Death By High Heels (The Kim Murphy PI Series Book 1) (21 page)

At the moment there wasn’t much I could do. Brian and Adam were dead. I feared with Angie and Sara missing it was only a matter of time before their bodies showed up. This whole thing was connected but so far I couldn’t find out how. All I had was a lawyer, mutual friends, and a couple of pictures.

The phone rang and, stupid me, I answered it without checking the caller ID.

“Kim, thank goodness, I’ve been trying to get ahold of you. I stopped by your office this afternoon. What the heck happened?”

“Lindsay, there was a fire. What did you need?”

“I was hoping you had learned something helpful. I really need to get back to my life. This mess is so draining.”

Yeah, I’d bet. I filled her in without telling her every detail. There were some things I just didn’t feel like explaining. She was polite, for once, and didn’t ask questions until I was done.

“Wow, you’ve actually learned quite a bit.”

Not really, but I certainly wasn’t going to bring that to her attention. “I’ve learned some but I’m not finished.”

“All of this just proves it has nothing to do with me. I wouldn’t be associated with these people. The police will have to leave me alone and find the real killer. Thank you, Kim.”

“Yes, the real killer is still out there and…”

“That certainly isn’t my problem. That’s for the police to handle. Just send me a receipt and a check for the difference.”

“Lindsay, this isn’t over, not yet.”

“It is for me. I have to go. We’ll talk soon. Bye.”

Lindsay was clueless. Even if there was proof she didn’t kill Brian, she was still, somehow, connected. Brian was murdered in her apartment, an apartment that had been searched several times. Hell, for all anyone knew, the clues were still hidden inside her place.

Her apartment was just sitting there, empty. The cleaning company I had called wouldn’t be available until Monday morning. The police tape was gone. There was no reason why I couldn’t just go over and take a quick look around. I thought about it, for about a second, then went and got the key Lindsay had given me.

I hurried over before I could talk myself out of it. I went inside and made sure to lock the door behind me. It was daylight but I still felt my pulse race, and not in a good way. The last two times I’d been in here had not been pleasant experiences. It looked as bad as I remembered. Even worse now thanks to the addition of fingerprint dust everywhere.

Now all I had to figure out was where to start. Since the downstairs had been annihilated, I chose to start upstairs. It felt weird at first, searching through Lindsay’s things. It was obvious whoever broke in never made it upstairs. The place was spotless and everything seemed to be in its place. This was good. Maybe whatever they had been looking for was still here. The problem was I probably wouldn’t recognize what it was they wanted. Not unless it was a bloody knife, a loaded gun, drugs, or diamonds, something that screamed,
Look at me, I’m it
.

The last room I searched was Lindsay’s bedroom. I pulled a photo box out from under her bed. Expecting to see pictures, I gasped when I found a bunch of sex toys instead. I put the lid back on and put it back under the bed. Even though I didn’t touch anything inside the box I rushed into the bathroom and scrubbed my hands with french vanilla hand soap and water.

With the upstairs done, it was time to start the search downstairs. There weren’t many hiding places that hadn’t already been searched by the police and the thieves who broke in and left without stealing anything.

Fifteen minutes later and I had searched everything but the kitchen. Odds were the only things I’d find in there were kitchen appliances and food, but it needed to be done. To be sure I didn’t miss anything, I checked inside all the pots and pans, the canisters on the counter, and the refrigerator. Heck, I even checked the cookie jar. All that was left was the oven. Only an idiot would hide something of value inside an appliance with a broil setting but what the hell. I opened up the bottom drawer first and searched through several sauce pans, finding nothing, again. Finally I opened the door and my mouth dropped open. I knew there were people who stored pots and pans in their ovens but I was not one of them. I left a pan in mine once. The next day I preheated the oven and totally forgot about the pan. The smell of melted plastic was beyond awful. Between the mess and airing out my apartment in the middle of winter, it was a very painful way to learn a lesson.

The inside of the oven looked like it had never been used. I took the lid off the very last pot and found an SD card. Yes, I knew there was something in this place. Although with my luck the only thing on it would be pictures of Lindsay and her married boyfriend. Yuck. I took the card and closed the oven.

Thanks to my snooping I was covered in more black powder than a Civil War reenactment field. I was just grateful that I’d made it back inside my apartment without having been accosted by an evil monster with a microphone and a camera crew. I could imagine the phone calls from family and friends if I appeared on the evening news looking like a chimney sweep.

Not wanting to track the mess through my apartment, I kicked off my shoes and stripped out of my clothes just inside the door. After dumping the clothes into the washer, I rushed upstairs, eager to scrub off the grime and evidence of my illegal search. I tucked the SD card in a box of tampons. I saw a woman do that on a TV show and when her apartment was broken into they left the jewelry she had tucked inside the tampon box. Okay, so it was a TV show but it was worth a shot. By the time I came back downstairs from my second shower of the day I felt somewhat human again—a very hungry human. I started the washer and went into the kitchen.

I made a turkey sandwich with lettuce, tomatoes, mayonnaise, and two slices of bacon. I added a Vlasic dill pickle on the side and a handful, okay, two handfuls of sour cream and onion potato chips. To tie it all together I grabbed a can of Diet Coke.

Once again I ate dinner in front of the TV. I couldn’t resist, an old episode of
NCIS
was on. After dinner I called and left a message for the geek hottie. I figured it was worth another six pack to find out if there was anything on the SD card that was important. In the kitchen I grabbed the trash bag then took it outside to the dumpsters, careful to make lots of noises as to avoid surprising the family of raccoons who made a habit of getting a free meal from our trash. They were cute, especially the babies, but they were mean as hell.

