by Amy Atwell
Muffled by the glass, her words still carried to him in syllables as neatly manicured as her long pink nails.
“We don’t open until ten, can’t you read the sign?” She pointed an expressive finger—he doubted it was the one she’d really like to use—at the sign hanging near his head.
He flopped his wallet open at eye level. “Read this.”
Seeing the police badge didn’t seem to frighten her, instead she huffed and unlocked the deadbolt on the giant glass panes. “I’ve told you guys time and again I don’t buy second-hand stuff.”
“I’m sorry?” He sipped his tea before entering the shop. “You make it sound like we pop by every day.”
She relocked the door behind him and leaned against it. “Not every day, but practically. I’m not a fence, I don’t buy stolen goods, and I don’t misrepresent my work.”
He’d been wrong about her hair. The white-hot halogen lights in the store brightened it to a coppery sheen, but it was more of a bronze color, a golden red with metallic glints. Her eyes were much the same, golden brown, and flashing anger at him now.
“Before you get really worked up, I’m not here about stolen goods.” Well, not exactly. “I’m Detective Hunter, with LVMPD Homicide. Are you Iris Fortune?”
Her eyes widened, lost that spark of adversity. “Homicide? Yes, yes.”
“Is Cosmo Fortune your father?”
“Oh, God, no,” she whispered. Both hands pulled in toward her stomach as if nauseated.
While Justin empathized with her distress, he needed answers—the faster, the better. He set his tea on a display case twinkling with fiery jewels before retrieving a small notebook from his breast pocket. “Are you saying Cosmo Fortune is not your father?”
“What? No, I mean, yes, he was—is my father.” She wouldn’t meet his gaze.
He scribbled an unintelligible mark on his pad. He always committed these kinds of interviews to memory, but the note-taking lulled witnesses and suspects into paying less attention to him. Meanwhile, every nuance of body language verified or negated their stories.
Like now, when her one hand crept up to her breastbone. A gesture of concern, it told him she was worried about her father. Which led to a bigger question—did she know what he was up to?
“I need to find him. Do you have any idea where he is?”
She looked up. “Where he—you mean he’s not dead?”
Justin used the end of his pencil to scratch the back of his scalp. “I shouldn’t think so, unless you know something I don’t.” He shot her a polite smile. “Do you?”
“What kind of twisted game are you playing?” Her nervousness melted away and the pissy businesswoman returned in its stead. A shame, she was much more appealing when she was nervous.
“Miss Fortune, I don’t play games. I’m heading up a homicide investigation, and I need to find Cosmo Fortune. Anything you can tell me will be much appreciated.”
“Don’t you need a body for a homicide investigation?”
“I’ve got one of those. An older gentleman, about the age of your father and, oddly enough, found last night at the wheel of your dad’s car.”
“Cosmo must have loaned his car to someone.” She swallowed, then cocked a hip against a pedestal holding a glass vase. “I hate the thought of a car accident.”
“The car was parked. This accident involved bullets.”
Her posture faltered but she recovered quickly. “How horrible. The man who died—who was he?”
“We don’t have a positive ID on the victim yet. His pockets were empty.” Justin reclaimed his tea and strolled around the case to examine the jewelry pieces, allowing her time to fully collect herself. “How many people might Cosmo let borrow his car?”
She choked out what might have been a laugh. “Everybody and anybody.”
“That’s not much help.” The fact that she viewed him as a foe and not a friend all but shouted she knew more than she was telling. “Where were you last night?”
Her tongue licked across her lips again. “Me? I attended a political fundraiser with my fiancé, David Grantham.” She dropped the name like it was a Get Out of Jail Free card.
Close. Grantham had a lot of clout with the mayor’s office and city council. Didn’t hurt that he worked in the biggest law firm in town.
“That’s right, there was that big party at the Venetian last night. So, Grantham can verify you were there?”
“Verify—what, like I need an alibi? For what?”
“No offense. I’m just trying to do my job.”
