Dangerously Dark (26 page)

Maybe. Except... “Declan's business contacts? You didn't mention that earlier.” At least if he had, I didn't remember.

“
That's
the riveting detail you're following up on?”

I nodded, still walking. I didn't really want coffee—especially not weak, hours-old, hospital-cafeteria coffee (I did have
some
gourmet standards of my own), but I needed to move. To think. “How did Carissa take advantage of Declan's business contacts?”

Danny tossed me an impatient look. “The tours were packed full of food service specialists—financiers and publicists . . . even a few franchise consultants. Declan wasn't messing around. He front-loaded Chocolate After Dark with all kinds of players.”

“But why do that? Declan had already financed and publicized Chocolate After Dark. He certainly wasn't ready to expand.” I shook my head. It hadn't occurred to me to wonder why so many people from my own industry had been on the tour—probably because I knew how much foodcentric types like trying new things. The foodies I knew were first in line for novel culinary experiences. “Besides, I met those people, remember? I talked with them. They were in Portland on vacation, not business.”

Even the most high-powered executives like chocolate. There'd been nothing strange about having them on the culinary tour. Fancy-pants types generally wanted the best of everything, and they didn't have time to scout it out for themselves.

“Yeah—a vacation sponsored by Declan Murphy,” Danny agreed with a curt nod. “
Paid for
by Declan Murphy. Lauren told me.”

“But he couldn't afford that,” I protested. I needed to talk to Travis about this. “It would have cost a fortune.”

My security expert shrugged. We reached the medical center's cafeteria and found the coffee. I was too picky to drink it, but Danny had no trouble paying for an inky cup.

We strode to the self-service coffee station. I was lost in thought; Danny was interested in those institutional urns.

“. . . it's a shame about that student,” one of the residents was saying nearby as I waited for Danny to fill his cup. “Janel was one of the best volunteers around here. Always willing to do whatever grunt work was on hand, run samples over to the lab—anything you asked. A hit-and-run is pretty brutal.”

I tuned in immediately, shamelessly eavesdropping. How many
Janels
could there be in Portland? It was an unusual name. I wanted a hint about her medical condition. Instead, I heard . . .

“Yeah. She's in bad shape,” another resident confirmed. I peeked and saw him stirring his coffee. “It's kind of ironic, though. I mean, when I broke my arm last year, I could at least get some practical use out of the experience. But Janel is studying to be an ME. The only way she benefits is if she
dies.
”

The other resident chuckled. I backed up, appalled.

They said people in medical and emergency professions—doctors, firefighters, first responders of any kind—sometimes need to develop a morbid sense of humor to cope with the horrors of their jobs. I was sympathetic to that, but . . . that was rough.

I glanced at Danny. He'd heard that conversation, too.

He raised his eyebrows questioningly, silently asking if I wanted to fabricate an excuse to get closer and eavesdrop some more. That was Danny for you—always willing to lend a hand with the subterfuge. Not every former bad boy was that generous.

I was too preoccupied to respond at first. That's because what the second resident had said was still whirling in my mind.

Janel is studying to be an ME?
A medical examiner.

That explained her laptop and mountains of books. And her need for money. She'd mentioned being broke before—because of student loans? Money troubles would account for Janel's inexpert disguises on the tour. Not to mention her willingness to work at Muddle + Spade. Tomasz might be willing to pay her pretty well, given how much he owed her for keeping Cartorama together.

But it wasn't Janel's lack of funds that concerned me just then. It was something else I remembered. Something Austin had said on the day Declan had died, when he was explaining things.

With the proper protective gear and safety devices, it's fine,
Austin had told me as he'd described the various properties and uses of liquid nitrogen.
Laboratories across the country use it with no problem. Even beginner medical students use it to work with tissue samples and things.

Beginner medical students, I theorized, like Janel.

“I know who killed Declan,” I told Danny. “And I know what happened to Janel, too.”

