Keri Locke 02-A Trace of Muder

by Blake Pierce

  She was surprised that Cave didn’t come back at her with another blasé reply. In fact, she noticed that he’d visibly tensed. The plastic smile still covered his face. But for the briefest of seconds she saw something in those blue eyes she couldn’t quite identify.

  He regrouped quickly, regaining his normal expression, and stepped around to her side of the desk.

  “This has been wonderfully fun,” he said, “but unfortunately, I still have a lot of work to do tonight. And unless you’re here for some reason other than to attack my personal character, I’m going to have to end our little get-together.”

  He pushed a buzzer and the woman who had brought Keri in immediately appeared to take her away.

  “This way please, ma’am,” she said politely but firmly. “They can validate you at the front desk.”

  As she walked out the door, Cave called after her with an almost musical lilt in his voice.

  “Don’t be a stranger, Keri.”

  Oh, don’t worry, you smug bastard, I won’t. In fact, I plan to be back here again much sooner than you think.

  Keri smiled to herself as she took the elevator downstairs. Even the prospect of driving across town to get a gown and then interrogate rich women looking down their noses at her didn’t perturb her at that moment.

  It didn’t bother her because she had figured out what she had seen in Cave’s eyes in that moment when she’d commented on the photo with the monsignor.

  It was panic.

  And it gave her the insight she needed.

  Behind it, she knew, was the key to finding her daughter.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Keri stared at herself in the restroom mirror for what felt like the hundredth time. Her stomach was doing somersaults and her mouth was dry.

  Outside the door, she could hear the fundraising gala attendees chatting away. But inside the family restroom near the Peninsula Hotel Verandah Ballroom, Keri Locke tried to convince herself that she could get away with wearing the form-fitting, one-shoulder black evening gown she had on. It was the one fancy dress she still had from her previous life.

  She had taken off the rib-protecting wraps as there was no way she could fit into the dress with them on. Even if she could have, they would have made her look like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man.

  She had tied her hair back in a loose bun that looked dressier than her usual ponytail. She also wore a pair of short black heels, a concession to the event that would still allow her to move around without too much discomfort.

  She stepped back for one last look.

  Come on, Keri. You’re here as a cop investigating a possible crime. You could show up at this thing in a camouflage pantsuit and these people would defer to you. You’re doing this to blend in and keep people at ease. But you are in charge. Act like it.

  With that in mind, she stepped out into the hall and made her way to the ballroom, armed with a list Becky Sampson had given her of Kendra’s best friends among the socialite set. But before she could seek them out, she saw Brody across the room. Ignoring the string quartet in the middle of the room, she made her way past the staff serving small bites and champagne, and through the throng of tuxedos and cocktail dresses to meet him.

  He was wearing the same rumpled, sauce-stained suit from this morning. Part of her admired that but another part thought it might be an impediment to getting these people’s trust. She was pretty sure her instinct was right.

  “I just got a call from that nerd Edgerton,” he said without so much as a hello. “They traced the GPS on Kendra’s car and phone to their last known location before they were both disabled—a bus station parking structure in Palm Springs. There was nothing incriminating in the car. Palm Springs PD is searching the area for any sign of her but hasn’t found anything yet. They’re checking video of the bus station and ticket sales to see if anything pops. But it’s looking like Kendra Burlingame and her ‘only for traveling’ travel bag might have taken an actual trip, just one the doctor didn’t know about.”

  Keri took in what Brody was saying as she looked around the elegant ballroom full of pretty people. It was hard to argue with his logic. But something about it didn’t feel right.

  Kendra Burlingame struck Keri as the kind of person who was fully committed to this organization. If she wanted to bail on her life, why not wait a day or two, until after she was sure the fundraiser had achieved its purpose? Why abandon her project before it was complete? It wasn’t inconceivable but it didn’t sit right.

  “You may be right, Brody. But we’re here, so we may as well play this out. Let’s talk to folks to see why she might have wanted to cut and run or if they even think that’s in her character.”

