Kiss of Death

by Meryl Sawyer

  “It’s okay,” she replied as she pulled away. “I’m just a little spooked. That’s all.” She waved her hand at the mess on the floor. “I’ve checked out this stuff.”

  Adam pointed to several cardboard boxes. They’d been hosed down but still held their shape. “Have you checked those?”

  “I looked in them. Nothing but books. I didn’t see any reason to go through them.”

  Adam walked over to the boxes. “Things that seem to be unrelated often provide important clues or links to other evidence.”

  Whitney supposed he was right. Adam had been a detective. No telling where he’d found clues. Later, when the timing was better, she planned to ask him about his career. Right now she needed to concentrate on finding her cousin.

  “These seem to be cookbooks mostly,” commented Adam.

  “They’re definitely something you would leave behind if you were on the run.”

  “Right.” Adam studied the flyleaf of a book. “This one’s The Internet For Dummies. Do you know a Crystal Burkhart?”

  “No. I don’t.” Whitney walked over to him and peered over his shoulder. An address label was attached to the book’s flyleaf. “Textbooks are really expensive. Miranda could have bought it used at the campus store.”

  “I doubt it’s used. Most used bookstores put a stamp inside the book. She must have borrowed this one and neglected to return it.”

  “It happens,” she replied, her mind on her own books. She’d left most of them with Ryan but the few she treasured had been with her. They’d inspected the cottage first thing this morning. The contents had been completely destroyed. The books she’d saved from her mother’s collection were gone forever.

  “Look at this.” Adam showed her another book. It also had Crystal Burkhart’s address label in it. He pulled his cell phone off his belt. “Let’s see if information has a phone number for Crystal Burkhart.”

  While Adam talked to the information operator, Whitney made her way over to the back wall where a number of boxes were stacked. They’d been doused with water but hadn’t been disturbed. Evidently the flames hadn’t burned the rear few feet of the garage. The first box she opened was filled with office supplies. Miranda had left supplies in the nook for Whitney to use. These things must have come from her previous apartment and she hadn’t had room for them in the cottage.

  “Thanks.” Adam snapped his phone shut and looked at Whitney, shaking his head. “There are thirty-two Burkharts in the metropolitan San Diego area. Nothing for a Crystal Burkhart or C. Burkhart.”

  “We could try going over to the address on the label.”

  “Right. Let’s have dinner, then drive over there. If that doesn’t work, we can call every Burkhart listed and see if they’re related to Crystal.”

  They worked in silence for a few minutes. Adam finished with the boxes of books and joined her. “Finding anything?”

  “Not really.” She showed him the box she was working on now. “There are photographs in this one. It looks like Miranda just tossed them in. You know how people end up with dozens of photos. Most of the time you never look at them again.”

  He moved nearer. “True, but let’s take a close look. Photos tell you where a person has been. Ever heard of ComStat?”

  “No. It sounds like a computer program. What is it?”

  “Hey…” He touched her arm. It was just a fleeting brush of his hand but she felt it everywhere. “You’re smart. It is a computer program that analyzes crime statistics. It can tell you where in a city a certain crime is most likely to occur, right down to the time of day.”

  “Most people can figure that out by reading the newspaper.”

  He chuckled. “There’s some truth in that, but ComStat goes further than simple stats. It can tell you a lot about victims and perps. Most people have what we call a Com-Z. That’s a geographic comfort zone. Killers don’t strike far from home—usually.”

  Whitney thought about the person who’d tried to kill Miranda last night. She’d believed someone from far away had been after her cousin, but now she realized the killer probably lived in the area.

  “People who go missing usually return to someplace where they’ve already been. It’s rare to find them in a totally new location.”

  “Then Miranda’s in the state,” Whitney replied. “My cousin only left California once. A boyfriend took her to Hawaii.”

  “Once that you know about. Isn’t it possible Miranda went other places during the years you were apart?”

  “Anything’s possible,” she admitted.

