I refreshed the screen again.
All I needed was a time and place, preferably somewhere with lots of people under the bright summer sun. Once I had Josh on the hook for a face-to-face, I’d share my intent with Jake. He could come along or listen in, if he wanted. Maybe he or Dan had already spoken with Josh. Either way, I wanted to meet the man who created Luminatti, the fastest-growing paper lantern company on the East Coast. Not bad for a headhunter.
Who gets mad about landing a three-million-dollar contract?
The pot of water on my stove roiled to a boil, and I dumped a box of twisty noodles into the bubbles. Steam filled the air. I inched my laptop back a few inches from where I’d positioned it on a stack of never-opened cookbooks. The noodles zoomed and flipped through the pan, both supported and assaulted by the water.
Who needed recipes when instructions were printed on the box?
I shoved a silicon spoon into the mix and stirred. I couldn’t get past Josh’s anger over a six-figure contract. He’d had a reason to celebrate, but based on the number of times he’d texted and emailed Dante with descriptive ideas about where he thought Dante should go and what he should do when he got there, Josh was definitely mad.
I adjusted the heat under my pot and stared at Josh’s face in an online photo taken earlier this year. I needed a new thread to pull on my floundering investigation, and he was the best I had. Maybe he wanted more money and had blamed Dante for a lowball deal? If receiving three million had him swearing like a sailor, he was clearly unreasonable. It wasn’t a stretch to imagine him lashing out at Dante if he wound up in striking distance.
I’d decided, during a walk around the lake at lunchtime, that the stabbing was probably a crime of passion and improvisation. The drowning, I guessed, was meant to cover the stabbing, or at least get rid of the only witness. The reason behind the stabbing was still unknown. I didn’t even have a guess. It had been six days since Dante was killed, and I was right where I’d started, wondering who would want to hurt him and why. Never mind the fact I practically lived at the crime scene.
Ten minutes later, I carried a heaping bowl of macaroni and cheese to my couch. I set my laptop up beside me and propped my fuzzy-socked feet on the coffee table. I opened a new window and searched for images of Terrance Horton. I hadn’t given the fugitive Jake was looking for much serious thought before. Bad guys had strategies and silencers on guns. Dante’s killer had chased a bleeding man into a lake and held him down. His killer wasn’t calculated, he was cuckoo. Terrance didn’t look cuckoo. He’d been on the run for a while, so he probably didn’t look anything like the images on my screen anymore, either, but I was desperate. The cabbies I’d spoken with had freely described the riders in my time and location window, but none had sounded like what I saw before me. The man online was pushing fifty with the physique of Ichabod Crane. Hard to forget. The cabbies had picked up portly middle-aged businessmen with bifocals and briefcases, couples headed for the airport, and a few miscellaneous women. I doubted Terrance had found a fountain of youth, gotten shorter or changed genders before Friday night, so he seemed like another dead end.
For good measure, I texted his picture to the cabbies who’d had a hard time recalling what their passengers looked like. Unsurprisingly, they’d had no trouble remembering the score of the ballgame on the radio that night.
I scooped starchy noodles and simulated cheese sauce into my mouth. Memories of previous botched investigations came to mind. I’d found the killer before the cops, but nearly paid for the revelation with my life. I needed to involve Jake, tell him what I’d been up to with Josh and the cabbies. We could hash out the details and set a plan. I stabbed my fork into the noodles and sent Jake a text. Dinner tomorrow at my place?
Someone knocked on my door as I hit Send. I recognized the little shave and a haircut number. The building’s FedEx guy. I shuffled into the foyer with enthusiasm and used the peephole just in case. Yep. Delivery. I swung the door open with a smile. “Hello.”
He tipped his logoed ball cap. “Ms. Connors.” He scanned the label on my package before handing it over. “Hope you enjoy your new box. Have a nice night.”
“Thanks.” I ducked into my apartment and locked the door. A Taboo Toys logo was printed on every side. “Just the reminder I needed.” I peeled back the tape and opened the box to confirm. A dozen motion-sensored, cymbal-banging monkeys. The residents weren’t very responsive to the monkeys as deterrents, but these were desperate times and I’d already ordered the creepy musicians.
