When he released her, Libby lost her footing and fell backward. She sat up and stared at the two men standing over her.
“What are you two doing here? I almost beaned you, Mr. Strauss.”
“We were worried about you,” said Mr. Strauss, his German accent coming from behind the flashlight.
“So you come sneaking around my house? I thought you were the burglars coming back,” she said, taking Mr. Jones offered hand up.
“We thought you should have someone watching over you,” Jones said. “To make sure you’re safe.”
“What?!”
“Yes, Smith and Chevkov were watching you at the theater. They handed you off to us when you got back to town.”
“That was them sneaking around at the theater?” Libby asked. “I thought I was getting paranoid.”
Strauss laughed, “Smith was standing on the catwalk and almost dropped his water on you. He thought he was found out for sure.”
She laughed. “I thought I was going a little crazy.” Looking from Mr. Jones to Mr. Strauss, she asked, “Are you guys hungry? I’ve got beer and ham sandwiches.”
Chapter 18
Saturday
The Mani-Pedi
Libby sat at her kitchen table, drinking coffee and scrolling through the pictures on her phone she had taken of Pilar’s home office the previous day.
After sharing ham sandwiches and beers with her bodyguards, she sent them home with a promise to call if she heard or saw anything suspicious. She tried to sleep but had a fitful night during which the events of the past week kept rewinding through her mind like a bad movie trailer.
She continued to scroll and zoom in on the photos she had taken. Snooping, her mother would call it. She pushed away her mother’s scolding voice as she paused on the picture of the file for a nail salon. She touched the screen to enlarge the address and realized the salon was on the south end of Bradenton, just north of the Sarasota-Bradenton airport, about an hour’s drive, depending on traffic.
She spread her fingers and examined her nails deciding they were sorely in need of a manicure and her toes, of course, needed a pedicure.
By one o’clock, Libby sported red toenails, smooth calves and spacers between her toes. She was sitting at a manicure station with her left hand in a baggie inside a warming mitt, while her right hand was being inspected and filed by Giselle. The sides of her chin-length black bob fell forward as she examined Libby’s cuticles. Libby could barely take her eyes off the vibrant blue streak that framed her pale, heart-shaped face.
After nearly dozing off in the vibrating, back kneading, pedicure chair, Libby was now hearing about Giselle’s extremely hot, but immature, boyfriend and a party in Ybor City that Giselle was hoping to attend that evening with the previously mentioned boyfriend.
“Thanks for fitting me in on such short notice,” Libby said.
“No problem. I’m glad you called. I was worried that I wouldn’t have any appointments today because, until yesterday, we weren’t sure that we would even be open today.”
“What happened?”
“We were broken into on Tuesday night. They trashed the place and messed up our computers.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Libby said, looking around. “There doesn’t seem to be any visible damage.”
It was a small day spa, basically a nail salon, nestled between a deli and a party store. There were five pedicure stations along one wall and six manicure stations along the opposite wall. The reception area was at the front of the store. There were restrooms, a facial room, a laundry room, and, what appeared to be, a small office in the back.
“They trashed the reception area and busted the display case and the cash register up front. In the back, they dumped all the facial products. That’s why there’s no facials today. They even stole the laptop out of the office.”
“Did they steal money out of the cash register?”
Giselle looked up from filing and said, “No, there wasn’t any money in the cash register. We make a deposit every night, and the cash we keep for change is always kept in the safe. I think they just busted it up because they were mad there wasn’t any money. They took the memory thingy, though. I thought that was weird. What are they going to do with that?”
“What would anyone want with the memory card?” Libby wondered.
“Yeah, it’s not like they could put pictures on it or anything,” Giselle said, as she gently placed Libby’s right hand on the table and then extracted her left hand from the mitt. “You know what really freaks me out though?”
“What’s that?”
She looked around and then leaned towards Libby and whispered, “Our computer lady, the one who sold us all the electronic stuff, I heard on the news that she killed her boyfriend and then disappeared.”
“She what?!”
“Yeah, the cops found her boyfriend in her bedroom with his throat slit. Blood all over the place – like a slasher movie. That’s what I heard anyway.”
“Oh, my God!” This was the last thing Libby expected to hear. Her thoughts were spinning as she said, “I heard she was kidnapped, and they think that whoever took her is who killed her boyfriend. I also heard her rich daddy is offering a fifty thousand dollar reward for information that leads to her return.”
“Geez, what I could do with that money.” Giselle finished with Libby’s left hand and went back to the right where she applied lotion and started the best part — the hand and arm massage.
“Did you ever meet her…the computer lady?”
“Sure. She’s one of my customers. I do her mani-pedis all the time.” Giselle finished Libby’s right hand and began the massage on her left. “She’s a really pretty Hispanic girl. I think she said her family is from Cuba or somewhere Caribbean. She’s friendly, not stuck up at all. Good tipper, too.”
