by Liliana Hart
I hadn’t really been in the mood for company after the meeting had adjourned. Everyone had a job to do and tasks to run down. But not me. I was supposed to rest. I hated resting. And I hated that everyone else was keeping busy, while I was left twiddling my thumbs. Mostly I was feeling sorry for myself.
So I got in my van and started driving. I probably drove for two hours, mulling over everything that had happened. Then I found a nice spot along the Savannah River and I parked and watched the water flow. And then I made a list. I loved lists. Adored them. And my mind always cleared when I saw an itemized list of things.
I wrote down everything that had happened to me since I took the Anthony Dunnegan case—a precise timeline of events and the names of everyone involved.
There was something I wanted to check, so I called the number Eloise Hunt had given me for while they were staying in France. It was late evening there and I hoped she was still awake.
She answered in French, and I heaved a sigh of relief.
“Mrs. Hunt, I’m sorry to bother you, but this is Addison Holmes. The private investigator from Savannah.”
“Sure, Ms. Holmes. Have you found my husband’s killer?”
“Not yet, but I believe we’re getting closer. Would you mind telling me if you and your husband took out new life insurance policies recently?”
“Why, yes. I guess a little over a year ago. It was a legitimate policy. They honored it and the check was divided into the children’s trust funds. I didn’t need the money, since our assets just shifted to me, and vice-versa if I’d gone first, so we made the children our beneficiaries.”
“Did someone come out to the house to give you a medical exam and take blood for the policies?”
“Sure, I think they have to when the policy is over a million dollars.”
“I don’t suppose you have that paperwork with the name of the nurse who came to your home?”
“Not here in Paris,” she said. “But my estate manager is still in the States. I can call him and he can email you anything you need.”
“That would be great, thanks.” I disconnected and was feeling a little more energetic, so I drove through a Dairy Queen and got a steak finger basket. I also got a hot fudge sundae and ate it first, so it didn’t melt while I was eating my lunch. It turned out that was a mistake, because I spent a few minutes with my muscles going into spasms when the cold hit it again. The good thing about driving the van was when that happened I could go take a nap in the bed.
* * *
By the time I woke it was dusk and my phone was full of missed calls and text messages. I immediately let everyone know I was all right and then checked my email. Eloise Hunt’s estate manager had, indeed, sent an email. The name of the nurse who’d done the bloodwork on the Hunts was the same nurse who did the bloodwork for the Dunnegans. That was a coincidence that most definitely couldn’t be overlooked. Her name was Kimberly Eastman.
I opened my laptop and logged into the agency database. And then I did a background search on Kimberly Eastman. When her photograph popped up I would’ve fist bumped anyone who’d been sitting in the general vicinity, I was so excited. Kimberly had a lot of curly blonde hair, mega tits, and a mole at the corner of her mouth. Just like Kimmie from the Hamilton Inn.
I pulled her recent credit card transactions and looked to see if she was still in town. Or at least close by. She’d made a purchase less than an hour ago of more than two-hundred dollars’ worth of groceries at the Piggly Wiggly. A woman didn’t buy that many groceries if she was planning on leaving town.
A plan was forming in my mind that I knew was a horrible idea, but I couldn’t seem to help myself. So I called Rosemarie and Scarlet and asked if they were in. Then I asked them again just to make sure. What I planned didn’t leave room for quitters.
I had an address and a photograph, and I was still pissed from what had happened to me the day before. I was ready for revenge.
* * *
Normally, I’d ask Kate to join in on something like I had planned, but Kate really cared about the agency and I figured the more she could distance herself from me if I got caught the better. That left Scarlet and Rosemarie.
I invited Scarlet because I figured she had experience with this sort of thing. I still wasn’t sure why I’d invited Rosemarie along, but she’d be good moral support in any case, and she could keep a secret if it was important.
