A.R. Winters - Valerie Inkerman 01 - Don't Be a Stranger

by A. R. Winters

  “Not much. They booked me. Then my lawyer – Roger – came, and they asked me some questions. All the same things. And then Roger posted bail for me, and here I am.”

  “What did they ask you?”

  “How did I know Esme, what were we talking about at the party, what was I doing?”

  “And that woman – the… uh – closet woman. She’s denying everything? Still?”

  “Yeah. Hey, it’s not like I don’t understand.”

  I felt my annoyance bubbling up again. “Understand what? There’s nothing to understand. She’s hanging you out to dry.”

  “She needs to stay married and she can’t afford to get divorced.”

  I snorted. We were silent for a few minutes and then I said, “So, if she doesn’t say she was with you the whole time, then… Is it looking pretty bad?”

  “They found my prints all over her body. I told them I was trying to check her pulse and then I wanted to give her mouth-to-mouth, but they don’t believe me.”

  I pursed my lips unhappily and Jerry said, “Hey. You believe me, right?”

  I had no reason not to. On the other hand, Detective Hartley was right – I’d known him for only a little while, and maybe I didn’t know him as well as I thought I did.

  To hell with her, I decided. “Of course I believe you, Jerry.”

  “Yeah, well. That’s great.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Anyway. I guess I should, like, fix my hair and change into something, um, better.”

  “Are you going out?”

  “No. My dad’s coming over.”

  “From Florida?”

  “Yeah. Just to tell me how disappointed in me he is, in person.”

  Jerry looked so glum, I almost laughed. The thought of being accused of murder hadn’t made him this sad. His dad must be quite something.

  Chapter Ten

  I heard the buzzer, and then a man’s voice saying something. It was a little past eleven, and I had holed myself up in my room.

  I had no intention of meeting Jerry’s dad. The man sounded scary and, quite frankly, I didn’t need any more disappointed parents in my life. I had two candy bars, a big bottle of water and a trashy romance novel with me. I figured they should tide me over until Jerry’s dad left, although the bottle of water did make me wonder about how I’d use the toilet. Who was I kidding – I’d hold it in. Or maybe I’d just suffer through thirst for an hour. Or two.

  I hoped Jerry’s dad talked fast.

  He did. Half an hour later, I’d finished both the candy bars and half the bottle of water. Thoughts of holding it in were making me need the bathroom even more.

  There was a knock on my door.

  I called out, “Yes?” and Jerry opened the door a fraction and poked his head around the gap.

  “Hey.”

  He gave me a wan smile and I grinned back. “Having a good talk?”

  Maybe I could use this opportunity to nip out to the bathroom.

  “Yeah, um, that’s the thing. My dad kind of wants to talk to you.”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah.” He gave me a funny look. “You’ve got brown stuff on your t-shirt.”

  “Oh, that’s just crumbs.” I stood up, and brushed them off. Damn, now I’d have to vacuum.

  As though reading my mind, Jerry said, “Thanks for putting everything back in place after the cops left. D’you want me to vacuum up?”

  I smiled. Was he the perfect roommate, or what?

  Oh, right, other than the fact that he had been accused of murder. And now his disappointed father wanted to talk to me. Maybe his dad would blame me for leading Jerry into a life of crime. That was a reasonable accusation, as Jerry tended to be a little gullible, sometimes. And anyway, I told myself, how scary could the man be? I was an adult. I could deal with things in a grown-up manner. Right after I dashed to the bathroom.

  When I entered the kitchen, there was a big, white-haired man sitting at the kitchen table. Our tiny table looked even tinier next to him, and I frowned. The man was eating one of my emergency ice cream bars and looked like a friendly, cuddly bear. I was about to turn around and yell at Jerry (who’d chosen, coward that he was, to hide out in his bedroom) that I couldn’t see his dad. On the other hand, we did have a stranger in the kitchen eating my Fudgesicles.

  But then the man smiled and said, “Sorry about your ice-cream. Jerry tells me they’re your emergency stash, but I really needed a hit.”

