Black Diamond Death (A Sloane Monroe Novel, Book One)

by Cheryl Bradshaw

  I arrived at the house around dinnertime. Vicki stood at her front door with a wine glass in one hand and a remote control in the other. A silk robe was draped around her body and her legs were exposed which led me to wonder why she didn’t invest in a treadmill and a longer robe.

  “Nice house,” I said.

  “I figure I work hard enough,” she said. “I deserve to come home to this.”

  “Are you married?”

  “I was. My husband and I divorced a couple of years ago. He lives in Florida now on his yacht with a woman half his age.”

  “Sorry to hear it,” I said.

  She shook her head.

  “Don’t be. I got the house, and he got the tramp.”

  I remained quiet. The plight of a woman scorned didn’t need more fuel to its fire.

  “How’s life at the office these days?” I said.

  “Almost back to normal, if you can call it that. Jack is back to his old self again––sell, sell, sell.”

  A cold wind crossed my body. I zipped up my jacket and reached in the car for my scarf.

  “I’m sorry. How rude of me,” Vicki said. “Why don’t you come in for a minute and get out of this horrid weather?”

  “I can’t stay,” I said.

  I reached for the key in my purse.

  “I bet you’re glad this whole Parker mess is all over.”

  “I guess so,” I said.

  “Aren’t you?”

  “Audrey is satisfied, and everyone wants to move on with their lives,” I said.

  “And you?”

  “Of course I want to, but––”

  “Parker made it easy on you when he keeled over, don’t you agree? Poor guy couldn’t live with himself after what he’d done. If you ask me, the world is better off without him.”

  I hadn’t asked her.

  “Maybe,” I said.

  “You don’t agree?”

  “It’s convenient for everyone to assume Parker killed Charlotte and then himself when he couldn’t live with the guilt.”

  “You want my advice? Rejoice. It’s over and you don’t have to deal with it anymore. It won’t do you any good to stew over it.”

  I ran my hands up and down my arms.

  “You sure you don’t want to come in?”

  If going inside meant more of her so-called advice, it was time to leave.

  I walked toward her and produced the key.

  “I better go,” I said.

  “Well, alright then, if you’re sure.”

  She flipped the key over and over in her hand.

  “Thanks for this.”

  CHAPTER 49

  The next day my phone rang. It was Maddie.

  “How’s Whitley?” I said.

  “Much improved.”

  “Did you get anything out of him?”

  “Really Sloane, what do you think?”

  “Should I ask what you did to get it?” I said.

  “Probably best if you didn’t.”

  Something crunched in the background.

  “Care to know what’s in my hot little hand right at this moment?”

  “Not Whitley, I hope.”

  She laughed.

  “And people don’t think you’re funny.”

  “Do you have something for me?” I said.

  “Indeed I do. Can we meet at your office?”

  “I’ll see you there,” I said, and hung up the phone.

  Thirty minutes later I pulled into the parking lot. Maddie, who knew where to find the hidden key, opened the door and greeted me with the file in hand.

  “Merry early Christmas or a merry late one,” she said.

  “And a Happy New Year to Whitley,” I said.

  “Don’t shake your head at me Sloane; I know all about what you’ve had to do for information.”

  I ignored her statement and sat down.

  “Did Whitley give you this file?” I said.

  “Copy machines are so much better these days, so quiet.”

  I shook my head.

  “You got any drinks around this place?”

  “There’s a bottle of pinot in the cupboard,” I said.

  She raised her left nostril and rifled around for another viable option.

  “What the mother lode, you think you got enough tea in here? Because I’m sure there’s a village in some third-world country that could survive at least a month on all this stuff.”

  “Not funny,” I said.

  “Alright, alright, don’t mess with a woman and her tea. I got it.”

  I nudged her out of the way.

  “Here, let me look,” I said.

  I moved all the tea to the side and pulled out a bottle from the back.

  “Bailey’s?” I said.

  “That will do just fine.”

  I poured her a glass and we both sat down.

  “Have you looked the file over yet?” I said.

  She nodded.

  “And?” I said.

  She took a few sips of her drink and set her glass down on the corner of my desk. She leaned in toward me and I did the same.

  “It doesn’t add up,” she said.

  “What?” I said.

  “Any of it.”

  “I see,” I said. “And why are we whispering?”

  Maddie grabbed her glass and sat back in my chair.

  “Good point. Here’s the thing. On paper, the report would hold up to snuff for anyone who looked it over and didn’t know any better. The way it reads Parker shot himself, end of story.” Maddie lifted her thumb and pressed her pointer finger against her right temple and pulled the trigger. “Bang,” she shouted. She slumped down in my chair. A flare for the dramatic was one of her many charms.

  “But you just said––”

  “The report is conclusive, he killed himself alright.”

  “I guess that’s it then,” I said.

  She took another sip from her glass and handed me the report.

  “If you read through that, you’ll be convinced that Parker shot himself. But that’s what they want you to believe.”

