The Blood Files, Case #2: Give Me Shelter

by Joelle Ayers

  I wished I’d felt better and remembered my pen and notepad, but I’d have to rely on memory this time.

  “You’ve spoken with the attorney representing the family?” I asked.

  With a smile, she answered. “Sweetheart… I am representing the family. We’re still going after the practice to get them what they’re due,” she shared. “No, there isn’t any amount of money that will bring their child back, but I’m doing my part to get them whatever I can.”

  It became abundantly clear just how much she hated this guy.

  “Is there any chance you can—”

  “If you’re getting ready to ask for my clients’ names, I’ll have to stop you right there,” she cut in, shutting me down. “I was no fan of Matthew’s, but I can’t say anymore. Really, I’ve already said too much.”

  I had to respect that, racking my brain for other possible avenues I could try to get the info. The sickness was beginning to pass, so I could only hope that was a sign I was on the right track. Apparently, whatever unfinished business Matt had, didn’t directly involve Maureen, but I was sure some bit of information she’d given here today was meant for me to hear.

  “If we’re finished here, I have a client coming in—”

  “Nope, we’re done. Thank you for your time, Ms. Duggan.”

  She nodded and faced her computer screen again, but I had one last question as my hand lingered on the door knob.

  “Aside from the family with the lawsuit, can you tell me if there was anyone else who might’ve wanted to hurt Matthew? Colleagues? Tenants? …Anyone?” I wasn’t sure why I asked, but it seemed worth bringing up while I had her attention.

  That smug grin crossed her face again. “Sweetheart, my ex screwed over anyone who’d give him a chance to,” she shared. “So, the short answer? Yes, you’ll find enough people to fill a stadium if that’s what you’re looking for. Matthew Duggan was one of the most hated men I know.”

  —

  Chapter Six —

  I still didn’t have much of an appetite, but didn’t object when Josh decided to stop at the diner.

  He polished off the last of his pancakes while I twirled a spoon between my fingers. Quiet footsteps approached our booth and I looked up to see Hanna standing beside it—the same bright-eyed, chipper waitress who usually waited on us when she was here. She had to have just come in during a shift change.

  And, also like usual… her gaze was set on Josh.

  “Long time no see,” she smiled.

  Josh smiled back, but it wasn’t nearly as ‘friendly’ as Hanna’s. “Hey.”

  I sat watching the two engage in an awkward exchange of weird glances before putting an end to it with a drink order. “Would you mind grabbing me another orange juice, please?”

  Hanna tore her eyes away from Josh. “Of course.”

  “Same,” he added right after.

  Hanna gave a nod and excused herself.

  “You’ve been quiet about your meeting with Maureen. Find out anything useful?” Josh asked.

  I shrugged, staring out the window beside us as I thought. “Not really sure yet. I just think there’s something I’m missing. I keep coming to dead end after dead end.”

  Hanna returned with our glasses and left again. Josh took a sip before asking, “What’s got you baffled?”

  There were so many answers to that question. “For one, how the heck did someone as hated as Matthew Duggan have friends, period? Let alone enough to fill his house with them to watch the game at his house that night. I mean, according to his ex-wife, the guy was a walking, talking parasite. Seemed to ruin lives everywhere he went,” I added. “Can’t imagine a guy like that being able to keep people in his inner circle.”

  Josh laughed when a thought came to him. “Duggan was rich, right?”

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Then there’s your answer. Whoever said money can’t buy you love, clearly hadn’t done their homework,” he smiled. “The love it buys might not be genuine, but, if you’ve got a ton of cash, you’ve at least got yourself a bunch of posers hoping to leech off you when they need to.”

  His comment got me to thinking. “So, you think we should look into who was at his party that night?”

  Josh shrugged. “I think it’s worth a shot if all the other leads keep coming up cold.”

  I hadn’t even thought of that, but it made perfect sense. Our next move was to find out who was there that night and what motives they might have had for hurting Duggan. While, no, the cops hadn’t brought the possibility of foul play into the case, I hadn’t ruled it out.

  Matthew Duggan was haunting me for a reason, which meant his spirit was unable to rest. And if I had to overturn every stone I came across, I’d do that.

  I mean, my sanity kinda depended on it.

  As soon as we made it home, it was time for another one-on-one session with Franken-puter. I needed to see if any of the police reports mentioned the names of Duggan’s guests the night of his death, other than the passenger who perished in the crash with him. Between three different articles, I managed to come up with eight. Chances are, there were many more in attendance, but this was a start. Maybe these guests could shed light on who some of the others were.

  I jotted down the eight and shifted the focus of my search to creating detailed profiles for all of them. Duggan seemed to keep like company in his presence—men around his age, well-established in their careers, and divorced. The thought of them sitting around badmouthing their exes and getting off on bragging about their expensive cars nearly made me sick to my stomach again.

  I made it halfway through the list, filled about ten notebook pages with info on the men, when I came to something interesting. Most of Duggan’s friends were business owners like he was and, for some reason, my mind wouldn’t leave that thought.

  Or maybe Duggan wouldn’t let me leave that thought.

