He shut off the engine, but the car didn’t die quietly. It belched twice more before clicking and hissing.
I followed him inside the town house, struggling to comb my fingers through my twisted, tangled hair. I put my purse and tote on the sandstone countertop. Liam deposited my laptop on the small table in a nook just a few steps away, then went back to the pad by the door and entered whatever code reset the alarm.
“Want to make a grocery list for me?”
“You expect me to cook?” I asked from across the counter.
He stroked his chin. “Naw, it isn’t happening.”
“What?”
“I can’t visualize you in an apron. Well, I can if that’s the only piece—”
I threw a dry, hard sponge at him before he could finish the sentence. The air between us was already crackling; I didn’t want or need any more sexual tension. Not when I had no idea how long our living arrangements would last. “Coffee—ground fresh, please. Cream—the real stuff. Industrial-sized box of Lucky Charms. Need me to write it down?”
“Nope.” He held up his keychain and shook a small remote device that dangled off the ring. “I can set the alarm from the garage. Don’t open a door or a window. Not for anyone.”
“Yes, master.”
He pivoted and headed back out the door. “Feel free to slip into something slavegirlish while I’m gone.”
“In your dreams.”
“Don’t I know it,” he muttered just before the door closed.
It took less than five minutes for me to explore the second floor. Two bedrooms and one bath. I hope Liam didn’t mind using the powder room. Actually, I didn’t give a flying fig if he liked it or not. I have very stringent bathroom rules—no sharing. I’d take the master bedroom, and Liam could have the smaller room.
Selfish, childish decisions made, I went back downstairs and set up my laptop. If I couldn’t go anywhere, might as well surf for bargains.
My cell phone rang and I got up, retrieved it from my purse, and smiled when I read Becky’s number. “Hi.”
“How’s prison?”
“Sucky.”
“I’m sure, but it’s also the best idea under the circumstances. Anything in particular you want me to get from your closet, or do you trust me?”
She had impeccable taste. “Go for it. Oh, and when you get to my mother’s place, would you water the plants and take the washcloths off the statues?”
“Consider it done. So what’s it like?”
“I can see Nordy’s from my bedroom window.”
“That’s not what I meant. With Liam?”
“He’s irritating.”
“He’s hot. Is he there now?”
“No. Went to make a grocery run.”
“Ohhh, you’re nesting.”
“No, we’re sniping.”
“Really?” Becky asked, almost giddy. “Does that mean Tony is still in the running? No pressure, but remember the twenty-eighth. The pool is up to four hundred at last count.”
“Not going to happen,” I assured her, then whined, “I can’t stand this.”
“You’ve only been gone forty-five minutes,” Becky said with a laugh.
“Yeah, well, I don’t have to like it.”
“Before I forget, that Redmond woman came by the office looking for you right before I left.”
“Melinda? What did she want?”
“I don’t know. Margaret was taking a message, and you know how dangerous it can be to get between Margaret and one of those pink pads.”
“I’m going to call her. I’ll call you back.”
I punched in the number to the office.
“Dane, Lieberman, how may I direct your call?”
“This is Finley. I understand a woman came by to see me?”
I heard the shuffle of papers. “Yes. She asked you to call her at this number.”
“Thank you,” I said, while repeating the number in my head. As usual, Margaret didn’t return the pleasantry. I dialed the number she’d given me, and it rang six times before Melinda answered.
“I’m so glad they got in touch with you,” Melinda said. Her voice sounded strained and anxious. “I need to see you.”
“I can’t get away right now. What’s wrong?”
“Carlos Lopez called me asking for help. I know the police are looking for him. They came by earlier today.”
A chill slithered along my spine. “Melinda, under no circumstances should you—”
The muffled sound of a door opening came over the line, then a loud clatter, as if the phone had been dropped or thrown on a hard surface.
“Melinda!” I called repeatedly.
