Death Perception

by Victoria Laurie

  Candice shook her head. ‘‘His partnership with Delgado seems local.’’

  I rubbed my forehead and closed my eyes, frustrated at all the questions and my seemingly wacky radar. ‘‘Paloma Delgado said that Ricardo was sleeping with Kelton’s wife,’’ I said, trying a different angle. ‘‘Maybe Kelton found out, staged the kidnapping, and murdered Delgado?’’

  ‘‘Could explain why Robillard is trying to throw the scent in the direction of Dutch,’’ Candice said. ‘‘To keep his old CIA buddy out of the ring of suspicion.’’

  I sighed heavily. That conclusion just didn’t feel right. ‘‘So we’re no closer to figuring out who kidnapped Delgado and why, or where they’re being held or where Dutch is.’’

  ‘‘What did your notes say?’’ Cat asked gently.

  I picked up my paper. ‘‘I had Rivers Security,’’ I said, looking down at my notes. I’d discovered a lot about my boyfriend and his business dealings; some of it surprised the hell out of me. ‘‘Rivers Security was established in nineteen ninety-two in Ann Arbor, Michigan, with a small office and one employee....’’

  ‘‘Dutch,’’ Cat said.

  I nodded. ‘‘Yep. It looks like he ran security detail for some of Motown’s celebrities like Aretha Franklin and Bob Seger as well as bigwigs like Lee Iacocca and the Ford family. Those connections led him to open up a branch in Southern California with five employees and they run security for the likes of Leo DiCaprio, Keanu Reeves, and Goldie Hawn.’’

  Candice whistled. ‘‘Dutch has connections.’’

  ‘‘Apparently,’’ I said.

  ‘‘He never told you about this stuff?’’ Cat asked me.

  ‘‘Nope,’’ I said. ‘‘He’s kept his security business on the down-low, but then, that’s Dutch. He’s been trained to keep his mouth shut, which is why he made a great detective and a good agent.’’

  ‘‘What else?’’ Candice said.

  ‘‘The Vegas branch isn’t the newest division of Rivers Security,’’ I said with a frown. ‘‘It looks like Dutch has just secured a license to open up a division in Dubai.’’

  ‘‘The new Vegas,’’ said Cat. ‘‘A playground for the world’s most wealthy. My company is also looking at a few marketing plans for some retailers there. It’s amazing how much money a tiny little country in the center of the Middle East can attract.’’

  ‘‘Yeah, well, I had no idea about any of this,’’ I said, whipping my notes on the tabletop.

  ‘‘Do you think that Dutch was purposely keeping it from you?’’ Candice asked.

  I blew out a sigh. ‘‘No,’’ I admitted. ‘‘I think that like everyone else, with Dutch, I’m on a need-to-know basis.’’

  Candice and Cat exchanged a look. ‘‘The bright side is that Dutch is rich!’’ Cat said suddenly, breaking the heavy mood. ‘‘You should marry him immediately.’’

  That got a laugh out of all three of us, until I said, ‘‘First, I’ve got to find him, Cat. Then I’ll worry about our relationship.’’

  ‘‘What I don’t get,’’ Candice said thoughtfully, ‘‘is why, if Dutch was making such good coin in the security business, would he continue to work a day job making, what, forty grand at best?’’

  ‘‘Forty-five,’’ I said. ‘‘And the truth is that Dutch actually likes his job. I think that the security business was just that—his security. He could count on the extra income when it came time to retire and it allowed him to live comfortably. He isn’t flashy about his money, and he could subcontract out the detail to guards in L.A. and here without a lot of headache or time spent. I think at most he devoted fifteen hours a week to the security business. And Milo was a partner too, so between them they ran it really well.’’

  The three of us fell silent as we thought about all that we’d learned. It was Cat who finally broke the moody silence. ‘‘Now what?’’ she asked us.

  I turned my hands up in an ‘‘I have no idea’’ motion, but Candice had an idea. ‘‘Here’s what I’m thinking,’’ she said. ‘‘What we need is to get back to basics. We know we can’t go near certain people, like Mrs. Delgado and Ricky, but we might be able to get close to one of the other suspects—at least indirectly.’’

  ‘‘Kelton?’’ I said, taking a wild guess.

  ‘‘Yes, but not the mister. I want to talk to the missus, and dig around in her relationship with Delgado a little.’’

  ‘‘You want to interview Mrs. Kelton?’’ Cat said, her expression letting Candice know exactly how dumb she thought the idea was. ‘‘Don’t you think that might be a little like walking into the lion’s den?’’

