Jack rolled up the sleeves of the shirt he’d thrown on over the T-shirt he’d been wearing when he received Caitlin’s call. Despite the fact that it was nearing ten p.m., the air was like a warm, damp rag, and his skin felt clammy.
He noticed, however, that Caitlin sat with her arms tightly crossed over her chest, as if warding off a chill. “Would you like me to call for the paramedics?”
“What? No, of course not. I’m fine.”
“You look a little peaked.”
“I’ll have a word with my makeup artist.”
“Have it your way.” They sat quietly for several moments. “You know,” he finally said “I wouldn’t have taken you for a smartass.”
“I have a coffee mug that says Sarcasm: Because Killing People Is Illegal. I guess I should be thankful that wasn’t the one sitting on my desk.”
“Your photo on your Facebook profile shows you holding a mug that says: If You Were in My Novel, I’d Have Killed You Off by Now.”
Her head jerked to the side. “You looked at my Facebook profile?”
“And your website. Your other social media feeds. They’re all public, which makes sense, given what you do for a living. But you can bet the police will be examining them, too.”
“Great.”
“You’d be amazed at what people reveal about themselves on the internet. For example, I now know that you collect coffee mugs since you drink so much of it, and you take that coffee with cream but no sugar. I know that you’re left-handed, you’re afraid of spiders, and that you spent a week in Arizona this past fall, ostensibly doing research for a book, although it looked like you managed to take in quite a few tourist destinations as well. The photo of you pretending to cling to rocks at the edge of the Grand Canyon was particularly amusing – provided they weren’t actually at the edge.”
“I’m not stupid.”
“No, I don’t think you are. But my point is that social media is a great tool for law enforcement, and a nightmare for defense attorneys. A clever prosecutor would attempt to use your profession and certain images you’ve posted to paint you as both knowledgeable and callous about the methods and means of murder. I almost welcome such a scenario, because I would enjoy destroying that argument, but we’re not going to trial.”
“You sound very confident.”
“I am. Where’s your friend?”
Caitlin’s brows drew together at the change of subject, but she lifted her hand. “Over there, talking to the patrol officer. They didn’t want us to sit together, because we might collude on our stories or something. Which is ridiculous, considering we were together before they got here. If we were planning to collude, the damage would have been done.”
“Yeah, well. The police are big on procedure, sometimes at the expense of common sense. But since we seem to have a few minutes before they interview you,” he glanced back at her. “Tell me about your ex’s crazy wife.”
Her mouth rounded in surprise, and Jack found himself noting that she had very full lips. Kissable lips. Which was an entirely inappropriate observation under the circumstances.
“She can’t have anything to do with this,” Caitlin said.
“And you know this because…?”
Caitlin considered that, and then sighed. “Wishful thinking, I guess. I thought this was behind me.”
“Things we thought were behind us have a funny way of yanking us around and smacking us in the face at really inopportune times. And if the situation was bad enough that it prompted you to move, I’d say a note left on your windshield isn’t outside the realm of possibility.”
“But that would mean that she knew where I lived. I broke off all contact with Ryan. Months and months ago. And I was careful not to let anyone aside from close family and friends know where I was moving.”
“We’ve already discussed that you’re publicly active on social media. No posts about your move? Pictures of Savannah?”
“Nothing like that.”
“You rent this place or own it?”
“Own. Which means the mortgage is in my name.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I didn’t even think about property records. But then, I never expected anyone to follow after me. I never expected… any of this.”
“I don’t imagine you did.”
“What if we’re looking at this from the wrong angle, though? What if whoever left that message, for lack of a better term, was connected to… him.”
“To Henry Cox.”
“Yes,” Caitlin agreed. She hadn’t yet been able to bring herself to say his name. It made his death too real, too personal. She didn’t want to think of him as someone’s brother or son.
“An angry relative?” Jack said. “Or friend? It’s a possibility. I’ll try to find out whether the police have notified his next of kin. Although I have to tell you, the fact that they issued that message using your own words, a page from your book, strikes me as deeply personal.”