Then I turned around, pulled out my keys, and headed for the door. If I was right, there was something important I needed to do.

Fifteen

“I was there,” Carissa told me half an hour later, looking somber and harried. “I saw the whole thing. It was . . .
awful.
”

My friend shuddered and went on filling the suitcase she'd been packing. It lay open on her pink floral comforter in the bedroom she occupied at her parents' house, half full of tops, underthings, and toiletries. Her face looked ghostly pale.

Given Carissa's obviously distraught state, it was hard for me not to comfort her. I felt pulled to offer a reassuring word, a hug, a justification—anything that would mean she
hadn't
done what I thought she had: purposely run down Janel with her car.

The stark likelihood of that was bad enough. I tried not to think about it too hard, knowing that what I needed to find out now was
why.
I thought I knew. That's what had brought me there.

Danny didn't agree with my strategy. He stood nearby, broad-shouldered and silent, looking unambiguously menacing while watching my flustered friend pack her suitcase. I knew my security expert thought Carissa's distress was all an act, but I wanted him nearby, anyway. I'd learned the hard way (while in San Francisco) not to veer headlong into a showdown without backup.

In another part of the house—a well-kept multistory dwelling in a suburb of Portland—Carissa's parents were watching television. I could hear the sounds of one of those reality dance competitions playing on the set. Its exuberant music carried upstairs now and then, a surreal parody of normalcy.

Carissa had never moved out from her parents' home. Like many people our age, she hadn't quite gotten launched. Saddled with crushing student loans and a passion for entrepreneurship, Carissa had let her parents finance much of her life so far: Her housing. Her utilities and food. Even her food cart, Churn PDX.

It was because of Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins's generosity that Carissa had a business at Cartorama at all, I'd learned.

I watched Carissa stuff a pair of old wooly boots into her suitcase. They were clearly a comfort item, like sweats or slippers. A security blanket. I expected Carissa needed them.

“It's obvious you're upset,” I said softly, doing my best not to startle her. “Why don't you tell me about it?”

Suspiciously, Carissa glanced at me. I gave her a commiserating look, then pulled out my phone. Sometimes people were more comfortable having a difficult conversation if they weren't 100 percent face-to-face with someone else.

I flicked open an app, then pressed
record.

“Well . . .” Carissa sniffled, then shoved a scarf into her suitcase. She hastily wiped her nose. “It was dark out. Rainy. The streets were all slippery—you know how it is around here.”

I nodded. I needed to get all of this, but I wasn't sure I wanted to hear it. I shot Danny a skittish glance. He nodded.

Carissa inhaled. “I saw Janel, of course. She'd taken off her dumb wig, but I could still see part of it sticking out of her hideous messenger bag. Did you know she got that at a military surplus store? I mean, does she own
anything
decent?”

By “decent,” I assumed she meant “girly.” One look around Carissa's bedroom confirmed that my old friend still loved pink.

“I just got a new bag today,” I confided. “From Zurich.”

My overshare seemed to loosen up Carissa. “I'd love to see it sometime. You'll have to show me.” By rote, she smiled. “Anyway, I saw Janel pedaling along in the bike lane downtown, looking like a hobo, for real, and that's when I—” Carissa broke off, looking ashamed. “You know, I
followed
her.”

“You followed her.” I hoped my recording app was getting this. “You followed Janel while she was riding her bike?”

Carissa rolled her eyes. “If you're going to get all judgmental about this, I'm not even going to bother.”

“I'm not!” I forced a smile. “I just want to make sure I understand. You know I'm here for you, Carissa. Like always.”

Unlike
always, I wanted her to get help.
Serious help.

“I still don't know why you didn't want to rush the sorority,” Carissa mused. “You've got sisterhood down cold.”

I shrugged, going for modesty. Danny looked out the window.

“Yeah, so, anyway, I was following her.” Carissa studied her overflowing suitcase, then frowned. She added some socks. “At first, it was kind of fun. You know, just messing with her.”