• • •
Libby eased out of the salon parking lot onto Highway 41 heading south. At the first stop light, her mind wandered back to Pilar’s blood-spattered bedroom. She knew that Pilar didn’t have the physical strength to cut Richard’s throat. Richard was at least five foot six, and Pilar was five foot two at best. Someone else was in that room, and, whoever that was, they killed Richard and took Pilar.
Who and why were the questions, and Libby had no answers.
At the University Parkway traffic light, Libby looked to the right at the Florentine architecture of the Ringling Art Museum. She had visited the museum during her first Thanksgiving holiday weekend in Florida. David was working in New York at the time. He had taken a few days off before starting a new play, and Julia convinced him to come for a visit. Libby was sure Julia had coerced him, but she didn’t care. She was happy to see her favorite cousin. Libby had come to stay with Julia to recuperate from the gunshot wound, the trial and the divorce. The three of them spent an afternoon strolling through the gardens, looking at art and touring the mansion.
She needed to talk to David today.
Libby drove by the theater near downtown Sarasota and, as she expected, the parking lot was empty except for David’s car. Experiencing pre-show nerves and being a bit compulsive, David had a habit of double checking everything before the cast arrived and the curtain went up.
Libby parked next to his Camry and went to the main entrance of the theater. She found the door locked, so she went to the back door that led to the stage and pushed it open.
“David, are you here?” She called.
“I’m on the stage,” she heard from inside.
Libby found him checking the set for the opening scene. “What are you doing? Opening night was a hit. Don’t do anything differently.”
“Double checking. You know me, a little obsessive-compulsive.”
“Runs in the family.”
“I didn’t get a chance to talk to you last night, but you are looking pretty good considering your recent whack on the head,” he said crossing the stage. He hugged her, lifted her hands and looked down at her toes wiggling in her fli
p-flops. “What’s this? A manicure and pedicure?”
She laughed. “Considering what has happened, I thought I deserved a little pampering.”
“How’s your head?” He moved her ponytail to the side to take a look at her stitches. “That’s not too bad. My mother made it sound like you had a depressed skull fracture and were on the verge of a coma.”
“You know that drama is a part of her charm.” Julia spent many years in the theater in New York and California before she got married and had David, who followed in his mother’s footsteps all the way to Broadway.
“That it is.” He looked closely at her. “Why are you here?”
“I just wanted to see my favorite cousin, that’s all.” Libby turned and looked at the scenery.
“I suppose I should take that as a compliment considering how many O’Brien’s there are,” he said. “Have you had lunch?”
When she shook her head, he suggested they try out the old neighborhood bar on the corner. “Let’s give the new management a try, and you can tell me what’s really going on with you.”
“You mean except for the fact that I found a dead guy, the cops are snooping around, the shop got vandalized and I got hit over the head?”
“Yeah, that.”
They walked the two blocks to the local bar where, over pizza and a pitcher of beer, Libby talked, and he listened.
“So that’s why I got a mani-pedi today. I wanted to see what kind of information they had and what, if anything, they knew about Pilar’s disappearance.” She purposefully left out the part about the footprints in her backyard and the midnight visitor in her house.
“Did you learn anything?”
“No, not really. The burglars took the computers and wrecked the place. Just like the café. They think that Pilar killed Richard, and then escaped.”
“I don’t think Pilar could kill anyone. She’s one of the nicest people I’ve ever met.”
“I’m getting really worried. She’s been gone since early Monday morning. That’s five days. Unless the cops know something they’re not telling me, there’s no clue where they’ve taken her.”
“What do you think happened?”
“I have no proof of anything, but I think Pilar was into something illegal, or found out something about someone, and had it in a computer file. She dumped it somewhere, and the people who killed Richard are looking for it. That explains why they are breaking into her customers’ businesses and stealing the computers or yanking the hard drives.”
“It makes sense, but still pretty vague.”
“I know. I did call one of my old contacts. Someone I never thought I would ever have to call again, but I did. I was desperate. I had to find out.” Libby looked around, leaned toward him and lowered her voice. “I found Richard’s body. There was a lot of blood. I never wanted to see a crime scene like that again, but I did, and I still see it every time I close my eyes.”
“And now you are up to your ears into it. You should just let the cops do their jobs.”
“I know, and whatever my guy finds out, I promise I will turn it over to Jack.”
“Who’s Jack?”
“Detective Seiler. I’ll turn it over to him. I swear,” Libby said pouring the last drops of beer into their glasses.
“First name basis with a cop? Are you thinking about bending your rule about not dating cops?” David laughed and took a sip of beer.
“We aren’t dating, but perhaps, when this is over, I’ll modify that non-date rule to only apply to lawyers.” She finished her beer and set the glass on the table.
“Be careful,” he said, dropping cash beside their empty glasses.
“Yes, I’m acutely aware of the situation,” she said thinking about her midnight intruder. “Whatever it is those guys are looking for, they will keep looking until they find it.”
• • •
In the lobby of the high school auditorium, Libby and Mimi had covered the concession tables and were beginning to set up the food displays when Libby’s phone buzzed. She looked at the caller ID and excused herself.