Straining, I listened to Melinda pleading with someone. “No! Don’t! Carlos, I’m warning you for the last time—”
Bang! Bang, bang!
Ohgodohgodohgod. I’d just ear-witnessed Carlos shooting Melinda.
I don’t have a license to kill;
I’m still waiting on my learner’s permit.
sixteen
MELINDA!” I CRIED INTO the phone, knowing it was futile.
There was a scuffing noise, and then heavy breathing, then Melinda tearfully said, “God, Finley. I just shot him. He had a knife, there wasn’t anything else…what have I done?”
“The smart thing,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm as my pulse pounded in my ears. “Are you at home?”
“Y-yes.”
“I’m going to hang up now and call the police, and then I’ll call you right back, okay?”
“Can you come over?”
I winced. “Yes. Let me call the police, and I’ll be there as soon as humanly possible.”
I dialed 911, then called Liam’s cell.
“Want Twinkies or some other nutritionally questionable food?”
“Shut up and listen,” I snapped. “Carlos is dead.”
“What?”
I told him what I’d heard and that I’d already called the cops. “I’ll give you twenty minutes to get back here,” I told him. “After that, I’m calling a cab so I can meet Melinda at the police station.”
“You don’t need a cab. I’ll be there in ten.”
“YOU’RE HEADED THE WRONG way,” I told Liam as he coaxed the Mustang north instead of south toward the main West Palm police station.
“I called a friend of mine on my way to pick you up. Melinda is still at her house. Call Tony and have him meet us there too.”
“What? She won’t need a criminal defense attorney. I heard the whole thing. It was self-defense.”
He took his eyes off the road and offered a chastising look.
“Right. Good idea.” I knew from experience that innocence didn’t keep the police from holding and/or arresting a person. If it could be avoided, I wanted to spare Melinda the ordeals I’d suffered at the hands of the well-intentioned but myopic local law enforcement officers.
Tony picked up on the third ring. I gave him a quick recap of the shooting. “Will you come just to make sure her rights are protected?”
Without hesitation, he said, “Sure. What’s the address?” I had no idea, but obviously Liam did. Holding the phone away from my mouth, I asked for the information.
“A community off Federal Highway. Jonathan’s Landing.”
My jaw literally dropped. Melinda lived in one of the most posh private communities in Palm Beach County. The homes averaged in the seven-figure range.
Tony’s voice was in my ear. “Hello? Finley?”
“Um, sorry,” I mumbled as I came out of the fog of my surprise. I rattled off the address, and, remembering he was kind of new to the area, I gave him general directions from Dane, Lieberman.
The exclusive, gated community was on the east side of A-1-A. Breathtaking flowerbeds, as well as professionally designed and maintained fountain, marked the entrance. Liam made a right and pulled up to the stylish stone—and air-conditioned—guardhouse. In addition to several monitors and a computer, I could see the early news playing o
n a TV screen mounted inside. A uniformed man with a round face and a hefty paunch slid open a large window. With a single glance at Liam’s PI badge, he asked, “Ms. Redmond?”
Liam nodded and tucked the badge into his shirt pocket.
The guard went to the computer, did something, then handed us a visitor’s pass to be displayed at all times with directions to Melinda’s residence. Like an alligator yawning, the gate arm rose slowly to let us pass.
Technically, Jonathan’s Landing was an island, created by the Intracoastal Waterway snaking through the community—a community that included a private, deep-water marina, championship golf course, a tennis center, and not one but two clubhouses.
I smelled freshly mowed grass competing with sweet, heavy gardenia as we drove through a couple of promenade-connected villages. Part of my attention was on calling out directions. Another part was more curious than concerned for Melinda. She hadn’t exactly embraced our reunion and had pretty much blown me off at every possible moment. Had it not been for the Carlos connection, I probably wouldn’t have made such an effort.
The selfish part of me was gawking at the estate homes. The closer we got to the marina, the bigger the houses. I bet none of these people had ever come home to find a skeleton in their walk-in, air-conditioned closets.
