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

by LynDee Walker

  “No harm in trying.”

  “You’re a gem. Now if you can come up with a reason I’d need to show the florist this building, we’ll be all set.”

  Kyle grinned. “You suck at lying, Nicey. Always have.” He raised a hand toward the tops of the huge red doors. “We need boughs of greenery out here for photos, obviously. This would make a killer portrait. Um. You know what I mean.”

  I nodded to the scrap of crime scene tape still clinging to the doorway. “Tactful.”

  “Sorry.”

  I looked around as I slid the door open, the screech setting my teeth on edge. “They really ought to oil that. Also, are you sure you’re following your true calling? Because you’re totally right about the portrait and I’m ordering greenery for this door the minute we leave here.”

  Kyle snickered and stepped inside. “Happy to help, but I like my job, thank you.”

  I followed him and began chatting a bit too loud about the wedding, keeping it up in a steady stream until we reached the offices at the far end of the building. No lights. I tried the door that had concealed the Debbie Does Calais noises Saturday. Locked.

  I sighed. “Damn. Strike two.”

  Kyle looked around. “I think it’s safe to say we’re alone.” He walked back toward the racks of barrels. “So this is where they found him, huh?”

  “Indeed.”

  Kyle stood at the bottom of a rack and looked up. “How’d someone get him up there?”

  “I imagine the barrel was on the ground…” The words trailed off, the mental image making my stomach turn. “Ugh. Gross, Kyle.”

  “No, I’m serious. These things have to be heavy. How could anyone move one that had gallons of wine and a fully grown man in it?”

  Hulk flashed to mind. “The guy I told you about—Sammons’s illegitimate son. He’s a house.”

  “Even a house isn’t lifting like five hundred pounds of big awkward barrel alone, Nichelle. Certainly not with enough precision to set it in one of these racks such that no one would notice it was different.”

  I surveyed the ceiling beams, spotting a pulley rigging. “There. I bet that’s how they place them.” I followed the beams down and saw a rope lift in front of each rack.

  Kyle touched his chin, studying the ropes and the rack. “Still not a one-man job. You’d need one to lift and one to position, at the very least. Where was the barrel when the cops got here?”

  I opened my mouth and then stopped. “I don’t know. I heard Hulk panicking, but then…no one ever said specifically. And the report isn’t done.”

  “Still?”

  “Far as I know.”

  Kyle shook his head. “That’s weird too.”

  “It’s only been four days.” Four of the longest days in the history of the world. But four nonetheless.

  “How much crime you figure they have around here? It shouldn’t take one day to write an initial report on something like this. The further we look into what’s going on here, the less I like it.”

  “Like what?”

  Kyle and I froze for half a second. The deep bass coming from the direction of the doors wasn’t unfriendly, but it was guarded.

  “Hey there, Franklin.” I waved, forcing brightness into my tone. “This is Ryan from the florist. We were talking about taking photos in here this weekend, but we think perhaps with everything that’s happened…” I let the words trail and shrugged as he closed the space between us in a half-dozen giant strides. “We think we’ll stick with outside.”

  Scanning my face carefully, Hulk relaxed his shoulders as he nodded. “Probably for the best.” He stuffed his big hands half into the pockets of his faded Wranglers.

  “I’m glad I bumped into you, actually. I seem to remember getting carried away with the bourbon on Saturday and being a little too loquacious. Hope I didn’t scare you off.” His shy smile drew a loud throat clearing from Kyle.

  I shot one heel back into Kyle’s shin and smiled at Hulk. “Not at all.” Every word true.

  The smile widened. “Good.” He let out a deep breath I didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Now that I’ve apologized, can I show you folks anything else while you’re here?”

  I cast my eyes down at my lavender Manolo sandals. Indeed he could. But I had a feeling the answers all depended on the asking.

  25.

  The small stuff

  I tucked my arm through Hulk’s as we walked back out of the barn, chirping about garlands in the doorway and photos as he nodded and Kyle stayed close on our heels.

