“Yeah,” Dorchester agreed, “what do you have?”
“It’s a letter dated in September from Larkin, and it’s inquiring if Robertson is interested in resuming talks about selling his land for the casino. He says he can assure him that things will turn out differently this time. He’s willing to offer the same contingencies as Mr. McCarren did with the first deal.” I turned and held the letter up for the video. I was sure I looked like a grinning fool because the timing was right. Nate Turner had called me mid-November about the threats he’d been receiving, and he was killed in January. We just had to figure out Nate’s exact involvement.
“We’ll be taking this letter as evidence, Mr. Broadman,” Dorchester told him. “We’ll be sure to get a copy back to you.”
“Mr. Robertson didn’t mention this to you at all? Not even in passing?” I asked the attorney. It seemed to me that Robertson had placed a lot of confidence in the younger man. It was odd that he wouldn’t have told him, even if he planned on ignoring the letter.
“Not a word, which feels strange to me,” Broadman replied earnestly. “But, there’s the evidence that it happened. That’s clearly McCarren letterhead.”
The rest of the box was anticlimactic compared to the cash and the smoking gun of a letter. We replaced the items back where we found them and Dorchester filmed us putting the box back and locking it away before handing over the bank’s key to Divers, who looked nervous about being on camera. He resembled a lizard by the way he kept licking his lips and stared at it with bulging eyes.
We shook Broadman’s hand then headed to the sheriff’s department to copy and enter the letter into evidence before we headed to Cincinnati.
The conference room buzzed with excitement when the task force learned about the letter.
“Hot damn!” Weston said loudly.
“It’s about time,” Harris added. “Let’s get this all wrapped up in a pretty bow for the DA.”
“We need to find our killer first,” I told them, trying to project a little levity into the situation. Yes, we were getting somewhere, but there were a few missing pieces, and we still didn’t know who pulled the trigger. “Do any of the players at McCarren have military backgrounds or connections?” I asked. Our killer knew what the fuck he was doing, which didn’t necessarily equal ex-military, but sometimes special forces turned to mercenary work once they returned to civilian life.
“Other than our ghost, Jonathon Silver,” Weston asked. “Let’s not forget his appearance was awfully damn convenient.”
“We haven’t ruled him out,” I explained. “It’s better that he thinks we believe every word that comes out of his mouth. He’ll cooperate more that way,” I said with a wicked smile. “He has an alibi for the night of Nate’s homicide, by the way, so let’s look to see if any of the men employed by McCarren could be co-conspirators. Like Michael Larkin,” I told the group.
“I’ve got backgrounds,” Detective Allyson Drake said. It was the first time in a few weeks she’d joined us, but she was finished with her latest undercover bust and was looking to stay busy until her next assignment came in.
“You have the floor, Detective,” I told her and took a seat.
Drake typed a few things on her laptop, and an image popped up on the whiteboard behind her. “This is Drew McCarren,” she said. The man wasn’t what I was expecting, although I couldn’t pinpoint why. He had a sexy silver fox thing going for him, except his dark eyes resembled those of a shark. McCarren gave the appearance of being cold, ruthless, and dead on the inside. Drake rattled off his age, income, and a few of the things he was accused of doing, although no arrests had been made.
Detective Drake hit a key, and a different image popped up. “This is Michael Larkin, the man who Robertson disliked the most,” she said. “Former Marine…”
“No such thing,” Harris said, pushing back his sleeve to reveal his globe and anchor tattoo with the dates of his service. “A Marine until you die.”
“Michael Larkin is a Marine,” Drake amended. “He served for twenty-two years before he resigned. He has a degree in urban planning and development as well as an architectural degree. He’s the lead man on all projects at McCarren. He’s not on anyone’s radar that I can see.”
She went through the money guy Tommy Thompson pretty quickly because there wasn’t anything there that raised the hair on the back of our necks. When she put up a photo of Rick Spizer, I sat up a little straighter, as did everyone else in the room.