Back inside my apartment, I locked up and sat down and tried to push all thoughts of bodies, missing people, and reporters out of my head. I was successful for all of about three minutes, though really the last minute and a half I was thinking about ways to make a reporter disappear. Just when I had decided it would be perfectly fine to have the last donut for dessert both the doorbell and phone rang. I ignored the phone and ran to the door. “Hey, Shandra.”

“Don’t you hey me, Kim.”

“Excuse me?”

“You are crazy. Do you have any idea how much legal trouble you would have been in if you had gotten caught? Do you?”

“Could you be a little more specific?” I asked as I made a rather long list of all the things that could have technically been considered illegal.

“You broke into an apartment and stole his things.”

“Oh, that.”

“What did you think I meant? No, never mind. I don’t want to know.”

“That’s a wise decision. As for the other thing, nothing was stolen.”

“Kim, you got rid of the pictures.”

“Technically, I didn’t. But, yes, the pictures should all be gone.”

“You could lose your license.”

“He’s lucky I didn’t take a baseball bat to his face.”

Shandra, dressed in a white skirt and a pink patterned blouse and two-inch sandals, lunged at me. I tried to get away but didn’t move fast enough. Shandra wrapped her arms around me so tight for a moment I feared she would squeeze the breath right out of me like one of those giant anacondas. I tapped her on the back harder and harder each time until she finally got the message and let go. It was funny how much she and Charmaine looked alike yet were so different. Charmaine was fun, laid back, and enjoyed having a good time, while Shandra was a serious-minded, focused, goal-oriented overachiever.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” I said once I could speak again.

We talked for a few more minutes then said good night. She hugged me once more then she was out the door.

I checked the answering machine and swore. The voice on the machine was muffled but it was Sara and she was apologizing for her no-show stunt the other night. She said she’d be at Lakeview Cemetery in twenty minutes. She claimed to have information about Brian’s murder and Angie’s disappearance.

When I checked the caller ID it provided me with the useless information that she’d called from an unknown number. I grabbed my purse and headed out, ignoring that annoying voice in my head. Sometimes that bitch just needed to shut up. I arrived at the cemetery with a minute to spare. Parking near the entrance, I tried not to think too hard about how several generations of my family were buried behind those tall gates. Uncomfortable with the thought of playing music, I sat in silence. With the windows down a few inches there was a slight breeze that cooled off the still too warm air. I spent the next fifteen minutes checking my watch and trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling that grabbed me and wouldn’t let go. My heart began to race and the pounding in my ears was about to drive me mad, and not the good kind where you yelled at someone for being an ass. No, this was the kind where they put you in lockdown for forty-eight hours while they determined if you were a threat to yourself or others.

Telling myself that a cemetery was a sad, not scary, place did nothing to alleviate my increasing terror. Ghosts weren’t something I had ever believed in but being in such close proximity to this many people who had passed on seemed like tempting the spirit world, and that was certainly not something I had any interest in being a part of. A gust of wind whipped through the metal gates, the clanking sound was like the dead pushing against the gates to be let free. With that thought, I started the car and took off as fast as I could without risking a three hundred dollar ticket and more unwanted points on my driver’s license.

Back home, I parked in my spot, relieved I was no longer at the cemetery but pissed off that Sara had for the second time asked to meet with me and then bailed. I unlocked the back door and stepped inside. I had only taken three steps when I collided with something, or rather someone. One minute I was standing and the next I was landing on my butt. To be fair, the fall wasn’t too bad with the extra cushion back there, but this had to stop.

I jumped up and ran outside after my rude uninvited guest just in time to see a dark car peal out of the parking lot. It was too dark and my knowledge of car makes and models too limited to tell what kind of car it was. Back inside, I flipped on the lights and screamed. I rushed upstairs and into my home office. My office had, like the downstairs, been searched. It only took a couple of minutes to realize that nothing was stolen. My laptop and camera were still in their places. Next, I went into my bedroom; it too had been searched. I checked the box of tampons and was relieved to see the SD card still safely ensconced inside. As for jewelry, I had only a few pieces and they were also still in the box on my dresser.

With nothing stolen I debated if calling the police was necessary. Frustrated, I called the non-emergency number. Thanks to caller ID I didn’t even have to identify myself. The operator said hello and asked what she could do for me. She promised to send an officer right away.

Over the next two hours I answered questions, filled out a report, and tried to ignore the looks of the crime scene techs who Officer Duncan had insisted come over. When everyone had left I spent the next hour cleaning my apartment to get rid of any and all traces of my intruder. With my home back in order I took a shower, put on a pair of Thumper pajamas, and crawled under the covers. When I began to toss and turn, I went and got my gun and, after checking the safety, slipped it under my pillow.

My phone rang and I froze. Good news never arrived between ten at night and eight in the morning. “Hello.”

“I’m at your front door,” Grant said.

“What’s wrong now?” I asked.

“Nothing.”

While on the phone I had gotten out of bed and made my way downstairs. I opened the door and Grant brushed past me. Heat inched its way across my body.

“You are frustrating,” Grant said.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re also stubborn, opinionated, relentless, and a royal pain in my ass.”

“Well, if you came here looking to impress me with your vocabulary, you shouldn’t have bothered. And so you know, you’re pig-headed, obstinate, and a jerk,” I said.

“You didn’t let me finish.” He pulled me against him and I felt his erection straining against his pants. “You’re also kindhearted, generous, tenacious, and sexy as hell.”

My pulse raced. “Grant…” I whispered.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he said as he slowly kissed a trail down my neck. “I promised myself I’d stay away from you until this case was over.”

“I don’t want to wait.”