“I divorced her, didn’t I?”
Unbelievable. Roxie was amazed he was actually speaking about his previous marriage. It still wasn’t any of her business. But she couldn’t help but view Grant as more than a boss. Perhaps a friendly boss. She couldn’t outright ask him about how he’d married a duplicitous woman such as Tara, or what culminated in his request for a divorce, but damn did she wonder.
And if she knew more about Grant, the man, not the boss, what would that do? Encourage more curiosity about the strong-willed, at times stuffily pedantic workaholic who was sexier than sin and possibly the most formidable resemblance of Clark Kent?
No, she needed to keep it clear in her mind. This was a job, nothing more. And Grant was her employer, no one more.
Instead of digging into more questions about him, she got back on track. “How come you asked him about how he met Josh? Not exactly relevant to the night he was murdered.”
“How do you know?” Grant said. “Besides, you brought up the surprise of them working together. It does warrant further thought.”
“Because Josh left Dave money? If they worked together for so long, why wouldn’t he have?”
They reached the car. Grant opened the door to the backseat. “True, but why that much? Or that little? He left eighteen to Dave, ten to a select few others, and the rest to Kylie.”
Roxie crawled into the backseat to set Lucy in the car seat and strap her in. Grant leaned in the opposite side of the backseat, setting the bags on the floor. “And given his dislike for Kylie, Dave might be mad his money was a bit of a shortcoming?”
Settled in the front seats, Grant started the car and said, “Eighteen percent to seventy-two. It is a big difference. But if we’re talking about their reactions to the money they were rewarded from Josh’s will, that means we’re speculating about a motive for money.”
“Money makes the world go ’round,” she said. Like how I never would have considered becoming your assistant without the cherry on top of eighty grand.
“That motive could make sense if they had known about Josh’s will ahead of time. I suspect they didn’t,” he said.
“Dave wouldn’t have known about the will?” Roxie asked. “Wouldn’t Josh’s finances be handled through, I don’t know, some kind of money manager? Just like Dave supposedly managed Josh’s talent?”
“The first will, yes. Josh’s first will was prepared by the same firm Dave used for a variety of services. So, yes, Dave must have known about the initial will. A month and a half before Josh was killed, he had a new will drawn up…by a different firm than the one Dave set him up with the first time.”
“Well, there you have it. Money. Josh must have gypped Dave from will one to will two,” Roxie said.
Grant shook his head. “In the first will, Dave was to receive less than what he was given in the second will. Josh upped Dave’s inheritance, not lowered it.”
Right. So…another dead end.
Chapter Fourteen
When they stopped at the apartment to return Lucy to Sophia, Grant insisted on helping her upstairs. He carried Lucy in the car seat as though the combo weighed nothing, and Roxie led the way up with the diaper bag. At every funky smell and blacked out light in the hallway, she resisted the urge to grimace. No, she sure as hell never intended to be living in such a collective dump.
Why she had to settle as a single parent in a lousy housing complex was too personal to share. Especially with him.
As they say, make the bed and sleep in it. She was. And she had. And he could keep his questions to himself. Friendly or not, annoyingly likeable in a strange way or not, Grant was her boss. Nothing more. Her life simply wasn’t his concern.
Roxie kissed Lucy goodbye and promised Sophia she’d bring some dinner home after work. After some awkward gawking grins from Sophia as Roxie introduced her to Grant, they made their way back to the car to head to the office.
“She doesn’t look much like you,” he said as they stalled in traffic some minutes later.
“Are you blind? She’s a mini-me.”
He laughed lightly. “Not Lucy. Sophia. She doesn’t look like your aunt.”
Roxie stifled a groan. Damned intrusive man. He must not realize some answers are painful. “Maybe she’s my uncle’s wife. Ever consider that?”
“Is she?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why does it matter?”
“I’m interested in you. I’m not permitted to know more?”
Her jaw dropped. “No!”
