Sky High (A Nicki Valentine Mystery Book 2)

by Susan O'Brien

  It was after a frat bash that Bruce had walked Andrea home, ostensibly to keep her safe. Once they were in her dorm room, they kissed, and she let it go a little further. But that’s when she wanted Bruce to stop. When she told him to stop. But he didn’t.

  Ashamed and afraid no one would believe her, she eventually went to student services for help, and when the school began an investigation as required by law, she relied on that process alone, thinking it would be easier—a way to expedite justice in a setting that should understand student crime. The school’s standard for finding a student “responsible,” she was told, was a “preponderance of the evidence,” lower than a traditional court’s “beyond a reasonable doubt.”

  Andrea said one of her greatest fears—that she wouldn’t be believed—became a reality when the school mishandled the investigation, misrepresented her statements, and found Bruce not responsible. After painful, graphic testimony about that night, she felt re-victimized and afraid.

  “I still don’t get how they chose the school’s reputation over students’ safety,” she said. “Since then, they’ve started to make improvements, but they have a long way to go.”

  “I’m amazed you were able to stay at Smyth. How did you do it?”

  “I don’t know what I would have done if Bruce hadn’t left. All my friends were here. My family was here. My life was here, and it still is.”

  “Why do you think he transferred out with only one year left?”

  “The frat was never the same. That’s the only consolation I have, and it’s not much. Lots of female students wouldn’t attend their events. Women didn’t trust him or his friends.”

  “How did students know about what happened? Did you speak out?”

  “Not publicly. But I told my friends about it and word spread, especially after the investigation. One student told me Bruce assaulted her too, but she didn’t want to report it after seeing how I was treated. I promised to keep her name a secret, and I’ll take it to my grave. Another one, kind of a frat groupie, dated him anyway.”

  “For how long?”

  “I think until he left. Eva Moreno. She didn’t have many friends, and he was extremely charming, so I can see how he fooled her. Every time I saw her, I felt sick and worried.”

  “Do you think she still lives here?”

  “I have no idea. She graduated with our class, though.”

  “How are you doing now? You seem so strong.”

  “I’m okay. I’ll never be the same, but I’m okay.” She took a deep breath. “I went to therapy. My dad should have, too. Honestly, I think that’s why my parents got divorced. The stress of it all. They’d never tell me that, though.” She looked away, past oblivious tourists strolling down the street, shopping bags in hand. I’d been so absorbed in our conversation that I’d almost forgotten where we were. Her eyes returned to me. “In some ways, I’m stronger than ever. I wish I could say the same for my dad.”

  “How would you describe him now?”

  “It’s hard to say. He holds it inside, doesn’t talk much.”

  “Did you ever worry he’d do something to Bruce?”

  “In the beginning, of course. But not after that. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have shown him Bruce’s engagement announcement. I just wanted to vent and confide in him. Obviously that was a mistake.”

  “Did you talk to your dad while he was in Virginia?”

  “No. I thought he was away on business, and I was on a yoga retreat for a few days. He was honest when he got back. I mean, he thought he’d saved some woman from a horrible fate.”

  I wanted to believe that. Maybe he had saved Mia from a horrible fate, just not as peacefully as he claimed.

  “What yoga retreat?” I asked, more curious about her alibi than about the event.

  “It was a three-day coastal retreat at the Grant Hotel nearby. Yoga’s been really therapeutic for me.”

  We spent another few minutes discussing Bruce’s time at Smyth. She named his frat, a few of his friends, and the activities he’d been involved in. She knew, because she’d spent so long avoiding him. I took careful notes and asked if it was okay to call her with additional questions.

  “It’s more than okay,” she said. “I want you to. No one else should have to go through something like this.”

  “If you think of anything you wish you’d said, please get in touch,” I said. “Day or night.” I’d probably panic if my phone rang overnight, thinking Jack or Sophie was sick, but I’d get over it. Setting up a soothing ringtone for Liz (something like harps) might help.

  Andrea pulled my card from her wallet and read the address aloud. It was a P.O. Box, since I didn’t have a real office yet.

  “Virginia’s a long way away,” she said. “I hope Bruce is still there.”

  Me too, I thought. Alive.

  After hearing Andrea’s story, though, I empathized uncomfortably with Eli. I didn’t want Bruce anywhere near Mia—or any other woman—until a lot more than his whereabouts was revealed.

  One of the most challenging parts of being a PI has little to do with investigation and everything to do with writing. Each step in a case must be documented well enough to be shared with the client and used in court. Not fun.

  When I got back to the hotel, I went straight to my room and typed up a report, taking great effort to recall everything Andrea said. I also researched her yoga retreat and found her in group photos taken and posted Friday night. Then I emailed the report to Dean. It included the facts about my investigation with Andrea—none of my opinions. I’d have to share those with him in person.

  I also popped a breath mint leftover from the wedding, which seemed forever ago, and texted Dean. It was strange but nice that in just a few days, we’d gone from nervous first-date chatter (at least on my part) to texts like, Hey, I’m back.

