A View to a Kill

by Cheryl Bradshaw

  Lips pressed together over a straw, she sighed. The Italian soda she’d ordered had almost no carbonation. No flavor. The raspberry flavoring tasted more like watered-down vanilla than the tart burst she expected. And there was too much ice. Way too much. At almost five dollars, she felt ripped off. She thought about going back up to the counter, asking the unmotivated male employee with not one, but two tiny, silver nose rings to make her a new one, but she didn’t. She didn’t like confrontation. She preferred smoothing waves to making them.

  Across the street, Janae stared through the window of Evie’s business, watched Quinn accept a folder from a girl she assumed worked there. The same girl also handed Quinn something else, something small, too small to identify. A key maybe. This was followed by several minutes of back and forth conversation before the girl finally left, leaving Quinn in the shop alone.

  Janae tossed the soda in the trash-can and looked both ways before jaywalking across the street. Quinn walked outside, locking the shop door behind her. When she turned, she hopped back, a hand flying to her chest.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” Janae said.

  “Janae, what are you doing here?”

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “Did something happen to Roy? Are you okay? Did he threaten you?”

  “No, nothing like that.”

  “What’s going on then?”

  Janae’s eyed danced around, surveying the street, the sidewalk. “Not here.”

  “Okay.” Quinn poked a key back into the hole in the door and turned it until it clicked. Both women walked inside. “All right. What is it?”

  “I need to tell you something ... about Roy.”

  “So tell me.”

  “I know what you’re thinking, and you’re wrong. He didn’t do it. He didn’t kill Evie.”

  “You shouldn’t defend him, Janae. You couldn’t possibly know the truth.”

  “He didn’t do it, Quinn.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  Janae noticed the freckled gooseflesh trailing up and down her own arms, and it wasn’t because she was cold. Her insides felt like someone had thrust their finger down her throat and jostled everything around.

  Quinn eyed Janae’s arm. “What’s going on with you?”

  “I ... I was there.”

  “You were where?”

  “At Evie’s house on the night she died.”

  “Why doesn’t anyone else know about this?”

  “I wasn’t alone when I was there. I was with Roy.”

  “You haven’t answered my question.” Quinn moved closer to Janae until their faces were almost touching. “Explain to me why you haven’t said anything until now.”

  “The day Evie died, Roy came to work. He was so down about the breakup. I thought I’d be a friend, offer to listen, you know?”

  “Why are you telling me this? What does any of it have to do with you being at Evie’s?”

  “I went home with Roy after work, and, all we did was talk at first, but then we ... umm ... he was just so sweet and caring.”

  “Are you saying the two of you slept together?”

  Janae lowered her head. Quinn stepped back.

  “You did,” Quinn continued, “didn’t you?”

  “It was an accident. I mean, he didn’t force me. I’m a grown woman, and I made a choice. The wrong choice. I let my emotions get the best of me. It was only supposed to be a one-time thing.”

  “And earlier today, at Roy’s house, when you said you were only there to use his bathroom—did you really think I bought into that story?”

  “Please, Quinn. Things haven’t been the best with my husband lately. I screwed up. It won’t happen again. If my husband finds out, it’s over between us.”

  “I want to know what you know, Janae. Every detail. Or I’ll tell your husband myself.”

  They were close to the same age, but Quinn’s lustrous locks and clear skin managed to make her look like she hadn’t aged a day since high school. Janae, on the other hand, had already felt the first hint of what it felt like to get old, her body slipping with each passing year like her metabolism had ceased to function. Twenty minutes a day on her treadmill at first, and now she was up to an hour. It didn’t seem fair. Girls like Evie and Quinn gave her the urge to starve herself. She couldn’t help it. She wanted her own slice of skinny pie—a single sliver of what they had. And she wanted affection from a man who made her feel attractive again. Not one who looked at her like she was nothing more than a kitchen maid, a woman whose main purpose in life was to raise his babies and wash his clothes. Was it so wrong?

