LINKED (The Bening Files Book 1)

by Rachel Trautmiller

  McKenna shook her hand and then covered her mouth. Never, in all their years of friendship had she hit Jordan out of anger. Her hand started to throb. “I can’t believe I did that.” She grabbed the box of tissue on her nightstand. “Let me look at it.”

  “No.” Jordan held up a hand. “Don’t.”

  “I’ll get you a cool washcloth.” McKenna rushed into her bathroom, ran water over one, and returned. “Here.”

  Jordan looked over a wad of tissues. “I guess that wasn’t the best way to poke fun at you.”

  McKenna dried her still damp hands on her pants. “I’m sorry.”

  “You always so eager to jump the gun?”

  “Only when you’re on the other end of it.” She was never going to live this down. “Do you need some ice?”

  “No, but you can fluff a pillow for me and feed me grapes.”

  “Forget it. I don’t feel that badly.”

  He had the nerve to grin. “Don’t you?”

  Yes, but only because she’d let her emotions carry her away before she could think like a rational woman. “Nope.”

  “How long have you wanted to punch me?”

  “Do you want that count in days, hours, and minutes?” She sat down beside him, tried not to accidentally let their bodies brush. Tried not to give into the insane urge to smooth back his hair and kiss him, then apologize until her throat hurt. “Haven’t you learned anything in all the years we’ve known each other?”

  “Yeah. When you throw a punch, you always aim for the face.”

  So, true. “I think you should have my dad look at it to make sure it isn’t broken.”

  “And have him ask why you punched me? I don’t think so. It’s not broken.” He looked to the ceiling. “I should get going. I need to verify Mr. Gaidies’ alibi.”

  “I already spoke with Balm Corp’s President, Clarence Roden. I would have told you earlier, but I—”

  “You were avoiding me.”

  She lifted the washcloth from his face and set it on her nightstand. “I still am. You just won’t leave me alone.”

  “How about we call a working truce?” He extended his hand. “We’ll figure the rest out as we go.”

  She eyed his hand as if it were a spider. “How do I know you won’t go out and file a divorce on me? Or better yet, announce to all of Charlotte that we’re happily married.”

  “Because.” He grabbed her hand and shook it. Even that small contact started a small fizzle through her arm and into her body. “The first would make you happy. And the second probably would involve another bloody body part.”

  She opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off. “A truce, McKenna.”

  “Fine. Do you normally get your mom flowers on her birthday?”

  He stood and rolled his eyes. “This again.”

  “It’s a simple question.”

  “Okay. Sometimes. Why?”

  “Your mom’s birthday was on Saturday.”

  He headed for the door. “Yeah, so?”

  They’d been in Las Vegas on Saturday. “So, who got her those flowers, if you didn’t?”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Amanda found a seat at the edge of the bar inside Don Pablo’s Mexican restaurant a little before ten.

  There were a few people seated around the bar, all of them watching the Tar Heels, Blue Devil’s game on the flat screen bolted in the upper right-hand corner of the bar. She ordered a club soda with a slice of lime as the Tar Heels scored a run and tied the game.

  Long before the neighborhood had been considered a traditional gated community, this building, along with the outdoor shops surrounding it, hadn’t existed.

  All that stood between McKenna and Amanda’s houses had been a dense population of Oak trees. The same had been true of Jordan’s house, only the distance a little farther. She, McKenna and Jordan had worn a path through the trees where Don Pablo’s now resided.

  They’d grown up in a time when you didn’t worry about your children going missing so much as disturbing your elderly neighbor’s peace. You knew and liked most of your neighbors. Backyard barbecues occurred more often than not. The kids played tag or swam in the pool while the adults argued about the best way to cook brats and hamburgers.

  Byron-Hill Estates had always boasted the wide, marble pillars at its entrance. The gate and security guard had come later. After the Jacob Wetterling kidnapping. And the JonBenet Ramsey murder. After Megan’s Law went into effect and a sex offenders registry became state and federal law.

