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

by LynDee Walker

  “I—” I swiveled my head back to my boss. “Wow. Just…wow. Can he do that?”

  Bob waved a hand toward my phone. “The Times is. And it looks like they’re making money with it.”

  I resumed my seat. “Are we hurting for money that badly?”

  Bob shook his head. “We are not. Not lately, anyway. We’ve even seen an uptick in paid online subs, which is unheard of for a paper our size. You’re doing good work, kiddo. I can’t prove it, but I strongly suspect that people are willing to pay for access to our crime reporting because they get the whole truth, and they get it first, from us. Your work and Grant’s column are keeping the lights on around here these days.”

  I smiled. “Well, thank you. Nice to know I’m doing my part.”

  Bob shook his head, his color returning and his volume increasing. “We don’t need this. It might be different, even for a dinosaur like me, if we did. But we don’t. In an era when papers all over the country are closing their doors and laying off more people every year, we’re holding a steady page count, increasing revenue from sources everyone else thinks are non-starters, and managing to stay relevant even with the internet and social media breathing down our necks twenty-four hours a day.” Bob thumped one fist on his desk. “We work ourselves to death because some of us still see what we do as honorable and important to the community, and the ship is being run aground by a man who cares about nothing but his bonus structure, which would certainly benefit from this bullshit.”

  My eyes popped wide, and I reached for Bob’s hand. “Easy there, chief. Your blood pressure.”

  He closed his eyes and pulled in a couple of deep breaths, squeezing my fingers. “I know.”

  Letting go, I tapped a finger on my knee, uncrossing my legs and recrossing them the other way. “So what do we do about it?” I asked.

  Bob raised his eyes to mine. “Pardon?”

  “We now have the advantage, chief. He doesn’t know we know what he’s up to. For months, I’ve run my ass off to impress him, and you’ve been afraid of him, but I’m not scared anymore. I’m pissed the hell off. So what’s our smartest move?”

  Bob’s lips disappeared into a thin line. “That’s a good question. Almost like you ask them for a living or something.” He winked and I grinned, glad I’d pulled him out of his panic so easily.

  “Or something.”

  He ran one hand through his thinning white hair. “Let me think on it a while. What’ve you got for me today?”

  “I sent you one already, I’ll have the other finished as soon as I find Aaron, and Richard Burke has called a damned media circus show he’s billing as a press conference for tomorrow morning that I should probably advance, since Charlie has it.”

  “We still don’t know what she’s got on Grant?”

  I bit my lip. I didn’t want to argue with Bob about Parker anymore. I just wanted to prove him wrong and put the whole damned thing behind us.

  “Nope. I went looking in Andrews’s office for it, but found nothing.”

  “Oh, you found something. On balance, something better.”

  I nodded and stood. “Glad that’s figured out. On to the next one.”

  “Keep me posted.”

  I stepped back into the newsroom and dialed Aaron again from my cell. No answer. I opened a text.

  Need forty seconds of your time for something unrelated to Burke. Want to go home. Call when you can please.

  I didn’t make it back to my desk before the phone started buzzing. I slid a finger across the screen and raised it to my ear. “That was fast.”

  “Not sure what you’re talking about, but I have a feeling you’ve got the wrong guy,” Kyle said. “Fast isn’t my style.”

  I rolled my eyes, then focused on the big silver and glass clock on the wall over the elevators. Four fifteen. I was too tired to tell if the day was flying or crawling. “Wrong cop. But boy do I need to talk to you,” I said. “Can you give me a few to finish something up and then meet me at Byrd Park? I feel like walking.”

  “Of course. Half hour?”

  “Perfect.”

  Aaron texted me a reply for my robbery story, but I didn’t miss that he refused to say why he couldn’t talk. And I knew him well enough to know that wasn’t good. Adding that to what he’d said about Richard Burke and the press conference Burke had planned for morning, I came up somewhere between intense worry and outright panic.

  Tick tock, Nichelle.

  I opened a blank file and stared at the cursor for a half-second, letting all the worry of the day wash through me before I shoved it aside and started typing.

