Cunning Attractions: Squeaky Clean Mysteries, Book 12

by Christy Barritt

  Bill really did know how to stir things up, didn’t he?

  These people had obviously been looking for a reason to vilify Bill, and they’d found one in Emma Jean’s murder. With any luck, they could ruin his radio show, ruin his personal life, and get a few extra votes for the candidate of their choice.

  The security guard at the front recognized me—I’d been in before. I slipped past the “Kill Bill” protesters, waved to the receptionist, and stepped toward the studio in the back.

  I waited on the other side of the glass for Bill to take a commercial break. In the meantime, I listened to his show being piped through the overhead system.

  “The political operatives are going crazy this election season, stooping to new all-time lows. Protesting outside of my home and my studio? Signs that read ‘Kill Bill’? Is this what politics has boiled down to? Trying to silence those who oppose you?”

  Sometimes I didn’t see eye to eye with Bill, but he was spot on with that. As much as I didn’t agree with some people, they still had the right to their opinions. Slander and hatred had no place in my life.

  Seven minutes after I arrived, Bill was able to step out. He looked paler than usual. The brazen talk show host usually didn’t let anything rattle him.

  “Anything new?” he asked, with what was becoming his trademark handkerchief in hand.

  I shook my head. “Not really. I’m still in the information gathering phase. I’ve heard a lot of bad things about Emma Jean. Apparently, it will take me a year to go through her enemy list.”

  He frowned. “I don’t have a year. I just had three sponsors pull out.”

  Surprise shot through me. “Because of this?”

  “People are talking about me being a killer. That gossip columnist Godfrey Arnold is the one who started this whole campaign against me. Word is that Philip Munich’s folks have him in their pocket, and he helps them do their dirty work.”

  “The guy with the blog?” Godfrey Gossips, if I remembered correctly. Not that it was really my thing to read entertainment blogs. No, I’d rather watch 48 Hours Mystery.

  He nodded. “That’s right. That guy is determined to ruin me because he doesn’t agree with my political views. He spews venom—all for ratings.”

  Funny, because a lot of people would say the same about Bill. I supposed it just depended on what perspective you were coming from.

  “Not only that, but I’ve been getting death threats. Can you believe it?”

  Before I could respond, a man strode over with papers in hand. “Good news, Bill. I just got your numbers in. Your listeners are up by 50 percent. Fifty percent! Tell your sponsors who dropped out to take that!”

  Bill blinked. “What?”

  “I know that what’s happening isn’t necessarily good for you personally, but listeners are tuning in. Give it time, and those sponsors will come back. This murder could be the best thing that’s happened to you.”

  I blanched at the man’s calloused words. I knew that business was business, but . . . wow. How coldhearted could you sound? I had a dark sense of humor at times to help me cope, but that was only because I was around death all the time. This man wasn’t. Unless talk radio was considered some figurative type of demise.

  “All the loyal listeners in the world won’t keep me out of jail.” Bill sobered.

  “That is true. Let’s make sure that doesn’t happen. You do have a lawyer, right?”

  “Riley Thomas has agreed to represent me—”

  Riley? He had? When had this happened?

  Bill’s phone rang and cut him off. He looked at the screen and grunted. “It’s Katarina. She’s out shopping today, trying to find a new outfit for some dinners we’ll be attending together. I think it’s her way of coping, if you know what I’m saying.”

  I waited as he answered. His expression changed from relaxed to intense in 2.2 seconds.

  “Calm down, honey,” he murmured. “What do you mean someone tried to grab you?”

  I could hear her sobs from where I was standing, and my shoulders tensed. Someone had tried to grab Katarina?

  This really was getting ugly . . . and more and more curious by the moment.

  Chapter Seven

  “I’ll be right there.” Bill rushed toward the door. “Ernie, you’ve got to cover my show when it comes back on. I’m sorry. Play repeats or commercials. I don’t care which.”

  I quickly followed after him. “What’s wrong?”

