Gotcha Detective Agency Mysteries Boxed Set (3 Books)

by Jamie Lee Scott

“I didn’t say you should look like a dried-up old hag. Of course you should look good. Let him know what he missed out on.”

  “Yeah, I really showed him my best side when I barfed at the murder scene.”

  “Oh, shit. What an impression.” Jackie laughed.

  “One he’ll never forget.” I couldn’t quite laugh about it yet.

  “I’ll take half of this to my office. You work on this.” She pushed a stack of papers toward me. My favorite, reports. “We’ll never get this done if we do this in the same office.”

  “True. I’ve got to get over to Santa Cruz tonight.”

  “And I’ve got to get ready for a date.” Jackie flipped her locks with her fingers.

  “A date?” I didn’t even know she’d met a man.

  “Don’t get all excited. It’s a work date. I’m playing decoy tonight.” She held her portion of the files against her chest. “Later.”

  I was disappointed. Like me, Jackie had no plans to include a man in her future. But I did have a girl in my future, and I had to get cranking on the paperwork before I headed out.

  It felt like ten minutes, but when I looked at my watch, it had been a couple of hours. I’d gotten through a good portion of the mountain Jackie had pushed toward me. I had just enough time to change clothes and head out.

  The drive felt so familiar, though I hadn’t been over this way in years. As a kid we went to Santa Cruz several times each summer. And then as a teenager, it was a great place to hang out at night, have a bonfire on the beach, and drink a few beers. Oh, not teenager, I mean when I was in my early twenties.

  Nick and I had our share of nights sitting in the sand by the fire. We loved going to the beach and boardwalk.

  The voice on my GPS unit directed me to Beach Street. As I turned onto the street memories came flooding back. The saltwater taffy being pulled on a machine, Skee ball in the arcade, and miniature golf. I could almost smell the grease from the fried artichokes as I cruised past Surf City Grill.

  Even though it was nearly seven, the streets were busy. A decent day in June and the boardwalk was hopping. I looked up just in time to see a hard, tanned body cross in front of my bumper. Clad in surf shorts and aqua shoes, he slapped his palm on the hood of my car. We made eye contact. Suddenly, I wished I was twenty-something again. He smiled and flipped his straight blonde hair from his forehead, then he jogged toward the beach.

  I looked at my black slacks and flats and wished I hadn’t changed clothes. At least with my summer dress and pumps, I would have given off enough pheromone to warrant two seconds of eye contact.

  I think my sex life (or lack thereof) was looking for a kick start. Alas, I had an investigation to conduct. Sex and sexy twenty-something surfers were not in my near future.

  Approaching the Coconut Grove Ballroom, I could hear the rumble and screams of the Big Dipper roller coaster behind me. Ahead were rows of beach volleyball courts.

  Several kids sat on the wall separating the beach from the sidewalk, shaking sand from their shoes, while parents stood by with coolers and towels. Back in the day, I would have been one of those kids, but with skin like a cooked lobster. And my sister and I would be peeling skin from each other’s backs for days. Oh, thinking back, that was gross.

  “You have reached your destination,” GPS girl offered in an English accent.

  I pulled into the dirt lot and looked at the building. The sun, sand, and salt air are hard on buildings. This building, which had shops downstairs and apartments upstairs, was in need of repair. I got out of the car and had second thoughts about going up to meet Susan. Not because of the idea of grilling a grieving friend, but because of the stairs.

  As I grabbed the railing, it wobbled in my hand. So, if the step broke the handle wouldn’t even begin to keep me from falling. Oh, no, it would be going down with me. I stepped slowly and carefully, not getting in a hurry.

  The landing didn’t feel much sturdier. I stood on the rotting plywood and knocked on the door. Waiting, I looked at my knuckles. Chips of paint had broken off as I knocked and stuck to my skin. I was brushing at my hand when the door opened.

  “Mimi?” The girl had cracked the door about an inch.

  “Yes. Susan?”

