A Few Good Women (Lexi Graves Mysteries, 9)

by Camilla Chafer

  "I tried. He didn't answer."

  "Never mind. So long as he doesn't miss the actual birth. I think I better go home."

  "You want to hear about how I met Anthony's wife today?"

  "Don’t you mean his girlfriend?" Lily asked as she slipped her arms into her jacket sleeves and straightened her t-shirt, smoothing it over the bump.

  I shook my head, trying to hold back a rueful laugh. "No, I mean the wife showed up at the agency. I don't think she likes Anthony too much."

  "Gosh, I wonder why not. Could it be because he's got a girlfriend?"

  "I think it's more because she thinks he stole two million dollars from her."

  Lily's mouth dropped open. "How does Anthony get away with that stuff?"

  "Should I remind you that someone definitely caught up to him? And you know what else? Someone called the hotline his mom set up and told them that I was spotted shooting at the range. Garrett has to run a ballistics test on the gun I shot to rule me out since it used the same type of bullets found at the crime scene."

  "Don’t you wish you had shot him now?!"

  "I don't think I'm allowed to say stuff like that out loud."

  "Who do you think called the hotline?"

  "I don't know. Maybe someone at the range? One thing puzzles me: anyone could’ve seen me shooting that gun but who knew what type of bullets were found at the house? And who knew my connection to Anthony?"

  "No one could know that... unless..."

  "Yeah?" I opened the door and we ducked out, walking along the corridor to the elevators. A strong smell of disinfectant followed us. Lily hurried ahead, like she couldn't wait to get out of there and I had to practically run to keep up with her. I could understand her disappointment. The baby was due any day and Lily's increasing levels of discomfort were why she so desperately believed she was finally in labor. I wanted to keep her mind off it, so I chose instead to talk about the case.

  "It seems to me if someone spotted you at the range, they wouldn't know about the bullets from Meadow View. Unless one of the crime scene techs called it in? They would have seen the bullets. Or maybe one of the police officers on scene? Does one of them have a grudge?"

  "Against me? No." Lily laughed as I frowned. "Why's that so funny? Not everyone has a grudge against me!"

  "Only the people who visited the crime scene knew what type of bullets were used, so it had to be one of them that called the tip line."

  "That's worrying."

  "And potentially traceable. Maybe they thought they were doing the right thing by calling it in. Can you imagine how Garrett would react if one of his detectives suggested you really did kill your ex? It wouldn't be pretty."

  "I know. Maybe you're right," I agreed despite the sour taste in my mouth. I couldn't imagine anyone genuinely thinking I killed Anthony but maybe whoever called the hotline was looking at the circumstantial facts as they appeared, and not the way they really were. Another idea, a much worse idea, popped into my head. "What if I'm being framed?" I asked as we stepped into the empty elevator and pressed the button for the lobby. Did someone see me at the range and deliberately use the same type of gun to shoot Anthony? Was that enough to cast suspicion in my direction? Perhaps to divert attention from themselves? "What if someone is trying to make everyone think I did it?"

  "Then they're framing the wrong person and pretty soon everyone will know it."

  "I hate to say this..." I began at the exact time Lily said, "You're not going to like this..."

  We paused before we both began to speak again.

  "—I have to find the killer."

  "—You have to find the killer."

  "Damn it," I said, hanging my head.

  Once Lily was safely ensconced at home, her feet elevated on the couch, a pitcher of juice and enough snacks for an entire family within arm's reach, and my mom on her way to fuss over her, I rushed off, feeling guilty that I had to leave. No, Anthony Steadman wasn't my case exactly but if I were being fingered for the crime, then he was my business whether I liked it or not. If someone were trying to frame me, then I had to find out who wanted Anthony dead. I was far too easy a target but surely, if someone were trying to frame me, they would have to know how far my family would go to ensure my name was cleared.

