Girl Undone (TJ Peacock & Lisa Rayburn Mysteries Book 3)

by Marla Madison

The cops. Richard would be royally pissed if she helped this guy. He had to be the cop who had put the screws to the blogger. Kosik knew she was married to Conlin and TJ wondered if that had affected his choice of security guards.

  She said, “Last I heard we got freedom of speech in this country.”

  “Yeah, right Tell that to the cop who warned me not to write about the murder.”

  “So what you lookin’ for?”

  “I can’t afford a twenty-four hour bodyguard but thought maybe I could get one that would at least stay at my place nights until this guy gets arrested.”

  No way would TJ spend her nights with Bart Kosik, but her new employee was finally over the flu and ready to work again. RayAnn worked cheap, and TJ knew she wouldn’t find Kosik attractive, so at least she wouldn’t have to worry about them cozying up to each other during the night. She told Kosik what the service would cost him, and after minimal bickering, they agreed on a fee that would cover the first five nights.

  “Let me make a call.” She stepped into the next room and dialed RayAnn. The girl picked up right away, obviously eager to hear from her employer. TJ had let her think she was on shaky ground after forcing TJ to do mall duty the day after Thanksgiving, and the former bank guard was hungry to keep her job. RayAnn said yes immediately after TJ told her what the job entailed.

  “Okay,” TJ said. “I’ll call you back with the details.”

  She joined Kosik in the waiting room. “It’s all set. I’ll send someone over. Give me your address and what time you want her there.”

  Kosik wrote a check and handed it to TJ. He reached out to shake on it then seemed to think better of the gesture and walked out. She watched him until he got into his car and drove away, waiting a few seconds to see if he was being followed. He wasn’t. She realized she was left with the unhappy task of telling Richard that Kosik had hired her security service. What were the little dork’s motives, anyway, hiring her of all people? He must figure that Richard kept her in the loop and they would be comparing notes on his case. She laughed to herself as she headed back upstairs. Richard was usually pretty tight-lipped about his cases, but this Kosik thing could prove to be the exception.

  25

  Her last final behind her—she knew she had aced it—Kelsey felt relaxed for the first time in months. With nearly a four-week break before classes resumed, she was looking forward to celebrating with a relaxing night in front of the TV. A movie buff, she had a list of movies she wanted to watch that her aunt’s cable service would stream right into the wall-mounted set in her room.

  Her aunt, with other ideas about how Kelsey should celebrate, interrupted Kelsey’s plans for a quiet night. Rina had reservations for dinner with her friends at Mo’s, and Kelsey, normally not much of a foodie, loved their filet mignon with béarnaise sauce. But her aunt never tired of attempting to fix Kelsey up with a boring nephew, son, or grandson, and she immediately suspected the dinner to be a ruse. Kelsey knew from past experience that Rina wouldn’t admit a setup. Kelsey hadn’t eaten much lately—yogurt and fruit had been her recent staples—and a good meal might be worth the effort of tolerating, then snubbing, the latest male offering.

  For the occasion, she dressed to please Rina in a modest but form-fitting black cocktail dress with ruching along the bodice, adorned by the pearl necklace with the diamond clasp Rina had given her for her eighteenth birthday.

  The meal was superb as usual. Shockingly, no one had brought along a possible suitor, and Kelsey actually enjoyed the conversation. She tried to beg off when someone suggested going to Blu after dinner, a martini bar at the top of the Pfister Hotel, but her aunt insisted she come along.

  The Pfister was hosting several groups of convention-goers, and the route to the elevator was jammed with high-spirited attendees. They made it to Blu without incident, where the hostess recognized Rina and found them a prime table next to a window. As they followed her to the table, they passed the bar where a group of men were gathered wearing tuxedos decorated with silver lanyards holding equally lavish name cards. Kelsey thought their dress rather formal for conventioneers until she recalled overhearing someone mention that an event had taken place at the hotel honoring a famous group of doctors.