  Richmond real-estate developer and Virginia History League President Richard Burke will speak to reporters on behalf of his family Wednesday morning, a representative of BurCo announced Tuesday afternoon.

  “We appreciate the respect of our clients and friends as the Burke family deals with the tragic loss of Mitchell,” a press release announcing the event states. “Richard and Annabeth Burke wish to thank the community for the outpouring of love and support that has helped comfort them at this difficult time.”

  Scrolling back to the top, I scanned the lines from the press release three times, something dancing around the edges of my thoughts. I didn’t like Richard, but recognized that his abject hatred of Parker probably contributed to that.

  Emailing the story to Bob and packing up my computer, something kept bugging me. I was halfway to the elevator before I got it.

  Throwing my bag into the passenger seat, I slid into the car and dug my phone out, clicking my web favorite for Channel Four. Not the first lines, but the third paragraph of the press release was nearly verbatim in Charlie’s report. From yesterday.

  She had the inside track with the family.

  At least she wasn’t getting her information from someone closer to Parker. I’d take any little win this week.

  Having an answer to at least one question numbed the sting of losing to Charlie a bit as I turned out of the garage. And Richard Burke couldn’t avoid me in front of TV cameras tomorrow morning.

  Parking the car near the boathouse, I strolled to the concession window on the back side of the octagonal brick building, asking for a diet Coke.

  No Kyle yet.

  I perched on a bench where I could watch the paddleboats and geese circling the little lake, keeping an eye out for Kyle. Straggling cherry and pear blossoms drifted off the trees with every flutter of the breeze, pale petals blanketing everything from the water to my hair.

  Five minutes of sunshine and flowers did wonders for my mood—by the time Kyle’s Explorer turned into the lot, I was even smiling. I hopped up and met him on the sidewalk.

  “You won’t believe what—” I began.

  “Guess what Bonnie—” he blurted.

  We both stopped.

  “After you,” I said as he offered a small bow and said, “Ladies first.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Rock paper scissors?”

  My scissors cut his paper, and he fell into step beside me as I recounted Tony’s bombshell about Burke, plus what I’d dug up (not that I said where) on Jinkerson, and what I’d noticed in the press release and Charlie’s story.

  “Damn.” Kyle blew air out in a low whistle. “A bookie? Why the hell would a guy like that…” He shook his head. “Never mind. I learned a long time ago that criminals think differently than other people. But that explains the photos I found and the financials. I can do a little more digging from that angle and see if he’d pissed anyone off lately. Particularly Jinkerson.”

  “Perfect. And thanks. Okay, now you.” I shot him an expectant look as we rounded the end of the lake and started a second lap, breathing in the magnolia and fresh-cut grass that meant summer was coming.

  “First, I got a hit on your fingerprints.”

  I stopped walking. “We actually got one that wasn’t mine?”

  “And she had a public intoxication arrest last year, so it was easy to find.” He smiled.

&nbs
p; “She?”

  “Maisy Sue Westlake? Ring a bell?”

  “I—” I opened my mouth, then stopped. Maisy? What the hell?

  Kyle watched my face expectantly. I shook my head. “Sorry. She’s one of Mel’s bridesmaids.”

  “Was she in your room at any point when she might have touched your computer?”

  “Not with my permission. But what was she doing?”

  “Sounds like we ought to find out. I’ll get more background, associations, et cetera. Why is she a bridesmaid?”

  “Childhood pal of Mel’s.”

  “No connection to Burke?”

  “Not that I know of. But I believe we should check that out.”

  “Shouldn’t be too hard.” He nodded. “Thing two: Bonnie wasn’t as hurt by our breakup as I thought, and she agreed to meet me for coffee this afternoon.”

  “More coffee? You won’t get a bit of sleep.”

  “Worth it. Get this: You know how I said before that the sugar in the wine accelerated the decomp such that they couldn’t tell how or when Burke died without some fancy-pants science work?”

  I nodded. “Because why should anything be easy?”

  “The tox screens all came back worthless because of the wine, so no telling on the poison thing,” he said.

