Sex, Lies & Bourbon (Sex and Lies Book 5)

by Kris Calvert

  “Good. You need to know that the first business on our watch list has sold out to the Potenzas. A St. Louis textile company run by the same family for the last hundred years folded up shop for forty million.”

  “Forty million? What was market value?”

  “Don’t know. They’ll keep running the mill and using it to launder drug money. Have you seen any indication of the bourbon place looking to sell?” he asked.

  “No sir,” I whispered, looking all around me as if someone might be watching. “But I’m on the lookout for anything and everything.”

  “Good. And Grace?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Don’t boss the ole Kentucky boys around too much. I’ll have to hear about it and then you’ll have to hear about it. Do we understand each other?”

  “But—”

  “Ah, ah, ah, Grace,” he said tsking at me. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Keep up the good work.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Walking to the front of Winter Haven, I sat in the red parlor at the east end of the house, facing the grand entrance. It was small, comparatively speaking, and contained a grand piano topped with a five-branch candelabra, two overstuffed couches, four chairs and an enormous oil painting of a man on a horse in battle clutching a sword and what looked like a handful of keys. On the dark cherry coffee table, I placed my files. I was ready to ask some questions. What I needed were people to interrogate.

  Chimes rang out, and I looked to my watch to see if a grandfather clock somewhere was reminding me it was ten in the morning. When Telly went to the door, I realized the Holloways had company.

  “I’m Agent Allen and this is Agent Knotts. We’re with the FBI. May we come in?”

  I hurried to the doorway, giving the man who’d driven us into Valley Springs last night a nod. “It’s okay Mr. Teller. I was expecting them. Gentlemen, if you would follow me please. I’ve set up a little room over here for us to talk.”

  “Excellent, Agent Grace. I’m David Allen. I think you already know Agent Knotts.”

  I nodded. Agent Allen was a tall redhead with a nice smile and a gangly frame. I couldn’t tell if he was skinny or if his fit body was disguised under a suit that was way too big for him. Regardless, he wasn’t the kind of agent who tried to act badass and in turn came off as a jerk. I liked him immediately.

  “Good to see you again, Agent Grace.” The rasp of Edward Knotts’ voice clued me to the fact he was a long-time smoker. That, coupled with the salt and pepper of his thick hair and burly mustache made him look like every quintessential dime-novel cop I’d read about as a teen.

  After making him angry last night, I didn’t know what to expect, so I began with compliments. “You too, Agent Knotts. Thank you again for clearing out the premises last night. The family was a bit overwhelmed. Doing that last night will make asking questions today a little easier—I think.”

  I was hesitant to take a strong lead on the case after my conversation with Powell, but they both stared at me as if they were waiting for me to begin, so I did.

  “I’ve been through all the evidence, and taken my own photos of the crime scene. Unless there’s something else you think needs to be photographed or sampled, I’m going to call for a clean up. The sooner the blood is gone, the easier it will be to talk with the family.”

  “Don’t kid yourself Agent Grace,” Knotts piped up. “These people in no way wanna talk to you or anyone else about their dead father.”

  I raised my eyebrow and cocked my head as Knotts spoke. My instinct was to take him down, but I refrained. “Don’t kid yourself Agent Knotts. I don’t need them to talk. That’s what evidence and investigation are for. I need them to feel comfortable enough to share.”

  “I think what Agent Knotts is saying Mrs. Grace—”

  “It’s Ms. Grace, but you can call me Ginny or SAC Agent Grace. Your pick.”

  Powell wanted me to tread lightly, but there was no way I was letting the boys get to me in the first five minutes of our meeting. I was the Special Agent in Charge and I wasn’t going to take any crap.

  “Got it. Ginny, please call me David. I think what Knotts is saying is there’s a history here—with this family. Anytime the police or anyone else has tried to ask questions, they all shut down like a factory at quittin’ time.”

  “Who’s they?” I asked.

  “Well, Robert Holloway mostly.”

  “And he’s not doing any talking today anyway. Look,” I said. “Allow me to take the lead on the questioning and I’ll take the heat or responsibility for what we do or don’t get. Okay?”

