Cover Shot (A Headlines in High Heels Mystery Book 5) (15 page)

20.

Hard questions

Orange tinged the
crimson leaves on the sprawling maple in my front yard, the backlight from the sinking sun giving the illusion the branches were on fire. Gorgeous. And somehow soothing.

I sat in my car in the driveway and stared at it, my week running through my head on fast-forward.

Two hours of computer research had gotten me basics on Goetze and Andrews both, but there were still roughly a thousand places to look for details—and a million things I didn’t know. Probably two million things I didn’t know I didn’t know.

I was no closer to any meaningful history on Elizabeth Eason (née Herrington), and beginning to think I’d just have to suck it up and go talk to her. Telling someone she wanted to marry rich and inherit a fortune was interesting, yes. But proof of anything? No.

Then there was Kyle. Him helping the PD with the Maynard case was the weirdest thing I’d seen in months—and in my line of work, that’s pretty out there.

I searched what I knew about ATF jurisdiction for a reason they’d be interested in the random murder of a brilliant oncologist and came up with jack squat. The FDA, the NIH, even the DEA—sure. But Maynard didn’t have anything to do with guns or tobacco. Or booze. Did he?

“Hell if I know.” I shoved the kitchen door open and bent to scratch Darcy’s ears. “From what little I’ve been able to turn up, the doc might have been into any number of things.”

“Any idea what sort of things?” Kyle’s voice came from the foot of the steps, nearly sending me out of my skin.

I shook my head as I filled Darcy’s bowl. “I didn’t get to spend the day searching the man’s home and his private files. Unlike some people I know.”

“Lord knows what you’d come away with if we let you loose in there.” Kyle took a seat at my little bistro table, watching me rinse the dog food can and toss it in the recycle bin. When I turned to face him, he smiled. “Maybe we should give it a shot.”

“Name the time, Agent.”

“This is a weird case,” he said, nodding when I opened the fridge and waved a Dr Pepper can at him.

I poured two over ice, taking the seat across from Kyle and tapping a finger on the tile of the tabletop. Did he know about the Google thing? I’d give it even odds. So either I could ask and see if one of the government’s computer geniuses had figured it out, or I could trust the private sector skills of my BFF’s professional hacker husband and keep my hand to myself for a while.

“More twists than a water spigot at a bath house,” I said, raising my eyes to meet his blue lasers.

“You’re not going to tell me what you know.”

“Not unless you’re going to tell me what you do.”

“The hush order on this came from higher up than I can see.” He spread his hands in an I-can’t-help-it gesture. “They’ll have my ass. And my badge.”

I clicked my tongue against my teeth. “Last time I checked, no one had me under surveillance.”

“Funny thing about that: you don’t know when someone does. That’s sort of the point.”

I blanched. “You need to tell me something, Agent Miller?”

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “I’m not saying I do. Or anyone I know does. Just that I can’t talk to you about this case.”

Except to tell me why he couldn’t talk to me about it. Which I would pick apart later, no doubt as I stared at the fan when I was supposed to be sleeping.

But for now…focus, Nichelle.

“If you didn’t come here to tell me anything, you couldn’t possibly have thought I was going to tell you something. So that leaves me wondering what’s up. I mean, you’re good company and all, but I have Charlie breathing down my neck, a blogger who’s after my head on a platter, and the publisher gunning for Bob—and possibly me, since I told him off this afternoon.”

“Oh yeah?”

“He’s trying to push Bob out. Today he used my stuff as ammo. Pissed me off.”

Kyle nodded. “That’s my girl. All work and no time for play.” His eyes softened.

Uh-oh. Not that kind. “How’s it going with Bonnie? I’ve heard you mention her a couple of times this week. Any sparks?”

He rolled his eyes so fast I couldn’t swear it wasn’t my imagination. “She’s okay. Really smart, which I like, and pretty. We’re going rock climbing this weekend.”

“That sounds fun.” And normal. It occurred to me that Joey and I didn’t do much but eat and have sex. No complaints, but variety could be good.

“She’s a little brainy to be into stuff like that—you’re more the adventurous type, really—but she seemed game when I asked, so we’ll give it a shot.”

“I’m glad. I want you to be happy.”

“Are you happy?” The half-octave drop in his tone told me the three words were loaded.

“I am.” I looked straight into his eyes and spoke with no reservation. “I don’t want you to be hurt by that, but I need you to know where things stand. I am happy. I am in a relationship. I am your friend. I don’t want to lose you as a friend, but I don’t want our friendship to jeopardize what I’ve found, either.”

