5 Bargain Hunting

by Rhonda Pollero

  He looked past me to Liam. “McGarrity,” he said. Then he moved around me and extended his hand to Tony. “Counselor.”

  “Been listening in?” Tony asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  Garza took a deep breath, pushing his chest out, then releasing the air slowly. “Detective Wells?”

  “Put your hands behind your back,” Wells said to Liam.

  “What the f—?”

  “Liam McGarrity, you’re being charged with suspicion of murder in the death of José Lopez.”

  “This is crazy,” Liam said as he reluctantly followed the order. “I didn’t kill José.”

  Panic flooded every cell in my body as I watched Wells snap on the cuffs. I wanted to leap up and scream at them that they were making a horrible mistake. But shock had me glued to my seat.

  “What’s the probable cause for the arrest?” Tony asked.

  Metcalf smiled broadly. “He probably did it.”

  Eventually one of two things will happen—either he’ll realize you’re worth it or you’ll realize he isn’t.

  nine

  “So what happens now?” I asked Tony as we left the PBSO station. I was trying not to think about Liam behind bars.

  “They’ll keep him in the infirmary because of his wound and his law enforcement background,” Tony explained. “They have forty-eight hours to arraign him, then the judge, hopefully, will set bond.”

  Somehow that didn’t make me feel better. Forty-eight hours locked up is an eternity. “So what do we do for now?”

  We were standing next to my leased Mercedes convertible. “Nothing.”

  “We’re just going to leave him here?” I practically whined.

  Tony touched my arm. “He’s tough, Finley. We just have to hope he keeps his mouth shut.”

  “He will,” I assured Tony. Liam was a lot of things, but stupid wasn’t one of them.

  “If it will make you feel any better, you can visit him on your own time.”

  “Don’t I have to be with you?” I asked.

  Tony looked down at me, his dark eyes registering regret. “No. But I can tell you want to be with him.”

  I felt a blush. “You’re making that sound—”

  “True,” he interrupted. “Izzy was right. I should never have pushed you away.”

  Well, what the hell was I supposed to say to that? It made me feel a little panicked. Liam and I weren’t a thing, so I was a tad sorry to hear Tony throw in the towel so easily.

  Was I really one of those women who needed a man in the wings just in case? A second-stringer if things didn’t work out with man number one? Apparently so. Worse yet, it was something my mother would do. She never left a marriage without an exit strategy. I guess there comes a time in every woman’s life when she has to admit that part of her is her mother. Only I wasn’t going to do it willingly. No, they’d have to carry me kicking and screaming into Cassidyville.

  “You didn’t push me away,” I said, suddenly aware of how he was keeping his distance. “You made a rational decision based on what you thought was best for your daughter.” And screwed me in the process.

  Tony let out a deep breath. “I think you just scare me.”

  I scoffed. “Scare you? What does that mean?”

  “It means,” he said as his hand rubbed my bare arm, “you were the first intriguing woman I’d met since my wife died. I didn’t know how to handle it.”

  “Dinner and a movie?” I suggested.

  He slowly shook his head. “I see what’s going on with you and Liam.”

  My mother saw it, Becky saw it, now Tony? How come everyone but me was seeing it? All I saw was a man I was physically and slightly emotionally attracted to spending more time with his ex-wife than me. Hardly a rousing endorsement of my ability to pick men. “Liam and I are just friends,” I insisted. Only I insisted a little too forcefully.

  Tony laughed. “I’ve known Liam for more than a decade. I’ve never seen him look at a woman the way he looks at you.”

  “But there’s Ashley.”

  Tony moved his hand off my arm and waved it dismissively. “They’ll never get back together. That’s old news.”

  For old news she certainly had staying power. “Liam’s too complicated.”

  “He really isn’t,” Tony said. “He has his reasons for helping Ashley.”

  “Which are?”

  “His to tell, not mine.” He shrugged out of his suit coat.

  Tony turned to go to his car. “Wait a sec,” I said.

  He turned back around and looked at me with those knee-weakening chocolate eyes.

  I set my briefcase on the hood of my car and pulled out my pad of paper with the notes from my earlier phone call. “I’ve been doing a little digging.”

  Tony’s expression registered instant disapproval. “This is a murder investigation, Finley. You shouldn’t be digging around anything.”

  I pretended not to hear him. Instead I told him all about the facts surrounding Stan Cain’s sudden demise just a week earlier.

  “Good work,” he said grudgingly. “Get the autopsy report from the South Carolina medical examiner, and while you’re at it, get the one for Lopez, too. It should be ready by now. The detectives were stalling. There has to be something in that report they don’t want us to see.”

  “On it.”

  “And, Finley?”

  “Yes?”

  “We don’t know what or who we’re up against here so your investigating ends now. Understood?”

  “Sure,” I lied. There was no way I was going to sit on my hands while Liam was in custody.

  “See you back at the office.”

  As soon as I hit my desk, I was in touch with the powers that be in South Carolina. In accordance with their rules, I had to send a formal, written request for the autopsy report. Thankfully South Carolina wasn’t one of the few states that kept those records confidential. I quickly typed up my request on the firm’s letterhead and had one of the interns fax it to the number provided by the clerk.

