Love Can Be Murder Box Set

by Bond, Stephanie

  Carlotta pshawed, but Jolie could tell she was pleased. "You didn't leave anything in the pockets, did you?"

  Jolie covered her mouth. "His business card. I can't believe I forgot about the card."

  "LeMon's?"

  Jolie nodded and unzipped the bag. "It might have fallen out in the dryer—no, here it is." She pulled out the card and turned it over to see if the "private" number he'd written was still legible. It was...and so was the note he'd scribbled.

  I know what you want.

  She inhaled sharply, then showed Carlotta the card. "He must have recognized me."

  Carlotta squinted. "He gave you the card just as the Underwoods walked up. If he knew who you were, he hadn't figured it out at that point, had he?"

  "I don't know." Jolie touched her temple, trying to remember the series of conversations and events.

  "Maybe the jerk meant it as a come-on, as in 'I know what you want: me.'"

  Jolie's shoulders dropped. "You're probably right," she said, trying to convince herself. "Else, why would he have written his number?"

  "Right."

  "Right." Jolie tucked the card inside her jacket pocket and zipped the garment bag with a shaking hand.

  "Jolie," Carlotta said, her voice tinged with concern. "Have you told the police about LeMon?"

  "I'm going to call the detective on the case this afternoon." She checked her cell phone—Salyers had called again.

  "Jolie!" Michael yelled into the stockroom. "A totem-beaded mule in size six, and a Carmine ankle-tie pump in size nine! Hurry!"

  Carlotta hooked her fingers into the hanger and slung the garment bag over her shoulder. "I'll catch up with you later."

  Jolie nodded, then scrambled to get the shoes Michael needed, trying to put Roger LeMon out of her head. When she emerged with the shoes, she was confronted with a crowd that had grown exponentially—the sales floor was a solid mass of bodies, and the line to meet Manolo Blahnik snaked out of the department and through the belly of the store. Jolie handed the requested shoes to Michael, then glanced around to see what she could do to help in the confusion. A bearded face in the crowd caught her attention.

  Gary?

  Her pulse spiked as she stepped to the side to get a better look. But the crowd shifted too, and the face was lost in a sea of shuffling bodies. A droning noise sounded, like a swarm of killer bees, as a murmur moved through the crowd. The mob of shoppers turned collectively to see Manolo Blahnik stride in, flanked by security and his "people." A cheer went up and the older gentleman raised his hand and smiled in greeting. He was a striking figure dressed in a dark suit, his thinning white hair combed back, his jet-black eyebrows setting off inquisitive eyes.

  Jolie's first thought was that he looked like a banker. But when the crowd pressed forward and his security inched closer, her next thought was that anything could happen in a crowd like this—shoplifting, pick-pocketing...or worse. She scanned the crowd frantically, looking for the face she thought was Gary's. Manolo Blahnik began to speak to the press, and someone jostled her from behind as everyone surged forward for a better spot. She jerked around, jittery now and a little claustrophobic. The air conditioner hadn't caught up with the crush of bodies, and her underarms and neck were moist. She fanned the neckline of her blouse and decided to move toward the front to get more air.

  With whispered apologies, she elbowed and sidled through bodies until she was standing a few feet behind the shoe designer. Lights glared on him and cameras rolled, reminding her of last night when Beck Underwood had been interviewed at the reception. She'd sat up like a groupie to catch the fifteen-second spot on the local news.

  "Beckham Underwood, son of Lawrence Underwood and heir to the Underwood Broadcasting empire, was on hand to honor the award nominees of the Broadcasters and Journalists of Georgia. Mr. Underwood, who has been living in Costa Rica for the last few years, says he's glad to be home, but is cagey about whether or not he'll stay to take over his father's company."

  "I love Atlanta." Beck had said. "But I enjoyed the work I did in Costa Rica, helping to build the infrastructure to support a broadcasting venture there. I haven't ruled out going back. It's important that we support communications growth in developing countries."

  He had looked so handsome, she was sure hearts were breaking all over Atlanta at the news that he might not stick around for long.

  Not my heart, of course, she thought while easing around the perimeter of the crowd. Her heart was perfectly intact and beating wildly at the thought of Gary being close by. Was he watching her, worried about her? Did he have a message for her?

