A.R. Winters - Valerie Inkerman 01 - Don't Be a Stranger (14 page)

The next morning, I felt ready to throw in the towel. I hadn’t managed to get Carly on the phone yet, but I was sure Edgar had been at the party. I was sure I’d seen him – he looked so familiar.

When I came into the kitchen to get my cereal, Jerry said, “Maybe that gun Edgar pointed at us was the murder weapon.”

“Don’t you have an audition?”

“Yeah, I’ve got one this afternoon.”

“Ok, then stick to acting. Your brilliant plan scared Edgar off.”

“It did not. We got proof that he has a gun. Trigger-happy, much? And he was ready to shoot, too. He wasn’t joking about that.”

I shook my head. “Even if that gun’s the murder weapon, now what? How do we prove it?”

“Maybe we can break into his house and look for some evidence. He’ll be at work now.”

“Sure. And then we can get ourselves arrested for burglary and I can be stripped of my PI license.”

Jerry made a face, but he let me finish my cereal in silence.

Once I’d rinsed my bowl out, I grabbed the phone. “I’m going to try Ruth again,” I announced to Jerry. “Who knows, maybe I’ll think of something to say.”

Ruth answered on the second ring, like the world’s most efficient secretary. “Edgar Martinez’s office. This is Ruth.”

I affected a girly, flirtatious voice. “Oh, hi there Ruth. Is Edgar in?”

“Who’s this?”

“This is Marla. Edgar gave me his number last night and said to call him.”

“Hang on.” There was a brief chord or two of chamber music, and then Ruth came on again, her voice stern. “He says he doesn’t know any Marla.”

“Oh, no, I–”

She hung up with a click, and I scowled.

Behind me, Jerry laughed. “Like your ideas are so much better than mine. Though I do like that sexy Marla voice, you should do it more often.”

“Ok,” I said. “You try.”

“I’m not really very good at sexy Marla voices.”

I stuck out my tongue, and handed him the phone.

Jerry hit redial and pressed the phone against his ear. After a few seconds, he said, with a thick French accent, “Bonjour, Ruth. I am Jean-Pierre. Would it bee possible to speak with Mr. Martinez, sil v’ous plait? We met at ze business lounge at JFK a few months ago, I theenk he will remember me.”

I rolled my eyes. Jerry’s French accent was as bad as his Italian.

I expected Ruth to hang up on him immediately, but five seconds later, Jerry said, “’Aloo, Mr. Mahtinez? Pliss hold.”

Jerry shoved the phone into my hands, his eyes wide and crazed.

“What do I say?” I hissed at him.

“I don’t know,” he whispered loudly, “Just say something!”

“Er, Hello,” I said. “Mr. Martinez?”

“Who is this? I knew there was no Jean-Pierre!”

“I’m really sorry, please don’t hang up. This is Valerie, the PI? Please don’t hang up, please don’t hang up, please don’t hang up.”

I held my breath, half-expecting him to hang up.

A few seconds later, he said, “What do you want?”

My body sagged with relief. “I just want five minutes. Please. I know there’s something going on…”

“I’m a busy man.”

“I’ll come to your office, or your house. It’s just five minutes.”

There was another pause and then Edgar said, “Ok. Five minutes.”

“Thank you! Thankyouthankyou.”

“Nine o’clock tonight, my office.”

He hung up, and Jerry and I stared at each other.

This was incredible and unexpected.

“It worked!” I said finally. “Your stupid French accent worked!”

“What deeed I teelll you?” Jerry said. “Ai have dee really good, really very nice and good accent, no?”

I fished my gun out of the “tampons” box, loaded it and stuffed it into my handbag before we drove off to see Edgar Martinez.

“What’s the plan?” Jerry asked after he parked the car.

A vintage Ferrari Spider was the only other car in the lot. The empty parking spaces gave me the chills – it only took thirty seconds to walk over to the elevator, and the lot was well-lit, but the place was still empty and large and our footsteps echoed creepily.

“I don’t have a plan,” I said. “I’ll try to ask him about Esme and the party and then maybe I’ll say that I know it’s his gun.”

“And what if he pulls a gun on us again? I don’t want to be his next victim.”

