Had Emma Jean known this? Had she threatened Borski as a result?
How was this place even operating at all?
Maybe this explained why Borski was living in a hotel. Had he lost his home?
As I heard the voices approaching again, I darted from the office.
Julian glanced at me when he entered the room again. “Everything okay? Actually, never mind. I don’t want to know . . . Gassy.”
Clarice and I left an hour later. I’d purposely “forgotten” some duct tape and a utility knife, just in case I needed an excuse to go back.
When we arrived at my apartment, I was dismayed, to say the least, to find the beautiful pumpkins I’d purchased on Saturday were now smashed in the parking lot.
“Who would do this?” Clarice asked, her doe-like eyes appearing again.
“Maybe some kids were being mischievous. Or it could be someone sending a message.” Man, I liked those pumpkins. They added a touch of autumn to the place and made me feel grown-up.
“I’m sorry, Gabby.”
“You know what this means? I’ll be singing ‘Bullet with Butterfly Wings’ for the rest of the day.”
Clarice stared at me.
“Smashing Pumpkins? The alternative rock band?” How could she not have heard of them?
She shook her head, blinking like headlights were headed her way.
I took a step away, but Clarice remained in place. “Never mind. Anyway, thanks for your help today. You did great.”
“Gabby, do you think I’m going to be a good forensic investigator one day?”
My heart squeezed, and I paused, realizing I had the opportunity to encourage someone who needed encouragement. “Of course. You did a great job reading my body language and helping me out. And the line about the bathroom? It was brilliant.”
She frowned. “But I really thought you were in the bathroom . . . “
“I’ve never had bathroom issues—” I stopped and shook my head. “Never mind.”
“Goodnight, Gassy.”
I caught her smile before hurrying upstairs to take a shower. It was the first thing I always did after cleaning a crime scene. Even though I wore protective gear, I still felt dirty . . . and like a walking biohazard. In fact, my Tyvek suit had to be put in a special bag and sent to a biohazard center for safety and health reasons.
No sooner had I gotten dressed than Riley called.
“I was hoping we could do something tonight,” he started. “Just you and me.”
I did have a few ideas that had been simmering in my mind . . . “Sure thing. You mind if I plan it?”
“No, that sounds great. I’ll be home in fifteen.”
His idea of planning and mine were bound to be different. But I knew he loved me, and I hoped that wouldn’t change when he heard about my idea for tonight.
I knew I had to separate my professional and personal life. But that was hard to do when a case was pressing on me. I mean, someone had smashed my pumpkins, for goodness sakes! That was so 1979.
I packed some sandwiches, some pita chips, and hummus. Riley’s sandwiches were actually turkey rollups with cheese, lettuce, and no bread. I also threw in some bags of nuts and beef jerky for him. Riley was doing this high-protein thing as he prepared for his big competition.
Right on time, I met Riley outside with a picnic basket in hand.
“A picnic?” he said. “I like it.”
I smiled. “I have more than this in store . . .”
He wiggled his eyebrows. “I like the sound of that.” He glanced around as we walked back to his car. “What happened to your pumpkins?”
I really should clean them up before they began rotting. When they rotted, flies would start swarming them. The flies made me think of maggots, which made me think of lice, which made me think of my brother.
I really should check on him.
“At least there are no protesters,” Riley said.
“Those gunshots seemed to have scared them off. Temporarily, at least.”
“That’s good, at least.” He opened the door for me and I climbed inside.
The clean, piney scent of his car always calmed me. It reflected Riley: neat, organized, well thought out. Gentle music floated through the speakers. He carried a first aid kit, an extra blanket, and even kitty litter in the winter in case it got icy.
It was unlike my car, which had straw wrappers, crushed water bottles, and notes I’d scribbled on napkins. My radio was usually blaring. More often than not, my tires needed air or my windshield wiper fluid needed refilling.
“Okay, so where to?” Riley asked.
I cleared my throat, bracing myself for his reaction. I decided instead to delay it for a little longer. “How about if I tell you as we go?”
“If that’s what you want.”
As we drove, I filled him in on my day. I glanced behind me a few times as we cruised down the road, a paranoid habit I’d developed recently.
Was that car following us? The roads were busy, so perhaps it just happened to be headed in the same direction we were.
But I wasn’t sure about that. Not sure at all. Not after the things I’d experienced.
“What’s wrong?” Riley asked.
I stole another glance behind me. “I think we’re being followed.”
“Why would someone be following us?”
“I have no idea. It’s all very confusing. It can’t possibly have anything to do with me sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong.”
“Of course. It can’t possibly.” He threw me a knowing look. “Can you tell anything about the vehicle? All I can see are the headlights.”
I shifted for a better glance. After we’d been run off a mountain road in West Virginia last month, I felt more cautious about the whole being followed thing. It was no joke.
The glaring headlights did make it harder to tell much about the make and model. “I think it’s a SUV. That doesn’t really help.”
Riley’s muscles clenched. “I’m going to turn and see if they keep following us.”
