Pink Neon Dreams

by Pink Neon Dreams [Evernight] (mobi)

  Naked as the day she’d been born, Cecily joined Daniel to finish the wine. Neither bothered to dress and they interacted, listening to some music in harmony. When they came back to bed, by silent consent, they didn’t make love again but slept or tried to rest. Her last awareness was his hand resting on her back, a steady reminder of his presence. She didn’t dream and he woke her early, before dawn.

  “Querida, it’s time to get up,” he said.

  She blinked open her eyes to find him fully dressed, fresh from the shower. Cecily reached up to touch his hair and found it damp. The aroma of coffee wafted through the house and she frowned. “What time is it?”

  “Early but we’ve got a lot to do. Coffee’s ready and I’ve been out to bring back some breakfast.”

  Her mind didn’t want to compute yet. “Huh?”

  “I brought back something to eat, some sausage and egg biscuits.”

  After groping for her robe, Cecily staggered into the kitchen and he poured her a cup of java. He’d made it strong, but the robust flavor awakened her senses enough to think. After two cups, she ate the breakfast sandwich he offered. “So why am I up this early if we don’t need to be there until eleven?”

  Daniel offered a quiet smile. “It takes almost an hour to drive to Springfield. And you’ll want time to get ready, too. It’s important you wear the right kind of outfit, chica.”

  “True,” she said. So now he’s going to be my fashion consultant. “What do you mean ‘right kind of outfit’? You gonna tell me what to wear?”

  His expression turned serious as a thunderstorm. “Yeah, I am. I’ve been through more interviews than I can count and it matters what you wear. The agents will judge you by your clothing to some extent.”

  It made sense. She learned early people judged who and what you were by the clothes on your back, but she didn’t much like it. “So what am I supposed to wear?”

  “I looked through your closet,” he said and raised a hand. “Don’t get mad. I’m doing this to help you. You’ve got a navy skirt suit with a jacket. Wear it with a nice blouse, nothing low cut or flashy.”

  “Uh-huh,” Cecily said. He’d picked the outfit she would have anyway. “Anything else? Want me to undo my braids or something?”

  Daniel eyes narrowed with interest. “How hard would it be?”

  Irritated, she snapped, “It’s not very hard to take them out but its hell to put them back. I have them done every week, even here. Do you really think I need to change my hairstyle?”

  He laughed. “No, querida, I don’t. I like your hair. It suits you.”

  The compliment pleased her. “Thanks,” she said. “I guess I’ll go shower if you’re going to empty the coffee pot.”

  “I will,” he said. “Be ready by nine, though. I want plenty of time to get there.”

  By the time she showered, did her make-up with style and a little glamour, and picked a navy, red and black pinstriped blouse, it was after eight. Cecily donned the suit, slid into hose and stuck her feet into the only pair of pumps she’d brought from Chicago. Thank God they were navy, too. She spritzed on perfume and picked up her handbag, then sauntered out to where Daniel waited in the living room. He glanced up from The Weather Channel and grinned.

  “So will I do?” she asked.

  “Oh, yeah,” he said. “Let’s go before I get tempted.”

  En route Daniel quizzed her with the kind of questions he expected the agents would ask. Cecily found most of them to be intrusive and some downright nosey. “How much do they want to know?”

  “Everything they can get out of you,” he said. “Every word can be a piece of the puzzle. Now, not for the interview but for me, who else knew about the home safe or that he kept precious stones and jewelry in it?”

  His question required thought. After a few minutes, she said, “Most of the staff knew about it and so did a few of his employees from Bradford’s Gems and Jewelry. I imagine some of his friends were aware. Maybe even some of his lovers, if he brought them home. I’d have to make a list. Do I need to start one?”

  Daniel shook his head. “Not yet. We’ll see how today plays out first.”

  Cecily wasn’t much into prayer but right now, she could use any and all assistance. Her inner conversation with the Almighty occupied her thoughts until they rolled into Springfield, a place she’d never visited until now. On her way down from St. Louis, she took a route she now realized went out of the way, but Nia had promised it’d be scenic. It had been that, she mused, with fantastic views of the Ozark Mountains. “Have you been here before?” she asked Daniel.

