by Irene Hannon
As Lisa gaped at the news headline her Google search had pulled up, a boom of thunder rattled the window in her office. Tally whimpered and crept closer, cowering at her feet while the rain lashed against the glass.
She gave him a distracted pat. “It’s okay, boy. You’re safe.”
Too bad the same couldn’t be said about Joe.
She clicked on the headline and read the short article. The coroner still had to weigh in, but evidence at the scene suggested he’d died of anaphylactic shock.
Another accident.
Another one of the trio from the night of Alena’s disappearance dead.
Another voice silenced.
She leaned back in her chair.
What a dramatic start for a Monday—and all she’d been trying to do was supplement her meager background file on the man in advance of a trip down to visit him.
So much for that plan.
Wait until Mac heard about this.
She grabbed her phone and punched in his cell number.
Three rings in, he picked up. “McGregor.”
She frowned at his groggy, slurred greeting. “Mac? It’s Lisa. Are you all right?”
A soft grunt came over the line. “I’ve been better. Give me a minute.”
In the background, a squeak sounded.
Silence.
A few seconds later, she picked up the muffled sound of running water.
More silence.
Then he was back. “Sorry. I worked a double homicide over the weekend. I think I’ve logged a total of six hours of shut-eye since Friday night. The sun was coming up this morning when I finally crashed.”
She cringed. “And I interrupted your sleep. Sorry about that.”
“It’s okay. I have stuff to do, anyway. Consider yourself my wake-up call. What’s up?”
“Get ready for this—Joe Andrews is dead.”
Silence.
“Say that again.”
“You heard me right. Joe Andrews is dead.”
“What happened?” He sounded wide awake now.
She filled him in on the little she knew. “According to the article, he was discovered by the pastor of his church, who stopped by the house when Joe didn’t show up at services for his assigned Sunday as a greeter.”
“Have you talked to the local police?”
“Not yet. They’re next on my list.”
He expelled a breath. “If this wasn’t an accident—and given the timing, I’m having a hard time believing it was—I suspect we’ll be looking at a scenario similar to Erika’s.”
“Unfortunately, I agree.” Even though Mac and his ex-SEAL buddy had gone over that scene inch by inch, they’d come up with zilch. No trace evidence other than fingerprints, which all belonged to Erika, her husband, or their cleaning woman, who’d provided elimination prints. “Jessica Lee is starting to get very scary.”
“No kidding.”
“Once I finish talking to the police in Kentucky, I think I’ll pay her a visit—armed with several much more pointed questions than I had last round.”
“Want me to meet you there?”
Her spirits took an uptick. “Are you certain you’re up for that?”
“I will be once I swing through a Starbucks drive-through and guzzle down a triple espresso.”
“If you’re sure, that would be great.”
“I’ll also give the ME a call and see if he’s got a BAC on Erika yet . . . or any other useful information.”
“Why don’t we meet in the lobby of Jessica’s building at eleven?”
“You in uniform?”
“Uh-huh.”
“That should liven things up. See you there.”
Florence appeared in the doorway as another crash of thunder shook the windows and Tally let out a pitiful whine.
“You want to let Tally hang out by your desk till the storm passes?” Lisa patted the pooch. “He’s freaking.”
The older woman dropped some files in her in-box. “He’s such a wimp.”
“You might be too if you’d been mistreated.” Lisa ran her hand over his side, feeling for the raised scars she’d discovered under his fur not long after she’d found him curled into a quivering ball under her car one stormy evening.
“True enough.” The older woman’s voice softened. “Come on, Tally. You and me will sit out the storm away from the windows. I might even find a dog biscuit or two for you.”
Lisa stifled her grin. From the quick glimpse she’d gotten a week ago while Florence was rummaging around for a couple of binder clips in her desk, a whole new box of those high-end treats Mac had brought was stashed in her bottom drawer.
“Go on, Tally. Florence will take good care of you.” She gave the dog a gentle nudge.
As another boom of thunder shook the building, he took off for the door, careened around the corner, and disappeared in the direction of their office manager’s desk.
Florence winced as the rumble continued to reverberate. “I can’t say I’m partial to all that noise, either.”
“Sad to say, I’m about to plunge into it—as soon as I talk to the Ballard County, Kentucky, Sheriff’s Office. Could you get them on the phone while I grab a bottle of water from the break room?”
“Sure thing. And be careful out there. The roads will be slippery.”
“I will.”
But as she hustled down the hall for her water, it wasn’t the storm that concerned her. Weather, she could deal with.
Clever criminals—that was more dicey.
If Jessica Lee had masterminded the cover-up of Alena Komisky’s death twenty-four years ago, she’d done a superb job. Had the forensic anthropologist not unearthed that small, stray garnet, the bones might never have been identified.
She grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and twisted off the top while she retraced her steps to her office. Back then, Jessica had been young and no doubt operating on the fly. Yet she’d pulled off the deception masterfully.
Now, with years of maturity on her side, plus time to develop a detailed plan, she would be a formidable adversary. Pinning Erika’s and Joe’s demises on her was going to pose a serious challenge.
