“That’s awful,” Izzy exclaimed, then clapped her hands over her mouth. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that your mom…” she blushed to the roots of her hair.
“No, it’s okay,” Sarah smiled at her. “It was awful. I couldn’t wear any of the pretty colors that I liked. No yellow, orange, red, purple… I hated it. When I got a job I used to hide normal clothes and change when I got to work.”
“Normal clothes?” Izzy was fascinated.
“Yeah. My mom made all of my clothes. I always wore long skirts and long-sleeved shirts in greys and browns and dark blues. I didn’t even know what jeans were until I started working.”
“Wow. Well, you look great now.”
“Thanks. I made it my policy to wear all of the colors that I couldn’t wear when I was a kid, so you can usually see me coming a mile away,” Sarah laughed self-consciously.
“Good for you,” Izzy nodded her approval. “Let’s make this the pinkest pink wedding that anyone has ever seen.”
“Here’s to pink power,” Echo grinned.
“Izzy… you’ll come to my wedding, won’t you?” Sarah asked shyly.
“I’d be honored to. Should I wear a pink dress?”
“What else would you wear?” Sarah teased, and the two very different young women burst into laughter like old friends.
Echo had noticed something when Izzy covered her mouth moments before, and her curiosity got the best of her.
“Izzy, what happened to your finger?” she asked, when the laughter had died down.
The author self-consciously dropped her hand down into her lap. I had an accident involving a door and the door won. I lost the tip of my pinkie, so it has to stay wrapped up until I get my stitches out,” she explained, avoiding their eyes.
“Oh, that’s terrible,” Sarah was wide-eyed.
“Yes, it was,” Izzy agreed, thinking how horrified they’d be if they knew the truth.
“Is that going to affect your writing?” Echo wondered.
“I’ve already figured out how to compensate for it,” the author shrugged. “My typing speed is only fractionally slower. It turns out that I hardly ever use my pinkies, so it wasn’t too big of a deal. Hey, how many table toppers do we need to get done tonight?” she asked, changing the subject.
“As many as we can,” Sarah replied. “Whatever we don’t finish tonight, we can do tomorrow. That is if you’re not sick of pink wedding stuff by then.”
“Never. I live for pink wedding stuff,” Izzy grinned, glad that her deflection had worked. “Maybe, if we have time after, we could go shopping for a dress for me to wear,” she suggested, stepping firmly outside of her comfort zone.
“That would be fun,” Sarah agreed enthusiastically.
Izzy figured that since it seemed that fate would never allow her to meet a man that she’d consider marrying, she might as well make the most of her new friend’s wedding. She went home and took a long, tearful shower, slipping into bed afterward, feeling her heart break into tiny pieces all over again.
CHAPTER 12
The private jet had barely touched down on the Beckett estate’s private air strip when Janssen went into convulsions. The hospital staff had an ambulance waiting on the tarmac, and they loaded the gravely ill Marine into it, speeding toward the state-of-the-art hospital facility housed in an underground complex on the vast estate. Spencer and Steve Arnold piled into an armor-plated black car with tinted windows and followed closely.
Spencer was stunned that, so far it looked as though Steve was going to live up to his promise to end the government’s interest in the two Marines. He thought that the former watchdog would try to give him the slip at some point, but it seemed as though much of the fight had gone out of the once-powerful handler of operatives. For now, however, his attention was focused on Janssen as his scarred brother fought for his life.
When Spencer tried to follow Janssen’s stretcher into the treatment room, he was detained by a wall of four operatives. He could have taken them out quickly and quietly and was preparing to do precisely that, when a hand on his shoulder and a familiar voice stopped him.
“Let them work, son,” Chalmers, former manservant, now tasked with running an empire, had appeared just when the Marine needed him most. “Come on now, we have things to discuss,” the elderly man coaxed, seeing the Marine’s rapid blinking as his throat worked convulsively.
Steve Arnold tactfully looked away as the old man squeezed Spencer’s shoulder and urged him toward the exit. He followed behind them a few paces, not knowing, nor wanting to know what words of comfort Chalmers might be offering to the strong, capable young man who had been like a member of the Beckett family for years.
