“Now your bag.” He swung the strap of the gun on his shoulder, and after grabbing a flashlight from his utility belt, rummaged through my purse. “You’re good.” He shoved the hobo bag into my chest and retreated two steps, giving me a little breathing room. “Sorry, Miss Strickland. We have to take precautions. You can go on in—the door’s unlocked. Candi’s waiting for you.”
I glanced at Henry, and he nodded once more. I walked around him, following the concrete pavers leading to the front entrance. By the time I reached the smoky glass door, I’d started to breathe normally again.
Sullivan had said Carlucci recently tightened his security. However, this wasn’t simply adding an extra layer of protection. That guy had practically given me a breast exam. What kind of threat was Carlucci facing? And in light of Rob and Buster’s deaths, I guessed I couldn’t blame him.
The door didn’t have a standard knob, but a vertical bar. Pushing on it, I walked into a stunning Spartan entryway made of concrete walls and floors. The only thing breaking up the gray was a plain wooden credenza off to one side. A green glass amoeba sculpture rested on it, providing the only pop of color in the austere space.
“Hello?” I called. No one answered, but I noticed a tablet-sized screen mounted to the wall near the door. I pressed the blue button with a pair of lips on it. “Hello?”
Candi’s face appeared. “Hey, Rose. Come on up. I’m on the third floor.” Then the screen went blank.
Even Sullivan didn’t have all these gizmos, not to mention guard dogs. I was kind of glad. I didn’t feel comfortable in his house as it was.
I walked past the entryway and glanced into the living room on my left. With a large concrete fireplace and sleek black furniture, the room felt sterile. Cold. If I had to live here, I’d go bonkers. While none of Sullivan’s furnishings reflected his personality, at least it felt like a home and less like an institution.
I kept moving forward until I found the concrete stairway. I stopped at the third floor, glancing to my left and right, not knowing which wing to take.
“In here,” Candi called from the right.
I headed that way. A long strip of wood with light shining behind it rode the gray wall. No boring overhead lights for the modern Carlucci residence. Too passé, I supposed.
She stood at the tinted glass door, wearing a big smile and a tiny satin robe.
I walked into her room, and despite the horrible concrete, she’d claimed this space as her own. Large canvases, painted in varying shades of pink and orange, hung on the walls. A fuzzy hot pink rug covered most of the floor. It was a near-perfect match for her neon pink arm cast. While the concrete platform bed had been designed with soulless sophistication in mind, Candi’s pink satin comforter and rainbow pillows counterbalanced all the gray. And then there were the clothes. Fabric rained across the floor in heaps and littered the built-in dresser—bras, dresses, socks, shorts, blouses—as if her closet had opened its smoky doors and puked out articles of clothing.
“I like all the color in here.”
She laughed and strutted to the closet. The doors opened automatically. “Thanks. Jennifer hates it, which makes me happy. She thinks I should be tidier. I think she’s a slore and a homewrecker. So, I win.” She strolled inside and disappeared from view. “After she and Daddy got married, he built this place.” She raised her muffled voice. “Hired an architect from Cali and everything.” When she returned, she carried a handful of dresses, each one more eye-watering than the next. Her gaze slipped over me. “You’re not wearing that, are you?”
I glanced down at my plain olive green blouse and black slacks. Not the spiffiest ensemble in the world, but professional. And cheap. I’d gotten the blouse at a discount store for seventy-five percent off. I loved me a bargain. “Yeah.”
She dropped the dresses on the bed. Tapping her cheek with one finger, she walked toward me. “Oh, no, no, no. That color is so wrong on you. It makes your hair look green.”
My hand flew to my ponytail. “Uh-uh.”
“You know what you need? A makeover.” If I had a buck for every time someone said that to me this week, I could supersize my next McNugget order.
“I think I’ll be fine. Let’s get you dressed. Hey, by the way, what was with the security outside? Your dogs looked at me like I was a snack-sized kitten.”
