Roadkill

by Cheryl Bradshaw

He held a finger in the air, signaling the bartender. “Another.”

  The bartender removed the empty beer bottle off the bar and replaced it with a fresh one. Seth lifted the bottle to his lips, guzzled the contents, and watched as his cell phone lit up. Raine was calling. Again. If he didn’t answer, he knew she’d keep calling, so he did what he should have done in the first place—he switched the phone off.

  He found it hard to look at Raine. When he did, he saw Juliette. Raine’s personality was different, but her mannerisms were the same. Her upper lip curved up when she talked, just like Juliette’s had. She tipped her head to the right, just like Juliette had, and from behind, their long hair and slim body shape were so similar it was hard to tell them apart. He remembered a time several years back when he’d grabbed Raine’s waist and given it a squeeze. He would never forget the moment when she turned around and he realized he’d squeezed the wrong sister—not his wife.

  It was almost laughable to think about Juliette in that way now.

  The wife he thought he knew didn’t exist anymore.

  Now he wondered if she ever had known her at all.

  CHAPTER 35

  Seth was no longer answering my calls. I’d returned to his house, hoping he’d be there. He wasn’t, and it had been several hours since he stormed out. I considered he might have been avoiding me because he didn’t want me around anymore. I didn’t blame him.

  Maybe being there now, after the note left by Jonas, was just too hard. I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. When he returned, I’d give him his space and find a hotel.

  I thought back to the first time I met Seth. Juliette had invited me over for dinner. I’d assumed it would just be the two of us. Seth opened the door, introducing himself as Juliette’s fiancé. She had a ring on her finger and a wedding date set for three months from then. I remember thinking: Three months? I don’t even know this guy. They haven’t even been dating long enough.

  It was so fast—too fast for a wedding.

  Seth’s voice reminded me of a flatline on a heart monitor—consistent, never changing. I couldn’t understand how she thought of him as the man of her dreams. He had no grit to him at all. Over time, I came to realize she’d married him because he was safe—a good man, good husband, good father. If she’d cheated, I wondered if it was because she craved the kind of excitement she knew Seth couldn’t offer. And though I hadn’t known Jonas, he did seem like the type who could give it to her.

  Ford had dropped me off and gone, and I’d been watching out the window, waiting for Seth’s return, passing the time by playing nosey neighbor. A woman I assumed to be Jonas’s wife stood in their front yard, her arms folded in front of her, eyes like a leaky faucet, a continuous fountain of tears. She brushed them away with her hand, wiping them on a cardigan she wore over a blue, knee-length dress that looked like it had been made in the ‘60s.

  Two police officers stood in front of the woman. One kept glancing around. He seemed bored. The other never stopped talking. I wished I could hear their conversation, but I couldn’t. They were too far away.

  Several minutes passed. The officer who’d done all the talking finally took a breath. He placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder. She bowed her head and nodded, and they left. She took her phone out and made a call. Then she walked toward the house but didn’t go inside. Instead, she spun around, looked in my direction, and walked toward Seth’s house. I opened the door, and she attempted a slight smile.

  “Hi. I’m Anna.”

  “I’m Raine.”

  “I’m Seth’s neighbor. Is he here?”

  “He isn’t.”

  She frowned. “Do you know when he’ll be back?”

  “I don’t. I’ve been calling him. He won’t answer.”

  “He hasn’t answered my calls, either. Are you the one who was with Seth when he found my husband?”

  I nodded. “I’m Juliette’s sister.”

  “Yeah, I thought so. You look like her.”

  I swung the door all the way open. “Do you want to come in?”

  She stepped inside, and we walked to the living room. I sat. She remained standing, hands fisted at her sides. “I know we don’t know each other, but I feel like if I don’t get a few things off my chest, I’m going to lose it. I don’t feel like it’s right, though. You lost someone too.”

  “Actually, a vent session might help us both right now.”

  Accepting my invitation, she threw her hands in the air. “I don’t understand what’s going on. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “I know. I’ve been trying to put it all together too.”

  “I talked to Jonas this morning. He seemed stressed, like something was wrong, and then out of nowhere, he says he wants to go on a trip together, and he wants to leave today.”

  “Maybe he wanted to get out of here before police could trace Juliette’s death back to him.”

  “The whole story. It’s ludicrous. Juliette goes off the road and dies. It appears to be an accident until my husband kills himself and leaves a weird confession about seeing Juliette behind my back and then admits to accidentally running her car off the road. And he buries Nora? I’m just supposed to believe he was leading a double life I didn’t know about—seeing Juliette behind my back?”

  “I understand how it sounds,” I said. “I don’t want to believe it’s true. I’ve tried finding another explanation, but so far, no one has been able to disprove it.”

  They hadn’t been able to prove it, either.

  “Jonas loved Nora. I honestly can’t believe he would bury her and not tell anyone where she is. And he wouldn’t commit suicide. He just wouldn’t. I can’t believe it. I won’t believe it.”

  Her body shifted from side to side like a delicate flower blowing in the wind. Then her eyes rolled back, and her head snapped. I launched off the sofa, grabbing her arms before she went down. “Anna! Hey! Are you okay? Can you hear me?”