  As far as I could tell, I wasn't in serious danger... yet. I had no reason to kill Anthony, besides a ten-year old grudge; but that didn't mean I was about to play the role of someone else’s patsy who thought I might be a likely suspect. Not to mention, someone already called the hotline and hinted at my involvement after my day at the rifle range. The more I thought about it, the more suspicious I felt. How could the bullets at the crime scene belong to the same type of weapon? What were the odds of that happening?

  I didn't even know Anthony was in town when I went to the range; and the Colt was a last minute choice. No one could have predicted I would choose it at random from the selection. It was too much of an unlikely coincidence that the killer would have owned the very same gun. Since I was seen with it, and the killer used it, or another gun of the same make, perhaps someone at the range could have killed him. Except how could they know about my history with Anthony? It wasn't something I publicized; and I was pretty sure he was ancient news to anyone except my immediate family. If the killer knew Anthony, and saw me with the Colt, was the murder premeditated? And what could they possibly have done with his body?

  The more I thought about it, the more confusing it became. By the time I parked my car in the agency's underground garage, I was angry. First, I was angry at Anthony for reappearing at a time when I should have been celebrating my engagement. Second, I was angry that he asked for my help. Third, I was angry that he was so selfish as to get killed in the middle of my undercover case. And last, but most of all, I was angriest that someone was trying to pin his murder on me.

  The office was empty. I was glad because all the questions in my head put me in a foul mood and I wouldn’t have been good company. Solomon's door was shut and the blinds were open. A lukewarm cup of coffee sat on Delgado's desk; and both Flaherty and Fletcher's desks looked empty so I figured they both were still working on their construction surveillance jobs. I had to start looking for answers, if only to put my mind at ease.

  Opening my laptop, I dived into work. The first step was: look into Anthony.

  For ten years, I resisted the occasional urge to type his name into a search engine. I didn't want to know what he was doing or even where he was in all that time. What did I care? I worked very hard to make my life happy and fulfilling, Sure, it didn't happen right away because I usually took the circuitous route to get where I wanted to be; but at least, I got there. I landed a lucrative career, owned a lovely house, dated one terrific man and remained friends with him, and most recently became engaged to my forever man. I had plenty of friends, an active social life, and a little money in the bank. I had everything I wanted and was happy; which made it all the more annoying that I was here now, grimacing with every letter of the name I stabbed on the keyboard. Groaning, I hit enter and waited for the search results to return.

  "Really? Nothing?" I asked the laptop as I scrolled down the first page of results. One Anthony Steadman was a budding musician, another man with the same name worked as a lawyer, but when I clicked on those pages, neither man was the Anthony Steadman I sought. Further down the first page, I scanned a link to an article about Cynthia Steadman. It was taken from a newspaper article four years ago. I scrolled down to where it name-dropped her son and two daughters but found nothing else, not even a family photo. There was just a shot of Cynthia, looking like a modern day duchess except instead of a gown, she wore a Chanel suit and pearls as she posed beside the fireplace in her family home.

  After more searching, which included different permutations of his name, I found a gift registry for his sister and a work resume for his other sister. Yet for Anthony, the internet was remarkably empty. It was almost like... "You don't want to be found," I told the screen.
"Let's try your wife."

  Olivia Steadman was also an internet enigma but on page three of the image results, I struck lucky. I found an entry for Olivia Petrov whose face bore an uncanny resemblance to the woman I'd briefly met. Entering the new search name, I hit the jackpot. Olivia Petrov was a fashion model after a brief career as a ballet dancer. Her family appeared to be independently wealthy and owned a genuine castle next to a lake in a country with a name I definitely couldn't pronounce properly.

  Her promising ballet career was cut short by a knee injury at age nineteen. The following year, with no hope of recovery, she turned to modeling, exploiting the family name wherever aristocratic models were fashionable. She walked the runway for several major labels, appeared on the cover of a few magazines, and relocated to America. There was a small news article about her marrying a wealthy playboy named Anthony Steadman two years ago, which appeared to have secured her American citizenship. "Wealthy," I scoffed at the brief description of her husband. Anthony appeared that way to me too, not that it was something I actively looked for in any man. But after he unraveled my life, I found out his life was nothing but glamourous puffs of smoke without any substance. When we dated, his home, which he "owned outright" and fancy car both turned out to be rented and he skipped out on most of the payments. The furniture was also on loan, and the fine suits and designer shoes were large bills that he never paid. Our entertainment costs were on credit cards taken out in my name. As far as I could ascertain, Anthony Steadman didn't have a dime to his name and never had. I did agree with one thing in the article: Playboy? Absolutely.

