by Gerri Hill
“Finn, you called me, remember?”
“Look, I just wanted you to know about the phone call. That’s all.”
She heard Dee sigh. “I offered to put a trace on your phone. You refused.”
“Because I don’t want the police to monitor my every goddamn move.” She ran a hand through her hair, regretting calling Dee in the first place.
“Do you want protection?”
Finn snorted. “From the CCPD? I think I can handle it.”
“You’re being difficult.”
“We don’t know each other well enough for you to call me difficult.”
“You’re right. I should treat you like any other citizen who may or may not be linked to two homicides. So you know what? I am going to have the guys come by your office and set up a trace on your phone. First thing in the morning. And whether you like it or not, I may get a unit assigned to you, maybe two. One at your house, one at your office. How’s that?”
“Now who’s being difficult? But no, I won’t consent to having my damn phone tapped. Forget it.” She heard another sigh from Dee.
“Where are you anyway?”
“At home. Outside, watching it rain.” She paused. “Anything new on the case?”
“You know I can’t discuss an open case with you, Finn. Especially one that you are involved in.”
No, she didn’t think Dee would divulge anything. And probably, there was nothing to divulge anyway. Michael Drake was a dead end. Well, she would do her own poking around.
And she would start with Connie Frazier.
Chapter Twenty-One
Finn rang the doorbell, then knocked. After a few seconds, she rang the doorbell again. As Dee had threatened, there had been a patrol car parked on her street that morning when she got up. Another was outside of her office. Instead of going in, she simply turned around and took that opportunity to pay Connie Frazier a visit. Dee would be pissed, she knew, but she didn’t care. Whoever killed Daniel Frazier had also killed Sammy. Dee had rules to follow. Finn did not. Well, she did…she simply chose to ignore them.
“Who is it?”
She stared at the door. “Finley Knight, Mrs. Frazier. Your husband was a client of mine.” She paused. “I’m a private investigator.” She held up her identification badge to the peephole. “I just need a few minutes of your time.”
The door opened slowly and Connie stared back at her. She looked…worn out. Gone was the smiling face Finn had recorded when she’d seen Connie Frazier after an encounter with Michael Drake. Now…hollow eyes, tearful eyes.
“You’re who again?”
“Finley Knight. Your husband hired me. I’m sorry. He suspected you were having an affair. He hired me to…well, to investigate it.”
Connie didn’t invite her inside. Instead, she stepped out onto the porch and closed the door. “What is it you want? Did he not pay you or something?”
“Whoever killed your husband, they broke into my office, looking for something. Something they think Daniel gave me. They killed…they killed a friend of mine.” She swallowed. “Has anyone contacted you?”
“Just the police. They think Mark…Mark killed Dan.” Connie took a deep breath. “So you were following me?”
“Yes.”
“Taking pictures?”
“Yes. I’m sorry.” Finn couldn’t recall ever meeting face-to-face with someone she’d run surveillance on. She’d certainly never offered an apology for doing it.
“I loved my husband,” Connie said almost defiantly. “But he wasn’t home much. He was more concerned with the pizza parlors than he was me. And I got lonely. I never thought he’d even notice, much less hire a private investigator.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, did you only recently get lonely and seek out someone or…”
“Dan has been absent for years. The kids are both gone and…yes, I was lonely. But I didn’t seek out Mark. It’s not like I’ve ever done anything like that before.”
“I know him as Michael Drake.”
“Yes. That’s what the police said. I can’t believe it, really. He was so…so nice to me, so sweet. I can’t believe they think he killed Dan.” She shook her head. “For what reason?”
“Perhaps he was jealous,” Finn offered, even though she thought no such thing. “Maybe he wanted you all to himself.”
“No. He was married too.” She met Finn’s gaze. “I suppose that was a lie as well.”
Finn shrugged. “He’s not contacted you?”
