by Emily James
We’d cracked open our take-out containers when my cell rang. I didn’t even want to think about the long-distance charges for this visit. I hadn’t expected to use my phone much at all away from home.
My caller ID told me it was the police station.
Ahanti glanced over. “You might as well put it on speaker.”
Now that she knew the worst, I didn’t see a reason not to. I let DeGoey know who was on my end as soon as I answered, and I filled him in on what my security pro had found.
“I’ll have someone connect with him,” DeGoey said. “We’re going to want to take it from here. We’ve made an arrest.”
17
Ahanti dropped the Kung Pao chicken container she’d been holding. It hit the table with a whap, still upright. “Who?”
“Terrance Moore.”
Ahanti put her head down on the table.
I rested a hand on her shoulder. For her sake, and for Terrance’s, we had to be sure the police weren’t making a mistake. “Are you able to share with us what you found that led to the arrest?”
“His fingerprints were on the photo where someone had burned out her fiancé’s face. When we questioned him about it, he finally admitted to sending it.”
A little moan came from Ahanti. She must feel a lot like I would if I found out that she’d been doing something like this to me.
Except we’d suspected Terrance might have sent that single messages but not any of the others. “Were his fingerprints on any of the other messages?”
“We’re still processing them. Many of them are so old that we’re not expecting anything other than smudged partials.”
Even if some of those belonged to Terrance, it didn’t mean he’d written them. Ahanti could have shown them to him before taking them home. My prints would be on many of them from when we’d sorted them out.
We needed something more solid before we could be confident that Ahanti was safe and this was over. DeGoey didn’t have the same personal stakes.
“What about ties to Cary’s murder?”
“When we started investigating the murder, one of the victim’s clients said they’d heard him arguing with a black man about money. They picked Terrance Moore out of a lineup this afternoon.”
That made it a lot more likely that Terrance had been behind this all along.
“I’m confident he’s our guy,” DeGoey said. “More now than ever thanks to you finding that camera. Our background check into him showed he did one year of Computer Science at Northern Virginia Community College, and his apartment was full of gadgets. Probably what he was spending all the money he was borrowing from the victim on. He even had a high-tech drone that my guys say has to be worth nearly five grand. Once I get ahold of that camera your people found, I can see if any of the places he was buying this stuff from show a purchase for the same make and model.”
I thanked him and disconnected.
Ahanti propped up her chin on her arms, her face no longer buried. “At least it’s over. I can sleep tonight in my own home and walk to work tomorrow without worrying someone’s going to grab me on the way. There’s just one more thing I still need to do.”
She grabbed her bag from the back of the chair and fished out her phone.
I was sitting close enough that I could easily read what she was typing. At first, I kept my eyes averted, thinking she was sending a message to Geoff. Then I saw the name at the top of the screen—Terrance.
Come by the studio in the next 48 hours to get your stuff or I’m throwing it out. And I want my keys back.
She added a swear word onto the end.
I reached out a hand to stop her from sending it, but I was too late.
Setting aside the practical element that Terrance might not be able to make bail—at least not in 48 hours—there was still the fact that she shouldn’t have anything to do with him. I understood the rush of boldness that came with knowing your opponent and feeling you had the upper hand. Over the past few months, I’d also learned that the farther away from murderers you could stay, the better.
“I still have the private investigator sitting on Terrance. Why don’t we pack up his stuff into a box and have the PI give it back to him? I’ll tell him to get the keys for your apartment and Skin Canvas from Terrance at the same time.”
The old defiance was back in Ahanti’s face. “Now that they know who he is, he can’t hurt me anymore.”
That was so far from true that I didn’t know where to start, but I also didn’t want to send her into another panic attack. A stalker who received a text like she sent could easily become even more dangerous. She’d rejected him. He could also feel like he had nothing to lose. He was potentially going to prison for one murder. Why not two?
I couldn’t say any of that. I’d have to come at it a different way—one she couldn’t argue with. “It’s not about that. You don’t want to hurt the case against him by having any contact with him. His attorney could argue that you clearly don’t believe the charges against him or you wouldn’t have allowed him anywhere near you afterward.”
“I can see your point, but I already texted him.”
“Give me his number. I’ll text him about the change in plans.”
I went to work with Ahanti the next day to help her package up everything that belonged to Terrance. She’d started rebooking her cancelled appointments, beginning with a design session with Jana. In the gaps between sessions, we emptied out Terrance’s drawers.
Ahanti’s way of dealing with it was to dump everything none-too-gently into the box.
By four in the afternoon, all Terrance’s stuff was in three large boxes, sealed with packing tape. I snagged the permanent marker away from Ahanti before she wrote anything nasty on the boxes.
Eddie showed up shortly before five. He came in the door sideways, looking back over his shoulder. “There’s some guy sitting out front of here in his car, watching the door. You want me to get rid of him?”
I already knew it was the private investigator. I’d asked him to drop the surveillance on Terrance, since he wouldn’t see much while he was in custody anyway, and hang out here for the day, in case Terrance made bail and decided to show up.
