Authors: Heather Webber

Trouble In Spades (14 page)

BOOK: Trouble In Spades

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Maria narrowed her eyes. "Has she had her shots?" I shrugged.

"Nee-nah!"

"Don't panic. I'll ask Kit when I see him."

"Kit?" She smiled dreamily.

Rolling my eyes, I got to my feet. "Could we get back to Nate?"

She rubbed the spot Gracie had bitten. "He's not dumb, Nina. I know professional athletes have that kind of reputation, but he's not. He's got a master's in business, for goodness' sake. I think he could figure out not to dump a body in his own yard."

"Unless he knows people will think that he's too smart to do something like that, then when he does do it, he doesn't look guilty."

Maria rubbed her temples. "You're giving me a headache. Nate didn't kill Claire. He wouldn't."

I tended to agree, but it begged the question, Where was Nate? And why was Claire's body dumped in his and Maria's backyard? And what was in that package? It had to be what Claire was looking for at Maria's condo. My gaze dropped to my backpack, at the papers I'd shoved in there.

Gracie ventured out from under the couch. She hopped up next to Maria, stared at her with big black eyes. "You bit me," Maria accused.

Gracie tipped her head, her big ears trembling. "Don't do it again."

I watched in amazement as Gracie climbed onto Maria's lap, turned three circles, and plopped down.

Maria looked up at me. "What do I do now?"

I grabbed my backpack. "Dog-sit?"

"What? Where are you going?"

"I need to go out for a while. Riley should be home around eight."

I hedged toward the door. Maria looked like she wanted to chase after me but didn't want to disturb the dog on her lap. I didn't blame her. I'd seen what Gracie had done to Berber. I can only imagine what she'd do to Donna Karan.

Thirteen

Twenty minutes later I was nestled on Ana's overstuffed sofa, clinging to my backpack.

Ana was still laughing about Gracie. "And you left her with Maria?"

"They seem to get along."

"You're not worried she'll make the dog into a purse or something?"

I probably should have thought of that. I bit my lip.

"What's wrong?" she asked me. "I can tell you have more on your mind than a crazy dog and a crazier sister." Fresh vacuum marks lined the rug. I needed to confide in someone, to get a fresh opinion.

"Claire Battiste is dead." Ana's cocoa-colored eyes widened as I told her about finding Nate's boss.

"Was Claire all bloated, like in the movies?"

I sighed. Maybe coming here wasn't a good idea.

"And," I continued, ignoring her, "I got a call from Nate this morning."

Ana leaned so far forward I thought she was going to topple right out of her lounge chair. "Oh my God! You did?" I told her about the call, and how I didn't know for sure if it was him. Then I told her about the package and how I thought that Claire was the one who broke into Maria's place, probably looking for it.

"Well, what's in it?"

"I don't know."

"Do you have it? You brought it, didn't you? 'Cuz you can't leave me hanging like this!" I pulled it out of my backpack.

Ana stared at it, shivered. "Aren't you going to open it?"

"I don't know! Nate had the package and he's missing. Claire wanted it and now she's dead! I don't know what to do. Should I call Kevin? Tell Maria? Close up the package and pretend I never got it?"

"Don't talk crazy! You need to open it. It's your sisterly duty to know what's in there."

More like
she w
anted to know what was in there. Still, I couldn't really argue with her reasoning. I'd had similar thoughts when I opened the package in the first place. "Go ahead," Ana urged.

I unfolded the packet of cream-colored paper first. Opening it, I stared at a list of names.

"Well?" Ana scrambled out of her chair and sank down next to me. My cushion dipped.

"It's a list."

"Of what?"

I skimmed the three pages. Names. A ton of names. At least five hundred. At first glance the names didn't mean much, but then I saw the names of the mayor, local celebrities, the governor of Kentucky, Cincinnati city council members.