  “Here in Springfield or at the FBI office?”

  “Either one.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, I’ve been here. This is a satellite office under our jurisdiction out of Kansas City.”

  “So do you know the agents?”

  “Not really,” he said. “I’ve met them, nothing more.”

  Maybe she’d watched too many movies and crime television programs, but the modern office building tucked away off one of the city’s main thoroughfares wasn’t what Cecily expected. The local FBI office shared quarters in the large structure with dentists, architects, lawyers, and consultants she noted from the building directory as they entered. Her heels tapped out an adagio rhythm as she struggled to keep up with Daniel’s long stride as he headed for the elevators. “Slow down, sugar,” she said. “What’s your rush?”

  “I just want to get it over with,” he said. His mouth made a grim line instead of the grin she adored. His stern appearance stretched her nerves tighter than new barb wire. “And, baby, I have to act professional, like I barely know you so don’t get mad.”

  “I won’t, sugar.” She could put on an aloof act too and did, face schooled into a bland mask. Cecily added a little jive to her step. “Just give me any last hints.”

  “Just be you,” Daniel said. A faint smile flirted with his lips before it vanished under his stern façade. “But don’t be too much of a smart ass or you might piss someone off.”

  “Me?” she asked with faux innocence.

  The elevator doors opened outside the FBI suite and Cecily noticed how Daniel stood straighter, shoulders squared in a military type stance. He gave her a brusque nod to direct her where to go and she stepped toward the indicated direction. Then he held open the door so she could walk into the office. With calm she didn’t own, she strolled in and he followed. A mature man, fifty or so, wearing a dark suit, white shirt, and red tie came forward to meet then.

  “Agent Padilla,” he said. “Thank you. It’s been awhile.”

  She watched Daniel shake hands. “Yes, it has. How’s Trina?”

  “She’s great, still working at the school and selling Avon on the side. Is this Mrs. Bradford?”

  In response to the name she’d come to loathe, Cecily stood up tall. “No,” she said. “My name is Cecily Brown now.”

  Daniel’s tight lips twitched but in a brisk tone he said, “Tillman, this is the former Mrs. Willard Bradford. She gained her maiden name back as part of her divorce. Ms. Brown, this is Agent Frank Tillman.”

  Frank extended his hand and after a pause, Cecily shook it. “Come on back to the conference room and we’ll talk.”

  He pointed so she walked into the room, basic and bland. A long table seating twelve claimed most of the space and two other people sat there, waiting. Her stomach clenched tight enough to ache. Cecily’s awareness of Daniel a few paces behind became heightened, but when his footfalls stopped she almost panicked. “We’ll take it from here,” Tillman told Daniel. “Martin wants our fresh input and impressions. You can watch, though.”

  She’d counted on his presence to keep her grounded, needed his silent support. Although she didn’t dare turn around, Cecily became cold as if a January wind brushed her. When directed, she sat down at the table as directed. The other agents introduced themselves although she didn’t catch their names because she was distracted trying to determine Daniel’s location.

 
; Tillman switched on a digital recorder. “Let’s get started. You’re Cecily Brown, also known as Mrs. Willard Bradford IV, correct?”

  “That’s right.”

  “How long were you married to Mr. Bradford?”

  “About ten years.”

  “When did you get divorced?”

  “A few months ago,” she replied, palms clammy with sweat. She linked her hands together in her lap so they wouldn’t tremble. Although she had nothing to hide, the informal interrogation made her nervous.

  “So after ten years why did you decide to end the marriage? It was you who filed, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, it was.”

  So far the questions were routine, but Cecily suspected things were about to get intense, judging by the smirk on the head interviewer’s face. And she proved to be right when he said, “And you’re angry about the divorce, correct?”

  “No,” she replied. “I’m not.”