  In my few spare moments of solitude, I stepped out to the vending machine. My calorie-deprived Dean Diet was getting to me, so I pressed the button on potato chips. Twice. And once on a peanut butter cookie. With my hands full and my mouth watering, I was confused by an odd sensation, as if my back were watering too. Was something dripping on me?

  I spun around and ran smack into Dean. Who was wet. In his bathing suit. Shirtless. Spraying water as he ran a hand through his hair. Which showed off his enormous bicep. All blond and hot, like Bo Derek. (Minus braids. Plus tattoos and other essential stuff.) Unfortunately, I’d ruined the moment by hitting him with Lays. I hoped they’d survived.

  “Hey,” he said with a laugh, raising his arms in surrender. “I was trying to surprise you, not scare you.”

  “Dean,” I said. “I had no idea you were there.”

  “I was at the pool, and I saw your text. So I came up.”

  Oh, yeah. I guess I’d kind of asked for that. Apparently my appetite got the best of me.

  “Hungry?” I asked, offering the bag that had smacked him.

  “Thanks anyway,” he said, patting his six-pack. “I ate the rest of our pizza.”

  Jeepers. Where did it go? If I’d done that, I’d look pregnant. Second trimester.

  “I think you have the biggest appetite of anyone I’ve ever met,” I said.

  “Oh, really?”

  Really. Unless you count ravenous babies who breastfeed every two hours.

  “Yep. And Kenna’s hard to beat.”

  “We should all go out to eat sometime and see who wins.”

  “We should,” I said, starting down the hall and racking my brain for a restaurant he’d like with vegetarian options.

  “Wanna come down and talk about the day?” he asked when we reached my door.

  “Sure. Do you need to change first?” Not that I wanted him to. I’d prefer that he look like that 24/7.

  He smiled before saying, “Yeah. Gimme fi
ve minutes.”

  “Five is perfect,” I said. That would give me time to demolish the cookie. “See you then.”

  Five turned into ten when I got a message from Liz reminding me to send another Super Teddy photo. So I texted Dean that I needed a few extra minutes, and then I called Kenna, wishing I didn’t have to ask another favor.

  “It’s okay if you don’t have time,” I told her. I’ll just die of guilt.

  “Don’t sit on the couch,” she commanded. I was used to ignoring strange interjections aimed at Sky, and I assumed this was one of them. “You need to put on underwear first, silly.” Well, that was a new one. And completely reasonable. “Sorry. We were putting on her PJs when the phone rang,” Kenna explained. “Anyway, I’ll go next door as soon as she’s appropriate for public viewing. But speaking of nudity, did you get my email about the stripper?”

  “No. What did it say?” I glanced at my phone and saw it had arrived while I was at the vending machines.

  “One of the managers knows her. Don’t worry, I didn’t forward her picture to anyone, but I showed it to him. She’s a local mom who’s obsessed with pole. I got her name and number for you. Just don’t say where it came from.”

  “That’s fantastic. Thank you so much.”

  “So tell me how things are going.”

  For the first time, I couldn’t. In the past, I’d been able to describe cases without using names. But now she knew the parties involved, and I couldn’t break confidentiality. We were both pretty disappointed.

  “This is why you should get your PI registration and work with me,” I said. “I wouldn’t have to keep secrets from you.”

  “Spill the beans on Dean, then. How’s that going? Is he still Mr. Perfect?”

  I thought for a moment.

  “So far, yes.”

  “Have things gotten more serious?”

  “Not between us. This trip is all work. I mean it.”

  “Disappointing. So, remember I told you about that real estate thing?”

  “That he owns a house with some woman whose name I don’t want to know?”

  “Right. Well, I drove by their house.”

  “Uh huh.” Sometimes I wished telephone “mute” buttons could silence other people. Like the “dump” button on live shows.

  “I parked down the street during Sky’s nap, and a woman was there, loading stuff into her SUV.”

  “Really? How old was she? And what kind of stuff?” I glanced at the hotel alarm clock. Time was slipping away along with my values.

  “I’m guessing early thirties.” Dean was thirty-five, and I was thirty-seven. “It looked like she was getting rid of random stuff. Like when we donate to charity. Tons of plastic bags.”

  “Okay.” My stomach did an uncomfortable flip, and I sat down. “Did she look like girlfriend material?”

  “Sort of. Tall, thin, blond.” A pause. “Sorry. No offense. You know what I meant.”

  Some taken. How come no one ever gushes, Ooooh, look at that petite, well-nourished brunette? Maybe Kim Kardashian could singlehandedly (or singlehindedly) change that. I should start expanding my butt on purpose.

  “Was his motorcycle there?”

  “Yep. And the Aston Martin. She was loading a silver Ford Escape in the driveway.” Something about that rang a bell. “The house was nice, by the way. A cute single-family in Orchard Farms. Pretty.”

  Every home in that community was nice. I knew where Dean lived in general, but I’d never asked for specifics. He said a friend kept an eye on his house while he was away.

  “Well, this is fascinating,” I said, “but it’s not my business, and I have more important things to think about.”

  “That’s kind of debatable, which is why I asked if she lived there.”

  “What?”

