Sky High (A Nicki Valentine Mystery Book 2) (22 page)

Twenty-Eight

With nowhere to go, I went all out. I overdid my makeup, fanned out my hair, painted my nails with fast-dry polish, and stuck on those heels. The only thing missing was a spray tan and body glitter. After ensuring Kenna was in the basement, I found Sophie’s glitter glue in a kitchen drawer and spread it across my chest, hoping it was fast-dry, too. I couldn’t wait to crack Kenna up.

“I’ll be in my office,” I called down after rinsing my hands and loosely tying my bathrobe belt. “Call me when you’re ready for my debut.”

I wanted another look at that hotel video, just in case Austin turned up after Mia got back from partying. I also wanted to practice walking in heels, so I tottered over to my desk and sank into my chair.

The hotel lobby was mostly empty until three eighteen a.m., when a man entered wearing black pants, black shoes, and a long, black coat with a black hoodie under it—hood up. I paused the video and replayed it several times, unsuccessfully trying to see his face. Goose bumps rose along my arms because if I hadn’t known better, I would have thought it was Bruce. Eli had described him as dressed in all black, trying to look like a “badass,” and he’d been wearing a similar outfit—minus the hoodie and plus a hat—when he left the hotel.

But by three a.m., Bruce was dead. Wasn’t he? I rewound and compared the two men. There were slight differences in gait and shoes, so it wasn’t Bruce back from the dead, but someone was doing a darn good impersonation, even if it was unintentional.

I opened my case file and quickly scrolled through everyone we’d investigated and every photo we’d seen or taken. When I got to our interview with Eva Moreno, the Florida real estate agent, I realized she deserved to know Bruce wasn’t alive. She shouldn’t live in fear any longer. I opened Eva’s website and gazed at her photo, debating whether to email, call, or leave it alone.

I’ll call
, I decided.
Email is too impersonal.

It was late, but she’d hosted another homebuyers seminar that night, so I tried her cell and left a message asking her to get in touch.

It was good she hadn’t answered, because the doorbell rang, and I made my way to the window, more worried about being seen than seeing who was there.
Phew.
I recognized Andy’s Bandits jacket. I could survive his mockery. He’d seen me look worse—and maybe not better.

I opened the door with a wide smile that faded instantly. It wasn’t Andy, and it wasn’t the pizza delivery person. It was Todd. I tightened my robe, feeling glitter glue smear into its soft fabric.

“Nicki?” Todd said, clearly confused by my appearance. “I’m sorry to stop by unannounced.”

“It’s okay. I’m not ready for company, though. Did Andy tell you I lived here?” I peered around him, wondering if Andy was there, too. He knew better than to share my address. I used a P.O. box as my business address for a reason.

“Oh, no. Mia gave me your address. I wanted to send you a personal thank-you for all you’ve done, but when I realized you and Andy were on the same street, I had to come by. Your lights were on, and I could hear music.”

So could I, drifting up from the basement. I recognized the song, and it was not guest-friendly, unless your guests like popping bottles and getting low.

“Well, thanks, Todd,” I said, glancing at his bandaged left hand—and then down at myself to make sure my robe covered most of me and my ridiculous shoes. “I’ve been really worried about you and what happened today. What a complete shock. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, but do you mind if I come in? I’ve got a quick question for you, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

Given my appearance, I doubted the “hair” expression was random.

My cell phone rang, so I opened the door wider and motioned for him to step in, hoping he wouldn’t stay long. He set his helmet box among my kids’ belongings, careful not to get his bandaged fingers stuck beneath it, while I answered the call.

“This is Nicki,” I said, recognizing Eva’s Florida number.

“Nicki, this is Eva Moreno returning your call.”

“Hi,” I said. “Would it be okay if I call you back in five minutes? Someone just stopped by.”

“Sure. But did you call about Bruce?”

“Yes,” I said hesitantly.

“It’s okay. I already know he died.”

“Oh. How did you find out?”

“His friend Todd Carter told me. Do you know him?” I looked at Todd in confusion and noticed something looked different about him. His face, which had been impossibly flawless at the reception, was discolored on the left side. It must have been injured in the explosion.

