Wow. Lacey’s receptionist was a mess.
“Sorry,” she said.
“No problem.” I wearily eyed the tissue box as her hand crept toward it. “I came to speak with someone regarding Logan Bradley.”
“Are you with the police?”
“Sure.” A cop had questioned me. Close enough.
“They've already asked me questions.” Tears welled in her eyes. Something about that shade of hazel was familiar. “I told them everything I know.”
Her head burrowed into the crook of her arm. Loud wails and sniffles followed. Another goose honk, and she didn't even have a tissue. Nice. Nothing inconspicuous about a crying woman at all. Nope, nothing. Except for everything. Stealth hated me. What had I done to piss it off? At this rate, I might as well pick up her phone and page the office to notify everyone of my existence. Because this was a crowd enticed dramatic moment.
A woman walking down the hallway gave only a brief glance at the sobbing receptionist before she passed. Serious front desk break-downs must have been going on during the past week to receive that kind of reaction.
“I’m sorry," I said, my voice making vain attempts to rise above her continued wails. “What’s your name?”
“Chelsea Hy…” Her words muffled into another sob, and I hoped for her sake she hadn’t said Heimlich. Because some last names just plain sucked.
“I need to ask a couple more questions about Logan. How did you know him?”
Her head lifted up to reveal a blotchy face. “They already asked me questions.”
“Yes, you said that, but these are follow-ups based on new evidence. Can you please explain your relationship with Mr. Bradley?”
“He was my boyfriend.”
“How long had you been dating?”
“Well… uh…”
“I’m sorry, but I need to understand your relationship with Mr. Bradley. How long were you dating?”
“Oh, my gosh, you know? Don’t you?” Her face crumpled.
“Know what?”
“We weren’t dating.”
Okay, yeah, I knew that. Now please tell me something I didn’t know. My lips firmed as I waited to see if I’d get sobs or answers.
Her shoulders sagged forward. “I told the cops we were dating but the truth is, he was seeing someone else.”
All right. While suspicious, I hadn’t known that. How had I been so far off the mark with him?
And there went her sobs. But at least I got a two for one: answers and wails. Lucky me. What a horrid sense of humor luck had. It should stick to the Bahama vacations. My eyes skimmed Chelsea’s desk for an Advil, vodka — anything to dull the fast forming ache inside my skull. Although vodka would probably be a symptom, not a cure.
“Who was this woman?"
“I don’t know.” Chelsea shook her head. “But she didn't deserve him. She was never around, so I started doing things so he’d notice me instead.”
“Things? What kind?”
“Uh, food? I brought him sandwiches for lunch every day. My mother says, ‘A way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.’”
“How long did you bring him sandwiches?”
“I don’t know. A year, I guess? I’d also get his dry cleaning for him. He’d say I didn’t have to do that, but he’d smile whenever I brought it to him, so I couldn’t stop. Have you ever had someone smile at you like that? You know, the kind that puts butterflies in your stomach?”
Yeah, Mind wasn’t going there because of one particular smile that left me with major flutters even though it shouldn't.
“And then sometimes I’d go over to his apartment and straighten it up so he’d have a clean place to come home to. He didn’t understand how I kept getting inside, but my brother had told me where he hid his spare key.”
“Uh…?”
“And when he got the flu a few months ago, I took him chicken noodle soup and his favorite book. He wouldn’t answer his door. He probably didn’t want me to get sick, so I sat outside his door and read the book to him.”
It took several seconds for Brain to realize she’d shut up because holy crap. Sure, I stalked people in order to help out their love lives, but this girl… this wasn’t stalking. This was psychotic stalking. Crap. What had I gotten myself into? What had Logan gotten himself into?
“He was starting to like me.” Her intense hazel eyes pleaded up at me. “But my brother told me Logan was taking that rich bitch to Eric’s wedding, and I’d already bought my dress. He was supposed to take me to the wedding. My brother had said he might.”
“Logan never asked you to the wedding?”
