The doorbell rang, and I hurried to answer it, curious who would arrive first.
“Hey, Mia,” I said, welcoming her with a hug. “That hug is from Liz, too. Come on in.” I walked her to my freshly sanitized kitchen table and offered her a seat. Her long, blond hair was clean and tucked behind her ears, and even without makeup, she looked impeccable. “Can I get you coffee, tea, water, ginger ale? Anything?”
“Tea would be nice.”
She chose a soothing herbal blend, and I poured hot water into her cup.
“Dean’s on his way,” I said, watching her bob the bag up and down. “How was your time with Lydia?”
She gave a flat “okay” and pulled a sealed, white envelope from her oversized purse.
“This is a copy of the passwords I found at Bruce’s,” she said. “I left the original where I found it and gave a copy to the police.”
“You didn’t check any of the accounts first?”
“Oh, no, I did. Most of it was a bunch of business stuff I don’t understand. But there were a few disappointing sites.”
She stared into her mug, which I was pretty sure she could have filled with tears.
“Disappointing in what way?” I asked softly.
“I’m sure you can guess. Porn. All his viewing history was there, and there was a lot of it.”
“Porn isn’t that unusual,” I said, hoping that would comfort her. In recent years, Liz had mentioned increasing problems with porn addiction among parishioners and priests alike, and I knew from other parents that it was a disturbing problem among tweens and teens. “Did you find anything out of the ordinary or illegal?”
“I don’t think so.” Tears filled her eyes, and I reached out to touch her hand.
“Mia,” I said. No one wanted her significant other looking elsewhere for satisfaction, especially in secret.
“It’s okay.” She took a napkin from a stack on the table and wiped her nose. “I just feel like an idiot.”
“I felt that way about my relationship with Jason, too,” I couldn’t help saying. She was probably thinking it anyway. My history was no secret, and Aunt Liz had shared it with her.
She crumpled the napkin and looked up. “How can someone fool someone else so easily?”
I didn’t want to answer honestly. For me, it had seemed easier to ignore problems with Jason than to fix them. In the long run, of course, it wasn’t. And in Mia’s case, fear may have entered the equation.
“Were you ever afraid of Bruce?” I asked.
Her deer-in-the-headlights expression spoke volumes.
“I know this sounds dumb,” she said quietly, “but I thought I’d be okay if I stayed with him. If I left, though, I didn’t know what he’d do. He had a jealous streak. I thought getting married would help.”
Despite her alibi, was there a chance Mia had done something to Bruce, seeing it as her only way out? And if so, how would I broach that topic with her?
The doorbell rang, and we both jumped at the sound.
“That’ll be Dean,” I said. “Are you okay if he comes in?”
She nodded yes, so I went to the door and explained the situation.
“We have another problem on our hands,” Dean said. “Can we talk privately?”
“I’ll be right there,” I called to Mia. “I’m just going to talk with Dean in my office for a minute.”
We closed the French doors to my study and shared the chaise across from my desk.
“What’s up?” I said.
“Frank just left me a message, and he wants us to call him right away. He isn’t happy.”
“I’m sure he’s distraught,” I said.
“No. I mean, he’s not happy with us and our investigation.”
“What? Did he say why?”
“No. Based on our conversation about PreTechTion earlier, I’d asked him a few business-related questions. Nothing specific that would give away anything you told me. I just hope I didn’t stir up something accidentally.”
“Let’s call him back now,” I said. “But we need to tell him that Mia is here and we can’t keep her waiting.”
Dean found Frank in his contacts, dialed, and activated speakerphone, raising my heart rate considerably.
Frank answered on the first ring. “Dean?” he said. “Is Nicki with you?”
“We’re both here,” I said, adding that Mia was, too—although in the other room. “I understand you have some concerns.” I winced in anticipation of his response.
“You don’t need to pursue a conversation with her. I don’t need your services anymore. Just send me your final invoice today.”
“This came out of nowhere, Frank,” Dean said. “What’s going on? Whatever the problem is, we want to fix it and make things right.”
“It’s too late. You screwed up,” he said bluntly. “And I’m pissed.” Visions of him slamming the hotel conference room door and pounding on the table filled my mind. I was thankful this conversation wasn’t in person. “I don’t know what you were doing in Florida,” he said, “but you missed something. Something big. Thank God it supports Eli’s guilt and not anything else.”
I looked at Dean. Frank knew exactly what we’d been doing in Florida, because we’d sent him a minute-by-minute breakdown. The only details we left out were my popcorn disaster, my dog rescue, and our few blissful moments in the ocean. A guilty knot formed in my stomach.
“What did we miss?” Dean asked.
“Eli’s been threatening to do this for years.”
“To come after Bruce?” I clarified.
“Yes, Nicki. To kill him. His ex-wife not only says it, but it’s why they divorced, for God’s sake. She’s got emails to back it up. Every piece of evidence, including Bruce’s blood in Eli’s car, points to him. There’s no reason to waste more time and money on this.”
