“I don't think so.”
“Why not?”
My friend sobbed. I stood, ready to do battle.
“Katie, the note says,” she inhaled, the sound loud in my ear. “It says they have Morgan's photos and the price has gone up. I'm also being threatened about Morgan’s murder. The blackmailer says I have motive and opportunity.”
Holy crap. “I'll be right over.”
I wiped the sleep from my eyes and brushed the parts needing brushing in record time, which said something given my damaged physical state. I limped to the car Ginger loaned me over my limp protests. Even though the vehicle was her oldest, least expensive automobile, its original purchase price would've made a down payment on a hefty mortgage.
Ginger and I had been friends since kindergarten. Years later, after my parents' deaths, she kept me going. We'd do anything to protect each other and have. I was her maid of honor when she married Rob, but we were maids of honor for each other long before.
Anger spiked and churned my stomach. Ginger had made one big mistake. One, in all the years we'd hung together. Now that judgment lapse had bitten her in the backside and whoever threatened her could bite my butt. No way I'd let some sleaze take down my friend.
I turned the knob and pushed, but the door didn't open. Detective Johnson had apparently been preaching his lock-up sermon to my best friend too.
Ginger threw open the door and enfolded me in a tight hug. When we pulled apart, I saw her red-rimmed eyes and mentally cursed the blackmailer again.
“Is Rob here?”
“No. He had to go into the office.”
On Sunday night? I didn't say that, but my suspicion hung in the air. “So we can talk?”
Ginger grabbed my hand and pulled me inside, turned and locked the door behind me. So much for feeling safe in the little town of Granville Falls.
“Need some coffee?”
I really wanted more wine, but I agreed to caffeine and we walked into her bright, airy kitchen. The room's renovations, planned by Ginger, reflected her warm personality and love of baking. Redolent of cinnamon and her namesake spice, the room put the kitchens in glossy decorating magazines to shame, mostly because the space was not stylized out of all personality. The only thing lacking was a kid or two. The children Ginger wanted and Rob shied from considering.
We sat. Ginger served me a mug of her dynamite decaf and followed with a plate of home-baked cookies.
“Oh good, a bedtime snack.” I snagged a chocolate chip cookie. What a shame. A second cookie hid under the first. I bit and warm chocolate melted even more in my mouth. “Yum.”
This wasn't a homey get-together. Ginger was in trouble, a fact rammed home when I saw she didn't join me in a sugar indulgence. She white-knuckled the coffee mug but didn't drink. My milk chocolate turned bitter.
Time to get down to business. “Where's the note?”
Ginger pulled the paper out of her pocket and handed it over with two fingers.
Wishing I didn’t have to touch the nasty paper, I unfolded the communication. The demand looked like something from a detective show with words cut from magazines and newspapers.
The price for your secret is $20,000. Wait for instructions. Weasel out and the cops get the photos.
“Twenty grand? Can you get this amount without Rob finding out?”
She bowed her head and spoke to her lap. “Yes.” I knew Ginger had money, but other than buying flashy cars, she didn't flaunt her wealth. Her inheritance didn’t hit me in the face every minute.
I got up and moved around the table, placing my arm over her shoulders. “Aw, sweetie, I'm so sorry.”
She turned her head into my shoulder and let loose. My stomach clenched with her heart-breaking sounds. I didn't move as she emptied her tear ducts.
I handed her a napkin. Something about the note bothered me, but I didn't know what.
The light clicked on. “Twenty grand? That's not much considering what you're worth. Why so little?”
Ginger hiccupped. “I didn't think of that.” She hiccupped again. “Not the amount. Just that it was happening.” Her eyes narrowed. “It's not much, is it? Considering. The women who take, took, classes with Morgan could afford that amount without a squabble.”
The light continued to glow. Dang, I felt like the Milky Way. “It's not much from one person, but what if there is more than one of you under the blackmailer's thumb? Twenty grand times ten or even twenty people starts to add up.”
My friend's eyes got big. “So Mona's story about other women is probably true?”
