Secrets That Kill: A Shelby Nichols Adventure

by Colleen Helme

  “Known him?” I drew my brows together in confusion, knowing I had to play this just right. “I don’t know him.”

  Fitch narrowed his eyes. What was I trying to pull? “His girlfriend said he was with you.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I answered, keeping the confusion on my face. It wasn’t too hard since she had changed from being an ex to a full-fledged girlfriend. “What girlfriend?”

  Fitch glanced toward the back to find her, but she wasn’t in sight. He’d have to get her over here and get to the bottom of this. He glanced at Castro and slid out of the booth. “Go find her while I ask…sorry, I never got your name.”

  “Shelby Nichols,” I said.

  “Shelby. Okay. Apparently there’s been some misunderstanding, but I’m sure we can clear it up. Detective Castro will get the waitress.”

  “What waitress?” I asked.

  “The waitress who is the girlfriend who says you came with the victim,” he explained. He was beginning to think I really didn’t know what was going on.

  “Oh…okay,” I said. Fitch slid back into the booth and tried to figure me out. To distract him I asked, “So what was his name? You keep calling him the victim, but he was a real person. Who was he? Why was he killed? Was he in a gang or something? That guy I saw had snake tattoos on his arms, and his head was shaved. Is he the person who killed him?”

  “The victim’s name was Warren Pearce. Tell me what you saw,” Fitch said.

  I explained how I came in and the hostess seated me in this corner booth. “I wasn’t too far from the victim…Warren, and noticed him talking quite loudly with a waitress. Must be the girlfriend?” Fitch nodded and I continued. “Now that I think about it, she did give me a dirty look, although I had no idea why.”

  Fitch was thinking Warren must have told her I was his new girlfriend to get her off his back maybe, but why? “Go on,” he said.

  “Next thing I know this guy came rushing down the aisle toward the back like he was after somebody. Right after that I heard a scream, and a woman yelling to call nine-one-one, and shouting that someone had been hurt. I went back to see what was going on and saw the guy…Warren, lying there and…it didn’t look good.” I grimaced and swallowed. “All that blood. It gave me quite a shock.”

  “Did you get a good look at the guy’s face? The one with the tattoos?” he asked.

  “Yeah. He was big and looked really mean.” I gave him a more detailed description, finishing up just as Detective Castro brought the waitress to our table.

  With her hands on her hips, and mascara running down her face from her tears, she still managed to sneer at me. “Warren said he was with you. He wouldn’t have told me that if it wasn’t true. He knows how mad I get.”

  Everyone focused on me and I shrugged. “I didn’t come in with him. Just ask the hostess. She saw me come in alone and seated me here.”

  “But why would he tell me that?” the waitress asked, anger drying her tears. “You’re making this up. I’ll get Molly and prove it.” She stalked off to find the hostess.

  I tried not to sigh with relief and shook my head. “I don’t get it either. But there’s clearly something going on. I hope you can figure it out.”

  “We’ll get to the bottom of it,” Detective Castro assured me. He followed after the waitress, leaving me alone with Fitch again, who was thinking that once this matter was cleared up, he could send me on my way. My description matched those of the other witnesses, although I was the only one who got a good look at his face, so he really didn’t think he needed me to stay.

  Only…he had a feeling there was something he was missing. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask me what I was doing in the restaurant in the first place, but before he could, Castro returned.

  “The hostess said she came in alone,” Castro said. “So the victim must have lied to the girlfriend for some reason.” He glanced at me. “The hostess also said it looked like you were meeting someone.”

  Did he really expect me to answer that? They both glanced at me, wondering what I would say. Fitch thought if I told them to mind their own business, it meant I had something to hide. Put that together with what the victim said to his girlfriend, and it could mean something.

  “I wasn’t meeting with anyone,” I said. “I’m just here as part of my job. I have my own consulting agency, and I’m doing some work for a client.”

