Notorious

by Carey Baldwin

  Spense wasn’t generally a percher, but at the moment, he teetered on the edge of his chair. “You two seem pretty convinced that Matt Cambridge and Cindy Langhorne were having an affair.”

  “Look,” Georgia said. “I really meant it when I said I’m sorry she’s gone. And I want to be as helpful as I can. I can’t say that Cindy was or was not having an affair, but if she was, the number one candidate would be Matt Cambridge.”

  “Let me ask you one more thing,” Caitlin said. “Who does your hair and makeup?”

  Georgia’s face brightened at the implied compliment, and she seemed unfazed by the abrupt change of subject. “Karina Peyton. She’s does everyone in our gang.”

  “I could use a little makeover. May I get her number?” Caitlin tried for a demure smile.

  “Well, now that you mention it, I think she could do a lot for you.” Georgia reached for her purse and began rummaging for a card, then finally found it. She pulled it out with a tiny bit of gum stuck to it. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

  “No problem,” Caitlin wiped the sticky mess from her fingers while Spense escorted the ladies to the door.

  When he returned he had a plaintive look in his eyes. “Please tell me you’re not about to turn yourself into a Dallas Cowboys’ cheerleader.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll tell you what’s up in the car. But I’m going to need some help on this one, and you’re definitely not the right agent for the job.”

  IT WAS A stroke of luck that Gretchen Herrera was in Dallas for a regional conference. Caitlin could’ve taken any female agent with her to Karina Peyton’s day spa, but she knew Gretchen from the Man in the Maze case, and felt comfortable with her. And since Gretchen’s home office was Phoenix, not Dallas, she had no reason to discuss the matter with Jim Edison. Not only that, but with her stunning looks, she was perfect for the task at hand.

  At the moment, they were sipping cucumber water, waiting in the members-­only spa-­reception area. By dropping Heather Cambridge’s name and mentioning Gretchen’s status as a federal agent, they’d scored a last-­minute, private tour.

  Eventually, a petite woman, about five-­foot-­two, turned five-­foot-­eight by her Louboutins, entered the room.

  “I’m Karina Peyton.” She smiled and pirouetted as if she were on a runway.

  It made some sort of sense, Caitlin supposed, because if you’re going to advertise yourself as a professional makeup artist and stylist, you’re a living sample for your customers. Karina really fit the bill, with her enhanced breasts, tiny waist, and hair that looked as though it never met a curling iron it didn’t like. In fact . . . she might be mistaken, but Caitlin was fairly certain the woman had calf implants.

  “Wow,” Gretchen said, admiringly. “I like your style.”

  Caitlin suppressed a smile. No one was more natural than Gretchen. She came by her figure the old-­fashioned way—­in the field and in the gym. Caitlin understood that Gretchen ran around thirty miles a week and lifted daily. Her hair was natural blond, which was quite stunning in comparison to her dark, creamy skin.

  “You’re beautiful. Do you mind if I ask you, what’s your heritage?” Karina asked Gretchen. “If we’re going to do you over—­not that you need it—­it will help me pick a skin palette.”

  “Hispanic.” Gretchen’s tone was friendly and suggested she’d been asked the question many times.

  “But you’re blond.”

  “It happens.” Gretchen shrugged.

  Karina flushed. “Well, come on back ladies, and let’s get started.” She swept her hand out. “This is the dressing area. You can be assured of absolute privacy here. There’s a separate entrance, so you won’t need to worry about the customers out front. I’m thinking that with the FBI, that might be important.”

  “Absolutely. And thanks for showing us around on such short notice.” Gretchen smiled warmly.

  Caitlin was glad she’d brought her along.

  “It’s my pleasure. Anything to help my country.”

  Caitlin wondered if Karina was about to break out the pledge of allegiance. This was going to be cake. The stylist seemed thrilled to have the chance to win the Bureau’s business. And maybe something really would come of it. Gretchen might put in a good word for her if she offered a good deal.