“Most likely. Ginger, we have to take this to the cops.”
“Are you crazy? I can't go to the police. Rob will find out. Everyone in town will know. They'll believe the note’s accusations that I’m a killer, not my protestations of innocence. No. Absolutely not. No way.” She crossed her arms. Subject closed.
I thought back to Johnson's Sexy /A-hole Cop split personality and realized she’d nailed the dilemma. He'd investigate. But investigating didn't mean he'd come up with the right answer.
I didn't feel comfortable but nodded my head in agreement. “We're facing a decision.”
“I know.”
We sighed in unison. “Guess that means the Demonic Duo is back in business.”
Ginger's lips twitched. “My cape is packed away but I know where it is.”
“Packed away? Mine's in the hall closet.”
“Everything is in your hall closet, unless you’ve piled something in your living room.”
“Hey, I can find anything, anytime.”
The familiar banter soothed, but the tacit agreement we'd made hovered. We'd decided to catch a blackmailer.
I hoped we didn't end up like Morgan.
Chapter Five
“We need to know about Morgan's activities.”
I'd stopped at Ginger's before heading to my drafting job. We sipped coffee and munched cookies, picking up where we'd left off the night before. Although I'd gone home prior to the late news, Rob hadn't returned. I didn't ask when, or if, he'd come back.
Ginger chewed her fingernail. “If Morgan saw another woman, I can’t imagine who. Well, except for Brandi Wells, and that's only because of what she let slip.”
“Brandi?”
Ginger grinned. “That's Flash to you.”
“She has a name? I thought she'd have a serial number.”
Ginger stopped chewing on her nail and chose a cookie. “Mona does owe us a truffle from Saturday.”
Friends shouldn't let friends cookie alone, so I joined her. “And a slew of gossip to top it off.”
Ginger grinned and reached for a bag on the chair next to her. She pulled out a black cape with a flourish. “The Demonic Duo rides again.”
I stood and pulled my cape from my oversize bag. The garment settled around my shoulders. I felt invincible. At least at that moment. “Let's hit the Chocolate Fix after I get off work.”
Ginger rubbed her fingers over the shiny rayon cape. “We had no clue how tough life could get, did we?” Her fingers stilled. “Life seemed so easy the last time we wore these.”
I grabbed another cookie. “We can turn the blackmail notes over to the cops, you know.”
Her frown gave me her answer. “I'm going to pay the $20,000. It'll save my marriage.”
My jaw ached from being clamped shut. Didn't seem like there was much to save.
****
The Get Solid Builders trailer stood empty when I arrived at work. My scraped palms made typing difficult, and I couldn’t do much else. Not to mention the old trailer creaked with heavy wind gusts. I didn’t feel comfortable or secure. I left a note for my boss, Jim Prestwick, and returned to Ginger's house.
I'd barely pulled onto her driveway before she was out her door and in the car with me. We walked into the Chocolate Fix, not surprised to find the aromatic store almost empty mid-afternoon.
Mona looked up from stocking her glass-fronted showcase. “Hey, girls, what's up? D
idn't think I'd see you in here today.”
“Actually, we came in for that truffle you owe us. And some gossip.”
Mona winked before picking out a selection of confections and walking around the counter. “Let's get down to it, ladies. My favorite thing, besides chocolate, is gossip.”
We settled at a table.
“Mona,” I began, “what did you mean when you said Morgan rode for a fall?”
She snorted. “He wasn't riding for a fall, he flirted with disaster and got screwed. Let me tell you what I know.”
We all glanced over our shoulders and moved our heads closer together. Even though we were the only people in the store.
“I know he slept with married women exclusively.”
“You know this, how?”
Mona waved her had in answer.
I avoided Ginger's gaze. “Any long term affairs?”
“Nah, not unless you count two weeks as long term. He'd hit up lonely or abused women. Jerkface had infallible radar. He never made a mistake. Never chose a happily married woman. At least, not that I heard.”
Ginger shifted in her seat. I struggled to keep from looking at her.
“Nope, he knew how to play women,” Mona continued.