  Many of the people who had lived in her surrounding part of the neighborhood had since moved, families she didn’t know taking over their houses and lawns, assuming new roles in the community.

  The Tar Heels scored another run before the Blue Devils were able to close out the top of the ninth inning.

  Yes, meeting Robinson here might be nothing more than a bad idea, but the detective in her, couldn’t pass up the opportunity.

  One of the men sitting across from her threw down some cash and vacated his seat. The tall, dark-haired bartender swiped his tip and cleaned the area in seconds. Amanda should have expected to see the blonde that slipped into the spot. Where there was Robinson, Kara Kimmel wasn’t far behind.

  Except she didn’t see Robinson anywhere.

  Kara flicked back her hair as the bartender neared. A flirtatious grin covered her face as she ordered a drink. The bartender braced one hand on the wooden surface near Robinson’s girlfriend, the towel he’d used to wipe the bar, slung over one shoulder. She laughed at something he said.

  Oh, yuck. Amanda took a gulp of her soda. Her phone vibrated at her hip. She brought it to her ear. “You’re missing the show, Robbie.”

  “Okay. I’m not sure what you’re referring to.”

  After paying for her drink, she slung her bag over her shoulder and headed for the exit. Going home was better than watching Robinson’s girlfriend flirt with every man. “Ms. Kimmel’s trying to get a free drink from the bartender here.”

  She pushed open the door exiting Don Pablo’s and stepped into the darkness that had settled around Charlotte and headed for her car parked across the street. She sidestepped a few small puddles from the rain, earlier in the day.

  “Not so hard, was it?”

  “What?”

  “You called her ‘Ms. Kimmel’ versus, oh, I don’t know, the first thing that popped into your head.”

  “Won’t make that mistake again.” She heard crinkling on the other end of the phone, as if Robinson had smashed a bag of chips up to the receiver. “Where are you?”

  “Sugar Creek Cemetery.”

  Guess she wasn’t going home, after all. She hopped into her Camry, started it and headed in the direction of Sugar Creek road. “Little early for grave robbing, isn’t it?”

  “Just get over here. I’ll explain everything.”

  “Really? Like why you’re not worried about the outcome of miss-extreme-flirt and hot-shot bartender?”

  A strained laugh came from him. “Remind me to tell Lawyer Boy that you’re checking out other men.”

  “Touchy subject?”

  “Get the lead out, Nettles.” Then he hung up.

  It took her a little over ten minutes to reach the cemetery and park her car. Weeping willows and various bushes guarded the entrance and gave the area a secluded feeling. If the moon hadn’t been out, it might have taken her longer to locate Robinson amidst the rows of headstones and family vaults, buried in bushes and flowering plants. She centered the flashlight from her glove compartment on him as she approached the B’s. The flicker from his own light swept the area. She stopped between the two Bening’s buried here. Hannah Bening-Blaney. Born December 17, 1976, Died December 24, 1976. Cassidy Bening. Born April 5, 1949, Died April 5, 1990.

  Oh, boy. She blew out a breath. “You can start explaining now.”

  “Bening needed a favor.” Robinson took the flashlight from between his teeth and tucked it into his coat pocket. He threw a pair of gloves
at her. “Watch your step.”

  She caught them and slipped them on. “Seriously?”

  “I fell in about six inches of mud.”

  “It rained for a whole five minutes.”

  He crouched on the far edge of Cassidy’s plot, directly opposite her. He’d bagged two vases in specimen bags, one filled with lilies, the other a smaller assortment of flowers ranging from roses to daisies. A corner of the newly greening grass was pulled up in the corner, almost as if someone had tugged a comforter back from the head of a bed. Mud covered the front of Robinson’s jeans, leaving a trail of black dirt and grass up to his knees.

  He wasn’t kidding. “Start talking, Robinson, before I call this in.”

  “Good to know you follow the rules when it matters. Don’t you find it odd that you didn’t slip anywhere on your way in here?” He came to stand next to her. “Shine your light here.” He knelt at her feet and lifted out a five-by-five inch section of grass as if it were nothing more than a large rice crispy bar.

