by AR Winters
“I had no idea he’d leave me a trust fund,” Taylor protested.
“Well,” I faltered. “Maybe not.” Even Mary had mentioned that the trust fund had been a surprise. “But maybe you did. Either way, you fought, and you killed him.”
I finished the sentence with a flourish, proud of my deduction.
“No,” said Taylor, shaking his head. “That’s not how it happened. That’s not what happened at all.”
“Okay,” I said. “Maybe you shoved him back. And it was an accident. Manslaughter, not murder. Either way, you killed him.”
“No,” said Taylor, leaning forward, his eyes shining intensely. “That’s not what happened at all. Nothing like that.”
My brows creased together for a second. “Okay,” I said, crossing my arms across my chest. “Why don’t you tell me what really happened?”
“I hate the cops,” Taylor said. “I’m never gonna talk to them. They arrested my friend Jared for no reason. If my dad hadn’t been there, they’d have arrested me.”
“We’re not the cops,” I told him gently. “You can see how not like a cop Ian is.” As if on cue, Ian groaned. “And we’d better hurry before the guy throws up on your mom’s sidewalk.”
Taylor glanced at Ian for a second, and then he looked back at me. “Okay,” he said. “But only because I didn’t do anything wrong.”
We waited for him to gather his thoughts, and then he said, “I went to see my dad that day, okay? I admit it.”
“What time was this?”
“Just before twelve,” said Taylor. “I met him at the nightclub. We talked about the concierge business. And he said it wasn’t a good idea. We argued for a bit. He showed me a briefcase on his desk, and then he said it was full of cash, and he’d give it to me if I went to college and graduated. Or if I got a regular job here in Vegas and held it down for four years. He said I could get the money and do anything I wanted after that.”
He paused, and seemed to be reluctant to go on. I said, “What happened then? How bad was the fight?”
Taylor took a deep breath. “Really bad. I hate fighting with my dad, because I know he’s just looking out for me. Anyway, I told him I needed to go to the bathroom, and I left to take a breather.”
“Right.” I nodded. “And then you came back…”
“No.” Taylor shook his head. “I didn’t come back. When I came out, I could hear my dad talking to someone in his office.”
“Who?”
“I didn’t recognize the voice, but it belonged to a woman, and they seemed to be arguing. I didn’t want to bother them, so I went out to the bar and poured myself a drink. I sat there for what, maybe ten minutes? Fifteen? Anyway, I decided not to wait anymore, so I headed back to my dad’s office. When I got to the narrow passage, I saw the door that led outside was being pulled closed from the outside.”
“Could you see who was closing it?”
Taylor shook his head. “But it must’ve been the same person I heard, right? The woman.”
I nodded, feeling slightly light-headed. “Okay, go on.”
“Well, I thought maybe he’d just had a guest who’d left, so I went to his office, and that’s when I found him. Lying on the floor.” Taylor’s eyes misted up, and he sniffed before going on. “There was lots of blood. I checked his pulse, checked for breath… but I knew. I knew right then. I texted his assistant, because he used to say that she always knew what to do. And then I panicked. I knew the cops would think I killed my dad, just like you two do.”
“I don’t think you killed him,” I said, trying to reassure him. I didn’t know if I believed my own words or not, but I knew that I couldn’t let him stop talking. “And then what did you do?”
“Well, I wiped the cell phone clean, like I’d seen on the cop shows on TV,” he said. “And then I ran out the door.”
I frowned. Something was missing from Taylor’s story. And then it clicked. “I never saw a briefcase in any of the crime scene photographs.”
Taylor looked at me, confused. “I was too panicked to really look around the room. But now that I think about it, when I found my dad lying on the floor, there was no briefcase around.”
“Was there anything else wrong about the room?” I asked.
Taylor shook his head. “I didn’t notice anything.”
“You didn’t grab the briefcase, did you?”
Taylor shook his head again. “You’re not going to tell the cops this, are you? You promised me you wouldn’t.”
