by Mia Thompson
“Wait.” She frowned at her mother. “He usually kept at least a million in your shared account. What the hell did you do with over nine hundred thousand?”
“Ah, this and that. Anyways… I had a strange dream last night.” Vivienne took a sip, then grimaced at her own coffee. “I dreamt I came home and… your father was in the living room. Crazy, right?”
Vivienne’s desperate eyes sought Sapphire’s and she melted. Her mother knew it wasn’t a dream, but was unable to deal with reality. As shocked as Sapphire was about her father’s come-back, Vivienne must’ve felt it tenfold. Twenty-four years ago she fell madly in love with a fellow who claimed his name was Will Green. She married him, had a baby with him, and was abandoned by him. She still had no idea he was Charles’s brother, or a serial killer, and Sapphire refused to tell her. Last time she coaxed her mother into speaking about her father, Vivienne went mega-alky and didn’t speak to her for months.
“Yeah,” Sapphire nodded, “crazy.”
Her mother sighed, relieved Sapphire was playing along. “I came back home to tell you something.”
Right. Where had Vivienne been all summer? Last time Sapphire saw her she mumbled something about going to rehab. Sapphire believed Vivienne would’ve checked in. She was also confident her mother checked right back out when she realized they didn’t serve mimosas for breakfast.
Vivienne put her cup down and motioned Sapphire to follow her lead. They stood up, face to face, Sapphire confused, Vivienne nervous.
“I’m sorry.” Vivienne opened her arms then pulled her daughter in for something resembling a hug and squished Sapphire’s face against her shoulder. “There.” Awkward pat. “There.” Awkward pat. She pulled away with a look of pride. “How was that?”
Surreal? “Uh…”
“Excellent.” Vivienne pulled out keys and a phone. “Your new cell, with your same old number; and your Range Rover has been detailed. Promise to be a good girl and I’ll leave you a small allowance. I have to be frugal until I get the money.” She put her finger on Sapphire’s nose. “Boop.”
What the f—
“I’ll see you in court later.” Vivienne turned on her heel. “And don’t forget to pencil in our weekly mother-daughter dinner on Saturday.”
“Our weekly what?”
“Oh, and…” Vivienne raised her finger, “be careful. Women have died and gone missing for the past few months. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to my little girl. Snuggles. Tah.”
Sapphire’s nose wrinkled as she stared after her mother. Vivienne was acting weird. Not drunk-weird, but weird-weird. That’s when her mother’s words hit her. Of course.
It wasn’t a coincidence. Her father hadn’t just dropped by; he’d been in Beverly Hills for months. The women had died and gone missing for months.
The cup slipped out of her hand and crashed to the carpet. Her father was the Beverly Hills Killer.
The killer she’d always wanted to catch was here.
Chapter 6
As opposed to the closed hearing, the courtroom was packed on the first day of trial.
“Calling Christina Kraft.”
God help me. Sapphire tried to channel Father O’Riley’s faith and closed her eyes as Chrissy went to swear in as a character witness. Please, let her not say anything stupid.
“Wait!” Chrissy squealed. “What do you mean I can’t lie?”
Sapphire scowled upward. Thanks for nothing.
“Like,” Chrissy continued, “I have to tell you how many people I’ve slept with?”
“Why on earth would that come up, Ms. Kraft?” The judge asked.
“Well, it’s forty-three.” Chrissy threw her hands up. “So there, everybody happy now?”
Nobody looked happy. A common side effect when Chrissy opened her mouth.
Chrissy put her finger on her chin. “Unless this is one of those lists where we count high school too, then it’s fifty-one?”
Sapphire’s brow twitched. An odd increase considering she and Chrissy went to an all-girls school.
Judge Biggs, an ironically small man for his name, sighed. When the guard asked everyone to rise for the Honorable Judge Biggs earlier, people got confused when the door behind the bench opened and closed on its own. Moments later, the tiny man flung up a booster seat, then clambered up and grabbed the gavel.
Chrissy swore in and the prosecutor, Marissa Pearl, approached the stand. She was a young, attractive woman who scared the shit out of Sapphire. When they were first introduced, Marissa held onto Sapphire’s hand and looked at her like she wanted to eat her with a side of coleslaw.
