[Cutthroat Business 01.0 - 03.0] Boxed Set

by Jenna Bennett

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “No problem. I’ve looked at the video from the camera behind the air vent, and that bears out your story, as well. Both you and Mr. Collier performed well, I might add. I’m not surprised that Mr. Fortunato believed him.”

  “For a minute or two, I believed him myself,” I admitted.

  Detective Grimaldi allowed herself a faint smile. “I’d still like to talk to him about this, but I don’t suppose there’s any chance you’ll tell me where to find him?”

  “I already gave you his phone number, and you know where he lives.”

  “I called the number and asked for Mr. Collier, and I was told there was nobody there by that name. When I tried again, there was no answer. What’s so funny?”

  “Wendell always says there’s nobody there by that name,” I explained, not bothering to try to hide my smile. “And he always answers the phone differently. I don’t know what kind of place it is, but so far he’s called it a car lot, a pawn shop, a storage place, and a grocery store. You’re the police, can’t you trace the number?”

  “Prepaid cell phone,” Grimaldi said, “so no. I sent Spicer and Truman over to Potsdam Street to look for Mr. Collier, but he wasn’t there, and the nurse said she hadn’t seen him for days.”

  “Sorry. If the number doesn’t work, and he’s not in the house on Potsdam, I don’t know where to tell you to look. All I can do is wait for him to get in touch with me.”

  “Figures,” Detective Grimaldi growled. “Well, when he does, tell him I want to talk to him, will you?”

  I promised I would, for all the good I thought it would do. “So can you prove that Perry killed Lila? And his wife?”

  She nodded. “Oh, yes. No doubt about it. One of Lila’s hairs was on the ski mask. If he’d survived his encounter with you and Mr. Collier, we would have charged him with murder.”

  “What about Connie?” I asked, feeling nauseous. “Surely he didn’t tape himself strangling her, too?”

  Detective Grimaldi shook her head. “There were tapes of Connie Fortunato having sex with a very good-looking young man, however. In her own bed. Dated just a week or so before her murder.”

  “Early twenties, with brown hair and dark blue eyes and a very nice body? Wearing underwear that said ‘Property of Australia’? Sounds like Beau Riggins, the house boy. He told me he’d had sex with Connie after he overheard her and Perry arguing about the O’Keeffe. Perry wanted Connie to sell it, but she refused.”

  “I see,” Tamara Grimaldi said. “I haven’t spoken to Mr. Riggins, but it sounds like I should.”

  I smiled. “You’ll enjoy Beau. He’s so over the top I’m not sure whether he’s for real or just playing a part, but he’s a lot of fun. He’s the one who told me about Perry’s secret closet.”

  “That’s what you said. I have a line on the O’Keeffe, by the way. In Perry’s cell phone records, we found the number of a shady art dealer in Atlanta, who might know something about it. The police down there are looking into it for us.”

  “Sounds like you’re covering all the bases.”

  The detective shrugged modestly. “I wish I knew a little more about his motivations, but with him being dead, I don’t know that we’ll ever know exactly why he did what he did.”

  “I can venture a guess,” I said, “if you don’t mind listening to wild speculation.”

  “Sure.” She gave me the floor with a gesture of her hand, and devoted herself to eating her chicken and dumplings instead.

  “He told us – me and Rafe – that Lila was always coming on to men and then saying no. But after the open house robbery, Lila was telling everyone who’d listen about this guy who’d tied her to the chair and what she’d said to him. Connie probably told Perry, and he decided to pay Lila a visit. I don’t know if he really thought he could fool her into believing he was… I mean, I don’t know how he thought he could avoid having her recognize him, but he must have dressed up in the ski mask and coveralls I found in the closet, and tried to fool her for long enough to get her to open the door for him. But when she recognized him, and probably threatened to tell his wife, he killed her.”

  Detective Grimaldi nodded. “I’m with you so far. Go on.”

