“I know. The menu itself is art.”
Marco pushed open the kitchen door and came out.
Jake immediately focused on him. “Can I have my pen back, Adonis? Or are you too busy giving out your phone number to every woman in Chinatown?”
“I know, right?” said Peyton.
“What?” He handed the pen over. “What the hell did I do? She asked for it. What did you want me to say?”
“You didn’t say a damn thing, but she couldn’t stop drooling,” groused Peyton.
Jake shook his head. “You are a piece of work, D’Angelo.”
“Why are you both busting my chops? I didn’t do a damn thing. She’s just scared and wants to make sure she can get a hold of someone if she needs them.”
“Right,” said Peyton, turning for the door and setting the menu back on the podium.
Jake chuckled.
“What is it you think I did?”
“You don’t have to do anything. Just give them that false sympathetic look from those blue eyes and they go all weak kneed,” Jake teased, holding open the door. “It’s not fair.”
“How so?”
“Guys like you don’t have to do a damn thing to get a woman, but guys like me, we gotta be all charming and suave.”
“You are not suave.”
“My point, exactly.”
“Maybe you do need one of those fertility things we saw in the window.”
Jake held out his hand. “Why do you think I was asking about it?”
Peyton burst into laughter.
* * *
When they arrived at the precinct, Devan was waiting for them. It was late afternoon, the sun angling in the front windows and lighting the counter. Peyton slowed as the D.A.’s attention focused first on her, then Jake.
It had been a good eight months since they broke off their relationship, but Peyton couldn’t deny seeing his handsome face and clean-cut style still made her heart flutter a bit. And it still stung that he’d broken off with her so suddenly.
“Peyton,” he said with a smile, then gave Marco a tight look. “D’Angelo.”
“D.A.,” said Marco. There was no love lost between the two of them. They’d butted heads a number of times since the break-up.
“I’ll just go process these pictures,” said Jake, beginning to sidle between the two men.
“Actually, I’m here to talk to you.” Devan’s attention shifted to him.
Jake stopped dead and looked at Peyton with a flash of panic. Peyton put her hand on his arm. She knew he still hadn’t recovered from being a suspect in his wife’s murder and he would never feel comfortable around the district attorney.
“I’m gonna call Abe and see if he got Jensen’s body,” said Marco, motioning toward their desks.
Peyton nodded as he walked away. “I’ll be in the break-room if you need me, Jake,” she said.
Jake caught her hand. “Stay. Please.”
She gave Devan a speculative look.
“It’s not a secret,” he assured her, then turned to Jake. “Claire Harper’s trial starts Monday.”
Jake’s fingers tightened and he swallowed hard. “Monday?”
“I wouldn’t be worried. It’s an open and shut case. I have all the evidence I need and the motive is pretty clear. With Peyton’s testimony, I should be able to lock in a conviction for sure. I don’t even think the trial will be more than a few weeks at the outside.”
“Peyton’s testimony?” Jake gave her a worried look.
“It’s nothing. I’ve done it a million times. I’m a pro.” She offered him a comforting smile.
“Will I have to testify?”
Devan shook his head. “No, that’s not necessary, but it wouldn’t hurt if you could be in the courtroom some of the time, let the jury see you. And…” He hesitated and straightened the lines of his suit. “I could really use Zoë’s journal.”
“Zoë’s journal?”
“I have the copies we took, but it would be much more effective to have the actual thing.”
“Zoë’s journal? That’s all I have left of her.”
“I know, Jake, but we want to get the jurors on our side, don’t we?”
He looked at Peyton with a desperation that made her ache for him.
She gripped his arm with both hands. “He’ll give it back as soon as the trial’s over, Jake.”
“Definitely,” reassured Devan. “And I’ll never let it out of my sight.”
Jake’s fingers tightened on his evidence bag. “All right. I’ll have it here for you tomorrow.”
“Thank you.”
Jake nodded and started to walk back toward his desk. Peyton moved to follow him, but he held up a hand to stop her. “I’m all right, Peyton. I just need a little time to myself. I’m gonna drop off the evidence I took from the scene, then I’m going home.”
“Jake?”
He turned to face her, squeezing her hand. “I’m all right. Just give me a little space, okay? I’ll be right as rain tomorrow.”
Peyton nodded and released him, watching him as he turned the corner and disappeared from sight.
“Actually, Peyton, there’s something I needed to talk to you about,” said Devan behind her.
Peyton shifted to face him. “I know you’ll want to go over my testimony before the trial, but I’ve got this.”
“It’s not that.” He took a step toward her, scraping his teeth across his bottom lip. “It’s something else.”
Peyton frowned. “What?”
He looked down at his polished dress shoes. “God, this is hard.”
“What’s hard?”
His eyes lifted and pinned hers. “I’m getting married.”
Peyton blinked at him. “Say what now?”
“I’m getting married, Peyton, in October.”
“You’re getting married?”
“Right.”
“You’re getting married?”
“Yes.”
Peyton looked away, her mind unable to process what he was saying. “In October?”
“Right.”