  “But you’re upset you didn’t get half of your ex-husband’s vast fortune, aren’t you?”

  Anger uncurled deep in her belly like a stretching cat. “I didn’t want his damn money,” Cecily said with some heat. “I asked for what seemed like enough money to help me start over. I know enough about the law and how it works. Illinois is a common law property state, not community. I wouldn’t have had a shot at getting half anyway. Will, uh, Willard had better lawyers than that.”

  “Aren’t you bitter you couldn’t get more? What did you end up with? Wasn’t it a quarter of a million?”

  His voice slashed into her private life, razor sharp. “If you’re asking, you already know,” Cecily said. Her struggle to keep a lid on her simmering temper was about to fail. “I didn’t want more. I figure I earned that much in ten years of putting up with him.”

  Frowning, Tillman drummed his fingers against the table top. “C’mon. Don’t tell me you settled for two hundred and fifty thousand when you could have asked for millions. Isn’t the truth that you did some math after the fact and decided to get more?”

  “No.”

  “Where were you on the day Willard was shot to death by an unknown assailant on the steps of the house you called home for a decade?”

  Fear gnawed within with claws. At first, Cecily had thought Daniel might be a little paranoid, jaded by years in the same job. Then she realized maybe not and she became afraid. Until this moment, she hadn’t tasted true terror. The intrusive questions were an attempt to finger her, mark her guilty. “I was in Branson, getting ready to open a boutique, Pink Neon.”

  “How long had you been in town?”

  “About a month, I think,” Cecily said.

  “Is there someone who can vouch for your whereabouts?”

  The honest answer would be ‘no’. Sure, she’d dealt with the realtor and other business people, stayed at the hotel, ate in local restaurants but now, six weeks after her initial arrival, she didn’t know how many would remember. Despite her minority among the mostly white tourists, people came and went daily in Branson. Most of the locals exhibited a ‘here today, gone tomorrow’ philosophy and she couldn’t be certain they’d recall one black chick with cornrowed hair.

  “For every minute? No,” she answered. “Give me dates and times, maybe I can document some of it. I stayed at a hotel until I rented a house. The realtor who rented me my shop and found the house can account for some of my time, but not all of it.”

  “So you had plenty of time to head back to Chicago, break into your former residence, and shoot your former husband to death?”

  Cecily drew breath to answer, but the door slammed open. Daniel’s voice rang out with volume and clarity. “Tillman, you’re out of line. There’s no reason to believe Ms. Brown returned to Chicago after she left town.”

  Frank Tillman paused. Red suffused his cheeks with an unhealthy glow and he glowered. “Padilla, it’s my inquiry, not yours.”

  “You’re pushing an agenda here, not questioning a person of interest.”

  She didn’t dare look at Daniel, afraid she’d reveal their connection so she stared at the table.

  “Bullshit.” Tillman snorted. “I’m trying to establish if motive exists and if she had opportunity to commit the crime. I see motive—money can be a powerful motivator and now I’d say there’s opportunity if she can’t account for her time, especially if she can’t validate any of it.”

  If she didn’t speak up, she’d be charged next. “I can account for my time,” Cecily snapped. She lifted her head and caught sight of Daniel, serious and sober-faced standing just inside the door. “I never realized I’d need an alibi or witnesses, since I had no idea someone would take down Willard.”

  “What did you do with the jewels, Ms. Brown? Did you fire the weapon or hire someone professional?” Tillman’s voice slammed into her consciousness. “If I search your house, your business, or your car, will I find the gems and jewelry or is it gone?”

  Cecily alternated between a rage so powerful she’d smite the son-of-a-bitch if she could and an urge to weep. As she tried to form a credible answer, Daniel spoke up. “You’re out of line, Frank,” he said. “You’ve got no evidence to get warrants, nothing but the fact no one’s turned up any other possible suspects.”

  “I can get warrants,” Tillman replied in a smug voice.

  “It’s impossible unless you come up with something more than you’ve got,” Daniel said. “You’d have to look into her stories, verify her presence in Branson. Unless you can prove some blank spots, you’ve got nothing. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to pin the crime on Ms. Brown.”