“No, I said he’s taking that tramp who’s never there for him. And the thing is, I thought he’d made her up. Trying to play hard to get, you know? All of those excuses for her not being around because she was in Europe or China for charity events couldn’t be real because I mean, who does that? Who has the kind of money to live all over the world and help other people? If she really cared about him, she wouldn’t leave him. In the entire year, I’ve known him, she’s never been around once, and now she’s coming to the wedding when he’s supposed to take me?”
“Just to confirm, it was your brother who said Logan would take you to Eric’s wedding?”
“Yes.”
“Who is your brother?”
“Doug Hylett.”
Knew it wasn’t Heimlich. “How does your brother know Logan?”
“They work together.”
I restudied her face, and the missing pieces came together. Mr. Donut. She was the female version of Mr. Donut except with glasses. In my conversation with him that morning at Health-Tech Systems, he’d been eager to discuss Logan, which didn’t smack as hiding something. But, he was obviously an instigator in his crazy psychotic sister’s antics. So, suspect list it was. Mr. Donut, aka Doug Hylett, just knocked Eric Kane down from the number one spot.
The reception phone rang and the strangest thing happened. Chelsea’s blotchy red face faded back into normal white, glasses shoved back to the bridge of her nose, and all sniffles stopped within two seconds flat. Huh.
“Yes, Mr. Mercer? Of course, Mr. Mercer.” She nodded at me. “I have to go.”
And go she did. She’d vanished into a room tucked behind the reception desk before my mouth could utter another syllable. All right, then. Time to flee. I gave a nod to the lazy hellhound sprawled out on the gleaming floors and took three steps in the direction of the elevators—
“What a surprise.”
Damn. That voice. The one that turned all my delicious dreams of Tristan’s sexy abs into nightmares of bloodcurdling screams and scorpions.
I hated scorpions. They stung you numb. I frowned and faced down the biggest scorpion. Because I was damn tired of fake smiling. “Lacey.”
Her eyes were cold as she addressed the woman standing at her side. “Sarah, this is my fiancée’s sister. The one I told you about.”
Well, that’s never good. My suspicions were confirmed by Sarah’s raised brows and lips softening into a surprised “Ohhh…”
“Again, what a surprise.” Obligatory dramatic pause. “What are you doing here?”
Yeah, I got it. Lacey appreciated the sight of me about as much as I did her. Except I didn’t cause acid reflux from my mere presence. She did. But still. Crap. What was I supposed to say? Well, you know, I’d been pleading, begging and appealing to the powers that be that you’d be off choking on salami during my visit? Certainly, that would go over well.
Nope, Mouth wasn’t going to speak those words. It would stick to something safe. “I came to see if you were free for lunch.”
That wasn’t safe.
Lacey’s eyes narrowed. Gone were the days of faux sisterly concern. Three-hundred-dollar blouses above family. Got it.
“No.”
Thank God. “Well, I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by.”
“Next time, call first. My job is important, and I don’t have time to dally. I have a
n important meeting in fifteen minutes.”
Dally? Did she really say dally? Her entire kitchen conversation with my mother flashed in my mind. Enough said.
“Sorry to be a bother.” Hopefully, she understood sarcasm. “I’ll leave now.”
Another three steps toward the elevators and—
“I thought you said she wasn’t pretty, and that’s why she agreed to date Mark Harrell,” Sarah said.
I spun around, the target of my eyes already in focus. “Hey! I’m not dating this Mark or anyone else you shove at me.”
“Oh, don’t be like that, Kiara. It’s not as if you’ve got men knocking down your door. It’s time to take whatever you can get before you become the crazy old cat lady. You don’t want that, do you?”
“I don’t own a cat.”
“Not now, you don’t.”
A growl from the direction of Hellhound clued me into his thoughts on cats. When his tail started thumping, I turned to see him sniffing the air. Chelsea reappeared from that magical room located behind her desk carrying a tray loaded down with sandwiches, fruit, and what appeared to be a large pitcher of iced tea.
