Somewhere along the line my cell phone had disappeared. “Thanks,” I said, grateful for the reminder. “I need to check in with Billy. He’s been sitting in for me at the desk and must be going nuts by now.”
“Okay, I’ll see you later, then,” Jack said, heading for the door.
I picked up a remote control lying on an end table, and sat down in the recliner facing a big-screen TV. “Do you have cable?”
I was sound asleep when Jack returned. The TV was still blaring, but the rattling of the door lock was what startled me awake. I jumped up from the chair as Jack walked in. “Whoa, it’s just me,” he said.
“Oh. I was asleep.”
“No kidding,” he said. “I could hear you snoring outside the door. Same when I checked on you around noon. You didn’t even hear me come in that time.” He opened the fridge and looked inside. “Want a beer?”
I declined and turned off the TV. I couldn’t believe I’d slept so soundly. “What time is it?” I asked, stretching. My watch had apparently run off with my cell phone.
“It’s five o’clock. Happy hour,” he said, grabbing a can of Coors. He quickly downed a swig and joined me in the small area that served as his living room.
“Are you happy?” I asked. “I mean, did you find any prints at my place?”
He shrugged. “We got a partial on your computer keyboard.”
“That sounds promising.”
“Not really. When the lab ran it through the system, we didn’t get a match.”
“That means whoever broke in doesn’t have a record, right?”
“Or held a government job, worked around kids, or anywhere else that requires fingerprints,” he said.
“At least it eliminates one of your suspects.”
“I take it you’re referring to Carlton Leavy, your budding true-crime writer?”
I nodded, feeling pleased I could make the connection. My head still hurt, but at least my brain was functioning properly. “If Mr. Leavy served time in prison like you said, he would have his prints on file.”
“Right. Leavy probably wasn’t involved in the break-in. Doesn’t mean he’s no longer a suspect, though.”
“Speaking of which, I assume Kevin Gleason has crossed my name off his list by now.”
Jack grunted. “Hah! Don’t count on it.”
“But,” I said, “surely the crash you claim was deliberate and the break-in at my house prove that I’m innocent. And don’t forget, I was with you when Marcus was killed—hit by a speeding car. Curiously similar circumstances, wouldn’t you say?”
“What I’d say is that Gleason is stirring up all kinds of trouble. Not just for you.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning he’s an ambitious rookie bastard. He’s been holding back on me from day one.”
I flashed on my conversation with Amy Windham’s mother. Gleason told Jack that the grieving woman was so distraught that she couldn’t tell him anything useful. Not true, as I found out the next day. “I remember what he said about Mrs. Windham. What else has Gleason and his pet stooge Carla misrepresented? Besides trying to make me look guilty?”
“Nothing that you and I can’t deal with,” Jack said. His five o’clock shadow had begun to show, which, coupled with his wrinkled brow, gave him a rough, bad-boy look. I found it uncomfortably attractive.
“When you say, ‘you and I’…”
Jack grinned with dimples deep enough to swim in. I had to look away or I’d be lost.
“Are you with me, Kate?” Still with the grin.
“Uh, I’m not sure what you mean.”
“We need to get our act together fast.”
Maybe it was just some weird post-concussion symptom, but I was struggling to stay focused on anything but those dimples. “Are you saying you still want me to work as your informant?” I asked. “I thought I’d blown that role big time.”
“No. I mean yes.”
“Huh?”
“I have something else in mind.”
“What, exactly?”
“We can talk about it over dinner. I don’t know about you, but I’m starved.” He got up from the couch and grabbed the phone. “I’ll order us some Chinese takeout.”
“I need to get home.”
He shook his head. “Not a good idea. I thought you understood that.”
“I get that you don’t think my place is safe, but I have to be back at work tomorrow. Can’t you just plant a squad car out front or something?”
“You’re better off here for now. Cheaper, too. The department doesn’t have the resources to babysit you.”
