Party Crashers

by Stephanie Bond

  “He stayed hidden because he wanted LeMon to think he was dead?” Carlotta asked.

  “Right.”

  “So how did Gary get involved with them in the first place?”

  “On the tape, he said he met LeMon and started doing little things for him—getting game tickets, that kind of thing. LeMon gave him a lot of referrals, introduced him to Kyle Coffee, Russell Island, and their other pal, Gordon Beaure. After a while, he was working for them almost exclusively. He rented the condo on West Peachtree for their leisure, then handled the sale when they decided to buy the property. He arranged for hookers, bought drugs for them—he even bought a gun for LeMon and taught him how to shoot it.”

  She swallowed, remembering the desperation in Gary’s voice on the tape. “I’ve done some bad things in my life and I’ve done business with some bad people, but Roger LeMon is a cold-blooded killer, as cold as they come.”

  “Who is Gordon Beaure?”

  “He owns a liquor distribution company. He wasn’t around as much, but Salyers said he had just taken out a multimillion-dollar life insurance policy on his wife.”

  Carlotta shuddered. “Creepy.”

  “Yeah,” Hannah said. “I wanted Russell to leave his wife; I had no idea he was planning to kill her.”

  “Or to have her killed, more likely,” Jolie said. “Gary said they were all planning accidents. In fact, the police are looking into the possibility that Kyle Coffee might have been killed in the ‘accident’ that had been previously arranged for his wife. Apparently, he was having second thoughts.”

  “LeMon will probably get the needle for killing his wife and Gary,” Carlotta said.

  Jolie pursed her mouth. “And possibly Coffee. Plus he hired the guy who tried to run me off the road. And Gary’s tape probably seals LeMon’s fate for shooting his wife, but there’s still no physical evidence linking him directly to Gary’s murder.”

  “But the creep is going to be charged with attempted murder too, right, for what he did to you at your apartment?”

  She nodded solemnly. She could still feel his fingers pressed against her mouth, could still hear his voice in her mind. “Time to die.” The man’s ruthlessness was stunning, even more so considering the fact that he moved comfortably in such polite circles.

  “Beck saved your life,” Carlotta said pointedly.

  Jolie nodded and stared at her hands. Beck.

  “So what’s going on with you two?”

  Twice they’d met to talk, and twice they’d wound up making love instead. Jolie adopted an innocent expression. “Nothing.”

  “Liar.”

  She flushed. “I am supposed to meet him in a few minutes to show him a house before my afternoon shift, but that’s the extent of our relationship—strictly professional.”

  The fact that he’d had his secretary call that morning to arrange the appointment seemed like a clear indication that he was trying to create distance between them. She knew she should just be grateful for the commission she would earn, but now that she had her life back, her imagination appeared to be running full-throttle with possibilities: a successful business, lively friendships, a love for all time…

  The girls were staring at her, and for a moment she was afraid she’d said that out loud. “I need to run,” she chirped, springing up from her chair. She left cash for her meal and waved, thinking she shouldn’t have eaten anything on her nervous stomach. One thing that lifted her spirits was the sight of her Mercury sitting at the curb—Detective Salyers had pulled a few strings. It was nice to have a piece of her old life back, although admittedly, she didn’t want all of her old life back. She felt as if she’d been given a second chance, and she was going to live life more largely than before.

  Minus the party crashing, of course.

  At red lights, she reviewed the listing that Beck wanted to see. The house was in the most exclusive neighborhood in Buckhead—Sammy’s favorite, in fact. She’d be cross-eyed with jealousy if Jolie managed to sell one of the elite properties. The home was enormous and chock full of amenities, with a price tag to match. Secretly, she was disappointed that Beck had gone the “bigger is better” route, although her inner agent told her to keep her idealistic mouth shut. It wasn’t as if he were buying a home for them to share. Besides, a tiny voice inside of her promised, If he buys a big house, he might stay in Atlanta. Not that she’d be running into him at the country club.