  Her body, limp and unresponsive, slouched into my arms. I knelt down, placing her on the rug. I checked her airways. She was unconscious but still breathing. I raised her legs, attempting to recall blood flow. I waited several seconds. When there was still no change. I pulled out my cell phone and dialed 9-1-1. The operator came on the line. Before I had the chance to explain, Anna’s eyes opened partway.

  She looked at me, blinking, like she wasn’t sure why I was hovering over her. “What happened?”

  “You passed out.”

  “Oh my gosh, really? I’m so embarrassed. I’m sorry.”

  I told the 9-1-1 operator it was a false alarm and hung up, knowing the police would probably show up anyway. I’d deal with it later. “You have no reason to apologize. You have every right to feel the way you do, considering all you’re going through right now.”

  She tried propping herself up to a sitting position, but her body didn’t comply. She was still too shaky.

  “You might want to wait a few minutes,” I said. “Can I get you something? Water or food? Have you eaten today? Are you hungry?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think I could handle food right now. All I’m interested in is answers to my questions, and I feel like the police aren’t saying much.”

  I sat down next to her. “I’d like to help. I’m just as confused as you are.”

  She studied my face and then said, “Did you know your sister was sleeping with my husband?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Did Seth?”

  “He says he didn’t, and I believe him. He seemed genuinely shocked when he read your husband’s note.”

  “Where is he?”

  I shrugged. “After the detective talked to him this morning, he left. I think he’s taking some alone time.”

  She pushed herself into a sitting position, leaned against the sofa, and crossed her legs. “I may not be able to stomach food, but I think I’ll take you up on that glass of water now.”

  I grabbed a bottle of water from the pantry in the kitchen and brought it
to her.

  “Thanks,” she said. “It’s weird to me, you know? Of all the women he could have cheated on me with, I’m shocked he’d choose Juliette.”

  “Why?”

  She twisted the cap on the water bottle and took a sip. “He had a ... type. She’s not it.”

  “To be honest, he didn’t seem like her type, either.”

  “We had dinner together last night. Jonas was loving and kind—the same way he always is when we’re together. He didn’t seem agitated. He didn’t even seem like anything was on his mind. He was flirting with me and—”

  She stopped midsentence.

  “What were you going to say?”

  “I just remembered he received a phone call right when we were sitting down for dinner. Usually he doesn’t take calls if we’re eating, but not only did he take it, he was very private about it. He went into another room and closed the door.”

  “Do you know who called him?”

  “I don’t. He just said it was an important work thing he hadn’t finished, and he had to take care of it.”

  “What time was the call?”

  “Let’s see. Uhh, somewhere around six thirty.”

  “How long was the call?”

  “A few minutes.”

  “Did he act any different after the call? Did he say anything about it?”

  She shook her head. “He didn’t talk about it, but I felt like something had happened to distress him. He wasn’t playful like he was before. We finished dinner, and I headed out to my parents’ house.”

  “When he called you at your parents’, what details did he give about the vacation he wanted to take with you?”

  She took another drink of water and set the bottle between her legs. “It was a surprise, he said, so I wasn’t given any details. He was going to come pick me up, and we’d fly out from there.”

  “Did you two travel a lot?”

  “Not together. He flies now and then for work. We haven’t gone on a vacation together in over a year. Not only was it unexpected, he phoned in the middle of the night to tell me. To be honest, the entire call was odd. I couldn’t understand why he would drive to pick me up when I could have returned home and flown out from here.”

  “Did you ask him?”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “I was so caught off-guard, it didn’t occur to me until about an hour later. I tried calling him, and he didn’t answer. Then the police called.”

  CHAPTER 36

  Prosperity Investments looked like every other investment office Ford had ever stepped foot in, with a few exceptions. Aside from the owner of the firm, no one, no matter what his position in the company, had an office. The space was open and shaped like a giant rectangle, allowing employees to see from one side of the room to the other. Employees worked side by side without cubicle walls to separate them. A quick head count totaled twenty-three suits, all men, all of them appearing under the age of forty.

  Ford and LVMPD Detective Whitaker, a substantially large man around forty-five years old, sporting a thin ponytail, a fake leather jacket, and coffee-stained teeth, were ushered into the office by a manager who said his boss was in a meeting, but would join them shortly. A few minutes later, a tall, muscular man in a blue suit entered the room.

  He smiled and stuck out a hand. “Thank you both for waiting. There’s a lot going on around here today. I’m Maxwell Duran, but you can call me Max. I assume you’re both here about Jonas.”

  Whitaker nodded. “We’re looking to corroborate a few facts and would like your help.”

  Max smiled. “Of course. Ask me anything.”

  Before a question could be posed, Max crossed the room, grabbed a crystal decanter off of a metal cart, and poured himself a drink. It reminded Ford of one of his guilty pleasures—a television show he used to watch called Mad Men. And while he enjoyed Jon Hamm’s troubled character on the series, the real reason he’d tuned in all seven seasons was to watch Christina Hendricks, the show’s brassy, voluptuous redhead. He could have stared at her curves all day and never tired of it.