  Susan’s blond hair looked like she’d used her fingers to comb it up into a messy ponytail. Even with long, wispy bangs I could see she had large blue eyes that were bloodshot and swollen. She wore no makeup, and her bare skin showed the scars of teenage acne. As I scanned quickly down the rest of her body, I realized she’d made up for the bad skin by having a flawless body. The deep tan of her skin looked as if it had recently seen the sun, with a hint of pink overlaying the bronzed flesh. Flesh that was taut and curved, Susan sported a body that had been honed to near perfection. Her pert boobs popped under her strappy tank top, and dancer’s legs extended below the men’s boxer shorts she wore. She made me want to run about ten miles, just to pretend my body could someday look that good.

  She opened the door wider, and stepped behind it. “Come in.”

  In I went, and stunned I was. There was no way this was the same apartment the exterior suggested. The walls had been painted in a faux finish to look like whitewashed paneling, and deep aqua curtains hung from floor to ceiling on the far wall. From what I could tell, the closed curtains covered the only exterior windows. The floors were polished pine, covered with carpet squares in a woven grass pattern. An antique armoire adorned the wall next to the door, and an exquisite table graced the middle of the room. I saw Lauren’s novel on the table.

  Overstuffed arm chairs faced a caramel-colored leather couch and flanked the coffee table. Accents of pale teal and aqua were scattered about the room in the form of pillows, throws and glass. This room was as well dressed as Esme had been when I met her.

  Susan sat in one of the armchairs and gestured me toward the couch. I sat and gawked at the tasteful décor in the room.

  “I’m sorry to bother you. I know you probably don’t want company, or to be answering questions,” I said.

  She tucked her knees up to her chin. “I don’t mind. I loved Esme. Anything that might help.”

  “How long have you known Esme?”

  “Seems like forever, but we met in high school. We were best friends.”

  “You were?” I must have looked puzzled.

  Esme was tiny, with short black hair and a very Goth look. Susan, with her shoulder-length blonde locks and tanned skin didn’t seem like the type to hang with a girl like Esme.

  “Look, Esme and I weren’t as opposite as you think. Yeah, she was popular, and I wasn’t, but we both had secrets.” Susan had gone on the defensive.

  “Secrets?”

  “She was embarrassed about her home life and so was I. Neither of us wanted people to know where we lived. So we had secrets. In high school you are judged by where you live and who your parents are.”

  That made sense, but I still couldn’t see them as high school chums.

  “Esme was a cheerleader. She had every boy wanting to take her to the prom. But I can guarantee you; no boy was ever going to be picking her up at her house.”

  “Why was that?”

  Susan dropped her feet to the floor and leaned forward. “Esme’s mom was a drug addict. They lived in a rundown shit hole and Esme was humiliated by it. No one, well no one but me knew where she lived.”

  Esme, a cheerleader, I’d never have guessed.

  “So you met in cheerleading?”

  “Ha. Yeah, no. It would have been a bright morning in a vampire’s coffin before I’d have been voted in for cheerleading.”

  I felt really lost.

  “Look, I was a puffy marshmallow in high school. That was until I met Esme. We lived in the same complex, and we were the only girls in our school living in subsidized housing. I didn’t care if everyone knew, but Esme did. So, at first, I blackmailed her into being my friend.”

  Nice girl.

  “Blackmailed her how?”

  “If she w
ouldn’t be my friend, I’d tell everyone about her mom. And about where she lived,” Susan boasted. “Once Esme and I started hanging out we became real friends. She taught me how to eat right, we ran together, and she taught me how to look like I had money, even though I was as poor as she was. We bonded.”

  I didn’t know what to say, so I said, “Short black-haired Esme, and long-blonde haired Susan were the two girls to take to the prom.”

  “Esme has. I mean had…” Susan stopped talking. She put her face in her hands and sobbed.

  I let her. I knew the grief of losing a loved one. I knew how it felt to want to talk about them, but not being able to reminisce without breaking down. I waited.

  “Sorry,” she finally said. She wiped at her eyes and blew her nose so hard she put a hole through the tissue.

  I got up and handed her the box of tissue from the table. I sat.

  “What I tried to say was Esme’s hair is blonde. She’s only been a freak since she met Sebastian.”

  “Sebastian?”