“No. I thought he would. I mean, surely he heard about Dan’s murder. It was on TV and in the newspaper. But our kids were here…for the funeral, you know. I’ve tried calling him but there’s never an answer,” she said sadly. “I thought maybe, well, when the doorbell rang, I thought maybe it was him. Maybe he was letting things settle down first.” She smiled sadly. “Of course, I never told him where I lived. Why would it be him?”
“He never came to your house?”
“No. I mean, he wanted to—he asked all the time if he could—but I…well, I wouldn’t disrespect Dan like that, bringing another man into our bedroom, no matter how much he begged.” As if realizing how that sounded, she tried to wave her words away. “I loved my husband. I really did. Only, he loved his business more than me.”
“Was your husband mixed up in anything? Drugs? Gambling?”
Connie gasped. “Of course not! All he was mixed up in was pizza. He lived and breathed it.”
Finn shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans, debating how much to tell Connie Frazier. Dee would probably be pissed but…
“Look, I don’t mean to be so blunt, but didn’t it strike you odd that Michael Drake—or Mark Condra—sought you out? He was a handsome man, almost striking. No offense, Mrs. Frazier.”
Connie blushed. “I know what you’re saying, of course. Why would someone like that be interested in someone like me?” She smiled wistfully. “When I was with him, I thought I was the luckiest woman in the world. He made me feel beautiful.”
“They trashed my office, looking for something. Something they thought Daniel had given me. I got a phone call yesterday demanding I turn over what Daniel had left me. Do you have any idea what that could be?”
Connie shook her head slowly. “No. I have no idea. Dan’s life was the pizza business. That’s all he did. From five in the morning until nine or ten at night, it was pizza. On rare occasions, he would get home at eight, in time to share dinner with me.” Her lips set into a firm line. “That last night…he came home early, just before eight. We had dinner together. He would hardly speak to me, hardly ate a bite. I knew something was wrong. Not that we talked much, you know. He was always full of pizza stories and I would listen. But that night, no. There was mostly silence.”
“And he left again?”
“Yes. It was after nine, I think. He wouldn’t tell me where he was going. Then…then he never came back. I called his cell several times the next morning. I called all four of the stores. Then…then the police came.” Her lip quivered. “Now I’m all alone. Dan’s gone. The kids are gone. Mark’s gone.”
“Mark…did he have an accent?”
“An accent?”
“When he spoke, was there an accent?”
Connie smiled. “He had the sexiest voice. Yes, his mother was from Brazil. Some words he said different than we do. It was really cute.”
Finn wondered who Connie Frazier missed more—her husband or her lover? If she had to guess, she’d say the dashing lover was who Connie was longing for.
“I’ve taken up enough of your time, Mrs. Frazier. Thank you for speaking with me.”
“I’m sorry about your friend. But I can’t imagine Mark would do something like that. I just can’t.”
Finn smiled politely. “Thank you for your time.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
As she did the first time she’d visited Finn’s house, Dee stopped at the gate and reached out the window, hitting the button for the intercom. Since Finn wasn’t at her of
fice, she assumed she’d be here. It was another dark and drizzly day. Where else would Finn be?
“Yeah? Who is it?”
“It’s me. Dee.”
“Ah, Detective Woodard. Come in.”
The gate opened and Dee drove up the driveway, parking behind the closed garage doors. She went around to the passenger’s side and took out the three bags she’d brought along. Finn was standing at the door as she hurried through the rain. Finn raised her eyebrows questioningly as Dee brushed past her.
“You haven’t eaten, I hope.”
“Eaten?”
“Thanksgiving.”
“Thanksgiving?”
Dee nearly rolled her eyes. “Today’s Thanksgiving. Turkey. Football.”
Finn looked embarrassed. “I’m sure I would have figured that out eventually.” She sniffed the bags. “That does smell good.”
Finn helped her unpack the food; turkey and dressing, mashed potatoes and a tub of gravy, green beans that appeared to be swimming in butter, and four very soft, very fresh dinner rolls.