  “Well, we’re not talking espionage.” Gretchen said with a friendly wink. “It’s just that some of the female agents have been talking about finding someone reliable to help us look our best. The FBI likes their agents to make a good public appearance, and we’re often invited to high-­level functions. We’re hoping you might be able to provide a government discount.”

  “Discount?” Karina recoiled. “This is a luxury salon.”

  “Well, we are civil servants so . . .”

  Karina’s patriotism quickly kicked back in. “I normally don’t do discounts . . . but, I must say, it’s exciting to work with the FBI.”

  “Just think of the state secrets you’ll hear,” Caitlin nudged Gretchen.

  Karina’s mouth gaped.

  “She’s kidding,” Gretchen said. “But in all seriousness, we know you’re trustworthy. Heather Cambridge speaks so highly of you.”

  “I think the world of her. And I never spill her secrets.” She cleared her throat, suddenly a bit off-­balance. “I hope you’re not here to pump me for them.”

  “Oh!” Caitlin covered her mouth.

  “That is why you’re here?”

  “Yes.” Caitlin said. “We were so hoping you could let us in on what shade of lipstick Heather wore to last week’s fund-­raiser. She looked stunning. You did her hair and makeup, right?”

  “Right. Whenever she’s in Dallas, she always comes by the shop. But I couldn’t possibly reveal the name of her lipstick. That’s top secret, like Diane Sawyer’s.”

  Gretchen rounded her eyes. “You really are loyal.”

  “I have my standards. I wouldn’t get repeat business otherwise.”

  “So, then . . . what can you tell us about hygiene?” Caitlin pulled out a notepad and pen for effect.

  “Hygiene? Mine’s perfect.”

  “No. I mean, do you use the same cosmetics on multiple clients?”

  “Of course not.” Karina paled. “Each client has her own separate stock. I would never share brushes or product. The idea is completely unacceptable.”

  “May we see? Just for verification purposes,” Caitlin explained.

  “Of course.” Karina led them into another room and showed them a cabinet with multiple drawers. Each drawer was labeled with a client’s name.

  “I see Heather has her own drawer.” Caitlin tilted her head toward Gretchen.

  “Yes. In fact, if you like, I’ll show you the lipstick she wore that night. But I can’t tell you the name of the color or the brand.” Karina lifted a lipstick from the corner and swirled it up to display the color. Then she quickly replaced the cap and placed it back in the drawer.

  Scarlet.

  Caitlin drew in a sharp breath. Up until this moment, she hadn’t been sure. But her own personal certainty wouldn’t be enough to keep Dutch off death row. There was still work to do. “Thanks, and I have one more question. If that’s the lipstick you put on Heather for the fund-­raising ball, how did she go about reapplying her color?”

  “I gave her a complimentary tube in the same shade to take with her. She usually applies it several times during an evening since she has to look fresh for the press.”

  “Makes sense.” Gretchen checked her watch. “Thanks so much for the tour, but we’ve got to run. I’ll definitely be in touch. I think we should set something up for the rest of gals at the Bureau.” Then she patted her pocket. “Where’s my phone?”

  “Maybe you left it in the reception area,” Caitlin suggested helpfully.

  “Would you mind showing me the way back, so
I can look for it?” Gretchen asked Karina.

  “Of course,” Karina said.

  As soon as the two women were out of sight, Caitlin quickly opened the cabinet and found Heather’s drawer. She pulled out the red lipstick and dumped it into a plastic bag, marked evidence, in her purse. The stolen lipstick might not be admissible in a court of law, but for what she had in mind, it just might work.

  Chapter Twenty-­Six

  Tuesday, October 22

  12:00 P.M.

  Austin, Texas

  BEING CONFINED IN a vehicle with Monroe Sheridan all the way from Dallas to Austin was hardly Spense’s idea of a good time, so when they arrived at the Governor’s Mansion, his chest loosened with relief. Still, he had to admit the detective had been far more open-­minded than expected. Instead of taking matters over Sheridan’s head and making him look like an ass to his superiors, Spense and Caity had gone directly to the detective with the gaping hole they’d found in his case.

