by Cara Putman
“Why?” There was a quiet caution in the teen’s voice.
“Because I need to decide what to do for Kinley. I worked for Kaydence’s mom, and she asked me to help the girls if anything happened to her.”
“Then she shouldn’t have murdered her own daughter!” The words were sharp and brittle.
“I don’t think she did. Not the Kaylene I knew.”
“Maybe none of us knew her.” The girl’s voice broke. “I keep waiting to wake up and find out this was a bad dream.”
“Me too, Alaina.” More than this girl could know.
“I always thought Kaydence had a great relationship with her mom. She was always nice when we were over, but Kaydence wouldn’t let us come unless her dad was out of town.”
Emilie jotted a quick note. “Why do you think that was?”
“Kaydence never said, but he was really strict with her. He liked to tell her what to do. But my dad makes me feel that way sometimes.”
“Most dads do. Did she say anything to you that made you think there was more going on?”
“Not really.”
“Would you think about it and call again if anything comes to you?”
“I guess.”
“This is important, Alaina. I’m trying to figure out what happened.”
“Why?”
“Because a judge will need to know. Because I need to understand how I could have missed this.”
Alaina was quiet a moment. “I Googled you.”
Emilie laughed, though she shouldn’t have been surprised. “What did you find out?”
“You’re a reporter, but you’re also an attorney. Which one are you right now?”
“I’m Kaylene’s friend trying to figure out what happened and how to best help Kinley.”
“I’ll think about it.”
That was all Emilie could ask. “Thank you.”
After the girl hung up, Emilie sat writing notes about the call. She sensed that Alaina knew more than she was saying, but the girl had to decide whether she trusted Emilie. This was one of those times when wearing two hats didn’t necessarily help.
Maybe Katie, Kaydence’s other friend, would contact her as well. Between the two, Emilie might form a real picture of what Kaydence had thought about her family.
She went back to work, and after a few hours she realized she’d accomplished as much as she could, and the office had quieted. When she glanced at the time on her computer, she realized why. It was after six. Time to head home if she wanted to beat Reid to her door.
As she stepped out of the office, the sun peeked from a cloud long enough to slice across her eyes. The brick town house was a warren inside, but it had a peaceful, nonchalant exterior. Cheerful red geraniums drooped in the end-of-day heat from the flower boxes hanging from the windows. The large planters on either side of the front steps were filled with pansies that could use an extra drink too. The colors were a little faded, as if the August days had taken their toll on the heels of a July that had experienced record highs. Emilie felt as wilted as the flowers.
She took the time to pour water on each grouping before tucking the watering can back behind a planter and heading to her car.
As she walked she felt a presence. The kind that made her stop, turn a slow circle, and question her judgment. She saw nothing.
But she felt it.
Was someone watching her in the slowly forming shadows leaning from a row house? Or was her mind still preoccupied by the lingering fear she’d been unable to shake since receiving the letter?
Her mind wouldn’t accept that the crash along the Rock Creek Parkway had been the result of a hunter not paying enough attention. There was nothing simple about shooting a car and causing the driver to crash. Her shoulder was still sore, and all the recovery and physical therapy hadn’t been enough to get her back to normal.
Her physical therapist told her to accept a new normal.
That was something she didn’t want to suffer easily.
There had to be a way to get back to one hundred percent physically and without constantly looking over her good shoulder. She squinted, trying to see through the shadows and under the bushes and ornamental trees that framed the front steps up and down the block.
There was no one there, nothing to see, just the ghosts in her mind.
She tightened her grip on her computer bag and pulled her keys from her pocket. Then she stepped onto the sidewalk and around the building to the parking lot. It wasn’t large, but it also didn’t have much overhead lighting. Maybe she should ask Rhoda to expand the motion-sensing light so that it gave more protection. Not just for her—it wasn’t unusual for clients to come in for meetings at all hours from early morning until eight or nine in the evening. The women they served had to slip away when they could, when it was safe to disappear. At least she was leaving tonight before the sun disappeared behind the surrounding buildings.
Emilie clicked the lock button on her key fob, and the lights flashed on and off, accompanied by the annoying horn beep. She’d traded in her Mazda for a sporty MINI Cooper, deciding she needed something new that didn’t have crash memories associated with it. While the Coop didn’t disappear into a crowd, it also wasn’t as eye-catching as the red Mustang convertible she’d had her eye on. But it got her around and allowed her to park in any slot the DC area could throw her way.
She opened the door and slipped into the car. After one more scan, she shifted into reverse and slid from the lot. But the feeling that someone was watching chased her from the parking lot all the way home.
CHAPTER 20
The oversized envelope that held the old Christmas cards slipped as Reid carried the two file boxes up the steps to Emilie’s front door. He adjusted his hold to get the Italian takeout back in the center of the top box. He lightly tapped the door with his foot as he tried to keep the envelope from sliding off. A moment later she opened the door, and he stood dumbfounded. Her hair was down and it waved around her shoulders. Her face looked bare of all makeup except maybe a little lipstick. And she wore a skirt with a sparkly T-shirt. Over all, the effect was that he was expected but not prepared for. That he was seeing an unvarnished version of Emilie Wesley, and he liked what he saw. She’d been so flashy in court and the times he’d seen her during the workday that this was unanticipated.
