by Louise Clark
She stood up. Putting her hands in her pockets she went to the window to stare out to the street beyond. His father looked at him, his brows raised. Quinn shook his head. Though all three of the males in Christy's life had agreed that the investigation should go on, he couldn't hide behind the group decision. He'd done the legwork, and he'd kept the investigation alive. He bore the responsibility. "I took a chance and went to a club where I thought I might find some of Frank's crowd. DeBolt was there. We talked."
"I told you I didn't want to continue the investigation," Christy said, still staring out at the street.
His father watched him, his eyebrows still raised, waiting. Quinn knew that look. Roy was giving him space, offering support. All Quinn had to do was nod and his father would intervene. Until Quinn gave him the cue, though, Roy would keep out of the argument. The cat's tail flicked restlessly, but he too appeared to be staying silent. "Frank's murder was a deliberate act, followed by an elaborate cover up. Do you think whoever killed him would be willing to accept your word the investigation was over, then leave you alone?"
"No, I suppose not." She bent her head. Her hair swept over her cheeks, hiding her expression as she drew in a deep breath. When she turned, her expression was calm, remote. He preferred the fire. "You think Aaron contacted the killer after you talked to him, which makes one of the trustees the murderer." Quinn nodded. "You must have convinced him to tell you more than he should have. What did he say?"
"He was pretty cagey. He claims he left Frank passed out in the alley after shooting up. He figured Frank would sleep it off and go home. He went back into the club. He claims he can prove it." Quinn waited the space of a heartbeat, then added, "Brianne is his alibi."
"Frank says he's lying," Roy remarked, as if the exchange between Quinn and Christy hadn't happened. "I tend to believe Frank, even though I've never met this DeBolt guy."
"He's slimy," Christy said. She came back to the table and sat down. Slowly. Wearily. "He was Frank's best friend forever. They shared everything." She toyed with the handle of the coffee mug, then stiffened. Her eyes widened. "Oh man."
Roy whistled.
Again Quinn was reduced to demanding, "What?" He glared at the cat. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
Christy said, "They shared everything. Quinn, Frank and Aaron DeBolt shared everything—including stuff that was bothering them about their families."
Quinn frowned. "Like blackmail information?"
Christy nodded. "Frank says that they were drinking and doing drugs one night a few months before he was killed. They were talking about rich parents and trust funds and how difficult it was to get money out of them. He remembers bragging about his method, then he blacked out. He knows he mentioned he was blackmailing Gerry Fisher, but he's not sure if he told Aaron any of the details, or that he was blackmailing the others."
"Aaron DeBolt completely denies that he killed Frank," Quinn said. "But this puts a whole new look on his involvement."
Christy rubbed her palms on her jeans. "I think Aaron deserves another interview."
Roy nodded. Quinn frowned. The cat settled comfortably on his haunches and ate the last sandwich quarter.
Chapter 19
"Come on, kiddo. We don't want to be late," Christy said, urging Noelle out the front door.
While Christy locked up, Noelle shrugged on her backpack. "Aw, Mom. We've got lots of time." The school bell rang. Noelle's eyes opened wide and she bolted down the stairs. "Mom! We have to go!"
Christy laughed. "Hugs first!"
Noelle leaned into the hug in a wordless expression of affection, then she skipped away. Christy had to run to keep up.
After dropping Noelle at school, Christy hurried home. She had about six hours before she needed to pick up Noelle. She planned to use that time to interview Aaron DeBolt.
When she entered the house, she called the cat. After a minute there was a thump and the sound of a herd of elephants galloping across the top floor, then Stormy appeared on the staircase. "Come downstairs," she said.
Obediently, the cat trotted down the steps. Breakfast time?
Christy waited until he'd reached the bottom stair before she scooped him up, then she stuffed him into a canvas carryall, or tried to. As soon as Stormy realized what she was doing, he tensed every muscle. He stiffened his legs, shot out his claws, and fought the indignity of being dumped into a bag with the kind of passion cats bring to self-preservation. Christy cursed as she was scratched and bitten. "Frank, get in the bag, for heaven's sake! I need your help."
