Win cocked his head. “Lucky? How so, mate?”
Kirkland’s face went sheepish. “I used to joke he was lucky not to have any family because of my family and, well…my father.” Then he shook his head. “Forget it. It was a terrible thing to say. I had food and clothes and a warm place to stay, with no financial worries. That wasn’t always the case for Wade.”
Maybe the issues between Kirkland and his family were bigger than I’d thought. Kirkland made it sound this close to Hell. How awful was Harris Endicott?
“So no family to speak of. Any foster parents with a grudge?”
I knew it was a reach, but it wasn’t as though there hadn’t been a case where one had to suspend their disbelief before.
Kirkland twisted a worn tissue between his fingers. “He wasn’t in touch with many of them, I can tell you that. He didn’t hate them or anything, he just didn’t really form any attachments to them. Sure, he had some bad experiences, but thankfully none of them were so horrible they scarred him for life. It was all just petty complaints in the scheme of bad foster homes.”
And then he paused and his face distorted in pain. “Although, he does still have one friend he stayed in close touch with. They were in foster care together off and on over the years.”
“And who is this friend?” Both Win and I asked almost identically worded questions, and for some reason, it irked me a little.
I usually ask the questions…
Which was silly, right? He asked questions all the time—even if they’d been in my ear. I reminded myself of that, hating myself for feeling so stupidly petty.
Kirkland looked pained again as he pulled out his phone. “Mikala. Mikala Leone. I’ll send you her number so you can talk to her, but she doesn’t…she doesn’t know he’s gone yet. Still, even she’ll tell you, Wade was a good guy. Which is why this is so hard to swallow, Stevie. I don’t get it.”
Inhaling, I tried to stay focused, giving Kirkland the warmest smile I could summon. “I know he was a good guy, but that doesn’t always mean there isn’t someone who didn’t feel the same way, whether it’s wrong or not. Those are just facts, Kirkland. For instance, he worked in a volatile field, wouldn’t you say? Big Pharma has all sorts of messy issues on the news all the time, from price gouging to omitting or misleading people about dire side effects for a new drug. Could he have learned something he wasn’t supposed to? Maybe at the conference he attended this past week?”
Kirkland bit his lip and shook his head. “If he did, he didn’t tell me. He never mentioned a single problem with any of the drugs he sells.”
“Speaking of Wade’s conference,” Win said. “Have you figured out why he came back a day early, Kirkland? I understand he didn’t tell you, but did he tell anyone he was leaving early? Do you know what flight he took and when? Did he bring his luggage back with him, and if so, where did it go?”
Kirkland swallowed hard, pressing a fist to his temple. “I talked to the police today, and they had someone from the Cincinnati PD question everyone at the Marriott who might have come into contact with Wade. According to them, he didn’t tell anyone he was leaving. In fact, one of his colleagues said he was supposed to do a panel with him in the morning yesterday, just before the conference was over, and he never showed up. The police also told me the airlines confirmed he was on a flight last night that arrived in Sea-Tac at nine in the evening, but he never collected his luggage.”
I wrote that fact down. It might help to have the window of time before his death so we could eliminate suspects just by nature of their whereabouts.
“And I suppose they’re going to keep his luggage for evidence?”
Kirkland’s sigh was ragged as he looked out the large picture window in his living room at the gloomy day. “Yes. They told me not to expect any of his belongings anytime soon.”
“And did they tell you anything else—like how he’d died?” I winced as the words shot out of my mouth, but it might help to understand the nature of Wade’s death.
Win and I thought he’d been strangled because of what was around his neck yesterday, and what his spirit had depicted in that horror show of charades last night. Strangulation is an angry means to an end. It’s about as violent as one can get using nothing more than their strength. Someone had been very angry with Wade.
Kirkland’s stare was blank. “They didn’t tell me. They said they’re waiting for the preliminary something or other.”
Both of us began to answer, but I let Win finish. “The preliminary coroner’s report. Which simply means they haven’t done in-depth testing. They’re only relying on what their eyes tell them.”