He slanted a brow and she continued before he unraveled something that was best left tied up. “You are not interested in me. I’m your assistant. You’re my boss.” She marked an imaginary line between them in the car, slicing the air above the center console. “I’m here to help you figure out who murdered Josh Warren. Not for you to want to know who I am.”
“Claws in, Rox. I don’t believe you have authority over what I wish to know.”
So, what, he was implying he was into her? Hoping to mix business with pleasure? Fuck no. She was never crossing that line again. Not even tip-toeing close to that line again. Maybe she was attracted to him, mutually intrigued about him. But she’d play the good girl and listen to the angel on her shoulder, not the devil.
She crossed her arms. Fine. He could ask away. He could please himself with his damn curiosity. She was going to do her job and get that bonus. She inhaled deeply and let go of her antagonism. If she told him the truth, it wouldn’t change a thing. She’d still be his assistant, she’d still work hard to tolerate him until the end of the case and snag that bonus. If he just had to be nosy, that was his problem.
“No, she’s not my uncle’s wife. I don’t have an uncle. Neither of my parents had siblings. Or cousins. Which is why after they were killed I went to foster homes. Sophia is the sister of the last foster dad I had.”
Suck on that one for a while, inquisitive asshole. “Happy?” She glanced at him, which was a mistake. At a red light, he had turned to face her. Pity? She’d have none of it. And strangely, that wasn’t what seemed to be reflected on his face. Sadness, sure, but no shock or poor-you-darling.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said before he resumed driving again.
No pity. No ugly remorse for having asked. Absolutely no sappy sympathies. For a lack of a better reply, she said, “Thank you.”
“I’m the second of five. Three brothers and one sister. My mom passed away when she was having my sister. Labor complication.”
She wrinkled her forehead as she stared at the smooth leather of the dashboard. Why was he telling her this? This had nothing to do with the case. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
He nodded. “No siblings?”
“Younger sister. She died in the same car crash as my parents.”
“My condolences again.”
“Thank you.”
Such deep weight on her heart. Her entire family’s demise in one accident. It happened the day before her sixteenth birthday. Years had passed and they had slowly strengthened her, time healing all. She’d come to terms with her lack of family, but the sadness of her losses would always remain.
In her boss’s car, trapped in the bustle of the middle of downtown, she would have never have thought to have this conversation. It wasn’t avoidance, denial, or any other defense mechanism that made her hesitant to elaborate on her family. She’d only told one schoolmate about her being orphaned. A single friend, a mere classmate, so it wasn’t as though she had experience relating her tragedy. It was his interest in her that bothered her. His desire to know more, and his mutual offer of information about himself.
Telling Grant now, it struck her as too intimate. Too close to heart. He was no stranger. His reaction to her story mattered. She scratched at her temple, confused at this turn in conversation. He was respectfully curious, not hurtful.
And how did he react? With polite condolences and an offer of information about his family. Now what? Silence reigned with a thick
oppression.
He sighed.
“Next time, perhaps you should be careful what you ask for,” she said.
“You mean I’m allowed to ask more questions? And you’ll answer?”
She groaned. “No. Well, I don’t care. You said I’m not allowed to ‘authorize’ what interests you, so what does it matter if I don’t want you to be nosy? I mean, there’s no way to walk away from this black hole of conversation now.”
“How so? I pry with kindness, Roxie.”
Gallant Knight Grant. “Now you’ll think—”
“That you’ve suffered losses in your life. Like many of us have.”
Well, yes, true. People suffered. That was life. She was simply unsure of sharing her own past. With him. “Correct. So let’s move right on past all this personal stuff and stick to business, shall we?”
“It’s all business.”
“I’m not your business.”
He didn’t move or speak, and she slid her molars back and forth. “Don’t see how I am, other than to assist you with this case. Finding Josh’s killer. Getting Ben out of jail.”
A deep exhale left his mouth. “All right, so assist me. Penny for your thoughts.”
About the case, or about…everything that transpired in the last few minutes?
