Tina Whittle_Tai Randall Mystery 01 (23 page)

Chapter 45

Down by the lake, we moved through tables scattered like seed pearls all over the sloping lawn. The wait-staff glided around silver platters filled with itty-bitty ham biscuits while the elite mingled and laughed and ignored the food. The alcohol flowed, however, and each couple trailed a handsome black-suited man wearing shades and an earpiece—a faux bodyguard, included in the ticket price. I was surprised they hadn’t hired fake paparazzi.

I scanned the crowd. No Gabriella, and no Beaumonts either. I saw my brother at the bar, however. He raised his glass at me, a puzzled look on his face. I’d been hoping to escape his attention. Luckily he was busy with extremely important people. He stayed in his circle, and I stayed in mine.

I nudged Trey’s shoulder. “There’s Landon.”

He stood separate from the crowd, a lone figure by the star-spangled dais, wearing a dark gray tuxedo that made him look almost handsome. As we approached, he shook his head. “You brought a date to work? How unlike you.”

“There’s no rule against it,” Trey replied.

He glanced at my purse knowingly. “Remind me to make one.”

Just then the buzz of conversation cranked up a notch—the Beaumonts had arrived, walking up the path from their cabin, arm in arm. The mass of well-wishers parted for them, pressing close at times, but always separate.

“I talked to Simpson,” Trey said. “He told me about the key logger.”

“I heard.” Landon snagged a white wine from a passing waiter. “Don’t hold it against him; he was just following orders. That’s what we all do, isn’t it? Me, you, him. All of us.”

He said this with his eyes focused on the entrance. Marisa circulated among the people now with much smiling and chatting and patting of backs. Her hair tumbled about her shoulders, and her white column dress glowed like an opal in the low lights.

“Why?” Trey insisted. “Why not just ask me for it?”

“That defeats the purpose of undercover surveillance, now doesn’t it?”

“It was still wrong,” I said, “and probably illegal.”

“Trey’s computer is Phoenix property. He signed away his privacy when he signed his contract. So if either of you want to get your feelings hurt, I suggest you do it on your own time.”

He turned to leave, but I stepped into his path. “I heard Dylan Flint got shot to death and dumped in the Hooch. That was illegal, for sure.”

“You say that like Phoenix had something to do with it.”

“You broke into his house, destroyed his stuff, and then he’s killed before he can make a statement to the police, and you wonder why I think Phoenix had something to do with his death?”

I heard the rapid-fire vibrato of violins from somewhere behind me. Landon turned his face to the music. “He was in the business of betraying people for money, and he isn’t anymore. That’s something we can all be grateful for, especially you, Ms. Randolph.”

“Why me?”

“He broke into your shop, threatened you with those ridiculous bull’s eyes. I’d think you’d be glad to be rid of him.”

“He said he didn’t…wait a minute, how did you know about that?”

“We found the mock-ups on his computer. Pictures of you and a bull’s eye graphic.”

I glared at him. “You probably put them there yourself.”

Landon laughed, hearty and rich. “Contrary to what you may think, Ms. Randolph, I’ve got better things to do with my time than annoy you.” He looked at Trey. “Because I’ll make you the same promise I made Marisa when she decided to hire you—this firm is not going to turn into Psycho Central, at least not under my watch.”

And then he just walked off. Trey watched him go, his expression composed. But his eyes held a scimitar gleam.

“Was he telling the truth?” I said.

“Mostly. He was hiding something, though.”

“I imagine Landon’s always hiding something.”

“Hence the problem—he reads as lying even when he’s telling the truth. But there was no equivocation on the last part—he doesn’t want me at Phoenix. He thinks I’m psychotic.”

I put a hand on his arm. “This is what Landon does, you know. It’s not about you.”

“No, I understand that. He was just following orders.”

Marisa noticed us at this point. She shot me a hot glare, then covered it with a smile and a wave Trey’s way.

“I have to go,” he said. “Wait here.”

“Don’t you think we should be looking for Gabriella?”

“We’ve alerted Simpson and reviewed the access protocols. The next step is informing Marisa to be on the lookout, not looking for Gabriella.”

I suppressed the urge to scream at him and instead took a deep breath. This is what we did, followed the rules. I was grateful his timing was flexible if not his procedure.