“I was lucky to find a place that still had food. They were out of that sweet potato dish with the marshmallows. I don’t care for it myself, but it is traditional.” She pulled a bottle out from one of the other bags. “I didn’t picture you as a wine drinker. Scotch?”
Finn looked at the bottle of Johnnie Walker Black, smiling as if looking at an old friend. “Perfect.”
They made their plates in the kitchen then took them over to the dining table. Finn put the TV on but turned the sound on the football game low enough so that it was only a murmur. They touched glasses, both sipping from their scotch before picking up forks.
“I went by to see Connie Frazier yesterday,” Dee said.
“Oh, yeah?”
“Imagine my surprise to learn that you had paid her a visit.”
Finn shrugged but said nothing.
“You can’t work the case, Finn. That’s my job.”
“Yeah, but I’m the one whose office got trashed. I’m the one who lost Sammy. And I’m the one who got the phone call.”
“You can’t work the case. You’ll get in the way.”
“Why did you go see Connie Frazier?”
“Why did you?” Dee countered.
“She was actually quite talkative. When I told her who I was, I thought she’d be pissed as hell, but she wasn’t.”
“Gonna share what you talked about?”
“There was no revelation, if that’s what you’re asking. She didn’t have a clue as to what Daniel could have had that someone would kill for.” Finn smiled. “And thank you for the police protection. How long do you plan to keep that up?”
“As long as Captain Mabanks will let me. I take it there’s been no further contact?”
“No.” Finn seemed to hesitate and she put her fork down. “I had a call before. I think it was the day you came by with the subpoena. It was the same voice. Just a hint of an accent. Connie Frazier said that Mark Condra’s mother was from Brazil and that he had a slight accent.” Finn smiled. “Sexy, she called it.”
“You’re saying you had a call right after Daniel Frazier was killed?”
“Yes. The caller asked if Daniel Frazier was a client. I asked who he was and he hung up. I had actually forgotten about that call. Then when he called back, it was the accent that I remembered. A slight accent, mind you. Very subtle.”
“Connie had said that you’d insinuated Daniel was mixed up in something. Drugs? Gambling?”
“Something, obviously. It got him killed. I poked around in his finances. There wasn’t anything—”
“You did what? I’m pretty sure there are limits as to what you can dig in, aren’t there?”
“I may have crossed a few lines, yes.”
“Again, this is my job. Not yours.”
Finn ignored her. “As I was saying, there was nothing that jumped out at me. No red flags.”
“I know. That was the first thing we looked at.”
“So it’s been two weeks. You have anything?”
“You know I can’t discuss this case with you, Finn.” Dee pointed her fork at her. “And you need to quit poking around in things.” She wished she could discuss it, though. Daniel Frazier’s pizza business was doing really well. All four stores were profitable. One store, in particular, moved a lot of money. That was the one they were interested in.
“I have time right now. I’m in between clients.” Finn shrugged. “And Simon moved out.”
“The accountant?”
“Yeah. The whole Sammy thing freaked him out. Can’t say I blame him.”
“And you? Will you be able to stay there?”
“I own the building.” Finn finished the scotch in her glass. “I think I’ll move to Simon’s side, though. When I’m in my office…” she said, her voice trailing away.
“Yes, I imagine so.”
Finn cleared her throat. “Thank you for bringing food. I think probably in the back of my mind I knew it was Thanksgiving. It’s not a holiday I normally celebrate anyway.”
“No family around?”
“No. Sammy. We would sometimes go out and get shrimp and fish, never turkey.”
“I’m really sorry about Sammy, Finn.”
Finn took a deep breath. “Yes. Thank you.” She paused. “My mother lives in Corpus.”
Dee wanted to ask all sorts of questions, but Finn got up and headed toward the kitchen, her nearly empty plate in her hand. She smiled as she watched Finn take second helpings of everything.
