Warning Signs (Alexis Parker Book 19)

by G. K. Parks

  After she paid, she slid everything to the end of the counter to make room for me. While I handed the cashier my credit card to pay for my bottled coffee, the woman put her wallet away, slid the salads and wraps into a reusable bag, slung it over her arm, and lifted the drink carrier. She took a few steps before her heel snagged on a crack in the sidewalk.

  She stumbled but kept a firm grasp on the drinks. The mango berry smoothie sloshed a little too far to the right. She tried to wipe the dripping liquid off her fingertips while she held the carrier as far from her body as possible.

  “Do you need some help?” I came up behind her with a napkin. “That looks like it’ll stain.”

  “Did I get it on me?” She looked down at her dress and pantyhose.

  “No, but that’d be a terrible thing to have happen to your beautiful dress.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Sure, no problem.”

  She eyed my outfit. “I like your leather jacket.”

  I had come up with a plan. Now I had to decide if I should commit to it. This was supposed to be recon, but I’d never been particularly patient. “My boyfriend, well, I guess he’s my fiancé, got it for me when we were in Milan.” I toyed with the engagement ring hooked to the chain around my neck. It was the first time I’d worn it in a month, but I knew it’d come in handy today. My subconscious must have had this plan all along and hadn’t bothered to share it with my conscious mind. One of these days, I’d have to get the two together for a chat.

  “Wow, he has nice taste.”

  “Yes, he does.” I giggled. “Here, let me help you with that.” I took the leaky smoothie out of the holder while she wiped it off, but it continued to drip from the bottom of the lid. “These sidewalks are such a mess. What’s taking the city so long to fix them? Are they waiting for someone to fall and break her neck?”

  The woman laughed.

  “I’m Alex, by the way.”

  “Samantha.”

  “Where are you heading, Samantha?”

  “To Elegant Events.” She nodded in the direction of her office. “But I can manage. I don’t want to put you out.”

  “It’s not a problem. I was heading in that direction anyway, but I needed a caffeine fix first.” I wrapped a napkin around the smoothie cup and carried it in one hand and my bottle of iced coffee in the other.

  We walked in companionable silence for half a block before she said, “When’s the big day?”

  “We haven’t set one yet. The venues we’ve looked at are booked so far in advance we’ll probably pick a date after we pick a location. Isn’t that crazy?”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Are you wedding planning too?”

  “No, I work at Elegant Events.”

  “Elegant Events,” I repeated the name as if I’d never heard of it and hadn’t paid attention when she mentioned it a few minutes ago, “is that a bridal shop or something?”

  “We’re event planners. Eve Wyndham runs it. Have you heard of her?”

  “I haven’t.”

  “She’s amazing. Topnotch. All the celebrities are crazy about her. Did you see that spread in People magazine of you know who’s big day?”

  “Yes.”

  “That was Eve.”

  “Wow. How have I not heard of her?”

  “Don’t worry about it. She’s this city’s best kept secret.” She leaned in closer. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

  “You can, but I might not answer.”

  Her eyes burned like a predator toying with its prey. “Who’s your wedding planner?”

  “We haven’t hired anyone yet. We’ve just been looking on our own.”

  “That’s a mistake.” We crossed the street and approached the front of the building. “Eve’s out of the office this week, but I can show you her portfolio. She’s done so many parties and weddings. We do business with tons of vendors. I bet I can help you pick a venue and get a reasonable date set, if you want to check them out.”

  “I’d love to, but I’m actually meeting some friends.” I handed her the smoothie wrapped in a soppy purple napkin. “Do you think I could stop by another day to discuss it?”

  “Sure. Let me get you a card.”

  “No, that’s okay.” I looked at the sign. “Elegant Events by Eve Wyndham. I assume you’re online.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Great, I’ll be in touch.”

  “Check out our social media page. We have albums of photos for everything from linens to centerpieces to venues.”

  “That sounds great.”

  “It was nice meeting you, Alex.” She paused, waiting for me to offer my last name, but I pretended not to notice.

  “Shoot, I’m late. It was nice meeting you too. We’ll talk soon, I’m sure.”

  I hurried down the street, ducking into the first boutique I found before turning around to make sure she wasn’t watching. I wasn’t entirely sure what that accomplished, but it gave me an excuse to return to Elegant Events if need be.

  I returned to my car and continued my recon, but everyone that came and went looked like they belonged. I didn’t spot Eve, which bode well for Andre. She was supposed to be in Dubai working an event. I had no reason to doubt that’s where she was, but that would be a great excuse to lock herself away with another lover for a week or two without her fiancé getting suspicious.

  “Hey, this is Alex Parker,” I said when one of the Cross Security techs answered the phone. “When’s the last time Eve Wyndham used her credit card?”

  “Six hours ago.”

  “Where did she use it?” I’d reviewed her financials, but given her job, most of her charges looked out of place – hotels, bars, florists, chocolatiers. But those were all part of her business.

  He read off the name and address of a restaurant located in Dubai. “That’s on her business card,” he clarified.

  “And her personal credit card?”

