Hex on the Ex (10 page)

“Yeah, we should talk,” Kyle said. “I’m here until seven. Stop by and see me up front before you leave.”

I retreated to the weight room, shutting the door behind me. What could be so private to make Kyle take a meeting inside a closed office in an almost empty gym?

With two clean towels from a stack near the desk, I took my gear into the ladies’ locker room for a hot shower. I finished with a cooling rinse, then toweled off and smoothed moisturizer from my face to my toes. After I ran a comb through my wet hair, I got dressed.

When I came out to the weight room clean, scented, and feeling fresh in sandals and sundress, Earl wolf whistled from the side of the leg press machine. “You clean up good, Liz.”

I grinned. Hell, I wasn’t even wearing makeup.

Kyle sat behind the front desk, reading the paper. He glanced up at me then away, thumbing toward the office. “The kid wanted to talk to me about joining the gym. He’s training to be a football player and—”

“You don’t have to explain,” I said though his unsolicited excuse, fast talk, and lack of eye contact suggested a lie. I was more interested in what had happened the night before than about whatever Kyle was trying to hide. “I’m sorry I barged in on you. Did you hear from Jarret?”

“Yeah.” He lowered his voice and thumbed toward the front door. “Let’s go outside. Jarret doesn’t want me to talk about what happened in public. Nosey eyes and ears.”

He opened the door for me and we walked out to the parking lot. Tall palm trees, motionless in the blistering late afternoon heat, bordered the sidewalk between the small parking lot and Ventura Boulevard. The asphalt cooked under the westward-bound sun. We got into my car and I turned on the ignition, letting the engine idle while the air conditioner cooled the interior.

Kyle fiddled with the vent blowing air in his face. “I talked to Jarrret about an hour ago. He’s staying at the
Sportsmen’s Lodge until the cops let him back into his house. I’ll tell you, Liz, he’s freaked.”

“I bet he is. What happened last night? How did Laycee end up at Jarret’s house? I thought she was with you.”

“Yeah, well, that’s Laycee. She’s with who she’s with until she’s with the next guy. She threw herself all over Billy Miles up in the suite at the game.” Kyle snorted with disapproval. “I had to tell her to give Billy some space. That ticked her off. She was drinking heavy and kept on drinking after we met Jarret at Fifth Base.”

“How was he?” I asked.

“After his pitching disaster? Can’t you guess? Pathetic. Bitched and moaned about tripping on the foul line. Blamed the pigeon. Carped about being hexed. You know how damned superstitious he is.”

I nodded. Jarret relied on his game day beliefs for a control mechanism to soothe his nerves and ease performance pressure on the mound.

“Laycee took Jarret’s crappy mood as a challenge and started hitting on him right off. He knocked back the booze pretty hard. So did she. I guess when I went to the bar to order another round they made a plan to hook up. I knew by the way she cooed at him for the rest of the night. Didn’t bother me.” Kyle smirked. “I got up at four yesterday to open the gym. I just wanted to go home and get some sleep. She wanted to stay. She asked Jarret to drive her back to the hotel.”

I held back from asking Kyle why, if he went home so early, he didn’t open the gym this morning. His feigned nonchalance didn’t mask the biting edge to his voice. Kyle took a backseat to Jarret’s fame since the beginning of
their friendship. I often suspected that Kyle goaded Jarret into reckless behavior to knock him down a notch. Last night, Jarret wound up taking Kyle’s “date” home.

“So you left them at the bar?” I said.

“Yeah. It probably was Jarret’s idea to go up to his house after Fifth Base closed. He wouldn’t go with her to her hotel. She was staying down the block at the Sportsmen’s Lodge. He was too careful to be seen out with a married woman.”

I flinched at Kyle’s casual remark about Jarret’s amorous cautions, a subject I didn’t care to explore especially if those habits dated back to our marriage. “Did you see anyone you knew at Fifth Base?”

“Nah. The rest of the team went home after the loss. Why do you care about Jarret? You were too good for him, you know. You aren’t like the rest of the women who hang around ballplayers.” Kyle touched my bare knee, stroking his finger toward my thigh.

The jerk was making a move on me? Payback? Revenge? I moved his hand away, put my foot on the brake, and shifted the car into reverse. “I need to leave. I have an appointment to get to. Thanks for filling me in.”

