“Don’t panic,” I told myself. My sister and I’s purses were right next to me, seemingly intact. I grabbed them and stood up. The world went sideways. I inhaled shaky breaths until the need to hurl subsided.
I glanced at Enrique. I couldn’t believe he was dead. Not that he didn’t have enemies—hell, I was one of them.
Oh, my God. I wasn’t going to take the rap for this. But … it looked bad. He had a restraining order on me. I owed him a shit ton of money. Court mandated. I threatened him in public. And I’d touched the weapon that probably killed him, so my fingerprints would be all over it. Not to mention, I was in the alley with his body. I didn’t have to watch all those forensic shows my sister loved to know the evidence was damned incriminating.
Okay, okay. It was time to do something adult-like.
I looked around and tried to get my bearings. There was a green door across from me with “Riot Back Entrance” painted on it. All I needed to do was get inside the club, find my sister, and call the police. My heart jumped. This was bad. So bad. No. I hadn’t done anything wrong. I limped toward the door and grabbed the handle, yanking as hard as I could.
Locked.
“Violetta!” My sister’s screech of relief almost deafened me. I turned as she hurtled down the alley and grabbed me in a very unlike-Deirdre hug. “What are you doing out here? I’ve been looking everywhere or you!”
“Um, Dee.”
“I wasn’t that bad on stage, was I? I mean, I know you hate when I tell that story about the tuna fish sandwich.” She was babbling, a testament to her worried state of mind and her drunkenness.
I gently took my sister by the shoulders and turned her around so she could see Enrique.
“What is that?”
“A dead ex-boyfriend.”
She looked at me, eyes wide. “You killed him?”
“Really? That’s what you think?”
She shook her head. “No. Of course not. Did you check him for the necklace?”
“Are you crazy? I touched that metal thingie with blood all over it. And I poked him in the chest to check his pulse.”
“What?”
“The point is that I am not going to seal the case against me by frisking his corpse.”
Dee had no such compunction. Wow. My sister had some big lady balls. She squatted and efficiently rifled through his pockets and then she patted him down from shoulders to ankles. She popped to her feet, and looked at me, her expression filled with disappointment. “He doesn’t have the pendant.”
“Violetta?” Dee and I turned toward the male voice. An electric shock of fear zapped me. Shit. Matthew Stone. The homicide detective. He looked at Enrique’s body, and then pinned his gaze on me.
“I didn’t do it,” I said.
“You have blood on your hands.” That helpful comment was courtesy of the Riot’s owner, Andrea-what’s-her-face, who stood next Matt. Was she smirking? Yes, she was. And her gaze held triumph. What was her deal? I didn’t even know her. “That’s Enrique’s ex-girlfriend,” she said, her voice smarmy. “She got arrested for assault because she hit him with a stiletto.”
“Is that true?” Matt look disappointed, and I felt horrible. He was probably regretting every second he’d thought about spending with me.
“The charges were dropped,” I said.
“Yeah, but Enrique won his small claims suit against her. Just this morning, too.”
“That’s why you were outside the courthouse?” he asked.
“It’s been a crappy day.”
Paramedics rushed by us and squatted next to Enrique.
“And why were you here tonight?” asked Matt.
Uh-oh. I couldn’t admit my sister and I had come to Riot to relieve Enrique of my necklace. This situation was getting worse and worse.
“That’s a good question,” said Andrea gleefully. “Enrique had a restraining order against her.”
“Shut your cake hole, lady,” said Deirdre. “Or I’ll shut it for you.”
Andrea’s face contorted into ugly rage, and she clenched her fists.
“Now, ladies,” soothed Matt. “Ms. Keller, please give your statement to one of the uniforms.”
Andrea shot me a dirty look, and then marched away.
“You want to tell me what happened, Violetta?”
“No, she does not,” snapped Deirdre.
Matt slanted a look at Dee. “Ms. Keller apparently saw you fighting with Mr. Santos. When she came to check on her partner, she found Enrique dead and you passed out cold.” He studied me.
