Miranda thought a minute. “Maybe he puts it in his pocket and leaves.”
With a frustrated grunt, O’Toole straightened. “We’ll know more once we process those bloody footprints. If we can get a match.”
Miranda scratched at her hair. “Yeah, and the killer’s clothes would be bloody, too.”
The three of them fell silent, pondering the scene.
O’Toole’s phone rang. He took the call, and after a minute or two hung up with a grin of triumph. “Ralston’s got Scott back at the station. You two up for some late night interrogation?”
Miranda felt a surge of hope that they might have their killer at last. Suddenly, she was wide-awake. “My favorite kind.”
Chapter Thirty-One
This time it was Miranda’s turned to watch through the two-way mirror.
The sergeant ushered her and Parker into the small space then huffed out that his officers just reported no neighbors had seen anyone entering Blythe Star’s house that night. That meant little if nobody was paying attention. Miranda was about to say so when the sergeant asked for her notepad to go over her interview with the suspect. She handed it to him and watched him rush off to consult with Ralston before they took a turn at Sean Scott.
“He thinks we’ve got him,” she murmured to Parker.
“Mmm.” Parker’s wise gray eyes were objective lasers as he moved to the window.
There still was room for reservation, Miranda thought as she turned her attention to the young man who’d been waiting in the interrogation room for over an hour by now. But she hoped O’Toole was right and they had their man.
His arms crossed, his sandaled foot tapping a mile a minute against the linoleum floor, Scott sat at the little table, his gaze darting this way and that, as if he were looking for a hole in the walls to escape through. He was dressed in a wrinkled plaid shirt and an old pair of jeans. Clothes he must have thrown on in a hurry. He wasn’t flashing the lady-killer smile tonight. Right now, he looked lost and afraid.
She heard Parker’s low murmur beside her. “I apologize for earlier,” he said simply.
Keeping her focus on the suspect, she decided to play dumb. “What for?”
From the corner of her eye, she watched his gaze narrow on her. But she wanted to hear it. “For letting it slip to Sid that we’re married. I hadn’t intended for him to know. I realize it upset you.”
“You were pretty steamed yourself.” She turned to face him.
Hands behind his back, he inhaled stiffly and gave her a curt nod. “I apologize for losing my temper as well. As you know by now, Sid has a special knack for irking me.”
She almost let herself grin. “He does seem to get on your last nerve.”
Parker ignored the observation. “We’ll have to come up with a policy for public appearances.”
Now he was getting down to the heart of it. The press conference. She still didn’t see what the big deal about her doing it was, but for now she just nodded. “And about when to tell people about our personal relationship.”
“Yes.”
She rocked back on her heels and decided to go all the way. “And about exactly what being ‘in charge’ means.”
She felt his chest expand and his body tense. But now it was his turn to nod. “Agreed. We’ll discuss it when we get home.”
Whenever that might be. But there was no time to talk now. O’Toole and Ralston had entered the interview room and the detective was reading Scott his rights.
They both turned their focus to the two-way.
The guy looked so pale with shock, Miranda almost felt sorry for him.
Ralston slid into her chair, her back board-straight, her plain face cold. She opened a folder and consulted it. “Mr. Scott, you’ve been an employee of Entertainment Security for three years, is that correct?”
“Yes, about that long.” He tried to smile at her, but she didn’t even notice.
“And that’s why you were at the rehearsal Cameron Forest called this afternoon? The one where you were questioned in regard to the death of Ambrosia Dawn?”
Scott’s smile fell away and he folded his hands on the table like an adult. “Yes. I—I was one of her bodyguards. Mr. Forest wanted to speak to me about my future employment.”
“And did he?”
Miranda saw a flash of caution in the bodyguard’s baby blues. That’s right. Be careful how you construct your story.
“Yes, he did. After the rehearsal, we went out for a drink. He said he wanted me to perform the same duties for Ms. Star.”
Ralston’s eyes narrowed. “Have those duties begun?”
“Not yet. I’m supposed to start in two days. I’ve got vacation coming to me.”
“I see.” Ralston drummed her fingers on the table and studied her folder with a frown.
Like a well-timed dance move, O’Toole leaned over the table close to Scott, his face flushed. “Are you telling us that you didn’t accompany Ms. Star home tonight?”
Scott looked over at the sergeant, eyes wide with shock. “No. Like I said, I went to have a drink with Mr. Forest, then I went straight home.”
“Right away?”
“Of course, right away.”
O’Toole leaned a little closer. “You didn’t stop anywhere else?”
Backing away, Scott seemed confused. “No.”
“What is the nature of your relationship with Ms. Star?”
Scott’s eyes bugged out. “We’re…friends. We talk and joke around during rehearsals.”
Miranda noted the present tense. Nice touch. Act as if you don’t know she’s dead. And O’Toole didn’t give it away, either. He did show some savvy once in a while.
“That’s all?”
“Pretty much.”
O’Toole pursed his lips, stared down at the notepad and tapped the desk with the end of his pen. “Someone on our staff saw you and Ms. Star just before the rehearsal. You were in a side room near the entrance. You were doing more than talking and joking.”