She chewed her bottom lip. “It was something that bothered her. Lydia – that’s her name. Ryan’s estranged wife. Lydia Fasteland. It irked her that Ryan and I shared that in common. Our love of the English language, of reading and writing. From what he told me when he tried to explain himself, it was part of what drove to their initial breakup. She began resenting any interests that Ryan had outside their relationship – despite the fact that it was his job – and even more so anyone who shared those interests. So, using my own words against me… yes, I guess it isn’t outside the realm of possibility that she would do something like this.”
Jack glanced over toward Caitlin’s car. “We’ll know more when the results of any possible fingerprint evidence are in, although I don’t expect to receive that information in a timely fashion. So I’m putting my investigator on tracking down the Fastelands.”
Caitlin’s shoulders slumped, but she didn’t disagree. “Will that cause more tension with the cops? Going around them like that?”
“Any defense attorney worth his salt runs an independent investigation. Particularly when their client’s safety appears to be at stake along with their reputation and freedom. Which reminds me.” He boosted his hip and pulled a card from his back pocket. “I took the liberty of booking you a different hotel room for the night. It’s under the name of one of my associates, Ainsley Tidwell. You can use the prepaid credit card I gave you.”
She studied the hotel name written on the card. “Is this really necessary?”
“You’ve been attacked in your home and have had a threatening message – for lack of a better term – left on your vehicle, all within the space of three days. I’d rather err on the side of caution. And besides,” he admitted “your brother impressed upon me that he was entrusting me with your wellbeing until he returned.”
Caitlin rolled her eyes. “God save me from big brothers.”
“Hey, I’m a big brother.”
“That explains your autocratic disposition.”
“You think I’m autocratic?” Jack grinned. “And here I’ve been mild-mannered up to this point.”
She turned her head to respond to him, but whatever she’d been about to say seemed to wither on her lips as their gazes locked and held. It was one of those weird moments where time seemed to simply hang there, quivering yet unmoving, like a drop of honey clinging to the lip of the bottle.
The sound of someone clearing their throat caused the drop to finally fall, and both of them looked up.
“Hi,” Caitlin’s friend – Connie – said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“I understand that your fiancé is flying in tomorrow morning,” Jack said, ignoring her curious look. “And that you’re picking him up at the airport. I’d like you to drop off Ms. Cavanaugh at my office on your way.”
“That will be like seven a.m.”
“I’ll be there. We have a number of things to discuss.”
“Ohhhh-kay.” Connie turned her attention to Caitlin. “They’re ready to take your statement now.”
&nbs
p; “Same deal,” Jack said. “Answer the questions as straightforwardly as possible without offering –”
“Any extraneous information,” Caitlin finished. “I’ve got it.”
Jack stood, and then offered a hand to help her to her feet. Hers felt small in his, small and breakable. But her grip as she rose was firm.
“I was about to say let’s get this over with, but I feel like every time I do, something else happens. Although I’m not sure what else could go wrong.”
“Don’t say that,” Connie said. “Not when your brother is about to get on a plane.” She reached out and grabbed Caitlin’s hand away from his, knocking it against the wooden porch railing.
“Connie’s very superstitious,” Caitlin explained to Jack as she rubbed her knuckles.
“I would think that you would be more superstitious where planes are concerned,” Connie shot back.
When Caitlin blanched, Connie said “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. I’m just upset by all of this and worried sick and… I’m sorry.”
Caitlin nodded, though tension practically hummed in the space between them. Her expression was even more subdued when she glanced at Jack, and he decided that whatever that was about was something they’d discuss tomorrow.
“Ready?”
Caitlin squared her shoulders. And then without another word, started to walk toward the flashing lights.
LANCE’S flight was delayed. Significantly delayed. Some sort of mechanical problem with the plane itself, which, when you were flying over the Atlantic, you wanted to resolve before takeoff.
