I sat my ever-widening butt on the side table and put a sling-back black pump on Charles’s chair. I leaned in to read the screen.
“What’s the scoop?” I said.
“I just got started. I hacked into her Blackberry software. Look at this, she abbreviated everything.”
I looked at the page. There were acronyms, symbols, and abbreviations for almost every entry.
“ITM BK w/ SO IHOP,” Charles said.
“In the morning, breakfast with whoever SO is, at the IHOP pancake place,” I said.
“Well, that was an easy one,” Charles said. He scrolled down the page to another entry.
It read: MC Fri, br Sab swd.
“Not a clue,” I said.
“Me either,” Charles said.
“Maybe Henry would have an idea,” I said.
“Or you could call Lauren,” Charles offered.
“No. Just call Henry, and if he’s not in, we can call Lauren.”
“I figured you’d say that, so I called and left a message on his cell phone.”
“You have his cell phone number?” I didn’t even have it.
“I have everyone’s number. I have Esme’s address book from her Blackberry.”
“Everyone’s number?” I said. “You don’t have her phone.”
“I don’t need it, she syncs everything with her laptop.”
“Oh.” Good to know.
“Just because I love you, I printed off all the contact information from her address book.” He handed me a stack of papers. “Don’t tell the detective. He’ll be pissed I gave you the info first.”
“Not a problem.” Of course I wouldn’t tell. He’d have the information soon enough. And it’s not like I was jeopardizing his investigation by getting a jumpstart.
I flipped through the pages. She had every contact needed: Publishers, web designers, agents, writers, restaurants in nearly every metropolis and several smaller towns, hair salons, bookstores, coffee houses, and then just names. No wonder Lauren would miss Esme. It looked as if Esme knew everything, and then some, about Lauren and her needs. Not that she wouldn’t miss Esme as a person, and a friend. Right?
“Looks like I have some work ahead of me today.”
“See you in a few days,” Charles said.
“Huh?”
“When you get through that list.” He pointed at the stack in my hands.
I needed coffee before I embarked upon this task.
“You want some coffee?”
“I’ve already been through a pot and a half. If I have anymore, they’ll have to insert a catheter so I can get through this hard drive.”
The visual rolled across my mind. I shuttered.
“Well, I’m making a pot if you change your mind.”
“I’m good.” Charles said, absent-mindedly as he stared at his computer screen.
“Hey, if you get a chance today, take a look at Lauren’s Facebook page and see if any of the pictures catch your eye.”
Charles looked up. “Because?”
“I don’t know, there’s just some weird stuff with people dressed as vampires. I swear one of the people is Esme.”
I went to the kitchen and started a pot of vanilla flavored coffee. While the pot brewed, I debated changing my clothes before lunch. Was a skin-tight bodice and strappy shoulders the impression I wanted to make? Hell, yeah! Even with the few extra pounds (thank God they gripped my hips and thighs, which could easily be disguised) I looked good in this dress. Four-inch black heels helped finish the look. I poured fat-free half and half into my cup with a dash of sweetener, then pulled the coffee pot from the maker before the pot was full and filled my cup.
In my office, I sipped from my cup as I went through the pages of contacts, crossing off out-of-town restaurants, bookstores, coffee houses, vintage clothing boutiques, office supply stores, publishers (other than Newton Publishing, Lauren’s publisher), and agents.
I kicked my shoes off under the desk, which was Lola’s cue to get up from her bed, track the enemy and kill it. She crept up to my shoe, moved in and snatched it. When she had it in her mouth, she shook her head hard enough to kill her prey and then flung it across the room. It’s funny, no matter how many times I’ve seen it. If I make noise, she gets distracted and stops, so I watched in silence for a few moments before returning to my list of name and numbers. The shoe was now dead, so Lola went back to bed.
