But there wasn’t even a hint of strife between the two if you looked at her Facebook and Instagram. Agnar, unlike his very social media savvy wife, didn’t use his Facebook page for more than his work as an arts dealer. His Facebook page had tons of pictures of sculptures and paintings, and one really weird vase that didn’t look as though it was meant to hold anything.
But he was rich—he just didn’t show it off in the way Suzanne did.
Holy cats. Maybe Suzanne wasn’t just a not-so-nice, overly dramatic person. Maybe she was a murderer.
“Miss Lavender? Did you hear my question? Did you know Agnar Stigsson saw a prominent divorce attorney only a few days before they flew to Portland?” Ben Adams repeated, his tone changing ever so slightly from falsely pleasant to mildly annoyed.
Ugh. As much as I wanted to know the details about what he had on Suzanne, I didn’t want them this way. It felt dirty, and his persistence had begun to make me cranky.
Stopping dead in my tracks, I looked him square in the eye and narrowed my gaze. “I’m going to say this one last time, Mr. Adams, and if you don’t stop harassing me, I’m going to call the police. I have no comment. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Now, please, go away!”
My voice rose enough for people to give me strange glances as they bustled past us, going about their day.
Then Higgs was there, freshly showered, dressed in his usual crisp white T-shirt and jeans. Hands in his pockets, he approached me with a question in his eyes. “Trixie? Everything all right?”
“Why don’t you ask Ben Adams from Something-Something-Confidential?” I asked, handing him Jeff’s leash.
“Truth Seeker Confidential,” Ben corrected affably, holding out a hand to Higgs—one he flat-out ignored.
“And what can we do for you today, Ben Adams from Truth Seeker Confidential?” Higgs asked, his eyes scanning Ben’s face as he loomed over him.
His grin went from pleasant to cocky. “I was just asking Miss Lavender here if she knew about her friend Suzanne’s marriage being on the rocks? Do you know Suzanne Rothschild?” he asked, though he did back up a step.
“Were you then? And what did Miss Lavender have to say, Ben Adams?” he asked from compressed lips, his jaw tight, the muscles in his biceps flexing, making the tattoos on his forearms sharper in the sunlight.
“I said no comment,” I replied, my words stiff and curt. “But Ben didn’t want to hear that.”
Higgs gave me back Jeff’s leash and crossed his arms over his wide chest, widening his stance. “Really? Is that true, Ben? Are you harassing Miss Lavender? Gee, I’d hate to think in this day and age, when a lady says no to whatever it is you’re asking, you don’t understand it means no. You do understand the word no, don’t you, Ben? I mean, I could call your boss and ask her if you understand what no means—or would you like me to explain what no means?”
I liked seeing Higgs like this—so authoritative, so imposing. It made me feel safe and protected, and while I like to think I can take care of myself, it was nice to have backup. Especially when the backup was big and intimidating, something I’m most definitely not.
When Ben didn’t respond, his eyes wide and definitely wary, Higgs popped his lips as he looked down at him. “You know what I think, Ben Adams? I think you should go on about your business and enjoy this lovely day Portland’s having. And always remember, no comment means no comment.” Holding out his arm to me, he said, “Shall we?”
I looped my arm through his, and he tucked it under his strong biceps, guiding me around Ben Adams and down the street until we were out of the intrusive man’s earshot.
Then I couldn’t contain myself anymore. “First, thank you for stepping in. I’m not so much a feminist that I can’t admit he was flustering me, and I needed help. I’ve never encountered a journalist looking for a scoop before, but you handled that like a champ.”
Higgs smiled down at me, his tanned skin gleaming under the bright sun. “I don’t doubt you’d have figured it out, Trixie. But I’ve dealt with the press before. In my line of work, it happened all the time—especially with celebrities as minor as Suzanne’s celebrity is.”
“Have you heard of Truth Seeker Confidential magazine?”
He scoffed and frowned. “It’s a rag mag, and hardly reputable. You did the right thing by keeping your lips sealed.”