She sorted through the dresses, picking out a pale blue cocktail dress. “It’s such a pain, right?” Dress in hand, she walked toward me with a serious expression. “This is just between you and me. Since the beginning of the year, Daddy’s been getting death threats.”
Chapter 21
Holy frig. I’d have killer dogs off the leash too. “Who the hell wants to kill your dad? He must have some idea.”
She lifted a shoulder. “He has a lot of business rivals. Or maybe a sick freak wants to scare him.” She thrust the dress in my hands. “Go try that on. We’re about the same size.”
I pointed at her C-cups. “We’re not even close.”
She lowered her head, darting a glance down her robe. “I wear everything super tight, so it might fit. If not, we’ll stuff you.” She pointed to the bathroom. More tinted glass.
Hunching my shoulders in defeat, I left the door open a crack so I could continue my line of questioning while I changed. “That must be frightening, getting death threats, living with all these guards. I’m not sure I’d feel safe leaving the house.” I folded my clothes neatly, laying them on the wooden counter.
“I used to be scared, but then I got chipped.”
I poked my head out the door. “What? Chipped, like a microchip?”
“Yeah.” She nodded, as though it were no big deal. “Daddy wanted to ensure my safety. We all got chipped.”
“My God, how much is your dad worth anyway?” The question flew out of my mouth before it had fully formed in my brain. “Jeez, sorry. That was really rude.” My mother would have been mortified. I withdrew into the bathroom, my cheeks hot from embarrassment, but Candi just laughed.
“You’re funny, Rose. And my dad is, like, loaded. Richer than most people in this town, though they treat us like shit.”
I shimmied into the dress and reached around to pull up the zipper. “What do you mean?”
“I know how they make fun of us behind our backs. I was ridiculed all through high school. They called me Candi the Climber—like a social climber.”
“That must have been tough. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. My dad is a social climber. That’s why he gives to charities. He’s trying to buy his way up the ladder. I don’t think he understands that no matter how much money he has, they’ll never respect him.”
Candi was a lot savvier than I’d given her credit for. “The Huntingford elite can be really cruel sometimes,” I said. “If you don’t toe the line, they treat you like an outcast.”
“I guess it’s easier for you. Your dad’s a doctor. You were born into it.”
“That’s true.” Although I was never comfortable with the snooty set, I’d learned to fit in. Wore the right clothes, went to the right parties, made decent grades. Still, I’d always felt like a changeling who’d been born into the wrong family. “I’ve been flying solo for almost six years. Now I’m a waitress.”
“A waitress, huh? Your parents must be so pissed.” Then she was quiet a moment. “Do you know why I still live at home?”
“Why?” I glanced at myself in the mirror. Not bad. My bra straps were an eyesore, but other than that, the dress fit great—even across the bust. Candi must be bursting out of this thing.
“Because Jennifer hates having me here, and I want to punish her.”
“Punish?” I unzipped, removed my bra, and cast a critical eye over my appearance. Not too shabby.
“My parents were together for a long time. They even worked togethe
r for years. My mom was by his side from the start. I remember when my dad made his first million. He celebrated by buying her a fur coat. She hated it, but she wore it for him.”
When I walked back into the bedroom, Candi was dressed as well—a purple satin strapless number. Two sizes too small. She twirled in a circle, to give me the full effect. “What do you think?”
The back seam threatened to revolt and expose her healthy booty, and the bustier stretched tight across her breasts, pressing them up to her neck. “Mmm-hmm. Very…Candi. You mentioned your mom last night. What happened with your parents?”
“The more money Daddy made, the more he wanted to move in higher social circles. He got a membership to the country club and the Huntingford Men’s Club. My mom didn’t care about all that stuff. She was happy grilling burgers in the backyard. Eventually, he erased her out of his life.”
That was horrible, and, sadly, typical. My parents’ world was littered with succession wives and half-siblings. “I’m sorry.”
