Coached to Death

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Coached to Death Page 16

by Victoria Laurie


  Erma nodded. “My roommate moved out of the trailer we share in Islip last week in the middle of the day while I was at work. She didn’t tell me she was leaving, and she hadn’t coughed up her end of the rent before she left. I was already kind of scraping by, and now without a paycheck I can’t make my rent this month. But I remembered your advice, so I went to the trailer park owner and asked him to help me out, you know, maybe give me a few extra weeks to find a job or another roommate and get the rent in, but he said that because my roommate didn’t pay her share, I’m one and a half months behind, so he wants me out by next Tuesday.”

  My eyes widened yet again.

  “Anyway,” Erma continued while I was left absorbing all of that, “I think this is going to have to be my last session, Ms. Cooper. I really only came today to give you back your car and thank you very much for all your advice. Even though it didn’t really help me in the end, I’m sure you meant well.”

  Erma started to get up, extending her hand to offer me the keys to the Audi, but I put my hand up to stop her. “Hold on, dear,” I said firmly. “You’re not going anywhere just yet.”

  Erma sat down and stared obediently at me.

  Taking a deep breath, I said, “First, what happened to your car? Did you get it out of the lot?”

  “Oh, that’s the other thing I forgot to tell you,” Erma said. “When I called my bank to see how much I owed, they said that due to penalties and interest, it all came to about five hundred dollars more than you’d given me. So I can’t afford to get my car out of impound, and truthfully, I owe more than that piece of junk is worth, so I told them they could keep it. Oh, but I did bring you back your check.”

  Erma began to dig in her purse for the check I’d written her, and I stopped her again.

  “Erma,” I said gently. When she looked up, I continued with, “Deposit that check and use it to pay your rent. We need to keep a roof over your head until we can find you a job. And one that pays you enough to make your rent each month without having to rely on roommates. Given how hard you’re willing to work, it’s a crime that you’re not being paid enough to meet your needs.”

  Erma’s mouth dropped open, and she stared at me in shock. “You mean it?”

  “Yes, dear. Also, you may keep my car as long as you need it.”

  “I was gonna look for something closer to where I live,” she said. “I can take the train if I can just find something four or five stops away.”

  “Of course,” I said. “But for now, keep the car and cast as wide a net as you need to look for another job. Third, we work on updating your résumé to help find you decent employment as soon as possible. Forward your résumé to my assistant, Gilley. He and I can take a look at it and polish it up if need be. Fourth, I’m going to reach out to a few of my contacts and see if we can’t get you something—even temporary—to tide you over.”

  Erma’s eyes misted again, and she put her fingers to her lips, appearing unable to speak. She then let out a sob and crumpled forward. It broke my heart to see her in such a state. She was a mess, this one, and she knew it, and because she knew it, she was willing to accept every cruelty thrown at her, offering nothing in return but a nod and a forced smile. I could only imagine how many people had mistreated her over the years. It angered and affected me to think about anyone being unkind to her simply because she wasn’t as together as some of the rest of us.

  “Fifth,” I said gently, nudging the box of tissues closer to her. “I don’t want you to worry, Erma. This will not be our last session, and there is no charge for today, and I’m refunding you your session from Friday.” She started to shake her head no, and I felt I had to insist. “Listen,” I said softly, “sometimes you need to ask for help, and sometimes you simply need to accept it when it’s staring you in the face. Do you understand?”

  Erma lifted her chin to look up at me, and I stared at her intently—making my point. “Accept the help, Erma.”

  “It’s too . . . too . . . too much,” she stammered, tears making her words sound thick.

  “No. No, it’s not. It’s probably only a tiny fraction of what you deserve, in fact. I have no doubt that you’re a good person, Erma. Just think of this as the universe’s way of letting you know that you have value and that it recognizes what a good soul you are.” I stood up and motioned for Erma to get up too.

  She did, and I was taken completely by surprise when she launched herself at me, lifting me in the air for a gigantic hug. She squeezed hard, and the air rushed out of my lungs. “Errrma . . . ,” I squeaked. “Erma, I can’t breathe!”

