“Okay, you know how you like to play dress up on these outings? You look good tonight, by the way.”
Simone smiled. “I am Debby tonight, and are you trying to hit on me, Evie? I mean, I have kissed a girl before. But I’m not that into it. For you though . . .” She closed her eyes and leaned towards me with puckered lips.
“Come on, Simone! I’m being serious here,” I said, exasperated and not a little curious how she’d respond when I dropped the other shoe. I cleared my throat, “Tonight, I am also going incognito.”
Simone’s eyes popped open and her mouth made a little O of surprise. And then she grinned. “Really? How cool. But why?”
“We have a job to do,” I said, reaching into the backseat for the duffle bag holding my wig and some other stuff.
“A job? What the fuck are you talking about?”
Here goes nothing. “The guy who owns this restaurant is, well, not a nice guy. He knew Nick, and he was out to get him because he claims Nick stole his fish taco recipe.”
Simone frowned, and then laughed out loud. “You gotta be kidding me! That is so lame.”
“It is, I agree. The thing is, this guy, George Hernandez, and this other guy, Pietro SanGiacomo, who is some kind of bookie and who also had it out for Nick, are involved in something shady together. I think they may have had Nick killed or, I don’t know, I just need some answers and you get to help me.”
Simone eyed me for a long minute. “Priceless,” she muttered, shaking her head. “Should I start calling you Sherlock now?”
“Look, are you in or not?” I didn’t want to spend the rest of the evening in my VW being insulted. I had a job to do.
“Yeah, okay. I’m in. But if this was the plan all along, why didn’t you just spit it out in the first place? I mean, you didn’t have to try and persuade me to go to this place instead of Denny’s . . . you could have just told me your plans.”
She was right. “You’re right, Simone. I’m sorry. I just . . . I guess I thought I had to get you here first and you’d be more open to helping me out once we arrived.”
Simone rolled her eyes but she was smiling too. “Whatever. So, what’s the plan?”
“We go in. We eat. You be Debby and I’ll be, uh, Chantal.”
“Chantal?!” Simone barked out a laugh. “You do realize that’s a total porn name, right?”
I didn’t bother responding. “There’s an office upstairs above the restaurant. When you are paying the bill, I am going to get up and act like I’m going to the bathroom. I need you to create some kind of distraction so no one sees me go up the stairs and into George’s office. Give it about ten minutes, then head out to the van and wait for me.”
We spent the next few minutes donning our disguises and once everything was in place, Debby and Chantal, two friends on the town, stepped out of a beat up VW and made their way to Jorge’s for dinner.
An hour or so and a margarita later, we were finishing up a tasty plate of tacos and enchiladas. I had not seen George or Pietro and figured it was a positive sign. The waitress (thankfully, not the same one from the last time I’d been here) dropped the check off at the table. I leaned across towards Simone.
“You still up for this?” I asked in a lowered voice.
“Hell, yes!”
Simone put the credit card in the bill folder and I waited until I noticed the waitress making her way back to our table before I got up to leave. As I headed toward the stairs, I heard Simone say, “You overcharged me!”
I quickly glanced around and headed up the stairs. So far so good. First, I’d try the office I had heard Pietro and George in before. Of course it was locked, but I had a trick up my sleeve, one I could thank my big sister, Hannah, for teaching me. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the necessary item . . .
. . . and picked the lock with a little effort. I was in the office in under two minutes. I closed the door behind me, using the light on my phone to look around. George’s office was large with a desk, file drawers, and an interesting looking printer. On the floor next to the printer lay an aluminum briefcase. I picked it up and opened it. My breath caught in my throat. It was filled with hundreds of hundred dollar bills! I looked back over at the strange printing machine and put two and two together. These guys were laundering money!
Unfortunately, my great revelation came a little too late. Because the next thing I knew, there were footsteps outside the door and then it flew open.
