“Why?” asked Megan. “Why would he want to hurt my father? You said so yourself. Chad worshiped my father. I don't know why the police are trying to talk to him again now, but he doesn't trust cops. They've done horrible things to him in the past, and he's scared. They're bullying him.”
“Chad must have found out something that rattled him to the core,” Derek said. “His hero and new father figure wasn't such a hero after all. In the spring, Chad met a young woman who goes by Coco Labelle at a friend's bachelor party. That meeting might not have been a coincidence. I think Coco wanted to leak information back to her former rival that she was having an affair with Megan's father.”
Megan scowled. “That slut,” she said, annoyed but not surprised. She had known.
“The glasses,” I interjected. “Megan, you thought Coco's fingerprints were on the tumblers, so when you got home that night, you put the glasses into your father's safe to preserve the evidence, just in case you needed it later. You did that without your mother knowing. And you changed the combination so your mother couldn't discover them and destroy the evidence.”
Mitzi took in this new information and shook her head at her daughter. If looks could kill, Megan would have been wounded.
“But the fingerprints and DNA evidence belong to Chad,” I said. “That's what's going to put him away.”
“No,” Megan said. “You're wrong. Chad wouldn't do that.”
“The first part might not have been premeditated,” Derek said. “Chad called the escort agency, canceled the appointment, and went to talk some sense into Brock. Let's say they had a drink, argued, and then things got out of control. When Brock turned his back, Chad grabbed the nearest thing—probably the bottle they'd been drinking from—and struck him on the back of the head. When he was unconscious, Chad got him tied up inside that exercise contraption. Because Brock was upside-down, the blood from his head wound didn't drip onto his shirt.”
“Maybe he did what you said,” Mitzi said. “But Chad couldn't have killed Brock. Someone else must have gotten into the house and strangled him with his belt. Chad is a good boy. Plus he was at the airport when it happened.”
“Chad is a smart boy,” Derek said. “He walked into the airport, bought a paperback with his credit card, and quietly slipped away again. He drove out of the parking lot, paying the lost-ticket maximum fee, in cash, to preserve the ticket for his alibi. He returned to the Kensington residence, where he strangled Brock. In his head, he probably thought he was doing the rest of the family a favor. When it was done, he staged the death to look like a sexual escapade gone wrong.”
Mitzi pressed her fingers to her lips. “He must have used my lipstick,” she said. “He had my shade, all over his face.” She turned to her daughter. “Chad killed your father.”
“Chad didn't do anything wrong,” Megan said. “When they test that slut, Coco, the police will find out it was her. She killed my father.”
Derek made a tsk-tsk sound. “Young Coco's had her share of run-ins with the police,” Derek said. “Her prints are on file, and they've already been checked. No match. It's time for you both to start cooperating. Distance yourself from Chad Harris before he pulls you down with him.”
“You're lying,” Megan said. “Just like when you said you were from the movie studio.” She turned to her mother and said, “He's lying. They both are. Somebody's trying to frame Chad. He didn't do this.”
“Let's hear it from the young man himself,” Derek said. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Chad Harris! Come out from the bedroom with your hands over your head, where I can see them! I'm armed, and I will shoot you if necessary!” True to his word, he pulled out his gun and pointed it at the doorway to the bedroom.
I watched the bedroom door with breathless anticipation. All four of us sitting in the living room, plus the beagle, watched the doorway.
A shadow shifted across the doorway, growing larger. A body was moving toward the room's light source rather than away—toward the window.
“He's going out the window,” I said, jumping to my feet.
Megan got up quickly and rushed to my side. She clutched my arm, her little fingers like damp claws. She said, “You'll never catch him. He'll be on the boat and sailing away to Mexico in no time.”
“We'll see about that,” Derek said. He grabbed both of the takeout coffee cups from the coffee table and held them in front of the beagle. “Chewie, which one is the boy?”
Chewie nudged one of the containers with her nose.
“This is the bad guy,” Derek said. “The bad guy.”
Chewie barked sharply.
“Get him,” Derek said, his voice as cold as steel. “Get the bad guy.”
He didn't have to tell her twice.
Chewie practically flew into the bedroom and out the open window. I followed, right on her tail. I jumped out the window. The heels of my shoes sank into the soft lawn. I stepped out of the shoes and continued the chase barefoot.
Behind me, I heard Derek call out, “I'm going out the front door, but I'm right behind you! Abby, don't...” I didn't hear the rest of his warning. I didn't hear anything except Chewie's excited baying ahead of me.
Chapter 13
The world was a blur.
Chad's head was bobbing right in front of me, barely out of reach.
The dog's excited baying sounded like screams.
I ran.
At first, my bare feet hurt, but then I couldn't feel them at all.
I ran through the woods, leaping over fallen logs, keeping my stride measured. He was faster than me, but I had more stamina. I would wear him down. And thanks to Chewie, I wouldn't lose his scent.