  His words sucked the air from the room and left it still, a terrible calm before an approaching storm. Tillman glared at Daniel, but he never looked at Cecily. “Is that an accusation, Agent Padilla?”

  Daniel’s dark eyes smoldered. Damn he can be lethal and I like it. I’m ready to haul ass out of here anytime. I wish he’d take me home.

  “No, not yet,” Daniel said. “I call things as I see them, though. You need to back off.”

  “You need to butt out. Ms. Brown, how did it feel when you shot your ex-husband in the head? Did you enjoy it? Was it payback for something he did during your marriage?”

  With a flourish, Tillman ripped sheets from a folder and tossed down crime scene photos in front of Cecily. Willard lay in a puddle of blood, face half-gone, and brain matter leaking into the gore. No matter how much she’d come to loath the man, the pictures upset Cecily. She might’ve grown up in a piss poor neighborhood but nothing prepared her for such vivid evidence of violence. The graphic images sickened her and would no matter who it was sprawled in death. Cecily gasped and looked away, but Tillman picked up one of the photos and thrust it in her face. “Take a closer look, Ms. Brown. Did you do this? Is this your handiwork or did you hire it done?”

  Daniel grasped the photo and tossed it face down onto the table. “It’s over,” he said with a snarl. “You’re out of line, big time, Frank. Ms. Brown, I apologize for this ugliness. You’re free to go. Come on, I’ll drive you back to Branson.”

  Cecily managed to stand and nod. “Thank you, Mr. Padilla.”

  “I won’t forget this,” Daniel said, his eyes locked with Tillman’s. “I brought this woman in good faith for an interview, not an interrogation. You went far beyond the parameters we’re allowed.”

  Tillman shook his head. “Martin’s going to hear about this, all of it. I’m convinced she’s guilty and that’s what I’ll tell him. Ms. Brown, I’d suggest you don’t leave Branson and make sure we can find you. Padilla, you’re going to have to answer for this insubordination.”

  “Do what you have to,” Daniel said. “And so will I.”

  He lifted his hand toward the door so Cecily walked out of it. Daniel followed. He said nothing, but he punched the elevator button with more force than necessary. When the doors parted, she entered and so did he. In the privacy of the brief descent, Daniel pulled her into his arms. “I’m so sorry, querida,” he said.
“I knew it would be difficult, but I didn’t expect it to be so ugly.”

  “It’s not your fault,” she said. “What now?”

  Daniel shook his head. “Let’s get the hell out of here first. Then we talk.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Head held high despite her inner turmoil, Cecily strolled through the lobby and outside. She gasped to fill her lungs with air, inhaling the late summer scent of just mown grass and dust. Her legs threatened to buckle under, but she managed the few steps to Daniel’s car. He hadn’t spoken since the elevator, maybe because he figured they remained under scrutiny.

  After he unlocked the car and held the door for her, Cecily crawled into the seat and resisted an urge to bury her face in her hands. Her feet hurt from the heels and she kicked them off before Daniel slid behind the wheel. He shot her a sympathetic glance but said nothing, just started the car and pulled out into traffic. By the time he merged onto a busy main thoroughfare, Cecily’s breathing reached a normal, even rhythm. She thought it must be mid-afternoon or later, but the clock on the digital dashboard confirmed it was just after noon.

  “Where are we headed?” she asked.

  At the traffic light, he stopped in queue and took her hand. “You okay?”

  “I guess,” she said although her stomach ached and a headache threatened. “That was awful.”

  “Yeah and I’m sorry,” Daniel replied. “I didn’t expect it to be so intense. I’ll buy you lunch if you want.”

  “Uh-uh,” she said. Food lacked any appeal. “My tummy’s upset and I’d rather just go home.”

  “Sure,” he said. “Do you want to stop for a Sprite or something?”

  She started to refuse but then she nodded. “Yeah, thanks. Maybe we could pick up something for my headache, too.”