Something About Money

by Carolyn Scott

  "I see Peter hasn't encouraged you to tidy up in here," I said. "Maybe he should do some of his therapy hoodoo on you to find out why you don't like being neat. It's probably got something to do with issues from your childhood."

  "Why do you think that?"

  "Don't therapists blame everything on childhood issues?"

  Her glare could have cut glass it was so hard and sharp. "That must be why you turned into such a nice girl who never did anything wrong."

  I matched her glare with one of my own. "Exactly."

  She cleared some space on the surface of the computer desk. She had a perfectly good study, but preferred to have the computer in the living room along with everything else.

  I started with searches on Frank's company, Karvea Holdings. I checked the business register and found nothing untoward, so I moved on to the unofficial sites. It took me nearly an hour to wade through the search results until I found something useful. It was a post on a small L.A.-based business blog about companies to avoid. Most of it was just a rant and I got the impression the blogger had an axe to grind, but buried near the end was a mention of Karvea Holdings, Frank Karvea, and a second man who lived in—get this—Renford, Illinois. His name was Max Warshenski.

  I knew him as Mad Max, a stuttering ex-con and complete nutcase.

  Chapter 8

  Max Warshenski had briefly been a suspect in my last case. Although he was known to the cops and definitely on my list of shady characters, he hadn't harmed me. In fact, he'd given me some important information.

  It was definitely worth paying him a visit again. To have a link between Frank and Renford was an unexpected bonus. Angel could have murdered him anywhere, but the murder had taken place here. That definitely put Max on my list of suspects.

  I did some further digging, trying to find a more direct link between DataSync and Mad Max, but I came up with nothing. What I did find were details of his previous crimes. I already knew he'd been convicted of armed robbery and attempted murder, but reading the news accounts sent a chill down my spine. The attempted murder had happened in prison. He'd beaten up a fellow prisoner while serving time for the robbery.

  "Mind if I put this on?" Mom asked, bending over the DVD player. She slotted a DVD in without waiting for me to answer.

  "I was just leaving," I said, shutting the computer down.

  "Going to see Will?"

  "I've got an hour or so to kill first."

  She nodded absently, her attention on the DVD remote, which she handed to me. "Can you get it working? I haven't got my glasses on."

  A few clicks later and the DVD came on. Cult Behavior, the title read. "Riveting," I said.

  "Peter said it's all about how group members interact. There's a leader, a—"

  "Sorry, Mom, no time to talk. Gotta go." I handed her the remote, picked up my bag, and fled before she could go into full info-dump mode.

  I drove to Mad Max's apartment. I'd been there before and had hoped never to return. It was located in a suburb with off-the-chart crime statistics. The apartment blocks had been built in the sixties to house the poorest of the poor, but the government initiative had made the problem worse by forcing the desperate together. The teens had formed gangs that roamed the streets after dark, doing whatever they wanted because their parents couldn't control them and the cops were too scared to disperse them. If Mom wanted to study group behavior, she should study them.

  I got out of the car and scanned the area before entering Mad Max's apartment building. It was in bad need of renovation. The elevator didn't work, the front door had come off its hinge, and the floor tiles that weren't cracked were missing altogether.

  I paused at the stairs and sighed. Eight flights. I could do this. I was fitter than ever thanks to kickboxing.

  Or not. My thigh muscles ached from the previous night's class. Every step felt like I had a ton of bricks strapped to my feet. By the time I reached the eighth floor, my thighs trembled from the effort.

  I paused at the top of the stairs to catch my breath. Looking around, it struck me how odd it was for Frank Karvea to be associated with someone like Mad Max. If Max was guilty of criminal activity, surely he'd be able to afford to live in a better area. After all, no matter what the do-gooders would have you believe, crime does pay. It can also land you in jail or kill you. Mad Max fell into the former category, and now Frank Karvea fell into the latter. Still, what was the deal between the two of them?

  I knocked on his door, and it was opened by a man I'd hoped never to see again.