Peyton’s gaze snapped back to him. “That’s two months away.”
“I know.”
“Who is she?”
“The daughter of a partner in my father’s law firm.”
“I see.”
“Peyton, I know this is awkward. I didn’t know how to tell you. I mean I never expected this to happen after you and I…I mean…”
Peyton gave him a grim smile and shook her head. “Please stop.”
“I think you’d like her.”
That made Peyton blink again. “You think I’d like her?”
“She wants to meet you.”
“She wants to meet me?”
Devan seemed to be at a loss for what to say. He glanced over her shoulder into the precinct. “It’s not like that.”
“Then how is it? You talked about me to her?”
“Of course. You were my most recent significant relationship. I had to tell her about you.”
“And she wants to meet me?”
“She’s not threatened by you in any way, Peyton.” When Peyton’s back straightened, he held up a panicked hand. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean she understands about us.”
“She understands what?”
Devan looked over her shoulder again as if he thought the cavalry would come to his rescue or something.
“What are you looking for?” she said, glancing behind her as well.
“I…just thought…”
“What?”
“That Marco might…”
“Marco might what? Save your ass?”
“No, just…he…”
“He what?”
“You listen to him, he calms you…”
“Controls me?”
“I didn’t say controls you.”
“But you meant it.”
“No, no, Peyton, I just…”
“Save it, Adams. I don’t want to hear anymo
re.” She closed her eyes and held up a hand. “Look, I wish you all the best in the world. I hope this marriage is a success.”
Devan drew a deep breath. “Thank you for saying that, Peyton. That means a lot.”
Peyton gave him a tight smile. “You deserve it,” she said, then she pushed past him and headed for the door.
“Peyton?” he called after her, but she ignored him, throwing open the half-door and letting it slam behind her.
* * *
Abe lived in a trendy condo in the SOMA as the locals called it, or south of Market for everyone else. The ten story building was built in the 1920s and sported an eclectic art deco design that Abe just loved. It wasn’t as upscale as Devan’s condo had been, but it was certainly a lot more luxurious than the little house she had on 19th.
She stared at the geometric patterned numbers above the elevator door as it climbed, trying hard to still the anger inside of her. Her phone had been ringing for the half hour it took her to drive over here, but she refused to answer it. She didn’t need Marco’s sympathy right now. He wouldn’t know what to say, and he was sure to bungle it, making her mad at him too.
But Abe would know what to do. Abe would have the perfect platitude to give her and help her work through this hurt without shooting someone.
The elevator opened and she crossed the hall to his door. He had deliberately chosen the apartment right across from the elevator. He was such a busybody that he loved to know who was coming and going on his floor.
She rang the bell and listened for the beautiful chimes as they sounded. A moment later Abe threw open the door. He wore a purple pair of slacks with a lime green silk shirt and pointed toed cowboy boots. His dreads sported purple and green beads on the ends of them.
“You know, I absolutely love when Marco calls me, but it’s never the way I dream it. Whenever I get a call from him, he’s always calling about you, little soul sista, and it just pisses me off.”
Peyton felt a catch in her throat and the next thing she knew, she was crying.
Abe’s expression shifted from mock anger to panic. “Whoa, whoa, little bits, what the hell is this about?” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into the condo, guiding her through the entrance and to the living room. He handed her down onto the couch, then disappeared into the bathroom, returning a moment later with a handful of tissue.
Peyton took it and pressed it to her face, struggling to regain control. She hated breaking down emotionally in front of people, even Abe.
He sat down next to her and wrapped an arm around her, pulling her back against his shoulder. “Tell me what happened and who I have to kill.”
She laughed through her tears, and pressed her face into his silk shirt. “Devan’s getting married.”
“Ah,” he said. He wrapped the other arm around her and held her while she fought to calm herself.
Pulling herself together, she let out a long sigh and wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry, I probably ruined your shirt.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he said, brushing a stray curl off her cheek. “I’ve got just the thing to fix this.”
She leaned back to let him up and he headed off to the right where his state of the art kitchen lay. Shifting on the couch, she looked around his condo. Abe might have wild personal style, but his taste in home décor was exceptional. The eggplant colored walls weren’t something she would have chosen, but they gave an elegant air to the room. Coupled with his sleek black furniture and modern couches in burnt orange fabric, she always felt like she was in the home of an interior designer.
“That’s right, Angel’D, she’s right here with me,” he said, coming out of the kitchen with a phone pressed to one ear. In his other hand, he held a carton of something. “No, I got this one. This takes a gentle touch, D’licious, and much as I adore you, you just don’t have that.” Abe handed her a quart of mint chocolate chip ice cream and a spoon. “I’ll tell her. That’s right. Don’t you worry your pretty head none. Talk to you soon, Angel, bye.” He gave Peyton an amused look. “He says to call him if you need him.”
“Does he know what happened?”
“Just the basics.” He motioned at the carton with his chin as he laid the phone on the table. “Start on that, sweetie.”
She tore the top off and tossed it on his coffee table. Then she dug the spoon into the carton and pulled out a heaping serving, shoving it in her mouth.