“Fine. I’ll wait here.”

He nodded and then left. As he approached Marisa’s little coterie, she smiled broadly and introduced him. He was part of the show tonight, a neat professional package to impress the clientele. There came the moment, however, when he said something to her. Her mouth tightened, and she took him by the elbow as if to lead him away, but he wasn’t budging. He just stared at her hand until she pulled it away. Then he walked off without saying a word to anybody, not her, not Landon, not even me.

I got out my cell phone and punched in Garrity’s number. I got his voice mail. “Call me,” I said, “and soon. The Ice Man runneth over.”

***

For the next half hour, the Champagne flowed freely as the Beaumonts greeted the crowd. Charley wore a terra cotta sheath, while Mark sported an old-fashioned white tuxedo jacket, the kind that came with black tie and black pants. They were the center of an enchanted circle, hazy and light-dazzled, Trey ever-present in their wake.

I stayed at the bar, desperate for a cigarette, making do with faux martinis. As the crowd thickened, I scanned the new faces for Gabriella, but unless she was a mistress of disguise, she was nowhere to be seen. I ordered Trey a drink too, as an excuse to find him.

Then I heard a familiar voice at my elbow. “Grey Goose and lime, please.”

I sighed. “Whatever happened to Bacardi?”

“Whatever happened to Southern Comfort?” Eric turned to face me, gestured toward my fancy fake.

“I guess people change,” I said.

“Of course they do. That’s what makes us people, not rocks.”

I kept my eyes on Trey. I wasn’t about to take the bait, not now. Later Eric and I could argue about who’d changed the most, and how, and whose fault the whole mess was. Later he could tell me all the awful things about Trey that I already knew, and maybe some I didn’t.

I moved to leave, and Eric grabbed my arm. “Look, I don’t know what you’re up to now, and I don’t want to know—.”

“Good.”

“—but you’d better be careful, that’s all I have to say.”

He looked hard at me. With his hair edging to gray and his gold-rimmed glasses, he reminded me of Dad more and more—stern, authoritative, adult. He knew what was best. He was trying to make me see it. He didn’t get why this was a betrayal.

I shook free. “Really? Is that all?”

He looked conflicted for a second. But then the bartender brought his drink, and he turned away from me. “That’s all.”

I left for real then, taking Trey’s Pellegrino with me. By now, the Beaumonts had joined Senator Adams on the dais. Trey waited in the wings, unobtrusive and alert.

I handed him the glass. “Here.”

He frowned. “What’s this?”

“It’s Pellegrino.”

“It’s in a martini glass.” He held it up and examined it. “And there’s an olive in it.”

“Jeez, Trey, it’s an olive. Just go with it, won’t you?”

The music suddenly died down, and Mark Beaumont moved behind a microphone stand. His whole aspect was silvery and cool, like a black-and-white matinee idol, and like the movies, he stood larger than life. Charley waited below, at the edge of the crowd, her face glowing.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Mark said, “I am proud to give you our next governor, Senator Harrison Adams!”

And then Adams moved forward, all barrel-chested goodwill, his soft elegant wife at his side. The applause thundered, and the foot-stomping too, laced with whistles and other sounds of approval.

Charley applauded more enthusiastically than anyone else. On her left, to my astonishment, I saw Jake Whitaker. At first glance, he fit right in with his broad shoulders and dark tuxedo, but his expression was brittle and his eyes ping-ponged about the crowd. He said something to Charley, and she snapped her head around and spoke sharply back. On the other side of the crowd, Landon saw the movement and headed their way.

I put a hand on Trey’s arm. “There’s something—”

“I know.”

He moved forward just as I glimpsed a familiar face at the edge of the crowd. I snatched Trey back.

“Gabriella!”

“Where?”

I pointed. She blew us a kiss. She wore a silver blouse and white pants and she had a big spangled purse gripped in both hands. Her smile was dazzling.

Landon reached the edge of the dais just as Jake grabbed Charley’s elbow. She shook him off, but he yanked her to him and pressed his mouth against her ear.

“Stay here,” Trey said.

I hiked up my skirt. “Screw that. You take Charley, I’m taking Gabriella.”