It took all of ten seconds for George Hernandez to spot me, standing in the middle of his office like a deer in the headlights.
“What the hell?!” He shut the door behind him. I tried to sprint past him and make it to the door. But even though he was a big guy, he was surprisingly fast. George grabbed my arm, spun me around, placed a big, beefy hand over my mouth, and tossed me to the ground. My wig flew off and my head clanked hard against a metal file cabinet. On top of feeling dizzy, our skin-to-skin contact kept sending me disturbing visions of flames and George running from a house engulfed in flames.
Before my mind could register more, George had placed duct tape across my mouth and tied my hands and feet together. I was, to put it bluntly, trussed up like one of those rodeo calves. This was not good.
George eyed me carefully, echoing my thoughts, “Not good,” he said. “This is not good.”
You’re telling me.
He dropped into a nearby armchair and stared at me glumly. “What were you doing here?” He wiped the perspiration from his brow. “What am I going to do? I can’t let you go. Not now that you’ve seen this.” He ripped the duct tape off, giving me a good idea why those poor ladies always winced in pain when my mom gave them a lip wax.
I cried out, tears springing to my eyes.
George darted a nervous glance back at the closed door, and hissed, “Shut up! What were you doing here?”
“I-I thought you killed Nick. I was trying to find something to incriminate you.”
He threw up his hands angrily, “I didn’t kill Nick!” He placed the duct tape back over my lips. “I may not be on the up-and-up, girly, but I am no killer. That’s why this is a problem.” He sighed and took out his cell phone. Whoever he was calling, didn’t answer. “I’ll be back. I may not be a killer, but I know someone who is.”
In the ominous silence of George’s empty office, I frantically tried to come up with an escape plan. Simone had to come looking for me. Didn’t she? Wouldn’t she? I simply couldn’t lay around, waiting for her. I had to do something.
My cell phone was in my pocket. I scooted as close as I could to the file cabinet and attempted to push the phone up and out of my pocket by rubbing against the cabinet’s corner. It took a few tries, but it worked. The phone popped out onto the ground and I used my hip to slide it over a bit until I was sure I could reach it with my nose if I bent at the waist. Yeah, not the most glamorous situation but you use what you’ve got when the going gets tough. My nose kept hitting the utilities button but finally, the phone screen lit up. Thankfully, Simone was the last person I had dialed. I pressed the button and it began to ring. After three rings it went to voicemail. Shit.
I tried again and she finally picked up.
“Evie! Where the hell are you?”
I grunted as loudly as I could into the phone.
“Evie?! Where are you? Let’s go!”
I grunted and groaned again, this time louder. Finally, she clued in.
“Oh no! Are you in trouble?”
“Mhhm-mmh.” Hallelujah!
“Okay, are you still there? In that office?”
“Mhhm.”
“Oh fuck! Okay, I’m coming in!” She hung up and I stared at the phone wondering if I should even try to call 9-1-1.
Five minutes later I heard a loud commotion downstairs. A minute after that, the office door swung open, and there stood Simone, in all her glory, and a very shocked looking restaurant hostess. Simone marched into the office as if it she owned it and knelt down beside me.
&n
bsp; “Come on, Evie,” she said calmly and began untying my hands. She tossed a glance back at the hostess. “Well, don’t just stand there, moron. Go call the cops!”
As soon as she’d left the room and Simone pulled the duct tape off, I jumped dizzily to my feet and hissed, “We gotta get the hell out of here. Now!”
Simone nodded. “Roger that, girlfriend.”
I took her arm and she guided me rapidly down the stairs, out the front door (we were lucky the hostess had her back to us or we’d have never made it), and to the van.
“I can’t drive, Simone. I got knocked up pretty bad back there. My keys are in my purse.” She loaded me into the passenger seat, found my keys, and we peeled out of the parking lot at lightning speed (for my VW, that is). I wondered, fleetingly, where George had gone.
