The Third Eye

by Jenna Rae

  “That’d be great. Probably Tuesday, does that work?”

  They chatted about mutual friends for a couple of minutes before he glanced at the restroom. “She okay?”

  “Yeah. It’s a tough time.”

  He nodded. “Shay’s a nice lady. So are you. Hmmm.”

  With a wicked grin, he turned away and strode toward the next table in the crow’s nest. For a moment she was struck by the fact Andi’s wife had died, Michael’s husband had died, Peterson’s marriage had ended and her relationship had ended. Did anyone manage to live happily ever after? She swallowed hard to push down her personal feelings. She wasn’t here to socialize or to work through her feelings.

  By the time Shay returned from the restroom, Brenda had stilled her emotions and was sitting back, calmly examining the view.

  “I’m sorry, Captain Borelli, that was—”

  “Perfectly understandable.” She shifted forward in her seat and held Shay’s gaze, aware again of the distraction caused by prolonged eye contact with the beautiful woman across from her.

  “Thank you. You’re very kind.”

  “I’d like access to anything Belafonte and the investigator might have put together, even if it’s just raw data. They may have collected nothing at all, but let’s find out. Can you talk to Belafonte and arrange that?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “I might not be able to tell you what I find out right away.”

  Shay sat back, pressing her lips together. She obviously didn’t agree with this but seemed to accept it. Brenda made a mental note to clarify her position with the attorney and the private investigator. Even so, she realized, they’d been hired by Shay and would likely disclose to her any information they gave Brenda.

  “We don’t even know if any leg of the investigation was underway when you canceled the contract.”

  “True.” Shay rubbed her forefinger and thumb against each other, a nervous gesture she didn’t seem to be aware of. “But one of the things I was paying for was expedited service.”

  “Can you give me any details on that?”

  “I think the retainer was ten thousand.” She pulled out her cell phone and opened an app. “Mr. Belafonte gave me a choice of three men. I picked the one I did because Mr. Belafonte said Dan’s company sometimes hires the same guy, and I went with that one. Chang, I think. Mike Chang.”

  “Dan Miller? So Mr. Chang does investigations for Watchdogs?”

  “I guess so. Is that important?”

  “Probably not. Do you know Dan Miller well?”

  “Not well, but he never misses a chance to rub elbows.” Shay made a face. “Daddy used to call guys like Dan hustlers. You know the type, always on the make. Dan always seems to have a purpose in everything he does. Just the sort of person Tami hated, always looking to get over. Anyway, sorry, that’s off topic and probably a little harsh. He’s never been anything but perfectly nice to me.”

  “You said Jim Belafonte was an outsider? Can you tell me what you mean by that?”

  “You must think I’m obnoxious.” Shay rolled her eyes at Brenda’s murmured demurral. She rubbed her thumb and forefinger together again, a silent digital cricket. “I work in my father’s old firm, and there’s a whole circle. Not just lawyers. Doctors, politicians, various professions, you know what I’m saying. We all know each other. We all went to private school together. We all belong to the same country club. I’ve seen you there, by the way. We all lunch at the same places, like here, and we all go to the same parties. It’s an incestuous little group.”

  “Ah.”

  “I asked a junior associate in our firm to quietly find information on someone who wasn’t a client.” Shay shook her head. “It was awkward. She’d asked me out, but I couldn’t—it would have been inappropriate. She worked for me. If she worked anywhere else, sure, but I don’t like to get sloppy with that sort of thing. Anyway, she gave me Jim Belafonte’s name and I hired him. He told me about Mike Chang.”

  Brenda nodded and watched Shay wait for some response to her personal revelation. When none was forthcoming, she pulled a pair of business cards from her pocketbook. She’d prepared for this disclosure but delayed making it. Belafonte’s office was on the southern end of town, two blocks south of the car dealership from which Brenda had bought the Caliber.

  Why did Shay want her to know she dated women and was too ethical to date a junior employee? Was it even true, any of it? Masking her curiosity, Brenda watched her pull out a printed list of four names.