Scott’s mouth opened. He glared at O’Toole. Then at Ralston. He looked like he was about to cry. He pressed his palms to his temples and groaned. “Okay. I was trying to get close to her. She has inside, inside connections.”
Ralston’s eyes turned hard. “You were using her?”
Scott rubbed his muscled arm, then his crew cut. “I want to be in the stage band. I play rhythm guitar and I’m good, but it’s so hard to find a break in this town.” His voice sounded shaky and desperate. “Okay, I admit it. I’ve been playing Blythe, hoping she could get me in. She’s so easy.”
Miranda shook her head. A woman desperate for attention and needing love. And this guy takes advantage for his own gain.
Ralston chewed on the side of her cheek. “But she didn’t come through for you.”
“Huh?”
“Mr. Forest wanted you to continue on as a bodyguard, not as a guitar player.”
He pressed his lips together in frustration. “I mentioned it to him tonight. He didn’t say anything.”
“And so you were angry with Blythe, the woman you’d been stringing along.”
“No. Okay, I decided to step things up with her.”
“And you went to see her tonight after you left the bar?”
His eyes took on a glazed expression. “Tonight? No, I was beat. I went home to get some shuteye. I was going to pick up with her tomorrow.”
O’Toole and Ralston looked at each other.
At last O’Toole rose and folded his arms. He glared down at the suspect with all his cop authority. “Mr. Scott. Blythe Star is dead.”
Scott shook his head as if he were hearing things. “What? That’s a lie.”
“Her body was found in her home a few hours ago. It’s been taken to the morgue.”
There was a long moment of silence. Scott worked his mouth open and shut but no sound came out. At last, he whispered. “No, that can’t be.” He ran both hands over his head. “It can’t be. It just can’t be.”
/> Miranda thought she saw tears forming in his eyes. This guy was good.
O’Toole strolled around the table and parked his butt next to Scott. “So let’s try this again. When did you get to Blythe Star’s house tonight?”
“I didn’t go there tonight. I’ve never been to her house.”
“But you know where it is.”
“Down the street from Ambrosia’s I passed it when I picked her up. That doesn’t mean anything.”
“Come on now, Mr. Scott.” Now it was Ralston’s turn to get to her feet and come around the table to crowd the bodyguard. “You planned Ambrosia Dawn’s murder with Blythe Star, didn’t you? You planted evidence to incriminate your former girlfriend, Suzie Chan.”
Scott stared at Ralston. Then at O’Toole. Then at Ralston again. “You two are crazy. I was in Kingman, Arizona when Ambrosia was killed. I was with my old girlfriend, Jessica Martin. You can call her. I’ll give you her number.” He reached into his pocket, but they must have already taken his cell. “Get my phone. The number’s in there.”
“We’ll do that,” O’Toole said, getting to his feet. “In the meantime, Mr. Scott, you’re under arrest.”
Miranda turned to Parker. “The DA’s going to throw that out. There’s isn’t enough evidence yet.”
“If Scott is guilty, those footprints at the scene should match his.”
She hoped so. But it could take days for those results. “He’ll lawyer up soon. Before he’s confessed to squat.”
“No doubt.” Parker let out a weary sigh and glanced at his watch. “It’s late, Miranda. Let’s go back to the hotel.”
It had just hit her how tired she was. And how deflated. “Good idea.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Miranda could barely keep her eyes open by the time they got back to the suite. She stumbled into the shower and jolted when she turned and discovered Parker had followed her in there.
As his wet arms went around her in a comforting embrace, she pulled his mouth to hers and drank in the scent and touch of his moist skin as she devoured his lips. She needed this after the night she’d had. She wanted to wash away the image of Blythe Star, of swimming down in that pool, struggling to pull her lifeless body out.
She threw her head back and let Parker take her with all the passion the man could muster. She knew he was taking her out of her troubling thoughts, soothing her the way only he could right now. With his hard muscled body, firm against hers, he engulfed her whole being in pleasure.
Once upon a time, she’d resisted him with all she had. Now she gave into him and his power, gave herself over to it and completely let go.
He had so mesmerized her, she didn’t even notice what time it was when she fell into bed. But she fell asleep instantly.
# # #
An hour later Parker stared through the open curtains at the view below of the city’s gaudy nightlife, a Bacardi on ice going warm on the silver end table beside him.
After twenty years in this business, he knew the mind of a criminal. Once cornered, a killer feels threatened. He gets desperate, takes more risks, makes mistakes. He will do anything to save himself. Murder anyone who gets in his way.
The thought of his wife desperately giving that woman CPR beside the pool tonight played over and over in his mind. If things had gone differently, if she’d come across the killer before he left the scene, that could have been Miranda lying there dead.
In his mind he heard her telling him she could handle herself. He was well aware of that. She had gotten both of them out of several dire situations. Thanks for the most part to her intelligence and strength and skill and indomitable spirit. But in this business there was always an element of luck.
And if Miranda’s luck ever ran out?
Irritation at his own chagrin rippled through him. He had wanted this consulting service. To share the thrill of investigation with her. He had wanted to give her the excitement she craved. To give her an extensive range of experience. Opportunities to grow into the best investigator she could be. But now that they were actually on a job?
