He hadn’t been too fond of Mondays lately, however. Not since Peter Arnold had targeted him as the single source of cover material for his Monday morning edition of Tidbits. This particular morning, Nick finally learned to hate Mondays like the denizens of dour faces surrounding him. He became a Monday hater. And he hadn’t seen it coming until he sat down at his desk.
His employees had spoken in hushed tones when he entered the building, parting around him as he walked the halls like he was Moses crossing the Red Sea. Someone, probably Candi, had left a copy of Peter’s mudslinging on his desk. It took less than a second to see his worst fears realized. Janelle’s sex tape with Rod had turned up.
Despair pushed him into his chair. He wanted the horrible reality of Janelle’s infidelity to disappear, not show up on the front page of that asshole Peter’s paper for the whole damn world to see. Knowing she’d had the affair was different than seeing the evidence staring at him from under Peter’s headline. Still, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. He sat in his chair, his gaze glued to the photo of Janelle and Rod. A second later, he saw the photo of Jamie and him and his gut contracted into a knot. Sarge would only intensify her hounding of him now.
A knock rapped on his door five times before he found the will to respond. “Come in.” He spoke; not looking up from his desk until after he heard the door open and close and the sound of heavy breathing alert him to the presence of an unhappy visitor. Finally, he dragged his gaze from the paper. “Preston. Hey.”
His now former brother-in-law, the one who’d exchanged his Armani suits for polo shirts and Bermuda shorts, stood in front of Nick’s desk, arms folded across his chest. “Hey,” he replied. Contempt came to life in his voice, uttered in that single word. He glared at Nick, the total look of expectation apparent in his stare. “That’s all you have to say to me? Hey?”
Nick sighed, feeling almost defeated. From the moment he’d seen the headline splashed angrily across the paper, he’d known this visit was coming. Rising from his desk, he extended a hand in Preston’s direction. “I’m sorry. How’ve you been?”
Preston ignored the outstretched hand, and Nick dropped it back down to his side. He’d tried.
Taking a seat in the chair on the other side of the desk, Preston picked up the offending issue of Tidbits. “I didn’t come here to make small talk.”
Of course not. “You certainly made good time getting here from Key Largo. That paper couldn’t have hit the stands more than an hour ago.”
“Maggie and I have been staying at our apartment in Miami until the baby’s born.”
“Really? How’d you to talk her into that?”
“The hospital here is better. Maggie understands family is more important than anything else.”
“And I don’t?” The accusation had been clear in Preston’s voice. Might as well just lay it on the table, along with everything else.
“You tell me.” He stood back up and shook the paper in Nick’s face. “I want to know what you have to say about this.”
Nick shrugged. “Not my story. You want more information, I’d suggest you go visit Peter Arnold.”
Preston slapped the paper down on Nick’s desk. “I’m asking you. Damn it!”
“You’re asking me what, Preston? Whether I’m a suspect in Janelle’s murder? Or whether your sister had an affair with your former slimeball buddy Rod Skinner? Because the answer to those two questions are no and yes. And in that order.”
“How long have you known?”
“About what? The affair?”
“Yes. The affair.”
“A few weeks or so. The police found out about the affair, actually. And they told me. Someone else told me about the blackmail part of it. Obviously, you didn’t read the story in my last edition of Just the Facts.”
Preston’s face contorted into a reddened snarl. “You mean to tell me you printed details of your own wife’s affair in your newspaper?”
“I do have a business to run, Preston. You should understand that. As I recall, you did sell part of it to me.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand anything about gossip rags.”
There it was again. Preston’s contempt for him. Bare and out in the open this time. Any pretense of civility thrown to the wind. Well, if the gloves were off, so be it. “Nice to know you think so highly of me.”
“Nice to know you think so highly of my sister.”
Hurt pressed at his heart. He’d tried with Janelle; given it his best shot. He ignored the hurt, clinging instead to the anger that buoyed him. “Apparently I thought more highly of her than she thought of me.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“She’s the one who had the affair.” It hurt to say it. Made him feel like less than a man. “She had the affair. Not me.”