As soon as we made the last left, he eased the Mustang to the right, parking on the street about ten yards from a half dozen police cars parked at angles on the opposite side of crime scene tape strung between mailboxes.
“How do we get past the crime scene tape?” I asked.
“Gimme me a minute,” he said, getting out of the car quickly.
My attention stayed glued to Liam’s back as he approached the young officer charged with maintaining the perimeter set up to preserve evidence.
In a matter of seconds, the temperature in the car started to rise. I manually cranked down the driver and passenger windows and was immediately rewarded with a nice, fresh, floral-scented cross breeze.
Liam turned and waved me over. By the time I reached his side, he was holding the tape up for me to duck under. As we followed the sidewalk to the beigy-pink pavers leading to a ten-or twelve-thousand-square-foot house, I smelled the familiar, briny waters of the Intracoastal. “How’d you manage this?”
Liam slowed his long strides, allowing me to keep pace. “Told them I’d brought a witness.”
Much to my chagrin, Detective Graves opened the right side of the double entry doors. He scowled when he saw me approaching. “Been expecting you,” he said.
It sounded more like an accusation than a greeting. Not a surprise. “May I see Melinda?” I tried to peer around him, but his shoulders were as broad as the doorway.
“After you give me your statement. Let’s stay outside for now.”
“Could you at least tell her I’m here?”
“No.”
Prick.
Graves pointed to a spot near the closed garage, as if I’d been some sort of hunting hound being sent to retrieve a dead duck. Arguing with him would be pointless, so I decided the best plan of action was to cooperate fully and quickly.
I was answering the third stupid question—my address, which the detective probably had memorized, so he was definitely busting my butt—when Tony arrived.
I stood there while they did the mutual introduction thing. The minute Graves heard Tony identify himself as my attorney and potentially Melinda’s, I thought steam would come out of the detective’s ears. “Miss Tanner claims to be a witness. I need to get her statement,” Graves gritted out before turning his eyes on me and adding, “then verify her story.”
“It isn’t a story,” I said, feeling confident, because not only did I have right on my side but I also literally had an attorney on my side too. I walked him through every detail of what I’d heard over the phone, then dug my iPhone out of my purse and showed Graves the screen of received calls. Melinda’s number was the most recent, and the time was prominently displayed. “AT&T can—”
The squeak of an unbalanced wheel drew my attention, so I glanced over my shoulder to see a battered gurney coming my way. A dull black body bag clearly outlining Carlos’s corpse was creepy and a huge relief. I couldn’t say I was sorry he was dead. I remembered the fake skeleton, the violation of my panty drawer, the stories Abby had shared, and the fear I’d heard in Melinda’s voice as he’d made a move on her. Carlos Lopez was a blight on society and my personal bogeyman. I doubted he’d be missed.
“Hang on,” Graves said to the ME’s assistants, who were pushing the gurney. He stepped over and partially unzipped the bag. “Have you ever seen this man before?”
I swallowed a surge of bile as my eyes fixed on the surprisingly small hole dead center between his large, bushy eyebrows. With my hand clamped over my mouth, I moved from the macabre focal point of the gunshot wound to his torso. There was a second wound in his barrel chest. A large, dark stain made the navy coveralls look black.
“I didn’t see his face, but I recognize the clothing. He was taking pictures of me this morning.” Glancing around, I spied a silver sedan parked a few houses down and identified the car as the one I’d chased.
Graves rezipped the body bag and sent the body on its way. “Any idea why he was taking pictures of you?”
I shook my head. “Not a clue.”
“Is there anything else?” Tony asked.
“She’ll have to come to the station and provide an official statement.”
“She will,” Tony promised. “I’d like to see Ms. Redmond now.”
“You can go in,” Graves said. “Miss Tanner can wait for you here.”
“Will you be questioning Ms. Redmond?” Tony asked.