I looked at him hesitantly. Technically, if I didn’t tell the cops this information, I’d be withholding evidence.
I said, “Let’s go back a bit. When you heard voices, did you hear anything at all about what they were saying? You said it sounded like an argument.”
Taylor nodded. “There was a woman’s voice, and she sounded really angry. I heard her say, ‘You look at everyone else but you never look at me’. And she said, ‘Why not me?’ At least, that’s what I thought she said. I might’ve misheard.”
I nodded, wondering if he was telling the truth. “And what about the briefcase? What’d it look like?”
“It was one of those old-fashioned ones. Hard case. Dark brown leather. Locks on either side.”
“Okay. And what about the cell phone? When you texted Amelia, did you notice anything else about it? Any texts he’d sent, or calls he’d made?”
Taylor shook his head, no. “There was nothing. Maybe someone had wiped it clean before I did.”
Just then, the door opened and Mary stepped out. “I thought I heard voices,” she said. “What’s going on?”
Taylor gave us a panicked look.
I said, “Ian and I just came to give you back your stand mixer. Ours has started working again.”
Taylor headed inside, throwing me a grateful look, and Ian and I went back to the car to retrieve the mixer. Ian slid into the passenger seat and made moaning noises. “I can’t get up,” he said. “You were right. I shouldn’t have had those bars.”
I handed the stand mixer over to Mary, told her that Ian wasn’t feeling too well, and apologized for rushing off. By the time I got back to the car, Ian had finished all the water in the bottle.
“Let’s head home,” I told him. “And then I’ll go to the station.”
Ian groaned. “Elwood won’t be there to take your statement now, and I feel fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“I’m fine. Let’s go to Chloe’s house.”
“Why?”
“They say it’s always the spouse. And Taylor said he heard a woman’s voice. Chloe’s a woman.”
Ian’s logic was impeccable. Except, I didn’t agree with him. I didn’t think it was Chloe.
“Taylor said the woman was talking about how Josh paid everyone attention but her. That can only mean one person. Amelia. Josh paid everyone attention but her.”
Ian nodded. “So you want to go see Amelia?”
“She didn’t seem all that friendly when we talked to her today,” I said. “She was pretty hostile when we asked if Josh had ever tried to seduce her.”
“Of course it makes sense now.”
“I guess it does,” I admitted.
Ian said, “Maybe Chloe has some more info on Amelia. Something we can look into before we talk to her again.”
“Plus,” I added, half to myself, “Chloe was worried about money. Maybe she knows something about the briefcase.”
Chapter Sixteen
Beads of sweat were forming on Ian’s brow, and I looked at him, worried, as I knocked and waited for Chloe.
“What’s going on?” Chloe said when she opened the door and saw the two of us.
“I feel really sick,” Ian said, pushing past her. “Where’s your bathroom?”
“You can’t go in there,” Chloe said. “This is private property. You’re trespassing.”
She ran ahead of Ian and stood blocking the doorway to her bedroom.
Chloe was wearing blue printe
d pajamas, the old shirt-and-pants type, and her hair was a mess. Perhaps we’d woken her up, but that didn’t excuse the rudeness.
“Don’t be silly,” I said to Chloe as I closed the front door. “Look at him. He’s going to barf any moment now.”
“That’s true,” groaned Ian. “Tiffany told me not to eat the bars.”
Chloe looked at me disapprovingly. “What’s he talking about?”
“You don’t want me throwing up on your couch,” Ian said. He pushed Chloe to one side gently and rushed into the bedroom. Chloe walked into the room behind Ian, and I followed Chloe in time to see Ian rushing into the bathroom.
Chloe’s bedroom was a mess, with an unmade bed, used tissues lying all around, and a study table pushed into one corner and covered with books, papers and knickknacks. There was radio silence from the bathroom, and then Ian said, “I’m fine, I’m fine. It’s passed.”
He emerged from the bathroom, looking much better than he was five minutes ago. He wasn’t sweating anymore, and his skin wasn’t as pale.