“Former Green Beret.” You could feel the energy pulsating through the room when she made the announcement. He was involved somehow, and we knew it.
“Let’s get on that warrant to wire Jonathon Silver and set up a meeting between the two men,” I told the room.
I didn’t trust Jonathon Silver, but I had no choice but to use him to try and get to the truth. I’d wire him up, send him undercover, and give him enough rope to hang himself. If he were responsible for his brother’s death, I wouldn’t stop until I proved it.
My day started out similar as the day before, minus the confrontation with the mayor and my half-attempt at an apology to Emory. I seldom ran consecutive days, preferring to do yoga or work my pole in between runs to let my body recover. Not even my tried-and-true yoga helped me shake the anxiety I felt over Emory’s presence in our lives.
Buddy eagerly waited in the kitchen next to his leash that hung from a hook on the wall when he saw that I was putting on my bright running clothes and shoes. That day’s ensemble was lime green and navy. I liked the color combo and remarked that I’d like to have it in a pair of underwear. There was no one there to hear my comment except the pets, and they didn’t look impressed.
Like the day before, I ran into Emory. He had been out running too, wearing a somber charcoal gray jogging suit and had his hair up in a man-bun. He entered the park on the outskirts of town from the opposite side that I did. I always stopped and stretched at the gazebo since it was the midway mark for my run. It seemed that we were of the same mind, or did he read my mind? I narrowed my eyes in speculation.
“I can’t read your damn mind, Josh.” He propped his heel on the back of the bench so that his leg was extended out in front of him. He bent over his leg and reached for his toes, stretching his hamstrings.
“You just did,” I told him suspiciously.
“It didn’t take psychic ability to know what you were thinking,” he said, switching legs. “Did anyone ever tell you not to play poker?”
“Yes, but then I took all his money and that of his parents too.” I laughed at the memory of shock on their faces.
“Good to know,” Emory said with a nod of his head. He noticed that my eyes kept straying to his man-bun and chuckled. “Not a fan, huh?”
“No, although I can appreciate the necessity to get it off your neck while working up a sweat. Not that I’m thinking about the ways you work up a sweat or anything.” My cheeks turned pink with embarrassment. I didn’t want to give him the wrong idea.
“I didn’t get the wrong idea,” he said. “I knew you meant jogging and not other, um… sweaty activities.”
“You did it again,” I said, taking a step back from him. I’d risk pulling a muscle from not stretching properly if it meant getting away from the man because I always made an ass of myself in front of him. Some people brought out the worst in me without trying. My mind went to Gabe, but that was a completely different situation. I was protecting my heart from getting hurt. Emory was no threat to my heart because I’d already given mine to Gabe.
Emory threw his head back and laughed hard for several long seconds. I couldn’t help but notice how rusty it sounded as if he hadn’t laughed in a really long time.
Maybe I should’ve been offended by his laughter, but instead, it made me sad. “What are you doing on Sunday?” For the life of me, I had no idea where the question came from. It was out of my mouth before I could stop it.
“Sunday? Isn’t that Easter?” Emory asked.
&nbs
p; Well, I couldn’t un-speak my damn words, so I rolled with it. “Uh, yeah. Do you have plans?”
“I’ll probably still be unpacking then,” he said. I noticed he started to shift his weight slightly between his right and left foot. I figured it had more to do with me making him feel uncomfortable than an effort to keep his heart rate up.
“Well, I’ll be serving dinner around five if you’d like to come over,” I said.
Emory nodded noncommittally then looked away briefly. He bit his bottom lip and appeared to be thinking about how to react, unlike me who often shot from the hip. “I appreciate your invite, Josh. I’ll think about it, okay?”
“Sure,” I replied. “I don’t mean to toot my own horn here, but I can pretty much guarantee that you’ve never had a glazed ham better than one I’ll serve you.”
“Oh, I’m vegan,” he said.
