Dave massaged the bridge of his nose. Too many loose ends. Too many brown-haired women.
“Look, I gotta do some investigating,” Phil said. “Meanwhile, stay away from Jen. I don’t expect you’d listen to me, but if Mrs. Bowers dies…”
“Mr. Jewell?” A nurse stopped in front of him. “Mrs. Bowers is out of recovery and asking for you. She seems agitated even though we have her sedated. Her husband is also interested in hearing what she has to say, but she won’t talk until you’re present.”
Relief swarmed over Dave, and he gave thanks to God. He ended the call with Phil and followed the nurse.
Melissa lay with tubes in her arms, her head covered with a bonnet. She tried to smile, although her eyes were barely open. Pete glowered at Dave but made room at the bedside.
Dave pulled up a chair. “Melissa, you’re okay. What do you want to tell me?”
She wiggled her fingers, and Dave held her hand, squeezing it lightly, despite her husband’s grunt.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, her words slurring. “I-I didn’t… didn’t mean to run over that dog.”
“Dog?” Dave stuttered. Maybe he had a concussion after all. She wasn’t making any sense.
Pete took Melissa’s hand from Dave. “Yes honey, and you already made your circles for the dog’s soul and gave offerings. There wasn’t anything more you could have done.”
“B-but I was driving Dave’s car when I ran over Mrs. Bunney’s dog—a big, black shaggy one.”
Dave’s mouth dried. Had he heard her right? “A dog? You ran over a dog with my car?”
“And I’m sorry you got into so much trouble.” Melissa lips trembled. “Forgive me?”
“But, Mel, why did you take my car?” Dave leaned close.
“You were with… with Claire,” she whispered. “I wanted to play a trick on you.”
Dave rubbed her shoulder, and Pete yanked him back. “What was she telling you?”
“It was a joke.” Dave faked laughter.
Melissa blinked and wiped her eye. “The poor dog.”
Pete clapped Dave on the back. “The police tried to railroad the murder on you because of a big black dog? And here I was worried my Shopahol investment would go up in smoke. I’ll make sure this gets out on the OgleNet Turd Dish Today page. A big, black dog. Unbelievable.”
Dave nodded weakly. One problem solved, but a thousand more loomed. “Melissa, why didn’t you just call?”
She darted a glance at her husband and bit her lip. “I wanted to apologize. I didn’t dream I’d get shot.”
Dave grabbed Melissa’s hand again. “Please don’t press charges.”
Pete stopped her answer. “We’ll decide after we consult with our attorney. Your girlfriend can’t be going around shooting people.”
Melissa’s eyes widened. “She’s your girlfriend?”
Dave glanced at Pete. “Yes, and she was spending the night with me when the thugs attacked. If she hadn’t shot, who knows what they would have done. Besides, she saved the company last night.”
Pete’s grin spread like a grassfire, and he kissed Melissa’s forehead. “See, honey, he has a girlfriend. You didn’t have to worry so much about him.”
To Dave he said, “I heard about your data center burning, but was surprised when the code came up. Speaking of which, I want to make another investment. Mississippi.com reports blowout sales. Every other online retailer wants to order systems before Christmas.”
“You won’t sue?” Dave asked.
“I’ll think about it.” Mr. Bowers kissed his wife and turned to Dave. “If you keep your girlfriend happy and sell us another chunk of stock.”
“Sure thing.” Dave crossed his fingers and glanced at the clock. He was late to the Marketing meeting.
Chapter 28
Jen paced in a corner of the cell, trying to ignore the other occupants. Why hadn’t Dave come to see her? God, please let Mrs. Bowers be all right. Tanner was right. Reckless discharge of a firearm. And now a woman’s life hung on a thread. Maybe Dave was at the hospital, or worse, the funeral home. An aching tightness clutched her throat, but she fanned herself and blew to calm down. No one had charged her yet.
A guard opened the heavy metal door and signaled to Jen. “Your lawyer’s here.”
Owen followed the guard. “We’re going to see Detective Mathews. They called him back from Tahoe to question you.”
“How’s Mrs. Bowers?” Jen limped out of the cell with the guard holding her arm.
Owen wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. “She’s okay. We don’t have much time.”
“Are they going to charge me with the shooting?” she whispered.
Owen glanced at the guard. “We’re waiting for the crime scene investigation and ballistic results. I’m going to claim self-defense and reasonable fear of personal injury.”
“What about the guys who shot at me?”