  Brody nodded his acquiescence.

  “You want to take the chicks and I’ll talk to the penguins?” he asked.

  Keri nodded, not wanting to get into a dispute about gender stereotyping at the moment. Besides, everyone on Becky’s list was a woman anyway.

  She found the event manager, a mousy, frazzled woman wearing glasses that kept sliding down her nose, who matched names on paper to faces in the room for her. Then Keri began the hard work of interrogating a bunch of rich women about their missing friend while at that missing friend’s charity event.

  After about a half hour, it became clear that none of these women had any real insight into Kendra’s personal life. All they could offer were pleasant platitudes and stock words of concern.

  Right when she was about to give up, the event manager walked over and pointed out a woman in a tight, strapless red dress who had just walked in.

  “That woman wasn’t on your list but I know she and Mrs. Burlingame were close. In fact, she was here last week with her, helping coordinate details for the event.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Margaret Merrywether—although she may tell you something different.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ll find out. I’m sure she’s a great friend, but to a girl like me, she’s your basic nightmare.”

  “Thank you,” Keri said and headed in Margaret’s direction. As she approached her, she couldn’t help but wonder why Becky had left her off the list. In fact, she realized that Becky wasn’t even here yet. Maybe she was dealing with a cocaine-related delay.

  The closer she got to Margaret Merrywether, the more she realized she was about to be dealing with a piece of work. The woman was tall, easily six feet, with porcelain white skin and flaming red hair that matched her dress.

  Unlike the sophisticated but subdued evening gowns the other women wore, hers revealed her creamy white shoulders and a provocative, plunging neckline. Her black stiletto heels were easily six inches high. She looked like an elegant Amazon.

  Keri looked up to discover that the woman’s sharp green eyes were focused on her, a hint of a smile playing at her ruby red lips. She had caught Keri taking her in and they both knew it.

  No point in playing coy at this point.

  “Detective Keri Locke,” she said, extending her hand. “I’m with LAPD’s Missing Persons Unit.”

  “Well, it’s about time,” Margaret Merrywether said in a languid southern accent as she extended a long slender arm and shook Keri’s hand delicately. “I’ve been expecting someone to reach out to me ever since I heard about Kenny. What took you so long?”

  “We only just learned about your connection to Mrs. Burlingame, ma’am. Maybe you can fill me in a little more on your relationship to…Kenny, as you call her. Did she go by that nickname with everyone?”

  “First of all, no, she did not. I’m the only one cheeky enough to get away with it. Second of all, Ms. Locke, please do not call me ma’am. Only my children do that and it’s usually when they’re in trouble. If you want to make me uncomfortable, you can call me Ms. Merrywether. If you want to make me sound like a cliché on a hot tin roof you can call me Maggie, like my ex-husband does. But if you want to call me what Kenny calls me, it’s just Mags.”

  Keri, for the
first time in a long time, wasn’t sure how to react. She made it her business to predict human behavior for a living. She was a detective now and before that she’d been a professor of criminology. Rarely did someone truly surprise her. But this woman was like a twenty-first-century Scarlett O’Hara mixed with Jessica Rabbit. Keri decided to just keep it simple.

  “Okay then. So how do you know Mrs. Burlingame, Ms. Merrywether?”

  “Oh dear, so formal, so professional. I suppose I should be happy that the person looking into Kenny’s disappearance is so unwavering. I’d imagine your cohort over there would be…less immune to my charms.”

  She nodded across the room to Brody, who was scarfing down stuffed mushrooms while leering unapologetically at two well-dressed women trying to pretend they didn’t notice him.

  “I wouldn’t consider that a major achievement, Ms. Merrywether. Detective Brody could just as easily be charmed by a poster of Rosie the Riveter. I think he was a teenager around the time she was big.”

  “You are undermining my delicate sense of self-esteem, Detective Locke,” Ms. Merrywether said, her voice full of faux offense.

