“Yes. Chat about it, get him talking, and gradually introduce your suspicions.”
Bradshaw jumped in, “Pretend I’m Gregson. You’ve just walked into his home. What do you say? What do you do?”
For the next two hours, we kind of play-acted. While I pretended I had just dropped by for a friendly little visit, Kotowski and then Bradshaw took turns being Trey Gregson.
Finally, around two, Bradshaw said, “That’s enough. I think you’ve got it, Miss Ingersoll.”
I’d given up asking them to call me Honey, so I just nodded, relieved to have the play-acting over with.
He glanced at his watch. “You mentioned something about coffee.”
“Yes, I did, and I’ll make us some sandwiches to go with it too.”
They came out to the kitchen with me. Bradshaw sat at the table reading his messages, and while Kotowski made a pot of coffee, I fixed ham and cheese on rye. For sweets, I brought out a package of chocolate chip cookies I’d been saving for a late-night snack.
Lunch over, Kotowski said, “Let’s talk about what you’re going to wear tomorrow.”
The wire.
“Sneakers, for one ….” She paused, maybe thinking the reason would scare me off, but I was already scared. “Sneakers are good in case you have to run. You know, get out fast. Jeans would work, and you need a tailored shirt with a pocket for the transmitter.”
“That’s it? No wires?”
Bradshaw laughed. A first. If I hadn’t been so nerved up, I would have clapped.
“We still call it a wire,” he said, “but the technology’s gone way beyond wires. Today we use a tiny transmitter. Small but powerful enough to stream sounds to a remote computer. Any nearby conversation will be picked up through your clothing. You can count on it.”
“Supposing there’s a problem. What then?”
“In all my years of police work, I’ve never known the device to fail.” He held up a cautionary finger. “But in the unlikely event there’s a problem on our end, someone will ring Gregson’s doorbell. When he answers the door, the signal to abort will be—”
Kotowski offered, “How about, ‘Sorry, I’m looking for the Joneses.’ ”
“Good enough.” Bradshaw turned to me. “In case you have a problem, say ‘What a hot day,’ and we’ll break right in.” He fixed me with that eagle glint of his, the one that made me think he could see through walls. “However, despite our precautions, there’s still an element of danger. I don’t want to downplay that. Bottom line, it’s not too late to change your mind.” His voice was gentler than I would have thought possible.
“Thank you, but my momma didn’t raise no cowards.” That might have sounded tough, but I was trembling. What had started out as a risky notion was shaping up as the biggest gamble of my life.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
By nine a.m., I was ready to roll. According to plan, I was wearing sneakers, jeans, and a dark plaid shirt with the electronic wire hidden in a pocket. Now all I had to do was wait till I heard from Bradshaw. Once Trey’s car was parked outside his condo, they’d send a robo call to his house phone. Should he pick up or click delete, it would be A-OK, go for it, Honey.
I’d printed out a neighborhood guide for Trey with the numbers and addresses of local businesses. Bank branch, post office, library, and some basic retailers. Groceries, dry cleaners, fast-food restaurants, that kind of thing. I tucked the guide and a welcome card in a gift bag with a big, fancy box of Godiva chocolates and a bottle of Taittinger Champagne. Kotowski had picked the goodies up after our meeting yesterday. I’d offered to get some micro-brews and a few bags of salsa chips, but she’d frowned down that suggestion, which, so help me Hannah, was no skin off my nose.
Eager, sweaty, tense, I paced my apartment, drank coffee, turned on the TV, turned off the TV, read my company emails, made a gazillion trips to the bathroom.
When at ten after two the call came in, I nearly jumped out of my skin and hit “talk” with a shaky finger.
“Showtime,” Bradshaw said. “You’ll be great, and remember, we’ll be outside listening.”
He rang off without saying anything more. I closed the phone and dropped it in my purse. After hours of tension, damp palms, and a roller coaster stomach, I felt an icy calm come over me. Like a magic shield, it told me I was ready. I could do this.
