Lethal Lifestyles (A Headlines in High Heels Mystery Book 6)

by LynDee Walker

  My eyes lit on Parker and Mel, his good arm pulling her into his side, her head resting on his shoulder. The letters Bob had shown me crept into my thoughts, and I shook them out like a bad Etch-A-Sketch creation. Mel pointed at something on the field and Parker laughed, his head falling back.

  They were happy. I would keep it that way.

  At the top of my list of questions sat our murder victim. I knew Parker’s association with him was just waiting to blow up in my face. But if Burke was such an asshat, he had loads of enemies. Boil that down, and it was both good and bad. Good, because Parker couldn’t be the only one with motive and/or opportunity. Bad, because more suspects equaled more complications, and I had a time constraint with their impending happily ever after officially less than a week away.

  It was a darned good thing I did my best work under pressure.

  Getting information without raising eyebrows in a crowd this size would be almost impossible, so my best bet was to get everyone the hell out of here and dig deeper into Mitch’s life when we got back to Richmond. So far, no other news outlet appeared to even know he was dead. But the obit would run Tuesday, and the quiet wouldn’t hold three seconds if Parker was named a suspect. It might not hold ’til then with Charlie so hot to beat me to a headline.

  Journalism in the Age of the Internet 102: Get it first has a whole new meaning.

  Journalism in the Age of the Internet Master Class: You still have to get it right.

  Never had I been so desperate to get to the bottom of a story. I just needed a few (okay, a lot) more pieces of the puzzle.

  I scanned the crowd again, lifting my sunglasses on the third pass. Celia was gone.

  Chef Alexei still stood in his same spot, with the same stoic look on his face.

  I tapped one sandal on the grass. Go talk to him, or hunt for her and Jinkerson? I scanned the crowd again.

  Parker’s parents and the Okersons were half a football field away, chatting and watching the match.

  Maisy stood behind them to the left, sneering at Parker. Not that anyone noticed. What I wouldn’t give for the bratty bridesmaid to be my biggest problem.

  I could catch up with the chef anytime—especially if Burke’s tox screen turned up poison.

  I slipped through the back of the crowd and behind the stable, wishing for a second as the sounds of the match faded into the distance that I had a normal life. What would it be like to have Joey here, arms around my waist, making jokes in my ear as we watched Sammons and his friends attempt to play a game they appeared to know next to nothing about?

  Meh. What-If Avenue was generally my shortest road to sadness and frustration. Lucky me, my brain veered right off of it when I caught sight of Celia’s dark hair vanishing into the barn where Burke’s body was found.

  As much as I’d wanted to chat with Celia the night before, I wanted to see what she was up to today. Innocent people didn’t usually pop over to the scene of a body discovery while everyone else was occupied.

  I slipped off my sandals as I stepped onto the hay-strewn floor, padding quietly to the first corner and peeking around.

  No Celia.

  Creeping along the wall, I listened for footsteps in case I needed to dive into a corner. Quiet as a church on Monday morning.

  At the end of the row, the door from last night was ajar.

  Cleaning up evidence of her tryst with Bubba?

  Maybe.

  I tiptoed closer, and got almost two-thirds of the way there before the door swung open and she stepped out.

  I froze, but she turned toward the other end of the building without noticing me. Hugging the wall, I stared at her hand, closed around an L-shaped silver object that bounced a reflection of the sunlight onto the ceiling with her every step.

  Just what I needed: another question. Two, really: What the hell was that thing, and what did she want with it?

  I stayed a safe distance back, sliding my shoes on as I stepped outside. Before I could get a bead on what to do next, my phone started buzzing.

  I pulled it out and smiled at the screen.

  I put it to my ear. “Hey there.”

  “Good morning, beautiful.” Joey’s warm voice made my stomach tickle, a tingle shooting all the way to my toes. His wake-up line was as standard as Bob’s meeting dismissal, but I never tired of hearing it.

  “You staying out of trouble?” he asked.