  ‘‘Not really,’’ Candice said. ‘‘If we’re right about there being some sort of a relationship between Kelton and Robillard via Delgado, then Robillard will be working double time to keep the focus off Kelton and on Dutch and Chase. My guess is that’s the one place we won’t find a single FBI agent.’’

  ‘‘Pretty big risk,’’ I said.

  Candice flashed a confident grin. ‘‘It beats sitting here and doing nothing,’’ she said reasonably.

  I nodded. ‘‘Okay, I’m in.’’

  Cat looked at us both as if we’d grown three heads. ‘‘You two are crazy,’’ she said. ‘‘It’s way too risky!’’

  ‘‘It’s the only way we’re going to prove our theory about the link between Delgado and Kelton,’’ said Candice. ‘‘And if you don’t want to commit, you don’t have to. We need to keep the car out of sight anyway. While Abby and I talk to the missus, you can drive around the block and keep out of sight.’’

  ‘‘And just how do you know that Mrs. Kelton will even talk to you?’’ Cat said, still working to talk us out of the crazy plan. ‘‘I mean, how do you know she won’t just call the police or Robillard the moment you introduce yourselves?’’

  ‘‘Leave it to me,’’ Candice said as she started to gather the papers on the table back into one pile.

  ‘‘A time to worry,’’ Cat muttered.

  My right side felt light and airy, my sign for No kidding.

  Chapter Twelve

  On the way to the Kelton residence, Candice stopped at a small shop just off the Strip called Foxy’s Spy Shop. ‘‘What are we getting in here?’’ I asked as we walked through the door.

  ‘‘Badges,’’ she said quietly. ‘‘But let me do the talking, okay?’’

  ‘‘Sure,’’ I said.

  Cat was back in the car fiddling with the radio and keeping cool with strict instructions to call my cell phone if any black sedans with tinted windows came within fifty feet of the shop.

  ‘‘As I live and breathe,’’ said a beautiful black woman with short-cropped hair, big brown eyes, and red glossy lips when we entered. ‘‘Candy Fusco, is that you?’’

  ‘‘Hey, Foxy,’’ Candice said with a wave.

  ‘‘Get your butt over here, girl, and give me some sugar!’’ demanded Foxy as she came out from behind the counter where she’d been sitting.

  Candice walked to Foxy and got hugged hard enough to crack a rib. ‘‘What’s it been? Ten years?’’

  ‘‘Eleven,’’ said Candice.

  ‘‘You still with that son of a bitch Lenny?’’

  ‘‘Nah, I dumped his ass years ago.’’

  ‘‘So you’re single now?’’ said Foxy, and I noticed a spark of interest in her eyes.

  ‘‘Not exactly,’’ said Candice delicately. ‘‘And I’m still attracted to men, I’m afraid.’’

  Foxy looked disappointed and she wiped a hair out of Candice’s eye. ‘‘One night with me, baby, and I could make you forget about men for good.’’

  ‘‘Foxy,’’ Candice said seriously, ‘‘if I leaned that way, I swear, you’d be the one for me.’’

  Foxy puffed her chest up at the compliment and seemed satisfied. ‘‘And who’s this vision?’’ she said, turning to me.

  ‘‘That’s my business partner, Abby Cooper. Abby, meet Foxy.’’

  ‘‘Lovely to make your
acquaintance,’’ I said formally as I extended my hand.

  ‘‘The pleasure is all mine,’’ said Foxy, eyeing me up and down. ‘‘Mmmmhmm!’’ she said. ‘‘You bitches are gorgeous, you know that?’’

  I could feel myself blushing. ‘‘Er . . . thank you,’’ I said.

  ‘‘And I bet she’s straight too?’’ she said to Candice.

  ‘‘ ’Fraid so,’’ said Candice.

  ‘‘She into a little experimentation?’’ she asked coyly.

  Candice laughed. ‘‘Oh, I doubt it, Foxy, but glad to see you’re still on the prowl.’’

  ‘‘Foxy’s always on the prowl,’’ she said in a voice that ended with a purr. ‘‘So what can Foxy do for you today if not to offer you the delight of her body?’’

  I hid a snicker and gazed around the shop at all the spy equipment lining the shelves. ‘‘We need to do a little detective work,’’ said Candice. ‘‘Of the official variety, if you get my drift.’’

  ‘‘Local or federal?’’ Foxy asked, picking right up on the hint.

  ‘‘Federal.’’

