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

by LynDee Walker

  The “of course” stuck in my throat, partly because of the softball-sized lump the sadness in my best friend’s voice called up, but also because I was buried in this Burke investigation, and with Charlie half a step behind me and the Andrews/Shelby mess, I wasn’t sure I could handle one more thing.

  But I’d figure it out. I fluffed the cushions on my porch swing and perched on it, watching lightning crackle across the western sky. “Jen, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel forgotten. I don’t even know how to begin to explain how smothered I am this week.”

  “Oh. Of course. I get it.” She couldn’t have sounded more bereft if someone had run over her dog. If she had one.

  “No! You don’t—of course you can come by. Seven work for you? I miss you too.” I really did. And I felt like a terrible friend. “I need more hours in the day. Can we get someone on that?”

  Jenna laughed. “I really do get it. I’ve just had about all I can take this week, and I need some Nichelle time. Thought I should speak up.”

  “I’m so glad you did. See you tomorrow night.”

  “Don’t get tied up again.” She giggled.

  “Not what I meant!” I clicked the end button, opening my texts and shooting Kyle an any luck?. Thunder rumbled in the distance as I hustled back to the shower.

  I nearly choked again when Joey grinned his sexy grin as I pulled the curtain back. “I thought you’d never come back in the house,” he said. “Care to join me?”

  I did indeed. I let my eyes roam over his damp skin, taut over the layer of muscle beneath. Damn, but he was hot. I dropped my robe and stepped under the spray.

  “I cannot tell you how much I hate to say this, but I may yet have work to do tonight.”

  Joey tipped his head to one side, then grabbed my wrist and pulled me close to him, locking his arms around my waist and dropping a kiss on the tip of my nose. “You’re cute when you’re ridiculous. Have I told you that?”

  I pushed up on tiptoe and landed a chaste peck on his lips. “You’re sexy when you’re trying to be tempting. But I’m serious. Mitch Burke was a bookmaker. Sports betting specifically, I’m told.”

  Joey froze, his eyes going wide as a clap of thunder rattled the windows and the sky opened up over my house.

  I waited three beats before he shook his head. “That’s who they were protecting.”

  “Huh?” I furrowed my brow.

  “This Jinkerson guy. Shouldn’t have been hard to find out who he owed money to, but I got three vague replies and one direct ‘it’s none of your damn business.’ They’re protecting someone. Odds are, it’s your murder vic.”

  I picked up the shampoo and poured some into my hand, trying to keep my voice even as my heart took off for the races. “Why would your…associates…do that?”

  “Two reasons I can think of: because they know why he’s dead, or because he’s more important than anyone thought.” His hand drifted to his temple. “I don’t like this, Princess.”

  I lathered my head, fighting panic. “I don’t exactly love it. But I can’t just walk away.”

  His fingers covered mine, his bigger hands taking over scrubbing my scalp. “I’m not a hundred percent sure I can keep you out of trouble.”

  “And I don’t want you getting yourself in any trying to look out for me.” I stepped under the water and rinsed my hair, trying desperately to come up with something that would convince him to back off. Celia. Alexei. I opened my eyes and raised them to his. “There are so many stories around this murder it gives me a headache when I think about it too hard—you still have that friend at the INS?”

  “I do. Was Mitch Burke an international bookie?”

  I laughed, shaking my head as I motioned for him to turn and let me scrub his back. By the time I was done, he had all the specifics on Chef Alexei.

  “You’re not kidding about the wide variety of possibilities. But I like a chef who knows his poison better than the gamblers, for sure. I’ll see what I can get.”

  “Thank you.” I rinsed the sponge. “Please be careful. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  Lightning crackled, lighting the sky outside the teeny porthole window an electric blue, thunder crashing before the glow had faded. I shut off the water.

  Joey nodded, wrapping me in a towel and pulling me close.

  “Back at you, baby.” His chin rested on top of my wet hair as another crash outside took out the lights. “I may not have the key to your puzzle, but I can keep you safe tonight.”