“She’s not saying anything else,” said Deirdre. “She wants a lawyer.”
“You want a lawyer?” asked Matt.
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” I said. “I was hiding in the bathroom, and Enrique followed me. I heard this big thump. When I opened the door, there he was dead. Then someone bashed me on the head. Next thing I know, I wake up here.”
Deirdre pinched my arm and hissed, “Shut up, Violetta Lenore Graves!” She positioned herself in front of me. “She needs medical attention and a lawyer.”
“I haven’t arrested her.”
“I know how this works. My husband is Darren Hamilton. He’s an assistant district attorney. We want to call him.”
Matthew’s gaze flicked to mine. I opened my mouth, but my asshole sister stomped on my foot. Pain shimmied up my leg. I pressed my lips together and looked away from the very cute and seemingly reasonable detective.
“He’s dead,” said one of the paramedics—a lean-limbed blonde with her hair pulled into an efficient ponytail. She wore a blue shirt tucked into black pants. “The coroner will have to give you approximate TOD.”
Matthew nodded. “Will you take a look at Ms. Graves? She has a head wound.”
“Stone.” A stout, barrel-chested man dressed in button-down shirt and khaki pants got our attention. He had a military haircut and a no-nonsense expression. He held up the bloody tire iron in one gloved hand. “Possible murder weapon.”
The detective’s eyes zeroed in on me. “You missing a tire iron from your car?”
I snorted a laugh. I wanted to tell him my car was basically a rolling death trap that didn’t have the usual accessories. One stern look from Deirdre and I swallowed my smart-ass response.
“We took a cab,” said Deirdre. She grabbed my arm and hauled me toward the waiting paramedic. “You might have a concussion, Vie.”
As we left the alley, I felt Matt’s gaze on me all the way to the ambulance.
The paramedic took my blood pressure, temperature, and examined me for injuries. I had scrapes on my legs and arms, no doubt from the rough pavement. Had I been dragged into the alley? If someone had, then that same someone had also dragged Enrique. My thoughts whirled like a building tornado. Had the wielder of the tire iron tried to kill me, too? Or only knocked me out so I could be the patsy for Enrique’s murder?
The paramedic’s hands sifted through my hair. Pain shot across my skull. “Ow!”
“Sorry. You have a gash and a bump. Looks like you were hit pretty hard.”
“Feels like it, too.”
“Does she need stitches?” asked Deidre.
“No, but I recommend a CAT scan. Head trauma is tricky, especially when you get whacked like this.”
My sister leaned over and examined my head. “That looks nasty. You think she has a concussion?”
“It’s possible. That’s another good reason to go to the hospital.”
“No, thank you,” I said. “Put a bandage on my owie and call it a day.”
“Vie!”
“Dee, I don’t have health insurance, a job, or a savings account. Unless the hospital accepts sexual favors for payment, I’m not going.”
“I’ll pay for it,” said Dee. She looked at me. I saw real concern in her gaze.
I’d been a mooch before, a few hundred bucks here or there, but I couldn’t ask my sister to cover a massive medical bill because I’d been an irresponsible twatwaffle most of my li
fe. “No, Dee. I’ll be fine. Really.”
“Can you strap her to the gurney?” asked Dee. “And give her something that paralyzes her mouth?”
The paramedic laughed. “Sorry. She’s within her rights to refuse treatment.”
To prevent further harassment, I got out of the ambulance, forcing my sister to follow me.
I whirled to face her and asked, “Hey, how about calling a lawyer?”
Her brows furrowed. “I’ll get ahold of Darren.”
“Isn’t he on the we-hate-you list?”
“He gets a hiatus while he extracts you from this mess.”
“I see you’re going to live,” said Matthew. “How about I treat you ladies to bad coffee and stale donuts down at the station?”
“Are you arresting us?” demanded Dee.
“No. I’m taking witness statements.” He nodded toward me. “How’s your head?”
“I could potentially die of an aneurysm, but other than that, I’m peachy.”
“Terrific. Let me give you a ride.”
“Fine,” said Dee, “but we are not answering questions or giving statements until my husband arrives.”