  "Fuck," he muttered, not a stutter in sight. I guess some words just come out easily.

  "Nice to see you too. Can I come in?"

  "N-no."

  I was about to protest, then decided I preferred to stay outside. It was safer to be in the open. Besides, the strong smell of cigarette smoke and something more putrid wafting from his apartment was enough to make my eyes water from the doorway.

  "How've you been, Max?" I asked. "Still living in squalor, I see."

  "W-what do you w-want?" He reminded me of a spider, all long, thin arms and legs. The arms were hairy, and his legs were covered in army khakis. Now that I'd had a minute to look at him, I could see he had the shakes and a muscle near his right eye ticked. He wasn't the healthiest specimen. To prove my point, he unbuttoned one of the pockets on his thigh and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. I watched as he lit one and propped it in the corner of his mouth. "D-d-don't m-make m-me ask you again."

  By the time he'd got that out, he could have asked me again. "I'll get straight to the point, shall I?"

  He pulled the cigarette out with his thumb and forefinger and blew a smoke ring in my face. "G-good idea. I'm b-busy."

  I coughed and waved the smoke away. "Yeah, I can see you have a lot of housekeeping to do."

  He blinked. Or maybe that was a new facial tic he'd gained since last time.

  "Did you kill Frank Karvea?" No point in beating about the bush.

  He laughed. "L-like I'm g-gonna t-tell you if I d-did."

  No, but first reactions could be telling. He showed no shock, which meant he knew about the death. No surprise there, since it was all over the news. But he'd also not seemed freaked out that I'd been the one to ask him. Which meant he was expecting a call, maybe not from me, but from someone. The police?

  "Have the cops been here yet?"

  "W-why d-don't you ask them?"

  "Because I'm not their favorite P.I."

  He gave me a twitchy smile. "D-don't know w-why n-not. You're mine."

  He blew another smoke ring and I coughed again. "In that case, help me out, Max." I blinked up at him, doing the cute thing that I hated, but occasionally got results. "I want to clear your name. I really do."

  "Why?"

  "Because I have another suspect in mind, and I want to prove she did it."

  "That's b-backward."

  "Yeah, but she's a bitch so…" And the Oscar for lying goes to Cat Sinclair.

  "Y-you m-mean Cindy Belfour?"

  Holy shit. Either he was psychic or her reputation extended beyond the members of Play Group. "Maybe. How well do you know her?"

  He shrugged one shoulder. "She w-was a f-friend, b-but I haven't seen her for years. We lost t-t-touch. She introduced me to F-F-Frank."

  "Your name is associated with Karvea Holdings. Why?"

  "I w-was one of the d-d directors some years b-back."

  I stared. "You were a director?" What was Frank thinking making a mad ex-con a principle in his company?

  He pointed his cigarette at me. "You got a problem with that?" Amazing how he didn't stutter when he was being threatening.

  "Not at all." I held up my hands. "I'm sure you were a great partner."

  "I f-fucking was. He f-found some solid investments b-b-because of me."

  "What kinds of investments? The kind you heard about in prison?"

  His top lip curled into a sneer. "L-legitimate ones. I'm n-not going back to j-jail for anyone."
/>   "Good for you, Max." My fake bubbliness seemed to be lost on him. His sneer only became more pronounced and he hawked something disgusting onto the floor, just missing my sandals.

  "Just one more question," I said quickly before he slammed the door in my face. "Why did your business relationship with Frank end?"

  "Who s-s said it did?"

  "Your name is no longer linked to Karvea Holdings or DataSync."

  "D-DataSync?" If he knew about it, he showed no sign. Interesting.

  "Frank's less-than-legitimate company. It seemed to act as a front so that he could defraud his Hollywood clients."

  "Dumb bitches," he spat.

  "Some of them were men."

  "All p-p-pussies in that p-place."

  "You've been there?"

