My phone rang and I swore to goodness gracious that if it was Finn, I was going to chuck the thing out of the window. I no longer cared if he had my stuff or not; it could all be easily replaced. I looked at the caller ID and saw that it was my dad. He was probably wondering where I was, since it was already Tuesday afternoon and we were scheduled to be back home yesterday. I wasn’t doing very well in the daughter department, not keeping my parents updated. I didn’t want them to worry about me, so there was no way I was sharing my recent events. I quickly answered the phone, “Hey, Dad. What’s up?”
“Well, I just got off the phone with a very depressed young man.” Oh no he didn’t. Finn better not have called my parents. That was low, to bring the parents into this. “Sweet sugar, Mom’s probably crocheting something.”
“Just a prayer shawl,” my dad said, and chuckled. “Listen, hun, Finn didn’t go into any details, just that he thinks there’s some miscommunication going on. He wanted me to reach out to you, make sure you’re okay.”
Oh, I’ll reach out to him all right. Maybe in a choke hold.
“Yeah, Dad. I’m okay. I should be back home tomorrow.” Or maybe the next day. I should probably have stopped telling people that I’d be home in a day or two when I was no closer to solving these murders than I was on Friday night.
“Okay, and I’m not going to pry, but I just want to say that you should talk to him.”
“Dad—”
My dad interrupted me. “Just talk to him.” I thought of the women on the boat and Finn eagerly posing with them. Talking with the man was the last thing I wanted to do. But then my next thought was of Dr. Stewart, and my problems seemed almost trivial compared to his. I sighed.
“Okay, Dad. I will.” My dad didn’t press the issue or tell me to call him right then, and I was grateful for that. That’s why my dad was the best. My mom, on the other hand? Oh Lordy, she’d better not call me anytime soon.
I clicked off with my dad and stared at my phone. “What to do? What to do?” My phone rang, springing me from my thoughts. Finn. I hit answer and waited a beat before saying anything, “Hey.”
Really original, I know.
“Hey.”
“What’s up?”
“Listen, can we please talk?”
“You got me on the phone.” Okay, so maybe I was still a little hot.
“You butt, not like that.”
I was silent while I debated my options. Ignore him forever, or hear him out? It was about fifty-fifty at that point.
“I’ll throw in some mint chocolate-chip ice cream,” Finn said in a sing-songy voice.
“How many scoops?”
“Two.”
“Three,” I countered, “and it’d better be a waffle cone.”
“Fine. Do we have a deal?”
“You’re playing dirty, but you’ve got yourself a deal.” If things went south fast, I’d at least have ice cream to bring me comfort.
Finn bought two waffle cones, just to be safe, and we walked a-ways down from the ice cream parlor to sit on a nearby park bench.
“Okay, you have me here. Now what did you want to say?” I asked.
“First off, I love you.” My eyes bored holes into him. Playing the love card right off the bat seemed about as low as calling my parents, but I needed to keep my temper in check. Last thing I needed was to have a public quarrel with Finn. Detective Blackwell would’ve reveled in that tidbit.
“Don’t give me that look. I do, I love you. So much that it makes me stupid sometimes. When you called me out on everything, I wasn’t thinking. In fact, when Kevin put that contract in front of me, I wasn’t thinking. Well, I was, but not about how it would make you feel.”
Okay. He had my attention. I looked at him as if to say, “Go on.”
“You see, the thing is, you make me want to be better because you deserve better. You deserve more than some guy who is a part-time fishing charter captain at a bait-and-tackle shop in Port Haven. I want to be more so I can give you more. That’s the type of man I want to be for you.”
Gulp. “All that for little ol’ me?” I went with humor because otherwise I might’ve cried, given how deeply Finn’s words hit me.
“I’d do a lot more for you.” Finn took my hand, and gosh darn it, he had me. How could he not? When he put it that way, I guess I could forgive him, but there was still the question of the girls on the boat and my unanswered calls. I couldn’t let that go.
“And the girls in their bikinis? Don’t think I wasn’t keeping an eye on you.”
“Kevin’s idea.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Honestly, he’s kind of a marketing genius, but a little sexist. He has this whole social media following of the Girls of Tampa who fish his charter. I hate to say it, but the men really like it.” Of course, they did. “But I won’t participate in it again, since I see how much it bothered you. I respect you.”
“Did Kevin tell you not to answer your phone too?”
“No, I just wanted to have this conversation in person.”
“And you never called me because…?”
“Honey, I know the way you think, and I know you needed some space. I wasn’t worried about you in the least. You’re a big girl. You can hold your own, which is why I gave you some space, but I have to confess … it was killing me not talking to you.”
I tried to not get caught up in his compliments and keep the conversation on task. “So, what now? You’re moving to Florida? I have a business to run in Port Haven.” Finn could say all the sweet nothings he wanted, but facts were facts.
“I know, and this is the selfish part of me, but I was hoping you would think about expanding your business, maybe franchising? Because, I swear to you, I’ll find a way out of that contract if you can’t be here with me.”