  They both nodded.

  I tapped lightly on the report I’d been given on the crime scene. “Now, someone take me through this timeline.”

  Agent Knotts straightened up. “A call came into the 911 call center at oh-two-hundred Eastern Daylight Time, approximately 32 hours ago. Magnus Page reported that Robert Holloway was dead in his home.”

  “Who found him?” I asked, knowing it was Lena.

  “The daughter,” Knotts continued. “Karolena, a.k.a. Lena Holloway, reportedly heard a commotion outside her bedroom. When she opened the door, it was quiet and she saw no one in the hallway.”

  “But?” I asked, knowing there was more.

  “She did see blood on the marble floor.”

  “At the top of the stairs,” I added, pointing my finger upward.

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “She looked over the side of the railing at the top and saw her father at the bottom,” Knotts continued. “According to her, she rushed to him screaming—which alerted Magnus Page.”

  “And where was Page prior to finding the victim?” I wanted to ask if he was in Lena’s bedroom, but I was unsure if they knew about their relationship. Knowing Win’s feelings on the matter, I didn’t want to air family business if it bore no consequence on the case.

  “I don’t know,” Knotts said.

  “Has anyone spoken to him?”

  “We tried to get his statement last night,” Allen began. “But I was called away, and Knotts was—”

  “I was told to go home,” Knotts said, looking me in the eye. “Ma’am.”

  I gave him a tight-lipped smile and continued. “Anything back from the autopsy that would indicate the type of knife?”

  “Carbon steel hunting knife between five and seven inches with a jagged edge on the top side,” Knotts explained.

  “All that from the autopsy?” I asked.

  “Yes ma’am. The skin is shredded below the left ear where the initial wound begins and due to the depth of the ah…ah.”

  “I get it,” I said, stopping him from going into a gruesome description. I’d seen the photos—Robert Holloway’s neck was nearly severed. I’d also looked at the amount of blood clotting on the stairs in the entrance hall to our left. I didn’t need much of an explanation. Only one thing puzzled me. “How do you know the murder weapon was carbon steel?”

  “Well,” Allen began. “Traces of the alloy were found in the victim’s neck. Our killer sharpened the knife prior to using it.”

  “No sign of forced entry,” I said, standing to pace. I always thought through evidence better on my feet.

  “No ma’am.”

  “And the alarm? Did anyone set the alarm?”

  Knotts audibly cleared his throat in my direction. “Well, if we’d—”

  “Fine. If you’d had a chance last night. I know. I know. But nothing else was missing in the home?”

  Knotts shook his head. “As best we can tell it was a straight forward hit. In and out without a trace. No footprints, no DNA evidence found on the body, no weapon.”

  “Motive?” I asked.

  “Revenge, jealously, profit, to conceal a crime, to avoid humiliation or—” Knotts stopped himself at the end the text book laundry list he’d nearly sung through.

  “Or what?” I asked.

  “Homicidal maniac.�
�

  Popping my eyebrows for a moment, I knew my reaction mirrored Knotts’ assessment. “It’s definitely cold-blooded. If the knife had just been sharpened, our killer wanted to make sure he got the job done efficiently. Tell me, gentlemen,” I said, turning and facing Knotts explicitly. “Were either of you around when Robert Holloway’s wife was murdered twenty-three years ago?”

  I could see that Agent Allen was too young, but Knotts looked like he could’ve been a part of the investigation and wasn’t offering it up.

  “Yes,” Knotts grumbled.

  Walking back to my original seat, I looked him in the eye. “Her throat was cut in the same manner—she was found in the same spot.”

  Knotts nodded. “She was murdered at the bottom of the staircase—not the top. And there were signs of a struggle. There were no signs of struggle with Robert Holloway.”

  “Struggle. Like what? Was there DNA evidence?”

  He shook his head no. “Only hers. There was perspiration on her nightclothes—she was trying to get away when her throat was…slit.”

  “Why didn’t I read that in the report?”

  “It was dubbed an open and shut case by our bureau chief, Agent Stern in Louisville; although there was an agent who fought it all the way.”

  “Well,” I huffed. “I’d like to speak with both of them.”