The three men filed silently into Chalmers’s study, and the geriatric, but still sharp, director of Beckett Holdings Corp. poured them each three fingers of scotch. No one said a word for several minutes as the men sipped and reined in thoughts and emotions in their own way.
“I’ve instructed the medical staff to contact me immediately if Janssen’s condition changes,” he told Spencer. “In the meantime, we need to discuss where we go from here,” Chalmers folded his hands on the desk.
“Not to interrupt, but I may have some input into that,” Steve Arnold offered, clearing his throat.
Chalmers regarded him with thinly veiled contempt. “Oh?” he raised an eyebrow skeptically.
“I’m Steve Arnold, I work with…”
“I know who you are. I knew who you were before you were ever aware of my existence, so don’t waste our time with introductions. Say your piece and I’ll decide what we’re going to do with you,” the dignified gentleman stated simply, his typically gentle eyes steely.
Steve blinked at Chalmers, surprised at the venom coming from him. It threw him off to have the courtly elderly man treat him like gum on the sidewalk.
“Okay then… uh… my plan is to approach the Big Man, and get him to officially release these two operatives from duty, so that they can live as normal a life as possible, and…”
Chalmers held up a hand, stopping him.
“That’s already been taken care of. He was here the day that you were captured, and had granted full independence, including the return of their erased identities, to Spencer and Janssen should they so choose to accept them.”
He pulled a file from a drawer and placed two documents in front of the stunned Marine. The documents were inscribed on creamy parchment and adorned with a seal that few people are ever privileged enough to see. Spencer was speechless, a feeling that he couldn’t quite decipher curling in the pit of his stomach.
“Well, that’s that, then,” Steve said, rising to go.
“That is by no means that,” Chalmers corrected with a raised eyebrow, looking much like a stern principal who was about to assign community service. “Sit down, Mr. Arnold.”
Steve sat.
“There were many things, aside from Spencer and Janssen, which were discussed during his brief but productive visit. One of those things was what should be done with you.”
“Me?”
“You. It seems that your usefulness to Command has been compromised, so you’ll be coming to work for me, despite some reservations that I have regarding your tactics and conduct. Spencer is my lead operative, so everything that you do will need to be cleared by him.”
“But, I…”
“Don’t interrupt,” Chalmers directed, his gaze steady. “You will begin here as an entry-level operative with limited access to sensitive information. This is because I simply don’t trust you. You won’t be assigned to a permanent position until I am satisfied that your motives and conduct will be above reproach.”
“What if I refuse?” some of Steve’s former bluster reared its ugly head.
“You will be exiled in order to protect national security. Your American citizenship will be revoked and you will be taken into custody if you even attempt to return to this country.”
“You can’t do that,”
Steve narrowed his eyes in challenge.
“Correct, I can’t, but those who can have already put the plan in motion. You have two choices… sign on with Beckett Holdings, or leave your country, effective immediately.”
“You can’t enforce that,” was the weak reply.
“Correct again,” Chalmers nodded, cutting his eyes in Spencer’s direction.
“Seriously? You’d send him after me? This is so messed up,” the beaten man shook his head.
“Your new identity is in this envelope, should you decide to leave,” the former manservant pushed a manila envelope across the desk.
“I’ll stay,” Steve muttered, opening up a whole new realm of responsibility for Spencer.
“Wise choice. Step outside the study. There will be an armed operative waiting to escort you to your training. Should you try to elude him, you will be caught and exiled. This is the end of the line, Mr. Arnold. The sooner you accept that, the better your life will be,” Chalmers then looked pointedly at the door.
Steve, in a move that no one had anticipated, stood up and stuck his hand out to Spencer, who shook it. “Good luck on the outside, Marine. You more than earned it,” he said quietly, then turned and left the room.
Chalmers’ phone vibrated and he glanced at it quickly, the color draining from his face.
“What is it?” Spencer demanded.
