“Yeah. Some rich boy hired her to pull a con. I don’t know the details, but she was given a lot of cash to pretend to be rich for some dating service.”
“Who was this guy?”
She shrugged. “Don’t know. Never saw him. But she was excited.”
“Why?”
“Why not? He was doling out Benjamins, and she didn’t even have to go down.”
Well, then. I poured myself a glass of the cold brew and took a gulp. “I need to find this man who hired her. Did she say anything about him?”
“She called him Flounder.”
“Flounder? Really?”
Shawna shrugged again. “No clue, and I only heard her mention him twice. Not like I’ve seen her around much the last few weeks. She couldn’t work a corner while pretending to be some rich bitch, now could she?”
Well, damn. Shawna’s insight still left me at square one. The faces of each Health-Tech employee flitted through my thoughts. All college degreed men with some appearing more on the nerdy side of the looks spectrum than others. But Flounder? How would one of them earn the nickname Flounder?
“Anyone have it out for Gina?”
“Don’t know. These questions are hard, and I’m thirsty. Tough to focus when you need something to drink.” She stared at the empty beer pitcher she’d already downed.
I ordered another one, Checking Account added me to you’re broke list, and I had the smarts to delay all further questioning until after the beer was delivered. “Anyone wish Gina dead?”
“Nah, not that I know of. But Jolie’s damn happy to get Gina’s corner.”
“Where’d she work?”
“Second and Ridge.”
Second and Ridge was a few blocks over. Wait a second… “That auto body shop, Joe’s?”
“Yeah, you can make good money there. There’s always some rich Johns pulling into that place.”
I thought of Phillip driving a Bentley, yet out of all of the auto body shops in the city, leading us to Joe’s. “Why?”
“Why, what? Why rich men use Joe’s?”
I nodded.
“Honey, those ain’t the kind of questions you go around asking.” She downed half her mug of beer in a gulp. “Stuff goes on over at Joe’s. I don’t know what kind of stuff, and I don’t want to know.”
“Did you tell the cops?”
“Now why the hell would I do that?”
“Because it’s suspicious, and there’s a woman dead? Maybe the cops could see if there’s any connection between the two?”
“Girl, you don’t get it. Some things aren’t healthy to talk about.”
“She didn’t—”
“Who’s the broad?” He was older. As in, his unkempt salt and pepper beard was more salt than pepper. But still very muscular in build and covered by a lot of ink. He stank of both unwashed and whiskey. The guy probably bathed in whiskey instead of the intended water. His question was directed to Shawna, but the gaze took in every square inch of my body, making me squirm. More karma. This one was payback for the half-naked men on Aunt Kate’s roof that morning. Aunt Kate and I really needed to discuss her constant eyeing up men as though they were a tasty slab of meat. Because, at the moment, I was damn uncomfortable being a slab of meat.
“Leave her alone, Jake. She’s too good for the likes of you.”
“Well, I don’t know about that now.” He leaned in, and I shrank back. “How about a little fun this afternoon?”
“No, I’m good.”
“Come on, honey. I can show you a few things you’ve never seen before.”
It took every ounce of effort I possessed to not gag. Wasn’t sure if my reaction was because of the overused cringe-worthy pick-up line, or because of his foul breath. Probably both. He stood close. Too damn close, and I was trapped between him and the hard wall in back of my booth.
“Jake, back the hell off. I told you to leave her alone.”
“Shut up, bitch. If she didn’t want something, she shouldn’t have come in here.”
The more my nerves tightened in cold fear, the hotter the pendant on my chest grew, reminding me of its existence. For the first time, I was damn glad to be wearing it.
“Leave me alone.” I pushed against his hovering chest and sent him flying into the next table, where he slid into a heap on the floor.
“Damn, girl.” Shawna stared at me with wide eyes. “Who the hell are you?”
“No one.” I stood. “Anything else about Gina?”
She shook her head.
“Thanks.”