  Resting back in my chair, I stared at the beautiful photo on my screen. Olivia wore a simple, black ball gown, and diamonds at her neck and ears. She smiled for the photographers against the backdrop of the Met Ball. Unlike Anthony, she seemed like the real deal: elegant, moneyed, and high society. Anthony always craved that lifestyle. I wondered how he managed to convince Olivia to marry him. Did he lie? Or did she know more about him than just his cheating?

  "How the hell did he marry you?" I wondered out loud. "And why the hell is he cheating on you and stealing your money?"

  "Talking to yourself?" asked Solomon.

  I jumped, my heart thumping in surprise as I spun my chair around. Solomon either had to stop sneaking up on me or I would have to start being more alert. I predicted the latter. Like Solomon said, appearing out of nowhere was his inborn talent. "How long have you been standing there?"

  "You'll never know. What's this?" He leaned in to take a closer look at the computer screen. "Who's Olivia Petrov?"

  I sighed, wishing I hadn't been caught. I shouldn’t have been looking into the case that I didn't even want. No, I wished I wasn't even tempted to look into it. "She's Anthony's wife. You met her already."

  "In the lobby," said Solomon. "I recall."

  "What happened after I left?" I asked, growing curious. I couldn't imagine Olivia leaving without some satisfaction. She gave me the impression she wouldn’t take no for an answer; plus, she had at least two million reasons to pursue her quest for Anthony.

  "She asked me to reconsider her case. I said no. She offered a ridiculous amount of money to make me change my mind. I said no again and she left."

  "How ridiculous?" I wondered.

  Solomon shook his head. "Not enough to convince me her case was in our best interests."

  "It must have sucked to reject that check."

  "Not everything is about money. Steadman reportedly has a lot of women chasing him down."

  "Now you put it that way, yes, he does. A mom, two sisters, a wife, a girlfriend... But Olivia didn't seem desperate to find him, just the money."

  "Do you want to find him?" Solomon asked. Although he was reading the computer screen over my shoulder, I was pretty sure he was also somehow watching me.

  "I wish he'd never found me!"

  "Not what I asked."

  "I know, but I don't know the answer. Maybe. Garrett says he's almost certainly dead. I don't want anyone to think I killed him; so yes, it would be great if Anthony were found alive. Despite what I think of him, if someone hurt him, they should be brought to justice so... yes, I hope he's found one way or the other. I just don't want to be the one who finds him or the one everyone around him keeps approaching."

  "Then keep saying no."

  "You got it."

  "And don't be tempted."

  "I'm not!"

  Solomon raised his eyebrows and glanced at the laptop where my current temptation to investigate blazed across the screen. I reached over and, with a single click, made the web page disappear. "I need you back on the real estate case," he said. "Discovering their house was an active crime scene did not made our client happy. They just chewed me out at their offices."

  "Ouch." Now that was something I was itching to investigate. Booth Realty should have been my priority. The case piqued my curiosity and I was looking forward to uncovering all the answers, even if Anthony were still our prime suspect. What could’ve happened during the break-ins? Clearly, burglary wasn't the intent. The houses were unoccupied, which meant there was nothing to steal except furniture and I couldn't see someone going to so much trouble for that. Plus, the realtors’ inventories already confirmed that wasn't the case. It seemed more likely they were using the houses to host secret rendezvous or parties. "What do you need me to do?"

  He placed a thin file on my desk and tapped it to draw my attention. "I need you to read this list of properties and take a walk-through. Go visit the neighbors, and see if anyone noticed anything out of the ordinary around the times these properties were targeted. My contact put together a list of times when they think the houses were used unlawfully. I'm going to re-examine the employees’ backgrounds and anyone contracted to work on the houses."

