He smiled. “I thought you might say that. So sleep on it. Let me know tomorrow, okay?”
I nodded. “I will. Thanks, Garrett.”
“I’ll catch up with you later.” He offered a wave as he walked way.
Riley squeezed my hand as the candle on the table warmed his gaze with its flickering flame. “What an opportunity,” Riley said. “You should go for it.”
“Really? It wouldn’t make you uncomfortable if I was working for Garrett?” That had been my main concern.
“I think he’s a stand-up guy, and I trust you.”
I planted a quick kiss on his lips. “Thanks, Riley. That means a lot to me.”
“It really sounds right up your alley too. And you get to pick your own team? It’s perfect for you.”
Excitement buzzed through me at the possibility.
For now, I needed to focus. I slid my chair back.
“Will you excuse me a minute? I’m going to run to the restroom.”
“Of course.”
I slipped from my seat and found the ladies’ room. When I stepped from the stall a few minutes later, I nearly collided with someone.
Sarah Babble stood there, waiting for me, with a deranged roller derby girl look in her eyes.
Chapter Thirty-One
Deranged roller derby girl? No, I decided. She looked like a rejected prom queen as she stood there in her bubble gum pink evening gown. I braced myself, wishing I’d brought my gun. But, since there was a metal detector when we entered, I knew I couldn’t have brought it inside.
“Gabby,” she started, cracking her knuckles. “I didn’t realize you’d be here.”
“What can I say? It’s the place to be tonight.” I swallowed hard, bracing myself for whatever was to come. I skirted out of the stall and hurried toward the sink “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
Her cheeks reddened. “Munich is actually my uncle.”
“Is he? I had no idea.” I hadn’t seen that one coming.
“Yeah, I don’t go around talking about it because people get so weird when it comes to politics. Plus, with my anger management problem, it could be bad press for him. I don’t want that. He’s a wonderful person who deserves good things.”
I wondered exactly how much trouble her anger management problem had gotten her into. I certainly didn’t want to find out here in the granite-encased bathroom. At least granite was easy to clean. I’d had to get blood out of it before and—well, that wasn’t important.
I turned the water on, careful to keep an eye on Sarah. “When did you and Jerry happen?”
She shrugged and rubbed her glossy lips together as she turned toward me. “A few months ago.”
I cut the water. Why was there no one else in here? Women usually came in here by the herds at events like these. “Did Emma Jean know you were dating her ex?”
Sarah nibbled on her lip and frowned. “She found out, and she wasn’t happy.”
“So you’re the one Emma Jean wanted to use as an excuse to get custody of AJ, is that right? She was going to say you were dating Jerry before the baby came, somehow proving that her estranged spouse was cheating?”
She fisted her hands. “But we weren’t. We didn’t start dating until Emma Jean was officially out of his life.”
I dried my hands, balled up the paper towel, and tossed it into the trashcan.
“Jerry gave me your name. He told me you were friends with Emma Jean. Why would he do that when he knew I might put everything together?”
Someone knocked at the door.
Knocked at the door? Had Sarah locked us in here? That wasn’t good.
Sarah didn’t seem to notice as she continued, cracking her knuckles again. “Neither of us wanted to hide this, but with everything that had happened we knew we had to be careful. He told me that you might be in contact and asked me to keep quiet about our relationship for the time being. Communication is everything in a relationship.”
“I suppose it is.” I turned toward her, tension still stretching across my shoulders as I tried to anticipate what she would do next. “Why’d you find me in here?”
Something changed in her gaze. Actually, it ignited. “I wanted to explain everything. I knew you’d seen us and become suspicious. But we didn’t have anything to do with Emma Jean’s death. I promise. In fact, Jerry and I were together at the time of the murder. We were at a biker bar in Chesapeake. There are witnesses.”
Was that right? Interesting. “Thanks for letting me know that. I’m sure Detective Adams has checked that out.”
She stepped closer. “I really want to find Emma Jean’s killer, Gabby. I promise I do. If you need any help, please let me know.”
After a moment of contemplation, I nodded. I believed she was innocent. I hoped I didn’t regret it, but I did believe her. “Okay, Sarah. Thank you.”
When I arrived back into the dining area, Riley was talking with a group of people near our table, looking incredibly handsome and comfortable, so much so that I nearly pinched myself when I remembered he was mine.
Since he was occupied, I took a moment to stand back and watch the people around me.
Godfrey continued to mingle, acting like he was a superstar of sorts. Munich was also walking through the masses, shaking hands, and working the crowd. Servers walked around and offered hors d’oeuvres until dinner was ready.
The soothing music in the background offered a direct contrast to the anxiety in my stomach. Was something going to happen here tonight? That was my best guess.
I kept my eyes open, waiting, watching, and expecting.
At that moment, a new face caught my eye. Was that . . . ?
It was! It was the Nordic god who’d saved Katarina in the parking garage.
He lingered against the wall across the room. No one was with him. And his eyes surveyed everyone in the room.
Interesting.
Confront him or watch him?