I sat thinking about what Finn had said for so long that my ice cream started to melt down the cone, something that had never happened before. My instinct was to dismiss his idea as a ridiculous notion. My business was still new, and I had just agreed to take on another employee. Could I take on more risk? Was it completely foolish? Then I thought about the potential Lavish contract and saw the possibilities dance before my eyes.
“I’m not saying yes, but it could be a possibility,” I conceded.
“That’s good enough for me,” Finn replied and then leaned in for a wowzer of a kiss. I wasn’t sure which was a bigger crime, the way he kissed me or the ice cream cone that splattered on the sidewalk. Turns out, it didn’t matter. I would forgive him for both.
“You’re going to pay for that,” I muttered between breaths.
“Babe, I’m already planning on it.”
It didn’t take long for Finn and me to start talking about the case. It turned out that Detective Blackwell hadn’t been able to track him down, and I was certain that was partially fueling her suspicion of me.
“Wait, you found another dead body?” Finn asked incredulously. I had just filled him in on what happened when I’d stormed out of the hotel room.
“Mmm-hmm,” I said while taking a lick off my new ice cream cone. “Sterling’s, on the beach.” I raised my eyebrows as if to say, “Aren’t I lucky?”
“Looks like I’ll have to go to Plan B,” Finn said under his breath.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Oh, nothing, nothing,” but the way he said it with a smile had me second-guessing his motives.
“And the detective has it out for you?”
“More like us. I’m positive you’re on her radar just as much, if not more, than me. Someone told her about our little fight at the hotel and she speculated it was about killing Marissa.”
“Yeah, because that makes sense.”
“She’s not an ace detective. I can tell that she’s grasping at straws. The problem is, and I know it as much as she does, things with this case just aren’t adding up. There has to be someone we’re both overlooking.” I gave Finn a rundown of everyone I had interviewed, leaving out ho
w I managed a face-to-face meeting with Mr. Aldrich. I was grateful he didn’t think to ask.
“You don’t think Marissa’s husband is involved in any way?”
“No. The problem is, everything points to him, but that’s too easy. Look, his wife was cheating on him, he’s a plastic surgeon—so he’d know just where to stab her—and they had a big public blow-out the day before. The list goes on. But when I met with him, I don’t know, he just doesn’t seem capable of that kind of atrocity. The look on his face, well, let’s just say it’s the look of an innocent man staring down a life sentence. He knows he’s screwed, and it’s not right.” Honestly, I had a feeling he was going to be Detective Blackwell’s new obsession. The poor man.
“What about Sterling’s wife? You said she barged into the doctor’s office.”
“Oh yeah, she was definitely hot and thinking that Dr. Stewart murdered her husband, and his wife. Like I said, it’s a conclusion that a lot of people have come to, especially the media.” I had scoped out a couple of the stories online and they were painting a pretty nasty picture of Dr. Stewart and Marissa’s marriage. He was portrayed as a jealous husband, and her the up-and-coming starlet. I didn’t consider Marissa a starlet by any stretch of imagination, but it was the type of story the entertainment industry sucked up with a flavor straw. It didn’t take much to captivate the minds of the American public.
“Anyone else?” Finn asked.
“Oh my gosh, I totally forgot about Claire. She’s the other DSC host, the redhead. I don’t know if you saw her or not. Anyway, both she and Marissa were going after the same job at the same time. She claimed that Marissa was a nasty, backstabbing coworker, and she was all Little Miss Innocent, getting out of town because she was frightened, but I’m not so sure I should’ve bought that.”
“Where is Claire now?”
“I have no idea. I actually ran into her back home.” Finn cocked his head. “Yeah, I forgot to mention that I drove to Port Haven and back on Sunday. Long story.” Finn opened and closed his mouth like he wished to argue, but thought against it. For once, he was being smart.
“What’s your gut say?” Finn asked.
“I don’t know. There are still too many loose ends and open questions. For one, I have no idea how Sterling died. For all we know, it could’ve been natural causes.” I wasn’t buying that, but I had to admit it was a possibility. There hadn’t been any visual markings on his body to indicate that he had been shot or stabbed. No clues to tip me off one way or the other. “Another theory that I’ve kind of tossed around is that maybe he committed suicide.”
“Why would you think that?”
“I’m not sure exactly, but I was thinking that maybe after Marissa and Dr. Stewart got into that fight, she was having second thoughts about being with Sterling. Dr. Stewart never said anything, but I heard from the CEO that Marissa knew she wasn’t getting the prime-time spot. So, the ‘power couple’ vision she had was never going to come to fruition, not at DSC. If that was her motive for the affair, then I can see her calling it off. She had more prestige being the doctor’s wife than being Sterling’s arm candy. Maybe that was too much for Sterling to take.”
“You’re definitely on to something. If that’s the case, though, I wonder if there’s a suicide note.” That was one angle I hadn’t given much thought to. He obviously didn’t leave one at home, or his wife wouldn’t have been barging into Dr. Stewart’s office to accuse him of murder. I thought of where else Sterling would have left one, if one existed. All I came up with was his office. I was sure the police had already searched it, but what if they missed something? I really wanted to take a look for myself.
“How the heck are we going to break into DSC headquarters?” I kept my voice low, but it didn’t really matter because no one was paying any attention.