Yet, the fact that someone wanted a scoop on Suzanne made me wonder. “Maybe Suzanne’s a bigger deal than we thought? If a rag mag’s looking for an exclusive on her, that is. I know nothing about horror movies, but maybe in that world she’s a big deal?”
“I snooped around a little bit online and found she has quite the cult following from her scream queen days. They’re small but they’re mighty. She’s not quite on par with celebs like Elvira in the genre, but in the horror circles, she’s not unknown, either. There are some really strange people out there who speculate about her on the daily at this fan site I found, and it doesn’t look like she discourages them.”
Go figure. “I fell asleep before I got that far last night. Also, I wanted to stuff a sock in her mouth by then, so I couldn’t stomach researching more about her, but I did check out Agnar, and he’s super rich. Or at least I think he is. As I said before, he’s an art dealer. His Facebook page is full of pictures of places he’s been all over the world. So if he’s not rich, he’s certainly not poor. Myer Blackmoore’s a rich restaurateur, but you already know that. Edwin Garvey’s also a rich guy, but I don’t know exactly what he does…or if he does anything other than be rich. Lucinda Ferris is a stylist, and I think she’s Suzanne’s best friend. There are a bunch of pictures on her Facebook page of the two of them at all sorts of Hollywood events. And lastly, Grady Hanson. He’s in finance of some sort. He was the one who made the comment about Suzanne and her drama.”
Higgs stopped in front of a charming, small café and pointed inside. “Hold those thoughts, would you? Can we grab a little something to eat while we discuss this? I, unlike you, need more than coffee and a hot tip to get my motor running.”
I motioned with my hand for him to take a seat at one of the outdoor tables, colorfully decorated with turquoise tablecloths and pink carnations in small bud vases. “Absolutely, and it’s my treat for getting you up so early to help.”
“Music to my ears.”
The sign read: Please Seat Yourself, so Higgs pulled out a white metal chair and helped me get situated.
A waitress approached and brought us menus and as we perused them, I couldn’t stop thinking about how Ben Adams knew my name and the fact that I knew Suzanne.
Leaning forward on my elbows, I said, “How do you think that reporter knows my name? How did he even know Suzanne was at the house?”
Higgs looked up from his menu, an eyebrow cocked. “Because that’s what the paps do. They hunt down their victims and make it their business to sink their claws into anyone even remotely close to the person they’re about to slander with half-truths. I’m sure he got wind of the fact that Suzanne was here for the ride, because she made no bones about it all over her Facebook page. Then he saw the news or someone tipped him off, and the only thing he had to do was show up at the police station where Suzanne was detained and be creepy enough to follow Knuckles and Suzanne home. It happens all the time.”
I shivered, rubbing my arms. Even though the day was warming up, I felt cold. To think someone had been following us unnerved me to no end.
“I hear disdain in your voice for these types of journalists. Bad experience?”
Higgs’s face went hard, his rigid jaw tightening. “Many. They were the bane of my existence on the force—mostly had to do with sports celebrities in Minneapolis, but celebrity is celebrity. I’ve had more than one problem with them, especially from Truth Seeker Confidential. So it’s good you said nothing, and he didn’t have a camera. Not that I saw, anyway. Otherwise, he’d probably have you all over the Internet by tonight. Come to think of it, I’m surprised he didn’t have a camera guy
…”
I don’t know why that’s so strange, but Higgs knew best about this stuff.
As Jeff settled at my feet, curling around my ankles, I wondered aloud, “Should we alert Suzanne they’ve found her? You know, so she can protect herself?”
Higgs gave a sarcastic chuckle, unfolding his napkin and placing it in his lap. “I don’t think she’ll be unhappy about it. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if she was the one who tipped them off. She’s certainly not afraid of the spotlight. I bet her motto is some press is better than no press. But I’d definitely shoot Knuckles a text and at least make him aware. He doesn’t deserve the kind of trouble this could bring. I’m sure that Ben guy followed Suzanne from the police station, and Knuckles is the one who drove her to his place. What I don’t understand is why this Ben didn’t just ring the doorbell and try to get her to talk. It’s not like they have any shame when it comes to getting a story, and they’re definitely not shy.”