  I grinned; I liked him already.

  And then he said, “They’re delicious. I’ll make sure I get you a new box before I leave.”

  “Oh no, you don’t have to!”

  I wondered how it was that Jerry had missed the Great Taste In Ice-cream gene that his dad clearly had. I pulled out a chair and as I sat down, I said, “Jerry said you wanted to speak to me.”

  “Oh, yes. My son, the murderer.”

  “He’s not really a murderer.”

  “Only because he doesn’t have the brains for it.”

  A snort of laughter escaped me, and then I quickly sealed my lips and forced myself to look serious. Mature and adult-like, that was me. “He’s a good kid, Mr. Spilatro.”

  “Please, call me Kyle. And yeah, he is a good kid. Too bad he’s such a disappointment to me.” I was about to protest, when he added, “Not that I’m not proud of him, of course. He’s got guts, trying to follow his dream and all that. But tell me, do you really think he’ll have a career as an actor?”

  I thought back to the last time he’d practiced for an audition-a.

  “There. I knew it,” said Kyle.

  I shook my head quickly. “No, no, I mean – maybe. Maybe he’ll make it.”

  “Yeah, but in the meantime he goes and gets himself accused of murder.”

  We looked at each other seriously. “So he’s told you everything?”

  “Yeah. He had to, after I got him free legal counsel and everything.”

  I nodded. “Poor guy. It’s not his fault. He shouldn’t have tried to protect that bimbo.”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  We looked at each other seriously and I said, “He’s a big softie. But I think – he was trying to do the right thing. In his own way.”

  “But that hasn’t done him much good.”

  Kyle finished his Fudgesicle and placed the stick carefully on a plate. “Anyway, as much fun as this is, I didn’t just want to chat with you about how hopeless my son is. Although, it has been fun.”

  I smiled. “What did you want to discuss?”

  “Jerry tells me you’re a PI.”

  I shrugged modestly. “I’m trying to be, at least.”

  “You worked with Leo Moskovitz.”

  “Yes.” I tried to hide my surprise. Jerry didn’t know that. Which meant the only way for Kyle to know that was if he had done some sleuthing of his own.

  “I’ve worked with Leo in the past, whenever I needed business contacts or future employees checked out. He’s a good man.”

  “He is.”

  “And he spoke highly of you.”

  I smiled. There was no point asking Kyle why he’d called Leo, or when. “That’s nice to hear.”

  “Plus, you seem to me like a smart young lady. We share the same opinion of my son, and obviously you’ve got great taste in desserts.”

  “I can’t argue with you there.”

  “And that’s why I’ve got absolutely no hesitation in hiring you.”

  My eyebrows shot up. “Hiring me? To do what?”

  “To investigate my son, of course.”

  I frowned. “Isn’t that – pointless? We both know he didn’t do it.”

  “Well, maybe not my son. But this Esme Lindl. And whoever killed her.”

  “Ah.” Light was dawning.

  “The evidence against Jerry seems pretty stiff. He’s put himself right there at the scene of the crime, he’s wiped out any alibi he might’ve had. He knew Esme from before the party, they were casual friends, so he’s got possible motive
.”

  “You sound like a sleuth yourself.”

  “I’ve watched far too many cop shows.” He sighed and pulled a checkbook out of his pocket. “But I can’t just sit and watch this. I’m going to hire a professional.”

  “Look. It’s not that I wouldn’t mind earning some money. Or doing some PI work. But I really care about Jerry.”

  “As do I.”

  “And he needs the skills of someone experienced.”

  Kyle rubbed his lower lip thoughtfully. “That’s the thing. I’d have hired Leo, but he’s too busy. And he recommended you. And since you’re concerned about Jerry, I know you’ll pull out all the stops to find something.”

  “What’re you hoping I’ll find?”

  “Maybe something to cast doubt on somebody else. Maybe you’ll find out something about Esme – maybe she had other enemies. I don’t know, really. Something that’ll sway a jury of his peers.”

  “Right.”