  She pulled up to the house a few minutes early, which would give her time to scout out the uber-structure. From the looks of it, she was going to need a map. She removed the door key from the lockbox device and let herself in the front door.

  Huge. Colossal. Gargantuan. She toured the first floor quickly to get a feel for the layout and the yards (plural), then she climbed the stairs and checked the rooms for the best views. She heard the front door open and close, and her heartrate kicked up in anticipation of seeing Beck again. She walked to the landing and looked over, then felt her smile dissolve.

  Sammy was frowning up at her.

  “What are you doing here?” they asked in unison.

  “I’m showing the house to a client,” Jolie said.

  “Who?” Sammy asked suspiciously.

  “Beck Underwood.”

  Sammy frowned harder and Jolie had the distinct feeling that Sammy wanted to stamp her foot.

  Jolie crossed her arms. “What are you doing here?” she asked again.

  “I just finished showing a house two doors down, and I saw what I thought was your car in the driveway.”

  In other words, it drew attention because it wasn’t a nice-enough car to be in this neighborhood. Jolie checked her watch. “I don’t mean to be rude, but my client should be here any minute.”

  But Sammy walked across the foyer and up the stairs. “While I’m here, I’ll just look around.”

  Jolie glared as the woman sashayed by her on the landing. Her cell phone rang and she pulled it out of her purse, thinking it might be Beck saying he was running late. But when she saw the 904 area code, she smiled—Leann. She had so much to tell her.

  “Hello?”

  “Is this Jolie Goodman?”

  Jolie frowned. “Yes, who’s this?”

  “This is Rebecca Renaldi, Leann’s sister. I’m calling about the card I just received.”

  Jolie smiled. “You didn’t have to call—I hope you’re recovering well. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  “Jolie, one of us is confused. I didn’t lose a baby—Leann did.”

  Jolie blinked. “What?”

  “Leann lost her baby early Sunday morning. Personally, I think it was the long drive.”

  Gripping the phone tighter, Jolie said, “I thought Leann went to Jacksonville to take care of you.”

  “No, she came here so I could take care of her. Gary was going to join her later.”

  Starbursts flashed behind Jolie’s eyelids. “Did you say ‘Gary’?”

  “Yeah, Gary—the father of her baby.”

  Jolie grasped the rail in front of her. Gary and Leann? Bits and pieces of conversations came flooding back to her: Leann telling her to stay away from Gary, exhibiting irritation if Jolie shared personal tidbits.

  “I would’ve thought Leann had told you about the baby and about Gary, but she was probably waiting to see if it would work out this time.”

  “Th–this time?”

  “They dated for about a year, then he broke it off, but she never really got over him. Actually, I was worried about her.”

  Gary’s fatal attraction girlfriend. Leann had moved to the apartment complex within a couple of weeks of when she and Gary had started dating. In the laundry room, Leann had initiated a conversation and fostered a friendship.

  “When you see her, you might not mention that I told you all of this.”

  “When I see her?” Jolie asked, her voice shaky.

  “She left this morning to drive back to Atlanta, for good this time.”

  Jolie’s pulse raced.
“Earlier, you said something about losing the baby after a long d–drive.”

  “She drove back to Atlanta last Saturday, against my wishes. But she said she and Gary had some things to talk about.”

  “I wish you could drive up and crash the party with us. If you left now, you could make it.”

  Apparently, Leann had made it.

  “Jolie, was I right to tell you about the baby?” Rebecca asked.

  “Yes,” she murmured. “I, um, need to go, though.”

  “Okay. Nice talking to you.”

  Jolie disconnected the call, completely numb. She needed to call Salyers. She flipped up the phone.

  “Drop the phone, Jolie.”

  She looked over the rail and her heart stalled at the sight of Leann holding a handgun pointed up at her.

  “I said drop it.”

  Jolie obeyed and the phone bounced down several steps. Leann hadn’t told her to, but for some reason, it just felt right to hold her arms up while having a gun trained on her heart.

  “That was my sister, wasn’t it? I heard the tail end of your conversation. Did you call her?”

