“Has she been back?” I said.
“I see her now and then, nothin’ regular.”
Nick gave him the second ten with his business card. “I’ll pay you twenty more if you get me her name.”
“Fifty,” Weisel said.
“Twenty-five.”
“Forty-five.”
“Twenty-five. I’ll make it fifty if she agrees to meet with me,” Nick said.
“Deal,” he said. “How come you want to meet her so bad? Are you cops?”
“The pamphlet is a classic. We’ve been trying forever to track down a tie to the author,” I said. The past three days felt like forever. “You can’t imagine how excited we are about talking to her.”
A customer entered the liquor store, ending our conversation. Nick and I left through the back.
I buckled my seat belt. “Some detectives we are. We didn’t even get the woman’s name. I wonder if the weasel told us the truth.”
“The weasel?” Nick laughed. “I thought Marty Feldman in Young Frankenstein, but you’re right—Weisel’s name suits him. If Weisel had something to hide, he wouldn’t have called me. Jarret and Forrest still top my list of suspects. Jarret had means and opportunity.”
“No motive,” I said.
“No apparent motive. Forrest had a definite motive if he caught Laycee cheating on him,” Nick said. “Forrest knew the combination to Jarret’s garage, so he had means. The only piece missing is opportunity. How did he track Laycee to the house?”
My phone rang. I held up a finger. “It’s Oliver.”
Chapter Twenty-one
I clicked my phone on and said hello to Oliver as Nick turned out of the liquor store parking lot toward my house.
“Sorry, kid,” Oliver said. “I was in court when you called. I just hung up from Pratt. She’s been after me all day to bring you in for an interview—left me four damn messages. The woman can hound worse than my ma, and that ain’t pretty. I told her you’d be at the station tomorrow at eleven.”
“Tomorrow?” I panicked. “Aren’t you leaving town tonight?”
“Change of plans after I got your message,” Oliver said. “I get what Pratt is up to—she wants to embarrass you by hassling your neighbors, friends, and anyone else until you come in. I wish I had something to distract her. So far McCormick got zilch on Forrest Huber.”
“Nick and I found an interesting piece of information off Herrick Schelz’s visitor list at the Indiana State Prison. His daughter lived five miles from Jarret’s hometown.”
“That is interesting,” Oliver said. “And I guess you called the prison all by yourself and they gladly gave you the list? Man, those Midwest folks are cooperative.”
“We may have had some outside help.”
“What a surprise. The next time you have a family crime powwow on this case, invite me,” Oliver said.
“How did you—?”
“Kitty Kirkland told me all about your bent for solving murders.” Oliver’s tone shifted to grave. “I’m warning you—be careful where you poke, kid. A twisted sicko murdered once, the second kill will be easier. What kind of trouble are you into tonight?”
“I’m having dinner with Jarret. I want him to explain why he put me in the middle of this mess.”
“Don’t go. Meet me at my office tomorrow at ten and we’ll drive to the station together. You know how to reach me before then.”
I turned off my phone and released a deep sigh.
“Start from the top,” Nick said as he stopped the car in my driveway.
“Oliver and I are meeting Carla at the station at eleven.” My throat knotted with apprehension. “The plumber is coming tomorrow as a favor. Now I have to cancel. What if Carla decides to hold me? What about my clients on Monday? What about Erzulie? My house? My…”
The lump in my throat escalated into a burn behind my eyes. Without warning, tension from the past three days poured out in tears streaming down my cheeks.
Nick got out of the car. He walked around to my door, coaxing me out with a gentle hand, then led me into the house. Leaving me sniffling with a box of tissues in the living room, he came back with a glass of water. “Drink this.”
Puffy-eyed and spent, I took a sip.
“Pack a suitcase,” he said. “You and Erzulie are spending the weekend with me. I have a working shower and bathtub. I’ll meet the plumber here in the morning and stay while you’re at the station.”
“You don’t have to take care of me,” I said.
“I don’t have to.” He stroked my hair. “I know you’re tough. I love that about you. But when you’re vulnerable and you let go like this? Try to stop me.”