  “Janae, are you listening? I asked you to tell me what happened that night.”

  Janae had been so busy obsessing, she’d missed the last thirty seconds of Quinn’s continuing lecture. Maybe more.

  “After we left Roy’s house, he said he needed to stop by Evie’s,” Janae started. “I didn’t think it would be a big deal. He said it was dark and she wouldn’t see me. He was just going to run in, grab his gear, and leave. He was right. It happened exactly like he said it would.”

  “What time was this?”

  “The same time he told you earlier today.”

  “How long did you stay there?”

  “Ten minutes tops. Roy said a quick hello to Evie’s son, grabbed his stuff, and we left.”

  “That doesn’t mean he didn’t kill her. He could have dropped you off at your car and went back. Your work isn’t far from Evie’s house.”

  “Roy didn’t drop me off.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “My husband was working the night shift, and the kids were staying at my parents’ house, so I didn’t go home until the next morning.”

  “I thought you said sleeping with him was an accident?”

  “At the time, I convinced myself we’d already done the deed once,” Janae said, “what was a few more times?”

  “So you’ve withheld information from the police to save face.”

  “I figured it wouldn’t be a big deal if the truth never came out. Everyone was saying Roman did it. Now you’re saying he didn’t.”

  “Why risk everything now? Why tell me?”

  “When you accused Roy today, I knew I had to do something. I can’t let him get charged with a crime he didn’t commit. Even if it means my marriage is over.”

  “You realize confessing to the police now will make you look like a suspect too, right? You slept with a man who was formerly involved with a murdered woman. They’ll assume there’s a connection.”

  “You don’t think I could ever harm Evie, do you? Everything I’ve told you just now ... it’s the truth, Quinn. I swear it is.”

  Quinn tapped the edge of her fingernail on the counter. “I believe you. And it makes sense now why your grandmother, Mrs. Healy, showed up the day I was at Evie’s house and kept a close eye on me. She knows you were there that night too, doesn’t she?”

  Janae bowed her head. Nodded.

  Quinn continued.

  “No doubt your grandmother is trying to protect you.”

  Janae nodded again.

  “Well, if Roy didn’t do it,” Quinn said, “someone did. And now I don’t have any idea who.”

  “I may be able to help,” Janae said.

  “How?”

  “When we were driving down the road to Evie’s place, both sides of the road were empty. On the way back, I saw a truck sitting off to the side. It wasn’t running. It was turned off, like it had been parked there. I didn’t think anything of it before now, because I didn’t see anyone inside of it. It was near my grandmother’s property, but no one ever visits her that late. And she doesn’t have a truck. She has a car.”

  CHAPTER 37

  Sitting across the table, Bo found it hard to believe it had only been a week since he’d last seen Simone. So much had transpired, it felt like a lifetime. Simone was easy on the eyes. Tall. Brunette. Athletic. Her toned body gave her an appearance of an Olym
pic athlete. He thought about what Quinn said earlier about everyone having a type. Maybe she was right. Statuesque brunettes seemed to be his thing, although Quinn was slender, not toned.

  When they first met, Bo thought Simone was the kind of girl he could settle down with one day. She was bright, funny, motivated. Organized. Now, he wasn’t so sure. And he was anything but settled. Viewing her across the dinner table at the upscale restaurant, he felt like he was picking her apart, focusing on her flaws, her imperfections. The way one of her fingernails hung halfway out of the corner of her mouth, dangling as her teeth bit down while she talked at the same time. And earlier, on the drive there, she’d cracked her knuckles several times.

  Had she always done that?

  Why hadn’t he picked up on it before?

  Or had he, except the difference was, it didn’t bug him before, and now it did?

  “Did you miss me?” Simone asked.

  “Yeah. It’s good to have you back.”

  “What did you do while I was gone?”

  “Police work, for the most part.”

