by Kieran York
Trevar’s Team: 2
A Beryl Trevar Mystery
By
Scarlet Clover Publishers, L.L.C.
Littleton, Colorado
Copyright © 2016 Kieran York
TREVAR’S TEAM: 2 - A Beryl Trevar Mystery
By Kieran York
Published: April 2017
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission from the publisher. This includes electronic or mechanical recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, except for the quotations or brief quotations used in critical articles or reviews, without prior permission from Scarlet Clover Publishers LLC.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, locales and events are used fictitiously.
Covers Design Director: Karen D. Badger
Interior Design and Formatting: Karen D. Badger
Front Cover Art – Kelly Jo Stevens
Edited by – Martha Ryan, Kathie Solie, and Barbara Oatley
Published by Scarlet Clover Publishers L.L.C.
P.O. Box 621002
Littleton, Colorado 80162
Printed and bound in the United States of America, UK, and Europe
ISBN-13: 978-1544721057
ISBN-10: 1544721056
Books Also Written by Kieran York
Fiction:
Ballad of Raindrops
Astray
Primrose
Trevar’s Team: 2 (A Beryl Trevar Mystery)
Touring Kelly’s Poem
Loitering on the Frontier
Night Without Time
Earthen Trinkets
Careful Flowers
Appointment with a Smile
Royce Madison Mystery Series:
Timber City Masks: Book 1
Crystal Mountain Veils: Book 2
Shinney Forest Cloaks: Book 3
Rasp Meadow Crossing: Book 4
Timber County Cuisine: A Royce Madison Cookbook
Poetry:
Blushing Aspen
Realm of Belonging
Once Word
Short Fiction:
Sugar With Spice
Within Our Celebration
Contributor to Sappho’s Poetry Series, edited by Beth Mitchum:
Wet Violets, Volume 2
Roses Read, Volume 3
Delectable Daisies, Volume 4
Fallen Petals, Volume 5
DEDICATION
To Barbara Oatley, my editor and my friend. I treasure our good talks and good times.
and
To Kelly Jo Stevens, my soulmate artist and my friend.
These women are purely amazing, and I thank them for their contributions to Scarlet Clover Publishers, and for their friendship.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I’d like to acknowledge the folks that made this book come together.
Cover Designer Director and Interior Design Formatter – Karen D. Badger. Karen instantaneously develops the feel of each cover. She then brilliantly puts it all together and makes it become the exact cover I’d hoped for. She also makes it better. She is a true friend, and the greatest cellmate I could hope to have.
Cover Artist – Kelly Jo Stevens. Kelly’s art has such a perfect feel to match my books. The emotion resonates -and the cover expresses the book. I truly enjoy working with her. We are friends, and I am proud to be her pal.
Editors – Martha Ryan, Kathie Solie, and Barbara Oatley. Each woman makes my work legible, clear, lucid, and distinct. They are a prized collection of friends, and I depend on their eagle eyes.
I am so blessed for their friendship, and their assistance on this book. Thank you, Karen, Kelly, Marty, Kathie, and Barbara!
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Epilogue
About The Author, Kieran York
Coming Soon from Scarlet Clover Publishers, LLC
Chapter 1
Florida is generally welcoming. Palm Beach is sometimes welcoming. Wealth is most welcomed.
A glance at jewelry and shoes seems to be the common-ground, telltale wealth guide. I wear as little jewelry as possible. And my footwear was selected for comfort. I’m a private investigator.
I founded our firm a few years back. My partners and I never wear stilettos. We do pack Berettas.
We’d docked in our marina’s slip yesterday. Our yacht’s docking space was also welcoming. After having solved a major homicide case a couple months ago, the three of us sailed off for an island cruise. It was the rest and rehabilitation we needed. Arriving back, our youngest partner rigged her phone voice mail with the message: Nice vacation, I’m still single.
Palm Beach seasons in never varied a great deal, but the atmosphere’s tranquility was jittery. Gusts were punching the air. While I waited for my breakfast to finish toasting, I slipped a lemon drop candy into my mouth. My penchant for lemon drops was because my ex had hooked me on them. They were her favorites, and she was my favorite. Alas, she’d run away from my love.
On to a new case. The same sense of dread nearly always accompanied me when my team and I began a project. No matter how tame a case presented itself, it could quickly become hazardous. We had arrived back in Palm just in time for a bodyguard assignment.
This mission was to safeguard Glenda Perrault, glamorous promoter of Perrault Cosmetics. A decade ago, she had married cosmetic mogul, Wendell Perrault. Glenda had become not only his spokesperson, but his socialite wife. He’d had threats. A bucket-load of detractors. From a dissatisfied customer to a jealous employee claiming the elixir created by Perrault Cosmetics had been stolen from him.
In every case, there was a perpetrator or perpetrators of crime. And there was the victim. So far it was just an executive frightened of some menacing letters. Wendell had his private security, but he also wanted his younger wife protected by women security guards. He selected Trevar’s Investigators. Our Team promised to guard his luscious wife.