  Then, apparently appreciative, Sheridan had listened without interruption and agreed to go along with a plan that could end Spense’s and Caity’s careers if things went south.

  As a housekeeper escorted them into the library of the governor’s mansion, Spense tugged at his tie.

  This had better work.

  There would be no more deceiving Jim, now. They’d gone too far, and if the SAC didn’t yet know they’d disobeyed his orders, he would by the time the governor of Texas lambasted the FBI in the press. But with his brother’s freedom, and possibly his life, at stake, it was a risk they were going to have to take.

  “That’s Davy Crockett,” Spense told the detective, whose leg jittered while he gawked at the colorful portrait.

  “Cool.” Sheridan clacked his teeth and paced to the door and back.

  “Maybe you should sit down,” Caity suggested. “You don’t want to seem nervous.”

  “I look nervous?”

  “A little.” She extended a suggesting hand toward an armchair. “It might be best if you’re not prowling the room when the governor and the first lady arrive.”

  Sheridan immediately plummeted into a chair, and it screamed in protest.

  Good thing they weren’t relying on him to set the trap. But fortunately, they’d all agreed Spense and Caity would take the lead. That way, if their plan failed, which it certainly might, Sheridan could escape much of the blame. And if all went well, they’d be happy to let the detective take the credit—­just as long as they got their man.

  Impatient, Spense tapped his fingers on his knees. He gazed around the library. Yep, still green. An expectant energy filled the room, until at last, the governor, Mrs. Cambridge, and Brian Foster, her personal guard, joined them.

  They all shook hands and after brief introductions, Heather offered tea. They declined, and she dismissed her man.

  At Spense’s nod, Caity raised an innocent finger in the air. “Just a moment, Brian, if you don’t mind.” Her smile was all gracious apology to the first lady. “We have a few questions for your guard.”

  “I thought you said you were bringing us information—­about Cindy.” Matt Cambridge, older than his wife by a decade, had that distinguished look of a gentlemen politician. His hair had been tastefully colored close to its natural shade of brown, with a hint of gray still showing at the temples. “We weren’t expecting an interrogation.” He raised an obviously displeased eyebrow. “What’s this about?”

  “About Cindy,” Spense said. “Take a seat. We’ll get to you in a minute.”

  The governor’s eyes darkened. He opened his mouth, about to speak, but then his wife, took him by the hand and led him to the love seat.

  “It’s all right, Matt. We don’t want to appear uncooperative at a time like this.” She matched her tone and conciliatory smile to the one Caity had used, but she didn’t fool Spense. Her eyes had turned slick and hard as polished agate.

  “I’m the sitting governor of Texas, Agent Spenser; you’d do well to keep that detail in mind.” He made a growling noise in his throat.

  “May I quote you on that?” Spense flipped open a notepad.

  Sheridan wiped his gleaming brow with a hankie and shoved it back in his pocket. “Take it easy, Spenser. Let’s show the governor the respect he deserves.”

  “I’m showing him exactly what he deserves,” Spense answered.

  Brian looked to Mrs. Cambridge, then to the governor in apparent alarm. “Should I stay or go?”

  “That’s up to you, Brian.” Heather raised her chin.

  Brian crossed his arms high on his chest and widened his stance. “I’ll stay for questions.”

  “Thanks,” Caity said. “Just one or two. Won’t take long at all.” She handed a paper to Sheridan, who handed it to Brian. “Is that the statement you gave the detective last week?”

  “Looks like it, yes.”

  “Would you mind reading it aloud?” She looked at Heather. “Not to worry, it’s short.”

  “ ‘On Sunday, October 13, I accompanied Governor and Mrs. Cambridge to Dallas, Texas. Governor Cambridge asked me to stay with his wife during the fund-­raiser at the Worthington Mansion, stating he would make use of local DPS officers for his own protection.’ ” Brian looked up, “He wanted someone he trusted with Mrs. Cambridge, that’s the only reason. Nothing out of order about that.”

  “Is that part of your statement?” Sheridan asked.

  “It is now,” Brian said.