He hesitated, but only for a second. And then he sprinted toward the dais. He was within ten feet of it when Charley’s eyes rolled back in her head, and she collapsed onto the wet grass.

Chapter 46

The Phoenix team descended like a thunderstorm, and Trey disappeared into the chaos. I didn’t have time to ponder the rescue mission, however—I was shoving my way through a sea of perplexed rich people, keeping my eyes on Gabriella. She stood beside the vanishing edge pool, her hair loose and rippling, her expression curious. She didn’t attempt to flee, but by the time I reached her, my sides heaved from my sprint across the courtyard.

“Stay where you are!” I yelled.

She shrugged. “Why would I run?”

And she didn’t, she just stepped behind a cabana out of sight of the other partygoers. This wasn’t how I’d expected the encounter to go, but if she wanted to surrender, that was cool with me. Of course if she didn’t, and I had to wrestle her to the ground and throw her thieving French self into the pool, I was okay with that too.

Once I got Trey’s gun back.

“Here,” she said, “it’s unloaded.”

She handed me her purse. It was like holding a brick. I peeked inside and saw Trey’s H& snuggled in the red velvet lining, the magazine nestled beside it.

I closed it back up. “Why?”

“Why did I take it? Or why did I bring it back?”

“Both.”

She sighed. “You won’t believe me.”

“Try me.”

“Very well. I had a vision.”

I stared at her. “A what?”

“It was horrible—blood everywhere, and Trey…” She trailed off, one pale hand trembling at her temple. “All I could think about was what happened last time, when he shot that man at the convenience store. Do you know that story?”

I folded my arms. “I don’t see—”

“The vision wasn’t clear, but I could tell he was angry, and that he was very close to hurting someone, just like then. And I knew I had to stop it from happening.”

“So you decided to steal his weapon?”

She ignored me. “Only once I got home, I realized I might have misinterpreted the vision. So I laid out the cards. And there it was—Justice. And I knew then that no matter what, he’d be all right, being of pure heart. So I brought the gun back.”

She laid the story out so simply, as if this happened to everyone all the time. Visions, cards, thievery, pure hearts. I was at a loss.

“You went in his computer.”

“I sent him an e-mail, to explain. Didn’t he read it?”

“No, he didn’t read it! There was a freaking key logger…” I rubbed my temples. Why was I explaining this to her? “Never mind. Just tell me—how did you get on the property tonight with
that
in your purse?”

She waved her hand dismissively, as if that were the dumbest question ever. “I bribed the person in the van, the curly-haired one? Two thousand dollars.” She made a face. “Terribly rude young man. But he knows how to bargain, I’ll give him that.”

***

Trey sent me a message about an hour later, telling me to meet him on the deck behind the Beaumonts’ cabin. I found him standing at the railing, his hands resting lightly on the white wood, one finger tap-tap-tapping a steady rhythm.

I handed him the purse. “Your girlfriend is a fucking lunatic—I’ll explain why later. Other than that, I have nothing to report.”

Trey looked inside the purse and his jaw clenched. “How did she get past security with this?”

“She waved two thousand dollars at Steve Simpson and he let her through. When I see him again, I am going to strangle him with his own hair.”

“This is what happens when people break the rules. I try to explain this, but nobody listens.”

He checked the gun—it was unloaded. The secondary magazine was full, but unengaged. Satisfied, he handed the purse back to me. “Take this to the suite, please, and secure it in the safe. I’ll use the one you provided for the rest of the night.”

He looked exhausted. I imagined his every sinew pulled tight, every nerve stretched thin. I put a hand on his shoulder and the muscle tensed beneath my palm.

“How’s Charley?”

“She’s resting. One of the guests gave her a tranquilizer.”

Nothing like a classy Schedule IV opiate to make things all better, I thought. “What happened?”

“She said she got dizzy because she hadn’t eaten and that Jake grabbed her to steady her.”

“Bullshit! Jake said something to her, and it upset her so much that she fainted. She can’t blame that on an empty stomach.”

I leaned on the railing beside Trey. In the distance, the sun set in a slow melt of honey and amber. I kicked my shoes off and wiggled my toes. The wood under my stocking feet felt cool and moist.