  We were halfway down one of the rows, surrounded by vines heavy with sweeping green leaves, Hulk pointing out spots in the field that would look nice in sunset photos and me trying to pretend to note them, when Kyle popped up with “Could we use cuttings of these vines in some of the arrangements?”

  I spun on my heel and shot him a what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-you look. Had he forgotten he couldn’t actually commit to things on behalf of the florist? I had no doubt Lorraine would be around this weekend, and didn’t want questions over something so silly.

  Hulk turned and nodded to the leaves, which obliged by rippling in a gentle breeze. “These?” His voice was a full octave too high.

  I furrowed my brow as Kyle kept his face perfectly blank, waiting for an elaboration. He was a good cop. And that look told me he was onto something. I scanned the field.

  Hulk let the awkward silence stretch for as long as he could bear before he shuffled one extra-large boot in the dirt. “I’m not sure Mr. Sammons would be onboard with that, but you’re welcome to ask.”

  Kyle held the silence for three beats before he smiled his easy smile. “Sorry. I know next to nothing about wine outside which kinds I like to drink. I didn’t know that would be a sensitive question.”

  Hulk nodded and shrugged, nodding to me. “Have y’all seen enough? I should probably get back to work.”

  I thanked him for the tour and followed him back to the barn, more questions plunking on top of the others already ground into my brain. Why would Sammons care about donating a few cuttings to Parker’s wedding? And how could I find out what had Hulk so antsy without him asking why I wanted to know?

  I practically tapped a foot through the pleasantries, whirling on Kyle as soon as Hulk was safely out of earshot.

  “What the hell was that?” I hissed. “You have something’s-up face, and he got weird when you asked about cutting those plants. Why?”

  Kyle lifted one eyebrow. “Deep breaths, Nicey,” he drawled.

  “We do not have time for meditation advice. What did I miss?”

  He laid one hand on my shoulder and turned me back toward the field. “Look at the vines. The ones I asked about.”

  “They look like grapevines.”

  He nodded, pressing my shoulder and turning me another thirty degrees to the left. “Now look at these.”

  I squinted for a second, then skipped my eyes back to the first batch. “The leaves are bigger.”

  “They are.”

  “Why is that bad?”

  “Do I look like a farmer? This is about the closest I’ve ever been to food actually growing out of the ground.” He shrugged. “I don’t know that it’s bad. I found it mildly interesting until I asked and he clammed up. Now I find it very interesting.”

  I leaned my head on Kyle’s shoulder, watching the wind skate through the leaves and enjoying the peace of the moment before I straightened my shoulders and sighed. “There’s too much that’s very interesting.”

  Kyle patted my back. “We’ll figure it out, Nichelle.”

  “Before or after Parker ends up in jail?” I bit my lip, shaking my head.

  Kyle didn’t answer, moving his hand to the small of my back and turning me toward the lodge. “Let’s go see who else we can find.”

  Nobody. That was who.

  “How can the gates and the door be open and there not be anyone up here?” I asked after we’d scoured the lodge and the grounds around it a second time
.

  “The sign in the shop window says it doesn’t open until three today. Maybe the rest of the place isn’t supposed to be open either,” Kyle said.

  “That’s really damned annoying,” I snapped, rolling my eyes and softening my tone. “I’m sorry to drag you all the way out here for this.”

  He shook his head. “I got a feel for the place, and something’s off. Several things, actually. I just can’t figure out how—or if—they go together. But it wasn’t a wasted trip in any sense of the word.”

  Resting my hands on my hips, I turned a slow circle, my eyes coming to rest on the lodge. Celia’s comment about someone getting sick floated over what I’d read about Alexei. The kitchen was dark and empty ten minutes ago. “I wonder if we could find something in the kitchen,” I mused.

  “Something like whatever your chef and the sick girl were talking about the other day?” Kyle twisted his mouth to one side. “Would you leave evidence laying around at work if you poisoned someone?”

  “No. But criminals aren’t usually terribly smart.”

  He waved a hand. “Might as well have a look.”

