Death By High Heels (The Kim Murphy PI Series Book 1)

by Violet Ingram

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Lewis.”

  “So what does a private investigator want to talk to me about?” she asked.

  “I’m looking into your son’s murder and I had a few questions I was hoping you could answer.”

  “Well, then, come on inside. There’s no sense you standing out there in the heat.”

  “Thanks. I promise not to take too much of your time.”

  I followed her through the house, past a dining room barely big enough for the table and six chairs. We ended up in a family room that felt just as hot as it had outside. Mrs. Lewis sat on the couch and gestured for me to have a seat across from her. Sara came in and stood next to the couch without saying a word.

  “So, go ahead, ask your questions.”

  “Aren’t you gonna ask her why she’s doin’ this? She ain’t a cop,” Sara said.

  “Hush, Sara. Please excuse my daughter. This has been hard on us. Brian was such a good boy.”

  “Yeah, good at getting caught,” Sara muttered.

  Feeling like I owed Mrs. Lewis and even Sara some sort of explanation, I admitted to finding the body.

  Mrs. Lewis gasped. “You found him? How? Where?”

  Since either one of them could turn on the news and get most of this information I saw no reason to lie. “I found him inside a neighbor’s apartment. The police arrived and took over.”

  “That detective told me Brian died real quick,” she said, staring at me.

  God bless him. Grant may make my eye twitch, along with a few other body parts, but I was so glad he’d spared her any additional grief. So, I looked her in the eye and lied without an ounce of guilt. No way in hell was I going to enlighten a grieving mother about the last few excruciating minutes of her son’s life. Determined not to drag this out, I started firing away with questions. “Had Brian had an argument with anyone recently? Did he have any enemies?”

  “No. Everyone liked Brian. He was such a good boy. He helped Mrs. Stephens with her trash cans every week.”

  “What about an angry girlfriend?”

  “He hadn’t dated anyone regular for a while.”

  “Yeah, that’s ’cause they didn’t stick around after they figured out he was broke and had moved back in with his mom,” Sara said.

  “Stop talkin’ about your brother like that.”

  “What about his friends? Any of them have a reason to hurt your son?”

  “No way, those boys grew up together.”

  “I don’t know why you’re askin’ about those guys. None of them guys would’ve cut Brian up like that,” Sara said.

  “According to his file, he did time with a few of them.”

  “The boys got mixed up with a couple of creeps at that bar on County Line 32.”

  There was only one bar on that stretch of road, The Spitting Parrot. It was only slightly better than a rundown hellhole. Bar fights were viewed as nightly entertainment.

  Mrs. Lewis’s hand trembled as she pulled a tissue from her pocket. I glanced at Sara and was rewarded with a glare before she turned back to her mother.

  “I guess that’s all I need for now,” I said, standing up.

  “Miss Murphy, please find out who did this to my son,” she said as tears streamed down her face.

  “I’ll do what I can.” I stood up and handed her a business card before making my way to the front door, Sara following close behind.

  “Don’t come back here again!”

  “I’m sorry. I’m only trying to help,” I said just as the door was slammed in my face.

  “That didn’t go well. Did it?”

  “Wow, my favorite reporter. What are you doing here?”

  “Same as you, I suppose, visiting the victim’s family. I can do that later if you have a few minutes so we could talk.”

  “Gee, let me think about that. Uh, no.”

  “You can’t ignore me forever. Besides, the public has a right to know the truth. Wouldn’t you like to be the one to tell them?”

  “I don’t owe you or the public a damn thing.” With that I brushed past him and got in my car without looking back.

  Ten minutes later I parked in front of a duplex with green siding and brown doors. The grass should have been mowed several weeks ago. An old Ford pickup, with more rust than paint, was parked in the driveway.

  I made my way up to the front of the duplex, being sure to stay on the walkway for fear of what could be lurking in the tall grass. I rang the bell and knocked several times before the door was finally opened by a young man whose unkempt appearance resembled the yard.

