by Tripp Ellis
Jack shook his head as he returned from Lloyd’s office. ".45 caliber."
"What was Nina shot with?” Lloyd asked, relieved. “A 9mm?"
"Yeah,” I said. “I don't suppose you own one."
"No. I'm telling you… you guys are barking up the wrong tree. But I'll sit here and answer whatever questions you have. I ain’t got nothing to hide.” He smiled.
I filled JD in on Lloyd’s alibi.
Lloyd flashed an untouchable smile.
I stared at him for a long moment. “I think that’s all for now.”
Lloyd escorted us toward the exit. We stepped into the hallway, heading for the lobby. As we passed his office, Lloyd said, “You mentioned something about an order for one of the Nina signature models. Do you want me to look it up?"
Just to satisfy my curiosity, I said, “Sure."
"What was the customer’s name?"
"Royce Lane."
Lloyd took a seat at his desk and typed on the computer. His eyes surveyed the information on the monitor. “Yep. He ordered one last year. All the bells and whistles."
"Thanks," I said.
JD and I continued down the hallway and pushed outside. We hopped into the car and headed back toward the marina at Diver Down. The sun angled toward the horizon, and the wind swirled around the cabin as we cruised with the top down. A beautiful array of colors painted the sky.
“Think the girlfriend is covering for him?” JD asked.
“The guy’s got a shady past, but I don’t think he killed Nina. Not much to gain. He might get a little boost in sales with all the media attention about her death, but in six months to a year, people will have moved on. Sales will dwindle.”
“If there’s a fire at that warehouse in the near future, we know the reason why,” JD muttered.
“Doubtful. He’s going to lose his insurance when the company transfers into his name.”
“Maybe he’ll put the company in his girlfriends name.”
I shrugged. Anything was possible.
JD whipped into the parking lot and pulled around by the dock. "What do you say we hit Tide Pool tonight?"
"Sounds good to me.”
"I'm gonna head back to my house, take a power nap, and get freshened up. I'll call you after a while."
I hopped out of the car and ambled down the dock to the Avventura.
Jack dropped the car into gear and peeled out of the parking lot. The engine howled as he launched down the highway.
I was still wrecked from the night before and could use a little shut-eye myself.
Buddy bounced and barked at the salon door as I crossed the passerelle and stepped to the aft deck.
The little Jack Russell wasn’t alone.
He had a yappy little friend with him. I instantly recognized the Yorkshire Terrier. It was Cooper.
My face crinkled with confusion. What the hell was he doing here?
I slid open the door to the salon and noticed it was unlocked. I knelt down and petted the two furballs, then pulled the door shut behind me.
The smell of Italian seasonings filled the air, and commotion echoed from the galley. The dogs followed me as I moved through the salon.
Phoebe was at the stove, looking cute. She wore a pair of cutoff jean shorts, and frayed threads dangled around her pert cheeks. A snug tank top displayed her perkiness. A pot of pasta boiled, and there was a jar of marinara sauce on the counter. The remnants of chopped garlic and parsley lingered on a cutting board, and juicy meatballs sizzled in a pan.
“Hey, Babe!” she said with a bright smile.
I knew I didn’t have any of the ingredients aboard. Phoebe must have gone grocery shopping.
She dashed from the stove, flung her arms around me, and squeezed me tight. She planted her juicy lips on mine, giving me a passionate kiss. When we broke for air, she said, "I thought I'd fix dinner for you since you were such a good sport last night. I hope you don't mind."
I hesitated. "No. Smells good."
"I brought Cooper to keep Buddy company. They seem to be getting along.”
"I'm not sure how Fluffy feels about all this." The aloof white cat was probably plotting against the dogs. “Did you go to the store?”
“Yeah, I picked up a few things after I stopped by my apartment to change and get Cooper. How was your day?”
“Interesting,” I said.
“What did you do?”
“Talked to a lot of suspects.”
“Ooh, sounds intriguing,” she said in a mysterious tone. “I hope you like spaghetti.”
“I’m sure it will be wonderful.”
“It will be. My meatballs are the bomb.”
“I’m sure they are.”
“I was thinking after dinner, we could snuggle up and watch a movie.”
“Uh,” I stammered.
“That is if you don’t have other plans. I know you probably weren’t expecting me to be here.” Her face scrunched up. “It’s a little weird, isn’t it?”
“I told JD we’d—“
She slumped and frowned before I finished.
“But I can call and cancel,” I said. “I mean, who in their right mind would turn down a home-cooked meal from a beautiful woman?”
Phoebe smiled. “On second thought, I should probably go after dinner and let you have your space. We can watch a movie another night.” She flashed a coy smile. “I don’t wanna be too available.”
“No. We can watch a movie. Then I’ll kick you out,” I joked.
“Don’t worry. I’m not spending the night tonight. That could be trouble.” She had a naughty glint in her eyes.
She moved back to the stove and attended to the meatballs.
“Do I have time to take Buddy for a walk?”
“I already took him and Coop out. You don’t have anything to do except relax and enjoy a wonderful meal.”
“Sounds reasonable to me.” I moved to the fridge and grabbed a cold beer. The top hissed when I twisted it off. I gulped a cold swig.