  Wrapped up in their conversation, the men didn’t even look their way when Rina’s party passed.

  Kelsey’s heart stopped beating. One of the men looked like Alan.

  But that wasn’t possible. What would he be doing at an affair for doctors? She ducked her head as she walked by them, not wanting to be recognized in case the man was really Alan. She imagined she could smell his rich cologne, which always reminded her of a rain forest. She slipped past her aunt’s friends to claim a chair that gave her a view of the bar. Her gaze still on the men, she wished she were old enough to order a crème brule martini to sooth her tightened nerves.

  After observing the man for the next few minutes, she had no doubt he was Alan, despite her hope that seeing him had been her imagination. She needed to find a way to get a look at his name card. When her mineral water arrived, she took a few sips and then excused herself to go to the ladies room. She found their waitress in the back of the room. “Listen, would you do me a favor?” She offered the server two twenty-dollar bills.

  The waitress, a tall redhead with legs that seemed longer than Kelsey’s entire body, shrugged and grabbed the money. “What do you need, honey?”

  Kelsey warned her not to look over there, then described the group of men at the bar and the man she was interested in. “All I need you to do is get me his name—without him knowing. Write it on one of your checks and slip it to me discreetly. I don’t want the people I’m with to know what I’m doing.”

  “Done,” the redhead said, walking away.

  Only minutes later, she returned to their table to ask if they needed another cocktail. She bent over next to Kelsey. “Miss, I think you dropped your napkin,” she said and handed her a fresh linen cloth. Kelsey thanked her and quickly placed the napkin on her lap, edging out of it the slip of paper with the name she wanted. She shoved the paper into her purse, wishing she didn’t have to wait to look at it.

  In the short time since she’d sent the woman to get the name, Kelsey had come up with at least three plausible reasons Alan could be part of an event for doctors. But in her heart she knew none of them were going to be the case. Alan hadn’t just broken her heart; he had even lied to her about who he was.

  When she finally got home and was alone in her room, Kelsey opened the note to see the name written on it—Dr. Lyle Felhaber. Her stomach sank with disappointment at the added deceit. Lisa had been right. “Alan” had to have been the one who performed the egg retrieval, or, if not that, at least arranged it. There was no end to the abominations the man had inflicted on her.

  He could not go unpunished.

  26

  When Bart got home, RayAnn Fleming’s car, an old Chevy four-door, was parked in the guest spot next to the garage. Fleming, a tall, sturdy woman whose dark complexion blended with the moonless night, greeted him briefly before reaching into the back of the BMW to carry his groceries for him.

  He showed her around the house after he put away the groceries, relieved that she didn’t seem to be a talker. He made her a pot of coffee, brought out a quilt and a pillow, and got her situated in the living room in front of the TV.

  “I’ll be in my office if you need anything,” he said and left her to her own devices. At his desk, he checked his messages on the phone and the computer, hoping to find one from Jen. After seeing there weren’t any, he thought about letting Jen know he had taken her advice and hired a security guard for the night. He was feeling good again, safe in his home. And he had an intelligent woman he could talk to, who, while not really a girlfriend—at least, not yet—was someone who seemed to at least be concerned about him.

  Conlin breathing down his neck was irritating, but that certainly beat the alternative, Headliner coming after him and Bart’s dead body being the next
one they discovered. The detective checked in with him almost hourly and wanted to know his every move, as if Conlin still thought he was guilty of something.

  He wriggled his fingers and began typing his next blog—Headliner would be starring in it, along with the messages Bart had received and the story of the body next to his garage. Conlin wasn’t going to tell him what not to write anymore. The piece came to life under his fingers. Once started, his writing picked up a rhythm that kept moving even with distractions. RayAnn paced past his office every fifteen minutes, her ebony face peering in to make sure he was all right.

  For the second time that night he thought how nice it was that she wasn’t a conversationalist. His phone rang.