“Me too. She’s been gone for almost two years.” Cancer? Car accident? Heart attack? I wanted to ask for all the intimate details, but it seemed too nosy, even for me. Candi flopped onto the bed, not bothering to move the dresses. “I still miss her.”
With quick steps, I moved toward her, bent down, and clasped her hand. “Of course you do. She must have been really young.”
“Only fifty. She drove over a bridge. There was nothing wrong with the car. She did it on purpose.” She smiled down at me, a watery smile that matched the tears filling her eyes. “You’re a really sweet person, Rose. Thank you.” Her fingers tightened on mine, then she let go and popped to her feet. As she sped to the closet, fine marabou feathers broke free from her hem and floated in the air. “Anyway, I’m getting my revenge. If I can put a wedge between Daddy and the slore, I’m happy.”
She came back a moment later, purple satin kitten heels in her good hand. When she bent over to slip them on, I fully expected a wardrobe malfunction, but we lucked out. Straightening, she smoothed a hand over her hips.
“What do you plan on doing with your time, besides torturing your stepmom?” I asked.
“After too much partying, I decided to get my life together. Lately, I’ve been working part-time at the dealership. Al’s taken me under his wing, says he’ll teach me everything I need to know. One day, I’ll take over the business. My goal is to have Jennifer out of the picture by then, so she can’t get her hands on Daddy’s cash when he kicks off.” She shrugged and looked me over. “Your shoes are atrocious.”
I glanced down at my serviceable flats. They weren’t that bad.
Candi made another trip to her closet. At this rate, we were never going to get out of here.
She emerged with a small gold purse and a pair of gold leather, red-soled heels. Six-inch heels. Oh, hells no. “I can’t, Candi. But thank you.”
“You’re turning down Louboutins? Are you crazy?”
I’d have to be crazy to try and walk in those stilts. “I’ll fall and break something. I don’t want to wind up in a cast too.”
Her brown gaze rolled to the ceiling. “At least take the purse.”
“Thanks.” I walked to the bed—in my comfortable, fugly flats—transferred my essentials from the hobo to the clutch, and used my bag as a carryall for my clothes. “I assume you have a driver?” I couldn’t imagine her dad letting her out of the house without at least one bodyguard.
“Yeah. He’s also a former Army Ranger. I was hoping Daddy would hire a hot guy I could make out with when things got boring, but Howie is, like, old. Life’s never easy, is it?”
Nope. Probably was a lot harder for starving people in the third world than for either of us, but since her question was a rhetorical one, I kept my trap shut.
Candi added one more coat of pink lip gloss and a spritz of perfume before leaving the room. I followed her down the stairs and through a concrete hallway to a side door. A man in his forties waited for us. His military bearing was obvious, from his stubbled salt and pepper hair to the straight line of his shoulders. No slouching, no smiling, no personality on display. He reminded me of Hardass.
Candi slapped her hand in the middle of his chest. “Rose Strickland, this is Howie.” Then she gazed up at him. “We’re going to Ruby’s Roadhouse, Howster.”
“Yes, Miss Candi.” His eyes skimmed me, then he led the way out to the car—a big-ass tank of a Hummer. I had to use the running board to hoist myself up. Glad I hadn’t let her talk me into those mile-high heels.
Howie shut the door behind me and, as I tugged on the hem of my dress, I noted the dark glass separating the front and back seats. “This is impressive. Is it custom?”
“Of course. Daddy had it retrofitted. It even has bulletproof glass.”
Carlucci was hypervigilant. “These death threats, they’ve been going on for six months now?”
“Yeah. When I moved back home, everything was cool. But overnight, Daddy hired extra bodyguards and had us chipped. Those dogs you met? They’re the second set. Someone poisoned the first pair.”
No wonder he was so paranoid. I was starting to feel that way myself.
As we pulled through the gates of the mansion and onto the dark road, I craned my neck and released a sigh of relief when I saw Henry’s SUV almost on top of the Hummer’s bumper. For the first time, I was glad Sullivan sent his number one man to watch over me.