The spicy aroma smelled divine, and my stomach rumbled with anticipation.
I called JD and told him we’d hit Tide Pool another night. He assured me that he would be able to stir up other plans. I took a seat on the settee and relaxed.
My phone buzzed with a call from Nate Campbell. I swiped the screen and held the phone to my ear.
24
"I'm returning a call for Deputy Wild," Nate Campbell said, his voice full of curiosity.
"I'm trying to corroborate a suspect’s story,” I said. “Were you online Wednesday evening playing Annihilator 2?”
“No, that would probably be my son, Mason. What's the problem?"
"Is he available to speak for a moment?"
Nate covered the phone and shouted for Mason. His voice echoed throughout the home. "Mason, there's a police officer that wants to talk to you." There was some commotion on the line, and I heard Nate mutter, “You haven’t been doing anything illegal, have you?"
"No," Mason replied.
Nate returned his attention to me. "When you say suspect, you're not talking about some kind of online predator, are you?"
"No, it's nothing like that."
"Hang on a second…"
A moment later, Mason said, “Hello?"
I introduced myself and asked him about the video game on Wednesday night. "Is your screen name Crusher667?"
“Yeah." He sounded young, maybe 13 or 14.
"Were you playing Annihilator 2 with a guy named Codemaster99?”
"Yeah, I totally trounced that loser."
I stifled a chuckle. I don’t think Royce would be thrilled to find out he had gotten his ass handed to him by a kid. “How long did you play?”
"I got online after dinner, and we played several death matches until maybe 11 PM.”
"Thanks," I said. “Put your dad back on the phone."
Mason handed the phone to Nate.
"Mason is not supposed to be up that late, or playing video games for tha
t long, are you?” he scolded. "Is there anything else I can do for you, Deputy?"
"No, I think that's all."
“He’s not in any trouble, is he?”
“No,” I assured before ending the call.
A disappointed frown tugged my face.
“Is everything okay?” Phoebe asked.
“Yeah. Just a lot of dead ends.”
I texted Isabella and asked her to track the GPS data for our suspects’ cellphones to see if we could find any discrepancies in their stories. Somebody would have a lot of explaining to do if their mobile was in the vicinity of the murders on Wednesday evening. But I figured, in this day and age, you had to be pretty stupid to leave your phone on while committing a crime.
When the meal was ready, we dished up, and we ate on the sundeck. Phoebe wasn’t lying about her meatballs. They were phenomenal. Tender and juicy—a combination of ground pork and beef mixed with breadcrumbs and Parmesan cheese, sautéed and topped with zesty marinara sauce over a bed of pasta. Every bite was a culinary delight. When it was all said and done, I was fat and happy.
We sat on the sundeck, enjoying the cool evening breeze, then took our plates down to the galley. I helped Phoebe cleanup, then we retired to my stateroom and picked out a movie to stream.
Phoebe watched as I put my pistol in the nightstand drawer next to the bed. It was home to a few weapons and extra magazines. I think guns made her a little nervous.
I didn't mind a comfortable night in. Phoebe was gorgeous, sweet, and sexy. Who could complain?
She snuggled beside me, her delicate hand caressing my chest. It didn't take long before she was caressing something else.
So much for an innocent night of watching a movie .
Again, I didn't mind, but I wasn't sure where this was going. I didn’t want to get left high and dry. But those fears were put to rest quickly.
Phoebe unbuttoned my shorts to give herself better access.
“I figure the least I can do is give you a hand," she said in a breathy voice.
I felt like I was in high school, hoping to get lucky.
Phoebe planted her wet lips on mine, sending a spark down my spine. Our lips collided, and our tongues danced. I peeled off her tank top, and her buoyant orbs bounced free. She wasn't wearing a bra, and her pert nipples had been poking through her shirt all through dinner, taunting me.
Pretty soon, we were both completely naked—our clothes bunched up on the deck and strewn about the bed. Things got steamy, and my heart pounded. Her sweet lips whispered naughty nothings in my ear as she kept demonstrating her skillful hand movements.
Pretty soon, her lips traced their way down my chest, sliding her slick tongue over the ridges in my abs. She teased mercilessly before sliding down to the captain.
Her meatballs may have been good, but her oral prowess was even better.
If this was her idea of not having sex, I was okay with it.
25
Rays of morning sun blasted through the windows, filling the compartment. I stirred and wiped the sleep from my eyes. Phoebe’s naked body was draped around me.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand with a call from Denise. I snatched it and answered, “Hey, what’s up?”
“Good morning.”
“Good morning to you.”
“I’ve got some things you may want to follow up on. They’re long shots, but...”
“Anything is better than nothing.”
“I’ve been looking through Nina’s social media accounts. There's a woman that has been making harassing and threatening comments for a while now."
"Do you think these are valid threats?" I asked.
"I don't know. You know how social media is."
"What is she saying?"
"Basically that Nina was a sinner, and that she should be struck down."
I dismissed the statement. “Anything that could be interpreted as a direct, actionable threat?"
Denise paused as she scrolled through the comments. "Here's one. One of these days, someone is going to take God's work into their own hands and wipe you from the face of the earth. I hope you choke on the filth that you sell."