  They went through the photographs one at a time. They put certain photos that Adam felt needed a closer look in better light in a pile to take up to the house.

  “You know,” Whitney said, unable to check the excitement in her voice, “this might be something.” She showed him a series of photographs with dates in the lower right corner. “These shots were taken last December on the eleventh.”

  Adam took them from her and studied them closely. “She’s sunning herself at the beach. Not surprising.”

  “I don’t think she was anywhere around here. I might be wrong but I believe it rained that week. I remember because Lexi’s birthday is December seventh—Pearl Harbor day. I was house-sitting at the time. I’d planned to take her to the Bark Park but we couldn’t go out for days because of the rain.”

  “Really? All we have to do is check the National Weather Service Web site. It’ll tell us for sure.” He pointed to something in the background of one photograph. “See that?”

  Whitney squinted. “An umbrella, right?”

  “Yeah, but I’m wondering if it’s the kind we’d see around here. There’s a magnifying glass up in my uncle’s office. Let’s take a closer look.”

  They set those aside and inspected the rest of the photographs. “Those pictures seem to be the only ones with the date on them,” Adam said. “That makes me think they were taken with someone else’s camera and given to Miranda.”

  “I saw her pack a camera. It wasn’t a new digital model.” She closed her eyes and tried to see Miranda sticking the small camera into the side of a bag. She didn’t recall anything more about the camera and opened her eyes.

  “Look at this.” Adam showed her another photograph. A beautiful dark-haired girl was tilting a large cake toward the camera. Rows of lighted candles lined the top. Garish blue icing proclaimed: Happy Birthday, Crystal.

  “Ohmygod.” Whitney gazed up into Adam’s eyes. “We’re going to have to talk to Crystal Burkhart.”

  RYAN CAREFULLY PLACED ASHLEY’S ring just under the bottom rim of the chest of drawers built into her enormous closet. She usually put her ring on top of it, near a photograph of them taken on their honeymoon. Last night, she’d left it in the kitchen. He’d noticed the ring when he’d been watching her rinse off dishes.

  Right then a germ of an idea had begun to form. The huge ring had cost him a bloody fortune. He’d willingly spent it, not just because he loved Ashley, but because back then he’d been winning big-time. He’d wanted the ring to be really large so Ashley could flaunt it.

  He knew if he took the ring and had the diamond replaced by a cubic zirconia, he could raise a lot of money. He’d been right. The jeweler grumbled but gave him a nice check. True, it wasn’t nearly as much as Ryan had paid, but he knew better than to expect to receive what he’d spent. Jewels were like cars—the minute they left the shop, their price dropped.

  Ryan had taken the money and had gone straight to the casino. It was the middle of the day and only blue-hairs and the pros were playing. He’d won and won and won. Shit! Nothing could have stopped him except his love for Ashley. He left—in the middle of a winning streak—to pick up the ring refitted with the CZ.

  He knew Ashley would have tried to put on the ring after she’d dressed. Hiding it under the bottom edge of the dresser as if it had fallen was the only plausible way to return the ring without arousing Ashley’s suspicious. He faced the CZ away from the light and du
g the ring into the carpet a little bit.

  He heard a noise and bolted out of her closet and flew into his. He yanked off his tie and unbuttoned his shirt so quickly that he almost ripped off the buttons.

  “Ryan, what are you doing home?” Ashley called.

  “I’m not allowed in my own home?” he joked as she appeared in the door of his closet. She still had on her workout clothes and looked rumpled, which was unusual.

  “Of course.” She kissed his cheek. “I’m just surprised to see you. I thought you were in the office.”

  “Not today. I was looking into something for Aesthetic Improvements. That’s the name we’ve chosen for the new group.” He noticed her brow crimp into a frown. She might have called Walter Nance, trying to locate him. “I didn’t mention it to anyone, but there’s a guy in Newport Beach who’s developed a cream to apply after laser treatments to prevent ghosting.”

  “Really?” Ashley perked up.