  “Someone tried to abduct Katarina. She’s shaken up. Really shaken up.”

  Abduct Katarina? This wasn’t good. “I’ll go with you.”

  This time Bill had no problem pushing through the protesters. They yelled ugly things—really ugly things. Things I couldn’t say in church.

  But he didn’t seem to hear. It was probably better that way.

  We didn’t say anything until we were in Bill’s car. As soon as he accelerated I realized that I should have offered to drive. He was going way too fast for my comfort. My fingers dug into the armrest.

  “What else did Katarina say?” My teeth clenched in fear as Bill wove in and out of the lanes on the interstate.

  “She was leaving Macy’s, getting into her car, when a man approached her. He asked for money. She ignored him, but he became aggressive. He grabbed her arm and tried to pull her into his SUV.”

  Someone asking for money. So this wasn’t connected with Emma Jean’s death. Not by first appearances, at least. “How did she get away?”

  “She jammed her heel into the man’s shin. Some people leaving the mall came over to help, and the man ran away.”

  Thank goodness for that. “Did she call the police?”

  “I told her to. Maybe I should call also.” He went to grab his phone and nearly sideswiped a pickup truck in the next lane.

  “I’ll do it!” I snatched his phone before he could even be tempted. “You just drive.”

  With Bill’s phone safely tucked away where he couldn’t reach it, I pulled out my own cell and dialed Detective Adams’s number. He promised to meet us at the scene.

  Five minutes later, we pulled up to a mall located in downtown Norfolk. Bill grabbed a ticket stub at the parking garage and drove at breakneck speed around the corners in order to reach the third floor—where Katarina was waiting.

  I reached for the roof, trying to steady myself before momentum rammed my head into the window. Please don’t kill me! At least let me enjoy being a newlywed first.

  Finally, we spotted Katarina. Bill didn’t bother with a parking space. He stopped behind her car and jammed the gear into park. Before I could say, “I’ll-never-ride-with-him-again,” he was already out and racing toward Katarina.

  A group of strangers lingered around her. Actually, of the crowd, three were guys, and they were the ones trying to help. Their significant others stood in the distance with scowls.

  Interesting.

  As soon as Katarina spotted Bill, she abandoned her admirers and collapsed into his arms. “I so glad you here. I fear my life.”

  “It’s okay. I’m here now.” Bill stroked her back.

  Blech.

  I wasn’t sure why seeing Bill involved in PDA grossed me out so much, but it did. Maybe it went back to the time I accidentally saw him in his tighty whities. My thoughts had been forever stained with that image.

  I wanted to talk to Katarina before Detective Adams arrived, but I didn’t have that chance. I couldn’t get a word in between the sobbing and drama. Instead, I eavesdropped as Detective Adams questioned her. It gave me the opportunity to carefully watch her expression as she answered.

  “Can you describe the man who tried to abduct you?” Detective Adams said, pen and paper in hand.

  “He tall with short, dark hair. He have tattoos on his arm. Lots of tattoos.” She motioned with each description, as if playing charades.

  “Do you remember what any of these tattoos looked like?”

  She quickly shook her head. “I no say. They designs. Point
s and angles. No pictures. You understand?”

  Detective Adams nodded, seeming halfway mesmerized by Katarina himself. She obviously had that effect on men. It was her superpower. “I think so. How old was he approximately?”

  She shrugged and ran a finger under her eyelid. Was she really crying? Or did she just want to look like she was? “Thirty something. He strong.”

  “Did he have any accents or any other distinguishing features?”

  “No, I don’t think so. He not Russian, if that what you ask.”

  He shook his head. “Just a standard question, I assure you.”

  He was wondering about the Russian mafia too. I knew it!

  “Who came out into the parking garage and stopped him?” I asked, looking at the crowd that was still gathered nearby.

  Katarina snapped out of innocent victim mode for long enough to give me a dirty look. I really had gotten on her bad side quickly. Or maybe every woman had.