“And why are you looking for Cosmo?” She strode toward the door.
Justin followed. “Your father is being sought in connection with this case. We believe he can shed some light on the situation, either as a witness or as a suspect.”
Iris Fortune drew her brows together like he’d sprouted wings and might leap into flight at any minute. “A suspect?”
“We found a body in his car, and your father’s disappeared.”
To his surprise, she laughed. “Detective, my father’s been disappearing since I was a little girl. There’s nothing sinister about that.”
Somehow, the brittle quality of her laugh told him differently.
“Believe it or not, I hear that every day.” Justin tucked the notebook away. “So many times the people who defend their loved ones have been totally fooled.”
“I know Cosmo.” Tawny eyes reflected her convictions.
“You don’t refer to him as Dad or Father.”
“If you knew him, you’d understand. He’s not exactly a father figure.”
“So, you can’t offer any insights on where he might be, or why he disappeared?”
Her tongue touched her upper lip as if she might say something, but she seemed to reconsider and shook her head instead. “Off the top of my head, no. Tell you what, give me your card, and if I think of something, I’ll call you.”
Justin knew she was lying but he wasn’t ready to say so to her face yet. He fished a card from his pocket. “I’ll tell you what, come down to the precinct at four this afternoon. We’ll have some photos we’d like you to go through, see if you recognize anyone.”
Her shoulders dropped as if he’d trapped her into a date to the prom. “I doubt I’m going to be able to tell you much of anything. I rarely hang out with Cosmo these days.”
“That’s all right. Between you and your sisters, maybe you’ll come up with something we need.”
Iris tilted her head to eye him suspiciously. “What sisters?”
“Your two stepsisters or half sisters or whatever. You know, Cosmo’s other daughters.”
Her nervousness reappeared, softening the planes of her face. Distrust—and fear—glinted in her eyes. “You’ve got it wrong, Detective. I’m an only child.”
***
Stupid ass notion to bring the rabbit home after last night.
Mickey watched Edgar flop his way toward the bowl of water on the torn linoleum. What, was he supposed to hold the animal for ransom? Place a classified in the paper? Cosmo, bring me the jewels or the bunny gets it. Like the old charlatan gave a damn about endangering others.
“Not that I’m sworn to protect you, but if we’re lucky, maybe we’ll both survive this weekend.” He finished stacking ham and swiss on a kaiser roll and took a hearty bite while the rabbit watched him, nose twitching.
“You hungry?” Hunkering down, Mickey tugged a lettuce leaf from his sandwich and held it out, knowing the rabbit hadn’t had anything to eat in over twelve hours.
Edgar blinked but didn’t approach.
Recalling how fast the animal could attack, Mickey dropped the leaf, then pulled his gun from the waistband of his jeans and used it to push the offering toward the rabbit.
Edgar shifted away from him.
“What? Oh, for God’s sake, I’m not going to shoot you any more than I was going to shoot Cosmo.”
His mother would faint at the thought of him killing a defenseless rabbit
in his kitchen. But then, if she had any idea he’d gone undercover to capture a Las Vegas hit man, she’d swoon into a full coma. She and Dad thought their son was on loan in Chicago doing SWAT team training. Instead he was chasing a crackpot magician with more schemes than Wile E. Coyote up his ass, trying to lay hands on some jewels and flush out the man who’d hired all the hits.
He exhaled his frustration and rubbed a hand along the base of his neck where another headache was forming. Standing, he chewed another mouthful.
Edgar took two hops forward to sniff the lettuce. But instead of eating, he reared on his back feet, eyes bright. His ears rose straight up and swiveled, almost as if he were listening.
Alerted, Mickey abandoned his sandwich. Pulling the gun against his chest, he looked over his shoulder. The merest movement of a shadow outside the window made him dart for the wall beside the door. A split second later, someone kicked in the door, bursting its flimsy lock and splintering the frame. August heat wafted in along with his intruders.
Small and wiry as a weasel, Jock slunk through the bent door opening, as always leading with his gun in his outstretched hand.