I felt my face flush, probably redder than my hair. Talk about stupidity. I’d let Jack’s good looks get in the way of good sense. All the warm and all-too-familiar feelings he’d inexplicably stirred up were history. “Babysit me?” I said. “Is that what you’re doing?”
Jack knew he’d stepped in it and started backpedaling fast. “Hold on, hold on. That’s not what I meant. The department spent its stimulus windfall on the fancy remodel instead of allocating the money where it can do the most good—on the street. I’d be happy to send a squad car over to your place, but the brass wouldn’t okay it, especially not all the frigging way to Woodinville. I’m already on the outs with the powers that be for not letting the local cops deal with the break-in. I’ve got to handle this problem without extra help.”
“Is that how you think of me? A problem?”
His shoulders slumped, a defeated look crossing his face. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “I’d never call you a problem. Difficult maybe, but never a problem. And I only have myself to blame for any difficulty. I dragged you into this mess and it’s my responsibility to make things right.” His eyes sought mine. “So, what do you say?” he asked. “Can I start by buying you dinner? Ming’s down the street has delivery and makes the best crab Rangoon in town. As I recall, it’s your favorite.”
It was the closest thing to an apology that I could expect from Jack. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll have some Chinese with you, but then I’m going home whether you like it or not. And just so we’re clear, I’m not your responsibility and never have been.”
Fifteen minutes later, our meal arrived. As soon as we’d opened all the containers, we dug in. Besides the crab Rangoon, Jack had ordered cashew chicken and the other dishes he knew I liked. After we’d downed enough to take the edge off our hunger, Jack said, “You know, we’ve been working at cross-purposes ever since this case started.”
“Sort of like when we were married?”
“Exactly,” he said, jabbing his chopstick in the air for emphasis. “We couldn’t save the marriage, but we can save this case.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Think of it this way—we have a big puzzle to put together. You have some of the pieces and I have some. Even Gleason has some. But no one can solve the puzzle without knowing what the other pieces are and how they fit together.”
“You can stop right there,” I said. He’d softened the rhetoric, but he was still on the same old page. “I get where you’re headed with this analogy. If this is your way of complaining again about me not sharing what I know, forget it. Just ask me about my trip to Portland and get it over with. It’s way past time for me to leave.”
“Hey,” he said, reaching for my hand. “Don’t get mad again. That wasn’t what I meant.”
I snatched my hand away. “Then what did you mean?”
“Hell, I keep making a mess of everything. What I’m trying to say—and not very damn well—is that I’ve been missing something very important. You can’t solve a puzzle very fast if you don’t have the picture on the box.”
“And pray tell, what is the picture on the box?”
“Us, Katie. We’re the picture.”
“Okay, now you’ve really lost me.”
“No, I lost you when our marriage ended. And I almost lost you again yesterday. I was terrified when I heard you’d been hurt. Just seeing you in
that hospital bed was almost more than I could take.” Wry smile. “Macho man that I am.”
I stared at him wide-eyed. I don’t know what shocked me more—Jack’s admitting he was scared, or how much I liked what it implied about his feelings for me. “Jack, I…”
He held up his hand. “Don’t say anything more. Just listen. Your crash and break-in prove that we’re getting close to solving this thing. There’s no doubt the danger’s real. I can understand if you don’t want anything more to do with the case—or me.” His eyes met mine and held them for a moment. “But I’d like us to work together as a team. A real team this time.” He reached for my hand and I didn’t pull away. “I need you, Katie. More than ever.”
His plea seemed heartfelt, but I worried he was playing me again. Jack was a master at the game. I liked what he’d said about needing me; I just couldn’t decide whether it went beyond the case. After a few moments, I decided it didn’t matter. I wanted his words to be true, whatever his intentions. In for a penny, in for a pound.
“I’m most likely suffering from post-traumatic stress, but what the heck? How can I help you?”