Why? But he calmed Stormy and the cat slid inside. She slipped the handle over her shoulder and tucked the bag securely under her arm.
"I'm going to see your old pal, Aaron DeBolt."
Stormy's head popped out of the top of the bag as she once again locked the front door. Not a good idea, babe. It could be dangerous. Let Quinn do it.
Christy set her mouth in a determined line. "No. Aaron will tell Quinn the bare bones. If I play it right, he'll give me the dirt."
There was no immediate response to this. She had a sense that the cat was searching for an answer, probably the right words to let her know just how wrong she was. She unlocked the passenger door and carefully put the bag on the front seat of the car. "Want a seatbelt, Frank?"
Very funny. Listen, babe, this is a mistake. Aaron isn't the nicest guy in the world. He can be pretty caustic...
"We've been through this. He's a complete jerk, full of snide comments about anyone and everyone. That includes me, big time." She slammed the door and came around to the driver side. Sliding inside, she shoved the key in the ignition. "And you probably, though I don't know that. Anyway, I'm well aware that Aaron is contemptuous of me. I can use that to my advantage, I think. At least, that's what I plan to do."
I haven't had breakfast.
Christy swept the cat a quick glance before she backed out of the garage. "Yeah, so? You look pretty well fed to me."
It's early. Aaron probably won't have had breakfast either. He may not even be up.
Christy showed her teeth and put her foot on the gas. "I'm counting on it."
Aaron DeBolt lived in the Yaletown area in a luxurious condominium high-rise. Within walking distance of clubs, restaurants, spas, and offices, it was miles to the nearest grocery store. People who lived at this sought-after address tended to use their apartments only to sleep, and often not even that.
The building rose tall and sleek. No ugly balconies or open windows marred the lean glass cladding. There was no need to draw the outside into this modern tower. Only the most effective air circulation and air conditioning systems had been used in its construction. The inhabitants were well-insulated, safe from the dangers of city smog and downtown pollution.
Just inside the front door a security guard sat at a waist-high console. Christy smiled at him as she entered. He stared back impassively. "May I help you, ma'am?"
"I'm here to see Aaron DeBolt."
"Do you have an appointment?"
I told you this was a mistake.
Christy's smile widened. "Call Aaron. Tell him I'm here. He'll see me."
The guard remained bored, his expression impassive. "Mr. DeBolt doesn't like to be disturbed before noon."
Christy laughed. "I know."
"I can take a message if you would like."
Christy moved closer to the desk. She put her hand on the smooth, dark wood. "I don't want to leave a message."
"I'm afraid—"
She made her voice rise, added an edge of urgency. "I need his help. I need Aaron. I don't need to leave a message." She slapped her other hand on the desk and let her body shake with tension as she leaned forward.
"Ma'am, I don't think—"
Hey! Watch it! You're squashing me, here.
The cat's protest almost made Christy laugh. She swallowed the amusement and managed to make the smile twitching her lips into a scowl. "I need a fix. I need it now. Aaron will get it for me. He won't be happy if you turn me away."<
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The guard stared at her a minute more. Christy glared back, but she made sure that her hands were twitching, as if her skin had a life of its own. A sneer curled the guard's lips and he waved her through even before he'd made his call.
In the elevator, Stormy's head popped out of the bag again. Not bad. You sure snowed that guy.
"Yeah. Now all I've got to do is snow Aaron."
Piece of cake. Stormy's head disappeared down into the bag again. Christy laughed, without amusement.
Aaron opened his door dressed in nothing but a pair of silk boxer shorts. His hair lay greasily against his head and his eyes were hooded.
"Good morning," Christy said cheerfully.
His eyes opened wide. The whites were bloodshot. "What the hell are you doing here?"
He didn't seem inclined to invite her in, so Christy simply stepped forward, forcing him to backtrack until they were inside his apartment. Then she took the initiative and shut the door. "I don't think we want to talk out in the hall."
"I don't think we want to talk at all."
