“Tox?”
“Yep. Looked him up myself one day after he and Alson nearly tore down the set during one of their fights. His real name is Tarquin Jones. Look him up if you don’t believe me. You’ll find all kinds of fun charges.” He smiled with disgust. “Makes sense . . . I get fired for someone else’s mistake but the felon keeps his job. That’s it. I need another drink. If you need me, I’ll be over there, trying to build up the courage to beg Nancy for my job back.”
I watched Perry make his way back to the bar. His suggestions, initially outlandish, began to make sense as I thought back over all I had learned that day. Alson threw a steak knife at Tox who retaliated by hitting Alson where ‘it wouldn’t leave a mark.’ Tox also admitted to being a bouncer on the Strip and surrounded by the dark underbelly of Los Angeles, which was seething with crime, corruption, and drugs. Was it possible that such a killer was hiding in plain sight?
19
“Aggravated battery, one count, possession of marijuana, three counts, possession of drug paraphernalia, two counts, possession of schedule one, one count, simple battery, two counts—”
“How long is this list?” I took a sip of my overpriced Perrier as Jon read off the charges filed against Tarquin ‘Tox’ Jones in Los Angeles County. He paused. Fifteen seconds later, I asked, “Are you still reading? Geez . . . how’s this guy still on the streets?”
“Nah, I was just thinking, how do you commit aggravated battery on someone after smoking a joint?” Jon shook his head. “Makes no sense . . . pot’s supposed to calm someone down, not make ‘em angry.”
“How many charges?”
“Looks like ten in LA.” Jon handed me the phone. I scrolled through the list. The county’s online records archive suggested the aggravated battery was reduced to simple battery and two of the drug charges were dismissed. It also stated he hadn’t been charged for a crime in LA in almost eight years.
“So he’s got a bunch of misdemeanors.” Pinching the bridge of my nose, I sighed. “All right, let’s look at what we know. Last week, Alson got Perry Holcombe fired. This week, Perry sent Alson a death threat. But he was in Arizona this morning so he couldn’t have tampered with the skis. Plus, he wouldn’t have known about the new script so he couldn’t have planned this . . . Zeke Rivers was the last person to use the skis. But he doesn’t seem a likely suspect. That leaves Tox, Alson’s bodyguard. He and Alson have a rocky relationship compounded by the fact Tox got a little too friendly with Alson’s mommy. Now Alson wants to fire him. Allegedly.”
“And Tox has a rap sheet,” Jon added.
“True, but he hasn’t been charged with any new crimes in, like, a decade. He’s got a steady job . . . looks like he’s cleaned up his act.”
“Everything is pointing to him,” Jon countered. “He had the means, the motive, and a wicked bad temper. No one would think twice about him walking around the set. And no one would dare to ask him what he was doing there. That gives him the opportunity.”
“But, he knew Alson wasn’t there! Why would he risk this if Alson were a no show? And I saw him this morning! He wasn’t anywhere near the set.”
“Were you with him all morning?”
“Well, no,” I frowned. “As soon as Heather got the lift tickets, we went skiing with Trip.”
“Which gave him plenty of time to get to the trail where the crew was setting up, right?”
“I guess so,” I admitted, taking another sip of water. “This just feels . . . wrong. I feel like we’re missing something here. It feels too obvious.”
“You’re over-thinking things. As usual.”
“No, I’m not,” I frowned. “Tox was terrified by the thought that Alson had taken drugs and was overdosing somewhere. He almost beat a maid to a bloody pulp over it. Why would he care so much if he planned to hurt him or worse?”
“Uh, hello? You’re surrounded by Hollywood,” Jon scoffed, leaning back against the leather booth. “Did it ever cross your mind he was acting?”
“Did it ever cross your mind there are people out there who don’t act?” I retorted. The look on his face suggested it hadn’t. “Look, I’ve spent a lot of time with Tox today. A lot more time than I’d like. He has a bad temper, but he doesn’t act, he reacts. Whoever did this planned it out. Whoever did this thought it through . . . he didn’t just rush onto the set and snap the skis in half. Maybe Tox did do it . . . but it doesn’t seem likely.”
