Eeny Meany Miny Die (Cat Sinclair Mysteries) (8 page)

"What sort of murder isn't?"

He shrugged. "Drowning, suffocation doesn't leave much—"

"Okay, I don't need to know the finer details."

He chuckled and put his arm around me. "If you want to work in this business then you need a tougher skin, Kitten."

I leaned into his body. It was hard and hot beneath his shirt, the ripple of muscle a promise of what lay within reach. "I do boring surveillance work, remember?"

"Seems to me your second case will be your second murder, Cat. For some reason, you attract crazy despots."

I looked at him. "You're not a despot, and only partly crazy."

He grinned and squeezed my shoulder. "That's what I've missed about you. Brutal honesty."

Yeah, right. Honesty wasn't one of my strong suits, and Scarface knew it. He'd been present when I'd lied my way into and out of several sticky situations.

The hotel bustled with cops and crime scene investigators when we arrived. Scarface took me straight up to the room commandeered for interviewing. I had to wait while technicians finished setting up the recording equipment. Just before we started, Detective Stankovic entered. He grunted when he saw me. No "hi, how've you been," not even a nod. When we'd first met, I'd told him I was a private eye when in fact I was still only an office manager. Apparently he still held my little falsehood against me.

Despite the air conditioning in the hotel, Stankovic sweated like a marathon runner at the finish line. He patted his forehead with a folded handkerchief and sat down heavily in the chair opposite me. Scarface paced the room, a caged tiger if I ever saw one.

"Can we get on with this," I said. "I need to get back to work."

"Knight can wait," Stankovic snapped.

"But my work can't. I'm very busy."

Scarface raised the brow with the white scar through it, but said nothing. Finally one of the technicians gave him the all-clear with a nod. He packed up his tools and left the room.

Scarface wasted no time in getting to the point. "Let's start with what you know about each member of Play Group. Since you're friends with Jenny Monahan, you can begin with her."

Stankovic flipped open a notepad and poised a pen above the paper. Scarface stopped pacing but remained standing.

"Jenny wouldn't hurt a fly," I said. "She's naïve and a bit, uh, dense between the ears, but she would never hurt anyone, let alone kill."

"What did she employ you for?" Scarface asked.

"I told you, it's confidential."

"You have to tell us. We're the police."

"So you are," I said sweetly. "That would explain the attitude. Like I said, it's confidential. I know my rights and that of my client. Frank's death has nothing to do with her employing Knight Investigations. I can call Will and ask him to explain it to you if you like."

Scarface rolled his eye. "Spare me."

He and Will had been friendly rivals as young cops, but that had all fallen by the wayside after a domestic dispute went wrong. Will's maverick attitude—yes, believe it or not, he'd been a rebel back in the day—had led to Scarface getting shot and losing an eye. Since then, Will had changed and become the sort of guy who avoided domestics and any other situation that called for a radical approach. He played by the book and liked everything to work his way or no way.

Scarface didn't like the new Will. He wanted his old buddy back, the one who squeezed the answers out of suspects and entered unsecured buildings to save a life. I wasn't so sure that Will had buried his old self as completely as Scarface thought. I knew he was capable of losing that iron control. I'd seen it happen in bed—and on the kitchen bench, his desk, and once, the back yard at his place.

"What about the other members of Play Group?" Stankovic asked. "Angel Karvea for instance. Did she get along with her husband?"

I saw no reason to protect her. She wasn't my client. I hardly knew her. "Frank bullied her."

"How did he bully her?" Scarface asked. "Was he abusive?"

"Verbally, but not physically, I think." I certainly hadn't seen any bruises on her when she'd done the strip show in her room. "He liked to keep her in her place, like a child. He ordered her food, controlled her spending money, that sort of thing."

"Lots of husbands do that," Stankovic said.

"Not in this century."

"Guess I'm an old-fashioned guy."

"Dinosaur more like."

His face got redder and his lips whiter. I leaned back, out of his zone in case something popped.

"You're wasting our time," Stankovic said. "Get her out of here, Forde."

"Oh?" I said, all innocent. "So you don't want to know about Corey and Angel?"

"What about them?" he grumbled. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Scarface smirk.

"They were playing footsies under the table."

Stankovic shrugged. "Could mean nothing."

"Yeah, right. Everyone rubs feet under the table when their husband sits only a few seats away."