“What is your relationship with Ms. Dubois?”
Chrissy gave the courtroom a quick glance. “Former BFFs.”
Sapphire looked at her table. She always knew people would turn on her if they found out what she was, but Chrissy’s coldness still hurt.
“Did you ever witness Sapphire do anything out of the ordinary?”
No!
Chrissy’s panicked eyes darted to her and Sapphire knew what she was thinking. She’d witnessed Sapphire pick the lock to the Chancellor’s office when they first met at Winchester Private Academy. She never said anything to anyone and that loyalty was why Sapphire wanted her as a “best friend.”
Chrissy drew a breath. “There was this one time, in high school…” She’d recited the event and finished with a slight panic. “But… but our Chancellor was really mean. He was one of those short, ugly guys with a complex.” She gave Judge Biggs a nod. “You know what I’m talking about.”
Judge Biggs glowered down at her as Marissa turned around and spoke to no one in particular. “Picking locks at the age of sixteen. That would be a skill someone like the Serial Catcher might need, wouldn’t it? Thank you, Ms. Kraft.”
Sapphire turned to her public defender hoping he had something good coming.
“Does this look like ketchup to you, Saffron?” Mr. Leary showed her a stain on his tie, then took a sample lick and shook his head. “No, no. Definitely jam.”
Obviously not.
Mr. Leary walked up to the stand, eyes still on his tie, and a bad feeling came over Sapphire. He would open his mouth and tack on time to her sentence, instead of the other way around.
He looked at his papers, then raised his chin to Chrissy. “So… was this the first time you and my client smoked crack at Chuck-E-Cheese?”
“Ew,” Chrissy grimaced. “Like I would eat at Chuck-E-Cheese.”
The jury looked confused, and Sapphire smacked her forehead to the desk. Yup, she was done for.
“Whoopsy-daisy, wrong case.” He flipped through his papers as the doors to the courtroom flew open.
A sweaty man in a straw hat, shorts, and flip-flops, wheezed in the doorway.
“Here… I’m here… I’m…” he stopped mid-aisle to put his hands to his knees. “I’m shvitzing.”
The mumbles rose in the crowd and Judge Biggs slammed his gavel. “Order. Mr. Shvitzing, may I ask what you’re doing here and also remind you that it’s not casual Friday in my courtroom… ever.”
It took Sapphire a few seconds to recognize the man in the straw hat. She’d never seen him out of a suit.
“No. I’m shvitzing.” He demonstrated by wiping his forehead. “I’m Sal Goldstein, Ms. Dubois’ representative.” Mr. Goldstein motioned his thumb to Mr. Leary. “Not sure who this schmuck thinks he is.”
Judge Biggs held his tiny arms out. “We’re in the middle of a trial, Mr. Goldstein. We can’t just simply start over because you—”
Mr. Goldstein stole the papers from Sapphire’s defender and held up a finger to the judge as he speed-read the documents. He glanced up to see Mr. Leary still there, then shot his thumb to the exit. “In case you missed it, the door’s that rectangle wood thing between frames. And you’ve got ketchup on your tie.”
“It’s jam,” Mr. Leary muttered and left.
“Mr. Goldstein…” Judge Biggs warned.
“Ms. Kraft.” Mr. G
oldstein turned to the stand. “What was it about the defendant that made you want her as a best friend? You’re a Kraft, I’m guessing everyone wants to be your friend.”
“Of course they do,” Chrissy snorted, then looked to her hands. “She was the first person who didn’t care that I was a Kraft.” A bittersweet expression escaped her. “She was my first real friend.”
No, Sapphire hadn’t picked Chrissy because she was a Kraft. She’d hung out with her to look the part of a normal heiress. Chrissy had been nothing but a cover to start. Over the last year, their friendship had grown into something real for Sapphire. She missed her best friend, despite all her vanities and cruelty against the middle class. She wanted nothing more than to run up and hug Chrissy.
Mr. Goldstein continued to ask about charities, parties, shopping, all the things Sapphire had hated, but Chrissy had forced her along to. All the jurors heard was how much of an heiress Sapphire was. The furthest things from their minds were the images of her as a murderer or the Serial Catcher. Mr. Goldstein was brilliant.