  “Of course.” I stopped at the corner of the barn, looking around. Not a soul in sight. Damn. I leaned on the wall and focused on Joey.

  “Why don’t I believe you?” he asked.

  Because he knew me. When I kept quiet, he sighed.

  “Listen, Princess, Sammons has an awful lot to lose. People with that much at stake don’t play by the rules.”

  My stomach twisted. He knew more than he was saying. And after what the sheriff said about the sister, that made me more than a little nervous. “Like what?”

  “Like prison.” Long pause. Muttered string of swearwords. I could almost see his tight jaw, his hand floating up to his temple. “Sammons wasn’t always the wealthy beacon of respectability your newspaper makes him out to be. He’s still not, I suspect, but he’s got a couple of skeletons in his wine cellar that could snatch his whole life away. He had a sister. A sister who was set to inherit everything his father had. Who supposedly committed suicide days before their dad died. And right after he reappeared in their lives.”

  I froze.

  I’d come to that conclusion on my own a couple hours before, of course, but it wasn’t Sammons I was focused on.

  Joey was sharing secrets. About a murder suspect.

  I’d gotten too deep in my share of stories—and a few times, Joey tried to keep me away because he knew things about the players. He was a great sounding board, and a heck of a decent bodyguard.

  But spilling details willingly like that? Never.

  I let my head fall back against the cool siding of the barn.

  He trusted me.

  Deep breath.

  “And no one thought that was odd? Why didn’t he go to prison?”

  “That part I don’t know. I’d say money is a safe bet though.” He paused, his tone sharpening. “You know I’m telling you this so you’ll understand why I asked you to let me handle him for you. Not so you’ll go get yourself stuffed in a barrel being Nancy Drew.”

  I nodded, a wave of fatigue making my knees sag. I slid down the wall onto my rear almost involuntarily.

  “We made a deal,” I said. “I have no plans to back out.”

  “So you’re on your way home?”

  “I’m almost ready to head out. I have a story to put together for Bob when I get home.”

  “Drive safely, please,” he said. “You sound tired. How about dinner one night this week?”

  “That would be lovely.” I smiled. “You coming to town?”

  Joey lived in Baltimore, but spent more time in Richmond lately than he did in his own town. Which was more than fine by me.

  “For you? I’ll make the drive.” I could practically see his dark eyes crinkle at the corners with a smile.

  “I can’t wait.” I outlined three circles in the dirt with my finger.

  His voice deepened and softened with a warmth that made my knees watery all over again. “See you soon.”

  I clicked off the call with the smile still in place, but it faded when I looked around the fields. From the noise coming my way, the polo match was wrapping up, and I’d lost Celia and still hadn’t seen Jinkerson. My personal life might be batting a thousand today, but I was striking out in the crime-solving game, with no time for extra innings.

  Falling in step with the crowd, I chatted with Larry and Shelby all the way back to the cottage, then loaded my car and pointed it home, wishing I’d thought to get Jinkerson’s cell number as I pieced together a lead for the Burke story in my head.

  17.

  Miss Misunderstood

  By the time I’d gathered my little toy Pome
ranian from my best friend’s house, I had a long list of questions and eyes fighting to reopen after every blink. The last three blocks to my house were dicey, Bob’s warning about overworking myself floating through my head as I turned into my driveway on autopilot.

  I bent over the fence and set Darcy on the back lawn before I climbed the kitchen steps, every thought of Mitch Burke replaced by my cherry four-poster and fluffy pillows.

  “Sleep, Darce,” I mumbled, pushing the door open. “Then all this will make sense.” Okay, so a nap doesn’t generally equal a miracle, but it would at least help me have the brainpower to see what to do next.

  I spooned half a can of Pro Plan into her little pink porcelain bowl and dropped clothes through the house on my way to the bed. Burke’s cat-canary smile and the nasty words in his last letter to Bob floated through my head as I drifted off.

  It was dark when my eyes opened again.

  I blinked, turning my head toward the clock. 8:40. Dammit. More of a nap than I intended, and I couldn’t call people looking for information at nine o’clock on Sunday night. Not if I wanted them to talk to me.

