Hex on the Ex (27 page)

“Joking.” His eyes twinkled in affection. “It’s a Bogart quote from
The Maltese Falcon.
Have confidence in the truth, Liz. And know that whatever happens, we’ll get
through this together.” He picked up his keys and left me with a short kiss, walking out the door like he was going out for a carton of milk.

His light attitude and support calmed me. Smiling with confidence, I watched him drive away. I took a quick shower and dried my hair then put on slacks and a collarless white cotton blouse. As I added a touch of lipstick, Nick’s desk phone rang.

After three rings his answering machine clicked on, echoing the message through the house. “Nicky? It’s Izzy.” Her voice, young with a Hispanic accent, came across as worried and questioning.

“Please, please call me back. I just left a message on your cell. We have to talk today. I haven’t heard from you since Thursday and I’m going crazy. Did you have the conversation yet? You promised me you would talk to Liz before the weekend is over. I can’t hide anymore. Everyone will know soon. Please call me. Love you.”

Click.

L
ove you?
Be calm. Don’t overreact.
Maybe I misunderstood.
I set the lipstick on Nick’s bathroom sink, went into the living room, and replayed Isabella’s message.

Nick promised her he would talk to me.
About what?
She’s tired of hiding.
From what?
Everyone will know soon.
Know what?
“Love you” wasn’t difficult to interpret.
Or was it?

The message ended. I stood dazed, her words racing through my mind. Battling old feelings of betrayal and emotional abandonment, I tried to center myself. Stop. Be logical. Quit overreacting. How would I advise a client faced with the same situation?

Get more information. Talk to Nick. Face your fear.

Erzulie, with an uncanny knack of sensing when my body was in the room but my mind was in outer space, jumped
on the desk and stared at me. I stroked her head. “You heard the message. What would you do?”

She jumped down and trotted away. Big help.

I had thirty minutes to drive to Oliver’s Van Nuys office. In light Saturday morning traffic I could make it in twenty. Time to stop muttering to myself and get moving. Gathering my purse and keys, I left the house and traveled, head down, across the debris-ridden path to my car.

Buckling up, I pulled onto the street then called Nick. His cell rang once. I’d tell him about the message. Second ring. Let him explain. On the third ring his phone went to voice mail.

“Nick, it’s me. Liz.”
As opposed to your other girlfriend or girlfriends.
“I’m on my way to meet Oliver. Check your messages at home. Isabella called. She needs to talk to you right away.”
So do I.

I hung up without leaving my love, a substitute for you-better-explain-now. Instead of feeling better, I felt childish.

My psychology training didn’t exempt me from runaway emotion. Intellectually, I understood my reaction: working myself up over Isabella’s call allowed me to avoid my apprehension over meeting with Carla. I needed to talk things out with someone rational. When Robin answered her phone, I gave her the high points of Isabella’s message.

“I’ll kill him if he’s cheating on you,” she said.

“Don’t do that. I’ll need your support in the aftermath if it’s true.”

“Then I’ll have Dave kill him. He’ll be sad to lose his best friend but family comes first,” Robin deadpanned. “But
we do nothing until Nick has a chance to explain. I see the way he treats you, Liz. He adores you.”

“So did Jarret.”

“Do you hear yourself? Hello? Come join me here in the present. You’re not the same person you were during your marriage. You’re not stranded alone in a strange city, and Nick is nothing like Jarret, thank God. Where are you now? How much time do we have to talk?”

“I’m passing under the Hollywood Freeway on Victory. We have about ten minutes to locate my common sense.”

“No problem. Tell me how you feel.” Robin delivered my formula, solve-all psychology phrase with compassion in her voice.

“You love throwing that line at me.”

“What can I say? I learned it from you. Talk.”

I let go, venting my fears, suspicions, and insecurities in emotion-chocked spurts. Call-waiting beeped. I ignored it. Robin listened to me without interruption until I repeated how much I trusted Nick.

“Maybe you’re afraid of how much he cares for you,” she said. “You do trust him. You know he wouldn’t cheat on you. You’ll probably end up marrying the guy and you’re terrified. Heck, you bought a house to avoid moving in with him.”

“Not true. My house is an investment.”

“You and Nick could have bought a house together.”

“Our relationship was too new, Robin. I wasn’t ready.”

