Blue Baby

by Arnold, Carolyn

  “Son of a bitch.” Jack was on his feet and pulled a cigarette out of his pack. He stopped shy of lighting up as it must have sank in that the rooms were nonsmoking. To violate the policy risked a charge added to the government’s bill, which would also require an explanation. “Where did he fly out of?”

  “Grand Forks.”

  “Son of a bitch.”

  Nadia didn’t touch Jack’s expletive, and none of us were brave enough to, either. It wasn’t completely unheard of for him to swear, but given the circumstances, it was. And he had sworn on two cases in a row now. I’d heard him use language with a convicted criminal who we knew was behind the ritualistic murder and burial of ten people. But in-house, with the team, he’d never let it out quite like this. I understood how he was feeling, though. We were close in one sense but thousands of miles away in another. Extradition only factored in if a fugitive was charged or convicted with a criminal offense. At this point, Gavin Bryant—no matter how damning the initial facts were—was nothing more than a suspect.

  “How long is he there for?” Zach ventured into the stagnant silence.

  “He went for seven days, so he’s due back next Wednesday.”

  Jack took the unlit cigarette from his mouth and pointed it toward Paige and Zach. “You two are going to track down his car. A good place to start would be the airport lot. We already know his vehicle isn’t at his house, and it wouldn’t make sense for him to stay in a hotel before flying out.”

  “There are other lots where he could have parked,” Paige said.

  “It’s also possible he met up with someone, left his car at their house, and they traveled in another vehicle,” Zach added.

  Jack’s pulse tapped in his jaw, the lines on his face rigid. “Like I said, the airport lot is a place to start. Can you handle this or not?”

  Paige shoved her hands into the back pockets of her pants and nodded.

  Jack drew the cigarette from Paige to Zach, who also nodded. “Good. While you’re doing that, the kid and I will speak to the people at Dream Weddings and find out what they can tell us about Gavin.”

  “And when we find the car?” Paige asked.

  “Call us immediately and get the Crime Scene Unit in. We need to see if there’s anything to place Penny in his vehicle. Actually, better yet, call in Powers and Barber now. The faster we find his car, the faster we get our evidence to get him back to the States.”

  “Sounds good,” Zach said.

  “Jack?” The voice was Nadia’s. We’d all forgotten she was still on the line.

  “That’s all, Nadia. Update us if you get anything else.” He stuck the cigarette back between his lips and took out his lighter. He’d be puffing on the cigarette the second we hit fresh air.

  -

  Chapter 43

  DREAM WEDDINGS WAS HOUSED IN a boutique shop that carried specialty items brides would swoon over and grooms would become nauseated over. Despite numerous fluorescents humming overhead, the place was cast in shadows. The shelves and tables were filled to capacity, if not overflowing. Potpourri and scented candles bathed the space in a heady aroma. There were crystal champagne flutes with BRIDE and GROOM etched into the glass. An assortment of favors were displayed, ranging anywhere from under a dollar for a mini linen drawstring pouch to single-use cameras at seven dollars apiece. I was surely missing some of the more expensive trinkets, but to me, they all equated the same thing—a waste of money and show of prosperity. The underlying message being if one spent gobs of money they were guaranteed a longer marriage.

  “Can I help you?” A woman in her thirties came toward us. She was dressed immaculately as if she were in a wedding party and running late on her way to the church. She wore an elegant white pantsuit with rhinestones along the curved neckline and pockets. Her blond hair was swept back into a loose bun and bounced with each step.

  “We’re with the FBI.” Jack held up his cred pack.

  Any inclination toward a smile forming on the woman’s face faltered and then fell. “What do you want with me?”

  The front door chimed.

  “If you’ll excuse me.” She rushed past us, leaving in her wake a floral perfume that tickled my sinuses and almost had me sneezing.

  She stopped in front of a young woman dressed in blue jeans and a tank top.

  “We have everything under control,” the saleswoman said, soothing her client, her hands positioned on the other woman’s upper arms. “Did you want to come to the back and review everything again?”

  There was no indicator of impatience coming from the woman. Jack, on the other hand, wanted his questions answered now. I wondered if it was the combination of fragrances getting to him or his sour mood in general.

  I glanced back to where the woman had approached us from. There was a counter with a cash register and a debit machine. Behind that was a door. It was probably where the woman meant when she’d said, Come to the back.

  The lady in the jeans was dabbing the corners of her eyes, and I had a feeling we were going to be waiting for a while. That was until her tears turned into a smile and she laughed.

  “See, it’s all going to be fine,” the saleswoman assured her.

  The client nodded, her face a mixture of emotions again. Was she going to bawl? Break out in hysterical laughter? Women were so unpredictable.

  “Come on, let’s go.” The woman guided her client by wrapping her arms around her shoulders. As they made their way past us, the woman looked at me and Jack. “One second,” she said quietly. She opened the door to the back room and spoke to her client. “Help yourself to a cup of coffee or a glass of water, sweetie.”

  The woman spun, closing the door in the process.