We drove in silence for a good five minutes. Finally, she turned to me, her face questioning and concerned.
“What the hell happened back there?”
I filled her in on all the gory details. She giggled when I got to the part about me dialing her number with my nose. And then, after another pause, she said, “The cops are going to get involved. The only way to get that twit of a hostess out of my way was to take my wig off.” She sighed. “Are you okay? What did he do to you?”
I rubbed my wrists. “I hit my head when he tackled me and then he elbowed me during the struggle. I’m sore but it could be a lot worse. I probably need some Tylenol and a good night’s sleep.” I peered at her in the darkened car. “I’m so sorry for getting you involved in this Maybe we should call the cops and give our side of the story. I can emphasize how you saved me from a killer . . .”
“First of all, don’t apologize. That’s the most fun I’ve had in years. And secondly, we were never there. Okay? Never. Yeah, maybe we should tell the police the whole story, but when the cops arrive, they’ll see what those guys were up to with the money laundering thing and they’ll be all over that. The last thing they’ll be interested in is a random Simone sighting. If I get involved and it’s all over the media . . .” She shuddered dramatically. “I don’t even want to think about it.”
“But Simone, you used a credit card to pay for dinner.” Yet another indication I hadn’t thought this plan through nearly enough before we waltzed into Jorge’s for dinner.
She shook her head. “Oh, that was Dwight’s.”
“But won’t they connect anything?”
“No. I’ll tell him to say it was stolen.” The van wobbled dramatically as we sped up onto the freeway. “God, I don’t know why you still drive around in this bucket of crap. I need to give you a raise so you can afford a decent car.”
I shut my eyes and smiled. Normally, Simone’s constant disparaging comments about the VW were annoying as hell. But I felt lucky to be in the van at all right now, considering how grim things were looking about thirty minutes ago.
Simone continued, “Anyway, like I told you before, I don’t like the Paparazzi and they love this kind of shit. So it’s best if we play dumb. And who knows . . . once the cops are on the scene and they track down George and Pietro, maybe they’ll confess to murdering Nick.”
I nodded tiredly. “Maybe. But I don’t think they killed him. At least, I’m pretty sure Hernandez didn’t.”
“Why’s that?”
I recalled how reluctant George was to do much more than rough me up. “My gut. Hernandez could have easily killed me just now, but he didn’t.”
“He went to get someone to do it, though.”
“True. But I still don’t think he did it.”
Fifteen minutes later, Simone pulled up to her place. “Do you want to come in? Or maybe I can have Dwight drop you off at the house and someone can bring your van over tomorrow?”
“I’m fine, thanks. I just want to go home. I think I’ll be a bit sore tomorrow.” I slowly stepped across the stick shift over to the driver’s side.
“Okay. Well, thanks for the fun.” She winked at me. “Remember, mums the word. And be careful.”
I nodded, too tired to speak at this point.
Once I got home and greeted the animals, I made myself a cup of tea, took some Tylenol, and headed outside to look at the sparkling lights below. I was achy, but not too bad. I’d recover.
I couldn’t help but wonder what happened when the cops finally arrived. Had they caught George? I sure hoped so. I was feeling a bit conflicted about not notifying the cops. It seemed, well, wrong not to give them my side of the story. But I was also loyal to Simone and didn’t want to cause her additional problems.
As soon as I opened the patio door, Cass darted past me and made a beeline for the pool. She’d been cooped up inside with Mac while I was gone, so I figured she was eager to blow off some steam with a quick swim. She started barking, loudly.
“Cass! Just give me a sec, okay? I need to unwind a little.”
But she didn’t stop. Instead, she got more insistent and ran back and forth from me to the pool a few times. Looked like I wasn’t going to get a break tonight. I turned the pool lights on, hoping to find her ball in the water. Sometimes a toy was enough to distract her for a few minutes.
