“So the laptop in Layla’s case in the library wasn’t hers?” Victor frowned as if connecting the dots.
“Correct. Wasn’t her laptop. Somebody switched them out, and busted Layla’s up.”
Victor wasn’t the only one connecting the dots. Abby couldn’t rid herself of the thought: Jennifer would have ready access to Phillip’s law school access card, his RX bottle, and his trash can.
And Lucas hadn’t mentioned that Jennifer had an alibi.
Had anybody interviewed Jennifer?
Abby started to ask Lucas about Jennifer, but Victor shifted on the couch beside her, making his leg press tighter against hers. This time it didn’t excite her. It made her mad. Victor knew plenty more than what he’d told her. That much was clear.
Abby glared at Victor, her irritation plain on her face. “Your bandage? The blood in the bathroom, something about a dumpster. Tell me now.”
“I’ll do the honors.” Lucas actually grinned at Abby, which somehow irritated her more. “Victor decided to dress up like he was homeless and find the mugger who assaulted Layla outside the law office.”
Abby glanced at Victor. A man of action. Some of her irritation at him began to soften.
“Long story short, he got hit over the head. I took him to the ER. He’s fine. But we found the body of a homeless man with what appeared to be cat scratches on his face in a dumpster near the main library. His throat was cut and his blood matches the blood in the law library bathroom.”
Abby swept Victor with her eyes, making sure he really was all right.
Lucas turned and glared at Victor. “Your turn. Everything you know. Now.”
There was no mistaking the direct order in the detective’s words.
Victor slid back on the couch, ran his fingers through his mussed-up hair, and patted the bandage on the back of his head. But he didn’t say anything.
Chapter Thirty
Victor felt as if he were wrestling with himself even though he hadn’t moved an inch.
He didn’t want to endanger Layla further. Even if her kidnapper had taken the insulin to give to her, she was still in peril. And if her kidnapper was Phillip, and Phillip was in jail, she was in worse jeopardy. He wondered for a moment if Rizzo and Lucas had thought of that.
“Maybe you should release Phillip.” He tilted toward Abby, though he was talking to Lucas. “If he really did kidnap Layla, he can’t be giving her the insulin she needs.”
“Maybe you should let me be the cop and you be the helpful witness.” Lucas spoke with apparent frustration.
Victor glowered at Lucas. He didn’t want to besmirch Layla. Yet he wanted to help. On the one hand, Lucas and Rizzo seemed to be decent detectives. On the other hand, he couldn’t help but feel they had misdirected their energies in the crucial early hours of their investigation when they were pursuing him as a suspect.
Trouble crawled into Victor’s lap and started purring. When Victor’s hand drifted down to pet the cat, Trouble rose up and tapped Victor’s shirt pocket, and meowed plaintively.
“He’s trying to tell you something.” Abby sounded sincere, though Lucas made a low rumble in the back of his throat like a man who wanted to laugh but knew better.
Victor wasn’t sure if Trouble was really trying to tell him something, unless it was “feed me.” Besides, his pocket was empty.
Trouble leapt from Victor’s lap into Abby’s and began to lick her earlobe.
Despite his despair and weariness, Victor grinned at Trouble. He had to appreciate the cat’s innate good taste in ears and women. And Victor couldn’t deny that he hoped to nibble Abby’s earlobe too, and soon.
Abby brushed Trouble away from her ear, and pulled him into her lap. With her hand ruffling the fur on Trouble’s head, she focused on Victor. “Maybe you should tell us what you’re holding back. We don’t know if Layla is hurt or if her kidnapper knows how to give her the insulin.”
The sadness in Abby’s voice cut right through to Victor’s heart. “All right,” he said.
Trouble curled around in Abby’s lap to look straight at Victor.
“Layla was…I mean this is what I think. I don’t know it for sure.” Victor hesitated. He didn’t want to accuse Layla. Though, really, he had to admit to himself, who really cared about adultery anymore in a general sense. It wasn’t like anyone would make Layla wear a scarlet A around her neck.
But still.