  ‘‘That’s gotten expensive, Candy,’’ Foxy said pensively. ‘‘The fines for impersonating someone of that nature are pretty stiff these days.’’

  ‘‘We’re aware,’’ Candice said casually. ‘‘And we’ve got the coin, so tell us how much.’’

  ‘‘One for each?’’ she said, pointing to both of us.

  ‘‘Please.’’

  ‘‘Come on back.’’ She waved and moved off toward a curtained area. ‘‘We’ll have you set up in about twenty minutes.’’

  * * *

  Closer to an hour later we were back in the car. ‘‘What took you so long?’’ Cat said. ‘‘I was beginning to worry.’’

  ‘‘Foxy likes to flirt,’’ I said, feeling another blush hit my cheeks.

  ‘‘Yeah, but her work is good,’’ Candice said, flashing Cat her new badge.

  ‘‘ ‘FBI, Agent Katrina Barlow,’ ’’ Cat read aloud.

  ‘‘Look at mine!’’ I said excitedly, and I fished out my own badge from my backpack. ‘‘Agent Melanie Milton. Oooo, I like the double Ms.’’

  Candice pulled out from the parking space and moseyed into traffic. Noting the time, which read three fifteen, she said, ‘‘We’ll have to hurry. We still need to hit the mall before we can knock on Kelton’s door.’’

  ‘‘Why are we going to the mall?’’ I asked.

  ‘‘You ever seen two FBI agents on duty in jeans and wrinkled shirts?’’

  ‘‘Good point.’’

  ‘‘I love the mall!’’ Cat said. ‘‘I get to pick out your outfits!’’

  I groaned. ‘‘Cat, we can’t be trying on clothes all day. We’ll need to grab the first blazer-and-slack combo that fits and move on.’’

  Cat clapped her hands happily. ‘‘I am the queen of power shopping. Trust me, I can have you in and out of there in ten minutes.’’

  I was doubtful, but true to her word, Cat did have us out the door in nine minutes flat. ‘‘That was amazing,’’ I said as I looked down at my new gray tweed blazer and matching pants.

  ‘‘Told you so,’’ Cat said happily from the backseat as she dug through a bag of clothes she’d nabbed for us while Candice and I had quickly changed into our suits. Once she’d had our sizes, she went on a shopping spree that resembled something out of a cartoon featuring the Tasmanian devil. ‘‘I got you each two extra changes of clothes. Oh, and nightshirts for everybody. There’s no way I want to sleep in these things again.’’

  Candice concentrated on traffic and I noticed that she kept glancing at the clock on the dashboard. ‘‘Why are we so pressed?’’ I asked.

  ‘‘I want to get to Kelton’s before the end of the work-day,’’ she explained. ‘‘My guess is that the missus is more likely to be home alone between three and five than any other time.’’

  ‘‘How are we going to make sure that mister won’t be home?’’ I said.

  Candice glanced my way. ‘‘We’re going to have to wing it, unless that radar of yours can give us a heads-up.’’

  ‘‘Worth a shot,’’ I said. ‘‘I’ll try and tune in as we get close.’’

  * * *

  Candice drove past the Keltons’ residence and we all craned our necks trying to get a look through the gate to see how many cars—if any—were parked in the driveway. ‘‘Lexus SUV in the front,’’ I said. ‘‘No sign of any other vehicle.’’

  ‘‘What’s your gut say?’’ Candice asked me.

  I focused. ‘‘It says we’re good to go, but we’ll need to hustle.’’

  Candice pulled over at the end of the block and Cat got into the driver’s seat. ‘‘Head over a couple of blocks,’’ Candice told her, ‘‘and don’t come back this way until I call you.’’

  ‘‘What if you don’t call me?’’ Cat asked, her eyes showing her worry.

  ‘‘Then get the hell out of Dodge, Cat,’’ Candice said simply. ‘‘Drive this puppy straight back to Massachusetts.’’

  Cat gulped and pulled away, while Candice and I walked toward the Keltons’ residence. ‘‘So, I’m assuming you’re gonna want to do all the talking again,’’ I said, clipping my fake FBI badge to my waist band like Candice.

  ‘‘Yep,’’ she said. ‘‘You just nod a lot and keep that radar on.’’

  ‘‘Got it.’’

  We stopped at the gate and noticed it wasn’t latched. Candice pushed it open and we went through, all casual-like. ‘‘Let’s hope this works,’’ Candice whispered as we walked up the steps and rang the doorbell.