I couldn't speak. I was horrified. I managed a nod.

“I kinda revved up my engine behind Janel, crept up a little too close . . . that kind of thing. It was harmless,” Carissa said. “You've got to understand, I wouldn't have been there at all if not for what she did. Janel
made me
act that way. I'm not proud of it, but it's the truth. I
hated
her. I hated her piggy little nose, her stupid T-shirts, her hair and her voice—”

“Okay,” I soothed, holding up my hands. “I get it. But you were justified, right?” I was leading her. Not too overtly, I hoped. “After what Janel had done, what else could you do?”

“Right!” Carissa seemed vindicated. She pushed up her glasses, then strode to her closet to gather some jeans. She dumped them into her suitcase. I couldn't believe I was watching Carissa enact her escape. “I mean, I
saw
Janel that night—the night Declan died. I
saw
her go into my trailer with him.”

“Really?” I felt goose bumps break out on my arms.

“I heard them arguing,” Carissa continued. “It was really intense—like, they were shouting and throwing things. I wouldn't have been surprised if Janel punched Declan. She's crazy.”

Danny appeared to have tuned back into Carissa's story.

I transferred my gaze from my protection expert to Carissa.

I nodded, trying to keep her talking. “Totally. What did you do?” I asked. I hoped I didn't sound as appalled as I felt.

“Well, I was
going
to go in there,” Carissa confided in a stalwart tone. “I mean, the only reason I was there in the first place was to call off the wedding and break up with Declan, like I told you. But I didn't want my final act in our relationship to be
me,
fighting over him with
Janel,
of all people. Are you kidding? She's not even worthy of that. Maybe Lauren, but—”

I tried to keep her on track. “So you didn't go in?”

“No, I turned around. The cart pod was closed for the night by then, so nobody saw me, thank God.” Carissa grabbed some jewelry to take with her. “I would have
died
of embarrassment.”

I noticed Danny's mouth tighten. He was losing patience.

“So then what happened?” I asked, still recording (I hoped) on my phone. I wanted proof to bring to the police. Because if Janel died because of Carissa's “messing around” with her on those dark, slippery streets, that needed to be dealt with.

“But I didn't get away fast enough, because that's when I heard Janel.” Carissa paused for dramatic effect. I had to hand it to her—she seemed undaunted by her own horrific acts. “‘I'd rather see you
die
than married to Carissa!' she said.” My friend flailed her arms. “
That's
what Janel screamed at Declan.”

“That's a direct threat,” I observed. “It's evidence.”

“It sure is.” Carissa nodded. “
And
it's proof that
I
won, after all. I was in Janel's head, see? She didn't beat me.”

Hmm. That was disturbing, too. “And then?”

“Then I left.” Carissa shrugged. “I'm assuming that's when Janel clobbered Declan over the head, broke the safety valve on the liquid nitrogen tanks, and left him for dead. I never dreamed she'd go through with her threat! But she's weirdly strong, you know. For a woman, Janel packs a wallop. I think it's because Tomasz took pity on her and hired her at the bar to work the roaster and haul around all those boxes for him.”

I couldn't believe how casually Carissa was discussing all this. “I can't believe the way you've dealt with all this.”

That much was true, at least, if awfully gruesome.

She busied herself trying to shut her crammed-full getaway suitcase. I knew either Danny or I would have to stop Carissa from leaving town somehow. It was a good thing he was there.

“It's been really hard for me,” Carissa confided. “But I felt better about everything after today. You know, after that talk we had? It really helped. It made me realize that doing
anything
in Declan's memory was a waste of time. Why should I alter my life for that scumbag?” She finally shut her suitcase, looking somewhat perkier. “That's what made me decide to quit—”

The Chocolate After Dark tour,
I expected to hear next. That would have explained what Carissa had told me so far. What she had texted me earlier, about canceling the chocolate tour.

You know, that
and
her pressing need to go on the lam.