“Hello.”
“It’s Ray.”
“Hey, what do you have for me?”
“Well, for one, your girl Pilar is rich.”
“How rich?”
“Mega-rich. They live in Coral Gables on the water, big-ass house.”
“Then her dad can afford that fifty thousand dollar reward he offered.”
“And then some.”
“What else did you find out? What about that Jordan guy?”
“Jordan Mills. He’s the regional manager there at the west coast office. I ran a normal background check on him, including criminal records and credit report. He grew up in Miami. He’s had some minor stuff, bad checks and the like. Nothing major. Hasn’t done any time, all plea deals.”
“What about the company itself?”
“It’s owned by JRK Enterprises, also out of Miami. This company owns some other small businesses from St. Pete down to the Keys, including nail salons, convenience stores, a marina in Miami and a bar in Key West.”
“Who owns this JRK Enterprises?”
“Well, that’s interesting. I traced our guy through a couple of dummy corporations and ended up with ties to a company in the Caymans but nothing concrete.”
“The Caymans. A good place to hide money,” Libby said.
“All of these businesses appear to be legit, and they all seem to be doing well financially.”
“In general these types of companies do a large cash business,” Libby said.
“Yes, but even though I haven’t gotten all of the tax and credit reports in yet, I think your friend’s company is a front for something else. A legit business that’s laundering money for some other type of operation.”
“Yes, but what?” Libby asked.
“Could be anything…drugs, guns, human trafficking. I don’t see anything specific here.”
Libby thanked Ray and ended the call.
Chapter 19
Sunday
Sunset Over the Gulf
Libby sat on a picnic table with her feet on the bench and watched as the sun began its descent into the Gulf of Mexico. It was going to be a good summer sunset because there were just enough clouds to reflect the sun’s golden rays onto the dark blue water creating an abstract of pink and purple across the horizon.
Libby had a long history with this spot on the beach. It was the place she came to think and relax. Long ago someone had pulled a picnic table from the adjacent concession area to the shade of a large oak tree near the sidewalk that ran along the beach road.
The first time she walked this beach was the day she decided to partner with Mimi in opening the café. Ever since that day, this was her place to sort out the details of her life.
She had just returned from the final matinee performance of Grease. It was a hit, and David was beaming. She had half-heartedly agreed to meet the cast at the Siesta Key Beach Pavilion for a closing night cast party.
On the drive back to the café, she kept going over the events of the last week, hoping to make some sense of it. She still had a slight headache, the stitches on her scalp were itchy and the conversation with Ray-Ban was on constant replay.
Since the humidity of the day had lessened a bit, she decided to take a short walk. She hoped a few minutes at the beach would help clear her head and sort out what she had learned from Ray-Ban. She needed to figure out where the pieces fit together and what could help her find Pilar and bring her home.
She closed her eyes, inhaled a deep cleansing breath and let the ocean breeze gently waft over her.
“Hi there,” said a familiar voice coming from the end of the table.
“Detective, working on Sunday?” She smiled up at him, surprised at exactly how happy she was to see him. She hated to admit that she was a little disappointed when he didn’t return her laptop on Saturday. “Any news on Pilar?”
“Sorry. No news.” Jack stepped onto the bench
and sat next to her on the picnic table. “I wanted to return your laptop, but I missed you at the theater. I saw your car in the café parking lot and a couple of those old guys wandering up and down the street, so I figured you were close.”
“They’ve decided I need bodyguards, so they’ve been taking turns tailing me where ever I go.” She laughed and told him about Friday night. Turning back to the view, she said, “Hard to believe, but I think they miss the Cold War.”
He chuckled and followed her gaze. “Nice view.”
“I come here to clear my head and think.” She stole a quick glance at him and then returned to the sunset. “Any news on my midnight visitor?”
“Yes. We ran his prints. He’s a small-time burglar by the name of Randy Losekamp. Does that name sound familiar?” She shook her head, and he continued, “He’s from Bradenton, been in trouble since he was a kid, minor stuff. What’s interesting is that he was admitted to Sarasota Memorial last night. He had the crap beaten out of him. He’s in a coma so, for now, he’s not talking.”
“I guess he was right when he said the guy wouldn’t be happy about him not finding my laptop,” she muttered. “Was there anything interesting on my laptop?”
“Quite interesting. I’m sorry I didn’t get it back to you yesterday, but I’ve become involved in another case.”
“Is it related to Pilar’s case?”
He shrugged. “Perhaps. I have a feeling, but nothing concrete.”
She thought a moment and then asked, “Is it the girl in the morgue? The one that wasn’t Pilar?”
“Yes, that’s my other case.”
When he didn’t offer any further information, she asked, “What did you find on my laptop?”
“There were four spreadsheets with business names and places and files in a type of code. I printed out part of the file.” He pulled folded sheets of white printer paper out of his back pocket and opened it on his lap.
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