  “These are her three closest friends, at least the ones I know about. And she was seeing this guy, Mason. I think he works for Dan Miller as a computer consultant or something. I’m afraid I didn’t bother getting to know him, mostly because I didn’t want to be intrusive again. He seemed nice enough. Quiet, smart, and he seemed agog over her.”

  “Mason, the boyfriend, do you think she might have talked to him?”

  Shay shrugged. “She spoke about him like you might about a favorite puppy, like he was this brilliant, innocent child. I doubt she’d have wanted him to know she was doing something reckless. She liked to be…unfettered when she knew she was crossing a line into unwise behavior, and she was always drawn to people who were more cautious than she.”

  “Is there anything else you think I should know? Anything else I should look into?”

  Shay sat back wincing. “This whole thing is too much. I can’t process it. Tami was just starting her life. Childhood, college, the police academy, a few months of working, and now she’s gone.”

  She waited.

  Shay fiddled with one of her modestly-sized diamond earrings. “I got these from Grandmother for my thirteenth birthday. I’ve been wearing them longer than Tami lived.”

  She shook her head in sympathy.

  Shay reached out, her cold fingers gripping Brenda’s. “It’s so wrong! She shouldn’t have died. It’s a total waste of this amazing woman who just happened to be my favorite person in the world. I can’t accept that this wasn’t preventable. I just can’t. It’s ridiculous! How in the world did this happen?”

  She held Shay’s searching gaze. “I’m going to do everything I can to answer that question.”

  Chapter Nine

  Watching Shay start up her late-model green Subaru in the golden light of the setting sun, Brenda’s breathing went short and fast. Could Peterson see the sunset, wherever he was? And was Smith with him? She’d immersed herself in the interaction with Shay and compartmentalized her feelings about everything else. This was what she always did. She put her feelings aside and focused on the puzzle before her. Now that she wasn’t sitting across the table from Sheraton’s sister, she felt the anxiety and guilt and frustration rushing back into her consciousness.

  Back in the bad old days when she was sitting next to Brown in Dave’s living room, watching Satan’s Lair, she would feel this same weight fill the space around her until she was gasping for air. Brown pretended not to notice when she started gulping air, just like she pretended not to notice how he sometimes needed to stand up and walk around, clenching and unclenching his fists and shuddering like a horse after a strenuous race.

  They were both fighting the same self-imposed pressure to save the victims and keep the bad guys from creating yet more victims. She did now what she eventually learned to do then: breathe more slowly and deeply until the vise squeezing her chest loosened its hold bit by bit. After several long, slow breaths, she stood in the parking lot of Dave’s Bistro and watched the last of the day’s light fade. She listened to the song of the surf until her breathing returned to normal.

  She left messages for attorney Jim Belafonte and private investigator Mike Chang. Then, hesitating only a moment, she called Laurie Standings, the associate who’d given Belafonte’s name to Shay. Again she left a message. Then she left another round of messages for Tami’s friends and her boyfriend Mason.

  The phone signaled an incoming call just as she finished sending Brown a request to look
into Shay Sheraton and her family and firm. She was going to owe him the price of that cruise Janelle wanted him to take her on, and she had no illusions he’d allow her to pay him back in money. She would need to make up for the many unreasonable requests she was suddenly making of him.

  She smiled, grateful for the friendships she’d managed to hold on to despite her obsessive work ethic and the years apart. She glanced at the screen of her phone and saw Tori’s name.

  “Why’d you have dinner with Shay? How do you know her? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “What’s with the twenty questions? Who told you? And why do you care?”

  “Oh, come off it, Brenda. This is a very small town. Okay, you were at Dave’s. You had salmon, and she had paella, but neither of you ate. You made her cry, you—oh, no, that’s right. Shay was Tami’s sister! Sorry, never mind, talk to you later.”

  “No, wait, tell me about the Sheratons. You know everything about everyone.”

  “Hardly.” Tori snorted. “Rich, of course. Daddy did wills and very big divorces, Mummy lunched and ran the family foundation. One son, investment banker in Mummy’s family’s firm in Boston or New York or somewhere back there. Maybe he opened a branch in LA. I can’t remember.”

  “And?”