  “I used one of your PI tricks and said I was looking at houses in the neighborhood, and I asked what she thought of the area. You can’t complain. I got that from you. And I had on sunglasses and a hat. I don’t think she’d recognize me.”

  “You’re a hot blond, Kenna. In a red convertible. She’ll probably remember you as well as you remember her.”

  “I don’t think so. She was distracted and not really interested in talking. But I noticed she had blue eyes, freckles, and toned arms. She said she’s lived there for three years.” That was two years longer than Dean had been away. “And she loves the neighborhood.” I bet. “Dean never mentioned having a roommate or sister or anything? She kind of looks like him. Maybe it’s his sister.”

  “No. He only has a brother.” I exhaled stress. “Fine, Kenna, what’s her name?” I knew she’d seen it on the real estate records.

  “It’s a doozy. Let me make sure I get it right…Genevieve Corday.”

  “Seriously? She has an exotic name, too? Did you research her online or anything?”

  “No. Andy stopped me.” Thank you, Andy. “I’m starting to feel really bad. I shouldn’t have talked to her. She was just right there, and I feel protective of you. It’s taken you a long time to even start getting over Jason. And you’re out there alone with Dean. He better not screw things up.”

  “Stop it, Kenna,” I said. “He’s a good guy. I promise. I can take care of myself.”

  I needed to believe that. But deep down, I wasn’t sure. She probably wasn’t either.

  Fourteen

  I’d been a fool before. There had been red flags with Jason, especially his late nights at the office, which were so frequent that I started to resent the times he came home and interrupted the evening routine. I needed my kids in bed on time, not energized by Daddy’s surprise arrival just when bottles and sippy cups were finished, bedtime stories were read, cuddles were given, and a breast pump sucked the remaining life out of me.

  Jason seemed to understand. But I was the one who didn’t see we were falling apart. I was too overwhelmed, distracted, and exhausted. And he was too absent, desperate, and dishonest to care.

  It was hard to snap out of my funk while talking with Dean. I told him about getting the stripper’s name, but there was no way I’d mention Genevieve. Our case was my priority, and he hadn’t mentioned a word about her in a year of emailing. What was I going to say? That Kenna had lost her mind? That I was just curious? He and I weren’t even an exclusive couple.

  My focus improved, though, when we discussed Andrea. I found her believable, and Dean’s genuine dismay and concern kept me in the moment.

  “I don’t know if I can blame Eli for wanting revenge,” he said.

  “Wanting it or taking it?” I asked.

  Instead of answering, he just shook his head.

  “I know,” I said, touching his arm. “I understand. Let’s talk about what’s next.”

  A call from Frank provided some direction.

  “I got the details about Eli Morgan,” he said. “They didn’t find the fifty thousand dollars in his house or car, but Bruce withdrew it from savings on Friday, and they have all kinds of evidence on Eli. Flights, cell phone records, crime scene evidence.”

  “Crime scene evidence? What kind?” Dean asked.

  “There was some trace blood on his rental car. On the driver’s seat. It’ll take time to get the testing back. And there were calls between the two of them going back a few days.”

  “You said Bruce withdrew the money on Friday. What would losing that kind of money mean to him?” I asked.

  “He could afford it. He would have been fine. I just wish he’d come to me for advice. Pride must have gotten the best of him.” He let out an aggravated groan.

  “When are they bringing Eli back to Virginia?” Dean asked.

  “As soon as possible, and I want you here, too.”

  We agreed to wrap things up in Florida, and Dean asked for Frank’s perspectives on
Bruce’s history at Smyth. Frank didn’t believe Bruce was capable of rape, and he said Smyth only investigated because it was required by law. As far as he knew, Mia was unaware of Andrea’s accusation, but with Eli’s arrest she’d find out any minute, if she hadn’t already.

  “Bruce put all that negativity behind him,” Frank said. “Things were going his way in business and personally. This is just completely senseless.”

  Dean and I were quiet for a second. Everyone needed a moment to regroup.

  “I understand why you didn’t want us to call Mia or Lydia earlier,” I said, “but we’ll need to talk with them soon, and they might call us, especially now that Eli has been arrested. I can’t help worrying about Mia hearing about his arrest from the police.”

  That wasn’t my business, but when the police told me Jason had been unfaithful, the news was incomprehensible. He’d lied to me about so much, and trying to reconcile so many emotions—confusion, denial, grief, betrayal, and more—felt impossible. In some ways, I still thought it was. I didn’t want Mia to learn about Bruce’s past alone. She deserved family and friends around her.

  “I’ll call Lydia at the hospital now,” Frank said. “I’m sure Mia’s with her. You can talk with them anytime after that. Just remember how fragile Lydia is, and Mia too. I don’t want to be responsible for anything happening to them.”

  Me either, I thought. Unless it’s something good.

  “We have a lot to do back in Virginia,” I told Dean after we hung up and booked flights for the next evening, knowing we could postpone them if necessary. “But I want to track down Bruce’s ex-girlfriend Eva before we leave.”

  “Me too.” He started typing on his laptop.

  “And speaking of exes, I want to talk with Mia’s ex, Austin. It’s kind of weird that he was at the reception, don’t you think?”