At the next cross street, Riley veered off the main highway. I held my breath, watching to see if the vehicle would follow us. To see if this would turn ugly.
To my relief, the driver kept going straight.
But as I stole one more glance at it, I noticed a dent in the back bumper.
Just like the vehicle that had pulled away after Katarina had nearly been abducted in the mall parking garage.
Chapter Fourteen
“You brought me to an old, rundown hotel?” Riley asked, peering out the windshield with a frown. “I mean, if you really wanted to get away for the evening, certainly there are other places . . .”
“Overnight dates are always welcome. But that’s not why we’re here. I have a little more class than this.”
“So why are we here?”
I heaved in a deep breath. “I thought it would be an interesting change of scenery to have a picnic in the shadow of part of our city’s history—”
“Gabby . . .”
I shrugged, knowing good and well that he could see through my tongue-in-cheek excuse. “Greg Borski is staying here.”
He gave me a knowing look. “You could have just said that.”
“It wouldn’t have been nearly as fun.”
He clicked off the ignition and leaned back. “Okay, then. Let’s make the most of this. It’s not exactly the romantic location I’d conjured up in my mind.”
“Darling, anywhere with you is romantic to me.” I said it in my best Southern belle drawl.
He smiled, leaned toward me, and planted a kiss on my lips. For a moment, I felt like a teenager making out in the driveway. Not that I had ever done that . . . but it actually wasn’t a bad idea. Except, that wasn’t why I was here.
When I collapsed back into my seat, I reached down and opened the bag beneath me. I began pulling out the various goodies I’d packed for him. “Okay, let’s eat.”
He took a deli meat rollup. “
Do you know if Borski is even here?”
I nodded toward his truck. “He should be. And that’s his room.” I pointed to 289.
“You’ve been here before.”
“Of course.” I pulled out my own sandwich and unwrapped it. The bread was semi-stale, but it would do.
“What do you think we’ll see?”
“No idea. But I know that Borski is the only one I’ve encountered who has motive, means, and opportunity.”
“Why would he leave the body in the freezer at his restaurant and implicate himself?”
I pressed my lips together. “That’s a good question. I do know that he handles all of the produce and meats himself. Maybe no one else used the freezer. There was a lock on the door.”
“But still . . . he could have left her somewhere far away from anything associated with him. Then no one would be looking at him. Not so quickly, at least.”
“That’s . . . true.” I had no rebuttal for that. Either he wasn’t smart, or he’d been set up.“What if someone set Borski up?” Riley seemed to read my thoughts.
“Why would they do that?” I knew the answer, but I needed to talk it out.
“Why would they do it to anyone? Because they disliked him. They wanted to frame him. They want to see him suffer in some way. Probably for one of many reasons.”
I remembered the food critic Borski had threatened. But that seemed desperate. Why not just kill Borski and let Emma Jean live?
I had so many questions and so few answers right now.
“Let’s think about this.” I began ticking reasons off, counting them finger by finger. “Borski is in major debt. I can only assume that’s why he’s living here at the hotel. His restaurant is about to go under. He has an explosive temper. And Emma Jean could get under the skin of the most levelheaded person. She was probably holding something over his head.”
Riley finished his turkey rollup and grabbed the bag of almonds. “How does this tie in with Bill then?”
That was the question of the hour. “It doesn’t make complete sense that the crimes are separate. While I know that coincidences happen, the timing on this one is too uncanny. But I still have no idea what the connection is.”
“Keep sifting through the pieces, and eventually some answers will emerge.”
“I hope so. Because this one has me puzzled.” I took a bite of my turkey sandwich. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was.
Riley flipped on the radio. Bill wasn’t on at this hour, but another talking head was. And, of course, the topic was the elections. Everyone was worried that this third party candidate would split the vote and effectively give the election to Ed Stead.”
I spotted someone walking toward Borski’s hotel room.
I squinted.
Was that . . . the Nordic god who’d saved Katarina from the bad guy in the parking garage? It was! Why was he here?
He paused at Borski’s room. A moment later, he slipped inside. Borski glanced around, scanning his surroundings as if to spot anyone spying on them, and then shut the door.
“What is going on?” I muttered. “That’s not a coincidence. I won’t believe it.”
“Who is that guy?”
I filled Riley in.
“And the plot thickens,” He muttered.
“He’s the connection in these cases right now. But it doesn’t make any sense . . . He saved Katarina at the parking garage.”
“Okay . . .”
“But if Borski killed Emma Jean, and this man is friends with Borski, how is Katarina in this at all?”
“That’s a great question.”
“I should go confront them.” I grabbed the door handle.
Riley’s hand circled my bicep, and he pulled me back. “No, you shouldn’t. If he’s guilty, what makes you think he won’t kill you too?”
I bit my bottom lip. “That could be true, but . . . how am I ever going to find answers?”
“You always do, Gabby. Always.”
I fought a sigh. I had to do something. The answers were probably all waiting for me in that hotel room. If only it was as easy as charging inside and demanding the truth.
“Let’s wait until the man emerges and follow him,” I finally said.
