“I know the feeling.” Meaning I was a single, working mom…not on the pole. I almost said, It’s a grind, but changed it to “It’s no picnic.”
Rita’s car was parked close to the entrance, and I got out my business card while she threw her gym bag in the trunk. I couldn’t help noticing a long, black canvas bag with “InstaPole” in proud, pink letters on its side.
“Were there any red flags that night?” I asked. “Anything else that, looking back on it, was a sign of trouble?”
Rita tapped her lips with a pink, manicured nail. “I’ve thought a lot about it, but no. He didn’t seem in a great mood, but he never said anything like, ‘I don’t want to get married’ or anything. I think my ‘no touching’ policy teed him off, but too bad, right? I mean, I’m sorry, I know he’s missing and everything, but…”
“Of course. Don’t worry. I can’t thank you enough for talking with me,” I said, handing her my card. “Please get in touch if you think of anything else.”
“I’ll do that,” she said. “And call me if you ever want pole dancing lessons. I can set up my pole anywhere.”
Good to know. I thought of the moms I knew, and no one struck me as the pole-dancing type, other than Kenna. But then again, how many moms would discuss their pole-dancing proclivities? (“Can you go to Thursday’s PTA meeting?” “Oh, no. Sorry. I’ll be on the pole that night.”) Even Kenna didn’t announce “I’m teaching pole” to just anyone.
I said goodbye to Rita and walked toward Kenna’s car, pausing to send her a text.
That’s when I saw the message I’d missed, and it was from Dean, not Kenna.
Call me.
Eighteen
“Dean? I just got your message. What’s up?”
“Are you sitting down?”
I rested my bum on the cold hood of Kenna’s car and stood back up.
“Sort of. What’s going on?”
“I guess you haven’t checked your email.”
“No. I’ve been interviewing the stripper—or dancer.”
“Yeah. That’s why I texted instead of called. Listen, Nicki, I’m sorry to tell you this, but Bruce’s body was found today.”
“What? Oh my God. Where?”
“Off Prescott Road, about five miles from where his car was parked. It had washed up from the river a while ago. The cause of death isn’t clear, but he’d been beat up pretty badly. You know where Prescott is, right?”
“Yeah.” It ran through a quiet, riverside neighborhood with big houses and bigger views.
Although I’d suspected foul play since his car was found, hearing it was gut-wrenching. No matter what kind of person Bruce was, he was someone’s son. Lydia and Frank’s son. And Mia loved him too. “Who found him?”
“A group of kids collecting leaves for a school project,” he said softly. “They were down by the river, saw enough to terrify them, and ran home.”
“That’s horrible. How did you find out? Did Frank call you?”
By now I was used to Frank preferring Dean as a contact person. It seemed chauvinistic, but maybe he was just more comfortable with Dean.
“Yeah, and Mia sent out a group email, so I’m sure you got one. She’s too devastated to talk, and so is Frank. He wants us to keep working, though.”
I shook my head and asked Dean how he felt about that.
“We’ve come this far. I’d like to see it through. But it’s up to you.”
I rested on Kenna’s car again, letting the chill seep through my leggings. Picturing Lydia, Mia, and Frank’s devastation was more than I could take.
“I don’t want to give up. Finding Bruce wasn’t our only goal. We still need to find the truth.”
“Exactly.”
No one had done that for me with Jason. And for some reason, I’d never thought of asking. Maybe I’d been afraid of the answers. Not anymore.
“Do you think Bruce being found in a river has any connection to our accident in Florida?”
“I hope it’s a coincidence. Maybe I just pissed that driver off somehow. We have to be really careful though, just in case.”
“We will.”
Dean and I agreed to meet after lunch, and I read Mia’s email before moving.
Dear Friends and Family,
It’s hard to say this, but Bruce’s body was discovered this morning by the river off Prescott Road. A cause of death hasn’t been determined. I need time to grieve and care for Bruce’s mother Lydia, who is still hospitalized, so updates will be posted on the PreTechTion Facebook page. Please keep us and Bruce’s entire family in your prayers. Thank you.
Love,
Mia
In response to Mia’s request, I closed my eyes and prayed for her and everyone involved. I also asked for protection and help in uncovering the truth. Then I texted Kenna and told her what happened. Otherwise, she’d bounce out of the club telling stripper jokes, and I’d have to stop her uncomfortably.
We were relatively quiet most of the way home. No loud rap music. No joking around. I fiddled with my smoothie straw, thinking about next steps.
“Nicki, are you really going to work on a murder case?” Kenna asked. “I’m worried about you. I mean, at least the police are armed and can protect themselves.”
I hadn’t thought enough about that. My self-defense skills were rusty, and I’d turned down options to train at a gun range. Making it out of a sinking car might actually be easier than protecting myself one-on-one.
“I’m okay, especially now that someone’s been arrested.”
“So you think Eli did it? And that being run off the road was really a coincidence?”
“I don’t know.”
I was thinking about what Bruce had done to others, and how that might have come back to haunt him. While the police were preparing their case against Eli, they might let other leads go. Or never find them in the first place.