  I looked thoughtfully at the surface of my kitchen table. I was about to refuse the work and suggest that Kyle hire somebody who’d worked a murder case before, when he thrust a signed check before me.

  “This is yours,” he said. When I saw the number, my heart skipped a beat. “It’s an advance, for incidentals. Find something within two weeks, and I’ll pay you double this amount as a bonus.”

  Why two weeks, I thought? I didn’t want to ask him and look stupid, so I said, “Two weeks because… after that the case runs cold? The real killer has enough time to cover their tracks? It’s harder to uncover any new evidence?”

  “You got it.”

  I stared at the check again and did some math. The bonus he was offering would cover my next six months’ rent. Plus some groceries. I wouldn’t have to take on any more waitressing gigs. I could even take on pro bono PI cases and build up my portfolio of clients.

  I sighed and looked into Kyle’s deep blue eyes. “You’re a hard man to say no to.”

  “That’s what I like to hear.” He stood up and offered me a big paw, which I shook.

  “Jerry,” I yelled out over my shoulder. “Your father’s leaving. Come say goodbye.” I turned back and said in a normal voice, “It was nice meeting you, Kyle. I’ll do my best on the case.”

  “I know you will.”

  Jerry materialized at my side, and I watched as he walked his dad out. I heard their footsteps disappear towards the elevator, and I waited for Jerry to come back after Kyle had found a cab.

  I needed a stiff drink, I thought hazily. Wasn’t that what all the tough PI’s did? Start off their cases with a stiff whiskey? Although, a cookie was more my style.

  Yes, I decided. I needed a cookie. And I needed a coffee. And then I needed some facts, and somewhere to start this investigation.

  Chapter Eleven

  By the time Jerry got back to the apartment, I’d consumed two massive chocolate-chip cookies and half a mug of coffee. It took him longer to get back than I’d expected, and as soon as he closed the door behind himself, I saw why. He had a box of Fudgesicles in his hand.

  “For you,” he said, by way of explanation.

  “I thought maybe you’d changed your mind. Maybe you’re ready to admit how tasty they are.”

  Jerry shook his head and put the box away in our freezer. “Are there any cookies left?”

  “Yeah. But I thought you were trying to lose weight.”

  “You’re right. I need to stay in shape in case I get any new auditions.”

  I watched him carefully as he put a pod into our coffee machine and made himself a mug. “We need to talk.”

  “Oh no,” said Jerry sarcastically. “Are we having the relationship talk? Are we breaking up?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Seriously. You need to stop being so immature and sit down.”

  He pulled out a chair opposite me and sat down. “Isn’t my dad the worst? I said he was scary, right?”

  I gave him a puzzled look. “I thought he was pretty nice.”

  “Yeah. But he roped you into investigating this case, right?”

  “Well… yeah.”

  “Even though you think I’m a dufus.”

  “I only think that because you are a dufus.”

  “Yeah, but now you’re stuck trying to help me out.”

  I shook my head. “He’s not scary. He offered me a lot of money to do this.”

  “Would you do the job if I offered you that much money?”

  I tried to think that one through.

  “See,” said Jerry. “He’s manipulating you and you don’t even know it.”

  “Is not.”

  “Did he tell you that if you can solve this case he’ll refer you to all his buddies?”

  I raised one eyebrow. “No.”

  “Well, he told me he would.”

  “Wow.”

  That’d be great for my career. And he owned a media company – there were lots of people he could tell. I’d be famous. I’d be a world-famous PI who solved difficult cases and charged hefty fees.

  My eyes clouded over with dollar signs. I imagined myself being feted and begged to work on cases – “Oh, Ms. Inkerman, we’ll pay you whatever you want! Please, just find us our lost puppy, Smithers.” And of course Smithers would be a cinch to find and then…

  “–And then, of course, I kept getting extra homework and the coach might have even pulled me from the team but then…”

  I blinked and looked at Jerry as though I was seeing him for the first time. “Huh?”

  Jerry looked hurt. “You weren’t listening, were you?”