Erzulie hopped on the couch between us and nudged my hand with her head.
“See?” Nick said. “Even she agrees with me.”
I blew my nose, laughing. “I’m pretty sure she just wants her dinner.”
Nick trailed me into the kitchen. As I pulled a green can of seafood stew from the cupboard, he said, “Before Oliver called, you were going to tell me how Forrest Huber could have tracked Laycee all over town Tuesday night.”
Erzulie hopped on the countertop and watched me peel the lid off her can of food. “Laycee never went anywhere without her phone. Forrest knew her password. All he had to do was log into her mobile account and click on ‘Find My Phone.’ A GPS map opens to the phone’s location, down to street level. He didn’t have to leave his hotel room to locate her.”
“And this works for any phone?”
“Pretty much. One of my patients calls it the Cheater-Beater. You know my password. Try it. Find me.”
I set Erzulie’s food on the floor and refreshed her water while Nick typed into his phone.
He held up the satellite map with a blue dot on the roof of my house. “There you are. Outstanding. Tell me—how can you be so certain Forrest knew her password?”
“Laycee was a technical klutz. Forrest bought and set up all of her equipment, including her passwords.”
I went upstairs, packed for the weekend, and brought my bag to the door as Nick coaxed Erzulie into her carrier with ease. Sure. Whenever I brought out the carrier, she dove under the bed. Nick merely picked her up, scratched her head, and slid her into the cage. He carried her out to the car without so much as a whimper and then returned for my suitcase.
We shared an awkward moment at the door—nothing like sending off my boyfriend before I got ready to meet my ex.
“Do you have cat food?” I said, unwilling to let him go yet.
“I’ll pick some up.”
“Should I call you when I’m done?”
“Just come over.”
“Want me to bring you dinner?”
“Don’t bother.” Nick pecked me lightly on the forehead and turned to leave.
I pulled him back and into my arms for a kiss he wouldn’t forget. A lot of groping. A lot of promise.
He came up for air, chuckling. “What was that for?”
“To hold my place,” I said.
“Right here.” Nick tapped his heart. Then he paused before he left. “Be careful what you say to Jarret. I don’t trust him.”
I shut the door behind him and used the half bath downstairs to freshen up. Then I headed upstairs to solve the wardrobe dilemma. What to wear? Though I couldn’t care less about impressing Jarret, dining at the Daily Grill required an upgrade from my grubby T-shirt and jeans. I twirled and pinned my hair off my neck in a knot. Lipstick, the porcelain-and-pearl earrings Nick gave me last Christmas, a red linen shift, and sandals. Good enough. Better than good enough.
The Daily Grill, located on the second-floor balcony of a small mall at the intersection of Laurel Canyon and Ventura Boulevard, was a five-minute drive west into the cool purple and golden red sky behind the evening sun. Cars jammed the mall’s street-level parking lot. Apparently everyone in Studio City had come out to dodge the stifling heat or to kick off the weekend. At six fifty-six, I found a space in the underground lot and rode th
e outside escalators up to the second floor.
A small crowd waited outside the revolving glass door to the restaurant. Jarret, in a white shirt, khaki pants, and black sunglasses, waved me over to a table at the farthest end of the patio dining area. As I approached, he stood and pulled out a chair for me.
“I’d rather not sit out here in the heat,” I said. “Let’s get a booth inside. We’ll have more privacy.”
“This is private,” Jarret said, sweeping his hands at the empty tables around him. “Look around. There’s no one out here.”
“Exactly. No one is sitting out here because it’s too hot. I’d like to eat inside.”
“It’ll cool off as soon as the sun goes down.”
In less than two minutes, our egos tangled in the dance familiar to both of us. Jarret refused to lose; I refused to give in. Compromise wasn’t an option, never was. At the beginning of our marriage, our quarrels ended with makeup sex. Toward the end of our marriage, Jarret ended every argument by slamming the door behind him as he left. He made a mockery of my psychology training by goading me into childish behavior. We knew each other too well. This time, I wouldn’t care if he left.