He scanned my face for a good minute after I stopped talking, then slumped back in his chair. “I do have to tell you something.”

I felt my brow furrow and leaned forward. “What’s wrong?”

He heaved a sigh big enough to put the big bad wolf to shame. “It’s about your boyfriend.”

Oh.

Shit.

I closed my eyes for a long second, trying to keep my face blank. No showing fear until I knew what he’d found.

“Why would you need to talk to me about that, exactly?” I put on my best offended tone. “Running a background on your competition seems low, Kyle. I thought better of you than that.”

He bristled. “For your information, I wasn’t doing any such thing. I knew last time I saw him here that I’d seen him before. I just couldn’t remember where.”

Double shit.

I held his gaze, but didn’t say a word.

He shrugged. “I tried to blow it off—not like there aren’t a hundred guys who look like him, right?”

I happened to think Joey was pretty extraordinary in the looks department, but perhaps this wasn’t the best time to share that. I nodded.

“But then I ran across this surveillance photo. I’m as sure as I can be that your guy is in it.”

Damn. I managed to avoid flinching by focusing on “sure as I can be.” That wasn’t proof.

“Why on Earth would the ATF have a surveillance photo of him?” I asked. The words sounded cold and distant, even to me.

“You tell me.”

“I’m thinking that’s not the way this conversation is going to go.”

He slammed one hand down on the table and leaned forward. “This guy isn’t who you think he is.”

“Says who? You have a grainy photo as evidence.”

“As one piece of evidence.”

Shit, shit, shit. “Along with what? Google Earth images of a car that might be his?”

“Nothing.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I’m not in the mood for games tonight.”

“Not trying to play one. I mean, I couldn’t find anything else. Not even a speeding ticket. It makes no sense.”

“I call bullshit, Kyle. How would you even know what to search for?”

“I had fingerprints.” The words dropped like rocks.

“Kyle. Tell me you didn’t.”

He shrugged. “I want you safe more than I want you happy with me. I pulled the files from the shooting in June,” he said. “Ran the prints. There were some in the living room that didn’t turn up as yours, your mom’s or mine. The RPD guys all wore gloves—but I don’t even have to ask if he’d been at your house earlier in the week. In the living room. The far corner of the couch, near the lamp table. Right?”

I had nothing for that. I blinked slowly. I’d had actual nightmares about learning something about Joey I didn’t want to know. Kyle as special guest host for this horror show come to life was just a bonus that showed God’s sense of humor.

I nodded. “So?”

“So like I said, I ran the prints and he’s a ghost in the system. Nobody is that clean.”

“You came here to tell me he doesn’t have a criminal record?” I wasn’t sure what the hell to make of that, but Kyle was the wrong person to discuss my confusion with.

“How much do you know about him?”

“As much as I should.” It occurred to me that if Kyle’s search had turned up a last name, he knew something I didn’t, but I couldn’t think of a tactful way to ask, so I filed that away for later.

“What does he do for a living?”

“Transportation,” I blurted the first thing that came to mind, knowing an “I don’t know” would just make Kyle more curious. Joey mentioned friends in the transportation industry the first time I’d met him. It fit. Kind of.

“Never met a trucker who wears Armani on his days off. And he doesn’t have a Class C license. ”

“He’s not a driver, you dork,” I said. “There are other jobs in transportation besides that.”

“Like what?”

“Like, I’m not helping you with this, because I’m more than slightly offended that you’re looking.”

“Nichelle, the guy could be dangerous. Why does he keep turning up at crime scenes? I know you’ll never tell me, but I’m pretty goddamned sure he’s responsible for the other body they hauled off from Fauquier in June. Do you have any idea what you’re getting yourself into?”

“Choose words carefully” flashed in sapphire neon behind my eyelids with every blink. Don’t raise suspicion, but don’t tell him anything he doesn’t know. Simple.

Not.

Convince him I’d be safe. That was the exit ramp.

I smiled. “I’m well aware of what I’m getting into.” Okay, no. I was as aware as I wanted to be. “He’s not a bad guy, Kyle. Truly.” Not to me.

Kyle searched my face for a long minute, then dropped his chin onto his hand and sighed.

“The photo…” He stopped, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. “It was from the file I’m working on the Caccione family. He is not a good guy, Nicey.”