“Really?” Preston jabbed his finger on the photo below of Nick and Jamie. “Maybe she had an affair because you were busy banging some photographer.”
Nick swept the paper from his desk, watching it fly off the edge and land on the floor in a heap of dislodged pages. He remembered the night that picture had been taken. Jamie had thought she’d seen something. And then she had abruptly left, leaving him alone and frustrated. “I was never unfaithful to Janelle,” he said, looking his former brother-in-law in the eye. “Janelle had an affair because I was pressuring her to have a child. Jamie didn’t have anything to do with it. And for the record, I’m not banging her. Then or now. Not that it would be any of your business if I was.”
“That picture says differently.”
“That picture doesn’t say a thing.”
“The hell it doesn’t. That’s you, Nick. I recognize the back of your head and your house, even if I can’t see your face.”
He didn’t like the accusation. “Yes, that’s me,” he said. “And yes, I kissed Jamie. So what? Janelle is dead. I couldn’t cheat on her now if I wanted.”
Preston continued to stare at him like a guard dog observing an intruder. “You’ve managed to get over her death in quite a hurry.”
Nick stood, leaning forward with his hands planted on the edge of his desk. He’d been getting over Janelle for months before she died. “I don’t have to explain anything to you.” It was then he realized that, while Preston was plenty angry, the one thing he wasn’t was surprised. “You knew about the affair,” he said, angered by the realization. “And not from reading about it in Peter’s paper.”
“What’s your point?”
Didn’t even try to deny it. “My point? Really? My point is you are out of line coming here, yelling at me because I had one kiss with someone two months after Janelle died, when she cheated on me while we were married, and you knew it.”
“My sister didn’t want to have children.” Preston’s voice was cold and harsh. “But that didn’t stop you from harassing her about it for months. You want the truth, Nick? She came to me after Rod started blackmailing her, asking for my advice, and I told her to just pay the asshole and go save her marriage. You want to get on my case for not telling you about the affair? If anything, you should be thanking me for saving your marriage.”
Nick shook his head. “For the record, Preston, you didn’t save it. Our marriage died the day I realized I wanted a child.” They’d reached an impasse. The entire conversation was pointless. “Look,” he finally said. “Unfortunately, my personal problems have become front page fodder, and I understand that upsets you.”
Preston dismissed him with a cool gaze. “That’s not exactly an apology.”
“It’s the best you’re going to get.”
“Then we really have nothing left to say to each other.”
“No,” Nick agreed. “We don’t. For what it’s worth, I wish it hadn’t come to this.”
Preston left and Nick sucked in a deep breath, rubbing his throbbing temples, caught in a tug-of-war between anger over Peter’s headline and a migraine. He scooped the paper off the floor and leaned back in his leather chair, looking agai
n at the front page photo of Janelle cavorting with Rod. He lacked the will to censor the offending material. Maybe it just wasn’t in him to censor things, he thought, chuckling at his newspaper-centered humor. He wished for anything that might lighten the mood in his heart, but found his jokes really didn’t help.
A knock sounded on his office door. Though tempted to tell his visitor to get lost, he resumed his professional demeanor. “Come in.”
He could see as soon as Jamie walked in the room she was bothered by something. Downcast eyes. A sad, distant quality to her stare. Half-hearted attempt at a smile. She looked pale. Like her best friend had died and her puppy had gotten hit by truck. Like the epitome of a country song. He stood from his chair and walked over to her, trying to put his arm around her. She backed away. “Okay,” he said. “What’s wrong?”
“Nick, I am so sorry. Please forgive me.” An uncharacteristic tremble sounded in her voice. “I should have told you. I’m sorry I didn’t.”
“Tell me what?”
She looked at him uncertainly, hesitation masking her gaze. “I should have told you about the movie.” She stepped back toward the door, looking at him like she was paying a penance. “I didn’t mean to lie to you. I just didn’t want you to be hurt.”
