“Sure thing.” She glanced at me, the smile replaced with a frown. She left and returned a minute later, plopping the mug down in front of me.
“Just let me know when you want something.” She winked at Brandon and walked away, swinging her hips as she went.
“Switch cups.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Switch.”
“You’re crazy.” He laughed.
“The little blonde was into you. She wanted me gone.”
“So?” he asked.
“She probably spit in that one.” I dumped sugar and cream into the cup I snatched from him before he could ask for it back. All the men in the Murphy family never drank their coffee any other way than extra strong and black.
“That’s disgusting and illegal.”
“Like that’s ever stopped anyone.”
He stared down at the mug then pushed it aside. “So, did Brenna track you down?”
“Oh yes, we had a lovely chat.”
Brandon raised his brows.
“Why does she always have to treat me like I don’t have a brain?”
“She’s just trying to be helpful.”
“I know, and I love her, but sometimes it drives me crazy.”
“At least it’s a short drive to Crazyville for you.” He smirked.
“Ha, ha, ha.”
Brandon chuckled. “So, would it be rude if we went ahead and ordered? I’m starving.”
“Yeah, it’s rude, but I’m hungry too. Let’s order and maybe she’ll show up by the time our food gets here.”
He waved his hand again and our waitress bustled over.
“Hi, we’re ready to order. I’d like the Big Platter with the eggs sunny side up and my sister’ll have…”
“Banana pancakes, please. Oh, and could you get him a new cup of coffee? Mine tasted funny and he was sweet enough to give me his,” I said, pointing to the aforementioned mug.
She looked down at the mug and back up at me. “Uh, yes, sure.” She grabbed the cup and headed for the back.
“So, do you think my food will be safe?” I asked.
“It better be!”
I laughed. My brothers had always been protective of Brenna and me, unless of course they were the ones harassing us.
“So, have you talked to Dad?” Brandon asked.
“Not since the other night. Why?”
“Man, is he pissed off.”
“At me?” I asked, worried I had pushed my dad too far this time.
“No, he’s ticked you were there and had to see all that. He’s also frustrated you’re involved in another mess.”
“Great.”
“Don’t feel too bad. He’s also not happy with Tompkins’s progress, or rather the lack of progress.”
“I’m sure Grant is doing everything he can.”
“Grant, is it?” He smirked. He stared at me, his right eyebrow lifting so high I feared it would detach from his face and fly away.
“What? That’s his name.”
“Uh-huh. So, learned who the killer is yet?” Brandon asked.
“Sure, but I figured I’d wait to tell Grant until after I had breakfast. Jeez.”
“Come on, you’ve been working on this for two whole days. I bet you’ve got something.”
“It’s been a day and a half. So far I’ve talked with some of the victim’s friends and family. I didn’t get much out of them. Although, one friend figured it had something to do with drugs and Angie,” I said.
“Drugs? Buying or selling?”
“Not sure. The tox screen won’t be ready for another week,” I replied.
“What else?”
“Cause of death was exsanguination. Doc figured it took several minutes for him to bleed out. Can you imagine just sitting there with several feet of intestines in your lap?”
I took the mug shots from my purse and placed them on the table for Brandon to see.
“What a bunch of losers,” he said, pointing to Brian and Adam.
I felt the same way but I had an urge to goad him. “Wow, how enlightened for a police officer.”
“Sorry, but I’m being honest.”
“I was just messing with you. Most of them are. Only this guy seems to have turned his life around.” I pointed to Kevin’s picture. “He’s got a steady job, an apartment, and he’s been clean since his arrest.
“Or he just hasn’t been caught.”
“Cynical much?”
“Yup. That’s what keeps me sharp at work.”
I couldn’t blame him. I’d never forget the night he’d ended up with a scar across his shoulder from a particularly nasty domestic disturbance call. Brandon had stopped the woman’s husband from stabbing her with a kitchen knife. She repaid my brother by smashing a punch bowl into his shoulder because he was arresting her knife-toting husband. The violent couple got matching handcuffs and carted off to jail.
“Some people change.”
“You’re right, Kim. Some do, but most of them don’t.”
I picked up Brian’s picture and wondered what he could have possibly done to deserve something so awful.
Crash. The steady hum of the filled restaurant stopped. Everyone turned to stare. Deep in conversation, neither Brandon nor I had noticed the waitress had arrived with our food. Food that now covered the floor.
“I’m so sorry. I’ll clean this up and get you new plates.”
“No problem. No one was hurt. That’s what matters.” He smiled.
Ever the gentleman, he helped our red-faced waitress clean up the mess. She muttered her thanks and rushed off. While we waited for our food, the other customers returned to their own conversations.
“What the heck was that about?” I asked.
“Don’t know. Maybe she was intimidated by me. I’m hot.”
“Oh, gross. Please don’t say that again. Ever.”
He chuckled, then glanced at his watch. “Angie’s not coming.”
“She’s just late.”
“Bet ya twenty she’s a no-show.”
“She said she’d be here.”
“She’ll show all right, when the Reds win the series.”
“Don’t start.”