I turned toward the entrance. “It’s already cool inside.”
He mumbled a curse then followed me through the revolving door into the restaurant’s din. Dishes clattered and conversations echoed through the early twentieth-century décor of high ceilings and low wooden booths. We stopped at the dark wood lectern near the door and waited for the hostess.
White-coated waiters bustled from the kitchen carrying large black trays of food. Diners filled tables and booths, surrounded by windows framing a view of the flats of Studio City and the mountains beyond. In the noisy bar area to our left, a strapping bartender poured drinks for patrons mingling shoulder-to-shoulder.
Jarret shuffled from foot to foot, gazing over the dining room. “Where the hell is the hostess?”
“Take off your sunglasses. She’s coming down the center aisle,” I said.
A pretty, salt-and-pepper-haired hostess in a black pantsuit carried an armful of menus through the restaurant toward us, smiling. “Was there a problem with your table?”
“My wi—we decided to eat inside instead,” Jarret said.
She stacked the menus on the side of the stand then scanned the reservation book. “I’m sorry, Mr. Cooper. I only have patio tables available right now.”
Jarret gave me a pleading look. I shook my head. “We’ll wait for a booth.”
“It’ll be about fifteen minutes,” she said. “If you want, you can wait in the bar. I’ll call you as soon as your table is ready and have the waiter bring in your drinks.”
“That’s okay. We’ll wait here.” Jarret edged me to the corner between the door and the dining room. He stared out the window, jangling keys in his pocket. I glanced aimlessly through the crowd, eager to sit down and get this over with.
Someone from behind jostled me roughly aside and I tripped into Jarret, circling my hands for balance. Forrest Huber, reeking of booze, thrust his chin in Jarret’s face.
“You son of a bitch.” Forrest’s voice carried over the clatter of plates, causing a hush at nearby tables. “What did you do to my wife, Jarret? What did you do to Laycee?”
Towering over Forrest in height and strength, Jarret put up a calming hand and said quietly, “I’m sorry, man. It wasn’t what you think.”
“How do you know what I think?” Forrest shoved at Jarret’s shoulder. “You don’t have the balls to return my messages. You used her and left her to die, you bastard.”
“Forrest, please.” I touched his arm, moving toward the door. “Let’s talk outside.”
“Get away from me.” He brushed me away. “You lied to me, too. You deserve each other.”
The hostess and two waiters rushed over, forming a shield around us.
“Sir,” the hostess said to Forrest, “I have to ask you to leave.”
He ignored her and pushed Jarret’s shoulder again, raising his voice. “Were you screwing her in Atlanta, too?”
The bartender broke in and seized Forrest’s arm. A waiter took his other arm and they hurried him, struggling, out the front door. Jarret and I followed them to the open walkway. Patrons dodged out of the way, stopping to watch the scuffle from a distance. A pudgy, middle-aged security guard hustled up the escalator in double steps and jogged toward us, panting.
“Let me go. That bastard is the reason my Laycee is dead.” Forrest tried to pull away from the bartender. He glared at the arriving guard with contempt. “What do you want? This is none of your damn business.”
“I’m calling the cops.” The guard pulled out his phone while the waiter and bartender cornered Forrest against a window.
A woman bystander snapped a picture of Forrest then another of Jarret and me.
“Damn it.” Jarret tugged my arm. “Come on, Liz. Security will deal with him. Let’s go inside.”
“Not yet.” I approached the guard. “There’s no reason to involve the police. No damage was done to the restaurant. We won’t file a complaint. Would you be open to escorting Mr. Huber downstairs and calling him a cab? He’s staying at the Sportsmen’s Lodge.”
“I’m not going anywhere until that bastard tells me the truth,” Forrest said.
“We can get him to the elevator,” the bartender said, boxing Forrest in.
Forrest pushed away, calling out to Jarret, “You’re a lowlife coward, Cooper.”
“You and your husband better go inside so we can calm him down,” the guard said to me.
As Jarret and I walked toward the revolving door, Forrest shouted from behind us, “Cooper.”