  “Yeah?”

  I stepped back a couple of feet, trying to get away from the obnoxious fumes emanating from inside. After taking a breath of fresh air, I asked to speak with an Adam Mullen.

  “I’m Adam.”

  “My name is Kim Murphy. I’m a private investigator and I’m looking into the death of Brian Lewis.”

  “Look, I ain’t got nothin’ to say to you. I already talked to the cops,” he said before slamming the door in my face.

  Undeterred, I knocked on the door again. He yanked it open and shouted, “Look, lady, you better leave or I’m callin’ the cops!”

  “Go right ahead. I’ll wait right here. I can’t wait to hear how you explain the smell.”

  He muttered something under his breath before inviting me in. “You got five minutes, then you get out of here.”

  “No problem.”

  Stupid, that’s what I was. I should have insisted on talking with him outside. With each breath I feared I was inhaling enough pot fumes to be high for a week. My only personal experience with the stuff had been in an ex-boyfriend’s dorm room our freshman year of college. I needed to ask my questions and get the hell out while I could still think straight.

  I sat on the edge of the only chair not littered with food-encrusted Styrofoam containers. The surface of the coffee table was covered with empty beer bottles and two overflowing ashtrays. Fighting the urge to shower in hand sanitizer, I got down to questioning Adam. Unfortunately, he was about as useful as an umbrella in a tornado.

  “How did you know Brian?”

  “We’ve been friends since the third grade.”

  “When was the last time you saw him?”

  “Last week,” Adam said, staring down at the floor.

  “What did you guys do?”

  “We drank beer and watched baseball.”

  “Where at?”

  “Here.”

  “Was anything bothering him?”

  “No, he was cool,” Adam replied, scooping up his lighter, then flicking it on and off.

  “Was Brian having any trouble with anyone?”

  “Nope, everybody liked him.”

  “Well, evidently not everyone.”

  “He was my best friend. Don’t you think I’d have told the cops if I knew anything?” he asked, slamming his fist onto the edge of the coffee table, sending one of the ashtrays flying. I reached down and put it back on the table.

  “I would hope so,” I replied as I watched him swipe at the tears in his eyes. I found my own eyes watering, but not from grief. Deciding I had spent long enough in Adam’s apartment, I tossed a business card down on the coffee table and suggested he call me if he thought of anything useful. I figured I’d get a call from Adam the day I forgave my ex-husband for continuing to live. The least he could have done was move far away to a place with lots of predators, like Alaska.

  Outside in the fresh air, I took several deep breathes, trying to clear my lungs and any brain cells effected by my short stay in Marijuanaville. In the car, I looked up the address before driving to David Jenson’s place with the windows down and the air conditioner on full blast.

  David’s apartment was a converted two-story house on a corner lot, just south of the downtown historic district. I was lucky and found a parking space on the side street. I walked up the stairs and knocked on the door to his apartment.

  A man wearing a yellowed white t-shirt an
d faded jeans opened the door, a can of Budweiser in his hand. He looked me up and down, staring just a bit too long at my chest.

  “Yeah?” he asked, then gulped his beer.

  “Hi, I’m looking for a David Jenson.”

  “You found him.”

  “Great. My name’s Kim Murphy. I’d like to talk with you about your friend, Brian Lewis.”

  “He’s dead.”

  “Yes, I know. I’d like to find out how he got that way.”

  “He was stabbed.”

  “Sorry, I should have been clearer. I’m trying to find his killer.”

  “Lady, I don’t know nothin’ about it.”

  “Maybe you know something that doesn’t seem important.”

  “I know you’ve got some nice tits,” he said, glancing down once again at my chest. “You wanna come in and party?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Fine, then get outta here,” he growled, and slammed the door in my face.

  “Asshole,” I muttered.

  I stomped down the stairs. As I stepped outside, my phone rang. “Hello.”

  “Kimberly, I’m so glad you answered. I was hoping you could come over.”

  “Sorry, Mom, I’m kind of in the middle of something.”