Next I went through the list and highlighted phone entries that seemed to be personal names, either business or friends. That narrowed the list to about forty-five. From there I narrowed the list to female names, marking them with a star. Down to twenty-five. Females like to hear themselves talk. Don’t deny it, you know it’s true. So I figured if anyone was going to proffer the information I needed, I’d start with the women.
After an hour’s worth of calling I had garnered nine disconnected numbers, eleven voicemails and three actual people. I hung up on the voicemails. Of the actual people I reached, only one knew who Esme was, but it was a jackpot.
Susan Olson was Esme’s best friend.
“Hi, Susan?”
“Yes.” Her voice was shaky.
“I’m Mimi Capurro, I’m calling about your friend, Esme Bailey.”
She broke down. “Um, she’s not here.” Sobs. “She’s dead.”
“I’m sorry. I know Esme is dead. I’m so sorry. I wanted to talk to you about her death.”
“How did you know she died?” She gulped air between words.
“I was the one who found her.” I hated telling her this over the phone.
“I thought her boss found her.” Susan sobered a bit.
“I was with Lauren when she found her.”
“How did you know her?” Susan said.
“Lauren? I was working for her.”
“No, Esme.”
“Oh, I’d just met her the day she died. She seemed so nice,” I said. I explained how I was working with Lauren on her book tour.
“She was my best friend,” Susan said, between sobs.
I understood her loss. When you lose someone close, you want to talk to someone, but you cry so hard you can’t talk, even if you wanted to. I waited her out.
When she calmed a little, I said, “Susan, do you mind if I come by tonight to talk?”
“Talk about what?” Susan said. She sniffed and then blew her nose.
“Esme.”
“Why?” Susan sounded defensive.
“Well, how did you find out about what happened?”
“Esme’s mom called me this morning.”
“Did Esme’s mom tell you how she died?”
“She said she died at work,” Susan said. She sniffed again.
“Yes, well, sort of. But I’d rather not discuss this on the phone,” I said.
“I took a sick day, so I won’t be going anywhere. What time?”
I looked at the area code and prefix on the phone number. Santa Cruz. I had three GPS reports to write, a follow up with the parent of a teen we were tracking, lunch with Nick, and the drive to Santa Cruz, so it would be early evening before I could get there.
“How about seven tonight?” I said.
“Okay,” she said, her voice still shaky.
She gave me her address, and I put the information into my cell phone. I thanked her for her time and hung up. I still needed more contacts, but maybe Nick would cough up some details I could follow up on. I didn’t want to step on his territory, but Lauren was paying me to assist in the investigation.
I practically skipped to Charles’s desk, waving the sheet with Susan’s information. I had something, and I wanted to share it with someone.
“Hey, I got a hit. I’ve got a meeting with Esme’s best friend.”
“Great place to start.”
“I don’t know. But it’s all I’ve got for the moment. I only know how to investigate a murder from what I see on T.V. I don’t want to waste Lauren’s time or money.” I was having serious doubts about trying
to investigate alongside the police.
“But you’ll have more chances to see Detective Christianson.” Charles winked.
“Oh, yeah, I should be busting my butt on this investigation to impress good old Nick.” I wanted to take the words back as soon as I said them.
“Or busting your butt on a treadmill.” Charles reached around and patted me smartly on the side of my rear.
“I’m going to make time to run tonight.”
Charles smirked. “Yeah, sure.”
I ignored him.
I kept wondering if I was looking in the right direction. What was I going to get out of interviewing Susan? What information could she provide that would help us? Interviewing a person without a plan could be a total waste of time. I didn’t know exactly what I was going to ask. The direction of the investigation leaned toward revenge against Lauren. Maybe Esme had confided in Susan about threats or messages. Maybe Esme was scared. I wasn’t sure. I looked at my watch. I dreaded my next appointment.
7
I arrived at Georgio’s at about ten minutes before one and waited in my Land Rover doing a stealthy hair and makeup check. My ponytail took a few years off my looks, along with the deftly applied eye shadow and blush. I’d brushed on some nice cheekbones, which made my face look a tad thinner. By the way, I adore the person who invented stay-put lipstick.