  Or was her mind playing tricks on her?

  She kept her eyes peeled, but when Manolo launched into the history of his involvement with shoes, her pulse had begun to settle down.

  And then she saw Roger LeMon.

  His head was turned and he wore sunglasses, but she recognized his profile. He was about ten yards away. The reporters and the guest of honor stood between her and him.

  The breath froze in her lungs. It couldn't be a coincidence that she thought she'd seen Gary, and now LeMon was standing right in front of her. Before Jolie could decide what to do, LeMon turned his head and appeared to look directly at her. In fact, he took a half step forward before he seemed to remember where he was and stopped.

  At that moment, the speech ended. Applause sounded and chaos reigned as Manolo Blahnik headed toward the line of shoppers waiting to meet him. In the confusion, Jolie lost sight of LeMon, and hoped he'd lost sight of her. Panic rose in her stomach. Had Gary followed LeMon, or had LeMon followed Gary? She made a beeline for cosmetics and was almost in the clear when a shot rang out, then another, then three more in rapid succession. Startled screams sounded and Jolie dove under a hosiery display, covering her head and waiting for something to bleed.

  She peeked through her fingers and saw people gathered around, gaping at her. It must be bad, she thought, because she couldn't feel any pain.

  Suddenly Michael's face appeared above hers. "Jolie," he hissed, "you're causing a scene!"

  She patted various parts of her body. "But the gunshots..."

  "They weren't gunshots, for God's sake—a few balloons broke free and hit the lights. Come out from under there."

  She closed her eyes briefly and allowed him to help her to her feet, then gave a tentative smile to those standing around. Their guest of honor had paused, but Michael signaled that he should resume, then put his hand on Jolie's elbow and shepherded her toward the stockroom.

  "What was that all about?" he asked when they were out of earshot.

  Jolie glanced behind her, looking for Gary or Roger LeMon, but saw neither. She looked back and lifted her hands. "I've been jumpy lately."

  "Does this have anything to do with your boyfriend?"

  "Indirectly," she murmured. "I'm sorry."

  He sighed. "Why don't you call it a day? I'll see you Monday."

  She nodded and went to gather her things from her locker. Michael must think she was a lunatic. Which wouldn't be surprising, considering she was starting to have her own doubts about her sanity.

  "Hey."

  She looked up and saw Carlotta standing at the door of the break room. "Hey."

  "I heard."

  Jolie inhaled and touched her forehead. "I thought I saw Gary, and I'm sure I saw Roger LeMon, and when the balloons burst—"

  "You saw your boyfriend? Are you sure?"

  "Not positively. But I did see Roger LeMon, and why would he be here?"

  Carlotta shrugged. "He's married, isn't he? Maybe he's here with his wife." She bit into her lip. "Look, Jolie, I don't like Roger LeMon any more than you do, but...."

  "But you think I'm being paranoid?"

  The woman touched Jolie's arm. "You're in a bad place. Your boyfriend is missing, a woman is dead. No one would want to believe that someone they care about is capable of something like that. And you've started a new job. Maybe the stress is just too much for you. Even if the two
men knew each other, that doesn't mean that Roger LeMon had anything to do with what happened to your boyfriend, does it?"

  Jolie looked into Carlotta's clear eyes and wondered how far out a limb her own imagination had taken her. She had thought the man with the car trouble was stalking her, and just a few minutes ago she had thought she was being shot at. The only true threat was Gary. He was the one who'd stolen her car, who had lain in wait to threaten her. She needed to talk to Salyers, to tell her everything.

  Jolie exhaled. "You're so right."

  Carlotta looked relieved. "Go home and get some rest." She grinned. "You're going to need it for the party tonight."

  Jolie shook her head. "I don't think I should go."

  "Of course you should go. It won't be fun for me and Hannah to crash without you. Besides, I'm going shopping for us later in sleepwear."

  Jolie's eyes widened. "Carlotta, I don't want to do that again. It feels like stealing."

  Carlotta dismissed her concerns with a wave. "How often do you get a chance to wear fabulous loungewear?" She grinned. "Come on, let's have some fun tonight—at your ex-boss's expense."