Eddie could have at least waited until he was inside the tinted windows to point the guy out, though. If he had been someone unsavory, he’d have tipped him off. Maybe that was the idea. Let him know he was being watched to scare him away.
I stacked the final box of Terrance’s stuff by the door. “We know. He’s extra protection in case Terrance shows up.”
Mark had insisted on it. He said if my dad balked, he’d pay for it himself. I wouldn’t be much protection to Ahanti if Terrance showed up with a gun or a knife.
Eddie’s frown added wrinkle rolls to his forehead, like he had too much skin there. “Terrance?”
Ahanti motioned for him to sit. “The police arrested Terrance. Nicole’s fiancé was worried he might come back here and do something to hurt us. Nicole had the security people her dad’s firm uses come in, and they even found a camera in my apartment. So much for him being my friend.”
Eddie’s mouth opened in a way that reminded me of a bear about to growl, lips pulled back and showing too many teeth. “I thought he was my friend, too.”
My phone rang in my pocket. The caller ID listed a 703 area code, which meant it was DC-based. Probably the security firm letting me know they’d turned everything over to the police. I didn’t want to answer it in front of Eddie and upset him more. The man looked like he might burst a vessel in his head.
I motioned to them that I was going to take it outside.
“Is this Nicole?” a man’s voice said when I answered.
A man’s voice that sounded too close to Terrance’s for comfort.
“I need to find a lawyer,” he said. “I need you to recommend a lawyer who’s good and affordable. I know I can’t afford your dad or anyone like that.”
It was Terrance. Maybe he thought that because I’d moved to a
small town I’d be easy to deceive now. That said, I also didn’t want to antagonize a stalker who’d already killed someone. He’d eventually be out on bail, and even though I was headed home in a couple of days, Ahanti would still be here.
I made a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me face before I spotted Lucas, the private investigator, watching me.
I mouthed the words Peeping Tom.
He smirked and looked away.
“Nicole, are you still there?” Terrance asked.
I sighed. What was it about me that made all these people call me? Maybe my parents’ genes emitted some sort of criminal-enticing pheromones and that was part of their success secrets. Unfortunately for Terrance, he’d called the wrong Fitzhenry-Dawes. “I’m still here, but I’m not sure why you’re calling me for help. The police can set you up with a great public defender if you’re not able to afford a lawyer.”
“I’m a black man covered in tattoos. Jurors are going to assume I did it without even listening. I need someone great.”
He didn’t sound delusional. He sounded like he’d thought this through. Maybe I didn’t need to cater to him quite as much. “Ahanti is my best friend.”
“She’s my friend too. You don’t think I really did this, do you?”
“They have your fingerprints on the picture of Geoff with the threat written on the back.”
In the silence that followed, I caught voices in the background. Wherever he was, he wasn’t back at his apartment. He might still be at the police station, and I was the call he made to try to find a lawyer to help him when he went before a judge. If he’d been smart, he would have asked for a lawyer when the police first started to question him.
Not if he was innocent, the annoying voice in my mind that loved to play devil’s advocate said. Innocent people often don’t think to ask for a lawyer until it’s too late.
It had been the first time in memory that Terrance had asked a question and waited for me to finish it. This time he cared about my answer. That was out of character enough to make me less confident than I had been before my phone rang that he was our guy.
Terrance cleared his throat in an awkward, phlegmy way. “I sent that one message. I’ll admit that. I was overdrawn on all my cards. I didn’t want to break them up permanently. Just a little longer until I could get back on my feet. I didn’t kill Cary, and I’m not some crazy stalker. Ahanti isn’t even my type.”
I’d only met one of Terrance’s girlfriends over the years, and she’d had a lot more in the way of curves than Ahanti. But one voluptuous girlfriend didn’t prove he wasn’t obsessed with Ahanti. “Are you saying you didn’t owe Cary money?”
The silence stretched out again. “I owed him money, yeah.”
He wasn’t giving me much to go on. “Can you give me a clear reason that I should believe the police are wrong?”
This time he didn’t say anything at all. A lot of my parents’ clients—ones I knew were guilty—told even their friends and family that they were innocent. My dad would happily tell you how few were. I think he actually preferred it that way. The challenge was higher, but the stakes were lower. In a way, for him, defending someone who was guilty was a win either way. If he lost, a criminal went to prison. If he won, his reputation went up. And he got paid either way.
I was not my father. If Terrance couldn’t convince me he was innocent, I wasn’t going to help him. “I’m sorry, Terrance. I have to go.”
I disconnected before he could say anything else.
I spent the rest of my time at Skin Canvas watching Ahanti match the stencil she’d created from her design to the flow of Eddie’s back and make notes on adjustments she needed to make. They wouldn’t be starting the actual inking today. Based on the complexity of his design, Ahanti said they’d start out with a six- to eight-hour session, and then they’d have to wait for his skin to heal for the next round.
I left Ahanti safe under the watchful eyes of Eddie and the private investigator to get ready for dinner out with Mark’s potential future boss and his wife.