  “And Shay and Tami were very close. Shay wandered around in a couple of different specialties at Daddy’s firm and is now a senior partner. I think she does corporate law, I’m not sure, something terribly lucrative and politically important. Walton kisses her ass, and so does everyone else. Daddy’s dead. Mummy’s a cougar and drunk in the Caribbean most of the time. Brother’s an absentee and Tami was the rebellious youngest. Shay’s a dyke. You probably sniffed that out.”

  Brenda grunted noncommittally.

  “Speaking of small worlds, she used to date Moira. You remember her, the psychiatrist who dated Kami a million years ago. Remember? We used to go to their potlucks, way back when. Moira drank a little too much. Kami would get passive aggressive, and Moira would humiliate her.”

  “Oh, God, I remember. We haven’t seen them in forever.”

  “You refused to go to their parties after one particularly nasty night. You don’t remember, do you? Lauren couldn’t stand Moira, so Andi wouldn’t hang out with them. You know how Lauren was. She could get along with anyone. But she thought Moira was mean, which I think she sort of is. Anyway, the lovely Shay is seriously old money. Sailing, lacrosse, tennis, horseback riding, the whole nine. Lived in London for several years. I think Tami lived with her off and on. Shay had adventures when she was young, sailed around Australia or something. Amazing golfer. Smart. A cool customer. Pretty too.”

  “You’re jealous of Shay,” Brenda said without thinking, wincing as soon as the words were out of her mouth.

  “What?” Oh. Huh. Yeah, I guess I am.”

  Nonplussed, she made some small exhalation for her only answer.

  “Well, she’s had everything handed to her. No,” Tori amended, “that’s not fair. Crap, I hate how I feel about her. She seems like a really decent person despite being everything I wish I was. Maybe that’s what bothers me the most. I’d like to hate her, but she makes it impossible. She—did you know her before?”

  “No.” Brenda was still processing Tori’s unexpected disclosures. “You did, though. You knew Shay. Know Shay.”

  “We met at the club. I like her. Hell of a golfer. Kicked Trimble’s ass and Walton’s. Mine too. She even beat Miller, which is saying something.”

  “Miller? Watchdogs Miller?”

  “Yup. Dan’s a hell of a golfer. He almost made it to the professional circuit, has an amazing short game. Chokes sometimes. Drinks too much.”

  “His ugly signs are everywhere.”

  Tori laughed. “And his dollars are multiplying like fat little rabbits. Shay kicked his ass, and it was a beautiful sight. Cool as a cucumber, sweet as pie. Closest thing I’ve ever seen to a black widow in plaid shorts. She and Walton and Miller and I played a pickup round just three or four weeks ago. Before her sister was killed, obviously. They both mooned around after her for eighteen holes while she casually flirted with all of us.”

  “What do you think of him, Miller?”

  “Slick, or imagines he is. Rougher around the edges than he realizes. Not as smart as he thinks he is. All ego. Always working the angles. Distasteful. A pig. Why?”

  “Sean Miller is his cousin, which I somehow never knew until recently. And he dated Donnelly’s girlfriend, Staci Smith, at some point, or so she said.”

  “It’s a small town, Bren. She’s a badge bunny, worked her way up, or down, depending on how you look at it, from a guy starting a security company to a sergeant on the force.”

  “So, are the Millers our anti-Kennedys?”

  “What do you mean?” Tori sounded irritated.

  “Well, Sean’s moving up in the department, ambitious as all get-out, hungry for my job, Walton’s, yours. And Dan’s spread his tentacles all over the city. Those ugly signs, his cameras, those thugs he calls guards. He always offers me the same sales pitch: get rid of unions and regulations and let his company take over for the department. The horrifying thought is, they may get their way.”

  “Oh, come on, Bren, don’t be an alarmist.” Tori tapped her pocket several times. “Not that I like the idea, but it’s ridiculous. People would never go for it.”

  “Miller’s approached just about everyone with a few stripes, I guess.”

  “Oh, yeah. He’s always in sales-pitch mode.”

  “Who’s taken the bait?”

  “Who hasn’t? Some of the retirees consult with him. He pays generously to be able to say he has a lot of former police officers on the payroll as consultants.”