“I think there was something in the protein bars,” he said. “Maybe I’m allergic to something in them.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have had five in a row, and should’ve stopped eating when I told you to.”
“Why don’t I get you a can of ginger ale?” Chloe suggested. “You can drink that, and you’ll feel better, and then you can go home.”
She looked as worried as I felt, and I nodded at her. I appreciated her sudden concern for Ian. “Thanks. He should drink something. And then we’ll get out of your hair. Sorry to bother you like this.”
“It’s okay,” she said, “Let’s get that drink.”
I was about to head back into the living room, when something on Chloe’s table caught my eye.
It was dark brown and leather. I walked over to the table, pushed some papers aside, and revealed the briefcase. Old-fashioned, hard case. Combination locks on either side.
“What’s this?” I said, turning to Chloe again.
She shrugged. “A friend asked me to keep it for him. Let’s go have that drink.”
“Not so fast,” I said. I turned to the briefcase again and tried the combination locks. They flipped open immediately. I opened the briefcase and stared into it. Bundles of fifty-dollar bills stared back at me. I blinked, shocked. It was more money than I’d ever seen at once.
“This is Josh’s briefcase,” I said, turning back to face Chloe. “You must’ve been counting the money when we showed up. No wonder you didn’t want us coming into your bedroom.”
Chloe rolled her eyes. “So sue me. I like money.”
“So this is Josh’s briefcase. And you killed him.”
“I didn’t kill him,” Chloe said. “He was already dead inside.”
“What d’you mean?” I said.
“He wouldn’t commit. He wasn’t a real man.”
“But you stayed with him.”
“I didn’t think I had a choice. I wasn’t sure I could do better.”
“That’s no reason to kill him.”
“I keep telling you, I didn’t kill him. It was an accident.”
“So you had a fight,” I conjectured. “You kept saying, ‘You look after everyone else. Why not me?’ And then you shoved him and he hit his head.”
Chloe nodded. “I couldn’t tell the cops. I can’t just go to jail.”
Her words sent a chill down my spine. If she couldn’t tell the cops, why had she just admitted this to me? But I pressed on through the fear and said, “Why’d you do it? Why’d you take the cash?”
“Wouldn’t you do something?” said Chloe. “Imagine if you couldn’t get another job as a dealer, or you couldn’t work as a PI anymore. Wouldn’t you do something about it?”
I looked at her incredulously. “You mean, if I couldn’t get another job as a PI, I should just go ahead and kill a man?”
Chloe shook her head. “No, no. About the money. If you found a briefcase full of cash, wouldn’t you keep it?”
“I—I don’t know. Depends on how I found it. If I’d just killed a man, I might not. I might go and turn myself in to the police. But I can’t really see myself killing a man.”
I realized I was babbling, but I couldn’t stop myself. Chloe was looking at me funny, and the knowledge that we were in a murderer’s house late at night was making me a little nervous. Plus, I hadn’t had any dinner. Ian had eaten up all my protein bars, and I could tell that he was about to throw them all up.
“What’re you going on about?” Chloe said.
“I’m kind of weak. I mean, I know Krav Maga, but that might not help me kill a guy. It more helps me get away from a guy.”
Ian’s stomach made a loud, suspicious noise, and I stopped talking and looked at him. Chloe followed my gaze.
“I’m feeling sick again,” Ian admitted, looking sheepish. His skin had started to go all pale again.
“I guess we should get going,” I said, trying to sound more cheerful than I felt. It occurred to me that not only would I probably not be able to kill a person, but I would probably have a hard time escaping from Chloe if she decided to bash my head against some sharp furniture.
Just to be on the safe side, I took a look around the room. The corners of the table were covered with papers, and the bed looked too messy to kill someone with.
As I glanced at the bed, I noticed Chloe doing the same, and then she bent down and retrieved something from under it. When she stood up, she was holding a great big gun, pointing the muzzle right at me.