“What happened to Jake?”

“Mark had him thrown off the premises.”

“And that’s it?”

The tap-tapping of Trey’s finger on the wood railing intensified.

“Look,” I said, “something’s up and nobody’s talking, not Charley, and especially not Mark.”

“Mark and Landon are heading back to the reception. Charley’s staying in the cabin.”

“She shouldn’t be left alone, not with Jake lurking about.”

“Mark asked me to stay with her. Charley wants the cabin empty, however, so I’m supposed to wait here until she goes to sleep.”

He looked across the lake as he spoke, the polished water a darkening void before him. And suddenly nothing made sense, nothing in the whole world, and all I wanted to do was get out of my ridiculous dress and into some jeans.

And I especially wanted to lose the heavy cargo in the spangled purse. One gun was protection, but two was a burden. Dexter was right—guns aren’t easy things.

Trey buttoned his jacket. “What will you do now?”

“Wait for you in the suite. My stint as girl detective is over for the night. Find me when you’re done?”

He took his eyes of the horizon for the first time. They were tired, but steady. Dark, like the coming night. “I’ll find you.”

***

I walked back to the main resort, shoes in hand. I’d left Trey at attention on the deck, his only concession to comfort a fresh bottle of Pellegrino. I could hear the party still going on by the swimming pool and could see the aura of the lights, bright and contained like a football stadium. It held no appeal anymore, none whatsoever.

I plodded on in the dark. I’d just hit the main property when I saw a figure duck behind one of the columns along the front entrance.

Jake!

I threw down my shoes and Gabriella’s purse and drew my own weapon. It was more baffling in the dark than I would have predicted, but I got it in hand quickly. Was I willing to use it? Or was it just a cold metal bluff?

The figure slid from the shadows into a pool of light. And then I saw the chestnut tumble of curls.

Not Jake.

Steve Simpson.

I pointed the gun right at him. “You!”

He spun around and threw his hands in the air. “For crissakes, put that away!”

“Why aren’t you in the van?”

“I’m getting a cup of coffee.”

“Bullshit! You’ve got a coffeemaker in there, I saw it!”

He put his hands down. “Fine. You caught me. I’m running away. Happy now?”

I kept the gun on him. “Running from what?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, fucked-up shit is happening, and I’m not talking about Trey’s usual weirdness or Charley passing out or that crazy French chick.”

“You’re the one who let the crazy French chick in!”

“So what? I quit. A little wire tapping is one thing, but people are getting killed, and I don’t want to be next.”

“Why do you think you might be?”

“Because I know stuff.” He folded his arms. “And so do you. Which means I’d keep that gun ready to go if I were you. But not aimed at me, okay?”

I watched him in the light at the edge of the darkness, the groomed safety of the hedges behind him. He held the key to the whole mess, I knew he did, and if I didn’t think of a way to get it out of him, he’d vanish into the night, and the Parade of Almost Truth and Sorta Justice would keep marching on.

“You know,” I said, “if you know something and don’t tell anyone, that makes you accessory after the fact. All I have to do is get out my cell phone and bam—you’re a fugitive from justice.”

“Get real. The cops don’t care about the truth.”

“I know one who does.”

He hesitated. I waited, ready to fire if he made one wrong move. Then I noticed the bulge in his shirt pocket.

“You smoke?”

“Yeah?”

I lowered the gun, took my finger off the trigger. “Come on, I know someplace out of the way. You tell me what you know, I’ll tell you what I know. Maybe we can work something out.”

***

I took him down to the lake edge, far enough away from the party that we could have some privacy, but close enough that I could scream and be heard easily. Excellent girl detective behavior.

“We’d had Eliza under surveillance for about six months,” he began, “ever since she showed up in Atlanta. I didn’t ask why. That’s part of the job, you know—do what you’re told and don’t ask questions—and frankly, I didn’t give a shit.”

We were in the boathouse, which was deserted except for a few party yachts bobbing in the water. Aside from the distant drone of the party and the slap slap of waves against wood, it was silent.

“Anyway, Landon made sure that the camera outside her apartment was functional from the get-go, and that we had our own copies of the footage. He had me reviewing those—when she left, who came over, how long they stayed. Nothing exciting. And then he asked me to put in the phone tap.”