Scarlet had invited Rosemarie to take the second bedroom in her suite since we’d be getting back so late, so I picked them both up a little after seven o’clock at the Ballastone. There were some pretty amazing things about working for a detective agency. What I learned my first day on the job was that no one really had any privacy. If you knew where and how to look, your entire life was right there for everyone to see. And there was no such thing as a secure email account.
So what I knew about Kimberly Easton was that she’d bought a big bill of groceries with the plan to stay in for dinner. And from another credit card purchase, she planned to meet someone for a nine o’clock movie at the Regal Cinema. She’d purchased two tickets.
I pulled in front of the hotel to pick up Scarlet and Rosemarie, and I almost screamed when they popped out of the bushes next to the historic hotel. They were both dressed from head to toe in black. Scarlet was wearing a balaclava over her head and Rosemarie had on a black baseball cap that spelled BITCH in rhinestones across the front.
They both got in the back of the van and I drove away before they’d gotten the door closed completely. I was in all black too. There was no room for color in an old school smackdown.
“I had to borrow the hat from my neighbor,” Rosemarie said. “I don’t wear a lot of black, and there wasn’t time to go shopping.”
“It’s fine,” Scarlet said, her thin lips showing through the mouth hole of the balaclava. “It adds a little variety to the program. It’s best to keep them off-guard. You don’t ever want them to know where the next punch is going to land.”
“We’re not going to make her bleed, are we?” Rosemarie asked. “Because you remember I don’t do so well with blood.”
I remembered. The last time we came across a body Rosemarie threw up on the crime scene and passed out. The cops hadn’t been happy.
Scarlet punched her fist into her open palm, looking fierce. “We do whatever it takes. We’re bringing these sons of bitches down. To think I let my Venus fly trap get pounded for nothing. He was just using me. And nobody uses Scarlet Holmes like that.”
They were both getting worked up, and I could admit that I was a little excitable too. I couldn’t stop fidgeting, and I was sweating like a nun in a brothel under all the black layers. I also wasn’t so sure I had the torture gene in me. In theory, I was excellent at shaking someone down. In reality, I didn’t have a clue where to start or what to do. Not unless I was giving her a thousand paper cuts. I could probably do that one, but I have a pretty short attention span, so I might only make it to ten or fifteen.
Kimberly Easton had a home in Georgetown. She lived in a neighborhood with fairly large houses on large wooded lots. And she lived at the end of the street. I killed the headlights as we drove down her street and we found a place to park so the van was half hidden by bushes. It was getting her into the van that was going to take coordination.
The lights were on in Kimberly’s house, and at precisely eight o’clock she shut off all but the foyer lights and came out the front door, locking it behind her.
“Step on it!” Scarlet yelled. “You’re going to miss your window of opportunity.”
I slammed my foot on the gas and we shot forward. I heard a crash in the back and realized they’d both been standing in preparation of the kidnapping.
I squealed to a halt next to Kimberly’s BMW and Rosemarie and Scarlet leaned out the side door, making a grab for her. Kimberly let out a shriek and Scarlet tossed a bag over her head while Rosemarie muscled her into the van.
“Yippee ki-yay, motherfuckers!” Scarlet yel
led, slamming the side door shut.
I pressed the gas pedal all the way to the floor and took off, knocking all three of the back passengers on their asses. I had to slow down. This would be awfully hard to explain to the police if I got pulled over, even if I was Nick’s possible fiancée.
We drove all the way down to Whiskey Bayou and parked the van in a secluded marsh area we’d played in as kids. As long as we didn’t get out of the van, we probably wouldn’t get eaten by alligators or snakes.
They’d Duck Taped Kimmie to one of the captains’ chairs while I’d been driving, and I giggled with hysteria when I finally parked the van and saw our captive. I’d told Rosemarie and Scarlet to bring what they had on hand for a kidnapping and inquisition. The woman had a sleep mask over her eyes and a ball gag in her mouth from the little gifts they’d given us at the theater when we went to see Fifty Shades of Grey. The fuzzy handcuffs were clamped around her wrists.
“I might be having a panic attack,” Rosemarie said. “And I have to go to the bathroom.”
