She frowned. “Every self-help guru would tell me that taking big risks was a good thing, but I’m pretty sure they weren’t referring to meeting with cold-blooded killers.”
“Jamie . . .”
She sighed. “Fine. Okay. I’ll stay here, and if anything goes wrong, I’ll call the police and tell them everything. But you seriously have to be careful because I can’t be best-friendless. My world just wouldn’t be the same.”
I spontaneously gave her a hug before straightening. “Here goes nothing.”
I stepped out the front door of the museum and walked around to the back side, to the area where Dumpsters lurked, packages were delivered, and priceless pieces of art were first introduced to the building.
My steps faltered for a moment. There was Alexander Cartwright. He leaned against the railing attached to the steps leading to the back door. A cigarette flickered in his hand, but he snubbed it out as I approached.
From the corner of my eyes, I saw two men lingering in the distance: one by the Dumpster, another by a Cadillac.
Instantly, my spine clenched. This could turn ugly.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I’d barely survived last time when strange men had grabbed me. I wasn’t sure I had the strength to fight or the capability to win if it happened again.
My gut told me the men wouldn’t try anything here.
But, as added insurance, I pulled my phone out and opened my camera app. I put it into selfie mode, turned, and took a picture of myself with Alexander lingering in the background.
Alexander straightened, a wrinkle between his eyes. “What are you doing?”
“Providing myself with a bit of an insurance policy,” I told him as I texted the picture to Jamie. “If I disappear, I have proof that you’re the last person I was seen with.”
He stared at me a moment, and I expected a lecture or outrage. Instead, a smile curled his lip and he shook his head.
“You’re quite clever,” he said, stepping closer. “I might have to make you my number six.”
I blinked in confusion. “Your number six?”
His grin widened. “My sixth wife, of course. Some people say I go through marriages like tissues.”
“I don’t view marriages as being disposable, among other things. I don’t think it would work out.” Even when talking to a potential killer, I was being polite. I had to get a grip and tap into some of my meanness. Most people who knew me didn’t think I could be mean.
Alexander stood in front of me now, a cocky look in his eyes. He reached toward me, his fingers headed right toward my face.
To choke me?
Panicking, I cringed and backed away. I shouldn’t have come out here alone. I knew it. Everyone probably knew it.
One day, my optimism would be the death of me.
Alexander frowned and dropped his hand, sliding it into his pocket. “I was just going to brush your hair out of your eyes.”
I reached up, and sure enough, a few strands of hair were plastered against my forehead. I quickly wiped them down.
“Despite what you might think, I’m a pacifist,” Alexander explained.
I almost snorted until I saw he wasn’t smiling anymore. My grin slipped, and I stared at the man in front of me. “You’re serious?”
“Everyone knows I’m against guns—”
His words sounded so ludicrous that my mouth dropped open. “Then what are your men carrying?”
I pointed to one of them in the distance. Something was clearly hidden away beneath his sports jacket. When the wind blew, I could see the metal at his belt.
Alexander raised his eyebrows, as if this conversation were beginning to exhaust him. “Stun guns, and that’s just as a safety precaution. They’ve never used them.”
I stared at him, trying to judge his words. He seemed sincere. He didn’t laugh or smile, as he might if he was trying to fool me. But I was having a hard time buying it. Men like Alexander Cartwright liked to exude power; guns could convey some of the clout.
“You don’t believe me? Look it up. It’s online,” he insisted.
I just might do that when I had the chance. But for now I had other more pressing issues to address. “What about the man at your stables who was nearly beaten to death on your property?”
His stare pierced me. “Why would you think that?”
“I was in the stables when it happened. Only inches away, for that matter.”
His eyebrows flicked upward in surprise again. “I don’t know anything about it.”
I placed one hand on my hip. I might be optimistic, but that didn’t mean I was naïve—not all the time, at least. “I’m just supposed to believe you? Why? Because you’re one of the richest men in the state?”
“In the United States,” he corrected. He stared at me, a cold look in his eyes as he shifted his stance. “Look, I don’t even have to talk to you right now. I’m doing it to be nice, and I’m not nice very often. I’d hate for you to exploit my kindness.”
Really? He was going to turn this back on me, like I was the one who’d done something wrong? How rude.
I needed to get to business, then, because I’d hate to waste the time of such an important person. “From my understanding, there are now two deaths that are associated with you. Explain that.”
Something flickered in his eyes. Guilt? I didn’t think so. In fact, I thought it was a touch of respect.
“How do I explain them? Easily. I’m innocent of both of them. When you’re a man with as many networks as I have, a lot of crimes are somehow connected with you. It doesn’t mean you have anything to do with them.”
“Or maybe it means that you have plenty of people to blame when things go south.”
He stared at me, and I could see the wheels turning in his mind. Then he laughed and waved a finger in the air. “You’ve got moxie, darling. I like that.”
He was trying to change the subject. I wasn’t going to let that happen. “I still don’t think you’re innocent, no matter what diversionary tactics you try to use.”
“Is that right?” Alexander smirked again, obviously unaffected by my certainty of his guilt.