Like it or not, Dean and I would have to discuss the whole truth about Bruce’s past with Mia. I just hoped Frank had laid the groundwork.
Dean and I met at the PI Academy, where he was re-establishing his office after being away. My initial sixty-hour PI training and most of my continuing education classes had been held there, and I knew some of the Academy’s instructors. We spread out our casework and went through it piece by piece, noting any missing details and necessary follow-up.
He’d picked up a new phone and done the dirty work of discussing our reports with Frank, and I was anxious to hear how it went.
“We talked in detail before he got the news about Bruce, thankfully,” he said. “He didn’t know Bruce dated Eva or that Bruce might have kept in touch with her. But he reacted with a ‘boys will be boys’ attitude.”
“Wow. I feel like Bruce and Frank are the same. Like they’re used to getting their way, and if they don’t get it, they take it.”
“Me too. And as we’ve said, Andrea and Eva can’t be the only ones. Like the pole dancer you talked with today. Bruce crossed the line with her.”
“And no one stopped him,” I added. “He’s one of those guys everyone seems to bow to.”
Dean nodded. “But you’ve never heard anything about him acting out of line with Mia? Because guys like him don’t just change or turn it off.”
“That’s what I don’t get. At the wedding, her exact words were, ‘I can’t live without him.’ But I don’t see how anyone could live with him.”
“They didn’t live together though.”
“Do you think it’s possible he hid his true colors while they dated?”
“Not completely. There had to be signs. We need to talk to her and find out.”
“What did Frank say about sharing this information with Lydia and Mia?”
“He tried to call Lydia at the hospital, bu
t she didn’t answer. He said the police explained Eli’s arrest to Mia, so she’s aware of Andrea’s accusations. He gave us permission to share whatever we need to with them.”
We agreed I’d call Liz for more background on Bruce and Mia. Then I’d set up a time to talk with Mia if she was willing. Maybe Liz could negotiate that. I was anxious to hear about Mia’s test results and whether she could be a donor. Now more than ever, Lydia needed Mia to be as pure as the wedding dress she never got to celebrate in.
Liz picked up on the first ring when I called her from my van. She’d set aside all but her essential work to be available for Mia, and she was already contemplating travel plans. Hearing the tension in her voice reinforced my decision to keep the canal story quiet.
“Mia is obviously devastated,” she said. “And she asked me to do the funeral in Virginia.”
“Are you okay with that?” I couldn’t fathom planning a wedding and funeral for the same person so close together.
“Yes, but part of me would rather be there simply to comfort her, not to officiate. We have time to figure it out, though, and Lydia’s health is the first priority. She has to be able to attend her own son’s funeral. I’m also not sure when his body will be available for burial.” She blew out a long breath.
“Aunt Liz, I wish I could be there with you. I know how much you love Mia, and I can’t imagine what this is like for you.”
“Well thank you, Nicki, and I regret getting you involved. It was one thing when Bruce was missing, but now…”
I placated her with the same excuse I’d used with Kenna. Eli was under arrest. Dean and I were just tying up loose ends. But it felt like lying, even to myself. I wasn’t convinced of Eli’s guilt or innocence, and I wasn’t convinced we should give up. Maybe once the police had all the forensics back, I’d change my mind.
“How is Lydia coping?” I asked, in part to shift the focus.
“Oh, Nicki. I don’t know how she’ll survive this, and the only way Mia is pushing through is knowing she has to hold herself together for Lydia.”
“What about Mia’s test results? Have they come back?”
“They’re expected today, of all days. Her parents are waiting with her every second. Let’s pray for the best.”
“I will. But before we hang up, I need to ask you a few questions about Bruce. Is that okay?”
“Of course. Ask anything.”
“You and I haven’t talked much about Bruce and Mia’s courtship,” I said. “I’m curious if you ever sensed any problems, any reasons to be concerned that he was with Mia.”
“Well, Mia always described him as a ‘prince charming.’ Someone who adored her, always wanted her around, and would do anything for her. They dated less than a year, so it was kind of a whirlwind. I wasn’t concerned, but sometimes I wondered if it was too good to be true. They went through pre-marital counseling because I insisted, as I do with all couples, and they did well.”
“You did counseling with them?” That could lead to helpful insights, although I doubted she could share any of them.
“No, I couldn’t, since I’d be biased. It would be a conflict of interest. A priest from Mia’s home church did it.”
Jason and I had gone through a similar process. We’d attended a few counseling sessions, hoping we wouldn’t raise any red flags.
“Did Bruce ever say or do anything specific that worried you? Or not say or do something?”
“Hmm. Let me really think about this, Nicki.”
I waited patiently, observing the PI Academy and the strip mall shops from my van, thinking about the countless days I’d spent here, stunned I was in the parking lot discussing a death investigation, never mind one connected to my family.
“I can only think of one time when I was truly concerned about Bruce,” Liz said. “And by that, I mean I was worried about Mia’s relationship with him. If you hadn’t asked about it, I’m not sure I would have remembered it.”