I was confused. “That's more Jerry Springer than CSI.”
“Bastard didn't stop with seduction. He branched out, started to hit up his girlfriends for money.”
A chill ran down my back. “How do you know all this?”
Mona leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “I know someone—and I'm not giving a name—who cashed in part of her retirement fund to buy Morgan a luxury Swiss-made watch.” She tilted her head then shook it. “Woman said it was a gift because he helped her out. Helped her out of a chunk of cash, that's for sure.”
I leaned forward, unable to sit still. “Do you know about gifts from other women?”
Mona popped a truffle in her mouth and chewed. “You bet. After my friend gave Morgan the watch, I heard other women gave him expensive toys, clothes, paid his studio rent, you name it.”
“Do you think he blackmailed any of the women?”
Mona stopped mid chew. “What, you think the gifts were given willingly?” She snorted. “Not hardly.” She finished chewing and swallowed. “Actually, the first gifts were in response to casual hints Morgan dropped in conversation. After he dumped a woman, the demands got worse.”
She picked up another truffle. We waited for her to finish. Her vigorous chewing told me she'd chosen a caramel.
“My friend said she received a note after Morgan left her. He'd detailed the exact watch brand and model he wanted, in white gold, and said he'd appreciate a good-bye gift from her. She laughed until she turned over the note.”
Mona studied the plate of truffles but didn't make a move. When she looked at me, her eyes were filled with tears.
“Bastard had a photo of them in bed. Doing the deed.” She sniffed. We waited.
“Funny enough, you can see my friend's face full on, but Morgan, not so much.”
“It was more important to show the woman because she has the most to lose.” Ginger's voice sounded shaky and quiet. “If her husband sees the picture, he can't go after Morgan because he doesn't have proof of the guy's identity. He can divorce his cheating wife and keep everything in the settlement. The only ones who lose are the women.”
Another light went on. “He hated women.”
Mona shook her head. “Poetic justice.”
We exchanged glances.
She continued. “I mean, he died surrounded by women.”
Suddenly his death seemed a whole lot more complicated than I had realized. And it didn’t look as if Ginger was in the clear. Someone had picked up where Morgan’s death left off. Unless he’d had a partner in blackmail all along.
I hurried my next words. “Mona, can you give us any names? Other than your friend's?”
“Well, the flashy blonde in here yesterday was one of Morgan's latest.”
Ginger sat forward. “Brandi Wells?”
“Yep, that sounds right. Snooty as all get out. A real rich bitch. Jealous too.” Mona looked at me. “She said you tried to make time with Morgan.”
“What?” My cheeks turned red hot, but not from embarrassment.
“She made it sound like you killed him because he wouldn't give you the time of day.” Mona studied me.
“I met the man yesterday. Sure, he was hunky, but I didn't want to bed him and I sure didn't kill him.”
“Hell, back in the sixties, you could screw someone you just met, no problem. Never mind. You don't need my remembrances.” Mona's gaze held mine. She seemed to come to a decision. “You don't have murder in your aura. At least, not sneaky murder. Your victim would see death coming.”
Aura? Not sure if she'd given me a compliment or not, I changed the subject. “So, how much did the watch cost?”
“A cool twenty-five grand. I wonder who inherits?”
Ginger put down a half-eaten truffle. “I can tell you one thing—the heir won't be a woman.”
****
The alarm rang way too early the following morning. I pulled myself out of bed and into the shower, not at all happy I faced another workday. Don't get me wrong, I love my job, but yesterday hadn't been relaxing. Not to mention the weekend had been a real killer.
I winced at my lame humor and stumbled into the kitchen. Standing in the doorway, I wondered what was wrong with the picture. I finally realized the overhead light shone in my face. The strong smell of burnt coffee filled the room. I blinked.
Brown liquid dripped from the machine I'd programmed last night, but no carafe collected the stream. Coffee trickled down the cabinet front and pooled on the floor. The carafe sat on the table with a note attached. I pulled the plug on my coffeemaker and checked the door lock.
