The Killing Game (28 page)

“A little cream.”

He pivoted to her refrigerator and found the half and half. By the time he got back to the machine her mug was nearly filled. Taking the mug from the Keurig, he lifted a questioning eyebrow as he began pouring a slow stream of cream into it.

“Perfect,” she said, and he lifted the spout, put the carton back in the refrigerator, and picked up his own cup.

They stared at each other. Then both began to talk at once.

“You don’t have to stay—” she began.

“I want to ask you something—” he said.

“Okay, you go first,” Andi told him, motioning toward him with her mug.

“I’ve been thinking. Psychologically, the ‘little bird’ cards aren’t like the Carreras. It could be them,” he added quickly, apparently feeling she was about to protest, “but, like I said before, the brothers are generally more confrontational. I’d like to go at them hammer and tongs, but it wouldn’t be smart.”

She nodded in agreement.

“The Carreras are dangerous, and I don’t like that your brother-in-law is trying to do business with them, but one thing about it: As long as they’re working out a deal, I don’t think they’ll risk hurting you. They’re already under a microscope and that would bring the authorities down on them like a tsunami.”

“Okay.”

“But I want to keep staying with you. Someone out there is threatening you, purposely scaring you, and I want to know who it is before you stay another night here alone. Maybe it’s the Carreras, maybe it isn’t, but either way, that’s what I’d like to do. With your permission.”

“Absolutely. I just don’t want you to feel like you’re wasting your time.”

“It’s my time to waste.”

“I know, but you know what I mean.”

“I’ll work up the paperwork for our partnership today. I have work to do for my brother.” He gulped some coffee. “What are your plans?”

“It’s Saturday, so I’m not going into the office.”

He frowned. “You just plan to be around the cabin?”

“Would you rather I was somewhere else?”

“You’re kind of isolated out here.”

“I’ll go into Laurelton. Shop or something. Just gotta shake the cobwebs out of my head.”

“Stop by my office. I’ll be there later.”

“Okay. You can use the shower first,” she invited.

“No, go ahead. I’ll call Dallas.” He reached toward the counter where his cell phone lay.

“Dallas is your brother?”

“A defense attorney.” He grinned suddenly. “We didn’t see eye to eye when I was on the force. I thought a lot of his clients were dirtbags. People he was just trying to get off. Meanwhile, he kept trying to get me to quit. I kept saying I didn’t know what I’d do. He thought I should be a writer. Then I did quit, and he really pushed it after that.

But now he wants to hire me as an investigator.” He shook his head. “Life’s circular sometimes.”

“Yes, it is.”

Andi headed to the shower. It was strange to have no plans. Normally she would just stay home, but Luke’s comments about her isolation had resonated and she didn’t want to be anywhere without other people around.

Trini, she thought. Andi didn’t think she gave classes on Saturdays, so she might as well drop by to see if they were still on for tonight.

* * *

Tracy Farmgren stopped by the Sirocco Realty offices and smiled at the girl with the big eyes at the reception desk. It was
her
desk. She was the receptionist and this girl—Heidi—the daughter of one of the principal brokers, was a growing problem. First just weekends and then a few more days here and there . . . Tracy had been through the same thing before and this time she was staking her claim before things got out of hand.

God. Her name was Heidi and she actually wore her hair in two braids. It was enough to make her puke.

“Hi,” Tracy greeted her with a big smile. “I forgot something in my desk.”

“Oh. Okay.” Heidi zoomed the rolling chair back and sat back and waited, which really pissed Tracy off.

“Um, would you mind getting me a cup of coffee?” Tracy asked. “I might be just a few minutes. . . .”

“Sure,” she said somewhat reluctantly, then finally got her butt out of the chair and moseyed away.

What a nightmare. Tracy opened the bottom drawer and pulled out the small locked case within. It held duplicate keys to some of the homes, mostly expensive ones, that Tracy liked to walk through and pretend were hers when she knew the owners weren’t home. No one had noticed when she’d sneaked the keys away and had the duplicates made. She’d only done it a time or two.