I volleyed the two ideas back and forth.
I had a feeling the man had some answers, answers I wanted.
For that reason, I decided to confront him.
I started to charge across the room but then changed tactics. It would be better if I came at him from the side so he didn’t see me approach.
I skirted around the edges of the room, dodging people and never taking my eyes off the man.
He continued to scan the crowds, as if looking for someone.
Strange.
Finally, I reached him, ready to spring it on him that I knew he was here.
“Took you long enough to see me,” he muttered.
I let out a mental sigh. “Really? You knew I was here and I was coming?”
“You’re not that sneaky. Sorry.”
I shoved my pride aside. “Who are you?”
“You really don’t know yet?” He asked the question without any emotion or reaction.
“Would I be asking if I did?”
He glanced around and his jaw flexed. “Let’s go in the hallway and talk.”
“We should stay here.” I crossed my arms.
“If we stay here, I’m not saying a word. Your choice.”
The man was playing dirty, and I didn’t like it. Yet I desperately wanted to know what he had to say.
I glanced back at Riley. He was still talking to a small audience. That meant that no one knew where I was going or whom I was with.
I hoped I didn’t regret this.
Chapter Thirty-Two
“My name is Robert Hawk, and I’m a PI,” he started once we were in the hallway.
“A PI?” That wasn’t what I’d expected to hear. “You were hired to follow Katarina?”
He shook his head. “I was hired to follow Emma Jean.”
I shook my head. “I’m entirely confused.”
“Of course you are.” He smirked like the arrogant jerk I’d already determined he was.
I scowled, not appreciating his demeaning remarks. If I wasn’t so curious, I would simply walk
away from this conversation. But he knew I wouldn’t do that.
“Please explain,” I finally said with an exasperated sigh.
Satisfaction gleamed in his eyes. “I’m formerly Secret Service.”
This was no time to ask him how I’d performed while acting like a Secret Service agent while protecting Bill. He’d really think I was a joke if I did.
“Impressive. Maybe,” I said. Was he telling the truth? I didn’t see any signs of deceit.
He let out a sardonic laugh. “Maybe . . . anyway. I was hired by my old friend from high school to follow Emma Jean.”
“Greg Borski?” I guessed.
He nodded. “That’s right. Emma Jean had been acting suspicious in the week or two before her death. He was afraid she was going to try to go public with the information on The Crispy Biscuit—their nonorganic food as well as their money troubles.”
“Go on.”
“So I started following her, trying to see what she was up to. That’s when I discovered that Emma Jean was following Katarina.”
“And somehow your case shifted from one woman to the other?”
He shrugged. “I’ll get to that. Be patient. Emma Jean was not only following Katarina, she was taking pictures of her. And it wasn’t always when she was with her new beau, Bill McCormick. So I started doing some research.”
“What did you discover?”
“I know this sounds too big to be true, but I’m nearly certain she has ties with . . . the Russian mafia.”
Wait . . . what? Sierra had been right this whole time? Next thing he’d be telling me that Katarina actually was a mail-order girlfriend. Maybe Sierra was more insightful while on painkillers than I’d given her credit for.
“Are you serious?”
He nodded. “Dead serious. I believe that’s why she’s been meeting with Walker Manning as well.”
“But that would mean that Walker Manning has ties with—”
He put a finger over his lip and glanced around, as if to make sure no one was listening. “Exactly. There has always been talk.”
“Really?”
“They need someone to fund them. Why not one of the richest men on the East Coast?”
I felt like I’d just stepped inside a James Bond movie or something. Was this case really this big?
“Were you there the night Emma Jean was murdered?” I asked. “Were you following her then?”
He shook his head. “No, unfortunately, I wasn’t. In fact, I was following Katarina that night. She had a meeting with Manning.”
That’s the person she’d been with! “So you have no idea who murdered Emma Jean either.”
His jaw flexed. “No, I don’t, though I suspect she stumbled into more than she ever imagined when she was spying on Katarina.”
“So she was essentially killed by the Russian mafia?” I really couldn’t get past that point.
“You’ve got to understand that there isn’t a large network of them here. They only have a few operatives.”
“And what’s the goal of these operatives?” I couldn’t believe I was asking that.
“That’s what I’m not sure about.”
None of this could be real. That was the point I couldn’t get past. I kept thinking that at any minute, someone was going to burst from a hidden room with a camera and yell, “Gotcha!”
“So Borski then hired you to tail Katarina?” I clarified, trying to follow the logic here.
“No, I did that on my own, just to satisfy my curiosity.”
“Did you discover anything else?”
His nose twitched. “Not yet. But I’m close to finding the answers. I feel strongly that it has to do with this election.”
Why did he look uncomfortable? Was he disappointed in himself for not having answers? “Did you report this to any of your former Secret Service colleagues? Maybe even the FBI?”
“Why would I do that? I need more proof.”
I shrugged. “Just curious.”
Curious and not entirely convinced.
With all of those new thoughts brewing in my mind, I sat back down at the table with Riley. Bill was beside him, chatting about politics—of course. I didn’t see Katarina.