Jarret looked over his shoulder. “Yeah?”
“I’ll see you rot in hell.”
Chapter Twenty-two
The waitstaff, diners, and two cooks behind the kitchen counter watched Jarret and me follow the hostess to a booth in the farthest corner of the Daily Grill. A lean blond waiter stopped at the table and, smiling tactfully, took our drink order—iced tea for me, a shot of scotch and a beer for Jarret.
“Great,” Jarret said after the waiter left. “Did you see the people taking pictures of us outside? I’m probably all over Twitter by now. I wanted this to be a quiet dinner so I can apologize.”
“Now’s your chance. This better be good.”
“Ira told me a scandal would trigger the morality clauses in my Dodger and endorsement contracts.” He leaned forward, brow wrinkled and voice pleading. “An arrest would cost me income and jeopardize future deals. When Thad heard how much you hated Laycee—”
I put out my palm to stop him. “‘Hate’ is a reckless and damaging word. You don’t—”
“Okay, okay. Let me finish. Thad used your dislike of her to steer the police away from me. Team management is letting me suit up tomorrow, but I won’t play until the police clear me. If I’m arrested, I face suspension without pay.”
“In other words, you let Thad sell me out for money. You call that an apology?”
He gaped at me, incredulous. “I tried to warn you to be careful.”
“Warn me?” I stared back, too angry to breathe. “How about telling the police you misled them? That you and your lawyer put me in the middle of this to take the spotlight off you?”
“I told Thad you’re innocent. I didn’t think a little misdirection would be a problem. After all, you did kind of put yourself in the middle, Lizzie. You knew Laycee was in town. You admit you were at the house that morning. Hell, the neighbors saw you there. Thad claimed the police would leave me alone while they check you out. I can’t afford a scandal. I’m innocent.”
I clenched my fists to keep from shouting. “Did you stop to think about my career and reputation? I had to hire a lawyer, Jarret. Pratt is questioning me again tomorrow. And by the way, you’re not above suspicion. Detectives investigate multiple suspects at the same time.”
The waiter appeared with our drinks and a bread basket. “Are yo
u ready to order?”
“Not yet.” Jarret downed his scotch. I fumed. Maybe dumping my iced tea in his lap would cool me off. After the waiter left, Jarret said, “Take it easy, Lizzie. I said I was sorry.”
“No, actually, you didn’t.”
“I’m sorry. What do you want to eat?” He handed me a menu.
That was it? I got a bigger apology when my dry cleaner had trouble removing a stain from my white slacks. “Did you spot Forrest at the bar before I came in? Is that why you wanted to sit outside?”
“Yeah. The guy is crazy. Do you know he e-mailed messages to my website, threatening to go to Dodger management if I didn’t call him? Thad told me to keep away from him. Forrest is a jerk and he just proved how much of a nutjob he is.”
“Can you blame him? You cuckolded him.”
“I told you I didn’t have sex with Laycee that night.”
That night. “And what about the night before?”
He glanced down at the table, red-faced.
“Don’t bother answering,” I said, weary and disgusted. “I know you were together. Someone saw you leave the hotel with her. You lied when I asked if you knew she was in town.”
“Why would I admit I was with her?” He twirled a pack of sugar. “Laycee wasn’t a great subject between us, okay? So I lied to spare your feelings. What’s the big deal?”
“What if Forrest found out she went out with you that first night? He may have tracked her cell phone to your house using GPS and flown to Los Angeles to confront her.”
Jarret smirked. “Good guess, but Laycee knew Forrest spied on her. She couldn’t figure out how he always knew where she was. One of her friends showed her the GPS trick. Instead of changing her password, when she didn’t want to be found she turned off her phone to make Forrest think she fell out of signal range.”
I sat back, impressed. Laycee wasn’t the brightest in the bunch but the girl had improved her cheating skills.
“So no,” Jarret said, “Forrest had no way to find Laycee, and he sure didn’t know she was at my house. She turned off her phone both nights.” He opened his menu on the table, mindlessly twirling the sugar packet while he read.
Hex on the Ex Page 17