“Fair enough,” said Matthew.
I felt my stomach dip. Did he think I murdered Enrique? I didn’t like my asshole ex, and yeah, I had wounded him, but I wouldn’t actually kill him. Real fear wormed through me. The blessed numbness that had been my friend for the past few minutes was giving way to a full-on freak-out.
I was so screwed.
Matthew was smooth; I’d give him that. He put my sister in the back of squad car and had the door shut before she could say,“Lawyer.” Again. As the car took off, the shocked look on Dee’s face was priceless.
“You’re gonna pay for that,” I warned him.
“I can take it.” He led me to a black sedan and opened the passenger door for me. I slid inside and snapped on my seatbelt.
He did the same, and then he started the car. “Let’s take the long way. I want you to tell me everything. Off the record.”
“Why?” I asked.
“So I can save your cute little ass.” He sighed. “I’ve been wrong about people before—especially women. But I’m not wrong about you.” He glanced at me. “There’s just something about you, Violetta. I haven’t been able to get you out of my thoughts.” He smiled, and I felt electrified. Man, he could make a girl want a life with a white picket fence and a couple of kids.
“You can trust me,” he said softly. “I promise.”
I wanted to trust him. And he hadn’t read me my rights, so he couldn’t hold anything I said against me. If Dee found out I gave him all the details, she would kill me. I sighed. Looks like the detective wasn’t the only who would soon suffer my sister’s considerable wrath. “All right, Matthew.”
“Call me Matt.”
“Matt.” Once again, I found myself telling the woeful tale of Violetta Graves and her bad life decisions. I started with the stiletto to Enrique’s face and ended with me kissing the alleyway pavement. I skipped the part where my sister frisked the corpse for the necklace.
When I was done, Matt looked like he’d been sucking on a lemon. “Let me get this straight. You had an ongoing dispute with Enrique Santos, one that started with you assaulting him.”
“It sounds bad when you say it like that.”
“Oh, that’s not the bad part, but it sure is motive.”
“You said you wouldn’t use my words against me!”
“I’m not.”
I sounded more and more like a crazy person. I did not want Matthew Stone to see me this way, but as I sat in his car recounting my trip down loser lane it was hard to hide from the truth anymore. My life wasn’t fun and fab. I played it fast and loose, and now I was paying the consequences for my actions.
“You lost a small claims case to Mr. Santos, where you were forced to hand over your only valuable item as a partial payment. Then you and your sister go to the club Enrique frequents and works at—”
“Technically he wasn’t working. And it’s a public space.”
“Irrelevant. The purpose of going to the Riot was to retrieve your former property, so you not only risked violating the restraining order, but also planned to commit larceny.” He gripped the steering wheel harder. “That’s still not the bad part. You were seen fighting with Mr. Santos. Then you were found in the alley with the murder weapon, that you inadvertently touched, and the body of your ex-boyfriend. He was alive this morning and dead by midnight. You had means and opportunity.”
“Nobody will visit me in prison.”
“You’re not going to prison. You’re going to take your sister’s advice. Ask for a lawyer. Do not talk to anyone until your lawyer arrives. I’m going to take apart Enrique’s life and try to find more viable suspects. I’ll hold off on filing charges, but we have a pretty good circumstantial case. I don’t know how long I’ll be able to keep you from getting arrested.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I know it looks bad. But I didn’t do it.”
“I know.” He reached over and clasped my hand. “Everything’s going to be all right.”
Tears threatened, and I hated to cry, but I think, given the kind of day I’ve had, a good old-fashioned sobbing might be in order. I looked up, glancing into the review mirror.
I saw a pair of dark eyes staring at me.
“Aaaaah!”
Matt swerved, and used both hands on the wheel to correct course. “What is it? Jesus. You almost gave me a heart attack.”
“Sorry. I thought I saw a wasp.”
“In the car?”
“Wasps get into cars all the time, Matt. They’re big and scary and sting-y.”
“You want me to pull over and do a wasp check?” He looked genuinely concerned.
