“Yeah, we see how that worked out,” I muttered.
“I don’t know what else to say.” He threw back the shot.
I shifted. “Does Katarina know Greg Borski?”
“No, not that she’s mentioned him. Why?”
“They’re both Russian.”
He snorted. “Next thing you’ll be saying she’s a part of the Russian mafia.”
I almost affirmed his statement but decided it was better if I didn’t.
“Something isn’t fitting, Bill.” I narrowed my eyes. “What was she holding over you, Bill?”
He poured himself another shot of caramel-colored liquid. “Who? Katarina?”
“No, Emma Jean. She had leverage over everyone, it seems.”
He snorted again and took another swallow of liquor. “She wasn’t holding anything over me.”
I doubted that. “But if she was, that would give you motive also, wouldn’t it?”
“I asked you to help me, not to find me guilty, Gabby.” His eyes clouded and he toddled across the room, drink in hand, and plopped on the couch. “If you’re going to point the finger at me, then you’re fired.”
“I’m trying to get answers, but that’s hard when you’re not being truthful with me. Besides, you can’t fire me. You haven’t even paid me.”
He ran a hand over his face again. “It’s nothing. Not really. I mean, she was going to release some of my tax records.”
I jammed my hip against the wall and crossed my arms. “What’s the big deal about that? I mean, other than the fact that it wasn’t her place.”
He sloshed his drink around the glass again. “The thing is that when Philip Munich was first running for office—for senator back then—I gave money to his campaign.”
“But you hate Munich.”
“I do now. But I’ve evolved over the years. Emma Jean thought that factoid would ruin my success because people would think I was a hypocrite. If she ruined me, then I’d lose money and then I’d lose Katarina. Emma Jean thought that when that happened, I would come back to her.”
“She had it all thought out, didn’t she?” Conniving. That summed up Emma Jean in a nutshell.
“Emma Jean had everything thought out.”
I mulled over that fact a moment. “Why did you give to Philip Munich’s campaign? When did you donate . . . Didn’t he run for office for the first time ten years ago or something? Weren’t you doing your show back then?”
His face fell even further. “Sometimes life and politics can get messy, Gabby.”
I chewed on his words a moment.
Bill downed another shot before slamming his glass on the table. He stared at me, his eyes already bloodshot and his words slurring. “I didn’t kill Emma Jean for it, Gabby. I know that’s what you’re wondering. But I didn’t do it.”
Chapter Fifteen
I had a workshop the next morning. Thankfully, it was only a few cities south in Elizabeth City, North Carolina.
In between my sessions, I had lunch at a local deli with a few of the officers I was training. I downed a turkey club and delicious homemade potato chips in between chatting up Gray Tech, my company, like a good, little employee. While they began talking about things privy to their city, I escaped to the waiting area for a moment to check my messages.
I wanted to make sure my boss hadn’t emailed me and that there were no updates I’d missed. Plus, I didn’t really care about city parking violation codes. Not in the least.
When I glanced at my phone, I was surprised to see one of my social media feeds blowing up. What in the world . . .?
I began scrolling through the posts that had been made on my pages. They were all . . . hateful.
You’re an idiot if you’re friends with Bill McCormick.
People like you make me sick.
If you support someone who’s hateful, that makes you hateful. And a bigot. And a generally bad person.
My mouth dropped open. Oh. My. Word. What had happened to instigate this?
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that to you.”
I swirled around and saw a man standing there. He wore a fedora, glasses, and had a dopey grin on his face. I’d never seen him before.
He extended his hand. “Godfrey Arnold.”
I narrowed my eyes when I recognized the blogger’s name. “What are you doing here? Are you following me? And what exactly didn’t you mean to do to me?”
“One at a time!” He chuckled, not the least bit bothered by our conversation. “I’m here because I’m following you. And I didn’t mean for so many people to post so many ugly, nasty messages on your social media profiles. Not really.”
My eyebrows shot up. I didn’t even know which of his faults to address first. “Why are you following me?”
“I want a quote on Bill.”
“You’re out of your mind. I’m here with police officers, for goodness sake!” I glanced over at my table full of trainees. None of them were paying a bit of attention to this situation.
Traitors.
Godfrey shrugged, seeming to notice their disinterest also. “Not really worried about it.”
“And you’re saying that you did something to incite your rabid fans to post hateful messages?” The longer I talked to this guy, the more outraged I felt. There should be a social media jail that would ban people from being on the Internet as their sentence. Maybe I’d start a GoFundMe campaign to get that initiative off the ground.
He shrugged again, still unbothered. “My latest blog post may have encouraged people to be vigilant in their beliefs by taking a stand against anyone who stood in their way. There’s a lot at stake during this election. We must use whatever means necessary.”
“How is threatening me on social media at all necessary? How am I standing in your way? I didn’t do anything!”
“If it wasn’t for you, Bill McCormick may not be here with us right now.”
I could not have heard this man correctly. I shook my head, hoping my ears would start working properly again. “Were you the one who tried to shoot him?”
Finally, his glib façade cracked. He glanced at the cops, as if nervous they’d heard me. “No, of course not. How could you think that? I shoot arrows with my words.”