  I repeated the process for Florida, only this time I grabbed my purse and went directly to the morgue. It was located in the basement of the largest trauma hospital in Palm Beach County.

  It had a medicinal smell—kind of like the science labs at college. And it had a seriously creepy factor. There was a desk with a long hallway beyond it. Tile covered the floors and extended up the walls about three feet. I assumed this was for easy cleaning but I didn’t want to think about what was being scrubbed away. The assistant behind the desk didn’t look happy to see me at all, probably because it was fifteen minutes before closing time. I had no sympathy. After all, I’d slept the previous night at my desk. He’d just have to put on his big-boy pants and get the job done.

  Every time someone came through the double metal doors at the end of the hallway, I jumped. I had this irrational fear that they were going to bring me José’s body in person. Stupid, I know, but morgues don’t bring out the smarts in me.

  As time dragged on, I got bored and sent texts to Liv, Becky, and Jane to see if they were interested in an early dinner. It had been an exhausting day and I could use some girl time. Actually, I could use anything to divert my attention from the fact that Liam had been arrested.

  As expected, I got three instant affirmatives, so we opted to meet at the Food Shack in Jupiter. It was probably my favorite funky eatery in all of South Florida. It was in a strip mall, nestled between a dentist’s office and a surf shop. The food was Floribbean and never disappointed. I was almost salivating at the mere thought of a tuna-basil roll when the young man came back from the part where they keep the dead people with a file in his hand.

  “Thank you,” I said pleasantly.

  He grunted something unintelligible in return. As I was leaving, my cell rang. It was Ellen Lieberman.

  “We’ve hit another snag in the Egghardt estate,” she said.

  I rolled my eyes. “What is it now?”

&
nbsp; “The Bollans have hired Frank Mertzberger as their attorney. He wants a meeting first thing in the morning.”

  Great. “What time do I need to come in?”

  “You’re going to them. Listen to what Mertzberger has to say, then call me and maybe we can wrap this up.”

  “I hope so. This is like the estate that won’t die. What time?”

  “Be at the Bollan place at eight thirty.”

  Seriously? Since when did I keep long hours and go above and beyond? I was salaried, so it wasn’t like I’d be earning overtime. “I’ll be there.”

  “Do you want me to send the file over to you by courier tonight to save you a trip here?” she asked.

  “No, I’ll come by now and get it.” Liar, liar, pants on fire. I’d have Becky bring it to me. Only I didn’t say anything to Ellen because Becky didn’t want people at the firm knowing we were very close friends. She thought it might be a problem if and when she was being considered for a partnership. Like West Palm Beach and Palm Beach proper, Dane-Lieberman had its own hierarchy, and Becky wanted to give the appearance of knowing that line between the powerful and the powerless. I was in the second category.

  I sent Becky a text telling her what I needed and where to find it. I had almost forty-five minutes to waste before dinner. I really wanted to go see Liam, but I knew I didn’t have the time. It would take them twenty or more minutes just to process him into the visitors’ section. So I drove to the Food Shack’s parking lot, retouched my lipstick, then spotted a sign calling out to me. The high-end surf shop was having a fifty-percent-off sale on all swimwear.

  As I walked to the store, I checked my eBay status on my iPhone. So far, so good, I was still winning the bid on the diamond bezel. The store was nearly deserted, meaning I had the full attention of the salesclerk. She looked like a surfer. Her ripped arms and muscled thighs were a tribute to days spent paddling out beyond the breakers. She also had shoulders like a swimmer, broad and tanned. It was easy for me to deduce all these things since she was wearing a tiny sleeveless T-shirt, surf shorts, and a weathered pair of Sperrys. Her hair was streaked with natural highlights from the sun, and when she smiled, it was in stark contrast to her deeply tanned skin.

  “May I help you?”

  I smelled board wax and what I guessed was leftover pizza. “Just looking,” I replied casually. I don’t like salespeople following me around like lap dogs. I skimmed the racks, finding three possibilities. Even at half price, the suits would still set me back at least seventy dollars, but I really needed—correction—wanted a new suit. I decided on a pink bikini with little white floral accents and paid for my purchase.

  Then, like a guilty child, I took the package to my car and hid it in the trunk. I didn’t want Jane to know I was out spending again. No sooner had I ferreted away my find than Jane pulled up with Liv in the passenger’s seat. I smiled, happy to see friendly faces after my hellish day. I felt a pang of guilt knowing I was about to eat great food while Liam was probably dining on mush and beans.

  Liv was dressed impeccably in a tailored tan shift with a patterned scarf around her neck. Not that I had a girl crush or anything, but the honest truth was that Liv Garrett was quite possibly the most attractive person on the planet. She had shoulder-length dark hair and the most exotic aquamarine eyes. They were so stunning people often thought they were contact lenses. I knew better.

  If Liv was overdressed for the very casual, not far from the beach Food Shack, Jane was a little closer to the vibe of the place. Today she was sporting a green pleather miniskirt paired with a corset. On anyone else it would have looked like she was on her way to the closest S and M club. But somehow Jane managed to carry off the look. She had her long brown hair pinned up and the heels of her stilettos clicked as she walked across the macadam.