  32.

  Hardy Boys

  The power came back on with a bleep of the microwave a little after midnight, and I let Joey out the kitchen door at five thirty with a long kiss and a promise to call later. By six, I was on my second cup of coffee, pacing the house as I waited for it to be something resembling a respectable telephone hour.

  “I need a list, Darce.”

  She raised her head and looked around when I said her name, then returned her chin to her paw when she didn’t sense any food nearby.

  Poor Darcy. If it was possible for a dog to think their human was crazy, mine had plenty of reason to.

  I grabbed a pen and pad from the basket on my end table and perched on the edge of the sofa.

  BURKE

  —Bookmaking: How did this start? Clients? Caccione ties?

  —Wealthy family

  —History with Parker

  —Threatening e

  My mouth popped into an O. The pen fell to the floor.

  Kyle’s voice floated through my head. “Likely he died early Thursday morning.”

  Early. Thursday morning.

  Not just before Parker saw the emails.

  Before Bob got the emails.

  I was a thousand percent sure that they’d arrived just before lunch. Splitting hairs? Maybe.

  But maybe not.

  “Holy. Freaking. Manolos,” I whispered.

  What if Burke hadn’t sent those horrifying letters at all?

  I picked up my pen and chewed the end of it. Who could write something like that?

  The kind of person who could stuff a guy in a wine barrel, maybe? I jumped up and paced.

  “This is crazy, Darce,” I said when she lifted her head. “Why would anybody bother with such an elaborate cover?”

  She raised her nose and sniffed for food before she huffed and resettled her chin on her paws.

  Why? Because they wanted to give Parker a motive.

  My pace quickened.

  Early Thursday morning. “What am I missing, Darcy?”

  She didn’t move that time. My dog was only social when there was food to be had.

  Social. I paused.

  Food.

  The mystery solo dinner on Facebook was Thursday evening.

  Damn. I sprinted for my laptop, nearly dropping it before I got it open thanks to my shaking hands.

  I clicked to Mitch’s page and scrolled past more than a hundred sympathy messages before I found it. I read the fine print.

  Scrolled down more and checked other posts, then went back up to the sore thumb—not only was nobody tagged, but it was the only checkin for months—maybe forever—that wasn’t geotagged from the iPhone app. Which meant this last one likely came from a computer.

  I scurried back to the living room and grabbed my phone. Jenna was always up with the sun.

  “You’re not canceling, are you?” Her voice was wary.

  “Nope. Need to pick your husband’s computer geek brain.”

  “Good luck with that. Some sort of security breach at the bank has had him working around the clock all week. I’m taking the kids to his mother before I come to your place tonight.”

  I pinched my lips together to keep a scream in, then thanked her and promised to be home at a decent hour before I hung up and clicked my messages. Finding Chad’s name, I opened a new one. Major urgent Nancy Drew question: Can you find an IP address from a Facebook post?

  Send. I crossed my fingers and stared at the screen.<
br />
  Delivered. Read. Gray dot bubble.

  Bing. I’m kinda busy trying not to lose my job.

  So sorry to interrupt, wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t life or death.

  Whatever. What do you need?

  He was stressed. I could relate.

  It’s a public profile, Mitch Burke. There’s a checkin from last Thursday night at a restaurant in Charlottesville. But it looks like it came from a computer, since all the others have his location services on through his phone. Need to know where the computer is.

  Bing. I’ll get to it as soon as I can.

  I added a half-dozen smileys to my thank you, hitting the back button and noticing Parker’s text from the night before. I touched his name. Have a thing this morning, catch up in a bit?

  I sent the text and went to finish getting dressed. Richard Burke’s media circus preempted the staff meeting, and I wanted a front-row seat.

  I parked on Fifth Street, about a half-block down the canal from the ironworks, and walked down the steps and along the water, my thoughts trailing to Joey and how much I’d like to bring him here. His words, the raw truth in his voice the night before—my skin tingled all over at the memory. Maybe my happily ever after wasn’t as far out of reach as I’d thought.