“Of course,” Graves answered. “She just killed a man.”
Tony sighed. “Miss Tanner is my paralegal. That makes her part of Ms. Redmond’s legal team, and it would be a violation of the Sixth and Fourteenth Amendments to the U.S. Constitution, as well as raising a Miranda issue for you, to interfere with Ms. Redmond’s right to counsel.”
“Fine, she can go in,” Graves said.
I could feel his eyes on my back as I followed Tony inside the house. I noticed three things right off: (1) the two-story foyer had two mirror-image curved staircases with black wrought-iron railings and was impressively huge; (2) the big pool of partially dried blood on the black and white marble floor was hard to miss, since we practically had to step over or around it as we walked in; and (3) next to the blood, a yellow plastic evidence marker acted as a beacon, drawing my attention to a knife with a large blade, serrated on both sides.
Tony asked the officer standing guard at the door where Melinda was, and we were directed to the left. Going down a hallway lined with arched niches displaying various pieces of art glass with gallery-quality lighting, we eventually entered a massive great room and adjacent kitchen.
It was a posh room, with four cream-colored sofas and five triple sliders that opened out to a large, screened lanai and an unobstructed view of the water. A two-level, in-ground pool included a grotto and waterfall off to the far side.
“Thank God!” Melinda leaped off the sofa and wrapped me in a tight embrace.
I kinda stood there, then settled on the not-actually-a-hug country club pat on the back. Cold air poured out of the ceiling vents, chilling my bare arms. Rising goose bumps pulled at my stitches, and I was afraid my teeth would start to chatter. The AC was aided by the presence of three ceiling fans spinning at warp speed. I stepped out of her embrace. “How are you holding up?”
Her blue eyes seemed vacant and glossy, but she attempted a small, forced smile. “I raised him for four years. I treated him like a son. He came at me, and I had no choice.”
“I know,” I said. “This is Mr. Caprelli. He’s an attorney, and he’s here to help.”
She patted my cheek. Another awkward moment.
“Thank you, Finley. I knew I could count on you,” Melinda said.
Not sure why or how, I thoug
ht, but I remained silent. After all, the woman had been attacked by Carlos, so I cut her some slack.
Detective Steadman was standing close, tapping the toe of her sensible shoe. I suddenly realized the one person missing was Liam.
Tony informed the detective that we’d need a little time alone with Melinda before she resumed questioning her. She was not happy.
Not that I cared. I hadn’t forgotten the way she’d tossed me onto her cruiser and twisted my arms behind my back, then slapped handcuffs on me before whisking me off for booking. Her happiness was immaterial to me.
Melinda led us through the luxury appointed kitchen, past the paneled Dacor Epicure refrigerator, and a Fisher & Paykel two-drawer dishwasher. I was looking at thirty to forty grand worth of appliances and couldn’t help but wonder how Melinda managed to live so high on the hog. I also wondered why she kept her house so frigging cold.
We ended up in a home office that was equally well-appointed. I sat in one of four butter-soft leather chairs that matched the executive chair in front of a massive mahogany desk. The leather was cream colored, as in the great room, and art and large fresh sprays of flowers provided splashes of color.
Tony looked at Melinda and asked, “Do you have a pad and pen so Finley can take notes?”
Melinda opened one of the desk drawers and handed me a 5x7 pad and a gel pen, then settled into a chair. Nervously, she twirled a lock of dark brown hair around her forefinger and kept drawing her lower lip between her teeth.
“Walk me through it,” Tony said.
Melinda took a deep, calming breath, then let it out slowly. “Carlos called me and said he needed my help. First time I’ve heard from him since he left my care when he turned eighteen.” She turned to me and said, “Finley, I swear, I had no idea he was the one responsible for your recent troubles. Not until the police were here just after lunch. I hope you know that.”
“I do.” Even as I heard myself say the words, I wasn’t quite sure they were the complete truth.
3 Fat Chance Page 21