  “Him.” She pointed to a man with light hair, who looked to be her aesthetic equal. He was tall, buff, and beautiful.

  While Detective Adams continued to question her, I walked toward the man. I wanted to get his side of the story. Because it was good police work to do so, not just because I didn’t trust Katarina.

  The man’s eyes were fastened on Katarina as I approached, and he looked a little too worried for a stranger. His muscles were still tight, his jaw flexed, and his eyes narrowed.

  “Excuse me,” I started.

  He pulled his gaze away from the Eighth Wonder of the World of Beautiful Women. “Yes?”

  “I heard you were in the garage and helped to scare the man away before he could harm the victim.”

  He looked me up and down. He must have seen me with the detective and assumed I was with the department. I didn’t correct him. “That’s correct.”

  I needed a pad and paper. And those aviator sunglasses. They should remain in my purse as a basic part of my detective/Secret Service disguise, depending on the assignment.

  “Can you tell me what you saw?”

  “It was weird. At first, I thought it was just a guy and his girlfriend arguing. But then it became obvious there was more to it. The guy grabbed her wrist and began pulling her. She looked terrified, and I knew I had to do something. As soon as I called to him, the man ran away like a scared, little rabbit.” His chest puffed out.

  “Did you see where he went?”

  “He jumped into a SUV.”

  “Into the driver’s seat?”

  “No, the passenger seat.”

  So the guy was working with someone. Good to know. “Did you get a license plate?”

  He shook his head. “I was too concerned about her. I had to make sure she was okay.”

  I bet you did.

  “The SUV did have a smashed back bumper. I noticed that as it squealed away.”

  I stored that information in the back of my mind.

  “Was there anything else distinguishing about this man?”

  He stared in the distance and rubbed his jaw, looking a touch like a modern-day Greek statue come to life. “He looked kind of scary. I felt so bad for that woman, though. It was close. Too close.”

  I glanced back and saw Detective Adams coming my way, so I thanked the man and scooted away. I joined Bill and Katarina, ignoring the knowing glance Detective Adams gave me. I was overstepping my bounds like a klutz playing hopscotch. I figured he would be used to it, but maybe not.

  Katarina and Bill were still canoodling, so I blessed my eyes by looking away for a minute and observing the parking garage. There was a camera above the exit to the mall, and I was certain Detective Adams would take a look at that. If I really wanted to, I could probably weasel my way into seeing it myself, but I wasn’t sure it was worth my time.

  My gaze stopped at Katarina’s car. On second thought, it was just far enough away that the camera may not have picked up much.

  Why had she parked so far away? At the current time, there were plenty of spaces closer to the doors. Had there been a mad rush earlier? On a weekday? I couldn’t see it. It wasn’t like her car was super nice, the kind that people parked in the back of the lot so they didn’t get any dings from other careless drivers.

  Maybe I was reading too much into this. I wasn’t sure.

  I glanced back over at the man I’d interviewed. He was talking to the detective, but his gaze continually went back to Katarina. That was odd. Was he that taken with her good looks? Was he an overall concerned kind of guy? Or was there more to it?

  I couldn’t be sure. There were a lot of pieces to this mystery already. Perhaps the biggest one was: was this possible abduction attempt connected with the murder of Emma Jean? There almost seemed to be two separate crimes. First was the murder of Emma Jean, the second the animosity toward Bill.

  I needed to find the area where the two circles of crime intersected . . . if they intersected.

  Chapter Eight

  As I drove back to my apartment, my phone rang. Even if I hadn’t looked at the number on my caller ID, I would have known right away who it was from by his British accent. Garrett Mercer, the man I’d dated while Riley and I took a break. He was a coffee mogul, philanthropist, and all-around good person. And he was handsome, to boot.

  “Garrett, what’s going on?”

  “It’s good to hear your voice, Gabby St. Claire. I see you’re still in trouble, as usual.”

  I almost corrected him on my name, but the second part of the conversation seemed more urgent. “In trouble, as usual? What do you mean?”