  “I find that very hard to believe. Now, as entertaining as you are, I really need some straight answers. If Kendr…er, Kenny, really is as close a friend as you say, then I’d expect you to be desperate to tell me everything you could.”

  “You’re right, of course. I was just testing you a bit, Detective, to see if you were worthy of my time or if I should take what I know to someone in a position of greater authority.”

  “And did I pass your test?”

  “You did indeed. Perhaps we can make our way somewhere a little more private where there are fewer prying eyes and eager ears.”

  “Lead the way,” Keri said. As she followed Merrywether out of the ballroom, she saw Jeremy Burlingame entering from a different entrance. He looked to be headed toward the dais.

  In his hands was a series of note cards, which he was fumbling with. Inevitably they spilled to the floor. He clumsily bent to pick them up, then awkwardly thanked the multiple people who rushed over to help him.

  Margaret Merrywether was almost out of the room when Burlingame stepped up to the podium.

  “Hold on a sec. I want to hear this,” Keri said.

  “So do I, actually,” Ms. Merrywether agreed.

  The music stopped and the room quieted as Burlingame cleared his throat loudly into the microphone.

  “Um…sorry, er, give me a moment here,” he said as he adjusted the height of the microphone stand, which had clearly been set up for Kendra. “I’m not great at this sort of thing. I know you’re used to having my wife, Kendra, speak at these events. But as many of you have heard, she’s missing.”

  There was an audible gasp in the room. Apparently at least some of the guests had been unaware. Burlingame continued.

  “The police are searching diligently for her. And I’m very hopeful that she’ll be found and returned safely to me. I would ask that if any of you know anything you think might be helpful, please inform the authorities immediately.

  “As for me, I’m trying to keep from going stir crazy by staying busy. After I spoke to the detectives investigating Kendra’s case, I returned to work and performed surgery this afternoon on an infant born with a facial abnormality.

  “Part of me felt guilty—as if there was something else I could or should be doing to help with the search. But then I realized I was doing what Kendra would want. I’m not a detective. I’d probably just be in the way. And it wouldn’t have helped that little boy for me to cancel his procedure. And then it hit me—I couldn’t cancel this event either. It wouldn’t help find Kendra any faster if I did. And kids like the one I helped today would have hundreds of thousands fewer dollars available to help defray the costs of these surgeries.

  “Kendra and I—and let’s be honest, it was mostly Kendra—created All Smiles to help disadvantaged children and others in need of reconstructive plastic surgery. And this event advances that goal. So I had to proceed, as awkward as it feels. Besides, when Kendra returns, she’d kill me if she learned I’d cancelled.”

  People in the ballroom laughed, then stopped suddenly, unsure if it was appropriate. Burlingame smiled weakly before continuing.

  “So as much as I dislike public speaking and as uncomfortable as it is for me to be up here under these circumstances, I’m asking you to contribute generously tonight. It’s what these children need. It’s what Kendra would want. And when we find her—if she sees that you cheaped out—she’s going to hunt you down. Thank you.”

  He stepped off the dais and was immediately surrounded by a swarm of well-wishers. The man looked completely overwhelmed. Keri had been hoping to talk to him again but that would have to wait.

  She turned around to look for Margaret Merrywether, who had already left the ballroom and was walking down the hall in the direction of the hotel’s Club Bar. She looked back over her shoulder and called out to Keri.

  “Come on, Detective Locke,” she purred. “Don’t you want to know what’s really going on?”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Keri’s feet were killing her. Her ribs were screaming. And her shoulder throbbed dully. But she pretended all was well as the two women stood in the least crowded corner of the bar.

  A waiter had offered them a tiny table but they declined, silently agreeing with a shared look that there was no way either of them could squeeze into such a tight space in their dresses.

  Their drinks came quickly. Margaret ordered a scotch and soda. Keri, who thought that sounded desperately appealing, ordered a club soda and cranberry juice. She expected a look of disdain from the aristocrat next to her but none was forthcoming. Instead, she leaned over and whispered in Keri’s ear.