Before he could make another snarky remark, a different waitress arrived with our order. We thanked her before diving into our food. Fifteen minutes later our plates were empty, our bellies full, and Angie was indeed a no-show. Well, hell.
“So, Kim, what’s next?”
“I’m not sure. I do know I need to talk to Angie.”
“Good luck with that. It doesn’t look like she wants to talk to you.” Brandon stood up and grabbed the bill, placing five dollars on the table.
“Hey, this was a business meeting. I can put it on my bill for expenses.”
“My treat. Call me later and let me know what you find out.”
I stayed in the booth for a few minutes longer, hoping Angie would walk in. Finally, I got up and left. In my car I flipped through my notes. According to Mapquest, Angie lived only a few blocks from The Spitting Parrot. How convenient. I cranked the volume, blasting a Kelly Clarkson CD, and drove toward the bar. When I got close, I turned down the volume and followed the directions to Angie’s. I pulled up in front of a two-story home built in the fifties. Somewhere along the way someone had converted the large building into apartments. On the front porch, an older woman sat in a rocking chair. Wearing a pale blue nightgown, her gray hair in curlers, she watched me climb the crumbling stairs to the front porch.
“Hello, I’m looking for my friend, Angie.”
“Upstairs on the left.”
“Thanks.”
I opened the door and gagged. The smell of sauerkraut slapped me in the face. Jeez, I hated sauerkraut. My paternal grandmother made it once a week when I was growing up. I tried everything I could to avoid going to her house. One time my grandfather told me I couldn’t leave the table until I’d eaten every bite of the snot-looking goo. When my grandparents weren’t looking, m
y dad scooped the stuff up in a napkin and slipped it into his pocket. Now that was a hero.
I took the stairs two at a time. Upstairs, the smell no longer set off my gag reflex. I knocked on the door and waited. Nothing happened so I tried again, hoping for a different result, but not surprised when, again, there was nothing. I did a quick look around to be sure I wasn’t being watched, then placed my ear to Angie’s door. I could have heard a mouse, it was so quiet. Either Angie wasn’t home or she wasn’t moving. I shivered even though it must have been eighty degrees in the hall.
This was stupid. I’d been hanging around too many dead bodies lately. She probably bailed on the meeting and left, figuring when she was a no-show I’d pay her a visit. I grabbed a pen and a business card from my purse. On the back of the card I scribbled a note, then slid it under the door. I turned to leave but stopped, unable to get the image out of my head of Angie, lifeless in her apartment.
“What the hell?” I grabbed the doorknob and turned it. “Oh, this is so not good,” I muttered when the door opened. This was wrong, very wrong, but maybe it was a sign. No one left their door open. Maybe this was a sign I was meant to go inside and snoop around. Before I could chicken out, I hurried in, closing the door behind me.
Angie’s apartment was small, which for searching purposes was convenient. There was a small eat-in kitchen, a living room, a bedroom, and one bathroom. The place was spotless. Angie took good care of her tiny living space. It was way too neat for a junkie. Most of them were too busy getting money for their next fix. Not knowing how long it would be before she returned, I made a quick search of the place. In a shoebox under the bed I found an empty prescription bottle with part of the label torn off and a crumpled up picture. The label was from Mr. Prescription and I could only make out the first three letters of the name, Ire. Not helpful at all, plus what odd things for someone to keep together in a box.
A car horn startled me, a reminder I had to get out before someone spotted me. I slipped the pill bottle and picture into my purse then locked Angie’s front door behind me. Going down the stairs, I held my breath until I made it outside.
“Angie ain’t home.” The old lady rocked back and forth.
Boy, would that have been some helpful information a minute ago. “Oh, did she say where she was going?”
“Nope.”
“Was she with anyone?”
“Not as far as I could tell.”
“Okay, well, thanks.”
“I did see some feller tear outta here when she took off.”
It could be a coincidence. It could also explain why Angie never showed up at the restaurant. “Did you see what kind of car he had?”
“Yup.”
“Well?” I asked.
“What?”
I sighed. “What kind of car was the guy driving?”
“White.”
Oh my God, this was actually painful. “Great, it was white. Do you know what kind it was?”
“It was one of them SVUs.”
“You mean an SUV?”
“Yup, that’s it, SUV,” she replied.
“Okay, so do you remember anything else about the car?”
“You mean like stickers or a license plate?”
“Yes. Did you see any of that?”
“Nope.”
My head began to throb. “Well, okay, thanks.”
I gave her my card and asked her to call me if she thought of anything else.
Out of ideas and with nothing else planned, I drove past The Spitting Parrot. None of the half dozen or so cars in the lot matched the description of Angie’s car. The only SUV was navy blue with Michigan plates.
With a couple of hours to kill before I was due to follow a client’s husband, I drove back to the office. Lucky me, I had one message on the machine. Maybe it was the killer calling to confess. Wouldn’t that be nice? I pressed play and cringed at the voice on the machine—Lindsay. Evidently she had spoken with her boyfriend and I could meet with him tomorrow afternoon.
