, so she’d pushed him out of the car in the first available alley. Tony was probably already waiting for her. She’d scheduled her appointments pretty tight. She had a lot to accomplish in a twenty-four-hour period.
Betta propped her elbow up on the table and rested her chin on her palm as she continued to stare forward. Mike’s image faded, and Tony Rosso’s handsome chiseled features now shined in front of her. His perfect white smile nearly lit up the interrogation room.
Self-esteem had not been an issue for Rosso. He oozed confidence in everything he did. If only Rosso really knew. Yeah, he brought her to orgasm, but he was so mechanical. She’d felt as though he were following an operator’s manual as they humped on his boss’ desk. She’d expected more from a professional who’d been in the business for a while. But she had to admit, the guy was good-looking and built to perfection, and what he did for that set of wings was a crime in itself. Her fingertips burned at the recollection of how his hot skin and hard-muscled body felt as she ran her hands over him. And his scent. She wasn’t sure she’d ever smelled anything as tantalizing in her life. Between his captivating scent and the sight of his wings fluttering in unison as he pumped inside her, she’d nearly forgotten why she was there. His over-confidence annoyed her and reminded her of her purpose. When the time had come for her to take control and get the job done, they’d switched positions. She took pleasure in feeding him her handmade chocolates as she rode him like the man whore he was. Had he no shame, pimping out desperate souls as he did?
Betta remembered glancing at the clock. She needed to hurry. Chad Williams was waiting for her. She fed Tony another chocolate. He coughed and then choked. She climbed off him and watched as his olive-colored cheeks turned red as a fire truck. He’d sat up as if that would help. But the coughing continued and was soon followed by vomiting. It didn’t take long for his body to fall back onto the desk and convulse. His body stilled. His once smug eyes stared emptily at the ceiling.
Betta hoped her Aunt Judy wouldn’t be upset with her if and when she found out that Betta had killed Rosso. Judy spoke highly of her paid lover. Hell, the way Betta saw it, Judy was just as much to blame for Rosso’s death. If she and Betta hadn’t shared a bottle of champagne at Shannon’s Uncle Bernie’s bar the night of Judy’s 60th birthday, Betta would have never happened upon Shannon’s short involvement with Rosso. The information meant nothing to Betta at the time, over one and one-half years ago, but she remembered it when needed. She recalled how jealous her aunt acted that night as they watched Rosso behind the bar. Judy worried that someday a fine young woman would truly peak Tony’s interest, and cause him to leave the business.
Betta talked to her aunt shortly before the police knocked on her door so she knew Spinelli, Walker, and Marsh had questioned her aunt about Rosso at Sonny’s Bar. At that time, her aunt didn’t have a clue she was the one who killed Rosso. Judy was sure to find out. Oh well, it needed to be done.
Rosso’s image in the two-way mirror transitioned to that of Chad Williams. Chad had surprised her. She still wondered why he joined Rosso’s team of male hookers. It wasn’t like he was broke. He had a good job with decent pay and benefits. He seemed like a nice, regular, clock-punching Joe. She’d heard rumors he had a gambling problem, so maybe that’s why he did it. Perhaps he had needed to get a bookie off his back. In the end, it really didn’t matter why he’d done it, it worked out well for her.
Chad simply did as she’d asked. His touch was soft and sweet. He seemed like the marrying kind. In fact, she wondered why a guy like him wasn’t married already. She’d never really talked with him at work.
She’d see him come in and out of the building in the morning when she arrived at work or in the afternoon when she left. He always carried a clipboard in his hand. The same metal clipboard she saw laying on top the bags of plaster powder next to where they screwed. Perhaps she’d take the clipboard when she left, a little remembrance of him. Why not take it. He wouldn’t need it any longer. Nah, she didn’t need the clipboard. She had a better remembrance piece already; a group photo of all the attendees from the summer picnic, the summer before last. Though he was a city employee, he came as Shannon’s guest to the county picnic. In the photo, he stood next to Shannon with his arm draped over her shoulder. How sweet.