Kyle shrugged off my rejection and opened the car door. Before he got out he said, “Jarret is keeping his cell turned off. If you call the hotel, ask for Bruce Sutter.”

I regretted engaging Kyle just to appease my curiosity. If I hadn’t gone to Jarret’s house this morning or Eagleton hadn’t called in Nick, I wouldn’t care what Kyle, Jarret, or Laycee did last night. Unless—was I still more connected to Jarret than I realized? I made a right turn out of the parking lot into the rush-hour traffic inching along Ventura Boulevard.

Tapping my fingers on the steering wheel, I replayed Kyle’s narrative in my head, unable to shake off the bitterness I sensed in his tone. If Jarret got convicted of murder, Kyle would be left with full ownership of the gym. What if Kyle had stayed up all night drinking and stirring his resentment? Maybe he didn’t like being used and decided to punish both Laycee and Jarret. Kyle knew Jarret’s garage door combination. What if he saw Laycee asleep and murdered her to frame Jarret? Possible. What about the symbol? A diversion?

My phone rang as I passed the Starbucks at Vantage and Ventura. Mom.

“Did you hear from Jarret?” she said.

“Nope,” I said, stopping for a red light at Laurel Canyon. “But I talked to his trainer.”

“What did he say? Is Jarret all right?”

“He’s fine. He’s staying at the Sportsmen’s Lodge and not answering his cell. Leave him alone, Mom. He’ll contact someone when he wants to.”

“Liz, he needs our support.”

The light turned green. I passed through the intersection, biting down hard to keep from yelling. Then I took a deep breath and said, “You know what, Mom?
I
could use your support. Please don’t draw me into Jarret’s drama. If he’s innocent, he has a team of lawyers and agents to help him.”

“What do you mean by if? Of course he’s innocent.”

“Then don’t worry about him. The truth will come out.”

“You’re upset.”

“I’m hot. I’m tired of talking about this, and I want to get home. Let’s talk tomorrow, okay?”

“I love you, dear.”

“Love you too, Mom.”

When I turned the corner onto my street, the phone rang again.

“Jarret’s not registered at the Sportsmen’s Lodge,” Mom said, testing every strand of my nerves.

My rational side intervened. An outburst would be a poor prologue to my meeting with Carla. “He’s registered as Bruce Sutter,” I said, pulling into my driveway.

“Who is—?”

“Hall of Fame Cubs pitcher. Jarret’s childhood hero.”

“Isn’t that charming.”

I
put on makeup and fed Erzulie, and then drove the four blocks to the Aroma Café. A rare parking space opened on Tujunga, giving me a short jaunt to the customers waiting in line outside. I didn’t see Carla Pratt, so I cruised through the tables inside and on both patios. I spotted her at the rear of the courtyard, sipping an iced drink and reading her BlackBerry at a table tucked in the corner.

When I got to the table she removed her gold-rimmed glasses and smiled at me. Her sandy brown bangs were dark with sweat, her hair cropped even tighter around her ears and neck than the last time I saw her. In her mid-forties, she carried the guarded, pale-faced demeanor of a career city detective. Her gray two-button suit must have felt like a heating pad on her sturdy frame, but removing the jacket would mean exposing the gun I knew she carried on her belt.

“Dr. Cooper.” She indicated the empty chair across the small table. “Did you order?”

“You can still call me Liz. I didn’t order. I wanted to find you before I got in line. I’ll be right back.” When I returned to the table with an iced tea, Carla dabbed beads of sweat off her forehead. “Would you rather sit inside where it’s cooler?” I suggested.

“Not unless you want to. I’m used to the heat.” She pulled a small notebook from her jacket pocket. “It’s private here, easier for us to talk. Nice place.”

We eased in with small talk, and then she told me about her transfer from Northeast to the West Valley station. An opportunity, she explained as she handed me her new business card, for advancement to Detective II.

“Have you seen Dave recently?” she said.

“We were together last night at the Dodger game.”

“Ah.” Her brows shot up. “And are you still close to your friend the professor?”

“Nick? Yes. He told me he saw you today.”

“He did.” She opened her notebook. “As I mentioned on the phone, your name came up this morning in the homicide investigation I’m working on.”