  I shrugged.

  “I was telling you how my dad keeps manipulating people around me. He’s always been disappointed that I didn’t go to Wharton or some other fancy business school, and that I didn’t want to go into the family business.”

  I hesitated for a moment, wondering if I was breaking some kind of confidence. And then I said, “He told me that he’s proud of you for following your dreams.”

  “Really?” Jerry looked surprised, and his face shone with a brief moment of happiness. But almost immediately, he looked glum again. “Maybe. But I think mostly he’s not happy that I didn’t try to be more like him.”

  I shrugged. “People are complicated; we feel more than one thing at a time. It’s hard to pick apart our emotions and say just how much of each one we’re feeling.”

  “Mphh.” Jerry shrugged noncommittally and took a big gulp of his coffee. “What did you want to talk about?”

  “I need to get started with this investigation.”

  “You mean you need to turn into Nancy Drew.”

  I frowned. “I don’t know why you’re smirking. Nancy Drew always got her man. Or woman. And aren’t you supposed to be desperate for my help? Seeing as how you’ve been accused of murder?”

  “Nah. I’ll just have my lawyer subpoena the woman I was with. Then when she’s on the stand, she’ll have to testify that we were together and heard the shot.”

  I stared at him. “Are you serious? You really think she’ll come through?”

  “Sure, why not? Otherwise it’s perjury.”

  “She’s lied to the cops once, Jerry. She’s going to do it again.”

  Jerry sobered up a little. “You think? I mean…”

  “She can’t get divorced, right? And hey, you know this woman better than I do.”

  Jerry finished his coffee and walked over to the fridge. “Ok, then. I guess you better put on your Nancy Drew hat.”

  I waited for a few seconds to be absolutely, positively sure that this was the most serious, groveling request for help that Jerry could come up with. And then I sighed. His dad was my client – not him.

  “Ok,” I said, watching Jerry take strange, roundish vegetables out of the fridge. “Tell me what you remember about that night.”

  “I already told you.” Jerry cleared the top of his butcher’s block table and began washing the vegetables. “I went upstairs. There was no-one in the room–”

&n
bsp; “Hang on! Are you sure? Did you look around?”

  He made a face like I was being slow. “Of course I looked around! Unless there was someone under the bed, or something. Anyway, we slipped into the closet, and then, um–”

  “You can skip the gory details.”

  Jerry grinned. “Well it was going good at first.”

  “And you never thought to ask this woman if she was married or not?”

  Jerry placed the washed vegetables on his butcher’s block – our tiny apartment’s counter space was all taken up with the microwave – and started chopping. “Of course I asked. She said they were cool.”

  I rolled my eyes. He was just like those naïve young girls who slept with older married men who were “separated,” “getting divorced,” or “in an open relationship.”

  “Ok, so then what? Start from when things started to go wrong. What’re you making?”

  “Stir-fried Asian vegetables and honey-soy drumsticks. Oh, I’d better put them in the oven first.”

  I smiled. Nobody in New York cooked. I’d moved straight from my parents’ house to college, then to New York, and I didn’t cook. Not unless you counted the microwaved chocolate pudding I can make in an emergency. So it was fun to live with someone who cooked for a change. And it was nice, being able to eat something other than greasy Chinese takeout.

  When he was done putting things in the oven and fiddling with the temperature, Jerry said, “It was all going great. You know, the whole ‘doing it in secret’ thing is such a… anyway. I thought I heard footsteps coming into the room, and I told her–”

  “Are you ever going to tell me her name?”

  Jerry made a wry face. “If she’s not going to help, I might as well leave her out of it.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “Look, there’s no point in you trying to talk to her. If she lied to the cops, she’ll lie to you.”

  He had a point. Still… a strange doubtfulness crept into my mind. “What if this whole thing’s an elaborate conspiracy?” I said slowly. “What if this woman saw you talking with Esme and then she took you upstairs to set you up? And then someone – some accomplice – crept into the room and killed Esme, and the two of them framed you for it.”