Who Glares Wins (Lexi Graves Mysteries)

by Camilla Chafer

  "I've seen everything for now," I said. "Does the super know Marissa is gone?"

  "No, and I know she's paid up for another month. If she comes back, there won't be a problem. If she doesn't..." Elisabeth didn't need to finish her sentence. If she didn't come back inside a month, she probably wasn't coming back. If she came back outside a month, she would be homeless.

  "I have a couple more questions," I said. "First, how do you know someone was in here?"

  "I came by when Marissa missed our lunch date, then didn't answer her cell. That's when I knew she was missing and reported it. When I came by, things were... I don't know. Something felt out of place. A book was moved on her coffee table. There was some soil on the floor next to the big planter; a drawer wasn’t quite closed in the kitchen. I know someone went through here."

  "Good enough for me. Does Marissa have a passport?"

  "No."

  "Have you spoken to her other friends?"

  "Yeah. They think it's weird too. Marissa is really reliable."

  "Did the police speak to them?"

  Elisabeth cocked her head to one side. "I don't think so."

  "Do your friends know you've spoken to me?"

  This time, Elisabeth nodded. "We all got together Saturday and I told them I spoke to you. They thought it was a good idea."

  "I'm going to pay them a visit," I told her, "but I'd appreciate it if you didn't say I was coming by."

  "Sure. How come?"

  "I don't want it to be formal," I said smoothly and Elisabeth just nodded. What I really meant was, I didn't want them to think too much about Marissa, more than they already were, because the brain can do funny things. It can get bogged down in conjecture and miss important bits. It also gave people more time to make up lies and get their stories straight. I didn't know if this would happen here, but I couldn’t rule it out.

  Elisabeth locked up behind us after making sure all lights were off. "What happens next?" she asked me as we walked down the stairs.

  "I'll look into her temp agency," I said. "And I'll make some more inquiries."

  Elisabeth didn't look too impressed.

  "Listen, it takes time," I said, gently. "I'll be in touch soon and let you know how I'm getting on."

  "Okay," she nodded. "I'm sorry today wasn't much help."

  "It was plenty of help," I said, and this time, I wasn't trying to be reassuring.

  As I left Elisabeth to walk to her own car, and crossed the street to mine, I already knew several things. One: Marissa didn't have a lot, and no roots, so what she did have would mean a lot to her. Two: She didn't have a passport, so she couldn't have gone out the country. Three: No one took a planned trip without at least packing her toothbrush, so either she had gone somewhere unwillingly, or she left in a hurry. Four: Her laptop was missing. Five: Someone had been in her place.

  Something weird was definitely going on.

  Chapter Seven

  Back at Rancho Graves, I put my socked feet on my coffee table, picked up my wine glass and lay the file across my knees. Grabbing my cell phone, I hit “speed dial” and waited for Solomon to answer his cell phone. He did so on the first ring, almost as if he knew I would call this very moment. It was spooky.

  "Lexi?"

  "Mmm-hmm," I gurgled, swallowing my wine.

  "Are you drowning?"

  "No. Drinking. I have a status report for the hotel." I waited, but Solomon didn't speak so I took the hint and got on with it. "Not a lot to report. Killjoy seems a nice guy for a boss. His employees don't have anything really nasty to say about him, just the usual gripes that he's fastidious, hates poor time-keepers and expects everyone to give one hundred percent. So, nothing unusual about bosses there. I haven't spoken to everyone yet, but nothing stands out in the way of someone really hating him, so if there's a personal vendetta angle, I'm not seeing it."

  "Okay."

  "I checked the insurance and crime reports and everything tallies there. It's all small stuff: electronics, jewelry, cash, as we know, so it might be worth checking out local pawnshops or fences. You must know some dodgy dudes." I took another sip of wine and grimaced. That didn't come out the way I intended.

  "I don't personally know anyone who sells stolen goods, if that's what you're asking."

  "I was, and pity. Anyone in the office?"

  "I'll ask."

  "Thanks. I checked the theft records against vacation time and I can rule out two employees, but that's it."

  "Good thinking."