  Jolie searched for her voice and found it cowering behind her liver. “No. Sh–she called me. I s–sent her a sympathy card. She was confused.”

  “Ah.” Leann laughed. “I’d forgotten how damn polite you are.” Her smile was squinty and mean. “It must have been one of the things that Gary loved about you.”

  “I d–don’t think that Gary was in love with me.”

  “Sure he was,” Leann said. “I could tell. Remember the day we all floated down the river? I could tell by the way he was around you.”

  Oh, God—she had invited them both. Although, in hindsight, Leann had finagled an invitation, no doubt gleeful at being able to torment him all day, reminding him that she could cozy up to any future girlfriend, keep tabs on him.

  “The fire at his apartment?” Jolie asked.

  “Me,” Leann said, proudly.

  “The X on my face in the photograph?”

  “Me.”

  “The lipstick note to Gary?”

  “Me, me, me.”

  And she’d thought that Hannah was scary. “Leann, I don’t know how you found me, but my client will be here any minute. Why don’t you put down the gun before someone gets hurt.”

  “You mean Beck Underwood? The man you took up with before Gary was even in the ground? He’s not coming.”

  “The call from his secretary?”

  “Me.”

  Okay, now she was truly terrified. Alone in the house with a crazed gunwoman, and no one around except Realtor Barbie, who was probably lost somewhere in the right wing. And her arms were getting really, really tired. She seriously needed to work on her upper body strength.

  “Leann, what do you want?”

  “You dead.” Quick and to the point.

  “What will that accomplish, except to mess up your life?”

  Leann smiled. “It will mess up your life. Gary and I could have been together if you hadn’t come along.”

  Out of corner of her eye, Jolie saw Sammy walking in front of the house, hands on hips, scowling at the dusty domestic car that Leann had arrived in. She must have found a back staircase and was walking the grounds.

  “Leann, can we talk about this? If I had known that you were in love with Gary, I would never—”

  “Shut up. I tried to like you, I truly did. Sometimes, I did like you. Do you know how many times I could have hurt you? Gary threatened me not to, but he’s gone now. Come down here.”

  “I don’t think—”

  Leann fired a round into the wall behind Jolie.

  “Okay,” Jolie said. “I’m coming.” She started down the stairs, half relieved, half terrified when she realized that the shot had caught Sammy’s attention. The woman scowled at the house and was no doubt thinking about how they could keep out the riffraff agents and lookey-loos. And she must have thought of something, because she was charging toward the house, a thundercloud on her brow.

  Jolie was halfway down the stairs when Sammy pushed open the door like a bad wind, catching Leann between the shoulder blades. The gun went off as Leann went down—Jolie heard the zwing of the bullet going past her head.

  “Sammy, she has a gun!” Jolie yelled.

  But Sammy barely missed a beat as she stepped on Leann’s back, reached into her Prada bag, and came out with her own gun, long and blue and a caliber that Clint Eastwood might carry. “Mine’s new and it’s bigger.” She dug the heel of her Manolo Blahnik ankle-tie suede pump into Leann’s spine. “I don’t know who you are, but move and I’ll blow your effing head off.”

  “She killed Gary,” Jolie gasped, reaching for her dropped phone to dial 911.

  Sammy glared down at her detainee. “You ruined my Ralph Lauren comforter. You’re going to have to pay for that.”

  Twenty-six

  “It’s like, I can’t decide between the Ferragamo wedges and the Stuart Weitzman boots, you know?”

  Kneeling on carpet-burned knees, Jolie peered at the tortured coed over a mountain of boxes. “Why don’t you take both and decide when you get home? You can always return a pair later—if they don’t show signs of wear.”

  The young woman’s shoulders fell in relief. “You’re right. I’ll take them both.”

  “And the Dior sandals?” Jolie encouraged.

  “Sure, why not?”

  Jolie nodded with approval, scooped up the boxes, and trotted to the checkout counter before the girl could change her mind. Michael eyed the three boxes in her hands with an arched brow. “You’re catching on,” he murmured. “You just might last after all.”

  “He says again on my last day.”

