by Elise Noble
“You want food?” Bradley asked, waltzing through the doorway.
The boys had to be full from the snacks they’d eaten at Blackwood, but they all nodded anyway.
I trailed behind them, keeping my fingers crossed that their news was an exaggeration. We had enough problems to deal with at the moment without adding the future of a teens’ music club to the list.
Ethan got the kids arranged on the sofa and sat down opposite them on the coffee table. “Now, what’s going on? Who wants to close the project?”
“Some property guy,” said Trick. “He wants to buy the whole block and build apartments and a shopping mall.”
“What’s he called?”
“Richard Carr.”
“Yeah, Dick,” Vine said.
Ethan shook his head. “I don’t think that’s right. Carr’s been around for a while, and I spoke to him a few months ago. He told me he didn’t have any plans in the near future.”
“Well, he was lying,” Trick said. “Shawn’s mom works for the planning board, and she said he put in an application. He wants to knock, like, everything down.”
He spread his arms wide for emphasis and nearly knocked over his glass of cola. I snatched it out of the way just in time.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah! So we need you to help us get rid of him like you did last time.”
“What do you mean, last time?” I asked.
Trick turned to me. “Some guy wanted to take our building and turn it into a supermarket. Ethan fought him until he went away.”
Dammit, Ethan. Don’t roll your eyes, Dan. Don’t do it. “And you didn’t think to tell me this?”
“It happened three years ago. The corporation built its supermarket half a mile away instead.”
“And this new guy?”
“The space we’ve got for the project’s big, and it’s got good acoustics. It won’t be easy to find another place like that, and Carr thought that because it was just kids, he could kick them out without offering a replacement. We had a chat, and he realised it wouldn’t be so straightforward.”
“Who owns the building?”
“The city, but the project’s got a lease until next December with an option to extend for another three years. It’s earmarked for regeneration at some point, but nothing’s happened for years.” He shrugged. “There’s no spare money at the moment.”
“And who pays the rent?”
“I do.”
Somehow, that didn’t surprise me. “So if you’ve got a track record of putting a wrench in the works when it comes to development, could it be possible that Richard Carr wants you out of the way for his own financial gain?”
Had another suspect just thrown his hat into the ring?
Ethan saw where I was going with this. “Don’t you think framing me for murder would be a bit drastic?”
“Depends on his finances. If he was short of cash, it might have been an easy option.”
“That’s insane.”
“And people have been killed over far, far less.”
“I think you’re on the wrong track. When I spoke with Carr, he seemed like a reasonable guy, just misinformed.”
“How did you leave things with him?”
“We agreed that if he decided to pursue his plans in the future, we’d talk again, and he’d help us to find another home for the project. Probably an extension to the development, something purpose-built.”
“Which adds to his costs.”
“You’re reading too much into this. He won’t be out of pocket because I’d pay rent on the building. And he showed me pictures of two other places where he did something similar. One was a community theatre, and the other was a youth centre.”
“Can you remember the details of those?”
“There’s a brochure thing in my house.” Ethan grimaced. “That doesn’t help much, does it? But there’ve been at least six schemes like this over the years, and none of them have gone ahead.” He turned back to the boys. “I’ll go and have a word with him, see what’s happening.”
“No, you won’t,” I snapped. “You’re not leaving this house. I’ll speak to him.”
“You can’t go steaming in there and accuse a businessman of murder.”
“I can do subtle.”
He stared at me, radiating disbelief.
“Really, I can. I promise I’ll behave.”
“Fine, go.” He reached over and picked up his guitar. “While you’re here, guys, how about we play with some instruments?”
Ethan wasn’t happy with me, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t having his safety compromised. It wasn’t only Richard Carr that worried me but also the idea of Ethan driving around by himself in Richmond. So many chances for something to go wrong. Riverley was like a fortress, and as long as Ethan stayed within its walls, I had one less thing to worry about.
But before work, I needed some rest, so I left the boys to it and went to take an afternoon nap. If I couldn’t have whisky or sex, sleep was the next best thing. Six freaking hours of sleep. Damn.
Back in the music room, Vine had a guitar, Trick was on drums, and Race strutted up and down with the microphone. I’d intended to take the boys home, but I stopped to watch instead. This was a side to Ethan I hadn’t seen, happy and smiling as the kids belted out a mashed-up version of “Born to Run.”
“They like rock?”
Ethan grinned up at me from the piano. “Rock, pop, rap. They’ll try anything.”
Trick was good, seriously good. I still wasn’t convinced Vine would land a record deal unless Ethan offered him one out of sympathy, but he wasn’t that bad. And Race? He came alive in much the same way Ethan did, dancing as he sang, a different person to the silent child I usually saw.
Ethan had turned himself into a father figure for these kids, hadn’t he? From what Trick said, none of them came from good homes, and the music project had brought some stability into their lives. They loved being with Ethan, not because he was the Ghost, but because he was the one grown-up who paid them any attention and let them have fun. Someday, he’d make a great dad.
And that was another reason I couldn’t get involved with him.