Through light Saturday-afternoon traffic, I crossed town in twenty minutes. Overhead, gray clouds clogged the sky, the air heavy with unshed rain and summer heat. Near the Eureka Arms front entrance, a black Phelps Electric truck sat parked by the road. Cool as one of those television spies, I didn’t give it a glance as I strode to the building’s glass doors, pressed the lobby entry code, and bingo, hurried inside.
The detectives had told me surprise was important. Show up without warning, throw him off guard.
The elevator ride to the top floor was smooth and silent, no Muzak. This really was an elegant building. Gulping in a deep breath of the slightly perfumed air, I rang Trey’s chimes.
Once. Twice. No answer. At three, he eased the door open. In a T-shirt, shorts, and bare feet, he hadn’t expected a visitor and didn’t look any too happy about having one.
As instructed, I said his name. “Mr. Gregson, surprise!” I held out the colorful gift bag dolled up with purple streamers and a big, purple bow.
He took it from me with a smile and a “Thank you. Most unexpected.”
I didn’t know if he meant the bag, me, or both. Anyway, he ran his free hand through his hair, the way a guy will when he doesn’t know what else to do.
Figuring he wouldn’t keep me out after I’d handed him such a nice gift, I risked asking, “Did I catch you in the middle of something?”
“Nothing that can’t wait. Come in, Honey. Come in.”
“Thanks, Mr. Gregson.” Hah! I got his name in a second time.
“Trey, please.”
“Oh, of course, Trey.” Let him think I had forgotten. Mentioning a first name was important too.
Inside his condo, the high-ceilinged living room, with its wall of glass, was as gorgeous as I remembered. He had added a super-sized sofa in camel-colored leather and an oversized recliner in the exact shade, I swear, as the persimmons that grew in my grandma’s yard.
“Fine-looking furniture,” I said. “It suits the space.”
“Yeah, I’m getting there, one piece at a time.” A smile. A little strained but still a smile. “At least I have the big three. A bed, a TV, and a recliner.” He placed the gift bag on the sofa. “I was about to have coffee. Care to join me?”
“I’d love some.”
“Be right back.” He left the living room for his sleek, galley kitchen. Needing to keep him in range, I followed and found him hastily sending a text message.
I leaned against one of the granite countertops. He finished texting and tucked the cell in a pocket. “Had to send a quick message. Sorry. Politics never dies. It doesn’t fade away either.” A laugh. At least it sort of resembled a laugh.
He reached into one of the nearly empty cupboards for a couple of mugs. “I hope you like it black.”
“It’s the only way.”
“Excellent.” He poured a mug of brew strong enough to knock me into the next county. Already tense, I only took a few pretend sips.
Trey leaned against the front of the Viking stove and glanced around. “The problem is, there’s no place to sit out here. I might get a butcher-block table and a couple of chairs for under the windows. What do you think?” He sounded like he really wanted my advice.
“That might do, but how about a glass-topped table instead? It would kind of disappear to the eye, and the room is a little narrow.”
“Hey, I like that idea. The kitchen’s cramped, but overall, the condo’s great. Glad you suggested it.”
“Just doing my job, Trey.”
“Well, you picked a perfect spot for me.” He sneaked a peak at his watch and rubbed a hand over his stubbly chin. A hint for me to leave?
Did he have an appointment? Was he expecting someone?
Get to it, Honey. Get to it.
“I guess the real estate business is like any other,” I said. “After a while, you learn what’s hot and what isn’t. A place like this is high on the list, but I’ve dealt with my share of lows too.” I forced a chuckle. “Like the old Hermann farm. All that rocky, hardscrabble land. Lovely view, though.”
As if suddenly scalded, he thumped his mug on the countertop. “I’d like to hear your take on that,” he said, making a study of his watch. “But I have a meeting scheduled in an hour.” He spread out his arms so I’d get a good look at his Saturday clothes. “As you can see, I need to shave and change into a suit.”
“Do you remember the Hermann place?” I busted right in, not letting him go where he was heading. “Where Tallulah Bixby was murdered? Can’t understand how anyone could kill a beautiful girl like that.” I set my mug down carefully, slowly. “Can you, Trey?”
“I … I can’t talk about her.”
“Oh, I understand. You were so close it must be difficult for you.”