All he could think about was the hours he’d spent in that hospital eight months ago, waiting for her to wake up from a coma, fearing he’d never hold her in his arms again, never hear her laughter, never taste her lips, never delight in her bold spirit.
That he’d lost her for good.
He ran a hand over his face, hating the decision he’d made.
He wouldn’t tell her directly. That would only provoke her. Instead, he would explain the idea of consulting was just that. To aid law enforcement, not put themselves in the middle of danger. They’d done enough. The police had a viable suspect in custody. Sid could handle wrapping things up from here.
The idea nagged at him. And he knew it wouldn’t be enough for her.
He’d remind her he was only too familiar with the frustrations of police procedure. If Sean Scott wasn’t the killer or if Sid couldn’t build a strong enough case against him, this investigation could go on for years. It would be a waste of time for them to linger here. Would those facts convince his persistent wife to end this first assignment?
He sighed aloud. Probably not.
Perhaps he could distract her with other cases. Her appearance at the press conference, as much as it had annoyed him, had attracted attention. He had already received three emails inquiring about their consulting service.
That might not work, either.
But somehow he would persuade her they should wrap things up with Sid and go home. Perhaps take a respite before the next case. And when they were home, he’d have a chance to think through whether to continue this enterprise.
Disappointed with himself but as satisfied as he could be with his new plan, Parker swallowed the rest of his drink and went back to bed.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The ground beneath her feet was sandy and almost too hot to tread. But she kept going. Something drove her on, though she couldn’t tell what it was. Gulls cried overhead and the air had a strange, musty smell. The sun beat down on her, stirring the air surrounding her to a bubbling temperature. Sweat ran down her back, her forehead, her arms. Still she kept going.
What was she looking for? If only she knew.
All at once, the sand grew soft, like a beach. She began to sink into it up to her ankles. It became hard to walk. She pulled her feet up, step by step. The effort took her breath.
She looked down.
The earth was mud now, caking along her feet, her shins. The air had turned cold and dank and dark. The sky overhead threatened a storm. The birds flew away.
She pressed on and on until she came to dark pool. She stared down into the murky water. Was what she was looking for there?
She blinked. What was that?
Beneath the water were two bare arms, moving in a swimming motion. And hair. Long blond hair swirling around the arms, shimmering somehow under the mud. The figure turned and a face appeared. A woman’s face. Lovely. Familiar, but she couldn’t say who it was.
The lips began to move as if calling out to her. She heard a faint voice. “I’m innocent. Innocent.”
The voice grew louder, repeating the words again, as if afraid she hadn’t heard. “I’m innocent.” The arms, the face swam up to her. Closer. Closer.
Suddenly the limbs shot out of the water. Two waterlogged hands reached for her, slipped around her neck. She couldn’t breathe.
“I’m innocent. I’m innocent.” But the voice wasn’t the woman’s any longer. It belonged to a man.
She looked up into the crazed blue eyes of Sean Scott.
Miranda shot up with a start, her heart banging in her chest. She gasped for air. She looked down and saw her hands were tight around her pillow in a death grip. She let go of the pillow and sank back onto the bed, relief washing over her.
A dream. A nightmare.
She hadn’t had one of those in a long time. She thought she was done with them.
She ran her hands over her fa
ce and thought about Suzie Chan. Her mind raced with data. She’d thought the woman had killed Ambrosia Dawn. All the evidence they had at first pointed to it. But she’d been wrong. Now she thought Blythe Star had killed her sister with the help of Sean Scott the bodyguard. And Scott had killed Blythe when he thought the police were getting close to the truth.
She stared up at the ceiling. That’s what she’d been missing so far, wasn’t it? In the past she’d always had some kind of premonition, for lack of a better word. An eerie sensation, a gut feeling she couldn’t explain. And dreams.
And now she’d had one of those. What did it mean?
Was the real killer leading them down the wrong path again? But was this…another set up?
She had nothing to base it on, but something deep in her gut said she was onto something.
Realizing it was daylight, she sat up again and yanked the covers back just as Parker came into the room.
Holding a large mug of coffee, he smiled at her tenderly. “You slept past noon.”
“Did I?” she craned her neck to glance at the clock. “Why did you let me?”
He handed her the cup and sat down next to her on the bed. “You were exhausted. We didn’t get to bed until past two.”
She took the cup in both hands and guzzled a sip of the delicious dark liquid, ignoring its temperature. “We’re turning into night owls like the late night gamblers in this town.”
“Perhaps we are.” He chuckled softly. Then she noticed a look in his gray eyes. One she knew only too well.
“What is it?”
He reached for her hand. “I called Sid while you were sleeping. He’s closing the case.”
Her stomach sank. She set the mug down on the silver nightstand. “And leaving things unfinished?”
“They are finished, Miranda. Our job is done here.”
Shock raced through her at his words. And a flash of rage. But she managed to control both. “Parker, we both know there isn’t enough evidence to convict Scott.”
“Sid seems to be taking ownership of the case now. He and Ralston have the manpower to find the remaining evidence they need.”
All Eyes on Me (A Miranda and Parker Mystery Book 1) Page 15