So, my firm’s partners, Rachel Rosen, Summer Wade, and I, had been studying the Perrault’s backgrounds. We would be providing bodyguard service for Glenda’s appearances and day to day outings. Glenda often worked at the Perrault Cosmetics office and lab. She did numerous TV spots, and other promotions.
It sounded perfectly straight forward. Glenda hadn’t been threatened in any way, so shadowing her didn’t put the bodyguard project in a high-risk category. Although I’m not into the paranormal, I always thought I had premonitions. I didn’t see the future, but I felt some unrest in the future.
Normally, I set fear off to the side. It was what we got paid do – danger was expensive. We made a good living. Many cases had endangered Rachel, Summer, and me. We’d been fortunate, I thought as I downed a quick sip of coffee. I placed my lox and cream cheese bagel on its plate.
Before I converted my law practice to an investigation firm, I’d worked with a seasoned private investigator. He’d mentored me by telling me never to count on luck. I had counted on some degree of security because of my prognostications. But perhaps, I mused, I’d been saved because I set myself on high alert. My hunches were fear-driven enough to save me.
My vague forewarning made me apprehensive. Glancing around the galley of the yacht that housed Rachel, Summer, and me, I was glad that we’d had a good night’s sleep. Rachel had left earlier to accompany
Glenda to a program she was attending. Some gathering of Palm Beach socialites was being held in one of the grand conference room.
Summer had driven Rachel’s car to the Perrault’s Mansion. She was planning to drop Rachel off, and was then supposed to return to the yacht for a few hours. That way, for her afternoon body guarding shift, Summer could simply drive the car back to the Mansion for Rachel. Summer would then accompany Glenda to an afternoon photo shoot.
That had been the plan. A nice, easy, and resourceful plan.
A killer had a different plan.
“Trevar Investigators,” I answered my phone.
Summer’s voice was strained, “Beryl, we’re on our way to West Palm Hospital. Rachel’s been shot. Get there.”
Stunned, I stammered, “What happened?’
“I hadn’t left the mansion, I was talking with one of Wendell’s guards. The Perraults had just exited their home to get into the limo when I heard shots. Sniper. Killed Wendell, and the other shot would have killed Glenda if Rach wouldn’t have taken the bullet while protecting her. Look, I’m following the ambulance. Quick, get there. I’ll meet you at the emergency entrance.”
Hearing the familiar click didn’t stop me from asking, “Is Rachel okay?”
I knew she probably was not, or Summer would have told me not to worry.
Rushing outside, I ran down the marina’s dock, and drove wildly through the parking lot. By the time I arrived at the emergency entrance, I was experiencing a deep foreboding ache inside. I saw Summer leaning against a wall in the waiting room. Summer’s usual Amazonian stature and strength seemed to have oozed away. In one of her hands she clutched a bloodied towel. Her hands were streaked red with dried blood. Her clothing was splotched with red. She looked limp. The fierceness in her dark brown eyes was lost. All that seemed to remain the same was the tail curl at the base of her short, sable hair.
“Beryl, they’ve taken her to surgery. The bullet entry point was in her back. It went through her lung and exited her chest. I tried to stop the bleeding, but there was so much. With two wounds, she was bleeding profusely…” Summer said as she suppressed tears. Her eyes were dazed. “I couldn’t do anything.”
“You were with her, and she knew that. Summer, she’ll be okay. She’s tough.”
My own tears were beginning to flood my eyes. I blinked, not allowing them to cloud my vision. My knees began to buckle slightly. I straightened my frame. I couldn’t show weakness. Summer took my arm. I followed her to waiting room chairs. We sat slowly, carefully. With arms wound around one another. Tears were restrained. We needed our toughness now more than ever. For several moments, there were no words. Nor were any required.
My eyes opened and examined the Emergency waiting room. Most waiting areas seemed similar. The bustle, the sounds, even the chatter was either nonexistent, moan-like, or forced-optimism. Summer’s thoughts were probably about tasking. What could she do to find Rachel’s shooter and pound him to death. Or at least within a few minutes of his demise. She might give him time to repent, or to apologize. Her face reddened. Nope, Summer would just pound away.
Thoughts were ganging up on me. Rachel Rosen was the glamorous ex-cop everyone loved. Except all the Florida gangland scum that she’d put away. Rachel usually watched over the daily grind. Analytical, with integrity, and cop wisdom, Rachel was one-third of Trevar’s Team. Three years ago, she had given up her badge for a Private Investigator’s credentials.
She usually had her hands filled with a computer, rather than a gun. She loved precision, and was a tough law and order cop. I had been among the attorney’s she despised. I was a defense attorney, and was paid enormous pay checks, I cleared the bad guys from jail cells as quickly as she filled them. But when I started Trevar’s Investigator, it was as though I changed places. She joined my firm, along with Summer. We were on the same team. Most of the time.
Certainly, at this moment, we faced a crisis that put us nearer than we’d ever been to losing a member of the team. We’d each been in closed quarters, tight spots, and on the run. There have been bruising, contusions, and near misses. We’d always scattered through the checkpoints. Rumpled, battered, but alive.
Now, Rachel had been critically shot. Summer and I sat in silence for the next two hours as we waited for a report on her condition. All we knew for certain was that a slug went through her back.