He dodged left and right, through the woodsy trails that crisscrossed the ravine between the cottages. The ocean lay ahead. I pumped the air with my left arm as I reached my right hand into my pocket. The weight of the metal pleased me. I slipped my fingers through the holes and pumped the air with my right arm. Faster. Either I was going faster or he was going slower.
He peered back over his shoulder, fear in his eyes. He looked nothing like Owen, except for his cowardly eyes.
His fear made me feel more sure, more certain than I'd ever been in my life.
He climbed awkwardly over a fallen tree. I hiked my skirt and sailed over.
He saw me gaining on him and growled over his shoulder, “Leave me alone, you bi—”
The blow to the back of his head cut off the rest of his words. He went down like a dropped duffel bag.
Chewie circled, her baying so loud and excited, she sounded like a pack of forty beagles.
Chad rubbed the back of his head and gave me a disgusted look, but he didn't get to his feet.
“Stay down,” I heard myself say. “Stay right there, Chad Harris.”
To Chewie, I said, “Shh. Sit down. Good girl. It's okay. We got the bad guy.”
She let out one more final vocalization and then sat.
Chad groaned and writhed in a patch of dirt. “You don't know what you're doing,” he said. “You're going to be sorry you ever messed with me and my family. I'm going to sue you for everything you'll ever make. Your life is over.”
“That's funny,” I said. “Most people would start claiming their innocence. But not you, Chad. You were ready to run. Just like the guilty, disgusting little boy you are. You rich guys think you can get away with anything, just because you have money. It might work for a while, but sooner or later, the world sees you for what you are.”
“You don't know me,” he said. The look on his face reminded me of his father, Max, saying, “A man is not his record.” He knew. Max knew his son killed Brock. He'd been happy to send us after Coco, his resistance in giving up the name nothing more than a show.
I felt a hand on my shoulder. Derek was there, breathing heavily from the run. We must have covered a good mile.
Derek cleared his throat and ordered Chad to put his hands behind his back for the cuffs.
* * *
SUNDAY
3:30 p.m.
My Apartment
(Soon to be Owen's Apartment)
“Abby, how many pairs of running shoes do you own, and why?”
I looked up at Derek, who was holding two pairs in his hands and comparing them.
“The ones on the left are better for trails.”
He snorted. “You could have used these on Friday.”
I looked down at my socked feet. Under the socks were more than a few bandages. In my pursuit of Chad Harris, my feet had taken quite the beating, but it had been so worth it to see him go down. In my head, I must have replayed me smacking him on the back of the head a thousand times. It was my new favorite movie—even better than revisiting my friends in Oz.
“Thanks for helping me pack,” I said. “Having someone come with me to the apartment has made this whole thing a lot easier.”
“I had to do it for your ex-boyfriend's protection. Even without the brass knuckles, you might have taken him down with one of your punches.” He chuckled. “Hey, I've got a new nickname for you.”
“Is it Legally Blonde? Because that's not new. You've called me that twenty-seven times already.”
“One-Punch Silver,” he said proudly. “It's got a ring to it, like Hi-Yo Silver from the Lone Ranger.”
I sighed. It could be worse. One-Punch Silver was better than Legally Blonde.
“This apartment does get incredible light,” Derek said. “Are you sure you want to give this up?”
“Mostly sure. Feeling more sure by the minute.”
“What's next for you? After a week of working with me and Chewie, I bet you'll be happy to clock in Monday with some normal people. Where's the temp agency got you next?”
“Some boring real estate company. I'll be stuffing envelopes and... collating.”
“You'll be great, and you'll get promoted in no time.” He reached for the packing tape dispenser and used it to seal one of my boxes of shoes. The tight tape made a screeching noise that roused Chewie, who'd been lying on the bed watching us. She started vocalizing at the ceiling.
Once she'd quieted down, I said, “Can I ask you one more question?”
“It's great being a detective,” he answered preemptively. “Not every case is as exciting as last week's but it's a great job, and an excellent career choice. With just a bit of training, you could get your own license.”
“That's not the question I wanted to ask.” I sat on the bed next to Chewie, petting her. I traced my finger along the crisp boundaries between her white, tan, and black areas.
“Go ahead,” Derek said. “Fire away.”
“Is Chewie a therapeutic dog? On our last visit to Maggie's Diner, we had a different waitress, and she told you to tie the dog up outside. Then you showed her something in your wallet and she left you alone after that.”
Derek gave me an unwavering look. “Why would you ask a question you already know the answer to?”
“It just seems like the right thing to do. Better than making assumptions.”
He looked at the dog and took a deep breath. “It's also a Step One question, as in Step One before you go into Step Two, which is establishing a time line, and then Step Three, which is finding out why a classy gentleman such as myself needs a service dog.”
“I only had one question, I swear.”
He reached into his back pocket, withdrew his wallet, and came over to sit on the corner of the bed. He handed me a laminated card over the dog's back. The card identified Charmaine Deangelo Dancer as a registered service dog.
“She's got an official yellow vest and everything,” he said. “But she doesn't like to cover up her pretty saddle.” He patted her on the back. “Plus the vest attracts too much attention for undercover work.”
“You guys make a great team,” I said.
