A few minutes before five, I headed to Cecilia’s house. It was also in the university area, one of the lovely older homes that were well maintained. I only had to wait a few moments for Savannah to arrive, and when she got out of her car, I could tell she wasn’t very happy with what we were about to do.
“I’m going to make one last plea for you to come to your senses about this. Just because you have a key doesn’t make it okay for you to enter someone’s home,” she said. “And I assume you got the key from Pete, who happens to be charged with the murder of the homeowner. You’re putting him at risk, you know.”
“He didn’t give it to me. I sort of…stole it from him,” I admitted.
Her eyes got wide. “You’ve gone off the deep end. I’m out of here.” She turned to leave, and I grabbed her arm.
“Look, I’m sorry. Think about if it was Carl who was wrongfully accused of murder. Wouldn’t you move heaven and earth to see that he was cleared?”
“Carl is my husband. Of course I would.”
“This is no different.”
“It is, because Pete’s not your husband.”
Stung by her words, I couldn’t come up with anything to say.
Her face fell. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I didn’t want to hurt your feelings. I’m just trying to knock some sense into you.”
“I’ll just do this by myself,” I muttered, starting up the walk.
Savannah caught up to me at the front porch. “No, I’ll come with you. This is important. I don’t want Pete to rot in jail, either.”
“Thanks,” I said sincerely, taking her hand. She was wearing her winter gloves, which would actually be helpful in our breaking and entering. I put mine on as well, continuing, “Keep your gloves on so we don’t leave any fingerprints. That way, no one will ever know we were here.”
We easily slipped into Cecilia’s house. It was a beautiful colonial style on the outside. However, the décor on the inside was completely modern and sleek, just like Cecilia. I hadn’t been to her house before. She would rather have eaten broken glass than invited me over to socialize. The place was spotless, a testament to Talicia at least not lying about her housekeeping skills. Savannah, who had been there before, led the way to Cecilia’s home office, which was just as neat and tidy as the rest of the place.
“I figure she kept her personal information here, if that’s what you’re looking for,” she said.
“Right.” I turned on her computer, but it was password protected. “Damn. I’d love to look at her email, but there’s probably no way we can guess her password, is there?”
“How about ‘Pete’?”
I typed in “Pete,” but no luck. “How about the baby daddy’s name? Have you heard anything yet?”
“I have a lunch scheduled with some ladies tomorrow. Hopefully I’ll find out then.”
“Great. Let’s look through the desk.” I turned on the flashlight app on my phone for some light, because we were afraid to turn on any of the house lights. I took the right set of drawers and Savannah took the left. I found files of normal household stuff, like bank statements, appliance warranty papers, tax returns, and investment account statements.
Savannah asked, “Find anything interesting?”
“Not really…” I replied, beginning to peruse her bank statements.
“I think I did.”
My head snapped up. “What?”
“Oh, just her life insurance policy…worth three million dollars, with Abigail listed as her beneficiary.”
“Whoa,” I breathed.
She nodded. “Whoa is right. That’s a good chunk of money, even to a Hollingsworth.”
I went back to looking through her bank statements. After a few minutes, I was about to give it up when a large withdrawal caught my eye. It was a check written to Bastidas Enterprises. “Hey, what’s Bastidas Enterprises? And why did Cecilia write them a check for fifty grand?”
Closing up the drawer she had finished looking through, Savannah made a face. “That’s her landscape architect. She had her backyard redone this summer and put in a koi pond. Everyone in town is putting in a koi pond this year.”
“Fifty grand for a hole with a few fish in it?” Rich people. But that hardly sounded like something tight-ass Cecilia would spend her money on.
“Alejandro Bastidas is the best landscape architect around.”
“Why did you make a face earlier, then?”
“Well, Bastidas Enterprises and I used to have an agreement to refer clients to each other. That is, until Alejandro upset one of my clients by coming on to her. He is rather touchy-feely when he talks to you, but I figured it’s because he’s South American.” She shrugged. “I quit referring him after that, and I don’t think he was too happy about it.”
“Did you refer Cecilia to him?”
“Yes, but that was before the other incident. She never complained of his behavior toward her, though. Abigail used him, too, and didn’t have a problem that I know of.”
My phone rang noisily, and we both nearly jumped out of our skin. After I caught my breath, I looked and saw that it was Ryder. I seriously considered not answering, but he never called unless he had a good reason. Maybe he had news on Pete’s case.
I took a breath to steady my voice. “Hello?”
“Hey, babe.”
“Um…hi.” He said he was going to call me today, but what were the odds he called while I was doing something illegal?
“Where are you right now?”
I froze. His voice sounded smug. He knew something. I looked at Savannah helplessly, and she cocked her head to the side, a confused look on her face.
I lied, “I’m…at Cori’s getting a hot dog.” I had a weakness for a local hot dog joint, and it was a plausible story that I had left work to satisfy a hot dog craving.
“No, you’re not.”
Shit. I hurried to one of the front windows and peeked outside. There was Ryder, lounging lazily against the hood of his car. My heart sank. I hung up my phone, and Savannah came up behind me.