  Fitch’s eyes glinted. There was a definite ring of truth to that. This must be what he was missing. It made more sense to him now, unless it had something to do with Warren. If I didn’t tell him exactly what it was, and said some stupid thing about client privilege and all that, he’d know I was keeping something from him that was important to the investigation. “Did it have anything to do with Warren?”

  Damn! Now I had to make up something really good. “No. It’s not about that.” Thinking fast, I lowered my voice and leaned toward them. “It’s about a secret recipe. My client wants to know if this restaurant stole hers. I was going to do some snooping around…ask a few questions. But…after this, I’ll have to come back some other time.”

  I sat back in my seat. “You won’t tell anyone, will you? It’s supposed to be confidential, and I don’t want anyone here to know.”

  “No,” Fitch said. “Of course not.” He was caught off guard, and had a hard time wrapping his head around my explanation. A secret recipe? Here, in this dive? Of course, he’d never eaten here before. Maybe the food was really good. He’d have to give it a try. He wondered what dish it was and glanced at the table, just in case there was a menu handy.

  “If that’s all, I might as well go,” I said, catching his attention. “There’s nothing more I can do for you is there?”

  “No, I think that’s everything,” he answered. “Could you give me your card in case we need to get in touch?” He was thinking if I were lying I wouldn’t have a business card to give him.

  Good grief! Was he always this suspicious of every little thing? “Sure.” I rummaged through my bag and found my purse, then pulled a business card out of the pocket where I kept them. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks.” He eagerly studied it, thinking that it looked authentic. The number had a different area code than Florida, but that wasn’t too unusual. “This looks like a business number. Do you have a personal cell phone number you could give me?”

  “Yeah, sure. Let me write it down on the back of the card.” Dang, he was good. After getting my name and consulting agency in the paper for finding all that stolen bank money, I’d had to get a business line for all the phone calls. Now I couldn’t ditch Fitch so easily.

  “Thanks. I’ll call if I need anything.”

  “Okay.” I took my time stuffing my purse back into my bag, waiting for him to be the first to leave the booth. I didn’t want to look too eager to get out of there. I checked the time. It was one-thirty-five. Could I still make it to the airport? I had to try.

  A group of people came into the restaurant wheeling a gurney to pick up the body. The grim sight reminded me that I wasn’t out of danger yet. Not with Warren’s warning rattling around in my head. Were Carson and his goons watching for me? My stomach tightened. I needed to get out of here.

  I walked to the front of the restaurant and glanced out the window. Lots of police cars and yellow tape surrounded the entrance and filled the parking lot. There was no way I would find a taxi without calling a cab company. I turned back to search for the hostess and ask for a phone book.

  She was sitting in a booth with another worker, and stood as I approached. “I need to call a cab,” I said. “Do you have a phone book or a number handy?”

  “Yeah, we keep the number at the hostess desk for emergencies,” she said. She was thinking that the police and yellow tape had probably scared my lover off, so now I had to pay for my own ride home.

  I could hardly believe how judgmental she was and decided that she’d been watching too much TV. From my experience listening to people�
��s thoughts, I knew most regular people didn’t do half the things other people assumed they did. “Here it is,” she said, handing me a laminated piece of paper with the phone number on it. “Do you need a phone?”

  “No, but thanks.” I took a seat in the waiting area, needing some space to get my purse back out of my bag where it was stuffed. I pulled out my phone, only to realize I’d missed several calls and text messages…all from Chris. Oops. I sent a quick text telling him I was fine and I’d call soon. After that I called the cab company. Lucky for me the paper had the name and address of the restaurant at the top, so I could tell the cab people where to pick me up.

  “We’ll have someone there shortly,” the cab operator said.

  “How long will that take?” I asked, feeling the time ticking away.

  “Um…about ten minutes or so,” she answered.

  I thanked her and ended the call, worried about the “or so” part of her answer. Usually when people added things like that, it meant at least five to ten minutes more than what they said, but since I couldn’t hear her thoughts over the phone, I was just guessing. Maybe this time I’d be wrong, and the cab would be here a few minutes early. Now I was just kidding myself. With the way things had gone so far today, I didn’t stand a chance.