“There’s toilet paper in there now,” I told her. “I borrowed some from the agency.”
Rosemarie scurried back to the bathroom and I had a feeling she was going to be in there a while. That left me and Scarlet to get the job done. Scarlet took off the eye mask and the ball gag so Kimberly could answer our questions.
“You people are insane,” she hissed.
“We’re insane?” I said incredulously. “I woke up in a fucking bathtub full of ice yesterday. Why don’t you tell me how insane I am again?”
The woman blanched and I was thinking I might actually be good at intimidation tactics. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.
“Sure you do,” I said. “You know, this whole black market transplant thing. We’d like you to just answer truthfully if you don’t mind. This is a new van and I’m not too keen on getting fluids on the upholstery.”
The woman stared stonily at me and I wondered what I was supposed to do next. Fortunately, Scarlet took things in hand. She pulled a large, brown paper bag from beneath one of the seats and started unpacking it on the table.
“That’s fine,” Scarlet said, her voice friendly. “You don’t want to talk you don’t have to talk. We’ll just do a few things to you until you feel the need to spill your guts about Ugly Mo, Stella, and Richard, and how you fit into this whole mess.”
“Fuck you,” Kimberly said.
“That’s just damned rude,” Scarlet said. “Watch your fucking mouth.”
Then she started pullin the things out of the sack, one by one, and my eyes widened. An apple corer, a sheet of sand paper, a hand mixer, paint thinner, and clothes pins. I couldn’t decide if we were about to torture someone or start a DIY project.
Kimmie was starting to look a little worried. I was feeling a little worried too.
“That’s a real nice manicure you got there,” Scarlet said, taking one of her cuffed hands. “Must be a real challenge to get those little dolphins painted on there.”
“They’re all hand-painted,” Kimmie said suspiciously.
Scarlet’s grip tightened on her hand and then she grabbed the sandpaper, rubbing it across the top of her nails as fast as she could.
“What are you doing?” Kimmie yelled, trying to squirm out of Scarlet’s grasp. “What kind of monster are you?”
The smell of the sandpaper and friction was strong, and little particles of fingernail dust were flying through the air.
“My niece is going to ask you some questions,” Scarlet said. “I suggest you answer them or you won’t have anything but bloody nubs by the time I’m through with you. I bet you’ve got a pedicure too, huh?”
Kimmie let out a muffled sob and looked at me, imploring me to save her.
“Umm,” I said. “It’s too late for you, Kimmie. We’ve started putting it together and all of you peons are going to get taken down. You know Ugly Mo doesn’t care. I bet he’s got your replacements waiting in the wings.”
Kimmie face paled at the mention of Mo. “I don’t know who Mo is.”
“You must really be scared of him to not care if you go to prison. I guess he must be worth protecting. Of course, it would probably be pretty scary for you if word got back to Mo that you tried to rat him out. I bet accidents happen all the time in prison.”
I saw Scarlet beaming at me. I could tell it was a proud moment for her. I wasn’t feeling so proud of myself, however. The thought of getting revenge wasn’t nearly as exciting as it had been earlier in the day.
“No, you can’t do that,” she said, the fear real in her eyes.
“Here’s what we know,” I said. “We know Stella has control of that donor list. She sees every name, their financial status, and how rare their needs are. Then there’s you, scoping out potential donors through million-dollar life insurance policies. I guess it must be pretty exciting to get the results of the rare blood work come in and know that the person has been marked for death. Pretty exhilarating isn’t it.”
Kimmie stayed silent and hatred was beginning to replace the look of fear in her eyes.
“How did you and Stella meet?” I asked her.
Kimmie rolled her eyes. “We went to college together. We’ve been friends forever. You’re wrong about Ugly Mo,” she said. “Nobody can just step in and do what we do. You’ll never prove any of our involvement. We’ll stand together like always. There’s too much money at stake.”
