Dyed and Gone to Heaven (Curl Up and Dye Mysteries, #3)

by Aimee Nicole Walker

  “I’m truly sorry for your loss, Alice. Thank you for making time to answer our questions,” I said appreciatively. “Will you please give one of us a call if you think of anything else?” She accepted our cards silently and nodded her head as the tears continued to fall from her face. “Do you want us to call someone for you?”

  “I’ll be fine,” she said, sounding the exact opposite. “Tell your mama I said hello, John.”

  “Will do, Alice. You take care now,” he said warmly.

  We waited for Alice to return inside the house before we got back in my car. “Let’s talk game plan,” I told Dorchester. “There are a lot of boxes to go through and just two of us. We need to update both my captain and your sheriff…”

  “Preferably not at the same time,” Dorchester interjected wryly. Those two men in the same room was a recipe for disaster. It was extremely uncomfortable, and you had a feeling that you were one incendiary comment away from a massive explosion that would burn everyone in the room, perhaps the entire county too.

  “Agreed,” I replied. “I’m hoping they let us borrow our partners for a day or two once they realize that Robertson’s homicide connects to Turner’s. We could use extra sets of hands and eyes.”

  “Definitely.” Dorchester snorted and added, “Hopefully our partners won’t kill each other in the process.” Adrian couldn’t stand Detective Whitworth, and I was sure the feeling was mutual. Their time working together hadn’t lasted much beyond a week, Adrian said it felt like a year.

  “I think they can manage if we’re there as a buffer,” I replied, but I wasn’t so sure.

  “It’s worth a shot,” he said, pulling out his cellphone. I listened to his side of the conversation with Sheriff Tucker and could tell that he wasn’t getting any arguments out of the man. “Tucker’s on board,” he said after he hung up.

  I placed a call to Captain Reardon, but I got his voicemail. It wasn’t until I pulled into the sheriff’s department parking lot that he returned my call. He agreed to send Adrian over to help me and asked me to keep him updated every step of the way.

  Dorchester, Whitworth, and I began sorting what must have been decades’ worth of boxes. “I bet the historical society would like to have some of these articles,” Whitworth said. “I think he saved every newspaper Blissville Daily News published. Hell, some of these are older than he was.”

  “Looks that way,” Adrian said from the doorway. “Hell, I was looking forward to working with my partner again, but I’m not so sure now.”

  “Awww, I missed you too, buddy. Like a toothache,” Whitworth said snidely under his breath, but loud enough for us all to hear.

  “I was hesitant because of the dozens of dusty, musty boxes, Whitworth, but yeah, you’re a pain in the ass just the same,” Adrian told him.

  Dorchester and I exchanged looks that said, “Here we go.” The awkwardness dissipated when Adrian came over and shook Dorchester’s hand and slapped me on the back.

  “Rough day, partner? You doing okay?” Adrian asked me.

  “Better than Mr. Robertson,” I replied flatly. “Thanks for coming so quickly.”

  “I’m glad I can help. Where do you want me to start?”

  Dorchester grinned broadly and handed Adrian a box jammed so full it was nearly overflowing. “The top documents in this box are dated around the year the casino was first pitched. See if you can find anything about the original deal inside. We’re looking for names of the players involved or anyone who threatened him. Gabe and I will pay a visit to Robertson’s attorney tomorrow, but I’d like to have some solid details before we start asking questions.”

  There were three boxes that appeared to have the most recent clippings in them, so Whitworth, Dorchester, and I each took a box and began digging through them. I found some bank statements in my box that told me that Mr. Robertson was not a poor individual. As mistrusting as he was, the amount of money he had in deposits in two county banks was staggering; all the account balances well exceeded the limits protected by FDIC insurance.

  “Does anyone else think it’s weird that Robertson would leave millions of dollars unprotected in two banks?” I asked.

  “How many millions are we talking?” Adrian asked.

  “Three million that I can find,” I replied. “It’s hard to say what might be in Robertson’s safe deposit box.”