  At that moment, the door opened, and in walked someone I never expected to see again.

  “Is this a bad time?” Maks asked, a bit of a bemused smile on his lips.

  Erma whirled around, still clutching me, and said, “Oh, hey!”

  “Erma!” I tried, again in a choked whisper. “Put . . . me . . . down!”

  Abruptly, she did, and I nearly sank to my knees. Taking in a huge lungful of air, I was grateful for the hands that reached out to support me.

  “Gosh, Ms. Cooper! I’m so sorry! I didn’t realize how itty bitty you are. I hope I didn’t break anything!”

  “No,” I said, bent over and touching my ribs. “I’m fine. Really.”

  “Would you like to sit down?” Maks asked.

  It was in that moment that I realized his were the hands supporting me. “That would be good.”

  He moved with me back to my chair, and I got my breathing under control. Meanwhile, Erma continued to stand there and wring her hands. “What can I do?” she said.

  For her sake, I gathered myself together and pushed a reaffirming smile onto my lips. “Nothing, dear. I’m fine.”

  Erma continued to look worried, so I reached out and squeezed her hand. “Truly. I’m fine.”

  She let out a big breath of relief and said, “I should go. I’ve got lots to do now that you’re helping me out.”

  “Yes,” I said. “Yes. We’ll talk very soon, Erma.”

  After she’d gone, I stared up at Maks with a mixture of emotions ranging from embarrassment to joy. “What could possibly have caused you to come here today, Maks?” I asked him. It wasn’t accusatory. I genuinely couldn’t fathom why he’d arrived at my office.

  In turn, he seemed puzzled. “We had an appointment,” he said. Reaching into his coat, he withdrew a checkbook. “Remember?”

  My brow furrowed. “Wait . . . you still want to lease the upstairs office space?”

  “Of course,” he said easily. “And, of course, I wanted to see you.”

  I rubbed my temple. “Were you not there last Thursday night? Do you not remember my arrest?”

  Maks waved his hand as if that was nothing. “A trumped-up charge and an overly eager detective, trying to make a name for himself. That much was obvious.”

  I stared at him for a solid thirty seconds before speaking. “Hold on,” I said, putting at least one of the puzzle pieces together. “Marcus Brown . . . know him?”

  Maks smiled. “In fact, I do.”

  “Hire him lately?”

  Maks’s smile grew bigger. “Perhaps. A friend was in need of representation, and I may have made a call and done a small favor.”

  “That was incredibly kind of you,” I said. I didn’t even know what else to say.

  “The least I could do. The detective should never had treated you that way. He should be fired.”

  “Not to worry. I plan on getting my revenge.”

  “Do you now?”

  “Yes.”

  “How?”

  “By beating him at his own game, but let’s not talk anymore about him. I want to hear about you, Maks. What happened after they hauled me away for a crime I didn’t commit?”

  “Well,” Maks said, taking a seat on the couch that Erma had vacated. “I missed dinner, of course, which is a shame because I so like the food at Pierre’s. We should go there again, you know. This time without interruption.”

/>   Butterflies took flight in my stomach. Still, I wasn’t eager for a return date there. “I don’t think I could ever show my face at that restaurant again.”

  “Somewhere else then?”

  “Yes. That would be lovely.”

  Maks leaned forward, his eyes gazing into mine, and I felt like I’d turned to liquid under his stare. “Shall we attend to some real business now, Catherine?”

  “Real . . . real business?” I stammered. What did that mean? Was he asking for . . . for . . . sex?

  “Yes,” he said, continuing to stare at me with that smoldering gaze. “You know, our real business together.”

  Oh, God. He was hinting at something sexual! What a pervert! I stood up angrily. “Mr. Grinkov, I will have you know that I’m not that kind of woman. While I appreciate—very much—your assistance the other evening and your generous donation to my legal defense, I’m afraid you’re assuming far too much about me in this moment.”

  Maks blinked at me in confusion. “So, you don’t want me to sign the lease after all?”