I might have come to take the boys back to Richmond, but I just couldn’t. Not yet. Not when they were all enjoying themselves, Ethan included. Instead, I grabbed my laptop and set up in the lounge next door, listening to the music while I researched Richard Carr. I’d get Mack to do a more thorough search tomorrow, but I could do the basics myself this afternoon.
From what I was able to find, he’d been in Virginia for just over a year, renting a nice colonial on an acre lot in Rybridge. Not a million miles from Nick’s place, and if Carr could afford to live in that area, money problems seemed unlikely. Before that, he’d moved around, renting close to whatever development he happened to be working on at that time. He catered towards the higher end of the market—enclaves of luxury houses and apartments with all the amenities. Idaho, California, Texas, upstate New York, Delaware…
Right now, Carr Property, Inc. was finishing up with Winter Pines, an exclusive retirement village twenty miles from Richmond. Sixty-three villas and condos set around an artificial lake with a community centre, walking trails, and even a garden of remembrance for those seniors who’d lost loved ones.
But with forty-six of the homes sold, according to the website, it stood to reason that Carr Property would soon be looking for a new project to get underway. Had Carr been telling the truth about his plans for Ethan’s music centre?
I’d just finished reading about the company’s environmental credentials—solar panels on all new properties and a fancy system to reclaim wastewater for the putting green at Winter Pines—when I realised the music had stopped.
Next door, Trick, Vine, and Race were laid out on the sofa, sleeping, while Ethan tidied up the room.
“You wore them out,” I said.
“They wore themselves out.” Ethan put down the music stand he was carrying and walked over to me.
“Thanks for bringing them.”
“No problem. I’m glad you had a good time.” He was close to me now. Too close, but I couldn’t step back. My feet wouldn’t move. “I’d better drive the boys back home.”
“It terrifies me, you being out on your own with some head case on the loose.”
His breath puffed over my cheeks. “I’ll be fine, honestly. I’ll take a gun.”
“That’s not making me feel any better, Dani.”
Shit, my pulse was doing that stupid thing again. Hop, skip. Hop, skip. Hop, skip. Quick, change the subject. “Why do you call me Dani? Everyone else calls me Dan.”
“You’re too pretty to be a Dan.”
Oh, nice move, Ethan. That really calmed my hormones down. “Uh, okay.” Wow, that was eloquent. He’d robbed me of speech. “Well, I guess I should be going.”
He bowed his head and his lips met mine. Just the merest brush of sweetness and warmth. Then he moved back.
“Take care of yourself, Dani.”
At that moment, I wanted to take care of myself in a whole different way.
CHAPTER 43
I DROPPED ALL three boys home in turn, and thankfully Vine’s mom was already unconscious, passed out on the sofa with an empty bottle beside her. Vodka, the cheap stuff. I knew from experience she wouldn’t wake up until morning, otherwise I’d have probably brought Vine back to Riverley again. Ah, Riverley. When I turned into the driveway, I could still feel the ghost of Ethan’s lips on mine. If he came near me again tonight, I’d be on my knees begging for more. And possibly doing other things, since I’d be at the right height to…
Stop it, Dan.
No, it was far better if I kept my distance.
Not that I could sleep. I was already awake when Mack called at five, sounding far chirpier than I felt.
“I have news,” she announced.
“Good news or bad news?”
Please don’t let it be bad. I couldn’t take much more of that.
“Sort of both.”
“Go on.”
“I found the guy who sent those vile letters to Ethan. You remember, the hate mail?”
“I’m not gonna forget it. Is that the good part or the bad part?”
“Well, I guess it’s good that I found him.”
“What’s the bad part?”
“The asshole’s on parole, and he’s wearing an electronic tag. He wasn’t anywhere near Ethan’s house on the night of the murder. He was in Atlanta.”
Well, it was good to rule him out, but it also meant we were running dangerously short of suspects.
“What was he in jail for?”
“Sending hate mail. Ethan was right—it doesn’t look like anything personal. He sent it to everyone. Singers, TV stars, media moguls… The prosecution named seventeen different victims, and those were just the ones they could prove. At his trial, he blamed the entertainment industry for corrupting the youth of today.”
Nice guy, upsetting people for the fun of it. Shame he didn’t live nearer, or I’d have been tempted to show him a more creative use for a pen.
“Thanks anyway. I’ve got news as well—I’ve added another suspect.”
She groaned. “Just when I thought we’d made the list shorter. Who is he?”
“Richard Carr.” I gave her a quick rundown of what I’d found so far.
“Leave it with me.”
The first thing I noticed when I pulled into Richard Carr’s driveway, well, other than the ridiculously large house straight ahead of me, was the black BMW parked in front of the garage. I paused to look as I stepped out of the Camaro.
It wasn’t the BMW from the shooting—this was a 7-Series rather than a 5-Series and the wheels were different—but could it be the vehicle Lavinia saw outside Ethan’s place? A possibility.
The garden was beautifully kept, with ornate topiary and an array of flowers arranged in symmetrical beds. It matched the house, which was a delicate shade of peach with turquoise trim, a colour combination that shouldn’t have worked but somehow did.
