Eeny Meany Miny Die (Cat Sinclair Mysteries) (7 page)

Frank hung up his jacket in the closet near the front door, and Angel went to the kitchenette. She poured herself a glass of water, which she drank in one gulp. Frank followed her and reached around her shoulders and squeezed her breasts as he kissed her neck.

She pushed him away with a violent sweep of her arm. "Don't! Do you think after the way you treated me tonight that I want you touching me? Forget it."

"Are you still mad about that? Come on, Angel, you know your spending is getting out of hand. I was just—"

"Humiliating me," she finished for him. "In front of everyone. Don't ever do that again, Frank. I mean it."

"Or you'll what? Leave me?" He snorted. "We both know that's not going to happen."

"I don't have to leave you, but I don't have to be a good wife either." She stormed out of the kitchenette and for a heart-stopping moment I thought she would barge into the bathroom.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She stopped in front of me and turned back to him. In profile, I could see the hard set of her mouth, the pulsing vein in her neck. She reached up with both hands, grabbed her dress at its collar and ripped it in two, down to her waist. She wasn't wearing a bra or underwear, but that didn’t stop her from stepping out of the dress and flicked it to him with her foot. He caught it and flung it away.

Angel stood there in her heels, hands on hips. "See these?" She cupped her breasts. "And this?" She turned around and lightly smacked her own ass. "Take a good look, because you won't get to touch them ever again."

With a toss of her head, she strode into her bedroom and slammed the door.

Frank watched her go, his lips apart and a complete look of mystification on his face. Then he marched to Angel's closed door. "You forget whose name our bank accounts and credit cards are in." He spoke sweetly. Too sweetly. It sent a shiver down my spine. "I own that ass. I own you. And you'll do whatever I say, when I say it.
Darling
." He headed into his own room and slammed the door.

I slipped out of the bathroom and practically ran from the hotel to my car. It was a short drive to Will's place. All the lights were off in his house, which meant he hadn't been waiting up for me. So much for being worried. He was learning.

Will lived close to the office in an area of Renford once known for its hard-working migrant population, but was now popular with trendy young couples looking for bargain housing close to the city center. In the last decade, the takeout kebab shops had been replaced by cafes and the furniture stores which once sold ornate gold bedroom suites now stocked sleekly functional designs. It was a suburb where toys and kids' bikes littered the front lawns. Will's house was the odd one out with its broken front gate and weed-infested garden beds.

I crept silently through the house, not wanting to wake him. A faint glow shone from one of the rooms and when I investigated, I found Will hunched over his laptop in the study, snoring softly.

He looked up before I touched his shoulder. "Hey," he said, sleepily. "You're back. What time is it?"

"Late."

He switched off the computer. "That dress looks good on you." He pulled me to him and I and discovered how much he liked the dress when I sat on his lap.

He lifted the hem and ran his fingers up my thigh, gently exploring higher. I caught my breath as he fingered the lacey edge of my French knickers. I leaned into him, wanting him to go higher.

He lifted me up and carried me to the bedroom where he slowly slid the dress off. The cool, silky fabric whispered against my skin, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps. I stepped out of it and remembered Angel doing the same thing, before flinging her dress viciously at her husband and teasing him with her unattainable body.

I lifted my arms, offering myself to Will. He kissed my left wrist, my arm, my shoulder, and I melted as his lips warmed my breast and his fingers toyed with the other. Someone, somewhere, moaned. It could have come from either of us. The sound increased when his fingers moved south and plunged, circled, then plunged again. I hung on to his massive shoulders and rode the waves until I couldn't take any more and pushed him onto the bed.

Our lovemaking started out slow as we moved in sync, our bodies fused by heat and our gazes locked. We tried many, many positions until we finally settled on our favorite—me on top. We rocked to the rhythm, his hands on my hips, my breasts, everywhere. I threw my head back and sucked air between my teeth in an attempt to control the overwhelming sensations.

"Not yet," he murmured, even while his hips thrust up to meet mine.

I ignored him. I couldn't slow down. I'd gone too far, and so had he.