I faced forward. “What did the police say about the threats? Do they have any leads?”
“Daddy never went to the police. He likes to take care of things personally. He has some sideline ventures that aren’t exactly on the up and up.”
Sounded a lot like Sullivan. “Why are you telling me this?”
“You already know about some of it.” She turned her head toward me. “Daddy said you attended the fight the other night. He mentioned you and Sullivan are an item. Sullivan’s so aloof. Hardly ever says more than hello when I see him. How long have you two been together?”
“Since the beginning of the year.” This felt kind of odd, talking about Sullivan so openly with a virtual stranger. “I can’t believe your dad told you about the fight club. He doesn’t mind you knowing about his illegal endeavors?”
“At first he did. He tried to keep it a secret for a long time, but I always knew. When I graduated from college, he started filling me in on all of his various businesses—the legitimate ones. But I confronted him, told him I knew he wasn’t always on the straight and narrow. He finally came clean. That’s when I found out Daddy doesn’t just sponsor fighters, he owns a stable of them.”
The words still made me squeamish. I tried to read her expression in the dark interior of the car, but couldn’t. “How do you feel about that?”
“It’s business.” She said the words, had probably heard her father repeat them a thousand times over the years, but her voice lacked conviction.
“Rob wasn’t just business. He was personal.”
She said nothing, merely nodded.
“Candi, you don’t honestly think he killed himself, do you?”
She gazed out the window. After remaining quiet for several minutes, I thought she wasn’t going to answer. Then her breath hitched.
“Someone tried really hard to make it look like he did, though.” She repositioned herself and crossed her leg. “One night when he was over at the house, I offered him a Molly. He came unglued. Not only did he refuse, he threw it on the floor and crushed it with his foot. Yelled at me for being an idiot and poisoning my body. Which was hilarious, considering he juiced.”
“Did you confront him about the steroids?”
“Of course I did. He claimed he was very careful and knew exactly what dosage to take. I don’t know if that’s true or if he’d just convinced himself. Still, he never took drugs. Not illegal, not prescr
iption, not over the counter. Why are you asking all these questions? Don’t tell me you’re trying to find the killer?”
“Kind of. I work for a PI.”
“I thought you said you were a waitress.” She swung her leg back and forth. “Was that a lie?”
“No. I serve in a diner every morning, and I work in an investigator’s office in the afternoons.”
“That’s crazy, Rose.”
“Tell me about it. What did your dad have to say about Rob’s death?”
“He was upset, naturally.” She paused. “He really cared about Rob. He invested a lot of money in him, but he also invested his time. Daddy doesn’t do that for everyone.”
“What about the debt Rob owed your dad?”
“I offered to pay it. From my own private account.” Emotion thickened her voice. She stopped talking and cleared her throat. “He wanted to move to Chicago, turn pro. I told him to take Sofia and the baby and get out of town. Never look back. But he was too proud. He wanted to win enough fights to buy his own way out of the club.”
I realized then Candi hadn’t just cared for Rob; she may have been in love with him. She’d wanted Rob to be happy, even if he wasn’t with her. She surprised me—with her intelligence and her self-sacrificing attitude. I still believed Candi Carlucci was a party girl, but I also saw past it to the pain she hid from the world. I’d underestimated her on every level.
I reached for her cold hand, clamped it between my own. “I’m going to find who did this, Candi,” I repeated for the hundredth time, hoping I could make good on all the promises I’d been doling out.
“And then what? Call the police?”
“What’s the alternative?”
She twisted around to look at me. “Give the killer over to Daddy. Let him deal with it.” Hand a murderer over to her father, so he could exact justice? Sounded good in theory, but I couldn’t go through with it.
I shook my head. “I can’t do that. My conscience won’t let me.”
Diner Knock Out (A Rose Strickland Mystery Book 4) Page 25
