Cover Shot (A Headlines in High Heels Mystery Book 5) (22 page)

31.

Scratching the surface

I
smiled and waved at Jeff, who was chatting with a tall man in an expensive suit, and ran for the elevators before he could ask where I was going or when I wanted to get coffee.

I knew Elizabeth was Maynard’s neighbor, but upstairs, I found a choice of three doors. I crossed my fingers and picked the middle one. No answer.

I tried the one on the left. Light footsteps stopped on the other side of the door. I smiled at whoever was looking out the peephole.

After a long minute, the latch slid back and the door swung open.

“What do you want?”

It was Mrs. Eason—but the sweet old lady act she’d given Jeff was nowhere in sight, the face in front of me shrewd and suspicious.

I took an involuntary step backward. So much for surprise. Or creating a comradeship. Her expression said she’d just as soon spit on me as tell me what time it was.

Regroup. Parker. What would Captain Charisma do? Pasting on a bright smile, I stepped forward and put out a hand. “I’m Nichelle. I was hoping we could talk.”

“You’re Bob’s golden girl. Why the hell should I want to talk to you? That bastard made the last few years of my career miserable and then fixed it so I couldn’t get work covering sand beetles in Timbuktu.”

My temper bubbled. Deep breath. My job today wasn’t to defend Bob. It was to make her talk.

“It looks like things have worked out pretty well.” I waved a hand to the luxe surroundings, keeping the smile and the sugary tone.

“No thanks to the
Telegraph
.”

“Really? The press pass into society events isn’t part of what got you here? Just between us girls of course.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What do you want?”

I returned the stare. She might not be the nicest person I’d ever met, but she wasn’t stupid. And she knew the business. So what was in this for her?

If Maynard was really her friend, seeing justice done might get me in.

I let my face fall, leaning forward with a conspiratorial tone and a glance in the direction of the crime scene tape still hanging from Maynard’s door. “Honestly? The cops have squat, and it’s been more than a week. I’ve been around crime and courts long enough to know every day that goes by lessens the chance they’ll catch whoever did this.” I left a long pause, looking around the hallway. “Which means whoever it was will still be around.” A bit of fear for personal safety didn’t hurt.

Her eyes widened as she took a long look up and down the hallway. She clamped a hand around my wrist and yanked me into her apartment, shutting the door and slamming two locks home behind us before she turned to me.

Recovering my balance, I rubbed my wrist. She was strong for such a little thing. It was hard to see through the layers of designer clothes, but I had a feeling the figure I’d written off as frail was more wiry. Interesting.

She waved to the long white sofa and I took a seat. Perching on the mahogany and horsehair wing chair across from me, she twisted her legs around each other like a length of rope. I stared a bit longer than I should’ve, fascinated at the way they wound around. There’s thin, and then there’s circus-y.

“I worked crime at my first job,” she said. “Three-stoplight town in Northern Maryland. The cops didn’t ever seem to know much about what was going on—there was one murder while I was there, and they let the guy get away. It sounds like the big city guys aren’t much smarter. I don’t give one damn about helping Bob Jeffers, and I’ll throw a party the day the newspaper goes under—but I can’t sit by while David’s killer walks free.”

“My cops are generally pretty smart guys, but this has them stumped. Have you spoken to them?”

“Of course. I told them everything I could think to tell them about David. He never talked much about his work, but I gave them lists of people he knew. People who might have been jealous.”

“You don’t happen to still have a copy of those lists?”

“Sure. I can print it for you. Most of the names are probably searchable in the newspaper’s society archives. Though I understand they did away with the section altogether when I left.”

“They rolled it into Lifestyles and Features. Cutbacks are such fun. But I’ll ask around. Thanks.”

“So what else can I tell you?”

No forced entry.

“Who had a key to Dr. Maynard’s condo?”

She didn’t flinch. “I do. I think his assistant did. And the building management has a key to everyone’s door.”

Hmm. Didn’t Kyle say the assistant had a fit about them searching the office?

“Did he have a habit of leaving the door unlocked?”

“Nope.”

“Friends? Did he see other doctors socially?”

“Of course. They see each other outside work just like reporters do.”

What if he’d told someone else in the field what he was working on? “Anyone he might have confided in?”

“There were four of them who went for drinks and poker every Thursday night. David, Dr. Shoyner, Dr. Reyes, and Dr. Vine.”

I jotted the names down. Worth checking into.

“You said he didn’t talk about his work much?”

“I found it horrifyingly depressing.” Her tone was so dismissive it set my teeth on edge.

Not that he didn’t talk about it. That she didn’t want to hear about it.

I nodded, tapping my pen over top of the names of his doctor friends. It was something I hadn’t had when I walked in here. That plus the assistant could equal time well spent.

Hauling in a deep breath and blowing it out slowly, I stood. “Thanks so much for your time, Mrs. Eason. My condolences for your loss.”