  “Trimble? Simpson? Peterson? Anyone I know?”

  “You think your old partner would sell his soul for money? That’s how Peterson would see it.” Tori huffed. “Why don’t you ask Dan? I’m not on his payroll, and I don’t keep track of who is. Trimble? Maybe. That man always has an agenda, that’s for sure.”

  “Why do you care who I have dinner with?”

  “What?” Tori sucked her teeth for a moment. “Oh, I was just surprised. It’s not really any of my business, is it? No,” she continued, answering her own question, “it’s not. Okay. Anything come up about Donnelly?”

  “Hmm.” She kept her tone casual. “I just felt like I owed the family something. I wasn’t actually investigating, I just figured—”

  “Bullshit. You wanted to know if Tami confided in her.”

  “Well, yeah.” She smiled.

  “Big sister didn’t want little sister to put herself in danger by joining the force, and little Tami wouldn’t have wanted Shay to know there was a problem.”

  “Exactly. She didn’t tell me anything useful. She told me lots of stuff that had nothing to do with anything.” She bit her lip, unwilling to show Tori all of her cards.

  Tori tapped her pocket slowly this time. “Tami must’ve been so lonely. Did she have a lover? A best friend?”

  “I left messages for the friends and the boyfriend, who works for Miller. Mason. Mason Harding. Computer guy. Do you know him?”

  “Afraid not. Any word from Peterson yet?”

  “Nothing. Any word on Staci Smith?”

  “No, nothing. Could she have just taken off?” She again sucked in air through her teeth. “Meaning, her boyfriend just died and she freaked out because he turned out to be a crook. Maybe she just bailed.”

  “It’s possible.” Brenda sighed. “I don’t know what to think. She seemed pretty levelheaded to me and focused on her daughter, but I can’t be sure she wasn’t just snowing me. When it comes to Sheraton’s death, I don’t have the objectivity I should.”

  “Well—”

  “It’s just that I had this picture of Briarwood, you know? This sweet little place where bad stuff happened, bad stuff happens everywhere, but nothing really corrupt, nothing the good guys couldn’t handle. At least since the traffickers
got busted back when. Now I don’t know what to think.”

  “Briarwood grew too fast. You know that. There was one bad officer and he got caught. Sheraton’s death was tragic, but I have yet to see the Four Horsemen galloping down the off-ramp. This is still a good place. It’s just having growing pains. It’s still the same place you fell in love with twenty years ago.”

  Brenda swallowed hard to stifle sudden tears and couldn’t speak.

  “Anyway, Bren, I gotta go.”

  “Hey, Tori? Thanks.”

  “What for?”

  She sighed. “I don’t know. Caring how I feel.”

  Tori grunted. “Okay.”

  She watched the lights on the phone fade after Tori signed off. After a long moment of silence, she spoke into the darkness gathering thick around her.

  “I miss you,” she said. “I miss you. Oh, man. I’m talking to myself again!”

  Checking her watch, she headed south to Teresa Fortune’s apartment. A mile into the drive, she flexed her fingers. They’d gotten tight on the steering wheel as she’d gotten closer to the gray monolith that was Briarwood Arms.

  She had been to this particular complex dozens of times over the last two decades, for every kind of call, from simple burglary to homicide. As she had done every other time she’d approached the repository for discarded people, she thought, if I had to live here I’d kill myself.

  Arms—as it was referred to by the residents and by the public servants who wrangled, arrested, and tried to protect them—was a long, narrow, five-story building surrounded by parking lots. Arms was, she noted with a pained twinge, strikingly similar to the mall where Teresa Fortune worked. Most of the windows in the apartments featured the garish pink stickers that advertised Briarwood Watchdogs.

  What must it be like to work in that mall and come home to this place? No wonder Fortune took drugs. Maybe it was the only way to survive the unlucky life the woman found herself living.

  Each apartment was six- or nine-hundred square feet of watered-down whitish paint, moldy beige carpeting and smoke-stained popcorn ceilings. She had seen few places more depressing than Briarwood Arms and had to force herself to leave the humble Caliber’s relative luxury for the stale corridors that reminded her of a prison’s hallways.