Chapter Thirty-eight
Morning came and kicked my ass. I’d slept a measly two hours on my futon before it was time to get up for the sprint over to Walker’s office. Walker. Ugh. Two days ago we had scheduled our meeting for ten a.m. today. The only reason I didn’t cancel on him was that his office was on my way to the courthouse.
Oso jumped up on the futon and tried to bathe me with his tongue. His breath smelled like dead frogs. Gross. That woke me up.
“Stop it. No,” I said.
I dragged myself out of bed and to the bathroom. I had to look presentable for court.
I thought about last night while I brushed my teeth, tamed my flyaway be-frizzled hair with some of Ava’s pomade, and washed my face. No, it wasn’t just a nightmare. It was reality. I was even wearing lawyer clothes today, an outfit I had packed at the last second in my suitcase instead of handing off to the movers for ocean shipment. It was a summery tan pant, shell and jacket combination. Nothing too flashy.
As I put on a dash of neutral lipstick and a smidge of mascara, I fretted again about Ava’s bail. Over a million dollars meant the bondsman would require over one hundred thousand dollars. Ava’s parents didn’t have it. Rashidi sure didn’t have it. As popular as Ava was, even if we sent around a collection plate at all the local bars, we’d only come up with a few hundred bucks. No one had asked me, but I was now asking myself. Did Katie have it?
Katie did. I had the hundred thou in cash, but I barely had the collateral. If I put up my money and she skipped bail, I’d be out one jumbie house and the rest of my savings. So, I could do it, but just, and only if it was necessary. If it was the right thing for me to do, and even close to sane, which I doubted. I’d known Ava a total of one month, one week, if you only counted the time I’d spent around her. And I was still irritated with her, too, although the events of yesterday with Bart were beginning to feel like ancient history. God, please let someone else come forward, I prayed.
Last night’s search had left me feeling violated, and brought out a strong need in me for privacy. I put my makeup back in its zippered bag, and the bag back into my zippered suitcase. I even spun the combination locks for good measure. I shut and locked the house—something Ava never did—and Oso and I headed to Town. On the way, we stopped at the Pirates Bay Deli, a crowded grocery-deli combo store crammed into several spaces in a shallow strip mall, stocked with upscale treats for East Enders and tourists. I needed an extra-large coffee with half and half and Splenda. Oso needed a bag of rawhide bones.
We had to park three blocks from Walker’s office this time, way on the other side of the farmer’s market, in front of a jewelry store that specialized in silver and gold bracelets with St. Marcos’ signature hook clasps. I was carrying my coffee, so there was no way I was carrying a dog. I snapped Oso’s leash to his collar. He whined.
“I’m on my last frayed nerve, dog. If you can do this for Emily, you can do it for me.”
Maybe it was something in my voice, but he did. In fact, he walked smartly on the left beside me, without pulling, like he was born to heel. The only nice surprise today so far. No, that wasn’t true. I was too tired to feel hungover. That was a huge surprise.
I grasped Walker’s door handle, twisted it, and gave the door a jerk. It swung open toward me, as if it was still ajar from the last person who’d passed through. I nearly fell over backwards onto my dog. Embarrassment, stress, and exhaustion mixed into my anger. What was I doing chasing down this man a fourth time? How could I ever move on if he was going to hold me prisoner to his lack of concern over my parents’ case? If he shined me on again today, I was asking for my money back. Was there someone I could report him to? The Better Business Bureau? The Idiotic Investigators Institute? Something, anything. I was sick of it.
I stepped in the door. “Good morning,” I said. I meant it more like, “I’m here, asshole,” and to my own ears, it sounded spot on.
Walker didn’t bother to acknowledge my presence. He was in the far recess of his Dr. Seuss-y office space, talking to someone just outside of my line of vision. They were standing in a doorway that I hadn’t realized existed before. I could hear the visitor’s voice. Not what he said, just the deep rumble. Whoever he was, he was above us riffraff who had to use the front door. Well, too bad. There were no alleys or parking spaces behind the buildings, just narrow walkways. So Mr. Special would get a nice long hike.