"That all you've got?"

I wanted to tell him to shove his attitude and give him nothing else, but my conscience got the better of me. She's a bitch that way. "Did you find the photos of Taylor in Frank's suitcase?"

"Maybe," Scarface said, casual.

His guarded answer was ruined by Stankovic. "Of course we fucking did. Anything else?"

"That's all."

"Good. Then go."

Scarface looked like he had more questions, but he just jerked his head toward the door. He met me there and opened it for me, but stepped in the way so I couldn't get past. "I haven't finished with you yet." His voice was a soft purr in my ear. His roughened jaw skimmed my cheek.

"Promises, promises," I sang.

"If I find out you've withheld something important, Cat, I definitely won't be finished with you."

I gulped. "Gotta go. I've got work to do. Can't stand around chatting to you all day."

He let me go, and I drove back to the office. There was no point returning to the concert hall to speak to Jenny and the others. The cops would be all over them. They wouldn't be allowed to speak to each other let alone me. I wasn't sure where it left me with Jenny's case. If I could prove her money was invested in something without her consent, then maybe she could put in a claim with Frank's beneficiaries.

Speaking of which—who benefited financially from his death? Usually the spouse did, but Frank's ex-wife might have a claim too. It wasn't looking good for Angel. I felt bad for telling the cops about her footsie play with Corey, but Scarface would have found out eventually. He was omniscient that way.

I parked the car outside Gina's shop and headed inside. She was with a customer, so I waited until she was free and then I dumped my bag on the counter and sighed heavily.

"Hey, Cat," she said. "You going to kickboxing tonight?"

"Definitely. After the day I've had, I need to punch something."

"That good, huh?"

"You'll never guess what's happened to me. Again."

She narrowed her eyes. "Someone's not trying to kill you, are they?"

"No!"

"Rape you?"

"Gina!"

"Blackmail you? Run you over? Burn your place down?"

I held up my hands for her to stop. "The man I was investigating got himself murdered."

Her eyes bugged out. "No way! Wow, you're cursed."

I gave her a withering look, but it had no effect on her whatsoever. She just shrugged and put her scissors back in their holder. When she looked up again, her gaze slipped past me to the door.

"Will's here," she whispered. "Look busy." She made a show of rearranging the flowers in the vase on her counter.

I leaned forward and whispered back. "I don't think he cares if
you're
slacking off."

"You got that right," came Will's rumbling voice behind me.

"She just got here!" Gina said. "Honest to God." She crossed herself.

Will's brows rose up to his hairline. "Am I supposed to take you more seriously when you do that?"

"Of course!" I said. "Gina's Catholic. You know a Catholic is telling the truth when they invoke the Lord's name
and
cross themselves."

"Pity
you're
not Catholic." He kissed the top of my head. "How's your case going?"

I chewed the inside of my lip. I knew I had to tell him about Frank, but after the last case I'd worked on where my target had been murdered and I'd ended up in all kinds of trouble, I knew he'd worry. A worried Will became a smothering bear and not much fun to be around.

"Fine," I said.

Gina cleared her throat.

Will leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. "Really? So the newsreader on the radio got it wrong?"

I swallowed and gave my best Pollyanna impersonation, blinking up at him through my lashes and everything. "Maybe. What'd you hear?"

"Frank Karvea, manager of Play Group, was found dead in his hotel room early this morning." He forked a brow at me, challenging me to get out of this one. "Heard anything about it?"

I knew when I was beaten, but that didn't mean I couldn't retain a sense of self-righteous dignity. "That's low, Will. You should have told me you already knew instead of playing these games."

He bent down to my level. His smoldering gaze sent hot tingles through me. His unsmiling mouth came very close to mine. "If I could trust you, I wouldn't have to play games."

"Well, that's just—"

He put a finger to my lips and I quieted. "Uh-uh, Cat, don't twist this around. I'm not mad. Much. I just want you to tell me what happened." He removed his finger. "Talk."

I sighed. Time to retreat. "I don't know any more than you do. Frank was stabbed to death. The police will be interviewing the members of the group now." I didn't mention Scarface was one of the investigators. One hurdle at a time.

"Stabbing," he said. "Wow."

"Gross," Gina said, pulling a face.

"Why wow?" I asked. "What's so wow about a stabbing?"