  Max held his glass in the air. “Would anyone care to join me? I assume you’re both on the clock, but I won’t tell. And I can guarantee this whiskey is better than any you’ve tried before.”

  “Your employee killed himself today,” Ford said. “If you could sit down and take this meeting seriously, we’d all appreciate it.”

  A shocked Max frowned and then nodded. Ford assumed the frown was either because Max wasn’t used to being spoken to that way or because his obvious attempt at charming them wasn’t working. Pride wounded, Max took his drink to his desk and sat down. “I apologize if you think I’m being rude. It’s not my intention. There are a lot of heavy hearts around the office today, and I’ve spent a good deal of time consoling everyone. I’m just trying to unwind. I’m sure the two of you know what that’s like.”

  Whitaker leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Were you aware of the relationship between Jonas Parr and Juliette Granger, his neighbor?”

  “What makes you think he was cheating?”

  Whitaker held a plastic bag in front of Max. “Read it.”

  Max mumbled the words in the note as he read. Then he said, “I never met anyone other than his wife. He kept that part of his life private, and I don’t blame him. I’d do the same.”

  “What about a woman named Kimberly Crosby? Did he ever mention her?”

  Max shook his head. “I’m sorry, no. Who is she?”

  The detectives exchanged glances.

  Whitaker changed the subject. “Did you know Jonas owned a condo downtown?”

  “Absolutely. He mentioned it to me when he was thinking of buying it. He wanted my advice on whether it was a good deal or not. I told him it was a tremendous deal—far below market value. I suggested he buy it, and he did.”

  Ford found Max’s comments peculiar. He’d used the words “absolutely” and “tremendous,” two unnecessary superlatives, an indicator he was lying. If he was telling the truth and he had known about the condo like he stated, why pepper his speech?

  “I find it interesting he told you about the place he bought, but not his wife,” Whitaker said.

  “Not really. Not if he was having extramarital affairs.”

  “Is that why you think he purchased the place?”

  “Perhaps. He never offered an explanation, and I never asked for one. I always assumed he took his other women there, but it was never confirmed.”

  “What kind of relationship did you have? Were you two close?”

  “If you’re asking if we saw each other outside of work, not really.” Max glanced out of his office window. “He was a good man and a hard worker. His death is a great loss to the company and to everyone who works here. I still can’t believe he’s gone.”

  While Whitaker’s questions continued, Ford’s attention diverted to a picture on Max’s desk of a man dressed in a military uniform. The photo looked like it was of Max when he was younger. Max noticed him looking at it and picked it up. “Miss these days, you know? Seems like a world away now. You ever enlist?”

  Ford shook his head. “What was your position?”

  “Special Operations commander.”

  “How long did you serve?”

  “Long enough. After I retired, I realized sitting on my ass all day didn’t suit me. Guess you could say I’m a workaholic, which is easy given the fact I have no children and no wife. I wanted to put the money I’d earned into something great and decided to put it into this.”

  “How long did Jonas work for you?”

  “Five years.”

  “I’d like to see his workstation.”

  “It isn’t possible.”

  “Why not?”

  “Jonas didn’t have one. He spent most of his time out of the office, meeting with some of our biggest clients. It was his job to keep them happy.” Max swallowed down the drink he’d poured himself
and set the glass on a folder on his desk. “I’m curious, if Jonas left a suicide note confessing to his neighbor’s murder, why are you still looking into what happened? Ask me, looks like you just solved Juliette Granger’s murder.”

  Whitaker spoke up. “He may have killed more than just his neighbor and her child.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He had a woman living in his condo. She’s missing.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Look, Mr. Duran, you’re smart enough to know we’ve been avoiding your questions. As far as I’m concerned, Jonas Parr is responsible for all that’s happened. We’re just making sure we have the answers we need before closing the case.”

  Max nodded. “I understand. I’m available if the need arises to speak with me again.”

  “It shouldn’t be necessary, but we appreciate the offer.” Whitaker turned to Ford. “I’ve asked all my questions. Do you have anything else you’d like to say before we leave?”

  He did have something more to ask, a much bolder question. “What would you say if I told you Juliette Granger’s daughter Nora might still be alive, and she’s tied to the woman living in Parr’s condo?”

  Whitaker gave him a look, seemingly irritated that Ford had leaked information not yet released to the public. Ford didn’t care. Besides, the note hadn’t been released yet, either, and Whitaker seemed to have no problem showing it.

  Max considered the question. “I would say it’s a most interesting theory, and I understand why anyone with ties to the girl would want to believe there’s still a chance she’s alive. Jonas admitted to her death in his note, though, and I don’t see why he would do that if she was still alive.”

  There it was again. Another superlative. Something was off about the guy. Ford was sure of it. He looked at Whitaker. “I’m done here. Let’s go. I have somewhere I need to be.”

  CHAPTER 37

  Whitaker scratched his head. “Why in the world did you tell Mr. Duran privileged information about Kimberly Crosby?”

  “You showed him the suicide note, so I figured it wasn’t a big deal,” Ford said. “I didn’t say anything crucial. You notice anything off about him?”