“Are you ready now?”

“Not if he has another woman on the side.”

“And if he doesn’t?” When I didn’t answer, she said, “Listen, I realize you’re afraid. Jarret stomped on your heart
in the worst possible way. You trusted him and he cheated on you. So what? Ancient history. Forget about it and move on. Nick is amazing.”

“Spoken like a woman with second chances on her mind,” I said. “Anything you want to tell me about you and Dave?”

“Don’t change the subject. Let’s finish talking about you. It stinks that you heard Isabella’s message right before your meeting with black-hearted Pratt. Are you ready for her?”

“Ready enough. Oliver will be with me,” I said. “Robin, Izzy ended her call to Nick with ‘Love you’.”

“Big deal. I tell the barista I love him when he has my morning latte waiting for me every day at the Coffee Bean. I love Nick, too. Just not the way you do. And I will continue to love Nick until we have to off him for mistreating you—which will be never. Don’t assume the worst. You forget Dave and Nick talk every day. If something iffy were up, Dave would tell me.”

“He would? How did you crack through his code of silence so soon?”

“Brownies and lingerie. Not necessarily in that order. Very effective.”

I stopped for the red light at Van Nuys Boulevard, smiling. I knew whatever happened, Robin would be there for me. “Okay. I’m calmer now. Breakdown is on official delay until after I talk to Nick.”

“It could be worse. He could up and propose. Then what would you do?”

“Thank you. You now have managed to thoroughly distract me again. If Nick asks, you’ll be the second person to hear my answer.”

“I’ll expect an update on the Isabella call tonight at the party. Dave and I are going gift shopping for your dad this afternoon. What did you get him?”

“A baseball autographed by the Cubs—Jarret got it for me. I don’t like being indebted to him, but I know how much Dad will love the ball. Besides, I don’t have time to squeeze in a shopping trip between my arrest and breakup.”

“Don’t even joke about that. Where is my objective friend? What did you do with her?” Robin said. “Accept the ball. Please. Jarret owes
you
after getting you involved in his mess.”

The intersection light turned green. “I have to go. You’re the best, Robin.”

A block west of the boulevard, I turned into the driveway next to Oliver’s office building and parked in the empty lot. I checked my phone. One unanswered call from Nick, no message. A small red dot on the e-mail app signaled one new message. I opened the inbox and read:

Sorry I missed your call. Got your message—we can talk later. Be strong with Carla. I love you. Nick.

I tucked the phone in my purse with a sigh. Later.

Oliver pulled into the lot in a dusty black Prius and parked in the space next to mine. He lowered his passenger window, waving a cigar at me. “Let’s go.”

“Let me get this straight,” I said, watching him snuff the tip in the ashtray as I got in. “You drive a low-emission car but pollute the interior—the air you breathe—with cigar smoke?”

“Go figure.” He brushed ashes off his legs and the coat of his tan suit, then shifted the car into gear. “Anything I should know since the last time we talked, Liz Cooper?”

“I had dinner with Jarret last night.”

“What’s with you? I told you not to go. Can’t you stay away from the guy?”

“No—I mean, yes. I can.” While we sped west on Victory Boulevard, I told him about Forrest’s scene at the restaurant and my conversation with Jarret at dinner. Oliver kept his eyes fixed on the road, turning north onto Reseda Boulevard as I segued into the new info on Kyle, from the devil video to my steroid discovery.

“Geez,” he said. “Are you one of those people who can’t sit still? My youngest son always pokes around things, too. The kid is in constant motion. But he’s nine. What do they call it? Hyper…”

“The common term would be childhood. And in extreme cases, a developmental disorder called ADHD. No, I’m not impulsive or hyperactive.” I grimaced, irked by his lack of interest in my compelling new information. “You wanted other suspects for Carla.”

“I wanted the
names
on her suspect list. Do you pay your taxes?”

“Yes.”

“Then why the hell are you doing Pratt’s job for her?”

I crossed my arms. “Are you serious? She’d like to arrest me.”

“You done? Because now I’m going to tell you what you’re NOT going to do in the interview. And this time, if you want me to remain your lawyer, you’ll listen. No twitching, fidgeting, volunteering, or lying. Stifle headshakes and nods. No snide comments or any comments blaming the victim or the people you think are suspects. Don’t answer any questions without looking at me for permission first. Got that?”