  “Are you getting anywhere with the case you’re working on?”

  “Not really.”

  Simone lifted a spoonful of tomato soup to her burgundy-stained lips, but instead of opening her mouth, she barely parted her lips, choosing instead to savor the flavor of the soup by slurping it. Bo couldn’t tear his eyes from her, unable to shake the feeling he was with a completely different woman tonight. And then it hit him. Maybe the newness of the relationship, all those fluttering flips of the stomach like a car taking an abrupt dip in the road, were starting to wear off.

  Simone looked stunning tonight in a low-cut navy blue dress and strappy black heels, like the kind of woman any man would be grateful to have on his arm, even if for nothing more than a single night. Still, he was starting to wish that lucky man was someone else. Someone other than him.

  “You didn’t bring your cell phone in,” she said. “That was nice of you.”

  She was right. He hadn’t. But it wasn’t for the reason she assumed. In his haste to be on time to pick her up for their date, he’d dropped it, the front cracking against the floor. He’d tried turning it back on a few times and was met with nothing but a dark, black screen of death.

  “Bo, is everything all right?” Simone asked.

  “Sure, why wouldn’t it be?”

  “You’re not saying much. Usually we never run out of things to talk about.”

  “I’m sorry, Simone. I have a lot on my mind.”

  She reached across the table, turning his face toward her. “Can I help? Talk to me.”

  He wanted to answer, to speak freely. He just didn’t know what to say.

  “Something’s different,” she continued. “What happened while I was away? What’s changed?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I don’t believe you. You’re distant.”

  “I don’t mean to be.”

  “Let’s try this,” she suggested. “Tell me what you did today.”

  “I questioned Roy Ferguson again, found out he lied when he said he wasn’t at Evie’s place on the night she died.”

  “Are you thinking he did it?”

  “I’m not. When Quinn got in his face today, accusing him of Evie’s murder, he was irritated, but he just stood there, stone-faced.”

  Simone removed the napkin from her lap, wiped her face, then clenched the napkin in her hand. “Did you just say Quinn—as in the woman you used to date in high school?”

  There was no sense denying it now. “I did.”

  “I thought you haven’t seen or talked to her in ages.”

  “I haven’t. It’s complicated.”

  “And today you were with her. The two of you. Together.”

  “For a short time, yes.”

  “What is she doing here?”

  “I explained all of this before—Quinn and Evie were close friends.”

  “But Quinn doesn’t live here, and Evie’s funeral was several days ago. What’s she still doing in Cody?”

  It was neither the right time nor the right place to air the details of what had transpired over the past week. And it wouldn’t help things even if he did. It would only make them worse.

  “Quinn is staying here with her family while she figures some things out.”

  “What is there to figure out, Bo?”

  He didn’t like her tone, or the way she was looking at him, or the disgusted look on her face. He didn’t like the way the other patrons were looking at him either. “I think I’d better get you home. We can talk more about this tomorrow.”

  “I’m not going anywhere, Bo. We’ll talk about it now, or they’ll be no tomorrow for us.”

  Bo stood. “You can stay and I’ll call you a cab, or you can come with me and I’ll drop you at home. Either way, I’m leaving.”

  CHAPTER 38

  Quinn tried to focus, tried keeping her mind occupied, packed with enough thoughts about Evie to avoid the chance of slipping into a needless diversion. It wasn’t working. In the muted confines of her father’s car, on a lone, country road, there was no one around to keep her thoughts at bay, no one to keep her from dwelling on the current whereabouts of one person.

  Bo.

  It bothered her that he was on a date with Simone. And that wasn’t all. It bothered her that she was bothered. She didn’t want to be. It wasn’t right. She didn’t even know the woman, and yet she’d spent the last few hours imagining what it would be like if Simone ceased to exist, or didn’t exist. It was unhealthy and morbid, but it didn’t stop her from feeling an irresistible urge to get to know her, if nothing other than to pry into the woman’s life, see why he chose her, and whether she was good enough for him.