He let out a deep sigh. I realized then that he’d been holding his breath while waiting for my answer. I took that as a good sign.
“Let’s start with your trip to Portland,” he said.
CONFESSION #21
Love is a fire. The flames may go out, but the embers can still burn.
An hour later, I’d confessed all. I started with how I’d covered my absence from the concierge desk with the charity ruse, and ended with my visit with Molly, the union steward. In between, I listed everyone I’d talked to and what they’d told me. “So you see,” I said wrapping up, “I came away with more questions than I’d started with. The trip was a total waste of time. All it got me was a major headache, a banged-up face, and a night in the hospital. You were right all along. I’m not a detective.”
We’d moved from the kitchen table to the living room. Jack said we’d be more comfortable there. We’d left the empty takeout boxes and dishes for cleanup later, but I think it bothered Jack. I could tell he would’ve dealt with the mess right away if he hadn’t been so intent on hearing what I had to say. Except for a couple of trips to the fridge for more beer, he’d listened to my story without interruption. When I finished, he said, “You need to quit beating yourself up. Your instincts were good about the Portland connection to BellaVilla. I should’ve considered it myself.”
“But I didn’t learn anything useful.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
“For starters, our background check on Carla never turned up a brother. We knew all about her adoption by the Novikovs, but we never knew she was related to Vasily Petrov. That’s a crucial detail you uncovered. We wouldn’t have known about it if you hadn’t taken your trip.”
I thought he was just trying to make me feel better. “What does it prove?”
“Nothing yet. But it gives us some other angles to consider.”
“Like what?”
He looked more energized than I’d seen him lately as he laid out the possibilities, plus a few more ideas he’d been working on. Over the next couple of hours, we weighed and discarded some views, while others we decided needed further exploration. We turned questions into theories and tossed around which ones made the most sense. In the end, our discussion concluded with the following assumptions and action items:
The Novikov murders and the BellaVilla murders were probably related.
If the murders were related, then the residents on Jack’s suspects list most likely weren’t involved—unless one of them had a prior investment relationship with Vasily or his partner, Novikov. Jack intended to track down that possibility.
Carla’s lies about her background and her efforts to tie me to the murders were designed to distance herself from Vasily and his Ponzi scheme, either to divert suspicion away from her as the murderer, or to avoid getting murdered herself. I volunteered to confront her about the lies and see if her reaction told us anything new. Jack wasn’t comfortable with the idea, but I convinced him I’d make sure our come-to-Jesus meeting took place somewhere safe.
My role as informant had somehow been discovered by the killer, who then tried to stop me from further interference. We assumed that meant he or she had to have some kind of relationship with me, either as coworker or as one of the residents. Since we’d temporarily dismissed the BellaVilla residents on Jack’s original list, we decided the rest of the residents and other staff besides Carla should get a fresh look. Possible motives were unclear, but probing questions might flush out some likely possibilities. Jack planned to conduct a second round of interrogations.
We believed the Russian mafia’s involvement in the BellaVilla murders was unlikely. We based this assumption on the report that Jack had received from the detectives investigating the Novikov killings. They’d concluded that the murders were too amateurish for a mob hit. This coincided with Jack’s belief about the crash that had run me off the road. We did believe, however, that the Ponzi scheme Vasily developed was directly tied to the mob’s demand for repayment of their loan.
Based on the union steward’s suggestion that a former laid-off worker at Vasily and Navikov’s construction project might have been responsible for the murders, Jack said he’d request a list from the union of all the employees working at the site. He’d then run a check to see if any of them had ties to BellaVilla. He thought it seemed like a long shot, but we both agreed it needed to be investigated.
Finally, we agreed it was possible that there was more than one killer with different motives. Jack said he’d follow up with Gleason and see what, if anything, he’d come up with regarding employee motives. Since Jack still hadn’t told his partner about my informant role, I insisted he set the record straight about me.