  “I think Connie was considering divorcing him. Beau said she threatened to. I don’t know if she knew about Lila or whether she was just tired of him spending all her money, but if she did file for divorce, he’d lose everything. All the money was hers, from her father. So maybe he figured he’d take advantage of the open house robberies to stage a botched robbery at his own house, with the O’Keeffe as the target, and that way he’d get rid of his wife as well as make twice the money off the painting. Once by selling it, and once by getting the insurance money for it.”

  “That makes sense,” Detective Grimaldi said.

  “He probably figured that the police were working on a connection between the robberies and Lila’s murder – as in, someone involved in the robberies killed Lila – and this would reinforce that idea. Excuse me.” My cell phone rang and I reached for it. The number was unfamiliar, but I decided to answer it anyway, just in case it was a potential client. “This is Savannah.”

  “Hi, darlin’,” a voice said.

  “Oh, God!” I blurted, followed by a guilty glance at the detective. “Sorry. Hi, Mom. How are you?”

  The other end of the line was silent for a moment. “Let me guess. You’re talking to Tammy?”

  “That’s right,” I said brightly. “Now’s not really a good time. Can I call you back?”

  “I’d rather you didn’t. How about dinner tonight?”

  “I have to go to the planning meeting for the Eye Ball,” I said. “They’ve lost two, maybe three of their volunteers…” if Heather Price wasn’t coming back, “…and I can’t duck out as well.”

  “When is it over?”

  “Um… eight?”

  “I’ll meet you at Fidelio’s at 8:30. That’ll give you time to slip into something comfortable.”

  He hung up before I could respond. Detective Grimaldi was watching me narrowly and I dredged up a weak smile. “My mother can be a little overprotective. I guess word got out that I was almost killed again. Or maybe she heard that I was practically naked in someone else’s house. And on video. That’d do it, too.”

  “I see,” Tamara Grimaldi said.

  I tucked the phone away. “About those tapes…”

  “They’re evidence. But since the murderer and rapist is dead, and the case won’t ever go to trial, nobody needs to see them.”

  “Can you keep all the male cops from having a look? If word gets around that there are sex tapes in the evidence room…”

  I wasn’t sure I could face Spicer and Truman again, if I thought they’d watched that tape.

  “I’ll make sure of it,” Detective Grimaldi promised.

  “What happened to Heather Price and Julio Melendez? Have you arrested them both? Are you charging them with anything?”

  “We’re holding Melendez on trafficking in stolen goods and masterminding the robberies. As for Ms. Price, there isn’t a whole lot I can do. She swears he used her information without her knowledge, and he’s not saying differently. So I can’t charge her with anything.”

  “But you think she was in on it?”

  Detective Grimaldi hesitated. “If she didn’t take part in the actual planning, I think she knew what he was doing. If not beforehand, then after the first, and certainly after the second, robbery. But I think Lila’s murder scared her sufficiently that she’ll never admit it. And without a confession, I can’t convict. There’s no other solid evidence implicating her.”

  “So you’ve let her go?”

  Tamara Grimaldi shrugged. “You win some, you lose some,” she said philosophically.

  I nodded. You sure do.

  * * *

  Naturally, Timothy Briggs wasn’t thrilled about what had happened. Three weeks ago, I had single-handedly put Walker Lamont in jail, and now I ha
d killed one of Tim’s clients. Or if I couldn’t claim that honor myself, it was my fault that he was dead. At least it seemed so to Tim. Although it wasn’t actually the arrest and the death that bothered him as much as the fact that the Fortunatos’ house had to be taken off the market pending probate, and Tim would miss out on the commission.

  “Couldn’t you just have left well enough alone, Savannah?” he grumbled. “I mean, did you have to get mixed up in another crime spree? This isn’t going to reflect well on Lamont, Briggs and Associates, you know!”

  “I suppose you wanted me to just ignore the fact that he’d murdered two women? Or was this a situation where I should have taken one for the team and, as Perry put it, laid back and enjoyed it?”

  Tim didn’t answer. Not surprisingly, as there wasn’t really a good answer to my question. I added, “You know, I wasn’t actually the one who killed him. Rafe did.”