Of course, that’s where she’d met
him.
Handsome, lots of money, dressed well. He caught her coming out of one of them and getting into her car, and he knew she was lying when she said she lived there because he knew the actual owners. She’d been sick at heart. She’d begged him not to tell. What she did was harmless. She just liked pretending. Was it so wrong?

She’d expected him to turn her in, but instead he told her that her secret was safe with him. But he would call her in a day or two and ask her to do something for him. Just a little thing. No big deal.

She’d lived in utter fear those seventy-two hours. Three days, not two. What was he going to ask? She had a feeling it was going to be big, no matter what he said, and she would have to confess to the principals and lose her job. Then he showed up at her work and asked her to lunch. She sat across from him at a bistro while he persuaded her there was no reason to worry. They were friends, he assured her. But the way he’d looked at her, she’d been pretty sure his little ask might be a few times in the sack with him.

She could do that.

So she had a few drinks, just a couple of vodka martinis, and let herself loosen up. He told her he was an investor. Just moved out from New York a few years earlier. He didn’t ask her for anything that day, but she knew it was coming. When a few weeks went by and all they did was have lunch in some out-of-the-way places, she started to think she was wrong. In her fondest dreams she wondered if he really just wanted to date her.

And so she dated him. The lunches . . . a couple of dinners, a few drinks, and finally he came over to her place and they went to bed together. Truthfully, Tracy wasn’t all that fond of sex. Kinda messy and sort of stupid. Half the time she wanted to clap her hand over her mouth to stop from giggling. But she managed to play the part and do a lot of moaning and breathing hard, and all in all, it was okay. She did really like him. He had a way of listening to every word she said that made her feel important.

And then came the day he asked her for the key to the cabin on Schultz Lake.

“That’s what you wanted?” she asked, disappointed.

“And you,” he assured her. “But don’t worry. I’ll bring the key back,” he promised.

“But we sold the cabin. The new owner’s going to move in soon.”

“I’ll only use it for a couple of hours. That’s all.”

Tracy could practically feel her blood freeze. “Don’t make a copy, whatever you do.”

He held up two fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

She’d given him the key, and true to his word, he’d brought it back that same day. She’d wanted to ask him what he needed it for, but something about him suggested that would be a bad idea. So she’d gone on as if nothing had happened. She’d replaced the copy she’d made of that key in her little box.

After that they kind of drifted apart, however, which hurt her feelings. She called him a few times, but he let her know very clearly that he would call her, not the other way around. He’d asked her to dinner on a couple of other occasions, but he’d had to cancel before the plans were hatched, and he stopped coming over for sex.

She’d just been lamenting her boring life when those police detectives had shown up and wanted to talk to Kitsy, who’d had the listing for the cabin. Edie Tindel had been the buyer’s agent, and Tracy had lived in fear that the detectives would want to talk to her, too, but she didn’t know if they had. Edie could tell them about the break-in, which, Tracy worried, had something to do with the key, though she didn’t know what.

Scared, she’d called him after the detectives left. He’d flipped out, but she’d said it wasn’t her fault. There was no way they could know about the extra key. No way. But saying it seemed to remind him of that fact, and he asked her to meet him and bring the key.

So now they had another date. But it was all over the fucking key.

She took the little case in its entirety and left before stupid Heidi could return with the coffee. Let her drink it, the bitch. Tracy hated coffee.

* * *

Luke drove to Mimi Quade’s address and parked down the block, where he could watch the unit without being noticed. He’d done some research on Scott Quade and it looked like the man was currently in between addresses, so it stood to reason he might be bunking with his sister. If not, he would see what he could learn about Mimi and the baby. He called his brother as he was waiting, and Dallas picked up on the fourth ring.

“Thought you weren’t going to answer,” Luke greeted him. He could hear sounds in the background, music and someone asking if they were ready to order.

“I’m in a meeting with a client,” Dallas answered.

“Having an early lunch?”

“Coffee.”

He could tell by Dallas’s careful answers that he couldn’t talk, which was fine. “I’m watching a place, so I’ll be here a while. What time did you want to meet?”