“What’s going on?” she asked, bewildered.
“We’re in trouble. Ryder’s outside.”
“WHAT?” she exploded, beginning to pace around the room. “How could I let you do this to me?”
Kicking myself, I sighed. “I’m so sorry I got you into this.”
“Juliet, we’re going to jail!”
“Well…Ryder didn’t seem too angry. Maybe he’ll just give us a slap on the wrist.”
“I can’t go to jail!” she wailed, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I have a holiday party to throw!”
“I know. Just calm down—”
She came at me and got in my face. “I can’t believe you talked me into this and then…and then got us caught!”
“I’m sorry—”
“Sorry isn’t going to help much on this one, Juliet!” She collapsed onto the nearest chair, sobbing.
“Hey, don’t cry,” I said, not knowing what to do to get her to calm down. I patted her awkwardly on the shoulder.
Savannah turned to me, her face red and streaked with tears. “You always do this. You take too many chances and get yourself into horrible situations. Now you’ve dragged me along with you!”
She was right. She had tried to talk me out of this, but I wouldn’t hear of it. I had to do something to keep her out of trouble. “Look, I’ll take the heat alone. You go out the back door and find a place to hide outside. I’ll go deal with Ryder. He’s not going to throw me in jail, I don’t think, and he doesn’t know you’re here with me. When it’s safe for you to leave, I’ll call you. Okay?”
She looked up at me warily and sniffled. “Okay. Just…next time, when I tell you something is a bad idea, will you listen to me?”
“I will.”
Savannah scurried out the back, and I headed out front to get in a fight. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out how in the hell he found me.
As I approached him, I could see he was wearing
that condescending smile I hated. I said, “Hey, long time no see.”
He ignored me. “You lied to an officer of the law, babe. And it looks like you’re trespassing.”
I wasn’t sure of the best way to handle this one. I could get mad and push back, which would cause a big fight. Or, I could beg for mercy and forgiveness and maybe even cry a little. Based on my past history of epic, relationship-ending arguments with Ryder, I chose the latter.
“Yes, and I’m sorry. Now what?”
He must have been expecting me to lose my shit, because he looked bewildered after I admitted my guilt. “Uh, maybe you want to tell me what you were doing in there?”
Thinking it would be way too Scooby-Doo-ish to say “searching for clues,” even though that was technically what I was doing, I went with, “I thought there might be something in Cecilia’s house that would point to someone other than Pete being her killer.”
“Well, did you find anything?”
“Yes…”
“Are you going to tell me about it?”
“Maybe…Wait. How long have you been here?”
“I’ll be the one asking the questions.”
“You’ve been here for a while, haven’t you? Why didn’t you bust me sooner? So I had time to look around?” I asked suspiciously.
He stared at me wordlessly.
I complained, “Will you at least tell me how you knew I was here?”
“Pete called me.”
“What?” Pete knew what I was up to? No freaking way.
Ryder sighed. “He called me when he realized you’d taken a key off his ring, and he put two and two together and assumed you had plans to use it to get into Cecilia’s house. He was trying to protect you, Juliet.”
“By ratting me out to the cops?” I was pissed now.
“I’m not going to take you in. But I am going to say this…” He took me by both shoulders and looked me square in the eye. “If you ever pull a stunt like this again, I’m not going to protect you, relationship or not. Do you understand that?”
“Yes.”
He smirked at me. “And you can tell Savannah I’m not going to take her in, either.”
My mouth dropped open. “How did you know she was here, too?”
“There’s this cool database of license-plate numbers that cops have access to.” He pointed to her car, which was parked directly in front of his. “I ran the plate.”
I put my head in my hands, defeated.
Ryder pulled me to him and kissed the top of my head. “I know I say this a lot, but I wouldn’t like you nearly as much if you were a normal girl.”
Chapter 20
After confiscating Pete’s key from me, Ryder gave me a police escort back to Java Jive, as well as a strong suggestion to stay there until closing time. I didn’t argue with him.
Exhausted and grouchy, I slouched into the coffeehouse, planning to help the baristas with the open mic night crowd, but it was eerily empty in there. Upon scanning the room, I noticed there were only a handful of people hanging around, as opposed to the packed house we usually had on open mic nights. Last week it was standing room only. I knew people got busy around the holidays and there was the stigma surrounding Pete, but struggling musicians were never known to give up a chance to perform.
I walked up to the counter and asked my baristas, “What’s up with the crowd tonight?”
Cole shrugged. “It’s been freaking empty since I got here. We’re all back here with our thumbs up our butts, bored out of our minds.”
“Again, oversharing. We weren’t busy this morning, either.”
Tiffany was the one who wasn’t too shy to say it outright. “If you ask me, it’s because of Pete getting arrested for murder. Everyone’s talking about it on campus.” Tiffany attended Belmont, which was just a stone’s throw from Java Jive. The fact that it was the gossip of the day could definitely account for the lack of customers.
