Wicked Temptation

by Linda Verji

  "Boy, bye." She swatted his hand away. Yeah, he was good at that but she was cooking here. Turning in his arms, she pushed him away then smacked him on the ass with her wooden spoon. "Git. You're distracting me."

  With a chuckle, he moved to the kitchen table to watch her cook. He left for a few minutes to go and park his car in her garage. She'd gotten rid of her car after the accident with her parents so there was plenty of space. By the time he came back, the spaghetti and meatballs were ready. She settled opposite him to join him in the meal.

  The easy atmosphere of dinner encouraged her to mention something else she'd done today. "After I came from the doctor's, I passed by the grocery and saw this." She plucked a flyer off the kitchen counter and brought it to him. He paused in his eating to scan the flyer's print.

  As soon as he did his eyebrows rose. "Group grief counseling?"

  "Yeah." Misha settled back in her seat. Twirling her fork around her spaghetti, she said, "I thought about what you said, and though I still don't want a therapist I thought maybe a little extra help wouldn't hurt. The flyer says they meet on Mondays and Thursdays at St. Augustine's Middle School. I figure I can go next week while you're in LA and see what it's all about."

  Danny's eyes lit up in pleasure. "I think that's a great idea."

  It was also less intimidating because there'd be no therapist whose owlish attention was focused solely on her. She'd sneak into the hall full of sad people, hide out in the back, listen to people spilling their secrets, pick up a few coping skills then be on her merry way.

  She figured wrong.

  For one, the Monday meeting wasn't in a hall. It was in a classroom filled with colorful furniture and whose walls were papered with cheerful, childish drawings. And it wasn't even full; there were about seven people milling around the teacher's table at the front of the room pouring out cups of tea and serving themselves cake.

  And sad? These people weren't sad. Sure, no one was waving pompoms or breaking into song and dance. But no one was spontaneously combusting into tears either as she'd seen them do in the movies. As for hiding out in the back, she quickly found out it wasn't an option. A large table sat at the center of the classroom with seats around it.

  Misha was about to beat a hasty retreat when one of the men at the snack-table spotted her. The fifty-something year-old man's face broke into a smile. "Hi, come in. Come in."

  Misha seriously considered lying that she was lost, but the man was soon joined by the other group members urging her in, serving her tea, introducing themselves.

  "I'm Owen," the man who'd spotted her first introduced. "I run this little group of miscreants."

  "Or at least he tries to," an auburn-haired plump lady with dimples for miles teased as she handed Misha a cup of tea. "I'm Helen."

  "Taste it first," a black man in his seventies warned. "Helen's got a sweet tooth that would give the tooth fairy a heart attack. I'm Winston."

  Sure enough the tea tasted like it was more sugar than it was milk. But these people were so nice that Misha found herself saying it was perfect. The other four members of the group (Phillipa, Carolyn, Kelly and Archer) introduced themselves as the whole group moved to the round table.

  The meeting wasn't what Misha had imagined it to be either. She'd expected someone with a sad, closed expression to stand in front of the room and mumble out his or her story while everyone listened on like curious onlookers twitching the curtain into someone else's life. Instead what she found was an encouraging atmosphere of openness, sharing and commiserating.

  Winston was the first to speak, "So I went through with the garage sale and sold some of Brenda's things."

  "What?" "Congratulations." "Oh, Winston." Cheerful encouragements met his announcements.

  "Brenda is Winston's late wife," Owen offered Misha helpfully.

  "It wasn't easy." Winston shook his head. "Even though it wasn't all her clothes it felt like I was giving part of her up. What made it bearable was the fact that someone else wanted them. I wasn't throwing them out."

  Maybe to an outsider it seemed like nothing but the tears in Winston's eyes as he described the clothes he'd sold said this was a big step. And Misha could relate. It'd taken her forever to give out her parents clothes, and she still refused to sell their house. She found herself tearing up when Phillipa talked of her ex's upcoming death anniversary and how tormented she felt that she had broken his heart when he was alive. Misha laughed along with everyone else when Helen showed them the video she'd discovered of her dead son's first stand-up show.