  Becky pulled in just then, getting out of her Volvo, then shedding her jacket and rolling up the sleeves of her blouse. She had a pencil skirt on in a shade of coral that matched the chunky necklace around her neck. She leaned in the car one last time and pulled out what I recognized as my Bollan file.

  Liv bent down and gave me a hug. “I’m so sorry about Liam.”

  “It’ll all work out,” I said, though I wasn’t quite sure how.

  I also received shows of support from Becky and Jane. Then we went inside. The Food Shack is a narrow restaurant with a bar and about two dozen tables. It also has a surfboard at one end of the bar that seats four. As usual the place was packed, so we were shown to a small table where we sat elbow to elbow with the patrons on either side. The food was worth being squished in like sardines.

  The server left us the regular menus as well as the daily specials. I didn’t even bother to read the offerings, I knew exactly what I was going to order. One tuna-basil roll and a panko oyster salad with spiced melon and greens. I also asked for a glass of wine. A big one.

  “So what happened?” Becky said as I tucked my file down by my feet.

  I gave them a blow by blow of the past forty-eight hours. I knew I was breaking privilege, but my friends would keep my confidences. I finished with, “So he’s sitting in jail awaiting arraignment.”

  “Maybe something will break before it gets to that,” Becky suggested.

  “I think it’s part of a bigger thing,” I said.

  “Bigger how?” Jane asked.

  I was quiet for a minute until the waitress delivered our drinks. I took a long sip of wine, loving the way it warmed me as it went down my throat. “I think the Lopez shooting and Stan Cain’s supposed suicide are somehow related.”

  “A week apart and two states away?” Becky argued.

  “So maybe I don’t have all the pieces of the puzzle.”

  “And,” Liv injected, “maybe you should leave this to Tony.”

  “Right,” Becky agreed. “The firm can hire a different investigator. Tony was right, you have no business investigating murders.”

  “I’ve done okay in the past,” I said, defending myself.

  “With Liam’s help,” Jane reminded me. “This time you’d be on your own.”

  “But I owe it to him. He’s saved my fanny from the fire more than once. The very least I can do is return the favor.”

  “You’re being crazy,” Becky said emphatically. “Besides, if Tony finds out you’re doing this behind his back he may just decide to fire you.”

  “Dane-Lieberman has fired me before,” I said with a shrug.

  “But this is different,” Liv said. “From what you’ve said you may be talking about some sort of corruption or something on the police force. If that’s the case, you could be putting your life in danger!”

  The idea sent a shiver down my spine. “What else can I do?”

  “Let this play out,” Jane answered. “Let it run its course.”

  I was feeling a complete lack of support.

  Liv smiled. “Finley has nothing but bad news. Whereas I have terrific news.”

  “Which is?” Becky asked before putting a forkful of sweet-potato-crusted mahimahi in her mouth.

  “Concierge Plus got a new client. Six events in six weeks and hefty budgets to work with.”

  “Congrats,” I said as I clinked my wineglass with hers. “What kind of events are they?”

  Liv shrugged. “Something about having your life changed forever in twenty-nine minutes. It’s all about Kabbalah.”

  Jane’s fork stalled in midair. “Isn’t that like Scientology for Jews?”

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “Maybe I should attend one of the seminars. I’m due for a life change. And twenty-nine minutes seems about right.”

  We spent the rest of dinner on myriad topics. The mood lightened enough so that we even ribbed Liv about her loser boy toy. By the time we finished, I had to admit I was in a slightly better mood.

  We walked out to the now dark parking lot and said our good-byes. “Be careful, please,” Becky whispered in my ear.

  “I’ll try.”

  “Try harder,” she
insisted.

  Once I was home, I toted the hated Bollan file inside. I wanted to make sure I had everything I would need. As much as I despised the thought of going down lawn jockey lane again, the meeting was probably the Bollans crying uncle. “About damn time,” I muttered. While I didn’t know Attorney Mertzberger, I knew a lot about him thanks to at least fifty billboards lining I-95 and his hideous television ads that provided a phone number and claimed it would be answered by a lawyer, not a paralegal. Needless to say, I resented the implication.

  Dumping the file on the coffee table and gingerly putting my briefcase with my laptop on the sofa, I went back into my bedroom and undressed, then put on a soft, cotton pair of boxers and a cami. After pulling my hair up, I washed my face. Mistake. Without concealer I looked like a blond raccoon. I swore I’d make it an early night.

  Of course thinking of night only steered me toward the image of Liam locked in a five-by-seven cell. “The dog!” I thought aloud. His poor dog couldn’t go two days without food and water. Only problem? I’m afraid of dogs, even the little lap kind that are forced to wear silly bows in their fur.

  Against every intuitive bone in my body, I picked up my phone and called Ashley. She grabbed it on the third ring. “Is there news?” she asked.

  “No. How did you know it was me?”

  “I programmed your information into my smartphone. Oh, when you have a minute I need a picture of you to add to the contact number so your face will show whenever you call.”

  Was she serious? Well, I didn’t want to be on her friends and family list. “I’ll get on that. Listen, Liam’s dog—”