  I groaned and flipped over, pulling a pillow over my face. “Why does everything have to be so damned complicated?”

  “Nichelle?” The voice came from the hallway, and would’ve scared the hell out of me if I didn’t know it so well. As it happened, I bolted upright, very aware that I was a lacy bra and a thong from being naked under the quilt.

  Footsteps. Tap. Tap. Tap.

  “You okay?” My door squeaked open a crack and I tightened my grip on the blanket, clearing my throat.

  “Hey, Kyle.” I flashed a smile. “Um. What’re you doing in my house?”

  He grinned and stepped into the room, light flooding in behind him when he opened the door. “Hazard of the job. I was in the neighborhood and wanted to talk about your murder vic. The car was in the drive, the dog was raising hell, but you didn’t answer the door. I went around to the side and found the door unlocked and…” He shrugged. “It scared me.”

  I felt my lips tip up in a smile. “I appreciate the concern. My crazy weekend caught up with me all at once, and I barely made it in here before almost passing out.”

  “You should take better care of yourself.”

  “Look who’s talking.” I laughed, nodding to his wrinkled, untucked shirt and shaggier-than-normal facial hair. “How many nights this week did you sleep on the couch in your office?”

  He shook his head and half-perched on the end of the bed. “I’m going to take the fifth on that.”

  “It’s good to see you.” I cleared my throat and wrinkled my nose. “I wish it didn’t always involve dead people.”

  “They do seem to populate the majority of our conversations.” He shrugged. “Perhaps we should take up a hobby?”

  His easy smile shot straight to the special place in my heart Kyle would always occupy. Whatever else was going on my crazy world, my friend was firmly in my corner. Nice thing to know. So nice I reached for his hand—and let go of the covers.

  Everything slowed to a crawl. Kyle’s eyes dropped from my face to the scraps of pink lace and satin covering my skin, going wide as I tried to remember how to make my hand close around the damned quilt and pull it back up.

  It probably took five seconds, but they were longer than that predawn hour before little Nichelle was allowed to get out of bed on Christmas morning.

  My cheeks heated, instinct telling me to dive under the blankets and refuse to look him in the eye ever again. Stupid, if you considered that Kyle had seen me in much less than a bra more than once. But this was different. The friend thing was just getting comfortable.

  My fingers finally found the edge of the quilt and resettled it, my lips hunting a word that would make the air in the room less heavy with awkwardness. “I…”

  Darcy started yipping as his eyes returned to mine. “Maybe I should just call next time?” He stood, running both hands through his hair and sending the curls sticking up in thirty directions.

  “I’m glad you came over—” I began, keeping a purposeful death grip on the edge of the quilt.

  The dog’s yipping stopped.

  Just as Joey appeared in the doorway.

  Joey’s eyes skipped from the rumpled bedclothes to my nearly bare shoulders to Kyle’s mussed hair in half a second, the smile on his face flashing to disbelief, then to hurt as his gaze came back to me. “Forgive the interruption. Doesn’t look like you were expecting more company.” The words were strangled, his stoic drive-Nichelle-nuts expression settling over his face like shutters closing.

  “No! You’ve got—”

  He didn’t let me finish the sentence before he spun on his heel and disappeared.

  Kyle spread his hands wide. “That didn’t really just happen.”

  “Out.” The word slid between my teeth.

  He scurried from the room and shut the door.

  A pair of yoga pants and a faded Telegraph comics t-shirt later, I’d chased Joey to an empty driveway, no sign of his car on my street. I shuffled back into the house brushing away tears and found Kyle waiting in the kitchen with a glass of Moscato and a smile that looked sincerely apologetic.

  I swallowed the wine in one gulp and put the glass on the counter, leaning both hands on the edge and letting my eyes fall shut. “Whatever I’ve managed to set off-kilter in the universe really needs to right itself. I’m tired of being some kind of karmic punching bag.”