  "No problem."

  "Taylor will take you around. You need to contact her to set it up on the calendar."

  "That's helpful."

  "Call me if you get any ideas," finished Solomon before dropping a light kiss on my lips and walking away. I was enjoying his rear view when my phone beeped a reminder: I was supposed to be stalking my brother. Quickly clearing my laptop and putting it away, I grabbed the telephoto camera from my desk and headed out. I was entirely unsure why I should even indulge Lily's fear. No, I’m not indulging her, I reminded myself as I jogged down the stairwell. I was disproving her suspicions to make her feel better. Lily was rarely so irrational and I was a hundred percent sure Jord would never cheat on her. At least, she hadn't lost faith in her marriage. That was important but I wondered how long it would last before the hurt of being lied to angered her.

  Prior to their marriage, Jord continually protested how he had no interest in Lily, but I always knew he harbored a secret passion for her. When he thought she might slip out of his fingers for good, he finally acted on his feelings and made a successful play for her. Their relationship transformed quickly. It went from mutual lust – which, on Lily's part, was not so secretive — to deep love. They were both recently devastated by a miscarriage; but in the past year, they married, moved, and supported each other into their dream jobs. The new baby was the most wonderful and natural culmination of their relationship. I couldn't see how Jord would jeopardize any of that, not at all; but I also couldn't understand why he would lie to Lily either.

  I parked outside the Corner Café and raised my camera, searching for Jord's familiar face. I probably had a skeptical, slightly confused, appearance. My mission was to quickly allay Lily's fears, and put them to rest so she could enjoy the last few days of her pregnancy. How hard could that be?

  I swept the camera lens from side-to-side slowly, panning until I found him.

  Jord was standing on the sidewalk, his hands thrust into his pockets as he scanned the streets. Suddenly, his face lit up and he raised a hand, waving. The woman approaching him was young and pretty. A thick, sweep of red hair fell to her mid-back and she had a figure to die for: long legs, perky butt, and a tightly b
elted coat that outlined her slim waist and curves. She threw her arms around his neck and they hugged. My finger hovered over the shutter button, ready to take a snap. Jord dipped his head towards her, and her mouth parted... Just then, a pedestrian stepped in front of them, blocking my view. A moment later, and the pedestrian was gone as Jord and the mystery women beamed at each other.

  My heart sunk.

  Did my brother just kiss another woman?

  I barely had moments to process what I witnessed before the passenger car door opened. A man slipped inside, turning to me as I took in his familiar jeans and leather jacket.

  "Who are you following today?" he asked with a big smile on his face. Unruly, dark brown hair topped blue eyes that sparkled with amusement.

  "Maddox!"

  Chapter Eight

  "Where did you come from? How did you know I was here? Where..." I trailed off in surprise, all my words jumbling in my mouth.

  "Hi!" said Maddox, raising a hand. He gave me a little wave, apparently finding my tongue-tied condition highly amusing. He laughed again and ran a hand through his hair before twisting in the seat to speak to me properly. He looked great: slightly tanned with a couple days of stubble. I, in contrast, probably looked pale and slightly flustered. When the car door was yanked open, I initially thought Anthony had risen from the grave to kidnap me. Given his ability to spring back from just about anything, it wasn't totally irrational. With a wave of sheer relief, I looked at Maddox, and a thousand questions bubbled in my mind.

  "Hi, to you. Where have you been? I stopped by your office a month ago and they said you weren't back, but they couldn't tell me anything. Your apartment was empty too. I nearly called the police to look for you!"

  His smile changed from delighted teasing to affection. His eyes were sparkling the same way they did when I first met him. An aura of happiness radiated from him. "Aww, you were worried about me." Not a question, but a statement. Yes, I was worried. It was unlike Maddox to go so completely off grid. Ten weeks ago, I received a postcard from Paris and then… nothing. I even texted him more than once, but got nothing in return. In a moment of paranoia, I wondered if he were "ghosting" me from his life.