Mickey took him out with a quick punch to the stomach that doubled him over, coughing.
Pebbles eclipsed the opening, filling the space with two hundred eighty pounds of brawn and fat. Not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but Mickey had a healthy respect for any man who could win a fight by sitting on his opponent. The bald-pated giant grinned. “Didn’t know you were home, Mickey.”
“Yeah? You come by to trash my place while you thought I was out?”
One hand still pressed to his side, Jock straightened. “We needed to check on you. You didn’t come in last night.”
Mickey heaved a sigh of unconcern and stuffed his gun back in his waistband. Jock and Pebbles made the most unlikely pair of thugs he’d ever met, but he’d learned to be wary of their methods. Bullies from the playground—maybe even infancy—they didn’t believe in rules or fair play. Nice when a couple guys could fall into a career made for them.
“I called Turner last night and told him I had Cosmo. You guys don’t need to worry about me. I know where the stones are, and I’ll have them in my hands in two days, maybe a bit less.”
“Where are they?” Jock brushed a hand down his tie, apparently feeling better enough to worry about his appearance.
“Ah ah ah, if I told you, what kind of insurance would I have that I’ll get paid for my part in all this?”
Pebbles scratched his scalp. Its bumpy surface must have led to his nickname. “Whatcha do with Cosmo?”
Mickey tilted his head toward the door and the parking lot below and lied. “He’s in the trunk of my car.”
“Dead or alive?” Jock asked with interest.
“Seeing as it topped a hundred and ten out there this afternoon, I’d say he’s definitely dead by now.” Mickey yawned. “Go look, if you want, just don’t let anyone see you. You guys want a beer?”
The partners shared a look. Jock shook his head, his eyes crinkling with respect and maybe a little macabre delight. He’d never liked Cosmo. “You’ll get rid of the body so no one finds it?”
“Trust me.” Hell, even he couldn’t find Cosmo right now.
“The dead guy in Cosmo’s car was a nice touch. When did you think of that?”
Mickey opened a cupboard to pull out a coffee can, the hairs on the back of his neck telling him that neither of his guests was making any move to approach him. At least now he knew Jock and Pebbles hadn’t planted the body he’d found in Cosmo’s car when he’d checked it again at four in the morning. “Yeah, I thought it would make it look more like Cosmo wanted to disappear, buy us some time.”
Jock chuckled. “Okay, you get points for that, but Turner is pissed you didn’t follow orders and bring him Cosmo last night.”
“It took me awhile to get the answers I needed—”
“Hey, what’s that?” Pebbles motioned with his gun toward the kitchen.
Edgar hopped from the linoleum onto the drab olive carpet and sniffed with disdain at what clearly wasn’t grass.
“It’s a bunny,” Pebbles said with the same delight he’d greet a monster truck rally.
Jock grinned with a flash of two gold teeth. “I never pegged you for an animal lover, Mickey.”
“It’s Cosmo’s rabbit from the act.”
“Looks like the little bunny’s out of a job.” Jock watched it sniff at his shoelaces, then nudged it away when it started to nibble his pant leg. Edgar hopped under the dining table and pooped.
Pebbles laughed. “Can I have him?”
For a second Mickey considered it, but these were the kind of guys who followed bugs around on a hot day with a magnifying glass just to see if they’d really explode. Even Edgar didn’t deserve that. “No, I’m trading him for the stones.”
The smell of urine wafted to him. From his hideout under the table, Edgar blinked a couple times.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk.” Jock shook his head with a fiendish grin. “He’s pissing on your carpet.”
“Whatever.” Mickey hooked a thumb at the broken door. “Not like I’m getting my deposit back.”
He felt rather than heard Pebbles creep up behind him. From the corner of his eye, he saw Jock nod once. And then his head exploded with pain, his knees buckled and he found himself nose down on the carpet. Pebbles had probably done a stint on WrestleMania when he was younger—he sure knew which vertebrae to press with his knee to keep a guy lying flat.