  He rested a hand on my shoulder and I flinched, the hurt on Joey’s face playing on a loop on the backs of my eyelids. Kyle’s fingers faltered, then squeezed. “I’m still your friend. Right?”

  I sniffled and nodded, letting my chin drop to my chest and pulling in a deep breath. “I just wish everything wasn’t so…”

  “Ridiculous?” Kyle chuckled, sinking his fingers into my knotted shoulder. “Me too.” He produced my iPhone and laid it on the counter in front of me. “You should call him. He knee-jerked, but he’ll listen to you once he cools off. Trust me.”

  My eyes popped wide. I snatched up the phone and turned, tipping my head to one side. “Who are you and what’ve you done with Kyle Miller?”

  He shrugged. “As your friend, I want you to be happy. I’ve been watching this for a while now—for the most part, you seem happy with him. And I’m around to keep you safe. So…call him.”

  I patted his arm, punching my favorites list up on the screen. “Excuse me for a sec?”

  He nodded and I gestured a help-yourself toward the fridge on my way to the living room, holding my breath as I listened to the ring buzz in my ear.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  Voicemail.

  Damn.

  “I know you don’t think you want to talk to me, but you have to let me explain,” I said. “What you saw wasn’t at all what it looked like. Please call me. Or just turn around.”

  I clicked off and tapped my messages, texting him a “Turn around. Not what you think, I promise. I was napping, he’s helping me with Burke, I left the door unlocked, he panicked and came in the house.” I clicked send with a silent thank you that at least Joey hadn’t been ten seconds earlier, because I never would’ve sold him on this story without the covers, truth or no.

  Staring at my phone, I tried to go go Gadget psychic power the little gray dot bubble into existence.

  No dice.

  I kept my eyes on the bottom corner of the screen until it faded into a blur, then flung the phone on the couch just as Kyle poked his head around the corner. “It’s awfully quiet in here.”

  “He won’t answer me.” I blinked, trying to smile. Maybe if I pretended everything was okay, it would actually get that way somehow.

  Kyle stepped into the room, uncertainty rolling off him in waves as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his flat-front khakis. “I’m sorry?” I wasn’t sure he meant for it to sound like a question, but that’s how it came out.

  I curled
my hands into fists at my side, pulled a deep breath through my nose, and fixed a smile on my face. “I appreciate that. It doesn’t look like there’s any more to do for it right now, and I’m starving. Why don’t we eat something and talk about what you came to tell me?”

  I moved back to the kitchen, pulling a loaf of bread from the pantry and turkey, cheese, and a tomato from the fridge.

  “Can I help?” Kyle asked.

  “You can grab drinks, then take a seat and tell me you have a plan to save this wedding.”

  He popped two diet Dr Peppers and dropped his long form into one of my little bistro chairs, crossing his legs at the ankle and settling his hands behind his head.

  “Burke had some questionable friends. The Caccione kind.”

  I sliced the tomato and kept my face carefully neutral. I’d figured that, both from the photo I’d found and Joey’s freak-out when he heard Sammons’s name. Not that I was telling Kyle. “Awesome. Which one of them put him in that barrel?”

  Kyle chuckled. “I wish I could tell you. I’m not sure. Not yet. But here’s what I do know: the guy he had the most contact with? Runs their bookmaking operations.”

  Jiminy Choos.

  I almost dropped the knife, my jaw unhinging. “Holy…” I steadied my hands and turned to Kyle. “A guy who works for a major league sports team betting…that’s a huge big deal.”

  Kyle nodded. “Pete Rose, anyone?”

  I nodded, my eyes still wide. If Burke was in too deep with a bookie—a bookie for the mob, no less—well. Parker wouldn’t even be a blip on anyone’s radar.

  I drummed my fingertips on the counter, twisting my mouth to one side. “We need more. Solid proof.”

  Kyle’s brows went up.

  “I deliver a key to the candy store and you ask for the code to the register? I can’t have you chasing off after the Cacciones alone, Nichelle. They’re…” Something dark flitted across his face and he cleared his throat. “They’re dangerous.”