He finished and Judge Biggs grabbed the gavel. “May I suggest that if you return after lunch, Mr. Goldstein, you return without your flip-flops. Court’s in recess!”
Everyone scrambled toward the cafeteria and Mr. Goldstein walked up to Sapphire. “Sorry I didn’t make it sooner, I was in the middle of doing research in Guayaquil.”
“Thank you.” Sapphire looked up at Mr. Goldstein, who’d been one of Charles’ closest friends. She felt an overwhelming gratitude and dove in for a hug. “Thank you!”
“Don’t thank me.” He hugged her back, then they moved toward the hallway. “Thank the cop who sent my secretary forty-seven emails to track me down, then came all the way to Guayaquil to fetch me.”
Sapphire stopped. “Aston?”
“Yes. Good guy, a real mensch. Terrible vocabulary, though.” He patted her arm. “I have to change into the monkey suit before these shmucks kvetch, you know what I mean?”
“I really don’t.”
Mr. Goldstein took off and Sapphire stepped into the hallway to go to the cafeteria.
“Psst.”
A finger curled at her from behind one of the pillars. Had Sapphire not noticed the perfectly manicured nail she may not have gone over with such ease. She followed the finger and found a sad face on the other side of the pillar.
“Hello,” Sapphire crossed her arms, “my former BFF.”
“I’m sorry about all that…” Chrissy pulled Sapphire in for a hug. “And I’m sorry I had to tell them about the lock picking. Now it’s going to sound like you’re all skilled.” She groaned in frustration. “This whole thing is so stupid. I mean, puh-lese. Like you would ever kill someone or be smart enough to capture serial killers.”
“Thanks?”
“Come on.” Chrissy peeked out to make sure the hall was empty. “Go-go-go.”
Sapphire was hustled toward the doors. “Where are we go-go-going?”
“Lunch.”
Sapphire lit up. “Mulberry Street Pizzeria?”
“No.” Chrissy looked around with paranoia. “The Italian place across the street is known for discretion. It’s where everyone takes their mistresses and ugly dates. Also, Mulberry burnt down like a month ago.”
Sapphire stopped. She wasn’t sure which was worse, the fact that her chance of getting her favorite white pizza was toast, or that Chrissy had categorized her as an ugly date. “You’re that embarrassed to be seen with me?”
“No,” Chrissy laughed and waved at Sapphire to follow. “I don’t care about the trial or the wedding stuff. I’m just not allowed to hang out with you in public.”
“Why? Says who?”
“Doesn’t matter…” Chrissy avoided eye contact. “Anyways, my parents are in Abu Dhabi until next week, so you can come over as long as no one sees you walk in.”
Sapphire was just about to push the question when her phone rang. Caller Unknown.
“Hello?”
Silence, then the faint sound of a woman’s breath.
“Who is this?” The breather hung up and Sapphire stared at the screen with a strong suspicion: the Copycat.
She wiped the concern off her face as Chrissy turned. “First, you tell me everything about the slammer. Then, I’ll tell you all about how I boned your ex-fiancé all summer.” She hooked her arm into Sapphire’s. “So, did you shank anyone? Oh-oh, did you get a prison wife?”
“Well,” Sapphire said as they walked up to the restaurant. “There was Chops.”
A small, almost non-existent, gut-feeling came over Sapphire when she reached for the door. Don’t go in, it begged. Turn around.
Unaware of the regrets to come, Sapphire didn’t listen.
• • •
Aston sat at the table in the court’s cafeteria and waited for Barry to return with his favorite BLT. He’d scanned, bobbed, squinted, and searched for her familiar features for the past five minutes without result.
They didn’t make it for the first part of Sapphire’s trial. He’d landed back in the States with Mr. Goldstein this morning. The moment he turned his phone back on, the chief called him in to meet with the Phelps family. He hated those meetings. You were taught to give the relatives hope that wasn’t there. The Beverly Hills Killer had killed two; odds were the missing heiresses had already suffered the same fate. They just didn’t have the bodies yet.