  I should probably call Chris now and let him know, but I didn’t want to do it where someone might overhear my conversation. I pushed open the door and stepped outside, glancing up and down the street. A few policemen stood inside the yellow tape beside me, and the coroner’s truck with Warren’s body was just pulling out. A small crowd had gathered to gawk, and I noticed a news reporter talking into a camera. She spotted me and hurried over to get an eyewitness account.

  Yikes! I ducked back into the restaurant. No way was I going to get my face plastered all over the news. I’d just have to wait until I got into the cab to call Chris. I stood by the window where I could see when the cab arrived, and settled in to wait. It wasn’t long before the other people in the restaurant began to leave, and I watched the reporter pounce on them. It kept me entertained for a little while until the reporter and cameraman packed up their stuff and left.

  After that, the seconds passed slowly, stretching my nerves to the limit. I wanted to get out of there so bad I couldn’t stand still, tapping my foot and changing position every few minutes like a crazy person. I stared out the window, chewing on my fingernails, worried that the cab could find a place to park that wasn’t a block away. Then I worried that he’d wait for me to walk that far once he got there. Where was he? Fifteen long minutes had come and gone and still no sign of him.

  As the cab finally pulled up across the street, the detectives finished up, and were just walking toward me to leave. I wanted to get out of there before them, but Detective Fitch beat me to the door and held it open for me. I told him thanks and rushed out before he could question me about why I was still there.

  I quickly crossed the street to the cab with Fitch’s thoughts coming through loud and clear. The fact that I was still at the restaurant after so long had aroused his suspicions, and now he was wondering why I was taking a cab. He wished he had gotten my home address. Maybe he should ask me to wait before it was too….

  I closed the door, blocking out the rest of his thoughts, and told the cab driver to take me to the airport as fast as he could. As we pulled away, I glanced out the window. Detective Fitch had opened his car door, but paused to watch me leave. He was still standing there when the cab took me around a corner and I lost sight of him.

  That was close. I buckled my seat belt and pulled out my phone. Chris answered on the first ring. “Hi honey,” I said, keeping my voice cheerful so he wouldn’t know how much trouble I was in.

  “Where are you?” he practically shouted. “You should have been here an hour ago. Why haven’t you called before now? What’s going on?”

  “I’m in a cab on my way there,” I explained. “Hang on a minute, and I’ll ask the driver how long it will take to get to the airport.”

  The driver had been listening, but waited for me to ask before he told me. He was thinking it would take about thirty to thirty-five minutes if we were lucky. “I can get you there in about forty-five minutes if traffic isn’t too bad,” he said. “This time of day, you never know. Could be more, could be less. We’ll just have to wait and see.” He was thinking I would give him a better tip if he got me there before he’d said he would.

  I thanked him and turned back to Chris, going with the shortest time. “About half an hour. Will that work? Do you think I can make it?” I heard him sigh before he replied.

  “Maybe,” he said. “But if you’re any longer, you probably won’t. Maybe we should wait and take a later flight.”

  “No, I don’t want to do that. I want to get home.” I had to take the chance that I’d get there because I didn’t want to stay in Orlando another minute longer than necessary. “Listen, if I don’t make it, I’ll take a later flight and you guys can go ahead. It’s not what I want to do, but I still think I can make this flight, so let’s not change anything.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked. “I mean…I’d hate to leave you behind.”

  “If it happens, it happens…I’ll deal with it,” I said. “I’m sure there’s another flight later today that I can get on. Since you’ve already gone through security and the bags are checked onto the plane, you might as well go. Besides, I think I can still make it. So what Terminal and Gate should I go to?”

  “Have the cab take you to the A side of the Main Terminal. You’ll need to check in, but just do it curbside through a skycap. I think that will be faster. From there you’ll need to go to Airside Terminal One, and Gate Two. Got that?” he asked.