Life with an emergency is no place for impatience. And hospital waiting rooms stretched time into fretful day-long moments.
“I’m Dr. Hanna Zachary,” the tall blonde doctor spoke as she extended her hand to me.
I introduced myself. “How’s Rachel?”
“I talked briefly with Summer earlier.” Hanna Zachary’s eyes were troubled. If she wished to express optimism, she’d missed her mark. “We’re doing all that we can for Rachel. A bullet went completely through her right lung. The entry wound pierced her back, lungs, and fractures her ribs. The front chest exit wound caused a great deal of blood loss. I’ll be honest with you, when she arrived it didn’t look promising. Fortunately, there was no cardiac event. She was put on life support, and we’ve patched her wounds. She’s now in post-op recovery. They’ll then be taking her to I.C.U. She’ll be well cared for in Critical Care. We’ll know more about her condition later.” In her mid-thirties, probably only a few years older than Rachel, the doctor seemed deeply concerned. Her demeanor was serious, and sad in a helpless way. “She’s fighting to live. I can tell.”
“Thank you, doctor,” I murmured. Then my fist clenched. “We’ll find the man that did this to her.”
“Just call me Hanna. And I believe you will find the person responsible.” The doctor reached to touch my shoulder. “I’ve seen all three of you – in newspapers, on TV. Solving crime. You’ll solve this one, too. For now, this will be a wait. Ms. Rosen probably won’t be taken to I.C.U. for a couple hours. Maybe one of you would like to stay and contact the other when she’s able to talk.” After her suggestion, Doctor Hanna Zachary turned to go down the hall.
“Yes,” I agreed. “Summer, why don’t you stay here so you write down everything you can remember about the crime. I’ll get back to the Perrault’s mansion. See if I can talk with Glenda, and any other witnesses.”
“I’ll let you know how she’s doing,” Summer mumbled.
I drove back to Palm Beach with measured caution. I knew if I drove too quickly, it would be an erratic trip. My pulse rushed. I felt heated, angry, and confused. It goes without saying, I loved my partners. Rachel and Summer had shared so much of the past with me. We’d become sisters, because our friendship, was far more than friends. Far more than partners. We share a sacred kind of intimacy. An enduring friendship; a steadfastly loyal sisterhood.
Pulling up into the circular driveway of the Perrault Mansion, I parked as near as I could to the front door. Most of the police knew me, and because Rachel had spent years on the force, they all knew her.
“My detective agency is part of the Perrault security,” I reported as I moved past an officer.
He knew that. “Chief Powers is inside. What’s the report on Rosen?”
Turning only slightly as I broke into a sprint, “Rachel’s critical.” My answer was as grim as my heart was.
Reaching the steps, I raced past the guard stationed at the entryway.
Chief Tom Powers looked up, and away from Glenda Perrault. Her face was blazing red, and not one of her luxury cosmetics could have covered her tear-streaked model’s face. “Trevar,” Tom’s expression blanched. “How’s Rachel?”
“Critical,” I hastily answered. “The gunshot blasted through her lung, and she’s lost too much blood.”
Tom squinted. “Rachel is one tough cookie. Wendell Perrault took a similar bullet and it killed him immediately.” He paused, shutting his eyes. “The officers will get a blood donation going for her.”
“Thanks, Tom.” I felt anguish, and anger. I asked, “One shooter?”
“I’m thinking one.” He pointed
out the area of bushes. “A perfectly planned ambush. Back there, you can see it at this window. But we’ve got tape up surrounding where the shooter stood. The shot came directly from there, and the perp seems to have disappeared. The killer was an expert marksperson. Two rounds into the head and body of Perrault, and one into the back of Rachel. It would have been on target if Rachel hadn’t dived to save Glenda Perrault. The sniper left behind a flawlessly cleaned up semiautomatic rifle. The shooter’s weapon and crime scene has been sanitized. A report just came. The rifle had been stolen in Miami a few weeks back. The perp planned to leave it behind. Didn’t want to risk getting caught with it. And it had done its damage.”
“You think it might have been a getaway by boat?”
“Had to have been. Security had choked off the land exits. We’re interviewing all the staff now. The staff members were accounted for, and Perrault’s bodyguards were with him. I’ve got a team searching the grounds, and reviewing the security video. So far nothing.”
I closed my eyes a moment. They felt to be burning. “Damn. I always believed body guarding was a safe part of this business. We pride ourselves that we would take the first bullet for our clients. This time Rachel did.”
“She’d been a cop. She knew the risk.” Tom sighed deeply. “I need to interview Summer. She saw it all go down.”
“She’s at the hospital with Rach.”
“I’ll talk with her later.” Rubbing his brow, he asked, “Summer witnessed it. Did Summer have any message for me?”
There had been hostility between my partner and the Chief of Homicide. Partly because of Summer’s early brushes with the law. The young investigator had once been an offender – a teenage drug-pusher. And to make matters worse, she had also been Tom’s youngest daughter’s sweetheart. But Tom had pretty much forgive all. He loved his children – no matter what.