“That’s ok.” I tried to sound reassuring, but the truth was, I was worried about the same thing. “I’ve got my gun with me. And I go to the range every week, so I’m a decent shot – you don’t need to worry.”

We took the elevator up and walked over to Edgar’s office. The glass door was locked, but there was a big red button next to it that looked pressable.

Five seconds after pressing it, Edgar walked over to the door and opened it for us.

“There’s no-one else here,” he said. “So I like to lock up for security purposes.”

“I see.” Jerry and I walked behind him to his office, our feet sinking into the plush carpeting. There were cubicles to our right, and a few potted rubber plants placed beside the walls. “Do you have lots of security concerns?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

Edgar opened a door, and I was disappointed to see that it was a small conference room, not his office.

“We can talk here,” he said. “After all, you said it’s only five minutes.”

I glanced around the sparsely furnished room – the walls were bare, with a table and eight chairs.

I took a seat and said, “We appreciate you meeting us.”

Edgar glanced at his watch. “You have five minutes. And then I have to leave.”

“Ok.” I nodded, and took a deep breath. “What do you know about Esme?”

Edgar shrugged. “She seemed like a nice girl. I didn’t really know her all that well.”

“Really?” I said. “Because Esme’s best friend Stephanie told me that you were dating her.”

Edgar stiffened. “I wouldn’t say we were dating.”

“But you were seeing her. You were sleeping together, and you had feelings for each other.”

He looked down and shook his head. I waited for him to say something, but he didn’t. I realized suddenly that the emotion I saw on his face was sorrow.

“This must be a difficult time,” I said softly. “You’re mourning her. But you can’t do so openly, because nobody else knows.”

Edgar looked at me. “I can’t – I can’t discuss our relationship. What else did you want to know?”

“Why can’t you discuss your relationship?”

“Because it has nothing to do with you and it has nothing to do with her death.”

“But you were nearby when it happened, weren’t you? You were at Carly’s party.”

“So what if I was?”

Jerry and I glanced at each other. I said slowly, “You don’t want to admit you and Esme were dating. But I have friends tell me that you were. And you were at the party that night. What happened between you and Esme? Did you have a fight? Did she threaten to leave you?”

Edgar stood up. “I don’t think this conversation is going to benefit either of us.”

He was about to walk out when a loud buzzer sounded.

“That’s the door,” he said. “Excuse me.”

Jerry and I sat there and watched him leave the room. His footsteps grew softer, and then I heard him talking to someone. A woman’s voice responded, and then she laughed; a light, tinkling sound.

I heard two pairs of footsteps walking back toward us. Edgar opened the door, and Jerry and I looked up.

“Valerie,” said Edgar. “This is my fiancée, Mellissa Bosley.”

Jerry and I stared at Mellie in shock, as Edgar introduced us to her.

“Oh, I know Valerie.” Mellie turned to me. “Imagine running into
you
here! I thought you didn’t know my Eddie-pie.”

I glanced at Eddie, who showed no reaction at the puke-inducing endearment.

“Yeah,” I said. “Good seeing you again.”

“Valerie and her partner were just leaving,” Edgar said.

Jerry and I stood up, and I gave Edgar a look that I hoped said, “This isn’t over.”

“Oh, I’ll walk them out,” said Mellie to Edgar. “That’ll give you a few minutes to pack up.”

“Thanks.”

Mellie leaned in for a brief kiss, and then turned to us again with a polite smile.

The ride down in the elevator was agonizingly slow.

None of us said anything, but thoughts churned through my mind rapidly. So this was Mellie’s fiancé. And Mellie’s fiancé and Esme’s boyfriend were the same person. I thought back to the sequence of events, trying to fit Mellie into the picture, and when we stepped out into the parking lot, Mellie said, “Is that old blue one your car?”

There were only two other cars in the lot – Edgar’s vintage Ferrari, parked near the elevator and Mellie’s shiny silver Mercedes, parked a few spots away. So clearly the ugly blue Volvo was ours.

“No,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I don’t know whose car that is. Jerry and I are going to fly home on a magic unicorn.”

“Oh, you’re so funny, Val,” Mellie trilled. “How do you know my Eddie-pie?”