He nodded. “Very. So if you don’t mind—”
I ignored his politely spoken words. “Of course, you weren’t as close to her as everyone believes.” I met his gaze straight on. “Were you?”
Anger flared in his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“No way you could know, of course, but Tallulah told me what was going on.”
“Told you what?”
Okay, here it comes. Undiluted. “That you were only a decoy, never her lover. The senator’s the one she slept with, not you.”
Every bit of good humor drained from his face. Hah, I’d poked a hole in his hide.
He took a step toward me. “Time for you to go, Miss Ingersoll.” The hands fisted by his sides told me he wasn’t joshing.
“Oh, I’ll go. Don’t fret about that.” I backed up a ways. “Right to the nearest newspaper.”
“Is that so?” He moved in closer, but I surprised myself by not flinching. “Then let me make something clear.” He was whispering, his voice so low I hoped the transmitter could pick it up. “Repeat what you just said anywhere, anywhere at all, and the senator will sue you for defamation.”
“No doubt, but I’m not worried.” Chin raised, I faked self-confidence. “Senator Lott’s political enemies will take care of me. For one simple reason. My story will take care of the senator’s White House ambitions.” I mocked him with an arched eyebrow. “And your career along with it.”
His fisted hands came up, Rocky style. “Why you conniving little bitch ….”
Shades of Billy Tubbs. Afraid he’d sock me on the jaw, or worse, I dashed out of the tight kitchen into the living room. He followed me, and I whirled around to face him, head held high. No giving up now, not without a shred of information. “Call me names all you want, but Tallulah’s sisters aren’t fooled. They know what was going on between her and the senator. And what wasn’t going on with you.”
“Get out of here before I kill you.” His face turned rage red.
Uh-oh. Bradshaw might come busting in any minute and ruin everything. I had to push on, spring my trap.
Keeping the sofa between us, I tried another tack. “There’s something else you might like to know. I was there that day. In the back room.”
“What day?” Quiet. Fearful.
“The day you murdered Tallulah.”
“What?”
“I saw the whole thing. You had a gun at her back. She was crying, begging you to let her go. You lost your grip on her for an instant, and she ran across the room. That’s when you shot her.”
Looking furious enough to leap over the sofa and come after me, he had me scared. I stepped closer to the door, just in case.
But like he’d been bit by a stun gun or something, he didn’t move. “You think I shot her?” His voice high. “You’re insane. I never laid a hand on her. Not that day or any other. She wasn’t my type.”
He caught himself up short and stood staring at me, open jawed, shocked by what he’d just admitted.
I shrugged, making believe his confession didn’t amount to diddly. “So she wasn’t your type? That happens. But why kill her?”
“This is madness. I haven’t killed anyone. Now get the hell out of my house.” He grabbed the gift bag off the sofa. “Take your lies and your cheap gifts with you.” He threw the bag, purple ribbons and all, across the room. Crash! The bottle smashed against the tiles. The champagne leaked out and puddled on the floor.
“Too bad.” I eyed the mess. “It was Taittinger.” I heaved a sigh. “But you don’t have anything to celebrate anyway, what with your career in shambles and a murder charge hanging over your head.”
Shocked into silence, Trey froze for a moment then he threw back his head and busted out laughing.
Oh God, I’ve overplayed my hand.
“You’re sick. Bloody sick. You ought to be committed.”
I’d squeezed one confession out of him, but not the one that mattered. At a loss about what to do next, I stood there, rooted to the floor with my mouth hanging open.
He pulled his cell phone out of his shorts pocket. “When the cops get here, tell them any damn thing you want. Your filthy accusations will never stand up in court.”
“What filthy accusations?” In a bright yellow sundress, a big straw tote in one hand, a plastic shopping bag in the other, Lila Lott had let herself into the condo. She stepped over the shattered champagne bottle as if it weren’t even there and stood staring at me, eyes wide with disbelief.
“Why if it isn’t Miss Honey Ingersoll? What a surprise.” Her voice was as cool as a long lemonade.