  “You’ve lost me. Who wants me to believe that?” I said.

  “I can’t say for sure.”

  She got up and walked over to my curio cabinet and poured herself another glass of Bailey’s.

  “So did he or didn’t he?” I said.

  She held up one finger in the air.

  “I have a theory.”

  I hoped at some point she started making some sense or any sense at all. She walked back over to the chair and leaned forward and we were back to whispering again.

  “I don’t think Parker killed himself, but I believe someone wants you and everyone else to think he did. It took a few glasses of brandy, but I got him to talk, at least enough to get one thing out of him.”

  “Maddie, out with it already,” I said.

  “It seems our esteemed Whitley is on somebody’s payroll.”

  CHAPTER 50

  It turned out Whitley spilled a lot more than a little brandy on the rug. He confessed to Maddie that Parker didn’t kill himself and that it was set up to look that way. Maddie, in her role as the desirable temptress, tried to talk him into giving up the person behind it all, but it was to no avail.

  If Parker didn’t kill Charlotte, I was convinced we had two different killers on our hands. Aside from the fact that they both looked staged, the crimes were committed in very different ways. From a logical standpoint, it didn’t make sense to me that a killer would poison their first victim and then shoot the other.

  In the short time I knew Parker Stanton I understood why a person would want him dead. Everywhere I turned he had potential enemies––a jealous girlfriend, someone outraged enough at Charlotte’s death to seek revenge, or maybe an old flame from the past. And what about the mysterious man in black who left the note on Parker’s doorstep. All sorts of suspects came to mind, but I cared a lot less about solving the mystery of Parker’s demise and a lot more about
what happened to Charlotte.

  I turned onto the freeway toward home and checked my rear-view mirror. For the last four miles I was being followed. At first I chalked it up to coincidence, but the longer I drove, the more I didn’t think so. Given the poor job they did of hiding themselves behind me, I was certain the person was an amateur.

  It was seven miles from the freeway off-ramp to the exit where I lived. I continued to drive South and the car stayed right in line with me. A few miles from the exit I stepped on the gas and moved into the left lane and passed a couple of cars before I switched back to the right lane. The car didn’t follow this time.

  I exited the freeway and turned toward my house and thought I was in the clear, but I was wrong. A few seconds later the car barreled off the ramp toward the stop sign. At the rate it was going I thought it would miss the stop sign all together, but at some point the driver realized the road came to an end and slammed on the brakes. The car jerked back and expelled a grey substance into the air and then came to a complete stop. I kept one hand on the steering wheel and fumbled around on the seat for my cell phone with the other. It took a minute and then I felt the hard plastic backside. I picked it up and pressed the speed dial button for Nick and held it up to my ear. I waited for it to ring, but it didn’t make a sound, and it occurred to me that the keys weren’t lit up either. My phone was dead.

  I didn’t want to lead my follower straight to my house especially if Nick wasn’t there so I turned down the road and headed toward the gas station. Once I got close enough I pulled over. I may not have remembered to charge my phone, but I always carried my gun.

  The car behind me stopped and the driver’s side door opened. Someone got out. I shifted my body over to the passenger side of my car and opened the door and then slid out. I knelt on the ground and positioned my body so that I could watch the person approach. Five feet away, then four feet, and now three. In the glow of the light that illuminated from the gas station it looked like the silhouette of a woman. Her hands were stuffed inside her coat pocket.

  “Alright, that’s far enough,” I said.

  She stopped.

  “Ms. Monroe?”

  The voice sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it.

  “I know you’re following me, show yourself,” I said.

  “It’s me.”

  “Stop with the games,” I said. “Who are you?”

  “It’s Bridget. Please, I need to talk to you.”

  I stood up but kept to the side of my car. I needed to make sure.

  “Let me see your hands,” I said.

  She removed her hands from her jacket pocket and turned her palms up.

  “Why the hell are you following me?” I said.

  “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to freak you out. I called you, but it kept going to voicemail. I left you a ton of messages, but you didn’t call back. And then I saw your car back there and tried to get your attention, but you didn’t see me so I figured I would follow you. Not the best plan, I know.”

  “You still haven’t told me why,” I said.

  Her voice vibrated and I couldn’t tell if she was cold or nervous, or both.

  “I didn’t know who else to call or what I should do.”

  “About what?” I said.

  “I left this morning to run some errands and when I got back to my place, someone had been in my apartment. Stuff was knocked off shelves, some of my personal items were broken, and all my files were scattered all over the floor. I took one look at it and I left. I drove around all day trying to figure out what I should do and that’s when I saw you.”

  “Did they take anything?” I said.

  “I didn’t stay long enough to find out.”

  “Why would someone do that?”

  I holstered my gun and walked toward her. Her eyes were bloodshot. I put my hand on her arm and she leapt backward.

  “I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I’ve been so jumpy today.” She looked at her hands. “I can’t stop shaking.”

