Bargain Hunting (14 page)

Great. “What time do I need to come in?”

“You’re going to them. Listen to what Mertzberger has to say, then call me and maybe we can wrap this up.”

“I hope so. This is like the estate that won’t die. What time?”

“Be at the Bollan place at eight thirty.”

Seriously? Since when did I keep long hours and go above and beyond? I was salaried, so it wasn’t like I’d be earning overtime. “I’ll be there.”

“Do you want me to send the file over to you by courier tonight to save you a trip here?” she asked.

“No, I’ll come by now and get it.” Liar, liar, pants on fire. I’d have Becky bring it to me. Only I didn’t say anything to Ellen because Becky didn’t want people at the firm knowing we were very close friends. She thought it might be a problem if and when she was being considered for a partnership. Like West Palm Beach and Palm Beach proper, Dane-Lieberman had its own hierarchy, and Becky wanted to give the appearance of knowing that line between the powerful and the powerless. I was in the second category.

I sent Becky a text telling her what I needed and where to find it. I had almost forty-five minutes to waste before dinner. I really wanted to go see Liam, but I knew I didn’t have the time. It would take them twenty or more minutes just to process him into the visitors’ section. So I drove to the Food Shack’s parking lot, retouched my lipstick, then spotted a sign calling out to me. The high-end surf shop was having a fifty-percent-off sale on all swimwear.

As I walked to the store, I checked my eBay status on my iPhone. So far, so good, I was still winning the bid on the diamond bezel. The store was nearly deserted, meaning I had the full attention of the salesclerk. She looked like a surfer. Her ripped arms and muscled thighs were a tribute to days spent paddling out beyond the breakers. She also had shoulders like
a swimmer, broad and tanned. It was easy for me to deduce all these things since she was wearing a tiny sleeveless T-shirt, surf shorts, and a weathered pair of Sperrys. Her hair was streaked with natural highlights from the sun, and when she smiled, it was in stark contrast to her deeply tanned skin.

“May I help you?”

I smelled board wax and what I guessed was leftover pizza. “Just looking,” I replied casually. I don’t like salespeople following me around like lap dogs. I skimmed the racks, finding three possibilities. Even at half price, the suits would still set me back at least seventy dollars, but I really needed—
correction
—wanted a new suit. I decided on a pink bikini with little white floral accents and paid for my purchase.

Then, like a guilty child, I took the package to my car and hid it in the trunk. I didn’t want Jane to know I was out spending again. No sooner had I ferreted away my find than Jane pulled up with Liv in the passenger’s seat. I smiled, happy to see friendly faces after my hellish day. I felt a pang of guilt knowing I was about to eat great food while Liam was probably dining on mush and beans.

Liv was dressed impeccably in a tailored tan shift with a patterned scarf around her neck. Not that I had a girl crush or anything, but the honest truth was that Liv Garrett was quite possibly the most attractive person on the planet. She had shoulder-length dark hair and the most exotic aquamarine eyes. They were so stunning people often thought they were contact lenses. I knew better.

If Liv was overdressed for the very casual, not far from the beach Food Shack, Jane was a little closer to the vibe of the place.
Today she was sporting a green pleather miniskirt paired with a corset. On anyone else it would have looked like she was on her way to the closest S and M club. But somehow Jane managed to carry off the look. She had her long brown hair pinned up and the heels of her stilettos clicked as she walked across the macadam.

Becky pulled in just then, getting out of her Volvo, then shedding her jacket and rolling up the sleeves of her blouse. She had a pencil skirt on in a shade of coral that matched the chunky necklace around her neck. She leaned in the car one last time and pulled out what I recognized as my Bollan file.

Liv bent down and gave me a hug. “I’m so sorry about Liam.”

“It’ll all work out,” I said, though I wasn’t quite sure how.

I also received shows of support from Becky and Jane. Then we went inside. The Food Shack is a narrow restaurant with a bar and about two dozen tables. It also has a surfboard at one end of the bar that seats four. As usual the place was packed, so we were shown to a small table where we sat elbow to elbow with the patrons on either side. The food was worth being squished in like sardines.