“I do,” I said. “I’m surprised that’s how you got the news.” I turned down my phone’s volume so he couldn’t hear her side of the conversation.

“Me too. I broke up with him in college for Bruce, but he called today and said he felt horrible about how Bruce had treated me, and he wanted me to know Bruce was gone. He apologized for not doing more back then, which I really appreciated. I think he was just intimidated by Bruce’s power and connections, which I get. I was, too. I never knew how much Todd cared.”

I hadn’t known, either. I flashed back to the pictures I’d just seen in the case file. Could Eva have been the brunette I’d seen with Todd in the frat’s hula-skirt photo? Andrea had called her a “frat groupie,” so it was more than possible.

I needed a moment to think, but there wasn’t time. I thanked her for calling and disconnected as quickly as possible.

“Sorry about that,” I said to Todd. “Did you say you had a question for me?”

“Yeah. I know Frank let you go, but I got the sense you weren’t done investigating. Whoever killed Bruce deserves to suffer for it, so if you have any doubts or unfinished business, just say the word. I’ll hire you.”

“I appreciate that,” I said. “I can’t discuss the case with anyone but Frank, but if there’s anything you’d like to add, I’m here to listen.”

“No.” He started to reach for his helmet, but stopped. “But you do understand why I called Eva, right?”

So he knew she’d been on the phone. Still, I wasn’t going to confirm it.

“What do you mean?”

“I only called her because she deserves to know he’s gone. I mean, this whole situation with Eli really got me thinking. What if I didn’t know Bruce as well as I thought I did, and Andrea was right? If that’s true, she can’t be the only one, and Eva was next. I should have stopped him. Eli had every right to do what he did. I wouldn’t have blamed him for taking the money from Bruce, too.”

His eyes widened, and unfortunately, so did mine.

Unless he’d been at the scene, he had no way of knowing Eli hadn’t taken the money. Everyone else thought Eli was hiding it somewhere. Todd’s face flushed, and I realized the discoloration I’d noticed earlier wasn’t a burn, and it wasn’t bandaged like his hand, either. It was an old injury. One he’d sustained when Eli slapped him hard enough to knock him down.

Pieces started falling into place. That night, Todd must have killed Bruce before the meeting with Eli, and then, in clothes similar to what Bruce wore to the bachelor party, impersonated him.

I was willing to bet Eli had never seen Bruce, since the engagement announcement didn’t include a photo. Fooling him would have been easy. Todd’s previously “flawless” complexion was from makeup, and I should have asked him for beauty tips, as I’d been tempted to do at the reception.

I was also certain he’d been lying about wanting to hire me—and about not knowing what Bruce had done to Andrea and Eva. He wanted reassurance that I was done investigating, and his anger about Bruce had probably been simmering for years, unexpressed because he depended on Bruce as his ticket to success.

Before I could fill in more blanks, Todd reached behind him, and unlike my experience with Austin, I knew this wouldn’t end with a cell phone.

Images of Kenna, Jack, Sophie, and Sky flooded my mind. I wanted to yell for help, but if I did, I might wake the kids, and that was out of the question. They’d come downstairs and…I couldn’t think about it. To my horror, Todd pulled out a switchblade and flicked up the knife.

“Todd,” I said, holding up my hands in mock surrender. “Wait. I want to understand.”

Maybe I could keep him talking until the pizza arrived, not that I wanted to involve anyone else. But the sound of the doorbell might surprise him enough to catch him off guard. There had been times I’d distracted Sophie from a tantrum by yelling, “Look!” at something—anything—interesting. If Todd were a toddler, I’d have this situation covered.

“You were the brains behind Bruce’s success all along,” I said, thinking of the frat guys’ nickname, Beauty and the Brains, and Todd taking full credit for the helmet with Andy. “I can’t imagine how that felt. And you thought he deserved to die for what he did to Andrea and Eva. When you heard Eli was coming to town, you knew it was the perfect opportunity…”

I wasn’t sure how he’d exited the hotel unseen—perhaps from his second-floor terrace—but he’d returned at three eighteen, still dressed like Bruce, hood up. He’d probably transferred blood evidence to Eli in the scuffle over the money bag, which I suspected was still in Todd’s possession.