“Come in.” She smiled at him, then scooped the envelope and takeout from the top of his pile. “You can set those on the coffee table.”
He stepped inside and eased them onto the white fabric surface. “Do you want to eat first or start on the boxes?”
“Let’s eat while it’s warm. It smells great. What did you get?” “
“Lasagna, chicken alfredo, a carbonara, with salad and bread-sticks. There should be a couple slices of cheesecake for dessert.”
“That sounds perfect, and like you expect someone to join us.”
“Just wasn’t sure what you’d prefer.” He noted the soft strains of instrumental music playing, the backdrop adding a note of peace to the home.
Emilie set the over-the-top bag on the counter, then stepped into the kitchen. “Would you like some iced tea?”
“Is it sweet?”
“Of course. This is the South, you know.”
“I’ll try some then.” There was no way he was going to tell her he preferred his tea the way God made it—without all the sugar. But as long as a spoon wouldn’t stand in it, he could drink it.
“I thought we’d eat on the patio if it’s all right with you.”
They carried everything out through sliding glass doors and set the food on a small glass-topped table. It looked delicate enough to tip if he placed an elbow on it. “Sounds good. We can enjoy some sunlight before getting to work.”
Her grin warmed him more than the sun’s rays. “When the humidity isn’t 100 percent I like to sit outside a bit in the evenings. Otherwise it’s easy to spend my waking hours in front of a computer.”
The conversation flowed between them
as they enjoyed the food. He noted that she sampled each dish but loaded up on the salad. Next time he’d grab an assortment of salads and pastries from Panera. They returned to the galley kitchen for the cheesecake and coffee.
As they waited for the coffee to steep in a French press, Emilie studied him. “How do you want to approach this?”
“Each of us could take a box.”
“True.” She pushed down the plunger in the press, then poured them each a mug. After she’d doctored hers with a cinnamon creamer, she carried her mug and plate of cheesecake into the living area. “There isn’t a lot of extra space, but I think it will work if we flip through the files while they’re in the boxes.”
“Sure.” He took a bite and enjoyed the creamy cheesecake perfection. “The boxes aren’t overloaded, so it shouldn’t take all night.”
“It’s all right if it does.” Emilie sipped her coffee and sighed. “I love tea, but coffee is what’s called for with dessert.” After she’d eaten half her slice, she set the plate on the counter behind her and then turned to the box nearest her. She yanked off the lid and glanced through the files. “She didn’t label these?”
“Not that I could tell. We may not find anything worthwhile in here.”
“Or we could find the perfect item. Hayden would say this is document review and a rite of passage for attorneys.”
The front door opened and her roommate appeared.
Emilie gestured toward Reid. “Hayden, this is Reid Billings. Reid, this is my roommate, Hayden McCarthy.”
“Nice to meet you, Reid.” She studied him, and he hoped she liked whatever it was she saw. “I’m going to head upstairs as soon as I grab a drink.”
“There’s no need to run away. We’ll stay quiet.” He gave her his most charming smile.
She returned it, then gave Emilie her attention. “If I can do anything, just holler.”
Once Hayden had climbed upstairs, Emilie tugged a stack of files into her lap. “I think this is a case where we’ll know what we’re looking for when we see it. Try to go through the files carefully, but don’t get bogged down in those that don’t have anything related to her marriage or don’t look helpful in some way.”
Reid pulled a small stack of files from his box and opened the first one. A collection of receipts. He flipped through the first few but couldn’t note any sort of pattern to them. Something to look through more closely at another time. The next file had a collection of programs from various events. Why had Kaylene thought these were worth taking to him for safekeeping?
He tugged out the next group. The first folder had nothing helpful, but the next held a stack of loose-leaf notebook paper covered in Kaylene’s handwriting; he saw a date at the top of the first page. He quickly scanned the first page, and his breath caught.
“This is a journai of sorts.”
Emilie glanced up from her box. “What do you mean?”
He handed her the paper. “Have a look.”
A small V appeared across the top of her nose as she read. “It’s a record of threats he made.”
He flipped through the pages in his hand. “It covers a six-month period. There must be twenty entries.”
“I wonder if she did this at Shannon’s request. Our case workers tell clients to start a contemporaneous journal of violence or verbal threats to help build a foundation for a protective order. She never called to say she wanted these boxes back?”
“No.” If only she had.
“This can be helpful, but I’m not sure we’ll be able to get it admitted as evidence. We might be able to since she’s dead and can’t testify for herself. We’ll just need to establish that this is her handwriting.”
“I have the Christmas cards and the letter I showed you before.”
“Great. Set that file to the side so I can find it again easily.” She offered the page back to him. “I was beginning to think we wouldn’t find anything helpful.”
“I’d had the same thought.” He studied the pile of useless files. “What if all of those were a cover for the important items like this journal?”
“It’s possible. Let’s see what else we can find.”
Soon it was nine o’clock and he hadn’t found anything else that at a quick glance appeared helpful. He was opening the last file when Emilie pumped her fist. “What did you find?”