“Grow up, Kiara,” Lacey said. “For once, think about someone else. The focus needs to be on my wedding right now, and not your mother obsessing about you being alone for the rest of your life. Can’t you understand that?”
Hellhound jumped from his spot right as Chelsea passed behind Sarah and Lacey. Chelsea stumbled as a large, invisible mouth nipped at a plate on her tray. Déjá vu. The entire tray toppled. Food crashed to the ground. Lacey stood drenched in iced tea.
Damn, that beast had it out for her.
"You!" Her face was red, and she didn’t even need marinara sauce. "This is your fault. This only happens around you.”
I watched Lacey’s fleeing back retreat down the hallway as Hellhound polished off the fallen sandwiches. Yeah, I was so out of the wedding.
Chapter Twenty-One
Mr. Donut. Maude. Hooker. Two days. My list was all over the place, but there was one connection: my demise. Two freakin’ days. Was it too early for my life to flash before my eyes? Because serious panic had settled in. I couldn’t stop thinking about my Polly Pockets collection from when I was six.
A text message chimed.
Brittany Fellows report on my desk by 5.
Fabricated report it was because I had nothing. Zilch. Except for her pet llama kept inside her 2000 square foot loft. Weird.
Another chime.
Coffee. Don’t over-roast the beans.
Barista now in my job description. Good to know.
Chime.
Double-check the Bennett reservations.
Maude was on a roll. Too bad I couldn’t give a crap. Well, I could, but priorities were a jumbled mess inside my head, and I really had trouble understanding which should come first. Work, because of that paycheck thing. Logan Bradley, because those paychecks were useless in Hell. Brain made numerous attempts to compartmentalize the two days until I die to an unused corner specifically reserved for cobwebs and useless Infomercial facts. But cold chills, nightmares, and developing panic attacks kept dragging it back into the frontal lobe.
The whole mess was driving me mad. Simply mad. Hopefully straitjackets came in green and were flame retardant.
Despite the bleak future outlook, Brain grasped at one last glimmer of hope. Which was why I stood on plush green lawn instead of hard city sidewalk… staring down at Aunt Kate, who was reclined on a lawn chair in her front yard with a can of beer in one hand, a cell phone in the other, and staring up at half naked men on her roof.
“Didn’t you replace the roof last summer?”
“It’s best to be proactive against leaks and water damage. My insurance company agrees.”
“What’s your agent’s name?”
“Ronald Hughes.”
“Single?”
“As the day he was born.”
“I think that’s naked.”
“What?”
“Naked as the day he was born.”
“Well, that too.”
The clatter of fallen shingles hitting an already growing pile on the front lawn sounded. I looked up to a glistening muscled chest gleaming in bright sunlight. Eyes belonging to the drool-worthy six-pack abs that held up the impressive chest, gave a wink and turned back to his work, leaving a toned backside in perfect view. Aunt Kate sighed, and I thought about heaving one along with her.
“Beer’s in the fridge. Go find a chair.”
I tore my gaze away from my aunt’s obsession and focused on the goal. “Can’t. Can I—”
A text on a cell phone chimed. For once, it wasn’t mine.
Aunt Kate checked her phone, and a soft laugh escaped her lips. But it was timid, nowhere near the boisterous self-confident snicker I was accustomed to hearing. “He’s wonderful.”
“Who?”
“Phillip, who else?”
“You’re still speaking with him?”
“Why ever would I not?” Another cell phone chime had her looking down. “I think he’s the one.”
Half-naked men on her rooftop, forgotten. Can of beer, whose contents were now spilling across her grass, forgotten. Aunt Kate simply stared at her phone with a shy smile for a man who’d given me vibes as bad as a black cat walking under a ladder on Friday the thirteenth.
“Now don’t be givin’ me that look, young one.” Her stare was back on me. “Aren’t ye happy for me?”
Was that a trick question?
“He was impressed with you. You know? Asked lots of questions.”
I frowned. “What have you told Phillip?”