  “Hi.” Jen’s voice was a welcome distraction.

  “Good to hear from you. I took your advice and hired a security guard to stay here nights. Oh, and I also took your advice about the blog. I’m about done with the first entry—it turned out great, too, if I say so myself.”

  “I’m sure it is, Bart, but I have to tell you something.”

  Bart’s shoulders slumped. When a girl said that it usually meant she was about to dump him, but Jen couldn’t dump him if they weren’t even dating. “What’s wrong?”

  “That car that followed you? I think it might have been behind me when I drove home from the Bridal Boutique.”

  Bart’s good mood evaporated. As if things weren’t bad enough, now Jen could be in danger. “Your building is pretty safe, isn’t it? You have a secure entrance?”

  “Yes, it’s kept locked, but you know how that is. Anyone can ring a few doorbells and get someone to let them in.”

  Bart did know. He had used that trick himself a number of times when trying to interview witnesses. “Do you have underground parking?”

  “No, the lot is behind the building. I plan on moving out of here, but I can’t afford the house I want.”

  He asked her the same question she had asked him. “Is there someone you can stay with for a few days?”

  “Not really. All my friends have roommates and my folks live in Fond du Lac.”

  “Stay here for the night. I have a guest bedroom, but except for nights, I’m not sure if staying here is any safer for you. I’m not exactly a trained security guard.”

  She hesitated. “Maybe I should do that. At least I could sleep tonight.”

  “Do you have a neighbor who could walk you to your car?”

  When she hesitated again, he said, “ I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  27

  Richard hadn’t been thrilled about TJ’s involvement with either Turner or Kosik, but in the end, he admitted that the business was hers and she had to run it however she thought best.

  The gig with Kosik was a done deal, but TJ had yet to make up her mind about Turner. If nothing else, she could use him from time to time when she needed deep research without the guy spending any time at her office.

  TJ and Richard were getting ready to retire for the evening when Richard got a call from Kosik. He left the room to take it and he wasn’t smiling when he returned.

  “What’s happenin’?” TJ asked.

  “Bart wanted me to know he hired a security guard to stay in his house to cover nights. But we already knew that, didn’t we?” He gave TJ a knowing look. “The other thing he wanted me to know is he thinks a friend of his is being followed by the same guy that was following him.”

  “You sure he was being followed?”

  “Now that you mention it, no one else saw the SUV he claimed was following him. But he was pretty shook up when he called, and I don’t think he was faking that. The guy’s a crime writer, though, so he has to be getting off on this to some degree, although I’m not getting a sense the guy’s making things up.”

  “So who’s this friend?”

  “Some woman. She thinks a dark SUV followed her tonight. He says she isn’t a girlfriend.”

  TJ hmphed. “Dunno how that oddity would find a girlfriend, anyway.”

  Richard grabbed her around the waist and pulled her against him for a fast kiss. “There’s someone for all tastes, babe, don’t you know?”

  TJ laughed and pulled away from him. “So what you doin’ about the woman?”

  “Kosik’s going to go pick her up and put her up at his place for the night. He thinks he has everything under control for now. I got the feeling he wasn’t exactly feeling put out about having her stay with him.” Richard said.

  “Yeah, if I looked like that guy, I’d go for it too.”

  “He’s not that bad looking. You just don’t like him.”

  “An’ you do? Let’s get serious. This twerp has done more bad-mouthin’ of the cops than he has about me and Lisa.” At the time of the abused-women murders, one of Kosik’s columns had actually praised TJ and her friends for their efforts in solving the crimes. Then he started to make insinuations.

  “I’m not getting into a debate with you over Kosik’s principles. Let’s go to bed and hope we don’t get any more interruptions before morning. How is this new employee you sent over to Kosik? Is she someone who can handle it if the perp shows up?”

  TJ frowned. “Dunno, she’s pretty green. If I thought somethin’ like that would go down, I woulda had to take the job myself. Good thing I don’t, cause that’s not gonna happen. No way I’d spend the night with that wormy writer.”