We came together.

Afterward, Will held me, stroking my hair. "So how'd it go tonight? The dinner, I mean."

Always business. Christ, couldn't he leave it until I'd come down from my orgasmic high? The man was a machine.

I sighed and tried to gather my scattered thoughts. "Frank and Angel hate each other. Frank tried to sell me on an investment scheme. He has a business called Karvea Holdings and some dealings with a legal firm called Guest and Lieberman."

"Not bad for one evening." He sounded proud. "How'd you find all that out?"

"I used my feminine wiles."

He groaned. "You mean you lied."

"Not exactly. I broke into his hotel suite."

"Fuck, Cat." He sat up and looked at me, a deep frown turning his face from handsome to rugged. "How many times do I have to tell you, I don't want to get involved in anything illegal. If Karvea found out—"

"He didn't. And if he did, I'd get out of it. I'm good at—"

"Lying. I know." He lay down on his side, facing me, and sighed. "Cat, you're bad for my health."

"But I'm good for your sex life." I rolled him onto his back and climbed on top. Maybe round two would take his mind off my little escapade.

***

The following day, I checked out Karvea Holdings, but everything seemed above board. The company owned fifty percent of Play Group, including the TV rights and merchandising associated with it. Interestingly, the other fifty percent was owned by Frank’s ex-wife, Cindy. I knew the Karveas had started the group together, using her musical and dancing talents and his business acumen and media contacts, but I had no idea she was still a part of the phenomenon. I'd assumed Frank had bought her out.

I didn't get a chance to spend any more time on Jenny's case that day, because Will had me working Slim's. Bored with sitting in a van listening to Clive Bankler make sexy phone calls to his girlfriend, Will had put me on the case.

"What about Jenny?" I protested. "She's a paying client too, Will."

"She can wait. Slim is our biggest client, and until Jenny pays us enough to cover your wages, she gets bumped for something else that does."

"What are
you
going to do?"

"I want to show Faith the ropes."

"I can do that. I used to do her job, remember?"

"You used to do it badly. I don't want her picking up your habits." Even though he said it with a crooked grin, I knew he was serious. Fair enough. I'd been a crappy office manager. I didn't think Faith was in any danger of becoming like me though. Already she'd reorganized the filing cabinet, making sure everything got filed in alphabetical order instead of whatever order had taken my fancy.

The whole Faith thing was beginning to bother me. She was a mystery, and I hated mysteries. I liked to know what happened in the office. Call me nosy—and several people would—but I needed to find out how she'd gotten the job and how Will knew her.

But how to do that? Neither would answer my questions. I considered more drastic action but decided that searching her bag and planting bugging devices under her desk were a little too low, even for me.

I parked the van down the street from Slim's office and switched on the listening equipment. By late afternoon, the sun had warmed the van to boiling and I had sweat stains under my armpits. Even worse, my Hershey bars had melted. The warmth also made me drowsy, so I pushed the seat all the way back and closed my eyes. The sound of Clive's monotonous voice in my ear as he spoke to a colleague lulled me to sleep.

***

Determined not to spend another day sweating it out in an unmarked van listening to Clive's moronic conversations, I decided to check in with Will via phone the next morning instead of in person. Fortunately it just happened to be when he had a regular meeting with one of our clients and his cell was switched off.

"I've got a debriefing with Jenny," I said to his message bank. "I'll be back in the office later."

It wasn't really a lie. I would be seeing Jenny, except I probably wouldn't get to speak to her, since she'd be on stage surrounded by hundreds of excited three-year-olds.

I arrived at the concert hall and stood at the back behind two little girls wearing matching pink dresses with cartoon images of Play Group on the front. The real foursome jumped around on stage and smiled down at their enthralled audience, who grooved and sang along to the songs. I'd been to rock concerts before, but nothing compared to the adoration these kids had for their idols. It was a miniature mosh pit.

"Getting clucky?" a dark voice whispered in my ear.

I spun round and nearly fell backward from shock. "Scarface! What are you doing here?"