Victor couldn’t help but flash back to his own brief, strained marriage. His wife had cheated on him, flagrantly as it turned out, and that had destroyed their relationship. Then she’d pulled that stunt on Facebook by taking advantage of a brewing military scandal and making him look like a vengeful creep and ruining his career in the Navy. Maybe that made him ultra-sensitive and judgmental. Could be that having an affair with a married man was no big deal these days.
No, it was a big deal.
He didn’t like to think of Layla as a home wrecker. Did anyone even use that term anymore? But even if nobody cared about that, sleeping with your boss to get hired was a sure way to guarantee professional failure. She’d never live that down if it became widely known.
“Victor?” Abby put her hand on his thigh, and the soft weight of her fingers helped him make up his mind. Layla’s life was certainly worth more than her reputation.
“I’m pretty sure Layla was having an affair with Phillip.”
Beside him, Abby inhaled sharply. But Lucas leaned forward, so close to him their noses practically touched.
“I have a photograph of them…not, you know, doing anything. But the way they are hugging each other is very close. Very.” Victor studied his hands in his lap. There was more than that. “And the way she always spoke about him. Like she was in awe of him—in love with him. Her face would light up when she talked about him. Plus, she spent time in his house with him a lot, especially when his wife was at her Junior League meetings.”
“You’re wrong. And you’re jealous.” Abby jerked her hand away from Victor’s leg.
“Jealous?” Victor repeated. “Why would I be jealous?”
“Why would he be jealous?” Lucas echoed.
Abby cast her eyes back and forth between the two men, her expression puzzled and unhappy. “Because you were…you are Layla’s boyfriend.”
If Victor hadn’t been so upset, he might have laughed. “Me and Layla?” He shook his head. “Abby, we’re just friends. Honest. We’ve never been anything else but friends.”
“I can vouch for that,” Lucas said, tilting his head toward Abby. “I’ve asked everybody who knew either one of them.”
Abby flushed red, her discomfort obvious.
For a moment, nobody spoke. Victor didn’t know how to soften Abby’s embarrassment over her mistake.
“I’m sorry I misunderstood.” Abby spoke formally, almost as if she might be addressing a jury. “Nonetheless, you’re wrong about Phillip and her being lovers. Phillip was her godfather, as well as her mentor, and he was a father figure. Phillip felt a sense of responsibility for her and he understood her own father was…distant. You told me yourself her dad didn’t have much to do with her. See, you’re misreading the situation.”
Lucas cut his eyes over at Abby and seemed poised to ask her something—probably how Abby knew what she’d just said, but Victor spoke, cutting off whatever Lucas might have asked.
“I hope I’m wrong, but I don’t think so.” Victor wanted Abby to be right. But a goddaughter wasn’t a daughter, and that godchild connection might not have stopped an affair between the two of them. And there was more to his theory that Phillip and Layla were lovers. Victor rubbed his hands on his pants and leaned forward to tell them the rest.
“Layla knew Phillip was trying to lure the governor and the attorney general into hiring the law firm for some kind of deal with offshore oil drilling. I really don’t know the specifics. She was very closemouthed about her work with Phillip and the law firm, but I overheard some things when she was on the phone.”
Abby nodded. “Yes, the firm—Phillip and Delphine at least—were actively courting the governor and the attorney general. I gave them a tour of the offices while Phillip gave them a sales pitch. He definitely emphasized our expertise in off-shore drilling.”
“Was Layla part of that tour and sales pitch?” Lucas asked, perched at the edge of his chair.
“At first.” Abby hesitated as if thinking over her next words carefully. “Delphine took Layla away from the governor and the attorney general.”
“Why?”
“Delphine doesn’t like Layla and I think—just me guessing really—that Delphine thought Layla was being disrespectful to the governor.” Abby spit out the words in a hurry, her distaste for what she was admitting evident.
“Okay,” Lucas said, dismissively. He turned back to Victor. “I have the feeling you were about to tell me more.”
Victor struggled to remember exactly what Layla had said the night Phillip had called her. He’d been working with Layla at her kitchen table, compiling class notes, when her cell phone rang. She’d glanced at the caller ID before asking him to give her some privacy. He’d wandered around in her den, but still heard part of what was said.