But no one was going to get away with murder on Lisa Grant’s watch.
The light was blinking on her phone as she circled her desk, meaning Florence had the sheriff’s office on hold. Taking a long swig of water, she sat and picked up the receiver. Hopefully, the local cops had done a thorough search of Joe’s house.
Nevertheless, she intended to convince them to take a second look after she passed on one piece of critical information.
A possible motive for murder.
From his spot in the lobby of the Peterson-Bradshaw office building, Mac watched Lisa push through the revolving door, pummeled by a gust of wind and rain.
Eleven o’clock on the dot. The lady was a pro through and through. Conscientious, thorough, dedicated—and punctual, as always.
He rose as she approached, a stream of water trailing behind her.
“Have you been waiting long?” She held her umbrella at arm’s length while it continued to drip.
“Long enough to get a chaser for my Starbucks espresso.” He held up his twelve-ounce cup of brew. “Want to sit for a minute before we go up? I have some news.”
“I was going to suggest the same thing. I have news too.”
He motioned toward the table he’d claimed and followed her over. “Would you like a drink? They have herbal tea—iced and hot. That’s safe for you, isn’t it?”
She flashed him a smile and slid into a chair. “It is, but I’m fine. Thanks for offering, though. What do you have?”
“I heard from the ME. Erika’s BAC was .41.”
Her eyes widened. “Wow. Five times the legal limit.”
“Right. So alcohol poisoning is the obvious cause of death, which the ME estimates occurred on Tuesday night. And since Mitch and I didn’t find anything to suggest foul play, it’s going to be ruled accidental.�
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“Bad news.”
“On the flip side, the DNA from Alena’s mother matched the DNA analysis you got from Texas for the bones.”
“That’s what I expected, but I’m glad we have official confirmation. I can use that piece of info when we talk to Jessica.”
“What’s your news?”
“I talked to the sheriff in Kentucky.” She filled him in on the findings—and the man’s original freak accident theory. “The scene is still locked up, so based on our conversation, he had his people do another pass. Take a look at this.” She pulled a glossy printout of a photograph from her portfolio and handed it to him. “They found it on the kitchen floor on their second time through, not far from the damaged epinephrine injector.”
He studied the image. It appeared to be some sort of graphic design . . . parts of two letters of the alphabet, perhaps? The blue squiggles were laid over a sheaf of blue-green leaves on a gray background.
The significance eluded him.
“I give up. What is it?”
“Part of a logo. I wouldn’t have made the connection, either, if a thankful Carson resident hadn’t sent me a gift box from this place last Christmas. As it was, even though the design seemed vaguely familiar, it took me several minutes to place it.”
She reached back in her portfolio and handed him another printout that displayed a full logo.
Gourmet to Go.
The partial o from “to” and the first half of the G from “Go” were a perfect match for the fragment of a label the sheriff’s office had found in Joe’s kitchen. As was the sheaf of leaves.
“Tell me why this is important.”
She leaned closer, excitement sparking in her eyes. “Because Gourmet to Go is a high-end St. Louis shop with only two locations, both here in town—one of which is very close to Jessica Lee’s condo.”
A spurt of adrenaline pinged in his nerve endings.
“Was there a fingerprint on it?”
“That would be nice—but no. It’s clean. Jessica fits the client profile, though . . . personally and professionally. In addition to individual customers, the shop does takeout trays for in-office client entertaining and meetings.”
“Cathy might be able to confirm if Peterson-Bradshaw orders from the place.”
“Since you have an in with her, maybe you can find an opportunity to ask about that while we’re here.”
“Consider it done.” Tipping his cup back, he finished his coffee. “Ready?”
“More than. I want this baby solved.” She stood and marched toward the elevators, shoulders back, chin set, her body language spelling determination in capital letters.
He tossed his empty cup in the trash and fell in behind her.
Jessica Lee might be smart. She might be single-minded. She might be tough.
But she’d met her match in Chief Lisa Grant.
And if it came to a contest of wills, his money was on Lisa.
A movement at the conference room door caught her eye, and Jessica glanced over as Robert answered a question from a member of the Gram’s Table marketing team.
Cathy motioned to her.
With a murmured “Excuse me for just a minute,” she pushed back from the table and moved to the door, closing it behind her as she joined Cathy in the hall.
“This better be important.”
The secretary swallowed. “The police chief and detective are back.”
Jessica didn’t attempt to hide her irritation. This was beginning to border on harassment—and she might very well tell them that. “I’m in the middle of a meeting. They’ll have to wait.”
As she turned back toward the conference room, the door opened.
“We decided to break early for lunch. Everyone’s hungry. Hi, Cathy.” Robert nodded at the woman, then looked back at her. “If you need to attend to some business, feel free. I want to give Frank a tour of the offices and introduce him to a few more people before we go to lunch. Can you be ready in fifteen minutes?”
She hesitated. Could she ditch the cops that fast?
Yes. She’d tell them upfront she was in the middle of a meeting and hurry things along.