There was a sneer on his mouth, but indignation in his voice. She smiled serenely. "The feeling is mutual, believe me."
He turned away from the door, heading deeper into the apartment. Christy followed him to the kitchen, where he hefted a bottle of cognac from the counter and filled a tumbler. Throwing back his head, he drank almost half in one long gulp. Then he turned to face her. Leaning against the counter, one arm crossed over his chest, the other propped on top of it, he played with the glass while he observed her. "Since I doubt that you've truly come to buy drugs, tell me what you want, then get lost."
"I want to know where Frank is."
"Gone."
The cat popped its head out of the bag. That's an understatement.
"Christ, you walk around with a cat! You always were totally weird." He tipped the tumbler, pouring the expensive brandy down his throat like water.
Christy smiled at him. "Frank says you killed him."
Aaron choked and went completely white before he began to cough. Cognac splashed on his chest and the floor. Christy watched him impassively.
Are you nuts?
"Jesus!" Aaron said when he was able to talk. "What kind of crazed accusation is that?" His eyes shifted, looking everywhere but into her face. "Frank is hiding out in Mexico with Brianne Lymbourn." He managed a sneer as he said the woman's name.
"I don't think so," Christy said. She moved closer to Aaron, invading his space now that she had him rattled. "Brianne was recently seen in town with a lowlife called Crack Graham. I think she came home to blackmail you, Aaron. I think she knows that you lured Frank into the alley behind the club and then you killed him."
Aaron took another slug of brandy, draining the glass. He turned, pouring himself a refill. "You think wrong."
Be careful, Chris!
"If that's true Brianne will confirm it. Tell me where she's staying."
After he'd drunk again, Aaron said, "What makes you think I know where Brianne is?"
Christy smiled at him without amusement. "Because she's your alibi. I figure you'd keep track of her, just in case whoever killed Frank decides to pin it on you."
"A minute ago you accused me of killing Frank."
"That was to shake you up and get your attention."
Aaron stared at her narrowly. Christy stared back. Finally he said, "Why should I help you?"
"Because you're Frank's best friend. Frank has disappeared. I think he's dead and Brianne knows who did it. I want to talk to her."
He'll never buy that.
Aaron drank while he considered. "I heard she was staying at a place a couple of blocks from here."
"I need an address."
He gave it to her, then shook his head. "You're right. She has hooked up with this guy, Crack Graham. If Frank is dead, it's because Brianne and Graham set him up."
"Why would they do that?"
Aaron laughed. "Frank was such an idiot, always wanting to do the right thing, figuring he was worth something more than his trust fund. Brianne was into him. She was going to convince him to dump you and marry her. Then she'd have great sex with Graham and all Frank's lovely money."
Inside the bag Stormy erupted into outraged violence, bucking and scratching for release. Christy shrieked, the bag fell open and the cat emerged, claws out and hissing. He leapt for Aaron's chest with a snarl that would have done a cougar proud. Aaron swore as Stormy made contact. The tumbler flew out of his hand, landed on the cold flagstone floor and shattered. Brandy splashed everywhere. Blood dripped from Aaron's chest where the cat's claws had caught and dug.
"Get this damn crazy animal off me!" Aaron screamed, flailing ineffectually against the furious cat.
"Frank, enough! Stop it!"
No! He's a jerk. He pretended to be my friend and he betrayed me! He knocked me on the head, then pushed me into that car. He sold me out and I'm going to make him pay.
There were months of pent-up feelings in that statement. Christy briefly considered letting the cat beat up on Aaron for as long as it took to satisfy Frank, but she figured that in the long run the cat was more likely to be seriously hurt than the human. Taking a deep breath she reached past Aaron's flailing hands to pluck the cat off him. Stormy's claws had sunk deep. Aaron screamed, then swore loudly as the sharp, curving talons ripped free. The cat twisted in Christy's hands, before he expressed his displeasure by hissing at Aaron.
"Take that effing rabid beast and get out of here!" Aaron dabbed at the wounds marring his torso.