  Damn. I sighed, and he patted my shoulder. “But. Big but. Some of the fancy pants, thanks to Bonnie, says it’s likely Mitch Burke was killed last Thursday morning.”

  I shot a silent thank you to the heavens as I grabbed Kyle’s hand and squeezed. “Before Parker saw the emails?”

  Kyle nodded. “Likely. Not for sure. So we’re still not in the clear, but I like this. The bigger thing is that she was able to examine the bones today. There’s a nick on his collarbone that suggests he was stabbed.”

  I stopped walking. “Stabbing isn’t generally a premeditated crime,” I said.

  “Nope.” He shook his head.

  “Which might be good for Parker because if he went all the way out to Calais intending to kill Burke, surely he’d have gotten hold of a gun.”

  Kyle nodded. “Bonnie’s trying to narrow down a weapon and confirm cause of death.”

  “What would I do without you?” I asked. “I can’t possibly thank you enough. We may pull this off yet.”

  Kyle nodded, putting one hand on my elbow and starting for the parking lot.

  “Where are we going?”

  “You are going to do something fun. Blow off some steam before you make yourself sick from the stress,” he said. I blinked, my thoughts wandering to my dinner plans. Was Kyle psychic? “I am going to haul ass over to the courthouse and see if I can catch a lingering judge. I want a warrant for Jinkerson’s financial records.”

  My face could’ve split from the force of the smile as I threw my arms around Kyle when we got close to my car. This rabbit trail felt like it might be the right one. Just in the nick of time.

  “We’re not in the clear yet, but we’ll get it,” Kyle whispered into my hair, tightening his arms around me. “Go on home. Take a night off.”

  I smiled as I stepped back. “Bonnie should be more upset. You’re a pretty great catch. Thank you.”

  He nodded, his lips disappearing into a thin line, before he turned and strode to his car. “I’ll call you if I get lucky,” he said. “Um. With the warrant.”

  I waved and slid into the car, hoping the universe could spare enough luck to save the wedding too.

  31.

  A four-letter word

  Checking the mirror, I slicked on some lip gloss before I half-ran to the door. It hadn’t actually been a hundred years since I last saw Joey, but it damned sure felt like it. And while he’d seemed fine on the phone, I was determined to put a rest to his insecurity about Kyle—no matter what that required.

  I found him in his favorite corner of my sofa, Darcy curled in his lap like she owned him.

  The dark eyes that met mine were more open than I’d ever seen them, the depth of emotion so vast I might fall in if I looked too hard.

  Every word I’d planned to say flew right out of my head.

  I crossed to the sofa in four strides, moved Darcy to the floor, grabbed the butter-soft Italian lapels of Joey’s jacket, and fell into his lap as I covered his lips with mine. His eyes popped wide for a half-second, his mouth stiff with shock.

  I shut my eyes and tightened my grip, pouring everything I felt for him into the kiss.

  His arms went around me, squeezing when I flicked the crease of his upper lip with the tip of my tongue. I ran my hands up his chest to his shoulders, then buried them in his hair as I slid my tongue over his, electricity skating across every nerve. I’d never minded letting Joey lead when things got physical, but being the one in charge was a whole different kind of thrill. I curled my fingers around his thick dark hair and pulled him closer, letting my lips brush over his jaw.

  “Hello there to you too,” he choked out, his voice hoarse.

  “You trusted me,” I mumbled against his lips, my fingers moving to loosen his tie. “Things have been good between us for a while now, but this week—this story.” I pulled back a half-inch and locked eyes with him as the tie came free and fell to the floor. “You trust me. I’m not often short for words, but I don’t think I can find the right ones to tell you how big a deal that is to me.”

  He put his hands under my arms and lifted, turning me to face him. My skirt sliding up, I moved one knee to each side of his hips.

  Brushing my hair back, he nodded slowly. “I’m glad. I want you to trust me. I want…I want so much more than I could tell you, Nichelle.” The words were almost a whisper, his eyes dissolving into chocolate pools.