  “You were on midday news. Guarding that talk show host who lives downstairs from you. I believe you muttered, ‘What are you people? Freaks?’”

  Someone had caught that on camera? I thought I’d only mentally said the words. I had no clue I’d voiced them aloud.

  Lord, help me. Help my mouth. It doesn’t do me very many favors.

  My stomach sank. I thought I was doing better with controlling my tongue, but apparently not. “That was on the news?”

  “You know it. The good news is that you looked quite ravishing.”

  I laughed but quickly sobered. Did Garrett know that Riley and I had gotten married? He’d used my old last name. I needed to be careful and make sure my friendliness didn’t sound like flirting. “Well, thank you. At least something good came out of that invasion of my privacy.”

  “You’ve always known how to make headlines. Just one more thing to love about you.”

  “It’s one of my many talents.”

  The teasing tone left his voice. “Listen, I’d like to talk to you sometime, Gabby. Would you be available to meet?”

  My stomach squeezed. Was this a romantic thing? A professional thing? I wasn’t sure how to wade through these waters. Being a married lady was new territory for me.

  I’d meet with him, I decided. But if he made any moves, I’d have to flash my wedding ring around . . . a lot. Garrett was the type who respected boundaries, so we’d be okay.

  “My schedule is pretty full for the rest of this week,” I finally said, speaking truthfully.

  “Next week, then?”

  “Next week works. You’ve got me curious.”

  “You should be.” He chuckled. “I know how you love a good mystery. I just handed you one. I’ll keep you in suspense.”

  “You’re so mean.”

  “I try. I’ll be in touch next week. Don’t forget about me.”

  “I won’t.”

  Interesting. I wondered what that was about. I supposed I would find out next week.

  When I got back to my apartment complex, I halfway expected to see protesters there again.

  Instead, my brother, Tim, was waiting on the front steps.

  I hadn’t talked to Tim in at least three months. We had a long, hard history that included him being abducted as a child and then returning to my life two years ago. We’d been steadily rebuilding our relationship since then.

  Until June, when he’d met a
girl and decided to hitchhike across the country. It had seemed like a horrible idea to me, but this was Tim’s life, and I had to let him live it as he saw fit. I could only assume he had some great stories to tell me since he’d made it back alive.

  Tim was a freegan, which meant he only used things that were free, including food. At least, that’s the way he operated most of the time. He also looked homeless, maybe because he kind of was.

  As he sat on the front stoop now, his beard looked dry and stretched down to his chest. His hair hadn’t been brushed and appeared greasy at the roots.

  He looked like a mess, and I was surprised no one had called the police on him yet.

  He nodded aloofly when I walked up, but made no effort to move.

  Something about him made my senses go on alert. What was different about my brother since I saw him last?

  “Long time no see.” I felt like I should hug him, but not until I pinpointed what was going on. Until then, a feeling of dread grew in my stomach.

  “Hey, Sis. I’m back.”

  I sat down on the concrete step beside him. Even though it was no longer garbage day, the scent of trash still lingered in the air. Traffic zoomed by. A neighbor somewhere blared “Bittersweet Symphony” by The Verve. “I can see that. How did hitchhiking across the country go?”

  He shrugged. “We had to cut it short. Whitney got a kidney stone.”

  Whitney was his new girlfriend, and she was just as strange as he was. “A kidney stone. Ouch. Where is she now? Is she okay?”

  “I dropped her off at a friend’s apartment. She thinks she can wait it out without going to the hospital. She’s had them before.”

  “I’ll call her She-Ra if she does. I heard kidney stones can be a beast.”

  Silence stretched between us a moment. An unspoken question lingered in the air. I could sense it. I waited for Tim to ask it, but he remained quiet.

  So I gave in. “Let me guess: you need a place to stay?”

  For free. I kept that part silent.

  He still didn’t look at me, but instead stared straight ahead stoically. “Do you mind?”