“At Jarret’s house.”

“Yes, Mr. Cooper’s home. I understand he’s your…” She tilted her head, waiting for me to finish.

“Ex-husband. We’ve been divorced for four years. What would you like to know? Ask away.”

Carla clicked her pen. “Actually, I prefer for you to do the talking. Would you tell me in your own words where you were this morning?”

“Where do you want me to begin?”

“Wherever’s comfortable. Take your time.”

I stopped, considering how to verify my whereabouts, and decided to begin with the gym. “I went to work out this morning, early, around seven. After exercising I took a shower…” I rambled out details with nervous tension knotting my shoulders—hesitant to place myself at the scene of Laycee’s murder. Carla jotted notes while she listened to my insignificant details with more patience than I would have had. I explained my decision to drive to Jarret’s to pick up the last box of books waiting in his kitchen. “I left the gym and drove to the house—”

“What time was that?”

“I left Game On at seven fifty-five,” I said. “I remember thinking I would miss Jarret when he left for his morning run at eight.”

“Did anyone at the gym see you leave?”

I paused. “Earl Good, one of the trainers. A few members, but I don’t have their last names. Earl saw me. He’ll know me by name.”

She made a note and gestured for me to continue.

“When I got to Royal Oaks, I pulled into Jarret’s drive, opened the garage, entered the kitchen, got the box, and then went home.”

“What time were you at the house?” Carla said.

“Traffic along Ventura Boulevard jammed on the way there. I’d say I arrived at his house a little past eight-thirty or so, picked up the box off the kitchen counter, turned around, and left. I didn’t see or hear anything.”

“Did anyone witness your arrival or your exit?”

“No one. It’s a quiet—” I held up my finger. “Wait. I passed one of the neighbors walking her dog when I pulled
out of the driveway. I didn’t stop to talk to her. I was already late to meet the plumber at my place.”

“How often do you visit your ex-husband’s home?”

“Aside from yesterday and today? Never. And yesterday I didn’t go inside at all. Jarret waited for me in the driveway, put some boxes in my trunk, then I left.”

“Did you notice anything unusual about the house?”

“Unusual? No. No cars in the driveway. The garage door was closed when I arrived. Jarret leaves his kitchen door unlocked, so I opened the garage—”

She looked up, questioning. “How did you open it?”

“I have the combination. I used to live there.”

“You knew the combination was the same or Mr. Cooper told you it was?”

“Both. He’s been using the same combination for years.” The sides of my dress stuck to my ribs and a bead of sweat trickled down my back. I excused myself and went to the condiment station for a pile of napkins to blot my face and neck.

Carla waited, composed. If she sweltered in her suit, she didn’t show it. When I got back to the table she said, “Who else has the combination to Mr. Cooper’s garage?”

“He never changes the code, so the list is likely long. You should ask him.”

“I’m asking you.”

“When we moved in, we gave the combination to the housekeeper, his trainer, and contractors. It’s been years. I have no idea who else has it now.”

“Let’s go back to what you saw after you entered the house.”

I shifted to unstick my sweaty thighs. Her repetitive
questions were annoying but I understood her goal: get me to tell my story, and then ask again to see if the facts change.

“I saw nothing,” I said. “I picked up the box and left.”

“Humor me. Describe the room.”

Carla knew exactly what was in Jarret’s kitchen. She probably had an inventoried list in her notebook.

“I saw appliances and dirty dishes,” I said.

“What kind of dirty dishes?”

“A blender pitcher in the sink, some glasses on the counter. Empty bottles,” I said. “I went in and out of there so fast it’s difficult to remember. As I said, I picked up the box and left.”

“Where did you go?”

“Home, to meet my plumber.”

“I need his name and contact information.” She wrote as I recited Stan’s number then she said, “Where’s the box now?”

“At my house.”

“I’d like to see it.” She flipped her notebook closed.

I had the right to demand she get a warrant, making an old carton of books appear far more meaningful than it was. Or I could grant her permission. I had nothing to hide. The sooner our interview ended, the better I would feel.

“Sure,” I said. “I’m parked on Tujunga. Do you want to follow me home?”

“I’ll meet you there. I have your new address.”