  I pulled out notes I’d taken on him, the list of businesses I found for him. There was one I hadn’t looked into too deeply, the one he co-owned with his ex, Maureen. My fingers moved across the keys at lightspeed and I scanned the screen.

  “Gotcha.”

  My phone was in hand the next second.

  “Law office of Maureen Duggan and Associates; how can I help you?”

  “Hi, sorry to bother you. I visited earlier and just remembered something I meant to run past Maureen. Is she available by chance?”

  The receptionist, paused, checking Maureen’s schedule, I assumed. “You actually caught her between phone conferences and it looks like her line is free. Let me connect you.”

  I thanked her profusely, knowing none of this was coincidence. That seemed to be the case lately—things lined up right when and where they needed to.

  “Maureen Duggan,” she answered.

  “Maureen, hi. It’s Violet Cicero again. Listen … I know you’ve got a lot on your plate, but I was hoping you could tell me a little about the restaurant you owned with Matthew?”

  A light sigh into the phone made it clear she didn’t really want to be bothered, but just like earlier today, she obliged. I was sure that, to at least some degree, it was because she pitied me. No, the accident wasn’t her fault in any way, but I imagined she felt the brunt of the guilt for many of Matthew’s misdeeds.

  “What do you wanna know?”

  My foot was in the door. “Were things going well? Was there any drama with competitors?” I asked. “I guess I’m taking a stab in the dark, but I …” My voice trailed off there. It almost slipped out that I was suspicious her ex-husband may have been murdered, but I caught myself. She’d never understand why I was chasing an open-and-closed case that’d been deemed an accident.

  “Violet? You still there?”

  I blinked, coming out of the daze I drifted into. “I am.”

  Maureen was quiet for a moment, but then decided to speak her mind. “You think there’s more to Matthew’s death than what the police are saying?”

  I wasn’t sure
I should share my thoughts. Mostly because they were baseless. What was I supposed to say? ‘Sorry to break the news to you, but I think your ex is haunting me’?

  “I think they reported what they knew, reported what made sense from a logical standpoint.”

  My response made Maureen pause to think before adding, “But you think they’re wrong.”

  It wasn’t a question. It was an observation.

  The pulse at the base of my throat thudded even harder. “I think it’s worth looking into.”

  There was a pretty good chance this woman now thought I was crazy, damaged by the accident, creating threads where there were none. However, the next instant, I had to take that back.

  “I feel it, too,” she admitted. “I mean, I don’t claim to know anything definitive, but … dismissing it as an accident hasn’t set well with me either. Yes, the evidence is all there and, as a lawyer, that’s the most important thing, but it just—”

  “Feels like there’s more?” I asked, finishing her statement.

  She took a moment to reply. “Exactly.”

  “Which is why I’m calling you,” I added. “I wanna put this case to rest and, if it turns out to be nothing, that’s fine. I’ll have to accept it, but, Ms. Duggan, I don’t think I’m wrong.”

  The next sound I heard was that of Maureen’s fingers moving busily over the keyboard. “Email address?” she asked distractedly.

  I rattled it off and, shortly after, my phone chirped with an alert.

  “I just sent you all the info I had—articles about the restaurant, links to live news reports from our debut and when we hosted an event for the mayor last year. If there’s anything you need to know about our restaurant, it’s all right there.”

  I logged on from my computer and couldn’t dig in fast enough. “Thank you … so much.”

  “Just keep me updated,” she replied.

  “Of course.”

  We ended our call and I settled in to comb through all the info she shared. Even if it took me all night, I’d go over every inch. The break I needed may have been right under my nose.

  —

  Chapter Seven —

  There was a scheduled corporate buyout. One that would’ve put hundreds of thousands of dollars in Matt and Maureen’s pockets. And yet, one month before his passing, they withdrew from the deal.

  I rested on my fist and stared at the screen.

  It seemed odd for someone who loved money as much as Duggan did to miss out on that type of cash. I had to know more.

  So, I did the logical thing and reached out to the businessman who sought to take over The Bellview, Matthew’s swanky restaurant.

  There were few things more dangerous than disturbing a man on the golf course, but I took my chances. After Jedi mind-tricking his receptionist into telling me where to find him, I was now crossing the fresh-cut grass, on my way toward Xavier Britt—one of Bradford Shores’ wealthiest men, according to several articles published about him in the past decade.

  He was surrounded. There were roughly five men with him and their presence lessened the likelihood that he’d talk to me. Not that I expected him to be thrilled about this anyway. But, like usual, I had to do what needed to be done even if circumstances weren’t ideal.

  Josh trudged behind me, ever the dutiful friend. And I will add that he complained less and less about me chasing leads. I think he finally got it, accepted it. I wasn’t doing this as some hobby, something to fill up the non-existent empty hours of my day. Truth be told, I had a tight schedule and a mounting stack of homework assignments to catch up on, but I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t not do this. Yes, I initially started because I was afraid and tired, wanting the spirits to leave me alone at night, but … now … the deeper things got, I was doing it so they could find rest as well.

  Who else could see these things through?