When he stood to dress, she’d decided it was time. He couldn’t be found with his clothes on. That just wouldn’t be right. Before he had a chance to dress, she retrieved the small heart-shaped box of chocolates from her handbag, opened it, pulled the only rectangle one from the box, and popped it into her mouth. She held the box out to him. Without hesitation, he took one of her special, round, handmade chocolates that filled the remaining slots in the box. He’d popped the chocolate into his mouth and chewed only a couple of times before he swallowed it, not taking nearly enough time to savor the smooth chocolate. Betta wondered why they didn’t ever take the time to enjoy the little things. It would behoove them.
She’d offered him another chocolate. He had nearly inhaled that one as well. When he bent over to pick up his pants he’d started to cough and then choke. She’d stood by as he vomited several times before he fell to the floor. His body shook. His soft brown eyes darkened as they nearly bulged out of his head. He stilled. It was time to go.
Betta squeezed her eyes shut and opened them to find Dr. Joshua Meyers’ mug staring back at her from the two-way mirror. Joshua was built differently than the others. The first three cupids resembled Spinelli. They were tall and muscular. They had dark complexions and brown eyes. Joshua was wiry, had a light complexion, and bright blue eyes. And he simply wasn’t as handsome as the others were. Betta wondered what Shannon had seen in him, other than him being a doctor.
Fortunately for Betta, Joshua was the jealous type and was easily manipulated. She’d remembered that from college. He’d dated her roommate and slept with every girl he could get his hands on, yet her roommate wasn’t allowed to date anyone else. Betta never understood why her roommate was so upset when he dumped her for Shannon. He never treated her right.
Though Meyers was a womanizer through and through, he’d nearly hopped the next plane when she’d told him about Shannon’s serious relationship with Spinelli. Betta could tell from their phone conversation that he wasn’t fully committed to Shannon, but he didn’t want anyone else to have her, either. He had planned to come back home to her at some point when he was ready, and he fully expected her to be there waiting for him.
Who in the hell did Meyers think he was? Betta huffed. In her book, he wasn’t good-looking enough to be this way, but he did have charisma. She wondered why a guy like him would volunteer for a church mission trip. It didn’t make any sense. Was it guilt? Was he trying to buy his way into heaven after all the cheating he’d done? Betta shook her head. She knew the truth. He was either trying to bag some foreign women before he came back home to settle down with Shannon, or perha
ps, he was simply just taking advantage of the opportunity laid before him; living in a mission community comprised of mostly young female volunteers. People get lonely and have needs, even the pure and innocent ones. Betta was sure Meyers basked in the collection pool of innocent and pure women at his fingertips in the mission community. The fact that Meyers dated people like Shannon and Betta’s college roommate, supported Betta’s theory; Meyers liked corrupting the innocents. It was a little game he liked to play. Asshole!
Betta thought about screwing Meyers before she did him in, but the thrill of the hunt was too strong. She’d simply wanted him dead. Because he was such a dick, she did suppress her urgency and took the time to coax him into his wings first. She wanted to tease him and lead him on a bit before she gave him the opportunity to find out if his voluntary mission work bought him passage through the pearly gates.
Betta pulled the wings from the bag she’d brought with her to Meyer’s hotel room. She’d saved him the trouble of having to pick up his cupid costume for the fundraiser. He had no time for such things. His time, since he arrived so late on this special day, was better spent manipulating Shannon and helping to make her look guilty as sin in terms of murdering her past lovers.
Betta smiled. She was having so much fun. She handed the wings to Meyers before she reached her hands behind her back and pulled down the zipper of her dress. Her dress fell to the floor exposing her bare breasts and the small patch of material covering her fresh Brazilian Shave. She shimmied out of her thong and by the time she looked up again Meyers wore nothing but wings. He was such a player; so easy, and such an idiot for a man with a doctorate.
Meyers opened his mouth to receive the piece of chocolate Betta held. He’d eaten his candy like a good boy, then sat on the bed and patted the spot next to him before he hurled, fell back, jerked, and stilled. His once piercing blue eyes turned as dark as Lake Michigan in winter.
Betta’s icy veins warmed at the sight of him sprawled out on the bed. He’d been such an easy target—almost too easy.
Craving Vengeance, a Nick Spinelli Mystery Page 11