She nodded. “You don’t want to know anything else?”

“Is there something else I should know?”

“He was paranoid about someone stealing his research. Became obsessed with computer security in the past three months.”

“Why did he think someone would want to steal his research?”

“To corrupt it, he said. He was a fine man. Brilliant doctor. But a bit crazy.”

“Since he ended up dead, I’m not so sure I’d rush to that particular judgement.” I checked the clock on the mantle and turned for the door.

It was ten after five, and I had an appointment to keep.

I pulled into the back lot at Cary Court at five twenty-eight, wondering if I was brilliant or stupid for showing up. On one hand, whoever my mystery caller was, they knew something because they’d used Maynard’s name. On the other…parking lot meetings with mysterious sources haven’t exactly gone well for me in the past.

My hand drifted to the back of my skull and I sucked in a deep breath, backing the car into a space and locking the doors, leaving the engine running. I wouldn’t make the mistake of getting out this time. And it was still daylight, though fading fast, but there were plenty of people in the shopping center just a few feet away.

I scanned the lot, not finding an occupied car, and fixed my gaze on the entrance.

Nineteen minutes later, I tried the number.

Out of service.

I double-checked it and dialed one more time.

Same recording.

Putting the car in gear and rolling out of the lot, I peered inside every vehicle I passed.

Nothing.

Curiouser and curiouser.

The last rays of sun disappeared over the western horizon as I turned onto my street, still wondering what could’ve gone wrong. I’d texted Aaron, who said he’d run the number but guessed it was a TracFone (and what the hell was I doing meeting strange men in parking lots?), and that no, he had no new dead bodies or missing people.

Which left me shaking my head as I turned into the driveway, my headlights glinting off the shiny bumper of the black Lincoln parked by the fence.

My face split into a grin, the day’s tension ebbing as I stepped out of the car and heard Darcy yipping and Joey laughing in the backyard.

“Sounds like all the fun is back here,” I said, stepping through the gate.

Darcy didn’t even look at me, her attention honed on the raggedy squirrel in Joey’s hand. He tossed it and she took off, kicking up dirt on her way to the far corner of the yard.

He smiled and walked toward me. “Long day, baby?”

I nodded, stepping into his arms. “There’s so much to sort out. Aaron is banging his head against a wall. Hell, even Kyle can’t make heads or tails of this. But I’m going to talk to them first thing in the morning. I got a huge lead today, but I want to keep it quiet until I see what Larry can do with it.”

I cast my eyes at my shoes, biting down on the events of the past half-hour because they were probably nothing, yet I knew he would flip. I didn’t want to fight. I wanted to have fun. Hopefully my tipster was a well-intentioned intern or something who just forgot to pay his phone bill, and Aaron would turn him up when he ran the number.

“Does this mean you’re going to be working all night again?” Joey dropped small kisses up the side of my neck between the words, pulling back to show me an exaggerated pout on his already full lips. I smiled.

It’d probably be easier to find Maynard’s assistant and friends during business hours, anyway. And I wanted a sharpened photo to take to my cops.

“Larry might be, but I’m off for a few hours.” I reached behind his head and pulled his face down to mine. “Can you think of a fun way to spend them?”

He kissed me, his hands moving under my shirt and up my back.

“I think I can.” He pulled back a millimeter and turned his lips up in my favorite sexy smile. Kyle picked that moment to bop through my thoughts talking about rock climbing.

I took a small step back, allowing a puff of air between our bodies, and smiled up at Joey. “Me too. And we have plenty of time. But you know, I was thinking: we don’t go out. What kinds of stuff do you like to do?”

He tightened his arms around me and lowered his mouth to mine again, tracing the bow of my top lip with his tongue. “I think you have a good bead on my favorite thing to do.” He murmured against my skin, moving his kisses to my earlobe.

I rustled all the self-control I’d ever thought about having and wriggled my arms between us, put both hands on his chest, and pushed gently. “I’m serious.”

He stepped back, his dark eyes confused. “As am I.”

I ran a light touch over the muscles in his arms and shoulders. “It’s obvious to casual passersby that you’re in great shape. I like running and kickboxing. What do you like to do? That doesn’t involve a bed.”

“Doesn’t have to involve a bed. Counter, table, rug…”

I rolled my eyes. “How far are we into…whatever we’re doing? Months? And I don’t know much about you.” His eyes popped wide and I raised one hand. “Not what I mean. Not work. Fun. Tell me a hobby. I want to do things with you. Besides food and sex.”

“We’ve never done food with sex.”

“Joey.” I drew the syllables out and added an edge.

He raised both hands in mock surrender. “Okay. Serious business. You want a date.”

“A fun one.”

“Are you saying the others have been less than fun?”

“No. But I want to do something. Rock climbing?”

He wrinkled his nose. “I’ve never understood the point of going up a plastic wall so you can drop right back down.”