“All right, let’s say it wasn’t the most obvious suspect,” Jon conceded, rolling his eyes. “Tell me, if it wasn’t the irate bodyguard, who did it?”
Before I had a chance to reply, my cell phone rang. For a split second, I thought it may have been Rick. My heart leapt into my throat at the thought, but when I pulled it out of my pocket, I realized it was Heather. Trying to hide my disappointment, I said, “What’s up?”
“We’re going back out,” she declared amid a myriad of almost deafening background noise.
“What?” I pressed the phone against my ear.
“We’re going back to the Serenity trail,” she explained, a little louder. “We’re gonna try to get a scene in before it gets too dark. That way, we’ll only have to film three scenes tomorrow and maybe we can have some semblance of a Thanksgiving—”
“Nancy’s on board with this?” I asked. “I mean, shouldn’t you guys hold off considering what’s happened to Trip and Alson? Jon and I are really making some headway here and it doesn’t make sense to risk anyone else’s—”
“Jordan, I totally see where you’re coming from, but you’ve got to look at it from her perspective,” Heather interrupted. “The studio shelled out some major bank to get us out here. If we don’t give them something . . . let’s just say it’d be bad.”
“If you say so. Anyway, I’m impressed you finished the script. That was fast.”
“Yeah,” she agreed. “We couldn’t have done it without Dr. Rosie. She convinced Nancy we should go back to the original script where it’s just Roch and his girls. With all that’s happened and Trip—what’s that? Hold on, Jordan.” In the background, I heard a familiar, silky voice that rose above the others. “That’s a great idea!”
“What’s a great idea?”
“Huh? Oh, Dr. Rosie made a suggestion for a change that could make the scene even better!”
“Oh, yeah? What’s that?” I asked, trying my best to hide my disdain.
“Uh huh,” she muttered as she typed, the rapid clicking of keys echoing over the phone line.
“What about Trip?”
“Hold on.” The sound of clicking continued. “Don’t let your tears flow. Okay, got it. Yeah, I think that’ll be great!”
“Don’t let your tears flow? What are you talking about? Heather?”
“Right, we should definitely—”
“Heather!”
“What?”
“What’s going on?” I demanded. “What were you saying about letting tears flow?”
“Right, okay. Look, Jordan, I’ve gotta run. Just meet me at the Serenity trail, okay? We can go over what you’ve learned there. Later.”
Before I could say another word, the call ended. I stared down at the phone in stunned silence. Heather and I had been best friends for almost twenty years. We’d been there for each other for everything from bad break ups to job promotions. She knew me better than my own family. I always thought it was reciprocal. But standing there at that moment, I found myself doubting all I knew.
The person who ended that phone call was not the same person who helped me get over being dumped before prom by planning a girls’ night out instead. It wasn’t the same person who gave me the courage to tell my parents I wanted to go to Brown when they had decided I would attend my sister Alicia’s alma-mater. Although she looked and sounded like my best friend, the words Heather spoke
were not her own. It was as if someone had given her a script to read or she had become a character in someone else’s storyline. The Heather I knew would never put money or work above the lives and safety of her coworkers and friends. Something was wrong. And I had every intention of figuring it out.
“What’s going on?” Jon demanded, interrupting my troubling thoughts.
“They’re going back out to film.” I shoved the phone in my pocket.
“They’re what?” he exclaimed, his jaw dropping. “But that’s . . . we don’t even know what happened yet! Why would they . . . so they’re just gonna give the murderer another chance to finish the job? What genius came up with that plan?”
“I don’t know,” I sighed. “But Alson’s out of the picture for now so . . . maybe it’ll be okay.”