  “Good luck.”

  I allowed my gaze to toggle between the two men. “Why?”

  Knotts cocked his head sarcastically “Lloyd Stern died in 1993.”

  “Heart attack,” Allen added.

  “And Galen Grace died in a car accident not three months later,” Knotts said, holding his blank gaze on my face, waiting for a reaction.

  “What did you say?” I asked, my heart now beating out of chest at the sound of my father’s name.

  “Lloyd Stern was an older guy, but Galen Grace…” Allen trailed.

  Knotts picked up the story. “Thirty-nine and dead one month after the case was closed. Did you know him, Agent Grace?”

  I stood to pace the room. Were they telling me my own father was investigating Mary Holloway’s murder when his car careened off the road and into a ditch, killing him instantly? A million questions flooded my mind. Instead I snapped the rubber band on my wrist and sat, trying to catch my breath.

  “Yes. Agent Galen Grace was my father,” I breathed.

  Allen had a look of surprise on his face. Agent Knotts was clearly aware of who I was.

  “Do you think these agents’ deaths are related to the murder, Knotts?” I asked.

  Knotts said nothing, but stared right through me as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t.

  “The point is, Agent Grace,” Allen began. “Mrs. Holloway was a victim of robbery. The perpetrator obviously after the diamond on her finger.”

  I ignored Allen, staring back into the eyes of Knotts. “The Aegis Stone. The Red Diamond.”

  “Yes,” Allen replied.

  Tearing my inquisitive glare from Knotts, I looked back to his partner and tried to make any kind of statement that would be considered coherent in my anxiety riddled stupor. “A ring that has never shown up—anywhere around the world. What’s the use in stealing something when you can’t make money off of it?”

  “I don’t know ma’am.”

  “It’s like stealing the Mona Lisa,” I breathed, trying to maintain a sense of cohesive thought. What I wanted to do was double over and cry. Instead I faked it. “I mean, what do you do with it once you have it?”

  I felt as if I was numb and merely going through the motions. My mouth and my brain were functioning on the outside even though inside I wasn’t. “You can’t sell it. You can’t hang it in your home.”

  David Allen shrugged his shoulders while Knotts held his stare with commendable fortitude. I looked to my notes and tried to take on an authoritative tone while inside I was dying. “Have there been any other cases similar to this one? I mean other than Mrs. Holloway in ninety-three.”

  Before Allen had a chance to open his mouth, Knotts spoke up, “Yes.”

  “No,” Allen remarked. “This is a high profile case. There’s nothing like these two crimes.”

  “Agent Knotts?” I asked, leaning my body into the conversation, faking my way through my false composure.

  He looked to his superior and back to me. “No.”

  Captivated by Knotts’ response and the idea that my dad worked on the first Holloway case, I was oblivious to Win standing in the carved woodwork that was the arc separating the room from the front entrance.

  “Hello,” Win said.

  Now showered and wearing a navy suit but no tie, his hair was still damp and freshly washed ringlets formed at the back of his head. The look on his face was one of defeat and the cock-sure Win Holloway I knew well was nowhere to be found.

  “Win Holloway,” I said, standing to reference the agents. “This is Agent David Allen and Agent Edward Knotts of the Louisville office. Win is an Agent out of the New York office.”

  Win shook each of their hands and sat directly, waiting for us to join him. “Are you fellas about finished with your evidence gathering? I’d really like to get the house cleaned up, if you know what I mean.”

  “Absolutely,” Allen chimed in. “And let me say how sorry we are for your loss. Your father was always a wonderful contributor the FBI’s Foundation.”

  “Really?” Win’s reaction shocked me and by the look on the other two agent’s faces, I wasn’t alone.

  “Yes sir,” Allen said with a nod.

  “Well,” Win began, clasping his hands together. He was either ready to get down to work or leave the conversation. “I’m going to let you do your job. Let me know if you need anything.”

  Win stood and shook their hands, my mouth agape. There was no way he could be this unfeeling. I’d seen the toll and raw emotion coming home to Winter Haven had on him. It was exactly what I was feeling at this very moment. I too had come back to Kentucky and an unresolved past. But Win wanted to disconnect from his family. I longed to know about my father’s life as an agent.