“It’s Janssen. He’s septic. They have him on the strongest antibiotics in modern medicine, but he’s not breathing on his own. It doesn’t look good son, I’m sorry,” Chalmers took off his glasses and cleared his throat. “Our government has granted us permission to go after the two foreign operatives who kidnapped him and Steve Arnold, if you’re so inclined.”
“I’m not going anywhere until Janssen recovers,” Spencer promised, teeth clenched, eye muscle twitching.
“There’s a very good chance that…” Chalmers began.
“No!” Spencer shot to his feet and headed for the door. “He’s not going down. Not like that,” he growled and left the room, the heavy mahogany door swinging shut behind him.
CHAPTER 13
“Petaluma, how lovely to see you,” Missy lied, astonished that Grayson’s mother was up before noon and was standing in her cupcake shop.
“Coffee smells good, and after that husband of yours kept me locked up like a bad dog all night, you might want to throw in some breakfast too,” the unkempt woman eyed the display cases.
“Of course, won’t you sit down with us?” she invited, shooting Echo a warning look.
“Might as well,” was the muttered response as Petaluma flopped into a chair across from Echo. “What are you lookin’ at?” she challenged.
“You really don’t want me to answer that,” Echo raised an eyebrow, having no patience for her belligerence.
“Here we go,” Missy trilled, placing a plate with two cupcakes, and a cup of coffee in front of Grayson’s mother, who promptly swiped her forefinger into the frosting and sucked it into her mouth.
“Not bad,” she commented, taking another glob and rinsing it down with coffee.
“I’m glad you like it,” Missy forced a smile as she watched a glob of fluffy white frosting slide slowly down the side of the coffee mug.
“So when are we gonna finish gettin’ things set up for the weddin?” Petaluma asked, taking a monster bite out of her nearly naked cupcake.
“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that. All of the arrangements are finalized.”
“We’ll see about that,” she made a face. “I ain’t got a dress yet.”
“Oh, well… uh…” Missy faltered, not knowing what to say. She certainly didn’t want to go shopping, but she felt like she had at least some degree of responsibility toward the woman.
“So, how’d you get out of jail?” Echo broke in, savoring a bite of her cupcake and saving her friend from having to form an awkward answer.
“Cuz I ain’t guilty, that’s why,” Petaluma bristled, crumbs of cupcake falling from her mouth into her coffee mug.
“Then why did they take you in?” the hormonal redhead persisted, seemingly trying to provoke Grayson’s mother. Missy nudged her under the table with her foot and gave her another warning look.
“Maybe somebody who was out to get me called in a filthy, lyin’ anonymous report,” her smoker’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Y’all know anybody who’d do such a thing?” she stared at Echo.
The door bells jangled, sparing a response, and the three women looked up to see Sarah walk in, her face turning white when she spotted Petaluma.
“Oh! Mrs. Myers… hi,” she stammered, looking desperately at Missy and Echo for support.
Echo looked ready to pounce if need be, and Petaluma responded in a way that shocked them all.
“Sarah, my baby girl…” she leapt up from her chair to lock the surprised bride-to-be in a less than fragrant embrace, bursting into tears.
Sarah peered over her future mother-in-law’s shoulder, eyes wide, patting the woman’s back awkwardly and meeting Echo and Missy’s stunned gazes.
“It’s so good to see you. Is my boy with you? Is my Gray here? Where is he? He needs to come give his mama some sugar,” Petaluma held Sarah’s face between her smoke-stained hands, breathing foul breath into the poor girl’s face.
“Uh, no, he’s not here yet,” Sarah replied, as polite as always, but clearly uncomfortable. “Umm… how are you?”
“I’d be better if everyone in the town stopped tryin’ to blame stuff on me that I didn’t do,” her expression turned sour, and Sarah shifted her feet uncertainly, not knowing what to say.
“Sarah, honey, would you like a cupcake?” Missy asked, rescuing her.