  Though these people were strangers after the first thirty minutes it didn't feel like it. Misha felt connected to them; like their mutual losses created an invisible bond. It was a great feeling to know that there were others out there who felt as she did, who thought as she did, who had had suffered as she had. Perhaps a one-on-one session with a therapist would've been more private but she felt much safer here. Here it was tit for tat; sharing for sharing, and secrets for secrets. It was hard to break someone's confidence when your own was on the line.

  Bonus? She didn't have to share more than she was willing. No one prodded for more information than she wanted to give. All she told them was that she was here because of her brother and parents, and they let her be. Maybe next time she'd tell them more, she thought as she walked home later in the evening.

  Eager to tell Danny how good the meeting had been, she reached into her bag for her phone. But before she could dial his number, the phone buzzed in her hand and Tony's name flashed on screen. "Tony?"

  "Hi," he rushed on. "Do you think you could come over to the precinct?"

  "It's almost seven p.m.," Misha protested.

  "This is important."

  "What is?"

  "I'll tell you when you get here," he said cryptically before ending the call.

  Misha's brow furrowed in irritation and confusion. What was up with the cloak and dagger? She didn't like surprises at all, especially when they involved cops. She considered calling Tony and telling him she wasn't coming, but then changed her mind. The man was such a hard ass, he'd probably say 'fine' and tell her not to come. She couldn't risk that. Not when her nosy instincts were already on high alert. She dialed her cab guy's number.

  CHAPTER 30

  Misha arrived at the police precinct in record time. A uniformed cop guided her towards Tony's desk. As soon as he saw her, Tony stood up and grabbed a seat from the neighboring desk. "Thank you for coming so quickly, Shelly."

  "No problem." Misha set her purse on his desk then took the proffered seat. "What's going on?"

  "First…" He picked up the topmost sheet of paper on the pile of documents on his desk and slid it across to her. "… I need you to sign this."

  "What's this?" she asked, already skimming over the document's fine print.

  "It's a Consultant Contract and-" Tony started but was interrupted by the arrival of his partner. He introduced, "Misha, you remember Jonas, right?"

  Misha smiled up at the tall, slim man. "Nice to see you again, Jonas."

  For a forty-something year-old man, Jonas seemed to have lived a hard life. His face was long, creased with deep lines around the mouth and eyes, and he seemed to carry an air of exhaustion along his drooping shoulders. He offered Misha an exhausted smile as he settled behind his side of the desk. "It's good to see you too. I hear you've been helping out with our case."

  "I do what I can. And speaking of…" She turned back to Tony. "Why am I signing a Consultant Contract?"

  "Because-" Tony was quiet for a heartbeat. "- we can't let you talk to Lauren Wilde before you do."

  Misha's eyes widened. "I'm sorry what?"

  "We traced the email you received, and it led us to Lauren," Tony explained. "Uniforms found her holed up in a B&B in Helena this morning. She had twenty-three thousand dollars on her."

  Misha's eyes widened further as she stated unnecessarily, "Lauren's the one who took the money."

  "We think so but she's not talking
to us," Jonas said. "She says that she'll only speak to you. But we can't use what she tells you unless we've crossed all our t's and dotted our i's."

  "Does her family know she's here?" Misha asked.

  "Not yet." Tony shook his head. "And we're hoping to keep it that way - at least for the next couple of hours-"

  Misha finished for him. "Because once they know, they'll lawyer her up and you won't get diddlysquat from her."

  "Yup," Tony agreed. "We haven't even charged her for the murder."

  Misha's brow wrinkled. "Why would you charge her for the murder?"

  Jonas gave her a 'duh' look. "Because she had the money."

  "Doesn't make her the murderer," Misha defended. "It just means she took the money from the hospital while Abigail wasn't looking. And if she was the murderer, why would she send me that email?"

  "She sent it to deflect the attention from herself," Tony said.

  "She didn't need to do that," Misha insisted. "She'd already made her escape and had enough money to disappear into the mist. Why risk being traced by sending me an email?"

  Before either of the two detectives could respond, a uniformed officer approached the desk.

  "Captain says to give you this," the Uniform handed Jonas a folded up document. "It's the warrant you asked for."