“But you wish the man had gotten shot? How am I supposed to interpret that?”
“I didn’t say that.” He frowned. “I only implied he would have been shot if it weren’t for you.”
I stepped toward him and lowered my voice. “You, little man, are a smug, sad excuse for a human. You need to start talking right now and tell me exactly what you’re planning before I start talking really loud.”
All his glibness scampered away liked a scared rabbit. “Okay, okay. Do I need to remind you that there are cops over there?”
“They’re on my side. Not yours. Believe me, you little weasel.” I wasn’t sure I’d actually ever called anyone that before. I kind of liked it.
He raised his hands as he took a step back and hit the wall behind him. One of the framed newspaper articles about the place rocked back and forth on impact. “I may have shared your social media links on my website. I would have just given your email address, but I couldn’t find it.”
“Why would you do that?” I felt so exposed. Bill might enjoy the feeling—thrive on it, even—but I didn’t.
“Just to put more pressure on Bill McCormick.”
“Why?”
“Because he stands to ruin Philip Munich, of course.”
“What in the world are you talking about? How could one talk show host ruin a presidential candidate? He has outlandish theories that no one believes, but it makes for good ratings.”
“He knows something.” Veins popped out on Godfrey’s neck.
“What does he know?”
His hands went up higher. If the situation was different, I might think he was using jazz hands. “I don’t know. But it could apparently ruin Munich’s chances.”
“The info is that juicy?”
Godfrey nodded. “That’s what I hear.”
“And where did you hear this?”
“I have my sources.”
I stepped closer and lowered my voice to a threatening growl. “Godfrey . . .”
“Someone who works at the radio station told me. Okay? Bill is waiting until two weeks before the election to reveal it. He hopes Munich won’t have time to recover and he’ll lose. Are you happy now?”
“I’m thrilled,” I deadpanned. “You need to tell people to stop posting on my social media.”
“It’s a free country.”
“We’ll see how free you feel when you end up in jail.”
“You’re being a bully.”
“You’re the one who followed me here. Need I remind you of that?”
He sneered but rolled his shoulders back. “I guess you won’t be giving me a quote?”
“Over my dead body.”
“You keep defending Bill McCormick and your wish may come true.”
Chapter Sixteen
Ironically, I had a parking ticket when I left the deli. Go figure. I’d briefly considered begging for leniency, but I hadn’t.
After the workshop, as I drove home, I mulled over what I knew.
All the signs pointed to Borski as Emma Jean’s killer. But that didn’t explain who shot at Bill, who was potentially following me, or who had attempted to abduct Katarina. Whether the cases were related or not, I wasn’t sure. Bill and the violence around him seemed to be connected with the election. I saw no connection with Emma Jean and politics except Bill. Altogether, it was a big, confusing mess.
Jerry called me right as I hit the strip of highway beside the Great Dismal Swamp—a dark, haunting place where I’d almost died at the hands of a serial killer. I was glad for the distraction of talking to him.
He informed me that Emma Jean’s house had been cleared, and I was now free to check it out. He asked if I could wait until tomorrow because he had a meeting with his lawyer tonight. I supposed that was just fine.
“One more thing, Jerry. Did Emma Jean have any friends?”
He was quiet for a long minute. “Maybe try Sarah Babble. I don’t know if they were friends, per se, but Emma Jean talked about doing things with her. It’s more than I can say about most people Emma Jean knew.”
After I hung up. I pulled over and did a quick Internet search for Sarah Babble. There was only one woman by that name who popped up in my area, and she worked at an old drive-in restaurant in Norfolk named Lunar’s. I knew where I was headed next.
It took me nearly an hour to get there and, thankfully, by the time I arrived, I was hungry. The challenging part would be parking . . . um, booth? . . . where Sarah would be my server. If she was even working today. There were a lot of ifs in this.
I pulled into the lot and fought the blaring sun as I looked around. Finally, I spotted a carhop on roller skates who resembled Sarah’s social media photo. She glided toward a truck parked at a spot to my left.
I steered that way and pulled into the one empty space in that section. At once, memories hit me. Memories of the good days of my childhood when my mom would bring me here in between working her many jobs. She’d clerked at a drugstore and cleaned houses and delivered newspapers and sold Avon. But every once in a while, she would tuck away enough money after paying bills for a treat.
We’d come to Lunar’s, and I’d always order a barbecue sandwich, fries, and a milkshake. My mom would get water and a hot dog and claim it was because that’s what she liked. I hadn’t put it together until I was older that it was because money was so tight.
Pushing the memories aside, I lowered my window, pressed a button on the screen beside me, and waited for Sarah to skate on over. She did exactly that two minutes later.
“What can I get for you?”
The woman was nothing like what I’d expected a friend of Emma Jean’s to look like. Perhaps it wasn’t kind, but this woman looked too normal to be friends with Emma Jean. She was in her thirties; she was fit; and she had a great smile that emanated positivity. Her long hair was braided on each side. She wore blue eye shadow and pink lip gloss. I couldn’t see any similarities to Emma Jean except they were both women.