  “A side, Airside Terminal One and Gate Two,” I repeated. “Got it.”

  “Good. There wasn’t a long line at security when we got there, so you might be all right.”

  “Sure,” I said. “I’ll make it.”

  “I sure hope so.” He sighed. “So what happened? Why are you so late?”

  “It’s kind of a long story,” I hedged. “I had to take a detour and some things happened to delay me, but I’m okay now.”

  “Now?” His voice sounded anxious. “What does that mean? When weren’t you okay?”

  I tried to figure out how to respond with the cab driver listening to every word I said. He was pretty interested to know what had happened to me, especially since he’d seen the yellow crime-scene tape and heard on the radio that someone had been killed at the restaurant where he’d picked me up. Was I involved in that? Was that why I was so anxious to leave the city? The cops might be interested to know he’d taken me to the airport. Let’s see…A side, Terminal One, and Gate Two…he’d be sure to remember that.

  “Sounds good,” I said cheerfully. “I’ll see you soon and tell you all about it. Love you too! Bye!” I disconnected. Shame and remorse coursed through me. I had just hung up on my husband. Not good. That made me a bad wife. He was going to be so mad. But I didn’t have a choice! Not with the stupid cab driver listening to every word I said. Damn! I sent a quick text telling Chris I’d explain everything later and slipped the phone into my jeans pocket.

  “How close are we to the airport now?” I asked the cabbie.

  “Um…about half an hour. When does your flight leave?” He was thinking it would be good to know my destination as well.

  “If we’re there in half an hour, I’ve got plenty of time,” I answered. I wasn’t about to tell him anything, not after I had to hang up on Chris because of him. He was too nosey for his own good. What happened to people who didn’t want to get involved? Why couldn’t I have gotten a taxi driver like that?

  I silently fumed, feeling helpless as the seconds ticked by. I checked my phone, hoping Chris had replied to my text, but there were no new messages. I sent another one telling him I was almost there, hoping it was true. I perked up when signs for the airport came into sight. It couldn’t be too far away now. Five minutes later,
my cab pulled into the exit for the airport. My phone chirped with a message from Chris. He said to hurry because they were now boarding the plane.

  All ready? My heart sank. I checked the time. It was two-forty. I couldn’t give up now. I might still make it. Only a few more minutes and I’d be there. I took out my ticket, texted Chris back saying that I would hurry, and got ready to jump out of the taxi.

  The cab driver checked his rear-view mirror several times, and as we got closer to the drop-off point, he was thinking about the car behind us. It had been following for a long time, maybe even since he’d picked me up. He glanced at me, concerned that I was hiding something from the police after all. This might get ugly. I might get shot or taken into custody without paying him. He wasn’t going to let me out until he saw green.

  My heart raced, but I resisted the urge to look out the back window. Who could be following me? It was either Detective Fitch or Carson’s goons. At this point, I hoped it was the detective. “I’ve got to hurry,” I said. “How much do I owe you?” I’d kept the cash from my earlier ride in my jeans pocket, and pulled it out to show him.

  “Fifty should do it,” he said, then added, “since I got you here in good time.” He named a higher price because he didn’t think I’d leave a tip. He was right about that.

  I undid my seatbelt and counted out the cash, then reached between the seats and placed it on the passenger seat. “There you go…it’s all there,” I said, answering his unspoken question.

  “Good,” he nodded, and pulled to the curb.

  I threw my bag over my shoulder and jumped out as soon as the car stopped. Rushing to the skycap with my ticket, I glanced back and caught a glimpse of the car behind the taxi. It kept going, then quickly pulled over, and the passenger door flew open. A man stepped out, glancing toward me. I gasped. It was the same guy who’d been looking for me at the restaurant.

  “Is that your ticket?” The skycap asked.

  “Oh, yes.” I handed it over, keeping my attention on the man following me. My mouth went dry, and my pulse raced. He started to get in line behind me, but another person beat him to it, so he got behind that person.