  “It’s not that unusual,” Whitworth replied. “Investments like mutual funds, stocks, and bonds aren’t protected by the FDIC, just bank accounts and certificates of deposits. He might’ve been old school and trusted low-interest returns more than riskier investment vessels that had an opportunity to make more money. It would be a risk either way unless he wanted to divide his money between several banks. Hell, he would’ve needed twelve different banks.” Okay, so maybe Whitworth did add value to the team.

  “We’ll copy the bank records then hand them over to his attorney for his estate,” Dorchester commented. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and find a paper trail that leads back to our killer.”

  “That’s how it works on television,” Adrian remarked with a snort. “Hey, what’s this?” he asked suddenly, pulling a small 3 X 5 notebook out of the box. “Guys, I think this is the kind of thing we need. They’re the notes he made after meeting with the consortium. Check this out!”

  2/5/13

  Met with ML and RS regarding casino. He offered me ten million dollars. I insisted on meeting DM in person before I’d accept an offer. I want him to look me in the eye, shake my hand, and I want guarantees. I want them from him, not his lackeys.

  2/12/13

  Met the man himself. DM is friendlier than I thought. He brought RS and that weasel ML back with him. He’s sneakier and more deadly than an old dog’s fart. DM agreed to terms. Putting it in writing for lawyers to review.

  2/20/13

  Meeting with DM, ML, and our attorneys to review and sign paperwork. Those little asshole nephews aren’t getting shit when I die.

  3/25/13

  Meeting with county commissioners set for April 1st. Hope the joke isn’t on me.

  4/1/13

  The casino was shot down in a 5-4 vote. DM said he has a way of getting around it. We’ll get enough signatures on a petition to get the issue on the ballot.

  7/5/13

  400,000 signatures were needed. We got 800,000. Casino goes on the ballot.

  11/4/13

  Casino initiative failed. Only 37 % voted to build it.

  11/5/13

  DM retracted offer for the land.

  “That’s the last entry in this notebook,” Adrian said.

  “DM is Drew McCarren, CEO of McCarren Consortium Inc.,” I told Adrian. “I don’t know who the other initials belong to though. We need to find out. Let’s see if we can find a recent notebook in these boxes. If not, we’ll check his house again for it,” I said.

  We searched through the most recent boxes and didn’t find another notebook, so Dorchester and I planned to return to Robertson’s house first thing the following morning before we met with Robertson’s attorney and head to Cincinnati to update the task force. I felt it was crucial to figure out who the other players were on Drew McCarren’s team.

  We put everything back in the boxes, tagged them in as evidence, and the four of us packed them down in the storage room in the basement of the building. Once we finished, Dorchester called the law office of Rylan Broadman and notified him of his client’s death and scheduled to meet him at ten in the morning on the following day. That would put us in Cincinnati around noon to meet with the rest of the task force and discuss the next steps in the case.

  I felt like I had done all that I could that day, but I couldn’t say I was going home with a sense of accomplishment. Instead, my heart felt heavy with the responsibility of tying the Turner and Robertson cases together. In my heart, I knew they were connected. The casino was the only common denominator that made sense. I knew that by solving their cases, I’d bring closure to Owen Smithson’s family
too.

  I unlocked the rear of the salon and stepped inside the kitchenette. From inside the salon came the happy sounds of music playing through the speakers and a lot of chatter going on. It was precisely what I needed right then, so I did something I rarely did. I entered Josh’s space and just watched him work. Seeing him talking and smiling with his client as he straightened her hair lifted my spirits.

  “Big Daddy’s home!” Savage announced loud enough for everyone to hear.

  Everyone turned their heads and looked at me, but I only had eyes for one person. Josh’s smile from seeing me slid from his face because I probably wore the strain of the day on mine. Worry clouded his pretty hazel eyes, and I just couldn’t handle being the reason he lost the sparkle in his eyes. I went to him, realizing that every eye in the salon was on the two of us. I hooked my finger in his apron strings that he had to wrap around his slender frame twice before tying and tugged him to me.

  “I’m happy to see you, Sunshine.” I dropped a sweet kiss on his forehead that lingered for a few seconds. “I feel so much better now.”