Inhaling again to steady my breathing, I tamped down how ridiculously territorial I felt. Win’s words were correct and that was all that mattered.
“Oh…” Kirkland murmured. “So there’s going to be more, I guess. What do you guys think happened? I don’t remember…it’s all a big blur, but you saw him up close. Both of you did. You have experience with this. What do you two think happened?”
Reaching across the coffee table separating us, I grabbed Kirkland’s hand and squeezed it. “Are you sure you want to know, Kirkland? We’re only guessing at this point.”
Kirkland let his chin hang to his chest, his bottom lip quivering. “I do. I know I’ll regret it, but the other half of me needs to understand this senseless act.”
“We—” I stopped short once more when both of us began to offer up our theory.
This time Win deferred to me. “Pardon, Stephania. Please, continue.”
Rolling my tongue in my cheek, I fought the impulse to clamp my fingers over Win’s kissable lips and looked to Kirkland, my eyes searching his. “We think he was strangled.”
Kirkland gasped, making me squeeze his hand tighter.
“I’m sorry, Kirkland. We could, of course, be wrong,” Win consoled.
But the tears had begun to pour from Kirkland’s eyes again, meaning a break was needed. I decided now might be the time to poke about in Wade’s personal things while Win asked him more questions.
So I gave him a quick hug and quietly asked permission to search their bedroom, surprised the police hadn’t already done it.
Though, I’d learned yesterday, Kirkland did have a pretty solid alibi for his whereabouts last night. He’d spent the night in Seattle at a friend’s house, where they’d had dinner and drinks.
Pushing open the oak door of their bedroom, I noted the bed remained neatly made with a crisp white comforter, more macramé pillows in black and white, and a black throw blanket with tassels, casually thrown over the end of the bed.
Pictures of the happy couple—also in black and white, with festively colored frames—were scattered over the light wood nightstands and the top of their gorgeous armoire.
I felt almost criminal poking about, but it had to be done. I’m not sure what I hoped to find, or if I’d find anything, but no stone unturned was my motto.
So I began at one end of the room and worked my way toward the other, sifting through nightstand drawers and digging through their armoire.
I have to say, aside from Win, they’re two of the neatest men I’ve ever run across. I was thinking that as I turned on the light in their gorgeous cedar walk-in closet. Everything was stacked so neatly, folded so perfectly, with everything in its place, I considered not disturbing the sheer beauty of it.
Except, that’s not who I am, is it?
I grabbed onto the ladder that rolled across the top of the shelves and climbed upward, pushing my way past a storage bin to the back of the deep top shelf until I touched the wall. I planned to work my way forward, when my hand hit something I couldn’t see.
“Stevie? Do you need help?” Kirkland called up to me
Sighing, I grunted as I almost climbed onto the shelf to reach whatever it was. “No, I’m okay, thanks.”
“Sorry the lighting’s so bad, but there isn’t much up there except that storage container anyway,” I heard Kirkland say. “Do y
ou want me to take it down for you?”
“No, no,” I poo-pooed with another grunt. “There’s something back here…I just can’t quite… Aha! Got it.” I grabbed the handle of what felt like a small suitcase and dragged it forward to set it on the edge of the shelf.
Turning, I asked Kirkland, “May I open it?”
Kirkland shrugged as he looked up at me. “I don’t even know what it is. I’ve never seen it before, but that’s what you’re here for. I don’t want you to even think about it. Do what you do.”
I popped open what looked like a case for a small musical instrument, and frowned when I saw what was inside. Pulling it out, I held it up. It looked like it would take out a batch of cobwebs with little effort.
I gripped the purple and black handle, shook out the long strands attached to it and asked, “Kirkland? What is this?”
That was when Win entered the closet, his smile full of mischief under the soft lighting as he cleared his throat. “That, Stephania, is a flogger.”
Uh-huh—
Wait. What?
“A what?”
