by Merit Clark
“Yeah? I’m pretty boring.”
“Your grandfather was a diplomat, which maybe explains the Armani, and your father was killed.”
“Hey.” Jack tried to sound outraged.
“Nothing personal. Like I told you, we have everybody checked out.” She leaned forward and looked up at him. Aranda had a beautiful mouth and the smile grew slowly, languorously, forming dimples at either end. The temperature in the room simultaneously rose about ten degrees. Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “So, what’d you find out about me?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jack shifted in his chair. He was out of practice; he was actually getting flustered.
“Oh, come on. It’s not fair that only cops get to have all the information.” She sat back again, slipped off her jacket, and draped it over the back of the chair. Jack watched, as she knew he would. The sleeveless silk shell she wore underneath was deep fuchsia and fit nicely. She caught his eye and a smile still played at those full lips. “I can’t believe this weather. It’s not still supposed to be this hot.”
“I personally like cooler weather.”
“So, busy detective, you drove all the way down here to talk about the weather? I could have had the files sent by messenger.”
“You wanted to talk somewhere other than your office, which means you don’t want your boss to know even though you said he wouldn’t mind.”
“I really wanted one of these.” She indicated her drink.
“I don’t know how you can drink that. It’s a milkshake, not coffee.”
She leaned forward and took another sip through the straw. “Mmm. Yummy.” But she looked at Jack.
He unconsciously reached a hand up to fidget with his tie.
“You didn’t tell me if you had me checked out," Aranda said. "I thought you guys did background checks on everyone you contacted.”
“You’re not a person of interest in a homicide.”
She smiled. “Oh. That sounds exciting.”
“It’s really not.” He changed the tone of the conversation. “How long have D’Ambrose and Markham been friends?”
“They’re not friends.”
“Okay. How long have they been working together?”
“Roger first hired Evan for a case about five years ago.” Aranda took another sip of her drink and watched him expectantly.
“So . . .” Jack knew she was waiting for him to make a connection. “That’s about the same length of time Corie and Evan have been married. Corie influenced Evan.”
Aranda had pretty hands with short, neatly manicured nails bare of color. She made a circular motion with her index finger.
Jack thought about it. “Other way around. Corie influenced Roger.”
“Roger usually only lets himself be influenced by two things: God and money. Not necessarily in that order, although you didn’t hear that from me.”
“How does he know Corie?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Is he aware of the—” Jack decided to rephrase but there was no graceful way to ask what he wanted to ask. “Do you think she confides in him? Would Roger know if she was having marital difficulties?”
“I think he helps her out as much as she allows, in an advisory capacity of course.” Pieces of hair had come loose and she reached up to fix the way it was pinned on her head. “Roger’s sweet on Corie. But you probably figured that out already.”
“Thought he was married.”
She gave him a look.
“Right. And my point would be . . .?”
“Roger would never act on it. But he was pissed at you yesterday.”
“Really?”
Aranda finished fixing her hair. “Apparently you offended her honor.”
“I barely said anything.”
“Don’t get me wrong. I like Corie. She’s smart, she’s fun, she’s got a wicked sense of humor. I used to think she was kind of boring. But lately she’s been coming out of her shell. If circumstances were different, I’d be friends with her.”
“Why can’t you be?”
“The shell, as if I have to tell you, is the size and shape of Evan Markham’s thumb. It’s one of the reasons I don’t like him. Is this the picture you wanted me to paint?”
“Pretty much.”
“I never saw bruises. I never heard the ‘oh I walked into the door, I’m such a klutz’ routine. She also never confided in me. I was glad she finally had someone around to support her.”
“You mean Brice.”
“I hope you catch whoever it was.”
“I will.”
Her eyes met his. “I really don’t think he hits her. Evan treats Corie well but like a prized possession he keeps up on a high shelf. Not like a flesh-and-blood woman. Now Jennifer on the other hand, or even Vangie . . .” Aranda wrinkled her nose.