Owen laughed. “You blew out their tires. They were riding on the rims and arrested. Can you believe they were driving Rey’s car? You okay?”
“No. When can you get me out of here?”
“I’m trying, but it’s a holiday weekend. At least you’ll be safe in here.”
Jen swallowed a bitter taste. “Sure, it’s just so cozy with the hookers, druggies, and alkies, a regular girls’ club.”
The guard stopped in front of a door with a frosted glass window and knocked. “Detective Mathews, the prisoner is here.”
Mathews opened the door. His snakelike mustache twitched over his goatee, and he gestured sharply for them to enter.
Jen leaned closer to Owen. “What should I say?”
“I’ll do the talking.” He squeezed her shoulder, and they walked through the door. “Don’t worry.”
Detective Mathews glared at Jen. “So, Miss Jones, we meet again. This time, you better tell the truth.”
He motioned for Jen and Owen to sit and offered them water. Switching on a recorder, he sat across from Jen. “Tell me about your relationship with Rey Custodio.”
Jen glanced at Owen. “He was a friend.”
“Friend?” Detective Mathews stood and bent over Jen so close she could smell the coffee on his breath. “Rey Custodio was your blackmailer. What was he blackmailing you about?”
“Hold on, Detective.” Owen said. “We don’t know if Rey Custodio blackmailed anybody. The calling patterns on his phone changed drastically after Saturday, November 10, 2012. I suggest whoever has his phone
now
is blackmailing people. Tell her about the other text messages and calls.”
Mathews crossed his arms. “It’s obvious you already know, but your client continues to receive text messages from that phone. Messages with no substance. I wonder why?”
Owen shrugged. “There’s nothing to blackmail her about. Railing about broken builds and calling her names doesn’t implicate her.”
“Exactly, since she’s texting herself as a smokescreen. Isn’t it coincidental that the text messages to Mr. Jewell didn’t start until after Mr. Custodio’s death.”
“W-what? They texted him too?” Jen almost choked on her sudden gasp.
Mathews put a hand on his hip. “Don’t look so surprised. Let me recount the crime to you.”
Jen looked to Owen, but he leaned back with a self-satisfied grin. Jen rubbed her palms on her skirt as a flush of sweat dampened her forehead.
Mathews circled Jen like a leopard regarding a particularly delicious and endangered morsel. “Rey Custodio became inconvenient to you once you set your sights on Mr. David Jewell, CEO of internet sensation, Shopahol. You turn down Rey’s proposal, stalk out of the restaurant and take Mr. Jewell’s car. Rey follows you to your work. You argue with him. He walks with you into the parking lot, and you shock him with a stun gun.”
He stopped and crouched so his eyes were level to hers. “While he’s twitching on the ground, you run over him with Mr. Jewell’s car.”
“No, no!” Jen’s head and shoulders shook.
“I’m not finished.” He huffed. “You take his cell phone and call yourself as a smokescreen to show he was still alive. You copy the code, drive back to Atherton where you drop off Mr. Jewell’s car and contact your buddies for a ride. Only one problem. They upload the code and find it broken, so instead of driving you home, they drop you off at Shopahol to make a new copy for them. For some reason you refused, so they steal Rey’s car, plant the stick on him, and leave you hanging.”
The blood drained from Jen’s head. “That’s not true.”
She tapped Owen. “Tell him. I didn’t do it.”
Mathews picked up a file. “It’s all here. Your buddies have turned state evidence and told all.”
Owen rubbed his chin and laughed. “With all due respect, they should have left you at Tahoe. Haven’t you read OgleNet’s Turd Dish Today? Release my client immediately or you’re going to have one hell of a lawsuit.”
Mathews’ eyes narrowed. “Cut the jokes. Your client is a danger to society. I suggest she confess. She might receive a lighter sentence.”
Owen pointed to the files. “Do your homework. Have you read Pete Bowers’ statement? Checked out the forensics on the hair and blood? Suggestion: vet the murder weapon before you arrest anyone. Now, let my client go.”
Mathews blinked slowly and switched off the recorder. He picked up the phone. “Take the prisoner back to her cell.”
Jen’s heartbeat quickened. Had there been some news? The guard took Jen’s arm to help her walk.
Owen maintained a stone face until they approached the cell. “I’ll meet you in front of the comm-window.”
The guard shoved Jen into the communication room. She stumbled to the stool and picked up the phone. Owen grinned and gave her a thumbs up.
“So, tell me. Spill it,” she said.