“That’s a plan I’m more comfortable with.” Riley leaned back in his seat again, finally convinced I wouldn’t dart out of the car at any moment.
We waited ten minutes. Then Nordic god emerged, climbed into a gray sedan, and took off down the road. Riley counted ten seconds and then eased the car out of the lot.
I’d trained him well.
We cruised down the highway, keeping Mr. Nordic in our sights as he wound down various Norfolk roads.
“He’s onto us, Riley,” I murmured.
“Why would you say that?”
“Look at how he’s driving. He’s obviously not going anywhere. He’s just seeing if we’re following.”
“What should we do?”
“Keep following. We don’t have anything to lose at this point.”
“As you wish.”
At that moment, Mr. Nordic accelerated—rapidly.
“Uh oh,” I muttered. “This will be interesting.”
We stayed behind him. Ahead, I saw a traffic signal turn red. The great equalizer, I realized. We’d catch up with him there.
But instead of slowing down, the driver sped up. He dashed through the intersection, leaving an army of cars honking and slamming on brakes.
Riley slowed to a stop and sent me an apologetic glance. “Sorry, Gabby. I couldn’t risk it.”
“I didn’t expect anything less.” I pressed my lips together, fighting my frustration. His decision had been a smart one. But I’d really wanted to figure out who the man was and why he was meeting with Borski.
“What now?”
“I guess we head home.” I leaned back, letting my thoughts wander. “What if the real connection all along was between Katarina and Borski? What if Katarina wanted to kill Emma Jean?”
“Why would she want to kill Emma Jean?”
“Kill the competition?” My words were unconvincing.
“I really don’t think Katarina felt threatened by Emma Jean.”
“No, me neither . . .” I chewed on my fingernail a minute. “Maybe both Katarina and Borski are secretly a part of the Russian mafia like you suggested.”
“I don’t think I ever said mafia.”
“You suggested they were connected because they both have Russian surnames.”
“That’s a far cry from suggesting they’re a part of the mafia.”
“True . . .” What was it with me and politically incorrect conversations lately? That was just one more thing I could check off my list of possible careers in the future, along with Secret Service: politician.
But I needed to keep those ideas in my mind because you never knew when they’d come in handy.
Bill didn’t get home until after ten o’clock, but I waited up for him because we had to talk. As soon as I heard him open the front door, I rushed downstairs to confront—I mean, meet—to meet him.
“Gabby, you’ll never believe this,” he started, either ignoring the agitated expression on my face or not noticing it. “Guess who mentioned me today?”
I crossed my arms, not really caring. “Who?”
“The President.”
I squinted. “The president of what? The radio station?”
He looked like a kid at Christmas who’d just gotten everything he asked for. He was absolutely giddy. “POTUS. Yes, you heard it correctly. The President of the United States.”
“No way.” I didn’t believe him.
Bill pulled out his keys and switched his briefcase into his other hand so he could unlock his door. “He was stumping for Munich at a campaign rally in Cleveland. Of course. And he went off on this tirade about the negative attention and false rumors Munich was getting. He said it was all because of talk show hosts like me. Me! Can you believe it? I’ve made it to the big time, Gabby.”
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“That’s . . . great.” What was I supposed to say to that? It was exciting, but that didn’t change the fact that I was annoyed with him.
He paused from unlocking his door long enough to spread his arms in the air. “Soon, living here will be a distant memory. It’s been nice, but I need a house that represents my success, don’t you think?”
I felt slightly insulted. “Only if you can afford it.”
“My income has tripled in the past few months.”
“But will you be able to sustain it?”
“Why wouldn’t I? It’s all about exposure. I’ve been exposed!”
Most people wouldn’t be delighting in that kind of exposure, especially given his current circumstances.
He paused from his rambling and stared at me. Then his face tightened, as if realization had struck him. He finally realized I wasn’t acting like my normal self and that I had something to say.
His shoulders slumped ever so slightly, and he let out a breath, as if preparing himself for the confrontation that was going to happen.
“What’s going on?” He shoved his keys back in his pocket.
“We need to talk.”
He pushed his door open and extended his hand in what looked like a begrudging motion. “Come on in.”
I went inside and stood by the door with my arms crossed.
I didn’t waste any time. “You and Katarina frequently went to eat at The Crispy Biscuit, even though Emma Jean worked there?”
He paced into the kitchen and poured himself some hard liquor into a shot glass. Normally, I wouldn’t encourage that. But Bill’s lips became even loser when he drank, so I didn’t argue—this time.
“We did. It’s Katarina’s favorite restaurant.”
“Come on, Bill. That’s crass.”
He ran a hand over his face, jangling the glass in his hand. “I know, okay? I wasn’t really in favor of it. But The Crispy Biscuit has really good food. We tried to go in the evening when Emma Jean wasn’t working. But she was a workaholic. She was always there.”
“There are plenty of other restaurants.”
“Katarina likes that one. Always fresh, never frozen.”
“Yeah, we see how that worked out,” I muttered.
“I don’t know what else to say.” He threw back the shot.
Cunning Attractions Page 10