  Tony's eyes widened in excitement. "We got it?"

  Jonas unfolded the document, scanned it then gave a satisfied grin as he nodded. "We got it. Judge Pynch came through."

  "Got what?" Misha asked eagerly. "Got what?"

  "A warrant to search the Wildes' home," Tony said before turning back to his partner. "You handle that. I'll handle this, right?"

  "On it," Jonas agreed already rising to his feet and slipping his jacket on.

  As soon his partner was gone, Tony turned his attention back to Misha. He held out a pen. "You ready to sign?"

  "Yeah." Misha plucked the pen from his fingers and set it to the paper. "But I'm telling you, Lauren didn't do it."

  Once she'd appended her signature to the document, Tony cosigned it then said, "Your job is to get as much as you can from Lauren. Find out how much she knew about Eric's plan and get a confession if you can."

  Misha nodded. "Okay."

  "I'll be in there with you," Tony said, "but this is your show."

  A few minutes later, he showed her to a small room that looked more like a reception room than an interrogation room. Two two-seater, black, faux-leather couches and a glass coffee table crowded the windowless room. On one of the leather couches sat Lauren.

  Or at least it looked like Lauren.

  Her hair was a blonde so bright it verged on platinum and cut so short she looked like a boy - a frail, slender boy. The last three weeks it seemed hadn't been good to her.. Her face was paler than Misha remembered and she seemed to have grown thinner. The jeans, t-shirt and boyfriend jacket she was wearing swallowed her diminutive frame. She looked up from her hunched, arms-folded-over-bust position when Misha and Tony walked into the room, turning bloodshot eyes to them.

  "Misha." A ghost of a smile crossed the younger woman's face as she stood up.

  "Hi, Lauren." Misha crossed the room to embrace her.

  "Thank you for coming," Lauren said as they settled beside each other on the couch while Tony lowered himself to the opposite couch. Lauren said, "I'm sorry to drag you into this. It's just that…" her words faded in an exhausted silence as she lowered her eyes to the floor.

  "It's okay." Misha reached for Lauren's hand to offer comfort and squeezed. She could see Tony in the side of her eye giving her his 'get on with it' look, but all she could think of was that Lauren didn't look well. Concern in her tone, she asked, "Are you okay?"

  Lauren nodded, but then brushed her arm over her eyes.

  "You don't have to do this right now." Misha rubbed the younger woman's back, ignoring the alarmed look Tony gave her. She knew that cops liked to press suspects when they were at their weakest, but Lauren was her friend. Regardless of what she was involved in, Misha refused to throw her under the bus. She advised, "You should call someone."

  "Who? My parents?" Lauren asked in a chocked voice as more tears streamed from her eyes to fall on her clothes. "So they can tell me how much of a disappointment I am? They'll probably hand the cops the keys themselves and tell them to lock me up."

  Misha dipped into her bag to hand Lauren tissues as she asked, "What about Bradley?"

  "No." Lauren dabbed at her teary eyes. "I don't want to get him involved in this. That's why I called you." She gazed at Misha beseechingly. "You're the only one who can help me. You can get me out of this."

  Misha didn't know how Lauren expected her to perform that particular miracle but she said, "We can talk once you've rested and had something to eat."

  Lauren sniffed and shook her head. "No, I'd rather get it over and done with right now."

  Misha paused for a long time then said, "I got the email you sent me."

  "Yeah! I figured." Lauren's fingers worked on the bundle of wet tissues, scrunching them into a ball. "Otherwise I wouldn't be here."

  "I'm sorry, I had no choice," Misha apologized. "But surely you knew that I'd give it to the police and that they'd trace it back to you."

  "I don't- I don't-" Lauren tripped over her words. "I don't know what I was thinking. I was just so tired of running and so - so sad." She sagged slightly.

  "Because of Eric?" Misha asked.

  Lauren nodded. Her lips parted, but she was silent for many seconds as she stared at her white knuckled hands. When she looked up at Misha her eyes were haunted. "I thought I could run, forget all about him. After everything he did to me, I should've been able to forget-" Her voice broke.