  She knew better than anyone that some laser treatments resulted in pink skin that took days to return to normal. When it did, the lasering often left a line of demarcation called “ghosting.” A light application of makeup concealed the ghosting, but some women resented having to use makeup, especially when working out or participating in athletic activities.

  Ryan “feathered” his lasering to make the line less noticeable and blend it in, but it was still there. If anyone found a way to prevent “ghosting” it would be priceless.

  “Does it work?”

  “I’m iffy,” he responded. “I would want to test it on a few patients first. But the guy wants a fortune for a three-ounce tube. I don’t know if we want to ask our patients to buy it.”

  “But if it’s so good I’m sure—”

  “Let’s not worry about it.” He put his slacks in the wall-mounted ValetMaster to press the creases back into them. He usually sent his suits to the cleaners after he wore them once, but he needed to cut back expenses. “Let’s go out to dinner. How about Pomodoro?”

  “I thought—”

  “You’re right. We’re saving money. Let’s go to Sea Catch and buy some swordfish to grill.” He’d said this impulsively. After the mess she’d served last night for dinner, who could blame him for wanting to eat out? But she was right; they did need to economize. He couldn’t tell her about the money he’d won. He had it in his pocket. Tomorrow, he would pay down the loans on the house. The loans reminded him that she’d promised to contact a broker. “Did the broker agree to a reduced listing fee on the house?”

  “I didn’t have a chance. You see…” She hesitated, tears glittering like diamonds in her blue eyes. “I misplaced my ring. I’ve been looking for it all day.”

  Ryan had known she was going to tell him about the ring. He snapped back, “You lost it at the gym?”

  Ashley slowly shook her head. “No, I tried to work out to get my mind off things, but I kept thinking about the ring.”

  “I saw it on the counter last night when you were cleaning up.” He tried to sound helpful yet slightly aggravated, the way he normally would.

  “I guess I must have picked it up, but I don’t remember. You know how you do things automatically.” She sucked in a sharp breath, then slowly released it. “I looked everywhere—even in the trash. It was picked up today. I went to the garbage collection center but they said finding anything as small as a ring would be next to impossible.”

  He couldn’t stand to see Ashley in pain. He tossed her a lifeline. “Let’s take a really good look, starting in the kitchen. Your ring could have fallen on the floor and rolled off where you can’t see it.”

  “I looked,” she protested.

  “Let me get into my jeans and we’ll both check again.”

  Of course, nothing turned up in the kitchen, but Ryan had them down on their hands and knees, peering under everything. He insisted on opening every drawer in case the ring had fallen in and gone unnoticed. From the kitchen, they went into the dining room and living room, crawling around and inspecting every inch of the house.

  “It wouldn’t be in my office,” he said when they finished checking the entry hall.

  “No,” she assured him. “I never go in there.”

  He had cautioned her several times about his office. He’d told her that he had documents on his computer and research information on new surgical techniques that he didn’t want disturbed. Whitney would have questioned him, but Ashley left his office alone.

  “Let’s try the master bedroom. You’re in there most often.”

  Of course, a search around and under the bed yielded nothing. They removed the covers and shook out the spread and shams and every shitty toss pillow the decorator had insisted “made” the room. Nothing.

  “The bathroom’s next,” he told her. “Or should we look in your closet? Isn’t that where you keep it?”

  “Yes, but I’ve already looked in the closet. It isn’t there.”

  “Come on. Let’s take another look. Two sets of eyes are better than one.”

  They went into the closet, and he started checking under the hanging clothes. He wanted Ashley to be the one to find the ring. Come on, come on, he kept thinking. His knees were killing him.

  “Oh, gosh!” screamed Ashley. “Here it is!”

  Ryan jumped up. “Are you sure? Where?”

  Ashley held up the ring. Tears sprang into her eyes, making her look just like a little girl. He hated making her cry, but what choice did he have?

  “It was under the dresser. I must have knocked it off.” Ashley slipped it back on her finger and gazed down lovingly at the diamond. “I’m sure I checked under there. How could I have missed it?”