He got up again and returned to packing footwear, his back to me. “I'm not always easy to put up with, but I buy her the best dog treats. Loyalty can be purchased, for five bucks a bag.”
I looked down at Chewie. She looked up at me with big eyes and an innocent look, as if to tell me it wasn't true at all. She'd be loyal even without the fancy treats.
“So many shoes,” Derek said, chucking them into boxes.
I smiled and returned to packing my side of the room.
Two hours passed in companionable silence.
When we were done packing, we stood by the doorway. The movers would be there the next morning to take ninety percent of my earthly possessions to long-term storage. I would be going to Keiko's that night with two suitcases, stuffed full to keep me clothed until I found a more permanent solution.
“So, collating,” Derek said. “That sounds... awful.”
“I've heard terrible things,” I said.
He rubbed his chin. “And the irony is that next week, I'll just have to break in a new assistant.”
“And think up a new nickname for her.”
“Oh, that's easy. You already know what I call the blonde ones. The brunettes, I call Holly Golightly, after Audrey Hepburn's character in Weekend at Tiffany's. Most brunettes don't mind.”
“What do you call the redheads?”
He got a twinkle in his eyes. “Whatever they want me to call them. You don't mess with redheads.”
I laughed and crouched down to pet Chewie.
“Then I hope you get a redhead next week,” I said.
“You know, if you wanted to put your career in collating on hold for a week or so, you could come with me.”
“Really? Do you have a budget for me to travel with you?”
“You and I just saved our parent company ten million dollars, so I think you can guess the answer. Chad Harris was on the payroll at Avamar International, which voided their policy as well.”
“Two out of two,” I said. “DiamondCorp must love you.”
“Well? What do you think? Want to jump on a plane with me and Chewie as we fly off to another adventure?”
I stroked Chewie's soft ears as I looked over my shoulder at the apartment.
The late-afternoon sun bathed the room in gold.
I wasn't sure of anything, and then I was.
My past was the apartment and my old life, and it was all behind me.
“Sure,” I said. “I'd love to stay on another week as your assistant. What time do we fly out?”
“Tomorrow morning,” he said. “But not too early, so we've got time tonight to go check out my grandson's art show.”
“An art show sounds fun.”
“You'll like Josh,” he said. “We're a fun family, the Diamonds.” He reached for the heavier of my two suitcases. “Here, let me help you with this.”
While Derek told me about his grandson's paintings, I wheeled my suitcase out of the apartment and locked the door.
Thank you for reading Diamond Files Mysteries #1
Girl in the Shadows
by Angela Pepper
If you're looking forward to Diamond Files Mystery #2 and the continuing adventures of Abby Silver and Derek Diamond, make sure you sign up to get an email from me (Angela Pepper) when the new book is available!
If you loved this book, you'll love these other fabulous mystery books and series from Angela Pepper:
Stormy Day Mystery Books
A traditional-style contemporary cozy by Angela Pepper. This is a classic small-town cozy with a terrific cast of quirky characters and all kinds of investigation-related shenanigans.
Click here for all the Stormy Day books on Amazon.
Diamond Files Mysteries
A contemporary mystery series featuring the dynamic trio of Derek Diamond, his young protégé with the perfect memory, Abby Silver, and the sniffer dog extraordinaire, Chewie the beagle.
Click here for Diamond Files by Angela Pepper on Amazon.
Ghost Mysteries of the Southwest
Looking for a gripping psychological thriller that's moody, but not too dark? These books deliver all the thrills with a little
spook factor to keep you on the edge of your seat.
Click here for Ghost Mysteries of the Southwest by Darcy Troy on Amazon.
Wisteria Witches
This hilarious series has been described as Gilmore Girls meets Buffy the Vampire Slayer. There's plenty of paranormal weirdness, witty humor, romance, and family secrets in this sassy witch series.
Click here for Wisteria Witches by Z. Riddle on Amazon.
(PREVIEW SAMPLE)
Stormy Day Mystery Book 1, Death of a Dapper Snowman
Chapter 1
The hand-painted snowman on the vase kept his coal-black eyes trained on me. Sweating and breathing heavily, I was getting my morning workout by pushing the accent chair from one side of the living room to the other.
I stepped back to assess my handiwork. The room was still off-balance and bare. The little snowman looked embarrassed to be there as the sole decorative item in my new-to-me house.
The doorbell rang.
I picked up the vase and turned it around on the coffee table, so the snowman faced the window, and only the painted mountains would be visible to my guest. That tweak made all the difference. One lone Christmas decoration would be pathetic, but a single piece of ceramic art made an elegant centerpiece.
I opened the door and invited in the perky blond real estate agent who’d sold me the place.
Samantha Sweet glanced around the interior as though appraising the value added by my decorating, or the lack thereof. She was frowning. I had a table and four chairs, plus a sofa, accent chair, plants, and lamps, but no curtains, no art on the walls, and nothing personal other than the vase.
Girl in the Shadows (Cozy Mystery) (Diamond Files Mysteries Book 1) Page 11