  Tim’s eyes lit up at the mention of Rafe, and suddenly he seemed to take Perry’s death in stride, just the way I had hoped he would. It was probably mean of me to capitalize on Tim’s fascination with Rafe, but it sure came in handy sometimes. “And how is the scrumptious Mr. Collier today?” he wondered archly.

  “I’m sure he’s fine,” I said, “although I won’t actually see him until tonight.”

  “Ooooh!” Tim tittered. “Fidelio’s again? Or somewhere less… restrained?”

  I made a face. “Fidelio’s, unfortunately. I’ll have to let him know that I really don’t like it there, and maybe he won’t suggest it again.”

  “But that’s where you’ll be tonight? You won’t mind if I just stop by to say hello, will you, darling? I promise I won’t be a pest.”

  “Knock yourself out,” I said. “It’s a free country.”

  And then I added, prudently, “But don’t expect us to ask you to join us. No offense.”

  “None taken.” Tim rubbed his well-manicured hands together gleefully. “Oh, goody-goody! I can’t wait. When will you be there?”

  “I’ll be there at 8:30. He may be there earlier, or later, or not at all, if Detective Grimaldi finds him and arrests him before tonight.”

  I got up from the chair I’d been sitting in, across the desk from Tim, and headed for the door. “I guess I’ll see you there.”

  “Count on it,” Tim said, with a display of blindingly white teeth.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I started agonizing over what to wear a little after 4 o’clock, with two hours to go before I had to leave. Whatever I wore had to be subdued enough for a business meeting, which was what the gala planning meeting was. On the other hand, I wanted to look good for my date with Rafe. (And yes, it was a date. I’d spent enough time trying to rationalize and explain away the obvious.) He’d asked me out, so he deserved a modicum of effort on my part – I did my best to look pretty when Todd asked me out, after all – and after what he did for me last night, Rafe deserved a whole lot more than that. If he hadn’t killed Perry, I would be lying on a steel table in the medical examiner’s office right now.

  All right, so let me modify the statement I made earlier. I didn’t want to look merely good; I wanted to look amazing. Stunning. Gorgeous. Or at least good enough to wipe out the image he must be carrying in his head of my far from perfect body clad in nothing but a bra and matching pink panties.

  His last statement to me on the phone earlier was also playing havoc with my head. I hadn’t had time to worry about it at the time, while I was trying to make sure that Tamara Grimaldi didn’t realize who was calling, but now I allowed my insecurities full reign. What exactly had he meant by ‘something comfortable’…?

  In fiction, the phrase usually has a very specific meaning. The sultry heroine disappears into the bedroom to ‘slip into something more comfortable,’ leaving the hero to cool his heels on the living room sofa, and when she comes back, she’s wearing a negligee. But surely Rafe didn’t expect me to show up at Fidelio’s dressed in my bathrobe…?

  Well, if he did, he could just forget it. There are limits. However, I owed him something more than just my usual business attire. He’d always made a big deal out of the slinky cocktail-dresses I wore to have dinner with Todd – mainly because I didn’t wear them when I went anywhere with him – so maybe I should wear one of those. They didn’t fit the description of comfortable, though. And what if by ‘comfortable’, he’d really meant ‘easy to get off’…?

  That thought threw my emotions onto a whole new plane, one where I was walking a tightrope between abject terror and breathless, if unwilling, anticipation. Either seemed treacherous; it was a long fall regardless, and no soft landing to be expected on either side.

  But he probably hadn’t meant ‘easy to get off’. And if he had, he wasn’t going to get it. Again, there are limits. Although I supposed it couldn’t hurt to compromise just a little, in case it was what he had meant...

  I owned this little, black wrap-around dress, which I didn’t wear very often because… well, frankly, because it was so easy to get off. All someone had to do was untie the bow, and he could spread the dress out like a picnic. Which made me worry that I’d accidentally snag my string on something, like a door knob, and before I knew it, I’d be standing there showing the world my underwear. Not an experience I sought. But tonight might be the perfect occasion for just such a dress.

  Not that I wanted Rafe to take it off me, of course; I didn’t mean that. But if that was what he’d planned, I couldn’t very well refuse. Not after telling him just yesterday that if he got me out of Perry’s clutches unharmed, I’d let him take advantage of me, no holds barred. He’d kept his end of the bargain, and I couldn’t really back out now.