“Okay.” Those are the kinds of details I crave.
“Keep in mind that I don’t know Bruce well. I only know what Mia has told me. But she wanted to come down to Florida to visit me before the wedding. We thought it would be a fun weekend and we could discuss all the details and put final touches on the ceremony. She canceled at the last minute, though, and said Bruce wouldn’t ‘let her go.’ Those were her words, ‘let her go.’”
“Why not?”
“He didn’t want her to fly before the wedding. At first, he was afraid something would happen to her. Then he thought she was too tired and stressed out for a trip. I said I understood, but I didn’t. They were flying to Hawaii for their honeymoon. Why not to Florida? And Mia needed time away. It would have helped with her stress, not added to it. It seemed a little controlling.”
“What was worrying Mia the most? Did she say?”
“It was the usual: flowers, catering, saying her vows properly. All the things brides worry about.”
“Okay. What about the rehearsal dinner? I know we’ve discussed it before, but think about it again with the benefit of hindsight.”
“It was over the top, since Frank hosted it. The restaurant did a beautiful job with the food and wine, and Bruce seemed happy. Gregarious. Extremely confident. Always had his arm around Mia, smiling. Everything went smoothly at the church rehearsal. No sign of any trouble. I remember going to bed thinking it would be a beautiful wedding. But like you said, you and I talked about it that night, so I should let you go, and I need to get back to work. I’ve got an adult education class to plan.”
“What’s the topic?”
“Forgiveness. I could use some extra help in that department right now.”
I could, too, in more ways than one.
At home, I wrote and rewrote a response to Mia’s email and ultimately decided to keep it heartfelt but short—and extend an invitation to discuss the investigation when she was ready.
When Jason died, I’d been overwhelmed, literally, with support. Too many meals delivered, too many phone calls, too many people dropping by, too many flowers, too many emails. Don’t get me wrong, I desperately needed everyone’s love and encouragement, but I was barely equipped to get out of bed and monitor my children. Organizing flower and food deliveries was out of the question.
My parents and Kenna did their best, but it was Liz’s experience that saved the day when she recommended a website that updates everyone, schedules help, and allows for supportive comments that don’t require responses. I’d renewed my account when my father died, using it mostly to update his loved ones without making endless calls. As a former airline pilot and avid traveler, he had friends across the globe. Now I mentioned the site to Mia, just in case Liz had forgotten. In passing, I wondered if I could be more helpful to Mia as a widow than as an investigator.
Then, with my past and Liz’s forgiveness class in mind, I took the first step toward contacting the family of Megan Jenner, the woman with whom Jason had cheated. Within seconds and without the help of PI databases, I found her parents’ names, address, and phone number online—not to mention a detailed map of their home’s location.
The question was what to do with the information. What had Lydia said? That Megan never would have been with Jason had she known he wasn’t separated? And that I should tell her family? Hard to believe she didn’t know. Hard to believe any of it.
My thoughts turned to Genevieve, the woman Kenna had seen at Dean’s house. It was so easy to find Megan’s family online. Would it really hurt to type in “Genevieve Corday” and see what popped up? It’s not like I’d have to click on anything I found.
Instead of speed-typing, I hit one key at a time, hesitating, wondering if I was making a major mistake. It took two tries to spell her name correctly, which may have been a sign to stop. But I persisted, and then I watched as her professional profile
hit the top of my page. Clicking further wouldn’t be necessary. I was pretty sure our paths had crossed before.
Nineteen
Genevieve “Ginny” Corday was an FBI agent, and although I didn’t want to keep looking, I clicked on an “Images” link to make sure I was right about where we’d met. One look at her photo confirmed it. She was the peppy blond who had helped with my PI training a year ago—and giggled a lot with Dean while at it. My surveillance partner and I had tailed them for practice, and my early crush on Dean had made it slightly uncomfortable to watch them have so much fun.
In the end, though, they didn’t appear to be a couple, so I hadn’t thought about her since.
And I don’t want to start now, I thought. But I’d ignored so many signals with Jason before. How could I, in good conscience, pretend the guy I was seeing wasn’t living with someone? Or not living with someone, I reminded myself. Maybe she was moving out. Still, Ginny co-owned the home. If nothing else, they had a financial commitment to one another that required incredible trust. Maybe she’s just a friend, I thought. Or, even better, a lesbian friend. Dean knew I volunteered at a local LGBTQ organization, so he knew I’d be okay with that.
As my suspicion grew and Jason’s lies replayed in my head, it hit me. The red box. How could I have forgotten? I’d been ready to tear the house apart, but so much had happened that it had slipped my mind. If only that meant I was moving on from the past. Instead, I was probably just exhausted.
I postponed thinking about whether—and how—to address issues related to Megan and Ginny and decided to start my red box search, just for a few minutes. If I really made my way around the house, maybe I’d give myself credit for exercise, too.
Sky High (A Nicki Valentine Mystery Book 2) Page 16