“Where were you?” Riley whispered.
“It’s a long story,” I said. But all I could think about was: Russian mafia? I was having trouble buying it. But I’d run into crazier crimes and motives before.
I pulled out my phone and found the picture I’d taken at Emma Jean’s house. The one of Katarina with the mystery man. I enlarged the picture, removing Katarina entirely from the screen.
“Bill, do you recognize this man?” I asked.
“Yeah, that’s Frederick Mason.”
I sucked in a breath. “What? The frat boy who died?”
He nodded. “Yeah, where’d you get that picture?”
“From Emma Jean’s house . . .”
“How—?”
I shook my head. “I have no idea.”
Before I could launch into more questions, a server set my soup and salad in front of me. I looked up and did a double-take. “Julian?”
This was like a reunion of all the people I’d met over the past week. I’d known tonight’s fundraiser was the place to be, but wow. Everyone else in town thought so too.
He also did a double-take. “Gassy?”
My cheeks reddened at the name. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
“You didn’t know? The Crispy Biscuit had already signed on to cater this event before everything hit the ceiling. We won a contest to cater this event.”
“I see. Is Borski here also?”
He shook his head. “No, Greg is still having a temper tantrum over everything that happened. Selena and I are heading things up. We already had the menu down, and, let’s face it, Greg wouldn’t have done anything here tonight except lend his persnickety perspective on everything we’re doing wrong.”
I raised my spoon. “Well, I can’t wait to try the food. I’ve heard your cuisine is delicious.”
“I hope you’ll enjoy it.”
Since there was a slight chill in the room, I decided to start with the soup first. I’d heard so much about it, and I wanted to see if it was as good as people said it was.
I took the first bite, and my taste buds approved. If only I could truly enjoy it. Instead, my thoughts were churning, on the brink of realization.
“It’s good,” Riley said. “Savory and flavorful.”
My phone began singing “What’s Up” by 4 Non Blondes.
I excused myself when I saw the name of an old friend who worked with the medical examiner, Lela.
“Detective Adams gave me permission to share some information with you,” she started. “I just found out something interesting about Emma Jean Lewis.”
I put my spoon down. “What’s that?”
She let out a sigh. “Between you and me . . . you know the restraints we have on us working here in the coroner’s office, right?”
“Sure.” Why was she prefacing what she had to tell me with this? I wasn’t sure, but I let her have her time.
“I mean, we’re limited by our laboratories, by time, by taxpayer dollars.”
I had no idea where she was going with this or why she almost sounded apologetic. “Right.”
“Anyway, usually in a case like that of Emma Jean Lewis, we know the cause of death. I did the autopsy and determined she died from blunt-force trauma. It seemed pretty obvious from her wounds.”
“Right.”
“Something was bothering me, though. There were a few other symptoms that I wasn’t sure were connected or not. The fact that she was frozen didn’t help. On a whim, I did a tox screen. As you know, the average tox screen can identify only around three hundred toxins, only the most popular ones that are found in crimes.”
My curiosity wound tighter and tighter. “Right.”
“But we can use gas chromatography, which will still pick up on less than fifty percent of all t
he possible compounds people could die from.”
If I didn’t respect her so much, I would tell her to get on with it. “Right.”
“This is what is boils down to: I found some evidence of oleander in her system,” she finally said.
“Oleander? The plant? Really? I would have never expected that.”
“Yes, I would have never realized it if I hadn’t done this test. But I’m glad I did.”
I leaned back in my chair, chewing on that revelation. “How did oleander get into her system?”
“I can only assume it was from something she ate.”
What had been found in her stomach as her last meal? “You said you found evidence of a salad and soup in her stomach, right? That was the last meal that also helped to identify her time of death.”
“That’s correct. The soup seemed to be interesting. There was butternut squash, rutabaga, basil, maybe even some pumpkin.”
I looked down at my harvest bisque and frowned. Oh. My. Goodness.
I glanced over at Riley and saw him raising his spoon to his mouth. I swatted it out of his hand, splashing soup on the person next to him. The man shot me a dirty look.
“Gabby . . . what?” Riley picked up his napkin and began wiping the liquid from his suit.
“Don’t eat any more. Trust me.”
I glanced around. Everyone else was eating the soup also.
Was Philip Munich also eating this soup? I had a better idea of what was going on here. But my conclusions were scary.
Panic fluttered through me.
This wasn’t good. It wasn’t good at all.
“Thanks, Lela. I’ve got to go. Tell Adams he needs to get out to the Munich fundraiser on Granby Street, though. Right away.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
I jumped to my feet. “Don’t eat the soup. I just found a . . . rat in mine!”
People would probably react more quickly to that reasoning than by me saying their food could have oleander in it. Besides, everyone’s soup probably hadn’t been poisoned, but I had to err on the side of caution.
I glanced at the stage area. There was Munich, about to eat this award-winning soup. I had to stop him. Somehow.
Cunning Attractions: Squeaky Clean Mysteries, Book 12 Page 20