I stepped over Jake, who was still lying on the ground and sputtering as his face slowly flushed into the red of rage. Every eye once again was glued on me as I marched to the door. But not on my ass, on me. I even detected hints of wariness in several of those gazes.
Sunlight glared bright as I stepped out into the midday sun. I’d only advanced a foot when I heard the door to the bar behind me open. I didn’t have to turn to know it was Jake.
To make matters worse—because remember? Luck had taken a permanent vacation to the Bahamas only returning for the occasional taunts, and I suspected Fate had it out for me—I’d had to park the car two blocks away. While I’d experienced trepidation on the brief walk to the bar, it was nothing like the anxiety I now felt with an iron-pumping Grandpa carrying a first-class vendetta hot on my heels.
His footsteps closed in, and I smelled the combination of stink and whiskey before I ever felt his hand. Jake’s grip was tight on my arm, halting my steps. He leaned in close. “Where do you think you’re going? We’re not finished.”
“Let her go.”
The familiar voice startled me, and I was surprised when staring up to the face of Detective Wilcox. His appearances in the least expected places were unnerving, but appreciated. In our short acquaintance, I’d seen several different expressions reflect his features. Namely irritation. At me. But with his jaw tightened to chiseled, and his eyes narrowed to slits, only one word came to mind. Pissed.
“Go away,” Jake said. “This ain’t your business.”
Wilcox stepped forward. I expected him to pull his badge, but he didn’t. “I’m warning you. Leave her alone.”
“Or what?” Jake had puffed up, his drunken ego demanding a showdown. Then he stiffened and stared off to the side. I followed his gaze to catch a glimpse of Detective Ross leaning against the door to a sedan parked in the street. Nothing about his stance said casual, and my nerves tingled at his stiff limbs and the pissed off look rivaling only Wilcox’s. Harsh contrast to his normal easy-going smile.
Jake’s head bobbed back and forth. Thankfully, he was not drunk enough to think two against one was a smart idea. I broke my arm free from his grasp and stepped to Wilcox’s side.
“Hey, I’m not looking for trouble,” Jake said. “You want the bitch? You can have her.”
Wilcox stiffened at my side, and I laid a hand on his arm to stop his next step forward. Even though I was more than capable of handling Jake myself, at least with the pendant’s aid, I was grateful for Wilcox’s interference. But he was a cop, and this kind of confrontation would lead him into trouble. “Let him go.”
Jake was already walking. I heard nothing but mumbles and curses drifting out behind him. Turning back to Wilcox was a big mistake. His hard gaze was now directed on me.
Figured.
“What the hell are you doing here, Kiara?”
“Lunch. Can’t a girl eat?”
His jaw softened into irritation. “Not in this area of town you don’t. Why here?”
“What are the two of you doing over here?” A peek at the sedan revealed Detective Ross’s posture had relaxed into casual. He now held a smile that flirted at his lips. Detective Ross apparently found both me and Wilcox amusing.
“We’re not doing this,” Wilcox said. “No more answering questions with questions. Now, why…”
He’d stared over my shoulder. I turned and spotted Shawna exiting Bad Dog. Well, he’d said he’d spoken
to someone on Riverside about Gina Welch.
“Please, do not tell me you’re butting into a police investigation?” he asked.
Exactly how was that question supposed to be answered without pissing off the cop whose investigation you were butting into?
“Kiara?”
“Maybe I’m looking into a new profession of work?”
Yeah, Mouth went for trouble with a capital T. But damn, I had to fight back a giggle because Wilcox froze. He wasn’t even breathing. His normal sarcastic, arrogant retorts had taken a hike, and it seemed good to make him scramble for once.
“You’re leaving.” His wits returned with a vengeance, and he grabbed my arm. Not that he was rough. “How did you get here?”
“I borrowed my aunt’s car.” I pointed. “It’s parked over there.”
With a nod to Detective Ross, Wilcox took off. I had no choice but to follow. He hadn’t let go of my arm. I didn’t miss the raise of his eyebrows as we approached the Kia. “Loaner. Trust me, don’t ask.”