  I sucked in a surprised breath. Putting up a hand to cover my mouth, I then began to giggle, but I was also mortified. “Oh, God! Maks, I’m so sorry! I . . . I don’t know what I was thinking!”

  “You were thinking I wanted to do something inappropriate with you?”

  I shook my head vigorously, but then nodded too. “No! Well, maybe. Okay, yes, but please forgive me. It’s been a very long and trying weekend.”

  Maks stood and came over to me; taking up my hand, he said, “Catherine, please know that I would never push you to do something you didn’t want to do. I simply enjoy your company and look forward to spending more time with you.”

  I stared at him, my head shaking involuntarily. Could a man really be this genuine? Putting my free hand on his shoulder, I asked softly, “Are you for real, Maks Grinkov?”

  “I am very real,” he assured me. “Just ask your sss—” Maks seemed to catch himself and, instead of finishing his sentence, he put the hand he was holding to his lips and kissed it.

  “Just ask my who?”

  “Your solicitor,” he said, quickly. “Or, as you call them in this country, your attorney. Marcus. He’s known me a little while, and he can vouch for me.”

  I didn’t think Maks had been referring to Marcus when he’d first spoken, but I let it go because I didn’t want anything to ruin the good impression I was forming of Mr. Maks Grinkov. I liked him. Probably too much, but at the moment, I didn’t care. “Did you bring the completed application?” I asked, changing the subject.

  Maks released my hand and moved over to the leather bag he’d carried in with him. Digging around in it, he lifted out a manila folder and handed it to me. “I’ve included a credit report and three references for you,” he said.

  I took the folder, opening it to survey the documents. “Wonderful. This all looks in order.” I then moved over to Gilley’s desk to riffle through the drawers for a few moments until I located the lease agreement I’d prepared for Maks the other day. “Here we are,” I said, handing it over to him. “If you’d like to take a day or two to look over the terms, feel free. I’ll hold the office space until I hear from you. I’m asking for a twenty-four-month lease, but if you insist on a shorter term, I’m sure we can find a compromise.”

  Instead of replying, Maks placed the lease on Gilley’s desk, reached into his coat pocket, and withdrew a pen. He spent maybe thirty seconds skimming the lease with his fingertips before turning to the last page and scrawling out a signature. Handing this to me, he then opened up his checkbook, scribbled out a check, tore it off, and handed that to me as well.

  I looked down at the dollar figure written on the check in confusion until I realized he’d just paid for the entire twenty-four-month-term in one payment. “Goodness,” I said. “Are you sure you want to pay all your rent up front, Maks?”

  “Positive,” he said, tucking his pen away. “This way, we’ll never have business get in the way of a personal relationship.”

  I felt myself blush, and that squiggly butterfly feeling returned to my insides. My God, what this man did to me . . . “Let me get you a set of keys, then,” I said, flustered and not knowing what else to do.

  I handed Maks the keys, and he reached forward to take them from me, but his fingertips lingered on mine. “Have dinner with me,” he said.

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  I bit my lip. “I’m sorry, I can’t tomorrow. I’m taking my sons to dinner.”

  “Oh, and I’m traveling again the day after tomorrow, and I’ll be gone a week. What about late next week?”

  “That would be lovely,” I said.

  “This time we’ll dine in,” Maks said. “At my home. That way we’ll have no interruptions.”

  I cocked my head. “You cook?”

  “Not at all,” he admitted. “But my chef is excellent.”

  “You have a chef?” I asked, impressed. Even I didn’t have a chef.

  “I do. He’s from Paris, and a bit of a snob, but I don’t hold that against him because his cuisine is magnifique!”

  I laughed. “I look forward to it.”

  “Excellent,” Maks said, turning to the door. “I’ll send my driver. Fredrick will pick you up at . . . seven?”

  “Perfect,” I said, and I wasn’t talking entirely about the time.

  Maks bowed his head. “I should allow you to carry on with your day.”

  “Yes, thank you,” I said, glancing at my watch and noting the time.

  Maks picked up his bag, and I walked with him toward the door. “Busy day?” he asked, obviously noticing that I’d glanced at my watch.

  “Very.”

  “Clients to coach?”