Exactly the problem. There was only one place for Grant in her life. As her boss. Investigating which one of a handful of VIP guests could have shot a famous musician and dismembered his dick. Damn Grant for blurring the lines. Disorganizing the compartments of her life. Back to business. “Josh’s penis.”
Grant coughed harshly.
“I’m thinking about Josh’s corpse.”
He cleared his throat some more before speaking. “I knew I shouldn’t have shown you the fucking coroner’s report.”
“Oh, settle down. I’m speaking clinically here. To sever flesh, connective and fatty tissue, any blade would do. But the finer the cut, the better. Now to get through bone, tendons, we’re talking a serrated edge. Think a saw.”
His handsome features twisted into a grimace. Stick with lies and truths, Superman. Blood and guts aren’t for you.
“I’m following.”
“So two knives were used? One?” She pulled up her tote and fished for the papers she’d been studying that morning. As gruesome of a topic as it was, she was relieved for black and white factual discussions. No more personal and sentimental chats.
Granted, she was used to domestic animals or horses in terms of anatomy and…uh, dissections, but flesh was flesh, wounds were wounds. She lacked the queasiness Grant harbored at the science of it. “The incision on the base of the penis was post-mortem. With a ‘jagged’ cut. Later in the report the assumption is given that it was a serrated edge.” She laid the papers in her lap.
“Okay.”
“Well, if you use a serrated edge on the flesh, it will tear it a lot. Pull even. By the images, it’s possible only one blade was used. Perhaps a multi-use blade, both fine and serrated.”
“And no knife was found as evidence. Significant blood loss. But no blade in Josh’s room. Nor in Ben’s,” he said.
“Right.” She crossed her arms, thinking harder, at ease with the distance of wondering why he was interested in her. “Then where did the knife come from? And where did it go? Even though he was dead, blood would have been everywhere. Ben was not found to have any blood on him. On his clothes. In his room. Isn’t this detail bugging you?”
Grant scoffed. “The absence of any physical evidence is troublesome. But Ben had showered, though, remember? Which is a fact prosecution will press in the vein of him washing off the blood.”
“Okay, but the crime scene analysis showed no remnants of blood that matched Josh’s. No remnants of Josh’s blood in any plumbing in Velocity’s system. But someone had to have at least thoroughly wiped off the blood on his or her hands. Not like the murderer could have walked out of the club, then a crime scene, with bloodstained clothes. But I’m stuck on the knife.”
“Where it came from?”
She stuffed papers back in her tote. “Yes. A multipurpose Leatherman would have worked. They have multiple blades, usually a serrated saw, too. But who can you honestly picture with one? Kylie? Jaydon? Dave? Wayne? Teeny, tiny, petite Richelle?”
“What if the knife came from Velocity?”
She glanced at him. “Where? The kitchen?”
He shrugged. “Unless you’re proposing there is an accomplice who had thought even further ahead and supplied a staff member with the knife to hand off to the killer, or to have placed it in one of the rooms.”
“Can we check? The knives, I mean?”
Grant asked, “You want to go to Velocity now? And look at all their knives in their kitchen?”
She nodded. “Not all the knives. Only the steak knives. Jaydon and Kylie were the only two who had ordered dishes that could have been served with sharp instruments. I already looked at the room service delivery lists.”
He turned down a street opposite from the office. “At all the delivery lists?”
“I skimmed them. I was specifically searching for anything sent up from the kitchens that could have been serrated enough. But that’s only my assumption. I don’t know what types of knives they actually send up with what kinds of food.”
Grant hit the console for the hands-free phone. “I’ll give Paul a heads-up. Makes it easier to get in on a short notice. It’d help if he could ask someone to show us around in the kitchen, too.”
Roxie extracted her phone from her bag and browsed the missed alerts. Once Paul answered, Grant explained what they wished to see. Paul complied, stating they needed to make their visit complete before an event began that evening.
“Perfect,” Grant said. “We’re a couple minutes away. Thanks for getting us in.” He hung up.