“Maybe it’ll be okay?” he repeated, his green eyes widening. “Did you drop acid, too, or have you just decided to eighty-six common sense? Jordan, you watched somebody die today. You yourself said he was murdered. What makes you think everything’s gonna be sunshine and lollipops with a killer on the loose? And what about what’s-his-face? They gonna leave those two alone? That’s brilliant.”
“You’re right. They don’t suspect Tox of anything so they wouldn’t think twice about leaving him alone with Alson,” I frowned, brushing my hair back. I paused for a minute, thinking. “I still don’t think he’s our guy, but better safe than sorry. Could you go back to Rosalyn’s suite? You could say you were . . . grabbing my jacket and then you could check on them.”
“You want me to play errand boy? What are you gonna do while I’m getting your dirty laundry?”
“Jon, stop,” I groaned. “We don’t have time for this. I’m going to talk to the manager on duty and see if the resort has any, like, security or something who could guard Alson. You know, just in case.”
“And why would a posh resort have rent-a-cops for their guests? Especially when he has a bodyguard?” When I stared at him, he shrugged. “Just playing devil’s advocate here. They’re gonna ask.”
“All I have to do is say there’ve been death threats,” I retorted. “One person’s already died today. I’m sure management will do whatever they can to keep this place from getting a bad rep. And Tox shouldn’t be suspicious if you say the resort wanted to beef up his security because of what happened earlier.”
“Oh, great, make me the messenger boy, too,” he frowned. “You do know what happens to messengers with bad news, right? Especially when they’re dealing with cold-blooded killers.”
“Jon, give me a break here! I’m doing my best.” I jumped to my feet. “I’ve never dealt with a case like this before.”
“What? You mean a murder investigation? Hmm . . . pretty sure we solved the biggest unsolved murder in Boston’s history a couple of years back.”
“No, this is different.” I shook my head. “I’m out of my league here. I’ve gotta talk to Heather.”
“Fine, whatever.” He slammed his fists on the table and then stormed out of the restaurant. Groaning, I followed him out into the lobby and up to the elevators where he punched the gold-plated buttons with his fists.
“Jon, cut it out,” I hissed, glancing over at the desk clerk shooting icy daggers in our direction with her clear-blue eyes. “You’re going to get us thrown out of here and that could cost Heather—”
“Her job.” He whirled around to face me. “Yeah, I got that the first fifty times you said it.”
“What’s your problem?”
“Nothing!” He punched the up button again.
“Uh-uh.” I shook my head and grabbed his hand as he reached out to attack the defenseless elevator button again. “If you have something to say, say it. This is not the time for petty—”
“Petty?” he repeated, ripping his hand from my grasp and balling it into a tight fist. “You think I’m petty?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Actually, that’s exactly what you meant.” He smiled bitterly as he stared at the illuminated numbers above the elevators as they began their descent. “I mean absolutely nothing to you.”
“Jon, that’s so not true.”
“Yeah, it is,” he argued, refusing to meet my gaze. “I’ve never been anything but an afterthought and I’m sick of it. I’ve done everything for you, but it’s never enough. At the end of the day, it’ll always be him. I’m done.”
“Jon, wait. Please—”
He didn’t reply. The elevator to the far left chimed as it opened. He stormed inside. I ran after him, but hesitated at the threshold. While my brain screamed at me to get on that elevator and talk to him, explain to him how much he meant to me to calm him down, my heart gave me pause. He must have sensed my conflict, because at that moment, he looked at me.
When our gazes met, guilt overwhelmed me because I knew I couldn’t tell him what he wanted to hear. As quickly as our eyes locked, he turned away and began punching the buttons until the doors shut. I stood there, staring at my distorted reflection in the shiny, gold-plated steel. Suddenly, I felt very alone.
In my life, I’d always prided myself on having it together and not needing anyone. It was the reason I didn’t hesitate to move fifteen hundred miles from home for college or to start up my own investigation firm in a town where I knew no one. I’ve always been a strong, independent woman. I’ve always been in control. But now?