  I gave myself a high-five, which, by the way, was awkward and made doubly so by forgetting the glass in my hand. Red wine sloshed down my top and stuck to my skin as I winced. "Again, thank you. So far, I don't see anything that suggests targeting the hotel or the group either. No letters, no phoned-in demands, no graffiti,” I said, as I struggled out of the top, managing to get my head stuck under the material as the top twisted around my arms.

  “Why are you making those strange, squeaking noises?” asked Solomon in a calm voice.

  “I’m not!”

  “Do you need a minute?”

  “No! Carry on!” I levered the glass through the armhole and set it down on the coffee table, as I slid to the floor in a heap. The phone remained pressed against my ear at all times, like a true professional.

  "Okay,” said a dubious sounding Solomon. “Your conclusion so far?"

  "I got nothin'."

  "Keep trying. I'll let you know if anything turns up with the stolen property."

  "Thanks. Appreciated." When Solomon didn’t hang up, I waited.

  "Just out of interest, what did you tell your cop family about taking a job with the hotel?"

  "My mother thinks it's a nice, honorable job where I will have the chance to work up the corporate ladder."

  "I meant, could they blow your cover?"

  "No. They think work is slow with you and I'm doing this to tide me over. Besides, no one from my family has any need to go to the hotel."

  "And Maddox?"

  "Thinks temping is less dangerous than PI work."

  Solomon laughed, "He clearly forgot Green Hand Insurance. Check in with me in a day or two." Solomon clicked off and I tossed the phone onto the sofa, trying to stifle a laugh as I worked my way out of the top. Green Hand Insurance was my last temping assignment—ever, or so I’d hoped—and where I met Maddox when he posed as my boss. In reality, he was working an undercover fraud case, the culmination of which were the bullet scars we now shared.

  With my stained top soaking in the kitchen sink and a fresh t-shirt donned, I finished writing up my notes, locked the file in my desk, and switched on the television, ready to enjoy my night in alone.

  Maddox hadn't called, although I called him once, and left a message, but didn't want to seem all needy. Lily was out working. But it was okay. I wasn't afraid of my own company, plus, I didn't have to share the wine or the remote control. I was a woman in control of the next two hours of my destiny. Besides, I had a feeling tomorrow was going to be a long day and a good night's sleep would probably be useful.

  Just as I was getting ready for bed, my door buzzer sounded. I answered it, and Serena announced herself, so I pressed the button to let her in.

  "I'm not staying," she said, as she stepped onto the landing and thrust a large envelope at me. "I have to get back. Mom is watching Victoria and I need to get her home. This is the stuff you asked me for."

  "Thanks. I'll read it through."

  Serena's file was pretty thin. I sat in bed and opened the envelope, pulling out photocopies of the last six months of Ted's bank statements and credit card bills. At the top of one set of credit card bills, she'd slipped a piece of notepaper under the paper clip holding the sheaf together. It read: he doesn't think I know about this credit card. I sighed. Men always underestimated their wives. To me, the thought of underestimating Serena was ridiculous, but then, I had known her all my life. She was easily the smartest person in our family when it came to brains, however, she didn't
excel when it came to street smarts.

  I went through the credit card statements, putting a pencil mark next to each suspicious-looking item. Some of them could be innocuous, of course, but I still marked them off. Then I made a short list of every restaurant Ted visited, along with purchases from jewelry stores, one expensive chocolate shop, and cringe, a charge to a lingerie shop that I knew Serena liked because she had given me a gift card there for my last birthday. It wasn't ordinary undergarments; they sold swish, sexy stuff, and Serena had penciled next to the charge: not for me.

  “Oh, yuck, Ted, yuck,” I sighed as I shuffled the papers together and inserted them into a card folder. I put it on my nightstand and fell asleep, dreaming about spies that were having more fun than I.

  Day two ran along the same lines as day one. I spoke to more employees, but by the afternoon, winsome was wearing out, and I'd only just completed reading the second half of my files. My head swam with names. I left the minute my watch showed five thirty and left to put in a couple hours on my other pro bono case: Ted the Scumbag.