  He crossed his arms, his cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. "I h-h-hate actors." His tight-lipped grin may have been meant to keep his cigarette from falling out, but it sent a shiver down my spine. "Especially ex ones wh-who ask t-t-too many questions."

  "Yeah," I muttered. "Me too." I cleared my throat. "So you and Frank…?"

  "He was n-n-no longer useful. I d-d-didn't like his m-methods."

  Yeah right. An ex-con with hardly a cent to his name didn't like Frank's shady methods. Like I was going to believe that.

  "Where were you the night of his murder?"

  "The G-Grotto." It was the name of a bar not far away where people like Max hung out when they had nothing better to do. People with the stink of prison and danger still clinging to them. I'd been there a couple of times and never wanted to go back again. Some of my worst memories were from that place.

  A phone rang and Max pulled the latest iPhone out of the thigh pocket of his army pants. He answered it and shut the door on me without saying goodbye. Guess that was my cue to leave.

  I practically skipped down the stairs, eager to get away from him and breathe fresh air again. Out on the sidewalk, the setting sun blasted me in the eyes. It took a few moments for my sight to adjust, even with my sunglasses on, but when I did, I saw something that made me stop dead.

  A group of four teenage boys lounged near my car. They weren't doing anything in particular, just standing around, but I knew they were going to be trouble. Not only were we in the worst suburb of Renford, but their caps were on backward and they all sported tattoos up their arms. They might as well have worn neon signs around their necks that said 'I belong in jail.'

  I kept my head down, avoiding eye contact, and walked quickly to my car. I almost made it before one of them came up to me. I held my breath.

  He passed right on by.

  I let out my breath. The others followed in single file, coming at me. Oh shit, oh shit. My stomach knotted and my heart pounded. I had a very bad feeling about them.

  I glanced up at Mad Max's building in the pathetic hope that he'd come to my rescue. But he was no gentleman and even if he were, aiding me would be bottom of his To-Do list.

  I tried to appear as calm and harmless as possible, but the boys walked right at me. They were tall and lanky, not fully grown into themselves yet. They were probably only fourteen or fifteen. A shitty age.

  I tensed as they approached. My whole body felt like a tight spring, all coiled up in an attempt to be as insignificant as possible. I held my keys in my hand, the long car key pointing out to use as a weapon if necessary. It was all I had.

  But to my surprise, they just passed me by. "Hey," the first said.

  "Hey," I said back, all cool and detached. It took all my acting skills to not let them see I was shit-scared.

  "Nice afternoon for a walk," the second said.

  "Lovely."

  The last one, the shortest, didn't say anything, but he was walking too close. So close that he bumped into my shoulder. I lost my balance.

  "Sorry," he said and caught me by the elbows, steadying me. I looked into his zit-covered face and kind of felt sorry for him. It couldn't be easy for them living in a shit hole with parents who were probably drunk or high all the time. They had nothing going for them, and a future of jail-time and drugs loomed on their horizon.

  "No problem." I hurried to my car and sped off before I'd secured my seatbelt. It took another ten minutes before my heart rate slowed and I was able to breathe normally.

  I drove the rest of the way to Will's house thinking about Mad Max and his involvement with Frank and Cindy. I didn't have any answers by the time I arrived, just more questions. Maybe Will could help me answer them.

  He answered the door shortly after my knock and scooped me into a big hug. The kiss that followed was filled with tenderness and I felt a tug of longing inside me. It was good to be cared for by a man like him, especially after the fright I'd had outside Mad Max's apartment.

  "Something smell's good," I said, taking his hand and leading him inside.

  "Roast chicken."

  "Is that because you could work while it was cooking?"

  He pulled me around and I slammed into his body. His smile was wicked and full of promises. "No, it was so I could do this while it was cooking." He bent and kissed my throat and that place beneath my ear that made me giggle. He nudged aside the straps on my top to kiss my shoulder, then pushed it all the way down to expose my bra cup.

  Tiny tingles washed through me, making every part of me aware of him and his mouth. He traveled south, unhooking my bra and closing his lips over my nipple.