  “I have a secret to tell you, but I will only share it if you agree to call me Mags.”

  Keri was having trouble keeping up the professional façade in the midst of Merrywether’s easy charm, the constant discomfort she was feeling, and the overpowering noise of the bar.

  Life’s too short to fight this battle.

  “Okay, Mags, you win. What’s your secret?”

  “My feet are in agony and I’m taking off these heels, regardless of the consequences.”

  “I’ll keep that secret if you’ll keep mine.”

  “What’s that, Detective?”

  “Mine are off already. I dumped them the second you said ‘feet.’”

  “All right then,” Mags said, as she bent down to pull hers off. “I’m actually surprised you kept yours on as long as you did. You don’t strike me as the type to stand on ceremony.”

  “I’m not, Mags. And that’s why I’m going to have to dispense with all the ladylike pleasantries and cut to the chase. What do you know? You didn’t seem all that impressed with Jeremy Burlingame’s speech up there.”

  “Oh, don’t read too much into that, Detective. I’m not suspicious of Jeremy. I’m just bored with him. He may be a brilliant surgeon and a devoted husband, but I find him to be as interesting as human wallpaper.”

  “What kept Kendra so interested in him?”

  “Who’s to say she was?”

  “What are you suggesting? That she—”

  “Now don’t get your undies in a bundle. I’m not casting aspersions. I just meant, well, why do you think she’s thrown herself so relentlessly into this foundation? Surely a large part of it is because she believes strongly in the cause. But remember, she also used to be a high-powered Hollywood publicist. Do you think that drive and passion just disappeared once she got married? I can assure you it did not.”

  “If she got bored enough, do you think she might have run off? Just left town without telling anyone?”

  “Is that what you think happened? Is that what Jeremy thinks?” Mags asked. She sounded appalled by the idea.

  “No. He’s convinced she was abducted. And my inclination is to suspect that as well. But we’ve got conflicting evidence and a lot of it points to her ju
st taking off.”

  “Look, Detective,” Mags said, her voice as serious as Keri had heard it all night. “No one can be certain what’s in another person’s heart. We all keep a part of ourselves forever locked up to the world. But I’ve known Kendra Burlingame for over a decade, back when she was Kendra Ann Maroney, just off the turnip truck from Phoenix, Arizona. And nothing about the woman I know, about my dear friend, ever indicated that she was the type of person to just cut and run. It’s not in her character. Kenny’s a fighter, not a quitter. And I’m hoping that you’ll fight for her too. I may put on a good show. But I’m very worried about her.”

  Keri took the comment in, surprised and heartened by Mags’s ferocity. It gave her confidence that her own instincts weren’t completely off the mark.

  “Fair enough,” she replied. “But you said earlier you could tell me what’s really going on. So spill it, Mags. I know this must all seem very dramatic to you. But we’re in a time crunch here. If Kenny really was taken as long ago as yesterday morning, we’re at around the thirty-six-hour mark. Whoever did this had a big head start and the trail is getting colder every second. We need to follow up every possible lead as quickly as possible. So tell me what you’ve been holding back since we met.”

  Mags looked at her for a few seconds, clearly in the midst of some internal struggle. Keri could tell she’d made her decision when she took a big swig of her drink and swallowed hard.

  “I’m telling you this in case it’s important. But if you determine that it’s not, I’d ask you to please keep it confidential. If it got out, it could do Kenny great harm. I only say it now because her safety is more important than her status. Do I have your word?”

  “I promise that if what you tell me isn’t relevant to the case, it won’t go beyond me.”

  “That’s good enough for me. When Kenny first moved to LA fifteen years ago, before she got into publicity, she wanted to be an actress. She took some head shots and the photographer offered her some extra money to take a few… more risqué photos. She was really struggling to make the rent so she did it.”