  “Excuse me? Mr. Britt?” I said politely after he’d taken a swing. He turned with curious eyes, blinking as he tried to determine if we knew one another.

  “Hi,” I said, extending my hand. “I’m with The Shore Chronicle and was wondering if you might be willing to speak with me concerning a piece I’m working on?” I lied. There was no such article, but he didn’t have to know that.

  He glanced at his comrades, gesturing toward them with his hand. “I’m kind of in the middle of something and it’s a bit unorthodox for a reporter to interrupt a man on the golf course.” He glanced around. “And this is an exclusive club. Mind telling me how you got past security?”

  I didn’t share that I’d hopped a fence on the far side of the country club’s property, hiked through a mile of woods, and stalked several club members until I recognized Britt from a photo I printed out roughly an hour before.

  “My mother and stepfather are members.” The lies just kept stacking up. “They’re visiting today and I tagged along to see if I could catch up with you,” I smiled.

  He, however, did not smile. “Your parents, who are they?” He was definitely not happy. “I’ll have their membership revoked for this stunt.”

  I glanced over at Josh and knew we had to act quickly, knew I needed to say something to, both, convince him we were worth the time and get him to move away from his golf buddies.

  “I’ve got questions regarding your involvement with the late Matthew Duggan,” I blurted, deciding to give it all or nothing.

  Mr. Britt breathed deep as his gaze locked with his friends’ one at a time. “There’s some sort of mistake,” he seethed, speaking through clenched teeth. “I hadn’t spoken to Duggan for weeks before his accident.” A hard look settled on me. “Why don’t we step aside and discuss things in private.”

  Good. He was cooperating.

  Glancing back over his shoulder as his friends side-eyed him and whispered, Britt hissed an angry question under his breath. “What on Earth do you think you’re doing? Coming here, igniting rumors?”

  “I didn’t mean to make it sound like I was accusing you of anything,” I assured him. “But I do need to understand a few things concerning the business you two were doing together.”

  He looked me up and down, frowning beneath a salt-and-pepper beard. “Anything you need to know about our dealings are quite clearly detailed online, I’m sure. Our pending merger was big news in the business world. If you’ve got questions, that’s where to find the answers.”

  “Accept to one,” I cut in, stopping him just as he turned to walk away. “Those articles don’t explain why the deal fell through. Did you have a change of heart? Did Duggan?”

  With a heavy sigh, Britt met my gaze again. “The change of heart was definitely on Duggan’s part, but if you want to know why, then we’re in the same boat. I never got an explanation and every call I made to him went unanswered. So, I’m clearly not your guy.”

  Frustration made tension spread across my shoulders. “Then who is my guy?”

  Britt shrugged. “His business partner?”

  My gaze narrowed. “His wife?”

  Britt shook his head. “I suppose. You could either try her or the other guy.”

  I turned to Josh for a moment, not remembering there being anything about a third partner. I locked eyes with Britt again.

  He breathed deep again, clearly wanting to walk away and leave Josh and I with just as many questions as when we arrived, but I couldn’t let that happen. Even if I had to make a scene, I’d do it. But, hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that.

  “The restaurant manager,” Britt revealed. “He’s the third investor and might be able to point you in the right direction if Maureen can’t.”

  I grabbed my notebook and made a note. “Got a name?” I asked, glancing up from the paper.

  “Yeah, Carlton,” he shared. “Carlton Shelter.”

  —

  Chapter Eight —

  My heart raced as I recalled the terrifying incident that occurred before leaving my cubicle the other night. The message that came through the interoffice messenger over and over, po
ssibly urging me toward this very moment. One word: “Shelter”.

  Only now, I was sure it was more than just a word.

  It was a name.

  I stood outside the doors of The Bellview, staring through the glass from a distance as people buzzed about—waiters in suits, waitresses in white blouses and black, pencil skirts. A live, jazz band played off in a far corner and the maître de stood at his podium right near the entrance.

  “I think we’re underdressed,” Josh pointed out.

  I glanced down at the jeans and t-shirt I wore. His attire wasn’t much better, but at least he had on a button down shirt beneath his blue, Abercrombie hoodie. We looked more like we were on our way to a kegger than a place with a tie requirement for male patrons and no menu item under $85.

  I knew all this from research I’d done.

  “We’re not going in to be seated, though, so we should be fine, right?” I asked, hoping Josh would agree.

  “With Mr. Belvedere manning the door, I’m not so sure about that.”

  Looking at the man’s heavy mustache and robust build, I chuckled. “He does look a little like him, but this is no time for jokes, jerk face! I’m kinda freaking out right now.”

  Josh shrugged and shoved his hands in his pockets. “You’re overthinking it. Just go in and ask to speak with the manager.”

  “And what if the guy says no?”

  Josh shot me an incredulous look that turned into a smile. “Vi … since when has that ever stopped you?”

  He was kind of right about that I suppose. I’d gotten into the habit of treating the word no as more of a suggestion than a final answer.

  With that, I marched toward the door with my best friend at my side. We stood out about as much as I expected, garnering ourselves a fair share of dirty looks from patrons and staff alike, but we didn’t care. This was where our journey led and we intended to see it through to the end.