Aston couldn’t help but look around again. He expected a warm greeting from Sapphire. After she heard he went all the way to Guayaquil—which he learned was in Ecuador—to get Mr. Goldstein for her, she would throw her arms around his neck, and lay a fat one on his lips. Thanks to Mr. Goldstein’s secretary, who’d finally responded to his emails, Sapphire would forgive and forget the airport. She would understand he did what he did to help her.
“She’s not here.” Barry appeared in front of him with a tray and nodded to the window where Sapphire and Christina Kraft disappeared into the restaurant across the street.
“Pff, I wasn’t looking for her.”
“Sure you weren’t.” Barry handed him a sandwich. “Sorry, someone just got the last BLT, but I got you a club.”
Aston glared out the window after Sapphire. Damn. He’d been looking forward to that reuniting kiss, maybe even a quickie or two in the bathroom.
“See! This is what I’m talking about.” Barry pointed at him. “You know how frustrating it is to watch you guys? Back and forth, back and forth. You’re a ‘will they, won’t they.’”
“Huh?” Aston reached for the club and stared at it in disappointment. As a cop he had to go to court every so often, and the only silver lining was the cafeteria’s famous BLT.
“You know like Rachel and Ross?”
“Dunno.” Aston bit into the sandwich, then spit it back out.
“Jim and Pam?”
“Nope.”
“Wh—Bill and Sookie?”
“Oh, right,” Aston nodded. “The guys down in evidence.”
Barry stared at him. “You seriously need to watch something other than Magnum P.I. reruns and America’s Most Wanted.” He put his fist to his chin with a dreamy expression. “I liked Jim and Pam the most. They were so romantic.”
“Tell me, Barry,” Aston said, “when you put on your panties in the morning, do you pick style over comfort? Because I don’t think the blood’s circulating to your brain properly.”
He laughed at Barry’s shocked eyes, then realized he wasn’t looking at Aston, but behind him.
Aston looked over his shoulder to see the smug fuck across the cafeteria.
Detective Capelli sat at a table next to Prosecutor Pearl and was taking pictures with some “fans.” His face was everywhere and people treated him like a hero, or worse, a reality star. Aston would’ve puked had his stomach not been empty.
While Petunia Dubois was the star witness for the murder part of Sapphire’s trial, Capelli was the star witness for the Serial Catcher part. He was the one who upped the ante on the Sap
phire Dubois media circus.
“Detective,” Barry cautioned.
Aston’s fist clenched.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea to confront him right now,” Barry urged. “He’s sitting with the prosecutor.”
“What makes you think I’m going to confront him?”
“Because all you’ve done for the past thirty seconds is mumble ‘smug fuck’ and you’re walking toward him.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Barry. I’m just—well, well, well.” Aston crossed his arms and stared down at Capelli. “If it isn’t Mr. Spotlight.”
Capelli looked up. “Yo, if it isn’t Mr. and Mrs. Oops-we-lost-the-evidence.”
“Am I the Missus?” Barry whispered.
“Of course you’re the Missus,” Aston spat.
He looked back at Capelli who had just referred to the security footage of Sapphire Dubois as the Serial Catcher that he and Barry deleted. Capelli saw it before they did and recognized Sapphire. Without the evidence, all that was left was Capelli’s word as a detective and he would’ve looked like an idiot trying to pin a powerful vigilante on a tiny heiress. Then the news of the country club murders hit, and Sapphire was suddenly believable as a vigilante. He’d even gotten a warrant to search the mansion. They found nothing; Aston had already moved everything out of Sapphire’s attic and in under Barry’s bed—a place guaranteed not get visitors.
Aston noticed the sandwich in Capelli’s hand and his mouth drew to a line. “Is that the BLT?”
“Yeah, the girl gave me the last one on the house. Celebrity perk, you know. The broads dig it.” Capelli put an arm around Prosecutor Pearl who was reading the paper. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”
“Nope.” Prosecutor Pearl removed his arm, eyes still on her newspaper. “Still not my type.”
Capelli cleared his throat and winked at Aston. “Her and I got a thang.”
“Nooo, we don’t,” Pearl mumbled, flipping pages.
Aston drilled his eyes into Capelli’s. “You know what the girls at my station call you?”
“Hung?”
“A media-whore, because that’s exactly what you are. She’s not the Serial Catcher,” Aston lied, then switched to truth. “And she’s not a murderer.”