The waitress approached and took our order, leaving us in a moment of silence as I thought about what Higgs said. Would Suzanne really capitalize on her husband’s death for two minutes on the news?
Then I mentally slapped myself. Duh. Of course she would, so I quickly sent Knuckles a text to be on the lookout for nosy reporters, just in case.
Higgs splayed his long legs out in front of him and stretched his arms. “I’m going to give my old contact at Truth Seekers a call and check on this guy. I don’t know if she’s still there, but it can’t hurt to ask about him. Anyway, what did he want to know?”
I sat up straight, unable to contain my excitement. “Oh! I forgot. Did you hear any of what he said at all?”
He planted his chin on top of his fist and shook his head. “Nope. Not a word. Enlighten me.”
As I gave Higgs the instant replay and the waitress brought our order, my mind whirred with questions I intended to ask Suzanne the moment I could get my hands on her.
“So a prenup, huh?” Higgs asked, taking a big bite of his eggs over medium.
“Yep. According to that Ben Adams, if they divorce or Suzanne was unfaithful, she got nothing. I don’t know if it’s true, but that’s definitely a motive for murder.”
Higgs wiped his mouth with the paper napkin. “It definitely is, but how do we know he’s telling the truth? Maybe he was just fishing for some answers. They bluff and bait all the time just to trip you up, Trixie.”
I nibbled on a strip of bacon and typed the magazine’s name into my search bar, and right on the front page, there was a picture of a very alive Agnar entering an attorney’s office, clear as a bell. Hendrix, Timmons, and Barr, Attorneys at Law, was the name of the practice, and they very definitely were divorce attorneys. The headline read: Is This The End of The Road for The Scream Queen and Her Latest Victim?
I held up the phone and showed Higgs. “The article is dated last week. So if Suzanne’s the kind of person to Google herself, and she read this article and found out Agnar was seeing a divorce lawyer, she could have tried to kill him last night as a way to prevent him from divorcing her, right?”
He cut up a thick sausage with his fork and nodded. “Yep. That’s true, and her asking us to help her find who did this to Agnar could all be an act. It’s what she does for a living, after all. But we have no confirmation on that story. Who knows if Agnar really was seeing them about divorcing Suzanne or they’re just friends who have the occasional lunch together? Truth Seeker’s a rag mag. You can’t always believe there’s even a grain of truth to what they publish. It’s all geared toward sensationalism.”
Sighing, I dabbed some butter on my toast. “We need to talk to their friends and find out what they know about their relationship. Surely their friends would know about whether their marriage was strained. If Lucinda’s her BFF, she’ll likely know something.”
“Agreed. The question is, will she share that with us?”
“So the next move?”
“Next, we go to the hotel where they’re staying and find them, see if they’re willing to talk to us.”
I ate a forkful of fluffy scrambled eggs. “And if they’re not?”
“We rough ’em up and make ’em.”
I blinked and cleared my throat. “Seriously?”
“Would you still be game if I said yes?” he asked, giving me a serious look.
I squirmed. This wasn’t going the way I’d thought it would. I didn’t want anyone hurt, but what did I know? I’d watched enough police shows to know sometimes that’s what officers of the law did to get answers.
And Higgs had been undercover in a gang…he probably wasn’t above doing what it took to play a part. Gang members aren’t gang members because they host pinochle games and ice cream socials.
But then I caught Higgs grinning that infectious grin. Sometimes when he smiled the way he is now, I had to wonder how he’d gotten away with playing the part of a gang member in the first place. He didn’t look like he had a mean bone in his body, despite his size and stature.
“You’re having a laugh at my expense, aren’t you?”
Higgs laughed, throwing his napkin down on his plate. “Absolutely, Sister Trixie. My roughing-up days are officially over.”
I made a face at him and waved to the waitress for our check. Time was wasting and we needed to make a move. “I don’t believe you ever roughed anyone up. Not for the sheer pleasure of it. So save that for someone who’s buying what you’re selling.”
Yet, instead of laughing at my joke, his face went a little dark momentarily before he put on that familiar smile that hides all his ills. “I appreciate the faith.”