Chapter Twenty-Three
So she couldn’t give it a week. She was still feeling guilty over missing Thanksgiving—her mother had made sure of that. Rylee didn’t dare tell her mother that she celebrated with a large, loaded pizza and beer, compliments of Leena, one of the new friends she’d met. She also didn’t tell her that Leena had supplied the pizza and beer, hoping she’d get lucky and Rylee would end up in her bed. She didn’t.
It was Friday, the day after Thanksgiving—Black Friday. She didn’t think Finley Knight was the type to fight crowds at the mall. But still, she wouldn’t have been surprised to find Moonlight Avenue Investigations shuttered on this day after a holiday. She was surprised, however, to see a police car parked across the street from the agency.
The same car as the other day was parked out front of the office—a dark Buick LaCrosse. She didn’t recall this being the car she’d ridden in when they went to the motel that night, but she hadn’t really been concerned with the car, had she? Maybe Finley Knight wasn’t the woman she’d slept with after all. She smirked and allowed herself a quick roll of the eyes.
She parked her Jeep next to Finn’s car, feeling her heart flutter a little nervously in her chest. Her last chance, she reminded herself. She needed to be ultra-charming, ultra-convincing to get Finn to hire her. She admitted, though, that her chances were probably slim. She looked down at her jeans, wondering if she should have dressed up. She’d taken her cue from Finn. She’d been dressed casually in jeans the other day when she’d met her. At the bar, too…Finn had been in jeans. Even though their encounter the other day had been brief, she didn’t picture Finley Knight as the dressed-up type. She looked too comfortable, too at ease in her jeans. She paused for a moment, recalling how she’d slipped those jeans off Finn’s hips.
God.
Rylee walked to the door and took a deep breath, then turned the knob. It was locked.
“Great,” she murmured.
She was about to knock when she heard a scuffling noise, then a bang. Then cursing. She smiled, her tension easing for a second before she knocked loudly. A few moments later, the door was jerked open. Finn met her gaze.
“You again?”
“Rylee Moore,” she said with—she hoped—a charming smile. “You sound like you could use some help.”
Finn stepped back, letting her enter. “I’m still not hiring.”
She spied the desk that was wedged in the doorway of Finn’s office. �
�Moving?”
“To the offices on the other side of the building.”
“Taking a wild guess here, but I don’t think your desk is gonna fit through the door.”
“It fit going in, obviously,” Finn said dryly.
Rylee moved around her and inspected the wedged desk. “You should have taken the drawers out. That would give you an extra inch or so.” She looked back at Finn. “It was probably moved in on its side, though.”
Finn stared at her. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for a job,” she said truthfully. “Willing to beg for a job.”
Finn met her gaze, as if trying to read her. “Why?”
Rylee felt her confidence waning. In fact, she was suddenly feeling very sorry for herself. “Because I moved here in June and haven’t worked since. My savings are nearly drained. My apartment rent is due in a couple of days. My mother is mad at me for not being home for Thanksgiving and I didn’t have the heart to tell her I couldn’t afford the gas.” She folded her hands together behind her back, hoping she wouldn’t embarrass herself by crying. “So I need a job.”
Finley Knight tilted her head, studying her. “What do you know about being a private investigator?”
“Nothing, really. I…I don’t even know someone who is a private investigator. I was a security guard, though,” she said, as if that made a difference.
“You’re not doing a good job of selling yourself, kid.”
Rylee met her gaze. “Please? Just give me a chance.” To her surprise, Finley Knight seemed to actually be considering it.
“How are your vacuuming skills?”
“My what?”
Finn sat on the edge of her desk, dangling rather long legs—clad in familiar jeans—off the side. “I need someone to clean the office.”
Rylee’s eyes widened. “You want to hire me as a…a housekeeper? Seriously?”
“I’ll hire you as a receptionist-slash-housekeeper.”
“Slash-apprentice?” Rylee asked hopefully. She could tell Finn was struggling not to roll her eyes.
“There’s an apartment upstairs. You can start there.”
“Start there? Cleaning?”