Unlocked. I knew I'd turned the bolt the night before. I remembered checking it. So how did someone get in? Rubbing my arms, I skirted the kitchen table and headed for the front door. That door was locked. Maybe I only locked one door, but that didn't compute. My familiar, beloved house felt more than a little creepy.
The note waited, taunting me with its presence. I picked it up with two fingers. The message read short but not sweet.
Tell your friend to pay the money and keep your mouths shut.
Looked like Morgan had had a partner. Minus my promise to keep Ginger’s secret, I'd call that big ole bad boy Dirk over for security detail. Instead, wide awake and knees quivering, I mopped up the mess. Someone needed money. And was desperate. Not a good combination.
I rushed through dressing with shaky fingers. Feeling like Adrian Monk, television's favorite obsessive-compulsive detective, I flipped my door lock three times, jiggling the knob each time. Part of me wanted to sit with a loaded gun (which I didn’t own) and wait for the intruder. The other part wanted to run long, hard, and far, far away.
Far, far away won the toss. I motored across town to the Get Solid Builders trailer. The crew supervisors and the routine morning briefing waited for me.
I closed my eyes. Shoot. I'd forgotten to bring the doughnuts.
“Want some coffee, Katie? I brought doughnuts.”
Jim Prestwick shoved a mug and some deep-fried dough into my hands. His voice was low. “Sorry I missed you yesterday. We heard about the pretzel guy. You okay?”
Translation: pretzel guy meant yoga teacher in construction guy speak. Morgan.
I blinked back tears. Jim liked people to believe he was a hard-ass but he stood first in line to help anyone in trouble.
“Yep, thanks. I'm fine.” And puppies fly.
He turned toward the assembled supervisors and raised his voice. “You're just in time. We need your input.”
My throat clearing took longer than it should have. “What do you need?”
“Well, Cam just announced he's gonna pop the question.”
No news there. Cam supervised our finish carpenters. His girlfriend had been after his
ass for two years. I was just surprised she took so long to nail him down. “Congrats, Cam.”
Cam, a tall man with a dark blond brush cut, Slavic cheekbones and puppy-dog eyes, displayed his dimples and saluted me.
“So we want to know. Should he pop the question at her apartment, get down on his knees, that whole outdated bit, or rent a billboard? I told him I know someone in outdoor advertising who'll give him a deal on a moving electronic board ad over on I-40.”
What was more harmful? Eating a doughnut or pinching myself black and blue to determine if I dreamed? I chose the doughnut. Chewing bought me time to form a response.
“We figure you're female and you've been married, so you're the one to ask.”
“Gee, thanks for making me part of the project, guys.” With everyone’s gaze on me, I bit off a big chunk of fried dough and chewed.
“Well?” Jim put his hands on his hips.
I swallowed. “Apartment. Definitely the apartment. Bring a bunch of her favorite flowers, cold champagne and chocolate. You'll be a hero.”
Cam smiled. “Thanks, Katie.”
His relieved look told me Jim had pushed the electronic sign idea.
“Sure. Get one of the candy boxes from the Chocolate Fix and give her the ring in that. She'll think you're Adonis and her favorite movie star all rolled into one.”
“Got it.”
“And whatever you do, don't tell her you asked these yahoos for advice on proposing. Let her think you came up with the grand gesture on your own.”
“I don't want to lie, Katie.”
“You're not. You're just not telling her everything. It's called presenting yourself in your best light.”
The group hooted out suggestions. Jim started the meeting. I listened on autopilot while my mind moved in strange directions.
Ginger told me Morgan had always presented himself in the best light. She'd said he appeared humble while making women think adoration was his due. He talked a spiritual game, played a material one.
An idea lurked. When I reached for the thought, the impression disappeared. Was the blackmail Morgan's game or did he have a partner? How many women did he play? Who threatened Ginger, a possible partner or an opportunist? Either way, Ginger was in trouble. The cops couldn't learn about the blackmail note or she'd be suspect number one. Worse, she'd never be able to keep the truth from her husband.
Death Stretch Page 4