I gasped and stood back from him like he announced he had a deadly infectious disease and I was minutes away from my insides imploding and drowning in my own blood. I checked myself because I loved animals and I could understand why people didn’t want to eat them. But no bacon? Emory’s lips twitched at the corners, and I realized he was playing. “You’re a complete shit, Emory!”
“Man, you’re so easy,” he said between chuckles.
“Who told?” I demanded to know.
He clutched his stomach and laughed even harder. “So sorry,” he said as he tried to catch his breath.
“If you think I’m funny then you should see my makeshift family. I can promise you a good time,” I said, sounding like one of those scribbled comments on a bathroom stall.
“I’m not touching that one,” Emory said, shaking his head. “No way.”
“The offer is there if you want to accept it, but I won’t take it out on your hair at your appointment next week should you not show up to dinner,” I told him.
“Yeah well, this style—or lack thereof—is from not giving a damn. I guess you could say my looks have lost their importance to me the last few years.” He smiled softly as if he tried to soften the sadness behind his words. “Can I ask you for one favor if I do show up?”
“You can ask,” I told him, but I didn’t commit to granting it.
“Will you please not tell anyone about my… gift?”
“That I can guarantee,” I told him.
“Good,” he said in relief. “I don’t do parlor tricks. I take my abilities seriously, and I use them to help people, not hurt them.” I felt like he was directing the last part toward me and not making a general statement.
“I understand. I doubt the rest of the group will whip out their phones and search your name like I did, but I do advise you make up a believable excuse as to why you moved to Blissville,” I told him. “It’s a nice town and all, but rarely do people move here unless it’s work-related.”
Emory thought about it for a few seconds then asked, “What do you think they’d find acceptable? Honestly, I’m out of my league here. I don’t know why I’m in Blissville beyond the fact that I knew I was needed.”
I took in Emory’s appearance and air of mystery about him. “How about a writer? Maybe you moved here to do research on small towns for a series you’re writing. They may not drill you down as to exactly how or why you picked Blissville, but have an answer ready if they do. My friends have an attention to detail like you won’t believe.”
“Oh, I believe it,” he remarked. “Thanks for the advice. You know,” he said after a brief pause, “it’s not far off the mark. Right now, I’m just jotting things down in a journal, but I have tossed around the idea of publishing a book about my experiences.”
“Can I ask you something, Emory? You can say no, but I need complete honesty if you’re willing to answer my question.”
“Ask away.” I could tell by the look on his face that he was anticipating my question.
“Will you share with me exactly what you saw to make you move here in the house behind mine?” I asked.
“Honestly, Josh, it was a vision of a piece of mail with my name and the Blissville address on it. Nothing else. It was the oddest thing to ever occur to me. I ignored it for a few weeks until I started to see the vision daily. I knew it was time to pack up and move here to find out what was waiting for me.”
“Do your visions ever help you prevent crimes or do you only help solve them after they’re committed?” I asked him.
“That’s two questions,” Emory said, reminding me that I asked for just one.
“You’re right. I apologize.”
“Don’t apologize, Josh. I was only teasing you.” He blew out a long breath then said, “I’ve worked in both situations, but the majority have been the latter scenario you described.” His answer didn’t make me feel better, but I couldn’t continue to live in an anxious state of mind.
“Well,” I said, ready to end the conversation and move on with my day, “you know where I live if you feel like having company.”
“Will there be an Easter egg hunt?”
“No,” I said with a laugh. “Deal breaker?”
“Nah,” he said good-naturedly. “I’ll see you around. Perhaps on Sunday.”
“See you, Emory.”
We continued in opposite directions even though we were heading the same place. It seemed that we jogged at the same pace too since we turned down opposite ends of the alley that bisected our back yards at the same time. I gave a friendly wave as I hit the end of my driveway and headed inside to get ready for work.
Chaz showed up on time that day but looked like he’d had little sleep again. Meredith and I exchanged a look that said we were both keeping an eye on him. He must’ve caught our little exchange because he rolled his eyes and went to make a cup of coffee.