“I’m pretty sure Layla said something like she would keep the secret, or maybe that she’d hide their secret. But she also said—and this I heard pretty clearly—that she wouldn’t hide ‘them’ in her apartment.” Victor paused, and edited himself. It wouldn’t do to admit he’d gone to Phillip and Jennifer’s house on false pretenses to look for whatever Layla might have hidden there. He was already in enough trouble.
“Go on,” Lucas said, his tone of voice encouraging.
“Layla said something about off-shore oil drilling, but I didn’t hear that part too clearly.” Victor looked up. Lucas, Abby, and the cat were all staring at him. “Something in her tone made me think Phillip was up to something and she had to help him.”
“If you were just listening while she was on the phone, how did you know she was talking to Phillip?” Lucas asked.
“After she was finished, she put the cell phone down, and later, when she was out of the room, I checked. The number was in her contact list as the Drapers’ house.” Victor felt a jolt of shame after admitting he’d spied on his best friend.
“She could have been calling Jennifer,” Abby said.
Victor nodded. “Could be.” He cast a conciliatory glance at Abby. But before he could say anything, the doorbell rang.
“Well, it’s about time that evidence tech got here to fingerprint the refrigerator and the kitchen.” Lucas rose and headed toward the door.
Chapter Thirty-One
Rizzo bounds in with the crime technicians, glares at all of us, shoots Victor an especially hard look, then stomps into the kitchen. I pad after him, keeping safely back so he doesn’t notice me. For a brief moment, I wonder if he figured out I was behind the siren escapade, but I realize he’s not the sort who would think a cat—even one as superior as I am—could do such a thing.
The crime technicians start prowling and dusting and examining, and Rizzo stands guard for a second before peeking back in the living room. I peer around the door facing to see the tableau he is watching—Abby and Victor smash together on the couch, his hand lightly resting on her thigh, her face tilts up at him. Victor is speaking too softly for me to hear. Lucas stands up and moves toward the kitchen. As soon as he is out of sight, Victor’s arms go around Abby and he pulls her closer to him. One of her hands strokes the bandage on his head. No doubt they are processing Abby’s new understanding that Victor was never Layla’s lover and they are giving in to their mutual attraction.
Rizzo rears back as if Abby were his sixteen-year-old daughter and Victor was a well-known predator.
Lucas nods at Rizzo as he steps into the kitchen, but doesn’t speak.
Rizzo snarls, as he stares at Victor and Abby, who have obviously forgotten there’s a roomful of cops in the next room. I think they look sweet together, but clearly Rizzo doesn’t agree.
“Son of a bitch,” he says, and stomps toward Abby and Victor.
I follow. Lucas hangs back in the kitchen.
“Can I see you a minute?” Rizzo points at Abby. He doesn’t sound chummy.
I can see her reluctance, but she rises and steps toward Rizzo, who immediately takes her arm and shuttles her down the hall. I step along beside Abby, but when Rizzo pulls her into the bedroom, he shuts the door in my face.
I scratch at the door, but Abby doesn’t let me in. Frustrated, I press my ear against the thick wooden door. I catch words here and there, mostly Rizzo’s. Something about Facebook and a scandal and the Navy.
“I don’t believe it.” Abby raises her voice as she speaks.
“I have proof.” Rizzo practically shouts this.
Lucas comes up behind me in the hallway and makes a move to pick me up. I dart out of reach of his hands and miss the next exchange between Rizzo and Abby.
I’m still playing cat and mouse with Lucas when Abby comes out of the bedroom. Her face is pale, her lips press against each other, and her eyes are narrow slits under her furrowed brow. It doesn’t take a skilled detective to read her. She’s angry. Very.
She marches in front of Victor, and, with her hands on her hips, tells him, “You better leave now.” Her tone of voice is not sweet.
Victor looks surprised and jumps up from the couch. Rizzo grabs him by the arm and pulls him toward the front door. “With your history of abusing women, I think you and I need to have another long chat about your missing friend.” Rizzo hits the word “friend” with a sarcastic note.
They are out the door and gone in a flash.
Abby heads into the kitchen, as I trot up beside her.
“What is going on?” I meow.
She ignores me, glaring at a hapless crime technician.