Connie, who was sitting up in the other bed, anxiously checking the flight info on Caitlin’s laptop, stifled a huge yawn.
“Why don’t you rest,” Caitlin suggested. “I know you’re worn out. There’s no need for you to get up and drive me to Jack’s office when you don’t have to be at the airport for several hours. In fact, I’m going to call a cab to take me to the police station so that I can pick up my purse, and then I’ll go to his office from there.”
“You’re going to pick up your purse before seven a.m.?”
“Police stations are open twenty-four hours. And this way I think I should be able to avoid the detectives, as they work seven to four, according to the person who answers their phones.”
“You act like they’re piranhas.”
“And I’m the water buffalo who isn’t quite hapless enough to stroll into their river. Look, I know you weren’t happy last night when I called my attorney before I’d let you call the police, but I have to be cautious. There are some… idiosyncrasies that quite frankly would give me pause if I were investigating this case.”
“The plot holes you were talking about last night?” Connie sat the computer aside and gave Caitlin her full attention. “Aside from your glasses being mixed up or whatever – which I still think can be easily explained – what else doesn’t make sense?”
“How about the other glasses – the wine?”
Connie merely shrugged. “I admit that’s a little weird, but who knows what was on that asshole’s agenda. Maybe you weren’t… drugged enough or something, and he made you ingest more. Maybe he got off on forcing you to drink with him, like it was a party. And anyway, what part of you being drugged and not remembering anything do they not get? They should stop looking to you for answers that you don’t have.”
“I don’t have any concrete, scientific proof that I was drugged,” Caitlin reminded her. “Only speculation.”
“What else could explain your sudden lapse of memory? Alien abduction? But I get it.” Connie sighed. “I just can’t reconcile goody two-shoes, rule-following Caitlin with this person who’s on the wrong side of the local law enforcement. And making googly eyes at her undoubtedly-hot-but-clearly-bad-news attorney.”
“What?” Caitlin said, ignoring the former part of Connie’s assertion to focus on the latter. “I was not making googly eyes at Jack.”
“Well then he was making googly eyes at you. Regardless, there was definitely some eye foreplay going on when I walked up to you last night. Look honey, take it from a woman who’s been around the bad boy block so often that I could Google map that shit. That man is trouble. I would think you would recognize that, but then I also thought that you would have cottoned on to the fact that Ryan Fasteland was a weasel long before you ever did. I only wish I hadn’t been traveling so much and had met him sooner.” She tapped her nose. “I can smell trouble from thirty paces.”
“Yet can’t seem to stay away from it.”
Connie’s lips thinned. “Maybe, but I’ve learned my lesson. If you’re even thinking about hooking up with Jack Wellington, the same can’t be said.”
Caitlin knew that Connie meant well – she’d always acted the part of the experienced older sister, even though they were the same age and it was Connie who tended to get into trouble. But her trouble did give her an experience that Caitlin lacked.
However, she wasn’t totally naïve, as both Connie and her brother seemed to think. She recognized Jack Wellington for exactly the type of man he was. And she hadn’t been making any sort of eyes at him, googly or otherwise.
He was her attorney, for God’s sake. And she had enough trouble already. Developing a romantic interest was the very last thing on her mind.
“You were right about Ryan, I’ll give you that. I wish I’d listened sooner, but by that point I was too invested in the relationship to give credence to unsolicited advice. However, you can rest assured that I have no designs on my attorney outside of legal advice.”
“Doesn’t mean he doesn’t have designs on you.”
“What?”
“Oh, come on Caitlin. A woman like you is a drift of freshly fallen snow to men like that. They want to pee their name in it. Leave their mark. Dirty it up.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
But Connie just rolled her eyes. “You know, for someone who writes really believable serial killers, you sure don’t understand much about the dark side of human nature.”
“You don’t even know if he’s married or not.”