“Oh, no thank you, I have to get going, actually. I’m… uh…” she looked over at Echo who subtly shook her head in warning. “I’m meeting a friend,” she finished, not revealing that she was meeting Izzy to go dress shopping.
“All right, dearie,” Petaluma grabbed her again, hugging her close. “You go have fun while you’re still young and free. We can go over the weddin’ stuff when you get back.”
Sarah scooted out rather quickly, and Petaluma stuffed her remaining cupcake in her mouth, leaving soon after, mumbling something about time with her man.
“Why do you suppose Chas let her go?” Echo wondered when Grayson’s mother left, leaving a trail of cupcake crumbs in her wake.
“I guess she wasn’t guilty,” Missy shrugged. “I’m glad about that, for Grayson’s sake, but it really makes me wonder who would do something so awful to such a sweet girl.”
“Maybe it was the boyfriend after all,” Echo mused.
“Maybe.”
***
Timothy Eckels was surprised when he saw the results of the testing that he’d ordered as a typical part of his autopsy. He flagged the hair samples found on the body, as well as the scrapings under Nari Lee’s fingernails, thinking that those particular results would be of interest to Detective Beckett, and finished preparing his report. He’d send it over via email immediately, and have Fiona deliver a hard copy to the police station.
***
Chas Beckett sat across from Logan Greitzer and Marty Nussbaum once again, this time ready for some answers.
“Did you bring the tape?” he asked, wasting no time with pleasantries.
“I did, and we’ll be happy to share it with you as soon as you produce a signature on the agreement that I sent you two days ago,” Nussbaum’s face was like stone and Logan merely looked bored.
“Here it is,” Chas slapped the paper down casually on the desk. “But you might want to advise your client that, while we have agreed not to bring charges based upon anything we see in the tape, we reserve the right to prosecute for any future actions which are the same or similar. You’ll read that in the addendum from the DA,” the detective warned.
“Yes, I’m aware of the provision,” Marty replied dryly, scanning the agreement. “Shall we proceed?” he asked unlocking his briefcase.
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“By all means,” Chas sighed. “Let’s get this over with.”
The detective sat, his face registering no reaction, as he observed, courtesy of a hidden videocamera, more than one illegal activity that took place in Logan Greitzer’s bedroom on the night of Nari Lee’s murder. Chas was certain that Logan’s paid companion was unaware of the camera’s existence. There were hours of footage which covered the entire window of opportunity for the murder. Rather than watching it all in real time, the detective fast-forwarded through the debauchery, resigned to the fact that it provided proof that Logan could not possibly be Nari’s killer.
Chas switched off the screen and tented his fingers under his chin, gazing at Logan speculatively.
“So, we’re done here?” Marty asked as a formality, already gathering his things.
“Why were you trying to break into the Lee residence?” the detective ignored the attorney, directing his attention to Logan.
“I was looking for something,” the young man sighed.
“What were you looking for?”
“You don’t have to answer that,” Marty chimed in, an automatic response.
“A necklace,” Logan shrugged.
“Why?”
“You don’t have to answer that,” Marty parroted. Logan rolled his eyes.
“Because I had given it to her and it was expensive. Since she wasn’t going to need it anymore, I figured I could pawn it or something.”
“Describe it,” Chas leaned forward.
“It was her initial, a letter N with diamonds.”
Chas nodded. “Okay. I’ll be in touch if I need anything else.”
Marty stopped at the door. “Remember, nothing that you saw on that tape…”
“What tape?” Chas said tiredly, knowing how the game was played.
“Exactly,” the lawyer grinned like a Cheshire cat.
Chas watched them go, tapping his pen on his blotter. It would have been so much easier if Logan had been the perpetrator. All the evidence now pointed to Petaluma, perhaps with Steve acting as her sidekick, but something about the whole thing just seemed rather… off. While Grayson’s mother had a temper and a profound lack of judgment, she didn’t seem like the type who had so much latent rage built up inside that she’d go out of her way to murder a young woman with whom she’d clashed over flowers.
Spiced Latte Killer: Book 10 in The INNcredibly Sweet Series Page 8