  Not good. “Is the whole plot like that?”

  “There’s over one hundred of these rectangles, some of them implanted into the ground firmer than this one. The dirt under all this grass is loose. Really loose.”

  Soil eroded over time, became compacted, but the grass usually kept it intact. And each Cemetery had staff that tended to such things. She refused to believe what the facts pointed toward. “It would take a long time to dig up six plus feet of dirt.”

  Robinson shrugged. “Depends on how many people you have helping you. Or what machinery.”

  Amanda pointed her light toward the cemetery’s entrance and the ground surrounding it. “Did you see any tracks?”

  “Nope.”

  “What’s the motive? Why go to all that trouble?”

  “Something to hide.”

  “No.” Not after all this time.

  “Something to prove.” Robinson picked up a handful of moist dirt. It squished over his gloved hand.

  “A kid’s sick joke? Not everything is sinister in nature.”

  “Explain the grass, then.” He stood. “Kids don’t take the time to make sure the grass lays neat and flat when they’re done with their joke. For that matter, they won’t take the time to throw all the dirt back in either. A joke’s not so funny if no one gets it.” Robinson watched her like she held the key to what happened next.

  Because this case actually belonged to CMPD. Or it had. Amanda might have gloated over the fact, if it didn’t involve her friends.

  “Let’s say someone dug up her body. The process has to take several hours. You’re telling me nobody noticed?”

  “We’re standing here.” He removed his gloves and ran a hand through his hair.

  She flashed her light toward his head. It looked a little damp, but just as black as when he used his styling products. “Forget a step, Robbie? Or did you finish off the whole bottle this morning?”

  That hand ruffled through the short, inky strands again, then shielded his eyes. “Something like that. You mind getting that thing out of my face?”

  Hmm. “If we call in the techs, this place is going to be lit up brighter than Yankee Stadium. We’re going to draw a lot of attention.”

  “It’s that or we submit those flowers as evidence and see what that yields.”

  A string of curses, a mile long slammed into her brain. “We need more to go on. Captain Dentzen’s not going to approve digging up a grave on a whim.”

  “So, we wait another ten years for evidence that may never show up?”

  She could only imagine what this would do to Jordan. To McKenna, whether she’d admit it or not. “If we get down there and there’s no body, and this isn’t a practical joke, we’ve got a huge problem.”

  “We may already have one.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  If McKenna didn’t count the kiss she and Jordan shared or the black eye that followed, they’d managed to survive a week working together without mishap.

  Unfortunately, the black eye was easier to forget about than the kiss.

  There hadn’t been any repeat performances. That’s as far as she let the thought go. As long as she continued to evade her parents morning and evening, they could endure like this for the foreseeable future.

  She crossed the street, to Java Joe’s. Perhaps a strong cup of coffee would jolt her back to her pre-Las Vegas self. A gush of warm air and flavorful smells hit her when she opened the door and walked inside.

  Despite her misgivings, Jordan proved himself both smart and resourceful. A lethal combination for any perpetrator. As much as he kept her in the dark about his past—their past, he gave her all that and more on their case.

  He had a quiet way about doing his job that could get a wide variety of suspects to talk. On the other hand, she, as he liked to point out, preferred to scare people into talking, which only worked on a certain number of people.

  Agent Rogge, the biggest office suck-up, declared that they were the perfect working partnership, right before he announced that Rupert Dillon was on line one.

  McKenna planned to take the call, but Jordan beat her to the phone and scribbled coffee? on a sticky note, just before he told Rupert that she was out of the office.

  Taking that call would’ve proved she wouldn’t fold under pressure. Did Rupert have new questions or the same harassing ones as the last several calls? Neither she, nor Jordan could give him the answers he sought.

  The same thing must have occurred to him by now. So, what did he want?

  She walked up to the counter and ordered two venti mochas. Her phone vibrated at her hip. McKenna grabbed it and glanced at the number—the forensic lab.