“Aren’t you people done yet?” She’s snappish.
Lucas promises to hurry. Abby retreats to her room, closing her door before I can dash in.
Leaving Abby to sort herself out, I return to the kitchen to watch the crime technicians, with my head whirling over what Rizzo said. Victor has a history of abusing women? I don’t think so. The man isn’t as quick to catch on to certain clues as I am—but who is, really?—yet I sense no meanness in him.
Undoubtedly this has something to do with his resignation from the Navy.
As I am pondering this, and figuring out how I might learn more, a crime technician empties a shelf from the fridge, and puts a can of cat food on the counter among other items. The cat food catches my eye. The can’s been opened, and there is a plastic lid over it, but I don’t think anyone has fed me this flavor. Captain’s Sea Fairy Banquet. Where do they get these names? I jump up on the counter and sniff the lid, quite sure I’ve never eaten any of this Sea Fairy food.
So why is the can of Sea Fairy cat chow opened?
With my paw, I guide the can toward the edge of the counter, planning to knock it off and investigate what’s inside. Behind me, Lucas says, “Oh, no, you don’t,” and shoos me off the counter. While I sleuth around, studying everything and everyone, Lucas helps the others put all the items, including the Sea Fairy cat food, back in the refrigerator, and the crime technicians announce they’re done.
Abby comes out of the bedroom, locks the door behind the police, and pulls out her cell phone. She punches in a number, waits, and then says, “Jennifer, where are you? This is important. Call me back. Oh, this is Abby.”
Abby glares at the phone in her hand like she doesn’t quite know what it is. Then she looks at me. “Where the hell is she?”
I meow and shake my head.
Abby gathers up her purse and slips on her shoes.
She’s going out! Is she brain-damaged? I try to block her, but she’s determined. Since I can’t lasso her and tie her to her bed, there’s only one sensible thing I can do — I trot along near her, determined to go with her.
Abby doesn’t even seem to real
ize I’m beside her until I hop into the front seat of her Prius. She gives me a baleful look, sighs, and pets me. “You really should stay home.”
“Why?” I meow back.
She stares at me for a moment. “That man—he … and I was falling for him.” I meow in a soft tone and rub my head against her leg.
“Oh, Trouble, that man…he’s such a…such a…jerk. He put naked photos of his wife—his ex-wife—on Facebook. A whole bunch of the men did the same thing with photos of women in the Navy, all naked, and without their permission. It was a big scandal and he had to resign from the Navy. And now he’s blaming Layla for being kidnapped and accusing her of having an affair with her boss, and then he was trying to seduce me. And I thought he was a good guy.”
He is a good guy. I’m a superior judge of character, though of course Abby doesn’t know that about me. Still, I tell her that we haven’t heard his side of the story yet.
She rubs my ears before turning the car on. “Why can’t he be more like you?”
Well, yes, I’ve often wondered why men can’t be more like cats, but that’s rather beside the immediate point. Where are we going? I meow my question, but Abby doesn’t get it and keeps driving.
In no time at all, we drive down an elegant street draped with magnolias, live oaks dripping in Spanish moss, and tall shaggy pines. The houses have acreage for yards and are large, stately, and appear radically expensive.
Abby rounds a curve and another car— it looks like a large, dark BMW as I glimpse it—nearly collides with her. She swerves off the pavement into some grass, but regains control, stops her car, and honks. The vehicle keeps going and soon disappears beyond her rearview mirror.
“That’s funny.” She says it like she’s angry, not amused. “That looked like Emmett’s car.”
I turn around for another look, but the car is long gone and anyway I don’t have a clue what Emmett drives.
“I’m going crazy, Trouble. Imagining things. This town is full of BMWs like Emmett’s.” She gives me a quick pat and puts the car in drive and soon enough we are pulling into a driveway in front of an impressive home with brick columns and an old-money look to it. The house is dark, and it’s around 5 a.m., but none of this stops Abby. As soon as she parks, she puts her cell phone in her pants pocket, shoves her purse out of sight, hops from the car, locks it, and hurries toward the double front doors. I follow, curious and cautious.
A Box Full of Trouble Page 50