  Allen gave Win a nod. “I’ll send the CTS decon team in to clean everything Mr., I mean Agent Winterbourne.”

  “My family would surely appreciate it,” Win replied in a mannerly southern drawl.

  Allen followed Win into the front entrance, leaving me alone with Knotts.

  “Agent Knotts,” I began. “I hope we didn’t get off on the wrong foot last night. I’d like to work closely with you on this case, if that’s all right with you.”

  He nodded.

  “I’d also love to hear anything you know about my dad. I was very young when he died—only four—he’s my hero, and I’ve never met anyone who worked with him before.”

  “I’m sorry I can’t tell you more,” Knotts replied. “I didn’t really know him, only knew of him. He was very well liked—well respected.”

  I nodded. “Thank you.”

  “If there’s not anything else,” he began.

  “Do you have a list of all the Winter Haven and Winter Bourbon employees? I want to know the names of anyone who would have access to the property.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll ask for a list here as well to cross reference with yours. I want a background check on every single person who’s ever worked or been associated with the family business or household. The closer they are to the family, the more I want to know. And Agent Knotts? I want details.”

  He nodded again.

  “I have your number. You know, if anything should happen to come up—unexpectedly. Agent Allen,” I began as I held out my hand. “It was nice to meet you.”

  Win escorted them both out of the golden front doors, turning to lean against it when they’d gone.

  I stared at him, wondering what had just happened. It never occurred to me that my father might have worked on Mary Holloway’s case. Now, I wanted to go through her case file with a fine tooth comb.

  He shook his head and stared
at me. “What?”

  “Nothing,” I replied, still caught up in my own world. “I ah… I thought you might have a question or two for them.”

  “I know the investigation is in your very capable hands,” he said, taking them into his one by one. “I wanted to apologize for my behavior earlier. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

  I dropped his grip and stepped away from his charm and intoxicating smell. I wasn’t angry. I was confused. People were dropping emotional bombshells all around me. “You didn’t mean to? Win, I think your words and actions were pretty intentional. It’s not like your grandfather overheard us talking about being in the same room—the same bed last night. You brought it all up. On purpose, I might add.”

  He moved toward me, taking my hands—again. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m going to try this new thing where I try really hard not to be an asshole.”

  “Dickless piece of shit,” I corrected.

  A smile crept across Win’s lips like butter melting on a biscuit—slow, but worth the wait. “I’m not going to stand here and make you promises, because empty words mean nothing. But I know deep inside I am an honorable man with principles. And I want to not only say how sorry I am—but to show you. I can’t explain why I broke up with you in the first place. But you have to know just because I left, it doesn’t mean I wanted to. I didn’t. It was…complicated. But I don’t care about any of that anymore. I only care about you.”

  I’d dreamt of Win saying those words to me. There’d been sleepless nights of crying with wine and ice cream, days when my girlfriends would have to talk me out of quitting the FBI or asking for a transfer out of New York so I simply wouldn’t have to see him or smell him in the hallway or elevator. I’d prayed to God, not to heal my broken heart, but for the day he would come back to me. Now that it was happening, I could only ask, “Why? Why now?”

  Win looked to the ceiling, keeping a glistening tear in his eye from welling over. Could the man who seemed impervious to emotion when he broke my heart be a fraud?

  Bringing his gaze to meet me, I felt an uncontrollable hunger in my body. An undisciplined longing I’d quelled months ago surfaced like a submarine breaching the ocean.

  “I could tell you that you’re the only woman I’ve ever loved, but you probably wouldn’t believe me. I could say that from the moment we said good-bye, I’ve missed you like crazy. But you’d tell me I was full of crap. Being here, being home and free from the bonds of my father, I know who am I—who I really am. It all sounds crazy I’m sure, but my family is crazy. Now that my father is gone, I’m free to do whatever I want—to love whomever I please. I’ve got a lot of pieces to pick up and put back together, for me and for my family, but I’m asking…no I’m begging for a chance to show you the man I can be. For you. For me. For us.”