  It would be nice to get one up on Sammy for once. Jolie mulled that thought. And she was dying to see the woman's home. "Do you have another wig?"

  Carlotta nodded emphatically. "Give me your address. Hannah and I will come to your place to get ready."

  Jolie gave in to a smile and supplied Carlotta with directions, then said goodbye and left by the back hallway that emptied into the men's department. She skirted the crowd, feeling better. She would let the police take care of everything where Gary was concerned, so she could concentrate on getting her brokerage company off the ground. Finding Beck Underwood a place to live would give her a tidy nest egg to draw from.

  The fact that he might live there only temporarily was his business.

  She left the store and walked to her rental car feeling closer to normal than she had in ages. She used her cell phone to call Detective Salyers.

  The woman answered on the first ring. "Salyers here."

  "Detective Salyers, this is Jolie Goodman."

  "Goodman...you're the girlfriend in the Hagan case."

  "Yes."

  "Nice of you to return my calls, Ms. Goodman. Finally."

  "Do you have any new information about Gary?"

  "Maybe. We traced the hang-up call to your apartment on Monday to a pay phone three blocks away from your apartment complex. Have you had any more hang-ups?"

  Jolie's pulse kicked higher and she spoke carefully. "No."

  "Has Mr. Hagan called you?"

  "No," she said, grateful she could answer truthfully. Crawling into the backseat of her car wasn't calling. "Has the woman in the car been identified?"

  "No. We're still waiting for the medical examiner's report."

  At the abrupt answers, Jolie swallowed. "Is there something else?"

  Papers rattled in the background. "Ms. Goodman, do you know a Roger LeMon?"

  Her heart jumped in her chest. "Yes. How do you know about him?"

  "He came by this morning, said you've been harassing him."

  Her eyes bugged. "What?"

  "According to Mr. LeMon, you've been following him, asking him questions about Gary Hagan, whom he denies knowing."

  Jolie clenched the phone tighter. "He's lying."

  "You haven't been following him?"

  "I mean he's lying about knowing Gary. He's one of the men in Gary's photos."

  "Is he?" Salyers asked mildly. "You said you didn't know any of Mr. Hagan's friends."

  "I don't."

  "Then how did you find Mr. LeMon?"

  "I went to a party in midtown Wednesday night and recognized him. I asked him if he knew Gary and he said he didn't."

  "What made you think he was lying?"

  "His body language. And when he excused himself, I..."

  "Yes?"

  Jolie sighed. "I followed him."

  "Oh, you want my job, do you?"

  Jolie frowned at her sarcasm. "I followed him because he said he was going to get a drink, but he walked past the bar. When I found him, he was talking on a pay phone. I heard him tell the person my name, and that I'd recognized him."

  She assumed the silence meant that the detective had perked up. "Do you know who he was talking to?"

  "No."

  "Did he see you?"

  "I don't know. I left immediately, but he might have seen me."

  "Hmm. Is that the only incident?"

  Jolie squirmed. "I saw LeMon last night, and he was talking to another guy from the photos, Kyle Coffee."

  "Where was this?"

  "At another party."

  "Another party, huh? You're really torn up over your boyfriend's disappearance, aren't you, Ms. Goodman?"

  Jolie's stomach clenched.

  "In fact, one might think that you aren't worried because you know he's alive."

  Her inclination to tell the detective about Gary's late-night appearance in her car or her possible sighting of him in the store vanished. No way the woman would believe she hadn't helped him.

  "The point is, I'm not harassing Roger LeMon," Jolie said. "In fact, he showed up today where I work. If anything, he's harassing me."

  "Did he approach you? Threaten you?"

  "No," she admitted.

  "What exactly did he do?"

  Jolie bit into her lip. "He didn't do anything, I guess. He was just...there."

  "Did you tell him where you worked?"

  "No."

  "I don't understand—was he shopping?"

  "No. There was an event taking place in the store, a big crowd."

  "So he was just standing in the crowd at a public event?"

  Coming from someone else, it sounded harmless. "Yes, but..." But what?