As my thoughts shifted between Jon and Rick, it suddenly occurred to me just how much I relied on them both. In two years, they had become the family I never knew I needed and the thought of losing either of them frightened me to my very core. I not only wanted them both in my life, I needed them there. Thinking about Rick brought to mind the photos of him in London with the beautiful redhead. I swallowed hard, fighting back the tears as the painful memory threatened to consume me with overwhelming sorrow.
“Um, miss? Excuse me, miss?” I turned around to find Dan, the bellhop from the night before, standing in front of me with a worried look on his face. “Are you all right? Can I get you anything?”
“I’m fine,” I insisted, forcing a smile as I cleared my throat. “But, could I speak with the manager on duty?”
“Manager?” he repeated, frowning in a manner that accentuated the wrinkles on his forehead. “Is there anything wrong with your room? I could get housekeeping—”
“No, it’s nothing like that,” I shook my head. “Our room is fine. I just need to speak to a manager. It’s important.”
“I understand,” he nodded and turned towards the front desk. Pausing, he glanced back. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?”
“Thank you, but no.” As he hurried off to find the manager, I muttered, “I’ve got to do this one myself.”
20
“May I help you?” A man dressed in a dark blue suit with thinning brown hair and pointy features rounded the corner with Dan, the bellhop, in tow. Instead of walking up to me, he hurried behind the lobby’s front desk and placed his long, thin fingers on the shiny counter.
I hesitated, glancing around the lobby, which was suddenly filled with skiers and snowboarders coming back after a long day on the slopes. While most of them headed off to their rooms or into the Black Diamond, there were a few that lingered in the lobby. Leaning close, I explained, “This is a very serious matter. Is there somewhere we can speak in private?”
The manager stared at me for several long moments, his beady, black eyes narrowing. Having dealt with all types of people in my line of work, I’ve become apt at recognizing when I’m dealing with a hostile individual, regardless of his or her connection to my case. Call it woman’s intuition or whatever you want, I’m pretty good at reading people. I could tell in an instant this guy, who did nothing to mask his snobbish disdain, had no interest in talking to me. Tapping his fingers on the front desk, he accuse
d, “Are you with that film crew?”
“Yeah,” I nodded, reminding myself that this was technically true as the issue I needed to discuss involved the show’s star.
“I don’t know why Mr. Chambers authorized such a bourgeois arrangement,” he sighed heavily, shaking his head and raising his eyes to the heavens like a dying martyr. “I cannot imagine there is anything more demeaning to our guests than to share an exceptional resort like this with your kind.”
“What?”
“You,” he seethed, pointing at me with disgust. “You entertainers are the lowest species known to mankind. Our resort caters to a high-quality clientele. We’ve housed CEOs, Senators, and even royalty. Did you know a Moroccan prince stayed with us last year? He could have gone anywhere . . . the Alps, Aspen, anywhere, but no, he chose Paix du Rockies. Do you know why?”
“Affordable accommodations and plenty of vacancies?”
At this, his beady eyes narrowed even further and for a split second, I thought he might jump over the counter and attack me. I wonder if this guy was an actual reptile in a past life.
“No,” he hissed, his tiny white teeth gleaming. “It’s because our resort is the finest in the world! But now? Once word gets out a . . . sitcom . . . filmed here . . . well, we may as well close our doors forever. The exclusivity of Paix, the pleasant, private getaway it once was that drew dignitaries and royalty to us will be replaced by throngs of rabid tourists hoping to ‘Instagram a pic’ of themselves where your vile show filmed in a vain attempt to find purpose in their tiresome lives.”
“This conversation is vile and tiresome.” I realized as soon as I said it that I’d made a huge mistake. Thankfully, he was too high on his metaphorical soapbox to notice I had said anything. After listening to him belittle the entertainment industry for several long moments, I decided the time for politeness had passed. “Hey! I totally get it. You hate Hollywood. Good for you. But I didn’t come here to listen to some sycophantic rant, all right? I came here because I need help.”
Bitter Retribution (Jordan James, PI Series) Page 21