The server left us the regular menus as well as the daily specials. I didn’t even bother to read the offerings, I knew exactly what I was going to order. One tuna-basil roll and a panko oyster salad with spiced melon and greens. I also asked for a glass of wine. A big one.

“So what happened?” Becky said as I tucked my file down by my feet.

I gave them a blow by blow of the past forty-eight hours. I knew I was breaking privilege, but my friends would keep my
confidences. I finished with, “So he’s sitting in jail awaiting arraignment.”

“Maybe something will break before it gets to that,” Becky suggested.

“I think it’s part of a bigger thing,” I said.

“Bigger how?” Jane asked.

I was quiet for a minute until the waitress delivered our drinks. I took a long sip of wine, loving the way it warmed me as it went down my throat. “I think the Lopez shooting and Stan Cain’s supposed suicide are somehow related.”

“A week apart and two states away?” Becky argued.

“So maybe I don’t have all the pieces of the puzzle.”

“And,” Liv injected, “maybe you should leave this to Tony.”

“Right,” Becky agreed. “The firm can hire a different investigator. Tony was right, you have no business investigating murders.”

“I’ve done okay in the past,” I said, defending myself.

“With Liam’s help,” Jane reminded me. “This time you’d be on your own.”

“But I owe it to him. He’s saved my fanny from the fire more than once. The very least I can do is return the favor.”

“You’re being crazy,” Becky said emphatically. “Besides, if Tony finds out you’re doing this behind his back he may just decide to fire you.”

“Dane-Lieberman has fired me before,” I said with a shrug.

“But this is different,” Liv said. “From what you’ve said you may be talking about some sort of corruption or something on the police force. If that’s the case, you could be putting your life in danger!”

The idea sent a shiver down my spine. “What else can I do?”

“Let this play out,” Jane answered. “Let it run its course.”

I was feeling a complete lack of support.

Liv smiled. “Finley has nothing but bad news. Whereas I have terrific news.”

“Which is?” Becky asked before putting a forkful of sweet-potato-crusted mahimahi in her mouth.

“Concierge Plus got a new client. Six events in six weeks and hefty budgets to work with.”

“Congrats,” I said as I clinked my wineglass with hers. “What kind of events are they?”

Liv shrugged. “Something about having your life changed forever in twenty-nine minutes. It’s all about Kabbalah.”

Jane’s fork stalled in midair. “Isn’t that like Scientology for Jews?”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “Maybe I should attend one of the seminars. I’m due for a life change. And twenty-nine minutes seems about right.”

We spent the rest of dinner on myriad topics. The mood lightened enough so that we even ribbed Liv about her loser boy toy. By the time we finished, I had to admit I was in a slightly better mood.

We walked out to the now dark parking lot and said our good-byes. “Be careful, please,” Becky whispered in my ear.

“I’ll try.”

“Try harder,” she insisted.

Once I was home, I toted the hated Bollan file inside. I wanted to make sure I had everything I would need. As much as I despised the thought of going down lawn jockey lane again,
the meeting was probably the Bollans crying uncle. “About damn time,” I muttered. While I didn’t know Attorney Mertzberger, I knew a lot about him thanks to at least fifty billboards lining I-95 and his hideous television ads that provided a phone number and claimed it would be answered by a lawyer, not a paralegal. Needless to say, I resented the implication.

Dumping the file on the coffee table and gingerly putting my briefcase with my laptop on the sofa, I went back into my bedroom and undressed, then put on a soft, cotton pair of boxers and a cami. After pulling my hair up, I washed my face. Mistake. Without concealer I looked like a blond raccoon. I swore I’d make it an early night.

Of course thinking of night only steered me toward the image of Liam locked in a five-by-seven cell. “The dog!” I thought aloud. His poor dog couldn’t go two days without food and water. Only problem? I’m afraid of dogs, even the little lap kind that are forced to wear silly bows in their fur.

Against every intuitive bone in my body, I picked up my phone and called Ashley. She grabbed it on the third ring. “Is there news?” she asked.

“No. How did you know it was me?”

“I programmed your information into my smartphone. Oh, when you have a minute I need a picture of you to add to the contact number so your face will show whenever you call.”