  “Oh, okay. I just thought you’d like to have dinner with us. I guess I could send the extra lasagna home with Michael.”

  My mother was up to something. I felt it much like Luke Skywalker sensed a disturbance in the Force. Despite this knowledge, I was about to willingly walk into whatever trap my mom had set. There wasn’t much I wouldn’t do for her lasagna and she knew it. “I’m on my way.”

  A few minutes later I opened the front door and followed the scents of garlic, fresh baked bread, and coffee into my parents’ kitchen.

  “Hi, sweetie. Can you help me set the table? Everything will be ready in a few minutes.”

  “Sure, Mom. Not that I’m complaining, but what’s up with the impromptu dinner?”

  “Kimberly, there’s nothing impromptu about dinner. I just thought it would be lovely if we had a nice meal together. With everyone’s crazy schedules we just don’t get together as often as we should.”

  My mom had taken out only four place settings. There was still hope. The trap could very well be for one of my brothers. It sure as heck wasn’t for my sister, Miss Baby Factory. She had married right out of college and started a family immediately after saying “I do.” My older brothers were also married and had provided my parents with several grandkids to spoil. That left my single brothers, Michael and Brandon, and me, the divorced daughter. This had better not be a setup or I was out of here, which would be a shame if I missed out on my mom’s amazing cooking, but with all the fast food restaurants, I wouldn’t starve.

  “Where’s everybody else?” I asked.

  “Brenna’s at home. She was a bit tired. Justin and Jason are both working. Your father is having dinner with your Uncle Charlie.”

  Charles Wellington wasn’t really my uncle; he was my dad’s best friend. Over the years I had dated his son, Zach, on and off, keeping it hidden from our families. Zach and my brother, Michael, were best friends and that would not have gone over well with Michael.

  Brandon and Michael walked into the kitchen from the mud room.

  “You’re late,” my mom chided. They slid into their chairs and began to shovel food onto their plates.

  “Sorry, Mom,” Brandon said.

  “God, who smells like pot?” Michael asked, glaring at me.

  “I don’t want to talk about it!” I grabbed my own plate and filled it with food.

  After grace, we dug into our food.

  “So, Kim, I heard this time you stabbed a guy. Nice going,” Brandon said.

  “Don’t be stupid. Knife wounds are too bloody for Kim. She prefers to shoot her victims from far enough away she doesn’t get any blood spatter on her,” Michael said.

  “You’re both so damn funny.”

  “Kimberly, language, and, boys, don’t tease your sister,” Mom said, using the voice that took no sass from any of us.

  “Yes, ma’am,” we muttered.

  “Since we’re discussing this unfortunate incident, Michael, the least you could do is help your sister.”

  “Help her with what?”

  “She has a client who needs help.”

  “Wait, how do you know that?” I asked.

  Instead of answering, she looked at me and smiled. The only answer I could think of was that Jackie must have spilled her guts.

  “Mom, you know I can’t. It’s an open case and it’s not even mine.”

  “So you’re going to sit in my house, eat my food, and refuse to help your baby sister? I can’t believe it. I thought I raised you better than that.”

  Guilt was a weapon my mom rarely used, but when she did, it was a beautiful sight, as long as it wasn’t pointed at me. It also became clear why my dad wasn’t present for dinner. No way was he going to get involved in the middle of this mess. At least not until he had to, and, oh God, did I hope it didn’t get bad enough that I needed his help.

  “Mom, you know he can’t help her,” Brandon said.

  My mom turned her stare on him. “Eat your dinner,” she ordered.

  For several minutes the only sound was the grandfather clock chiming to let us know it was five o’clock. Finally, Michael began to tell me what he knew, which was mostly information I had already learned. He wrapped up, suggesting I look into Brian’s ex-girlfriend.

  “Do you know her name?”

  “No, but she’s a waitress at The Spitting Parrot.”

  “Oh man, you’ve gotta mean Angie. The rest of the waitresses are either married or gay,” Brandon said.