“The point is to have fun.”

“But wouldn’t it be more fun to get somewhere climbing?”

I shrugged. “I’ve never been, so I can’t say.”

“I think it would.” He slung an arm around my shoulders.

“Well then, what does sound like fun?” I turned for the house.

He planted a kiss on my head and whistled for the dog, who had abandoned her game of fetch to dig in the small garden I didn’t really use in the back corner of the yard.

“Anything I do with you.”

“Oh, good. We’re on the same page.”

I kicked my shoes under the coffee table and opened my laptop, searching “fun dates in Richmond” while Joey browsed my wine rack.

He put a glass of red on the table next to me as I clicked to the website for a go kart racetrack. He loved his car, and I knew he was good at driving fast.

“How about go kart racing?”

“Like a real live Mario Kart?” He sat next to me, his thigh pressing against mine as he sipped his wine and looked over my shoulder. “That could be cool.”

“Done. Let’s go.” I slammed the laptop, shoved my feet back into my canary Nicholas Kirkwoods and jumped up, ignoring the protest from my still-sore toe.

“Right now?”

“Why not? Seize the day.”

He laughed and put his glass on the table. “Your enthusiasm is contagious. Why not, indeed.”

I led him to the car and waved him to the passenger seat. “I haven’t checked the mail in days. I’m going to grab it and we’ll go.”

Opening the box, I pulled out a stack of sale flyers, three catalogs, five bills, and a large, flat manila envelope.

With no writing on it. And no stamp.

I fumbled at the tab on the back with clumsy fingers, reaching inside to find a photo and a slip of paper.

Bills and catalogs scattered around my feet.

My mom, leaving her shop. Shot with a short lens, from the wide angle that fattened the doorway.

A square of plain white paper lay across it, BACK OFF etched into it in black ink.

I studied the picture. Recent, because she’d told me Sunday she got a haircut last week.

My throat closed, my heart taking off like a greyhound with a bead on Thumper.

I heard a door slam, then running footfalls, managing to catch my breath as Joey snatched the papers from my hand.

He looked from the photo to the note to my ghost-white face, folding his arms around me and glancing up and down the street.

“Come on,” he said. “Whatever this is about, the safest place for you to be right now is away from here.”

Settling me in the passenger seat, he tossed the envelope and its contents in the back and squealed the tires pulling out of the driveway. I fumbled for my phone and texted my mom. A call would scare her—she’d hear the panic in my voice and freak out, and I couldn’t have that.

You there?

Bing.
Hey, baby.

Thank God.
I need you to do me a favor.

Bing.
Anything
.

I checked the clock. Just after five in Dallas.
Call Kevin and tell him to come get you, and go away somewhere. To Austin or San Antonio. Just for a couple days.

Pause, pause, cringe. Bing.
WHAT? Why? Nicey, are you in some kind of trouble?

Deep breath.
I’m safe. J is here. But please—trust me. Just go. Think of it as a spontaneous mini vacation. But go.

Pause. Tick tock. Bing.
All right. Promise you’re safe?

Promise. You swear you’ll go?

Packing now. Love you.

Love you more.

Joey was silent ’til I put the phone down, turning to me when he stopped at the corner of Monument and Thompson. “Now. Let’s hear about this lead you got today, huh?”

I told him the whole story as he drove, his hands tightening on the wheel every few words until his knuckles had sailed past white to in-danger-of-splitting-open.

“And that’s where you come in,” I said. “I hope.”

“Care to explain?”

Deep breath. “I need a favor. Kinda hoping you have a friend that can get me a shot at pulling off a minor miracle.”

“Anything to get you out of this, so I’d say your shot is decent.”

“This guy, the one who took the picture. He’s an immigrant. With an expired visa and a deportation date.”

“Damn.” He laced his fingers with mine.

“You know anyone who knows anyone at the INS?” Another stolen glance. The shock and anger had been replaced by concentration. He drummed the fingers of one hand on the wheel and swiped sparks across my knuckles with the other.

“I might. I’m not sure what I can do, but let me look into it.”

I squeezed his hand. “Thank you.”

He turned into the parking lot at the go kart track, meeting my quizzical eyes with a determined stare.

“You said you wanted to go out. We’re going out. I will make some calls about your refugee family, and I can help protect your mother, too. But for right this second, my focus is to get your mind off work.” He pulled me close and buried his face in my hair. “And don’t think for three seconds I’m letting you out of my sight until someone goes to jail. Meeting anonymous sources with no background. How do you manage to get yourself into this shit?”

I pulled away and forced a smile that was brighter than I felt. I’d be damned if these people were going to scare me off the trail. I’d call Aaron first thing, but for tonight, I was safe with Joey. And Aaron needed a break—possibly even more than I did.

“Natural talent,” I said. “C’mon. I’m going to kick your ass at driving.”

He laughed as he kicked the door open. “Bring it.”