  “It’s alright,” I said. “Take your time.”

  I reached out to her again, and this time she allowed it.

  “I know where we can go,” I said.

  She nodded.

  “And Bridget,” I said, “I think it’s time you told me the truth.”

  CHAPTER 51

  Bridget followed me back to my place. When we walked in, Lord Berkeley produced a high pitched signal to let her know she was a stranger and wasn’t welcome in his domain.

  “Forgive him,” I said. “We don’t get many visitors. He’s only like this at home. At the office, anyone can walk through the door and he doesn’t care, but not here.”

  She approached him and stretched out her hand. Boo moved closer to give her a more thorough inspection and then sniffed her hand and then her shoes. His teeth remained clenched and he growled.

  Nick walked out from the bedroom.

  “Oh Boo stop it,” he said.

  Bridget flinched and looked in my direction.

  “I, um, thought you said you lived alone.”

  “Oh, I do. But I take in the occasional riff-raff from time to time.”

  She wasn’t pleased.

  Nick held out his hand.

  “I’m Nick, and you are?”

  She looked at his hand and then at me and with some reluctance, she moved her hand toward his.

  “Bridget,” she said.

  Nick glanced in my direction and tried to conceal the shocked look on his face. I stared back at him but said nothing. And I didn’t need to. For all the trouble I had with verbal communication, one look told him everything he needed to know. And right now I was nonverbally saying yes, she was that Bridget.

  Bridget, who seemed more interested in the tiles on my floor than engaging Nick in any conversation, didn’t notice.

  “If you two would excuse me, I think I’ll give you some girl time.”

  “Don’t leave because of me,” Bridget said.

  “He’s right,” I said to Bridget. “There’s a lot for us to talk about.”

  “And I have a plane to catch.” He looked over at me. “You didn’t forget did you?”

  “Of course not. It came up a lot faster than I thought it would.”

  “I’ll be back before you have the chance to miss me.”

  He looked at Bridget and said, “It was nice to meet you.”

  She looked back and managed a forced smile.

  Nick turned his attention to me.

  “Walk me out?”

  I walked through the door he held open for me and closed it behind me.

  Once we were out of earshot he said, “How did she end up here?”

  “Long story, I’ll tell you all about it later.”

  “Give me the highlights.”

  I did.

  “Why would she come to you instead of filing a report with the police?”

  “She’s afraid of whoever’s after her and she didn’t know where else to go.”

  He rested his hands on my shoulders.

  “The murder investigation is over, Sloane.”

  “We don’t know that. Not after what Maddie found.”

  “All she has is the word of a guy who got drunk and blurted out a bunch of comments that probably aren’t even true. It doesn’t change what’s in the report, and I’d be willing to bet if someone talked to this guy, he wouldn’t remember having the conversation at all.”

  This was the part of our relationship that brought me to a standstill. His main priority in life was to protect me and that was noble, but I still had a job to do, and sometimes I felt he would rather I didn’t uncover the truth if it meant I put myself at risk.

  “Whatever is going on with this girl, it doesn’t change anything,” he said. “What happened at her place might have something to do with the fact that she has a drug addict for a boyfriend. Maybe he trashed the place looking for cash.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “And you don’
t know it was any different. Let the cops deal with it.”

  He kissed me goodbye and then got in the car and drove away.

  Bridget sat on the sofa with her hand on Lord Berkeley when I entered. He had made peace with his new friend. I joined them.

  “Look,” I said. “I need to know what’s going on.”

  She glanced over to the side at nothing and remained silent.

  “You want to know something?” I said. “I don’t believe Parker killed Charlotte. And you want to know something else; I don’t think my case is over yet. I don’t care how many people were fooled by the smoke and mirror routine at Parker’s house. And whether you help me or not, one way or another I will find out the truth.”

  “It’s like I told you before, I don’t believe Parker killed Charlotte.”

  “Do you know who did?” I said.

  She shook her head in a rapid motion from one side to the other.

  “Then what makes you say that?” I said.

  “Because she told me.”

  “Who told you, Charlotte?”

  “She told me and now she’s dead.”

  “Bridget, what did Charlotte tell you?” I said.

  She rubbed her hands up and down her face.

  “You’re safe here, you can talk to me,” I said.

  Tears dotted the area around her eyes.

  “Don’t you see? Charlotte found out and someone killed her. They killed her! And now they will come after me.”

  She stood straight up and bolted for the front door.

  “This was a mistake, I can’t stay here. I should go.”

  I raced after her and caught her at the door.

  “I want to help you,” I said.

  “And when you do, someone will come after you too.”

  “Let me worry about that. You came to me for a reason; don’t give up on me now.”

  I convinced her to wait a few minutes and walked over to the kitchen.

  “Here,” I said. “Drink this.”

  After some time she calmed down and returned to the sofa.

  “That night at the office party when you and Parker had an argument––”

  “It’s not what you think.”

  “What then?” I said.

  “Parker hit on me.”