  “Yeah, have you talked to him? Sebastian Zidonis was her boyfriend. He probably saw her talking to another guy, and killed her himself.” Susan straightened as if she meant to go after Sebastian.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Sebastian is a looker. I mean he’s hot. But he’s really insecure, and very jealous. He didn’t even want Esme going out with me. Called it whoring around. I can see him going off the deep end. Maybe he saw Esme with someone and just lost it.”

  Quite a revelation. Had Nick talked to Sebastian? I had to go back over my list and find Sebastian’s phone number.

  “Does he seem like the type?”

  “Does anyone? I mean, hell, he plays that stupid game where they stalk each other and have confrontations in the streets. I guess he could see it as a game.”

  “What game?”

  Once again, Susan sat up straight. She looked around the room, as if she expected someone to appear. “Look, if I tell you, you can’t let them know you heard it from me.”

  “Okay?”

  “The players. You can’t let them know that I know.” She looked around again.

  I was sure we were alone, but I looked too. She had me spooked.

  “What?”

  “The game isn’t a secret. They play it on the streets here in Santa Cruz on Friday nights. They dress up in vampire garb and skulk around the streets. It’s called the Camarilla.”

  She sat back. I breathed. I felt her tension ease.

  “The players are secret. Awful things have happened to those who give up the secret of the Masquerade. You can only be invited by another player, and even then, you can’t reveal your identity in the Camarilla to outsiders. Sebastian invited Esme. That’s when she got hooked on the vampire freak thing, and started working for Lauren Silke.”

  I nodded, hoping she’d continue.

  “It’s a cult I tell you. If they knew that Esme talked, she’d be, well, I guess she already is.” Susan breathed deep, and kept taking rhythmic breaths to keep from crying.

  “Surely no one would kill over the secret,” I said.

  “Probably not kill, but she’d be out, and then Sebastian could no longer associate with her because she knew his identity.”

  I couldn’t believe this. I’d heard of live role playing games, like World of Warcraft, but a secret society, with punishment for revealing secrets? Not likely. I didn’t say as much. Susan had enough on her mind without me doubting her.

  But it all led back to Sebastian. First his jealousy, and then the fear of being revealed as a member of the Camarilla. Was there a chance Esme’s death had nothing to do with Lauren?

  “So before she hooked up with Sebastian, she was, for lack of a better word, normal?” I asked.

  “Yeah, normal. And believe me, we looked good together. We could have any guy we wanted. Not to be conceited, but once she got me into running and lifting weights, I was a whole new girl.”

  Looking at the athletic body curled in the chair in front of me, I couldn’t imagine Susan as fat. I couldn’t imagine Esme as a blonde. Go figure.

  “So why Sebastian? Why the Goth, vampire thing?”

  “Sebastian was mysterious. He wasn’t interested in a cute little blonde girl. She wanted him because he didn’t want her. Esme usually only wanted what she couldn’t have.”

  Been there, done that.

  “And you think Sebastian has a violent streak?”

  “With Sebastian you never know. Between the two of them it was always off and on: she’d be pissed at him, or he’d be pissed at her. He’s bigger than her, so he could probably hurt her easily.”

  I thought about this. “Esme seemed like a self-assured girl. Would she stay with a guy who was violent?”

  “You’d have to see Sebastian. I wish I had a picture to show you. I think he could get away with anything and a girl would stay with him. He’s beyond hot.”

  “Hm,” I said. “Do you know if anyone hated Esme, or wanted to do her harm?”

  “I didn’t see much of her lately. She worked all the time. Stayed in Salinas a lot. But that could have been because Sebastian lives there too. But she could be conniving when she wanted. I could see her pissing someone off. Esme was a schemer.”

  “Conniving how?” I had a hard time picturing this side of Esme, even though I’d only met her briefly.

  “Little miss do-all, be-all, end-all. She put forth a front that made her look so sweet and innocent, but when your back is turned, she’s doing what she can to suck the life out of you. Maybe the vampire thing really was appropriate.” Suddenly Susan wasn’t so teary-eyed.

  And this girl had just told me she was best friends with Esme, sad that she had passed. Now Susan almost seemed angry. “I thought you were friends.”

  “We were. She was my best friend. Like they say, ‘Keep your friends close, but keep your enemies closer.’”

  “I don’t get it.” This girl was weird. I didn’t quite know what to make of her change in attitude. It was like she’d flipped sides in a split second.