“Nice to have pals in the high places, huh?” Roxie said.
Grant almost smiled. “Now you’re calling him my friend? Last time we were here you seemed convinced he needed to be a suspect.”
“Ben’s a suspect, and he’s your friend.”
He shook his head. “Ben’s not my suspect. He’s the DA’s suspect.”
“And Tara’s,” Roxie added. “Who, by the way, has been both emailing me and messaging me all day.”
“Ignore her.”
She didn’t need Grant’s command. She’d operated on gut instinct to turn her shoulder to his ex’s pestering.
After they parked in the underground garage, Roxie hurried after Grant as he strode for the same private entrance they’d used before. Just as the last time, Vince and Arnie stood at their posts at the awning that led inside.
Rosy streaks of sunset hinted from slivers of the sky between buildings. On cue, her stomach growled and she lamented the long day. Her impulsive suggestion to check the knives at Velocity wasn’t Grant’s fault. If she hadn’t piped up, she’d probably already have been on her way home, with a lame excuse for a late dinner, but closer to properly snuggling with her daughter.
“All by myself…” Swaying on his feet, Vince crooned with his eyes closed to the evening, seemingly soul-searching with his ballad.
What is this, eighties night? Eric Carmen? She gave a brief shake of her head as they neared him.
“Vince, Arnie,” Grant said as a greeting.
“Don’t wanna be, all by my—”
“Vince!” Grant furrowed his brows at the off-note singing.
Like beacons of clear light, and a possibility of humor, Vince’s eyes opened.
“Legal Eagle, Red,” Vince said before he closed his eyes again and resumed swaying, this time with humming.
“Arnie? We’ve arranged with Paul to meet with someone in the kitchen briefly,” Grant said.
“Hmm.” Arnie didn’t give any indication of allowing them entrance. It appeared Vince was the superior between the two of them.
What the heck? Roxie grimaced at the delay and checked the time on her phone. This was supposed to be a sh
ort in-and-out. Stop in, take a peek at the knives, and call it a day. She met Grant’s glare. At least he seemed just as peeved. She could always take faith his general impatience with the world was on par with her own.
“I’ve already spoken to Paul, so if we can just be on our way, gentlemen…” Grant attempted a step closer and Vince threw his huge muscular arm around Grant’s shoulders and pulled him in for an awkward half-hug.
“I’m so tired a being lonely, Legal Eagle,” Vince said, shaking his head in a ‘woe-is-me’ manner.
“Right,” Grant said and weaseled from his hold. Smoothing down his tie, he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry you’re, uh, figuratively unaccompanied.”
Vince beamed a bright white smile and shook his head at Arnie. “He ain’t never going to talk like a normal man.”
Roxie fought a groan. Come on. Seriously? They weren’t going anywhere if Vince didn’t let them pass, but did they really need to put up with his riddles? Grant had already called the freaking owner for clearance.
“Tell you what. You find me some love, you go right on through,” Vince offered.
Her jaw dropped. A joke? They were investigating a murder case. And he had the gall to play games?
Grant nodded, stepped forward, and gave Vince a bear hug, complete with a back pat.
Vince rolled his eyes. “Hell. Not from you. I want a lady. You know how long it’s been since I’ve gotten some lovin’?”
Arnie snickered and Grant held his hands up. “No, I don’t. And I don’t want to know, either. Vince, I can’t help you. Paul said we could look for what we need before the event begins. Please, if we may?”
Vince crossed his arms. “How ’bout Red?”
A scoff escaped her lips and her brows knitted. Bullshit.
“No.” Grant’s voice hardened from his easy-going, albeit stuffy tone.
“No? Not even a kiss?” Vince said.
“I’m not-not—” Roxie clenched her fists, impatient and pissed at his shenanigans.
“She’s with me,” Grant said before she let loose her anger. He glanced at her and yanked on her arm to tug her close. Fitted side by side, he used one arm to hug her forcefully to him.
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