His jaw clenched shut, and he refused to budge. Not until I was tucked inside the vehicle with doors locked. Then he budged. He tapped at my window and waited until I’d rolled it down a crack.
“Kiara, stay out of my investigation.”
Then he was gone, leaving me to my thoughts… a mixture of confusion, amusement, and troubled. In no particular order. I’d only driven a block when I caught sight of the dark sedan tailing me, Wilcox behind the wheel. He didn’t leave my bumper until I’d crossed back into a much, much safer part of town. We were going to have to have another talk about the tailing thing because he still didn’t seem to get it. Of course, the conversation would only happen if he didn’t throttle me first. The speck reflected in those dark eyes had indicated throttling… and something more. I didn’t have time to think about more.
Not even a little.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I stepped into the coolness of Maude’s office with one goal in mind: dig up information on Joe’s Body Parts. No, make that two goals. Somewhere during the drive between Bad Dog and Maude’s, Brain had finally sorted itself. If I survived the week, Checking Account would continue demanding paychecks made on a regular payment schedule. So Brittany Fellows report on Maude’s desk by five o’clock it was.
All it took was one step into the office and a flashing neon sign screamed, alerting me the remainder of my day would not go as planned. The flashing neon sign was Miss Prim, and she wasn’t alone.
“Ms. Taggart’s not in,” Miss Prim said in response to the not-so-covert expression I cast at the door leading into Maude’s inner sanctum. “We need your help.”
I dropped my purse onto my desk and faced the two ghosts who had invaded my lobby, one who had come to the erroneous conclusion she was part of the permanent fixtures. The new arrival was young, probably around Miss Prim’s age of nineteen. I’d always been saddened to see life cut so short. New Girl wore a dark sleeveless shift dress that stopped barely below the knees. Her blond hair was cut into a chin-length bob. But what stood out were the rips in her dress and the bruising on her face.
“Margaret was murdered,” Miss Prim said.
Okaaay. I took a seat. Yeah, legs probably weren’t going to stand for much longer. “When did this happen, Margaret?”
“Nineteen twenty-four.”
Can’t say I was surprised by her cause of death with the bruising thing she had going on. I swallowed. Bit my lip. Then as the expectant faces continued staring in my direction, turned to Miss Prim. “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand what you want me to do. It’s been more than ninety years, I don’t think this can be solved.”
“We don’t want you to solve her murder.” Miss Prim shook her head. “That’s my job. She needs a shrink.”
“Okay? Still not seeing how I’m supposed to help out here.”
“You’re the shrink.”
“Why am I the shrink?”
“Because you have a degree in psychology. You’re qualified.”
Wait—what? “How do you know about my degree?”
“You told me.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Are you certain?” She studied something behind me. I turned and checked behind me. It was a filing cabinet, and I knew what the snooping ghost had found inside. My employment folder.
“Stop snooping.”
“I was organizing. You need to do a better job at filing. Now, your help?”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no? You’re a professional.”
“Not even close. I have one degree in psychology. A Bachelor’s degree. I haven’t even considered applying for graduate school, much less started working on my hours to be licensed. And do you know why I got the degree? To figure me out.”
And… because nothing else had captured my interest before my parents demanded cap, gown, stage, and diploma.
Her air conditioning revved up. “So you’re not going to help a poor spirit living in pain and agony? One who’s not able to move past the violence of her death for all eternity?”
Miss Prim and her dramatics. I observed Margaret for a moment. No pain or agony was expressed on her face. Only amusement. The ghost appeared highly entertained by our argument, actually.
“Turn off the energy,” I said to Miss Prim, and then acknowledged Margaret. “Are you in pain and suffering, reliving your death over and over?”
“Not really.” She shrugged. “The first twenty years were hard.”
“See!” Miss Prim jumped to her feet. “You have to help her.”