Owen’s face reddened with giggling. He wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. “Melissa Bowers took Dave’s car on a joyride and ran over a black dog. Mathews’ case has fallen apart faster than a supermodel’s wedding vows.”
“So, I’m off the hook?”
“I’ll have a chat with the chief of police. Worse case, you’ll spend tonight in jail.” He high-fived her through the glass.
Jen took a refreshing draught from her water bottle. After they said goodbye, she was brought back to her cell. She sunk to the cot and took a deep breath. Mrs. Bowers ran over a dog! Dave was innocent, and by now he knew she was too.
She couldn’t sleep, so she stared at the ceiling. Rey had been blackmailing other people. How did he, a marine who spent the last six years in Iraq, collect so much material? It had to be Rodrigo. Rey had returned only months before Rodrigo’s death. Had Rodrigo blackmailed the wrong person? Rey’s last words, ‘Rod’s death was not an accident,’ rang in her mind.
Two cells down, a woman wailed while others banged on the bars. Jen would get out of here soon and find Abby. Then everything would be okay, and maybe she and Dave would have a chance together.
* * *
Dave sat at his desk and rubbed his eyes. His phone rang non-stop from the Black Friday blowout. As Marty predicted, every major retailer, both online and off, wanted to create social shopping networks for their customers. The elements of competition and influence peddling had thousands of consumers hooked to the up-to-the minute price changes. People ditched flocks for more lucrative ones and swung their influence meters to join lower price queues.
It was ten o’clock at night before Dave was able to leave work. Lisa had arranged for cleaning crews and took care of all the insurance paperwork. She also left Jen’s new iPad and iPhone on his desk. He glanced at her missed calls. Christy had called several times. The poor girl. He swiped the screen to return her call.
She picked up on the second ring. “Jen, oh, Jen, it’s you? I heard you were shot.”
Dave cleared his throat. “This is Jen’s boss.”
“Oh, sorry. I… ah…”
“It’s okay. Your sister’s in jail. But she’s safe. She wasn’t shot.”
“What happened? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“I’m going tomorrow to see her. Want to come with me?”
“Yes, thanks.” She gave him her address, and they agreed to a time.
He put his key in the ignition and glanced around the empty parking lot. Dark shadows fluttered from the slippery elm trees near the blown-out section of the lab. He drove slowly around the garbage compactor and turned onto the quiet street.
A chill followed him and his heart raced. The police suggested Jen was part of a diabolical plan to drive him crazy and put him back in the mental hospital. Phil checked out the little girl in the pictures. She was registered at Cesar Chavez Elementary school as Patricia Brown’s daughter. Nothing suspicious as far as he could tell. The blood drained from his face. Jen had taken the evidence, the envelope and the memory stick. Had she concocted all of it to shove him off-balance? What did he really know about her?
Headlights blinded him and a horn blared. A whoosh rocked his car. He jerked his wheel back to his side of the road. Sweat bloomed under his collar.
Stop thinking crazy. Stop it. You’re going to have a breakdown
. His chest tightened as he fought to breathe steadily. He gripped the steering wheel until his fingers numbed. How could she do this to him? Send him the slideshow, rip his heart open, and act like she was falling in love with him. Not to mention hurting Melissa, trashing his property and burning his data center. Could one woman really do so much damage?
Dave arrived at his darkened house and waved to the security guard. Thankfully, Lisa had taken charge of having the broken glass removed and the windows boarded, but the shot-up sectional sofa and splintered furniture remained. He reached for the bottle of whiskey, but pushed it away. Alcohol was for losers, and he had a daughter to find. No more denial, no more dreaming, no more drinking. He poured the whiskey down the sink.
Clutching his chest, he stumbled into the guest room. All of Jen’s things lay scattered on the bed. He placed her iPad on the nightstand and stared at her cell. Shouldn’t he see what she’d been up to? The stakes were high enough, and she had deceived him.
He scrolled through the missed calls and noted them down. He read her text messages and listened to her voicemail. Mrs. Walker, Christy, Greta, an unknown number, the same one that had been texting him. He dialed the unknown number. It went straight to Rey Custodio’s voicemail. He noted the time and dates of the missed calls. The two thugs had been arrested in the morning, but two of the text messages had been received in the afternoon. One said.
Does Mr. Jewell know what you’ve done?
The other.
I saw you at the chop shop.
She was in a lot deeper than he thought. Pain belted his chest. Was this how a broken heart felt? Not dull, slogging, numbing grief, but sharp and slicing, as if she carved pieces out of it and dropped the bloody chunks on the floor to grind under her heel.