I balled my free hand into a fist. I hated it when people underestimated me. “I know you juice your horses!”
His cocky smile faded again. “No, I don’t. People just want to explain why I’m successful. Hard work, wisdom, knowledge . . . none of those things are good enough for them. I have to be cheating to be prosperous. If you’re rich, it’s because you’re somehow shortchanging the people underneath you. If you’re winning, it’s not because you’re smart, it’s because you’re unprincipled. Not everyone likes to see other people succeed.”
“What about Aidan Jennings?” I continued, my mind racing. “Was he one of those people who resented you . . . to the point where you had to kill him?”
His eyes narrowed. “He had problems in his life that weren’t associated with me. I do employ five hundred people. All their problems can’t possibly be my fault.”
The man had a point.
“Why are you so concerned? Were you friends with either of these men I supposedly hurt?”
“No, but I have a friend in trouble, and it has something to do with Wyndmyer and horse racing.”
Something flickered in his gaze. “If I were you, I’d take a look at Winston Kensington and his wife, Peyton.”
Shock rushed through me. “Look at them for what reason?”
“You’re concerned about illegal activities in connection with Wyndmyer, right?”
“You could say that.”
“That man and his wife have no scruples. They’ll do whatever it takes to get ahead. Horse owners and jockeys are threatening to pull out of races there. They claim they’re rigged to be in favor of certain horses.”
“Do you agree?”
“I recently decided not to race any of my horses there either.”
All of that was very interesting, and I’d definitely have to think about it.
I licked my lips, more questions simmering in my mind. “What about Hayden Dexter? Was that someone else’s fault also?”
He sighed again and looked away. “He was a great worker. I offered a $500,000 reward to anyone who came forward with information. Why would I do that if I were guilty?”
“You did?” I shook my head, realizing I should have done more research.
He nodded and glanced at his watch. “Our time is running out. And, yes, I did. I guess your friend didn’t tell you that.”
This man was messing with my mind. I couldn’t let his suggestions influence my thinking. “Maybe you offered that reward to throw people off your trail.”
He said nothing.
“Why did people suspect you?”
Alexander shrugged. “You’ll have to ask those people yourself.”
“Can you prove any of this?”
He stared at me. “Can you?”
I didn’t say anything, because I knew I didn’t have a good answer.
He stepped closer again. “I’m many things. But I’m not a killer.”
I raised my chin. “You didn’t send a van full of men to kill me?”
“I especially don’t hurt women, unless you consider divorce hurtful.” He offered a smug smile.
“What were you and Chase Dexter arguing about a few days ago?”
He raised his eyebrows. “You saw that? If you must know—and that’s up for contemplation—we ran into each other, and he confronted me.”
“About?”
“His brother’s death.”
“Did you kill Chase Dexter’s brother?” I knew I was repeating myself, but I needed to know.
His gaze darkened. “No, I didn’t. And I have the evidence to prove it.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I sat on the back steps of the museum, needing a moment to unwind. My ruby-colored skirt puffed out around me, a vast contrast to the grungy cement steps. Alexander and his cronies had gone back inside, but I still quaked from our conversation.
As I scooted over to let an employee take the trash out, I closed my eyes, realizing that in many ways I was going back to square one in my unofficial investigation. Alexander Cartwright, by all appearances, was innocent. He was smart enough to cover his bases, to do his research, to anticipate what might happen next.
Just then, Jamie ran around the corner of the building. Her chest heaved like she was out of breath, and her eyes were wide. She stopped abruptly in front of me, confusion showing in the knot between her eyes.
“I saw Alexander come back inside . . .” She drank in a gulp of air. “I thought . . .”
“The worst?” I frowned, realizing I hadn’t thought things through. “Sorry. I just needed a moment.”
She fanned her face before coming to sit beside me. An overhead light flickered as moths swarmed above us. The stench of one of the Dumpsters drifted our way every time the slightest of breezes grazed the asphalt. Beyond the overhead lights, a few stars peeked through on the cloudless night.
Jamie nodded at the papers in my hands. “What’s that?”
I pressed my lips together a moment before answering. “Evidence proving Alexander Cartwright had nothing to do with the death of Hayden Dexter.”
“What? How can that be possible?”
I stared at all the lines, graphs, and numbers on the sheets in front of me, and replayed my conversation with Alexander. He’d motioned to one of his men, who’d disappeared a moment before returning with an envelope.
“There’s no way to definitely prove I didn’t hire someone to do my so-called dirty work,” Alexander said. “But I do have this.”
He handed me a stack of papers with numbers and dollar signs running down it in a list. “What is this?”
“It’s my bank records for the three months before and after Hayden Dexter was killed. I was out of town. That’s a fact that’s been substantiated several times. But this should prove that I didn’t hire anyone, either. There are no large sums of cash being distributed, other than my normal transactions.”
“How do I know you don’t have other accounts?”
He shrugged. “You don’t. I’ll never convince some people. But for those willing to listen, this is my effort to clear my name.”
I relayed the conversation to Jamie.