I felt like I’d been punched in the gut. Andrea suspected her parents’ divorce was the result of Bruce’s actions and their effects. Eli and Suzanne hadn’t told her that, but why would they? They wouldn’t want her to feel responsible. And there was no reason for Eli to tell us something so incriminating. It was our fault we hadn’t spoken with Suzanne. Eli had given us her number when he’d been arrested, and we hadn’t followed up. We’d let Andrea do it. Frank was right.
I was mortified, and the expression on Dean’s face said he was too. Yet I was still surprised Frank let us go so quickly. I trusted Dean, but maybe he had upset Frank by questioning him about PreTechTion. Or maybe Frank had something to hide.
“I completely apologize for not meeting your expectations,” I said. “Is there any way to make it up to you?”
“No,” he said. “Just email me your invoice today and let the police take it from here.”
“What would you like us to tell Mia?” I asked tentatively.
“Tell her she can rest easy, because the right person is in jail.”
As much as I wanted to comfort Mia, those words couldn’t pass my lips, because something abstract…something I couldn’t quite put my finger on…was niggling at my conscience.
“Is everything okay?” Mia asked when Dean and I entered the kitchen, a touch of justified annoyance in her voice.
“I’m sorry. We had to return a call,” I said. “To Frank.”
Mia sucked in her breath. “Is there any news about the case?”
There was, but not the kind she meant.
“He’s confident the police have the right person in Eli,” Dean said. “So he doesn’t feel Nicki and I need to keep investigating.”
I watched Mia intently, curious how she’d react. She inhaled deeply and blew out a long sigh.
“I’m relieved,” she said. She rested her head in her hands. “I trust Frank’s opinion. He’d do anything for Bruce, s
o if he believes Eli is guilty, so do I.” She looked up. “What do you think?”
Dean and I needed to discuss that. I wasn’t sure we’d give the same answer.
“We wish we could have done more,” I said. “We just want to make sure you and Frank are comfortable with how the police are handling things. If there’s anything else we can do for you, Mia—ever—just let us know.”
“I will,” Mia said. “I promise.”
“Actually,” Dean said, “There might be something else I can do.”
Oh, no, not again. He’d already surprised me once by volunteering with this case. I tilted my head, trying to look interested, not irritated. As it turned out, dumbfounded would have been more appropriate.
Twenty-Five
“I’d like to be Lydia’s fecal transplant donor,” Dean said. Silence from me and Mia. “If she doesn’t get into that study, that is. I have a friend who’s a doctor, and I went to see him yesterday. He wrote a STAT order for my lab tests, and some of them had already been done when I got back from overseas.”
Dean explained that when he’d returned to the U.S., he’d gotten a full physical, which included a battery of tests. So far, he was the picture of health. “It’s ludicrous that Lydia has to wait so long,” he said. “Volunteers should be coming out of the woodwork.”
I was quiet, and Mia was sniffling.
“Are you okay?” I asked, moving closer to rest a hand on her back. “I hope that didn’t upset you.”
“I’m okay,” she said. “It’s a miracle. Or it will be if it works out. Those tests are expensive, though. Are you sure about this, Dean?”
“Absolutely. If nothing else, I’ll get the most thorough checkup of my life.”
“You haven’t taken any antibiotics recently, have you?”
“No. Would that eliminate me as a donor?”
“It might. Other than that, you’re healthy?”
“As a horse. I’m lucky. My doctor screened me well, and Lydia’s doctor is welcome to do the same.”
“No matter what, Mia, we care about how you and Lydia are doing,” I said. “So please stay in touch.”
“I’ll call you as soon as my tests are back,” Dean told her. “It shouldn’t be long.”
“Thank you both,” she said, standing to go. As she hugged me, I noted the microwave’s clock over her shoulder. Fifteen minutes until the kids would be home.
“The kids are going to be here soon,” I warned Dean after Mia left. “But we have to talk about that conversation with Frank. I’m in shock.”
“I am, too,” he admitted. “We told him we were in over our heads from the start, but I still feel like crap about it. There’s no question we should have talked with Eli’s ex, but it’s too late now. I’m really sorry things ended this way.”
“But I don’t feel like they’re over.”
“Nicki. The police are convinced. Frank is convinced. And so is Mia. It sucks that we didn’t do more, but what’s done is done. And I really think this is done.” I wasn’t sure what to say, so I stayed quiet, maintaining eye contact. “What?” Dean probed. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m a mom and a widow of a cheater. I have a lot of experience with lying. I take one look at Jack and Sophie and know if they’re guilty, and I don’t need a lie detector to tell me to trust you,” I said. “Obviously, Eli is different, but my gut says he’s telling the truth, or at least part of it. If I ignore that, it’s like ignoring everything I know is right.” Now it was Dean’s turn to stare. “Also, I’m worried about what else we might have missed. Like we never visited the crime scene.”
“They wouldn’t have let us in at first,” Dean said. “And then we were in Florida.”
“We’re back now, though,” I said. “And even if we don’t learn anything big, you could give me some crime scene tips.”
“If visiting the scene will make you feel better, I’m okay with that. When do you want to go?”
“I don’t know. The kids will be home any second.”