“—following Janel,” Carissa continued. “It wasn't worth it.”

I blinked, disconcerted. “
Quit
following Janel?”

But didn't she mean
run over Janel?
That's why Danny and I had hurried there. To get to Carissa before she left town.

I could picture the scene. The gloomy night, the rainy streets, and lonely, frumpy Janel, pedaling along . . . unaware that Carissa was right behind her with her hate-filled face shrouded in darkness, gunning her car's engine, getting ready to strike.

Carissa had hit-and-run Janel as revenge for Janel killing Declan, of course. That's what I'd told Danny on the way from the hospital. Janel had murdered Declan because he didn't want to be with her. Then she'd returned to the scene of her crime later to remove the evidence: the industrial plastic wrap on the single intake register of the trailer's ventilation system.

I figured Carissa wasn't the only one who'd noticed Declan having assignations in there. If Janel had “accidentally” caused Lauren to suffocate to death, too, well . . . so much the better, from her perspective. Same if she'd asphyxiated Carissa, instead.

Austin had covered Janel's tracks without even knowing it, because he'd been so eager to fix the broken safety valve for Carissa. Everyone else had ignored Janel. No one had been the wiser about her murderous scheme except me, Danny . . . and Carissa.

Carissa had found out, I'd reasoned, because of Janel. Because Janel had known how much Carissa hated her. Her flying-middle-finger salute at Declan's funeral told me that. Janel hadn't been able to resist taunting her rival by showing up for every single day of Declan's tour as one of Declan's Dozen.

While stalking him, Janel would have found out about all of the women “slutty” Declan had been with. After having been alerted to the possibility of Declan's infidelity when Austin started to get “nervous” around her, Carissa would have, too.

Carissa would have recognized the redhead, the brunette, and the blonde—the caramel lover, the fake Brit, and the fuchsia-lip-gloss wearer. They were all replicas, I was willing to bet, of women Declan had slept with behind Carissa's back.

I'm not dumb, you know,
Carissa had told me earlier, with uncanny coolness.
I found out about all the women eventually.

Those words had led me here tonight. Because the only reason Carissa could have been so easygoing about Janel's taunting was if she'd planned to get revenge. Say, in a hit-and-run accident on a slick, shadowy Portland street. It happened all too often, despite the city's “share the road” initiatives.

Carissa's story about the night Declan had died had only solidified my hunch about things. Although we hadn't known about that encounter until now, Janel's argument with Declan fit. So did her ability to knock him unconscious, rendering him less able to fight. Danny and I had seen for ourselves how strong Janel was. She could have murdered Declan. I believed she had.

Despite my inexpert sleuthing,
I
hadn't brought down Declan's killer. Carissa had. Literally, as it turned out.

Either way, Janel wouldn't be hurting anyone else—not now that she was in intensive care. That's what mattered. Everyone at Cartorama would be safe. Because even if Janel recovered, we had proof now of what she'd done to Declan. Along with that incriminating scrap of plastic wrap (which probably had Janel's fingerprints all over it), Carissa's eyewitness account had already been recorded on my phone to give to the authorities later.

It might be tricky to get Carissa to stay put and testify, of course. Especially if she'd suddenly wised up and realized she was implicating herself in Janel's accident by talking to me and Danny. I didn't know the legalities. I assumed that's why Carissa was suddenly pretending to have quit following Janel.

“Yes, quit following her,” my friend confirmed, looking slightly confused at my question. “I quit following Janel just like I quit helping with Declan's tour. I'd already gotten all I needed out of the tour by then. As far as Janel was concerned—well, I guess she got what was coming to her without me, and way worse, too.” Carissa smirked and hoisted her suitcase.

I stood by, feeling hopelessly bewildered.

“Janel ‘got what was coming to her'?” I repeated.

“Yeah, when that MINI Cooper ran into her. I saw the whole thing, since I was still right behind her. I'd given up on messing with her, but there was too much traffic to leave.”