  “Jolie, I understand why you’re going back to your old job, but it’s not going to be nearly as exciting around here without you.”

  “It’s not my old job,” Jolie declared. “I’ll be a partner.” She smiled at him over her shoulder. “Someday maybe I’ll be able to afford to buy a pair of shoes from you.”

  But Michael’s remark rankled Jolie. Returning to the Sanders Agency felt as if she were taking a step backward. Not in pay, of course, but in life experience. Still, she would be secure…and alive. That was important, considering that just a few days ago her prognosis for living had not been encouraging.

  She rang up the sale and thanked the customer, then glanced around the showroom, a little wistful about leaving after only two weeks.

  The most eventful two weeks of her life. Leann had been charged with various and sundry crimes ranging from arson to murder to trespassing, but was already enjoying a nicely padded room at a psychiatric facility just outside of Atlanta. According to her sister Rebecca, Leann had suffered a lifelong history of mental instability, and the pregnancy had only exacerbated matters. Leann had told the police that after Gary disappeared, she was sure he was going to join her in Florida. When she discovered that instead of coming to her in his hour of need, Gary had sought out Jolie, Leann was incensed, and became increasingly distraught after her conversations with Jolie that Gary was not only still alive, but was watching Jolie—protecting her—while Leann waited in Florida, pregnant with his baby.

  Suspecting that Gary would follow Jolie to Sammy’s party, Leann had made the long drive to Atlanta and had disguised herself as one of the hired help for the evening. Apparently, after listening to Jolie’s party-crashing stories, she had decided to give it a try. Leann had heard Jolie say on numerous occasions that Sammy carried a gun in her purse—finding it had been a cinch, Leann said. She’d skulked around until Gary had appeared. When he sneaked upstairs carrying an armful of coats to the coat check room to follow Jolie, Leann had tailed him and confronted him about the baby. She said that when Gary had refused to accept the fact that the baby was his, she’d shot him through a fur stole to silence the gun and then stuck the gun in Jolie’s coat pocket—Leann said she’d have known that shabby coat anywhere.

  Ouch.

  Jo
lie touched her temple. Leann was insane, but she wasn’t devoid of feelings. The trauma of what she’d done had led to her miscarriage when she returned to Florida. The sadness of it all was so profound, Jolie could scarcely believe it had happened. She decided she might never know why Gary hadn’t told her about Leann—had he been afraid it would incite Leann even more? Had he enjoyed taunting the poor woman? Had the baby truly been his? Endless questions had plagued her over the past three days since the incident that had exposed the group of conspirators, which the papers, every bit as slogan-savvy as the Yellow Pages, had dubbed the “Buckhead Brotherhood.”

  Roger LeMon was being held without bail in the murder of Janet LeMon. Russell Island had wasted no time turning state’s evidence and spilling his guts about the foursome’s evil plans to inherit their wives’ trust funds. The story was a media sensation—part of the reason Jolie was leaving her job at Neiman’s was that the security detail had to be increased to keep reporters and assorted weirdos from dogging her.

  Strangely, Leann’s appearance at the house had been a turning point for Jolie and Sammy. Sammy had admitted that she’d always been jealous of Jolie’s relationship with her father. But since the agency’s business had been sliding without Jolie’s organizational skills to keep things moving, she’d made Jolie an attractive offer to come back. Jolie had held out for a partnership, and Sammy had finally agreed. There had been no hanky-panky between Sammy and Gary, although Sammy had admitted in a rare, sheepish moment that it wasn’t for lack of trying on her part.

  Beck had called a couple of times. Once they’d talked for a few minutes until the conversation had trailed off awkwardly. The next time, she had listened to his voice message but hadn’t returned his call. She knew when to make a graceful exit. Of course, that hadn’t kept her from lying awake at night thinking of him. Beck had been her first experience with full-on love, no doubt because her emotions had been running full-tilt since the day she’d met him. But eventually the bewilderment over the mess that Gary had introduced into her life would dissipate, and so would her intense longing for Beck Underwood.

  “Hey, short-timer.”