"That's still vague."
“Given the item you guys found in Nina’s mouth, it might be worth talking to this woman.”
"What's her name?”
"Eleanor Kensington. I'll text you her contact information and address."
I rolled my eyes. "I know Eleanor."
"Personally?"
"No, but I've spoken with her previously about another case. I seriously doubt she had anything to do with Nina's murder, but I'll pay her a visit. Anything else?"
"There are a lot of comments from a woman named Joan Taylor, who claims Nina slept with her husband. She left a comment on Nina's page. Looks like you got what you deserved, you harlot."
"Again, not exactly a threat."
"Have you talked to Lillian Hughes?”
"Not yet. I left a voicemail, but I haven't heard back."
"I looked over Nina's cell phone records. Over the last month, there were a lot of calls to Sebastian, Kinley, Lillian, and Shane Brown. Both incoming and outgoing."
"Maybe Shane was telling the truth about reconnecting with Nina.”
"I don't have the content of their text messages, but there are quite a few of them,” Denise said.
"Anything else?"
"That's all I’ve got for now."
"Good work. Thank you."
"You're quite welcome. I'll talk to you later."
By this time, Phoebe was awake and eyeing me curiously. She tried to sound disinterested when she asked, “Who was that?"
"Denise. She’s a colleague.”
"Oh. Is she cute?"
"She's terribly ugly,” I joked.
Phoebe arched an eyebrow. "She sounded cute."
"You listened to my call?"
"No, but you're right next to me, and your speaker is kind of loud. I couldn't help but catch little snippets." She paused. "I'm sorry. I'm being nosy."
I put the phone back on the nightstand.
"What do you want for breakfast?" Phoebe asked.
"Are you cooking?"
"Of course." She smiled.
"I'll leave it up to your culinary discretion."
Phoebe’s smile widened. “What are you doing today? I thought maybe we could go to the beach or take the boat out? Do something outdoors. Enjoy the sun!”
"I can't. I'm in the middle of a case, and I've got some leads to track down."
She made a pouty face. "But it's Sunday. You’ve gotta take a day off every now and then. Can’t it wait?”
“Time is of the essence before this thing slips away. There are two people lying in the morgue right now, and I have an obligation to them to learn the truth and see justice served.”
She frowned. "Well, I guess I can let you off the hook for that. I should probably get back to my apartment, anyway. I've already stayed longer than I said I would. I promise I'm not moving in.”
“You know what they say… three days is a houseguest, four is a roommate."
She laughed. "I have no intention of being a roommate. Not yet, anyway," she said with a coy wink.
She gave me a kiss on the cheek, climbed out of bed, and sauntered naked across the deck to the en suite.
She looked damn good, the sunlight cascading across her naked body.
Phoebe took a shower, slipped on her clothes from the night before, then made her way below deck to the galley. I pulled myself out of bed and went through my morning routine.
The scent of fresh coffee perked me up as I made my way to the main deck. Phoebe had grilled ham and cheese omelettes, bacon, French toast, and there was orange juice on the table in the breakfast nook. The girl could have been a chef at a five-star restaurant. The food was sumptuous, and the presentation was excellent.
After breakfast, I called JD and updated him on the situation. He said he’d swing by in a bit to pick me up, and we'd talk to Ele
anor Kensington and Joan Taylor just to rule them out.
Phoebe and I took the dogs for a walk. When we returned to the boat, I called Lillian Hughes again. This time, she picked up after a few rings. I introduced myself and said, "Sorry to disturb you on a Sunday. I was hoping you had a minute to discuss Nina Harlow."
"Certainly. I'm still a little in shock about the whole thing. I got your message. I’ve been meaning to return your call. I just wanted to be in the right frame of mind.”
"It's my understanding that Nina referred clients to you?"
"Yes, we would refer patients we thought might be a fit."
"How did you two meet?"
"We met during graduate school at Vanden, and we’ve remained close personal and professional friends since then."
"Are you currently treating Royce Lane?"
"I don't discuss my patients' private medical treatment."
"It's my understanding Royce developed a fixation on Nina, and she referred him to you. He has a pretty solid alibi for the night of the murders. I'm just wondering if he's expressed anything to you that would be concerning."
"As I said, Deputy, it would be counter to the interests of therapy to violate a patient’s confidentiality."
"But if a patient has expressed a desire to cause harm, that would require mandatory reporting, yes?"
"If a patient expresses a clear and credible intent to harm, yes, we have a duty to prevent further harm. We do not have any obligation to report clients who confess past crimes. This is often an area of great misunderstanding and conflict. Clients and family members often worry that things they say will be used against them. I assure all of my clients that what they say to me is kept in the strictest confidence. It’s something, as therapists, we all hold dear. We can't treat patients who will not open up to us."
"Did Nina ever express any concern to you about any of her clients?”
"She would consult with me from time to time."
"I'm assuming she talked about Royce."
Lillian said nothing.
"Was there anyone else?"
She remained silent.
"Let me phrase that another way. Should we consider any of her clients as suspects?”
“It would be wild speculation on my part to confirm or deny potential suspects in her client base."