Abe retreated to his kitchen, but he came back, holding a bottle, and unscrewed the cap. “Slow down, sweetie, you need to add something to it.” Leaning over, he poured it on top of her ice cream.
She tilted her head sideways and read Baileys. Yep, she definitely needed to add something to it. She took another scoop and tasted it. Perfect blend of sweet and spicy.
Abe settled the bottle on the coffee table and sank down beside her.
“You need a spoon too,” she told him.
He held up a golden spoon with a line of glittering beads snaking down the handle. “Got one.”
“What the hell is that? That’s not a spoon.”
“The hell it isn’t.” He waved it in front of her. “Every spoon should have embellishments.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s prettier.”
“Glass baubles make it prettier?”
“Glass baubles make everything prettier.”
She looked at her own plain spoon. “Why doesn’t mine have baubles then?”
“Because you’re depressed and baubles won’t help.”
She dug the spoon into the ice cream and then passed the carton to him. He took a spoonful as well.
“So D.A. Delicious is getting married? His loss.”
Peyton slumped back on the couch and licked the Baileys off her ice cream. “Sure, his loss. That’s why he’s moving on with his life and I’m not.”
Abe took some more ice cream. “Who’s he marrying anyway?”
“The daughter of a partner in his father’s law firm.”
“Ah, a trust-fund baby, eh?”
“Yep. Never held a job in her life. I’ll bet she looks like a Barbie doll.”
“Well, it wouldn’t have worked out between you two anyway.”
“What do you mean?” She shifted on the couch, folding her leg under her.
“How would he have fit into your life? Which one of us are you going to give up? Jake, me, Pickles…Marco.”
“Why would I have to give up any of you?”
Abe gave her a skeptical look.
She reached for another scoop. “I am never going to get married.”
“Never’s a pretty long time.”
“It’s true. I’m just not what men want. They want quiet, demure women who sit at home and wait on them. I’m not that.”
“Not every man wants that, sweets. Some men aren’t threatened by strong women.”
“Gay men.”
He laughed and ate another bite. “Not just gay men.” He held up his spoon and studied it. “You just aren’t looking in the right place.”
“You wanna tell me where that is. Come on, Abe. I’m gonna die alone.” She laid her head on his shoulder and scraped the ice cream with her spoon.
“You’re not gonna die alone. You’ve got me.”
“How do you do it? Stay so optimistic all of the time.”
“I just do. It’s built in.” He thought for a moment, licking the ice cream on his baubled spoon. “It’s too bad I’m gay, really?”
“Why?”
“We’d make such an awesome couple.”
“Yeah, we would.”
“But the fates just couldn’t allow that.”
“Why not?”
“Too much awesome. The world couldn’t handle it.”
She smiled. “It’s tiring, being awesome all the time.”
He rested his cheek against her hair. “It sure is.”
She pushed the spoon into the carton he held. “We need more Baileys.”
“We always need more Bail
eys, baby.”
CHAPTER 3
Gabby set her coffee cup on her desk and started her computer. Early morning sunlight streamed through the windows of the precinct, bathing her in a soft glow. Looking up, she watched the palm trees swaying in the lazy breeze. Already the humidity was rising and she knew it would get sticky and unpleasant before lunch.
She checked her emails and answered the few that couldn’t wait, then she pulled open the bottom drawer of her desk and lifted out the scrapbook from Dana Messette’s safe deposit box. She lifted the mug and took a sip as she slowly and methodically went through every page. Dana had chronicled everything about her daughter’s life, from her smallest accomplishments to the one that should have been the biggest, the birth of her own daughter.
She came to the torn out pages and leaned back in her chair. No pictures of the baby, nothing about her growing up. Janet Messette had said her cousin was at her senior prom the night her parents died. She had to be 17 or 18 – a lot of life that would fill out a number of pages in a scrapbook, so why had they been torn out and where were they now?
Flipping to the next page, she found the newspaper article about Carol and David Witan’s murder. Behind it were many more articles, all cut out meticulously and glued into the scrapbook with an almost manic attention to detail. She glanced over each one, but they all pretty much said the same thing. Tilting the book, she found the longest article and took another sip of her coffee as she skimmed it.
NO LEADS IN WITAN MURDER CASE
The deaths of prominent Cardiologist David Witan and his wife, Oncologist Carol Messette-Witan, remain a mystery. Ruled a murder by Miami homicide detectives, the two physicians were found shot to death in their up-scale home by their daughter, Lily. No suspects have been identified and no witnesses have come forward. Neighbors remain on high alert. Anyone with information is urged to contact the Miami Police Department.
Scanning the other articles, she found no more information and for some reason, there were only photos of the house. Never a photo of Lily. Gabby wondered if the police had deliberately protected her from the media.
Turning to the last page, she found one last article more than two years after the Witan murders. It named Buck Reiter as the detective currently handling the investigation. The article was brief, and although the reporter didn’t state it had become a cold case, she did indicate that no new leads had been discovered.
Murder in Chinatown (Peyton Brooks' Series Book 5) Page 4