“It’s certainly big news around here, but the hysteria should die down soon. Pete didn’t kill Cecilia, and once the police have the evidence sorted out, the charges against him will be dropped.”
Cole shrugged noncommittally, which was a normal reaction for him.
Tiffany said, “I don’t think he did it.” She lowered her voice. “But that’s why Haley’s not here today. She called in ‘sick,’ but she was already crazy paranoid about personal safety before she heard about Pete. Now, she’s a nutcase.”
In all the insanity that had gone on today, plus the fact that I had barely been at work most of the day, I hadn’t even noticed Haley wasn’t here. “So you think I’m going to have to start looking for another barista?”
Cole said, “Yep. No big. She sucked anyway.”
This conversation was making my head hurt. “Okay. I’ll be in the office if you need me.”
I shuffled back to the office and flung myself into the nearest chair. It was a pain in the ass to hire a new staff member, and now we had the dubious distinction of “coffeehouse owned by a murderer.” Damn it. No one would want to apply here, and I’d be lucky to keep the employees I still had. The majority of them had worked here for a while, so they knew Pete well enough to at least give him the benefit of the doubt. I hoped.
Not long after I started putting together a “help wanted” ad, there was a knock at the door. Cole stuck his head in and said, “Clooney just came in, and his face is all jacked up! Come see!”
I didn’t understand what the hell Cole was talking about, not that I ever really did. I followed him to the front of the house. Stan was standing there, disheveled, with blood oozing from a cut above his eye and out of the corner of his mouth. The cut eye was bruised and starting to swell shut. He had been beaten up. I rushed over to him.
“Stan! What happened?” I asked, horrified.
He wiped his mouth dazedly. “Kent happened.”
I sucked in a breath. “You need help. Do you want me to take you to the hospital?”
He shook his head. “No. I…can’t.”
“Why?”
“It’s complicated. Can you fix me up?”
I grimaced. “Not if you need stitches, which it looks like you might.” I had a thought. “But, I know someone who can.”
Taking his hand, I led him back to the office and sat him down. I immediately called my neighbor Trevor. He had a friend in med school who had stitched up Ryder once. I was hoping he could help again.
“Hey, Trevor, it’s Juliet.”
“How goes it?”
“Well…it could be better.”
“I heard about Pete. Sorry.”
I sighed. “Yeah, it’s been rough, but he’s hanging in there. Studying for finals?”
“You know it. But I doubt if you called to ask me about school.” Trevor was a smart guy. He was a computer science major and hacker extraordinaire.
“Right. I was hoping Ryan could again lend a hand to a friend of mine.”
“He’s here—let me ask him. Don’t tell me that tough dude got shanked again.”
“Nope, just a normal, everyday ass-kicking this time. Different guy.”
Stan gave me a look, and I smiled apologetically. I heard a muffled conversation on the other end of the line.
Trevor came back and said, “Ryan’s down with it. Where are you?”
“Fantastic. We’re at Java Jive. Dinner’s on me.”
“Sweet.”
I hung up and turned to Stan. “Help is on the way.”
Rushing to the counter, I got a bag of ice, a bottle of water, a couple of clean towels, and the first-aid kit.
Cole asked, “Who laid the smack-down on Clooney?”
“Clooney?” I asked, confused.
“You don’t think your fancy dude looks like George Clooney?”
“No, I don’t. And it’s none of your business, Cole,” I warned as I hurried back to Stan.
Stan was wincing as he removed his jacket, so I helped him out of it.
“What happened?” I asked worrie
dly, starting to wipe the blood off his face.
“I couldn’t help thinking about what you said earlier about Kent. So I went and had a chat with him. He didn’t seem to like what I had to say.”
My heart sank. This was my fault. I was the one who had made a big deal out of Kent being a good suspect in Cecilia’s murder. I never expected Stan, of all people, to confront the guy. Stan was supposed to go talk to the police, like an adult.
As I cleaned the cut over his eye, I said sincerely, “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said all of that stuff and got you upset.”
“No,” he protested. “I wouldn’t have wanted you to keep something like that from me. This is my sister we’re talking about…both of them actually, and—OW! That burns.”
“Sorry. I’m out of peroxide, so I have to clean your cuts with alcohol.” I looked down at his hands and was pleasantly surprised to note that a few of his knuckles were red and busted up. I wiped them with alcohol and put some antibiotic ointment on them. “Looks like you got in a couple of shots at Kent. Good for you.”
He grinned sheepishly. “Only two.”
“Did you get him to admit to anything?”
“No. Once I made my accusations, his fists started flying.” He shifted in his chair and groaned.
“You’re obviously in pain. Explain to me why I can’t take you to the hospital,” I said.
Stan sighed. “If you take me to the hospital, they’ll file a report. This is a family thing. It needs to stay quiet. We don’t need any more press right now.”
“Seriously? You’re protecting that jackass?”
He closed his eyes. “He said if I went to the police, he’d have Abigail recant her statement about her fall down the stairs. He said they’d press charges.”
“But you didn’t push her…right?” I asked warily.
“I didn’t. I swear.”
Mug Shot Page 17