Nick’s silver Crown Vic pulled up beside my car and I stepped out before he got out of the car. Okay, I’ll rephrase that. I tried to step out of my car. The heel of my shoe caught on the rubber floor mat of the Land Rover and I had to launch myself at the door of the car parked next to me to keep from falling on my face.
I swear Nick moved as quickly as the vampires in the books I’d been reading, since he seemed to be standing in front of me before I could regain composure.
“Sensible shoes,” Nick said.
“I wasn’t trying to be sensible.”
“Obviously.” He stepped back and headed to the restaurant.
As I followed him to the restaurant I couldn’t help but notice he’d dressed up for the occasion. That is, unless he always wore Ralph Lauren dress shirts and slacks. I stepped past him, smelling the faintest hint of Hugo Boss cologne.
“Thank you,” I said. At least he was polite enough to hold the door.
In a weird way, it felt like we were 19 years old again, but with more money, and nicer clothes.
Georgio’s still looked like it had when we were in college, cozy Italian, with murals of gondolas gliding along the river, white table clothes and blond wood chairs. The hostess sat us at a table near the front of the restaurant where it felt like being seated in the dining room of a private home.
“Time warp,” Nick said.
I felt the same, but the words caught in my throat. “Uh-huh.”
“Want to split a plate, for old time’s sake?”
He had a lot of nerve. He hadn’t spoken to me in over a decade, and now he wanted to bring up old times. “We have no old time’s sake.”
He ignored me and looked at the menu.
It didn’t take long for the waiter to take our order. In moments he was back at the table with a bread basket and our salads. There was an uncomfortable silence.
I pulled open the napkin and placed it on my lap. “So you wanted to grill me about Monday night?”
“I just wanted to get an official statement.” He pulled a recorder from his pocket.
I told him about the trip to San Francisco, and how we walked into the house, finding Esme’s head, and then her body. I even told him that I’d looked through the rest of the house.
“Right before the uniforms arrived, I went through the formal living room, and the kitchen. Did you see that kitchen?”
“Bigger than my apartment,” Nick said, stuffing a forkful of salad into his mouth.
“I know, bigger than my house too. If I cooked I’d be jealous.” I pushed the remainder of my salad toward Nick. “Want the rest?”
“Sure.”
“When I went into the kitchen, the back door was open.”
“Are you sure? When I went through, the door was closed.”
“I’m absolutely positive that door was open,” I said. “The bottom was closed, but the top part of the door, with the window, was ajar. I know it was.”
“That just doesn’t jive.” Nick looked puzzled.
Our lunches arrived. Nick had Penne Carciofi Arrabiato, and I had Chicken Marsala. We thanked the waiter, and I picked up my fork and knife and cut into my chicken. Nick fiddled with the shrimp on his plate.
I swallowed my mouthful of chicken, most of it anyway. “Did either of the officers, or Natalie, go through the house?”
“No. Just after you and Natalie left, CSU arrived while I was in the kitchen.”
He still hadn’t touched his food. I wanted to reach across with my fork and eat it for him. As good as my chicken tasted, a bite of shrimp would taste better.
“So you think the killer was still there?” Holy shit, I walked through the house alone, and the killer may have been there.
Nick thought about it. I couldn’t help myself. I reached across the table, and took a bite of shrimp. Oh, goodness, it did taste delicious. And it brought Nick to. He pulled the plate closer to him, and picked up an artichoke heart and chewed as if trying to decipher what he’d put in his mouth.
“If he was, how did he get there, and how did he leave?” Nick was still chewing as he spoke.
“True. The location is fairly remote. But he could’ve parked down the road.”
“We checked all the cars along the road. And CSU scanned the yards.”
“Do you really think Lauren’s right? That it was someone trying to get back at her?”