“You don’t like his new assistant?”
“What does she assist him with, the handcuffs?”
Jack arched a dark eyebrow. “Maybe Evan didn’t like his wife coming out of her shell.”
“Maybe. To be honest, it’s hard to tell what Evan likes. Other than money and influence.”
“He ever hit on you?”
She gave a snort of derision. “As if. I’d cut his balls off.”
Jack couldn’t help smiling at that. “Tell me a little more about the services Markham provides. What makes him so valuable?”
“Part of the consulting he does is helping developers avoid litigious situations a priori. Evan’s brilliant at advising on risk. Or the potential for it. He can give a resort the once-over and point out vulnerabilities, if that’s the right word. He’s been trying to move into the development side for a while. He actually hates to be referred to as an expert witness. I’d consider it a personal favor if you managed to work that phrase into your conversations with him as often as possible.”
Jack grinned back at her. “I’ll keep that in mind. Is he that good?”
“Evan’s smart enough to know where the big money is and he’s managed to leverage his particular skill set quite nicely.” She reached into a sleek leather portfolio and pulled out a folder. “I went back through our files like you asked and I talked to Roger to see if he could remember anyone particularly upset. Brice’s name didn’t ring a bell with either of us. You really think Brice was killed because of a lawsuit?”
“Stranger things have happened.”
“Killed the wrong man, if you ask me. Sorry. I know that’s a terrible thing to say.”
“You really don’t like Evan.”
“I feel like I need to take a shower after I’ve been around him.”
Jack walked her back, and before she went inside her building, she looked up at him with serious brown eyes and a shy smile. “I know you’re in the middle of an investigation and I’m a shameless flirt. But I’m serious about the offer to help, and I’m equally serious about the offer to have a cup of coffee—or something stronger—with you sometime when you’re off the clock.”
He returned the smile. “Best offer I’ve had all day.”
Chapter 20
Corie pulled a photo off of a shelf in the living room and stared at it. Herself and Hennessy from their rodeo queen days, with full makeup and big hair like they were competing to be Miss America or something. Big smiles, too. Their arms around each other’s shoulders and ridiculously embellished, oversized cowboy hats on their heads. Her fingertips traced patterns on the glass. “How could you?”
Hennessy’s exotic green eyes smiled back from the photo. Corie wanted to remember Hennessy as the fearless, smart, funny, talented girl she idolized. But it was all a lie. Hennessy’s life had always looked so charmed and impossibly glamorous, and yet she wound up starving herself.
During high school the Markham home was a refuge. After Corie’s father left her mother, she brought home a string of men Corie was supposed to call “Uncle.” Such a cliché. Vi drank and smoked and ran off with one man after another. Jessie M
arkham, on the other hand, was warm, artistic, and easy to talk to. Corie used to confide in Jessie about her fights with her mother and Jessie listened to her without judgment. Jessie gave the two girls a lot of freedom and she treated them like adults. Corie had her first tastes of champagne and pâté at the Markham’s. She and Hennessy, allowed to do pretty much what they pleased, were inseparable. Until Corie fell for Jack.
At first, Hennessy made fun of Jack, called him a geek and a nerd. Corie smiled remembering the funny, awkward boy Jack used to be. Of all the people to wind up being a homicide detective . . .
Long before she had a crush on him, Jack made Corie laugh and he was her friend. But then Hennessy made it her mission to take him away from Corie and Jack succumbed. All too easily, it seemed.
When she reached her twenties, Corie looked for older men, powerful men, men she thought would protect her. Men who could pay the bills. Corie wasn’t going to wind up like her mother, struggling to get by and growing bitter. The irony was that Corie wound up with a man who didn’t protect her at all.