  I found a custodian setting up a podium in front of the old waterwheel that once powered the factory, and a few guys unfolding rows of chairs. Grabbing a seat at the left end of the front row, I let my thoughts roam, the quiet of the morning and warmth of the sun lifting my spirits. It was only eight fifteen. Burke wasn’t due here until nine, and the museum didn’t open until ten.

  Charlie, however, apparently had the same idea I did about early arrival.

  “Is there anything you don’t have to beat me to?” she huffed, plopping into the seat next to me while her cameraman set up in the center aisle.

  “I wasn’t trying to beat you, Charlie.” My voice sounded tired. “I just wanted to make sure I didn’t miss anything.”

  She lifted her sunglasses and gave me a onceover. “The way I hear it, you’re missing half this story. Or refusing to tell it. I’d rather believe the former, because I respect you. But since it’s just us girls this morning—are you protecting Grant Parker?”

  “Where the hell are you getting your information?” I didn’t mean for the words to sound so sharp, and I pulled in a deep breath when she flinched, her blue eyes going wide before the shades dropped back over them. “Sorry. I’m under too much stress, and that’s not your fault.” Any more than usual anyway.

  “Sore spot?” she asked.

  I shrugged, holding my tone carefully even. “He’s my friend, and you’re insinuating that he murdered someone. So yeah, maybe a little.”

  “I’m not insinuating anything. Just warning you that this could get very complicated very quickly.”

  I turned to face her. “What are you up to?”

  “Wouldn’t you love it if I were stupid enough to share that.” She smiled. “For months now, I’ve taken second to you on every important story to come through town. Not this time.” She strolled to the podium to direct mic placement, and I stood, draping my lavender sweater over a chair at the opposite end of the row on my way to the water’s edge. Charlie was getting under my skin more than she should, and the last thing I wanted was a big scene in the middle of an event.

  When other reporters started to filter in about a quarter ’til, I went back to my seat and fished out a notebook and pen.

  Richard and Annabeth Burke arrived at five after nine and took another ten minutes to huddle with a couple of powerbroker attorneys I recognized from the courthouse before they stepped to the podium, at ease in front of the cameras from years of TV appearances.

  Richard cleared his throat and thanked everyone for coming. His voice had the unaccented precision of old money and an Ivy-League education.

  My eyes skipped to his wife.

  And locked there. On her earrings, in particular.

  I wasn’t sure where else I might’ve seen Annabeth Burke, but I’d seen those earrings at dinner last Friday night, the face attached to them twisted into a glare.

  Holy Manolos.

  She really was looking at Parker. And before Sheriff Rutledge could’ve possibly notified them about Mitch.

  If Mitch didn’t still blame Parker for his sister’s death, his mother sure as hell did.

  No wonder Richard was pressing Aaron to haul my friend in.

  I wanted to shoot a glare straight back at her, but couldn’t because I felt so sorry for her. I couldn’t imagine Jenna losing even one of her babies. Both? Horrifying.

  My eyes skipped to Richard, who was thanking the RPD and Sheriff Rutledge for their hard work.

  “I also want to thank the communities my family and I are so blessed to be part of. From Virginia Tech and Blacksburg through the valley and to the historical community here in Richmond—we’ve felt your love and support this week, and appreciate it more than I can say.”

  I scribbled.

  He paused, and hands went flying all around me. I kept mine at my side. “Charlie.” Burke nodded to her.

  Yep. Credible source she’d found for herself, the victim’s angry, grudge-toting parents. Nice.

  “What’s your favorite memory of your son, Mr. Burke?” Charlie asked.

  Richard Burke smiled and shook his head. “There are so many good ones. My favorites all involve a baseball diamond though. He loved the game. He loved the Generals. And while he and I may not have seen eye to eye on this new ballpark everyone is talking about, I’m here today to tell you all that it will have the full support of BurCo going forward.”