With all that had gone on in the past few days, I’d completely forgotten to ask Mark about his coffee date with my mom. He hadn’t come out of it with the same I-need-to-think expression as he had his golf round with my dad, so I’d already guessed she hadn’t said anything too shocking. Still, my curiosity couldn’t let it go at that.
Once we were on our way and sitting in traffic, it seemed as good a chance as any to ask. Especially since Mark looked like he was verging on turning into the Hulk, road-rage version, again.
“Did you and Mom have a good time on Sunday?” I realized belatedly how stupid that sounded considering they’d ended up cutting it short so Mark could join me at the hospital. “I mean, did she behave herself?”
Arg. That didn’t sound much better. That made it sound like I expected her to flirt with him or something. The subtle approach was clearly not going to work for me today.
Mark glanced sidelong at me, his scowl replaced with a dimpled grin. At least my garbled speech worked as a distraction. “In other words, did your mom try to bribe or bully me the way your dad did?”
I faked an I-don’t-know shrug.
Mark chuckled. “Her approach was different, but I think they’re united in wanting us to move here. She asked how I liked the position I’d been offered, and then she wanted to know what I thought your biggest objections to moving back to the DC area were.”
That was a different tactic, but it didn’t surprise me as much as it might have. My mom was incredibly adaptable. She’d set out to deconstruct me the same way she did opposing arguments since I opposed her desire.
“And what did you tell her?”
“That I could see myself enjoying the work and the people I’d be working with.”
I stuck my tongue out at him. Not only was that not what I meant, but I knew that already. Mark and I had talked a lot about how he felt about the job offer while we were enjoying the sights on Monday. “What did you tell her about me?”
“I said you’d miss the friends you’d made in Fair Haven.”
He was spot-on with that one, but moving back to DC meant being closer to my mom and Ahanti, and even my dad, all of whom I also missed. Too bad my mom couldn’t find jobs in Virginia for everyone I loved. “What else?”
“I said you were worried about Velma and Toby having enough space in the city. You didn’t want them to be stuffed into an apartment.”
Even though the apartment I’d lived in before had been spacious by DC standards, I couldn’t imagine Mark, me, a Great Dane, and a Bullmastiff all crammed into it. Plus, Toby was an older dog with a back leg that sometimes gave him trouble. If we got a place where he had to navigate more than a few stairs, that could become a major problem the older he got.
“I also said you’d never be happy in a career where you had to defend people who are guilty. It’s not who you are.”
That one would have been the hardest for my mom to take. It had been when I’d told her something similar when she’d come to visit. She was convinced I’d one day be able to overcome my struggles speaking in front of a jury. She couldn’t change my personality, though, and I had to end my days proud of the work I’d done. I couldn’t say I’d made the world a better place if my job was freeing criminals.
“Is that it?”
He nodded. “Unlike me, you seem to have as many things you like about city living as you do about small-town life.”
He hadn’t mentioned Sugarwood at all. Surely I’d miss Sugarwood. I closed my eyes and imagined the things I loved about it, but all that came into my mind were my horses, the people, and the trees. I wasn’t attached to the work there at all, and with Stacey wanting to take on more and more responsibilities alongside Russ, pretty soon they wouldn’t even need me. Stacey, much to the chagrin of my ego, was better at my roles there than I was. Not only that, but she loved them more.
Despite the fact that we were meeting for dinner in Annapolis, Maryland, an hour from DC
, I still hadn’t worked it all through in my head by the time we arrived. Mark parked the car, and we strolled along the red brick streets and down by the water. Despite its size, this part of Annapolis had always felt full of Old World charm to me. I’d rarely had the time to make the drive back when I lived and worked in the DC area, unfortunately.
The little Italian restaurant Mark’s potential future boss had picked out served delicious penne, and they were a couple I could see us becoming friends with if we moved back to DC.
That in itself was a strange thought. The people here would only ever have known us as Nicole and Mark together. Back in Fair Haven, our friends had known us separately as well.
My phone vibrated in my purse as we were finishing dessert. Since Mark’s boss’ wife had left for the restroom, I excused myself from the table. The private investigator was supposed to call me when he’d delivered Terrance’s belongings to him, and I wanted to make sure it was done. Once it was, Terrance wouldn’t have any legitimate reason for returning to Skin Canvas, and Ahanti could immediately call the police if she saw him hanging around.
The number on my screen did belong to the PI I’d hired. Answering with Is it done? sounded a little too mafia-ish, so I opted for the old standby. “Fitzhenry-Dawes.”
“It’s Lucas, ma’am. I didn’t know if you’d get a call from the police or not, so I thought I should check in with you.”
It was a good thing I hadn’t stayed at the table. I was pretty sure I currently wore an oh crap expression. It couldn’t be Ahanti. If anything had happened to her, Geoff would have called me, not the PI. “What’s going on?”
“After your friend went home, I took the boxes to the guy’s address like you told me. He didn’t answer when I knocked, so I waited around for him to come back. Turns out I wasn’t the only one. Before I could get out of my car, some guy jumped him.”