  “Well, I don’t,” Josh said sassily, but the sparkle I adored so much had returned. “Now I’ll be thinking about you being upstairs while I’m trying to work.”

  “Not sorry,” I fired right back.

  “Lucky for you, it’s an early night for me,” Josh said. I knew I was dismissed when he turned back to his client.

  I waved at Chaz and dropped a quick kiss on Meredith’s cheek before I grabbed Savage’s cage and headed upstairs. Buddy met me exuberantly while Diva worked really hard to pretend like she was ignoring me. I had heard how much she loved Kyle and I felt the irrational desire to win her over until she liked me more, which was why I gave her a few extra kitty treats before I grabbed a cold beer and headed toward the bathroom.

  My skin had begun to itch from my need to get clean. I knew that the stench of death and decay clung to my clothes, skin, and hair. I shouldn’t have touched Josh until I washed the misery away, but I couldn’t resist his goodness and light. I turned the temperature hotter than I normally liked, but not as hot as Josh preferred, to scald the day off my mind, body, and soul. I sipped the cold beer while I let the hot water beat down on my tense shoulders and neck for several long minutes.

  Once the beer was gone, I set the empty bottle on the shelf and began scrubbing my body hard. I didn’t think that one pass with the washcloth was enough and kept scrubbing until my skin was red and felt like thousands of little needles poked me from head to toe. It was then that I realized the tingling sensation was from the water turning cold. Josh’s hot water tank was a fairly big one, which meant I was in the shower longer than I had realized.

  I shut off the water and ran a towel over my body before I stepped over the edge of the tub and onto the fluffy rug there. Josh was sitting on the vanity waiting for me with a cold bottle of beer and a welcoming smile. There was only one thing that was going to make me feel better, and it wasn’t the beer. I took the bottle from his hand and set it on the vanity beside him then stepped between Josh’s parted legs and lifted him so that he wrapped them around my waist.

  “You could’ve gotten in the shower with me instead of waiting out here,” I told him.

  “I thought you might need some alone time after the day you’ve had,” Josh replied.

  “What I need is you.” I captured his mouth in a kiss that was hot enough to heat my chilled flesh.

  Josh pulled back from our kiss after long minutes. “You have me, Gabe. You’ll always have me.”

  I carried Josh to our room and placed him on the center of the bed before I stripped his clothes off. His touch and his kiss restored my peace and reminded me of everything good I had in the world. When I slid inside him, it was the purest love I had ever felt. Every kiss, every sigh, and every whispered word of love from his mouth patched the holes that the cruelty of life tore out of my soul that morning.

  I loved him with my hands, my body, and my mouth. I didn’t stop until our trembling bodies clung together as our orgasms powered through us. I rolled to my side and pulled him with me so I could hold him tight to me instead of squishing him into the mattress. I ran my fingers through his hair while he placed little kisses on my neck.

  “What do you feel like eating for dinner?” he asked.

  “Let’s just have pizza delivered,” I replied. I didn’t feel like cooking nor did I feel like turning loose of Josh long enough for him to whip up magic in the kitchen. After the day I had, the only person I wanted to see was him, and the only sounds I wanted to hear was his voice or the television. I needed to embrace the beautiful moments with Josh because I was reminded in the ugliest way that morning of how fragile life truly was.

  GABE’S WORDS AND TOUCH eradicated the uneasy feelings I had once Emory showed up at my salon. It was so easy to forget that the real world even existed when I was in his arms, but reality often found a way to make her presence known and knocked me back down to earth. Not this night, I vowed. I didn’t know what Gabe found at Mr. Robertson’s house, but I knew it had to be awful.

  Gabe held me tight to him for so long that he drifted off to sleep. I didn’t want to move and wake him, but I was starving, and his after-sex snoozes could last a while. I pressed a final kiss to his neck and slowly maneuvered out of his arms until I stood next to the bed looking down at him. The deeply grooved worry lines in his forehead from earlier were gone, and his mouth looked relaxed instead of tight with tension. I just hoped they stayed gone when he woke from his little nap.

  I quietly pulled on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt before I tiptoed out of the room. “Don’t you dare leave off your mushrooms,” Gabe said drowsily just as I was about to pull the bedroom door closed.