“You force me to refer back to my previous point. Like guys like that care? Hell, Ryan didn’t care, and he’s barely in the same phylum as Jack Wellington. Jack probably changes women more than he does underwear. And he’s not married. I did a Google search.”
“Why?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Because your life is currently in his very expensive hands?”
Because she was growing irritated, Caitlin climbed from her bed. “I’m going to get dressed. You really should get some rest so that you’re not this cranky when you pick up Lance.”
She heard the pillow hit the door just as she closed it. She and Connie had always been more like sisters than friends, complete with spats and shouting matches and periods where they wouldn’t speak to each other for days. But they always made up. Caitlin’s family had been Connie’s foundation for a large part of her childhood, considering her own mother divorced Connie’s father when she was a toddler and essentially walked out, only seeing Connie sporadically. And Connie’s father, a prominent oral surgeon, had nonetheless been in and out of treatment for drug and alcohol addiction. What Connie had in material stability she’d lacked in familial warmth. Raised primarily by a nanny, she came to think of Caitlin’s parents as her own. Their loss had hit her nearly as hard as it had Lance and Caitlin, which was why she’d lashed out last night. Her parents’ death had left permanent scars on all of them, which Connie manifested in the form of an overwhelming fear of traveling by plane. They’d had to drive across country to visit the Grand Canyon last fall, because Connie couldn’t stomach the thought of flying.
Caitlin knew she was nervous about Lance’s return trip from London – and the fact that his flight was delayed didn’t help.
Caitlin brushed her hair and teeth using her own toiletries, which made her feel less… displaced, she guessed was the right word. But when she unzipped her duffel bag to see which clothes Conni
e had packed, she frowned at the first dress she pulled out. After rifling through the rest of the bag, she sighed.
She guessed she shouldn’t be surprised. Connie had always been much more of a fashionista.
Caitlin slid the first dress over her head, wondering when she’d worn it last. Her college roommate’s wedding? Floaty and soft and loaded with pink cabbage roses, it had been perfect for June nuptials.
For a meeting with her attorney, she felt awkward and overdressed.
And of course Connie wouldn’t have overlooked the strappy sandals that matched. How the woman had time in the five minutes she’d been in the closet to coordinate shoes with outfits, Caitlin had no idea.
She studied herself in the mirror. The stress of the past few days showed in the circles beneath her eyes, but the dress made her look more put together.
And less like a victim.
Okay. So maybe that wasn’t so bad. Caitlin considered that maybe Connie knew her needs better than she did.
She dabbed on a little concealer, some blusher, a few strokes of mascara. And had to admit that she felt stronger, somehow.
She emerged from the bathroom to find Connie lying on the bed, her head turned toward the window. When she heard the door hinges squeak she looked over, a smile softening her face. “You look beautiful.”
“A bit fancier than my usual.”
“Your usual is bad enough, but that stuff you’ve been wearing the past few days made me want to pluck my eyes out. You looked like a bag lady. I hated it.”
Caitlin understood what Connie hadn’t said. That it had scared her.
“Thank you for thinking of this.”
Connie held her gaze for several seconds, and then waved a hand. “It’s nothing. I couldn’t have you reflecting poorly on the company, after all.”
“I have no bearing on the company’s reputation. I’m a silent partner, remember? And once Lance buys me out, I won’t even be that.”
Connie pursed her lips. “Theresa isn’t at all happy about that.”
Theresa was the wife of Caitlin’s parents’ business partner, the man who’d provided the startup capital for their company. Because the loan hadn’t been fully repaid when both her husband and Caitlin’s parents were killed in the plane crash, she inherited over half of the business. And unlike her husband, who was content to remain behind the scenes, Theresa had looked over Lance’s shoulder every day of the past fifteen years. Their relationship was often contentious, and Caitlin knew from some offhand remarks from Lance that it had deteriorated with time. Lance had tried to buy her out several times, but because she recognized that he was building the business into a fairly significant industry player, she hadn’t been willing to accommodate him.
The Southern Comfort Prequel Trilogy Box Set Page 69