“You’re not taking away everything I’ve earned,” Todd said, raising the blade.

Instinctively, I reached into my pocket to dial 911, but I was afraid to look away long enough to see my phone’s touchscreen. I thought of the nearby guest bathroom, wishing I could lock myself inside, but that would leave Todd free to roam the house.

“Was it you who ran us off the road in Florida?” I asked, stalling.

“No. But people will do anything for money, Nicki. Even kill.”

He lunged, and I ran, dashing through the den and into the kitchen, searching for anything easy to grab. I’d passed on a fireplace poker (too tangled with the fireplace broom) and opted for a pot on the stove, which I could use as a shield or a weapon—or both. For better or worse, sharp knives were out of reach behind childproof locks.

With my left hand, I yanked a cordless phone off the counter, worried I’d already given Todd time to catch up. I forced myself to look back, relieved he was slowed by a stepstool and kids’ art supplies I’d left on the floor. Wobbly but upright—and thankful my heels were snug, I swept my hand across the kitchen counter, sending a stack of disorganized paperwork into Todd’s path. In moments, we were back where we’d started, but now I was armed, including with a landline.

I wanted to grab the front doorknob and take the chase next door to Andy, but I second-guessed myself, thinking it was better to whip around and aim the pot at Todd’s head—or the knife if it was closer. His head was a bigger target, so I swung the saucepan like a tennis racket, hoping my follow-through would catch the knife if I missed.

Todd blocked me wimpily with his bandaged left hand, sustaining a graze to his forehead that gave me just enough time to duck the knife and back away, holding the pot in a threatening stance.

That didn’t stop him from approaching, eyes bulging, face redder than ever, knife poised for damage.

Without averting my eyes, I envisioned everything around us. Shoes, soccer balls, toys, and school supplies, including backpacks stocked with pre-sharpened pencils—but nothing I could reach or use. Half the InstaPole was behind me on the floor, waiting for Kenna to take it downstairs.

My mommy ears registered a familiar creak on the basement steps, which meant Kenna was approaching the top. I wasn’t sure whether to warn her or protect her. If Todd knew she was there, would he run…or attack us both? I was also terrified that if I didn’t stop him, he’d head for Dean next.

I took a step backward, caught one heel on my robe, and followed with the other before I could stop myself.

“Oh, no,” I squeaked, trying to control my volume for the kids’ sake. I fell backward, dropped the phone and pot, stopped myself with both hands, and hopped into a squat, ripping my robe’s hem. I was gettin’ low, all right.

“Nicki?” Kenna called. “I found Super Teddy in the basement. Is Jack seriously over him?”

When Todd’s gaze shifted to the basement exit, I fumbled for the InstaPole, screaming, “Get back, Kenna!”

She wasn’t in my field of view, but out of nowhere, I saw Super Teddy fly through the air and bounce off Todd’s cheek, distracting him momentarily while I secured one end of the pole against a baseboard. He stared me down and charged full force, never seeing the front end of the pole rise, his crotch my “ballseye.”

My aim was good, and his knife dropped immediately, just like him—right to his knees—groaning. Then I played Whac-a-Mole with his head until he took an InstaNap. He’d regret not wearing that helmet himself.

I turned to find Kenna and saw that instead of retreating to the basement, she’d stepped into the foyer in all her pole dancing glory, which may have distracted Todd more than Super Teddy had. That blond could rock a pair of heels.

I handed her the pole, asked her to guard him, and carefully folded his knife, trying not to disturb any fingerprints. Then I ran to the kitchen, grabbed some duct tape, and dialed 911 while returning to wrap his hands and feet. I also removed my robe, afraid of tripping over it again.

Then the doorbell rang. That woke the kids.

“Quick. Let’s drag him out of the way,” I said to Kenna.

Together, we grabbed his feet and pulled him into the dining room, just out of sight.

Kenna opened the door and told the pizza guy to hang on while she got his tip.

“I feel like I should be tipping you guys,” he joked.

For once, I wasn’t in a laughing mood.