  “I think we were both friends and enemies. We needed each other more than anything. Both of us had our issues, issues that no one else understood. We were raised by drug addicts, and if that doesn’t teach you to trust no one, I don’t know what will. We loved each other, but we didn’t trust each other. I guess we both knew what each other were capable of doing. You learn to survive in the kind of families we had.”

  “Did Esme talk about work much?” I wanted to ease the tension Susan had created.

  “Oh, all the time. She was so lucky to find such a great job. Lauren and Henry could be very demanding, but they paid her well for it. Me, I run my tail off and kiss butt all day at my job and I don’t get paid nearly as well as Esme does, uh, did.”

  “She ever mention violence or threats?”

  “You mean toward Lauren?” Susan picked at a dry tissue.

  “Anything. I’m just trying to get a feel for Lauren’s readers.”

  “I think that was Esme’s favorite part of maintaining Lauren’s blog and Facebook pages. She’d come home and tell me about how someone ripped Lauren a new one for Sophie being so promiscuous. Or try to correct her on the ways that vampires live and feed. I mean read any paranormal series and they all have their take on what a vampire’s life is like. Esme just laughed. She’d say, ‘They know this shit is fiction, don’t they?’”

  “Sometimes I wonder,” I said.

  I wanted to get a better idea of Esme by her things, like at Lauren’s house. “Do you mind if I look in her room?”

  “Actually, it’s my room. Esme stayed mostly with Sebastian or Lauren this last year. I took over the bedroom. She just kept necessities in the bathroom, and lived out of a suitcase when she was here.”

  This made no sense. Why had Esme spent so much money to furnish this apartment if she was never here? And come to think of it, the décor seemed a little light for Esme. I would’ve expected black interior and dark fa
brics.

  “You said she hadn’t been living here lately. Did you have a falling out?”

  “She got caught up in the vampire world, and then got the job with Lauren. She loves that job.” Sniffle. “Loved. Even without Sebastian, she loved the life, and loved the money. She was moving on. But I’d always be here for her. It’s still our apartment. Besides, I think everything in the apartment belongs to her. Or belonged anyway.”

  I was still on the money comment. “Money? I didn’t think an author’s assistant made that much.”

  “Apparently Lauren pays better than most. Look at this place. I can’t even afford IKEA, and all this is the real thing. We’d go antique shopping on weekdays, when I didn’t have to work. I’m a banquet server at the golf course.”

  “I noticed she dressed well.”

  “Oh, yeah, she’d take junkets to San Francisco just to buy clothes. Had a personal shopper and everything.” These thoughts seemed to cheer Susan a little. She grinned.

  Her attitude lightened considerably. Maybe she really did miss her friend. But just moments earlier, she’d been bashing her. Or maybe she was only telling the truth about Esme’s personality, and what shaped it.

  If she wasn’t going to let me in the bedroom, I’d at least try to get a look at the bathroom. Never underestimate the power of medicine cabinet snooping.

  “I’m sorry. I drank an entire bottle of water on the way here. May I use your bathroom?”

  “Sure,” she said, pointing. “It’s the door next to the kitchen.”

  I went into the bathroom and locked the door. I figured I had about two to three minutes to do my thing before Susan got suspicious. I was pretty sure I’d been in the bathroom less than a minute when I heard a knock.

  “What are you doing in there?” Susan’s voice sounded anxious.

  CHAPTER 10

  After the bathroom snooping, I grabbed my handbag from the living room and couldn’t get out of that apartment fast enough. Was it guilt? I doubted it. But I suddenly didn’t feel comfortable. I’d barely been in there enough time to pee, if that’s what I had been doing, before Susan was banging on the door.

  If Esme hadn’t been staying there, why were her prescription bottles still in the cabinet? They weren’t expired. As soon as I got in my car I looked at the photos I’d taken with my cell phone camera. Paroxetine and Dalmane belonged to Esme. The bottles with Susan’s name included stuff I’d never heard of: Tranxene, Lorazepam, and Skelaxin. There was one I had heard of, Halcion, which I knew was for insomnia. I’d have to get my hands on a Physician’s Desk Reference.