Next to the names were a series of columns labeled in a shorthand I didn't understand. Most names had several checks next to them. A guest list, I realized. The gala guest list—the one Verona and Colin Frye had been looking for? Attached to the paper was an invitation to the event. On fancy vellum paper, it read:

Phineus Cancer Foundation Annual Gala

June 30
^th

The Kalypso

Black tie

Tickets $5000.00

"Five thousand dollars?" Ana gasped. "A plate?"

"I'm not sure."

"If it were, that would be ten thousand a couple."

I looked at her. "I can add."

She stared back. "Who has that kind of money?"

I flipped back through the pages. "Lots of people, obviously."

"There are five hundred names on the list. At five thousand a plate? How much is that?"

Okay, maybe I couldn't add all that well. I shrugged.

Ana scurried off and came back with a calculator.
"That's two point five million!" She gasped. "Five million if everyone brings a date."

"It
is
a charity event."

Ana blinked and shook her head, her sleek sable ponytail swaying. "Wow."

I couldn't imagine what this all had to do with Nate's disappearance, but it was obvious that Nate had thought it important for some reason.

Ana picked up the envelope and dumped the small bundle inside it onto the table.

I reached for it, resigned. Any voice that might have warned me to stop, that I was in over my head, was drowned out by my inner voice chanting,
Do it, do it, do it
. Pulling on the flap, I automatically cringed, preparing myself for what might be inside.

Nate hadn't wanted me to open the package, had sounded terrified. Why? Not over a guest list, certainly.

I blew out a deep breath as Ana leaned in. I emptied the packet onto my lap.

Polaroids. At least ten of them.

On top of the stack was a picture of a man from chest up, sitting in a chair. Late twenties, early thirties. Dark brown hair, five o'clock shadow, and a grim set to his jaw. The chair was Windsor style, with thin spindles and a bowed back. Behind him was a set of built-in bookshelves that were too far away to make out any details. "Who's that?" Ana asked.

"Don't know."

"Do you think Nate has a boyfriend?" she asked.

I turned to look at her, blinked.

"What? It's possible."

It
was
possible. Anything was possible.

"Come on," Ana urged, grabbing the stack of pictures off my lap. She flipped to the next one, her breath catching.

"What? What?" I leaned in, felt my breath catch too. "That's Claire Battiste."

"You recognize her even though you only saw her when she was all bloated?"

"I saw her at Maria and Nate's engagement party."

"Oh. So she wasn't all bloated?"

"Ana!"

"Fine. Fine. That's a Smith & Wesson pistol in her hand. Nine millimeter, black polymer grip, three—no, four—inch barrel."

I gaped. "How do you know that?"

"It's a gift."

The picture showed Claire holding the gun by her side. Her eyes seemed empty as she looked into the camera. No fear, no excitement. Just a dead calm.

I noticed too that the man's hands were pulled behind him, probably tied.

I swallowed. My pulse had kicked up a notch and perspiration dampened my palms. What had Nate gotten himself into? At this point, I almost wished he had a gay lover. Ana flipped to the next picture. The gun was now pointed at the man's head.

Ana gasped. "Do you think these are real?"

"I'd say no, but a dead, bloated Claire Battiste was in Maria's backyard."

"So she
was
bloated!"

"Ana!"

"All right!"

Ana flipped to the next shot. Claire had moved back and pointed the gun cop-style at the man's temple.

My stomach knotted, afraid of what the next picture would show.

Claire's eyes were shut, I noticed, when she fired. The man's head was a blur as he slumped sideways, still held in place by the ropes holding him to the chair.

Ana and I looked at each other. Neither of us could find words.

The last pictures were of Claire cleaning up the mess.

Ana dropped the stack on the table. I flipped them facedown. My stomach twisted and turned.

Ana reached over and grabbed my hand, and we sat there a long time.

"Okay," Ana said. "I can kinda see why Claire might have wanted these pictures back. I'd have broken into Maria's for them too."

I was feeling kind of numb. "What now?" I asked.

"I wish I knew, Nina."

"This is surreal."

"No idea who the guy is?"

"I've never seen him before."

"What about Maria? Would she know?"