“Hell-O,” I said louder, still standing with Oso beside me, even though I was plenty loud last time and I knew Walker heard me. I was too damn tired to put up with his rudeness. “I believe we have a ten o’clock appointment. Katie Connell here.” If nothing else, I’d piss him off, and that would give me a measure of satisfaction.
The back door slammed shut. Walker strode toward us. As he came closer, a growl started in Oso’s chest, then died off into a whine. I patted his head.
“Yes, Ms. Connell, we do.” He sat at his desk, which now bore neither dust nor stacks of files. Just one file. Mine. I could read “Katie Connell” written on it, but only because he used block printing. I’d never mastered upside down reading. Walker pulled the file toward him and opened it. He scanned the top document. Either that, or he used it as an excuse not to look at me.
I decided to take a seat. Oso decided not to. He remained at attention and kept his eyes on Walker. The fur on his back bristled.
“I’m surprised to see you here,” Walker finally said. “What with your friend in jail and all.”
I had meant to grab a copy of the St. Marcos Source that morning and see what it had to say about Ava. Maybe Walker was about to save me the trouble. I didn’t answer him.
He said, “Well, she did the island a favor. That man was as wutliss as the shirt he was wearing when he died.”
Everything about what he had just said was offensive. “Wutliss?” I repeated.
“Yeah, wutliss. Worthless. On the take his whole political career, did nothing but screw whatever pretty young thing was stupid and trashy enough to get mixed up with him.”
My face burned, my voice sizzled. “Neither of which Ava was. Nor did she do anyone any favors, because she didn’t kill the senator.” My tone set Oso off again, and now he was growling like a dog twice his size. I let him.
“Your friend is well known, Ms. Connell. As to whether she did or didn’t, we’ll all see, I guess.” He was smiling that crocodile smile again. “Someone needs to give that dog a Valium. Now, I’m ready to deliver my report to you.”
“Good.” I stroked Oso soothingly. He whined and sat.
“Not a unique theory, by the way, that our police force got something wrong. It’s often even a correct one. They’re a corrupt version of the Keystone Cops.” Not a comforting thought with Ava behind bars. “In your case, though, I didn’t find anything that led to a different result than the recently deceased younger Officer Jacoby reached.” He thumbed through the pages of my file and pulled a piece of paper out. “The waiter that served them at Fortuna’s the night they died? Nothing. The hotel employees—restaurant, bar, maids, room service, front desk—nothing out of the ordinary there, either. The only thing I learned, in fact, was that your parents told the concierge at the hotel that Baptiste’s Bluff was on their definite to-do list while they were here, because it was their anniversary and sounded romantic.”
“Did anyone tell you they saw my father drinking that night?”
He handed me a restaurant credit card receipt. “No one had to tell me. It’s in black and white, here. Three bottles of wine at dinner. The cheapest wine they carry,” he added.
I stared at the piece of paper, refusing to let him needle me. The date was right. Other than that, I had no way of knowing whether it was authentic. It seemed impossible, though, that my mother would have allowed—much less participated in—Dad drinking.
“Were you able to find my mother’s ring at the hotel?” I asked.
“No.” He crossed his arms.
“Can I get a copy of your file with my report?” I
asked him.
“This,” he gestured toward his mouth with his right hand, then recrossed it with the left, “is your report. And, no, I don’t provide copies of my files. If you want to see something, all you have to do is come find me, and I’ll show you.”
“That’s ridiculous. I want both: a report and the file. I’ll pay you for your time in preparing them.”
He sighed. “Fine. I’ll put it together. There’ll be a copying fee, then, too.”
“And I need it delivered to me at my house.” I was done coming to this creepy office.
“Add a delivery fee.”
“How much do I owe you then?” I asked.
“I’ll bring the bill with me when I come. Your house that big mausoleum in the rainforest?”
Everybody and their long-legged brother knew where I lived, or was about to live. “Yes. Estate Annalise.”
“I’ll be out there tomorrow afternoon between five and six, then.”
“Thank you.” I popped out of my chair like I was on springs, tugged Oso, and bounded for the door, desperate to expel the stale air of his office from my lungs.
~~~
Saving Grace (What Doesn’t Kill You, #1): A Katie Romantic Mystery Page 40