"It's more personal than a shooting. The killer has to be up close and be able to overpower the victim. Was it frenzied?"

"I think so. Stabbed several times is what I overheard."

"Enough!" Gina said. "Take your negative talk out of my shop. This is supposed to be a happy place. I don't need the bad karma."

Will and I left together and entered the Knight Investigations office. Faith looked up from her computer screen and smiled at Will. Not at me, just Will. It was like I wasn't even there.

"Hello," I said, pointedly standing in front of her.

Her gaze shifted back to her monitor. "Hello."

"Any messages for me?" Will asked. "I mean 'us.' Any messages for us?"

I flashed him a smile. He was learning. He hadn't pulled me off Jenny's case yet either, although I wouldn't put it past him.

"No messages," Faith said. She began to type, but she was slow. Her hands shook too much and she kept hitting the wrong key and had to delete half of everything she wrote. I hadn't thought it possible, but she was a worse typist than me.

If Will noticed, he didn't care. "My office, Cat. We need to talk about this case."

"I'm not dropping it," I said as we walked up the narrow hallway.

He shut the door and dodged his way around the stacks of papers and folders that formed an obstacle course across his floor. Faith hadn't made it into his office yet, and I wasn't sure she should. As chaotic as it looked, Will knew where everything was. He could put his finger on any piece of paper he needed. Maybe I should warn her to leave it alone. Offering her some advice might get her to warm to me and tell me her story.

Will sat on the chair behind his desk and indicated I should sit opposite. All business. No lap dances today then.

"I'm not dropping the case," I said again. "Jenny's asked me to help and I'm going to do it."

"And what if your client is the one who murdered him?"

"If she was planning on murdering him, why would she hire me? She'd be stupid to admit he cheated her out of her savings, then go and kill him." Hell. A flaw in my theory. Jenny was stupid. She made Forrest Gump look like a genius.

"Maybe she didn't plan on killing him."

Another flaw. "You said the killer would have had to overpower the victim. I don't see Jenny being able to overpower anyone."

"Unless she drugged him."

Damn. "We'll have to wait and see what the toxicology report says." Listen to me sounding all
CSI
.

"The police might not tell us the results."

I huffed out a breath. I was out of comebacks. "I'm not dropping the case, Will."

"I'd like to go on record as not having asked you to."

"But you want me to, right?"

He leaned back in his chair and gave me a smug look. "Do I?"

I stood and flattened my palms on his desk. "Trying reverse psychology now, are you?"

"Am I?"

"It won't work."

"If you say so." He chuckled. "Come here, Kitty Cat." He stood too and leaned over the desk to plant a delicate kiss on my lips. "I love it when you get all hot under the collar."

My heart did a huge flip in my ribcage and my legs went all weak. I backed away suddenly and fell onto the chair. Crap. He just said the L word. Thank God he didn't say he loved me, just my attitude. I wasn't sure how to take it. We were having a great time, great sex, and I liked him. But love? That was way too serious.

"I, uh, better do some work." I pushed myself out of the chair and made my way to the door.

"Cat," he said.

I didn't turn around. "Mmmm?"

"Seeing as you can't do much about Karvea right now, how about you do some listening in on Bankler. We still have another case to work on. A lucrative one, I might add."

I sighed. He was right. We couldn't afford to forget about Slim and his sleezy salesman, even though there was a much more interesting case to work on. "I'll be outside NTS's office if you need me."

He came up behind me and swept my hair from my neck to nuzzle me there. "Be careful, Babe."

I turned and laced my arms around his neck. "Always." I smothered his scoff with a kiss.

***

I bought lunch and ate it in the van while listening to Clive Bankler talk through the receiver. He did a lot of talking. To his employees, to NTS's customers, his girlfriend, friends. He didn't seem to do any real work. He reminded me of me. Then again, he was a salesman and sales people were supposed to wheel and deal. The thing was, a lot of his talking wasn't work related. He spent ages talking dirty to his girlfriend on the phone, although from the number of times he repeated himself or would ask "Are you there?" I figured she wasn't listening too closely. Who could blame her? His suggestions were creepy. I also overheard him flirting with the girls in his department. I use the term 'flirting' loosely. From the strained silences that followed his penis jokes, I guessed they thought of him like they would a turd on their shoe—annoying and gross. No argument from me.