Maria. Ugh. Just how did I explain this to her? "She might," I said. "I don't know."

"You need to call Kevin."

I thought the same thing. I'd learned my lesson about homicide investigations. I wanted no part of this. None. Zero.

Still . . .

"Who do you think the woman who tried to steal these pictures was?" I asked.

"The blue-haired lady?"

"Yeah."

"A pickpocket?"

"Who bypassed my wallet to get this package? I don't think so."

"Creepy."

"Very."

Her eyes brightened.

"What?"

"Let me have the prints run."

"Huh?"

"The prints on the envelope. The lady had to have touched it, right?"

"So did I, and Brickhouse, and Tam and Lyle—"

"Lyle?"

"The messenger."

"Is he single?"

"Don't know."

"Oh." It took a millisecond for her to leave Lyle in the dust. "Come on," she pleaded. "Let me get the prints run. I never get to do anything fun. I can take the envelope to a friend of mine at the police department, ask a favor. What can it hurt?"

I ran through this in my mind. If Ana took the envelope and had the prints run, then we might know who the bluehaired lady really was. And if we knew who she was, we might be able to figure out who she worked for, and that might lead us to Claire's murderer.

No, no, no, I told myself. I was not getting involved. But . . . wasn't I already involved?

Besides, what could it hurt to know? It wasn't like I was going to do anything with the information. And once Kevin got the package, I'd probably never hear another word about it again. My curiosity needed closure.

"All right," I said, already planning. Should I tell Kevin I threw the envelope away? Or wait until Ana was done with it and then pass everything on to him?

"What does fingerprinting do to an envelope? Would Kevin know we'd done it?"

"Yeah, he'd probably know," she said.

All-righty, then. I'd tell him I lost the envelope. If we turned up anything, then we'd take it to him and plead ignorance.

I put the pictures into the folds of the guest list and fished around in my backpack for a rubber band.

I was going to stop at the drugstore on the way home and have copies of the pictures made on one of those Kodak machines. I'd also have the guest list photocopied. Hey, it couldn't hurt to have a set of duplicates, I told myself, breaking a cardinal commandment. Thou Shalt Not Delude Thyself.

I'd suffer the consequences later, I was sure.

I packed everything up, gave Ana a hug.

"Everything's going to be all right," she said.

"Promise?"

She half shrugged and smiled. "You know how I am about commitment, Nina."

I had to smile too. "Well,
I'm
holding you to it."

"Seriously, you okay?"

I had to think about it. It was true my life was a stressedout mess right now, but overall . . . "Yeah."

"Good. Because my mother wants to get together for supper tomorrow night."

I smiled. I loved my aunt Rosetta. She was crazier than Ana and me put together. "That'll certainly take my mind off things."

Ana bit her lip.

"What?"

"She wants your parents to come too. I kinda need you to invite them. She wants to end this feud once and for all." Oh no. What she really meant was that I needed to trick them into coming. Because that was the only way my mother would be there.

Ana smiled wide. "And I kinda volunteered you to cook."

"What?!"

"No need to get snippy. I'll bring the wine."

I sighed. I wasn't going to need wine. I was going to need a defibrillator when my mother saw Aunt Rosa.

"Oh, and Nina?" she said as I pulled open the door.

"Yeah?"

She nodded toward my backpack. "Who do you think it was who took those pictures?"

Oh my God. I hadn't even thought of that. I could only think of one person—the person who sent them to me. Nate.

Fourteen

Early the next morning, I stumbled, blearyeyed, into TBS. Between the crazy dog and Maria's moaning and groaning every time she turned on the sleeper sofa—not to mention those awful, awful pictures—I'd barely gotten any sleep.

The cowbell above the door rang out, and Tam looked up from her computer screen. Dark circles rimmed her eyes. "You're early."

I opened my mouth to explain about Maria and the dog, but closed it again. I didn't have the energy. "So are you," I said.

She grumbled something under her breath. I thought I heard "winker" and "intuition."

BOOK: Trouble In Spades

10.59Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

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