  I strode back to the steps and glanced around before I opened the door. Still a ghost town.

  Stepping into the kitchen, I surveyed miles of stainless steel. Everything spotless.

  “This would work better if we knew what we were looking for,” Kyle said.

  “You don’t say?” I smiled and crossed to the fridge, pulling it open.

  “No skull and crossbones labels?” Kyle asked, opening a cabinet.

  “Darn the luck,” I murmured, scanning the inventory of the massive Samsung. “About a million eggs, twenty pounds of butter, at least a dozen kinds of cheese, and half a dairy worth of cream and whole milk. No wonder his stuff is so good.”

  Kyle chuckled as he moved to the trash can. “Empty.”

  “Of course.” I shut the fridge and turned, picking up a sheet of paper off the end of the counter. Last week’s menu. I scanned the words. “Facebook says Burke was in the area Thursday, but he didn’t have dinner here. This says they served chilled tomato bisque, salmon croquettes, and ice cream with fresh blueberry compote for lunch. Yummy. But not incriminating.”

  Kyle’s hand landed on my shoulder. “I think this is your proverbial needle/haystack situation.”

  “I’m missing something, Kyle. The answer has to be here.”

  “The lab report will tell us what to look for. I’ll call Bonnie today and check on the tox screen.”

  I followed him outside and begged for one more pass around the building. He shrugged and stayed on my heels. Still nothing.

  Moving back toward the car, I turned when I didn’t hear his footsteps behind me. “You coming?”

  “Hang on.” He sounded distracted as he half-jogged toward a falling-down storage shed on the northwest corner of the property.

  I took off after him, huffing and cursing my block heels as I drew even. “I covered every inch of this place this weekend. That building is just waiting to be bulldozed,” I said between breaths as he slowed to a walk just shy of the shed.

  “Don’t care about the building.” Kyle knelt next to the split-rail fence, plucking the top off a plant. “But I do care about this.”

  I studied the round purple-black fruit, furrowing my brow. “I thought blueberries grew on bushes.”

  He nodded slowly. “This isn’t a blueberry. This is phytolacca americana, commonly known as pokeweed. Highly toxic, especially the roots.”

  My eyes went wide. “And the berries?”

  “Would definitely make a man sick. Too heavy a hand or too green a berry could cause death by respiratory failure.”

  Leaping Louboutins. I reached for my phone, snapping photos of the plants and the surrounding area before I flung my arms around Kyle. “You’re a genius.”

  He laughed as he pulled away, tossing the plant to the ground. “We don’t know anything for sure. Let me get the lab reports.”

  He started back for the car and I followed, practically dancing across the field. “I have a good feeling about this. How’d you spot it from way over there?”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t. I spotted the fence. We had to take this class on plant-based toxins last month, and this was one they talked a lot about because it grows wild around here. You said they served a blueberry something for lunch Thursday, and I saw the fence and remembered the instructor saying this stuff is dangerous for kids because they think it’s a blueberry plant, and it likes to grow in the loose soil around fencerows. Just a hunch.”

  “An awesome hunch.” I unlocked the car, feeling lighter than I had since Larry started pictures Friday night. “We’re going to get it. And everyone who’s been driving me nuts will have to apologize to Parker. How can Bob think he might have had a hand in this?”

  Kyle shrugged, folding his long frame into the passenger seat. “I don’t know your boss, but I know how much you love him, and my best guess is that…Well, the surface evidence is pretty damning. It takes either a pretty loyal friend,” he winked, “or a brilliant law enforcement professional with a sixth sense about people,” he laughed when I gently punched his upper arm, “to look past that without proof of anything else.”

  “Anything else you want to see, or shall we go by Jinkerson’s place and call it a day?” I backed the car out of the space and turned for the road, checking the rearview.

  “I heard the sheriff tell Landers he was staying in Richmond last night. You said the dispatcher is chatty, right?”

  I barely heard the end of his question, my eyes locked on the mirror—and the black Lincoln parked near the barn we’d vacated not forty minutes ago. I turned around in the seat for a better view, pretending to be watching behind me as I backed up.