  “Then I’ll make a note. For now, maybe get back to what’s written.”

  Brian wiped one palm on his slacks and continued reading. “ ‘During the entire time I was with Mrs. Cambridge, she never left the first floor of the mansion.’ ” He glanced up again. “That’s it.”

  “Thank you, Brian.” Heather gave him a grateful nod. “That will be all.”

  “Hang on,” Caity said sweetly.

  She could be swinging an axe over your head and still seem angelic. She had a way about her—­a way that Spense liked. In fact, he liked pretty much all her ways.

  “I haven’t asked my question.” She put two fingers to her lips.

  “You’re aware this is all going to be reported back to your superiors at the Bureau,” the governor said.

  “If you need the number, it’s right here.” Spense reached in his pocket and tossed his card onto the coffee table.

  “What’s the question, Dr. Cassidy?” Brian asked.

  “Your statement is that during the entire time you were with Mrs. Cambridge she never left the first floor.”

  “It is.”

  “So then, what times were you with the first lady?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I think you do.” Much to Spense’s amazement, Sheridan lifted his chin and bravely waded into high water. Perhaps he hadn’t given the detective enough credit. “What times were you with the first lady?”

  “The entire evening . . .” Brian looked at Heather. “The entire evening . . . except for my dinner break. It wasn’t a high-­risk situation, and there were other officers standing watch at the event.”

  “What time did you take your break? Seven? Eight?” Spense asked.

  “Ten o’clock.”

  “And how long was your break?”

  The governor flushed. “Good God, Brian, I told you to stay on my wife. Now look at the position you’ve put us in.”

  “She dismissed me, sir.”

  “How long was your dinner break?” Spense asked again.

  “Forty-­five minutes.”

  “Thanks, Brian.” Caity smiled reassuringly. “You can go now.”

  He sulked from the room, and when the door closed behind him, Heather reached for her husband’s hand. “I’m sorry, Matt. I shouldn’t have gone against your wishes. Now it appears I don’t have an alibi.” With an anemic laugh, she turned
to Sheridan. “Are you going to arrest me for giving my guard a dinner break?”

  No one laughed back.

  Sheridan held a recorder in the air. “Governor and Mrs. Matthew Cambridge, you understand you are not under arrest and are free to go at any time.”

  “This is asinine.” Matt Cambridge leapt to his feet.

  “Do you want a lawyer?” Spense asked.

  “I want you to get the fuck out of my house.” The governor’s face contorted, and a small drop of spittle appeared at the corner of his mouth.

  “Matt! This is being recorded.”

  Shoulders shaking, he dropped onto the love seat next to Heather. “You three are despicable. However, my wife and I are devastated by the loss of our dear friend, Cindy, so naturally we’ll answer any questions you have. No matter how absurd they may be.”

  Spense closed in on Cambridge. “Were you having an affair with Cynthia Langhorne?”

  The governor sank lower into the cushions of the love seat.

  “Don’t answer that.” Heather’s eyes widened until Spense could see white ringing all the way around the irises.

  Matt took Heather’s hand. “No,” he said. “I did not have sexual relations with Cindy Langhorne.”

  Heather heaved a sigh of relief. “You see? You’ve all made complete fools of yourselves. You’ll be laughed off the force and drummed out of the FBI, and Matt and I will be kicking up our heels with glee all the way to Washington.”

  “You’re on the record here, sir. Do you want to reconsider your answer?” Sheridan ignored the first lady. He was showing some spine. There might be hope for him after all.

  “I’m not under oath,” Matt sputtered.

  “No, but you’re on the record, and anything you say can be used against you,” the detective reminded him. “You keep on lying, and you’ll not only be finished in politics, you’ll be guilty of obstructing a murder investigation.” He scratched his head, as if puzzled. “Maybe you think you’ll look good in stripes.”

  The governor’s eyes filled with water, then something close to a sob rattled out of his chest. “Heather, I’m sorry. But I just can’t do this anymore. I know what the White House means to you, but I just can’t give it to you. It’s simply not in the stars.”