“I’d like one barbecue sandwich and as many answers you can provide to some questions about Emma Jean,” I started with an innocent flutter of my eyelashes.
Her bubble gum smile slipped. “Emma Jean? How’d you connect me with her?”
“Long story . . .” I shook my head as soon as I heard the flimsy excuse leave my lips. “Actually, it’s not. Jerry told me about you.”
“Her ex?” She twisted her lips in surprise.
I nodded.
“Who are you?”
“Someone who’s trying to figure out what happened to her,” I said. “I heard you might have some answers.”
She glanced around. “I have a break in five minutes. I’ll bring you your sandwich, and we can talk. Sound good?”
“Sounds perfect. Oh, and can you add some fries to that?”
“Sure thing. And a pumpkin shake too?”
I grinned. “I can’t resist pumpkin.”
Five minutes later, Sarah was seated beside me in my car. Sure enough, she’d brought a sandwich, fries, and shake with her, and the tangy smell of vinegar-based barbecue tantalized my senses.
“First of all, I’m really sorry for your loss.”
She nodded. “Thank you.”
“How did you two know each other?” I had to get that question off my chest first.
She frowned. “Emma Jean and I met in anger management class. She was my mentor.”
Anger management class? I wasn’t surprised, now knowing what I did about Emma Jean. But Sarah, on the other hand, seemed like the antitheses of Emma Jean.
“I see. Do you have any theories about what happened to her?”
She sighed and stared out the window. “I have no idea. Honestly, there are so many people I can think of who would want her dead.”
Hearing that didn’t even faze me anymore. “Like who?”
“Greg, to start with.”
Good old Borski. “You’re not the only one who’s mentioned him. Do you know him through Emma Jean?”
“You should say that.”
“Why do you suspect him?”
“Greg is just vindictive and arrogant. He lives in his own little world where everything he does is perfect and everything everyone else does is flawed.” Her voice lost its perk and replaced it with bitterness.
“You have strong feelings.” I couldn’t wait to eat any longer. I took a bite of my paper-wrapped sandwich and let the tangy vinegar mixed with sweet coleslaw delight my taste buds.
“I went out on a date with him once. It didn’t go well.” She rolled her eyes.
“I see.” Scorn could explain a lot of things. Just like a good barbecue sandwich could make everything better.
She locked gazes with me, and I paused from chowing down. “You know how she got the job there, right?”
“No idea.”
“The two of them met at anger management class.”
I shook my head. “What? Really? That’s how you know him also?”
She nodded. “Yeah, we all three met there. I’m not sure how she managed to get a job from him still because the two never liked each other. I’m sure she used leverage.”
“What do you mean?”
“Emma Jean was always holding things over people’s heads. She had a way of digging up dirt and then using that to get what she wanted.”
“Including Borski?”
Sarah shrugged. “I can’t say that for sure. But I know she was always griping about the restaurant. I couldn’t blame her. I mean, Greg would switch out regular produce and put it into organic bins so that everyone wouldn’t know how he was cutting costs. He bought frozen meat. Sometimes he even bought stuff from China. For people who are immersed in the world of natural eating, the last place they want their food from is Chi
na.”
“That is the ultimate sin for food purists.” Actually, I wasn’t a food purist, and the idea of food from China turned my stomach. Speaking of food . . . I took a sip of my pumpkin milkshake. Autumn came alive in my mouth. Colorful leaves, hayrides, and mountain streams sprang up.
Not really. But it was yummy.
“I do know she recently got a raise.”
Now that was interesting. “But Borski was having money troubles.”
She nodded and snitched one of my fries. “I know. I suspect there was more to it.”
“I’d say.” I shifted, rattling my milkshake back and forth to get more of the dairy goodness within reach of my straw. “Is there anyone else who comes to mind who might have had a beef with Emma Jean? Or that she had some serious information on?”
Sarah stared out the windshield and twisted her lips together. “I thought what she was doing to Jerry was wrong.”
Jerry? She was doing something to Jerry? “What was that?”
“She kept threatening to tell the judge that Jerry had cheated on her with his new girlfriend. She wanted to get custody of AJ.”
I blinked. “Really? She’d go as far as to lie?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe. Or maybe she really believed it. I just know that Jerry loves AJ. He was furious. Said nothing would get in the way of him and his son.”
Jerry did, huh? Maybe the biker dude wasn’t as innocent as he’d pretended to be.
And maybe, just maybe, my suspect list was finally growing.
After all, I needed to keep my options open in case Borski fell through.
Chapter Seventeen
Despite what had happened last night, I decided to check out Emma Jean’s house the next morning. Riley decided to go with me since it was before work, and we hadn’t seen each other the day before. I knew he’d be going to do some more training after work today, so I was grateful that I could spend some time with him now.
Jerry didn’t say much when we arrived. He simply let us inside and asked us to lock up before we left. He seemed more somber today and less angry and abrasive. Perhaps reality was kicking in. Grief could take on so many ugly forms. I knew it because I’d lived it.
Cunning Attractions: Squeaky Clean Mysteries, Book 12 Page 11