Scarlet put down the sandpaper and picked up the paint thinner. Then she ran her fingers through Kimmie’s blonde curly hair. She unscrewed the lid the the paint thinner and the smell was powerful enough to bring tears to my eyes.
“Those are hair extensions aren’t they?” Scarlet asked. “Paint thinner is great for breaking down the polymer. Of course, it’s still going to hurt like heck when I yank them out of your head.”
“You’re a devil woman,” Kimmie said, pushing away from Scarlet the closer she came. “Don’t put that in my hair. You’ll destroy me. I’ve got a date this weekend.”
“You’re only date is going to be a bitch named Wanda in the clinker,” Scarlet said, her eyes beady and mean.
“I’ll talk! I’ll talk!” Kimmie said, her sobs uncontrollable.
This was not how my interpretation of the interrogation process had gone in my mind. I’d been expecting something a little more…violent.
“Who’s the surgeon?” I asked. “Another college friend?”
“Yes,” Kimmie said, slumping forward in her chair, her hair hanging down over her face. “Ashley Dunnegan.”
“What?” I asked, the shock on my face unmistakable. “Anthony Dunnegan’s wife?”
“Yes,” Kimmie answered.
“That can’t be,” I said. “I read over Ashley Dunnegan’s file when I looked through Anthony’s background. She’s a socialite. She’s never worked a day in her life.”
“Because that dickwad Anthony wouldn’t let her,” Kimmie said, rolling her eyes. “We all met during freshman year rush at University of Georgia. Ashley was pre-med and the smartest of all of us. She met Anthony her senior year and he charmed her until she was blind in love. The rest of us could see what a snake he was, but not Ashley.
“She started medical school after graduation and Anthony started law school. He was already cheating on her, but she never believed it. He hated the hours she had to put in, especially when she got into her fourth year. She was gone all the time and never had time to spend with him. So he’d console himself with a bunch of floozies on the side.
Ashley had decided she wanted to be a heart surgeon, and she was good at it. She would’ve graduated at the top of her class. And then during the last semester Anthony proposed to her and told her how important his career was going to be and all about his political ambitions. I’m sure you’ve heard he has his eye on the senate.”
“It’s been mentioned,” I said, thinking of Nick’s grandfather.
“Stella and I tried to talk her out of it,
but she said part of marriage was making sacrifices, and if Anthony thought they’d be better off with her being a full time hostess and wife to move his career forward, then that’s what she’d do. So she dropped out.”
“How long was it before she found out he was cheating on her?” I asked.
“Just a couple of years. She was devastated. He’d stopped trying to even hide it, and the women he slept with didn’t try to keep things quiet either. She’d thrown away her whole life for a man who didn’t give a shit. And that’s when we started putting our heads together. Anthony is a dick, but he’s an amazing attorney. She’d signed a pre-nup when they’d married because he’d told her he was set to inherit a lot of money from his grandparents, which was bullshit, but she signed it anyway. So we knew if she was going to leave him then she had to have a nest egg of her own that he couldn’t find or touch.
“I was already working as a nurse and Stella had her MBA and was hired by the American Transplant Foundation. Stella is smart as hell, so it wasn’t long before she was basically running the whole thing. And one night after a few glasses of wine and another bitch session about Anthony, the idea came to us. And it worked.
“Then all of a sudden we were coordinating more business than we knew what to do with and trying to figure out how to deal with all the money. We were only dealing with kidneys in the early days, and as brilliant as Ashley was, it had been a couple years since she’d been in the medical field so she had to practice on a couple of patients before she really started to get the hang of it.
“Then one day we each get an email telling us that we were being bought out. That we would continue our work as is, and in exchange this company would take care of the money side of things and hide it from the IRS and our spouses if we wished. This company would be a silent partner of sorts, and take care of all the hard stuff for us, and in exchange they’d take half the profit.
“We kind of freaked out at that because we weren’t charging as much in the early days as we are now. But the email told us we’d be making our services more exclusive. To higher risk patients who needed our services more. And that they’d pay more to stay alive.”