  “Does Angie have a last name?” I asked.

  “I’m sure she does, I just don’t remember what it is,” Brandon replied.

  “Ha, ha, ha.”

  “If I were you, I’d avoid Tompkins. Man, was he pissed when he got back from the morgue.”

  “Michael, language.”

  “Sorry, Mom.”

  We finished dinner and my brothers took off for work. I helped clean up and put the dishes in the dishwasher.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “You’re welcome for dinner anytime, dear.”

  “Yeah, well, for that and for getting Michael to discuss the case.”

  “You didn’t kill that young man, and since you’ve agreed to look into it, the least your brothers could do is help you.”

  “How did you know I was working this case?”

  “Kimberly, dear, you’re not the only one with informants,” she said, winking at me.

  “Mom, you’re the best.” I laughed and hugged her goodbye.

  Chapter Four

  I grabbed the list of names and addresses off of the passenger seat. I made notes next to the names of the people I had already spoken with. Figuring my luck was due to run out, I picked up my phone and called the next person on my list. He answered and was willing to talk to me if I got there soon. He delivered pizzas and was due at work in an hour.

  I parked on the street in front of his apartment building and rang the doorbell. A man in his early twenties opened the door wearing a Domino’s Pizza shirt. He was six feet tall, with blond hair and gorgeous blue eyes. He looked like he should be on the cover of a men’s health magazine. “Hi, I’m looking for Kevin Alberts?”

  “I’m Kevin.”

  “Great. I’m Kim. I just spoke to you on the phone. I wanted to talk to you about Brian.”

  “Sure, you must also be the woman David mentioned.”

  “He mentioned me to you?”

  “Yup, he said some hot lady was asking stupid questions about Brian.”

  “He wasn’t exactly very helpful.”

  “Sorry about that. David’s a good guy. It’s just that Brian’s death hit him hard.”

  “How long did you know Brian?” I asked, keeping my opinion of David to myself.

  “Since
high school. We hung out together, well, until recently anyway.”

  He invited me inside, but I declined. After spending time in Adam’s apartment, I wasn’t eager to go inside Kevin’s.

  “Can you think of any reason someone would want to murder him?” I asked.

  “Murder? I guess I assumed it was suicide,” he replied.

  “Why’d you think it was a suicide?”

  “He had been a bit depressed the last couple of months. It had gotten a bit worse lately. He didn’t even want to hang out anymore.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “He’d lost his job, his girlfriend, and his apartment. That’d be enough to make anyone depressed.”

  I looked up from the notebook I’d brought with me to jot down notes in. “Wow. Do you know why he lost his job?”

  “The company claimed it was making cuts but Brian figured it was because money was missing from the petty cash. They must have figured it had to be the ex-con.”

  “Four of you did time together,” I said.

  “We were young, stupid, and on drugs. We all got clean, did our time, and moved on.”

  “What about his ex-girlfriend?”

  “Angie Davis.”

  “Why’d they break up?”

  “Angie was using drugs. Brian wanted her to quit and they argued. He flushed her drugs down the toilet and she freaked out.”

  “What kinds of drugs?”

  “She had some pot, Vicodin, and some crack.”

  “Wow, that’s seems like a lot for one person.”

  Kevin looked down and began to pick at imaginary lint on his shirt.

  “So, maybe she was using and selling?” I asked.

  “Maybe,” he said, looking back up at me.

  “Did you tell Detective Tompkins?”

  “No. I didn’t want to get her jammed up with the cops.”

  “I understand.”

  “Look, I’ve got to get to work.”

  “Yeah, thanks for your help.”

  “No prob.” He chuckled.

  “What?”

  “I didn’t think your questions were dumb, but David was right about one thing.”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “You’re definitely hot.” He winked.

  Only a few years separated us, but since men matured at a much slower rate, I had kind of made a rule against dating younger men. Plus this one was part of my investigation. It didn’t matter in the least that this yummy-looking guy thought I was hot. It sure felt good though.