From the dusty, abandoned books on the bottom shelf, Corie pulled out her high school yearbook. Why am I doing this to myself? Her fingers found the page with their senior photos. Farantino, Fariel. Scrawled in blue ink across his photo, it read: ‘To the prettiest girl in the entire school, Love Jack.’ At the time, Corie never gave Jack a chance to explain. Her pride was wounded, her trust was shattered, and it just plain hurt too much.
What had she written in his yearbook? Did he still have it? Stop it. This was no time for a trip down memory lane. She slammed the book closed but she took it, along with the photo and her overnight bag, and put them in the trunk of her car. Then she put Murphy in his run with water and dry dog food. That worried her, but surely Evan could manage to take care of the dog.
While she was looking through the photo albums, an envelope addressed from Vangie fell out. Inside were photos taken of her and Evan at the pool party in Dallas she told Jack about. Corie and Evan in bathing suits, smiling, with their arms around each other. In one photo Evan clowned for the camera, putting his head on Corie’s shoulder. Vangie had written little notes on the back in her loopy girlish handwriting. Corie took them to the office and fed them, one by one, into the shredder. Then she wondered if that was a good idea. It was proof of a connection between Evan and Vangie. What if they were evidence? But the cops already knew about the “connection” between Evan and Vangie.
Corie surveyed their office. What she needed was some proof of money going to other women or some evidence that he’d been hiding assets from her. How could she know so little about their finances? Idiot, idiot, idiot.
Evan’s desk seemed like a good place to start. She opened each drawer in turn but the large drawer for files was locked. Corie walked to one of the bookshelves, reached up, and retrieved a small, carved wooden box off the top shelf. A souvenir from a trip to Bali, it was where she kept all of their office keys. Corie was itching to go online and look at their bank accounts but the police still had the computers. What if he’d changed the passwords? When was the last time she’d even checked?
She tried every key in the souvenir box but none worked. Prick. Anger overtook reason. Corie ran upstairs and out to the garage. She came back with a long flat-edge screwdriver and attacked the edge of the drawer savagely. So much for stealth. When the drawer cracked open she stared in dismay at the empty hanging folders. Fuck. She worked on the side rails with the screwdriver until the whole drawer pulled free with a loud squeal. A lone piece of paper was wedged between the back of the drawer and the inside of the desk.
“Corie?” Evan’s voice.
She snatched at the paper. A bank statement with a check stapled to the upper left-hand corner. She saw “Perez and Associates” on the check before she crammed the paper into her pocket.
“Corie, are you down there?”
The drawer lay on its side on the floor. She briefly considered trying to put it back but knew she didn’t have time. She heard Evan’s feet on the stairs.
“What are you doing, Corie?”
She walked to the foot of the stairs and glared up at him. “The fuck you think I’m doing? It’s my office.”
“Our office.” He stopped on the second step from the top. “What’s gotten into you?”
Her heart hammered in her chest. Get out of here. Don’t say anything, just leave. He stared down at her, a phony concerned look on his face. He was dressed in a suit. Had he been to a meeting? Had he been in bed with Vangie? Had he been fucking someone new? Corie started up the stairs.
“Where’s Violet?”
And it just came out. “Oh, your other lover left.”
“What the fuck?”
“Don’t you realize? She has a massive crush on you. She wants you for herself. You could have her along with all of the others. She wouldn’t care. She told me I was silly to care.”
“Don’t be vile. What did they tell you?” He didn’t even sound surprised.
“One thing, asshole. If you’ve given me any kind of disease, I’m going to sue your ass.”
“Corie, you need to tell me what has happened.”
She recognized the stiff, formal way he talked when he was mad. But she didn’t care. It felt freeing not to care about Evan. “Oh yeah? You need to tell me what’s been happening with Vangie.”
“Vangie? Vangie Perez?”
“That would be the one, unless you’re fucking another Vangie too.” She faced him near the top of the staircase.
“What have you heard?”
“Get out of my way.”
“Is it your detective friend who told you?” His face was close to hers. “I know all about the two of you. Or I should say, the three of you.”