“I’ll call you.”

“Okay.”

He hung up and let his mind wander back to Andi Wren, a wandering that was becoming more and more frequent. The last thing he wanted was a romantic entanglement. He’d been trying to extricate himself from Iris for months and had determined he was bad at breakups. And every new relationship had a breakup waiting for it; Taylor Swift sure had that one right.

But . . . he liked Andi. Her quiet ways. Her ability to understand her own motivations. Her strength in times of terrible loss. She’d been tousled and fuzzy this morning in a thoroughly charming way.

Were the Carreras behind the scare tactics? Brian Carrera had sought her out at her club and threatened her, so it seemed likely. Or was there someone else hiding in the shadows with their own agenda?

The thought brought gooseflesh rising on his skin. A warning. A whisper. He scoffed at all things clairvoyant, but he trusted his own instincts, and the message he was picking up was that he’d missed something. What? He did a quick recap in his mind of the people surrounding Andi and chronicled the events that had taken place both before and after they’d first met.

One: Scott and Mimi Quade come to the Wren Development offices and announce her pregnancy.

Two: Gregory Wren skids off the road to his death in a one-car accident.

Three: Andi learns she’s pregnant.

Four: Brian Carerra threatens her at her club.

Five: Andi comes to see Luke at his office.

No, that wasn’t quite right. Five was that Andi’s cabin was broken into and the note was left on her bed. Six was when she came to his office.

Seven: Andi miscarries.

Eight: A period of inactivity from the Carreras, but in the background Carter Wren is working to form a financial partnership with them.

Nine: Andi goes to see Mimi Quade and determines Mimi is pregnant.

Ten: Scott Quade comes to the Wren Development offices again and wants . . .

Money,
Luke determined. His leverage was Wren guilt over philandering Gregory and his baby.

As he considered this, a vehicle left the parking lot of Mimi’s apartment complex and began to turn north on the main street in front of the building, the same direction in which Luke’s car was facing. Luke’s binoculars were already in hand and he lifted them to his eyes in time to determine that the man behind the wheel was Scott Quade. He switched on the engine and was about to follow when a second car came out of the lot. This time it was Mimi behind the wheel. Luke had seen pictures of her on the web site for Nailed It!

He chose to follow her instead and eased in behind her. It was eleven o’clock and traffic was fairly light. She drove directly to Nailed It! and pulled into the lot. Luke turned into the one-level business complex as well and drove past her just as she was climbing out of her car, juggling a Starbucks cup, her purse, and a bag that likely held items she used for work. Her baby bump was clear and he shook his head at Scott’s intimation of an abortion, when suddenly her work bag banged against her stomach and she dropped it with a thud to adjust the bulk in front.

It was a quick move, accompanied by a surreptitious look around to see if anyone noticed. Her eye found Luke’s car, but it passed over him as he drove away. Then she gathered up her items and headed into the salon.

Luke parked at the far end of the lot, looking back. A fake baby bump. Scott and Mimi Quade were pulling an extortion racket. That was why there was all the talk about paying for an abortion. There was no baby.

His mind whirled. But there had been, he concluded, and it had been Gregory Wren’s because Scott had originally demanded a DNA test. Neither Greg nor Carter had wanted to believe Mimi was pregnant. Then Greg had died and Carter had refused to deal with Scott, so he and Mimi had faded into the background.

She must have miscarried, Luke concluded. Otherwise Scott would have been in their faces about the baby regardless. He wasn’t the kind of personality to just let things go, especially if there was money to be made. Luke had picked that up in just one meeting with the man, and it hadn’t taken any kind of mental leap.

Could Scott Quade, after losing one ploy, have embarked on another? Scaring Andi Wren with his little bird messages? To what end?

Luke drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. He couldn’t see how that would turn into a money-making scheme, and unless there was another, darker side to Scott Quade, he would bet his own last dollar that money was the man’s prime motivation.

You don’t have enough information yet to draw any conclusions.

But it was something to know Mimi Quade was faking her pregnancy.

He picked up his cell phone to call Andi.