  “Everything okay?” Kyle asked.

  Nodding, I sped off the property.

  I hoped it was, anyway. Thanks to my ridiculous propensity for total recall with things I read, I knew Joey’s plate number.

  What the ever-loving hell was he doing at Calais Vineyards?

  I parked outside the sheriff’s office and led Kyle into the building, focusing on Ella Jane. The only source that outdid the beauty parlor in a small town was the police dispatcher. They knew everything that went on. Literally.

  She looked up from her laptop and smiled. “Good morning! Was the sheriff able to help you with what you needed Sunday? I’m afraid he’s out of the county on an investigation this morning.”

  I let that go without comment one way or another, because I didn’t want her to think her dad was suspicious of anything to do with me, since that might shut her up. “He was a big help, thanks.” I kept my voice bright. “I just wanted to stop in and ask…” What? I needed a reason to be there. I panicked for three seconds, then shook my head and smiled. “Sorry. Not enough coffee this morning. Is the report on either incident out at Calais ready yet?”

  She punched a few keys on her computer. “Doesn’t look like the final versions have been filed,” she said. “It’s been insane here the past few days. I’ll ask Evans if he’s got anything ready when he gets here, but that won’t be for another half-hour.” She smiled apologetically and stood, punching the button next to her that unlocked the door to our left. “The coffee thing I can help with though. It’s been pretty quiet this morning.” She knocked on the wood trim lining the wall. “Why don’t y’all come on back and I’ll make a fresh pot?”

  We walked through the door and I smiled a thank you. “I don’t want to interfere with your work.”

  She waved a hand and pointed to her ear, where a little Bluetooth light flashed behind her perfectly teased blonde curls. “As long as I have my headset, I’m good.”

  We followed her to the station’s teeny break room. She pointed us to seats at a white linoleum table while she puttered around putting on fresh coffee and getting everyone cups. I considered asking about Jolene Sammons for half a second and decided I’d hold that for if Kyle couldn’t help with it
. I didn’t want to draw her suspicion with a left-field question when she seemed to want to talk.

  “So things are back to normal after all the craziness of the weekend?” I kept my tone light.

  She nodded. “Mostly. I mean, my dad is still running all over half the state trying to figure out what happened to Mitch. I’ve never seen him so frustrated.”

  “He doesn’t have any leads?” Still just innocently curious.

  “I think he had a new one yesterday, because he got a phone call really early and tore out of here for Richmond without a word to anyone.”

  I nodded, and she kept talking as the Mr. Coffee burbled. “He’s just as afraid of finding out what happened as he is that he won’t and someone will come take the case away from him.”

  I furrowed my brow and she smiled. “I’ve never understood why he went into law enforcement in the first place, really. He wants to see the good in everyone. And our family’s been in this county a long time. Deep roots, and connections to most of the other folks out here. He doesn’t want anyone to be capable of what happened to Mitch.” She shook her head as she set two cups of coffee in front of us, then added containers of cream and sugar and a cup for herself before she sat down. “He’s stuck. If he doesn’t figure it out, he loses face with the department and the residents.” She fell quiet.

  We let it go until it verged on awkward, and I shot Kyle a do-something look.

  “Thousands of murders go unsolved every year. The sheriff should do the best he can do, and that’s enough.”

  Ella Jane kept her eyes on the table. “From what Mitch told me about his father, the Burke family will not just let it go,” she said. “And the sheriff really doesn’t want the Feds or somebody crawling all over town.”

  Kyle didn’t even blink at the quasi-insult. “Of course. Who would?”

  “Me, for one,” she said. “I want to know—really know—what happened to Mitch. And it’s not like we get too many murders out here. Our guys, they don’t know how to do this.” She looked at me. “You’re a reporter, right? Shouldn’t we know something by now?”

  I reached across the table and patted her hand. She was more hung up on Burke than I’d thought. “Not always. These things take time. Rabbit trails to chase. Truths to unravel. And that’s after you find the people who know things and get them to talk.”