“A device used in an intimate setting for those who enjoy a bit of diversity in their, erm…bedroom play.”
Oh.
Oh. Oh. Oh.
But I maintain, it would do a heck of a job clearing away some cobwebs.
Chapter 8
I dropped the flogger to the floor as though it had sprouted a head, its dangling strands splaying out over the light hardwood.
As we all looked at the device, the silence grew like a living, breathing thing.
Awkward.
Kirkland was the first to stoop and grab the flogger as Win held out a hand to take the case and help me down from the ladder, where I virtually fell into his arms. I felt as if I was treading somewhere very private, and that left me feeling uncomfortable.
Kirkland looked almost distressed as he held it in his fist. “I don’t even know where this came from. I didn’t know Wade was into…”
Win and I looked at each other. This was a very delicate subject I wasn’t sure I knew how to navigate, and truly, did it really make a difference that Wade had a flogger? His death wasn’t a sex crime. This was awkwardly personal.
Though, a brief glance in the velvet-lined case garnered a ruby-red business card, which I scooped up and eyeballed. It read “Divinia” in matte black letters. Nothing more. No number. No address. No catchy slogan. Nothing. But it was definitely very seductive and clearly meant to inspire intrigue.
I showed it to Kirkland. “Ever seen this before?”
He squinted then shook his head. “No… I don’t know where this came from. That was Wade’s half of the closet. I’ve never even seen that case. I don’t understand.”
If I knew Kirkland, I had a feeling he was going to fret over this and jump to conclusions. Not that I could blame him. We might have found a very intimate detail about his partner he hadn’t known about.
So I set about easing his mind. “Maybe it was from a costume? I know you guys loved Halloween, right?”
Though, I wasn’t sure I believed that. If this was your average, everyday Halloween prop, would it be in such a nice case?
Kirkland blinked. “He never wore a costume like that…”
Win threw an arm around Kirkland’s shoulder and led him out of the closet. “Maybe he wore it before he met you and forgot about it, mate? Could be why it was tucked up there so far back in the closet. I wouldn’t fret. It’s not pertinent to the case at this point.”
I followed them back out to the hall and down to the living room once more, the flogger in Kirkland’s hand still trailing across the floor.
I took it from him and put it on the buffet table they had placed under the flat-screen TV and turned to him with a small smile. “I didn’t really find anything of interest, Kirkland, but if you find anything you think is…off, will you let me know?”
“You mean other than a flogger? What’s left?”
Snickering, I pulled him into a hug. “Hey, did Win ask you if Wade rode horses or was part of any clubs?”
Kirkland nodded. “He did ask, but I don’t think so. He loved them. Wade loved all animals, but I don’t think he was ever actively involved with any, and I’m pretty sure he wasn’t part of any clubs.”
Blowing out a breath, I gathered up my purse. It was time we questioned Harris and Rosemary—after that, I wasn’t sure where we’d go.
Gripping his hand, I gave it another squeeze. “Okay, my friend. For now, this is all, but if you need me, please don’t hesitate to call—especially if the police call with any new information. Day or night, it doesn’t matter. Also, maybe you might want to give your father a head’s up that we’ll be dropping by? I know he isn’t going to love that, but I’m hoping he’ll cooperate knowing you asked for my help.”
Kirkland walked us to the door and popped it open. “I can’t promise he’s going to be anything but the rude bigot he’s always been, Stevie. He won’t hide the fact that he didn’t like Wade—even though Wade couldn’t do him any harm. Not financially, anyway. He just didn’t like his son being married to a man.”
I gave him a sympathetic glance. “So he didn’t spend any time with you at all last night?”
Good gravy, I felt awful for Kirkland. To lose your husband and have your family treat you this way? I, more than ever before, clearly understood why those who chose an alternative lifestyle created families outside of their blood kin.
Kirkland shrugged, his eyes forlorn. “He was here with my mother for a little while, but neither of them liked Wade the way I’d hoped they would. I don’t know if my father will ever get over the fact that I’m gay, but I never thought he’d treat this as though I’ll get over it. Wade was my soul mate. I loved him, Stevie. I don’t understand why they couldn’t love him, too.”