Jock’s shoes approached, stopping inches from his nose. “You’ve got ’til tomorrow night to bring the jewels, or you’ll be the one stuffed in a trunk. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“Come on, Pebbles.”
The big guy didn’t budge. “Say uncle.”
Mickey could barely breathe as the giant added more pressure, forcing what little air was left from his lungs. “Fuck you,” he managed.
“Pebbles! Come on,” Jock ordered.
The weight lifted from his back, but then the gun slammed into his skull a second time, and by the time Mickey’s head cleared, his two assailants had left. Slowly, he rolled onto his back, checking to be sure his spine was still connected. His head pounded.
“I really need to find another line of work.”
A shuffling sound approached him followed by a gentle nuzzling in his hair. Great, Edgar had come to check on him.
“See what you’ve gotten us into?”
The rabbit hobbled around his head, sniffing and exploring, while Mickey stared at the water-stained ceiling and planned his next move. A mistake to have suggested the rabbit was a key to the jewels. But then, maybe the rabbit could help him buy some time.
“Edgar, you and I need to have another little talk with your aunt Iris.”
***
Releasing a frustrated huff, Iris pushed her work lamp out of the way and climbed off her stool. Her fingers ached as she slid the magnifying goggles from her face and blinked a few times to bring her vision back to real-world size. Wow, she’d been at it for over an hour. Usually focusing her energy on her work relaxed her, took her to another place. Today was a lost cause—this latest Cosmo crisis was a nightmare.
Worst of all, she couldn’t reach him. Cosmo always answered his calls or returned them as soon as possible. She’d left a message last night when she got home and another this morning after that detective had left the store.
“Iris, telephone!” Ginny, her perpetually cute assistant, stuck her head in the doorway of the store’s design studio. Seeing Iris free, she brought the cordless phone, her hand over the mouthpiece. “Someone named Mickey, and he sounds positively sinful.”
“Give me that.”
Ginny handed over the phone and waited until Iris pointed her to the door. With a laugh like some invisible fairy tickled her, she shot back out to the sales floor.
Iris waited until she was sure she was alone. Not that she had anything to hide. “Iris Fortune.”
“I hear the police visited you this morning. Guess your dad’s really MIA, huh?”
Her heart fluttered at the rich timbre of his voice. “What do you want?”
“What did he say when he called you last night?”
“Who?”
“Don’t play dumb. Cosmo called you on your cell at the party last night.”
She recalled the glass of red wine and Mickey’s intense dark eyes watching her from the shadows. Squaring her shoulders, she perched on her stool. “You were spying on me.”
He laughed. “Don’t sound so outraged. Every guy in town would be spying on you if he had the chance. Now, what did he tell you?”
“He didn’t call, and I have no idea where he is. And if you keep harassing me, I’m going to tell the police about our little conversation last night.”
“No chance. If you were going to spill it about me, you would have done it already.” He sounded too cocksure of himself for her taste.
“How do you know I haven’t?”
“You wouldn’t be threatening to if you’d already done it.”
She pursed her lips, but said nothing.
“And you won’t give me up because—” Mickey’s voice dropped low. “Because, Iris Fortune, deep down, you’re worried about your dad. He may not be much, but he’s all the family you’ve got. You want him back, but you’re afraid he’s gotten himself into something so bad, the police won’t help him. You’re already thinking you might need ol’ Mickey here to help you out.”
“I am not.”
“No? Then think about it some more. I’ll look in on you later.”
“Later? Like tonight? I don’t know where I’ll be.” Recognizing the quickening of her pulse, Iris aligned her design tools into a neat row on the worktable.
“Doesn’t matter. I’ll find you.” The phone clicked and went dead.
“Damn.” Iris set the phone down with more force than she intended. She wasn’t sure whether her frustration stemmed from his threat to ruin her evening again or that he’d ended their conversation so abruptly. Neither reason was a good sign.
“Everything all right?” Ginny grinned at her from the doorway.
“Everything’s fine.”