  I framed his face with my hands and kissed him again, then trailed my lips across his jaw to his earlobe, grazing the soft skin with my teeth and smiling at his sharp intake of breath and the way his fingers flexed into my hips. “Like what?” I whispered.

  He slid his arms around my waist and squeezed, dropping soft kisses along my collarbone. “Like things I have no right to wish for. What kind of future—”

  I put one finger under his chin, raising his face back to mine. “This kind.” I punctuated the words with slow simmering kisses.

  “Nichelle,” he practically growled, pushing at my shoulders, “I’m serious. There’s more to life than this.”

  Sitting back, I let my fingers graze the stubble on his jaw. “I know that. But since I’ve misplaced my crystal ball, I have to follow my heart. We have something good. Something special. That’s all that matters.” I flicked the top three buttons on his shirt open, slipping my hands under the starched cotton. “Absolutely all that matters.” I meant every word.

  His head fell back, his hands moving up and down my spine as I rained kisses on his throat. Letting out a low groan, he sat up and pulled me close, burying his face in my hair.

  “God, I love you.”

  The words ricocheted off the walls like AK fire, my whole universe narrowing to a foot and a half of space on my sofa.

  I listened to people talk for a living. In nine years working cops and courts, I’d heard dozens of murder confessions and thousands of hours of sob-punctuated testimony from victims and grieving loved ones alike.

  Never—not ever, not once—had my ears pricked to more emotion loaded into three simple syllables.

  And I couldn’t move. Not a breath, not a muscle. Even the ones that make my mouth work.

  My tear ducts, however, flipped into overdrive.

  He let out a shuddering breath, easing me back until he could see my face. A smile played at the corners of his mouth when he saw the welling in my eyes. “I’m not sure I meant to say that out loud, but I’m damned sure I mean it.” He closed his eyes, resting his forehead against mine, and something in my heart shifted.

  For better or worse, it wouldn’t be the same again.

  I bit my lip, tears spilling over as I burrowed into his arms, my words muffled against his jacket. “Me too.” Turning my head
, I cleared my throat and let the next words fall one by one. “I love you. So much.”

  He traced his fingers lightly up and down my arms and across my shoulders. “That’s the best news I’ve heard in…maybe ever.”

  I sat up, wiping at the mess of mascara running down my face. “Not quite the sexy look I’d pictured for this moment, but at least you know I mean it.”

  He moved his hands to my hair and used his thumbs to brush away the last of the tears. “You are stunning. Always.” His full lips tipped up at the corners, his dark eyes holding my gaze. “Stunning, and smart, and stubborn.”

  “And all yours.” I brushed my fingers over his cheek. “Good, bad, and indifferent.”

  “All mine.” He raised his face to plant soft kisses on my cheeks. “I like that.”

  He stood, lifting me like Darcy would be more burdensome. I smiled. “And don’t you forget it.”

  A half-dozen more breathless kisses later, he laid me on the bed and shrugged out of his jacket.

  “No danger of that,” he said as he tossed the jacket aside and went to work on his shirt. “I am seriously inept at forgetting anything to do with you.”

  It was dark when I climbed out of bed, leaving Joey sleeping as I tiptoed to the shower.

  I turned the hot water on and slipped my arms into a robe before I went to the living room to check my phone, hoping Kyle had gotten his warrant.

  No Kyle.

  I had one text from Parker (call me when you can), and six missed calls from Jenna. Weird.

  I clicked the return button and raised the phone to my ear, leaving the water running as I stepped onto the front porch.

  “I was just putting together the search party,” Jenna said in place of hello.

  “Sorry. I was…tied up.”

  “If that has something to do with Pretty Boy, I don’t want to hear it.” I could practically see Jenna’s nose wrinkle, and I sucked in a breath so sharp I choked myself.

  “Poor word choice,” I said when I stopped coughing. “What’s so urgent?”

  I heard a deep breath go in, followed by a pause and a long sigh. “I just—you’ve been busy with your other friends and their wedding and your boyfriend, and I miss you. You know? Things here are kind of a mess, and…what’re you doing tomorrow night? Can I crash for a mid-week girls’ night?”