How did I know Eddie? I would’ve known him through Mellie, but instead, I knew him through Esme. And Esme and Eddie had to keep their relationship a secret because of Mellie… Mellie, who’d been at the party. Mellie, who had no reason to want Esme around. Who knew all about my investigations into this case.

The thoughts jumbled through my mind quickly, my brain filtering through them before I could arrange them logically.

I froze in place and turned to look at her. “It was you, wasn’t it?”

Mellie looked at me, confused. “What’re you talking about?”

“You killed Esme.”

“You’re crazy. I liked Esme – she was so friendly!”

“Yeah. Too friendly,” I said. I wasn’t really sure about this, but I watched Mellie’s eyes narrow and knew that at last I was onto something.

Jerry stared at Mellie. His mouth was half-open, and he looked like a gold-fish.

“Val’s right,” he said slowly. “It
was
you. Val told you all about her work, and it was you! Sending us all those creepy threats.”

Mellie shook her head. “Don’t be silly.”

“I’m not being silly,” I said. “Esme and your Eddie-pie were a thing. He wanted to break off your engagement.”

Mellie scoffed. “Eddie would never do such a thing.”

Jerry crossed his arms. “Really? Because that’s not what he told us.”

Mellie looked at us in surprise. “Why – what – I don’t–”

“You figured if you killed her,” said Jerry, “Eddie wouldn’t leave you.”

“Eddie wouldn’t leave me anyway,” Mellie said. “He loves me.”

“No, he doesn’t. And you know what – I figure you stole Esme’s cellphone after killing her. It probably had logs of you calling her. And it probably had texts between her and Eddie, about you.”

“Huh,” Jerry said slowly. “You know Mellie, I’ll bet you’ve got that cell phone at home.”

Mellie smiled at us and tossed her hair back. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Ok,” I said. “I guess you smashed up the cellphone to make sure it couldn’t be traced. But that’s not the only evidence damning you. Once I pass this on to the NYPD and they get a warrant to search your house, they’ll find your gun. The one that killed Esme.”

Mellie looked from me to Jerry and then back at me again. “That’s ridiculous,” she repeated slowly. “You don’t know anything.”

“Hey,” I said, “Now that I think about it, they don’t even need the gun. They can just grab your fingerprints. I’m sure they’ll match with the prints found in that room.”

Mellie gulped. She said softly, “There were no prints.”

Jerry and I exchanged a triumphant glance.

“That’s what you think,” I said.

Mellie looked at us steadily, and then she slipped her hand into her bag and pulled out a small gun. The barrel was pointed at me.

I tried to say something, but the words froze in my throat. I took a slow step backward. “What’re you…?”

“I thought I could trust you, Val. But I can’t. I love Eddie and I’m not about to lose him,”
Mellie said.

From behind me, Jerry yelled, “Run!”

I turned in time to see him running toward Mellie’s Mercedes. A shot rang out. I wasted no time in following Jerry, though I wasn’t too sure there was any point. Mellie could just corner us and kill us. I heard another shot, but once again, it missed.

“Your gun!” Jerry yelled, from somewhere nearby.

We reached Mellie’s car and ran to the other side. There was a loud
crack
and I realized that a bullet had hit the car.

Jerry and I crouched down behind the car. I dug into my purse for my gun. My fingers wrapped around the barrel, and I pulled it out just in time to see Mellie come around the car.

“I hit my car,” she said. “It’s all your fault.”

“I’m a better shot,” I told her, pointing my gun at her. “I practice every week.”

“Yeah,” Mellie said. “But I have more reason to kill you.”

From behind her, a man’s deep voice said, “Nobody’s killing anybody.”

I looked up and Mellie half-twisted and looked back.

This was my chance. In one motion, I dropped my gun, stood up and leaped forward. I landed squarely with my arms around Mellie’s shoulders, and pushed her to the ground. She fell down with me on top of her, her right arm stretched out, gun still in her grip.

Eddie walked forward and pried the gun out of her fingers.

Despite my heavy breathing, I could hear Mellie sobbing softly. “I’m sorry Eddie,” she said, “But I did it for us. I had to. She would’ve ripped us apart.”

“No, Mellie,” said Eddie. “
You
ripped us apart.”