When I found myself stifling yawns, I knew it was time to conclude the first meeting of our newly formed team. It had felt good working with Jack as collaborator rather than informant. He respected my opinions and didn’t try to dominate the conversation, or even give his professional insights more weight than my contributions. Our relationship had never been this cooperative, even in the early days of our marriage. I didn’t know what that meant for the future, but I was hopeful. Maybe we’d hit upon a new way for divorced couples to get along—solve a murder or two together and all sins would be forgiven.
“I’m too tired to think anymore,” I said, standing up to stretch. “I need to go home and crawl into bed.”
A playful smile crossed Jack’s face. “There’s a perfectly good bed right here,” he said, pointing to the bedroom. “Clean sheets, too.”
“You know, it’s one thing to work together on the case. But ex-spouses with benefits? I don’t think so.”
He affected a round-eyed innocent look, complete with eyebrows raised and hands in the air as if to ward off an attack. “Hey,” he said, “you’ve got the wrong idea.” Then he grinned and took it all back. “But now that you mention it, this benefits thing sounds damn good to me.”
“Nice try. Now let’s go.”
He stood up and faced me. “Seriously, I don’t want you to leave,” he said softly. He reached for my hands and gently clasped them in his. His voice was a warm embrace. “Stay with me tonight, Katie. Please.”
He didn’t have me at hello, but it was close. I looked toward the bedroom and stammered, “I… uh…”
“Don’t worry,” he said, misreading my awkward response. “I’ll sleep on the couch. It makes into a bed. You can have the whole bedroom to yourself. Safe and sound. From all intruders.”
Oh. Jack hadn’t misread the situation; I had. His tender stay-the-night-Katie routine was nothing more than a safety precaution. I withdrew my hands from his, hoping my flushed face didn’t give me away. “I appreciate the offer, I really do. But I don’t have my things and I have to be at work by seven o’clock in the morning.”
&nbs
p; “Wait here,” he said. “I’ll be right back.” He trotted off to the bedroom and when he returned, he carried an old-fashioned alarm clock. “I picked this up at IKEA. It’s ugly but the two bells on top get the job done. A damn sight better than the digital crap they sell nowadays.” He thrust the clock into my hands. “Set it for as early as you want. We’ll hit the road in time to stop by your place so you can change.”
Sleeping nude wasn’t my style, but I told him I preferred it to the tee shirt he offered along with the alarm clock. “I’ll spend the night in your bed,” I said. “But I’m not going to take over your wardrobe, too.”
He shrugged as if to say, “Suit yourself.” Then he flashed one of his maddening grins. “I hear ya,” he said. “Nude is way better. Asleep or awake.”
“Toss me the dang shirt,” I said.
Five o’clock the next morning, the bells clanged me awake with a jolt. At first, I was confused. I didn’t know where I was and what was making such a racket. I fumbled around in the darkened room until I found the offending noisemaker on the nightstand. When I finally got the ear-splitting thing quieted, I heard the shower running and panicked. I hopped out of Jack’s bed, shed his tee shirt, and quickly dressed.
I glanced in the mirror attached to the dresser and shuddered. Not even the dimly lit room could hide how awful I looked or felt. I had foul morning breath, no makeup to hide the bruises and dark shadows under my eyes, and a wild non-hairdo in serious need of professional help. Camping out in my ex-husband’s apartment overnight had been a bad, bad idea. I wandered into the kitchen to wait for Jack.
I don’t know when he got up, but he’d had time to make coffee and set out juice and breakfast rolls. I stood at the counter and helped myself to a bagel and some coffee. I was unwilling to sit down at the table for fear it would prolong our departure. The morning after could have been worse, I suppose. At least I didn’t have a hangover or guilty conscience. Nothing untoward (or otherwise) had happened, but I felt embarrassed all the same. I just wanted this morning to be over and done with as soon as possible.
Concierge Confessions: First Novel in the Concierge Mystery Series Page 16