“I could do it. You could provide cover and text me if anything came up.”
Okay, I know that might’ve been the smart thing to do, but I didn’t want to miss out on any of the action. Besides, I knew the lay of the land, not Finn.
“You think it’s worth it? The risk, I mean.” I’m assuming the police searched every inch of his office. It’s not like a suicide note was going to be left in his desk drawer. I had thought of that once before; but the more I analyzed it, the more I realized it was pointless to search Sterling’s office.
“Does committing suicide void life insurance?”
“I think so. Why? Where are you going with this?”
“Hear me out. If I were going to kill myself, I’d definitely want to leave a note to let my close family and friends know why, but that doesn’t mean I’d want the entire world to know. Leaving a public suicide note would do just that. Especially being a celebrity. I wouldn’t want my deepest darkest secrets to be the eight o’clock breaking news.
“So, what would you do?
“Email it.” It was the most basic solution I could think of.
“Whose email do you want to hack into?” I gave some thought before answering. It wouldn’t have done Sterling any good to email Marissa, seeing she was already dead, and quite possibly at his hands. I couldn’t see him emailing a confession to her husband either. Surely, he would have taken that immediately to the police. The only person who would have kept his suicide a secret would’ve been his wife, Mary Jane, and I told Finn as much.
“Okay, let’s do it,” Finn replied.
I don’t know if I should have been more alarmed or relieved that my beau was all gung-ho on hacking into somebody’s email address, but I fell in love with him a little bit more after that statement. Still, he did get a couple of raised eyebrows from me. “I love your eagerness and all, and this might come as a surprise to you, but I can’t even hack into my own email account, let alone someone else’s.” Seriously, I forget my password all the time.
“I can.” He averted his eyes downward.
“Come again?”
He blew out a big puff of air and looked back up at me. “Let’s just say, I wasn’t always as virtuous as I am now.”
“Ooh, I’m sure there’s a good story behind those words, but I’m going to let you save it for another day. Right now, I want you to walk me through this whole hacking process.”
While I finished my ice cream cone, Finn gave me the rundown. I learned that there are primarily two ways to hack into someone’s email. One is phishing, which requires creating fake email login pages that mirror the legitimate ones, and stealing the information as soon as the user enters it. It was the more sophisticated option, but it also required the most development time and came with some serious legal ramifications. I had escaped jail time twice this week and I didn’t want to chance it again. However, it was an option that remained on the table, but not our go-to just yet.
The other option Finn mentioned was a method called key logging. The way he described it, key logging is basically a software secretly installed on the user’s computer that records every keystroke the person types in. The best part was that it could be installed remotely, and it was virtually undetectable while working. The program then uploads the key log to a private server that only we could access online. I left the details up to Finn, as I understood it was a bit more complicated than that, especially getting it installed on her computer and what to do with the key log once we had it. Finn started to go in depth about a buddy of his who could convert the program file to attach to a photo, so when she opened her email and clicked on it, the program would automatically install. My eyes started to glaze over. I didn’t understand all that technical stuff and decided to leave it entirely up to him. I sat back while he made some phone calls and got everything “all set,” whatever that meant. Fingers crossed, we would strike gold.
17
We decided to take a little road trip after the ice cream shop and ended up at one of Finn’s favorite places—a pawn shop.
One of Finn’s hidden talents is the ability to sniff out a pawn shop anywhere. But it doesn’t stop there. Flea markets, garage
sales—they’re all fair game. He’s a master at finding second-hand junk. In fact, we both have a love for second-hand goods. However, I prefer antiques, as the owner of the shop below my apartment will attest to. Kathleen knows my style and I find something to love every time I go in there, especially jewelry.
As Finn and I stood in the pawn shop, it wasn’t jewelry that caught my eye this time, but a beautiful perfume bottle. It was a perfectly round, blue-green glass globe. The color was like sea glass with the gold top and ivory spray tassel. So classy. I really wanted it for my collection. Maybe I’d create something a little bit more sensuous to fill it with.
“Babe, look at this,” Finn said to me.
I walked over to the display case next to him and peered down at a gold necklace that I’d recognize anywhere. I forgot all about the perfume bottle.
“My cross!” I touched my neck. I had no idea how the piece had ended up in a pawn shop outside Tampa, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to have it around my neck once more.
“Are you folks interested in something?” An older man with thick-rimmed glasses and patchy white stubble walked the length of the display case to meet us.
I didn’t even attempt to follow the golden rule of “playing it cool” at that moment. I lost all composure and blurted out, “This is mine. I want it back,” pointing through the glass at the necklace.
“Well now, if I had a dollar for every time I heard that,” the man said dryly.
“I’m serious, I don’t know where you got this, but it was stolen from me last week.” It was the only plausible explanation. The alternative being that I dropped it, someone found it, and then hocked it here, which was even harder to believe than someone stealing it and fencing it.
“Listen, lady, I don’t know anything about any stolen necklace, but if you’re interested in this piece, you’re in luck because it’s on sale.”
I glared hard at the weasel. “Or I could call the cops. Maybe they could look around, see if anything else is hot.”
Eyeliner & Alibis Page 10