“Those are illegal.”

“Yeah. But Landon said he had APD authorization.”

“And you believed that?”

He blew out a stream of smoke. “Nope. But I didn’t argue. I figured if it blew up, I had deniability and could throw the shit back uphill. We didn’t get anything interesting, though. Eliza was loose, but she wasn’t creepy. Jake Whitaker, now, that’s a different story.”

“Let me guess—he liked to watch.”

“Yeah, peeping in people’s windows, messing with the surveillance cameras. He had the one outside Eliza’s either pointed at the pool or the piece of lawn where people sunbathed, not at the apartments. And he used his passkey to get into women’s apartments when they weren’t home.”

“Did you tell Landon?”

“Yes. But he didn’t care.”

“Not even about the misuse of the security cameras?”

“Not enough to fix the problem.”

“Did you?”

“Not my job to care.”

My first drag on the cigarette sent a shot of nicotine right into my brain, like getting splashed with cold water. But it calmed me too. It made me forget I was sitting in a boathouse with a stranger, and with a killer on the loose. Of course I still had two guns in my lap, so there was that.

“How did Dylan Flint fit into the picture?”

“The papparazzi wannabe? Eliza e-mailed him, IM’d and texted too. They traded pictures a lot.”

“Did you help ransack his place?”

Steve shrugged. “Landon’s orders. Dylan had a lot of shots of the Beaumonts that we didn’t think he needed to have.”

I tapped the ash into the water. Something was trying to connect in my brain. “Jake said something to Charley that freaked her out so badly she fainted. He said it because he knew he was getting fired, and he was thinking he could coerce her into intervening. He found out something, probably by snooping on Eliza, and whatever it was, he’d been saving it for a while. Any idea what that might be?”

Steve licked his lips. “Eliza was seriously into Charley—she had hundreds of pictures of her. She sent e-mails too, lots of them.”

I didn’t know whether I wanted to kiss him or smack him. “Did Charley ever send anything back?”

“Just the usual form reply.”

“Nothing? No cease and desist warnings?”

“Why? Eliza was a dumb kid, annoying but harmless.”

Dumb, perhaps, but smart enough to call Eric and ask about confidentiality. By that time, she was out of her league and scared to death. So many clashing motivations and backstories—Jake, Dylan, Eliza, the Beaumonts, Phoenix, my brother. I knew there was a thread somewhere in there, a thread that connected everything. Pull the wrong thread, though, and everything unraveled. I knew that too.

“So why didn’t the cops find the Phoenix surveillance equipment when they searched her apartment?”

“Beats me. All I know is, the cops show up Friday night and that place is as clean as a whistle. I just assumed Landon pulled some strings.”

It was coming together, like an astrological convergence. I could feel planets sliding into place, meteors colliding, stars imploding.

“I need a flow chart.”

“A what?”

I handed Steve the rest of my cigarette. “Here. I’ve got to go find a legal pad.”

He took it. I grabbed my guns and my shoes and started up the stairs.

“Where are you going?”

“I’ve got to talk to Trey.”

“You can’t just leave me here! What if—“

I gave him my revolver. “Here. It’s small and simple, loaded too. Point and shoot.”

He stared at it in bewilderment. I threw Gabriella’s spangled purse, now empty, into his lap and kept Trey’s Phoenix-issue H& for myself. I loaded it with a full magazine of eight. And then I squeezed the grip, watching with satisfaction as the firing pin pulled back with an oily snick. I disengaged the squeeze cock and tucked it in my leather purse.

“And Steve? You’d best be cutting yourself a deal, and soon. Call Dan Garrity, he’s a good guy. And tell him all hell’s about to break loose.”

***

I tried calling Trey on my way back to the Beaumont cabin, but got no answer. It didn’t matter—I was already on the porch. I tapped on the door, lightly, so I wouldn’t wake Charley. Still no answer. I tried the door and it opened easily, revealing the dark interior. No lights, no noise.

“Trey?”

I saw him then, on the floor, and my stomach clenched. But before I could make a move, Charley Beaumont stepped out of the shadows.

With a gun. Which she had pointed right at me.

“Close the door,” she said. “And don’t even think about screaming.”