  The detective sighed. "Ms. Goodman, do you think maybe you're overreacting? Isn't it possible that Mr. LeMon, a wealthy man who probably shops in upscale stores, just happened into Neiman's to buy something?"

  "Yes," Jolie admitted.

  "Ms. Goodman, let me a give you some friendly advice. I don't know Roger LeMon, but I'm told that he's a wealthy man with a long reach." She lowered her voice. "He even donated money to buy bulletproof vests for the police department—do you get my drift?"

  The woman's "drift" was unmistakable. "Yes," Jolie murmured, trying hard not to feel like a fool. "Was there anything else you wanted to tell me, Detective?"

  "No, except to stay away from Roger LeMon before he slaps a restraining order on you."

  Jolie disconnected the call with shaking fingers and acknowledged an instant headache. She touched her temples, trying to slow her thinking, to make some sense of things.

  If Roger LeMon was up to no good, surely he wouldn't go to the police. She'd been hoping to talk to Salyers about the possibility that Gary had been framed, but the woman wasn't going to listen to a shoe clerk who stalked a pillar of the community.

  She sighed, wishing for divine inspiration. Maybe she should just forget about Gary, forget about her car, and forget about the dead woman, whoever she was. Cut her losses and walk away, before things got worse.

  The idea of going out with the girls tonight and crashing Sammy's party was starting to sound more appealing. What was it that Carlotta had said? That Jolie needed to add the word "fun" to her vocabulary.

  "Fuunnnnn," Jolie said aloud, testing the word on her tongue. Then she tested a smile, suddenly anticipating the well-heeled pajama party.

  At least tonight she could wear house shoes.

  Chapter Fourteen

  "ARE YOU SURE IT WAS GARY you saw in the crowd at the store?" Leann asked.

  Jolie sighed into the phone receiver and dropped into her favorite chair. "I thought so at the time, but now, I just don't know."

  "Did he look as if he was trying to make contact with you?"

  "I only got a glimpse of him, but he seemed to be looking at me."

  "And who is this other guy you said
was there?"

  "Roger LeMon? Well, long story short, I recognized him from a picture in a photo album of Gary's."

  "How did you get Gary's photo albums?" From Leann's tone it was clear she didn't approve of the kind of intimacy that having his personal items implied.

  "The apartment manager gave me a box of things he salvaged from Gary's apartment after the fire. The album didn't have much in it, some childhood pictures, group photos from parties." She decided not to mention the X'd-out picture of herself.

  "And this guy LeMon was in some of the photos?"

  "Yeah." She told Leann about recognizing LeMon and following him to the pay phone, and the snippet of conversation she'd overheard.

  "Maybe Gary is mixed up in something dangerous," Leann said, her voice solemn. "Drugs, maybe."

  "That what's the detective insinuated. In fact..." She winced. "Gary has a record for selling cocaine."

  "Omigod. Did you know?"

  "No."

  "What a slimeball," Leann seethed. "I can't believe he would deceive you like that, and now...this."

  Jolie could tell she was pacing, and she was touched by her friend's concern. "Please don't worry about me—you have enough on your hands with your sister."

  Leann sighed. "Jolie, I just wish you'd taken my advice and stayed away from Gary Hagan. I told you he was trouble."

  "You were right." Jolie leaned her head back and stared at a water stain on her ceiling. "Why could you see that I couldn't?"

  Leann sighed. "Just a matter of experience, I guess. Gary seemed too good to be true."

  If she tilted her head, the water stain looked like a misshapen heart. "I'm gullible."

  "You just haven't dated enough jerks to make you cynical."

  She frowned wryly—linking up with a possible murderer had made her a quick study.

  "Jolie, do you think Gary is still following you?"

  "Yes," Jolie admitted. "I thought I saw my car drive by last night as I went into the hotel for the reception."

  "What will you do if he contacts you again?"

  "Try to get him to go to the police."

  "And if he won't?"

  "I'll call them myself," Jolie said. "Stall him until the police get there...something." She pushed to her feet and walked to the desk to re-sort the mail, keeping an eye out for the alleged envelope Gary said he'd sent, but the only thing unusual was Mrs. Janklo's AARP magazine that the mail carrier had put in Jolie's box by mistake. "I just want this to be over."