“There’s something in this padded envelope.” She eased open the flap and turned the envelope upside down over her open palm. Several small, clear items fell out, one landing in her hand and the others bouncing onto the padded coffee table and on the floor. “What on earth?”
“Is that . . .”
“A diamond.” She looked at him, wonder in her eyes. “This must be a couple carats.” She clamped her hand around it and dropped to her knees. “We have to find the others.”
He snagged the one from the coffee table, then joined her searching the floor. “Where would she get diamonds?”
“Found it.” Emilie sat and held up another diamond. “She needed money to escape.”
“So she what? Took the diamonds out of her wedding ring? Robert would have noticed.”
“Not if she replaced them with fakes.”
“I don’t have her ring, so we can’t check.”
“But we can make sure these are real. If so, we now know what she planned to use as restarting money.” Emilie shook her head as she stared at the glittering diamonds. “A stone like these can be worth $10,000 or more, depending on the cut and color.”
She slid the diamonds back into the envelope, then handed it to Reid. He shook his head. “I can’t believe she found a way to do this.”
“She was determined.”
“I wish I’d been around to help.”
“But you are now when Kinley needs you.” She started piling files back in the boxes. “Leave these here and I’ll go through them again later. I have a feeling we found the reasons Kaylene left them with you. You provided a safe place for her journal and her escape money. You were exactly what she needed to make her plan work.”
“Now I just need to be that for Kinley.”
“We’re well on our way.”
As he looked at her, Reid hoped she was right. Instead, he felt time expiring, and with it his opportunity to keep Kinley safe.
CHAPTER 21
When Friday arrived, Reid continued to work at undoing the damage done to his accounts by Vince while he was gone. Calls followed calls, lunch appointments on top of each other. But slowly he could see a pending reversal. Sounded like most of his clients were committed to him. Some expressed relief to have him back; it seemed Vince had indicated he’d be gone much longer than a week.
He’d stolen the Mavericks, though, a key piece of Reid’s investment strategy. They provided the bulk of the funds and had the most to gain or lose. Vince had played on that too successfully. As a result, the Mavericks weren’t interested in what they called a “quick fix.” They were going to let Vince prove himself, as they’d done with Reid.
It made no sense. Maybe Reid could find someone else. Someone with equal financial backing. But he’d lost too much in the last two weeks. He had to get them back.
“Mr. Fletcher wants to see you. Five minutes.” Priscilla disappeared as quietly as she had arrived.
Reid stared after her. Why would she come to his office rather than page him or send an e-mail? A moment later Simone wandered in with a tall coffee, black the way he liked. She set it in front of him, her tablet in her other hand.
“What’s the priority for today, boss?”
“Do you know why Fletcher wants to see me?”
“Rumor is he’s got a new client coming on board. Big enough to replace the Mavericks, maybe more. He’s going to set up a competition for who manages it.”
“Great.” Fletcher liked to make his associates prove they were hungry. Good thing Reid was. Especially if he wanted to add caring for his niece and her unknown needs to his plate. “That must be what the meeting is about.”
“I think so.” Simone studied him. “You still aren’t sleeping.” It was a statement, and one that didn’t require a response. “I’ll have Fletcher’s assistant let me know when the meeting ends, and I’ll be here when you come out.”
“Thanks.” Reid sat back as she left. What kind of contest would Fletcher have up his sleeve this time? Whatever it was, it would force Vincent and Reid onto opposite sides, with a little healthy competition from the newer associates. The last time the boss had concocted such a scheme, it had sucked up every moment of Reid’s time for two weeks. At the end of it he’d had a stable of committed clients—committed until he had to leave for a family crisis.
Time to find out. He grabbed his iPad and the cup of coffee and headed to the conference room attached to Fletcher’s office. Another Remington statue sat in the middle of a battered table made from old railroad ties. The table was an intriguing blend of rustic and sophistication; the worn sides of the rails were polished to a high sheen and shellacked to a rich beauty. The carpenter had actually built the table in the room, and a hole would have to be punched around the door to make space to haul it out someday. An assortment of antique chairs resided around the table. One had to arrive early to snag a well-padded one.
Fortunately, Reid had timed it right.
He sank onto the extra padding of a Queen Anne chair, one of the few with arms. The others straggled in, and Reid saw Vince frown. He liked to think the Queen Anne was his personal chair. Last time Reid had checked his name wasn’t emblazoned on it.
Fletcher came in with a strut of ego. The short man had a Napoleon complex; Reid had noticed that some of his shoes could almost be called platforms. He was always in a three-piece suit, buttoned even on the hottest, most humid days. Today it was blue seersucker. He looked like he’d stepped out of a photo from the thirties. He settled into the chair at the head of the table and slowly surveyed everyone.
“I’ve got an interesting challenge for you.” His words were slow, distinct, precise. Nothing wasted. “Over the last month I have developed a new stable of prospective clients. They are prepared to sign, but want to know the next generation that will actively manage their money. I’ve told them about each of you. They want more, so I created this test. If you pass, you’ll add them to your list and be set up for a lucrative future. Fail, and I’ll wonder whether you belong here.”