“Whoa!” I said. “That thing’s huge! Where’d you get it?”
“Got it this morning,” said Chloe slowly. “Figured I should have some way to protect myself in case someone tried to steal the briefcase.”
“I don’t want the briefcase,” I said. “I just wanna go home.”
“Me too,” said Ian weakly. “I need to go home.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” said Chloe sharply. “You’re the only ones who know I killed Josh.”
“It was an accident,” I reminded her, trying to ingratiate myself. “It’s not your fault.”
“Yeah,” said Chloe, narrowing her eyes. “Exactly.”
“You had an argument,” I said, watching the gun carefully. “Lovers argue all the time.”
“Right.” Chloe nodded. “He was always cheating on me. I needed him to buy me a ring, get me the new housewife gig I keep hearing about. He had money. He was spending it on his ex-wife and his son. Why not me? I could start a business.”
“Exactly,” I said. “And now you can.”
Chloe said, “There’s just over two hundred thousand dollars in cash in that briefcase. I can use that money to start over. I don’t need anyone arresting me.”
“And you don’t want to get in trouble by killing anyone new,” I told her. “So why don’t we call this our secret? Ian and I can go home.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” said Chloe. “I’m going to shoot you. Maybe not here. Maybe we should go somewhere.”
Her hand was shaking, and I said, “Do you know how to shoot a gun? You just got it today. Have you taken lessons?”
“I don’t need lessons,” said Chloe. “How hard is it to shoot someone?”
“It’s really messy,” I said. “Why don’t you just let us go home?”
“You’re not going anywhere.”
Ian’s stomach made a loud, angry noise, and he said, “I’m going to the bathroom.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Chloe repeated, not taking her eyes off me.
“You don’t get it,” said Ian. “I don’t want to make a mess over your carpet.”
He dashed into the bathroom, and Chloe took a few steps and rushed towards Ian. She had her back to me, and before I knew what I was doing, I flung myself halfway across the room and onto Chloe, pushing her down against the floor. I heard the gun going off as I pressed her down, and I grabbed Chloe’s gun-holding hand with both my hands and pointed the gu
n away from the bathroom. I heard it go off a few more times, until it was out of bullets.
I could hear Ian retching violently in the bathroom, and he didn’t stop throwing up for what felt like a good fifteen minutes. He didn’t scream either, so I knew that none of the bullets had hit him. But my heart was pounding wildly, and I wished Ian would hurry up and help me deal with Chloe.
Ian stopped throwing up and came out of the bathroom after he was done. He found me sitting on Chloe’s back, pinning her arms under me. She was muttering something about getting even, but I didn’t think she was a threat.
“You look great,” Ian told me. “I’m going to wash up.”
“Call 911,” I said, scowling at him.
I heard Ian going through the bathroom cabinet and he called out, “You’ll be okay. I feel really gross so I’m just going to rinse out—hey, this is Listerine! Great!”
I heard Ian gargling, and then finally, I heard him saying, “Operator? We need someone to come over.”
Under me, Chloe groaned. “I just wanted a new life,” she said. “I didn’t want all this.”
Chapter Seventeen
It was early morning by the time Ian and I left the station. We gave statements, waited around, filled out forms, and then finally, we got back home.
“I’m never eating protein bars ever again,” Ian said as he opened the door to his apartment. “Never. Ever. Again.”
“Your getting sick might have saved our lives,” I reminded him. “It was a good way to distract Crazy Chloe.”
“Meh,” said Ian. “We could’ve distracted her some other way. I didn’t want to worry you in the car, but I really felt like I was dying. I had horrible cramps. That’s probably what getting a period feels like.”
I laughed. “Getting a period is worse,” I told him. “So much worse. At least you could throw up and get it over with.”
“I’m not sure,” said Ian. “I felt really bad.”
“Well, get some sleep,” I said, not really in the mood to discuss periods with Ian. We hadn’t slept all night, and I knew we still had some work ahead of us.