Instead, I found something else. Someone else. A scream caught in my throat as Cass continued barking maniacally. There was a body in my pool. And although it was face down, I recognized its clothes almost immediately. Jackson Owens.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
AFTER CALLING THE POLICE, I went through the house, frantically calling out for Lucas. Cass was at my heels with Mac trotting more slowly behind. I had no idea if Lucas could hear me. Frankly, after tonight, we were going to have to establish some rules. Like how to reach him in the event that I came home to find a dead man in my swimming pool.
I thought about calling Simone. I needed someone to talk to. I was scared and my mind was running rampant with all kinds of crazy thoughts. But involving Simone would have consequences I wasn’t sure I wanted to deal with.
The only level-headed person I could think to call was Joshua. The police arrived only minutes before he did. They told him to remain in the kitchen while the police questioned me in the family room. I could see him peering around the corner, though. Still no sign of Lucas.
“So you came home and found Mr. Owens’ body in the pool?”
“Yes.” I glanced outside and could see people out there with a body bag. I turned away, not knowing if Jackson had already been taken out of the pool.
“And where were you this evening?”
Here we go. “With my boss.”
The policeman raised his eyebrows. “Does your boss have a name?”
I sighed. “Yes. Simone.”
“Simone what?”
“Simone. As in the Simone .”
The officer’s eyebrows shot up almost to his hairline. “Huh. That is really interesting.”
You don’t know the half of it, buddy. “And it’s really true.”
Officer Eyebrows nodded. “We’ll have to verify this with Ms. Simone. What were you doing with her?”
Now it was time for some fancy footwork. “We ate dinner together.”
“Where?”
“At her place.” Lie number one, fire away.
“Hey Hansen, come over here, I need you to check on something.”
I groaned inwardly. “What? You don’t believe me?”
The officer looked me in the eye. “Ma’am, there’s a dead guy in your pool. At this point, everything you say needs to be verified.”
Oh God, oh God. I could feel beads of sweat pooling in my armpits. What if Simone told them the truth about where we’d been tonight? How would that look to the police? Not so good. I needed to text her.
“Can I use the bathroom?”
He eyed me skeptically. “We aren’t finished here.”
“I’m not feeling so well. I’ll be right back.”
He sighed, shrugged, and agreed to let me pee. I darted to the nearest bathroom, closed and locked the door, and sent Simone a quick text: We
ate dinner at your house. Then I put the phone on silent mode. I knew Simone would be confused by the message until the cops got there. I hoped she read it. And I hoped she didn’t suddenly gain a conscience.
I left the bathroom and bumped into Joshua. “You okay?” He looked deeply concerned and is if he wanted to give me a hug.
I sniffed audibly, tears welling up in my eyes. “Not really.”
Just then, Officer Eyebrows came up behind Joshua and cleared his throat. “Sorry, sir, but I have a few more questions for Miss Preston.”
Joshua hesitated and then finally nodded, stepping back but staying closer than he had before.
The officer held a cell phone in his gloved hands. I could only assume it belonged to Jackson. “Did Mr. Owens ever threaten you?”
I shook my head. “No. I mean, he was kind of strange at times. But he never threatened to harm me.” I explained to the officer how I’d known Jackson, and about his obsession with Nick. I gave him as much detail as I could. I also mentioned how he had been asked recently to stay out of the bar because of inappropriate behavior.
“Were you ever aware of him or anyone following you?”
I started to shake my head but then I remembered . . .
“The other night, a week or so ago, someone did follow me home. I made it into my gate, but they slowed way down and even stopped until my gate closed. I couldn’t see the driver, though.”
The officer held up the cell phone with a photo showing a picture of the back of my van with the gate closing. “This your car?”
“Yes.” I was shocked.
“This is Mr. Owens’ phone. It would appear he’s been watching you quite a bit.” The officer scanned through several photos. They were all of me. Me in the bar. Me and Cass in the backyard playing. Me serving food or playing music. Me in my car.
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