"With pleasure!" Holding the still hissing cat, Christy made a hasty departure. In the elevator she stuffed Stormy into the canvas bag, despite his protests, then she walked from Aaron's building to the address he'd given her for Brianne Lymbourn. There her luck ran out. Brianne had indeed been staying at the apartment, but was no longer. The building superintendent told Christy she'd gone out around dinnertime, dressed in an expensive evening dress. That had been almost a week ago. He hadn't seen her since.
Christy left her name and telephone number and asked him to contact her if Brianne showed up. She reinforced this with a fifty-dollar bill as added incentive. The man pocked the money and nodded.
Christy doubted she'd hear from him again.
* * *
I'm not happy that Brianne is missing.
"She's probably gone off somewhere with Crack Graham," Christy said.
Could be. But the tone was dubious.
Christy checked her watch. She had about four hours before she had to pick up Noelle from school. Plenty of time to get back to her car and drive home. She walked quickly, thinking about what she'd learned this morning. "Aaron might have been involved in your disappearance, Frank, but he doesn't seem to be aware that Brianne hasn't been back to her apartment in a week. What do you think that tells us?"
I could say something rude about Aaron.
Christy laughed. She spied a sandwich shop and popped inside. "A coffee please," she said, smiling at the server behind the counter. "And a tuna sandwich to go, but hold the bread, hold the mayo, hold the lettuce."
The server stared at her in a bored way then he disappeared into the back. He returned with a can of tuna, the liquid drained away. "You want a fork with that?"
Yum.
"No need," Christy said. She carefully placed the can in the carryall, grabbed her coffee, and headed out. There were ecstatic sounds in her head, the most coherent of which sounded like, finally!
As Christy walked, she sipped her coffee and talked out loud, oblivious to the odd looks she was receiving. "When you disappeared, Frank, no one asked any questions because there were lots of reports that you had run off with Brianne Lymbourn. Brianne was a cover to make sure people didn't wonder about your disappearance. Now she's missing."
Not good.
"No, I agree."
Brianne hits on any guy she thinks is useful. Maybe she found someone new.
"Could be." Christy had almost reach
ed Aaron's building, and with it her car. "Don't you think Aaron would know if she were with someone new?"
There was a sigh of satisfaction from the canvas bag, a mental smacking of lips. Aaron's pretty self-centered. If Brianne wasn't hitting on him, he'd probably never notice.
"That's not a lot of help."
The door to Aaron's building was thrust open. Quinn Armstrong strode out, a thunderous scowl on his face. He stopped when he saw Christy. The scowl turned to a smile that lit up his eyes, then darkened into a frown again. "I just talked to DeBolt."
Christy couldn't suppress a chuckle. "Is he still bleeding?"
Quinn grinned. "He said you were a nutcase who traveled with your familiar. What'd you do, bring Frank?" The cat popped its head out of the bag. "I might have known." There was resignation in Quinn's voice.
Christy laughed again as she set off for her car. "I just came from the place where Brianne was staying. She hasn't been seen in a week."
Quinn frowned as they walked. "You shouldn't have gone there on your own."
"Why not? Yaletown is a perfectly respectable neighborhood."
"Why not? Because Crack Graham might have been with her. Because both of them are involved in your husband's death and they're not likely to welcome questions from Frank Jamieson's wife."
Christy's car was across the street and down one block. She stopped at the light, waiting for it to change. "You're overreacting, Quinn. If Brianne had been there we'd have had a chat, but she wasn't. Get a grip!"
The guy's worried about you. Give him a break, Chris.
Quinn caught her arm as the light changed. He practically dragged her across the street. "You're lucky that she wasn't!"
On the far sidewalk, Christy stopped. She pulled her arm free, her temper simmering. "I wish she had been! I want to know what is going on, Quinn, and I think Brianne is a key. If I can find her, I'll learn who arranged for Crack Graham to use Frank's passport and for Brianne to go down to Mexico with him. I can find out who killed Frank."
Quinn glared at her. A muscle jumped in his cheek. "We."
"Excuse me?"
"We can find out who arranged all this. We, Christy, not I."