“No problem.”
“Great. See you in a few minutes.” Robert returned to the conference room, where Frank Nelson and his team were now milling about.
“Let’s get this over with.” Jessica strode toward her office, leaving Cathy to trail along behind her. “Show them back.”
Once behind her desk, she smoothed a hand over her hair, touched up her lipstick, and adjusted her earrings.
This was going to be short and not-so-sweet.
She was still scrolling through voice mail as Cathy came into view in the hall through the large glass panels that dominated the interior walls—and her fingers froze on the keyboard.
Unlike her last visit, when she’d been wearing some off-the-rack civilian ensemble, the police chief was in full dress uniform today.
Gary’s secretary stopped in the hall to ogle her as she passed, and Jessica spat out a muted curse. Word would spread like wildfire about this second visit from law enforcement.
She had to get them out of here as fast as possible. The longer they stayed, the more people would talk.
Cathy was smiling and chatting with the tall, good-looking detective, but once she realized her boss was watching, her face went blank and she dropped her gaze.
Why?
But there was no time to ponder that question. The three of them were on her doorstep.
She rose as the two cops entered and Cathy shut the door, but she stayed behind her desk, offering a polite yet put-upon smile. “I’m surprised to see you both again.”
“There have been a few new developments we’d like to discuss with you.” The chief’s tone was pleasant, but there was steel underneath.
Jessica made a show of checking her watch. “Well, we need to do this quickly. I’m on a break from a client meeting and I have to be back in a few minutes. Have a seat.” She gestured to the two chairs across from her desk, retook her own seat—and waited.
The lady cop sat and rested her hands in her lap, on top of a small portfolio. “First, I wanted to offer my condolences on the deaths of your two college friends.”
Had Erika’s death notice been in the paper? If so, she’d missed it. And even if Joe had been found, there would be no reason for her to know about his death.
The cop was testing her.
Play it cool, Jessica.
She adopted a puzzled air. “Excuse me?”
“You haven’t heard that both Erika Butler and Joe Andrews were found dead in the past few days?”
Widening her eyes, she gave a slight gasp. “Oh my word! What happened?”
“We were hoping you might be able to shed some light on that.”
“Me?” She arranged her features to express confusion. “Why would I know anything about this?”
For a long moment, the two of them watched her in silence.
She didn’t so much as blink.
Finally, the detective spoke. “Would you mind telling us your whereabouts on Tuesday evening?”
“Why?”
“According to the County medical examiner, that’s when Erika died.”
She parted her lips ever so slightly. “Are you suggesting that . . . ? Surely you don’t suspect me of anything! I mean, accidents do happen—and Erika and I go back a long way.”
The man’s gaze never wavered. “I don’t believe I mentioned it was an accident.”
Mistake, mistake, mistake!
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
She had to backtrack.
Fast.
“What else could it be? If there’d been a crime, I’d have heard about it in the news.” Good save, Jessica. She opened a drawer in her desk, pulled out a tissue, and dabbed at the corner of her dry eye. “I’m sorry. This is such a shock. I know you’re just doing your job. Let’s see . . . on Tuesday night I was home packing for a trip to the East Coas
t. I was in New York Wednesday through Friday night.”
“Can anyone verify that?” The detective opened his notebook and extracted a pen from his pocket.
“I live alone.” And if they somehow managed to come up with grounds for a subpoena or court order to gain access to the security tapes in the condo’s parking garage, her lie would hold. Management was still using archaic tape instead of digital, and they only kept a week’s worth before taping over them. The day guard in the lobby had been happy to share that information with her after she’d commented last week on the screens behind his desk and asked a couple of questions.
“Convenient.”
She lifted her chin. “I don’t think I care for your inference. Are you suggesting Erika’s death wasn’t an accident?”
The icy glare that intimidated most people didn’t seem to faze the detective. Nor did he respond to her question. “Why don’t you tell us where you were on Saturday night?”
“I was running some errands. Alone.”
“Where?” It was the chief’s turn again.
She shifted her attention to the woman and responded with a query of her own. “May I assume from your question that Joe died on Saturday?”
“You may.”
She leaned forward. “Look . . . Joe and I were never friends. He and Erika were the ones who kept in touch. Now I’m happy to cooperate with the police, but I have nothing helpful to tell you. So if you’ll excuse me . . .”
As she started to rise, the woman cop opened her portfolio, extracted a glossy eight-by-ten sheet of paper, and held it out. “Maybe you know something about this.”
Jessica stared at the picture. It was only a fragment of a label, but she knew that logo. It had been on all the containers she’d taken to Joe’s house.
Including the dip that stupid dog had used as a toy.
Had part of it fallen off?
No way to know, since she’d ditched the plastic bag during the drive back to St. Louis.
She took the photo and sat back down, pretending to examine it. “It seems familiar.”
“It should. Peterson-Bradshaw does a lot of business with the firm.” This from the detective.
How did he know that?
She glanced at the back of Cathy’s head as the woman typed on the other side of the glass wall.