  “The last charge on here was four months ago at a burger joint.”

  He offered the name, but it didn’t matter. Eve must expense everything, or Andre picked up the tab. “What about her debit card?”

  “No activity in the last month.”

  “Okay, thanks.” I hung up, a sinking feeling growing in the pit of my stomach.

  Andre said Eve shopped for groceries every week, but she picked up things for work. Would she expense those too? Did this woman pay for anything? Perhaps I’d been doing it wrong all these years.

  When I grew bored, I went by Eve’s gym and signed up for a monthly membership and saved the receipt. I’d give it to Cross, who would pass it off to the client, along with the bottled coffee I bought at lunch. Apparently, Eve wasn’t the only one who could get Andre to pay for things.

  After a brief tour and introduction to the trainers, I checked the class schedule and sign-up sheet for personal training sessions. Lance had been Eve’s personal trainer, but she had stopped the training sessions when she started pilates classes.

  To be thorough, I took a seat at the juice bar and watched the patrons mill about. Most of the people at the juice bar were fifty-somethings who looked like they should be playing tennis at the club. Instead, they used the gym to socialize while catching up on the latest gossip, power walking on the treadmills, or drinking liquified celery. The gym rats were more my speed, with the cropped tanks and baggy muscle tees. Several men near the free weights were rather attractive. If they all shaved their heads, they could probably be Andre’s body doubles.

  Could Eve be having an affair with someone at the gym? Pulling out my phone, I took a few surreptitious photos of the men I spotted. I’d have to come back during Eve’s normal gym time to see who was around. But if she was having an affair, this might be where she found her side piece.

  Giving the green juice a final evil look, I left the gym. Since I’d already blundered into an encounter with someone from Eve’s business, I decided to keep my distance from any other work related locations for the day. On
my way back to the office, I stopped by Eve’s preferred grocery store. None of the employees looked like Andre or were in the right age range for Eve to be having an affair, unless she had a thing for septuagenarians or high school seniors. One would land her in jail, and the other was old enough to be her father or grandfather. They did have a plentiful stock of mint chocolate chip ice cream, though.

  By the time I made it back to the office, most of my fellow investigators were in the midst of calling it quits for the night. I ran into Bennett Renner, one of my colleagues, in the elevator. He looked like he’d been burning the midnight oil for the last month, and since I hadn’t been around much or paying attention, I wasn’t sure that hadn’t happened.

  “Hey, Renner.”

  “Parker,” he pressed the button for the thirtieth floor, “how are you doing?”

  “I’m okay.”

  “Getting shot sucks.”

  “Yep.”

  “Just getting in?”

  “Recon,” I said. “Potential cheater. You?”

  “Insurance fraud investigation.”

  “Fun.”

  Renner snorted. “If you say so. Hey, is she hot?”

  “Who?”

  “The girlfriend or mistress. Because if she is, I’ll trade you. She might need a shoulder to cry on.”

  “Actually, the groom-to-be hired us.”

  “Oh.” Renner thought for a moment. “But is she hot?”

  “Bennett.”

  He held up his palms. “I’m joking.” He waited for the accountants from the seventeenth floor to file out before he said, “I heard something about O’Connell dropping by to ask about a murder. What’s going on with that? Rumor has it you’re consulting with the police.” Before coming to Cross Security, Renner had been a homicide detective.

  “You can’t believe everything you hear.” But Renner didn’t believe me. “I have a question for you, and keep in mind, you owe me for helping you out on Chef Easton’s case.”

  “What is it?”

  “Lucien took a meeting with Victor Landau two months ago. Do you know anything about that?”

  “The architect?”

  “Yep.”

  Renner pressed his lips together and thought for a moment. “Not much. You know how Lucien gets when he thinks he has a whale coming in. He was excited. He brought it up during one of the morning meetings. Don’t you remember?”

  “I don’t think I was there.”

  “You’re supposed to go to those.”

  “I’ll remember that in the future.”

  Renner rolled his eyes. “That’s the only thing I ever heard. I’m guessing the consultation didn’t go well because that was that.”

  The elevator stopped on the twenty-sixth floor, but no one was waiting to enter. At this time of day, most people were going down, not up. “What about Priapus?”

  “What?”

  “Priapus,” I repeated, fearing asking a colleague about this would get me into deep trouble with Cross, but my gut said I could trust Renner. My head said there was a fifty-fifty chance he’d tattle to our boss. That gave me three to one odds this wouldn’t bite me in the ass. Then again, math wasn’t my strong suit.

  “What is that?”

  “Never mind.”

  Renner gave me an odd look as the doors closed. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or do I have to guess?”

  “Just forget I said anything. I am helping O’Connell. At least, I’m trying to.”

  “Cross won’t like it. He doesn’t like us getting involved in murders. Those are solely within police jurisdiction. There’s no grey area for us to maneuver.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” The doors opened, and Renner gestured that I go ahead of him. We parted ways at his office, and I continued to mine.

  Cross stood in Kellan’s doorway. At the sound of my footfalls, he turned. “Alex, we need to talk.” He nodded to Kellan and followed me inside.