I hadn't seen the mysterious, one-eyed cop since Carl Fortune's arrest a couple weeks ago. I was used to seeing him in jeans and old T-shirts, but he wore a suit and tie with the top button of his shirt undone and the tie skewed to the left. I resisted the urge to straighten it. Scarface wasn't the sort of man you straightened things for.

He still had longish hair that for once was tied back, making the scar across his eye stand out more. He looked as good—and as creepy—as ever, but I was a taken woman now so the sexual energy he exuded didn't affect me at all. Not one bit. Nuh-uh.

"I thought you'd fallen off the face of the Earth," I said.

"I've been buried in work." His one good eye skimmed down my body, and I felt self-conscious in my tight tank and knee-length skirt.

"Decided to catch a show in your spare time?"

The corner of his mouth lifted in a trademark Scarface smile. "They're not my first choice of entertainment, but I like the outfits." He glanced at the stage. "Especially on the brunette. When she bends over like that—"

"Okay." I held up my hands. "Enough. Jenny's got the goods, but that doesn't mean—"

"You know her?"

I nodded. "We were both desperate wannabes in L.A. together. She made it. We've been catching up while she's in town, and she invited me to come see their act. So what are you doing here? Work or pleasure?"

"Work, although I'm getting a lot of pleasure right now." He crossed his arms as Jenny bent to pick up a ball on the floor then tossed it to Corey who caught it as he sang.

Men! "You mean you're working undercover? Or have you quit the force and become an usher?"

"Not undercover these days. Homicide."

"There's been a murder here?" I glanced at all the happy faces around me. It must have been hushed up if no one was aware of it. "One of the staff?"

"Frank Karvea, the manager of Play Group."

CHAPTER 5

"Fuck." I said it too loudly and a few mothers turned and glared daggers at me. "He can't be dead." I looked at the group on stage. All four were dressed like fairies and singing with bright smiles on their faces. "Do they know yet?"

"Angel Karvea called it in early this morning, so yeah, they know," Scarface said. "She insisted the show go on. Said the kids were counting on them."

"She's dedicated," I said.

"Or cold."

I shook my head. "She's really nice. I've met her. She's had a lot to contend with. Frank wasn't exactly husband of the year."

"Nice people can commit murder, Cat."

Didn't I know it.

"So you've met the group?" he asked. I nodded. "In that case, maybe you can help us out. We want an objective view of the four—"

"You don't suspect any of them, do you? Surely it was a random attack or something." The thought that any of Play Group had committed murder was beyond comprehension. They all seemed so sweet and innocent. Like their audience, only taller.

"Maybe you should come with me."

I followed him outside to the foyer, and that's when I saw the cops covering the entrances. I hadn't noticed them earlier. It seemed they really did suspect someone from the group. Someone I'd had dinner with only a couple nights before. Then I remembered what I'd seen and heard during and after dinner.

"You still with Knight?" he asked me as we left the concert hall.

Outside, I had to almost run to keep up with his long strides. "Yes. He's teaching me to be a P.I."

He snorted. "I bet he is."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Knight is a control freak, especially where you're concerned. I bet he's got you working surveillance on a dead-end case that'll keep you safely out of harm's way."

Damn. "Actually, I'm here working too."

"I thought you were meeting up with your friend."

"She's our client. I can't say more than that. It's confidential." More to the point, I didn't want to implicate Jenny in Frank's death. Admitting he was the cause of her financial troubles was giving the police a license to interrogate her. Jenny wasn't capable of something like murder. She just wasn't smart enough to get away with it.

"So where are we going?"

"The hotel. That's where the body was found. We've set up a room to question the cast and crew after the show."

"You want to interview me before they get there? Can't we do it over coffee instead? Seems a little formal to do it in the interview room."

"Scared I'll get you to confess all your secrets?"

"I don't have any secrets."

"All women have secrets."

I wasn't going to get out of it. Fine with me. I had a few questions of my own to ask. "How'd he die?"

"Stabbed several times in the chest and stomach. Very messy."