  So I put on the black wrap-around dress, and black stockings, and black shoes – yes, the ones with the ankle straps – and black underwear (just in case), and then I fussed with my hair until it fell over my shoulders in – if I do say so myself – fetching disarray. I spent a good twenty minutes slathering on eye make-up, to make my eyes appear bigger and brighter and more luminous, and then I painted my lips the perfect heathery mauvy color, to look soft and inviting and kissable. Not because I wanted him to kiss me, of course, but… oh, what the hell; yes I did. I’d totally missed the first kiss he gave me, because I’d passed out from sheer terror, but I wouldn’t miss this one. If he gave me one. Which he’d damned well better, because if he didn’t, I’d have something to say about it.

  When I walked into the small salon at Cheekwood at a few minutes before 6:30, people turned and stared, and a few of the men even whistled. Which was exactly the effect I was going for, so I blushed and smiled and felt pretty good about myself.

  The meeting got underway shortly, minus Lila – of course – and Connie, and even Heather Price. Detective Grimaldi had assured me she wasn’t in jail, so I guess maybe the embarrassment of the situation had made her decide to make herself scarce. Laura Burgess, the event coordinator, held another one-minute silence for Connie, like she had done for Lila last week, but beyond that, she didn’t discuss the matter. Nobody seemed to realize that I’d been in the middle of it all, and I saw no reason to enlighten them.

  An hour and half later it was over, and I got in the car and headed for Fidelio’s, making sure to check my make-up in the rearview mirror before I got out of the car, and to fluff my hair and ensure that my dress draped properly as I minced across the parking lot to the front door.

  The maitre d’ recognized me, of course, and sent me what I can only describe as a disappointed look along with his usual polite bow. “Good evening, signorina.”

  “Good evening,” I answered, inclining my head and wondering what I’d done now.

  “Signorina’s young man is waiting.” He was far too dignified to comment directly on my choice of dinner partner, but he managed to convey his opinion quite well nonetheless, with the flaring of his nostrils and the inflection in his voice. “Would signorina like me to escort her to the table?”

  “No, thank you,” I said, �
�Signorina can make it on her own.”

  “Very well.” He looked at me down the length of his Roman nose. “The… gentleman is waiting at table 4.” The slight pause before the word ‘gentleman’ indicated the opposite. “Table 4 is located behind the pygmy date palm.” He indicated a small, green tree with fluffy leaves, beyond which I could see Rafe’s unmistakable shoulders.

  “Oh,” I said, relieved. “Thank you.”

  He inclined his dignified head, but didn’t tell me to enjoy my meal. I guess maybe he thought there was no way I would.

  The men at Fidelio’s were just as gratifyingly attentive as those at Cheekwood had been. I got more than a few looks as I walked through the restaurant to the table behind the pygmy date palm, and I admit I soaked it all up. There’s nothing quite like admiration from the opposite sex to make a woman feel her best. And I needed all the encouragement I could get. My knees were shaking as I made my way across the room.

  Last time we’d been here together, I’d arrived to find Rafe flirting with all three of the women at a neighboring table. Not so today; he was alone, and his attention was on me. Fully. The whole way across the floor. By the time I arrived at the table, I had a hard time looking up to meet his eyes.

  “Evening, darlin’.” He gave me a cool peck on the cheek, and held the chair for me before he walked back around the table and sat down himself. And grinned. “That dress ain’t much like what you wore last time we were here. I’m surprised Satterfield let you out the door in it.”

  Last time, I had followed Todd’s directive not to wear anything suggestive and/or revealing in front of Rafe. I had dressed in my most prim and proper business-blouse and calf-length, black skirt, with my hair slicked back in a tight chignon and practically no make-up. The very opposite of today, in fact.

  “You told me to wear something comfortable,” I said defensively.

  He was much too quick on the uptake, and the way he could read my mind was downright disconcerting. “And you figured I wanted you to wear something it’d be easy for me to take off of you later?”