  Fourteen

  “Is there something I can do for you?”

  Cross cleared his throat and circled my office. Since I didn’t have any exterior facing windows, he couldn’t look outside. Instead, he closed the blinds and shut my door. “The police are poking around into Priapus.”

  “Good.”

  “How did they find out about it?”

  “Dedication and dogged investigative techniques.”

  “What did you tell them?”

  “Nothing.”

  He stared at me. “You’re lying.”

  “Prove it.”

  He let out an unhappy growl. “How much do they know?”

  “Why? Afraid someone else is going to replace you as number one on the suspect list?”

  “Am I?” He didn’t sound like he was concerned or even that he believed me, but I couldn’t be sure.

  “No, you should have been cleared by now. You have an alibi, and according to what you told me, you’re not a member of a secret underground sex club.”

  “At least not that one.”

  “Oh really?”

  The corner of his mouth twitched. “Another time, perhaps.” He took a seat in the client chair across from my desk. “They believe the killer is a Priapus member?”

  Spinning in my chair, I pressed my palm over my mouth. Martin’s dirty jokes had filled my mind. After taking a few deep breaths to regain my composure, I opened and closed one of the cabinet drawers to conceal my momentary insanity. “It makes sense. This string of murders occurred in similar settings and under similar conditions to those established by the underground sex club.”

  “The police have identified a common DNA sample.”

  I turned back around to face him. “How do you know that?”

  “I have my ways.”

  “The DNA isn’t on file. The police don’t know who it belongs to.”

  “Which is why they want to find out who belongs to the club.”

  “Do you want to offer your assistance? It’ll earn you some brownie points with the PD and make their jobs easier.”

  “I have no interest in either of those things.”

  “Then why are we having this conversation?”

  Cross took a folded sheet of paper from inside his breast pocket and placed it on my desk. “You’ll make my life difficult and jeopardize the integrity of my firm until you get what you want.” He stabbed the paper with his pointer finger. “I don’t reward that type of behavior, and I don’t enjoy being manipulated into compliance. But just this once, I believe it might be for the greater good. If any of our clients are exposing themselves to dangerous situations and possibly putting themselves in the crosshairs of a serial killer, it’s my duty as their security consultant to stop it.” He removed his finger from the paper. “Don’t do it again.”

  “No, sir.” But I would if the situation warranted it, and he knew it.

  Cross slammed the door behind him, and I reached for the paper. Centered in the middle of the page was a single typed name: Ritch Summers, attorney at law. I couldn’t be sure what that meant, but Summers had to be involved with the sex club somehow. Obviously, it wasn’t his DNA we’d found, but he might know who it belonged to.

  On my way out of the building, I called O’Connell to tell him I had a lead. Then I called Martin and told him not to wait on dinner. I had a long night ahead of me.

  * * *

  “How do you want to do this?” O’Connell asked. “He’s your lead.”

  “It’s your case.”

  “Yes, but a name on a sheet of paper doesn’t do much for me. Legally, I have no ground to stand on, and this guy’s some shyster attorney. He’ll shut down my questions before we even get started.”

  “So you want me to ask the questions?”

  “No.” O’Connell opened the car door. “Just back me up.”

  “Always.” I stared up at the law office, wondering how exactly Ritch Summers, corporate attorney, fit into the salacious world of underground sex clubs.

  Since it was after ho
urs, the law offices weren’t expecting any random walk-ins. The receptionist had gone home for the night, but one of the paralegals pointed us in the direction of Summers’s office. The glass and chrome interior made me wonder who designed the place, which brought me back to Victor Landau.

  “Ask about Landau,” I whispered.

  O’Connell gave me a funny look. “No shit.”

  “Hey, you asked how I wanted to do it.”

  He snorted. “When the interview goes south, you should ask Summers that. It might get us back on track.”

  “Bite me.”

  “Another wonderful suggestion.”

  Before I could offer a retort, O’Connell knocked against the open door. He rested one hand on his hip, revealing his badge. “Mr. Summers?”

  The attorney looked up from the research on his desk, removed his reading glasses, and blinked a few times. “Yes? What is it?”

  “I’m Detective O’Connell. This is Alex Parker. May we have a few minutes of your time?”

  “What is this about?” Summers asked.

  We took that as an invitation to enter, and I pulled the glass door closed behind me. Summers stretched back in his chair, making the hinges squeak. O’Connell looked around the office before taking a seat in one of the client chairs. I went to the bookcase against the wall and scanned the volumes for anything that might be out of place.

  “Sir, do you know Victor Landau?” O’Connell asked.

  “I don’t discuss my clients,” Summers said.

  “So he’s a client?” I asked.

  Summers glanced in my direction. “He designed this building.”

  “So he’s your architect?” O’Connell pulled out his notepad and pen. He’d already checked this information before we arrived, but it still didn’t explain their connection or if Summers had anything to do with the sex club.

  “Yes.” Summers watched O’Connell jot down the note, more for show than anything else, but the attorney didn’t know that.