  28

  Before leaving to pick her up, Bart arranged the guest room for Jen and added an electric blanket to the bed. He always dialed the thermostat down at night and wanted her to be comfortable.

  “Where are you going?” RayAnn asked when he took a coat out of the closet.

  “I got a friend of mine involved in all this. She thinks she was followed today. I’m going to have her stay here tonight.”

  Bart felt her giving him the stink eye as he pulled his coat on. He should have known the security guard would question his leaving.

  “Want me to go along?” she asked.

  He said he would be fine by himself, but she followed him out to the garage and waited while he backed out of the driveway. Bart wouldn’t have admitted it, but even with the outdoor lights on in the back, going into his garage filled him with fear. It probably always would.

  Bart returned to his computer after coming back with Jen, who had been quiet after he followed her into the house. He had given her a quick tour of the place and introduced her to RayAnn, after which Jen claimed to be too tired to be very good company and closed herself off in the guestroom.

  Disappointed, Bart went back to his office. The story about Headliner had practically written itself once he gave himself permission to disregard Conlin’s warnings. All Bart really had to do was tell his readers what had happened over the past few days. He’d been careful to avoid editorial commentary about anything the police had or hadn’t done, choosing instead to stick to the facts. He needed them too much right now to be derogatory and added only respectful references to the detectives he’d dealt with.

  The hard part was deciding how much to share about his fear. After a few foiled attempts to sound macho, he went with total honesty, thinking his readers would identify with a blogger who wasn’t afraid to admit that Headliner had him scared shitless. That section turned out well, but the next part had him stumped. He wanted to end the blog with a letter to Headliner from himself. He read over what he finally came up with a few times and wondered if he should share it with Detective Conlin before he published it.

  SPECIAL EDITION!

  CRIME COMES TO VISIT

  During the six years I’ve done Bart’s Crime Beat, I’ve written about Milwaukee crimes, Wisconsin crimes, and even national crimes. I believe in giving my followers an alternate view and more information and background on crime than they’ll ever read in the newspapers or see on television. I won’t even mention other blogs; the success of Crime Beat speaks for itself. People come to this site to get the real skinny on what is happening behind and in front of the scenes.


  Today’s shocking post will share with you readers a new and personal dimension into a brutal murder that happened in our area. My account of the crime will give you the view of one of the victims, and that victim is yours truly, Bart Kosik. Not only have I become a victim and an observer of this crime, the perpetrator has been communicating with me and demanding I give my readers his (her?) message.

  The first incident occurred only a few days ago when my house was broken into and two of my most prized possessions stolen. This criminal, who calls himself “Headliner,” left me a note. His words insinuated that one of our area’s most horrific crimes, the Case of the Missing Abused Women, as yours truly dubbed it, may have been committed by someone other than the man reported to be responsible by the police and the media. Headliner warned me not to publish any more “muck” about him and concluded with the hair-raising threat that he would be watching me.

  I’ve received hate mail and threats before, but they never materialized into anything but what they were—an airing of hostility. But this threat, coupled with the break-in and robbery, got my attention. I’m learning what it is like to live in fear.

  The police were not very helpful, and the following day, I had the security system on my house updated.

  Yes, the police are investigating, and yes, they looked everything over and took the note with them, but the bottom line is there was nothing they could do about the threat, even preceded by a break-in and theft. What they did do, though, was warn me not to write about this guy.

  I understand that the police wouldn’t want some lunatic who was giving himself a title, and hinting that he was a serial killer, to have a leg up in the publicity department and throw fear into the city at Christmas. But since I received the first communication from Headliner, things have happened to myself and to an innocent friend that demand this story be revealed and the public warned.

  This is the first installment of my personal crime story, and I’ll continue with the second tomorrow. I must beg your patience, readers, and ask that you allow me to use the conclusion of this blog to communicate with the man who calls himself Headliner.