I flopped back into place on the couch and refreshed my email. Nothing from Josh.
No matter. I still had Mr. Peters’s secret tree footage to review. I sent him an email asking when I could come over. He’d ignored my last request, but I knew where to find him if he dodged me again. Worst case scenario, I’d give up my preview option and take Jake to his door to demand the video files.
My phone dinged. Jake said yes to dinner.
I danced my feet along the coffee table’s edge. Now, I needed juicy information to share with him. Maybe one of the cabbies would recognize Horton’s picture or Josh would accept my invite by tomorrow. Either of those options would make great dinner conversation.
My phone lit again and I swooped it off the couch.
This time the message was from Nate. Good meeting this morning. We’re halfway through the consultant interviews. Do you have a favorite so far?
I hated interviewing consultants. Even if I could figure out how to live without sleep, I still needed time to eat, shower and blink. Sometimes life was unfair. I liked the first guy.
The baby?
I shook my head at the phone. He was twenty-two with a related degree and four years of documented professional experience. Not to mention a lifetime of gaming. Plus, I discovered afterward, a decade of amateur hacking. I traced his screen name for three days after we met. He’s good.
Someone knocked on my door. Not the fun delivery knock. A neighborly are-you-home knock. Hopefully I’d find people, not drowned mice, outside my door. I split my droopy ponytail down the middle and pulled both sides, shooting it to the top of my head. No one got into my building without a fob or an invitation. I was safe.
Nate responded to my text with a cradle emoticon. Everyone has a lifetime of gaming experience. Good at playing the game isn’t the same as qualified to improve it.
I headed for the door. Being young doesn’t make him inexperienced. It makes him our target audience.
Fine.
Fine. I checked my peephole.
Fifi stood outside with a tall, dark and handsome man at least twice her age. She was yammering full-speed, though the words were muffled by my door.
I flipped the deadbolt and gripped the knob. My phone buzzed. Have you spoken with Fifi?
Not since work.
How was she?
She was Fifi.
I hesitated. She wasn’t wearing an engagement ring. Why? Did she say no?
Fifi knocked again.
I opened with a too-broad smile. “Hey!”
Her expression fell as she took me in. “Are you in your pajamas? I thought you’d be on your way to the Faire.”
“Oh.” I’d forgotten how I must look. I checked my shirt for fallen noodles or cheese marks. “Tom went. They didn’t need me, so I got a night off.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Well, I came over to give you this.” She extended her hand to me. A keyring covered in wispy hot pink feathers dangled from her finger. A key swung beneath.
My phone dinged. I bobbed my head and tried not to stare at the stranger beside her. “Cool.”
Fifi looked at my phone. “Aren’t you going to see who’s texting you?”
Right. I turned the phone over.
Nate: She didn’t say, no. I haven’t asked.
Nate: Why?
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Nate: Do you know something? Doesn’t she want to marry me?
I shoved the phone into the pocket of my baggy cotton bottoms and jerked my gaze back to the pair on my doorstep. The man looked too disinterested to be her friend. They stood two feet apart. She wasn’t making a point of our introduction. Who was this guy? Middle-aged security detail?
He turned his eyes to me.
I started, jerking my attention to Fifi. “What’s the key for?”
She pointed across the hall. “For my new penthouse apartment! I bought it and I’m moving in!”
My phone vibrated against my thigh. “That’s great.”
Fifi craned her neck to see around me. “Are you sure you’re okay? You seem distracted.”
“No, no. I’m good. Really great. Peachy.” I stepped aside. “I’m sorry. Do you want to come in? I made macaroni.”
“No,” the man at her side answered swiftly.
I caught my breath. He reeked of authority. I had a finishing-school flashback and straightened my posture.
“Oh, Mia, this is my father, Pembroke Wise the third.”