Was she serious? Well, I didn’t want to be on her friends and family list. “I’ll get on that. Listen, Liam’s dog—”

“Already taken care of. I went over and brought Perry Mason to my house. He can stay here until you get Liam out of jail.”

“It’s not an imposition?”

“Of course not. I’ll do anything for Liam.”

I had to ask that question, I thought as I made a gun out of my fingers and shot myself in the brain. “Okay, then.”

“Honey, what can I do to help?”

I swallowed the desire to tell her to stop calling me honey. “Do you happen to know Stan Cain’s widow?”

“Yes, why?”

“Think you could get her to talk to me?”

“Sure. I mean, I think so.”

“Ashley, see if you can arrange things for after five
P.M.
tomorrow. Okay?”

“Yeah, but what does Stan have to do with José’s murder?”

“Probably nothing. I just need some more details.”

“I’ll call you first thing in the morning.”

Oh joy.
“Thanks. And, Ashley?”

“Yeah.”

“Do me a favor. Keep this between us. Don’t mention it to Liam or Tony.”

“Why?”

Because I’ll get fired.
“Because I don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up.”

“I see. I’ll talk to you soon. Oh, Finley?”

“Yes?”

“Isn’t there some way to get Liam out of jail? Bond or something? He can be released to me.”

Not comforting. “We can’t do anything until he’s arraigned. If he gets bail, it will probably be high.”

“I’ll find some way to raise the money.”

“Great. Talk to you later.”

Finally some peace and quiet. And eBay.

After several minutes of surfing, I found a few more links for sale. I had a good shot at all five of them since most people went for connected links. Since I was building my watch from the ground up, I’d take whatever I could get. I placed my bids, then went to the “my auctions” page. I was still the high bidder with twenty-seven hours to go. However, the auto-bid feature had already jumped to eighteen hundred. Someone had joined the bid.
Damn.

I got a glass of wine, then settled in on the sofa. I turned on and muted the television. I wanted to catch the evening news, just so I’d know how bad the spin would get. My mother would no doubt be watching, so I needed to be well armed for our next battle. I next focused on the Bollan file. I had all the information—plats, surveys, etc. In addition, I had the agreement Ellen had already drafted granting Sleepy and Wanda Jean five acres of land at the southwest portion of the property. Hopefully I’d just waltz in, meet Mertzberger, get some signatures, and be on my way. Only I was running low on hope when it came to the Bollans.

Going back to my laptop, I thought I might start making a list of potential suspects in the Lopez shooting. All I knew right then was that several sheriffs’ deputies might be involved. I typed out my theory. But it would require a larger cast of characters. A property clerk. The fingerprint analyst. It would literally take a village to arrange a crime of this magnitude.

I was discouraged. Maybe I was looking at it the wrong way. Maybe the crime didn’t start with the PBSO. Maybe it started with the Latin Bandits. I looked up a few articles. They were
really bad guys, and a few girls. Into drug trafficking, the sale of illegal assault weapons, and suspects in at least a dozen shootings. Not exactly the kind of people I wanted to meet in a dark alley—or a brightly lit one, for that matter.

So, I decided, I had option a: corrupt cops, or option b: violent gang members.

An option c would be nice.

I yawned, then checked my e-mail since the news didn’t start for another twenty minutes and I was struggling to stay awake. It was a bunch of nothing, really. Mostly e-mails from online stores advertising sales or containing links to coupons. I did have some Facebook messages but I just wasn’t feeling the social media thing right now.

There was a message from Izzy with the subject “urgent.” I clicked it open.

Sorry, Finley, but can we go shopping Friday night instead of Saturday? One of my friends offered to take me out on her boat on Saturday. If you can’t, I totally understand. Izzy

I wrote her back letting her know that the switch was fine. Especially since I didn’t know if Liam would still be in jail in two days. If he was still incarcerated, I’d probably have to work out some sort of visitation plan with Ashley.

I opened the last e-mail and it contained a photograph and three words. The picture was of me leaving the surf shop earlier in the evening. The text read:
WANNA DIE, BITCH?

The wrong relationship will make you feel more alone than you did when you were single.