  “Now’s not a good time,” the blonde said to us.

  “It wasn’t a good time for Penny Griffin, either,” Jack said.

  She crossed her arms. “Excuse me?”

  “Three women have been murdered in the last two years,” he went on.

  Her head angled to the left. “And what does this have to do with me?”

  “Possibly nothing, possibly something.”

  The woman glanced at me. I thought I’d help her out. “We have questions about a man who used to work here.”

  Her arms relaxed and fell to her sides. She settled on clasping them in front of her hips. The stance was less confrontational, but it was still closed. There would be a fine line with this woman that, if crossed, would end the conversation before it got going.

  “Are you the owner of the boutique?” I asked.

  “Yes, Emily French.”

  “Miss French.” The way her eyelashes batted had me stumbling over my next words. She was pleased I didn’t assume she was married. I started again. “Miss French, we won’t take much of your time, but we need to know about a former employee by the name of Gavin Bryant.”

  “Gavin? What about him?”

  I sensed their relationship mixed business with pleasure. It was in the way her eyes softened, her hands flexed.

  “He worked for you for five years and left just shy of two years ago.” That wasn’t long after Tara had hired the company.

  “Correct.” Her voice was slightly hoarse.

  “Why did he stop working here?”

  She rubbed the back of her neck, her bun jostling with the movement. “It’s complicated.”

  “Well, un-complicate it for us,” Jack said.

  She leveled her gaze on him. “We were—” she cleared her throat “—involved.”

  Gavin Bryant had the Midas touch with women, apparently. He had dated Cheryl and her friend Angela at the same time, and now this woman, too? Gavin was a certified player.

  “See, that wasn’t so complicated.”

  Her eyes narrowed in a glare directed at Jack. “I was married at
the time.” A flash of pink spawned in her cheeks. It was hard to say if it originated from shame, regret, or anger at having to relive this time in her life for a couple of strangers. “When my divorce went through Gavin called our relationship off.”

  “Sounds like a gem.” I said, playing the good cop, relating to her side of things and encouraging her to open up.

  “You think he had something to do with these women’s deaths?” she asked.

  “It’s looking possible,” Jack said. “When was the last time you spoke with Gavin?”

  “I told you, we broke up the day my divorce went through. It was also his last day working for me.”

  “So you didn’t speak to him after that?” Her attitude didn’t affect Jack one iota.

  “No.” Emily shook her head and jacked her thumb toward the back room. “I really need to go. A client is waiting.”

  “We were actually hoping you could help us fill in some more blanks,” I began. “Where did Gavin work after he left here?”

  “I just said we never—”

  “Never spoke?” Jack, the bad cop, interrupted. “Yes, I heard you, but a woman who ended her marriage for a man who then dropped her doesn’t let go so easily.”

  “You’re calling me a liar?”

  “We’re just saying you might have an idea where his next job was.” I was hoping she’d come back with a name that was also connected to Cheryl so we could determine where she met Gavin.

  “I said I never spoke to him again, and I meant it. I was too angry about the entire situation. Truth be told, I’m not sure how I’d react if I spoke to or saw him.” Her arms crossed. “I still don’t think he could kill anyone, though. We slept together for about two years. I’m sure I would have picked up on some vibe.”

  “Not necessarily.” And there was the truth no one wanted to think about. The only person we knew was the one who lived in our own heads. And sometimes even they were hard to understand.

  A few seconds of silence passed, and I realized we could approach this from another direction. “Where did Gavin work before he started with your company?”

  “You don’t know? You’re the FBI.”

  “Let’s just say there are a few blank years in there,” I said. The truth was, his employment record didn’t show any employer immediately before Dream Weddings or after he’d left. Tax returns showed he’d collected welfare, but it wasn’t sitting right for me.

  “A few blank— All right.” She let out a deep exhale. “He worked for another wedding planning company. I can’t remember their name.”

  At face value, she revealed little, but everything was starting to align. I had an idea, but I needed to confirm one thing first. “Is it common to hire out on a contractual basis?”

  “Yes, of course. I do the planning, but then hire independent contractors to do the work.”

  “So it’s possible Gavin worked as a contractor for this wedding planning company you mentioned?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would we be able to get their name and a list of the companies you contract out to?”

  “Sure.” She left us for about five minutes and returned with the information.

  “Thank you for your help.” I handed her my card and left with Jack trailing me out of the store.

  We hit the sidewalk. I was certain the grin on my face rivaled the brightness of a 100-watt bulb.

  Jack lit up another cigarette, took a deep puff, and exhaled. “What are you thinking?”

  “The wedding companies Tara had booked and the ones Cheryl used were different. No apparent connections.” I pointed back toward the storefront. “But if it’s common to contract jobs out like Emily said, maybe Gavin Bryant used to work on a contractual basis before he came to Dream Weddings. He could have done it during the same time even, or returned to that after he left here.”

  “You’re thinking he might have been a contractor for one of the companies on Cheryl’s list?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hmm.”

  “But that’s not all I’m thinking.”