His sharp blue eyes looked bored and out of place in the building’s hallway. His tailored suit and Italian leather shoes belonged in a window at Harrods. “Nice to meet you.” His tone and expression said he was lying, and he made no move to shake my hand, a gesture that had been drilled into me since childhood.
I crossed my arms and regretted answering the door. “I don’t normally look like a slob when I’m meeting new people,” I explained. “It’s just that I’ve already put in nearly sixty-five hours this week, and I haven’t had nearly enough sleep. Someone died here on Friday.”
Fifi gritted her teeth and closed her eyes.
Oops. Her dad probably wouldn’t want her to live where people were murdered.
I waved off the news. “Don’t listen to me. It’s the sleep deprivation talking. My mind’s everywhere. Clubhouse responsibilities, squirrels, my RPG and the Renaissance Faire.”
He raised his brows and turned to his daughter. “Squirrels. Renaissance Faires. Rocket-propelled grenades? Is this to be your neighbor?”
I laughed loudly. The forced noise was frightening, even to my ears. “No grenades.”
Fifi jumped. “No, Daddy. Role Playing Game. Mia co-owns REIGN with Nate, remember? I’ve told you this before.”
I covered my mouth and tried not to make another sound as my phone continued to buzz conspicuously in my pocket. Somewhere in Ohio, Nate was having a series of strokes about the state of his relationship.
“Mia’s my boss,” Fifi continued. “She’s the CIO of Guinevere’s Golden Beauty. Tell me you’ve heard something I’ve said to you tonight.”
Recollection lit in his eyes. “Ah, yes. The holistic beauty mogul.” He frowned, probably trying to unite his idea of a mogul with the woman in front of him wearing a Space Invaders T-shirt and vibrating pajama pants.
He stepped away with a nod of acknowledgement and headed for the elevator, i.e. escape hatch. “I’ll give you two ladies a minute. It’s a lovely apartment, darling.” The elevator doors parted, and he stepped aboard. “Think about my invitation. Maybe bring a friend.” The words were there, but his heart wasn’t in it. “Don’t dawdle.”
“I’d never dress like this in public,” I told the closing doors.
Fifi laughed.
I covered my face.
“Sorry,” she said. “I never would’ve stopped if I thought you were relaxing. I assumed you were on your way out and we’d share the elevator or just exchange hellos. Plus, I wanted to give you the key.” She wiggled it.
“Oh!” I took it. “I’m so sorry. My brain.” I pressed a palm to my head. “This is great. We’re neighbors.” I rewound the words. It was great, right? I’d enjoyed having the whole top floor to myself, but I loved Fifi, so sharing was okay. Right?
“I think I’m going to ask Nate to move in,” she said. “What do you think? Am I crazy? Is it too soon? It’s too soon, isn’t it?”
“No.” Neighbors with Fifi and Nate. Mixed emotions collided with my over-processed dinner.
“No?” Her doe-eyes widened impossibly further. “You think he’ll say yes?”
“I think he’ll say yes.”
She squealed and hugged me, successfully pinning my arms to my sides and my lungs to my back. “I’m so glad you said that. I really want him to live with me. I hate when he has to go home, you know?”
“Yep.” I wiggled her off me and took a whole breath. “You’re very strong.”
“I guess I should go.” She didn’t look like she wanted to. “I’ll call you and tell you if you’re right.”
“I’m right.”
She pushed the button to call the elevator. Wise not to keep her father waiting. He didn’t seem like an overly patient man.
A burst of curiosity hit. “What did your dad say about an invitation?”
“Oh. He wants me to attend a fundraiser for a guy I’ve never heard of, a mayoral hopeful. Dad’s big into local politics. All the rich old geezers are. It makes them feel powerful, pulling the strings. The wealthy decide who runs, and who wins, with their fat pocketbooks. Essentially all politicians are puppets.”
“Wow. Tell me how you really feel,” I deadpanned.
She puffed air into her platinum bangs. “I hate politics.”
“You have a law degree.”
“For Daddy. I’ve always wanted to be an interior designer.”
“Of course. So who’s the party for?”