Realization struck, and compassion fled his body. “You knew Rod had a tape of Janelle?” He yelled, louder than he’d intended, and she backed farther away from him. “If you saw Rod had a film of her, why didn’t you at least take it?”
“I did!” Her words came out like a plaintive cry.
“You did?” He held up the front page of Peter Arnold’s latest edition, shaking it at her. Shouting. “Then how did these pictures end up on the front page of Tidbits?”
She flinched. “I don’t know. Someone broke into my apartment yesterday and stole it. I was going to tell you the truth last night, but it was already too late.”
Anger swelled in him like a storm surge. “Well that’s just great, Jamie. Can’t tell you how much I appreciate your consideration. You just handed that asshole Peter Arnold the headline he’s been waiting for. And you know what’s worse? You lied to me! Repeatedly. I trusted you, and you lied.”
“Nick, I’m really sorry.”
“Yeah. You’re sorry. You should have just told me. I could have destroyed the tape before someone managed to steal it from you.”
“Nick, I didn’t mean for this to-”
“Stop making excuses.” He didn’t want to hurt her, but his brewing storm of emotions blew out of control. “And get out of my office!”
She left promptly. Ran, practically. He watched her go, breathing hard, waiting while emotions crashed through him. Hurt. Betrayal. Anger. And through it all, desire. He still wanted her. And he’d just driven her away. He stood feeling like he was stuck in the aftermath of hurricane-driven destruction. Nothing was going to help him now. Not booze. Not work. Not FEMA. He felt devastated. Depleted. And unable to fix the wreckage. Jamie was gone and Sarge was about to come barreling after his ass; microscope in one hand and a pair of cuffs in the other. He needed to clear his name and find the real killer before she decided to arrest him.
He needed a new plan. Something proactive instead of reactive. He needed to find the missing pieces to the puzzle. And maybe they weren’t stashed away in Florida. Bringing up the airline website on his computer, he found a flight headed to New York City later that morning and bought a ticket. He still had one trick left up his sleeve.
Chapter 43
Sarge had enjoyed the luxury of a leisurely morning, drinking coffee and looking over arrest reports from the previous evening. Three drunk drivings, petty larceny from a nearby drug store; teenagers trying to steal cheap wine for a party, and the theft of a bicycle from an unlocked garage. In other words, a blessedly normal Sunday night. A few folks who didn’t want to let the weekend end, but that was all. Nice and quiet.
A welcome relief from the murders and political intrigue of the Coral Gables elite. God, but they were a trying lot. Like the dark side of Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous. She laughed softly to herself, imagining the murders of Janelle Tyler-Beck and Patrice McKenzie, not to mention the disappearance of Pearl Arnold Watson, being reported on by Robin Leach.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ she heard him say in that upper-crust affected accent of his, ‘We take you now to the exclusive, wealthy neighborhoods of Coral Gables, Florida, where, if you want to enjoy the champagne wishes and caviar dreams of these well-heeled elite, you’d better take a quick course at the shooting range and arm yourselves to the teeth.’
She laughed even harder, hearing the words spoken against the backdrop of the lush gardens and meticulously maintained greens of the Biscayne Bay Golf Club. What a hilarious show that would be. She wondered briefly if she could sell the idea to Peter Arnold or Nick Beck. But she doubted they’d enjoy the irony.
“Hey, Sarge, what do you make of this?” Sanchez burst into her office, a rolled up newspaper in his hand, which he slapped down on her desk, front page up.
One look at the photos and she sighed. She’d almost made it. Almost enjoyed the entire morning without any of that rich-and-famous bullshit. “Didn’t take Peter Arnold long to throw the next punch, did it?”
“You think Beck’s seen this yet?”
“I’d have a hard time believing it got by him. My guess is these guys keep tighter tabs on each other than a Secret Service agent does on the president.”
Sanchez chuckled. “Good one, Sarge. Didn’t know you had a sense of humor.”