“Oh, this and that. He agrees you’re a fabulous niece, which ye are. Don’t get a big head. He’s been interested in our Irish history.” Her cell chimed again. She laughed. “He has the most wonderful sense of humor. Find a man with good humor, Kiara.”
“Uh, sure.”
More text chimes and more laughter had come before she focused back up. “What did you ask?”
“Car?” I pointed. “Borrow?”
“Oh, sure. Just…” She studied her phone and laughed again.
As I grabbed her keys, I wasn’t feeling the Phillip love. Fifteen minutes later, I was thankful for the pimped-up Kia. It fit in well with the sketchy neighborhood I was cruising through. Not too far from the auto body shop, actually, and I was searching for a hooker.
Not something I ever expected to be doing. If my mother ever found out, I’d better have Valium in hand. She’d need ten. I slowed as I approached Riverside and Knox and glanced to the corner. A woman wearing a low-cut top and a micro-mini skirt both in the fabric of spandex fit the bill. I rolled the window down.
“Sorry, Sweet Cheeks. You may be a looker, but I don’t swing that way. Unless you got a stack? Then maybe I could give it a try?”
“I’m looking for Gina Welch.” I studied the woman’s eyes for any hint of recognition. “Have you seen her?”
“Don’t know her.”
“Yes, I think you do.” The corner of her left eye twitched. Her tell. “Where can I find her?”
“She’s busy.”
At the morgue, I know. “I’m not leaving until I have an answer.”
“You’re messin’ with my business.”
“Too bad.”
“You a cop?”
“No.” I took in her tight frown. “Promise.”
“Okay, listen. I don’t know shit about Gina except she’s been missin’ for over a week, and that ain’t good. You want info? Go talk to Shawna over on Houston.”
“Houston. Got it.”
But the woman was already back to standing in her spot, shooting daggers at my car. Business, I know. Got it.
When I arrived at Houston, a platinum blond with fried hair stood on the corner, along with a bottle helped red head. Their heels were high and the bright red paint on their lips come-hither. If the woman back on Knox shot daggers? Yeah, these two shot missiles. Tough crowd.
<
br /> “I’m looking for Gina Welch.”
“Who’s asking?” the blond asked.
“The person who set her up on her last date. Are you Shawna?”
“Sure you ain’t a cop?”
“Nope, I’m not.”
“I’m Shawna. What do you want?”
“Offer of lunch in exchange for information.”
Silence grew as she studied me, and then the car.
“Bad Dog’s around the corner. Meet you there.”
Bad Dog was a bar. The inside was large and square with stained wooden floors. A couple of pool tables crowded the back right corner of the room next to an old jukebox, which currently poured out some heavy metal rock. Several men dotted the barstools running the length of the bar, and each were outfitted in some sort of leather. I was so overdressed in a tailored white blouse, slacks, and heels. It was lunchtime, but this wasn’t the kind of place to draw a crowd of the professional business sort. And my attire smacked me the business type. All eyes had zeroed in on me as I hugged the front entrance and awaited Shawna. I’d left the leather jacket and sword tucked away in the car, sick of the constant battle with the hot sun. But damn, I begged for both as all eyes remained focused on me.
Shawna blew in as if she owned the place, taking a back corner booth. I followed while feeling every male eye on my ass. I guessed it could be karma for the number of times I’d stared at Wilcox’s, but I hated Karma right then for that reminder.
“Why are you asking about Gina?” She’d waited until I’d bought her a pitcher of beer before speaking.
I scanned the room. Male eyes had finally returned to their food. Tight knots in my shoulders eased in half. “I know Gina’s dead.”
Shawna’s jaw stiffened.
“I know cops have been around here asking questions.”
“You know lots of things, don’t cha?”
“I don’t know why she pretended to be a rich socialite and signed up with a prestigious matchmaking service.” My gaze leveled with hers. “Do you?”
Her grip tightened on her mug. “I don’t know much, but a few weeks ago Gina scored a sweet little setup.”
“Setup? You mean something like a job?”
Reaping Havoc: Kiara Blake Book 1 Page 22