“He just happened to have the papers with him?” Jamie asked.
“He brought them in case Chase confronted him again.”
She was silent a moment, as if processing that news. “Wow. That’s pretty forward of him to hand over his bank records. Did Alexander tell Chase any of that?”
I shook my head. “Apparently not. He wants me to.”
“But if you tell Chase, then you’ll be talking to him, which will mean that you have to turn him in to the—”
I raised my hand. “I know.”
I was between a rock and a hard place. Again.
“There’s something else,” I continued. “This whole time I thought all these crimes were tied in with Alexander Cartwright. But I don’t think they are, Jamie.”
“Why not?”
“That’s just my gut feeling after talking to him. He pointed out that he has more than five hundred employees. Most of them he has no contact with. He’s also a pacifist, he said. He doesn’t believe in violence. A person who murders usually isn’t afraid to lie. I realize that. But I still don’t think he’s our guy.”
Jamie pursed her lips as if skeptical. “But if not Alexander, then who? Who else would want to threaten us?”
I replayed our conversation. “Alexander pointed the finger at Winston Kensington.”
“Why?”
“Said he’s unscrupulous. Everyone in the horse-racing world knows it, but he’s somehow managed to skirt by without getting caught. He thinks Winston was directly involved with the Starting Gate scandal. He’s also heard rumor that he’s in a heap of financial trouble and that the track is on the verge of shutting down.”
“Did you ask him about Aidan Jennings?”
“I did. He said the police are investigating it as part of a crime ring unrelated to horse racing.” I shook my head again. “I just have no idea where to go from here.”
Jamie sighed. “I really thought when I suggested we come to Louisville that there would be a simple answer. Like maybe Chase was picking out an engagement ring or helping underprivileged children or . . . I don’t know! Doing something innocent. I was wrong. Really wrong.”
I offered my first smile of the evening. “We’re quite the pair, aren’t we?”
She put her arm around my shoulders. “As long as we stick together, we’ll figure life out . . . one step at a time.”
“Or we’ll die trying.”
* * *
I reflected on everything as we departed from the art show. Should I investigate Winston or Peyton? If I did, it would seem like I was targeting them because of their connection with Chase. With Winston being out of town, it would be that much more difficult.
Halfway back to Magnolia’s, headlights appeared in my rearview mirror. In themselves, they weren’t suspicious. But after everything that had happened, I was on edge.
Maybe it was because of everything that had already happened, but sweat sprinkled across my forehead.
Was it the van? Had the men found us again? The ache in my ribs deepened, and my lungs tightened. Flashes of what had happened in the Creeper Van consumed my mind until my hands shook.
“What’s wrong? You look like you could pass out,” Jamie said.
I glanced in the rearview mirror again. The vehicle was still there. I couldn’t tell if it was the van or not. But I definitely felt like we were being followed. “I think we’re being tailed, Jamie.”
Her eyes widened. “One of Alexander’s men?”
I shook my head, my shoulders tight with strain. “I don’t know. It could be the Creeper Van.”
“We can’t lead them back to Magnolia’s.”
My hands gripped the steering wheel tighter. “I
know.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Hold on.” I jerked the wheel to the left and cut through traffic onto a side street in the busy retail area. Cars honked and swerved to get out of my way. I wanted to close my eyes with fear, but that wasn’t an option. I waited for the crunch of metal on metal, but it didn’t come.
“What are you doing?” Jamie grabbed the armrest.
“Trying to get away with our lives intact.” I veered to miss another car.
“If they don’t kill us, you might.”
I glanced behind me. The headlights were still there. Still close. And getting closer by the moment.
“They’re not backing off, Jamie.”
“We’ve got to lose them somehow.”
I swung another quick left, darting right in front of oncoming traffic. The vehicles barely missed us and ratcheted my heartbeat into a dangerously high level. Immediately, I took the next right. A red light stared at me, daring me to keep going.
I was taking a chance. But I had little choice. I sped through it.
As I gunned the engine, Jamie screamed beside me.
I screamed also as I saw my life flash in front of my eyes.
A car skidded to a stop beside us. Then another. And another.
But I kept going.
I glanced in the mirror. A barrier of stopped cars blocked the intersection. Those headlights still stared at us from beyond the barrier, but I’d bought us some time.
I quickly turned into a parking lot, found a spot among the sea of cars, and turned off my headlights.
I prayed they wouldn’t find us.
“You think this will work?” Jamie whispered. There was no need to whisper, but I understood the urge.
“I hope so.”
We sank lower in our seats.
A moment later, a familiar car drove past. It wasn’t the Creeper Van, though.
It was a Jeep with a broken side-view mirror.
Chase’s Jeep.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Magnolia didn’t have any Frank Sinatra or Peggy Lee, so I settled for Harry Connick Jr. instead. He would work. He crooned “A Wink and a Smile” in the corner of my bedroom. I’d returned to Magnolia’s and escaped to my bedroom, where I promptly collapsed on the bed.
Random Acts of Malice (Holly Anna Paladin Mysteries Book 3) Page 16