I’d gotten to know the stubborn tilt to her jaw all too well. Damn.
“Okay, fine. Margaret, if you feel like discussing your death—”
“Murder!”
“—murder, we can talk.”
“But that’s not how you do it,” Miss Prim said.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re sitting over there, and she’s sitting over here.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
“She’s supposed to lie down on the couch. Where’s your shrink’s couch?”
“I don’t have a shrink’s couch because I’m not a shrink. Besides, I think psychiatrists only did that on old TV shows.”
“No, no, no.” Miss Prim paced the room. “You have to do this right.”
I glanced at Margaret again. She shrugged. Both of our focuses quickly resumed on Miss Prim, who had decided to make an impromptu couch out of the reception chairs. Since the chairs had arms, a person couldn’t lie across the seats. The arms didn’t really matter to a spirit, one who could lie straight through them. But Gut told me to zip the lips while Miss Prim spotted an accent table the same height as the chair seats.
Seriously, she could have used her energy to move furniture while sitting in her chair. But there she went tugging, shoving, and grunting until the furniture was aligned as she wanted. One chair at the head, another chair facing the first at the foot, and the accent table wedged in-between the two.
“Now lie down.”
Uh, problem. Miss Prim pointed at me. “Isn’t it Margaret who’s supposed to lie down?”
“I have to show you how it’s done first. It’s important for you to do this correctly.” Her hands drew to her hips. “Now lie down.”
Oh, hell. She was never going to give this up. I walked over and stretched out on the chairs.
“Now the shrink sits down near the patient.” Miss Prim took a seat where she could still see my face. “Then you start off with questions to make the patient feel comfortable. Ready?”
“Sure.”
“What is your name?”
“Kiara.”
“Your full name.”
“Kiara Abigail Blake.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-six.”
“What is your favorite color?”
I craned my head for a better look at the ghost. “Uh, green I guess?”
“You don’t know? How do you not
know your favorite color?” She turned to Margaret. “Margaret, what is your favorite color?”
“Yellow, like the daisies my mother used to plant in our back yard.”
Miss Prim turned back to me.
“Okay, it’s green,” I said. “My favorite color is green.”
“Now that wasn’t so hard, was it? Why is your favorite color green?”
Ah, crap. Miss Prim would have to ask. “Because both my mother and brother have emerald green eyes, and I’ve always wished I had that color.”
“Your father has blue eyes?”
“Is there a point to these questions?”
“Shhhh!” Miss Prim waved a hand in my direction. “Focus. Now, your father?”
“No, his are hazel.”
“But yours are ice blue. How is that possible?”
“I’m adopted.”
“Really?”
“No.”
Miss Prim leaned forward to ensure I saw her facial expression. She wasn’t amused.
“Now, after you ask the questions to make your patient feel comfortable,” she continued, “you ease into the harder questions. You need to seek the root of the problem so the patient can work through it. Are you ready?”
“Whatever.” Anything to get this over with. Didn’t the ghost understand I had work to do, and with how things currently stood, I had a very limited time to achieve it?
“What dramatic childhood experience has left you incapable of acknowledging your feelings for Detective Wilcox?”
“What?” I shot up out of the makeshift couch. A cold hand pushed me back down.
“I told you she was going to be difficult.”
“You did,” Margaret agreed.
“Now, Kiara, Detective Wilcox?”
“No Detective Wilcox.” I was not about to discuss anything more with this love-obsessed ghost, let alone a man who left me confused. On one hand, the detective was annoying as hell. On the other one, I was catching enough glimpses of the real him to think maybe, just maybe, a really good guy lurked underneath his hard shell of irritation. And I wasn’t going to lie about him being as handsome as sin. Because he was. At least, I wouldn’t lie to me. Regarding Miss Prim, I had no guilt with any lies that passed through my lips. But with mine and Wilcox’s latest encounter being utmost in my thoughts, he was not a topic for discussion.
Reaping Havoc: Kiara Blake Book 1 Page 23