  “Triple mushrooms it is,” I said saucily before shutting the door. Mushrooms were still a hotly contested issue between us. The truth was that I didn’t always want mushrooms on my pizza, but Gabe thought I left them off because of him anytime that I didn’t order them.

  I retrieved my cellphone from where I left it and called Marty’s Pizzeria to place my order. “Hello, Josh,” Marty said when he answered. “You want your usual?”

  “Not tonight, Marty,” I answered. “I’d like a large sausage and green pepper with extra cheese.”

  “No mushrooms, huh kid?” he asked.

  Damn, was he on Gabe’s payroll? “I’ll take an order of fried mushrooms and mozzarella sticks instead.”

  “Be there in about thirty minutes,” Marty said then hung up the phone.

  I let Jazzy out of his cage to play and run through his tunnels while I watched from the couch with Buddy. Diva—never one to be left out—jumped on the back of the couch and proceeded to bathe her paws loudly. I looked at her over my shoulder, and her pale blue eyes dared me to complain. That ornery cat wouldn’t hesitate to swat my ears with her paw.

  “Come give me some tongue!” Savage squawked from his cage.

  “Not right now, Dirty Bird!”

  “Dirty Bird!”

  I flipped the television on and started watching an episode of my favorite home improvement show while I waited for the pizza delivery guy to show up. The doorbell for the back door rang a little earlier than I expected, but I didn’t give it much thought. I grabbed my wallet and headed downstairs. I opened the door without looking to see who it was and regretted it immediately. Seriously, what kind of heinous act needed to be committed against me before I’d learn my lesson? Apparently attempted murder and stalking weren’t enough to do the trick.

  “Oh, it’s you,” I said flatly. No one would volunteer me for the neighborhood welcoming committee. What I really wanted to say was, “What the fuck do you want?”

  “Hello to you, too.” Emory “Fabio” Jackson wore a humorous smile plastered on his face. As if the dude commanded the wind, it kicked up as it had earlier in the day to send his hair floating artfully around his head. “I wanted to introduce myself formally,” he said, pushing the bottle of wine that sported
a big red bow toward me.

  I looked at the bottle suspiciously then back at him. “I don’t drink,” I lied.

  “Oh.” His cheeks pinkened with embarrassment in the fading April sunlight. I almost felt bad for lying to him. The truth was, I irrationally didn’t want anything from him inside my house. “Your boyfriend perhaps?”

  “He’s not my boyfriend.”

  “Oh?” Was that hopefulness I heard in his voice?

  How did he even know about Gabe anyway? He’d only lived next to me for a day. I had closed the damn bedroom curtains, so I was sure he hadn’t seen us getting naked. I reasoned that he would’ve had several chances to see Gabe coming and going from our home and calmed myself. “That’s much too tame of a word for what Gabe is to me,” I told him. “He’s more of a beer man, anyway. Thank you for thinking of us, though. Mrs. Hastings across the way loves that kind of wine. She’s the beige house with burgundy shutters.” I pointed to her house just in case my message wasn’t clear.

  “Uh, okay,” he said slowly. I expected him to turn and walk back down the steps, but apparently, Emory was a glutton for punishment. “My name is Emory Jackson,” he said, extending his hand toward me.

  I wasn’t proud of the way I scrutinized his hand. I wanted to tell him I was a germaphobe, but one lie was bad enough. I hesitantly shook his hand and was pleased when nothing weird happened. “Josh Roman,” I replied. “My boyfriend,” for lack of a better word, “is Gabriel Wyatt. He’s a detective with the Blissville PD with a big gun. Real big.” I was blabbering at that point because I just wanted the guy to go away and didn’t know how to make it happen without coming right out and saying it.

  “Sunshine, are you touting my attributes to the pizza delivery guy again?” Gabe asked as he came down the stairs. I opened the door wider so Gabe could see who was on our back porch. “Oh, hey, you’re the new guy who moved in next door,” Gabe said with a friendly smile. “Gabriel Wyatt,” he said, extending his hand.