  Yesssss!

  I clutched his shoulder, hanging on in case I got swept away on the tide engulfing me.

  He picked me up and carried me to his bedroom. He set me down again and I let him undress me fully. "Beautiful," he said on a ragged breath.

  He stripped off without waiting for my order, but I made him stand there a moment so I could admire him the way he'd admired me. "Turn," I said, twirling my finger. "I want to see everything."

  He rolled his eyes and turned. "The oven's going to beep in ten minutes, Cat."

  "Is that all?" I settled on the bed on my side, head propped on my hand, and beckoned him over. "I'm not sure that's long enough."

  He approached the bed like a lean, muscular panther. His eyes skimmed over my body, twice, and he grinned crookedly. "It will be. I've been thinking about you all day. Lasting more than a minute around all this sexiness is going to be hard."

  "Speaking of hard." I closed my hand around his cock and tugged him closer. He sucked air between his teeth and groaned in the back of his throat.

  Nine and a half minutes later, we climaxed together.

  We talked about everything except work over dinner. I told him about Mom's new boyfriend and her interest in psychology, and he asked me about kickboxing and Gina's obsession with Ben. Apparently she'd popped into the office to talk to me about him, but since I wasn't there, she'd told Will and Faith.

  "Not sure why she thought I'd be interested," he said with a shrug.

  "Should I have told her not to bother you?"

  To my surprise, he smiled rather sweetly and said, "No."

  Eventually we got around to discussing work. It was inevitable, really. I mean, the other stuff was nice, normal, but the Karvea case was playing on my mind. It was hard to be normal when trying to solve a murder.

  I dried the dishes as I told Will that Jenny had given me permission to investigate Frank's fraudulent activity in the hope it would lead to another suspect. I also told him about Cindy's claim to the group and Mad Max's link to Frank.

  "Mad Max?" He handed me a wet plate but didn't turn back to the sink. "Is he dangerous?"

  I thought about lying. I couldn't help it, it just seemed to come naturally to me. In the end, I decided to tell him as much of the truth as I thought he needed to know. "He's served time for armed robbery and assault, but he's never been threatening to me."

  He leaned both hands on the sink edge and lowered his head. His hair fell across his eyes and the suds dripped off his fingers into the water.

  "Go on," I said. "I know you want to give
me a lecture."

  "Cat…" He expelled a long breath and shook his head. "That's not it. Just…take me with you when you see him, okay?"

  I swallowed. "Sure. I will…next time."

  He swung round and pinned me with a glare. "When did you see him?"

  "Today." I spread out my arms. "And look, I'm still alive."

  "It's not funny. You've been to hell and back. I don't want you to go through that again. I don't want to go through that again. Okay?"

  Damn but he could be all kinds of awesome when he wanted to be. I stood on my toes and kissed him. "Okay."

  "So tell me what you found out from him."

  "What makes you think I found out anything?"

  "Because you wouldn't have agreed to let me tag along as your bodyguard if you needed to go back there."

  "Not true!"

  He grinned. "Just tell me what he said."

  I told him how Max and Frank were linked through Cindy, that he was no longer friends with Cindy, and that he claimed to only be involved in legitimate business dealings.

  "Is that why he cut ties with Frank? Because Frank's business had become unethical."

  I snorted. "I can't see Mad Max caring about poor business ethics."

  "Let's say Frank ended their business relationship. Maybe Max killed him because he was being cut out."

  "Or maybe Max killed him because Frank scammed him."

  "He doesn't seem like the sort of guy Frank would cheat. If he took Jenny and your other acting friend for a ride, then he seems to go for the soft targets."

  "The sort who won't come after him."

  "Except someone did."

  "Maybe. Or maybe not. I'm not convinced his murder is linked to his business dealings at all."

  "What about Cindy?" he asked, dunking his hands into the soapy water. "Why are she and Max no longer friends?"

  Damn, I hadn't asked him that. "It looks like you'll be coming back to Max’s with me after all."