  One thing that stood out on his credit card bills was a charge to a French restaurant every Tuesday evening. That would be my starting point. If I were quick, I could make it there in time to see if Ted showed up.

  Just minutes before six p.m., I found a parking space a few spaces down from Chez Victoire restaurant. I pulled in, just as Ted walked into the restaurant, his hand firmly glued to the small of the woman's back. She giggled, her hand flying to her mouth. Her long, blonde hair swayed as she walked, and for a moment, I hated her. Not as much as Serena was going to hate her, but plenty enough. They were lost from view for a few minutes, then I saw them follow a waiter as he guided them to a booth. Ted wasn't stupid enough to take a window table where anyone could see him. However, I had a great view of the booth from my diagonal point of view as they sat side-by-side.

  I pulled my camera off the floor, and pointed it at them, adjusting the lens and firing off a bunch of shots. I couldn't see what was going on under the table, but I did get a shot of Ted stroking the woman's cheek, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear, looking every bit like he was on a date. I could also see their body posture: relaxed, shoulders turned into each other as they leaned closer to continue their conversation. Through the lens, I could see Ted wasn't wearing his wedding ring and I wondered if the woman he was with knew, or if he was just spinning her a line. Maybe he told her he was single, or separated, or getting a divorce. Maybe he told her his wife didn't understand him the way she did, or that he was hurt and lonely. I wondered how women still fell for that crap, or if the blonde really didn’t care.

  The longer I watched, the more my heart sank. It was true I never liked Ted. He was annoying and patronizing, but Serena picked him, not I. And although she could be a pain in the butt, I didn't relish the moment I had to tell her that her husband, and the father of her child, really was a slimy, cheating bastard.

  I stayed with them all through dinner, my own stomach grumbling, firing off shot after shot of them nuzzling and kissing. I had plenty of evidence that he was cheating, but I needed more to consolidate what I saw, so it couldn't be passed off as one, singular, momentary lack of judgment. Plus, I still didn't know who the woman was. If Serena wanted ammunition, I resolved to get it.

  They left right after their shared dessert, feeding each other from the same spoon—barf!—and climbed into Ted's Mercedes, the twin to Serena's car. I waited until they pulled out, letting a couple cars slide by, then eased into the light traffic and followed them.

  The woman lived in West Montgomery, not far from me. Parking further down the street, I fired off a few more shots of them canoodling in Ted's car before the woman got out and walked to the building. Both Ted and I watched as she tapped numbers into a digital reader on the door, then pulled it open, making sure it shut behind her.

  Ted waited like a good boyfriend until she was inside before driving off, giving me a few short seconds to slump down in my seat, out of his view, as he drove past.

  I counted to one hundred, got out of the car and jogged over to the building. There were six apartments and I wasn't sure which one she went into. I stepped back and looked up, just as a light flashed on in a second floor window. Back in the entryway, I noted the surnames on each buzzer and circled the two on the second floor. Tomorrow, I would get Lucas to check them out and see if I could get confirmation on a name. Failing that, Ted’s mystery woman was about to acquire a stalker. Me.

  On second thought, maybe instead of asking Lucas for his help, I should do it myself… especially as it wasn't exactly agency business.

  Pondering that, I turned the car around and headed back downtown. The office was well out of my way home, but it was worth the extra miles to grab my laptop from the drawer. My work-issued laptop was filled with all kinds of programs that my personal laptop didn't have, and I knew I would need them to run through some background checks.

  While I was there, I powered up the fancy, color printer, stuck in the camera's memory card and printed off my shots of Ted and the woman. After I finished, I closed everything down, stuck the photos in a large envelope, placed the laptop and power cable in my purse, and left for home.

  There wasn't a lot I could do about Ted's mystery woman during the day, while I was at the hotel, but I planned to investigate whatever I could beforehand. Plus, I had to assume sneaking around during the day would be difficult for them, given that Ted, at least, had a job.

  Thirty minutes after I arrived home and executed some aborted, key-stabbing attempts at Lucas’ wonder programs, I still had no clue about whom the mystery woman was, and with a sigh, I knew that meant a stake-out was required. I needed information, and for that, I needed a car license plate, or a place of work. Six surnames had been written beside the buzzers, but there was no guarantee that they were up-to-date, or even which one was hers.