  A collective gasp went through the crowd. Sammons wanted to stomp all over a historic part of the city to build his massive new stadium, and hadn’t even bothered using classical architecture that might make it sort of kind of blend in, according to the story Mel had been so worried over Monday.

  Richard Burke was the voice of Virginia History. He’d restructured his grandfather’s company to preserve it.

  With him behind this stadium, there’d be little stopping it.

  I jotted notes, mostly for Melanie, since this was her baby. Everyone around me dove for their iPhones.

  Journalism in the age of the Internet 103: Nothing lights up Twitter like a big announcement. I fished out my phone and tapped the little white bird icon, typing BREAKING: Richard Burke says he’ll back new ballpark in son’s memory. #RVA #news @Telegraphnews

  I posted it, knowing our web editor would see the tag, retweet it, and tease it on our site.

  I put my phone down just as Burke pointed to Dan Kessler from WRVA.

  “Mitch was a healthy young man, and the police departments involved have said little outside that they’re looking into his death. What happened to him?”

  I closed my eyes for a long second, every reporter around me leaning forward a hair.

  “I understand their caution and respect the work the police are doing,” Burke said, glancing at his wife from the corner of his eye. She pinched her lips into a thin line. “But I also can’t keep quiet about this any longer. Mitchell was murdered. And while everyone is asking questions, I have a few I’d like Grant Parker to answer.”

  33.

  Heavy artillery

  Boom.

  Burke’s bombshell left everyone still for a full thirty seconds before the patio erupted, people digging for their phones and screaming questions all at once. “Can you clarify that statement?” and “Are you accusing Grant Parker of murder?” zinged past me a hundred times in twelve seconds. Burke took a step back, putting an arm around his wife, who hid her face in his shoulder. One of the attorneys moved to shield the two of them, and the other stepped to the podium and raised both hands.

  “That’s all for today, folks. Mr. and Mrs. Burke thank you for being here and for your understanding.”

  I jumped to my feet and grabbed my bag, striding for the steps.

  “Nichelle! Nichelle, wait
up!”

  I sucked in a deep breath, one foot on the bottom stair. So close.

  Pasting on a smile, I turned to face Kessler. “What can I do for you, Dan?”

  “You and Parker are tight. What gives?”

  I kept the smile in place. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Come on. The man just said his son was murdered and dropped Parker’s name a half-sentence later. You know more than you’re letting on. Are you protecting him?” He glanced over his shoulder at Charlie. Not surprisingly, she’d penetrated the wall of attorney and was deep in conversation with the Burkes. Everyone outside their little circle looked irritated. “Charlie will have your ass, and you know it. She’s tired of you beating her to every punch, and hungrier than I’ve ever seen her. What’s going on?”

  “If Parker was a murder suspect, wouldn’t the best people to ask about that be…oh, say, the police?” I put on my best innocent tone, not that it fooled Dan.

  “Give me a break. They’re not talking, and you know it. I just can’t tell if you’re the reason for it. Did you ask White to keep this quiet? Everyone knows you’re the detective’s pet.”

  “Sorry, Dan. Can’t help you.” I jogged up the steps. “Have a good day.”

  By the time I made it back to my car, my heart was pounding like I’d run a 10K. I dialed Aaron’s cell for the fifth time. “Pick up, dammit.”

  Voicemail.

  I stowed the phone in my bag, trying to even my breathing. Nobody would run an accusation like that without comment from the PD. It was a direct route to a lawsuit. I needed Aaron to buy me just a bit more time.

  “If he’s not answering me, he won’t answer them either,” I muttered to myself as I started the car. Surely I was right. I hoped.

  I plopped down at my desk a few minutes later, snatching up the phone and dialing Sheriff Rutledge’s office. Ella Jane’s sweet voice came on the line and I tried to control my tone as I asked to speak to her dad.

  “He’s still up in Richmond,” she said. “I have those reports you wanted the other day though. I can fax them if you’ll give me your number.”