I folded my hands in my lap. “I like him, Kyle. More than I’ve liked anyone since…” I threw my hands up. “In a long time. I work around criminals ninety hours a week—my asshole radar is pretty good. I just don’t get that vibe from him.”

“Promise me you’ll watch yourself. Call me if you need me.”

“Always.”

The conversation faded to wallflower-awkward silence.

I cleared my throat. “So…how ’bout them Cowboys?”

He laughed. “Having a good year, aren’t they? I miss watching football with you.”

“Your eardrums don’t.”

“True. You know the players can’t actually hear you through the television.”

“That’s your opinion.”

His eyes turned sober. “You’ll be careful? I can think of all kinds of reasons the mob would be interested in you, and most of them aren’t any kind of romantic.”

“He is not the mob.” Not when he was with me.

“Who gets to be our age and hasn’t ever had a ticket?” he asked.

“What if the computer ran the prints wrong?”

“Not terribly likely.”

“Yes, Kyle, computers are fail-proof.” I rolled my eyes.

Computers. Tipping my hand on one little thing was a small price to pay to change this particular subject.

“Speaking of computers and records,” I drained the rest of my soda and put the glass on the table, “have you guys noticed that Maynard is conspicuously unsearchable online?”

Kyle’s eyes crinkled at the corners with a grin. “We’re trying to figure out how. And why. You have a theory?”

“You going to share yours?”

“Come on, Nichelle. We’re not your competition.”

“Sharing information about a big story I have in the works almost always comes back to bite me in the ass, no matter whether it’s the cops or people in my own newsroom,” I said. “I’ve been burned enough to be pretty shy.”

“What if you could help the investigation? Your job is to report on it, not do it yourself, right?”

True. And doing it myself generally gets me in trouble. His face held up under careful scrutiny for ulterior motive.

“Not a word to anyone,” I said. “Anyone. Not Aaron, not Landers, not your boss, not your priest. Certainly not Charlie.” I cut him a warning look. “Or Bonnie.”

“In the vault.” He raised his right hand. “On my grandmother’s grave.”

Wow. Kyle’s grandmother’s funeral was one of a handful of times I’d seen him cry, and we’d been through a lot together, once upon a time.

I nodded. “Jenna’s husband is a professional hacker, and he’s on it. But it’s bizarre. He’s been cleared from every major search engine, but not from individual sites. A search of the NIH turns up a ton of hits. A search of our servers brought up several articles and the big society piece on his retirement.”

Kyle’s fingers moved to stroke the bristles of his auburn goatee. “Huh.”

“It’s all got something to do with whatever he was researching.”

Kyle nodded. “We figure the same thing. We just don’t know what. There are no records. Most of the folders in his file drawers were empty.”

“Stolen?”

He shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe he really didn’t want anyone to know what he was doing.”

“I take it you’ve been to his office?”

“Yep. Stem to stern, we searched. The girl who works at the desk had a fit, hollering about HIPPA and how we couldn’t touch patient files without a warrant. But there wasn’t anything in them, anyway.”

“How many files we talking about?” My fingers worked at my hair, twisting it into knots.

“A hundred? Not too many.”

So small trials.

“What do you mean there was nothing in the files?” I asked.

“I mean nothing. File folders. No papers inside.”

“Who was the receptionist?”

“I think she’s the nurse, too. It’s a small office for a guy who was supposed to be such a big shot.”

That fit. If I was following the right trail, the doc had wanted to keep what he was doing quiet. The big question was still why. And what. Oy.

Kyle watched my fingers loop my hair faster and faster. He poked my shoulder. “Something is rattling around in your head making you worry your hair like that.”

I nodded. “Tom Ellinger wanted Maynard to treat his wife. Because he thought Maynard could cure her.”

Kyle closed his eyes. “You are not about to tell me this dead doctor might have discovered a cure for cancer. Are you on something?”

I spread my hands. “You have a better theory? Because I know exactly how crazy this sounds, but everything anyone has found so far sure in hell seems to point that way.”

Kyle closed his eyes, lacing his fingers behind his head. “Holy. Shit.”

“Indeed.”

“You can’t print this.”

“I’d get myself laughed right out of the business for printing it now,” I said. “Which is why I don’t want anyone else knowing about it until I can dig up some more information. I mean, if it’s true, it’s not just the story of the year. It’s the story of the…century. The millennium. Can you imagine?”

He shook his head. “But why keep it a secret?”

“Um. I’d say his murder shows he had a good reason.”

Kyle took a long swallow of soda and nodded. “Indeed.”