  ‘‘Coming!’’ we heard someone call from the interior. Then the clicking of high heels on a wood floor approached the door and stopped. There was a pregnant pause as I imagined Mrs. Kelton peeking at us through the spy hole; then the door was opened and a beautiful, tall woman looking to be in her late thirties or early forties with gray eyes and an impossibly perfect face asked, ‘‘Yes?’’

  ‘‘Mrs. Kelton?’’ Candice asked.

  ‘‘Yes, that’s me,’’ she said, and I noticed her eyes darted to the shiny badge at Candice’s waist.

  ‘‘FBI agents Barlow and Milton,’’ Candice said as she pulled her badge from her waist and held it up for Mrs. Kelton to inspect. Mrs. Kelton took a quick glance and stepped back into the foyer. ‘‘Yes, Agent Robillard called just a little while ago and said he’d be stopping by after six, but I expected him in person.’’

  Candice looked at me before frowning at Mrs. Kelton. ‘‘I’m sorry, ma’am, but Agent Robillard had to chase down a new lead. He asked us if we’d like to interview you, but he never mentioned a time. If this is bad, we can come back later.’’

  ‘‘No, no,’’ Mrs. Kelton said. ‘‘You’re already here. Come on in.’’

  ‘‘Thank you, ma’am, we appreciate it,’’ Candice said, and stepped into the front hallway.

  Mrs. Kelton shut the door after I entered, and waved us into the interior. We had to step over some luggage in the front hallway as we followed after Mrs. Kelton. Over her shoulder she said, ‘‘I just got back from visiting my sister in Reno and was getting ready to pour a glass of wine. I don’t suppose you ladies would care for one?’’

  ‘‘We aren’t allowed to drink on duty, ma’am,’’ Candice said as she breezed through the hallway after Mrs. Kelton. I really had to hand it to my partner—she projected confidence in both her voice and her walk.

  We entered a Spanish-style kitchen with green distressed cabinets, bright yellow tiled countertops, and terra-cotta floors. ‘‘Please have a seat,’’ she said, pointing to the two barstools at the island.

  Candice and I took a seat and waited to speak until Mrs. Kelton pulled the cork from the bottle of white wine and poured it into a glass. ‘‘I’m assuming you spoke with Agent Robillard at length?’’ Candice said as she pulled out her notepad.

  ‘‘No,’’ said Mrs. Kelton. ‘‘He was actually quite brief. He asked to speak to my husband and I gave him
Donovan’s cell number, but with the time difference, it’s going to be a few more hours before he turns his phone on.’’

  ‘‘Time difference?’’ Candice asked.

  ‘‘Yes,’’ Mrs. Kelton said, coming over to the other side of the island to sip her wine. ‘‘Donovan’s in Thailand.’’

  Candice and I nodded as if we’d just remembered hearing that. ‘‘And how long exactly has your husband been out of town?’’

  ‘‘About two weeks,’’ she said. ‘‘He left on the eighth and won’t be back until the fifth of November.’’

  ‘‘I see,’’ said Candice, jotting that down. ‘‘And what is he attending to in Thailand?’’

  Mrs. Kelton blushed slightly and tried to cover it by taking a long sip of her wine. ‘‘Business,’’ she said, stroking her neck with her other hand. ‘‘He has several businesses over there.’’

  ‘‘What kind of business?’’ Candice asked.

  Again, Mrs. Kelton blushed. She ran a hand through her frosted-blond hair and said, ‘‘To be honest, Agent Barlow, I’m not sure. My husband and I don’t often discuss his business dealings.’’

  My lie detector went haywire. ‘‘How long have you two been married again?’’ Candice asked, flipping through her notepad as if she already had that answer somewhere.

  ‘‘Twelve years,’’ she said.

  ‘‘Does he travel often to Thailand?’’ Candice probed.

  ‘‘Yes,’’ she said. ‘‘At least once a month.’’

  ‘‘And his business partner, Ricardo Delgado. Does he travel with your husband on occasion?’’

  At the mention of Delgado’s name, Mrs. Kelton turned away from us and moved to the sink, where she rearranged the two plates that were placed there. ‘‘No,’’ she said. ‘‘My husband and Mr. Delgado dissolved their business relationship a few weeks ago. But even before that, they were only partners on a few of their development projects.’’

  ‘‘I see,’’ Candice said. ‘‘And how well do you know Mr. Delgado?’’ Candice said.

  ‘‘We’re acquaintances,’’ she said brusquely. ‘‘Excuse me, Agent Barlow, but what exactly is going on here? I mean, Agent Robillard was very light on the details. Can you please tell me what this is about?’’