I climbed up four white marble steps to the front door and rang the bell. The sound of Mozart echoed through the house, but it took forever for anybody to come. Either the house was bigger than it looked, or Carr hoped I’d give up and go away.
Finally, the door swung open and a man peered out. He wasn’t old, early thirties at a guess, but salt-and-pepper hair gave him a distinguished look.
“Richard Carr?”
“Yes? And you are?”
“My name’s Daniela di Grassi. I’m an independent investigator, and your name popped up on one of my cases. I was hoping we could have a quick chat?”
He huffed a little and glanced at his watch. “Will it take long? I’m due at the tennis club, and my doubles partner gets annoyed if I’m late.”
“Five minutes, maybe ten?” I smiled, hoping. “I promise not to take up too much of your time.”
He led me into the lounge, impeccably decorated to show-home standards. I hadn’t seen any evidence of a wife, so either he was obsessive about tidying or he didn’t spend much time in there.
“Forgive me if I don’t offer you a drink. Take a seat?” He waved towards a cream leather sofa.
I sat, marvelling how a padded piece of furniture could still manage to feel like granite.
“So what ‘case’ are you talking about?” he asked.
“I’m sure you’ve seen it on the news lately—the death of Christina Walker.”
“That poor prostitute who got killed by the DJ?”
Of course, the media had leaked her profession by now.
“Yes, except it’s looking less and less like he’s the culprit.”
“Really? I saw the commonwealth’s attorney on the news, and he seemed certain they’d got the right man.”
“Deputy commonwealth’s attorney. And he’s not always right.”
“I suppose that’s why you’re here, then. Because I had a meeting with Ethan White a few weeks before the incident? Well, I assure you I didn’t pick up any strange vibes from the man. I’d have called the authorities if I did.”
“What was your meeting about?” I already knew from Ethan, but I wanted to hear Carr’s version.
“Oh, nothing much. More of a fact-finding mission than anything else.”
“What kind of facts?”
“The man was running some sort of music club for children off the street.” The look of disgust on his face when he said “off the street” left me under no illusions as to his thoughts on them. “I was curious to see exactly what he did there.”
“With a view to closing it down?”
“With a view to possible relocation if I did ever develop in that area.”
“So is development likely?”
“I’m never certain a development will go ahead until we break ground.”
“I heard you’ve submitted plans.”
“Only an outline. It’s all very speculative.”
“So do you have many outlines going through the process at the moment?”
He shifted in his chair. Uncomfortable?
“A few.”
His eyes flicked left as he spoke. Liar.
“So, what did you think of Mr. White?”
“He seemed like an okay kind of a guy, but you never can tell, can you?”
Funny, that was exactly what Harry had said, and he turned out to be a lying bastard. I didn’t trust Carr, although I couldn’t put my finger on the reason why.
“No, you never can tell. What were his thoughts on your plans?”
“He was open to discussion. As long as the kids had somewhere to play with their instruments, I don’t think he minded where it was.”
What Carr said more or less matched Ethan’s views, which was almost a disappointment because it meant he had no motive. But something about him rubbed me the wrong way.
He folded his hands in his lap, and I noticed the end of his right forefinger was missing. From the look of the skin, it had b
een like that for a long time. I quickly averted my eyes, but he still saw me looking. He held it up and gave a wry laugh.
“I had an accident in the kitchen when I was twelve. I learned the hard way not to play with knives.”
Had he? Or was he just playing a sick game with me?
“That must have hurt.”
He shrugged. “I don’t really remember. It was so long ago.” He made a show of looking at the grandfather clock in the far corner of the room. “I’m afraid I really do have to go.”
“So, just to confirm, if the development did go ahead, you’d help to relocate the project?”
“I’m sure we’d be able to sort something out. I may be a businessman, but I also believe in supporting the local community. Look…” He got up and fetched a pamphlet from a credenza on the far side of the room. “Here are the details of a facility for children with learning difficulties that my company sponsors.”
The Carr Property Center of Excellence in Ohio. He did get around a bit, didn’t he?
“Thanks.”
“You’re very welcome. But why all these questions on the community project? I thought you came to talk about Ethan White?”
“Of course. I just want to get a handle on White’s frame of mind. Whether he was upset at that time.”
“Well, he didn’t seem that way to me. Are we done now?”
“Yes. I appreciate you giving up your time.”
“Have you got a business card, just in case I think of anything else?”
“Sure.” I handed one over. “Here you go.”
Another hour, wasted. I didn’t like Carr, but I didn’t like plenty of people and most of them didn’t turn out to be murderers.
Back to the office to work on plan B.
CHAPTER 44
PLAN B CONSISTED of sharing an entire package of chocolate chip cookies with Emmy and Mack, followed by a smoothie. We had to be healthy, right?
“So who do we have left on the suspect list?” asked Emmy.
“Nobody,” I said, slumping dramatically over the table.
“Are you sure?”
“Ty’s black and Lavinia thought the guy was white. Harry and the guy who sent the hate mail both have alibis. Ronan and the DJ are too short.”