“Got it. Do I need your permission to cough or sneeze?”

He let my comment pass without a flicker of reaction. “Everything you say will be recorded. If she tries to provoke you, don’t react, defend, or comment.”

“Do you give all your murder suspects this speech?”

“Only the ones who are innocent.” Oliver turned onto Vanowen, made a U-turn in the middle of the block and parked in front of the modern two-story West Valley Community Police Station. He switched off the ignition, then swung around to face me. “From now on, no more rogue investigations, Liz. I don’t want you to get hurt.” He opened his car door. “Come on. Let’s get this over with before lunch.”

The butterflies hit my stomach on the elevator ride from the spacious tiled lobby to the detective waiting room on the second floor. Oliver and I entered the empty reception area, a small lobby with six black metal chairs and a window to the street below. I took a seat facing the “WEST VALLEY DETECTIVE BUREAU” sign over the sliding glass reception window, my gaze flitting from the Wanted posters on the adjacent corkboard to the nearby exit.

While Oliver approached the officer behind the glass, I looked at my watch. We were on time. Checked it again. Same time. Oliver sat down next to me, tapping his thumbs to a silent beat. Two minutes, which felt like two hours later, a door next to the reception window opened and Carla beckoned us inside.

Oliver patted my knee encouragingly. “You’re gonna do great.”

We filed behind Carla past three gray cubicles down a small hall opening toward a massive room on the left with
signs—“ROBBERY,” “GANGS,” “JUVENILE,” and “HOMICIDE”—hanging above clusters of empty desks.

She opened a door into a small conference room furnished with a cherry-laminated table and eight padded chairs. Oliver rolled out a chair for me and I sat, spine straight, conscious not to swivel or fidget.

Carla took a seat across the table with what appeared to be an eight-by-ten frame enveloped in a plastic cover, facedown in front of her. “I appreciate you arranging your busy schedules to come here this morning. Would you like some coffee or water before we begin?”

“No, thanks. We’re good,” Oliver said.

“Then let’s get started so we can enjoy the rest of the weekend. As you know, I’m investigating Mrs. Huber’s homicide and I have a few unanswered questions that I hope Dr. Cooper can clear up for me. How are you today, Liz?”

“I’m—”

Oliver nudged my knee.

I smiled at her to signify my good health and carefree attitude. The picture of calm—if she didn’t notice my quivering upper lip.

“Great,” she said. “I don’t think this will take long. I understand you weren’t at your office last week. Why?”

At Oliver’s nod I said, “I took the week off to finish unpacking while the plumbers were at my house.”

“And to spend time with Mrs. Huber?”

“No. I had no idea she would be in town.”

“Yet Mrs. Huber told several witnesses she came to visit you. Can you explain why?”

“She lied.”

Carla took out a notebook and flipped through the pages.
A prop, I knew from Dad and Dave, to buy time or make me uncomfortable. She stopped on a page. “The morning of Mrs. Huber’s death, her husband called you, looking for her. According to Mr. Huber, you told him you hadn’t seen his wife since the prior morning. But here’s where I’m confused—Kyle Stanger heard you and the victim argue the night before at the Dodger game.” Carla closed her pad and stared at me. “So why did you lie to Mr. Huber?”

A
ir hummed through the vent in the conference room ceiling as I turned to Oliver for permission to answer Carla’s question. He met my eyes with a cautious nod.

“I assumed Laycee and Kyle were on a date at Dodger Stadium,” I said. “Telling Forrest I saw her at the game would invite questions I didn’t want to answer. Frankly, I didn’t want to put myself in the middle of the Huber’s marriage problems.”

Carla let out a dramatic sigh. “Smart move. Mr. Stanger, however, claims they attended an ATTAGIRL network business function together at the stadium. And then Laycee ended up spending the night with your ex-husband. Boy, she really got around, didn’t she?” Carla flashed me an exaggerated, let’s-get-down-and-talk-trash-about-that-floozy look.

No kidding.
If Oliver hadn’t warned me against attacking
Laycee’s character, I might have thrown up my hands in hearty agreement. Alerted by Carla’s theatrical segue from inquisitive pro to my new bestest friend, I turned to Oliver again. He stared at his hands, laced in front of him on the table. No permission. No comment.