“Someone named Crispin Keyes. He’s hosting the fundraiser as a guise. He wants to get a bead on his support. I told Daddy that Nate and I have plans.” She dug into her clutch and placed a red, white and blue button in my hand. “But, hey, Vote for Keyes.”
“Right on.” I laughed. “Thanks again for the key, neighbor.”
Fifi grabbed her phone and beamed. “It’s Nate.”
“See you tomorrow.” I waved and went back to the couch.
I set the key and button on the coffee table. Was Fifi right about rich old men and politics? I pulled the laptop onto my legs and typed Dante’s name into a search engine, along with the titles of various locally elected positions.
Bingo. I hit the motherlode with “Dante Weiss State Senate.” I opened a slew of tabs and scanned articles. Dante had publicly and enthusiastically supported Vince Adams for state senate. This was the lead I needed. I couldn’t think of a single politician who’d be glad to have his or her name associated so tightly with Dante’s, a man people would soon know as a criminal informant and associate of fugitives.
Next time I saw Fifi, I might kiss her.
Chapter Sixteen
I’d offered to cook, but Jake insisted on picking up takeout. I wasn’t sure if that was exceptionally considerate or a comment on my cooking. Either way, I was glad not to have to clean the kitchen again. I’d spent the evening cleaning house in preparation for his arrival. Now, instead of a giant mess, there was only one small one on my kitchen counter. Bree’s request for rainbow fruit skewers was proving to be an issue with the Congress Lake caterers. Guess who got to figure it out?
I piled disposable plates, cups and napkins on the island and mentally tallied the information I’d gathered on Dante’s murder since I’d last talked with Jake. I hadn’t gotten anything new or useful from the cabbies, but I had some following up to do. Two still hadn’t returned my initial call and another hadn’t responded to the photo of Terrance I’d texted last night. Josh refused to acknowledge my email, so I was forced to cyber-stalk his social media accounts all night. From what I could tell, he wasn’t dead or a killer who’d fled the country. In fact, based on his hardcore Instagram dedication and frequent Twitter updates, there was no doubt he’d gotten my email and chosen to ignore it.
No one was online as much as Josh Chan without checking email.
Mr. Peters was another man playing hard to get. He’d dodged my calls from the office today, and I couldn’t understand why. He’d told me about the camera and agreed to share the footage. Why the sudden urge to hide? He was either bluffing about the camera or erasing parts he didn’t want me to see. The latter plucked my curiosity. What could he have caught on camera? Owling? Night fishing? Skinny-dipping? I shuddered. The average Horseshoe Falls resident was between forty-eight and sixty-nine. I didn’t want to think about what moonlight did to age spots.
My doorbell rang.
“Open up, ma’am. US Marshal Service.”
I rubbed sweat-slicked palms against soft denim shorts and hurried to the door.
Jake looked at me around a stack of brown paper bags stapled shut, receipts blowing in the blast of wind from my opening door.
“What seems to be the trouble, officer?” I took half of his load to the kitchen. “Marshal?” I was terrible at improv. “Thanks for bringing dinner. You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to. I was glad to get your invitation last night.” He unpacked an impressive mix of lidded containers and small paper pails. “I have no idea what you like.”
“So, you bought everything?”
He made a grouchy face. “Yep.”
He’d told me once the angry look was his “thinking” face. Now, I never knew if he was thinking or pissed off.
He scooped fried rice from a pail with a plastic spoon. “I can’t believe how hard it is to make time to eat dinner together. Our schedules are total crap.”
“Accurate.” Spicy scents of red peppers soaked in Szechuan cleared my head and enticed my tummy. I bit into the crispy shell of a fried wonton with reckless abandon and savored the cream cheese center. “This Szechuan is so much better than the macaroni and cheese I made last night.” Lines of small talk circled my head. How was traffic? Work? The weather? “Any new information on Terrance Horton? Did his former associate cave to your interrogation prowess as expected?”
A Geek Girl's Guide to Justice (The Geek Girl Mysteries) Page 17