I dug around in my purse for some cash, leaning back in the chair and letting the warm sun settle on my face. “It’s beautiful today, isn’t it, Higgs? Close your eyes and inhale. You can smell the river, hear the seagulls.”
His chuckle was light. “I like the way you appreciate the little things, Trixie. We, as a whole in society, don’t do that enough anymore.”
I smiled and reached down to give Jeff a small piece of bacon. “The little things are all part of the puzzle that is the big thing.”
“Profound—”
“I swear, I couldn’t believe it!” a guy said excitedly from two tables away where a group of four men sat, his loud voice catching our attention. “He was riding along, buck naked of course, and out of nowhere, this car comes around the corner and sorta runs right into him. Like, bam—almost T-bones him! Turns out the driver just grazed his bike, but man, dude rolled off that bike like he was a stuntman in some movie. If he hadn’t been naked, I might have thought they were filming some action flick. But check this—just as me and Jones go to help the guy, he gets up, grabs his bike, hops on, and takes off like a flippin’ champ. I’m tellin’ you, man, he’s my hero!”
Both Higgs and I hopped up from the table, but I was the first to make it to the group, my heart racing. Solomon, for all his babbling, had been right. They had to mean Agnar.
How many naked men on bikes who get hit by cars were hanging around Portland last night?
In my excitement, I approached them with less courtesy than I’d care to admit. “Excuse me? I don’t mean to eavesdrop, but am I correct in saying you saw one of the naked bike riders hit by a car last night?”
The man who’d told the story gazed at me from his place at the table, suspicion lurking in his clear gray eyes as his friends all stopped talking.
Higgs came up behind me and placed his hands on my shoulders, leaving the warm imprint of his palms against my thin T-shirt. “Sorry, guys. I’m Cross Higglesworth, and this is my friend, Trixie Lavender. She owns the tat shop over on Peach Street. You know, the new one that just opened a month or so ago?”
One of them slapped the man who’d told the story on the back. “Aw, yeah! Inker-something, right? The one where we saw that crazy good-looking redhead. Remember, dude? We saw her out front last week, sweeping off the sidewalk. Almost made me want to get over my fear of needles and get a tat. Man, is she ever
smokin’—”
The man who saw Agnar’s accident jabbed his friend in the ribs and shot him a cross look. “Shut up, Jones. She probably works with this lady. Sorry. My friend forgot to tuck his knuckles in before he got here. Sometimes they drag on the ground.”
I held out my hand to him and smiled, ignoring his apology. Coop was smokin’ and he was a man. Maybe he was a little misogynistic and overzealous, but everyone was a work in progress.
“Sorry, miss. Forgot myself for a minute there,” he apologized, looking down at his feet.
I skipped right over the inappropriate nature of his comment and introduced myself. “My name’s Trixie, and yes, I own Inkerbelle’s Tattoos and Piercings. Forgive the intrusion, but did you say you saw a naked man hit by a car last night?”
He bobbed his head with enthusiasm and shook my hand with a firm grip. “I’m Darren Thomas, and my big mouth friend is Abel Jones. Yes, we saw the guy get hit—or grazed is probably a better word. I mean, he didn’t ram him or anything, but it was still impressive the way the guy on the bike got right back up. We were going to help him, but he got up like he wasn’t just plowed down and rode off on his bike, healthy as the day is long. It was the craziest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“And the car?” I asked. “What happened to the car?”
Darren shook his head. “Took off. Never stopped, never even bothered to check on the guy. People these days, right?”
Yeah. People.
However, that accounted for the crooked tire on Agnar’s bike, but did it account for his death? I hate to admit it, but excitement swirled in the pit of my stomach. This was a genuine lead.
“Where did it happen?”
Abel thought for a second and then he said, “Royal Street. Right by the bike repair shop.”
“Did anyone else see anything?”
Darren shook his head. “I don’t remember seeing anyone else. The ride was winding down at that point, with just a few stragglers. I don’t even know how someone got a car past all the barricades. But I definitely don’t remember anyone else around.”
Hit and Nun Page 11