“Well hello, if it isn’t Miss Lila Lott, looking as pretty as Little Miss Sunshine,” I shot back in that bitchy tone women use when they mean the opposite of what they’re saying.
“I sent you a text message,” Trey said to her, kind of limp-voiced, I thought.
She held up a plastic grocery bag. “I didn’t get it. I ran into a store with just my billfold. You must have tried then.”
He shrugged. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter. Her accusations are insane. I’m calling the police.”
Fear, or something akin to it, leaped into her face. “Whatever for? Those mysterious accusations I heard you mention? Think of the publicity, Trey.”
She lowered her grocery bag to the floor and shifted the straw tote to a shoulder. Strolling, sway-hipped, over to Trey, she put a hand on his arm and gazed into his eyes. “Has this naughty girl been saying bad things about my daddy’s favorite aide?”
Oh my, talk about pouring poisoned molasses over your biscuits …. She was as sweet-nasty as any female I’d ever met.
With no intention of backing down, I took a deep breath and plunged on, “I saw Trey kill Tallulah Bixby. Witnessed the whole thing. You remember Tallulah, don’t you, Miss Lott?”
Like someone trying to decide whether to lie or not, she hesitated. In that instant, I knew I’d never call her Miss Lott again. Not for as long as I lived. Of course, the way things were developing around here, that might only be for five more minutes. But before I got bumped off, I’d get in one final thrust.
“In case you’ve forgotten, Tallulah was your daddy’s mistress.”
She rewarded me with a gasp, full-blown and right from the gut. “Well, I never.”
“Trey’s admitted he wasn’t Tallulah’s lover. So don’t bother arguing about it. It won’t do you no … any good. None at all.”
Her mouth open, she went to speak, but I beat her to it. “The fact is, Lila, he’s your lover.”
Another gasp. Oh, Lord, I was enjoying this.
“How dare you?”
I stepped toward her, jabbing at the air with a forefinger. “No, how dare you? How dare you marry Sam Ridley? He’s a decent guy. He doesn’t deserve a woman who has sex in the backseat of another man’s car.”
She drew herself tall and sneered at me down her perfect
little nose. I had to give her credit. The Queen of England couldn’t have looked snobbier.
“Now you hear this, Miss Trailer Trash. What I do in my free time is none of your business.”
“Most days, I’d agree with you,” I said, forcing my voice into a tone as cool as hers, “except for one thing. Sam’s my friend. Up till now, I had no intention of telling him about you and Trey, of breaking his heart. But your boyfriend there,” I pointed a finger at Trey, pleased to see it wasn’t shaking, “knows that when I leave here, I leave to talk.”
I grabbed my purse off the sofa and tossed it over an arm. Where was all this tough-sounding talk of mine coming from? Not from the play-acting of yesterday. Ten minutes after getting here, I’d forgotten every darn thing the detectives taught me. Tallulah and Violet must’ve been egging me on, saying, “Go for it, girl. Go get ’em.” Either that or I was in the grip of mind-blowing anger because I’d forgotten something else, something Daddy told me years ago when we played stud poker together. Never underestimate your opponent. And at the moment, that was Lila.
Stealthy as a mountain lion stalking its prey, she eased around the side of the sofa, narrowing the space between us. “You mean to tell me you’d sully my daddy’s good name with cheap gossip?”
“Not with gossip, with the truth. I’m taking him down, Lila, and his aide along with him. Especially his aide. Before you arrived, he let me in on a choice tidbit.”
“Don’t listen to her,” Trey yelled. “I’m calling the cops.”
“No!” Lila shouted.
I challenged her. “Want to hear what he said?”
With a flick of the wrist, she swatted my question away as if it were a bothersome gnat. “You have nothing to say that I care to hear.”
“Wrong. You’ll care about this.”
Her super long lashes fluttered.
Hah, she’s hooked. Time to draw her in.
“Trey told me your daddy wanted Tallulah dead. When Trey shot her, he was carrying out your father’s orders.”
“She’s a lying bitch,” Trey shouted and lunged for me.
I raced for the door, forgetting to yell for help, forgetting everything but the need to get out of there fast.
Murder on Pea Pike Page 21