“Bring them,” he said, “if it’s not too awkward. There’s a playground there.”
It was about as awkward as anything could get. Kids at a crime scene. Dean in my minivan. Then again, beggars couldn’t be choosers.
“It’s cold out…” I stalled. The kids wouldn’t care about the temperature, and they’d love seeing a new playground. The exercise would do them good, too. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll just tell them it’s a work thing.”
“Should I walk to the bus stop with you?”
I imagined the looks I’d get from other moms. Or, more accurately, the looks he’d get and the questions I’d get later. I answered with a casual “Yeah” and said I had to “get something out of my car” (meaning a year’s worth of dust and crud) before meeting him outside.
I’m not sure who was more surprised to see Dean, the parents at the bus stop or Jack and Sophie. Everyone greeted him with smiles and interest, and I felt guilty for not giving my friends a “hot guy” alert. Almost anything except perfection was understood at the bus stop, including PJs, unwashed hair, and lack of winter gear—on parents, not students. If the kids showed up looking like their worn-out moms and dads, social services would be called regularly.
When the bus pulled up, Sophie got off first and greeted Dean with a surprising, adorable hug, followed by Jack, who high-fived us both. I liked Dean’s reaction, which was to give Sophie a gentle squeeze and Jack a friendly “How ya doing, dude?”
“This is my friend and colleague, Dean,” I told the moms who lingered with their kids and looked especially curious.
He shook hands and flashed a smile that made my knees weak. I almost giggled at the thought of us pulling up one day on his motorcycle. I could hop off, kiss him goodbye, and say, “Hello, ladies!” The conversation wouldn’t be about teachers, fundraisers, or dioramas that day, I can promise.
As we walked away, I asked whether Jack and Sophie would like to visit a new playground after stopping at home, knowing the answer would be yes.
“You have to work at a park?” Jack asked.
“Yep,” I told him. “We can go for a walk and check out the play equipment.”
“Cool,” he said, bolting ahead of us with Sophie trailing behind, her purple backpack slapping back and forth as she tried to keep up.
“They’re awesome,” Dean said. I didn’t know what prompted the compliment, but I thanked him and agreed.
At home, I grabbed pretzels and drinks and asked the kids to use the bathroom before we left.
“You too, Dean,” I teased.
“Hey, whatever you say.” He did a comedic, obedient march to the bathroom that made all of us laugh.
At the last minute, I grabbed my digital camera for high-quality photos of the scene—and possibly of the kids.
Kids and crime scenes. A horrible combination. I was glad Dean was along for the ride, messy minivan and all.
The park access road was deserted except for scattered joggers, bikers, and walkers. While the kids kicked rocks and took nature pictures with my phone, Dean and I surveyed the area, snapped photos, and discussed crime scene basics, which I’d reviewed in PI class and mostly forgotten when they didn’t come in handy.
“There are really two crime scenes,” Dean said. “The primary one—here—and the secondary one, the riverfront where Bruce was found. Unfortunately, we can’t explore that now. I drove by earlier, and it’s pretty steep and muddy.”
“Okay. But we could take a look at the bridge where his body might have been thrown over.”
“We can do that on the way home. I wish I’d gotten anything helpful out of the Parks and Rec guy who found Bruce’s car. He just came into work, found the car, and called the police. No one is supposed to drive back here except workers.”
“It
makes sense that Bruce would meet Eli here. It’s quiet and out of the way.” If it weren’t a crime scene, I’d have called it peaceful. The kids looked adorable in their bright, easy-to-spot winter coats, surrounded by trees while they collected pine cones and searched for bugs.
“You know what?” Dean asked. “If I were Bruce, I might have picked a more public spot. Somewhere Eli wouldn’t go wild on me.”
“I guess. But offering him money might have attracted some unwanted attention.”
“Yeah.”
Dean set his jaw and looked around. I scanned the trees for lampposts but didn’t see any.
“Can you imagine how dark it must have been here at night?” I said.
“Ideally, we should visit then, too. Let’s walk through a scenario. Eli said he got here early—just before two a.m., and Bruce was already here. Bruce’s car would have been ahead of Eli’s, probably pulled in that way.” He pointed to a forested area where the service road ended and a path led through the woods. We both looked at the ground, where no tire tracks were evident. “Unless he turned his car around when he got here, but the grass doesn’t look disturbed.”
“Right. Then Eli pulled in after him, facing Bruce’s car. He said his headlights were on, and that’s how he saw the green money bag.”
“Then they talked, or argued, and according to Eli, he slapped Bruce and made him fall backward.” Dean did a mock tumble, which the kids found hilarious.
“Except the police say he did a lot more than slap Bruce. More like hit him with something. Then Eli would have transported Bruce in his rental car to wherever he was dumped.” I despised the word dumped, but it accurately described the killer’s deed. “I’m surprised there wasn’t more evidence in Eli’s car. All we heard was ‘blood on the driver’s seat.’ There had to be more than that.”
“Where’s the playground, Mom?” Sophie called out.
Sky High (A Nicki Valentine Mystery Book 2) Page 22