“Did you talk to any interesting people last night while playing games?” I asked him. “Did he sound like he was about six-two with black hair and bright blue eyes? Could you tell he had a way with pets?”
He stopped in the middle of the room then turned and faced me. “I know where you’re going with this, Josh. I’m telling you the likelihood that I’m playing games with Dr. Dimples into the wee hours of the night are slim to none,” Chaz said.
“You wish you were,” Meredith said sassily. Both of them were completely unaware of who walked in the salon door in time to catch the brief exchange between them.
“Okay, maybe I do. Are you happy now? If I admit to jerking off while thinking about the good doctor will you shut up about it?” Chaz asked.
“Uh…” I said. I wasn’t sure how to get him to stop talking without giving the reasons away, but I hoped my stammering and bug-eyed appearance would get it across, but it seemed like Chaz was just getting started. Kyle stood behind Chaz with his mouth hanging open and his eyes doing a rapid blinking thing that reminded me of an owl.
“So what if I want to take in every stray cat I find so that I can look at him and smell his body wash. You think I’m the only one? Please,” he said exaggeratingly. “If that man knew how many people fantasized about his hunky body then he’d never leave his house.”
Meredith turned to look at Chaz just then and let out a high-pitched squeak when she saw Kyle had overheard every single word that our friend had said. Me staring speechlessly at him wasn’t enough to get his attention, but apparently, both of us doing it got the point across. Chaz’s eyes widened in alarm when he realized what was going on.
“That Dr. Rogers is sex on a stick,” Chaz said. It might’ve been a good recovery had his words not croaked out of him like a bullfrog and the man he mentioned not been almost a hundred years old and lived in a nursing home. The man hadn’t practiced veterinary medicine for decades. I just shook my head, uncertain what to say or do. Chaz cleared his throat and swallowed hard to choke down the frog then said, “If you’ll excuse me, I just remembered that I have some, um, inventory to order before the day gets away from me.” As he approached Meredith and me, he whispered, “I’m just going to go dig a hole in the back yard.
Call Gabe and tell him to come home and shoot me.”
A slow smile spread over Kyle’s face as the reality of the situation sank in. “Good morning,” he said to Meredith and me. “I just stopped by to grab some hair wax. I’m almost out.” Kyle walked dazedly over to the display and grabbed a bottle off the shelf.
“Honey, that’s the wrong kind of wax,” Meredith said, then walked over to save him from himself. “The ladies use that for other things.”
“Some men too,” I reminded her. Women didn’t own the market on waxing.
“True,” Meredith said.
“Ouch,” Kyle said with a shiver. “I’ll stick with hair wax, thank you.”
I walked over to the register and began ringing up Kyle’s purchase. I figured the quicker we got him out of the salon, the quicker we could talk Chaz down off the ledge. Poor guy. Chaz was probably going crazy while hiding in the kitchenette or my mixing room.
Knowing that, I still opened my mouth and asked, “What are you doing on Sunday?” I heard Meredith gasp but kept on trucking right along. “I’m having the dinner of the century at five, and you’re welcome to join us.”
Kyle tipped his head to the side a bit and leaned forward. “Us?” Kyle inquired.
“You know, the usual suspects. Meredith, Gabe, Chaz, and me. Oh,” I exclaimed loud, “I also invited the new guy next door.”
“You did?” Meredith asked in surprise.
“I did,” I confirmed. “Emory’s new to town, and it’s a holiday.”
“I’m not sure what I have planned yet,” Kyle told me. “I usually have dinner at my folks’ house…”
“Please don’t feel like you need to change your traditions,” I told him. “I just felt like extending the invitation. I’ll make enough food for an army, and you can stop over if you wish. No pressure.”
“I’ll think about it,” Kyle said. “Thank you, Josh. That’s very nice of you.”
“Nice is his middle name,” Meredith said in a saccharine-sweet voice.
Welcome to Blissville Page 62