  He gestured with his cigarette for me to continue.

  “There’s nothing in his record to indicate employment income in the years before he went to work for Dream Weddings and nothing after. Yet, he obviously had more money coming in than welfare alone. He has a house, a car, and now he’s off to the Caribbean.” I paused to let everything sink in for Jack.

  “You’re thinking he played the system.”

  I nodded. “If we can prove Gavin Bryant earned income during the years he was collecting public aid, the IRS will love this and so will we. We can have him expedited back on fraud and tax evasion, and while he’s facing those charges, we can question him about the murders.”

  Jack was about to take another drag of his cigarette, but his arm stopped short of his mouth. “We have to prove income first.”

  “Right,” I confirmed.

  Jack pressed his lips together and nodded.

  I should have known better than to expect a load of praise from Jack. Maybe if I were alone, I would have physically given myself a pat on the back for this one.

  Jack stomped out the remainder of his cigarette. “Great job.”

  And there it was. Justifiable recognition. But despite craving it, I was left speechless. All I could do was smile.

  -

  Chapter 44

  PAIGE AND ZACH’S FIRST STOP after leaving the hotel was Dunkin’ Donuts, at Paige’s request. She was certain the dark circles showed under her eyes, but with the marvels of foundation and concealer she’d managed to tone them down. Sunglasses with large lenses were her ally, too.

  Sam had left around four in the morning, early enough not to be spotted by Jack. Not that she needed to hide the fact that Sam had spent the night, but she’d rather avoid the situation. In fact, she’d woken up before Sam and had to shake him. When she had managed to rouse the dead, he was ready to go for another round. It was hard to say no.

  The recollection brought a wistful smile to her face. Though maybe not so much wistful as lustful. She remembered his touch on her skin, the quivers that had laced through her, his mouth on hers, their bodies moving together…

  Zach glanced over at her before he got out of the car. “Hopefully there’s enough coffee in Grand Forks for you today.”

  Somewhere in the midst of her daydreaming, he had pulled into a gas station near the airport. It was where they were meeting Powers and Barber…Sam.

  And there he was. She shielded her eyes from the sun, despite her shades. The glowing ball of fire was peeking over the horizon enough to catch her right in her line of sight. The brightness made Sam’s face indistinguishable, but she imagined that a smear of conquest blanketed his expression.

  “And here’s the mighty FBI in need of our help,” Powers said. Paige couldn’t fault him for his bitterness given the way Jack had treated him yesterday.

  “We do,” Zach said.

  “So you’re not denying you’re mighty?”

  “Not in the least.” Zach’s tone was lighthearted, and he was smiling. Powers wasn’t.

  Paige wanted to look at Sam, but not for reasons connected to this power struggle. And if she did face him, there would be no hiding how much she’d enjoyed last night, how a deep-rooted part of her wished for a do-over. There was no room for attachments in her life. Her lifestyle as an agent was too busy, and literally, up in the air with her on last-minute flights to anywhere in the United States. What relationship could survive that strain?

  “Good morning, Paige,” Sam said.

  So much for remaining invisible.

  “Morning.” She granted him a second’s worth of eye contact before diverting her gaze.

  “Three lots at the airport offer long-term parking—Lots A, B, and C,” Po
wers said.

  “That’s original naming.”

  Powers smiled. Zach had managed to break through the initial barrier, but Paige wagered Powers didn’t have a problem with the FBI as a whole. His issue was with one specific agent—Jack—but he wouldn’t be the first and he wouldn’t be the last. Jack wasn’t in his career to make friends; his purpose was to bring killers to justice. But there was one thing Jack managed to rack up in his wake—respect. People didn’t have to like him to respect him, and Jack earned the latter from most he met.

  “We’ll take Lot A,” Zach continued.

  She recalled Powers’s words, three lots. And here, for some reason, Jack had made it sound like there would be one.

  “Fine,” Powers said reluctantly. “It’s going to be tedious work, and we might not even find Bryant’s car.”

  “As we’re well aware,” Zach said.

  “They don’t take plate numbers here. People pull a ticket at the entrance to make the gate rise. From there, they hold the ticket and present it when they leave.”

  “So we’ll need to scour the entire lot. I kind of expected that,” Paige said. She was ready to get started. Anything to bring an end to standing this close to Sam. And it wasn’t because she didn’t like it. She liked it a little too much.

  Sam stepped nearer to her. “As fair warning, the lots are large.”

  “Let’s get going then,” Powers said.

  She recognized that he was trying to take the lead, but she didn’t care. The limited space between her and Sam was electric and heating up. Sensing his eyes on her, she turned and smiled at him.

  Zach and Powers were on the way to their respective vehicles. Their distance afforded her and Sam more privacy. The gap between her and Sam constricted.

  He ran his knuckles down the back of her arm, leaving a trail of fire. “Missing me yet?”

  “You think you’re so cute.” She was cognizant of the fact that they had to get moving or Zach and Powers might say something to them. She leaned in toward Sam. “This is business.”