  To double check, I even went the old-fashioned route, checking the names and addresses against the phone book. I scored nothing for the two names I circled. They were probably renters, I surmised with a sigh.

  While I pondered what I needed to do, I put in a credit check for Ted to see if he had any other undeclared financials. Undeclared to Serena, that is. If her husband was stashing cash, or had a secret property, I wanted to know about it. Serena may be a nuisance at times, but she was my sister, and I adored baby Victoria. In a case of screw or be screwed, I knew whose side I was on.

  As I dug my fork into my microwaved Chinese meal and stuffed rice into my mouth, I spread out the photos I'd taken. They were clear, focused, and managed to put me off my food. Finally, I stuffed everything away in my desk, had a brief moment to consider whether I should get a safe, rather than continue relying on a flimsy lock in a flimsy desk, and decided it was unlikely Ted would break in anyway. Grabbing my cell, I called Maddox, told him I was having a sleepover and suggested he come over before the pillow fight began.

  He was at my door twenty minutes later.

  "I don't know the rules on pillow fights," he told me, pulling back his jacket to show the gun holstered on his hip, "so I came armed."

  ~

  Maddox left at five a.m. when his cell phone went off with the report of a body found in a dumpster. "Glad I'm wearing yesterday's clothes," he said, in between peppering me with kisses. "Today's gonna stink. Hope you have fun at the office."

  Not likely, I thought, angling to get his mouth on the next kiss. "Don't let all the dumpster-diving go to your head," I advised.

  He flashed me a smile. “It’s a trashy job, but someone’s gotta do it.”

  An hour of snoozing later, and I groaned as I crawled out of bed. The thing I loved most about detective work was setting my own hours. The thing I loved least about it was getting out of bed at six. Ironically, it was all in order to stalk my brother-in-law's mistress. My investigation, my bad luck. Dressed in my navy suit and a different red top, I added sneakers and picked up my heels, purse and keys on the way out.
/>   "What are you doing up?" I asked as I ran into Lily in the small downstairs hallway.

  "I need coffee," Lily said, rubbing her eyes with the backs of her hands. "I worked until three a.m. and I have a gym class at nine. I figured, why go to sleep?"

  "Masochist," I said. "Do you want to come on a stakeout with me?"

  "Will we get shot at?"

  "Nope." At least, I hoped not. Blondie didn't look dangerous, but I couldn’t say anything about her mental health, given the Ted smooching I’d witnessed.

  "Will there be coffee?"

  "There's a Starbucks on the way."

  She turned to the front door and reached for the handle. "Let's go."

  I filled Lily in on our mission as I drove, reminding her several times it was ultra top secret. By the time we had coffee, she was as pissed at Ted as I was.

  "That cheating bastard," she said, spitting out each word as she warmed her hands around the coffee cup. "How could he do that to his wife and baby girl? Whatever happened to marriage vows? What happened to love and honor?"

  "Tell me about it." I pulled into the turning lane and squeezed through as the lights flicked to red, furtively looking around for any police cars.

  "But tell me," Lily paused to peel back the lid of her coffee and blow on it, before looking at me incredulously, "how did Ted get two women, and I can't even get one man?"

  "It's not a reflection on you, sweetie. Plus, you date all the time."

  "Date, not commit."

  "Just think. There could be a guy like Ted out there, waiting just for you." We both shuddered.

  "Maybe I'll get a cat," said Lily. "Or a hamster."

  "Cats live forever and they pee everywhere. Hamsters die quickly and aren't affectionate."

  "Perhaps I'll get a plant instead."

  "Good call."

  “I’ll give it a name just so it feels like a pet though. Is David a good name for a plant?”

  “Depends if it flowers or not.”

  “True.”

  We pulled up outside the small apartment block I’d followed Ted to the previous night and I turned the engine off, as a bid to save the planet and conserve gas. Plus, I didn’t want to look like I was a stalker, though that was down much lower on my list.