  “Moore.” She tucked her phone between her head and shoulder so she could grab both cups of coffee.

  “Hey, McKenna. This is your soon-to-be sister-in-law.”

  “Kelly? I’m surprised my brother hasn’t made you quit yet.”

  “I’m ready. You know Noah’s ready. Plus, I’ve got a job lined up in Minnesota. It’s not too far from where we’ll live.”

  “This a personal call?”

  “No. Sorry. All I can think about is the wedding. Anyway, your partner, Jordan Bening—is that the same Jordan we grew up with?”

  “Would you believe me if I said no?”

  “He’s still as cute as ever.” She giggled. “Not as cute as Noah.”

  Cute? The word didn’t do Jordan justice. McKenna cleared her throat.

  “Sorry. He wanted a vase analyzed a few days ago and I have the results. I saw you were both on the Gaidies case, so I thought I’d catch up with you.”

  “Is this a...the glass vase?” McKenna’s hands were sweaty. Why had Jordan sent the vase to the lab? And under the Gaidies case?

  “It’s Murano glass. It dates back to the 1920’s. There are only a few dealers in the United States. There’s a couple in California, one in New York and South Carolina. This vase is worth two thousand dollars, easily. It’s hand blown. You’ll only find a few that look similar.”

  “Who would spend that kind of money on a vase?” For a dead woman? Jordan didn’t have that kind of money, not that she knew of.

  “It’s an expensive gift, if you ask me.”

  No kidding. “Any fingerprints?”

  “That’s the problem. The only shop that would sell something like this is Flowers De Char Lynn. It’s that shop downtown. I’m willing to bet that most of these prints on this glass belong to employees. Rupert Dillon’s prints are the only match I’ve got so far.”

  Everything in her brain stopped working for half a second. “You’re sure?”

  “I checked twice. He’s not in the thick of things with his mother’s death, is he?”

  McKenna didn’t know. “You got an address for Flowers De Char Lynn?”

  “It’s on Third Street, literally around the corner from you.”

  “Would you mind sending a report to Bening?”

  “Uh, sure. No problem.”

 
“Thanks, Kelly.” McKenna hung up and clipped her phone back on her hip. She’d barely had time to let the information sink in when Amanda appeared beside her, a cup of coffee in hand.

  “What’s up?” Amanda mixed creamer and six packets of sugar into her coffee. Yuck.

  “Your blood sugar, in a minute.”

  She sighed. “I need the sugar more than the caffeine.”

  “Long night?”

  The other woman capped her coffee and they headed for the door and exited the shop. “A few of them. I know, I know. I look like a banana peel left out in the sun. I think I even scared Eric this morning.”

  McKenna shook her head. “That man adores you.”

  A small smile graced her friend’s face. “You don’t even have one circle under your eyes.”

  “Concealer. My one vice.”

  Amanda sipped her coffee and sighed. “You notice Mr. Gaidies never leaves his office?” She nodded in the direction of the monstrosity of Balm Corp’s offices, which sat amidst Charlotte’s varying skyline.

  “He’s a hermit.”

  “Have you ruled anyone out?”

  “Mr. Gaidies was the last person to see her alive. And his alibi checks out. For now. Then there’s their daughter, Gretchen, who’s seven and a half months pregnant. She lives in Washington State and, besides flying in the night of the murder, hasn’t left home or spoken to her parents in over a year.”

  “Family falling out?”

  McKenna rolled her eyes. “According to Rupert, no, but in case you haven’t noticed, he likes to pretend everything is perfect.”

  Amanda shrugged. “Some people aren’t close with their parents.”

  Maybe that was true, but McKenna didn’t think that was the case this time. “The only prints we’ve found in the house are Mr. Gaidies, Mrs. Gaidies, Rupert’s and the housekeepers.”

  “Alibi’s?”

  “Mr. Gaidies was at work. Verified by both his time card, phone records and the security staff. The housekeeper left at five and arrived home shortly after, where she stayed, according to her husband, for the evening.”

  “Rupert have an alibi?”