Something besides the adultery bugged me about the all too helpful lawyer. I just couldn’t figure out what it was. I Googled his name and up popped dozens of articles about him, his successful law firm, and his donations to local charities. Several of the articles included pictures of him and his wife, dressed to the hilt for some fancy function or another. His wife appeared to be close to his age—late forties. She was attractive and took good care of herself. I was impressed with the flat stomach after she’d had three kids.
I could call Uncle Charles; as a lawyer he could help, but then he’d want to know what was going on and I’d have to lie. There was also Charmaine’s sister—an ADA in the Dayton District Attorney’s Office. I could call her, but the last thing I wanted was to drag a friend into my mess. It was bad enough I’d gotten my brother involved. Although Brandon had actually involved himself, so that wasn’t technically my fault.
That annoying little voice in my head reminded me I had another option, a very sexy and single option. That voice needed to shut up. No way was I calling Zachary Wellington. Though I wasn’t dating anyone now, keeping my distance seemed like the prudent thing to do.
Having made a mature decision, I feared it wouldn’t be long before I was hiring an accountant and talking about things like annuities, stocks, and bonds. Oh, the horror. A shiver went up and down my spine.
Confused, I laid my head on my desk and closed my eyes.
Chapter Seven
I lifted my head and an envelope was stuck to the right side of my face. I tossed the electric bill onto the desk and stretched, catching a glimpse at the clock. Just great. While I’d been sleeping, the rest of the world continued on without me for two whole hours. Now I only had ten minutes before I needed to leave to follow my client’s husband. After a quick trip to the bathroom, I grabbed my purse and locked up the office.
On the drive over, I tried not to think about the scary reflection in the mirror. It didn’t really matter. I’d be spending the evening in my car. In the dark. Alone. I was parked in the lot with a clear view of the back door and the possible cheater’s car. Ten minutes later, the unsuspecting hubby stepped outside the building and headed straight for his car. I’d been following him for two weeks and was mildly surprised when instead of taking a left toward the pub he hung out at with his buddies, he took a right. Surprise turned to shock and disbelief when he parked in the United Friendship Baptist Church parking lot.
That sure was an odd place to meet the woman you’re having an affair with, but what the heck did I know. He got out of his car and walked toward the back of the church. When he got to the end of the walkway, I got out of my car and casually walked the same path. Around the corner there was a set of stairs leading to a basement entrance.
Swell, I could go back to my car and wait, or go down the stairs and see what the heck he was doing. The decision was made for me when an older man in what must be his eighties, from the wrinkles, stooped shoulders, and walking cane, put his hand on my arm.
“Don’t be shy, young lady, we don’t bite.”
“I don’t think—”
“You made it this far. It’s just a few more steps. Get it? A few more steps.” He pointed to the stairs, chuckling at his own joke.
“I guess…”
“It gets easier each time. You’ll see.” The stairs were wide enough that we took them side by side. “My name’s Gus, by the way.”
“Oh, I’m Kim.” We had made it down the stairs and Gus grabbed the handle, holding the door open for me.
Whatever I was expecting, this wasn’t it. Against the back wall was a table with an assortment of casseroles, chips, pretzels, and drinks. A large punch bowl filled with an orange liquid was on a separate table.
In the center of the room chairs were set up in a large circle. A dozen men and women, ranging from teenager to Gus’s age, stood mingling. The man I had followed here was sitting in a chair, balancing a plate on his lap. A woman in her fifties sat on one side and a yo
ung boy who didn’t look old enough to have a driver’s license sat on the other.
Oh jeez, if this was a meeting for converting to the Baptist church, I was going to have to get out fast before ten generations of my family all rolled over in their graves. A few of them might deem my being here a betrayal so severe a haunting visit would be necessary. I shivered. Turning to leave, I spotted a gentleman closing the door behind him while everyone else rushed to their seats. Just great.
“Good evening, everyone.”
“Good evening,” everyone, including me, replied.
There were a couple of empty seats so I grabbed the closest one, not wanting to draw too much attention my way.
“It looks like we have a full house. That’s great,” the black gentleman said as he took one of the remaining empty chairs.
I glanced around the room, careful to avoid making eye contact with anyone, especially my target.
“So, who would like to start?”
After a moment of silence, the teenage boy stood up. “I guess I’ll go first, Pastor.”
“Go right ahead. Take your time.”
The young man’s face turned red but it didn’t stop him from speaking up. “As most of you all know, I’ve been comin’ to these meetings for the past three months. Ever since my family moved here from Tennessee.”
Every head in the room, except mine, nodded in response.
“Well, last week, I finally told my family I’m gay.”
“How did they react?” the pastor asked.
“My mom said she already knew. My dad was surprised but he was a lot more supportive than I thought he’d be.”
“That’s terrific, Ethan.”
Everyone, including me, clapped. He smiled and sat down. When the room was silent the pastor asked who would like to go next. It suddenly dawned on me why my client’s hubby was here. While I was pleasantly surprised with the pastor’s support of a lifestyle that many religions, sadly my own included, frowned upon, this was going to be extremely difficult for my client. Hopefully, there was another support group here for family members.
“I tried to tell my wife over the weekend but I just couldn’t do it. I knew she’d leave me if I told her,” said my client’s husband.
Death By High Heels (The Kim Murphy PI Series Book 1) Page 8