“You’d do that?”
The lines around his eyes softened. His lips turned up in a gentle smile. He took my hand, his fingers twining with mine. “Yeah.”
“That’s sweet.” It really was sweet. And kind. And wonderful. My heart melted into a giant puddle of mushy emotion. He was such a nice guy. A nice guy I didn’t want ruin with my bad mojo. Why did he have to look so freaking hot? It would’ve been easier to ignore him if I wasn’t constantly thinking about how much fun he was to look at naked. “I think it was just dust or something. I’m a little jumpy. Dead-ex and all.”
My head hurt, and I was tired, and still hazy from the gelatin shots. Not to mention the crowbar to the head. I glanced in the rear view mirror again and examined the figure in the back seat of Matt’s car. I recognized him now. He was the homeless man I’d seen at the courthouse.
He waggled his fingers at me. “Hi, again. I’m Ben.” He smiled widely. “I’m here to help you.”
5
Dee and I sat in a tiny room with white walls, a card table, and four foldout chairs. Ben leaned against the wall. I tried to ignore him, but I really liked the dude. However, accepting his help would probably get me convicted for murder. Why had I told Matt everything? Ugh. He brought out the part of me that wanted to, for once, believe a man I liked could be honest and trustworthy.
“Is this an interrogation room?” I asked. “I expected something more like an inquisition torture chamber.” I clenched my fists until my knuckles were blanched white.
My sister patted my hands, and I unclenched. “This is Las Vegas, not fifteenth century Spain.” She looked at me and put a finger to her lips. Her gaze slid up. I followed her line of sight to the mounted video camera.
My nerves were in shreds, especially after my confession to Matt. I took a big risk trusting him with the whole story. Had I made a mistake?
I held onto my purse like it would somehow protect me. A false shield formed of faux leather and forlorn hope. I felt on the verge of either throwing up or snot crying or both.
Ben stuffed his hands into the coat’s pockets. “You’re shiny,” he said.
“What?” I turned and looked at Ben.
“Most people, they�
��re shadows. Dark. But you’re bright. I haven’t seen anyone who shines like you do.” He looked down at the ground. “I followed you,” he admitted. “Because no one’s talked to me in a long time. Being dead is lonely.”
My heart turned over in my chest. I felt his aching loneliness as if it were my own. This was what happened when I tuned in to the world of the dead. I got the feels. Mine and theirs. “I’m sorry, Ben. You can hang out with me any time.”
He flashed that gap-toothed grin. “I’d like that.”
“There’s a ghost in here?” asked Dee.
“A guy named Ben. I met him at the courthouse earlier. He’s pretty cool.” I gave Ben the thumbs-up. His grin widened as he gave me a thumbs-up, too.
“I’m gonna help you. I’ll find out who killed that fella.” He began to fade away.
“Wait!” Nope. Gone. “The ghost has left the building.”
Dee took her cell phone from the table and dialed.
“You’ve already left Darren three-thousand voicemails,” I said.
“Maybe he’ll answer this time. I need to do something. I’m not good with waiting.” She called Darren for the eleventy-hundreth time. Her expression turned thunderous. “Hi, Darren, again. This is your wife, again. To recap, again, I’m sitting an interrogation room with my sister and we’re being questioned for murder. Murder, Darren. Call me back, you asshat.” She stabbed the end button.
Wow. Darren was really being a prick. I felt sorry for Dee. She was probably imagining, like I was, that her husband was between the sheets with another woman. Too busy banging his mistress to give a shit about his family. I wanted to kick him in the balls for the hurt he was causing my sister.
“I know a lawyer,” I said.
Dee stared at me. “You do?”
“Don’t look so surprised,” I said. “I know people, okay? They’re just not your kind of people.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” She slapped her purse down on the card table and stood up, putting her hands on her hips. “I am not a snob. I know all kinds of people, too.”
I pinned her gaze and engaged her in a staring contest. Dee gave in, and sighed, sinking down into her chair. “Fine. I’m a snob.”
In Good Spirits (Violetta Graves Mysteries) Page 4