  Of course she wasn’t good enough for him.

  She couldn’t possibly be.

  Since learning of Evie’s death, Quinn had dropped her daily routine, the morning ritual that had gotten her through some of her roughest days over the past few years. Meditation. It made sense now why she felt so out of whack, uncentered. Out of touch with reality. It wasn’t just Evie or Bo or her impending divorce—it was a lack of taking care of herself.

  She put the car in park, closed her eyes, and breathed. Four breaths in. Hold. Four breaths out. Hold. The ritual was repeated a few times. And when she exited the car, she didn’t feel whole, but she felt better.

  The door was answered by a squatty, plump woman with freckles wearing men’s sweatpants and a hoodie. Her blond hair was thrown back into a loose pony tail that looked like it hadn’t been redone since morning. “Can I help you?”

  “My name is Quinn Montgomery. I’m looking for Marissa.”

  The woman’s smile was pleasant and warm. “I’m her mother, Yvonne. I thought she was in a meeting ... with you.”

  “I did call a meeting today. Your daughter wasn’t there.”

  The woman’s face was blank, confused. “But I watched her walk out the door less than three hours ago, and she was headed for the office, to your meeting.”

  “I understand, but what I’m saying is, I haven’t seen her. Not since this morning at the cemetery.”

  “If she’s not with you, where else could she be?”

  “I was hoping you might know,” Quinn said. “Does she have a boyfriend or friends she may have decided to ditch the meeting for and hang out with instead?”

  Yvonne seemed taken aback by the question. “Marissa has a lot of boys who are friends, but that’s all they are—friends. She knows how important it is to focus on her schooling. She’s going to be a lawyer one day. She doesn’t have time for a relationship.”

  A lawyer.

  This morning Marissa said she wanted to be a gardener.

  Interesting.

  Equally as interesting and harder to believe was Yvonne’s naivety toward her daughter. From her dress at the cemetery, boys were a priority in Marissa’s life. Yvonne seemed blissfully unaware, and Quinn wasn’t feeling up to popping her ignor
ance bubble. At the risk of offending Marissa’s mother, she kept things simple. “I really need to talk to your daughter. It’s important. I can’t have employees working for Evie ... for me ... who don’t show up to mandatory meetings.”

  A man approached Yvonne, his fingers kneading Yvonne’s back. “What’s this about?”

  Yvonne explained.

  “Are you Marissa’s father?” Quinn asked.

  “Stepfather. How long has she been out running around?”

  “What makes you think she’s out running around, and not missing?”

  He raised a brow. “Why would she be missing? She’s a teenager. Teenagers don’t always do what they’re supposed to do when they’re supposed to do it. You remember what being a teen is like, don’t you?”

  Maybe he was right. She was their daughter, after all, not hers.

  “Marissa is a responsible young woman,” Yvonne clarified. “Teenager or not, she’s a good girl. She doesn’t get into mischief.”

  Quinn and Marissa’s stepfather shared a glance that let Quinn know the stepfather didn’t buy in to his wife’s grand illusions.

  “If you see her, will you give her a message for me?”

  “You bet,” Yvonne said.

  “Do you have a pen and something I can write on?”

  Marissa’s mother disappeared into the kitchen, returning with a notepad and pen. Quinn scribbled her number down then handed it back. “If she wants to keep her job, I need her to call me—sooner than later.”

  CHAPTER 39

  Quinn removed her cell phone from the center console of the car, trying to decide who to call first. She chose the road less traveled, and dialed. “Kyle, I have a problem. I think one of Evie’s workers is missing. Her name is Marissa Lewis. I sent Bo a text message, but he hasn’t responded.”

  Not that she expected him to. Simone was back. She needed to get used to it.

  “You mean you have two problems, right?”

  Kyle’s voice was harsh and deep, nothing like the light, playful tone she was used to hearing.