“We don’t have enough to go on to form a theory just yet.”
I reached across to steal another bite.
Nick slapped my hand. “If you wanted shrimp, you should have ordered it, instead of a stupid chicken.”
“Fine.” I rubbed my hand.
Nick grabbed the spoon and placed a mound of shrimp, artichoke and olives on the side of my plate. “Now stop picking at my plate.”
Some things never change. He never did like sharing, even when we barely had money for one plate. I fought back a grin.
“So what else can I tell you?” I said.
“The dispatcher said you went through the rooms.”
“Not really. I went to the bathroom upstairs to get a towel. I didn’t want to leave prints when I opened the doors.”
“Not like there wouldn’t be at least a dozen prints on the doorknobs already,” Nick said.
“I was looking for Henry. I guess I wondered why he didn’t come down when Lauren started wailing.”
“Olivarez said he was out cold.”
“I actually thought he was dead. I went into the room, and flipped on the light. He didn’t even respond, flinch or anything. As much as I didn’t want to touch him, I checked for a pulse. He had one. Obviously.” I shoveled in a mouthful of Marsala chicken.
“We took a blood sample from him. He said he never sleeps like that. In fact, he rarely sleeps at all,” Nick said.
“That’s what Lauren said.”
“What’s the deal with them?” Nick said.
“Who?”
“Lauren and Henry.”
“I just met them myself. Lauren didn’t talk to me much on the way to and from the signing. She was on her phone, or working on her laptop. She said she had a deadline.”
“None of this makes any sense.”
“I know. But Lauren’s fan base is different. Like Star Trek geeks, or role-playing fanatics.”
“What?” Nick was genuinely puzzled.
“Okay, remember the movie The Rocky Horror Picture Show, from the late seventies, or was it early eighties?” Oh, I was dating myself.
“I’ve heard of it, but never saw it.”
“Well, the Lighthouse Theatre in Monterey used to have a midnight show. That was after the E
ight Twelve on Cannery Row burned down. Anyway, people used to come dressed as the characters, Frankenfurter, Magenta, Columbia, and Riff Raff.”
“What the hell?” He put his fork down and wiped his mouth.
“Those were the main characters in the movie. Oh, and Brad and Janet.”
“And you know this because?”
Okay, so I’d been a fan of this cult movie. And not only did the freaks dress up, but they brought props, and danced to the “Time Warp.” I wasn’t going to admit it to Nick, but I could still dance the time warp. It’s just a jump to the left… And before I go any further, no, I didn’t dress in character. I’d seen the movie more than a hundred times, but I wasn’t going to admit that to Nick either.
“I used to go with my friends, every once in a while. It was great fun,” I said.
“You aren’t normal, are you?” I think he really meant it.
“Normal is boring.”
“Uh-huh,” Nick said. He picked up his recorder. “Wow, we’ve wasted a lot of tape.”
And time, I thought. He hadn’t learned anything, and neither had I.
“So what I’m trying to say is that her fans really get into it. They dress the way they think her characters would look.”
“And you think they’d do the things that are done in the books?”
“Hard to say, since we don’t live amongst werewolves and vampires,” I said.
“Just one more avenue to explore.”
“What happened at Esme’s mom’s house?” I said.
“I hate that part of the job. Thank God for Natalie.”
“She probably hates it, too. She’s just more compassionate than you are.”
I expected a rebuttal, but he said, “True.”
“Well?”
“Well, nothing. She and Esme hadn’t been close for a while. I guess Esme had moved out a few years ago, and they rarely spoke.”
“Did they have a falling out?”
“From the mom’s point of view, Esme had it coming. She said that Esme had come on to her boyfriend. She didn’t want her daughter having sex with her boyfriend, so she chose the boyfriend and kicked Esme out.”
“Oh, the mom’s a real winner, huh? Do you think Esme was really flirting with the boyfriend?”
Gotcha Detective Agency Mystery Box Set Page 5