“Usually I don’t. So don’t get used to it.”
He saluted, a grin spreading slowly across his face, and she allowed herself one smile in return. Yeah, she had a sense of humor. Just didn’t get to show it off too much in this job. “Tell you what, Sanchez, why don’t you get Mr. Beck on the phone for me? I’d like to hear what he has to say about this latest shot from Peter Arnold.”
“Sure thing, Sarge. I’ll get right on it.”
He rushed out of the office, as if he couldn’t wait to find out the answer himself. Sarge watched him through the glass partition. Sitting at his desk, he picked up the phone, dialed and began talking. A moment into the conversation the expression on his face changed from a happy-go-lucky smile to a frown. He said something further and then hung up. She expected him to come in and report whatever the bad news was, but instead he picked the phone back up and dialed again. She watched as he wrote something on a notepad at his desk and then made another call.
Okay, Sanchez, what the hell is going on?
He was talking with someone else now, and writing something more on his notepad. When he finally hung up, he sucked in a deep breath and slowly let it out. That was the hallmark of an officer about to tell her something he knew she didn’t want to hear. Grabbing the notepad, he headed back to her office.
“Spill it,” she said as soon as he stepped inside. “Mr. Beck decide to stop cooperating?”
“You could say that.”
“He lawyer up?”
“Not exactly.”
“No? What’s going on, Miguel?”
“He left town.”
The look on her officer’s face echoed her own disappointment and frustration. “Damn it! I told him not to leave town. Where’d he go?”
“New York.”
“La Guardia or JFK?”
“JFK. Plane took off twenty minutes ago.”
“Shit.”
“You want to issue a warrant?”
“No. That’d just get him lawyered up and uncooperative real quick. Besides, we don’t have enough on the guy to make anything stick. He still has a solid alibi and nothing but rumors connecting him to the crime.”
Sanchez paused, a question clear on his face. “Sarge, you think this guy’s guilty?”
She shook her head. “I’ve always trusted my gut, Miguel, and my gut told me the first time I questioned him he was on the level. But, you know, sometimes when I think about it, I just don’t know. Coul
d be the guy’s one hell of an actor.”
Sanchez shrugged. “Could be. But you can usually sniff ‘em out, Sarge.”
“I know. That’s what’s bugging me so damn much.” She paused and thought of one last thing. “He buy that ticket round trip or one way?”
“Round trip. Has a reservation to return on Thursday evening.”
“Great. Thanksgiving. That’s going to be a busy-ass night at the airport. See that we arrange an appropriate welcome home for him.”
“You got it.”
“And see if you can find out from someone at his office where he’s staying and what the hell he’s doing there.” Whatever he was doing, she was pretty damn sure it was connected to her murder investigation, and she didn’t want any more surprise headlines.
“Sure thing, boss.”
Sarge sat down, allowing herself one more minute of relaxation before owning up to the realization the shit had hit the fan once more.
Chapter 44
Nick was gone. Left town Candi said. She didn’t know where and she didn’t know for how long. Jamie had been stunned when she’d called; wanting to make one more attempt at an apology. Nick’s secretary had given her the news.
Trips like that didn’t usually happen on the spur of the moment. Normally, when Nick was about to take off, everyone in the building, right down to the night watchman, knew about it beforehand. That’s just the kind of pre-planner Nick was. Always left Candi with an itinerary and numbers where he could be reached in case of an emergency.
Not today though. Today he’d just told Candi he was going out of town and would be back on Thursday night. That was it. Left. Gone. Right after he’d screamed at her for letting Janelle’s sex tape get stolen. His cell phone had gone straight to voice mail. She’d tried calling once and left it at that. She didn’t bother leaving a message. Obviously, he didn’t want to talk to her. She thought of their plan to spend Thanksgiving together and all the food she’d bought sitting at home, waiting to be turned into a special feast. There wouldn’t be any point even cooking it.
Gossip (Desire Never Dies) Page 18