The Pretty Woman Who Lived Next Door
Page 24
Miles said, “Thanks for all you did for me.”
Part of her wanted him to say more, wanted him to suggest she wait while he took a shower and changed, that they have dinner together. But that was fantasy. “When you get another phone,” she said, “stay in touch, okay?”
“I will.” He nodded.
When he offered to shake her hand again, she stepped closer, standing on her toes to hug him—wet shirt and all.
With his arms around her, Miles said, “Until Paris.”
She assumed those words were simple well-wishes. But found herself with the lingering sense she would see him again.
55.
Four years later.
In the years since Debra Vance last set foot in Kensington High, since she last saw Miles Peterson at that Florida marina, she still hasn’t made it to Paris. She’s dated a few guys, but none held her interest. She never did get that roommate, although she did pass the Sergeant’s Exam and moved upward into Internal Affairs.
Currently, she is investigating the murder of Danny Valentine. Not the actual killing—but the circumstances.
Vance has been looking into Valentine for as long as she’s been in I.A.—almost 18 months now. What Valentine did to Cara Blakely was the sole reason Vance applied for her current position.
Only recently has she been able to link any substantial evidence to rumors of Valentine’s abuses and corruption. But even that was barely enough to cause a helpful judge to issue a search warrant that allowed Vance to monitor Valentine’s bank accounts.
Watching account transactions turned up nothing. But a month ago, after a bank manager informed Vance that Valentine had a safe deposit box he accessed regularly, Vance persuaded the judge to extend the scope of the warrant. She opened Valentine’s safe deposit box and found $50,000 cash inside, mostly small bills.
Two weeks later, the bank manager called Vance again. A video clip from the bank’s security cameras showed Valentine take his safe deposit box into a private room—where there was no camera coverage—and emerge five minutes later with a small duffel bag.
Under continuing authority of the warrant, Vance again searched Valentine’s safe deposit box. It was empty.
The next day, Valentine called in sick to work. Twenty-four hours later, he was shot to death in small Mexican fishing village, killed with his own gun, but clearly not a suicide. Nor had his killer attempted to make it seem that way. To the contrary, there appeared to have been a struggle.
In the days since Valentine’s death, Vance has thought of little else. Now, driving away from the center hall colonial where Jennifer Gaines still lives with her parents, Vance assumes the conversation she just had with Jennifer—who looked even prettier than Vance remembered—will make the girl realize she knows Jennifer was in Mexico two weeks ago. And so was Miles Peterson.
That evening, Debra Vance receives a text from a number she does not recognize. It reads only: Pg. 47. 48 hrs.
Two days later, she finally gets to Paris.
#
It is a wonderful spring day. The boutiques, shops, and cafes in the Rue du Panoramas of the 2nd Arrondissement bustle with locals and tourists. Although Debra Vance overhears some conversations in English, she feels obviously American. She does not recognize anything or anyone, and she likes that.
She stands in sunshine beneath a sign fashioned in the cursive lettering favored by many of the shops. The smell of coffee and pastries is like nothing she has ever known, as if the butter was churned and the beans roasted and ground that morning.
She wears a shirt and slacks she vows to throw away once back at the inexpensive hotel where she checked in just hours ago. Her reflection in the arched café window is not how she wants to look any more. She is going to buy herself something stylish from one of the little stands in the covered passageway—the kind of place that doesn’t display its goods on hangers and racks but in stacks on tables. She is also going to have her hair cut and colored.
She only slept two hours on the plane, but despite the travel and the time change, she is not tired. She is very much awake, standing in the place she first saw in a photograph four years ago: the starting point of the self-guided walking tour on page 47 of the book Miles Peterson gave her.
Minutes later, she spots Miles across the busy street. When he sees her, he waves and smiles. And she waves back. And smiles.
He crosses to her. “Mademoiselle Vance,” he greets happily. “You made it.” He’s grown an inch or two taller. But he is still slim. Still tan. Even more handsome.
His hair is slightly darker than she remembers, longer all over, and purposefully unkempt. He wears a white linen shirt with the sleeves turned up, trendy jeans, and leather loafers without socks. He hugs her. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”
She thinks perhaps he says that because he was unsure she’d figure out his text referred to a book she may have long ago thrown away, or at least forgotten. Or perhaps that she’d forgotten him because he hadn’t stayed in touch. But that she is here means she not only kept the book he gave her, but that it was important to her. And maybe he even understands she knows now that he deliberately never contacted her in order to protect her. So there would not be any evidence of a connection between them if things went wrong—which they did not.
Miles’ plan, however it came to be, appears to have been successful.
Debra Vance does not know how, and is not going to ask, but she is sure that Miles made contact with Danny Valentine, perhaps revealing he knew the cop had blackmailed Cara Blakely four years ago. That he knew Valentine had been in Cara’s house the night she died. That he knew how Cara had gotten those bruises around her throat. And that unless Valentine paid him, Miles was going to the police. And he wanted the money in cash, delivered to an address in Mexico—a country Miles had visited each of the past three years as part of a crew on a private boat entered in a fishing tournament.
Miles had been there again, not far from Cabo, where Jennifer Gaines travelled with a group of friends from college over spring break. A place where Vance’s inquiries determined Jennifer and Miles boarded a flight together and flew to a small airport fifteen miles from the town where Valentine was killed.
Vance does not know why Jennifer was part of it, or if she was. Perhaps the girl had only been there as Miles’ alibi, to say she and Miles were actually far away from wherever Valentine was killed should Miles ever be questioned. Or perhaps Jennifer scouted Valentine for Miles, perhaps distracted him somehow so Miles could get Valentine’s gun. Or maybe Miles had done it the way he’d killed Jimmy G. Maybe he’d walked right into it. Maybe he’d set up an exchange with Valentine, anticipating the dirty cop would think he could use the remote location to his advantage—that Valentine would draw his weapon and Miles would take it from him and use it to kill him. In self-defense.
The local Mexican police did not report finding any money in the small house where Valentine was killed. Which could mean the police took it for themselves. But Vance believes Miles took it. Because from Mexico, Miles flew to London, and from there took a train to Belfast, where Vance confirmed Ian Blakely lives with his father, Sean.
Vance believes Miles gave the money to Sean, for Ian.
Now, in Miles’ arms, these thoughts play through Debra Vance’s mind, and she realizes that, according to American law, Miles is a murderer. But then Miles asks if she’d like to take a walk, and she says, “Yes. Very much.”
They start down the street.
He asks, “How do you like the city so far?”
Surrounded by so much she has never experienced, including her feelings for Miles, Debra Vance responds, “I may never leave.”
He puts his arm around her. And she puts hers around him. The difference in their heights takes a few moments for them to coordinate their strides, but they figure it out.
There is a lot Debra Vance does not know about Miles. But what most matters to her, what she finds undeniably appealing—although it goes against her ev
ery instinct as a police officer—is that Miles has killed for a woman he loved. Twice.
THE END
The author hopes you enjoyed this book and welcomes your comments, which may be emailed to: pres@prestonpairo.com.
Your rating or review at Amazon.com or Goodreads would be appreciated.
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Preston Pairo is a Maryland attorney, and the author of 14 novels, including the thrillers Her Honor, City Lies, and Razor Moon Antigua; the Ocean City Mysteries, Big Blow and One Dead Judge; and The Builder, a modern romance.
For more information, please visit:
www.prestonpairo.com
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Acknowledgements
My most sincere thanks to Laura Faith and fellow author Don Rich (www.donrichbooks.com) for their support and helpful comments.
Preston Pairo
3/8/19