  Ryan put his arm reassuringly around her and kissed her cheek. “The light changes during the day. You just didn’t see it.”

  “I guess,” she replied doubtfully.

  “It doesn’t matter. You have it now. Just be more careful. When you’re cooking, take it off in here first.”

  He heard his cell phone ringing in his closet just steps away. “I’ve got to get that. It could be the office.”

  When he picked up the phone, Ryan didn’t recognize the number on the caller ID. It was Domenic Coriz. His bowels loosened and he swore his balls actually ached. He walked out of the closet and down the hall before answering. The last thing he wanted was Ashley overhearing him.

  “Heard you won some money.”

  Unfuckingbelievable! Where did Dom get his information? Ryan had purposely gone to a casino owned by another Indian tribe. “A bit,” Ryan conceded. “I need to make a house payment or I’ll be out on the street.”

  “My heart bleeds. Now listen up, shithead.”

  He listened, his knees nearly buckling. “All right. I’ll do what I can.”

  Money.

  All his troubles came down to cold hard cash. Ryan put his hand on his back pocket. He had nearly ten thousand dollars. Once it would have sounded like a lot, but now he knew it wouldn’t go far. All it could do was buy him a little time with the bank.

  Or he could turn it into real money at the craps table.

  He told himself to resist the urge to gamble. What had a few dollars gotten him? He needed megabucks. Plotting his next move was much more important. Taking your enemy by surprise was the key to victory. He was pretty sure someone famous had said this, but he couldn’t remember who. It was the thought that counted. Do the unexpected. Take your enemy by surprise.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  “WHAT DID THEY say?” Adam asked Whitney.

  After finishing dinner, Adam had gone upstairs and checked an Internet reverse directory for the address they’d seen on Crystal Burkhart’s books. A man’s name had been listed at that location. He’d asked Whitney to call because people were more likely to volunteer information to a woman than a strange man.

  “Crystal Burkhart still lives there. Guess where she works?”

  “Saffron Blue.”

  “Exactly. She’d just left for the club.” Whitney tho
ught a moment. “I wonder if Crystal met Miranda there.”

  Adam had his doubts. “It’s more likely that the two met at college, considering the books we found. College girls often strip to earn money. People don’t realize it, but most strippers are college girls or young housewives who need cash.”

  “Really? I had no idea.”

  Adam checked his watch. “It’s early yet. The big tippers don’t come in until after ten. Let’s go out and talk with Crystal.”

  “Right,” Whitney immediately agreed. “I’ll lock the dogs inside my bedroom. That way I won’t worry about them.”

  Followed by all the dogs, she trotted off in the direction of the maid’s room. He mentally kicked himself for making her obsessive about the dogs’ safety. He should have told her that Ashley had taken—

  “Where did all those bags of clothes come from?” Whitney asked as she rushed back into the kitchen.

  Adam had forgotten all about the shopping bags he’d put on her bed. “They were at the front door when I came home. A friend must have left them for you.”

  “I can’t imagine who.” She headed toward the back door and he followed. “I didn’t get much of a chance to look at them, but the things on top were my size.”

  He led her to his uncle’s Lexus. “Didn’t you have friends where you used to work who might have brought by the clothes?”

  “No, not really. I hardly knew anyone because I worked on a computer in my own space at a cube farm. I spent the day inputting sales data. I was the last to go when the entire department was outsourced to India. I haven’t spoken to anyone there in months.” She thought a moment. “I guess it could have been Trish, but I don’t think so. I saw her at lunch. She would have mentioned it.”

  They drove toward Saffron Blue in silence. He’d considered going to the club alone, then decided having a woman would make it easier to get backstage and have a little talk with Crystal Burkhart. Besides, Whitney had a vested interest in this. She had every right to come along.

  Over dinner, Whitney had told him about the house-sitting job that Trish Bowrather was trying to line up for her. He hated the thought of her moving out, but he didn’t have the right to tell her what to do.