  "He broke your heart," Misha said softly as the sudden insight hit her.

  Lauren reached up and touched her temple, her hands trembling. "If I'd known that he was only with me so he could get closer to my family. If I'd known that he would use the things I told him in confidence to blackmail my family I would've…" Her fingers moved to her forehead, smoothing over the lines there as she fought for words. "Well, I don't know what I would've done."

  "You could've gone to the police," Misha said.

  Lauren let out a long breath. "I supposed I could have. But I loved - I still love him. And the thought of sending him to prison - well, I couldn't. But then again, if I had, he would be alive." Her voice lowered to an almost whisper. "They wouldn't have killed him."

  "Katherine and Richard?" Misha asked.

  Lauren nodded.

  "Do you have proof of that?"

  "No. But I know they did it, and I know the police think I did it-" Lauren cast a nervous glance at Tony. "But I didn't. I swear I didn't."

  "Why do you think Katherine and Richard did it?" Misha asked.

  "Because of the blackmail." Stinging vitriol in her voice, Lauren added, "Because they're evil human beings who should never have been allowed to breed."

  Misha almost smiled at that but she quelled it before asking, "The first thing I need to know is your alibi. Where were you when Eric was killed?"

  "At home," Lauren said fervently. "Pip can confirm it. I only left the house the morning after."

  It should've been enough to absolve Lauren, but the Pip's credibility was in doubt, especially because he'd claimed Richard and Bradley were also in the house when their own statements showed they weren't there, and he himself was now suspect.

  Misha said, "You said earlier that Eric used the information you gave him to blackmail your family. You're saying you knew Richard wasn't your father?"

  "Yeah." Lauren's gaze hardened. "At first it was just a suspicion because of how they both treated me, but then when I was eight I heard an argument between him and Katherine."

  An immediate pang of pity rushed through Misha. She could only imagine how harrowing it'd been for the eight year-old Lauren to find out that kind of information. She said softly, "I'm sorry."

  "Don't be. I'm not." Lauren shrugged. "I'm
quite happy that he isn't my father."

  But despite her blasé words, there was a hint of sadness in the young woman's eyes. Deciding to change the line of questioning, Misha asked, "What about Richard and Pip, and their relationship?"

  A ghost of a smile crossed Lauren's smile. "It's amazing how much you notice when people think you're invisible. I've known for a long time."

  "Does your mom know?"

  "Doubt it," Lauren said. "She's too busy with her own 'activities' to notice."

  Misha didn't need to ask what 'activities' meant. She asked, "And you told Eric all this?"

  Lauren didn't reply.

  Misha prodded, "Lauren?"

  The younger woman straightened and looked at her, her chin up, her back stiff, as if she was facing a firing squad. "He was so nice and kind to me. He didn't ignore me in class like everyone else. He drew me out of my shell, told me he loved me, made me love him too… then used me." She paused to swallow before she continued, "I thought I was trading confidences with my boyfriend but I was wrong. He was just with me for ammunition. I suspected he was the blackmailer when Bradley came to ask Mother for money; confirmed it when he stole my hairbrush."

  Lauren laughed but the sound that came out was more harsh then amused. "He thought I didn't notice him stealing the brush and bagging it, but I did. So I followed him the next day. When I saw him drop it off at the lab I realized what he was doing. A few days later I saw him leaving his little blackmail letter on my mother's dresser. I read it, made a copy and left the original there. I checked his phone when he wasn't looking and noted several phone calls to someone called Abby. I knew then that not only had he used me but he was also seeing some other woman."

  Misha wanted to say that Abigail was actually Eric's cousin, but before she could Lauren plunged on, "He sent this Abby a message to pick the money on the same day he'd told my mother to drop off her money at Amity Hospital. I followed my mother to Amity but then stayed behind to catch a glimpse of Abigail."

  She let out a scornful laugh. "Can you imagine he was screwing me over so he could steal our money and go spend it on another woman? Unbelievable! Then the greedy bastard had the gall to send my fa-Richard that video even after he'd already stolen fifty thousand dollars. I was so angry I decided I wouldn't let him do it anymore."