  We paused in front of the door. “No,” I said. “I simply have an errand to run at the pharmacy, and then I’m getting arrested.”

  Maks’s eyes widened, and then he burst out laughing. “Oh, Catherine. You are delightful!”

  He thought I was joking. I laughed too and didn’t have the heart to tell him I was dead serious.

  Chapter 10

  I was escorted to a room at the back of the station. It wasn’t the same interrogation room where Shepherd had first put me, but it was every bit its twin. I was told to wait and that Shepherd would be in just as soon as my attorney arrived.

  I’d purposely gotten to the police station thirty minutes before Marcus, and I’d kept my fingers crossed that they’d put me in a room with a camera.

  “Lucky me,” I whispered, eyeing the camera over the door. “Showtime.”

  Reaching into my purse, I took out a small prescription bottle and lifted off the lid. I hadn’t had the script filled in nearly three months, but I was glad it was still valid. Tapping out two capsules, I popped them into my mouth and took a swig from the bottled water I’d also purchased at the pharmacy. Leaving the prescription bottle on the table, I waited. Soon my head wobbled a bit on my neck, and a goofy smile pushed its way onto my lips.

  The door opened at exactly eleven a.m., and Marcus walked in. He came over to my side of the table and took a seat next to me. I saw his gaze wander to the prescription bottle on the table and the bottled water before he addressed me. “Catherine.”

  “Marcus.”

  “Care to tell me what this is about?”

  “Not yet,” I said, unable to suppress a small giggle. Sometimes I giggle when I’m nervous.

  Marcus again eyed the prescription bottle on the table. “You okay?”

  “Glorious,” I said, my grin even wider.

  Marcus appeared like he wanted to ask me something else when the door opened and Shepherd breezed in. “Morning,” he said without even a hint of warmth.

  “Detective,” I said, my head bobbing up and down.

  Shepherd checked himself before sitting, and I noticed that his gaze also went to the prescription bottle on the table. He then stared at me. “What’re you here for, Ms. Cooper?”

 
I turned to Marcus and smiled. He frowned. I think he might’ve had an inkling as to what was coming, and I almost felt bad that I hadn’t let on beforehand, but I’d been afraid he’d try to stop me.

  “I’d like to confess,” I said.

  “Confess?” Shepherd said carefully.

  I turned my attention to him. “Yes. I’m here to clear my conscience.” Marcus’s hand landed on my arm in caution, but I ignored it. “I murdered Heather Holland.”

  For a solid fifteen seconds, nobody spoke and nobody moved. Finally, however, Shepherd spoke. “You murdered Heather,” he said. He seemed angry. Which was fabulous.

  “Yep. It was me.” For emphasis, I pointed to myself with a big jabbing gesture.

  “Catherine,” Marcus said softly, his hand tightening on my arm. “Stop talking.”

  “I murdered her,” I repeated, totally ignoring him.

  Shepherd’s gaze shifted back and forth between me, Marcus, and the prescription bottle. I leaned forward so that he could see my eyes when I said, “You shoulda kept me locked up, Shepherd.”

  Shepherd’s fingers drummed on the tabletop. “Okay,” he said. “Walk me through it. How did you murder her exactly, Catherine?”

  “Oh, you know,” I said. “It’s like you said. I came up behind her, and—whammo!” I made a show of pretending to hit Heather over the head with a large object.

  Shepherd shook his head and pressed his lips together. He was obviously furious. “This some kind of a joke?” he asked Marcus.

  “I’ve got no idea,” Marcus said, reaching for the prescription bottle to peer at the label.

  “No joke!” I said, a bit too loudly. “It’s what you wanted, right, Shepherd? You wanted to get a confession out of me and close your case, right?”

  Shepherd worked his jaw for a minute. “This is a waste of my time.”

  “Or is it? I should think it’s the opposite of a waste of time for you, Detective! I should think that you’d want a nice tidy end to a puzzling case like this, which is why I’m here as your number-one suspect to make it soooooo easy for you!”

  Shepherd ignored me and focused on Marcus. “What’d she take?”

 

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