“I’m going to ask you something very delicate, Kirkland.” I paused, and gathered my courage. “Did your father have any beef with Wade? Do you think—”
“No, I don’t,” Kirkland stated firmly with a curt nod of his head. “He might not have liked Wade or the fact that we were married, but he avoided him—almost at all costs. They never argued or even had a disagreement. Wade knew my father didn’t like him, and he made it a point to stay out of his way. My mother was the same way. She didn’t hate the idea I’d married Wade. Not the way my dad did, anyway. I think she just doesn’t have a choice but to stand by him because he doesn’t give her one. It’s always been his way or the highway.”
Yeah. Rosemary struck me as someone who wouldn’t rock the boat for fear of losing all her money and that big, ugly house. “But Loretta was here with you, wasn’t she? Please say you weren’t alone, or I would have come to spend the night.”
“She was here, and she’ll be back later today. She’s over at the house with my mom and dad right now. Business or something equally as boring.” He made a face, stuffing his hands into his pockets.
“Well, good then. I can kil—catch them while they’re all together. We’ll head over there now. Is there anything I can do for you before we leave?”
“You’ve already done plenty, Stevie. Thank you for helping and being so supportive.” Kirkland paused then, looking a bit hesitant before he said, “Did you…” He pointed upward. “Did you maybe hear anything from…from Wade? You know, from up there?”
Win looked at me over Kirkland’s dark, curly head, but he was stable right now. He’d calmed a bit. He wasn’t as frenzied. I didn’t want to take that away from him with a visual image of what I’d seen. Nor did I want him to know Wade’s afterlife was unsettled.
Dropping a quick kiss on his cheek so I didn’t have to look him in the eye when I lied like the Liar McLiar Pants I was, I shook my head with a wave of my hand, taking Win’s arm as he led me out the door into the pouring rain.
“Nope, but I’ll let you know if that changes. I’ll be in touch, Kirkland. Please take care.”
As we made our way to the car and I, for the eleventy-
billionth time, went to get in on the driver’s side, Win and I bumped into one another.
“Would you like to drive, Stephania?” he asked as the rain slid down his custom-tailored blue shirt.
Would you like to drive, Stephania? I mimicked his voice in my head, British accent and all. Then I mentally slapped myself for being so rude and petty.
What difference did it make who drove?
Shaking my head, I smiled. “No. I’m just used to doing the driving. It’s a hard habit to break.”
Win’s been back to driving for at least two months. You’d think I’d be used to him taking the lead by now, it’s instinctual for him, it seems. Yet, I’m still racing him to the driver’s side of the car even though he has no idea I’m doing it, and probably wouldn’t give a fig either way.
This peculiar behavior is all on me. It’s appears I’m having my own internal power struggle. I guess it comes from being independent for so long, but it’s proving to be a battle of my own making.
“Dove? Did you hear me? Would you like to drive?” he offered amicably, smiling as the rain flattened his perfect shiny hair while mine frizzed.
I walked back around the car and popped open the passenger door and said, “Nope. You can drive. As long as you drive me somewhere we can have some lunch. I’m starving.”
“Your wish is my command, Dove. Would you prefer a food truck or shall we dine in?”
I grinned at him from over the top of the car. “Wow, you’ve come a long way, huh? You didn’t wince once when you said food truck. You’re growing, my snobby British ex-spy.”
“Bah! I’ve simply realized the efficiency of food on the run that isn’t a flimsily horrid piece of questionable meat disguised between two-day-old buns and slathered with cholesterol.”
There goes the jab about the McDonald’s hamburger he was forced to eat while chasing down my body in Seattle last year. “Listen, Food Snobbity-Snob, you liked that burger and you know it. I know it pains your fancy palate to say as much, but you ate that right up, buddy.”
Witch Perfect Page 8