“Please let me by.”
“I had Detective Fariel checked out. You know how thorough I am. You all went to high school together. Did he fuck my sister, too? Oh yes. I know. And he has a record. Sealed because he was a juvenile.”
“Evan, do you make this shit up?” Her heart pounded so hard she felt dizzy. If he knew Jack slept with Hennessy there was no telling what he might do. She had to warn Jack. But first she had to get by Evan. Her left hand gripped the banister.
He smiled. “Corie, as you well know from our business experience, it is rarely necessary to make shit up to hang people with; they provide enough rope all on their own. That is, you would know that if you had been paying the least bit of attention.”
“Now you sound like my mother. Who really does adore you by the way. And none of this changes the fact that you’ve been screwing around on me. How long has it been going on, huh? How much money have you been giving your whores?”
“My private life is none of your business.” He leaned even closer and his voice was a low growl. “What did you tell him? Please do not lie. You were alone with him all day. I know you betrayed me. What did you tell him?”
“Fuck you, Evan. Or rather, fuck Vangie. She’s about your speed.”
“You were here all alone with him and now you are spewing accusations at me? Did you enjoy fucking the detective? I want to know if it was good. Was it like old times? I want to know if he was able to please you, because God knows I can't.”
She was blind with rage and, in that moment, didn’t care what happened to her. Fear of Evan was replaced by hatred so intense she could taste it. “You son of a bitch. Go live with your fat slut Vangie. Get the fuck out of my way.” She hit him with both hands, tried to push him away, but he was far stronger. She felt his hands on her shoulders as he shoved her, hard. She tried to grab the banister again with her left hand, but that only succeeded in slowing her fall and wrenching her wrist. Completely off balance, she tumbled and landed in a heap at the bottom of the stairs, not quite sure how she got there.
Evan stood where he was and watched as Corie slowly pushed herself up to a seated position. “You’re okay.” He made no move to approach her.
Not “are you okay?” Not a question of c
oncern but a statement of fact, with disappointment in his voice.
She stared up at him and felt like she was in one of those dreams where you try desperately to run but can’t.
Evan's voice and eyes were ice cold. “I do not know why you always have to make things so hard.”
Chapter 21
“Maybe it was part of some kind of weird S&M shit,” Mike said.
Jack looked up from his reading. He, Mike, and Serena were hunkered down in a conference room reading through the files Detective Lassiter had sent from Charlotte. Monique’s grandfather owned a furniture manufacturing company and the Charlotte police interviewed all of his employees. All fifty-six of them. Then there were neighbors, family members, and friends.
“I can believe Vangie would do a lot of things for Evan,” Serena said.
“Maybe he was with her,” Jack said.
“Kind of a test. Prove you love me,” Mike said.
“No one would have found it suspicious Evan was at home.” Serena nodded slowly, thinking. “We could have a conspiracy, or Evan could be an accomplice. We’d have to find evidence Evan orchestrated Brice’s death.”
“If the shooter is Vangie,” Jack said.
“You still don’t buy it,” Mike said.
Jack waved a hand toward their laptops. “What about all of this? I don’t believe in coincidences. Not one this big. What brought Brice here to Denver? To Evan Markham’s house? Brice made it his business to get close to Corie.”
“When I talked further to Brice’s family they said he wanted a fresh start,” Mike said. “Monique’s murder had become a bit of an obsession—their word. His father was happy when Brice decided to move away.”
“That poor family,” Serena said.
The three of them read for a while in silence after that.
There were several suspects the Charlotte cops had honed in on: a black gardener with a record—mostly petty theft and misdemeanors—but it was November and the gardener hadn’t done any work at the grandparents’ house in over a month; a business partner of the grandfather’s with a grudge, but it turned out he’d been in Florida at the time of the attack; and an ex-boyfriend of Monique’s who still worked at the furniture factory, but the police were eventually able to confirm his alibi.
