Dangerous Bond (Jamie Bond Mysteries Book 4) (10 page)

We stepped down a short hallway to the left of the front door. Sam hit the bathroom while I rummaged through a linen closet. Instead of just holding towels, sheets, and washcloths, there was a huge, gray plastic bin on the bottom shelf. I pulled it out and popped the top. It was full of naked-women magazines. Dang, this man loved his centerfolds. I flipped one open and held it up. The blonde model wore brown cowboy boots, a beige Stetson, and a smile. A staple had pierced her navel, and I suddenly knew her as intimately as her gynecologist.

Sam stepped into the hall. "If my son has seen those, I'm gonna kill his father."

I smirked, put the magazine back, and pushed the bin into the closet.

"Anything out of the ordinary in the bathroom?" I asked.

She shook her head. "No, just shaving cream and toothpaste gunk in the sink. He never remembered to rinse."

I paused for a moment. I contemplated squeezing her hand or offering a hug. She wasn't a touchy-feely woman, at least not with her girlfriends, and I didn't want to intrude on her space. But she looked like she wanted to cry or scream and was carefully holding it all inside.

We headed to the bedroom. It was a small room with barely enough space for a full-sized bed, a couple of end tables, and a tall armoire. The navy comforter was half on, half off the bed, and the light-blue sheets beneath were rumpled. The closet door stood open. I stepped over to it while Sam opened the armoire. The closet held a row of hung pants, shirts, and a few jackets. On the floor were a scattering of shoes, from flip-flops to work boots, dress shoes, and sneakers.

"Crap," Sam whispered.

I turned and saw that she stood at the foot of his bed. On the floor, between the bed and the window, sat a cell phone.

My stomach flipped. It was definitely out of place, and coupled with the almost eaten breakfast, my gut was now screaming that something had happened here. Something not good.

"Is that Julio's?" I asked.

She nodded, and her worried expression deepened. "He'd never leave without it."

I stepped over to her and put an arm around her shoulders. "It's okay. It may not be a big deal. Maybe he thought he smelled gas and ran out."

Of course, that didn't explain why he hadn't come back once he realized it was a false alarm.

She gave me an
are you serious?
look. Okay, so maybe it wasn't one of my better pep talks, but I was nervous and didn't always think clearly when concerned.

"Maybe we'll get some insight from his phone. His last call or text."

I waited for her to nod before I let her go and walked to the phone. I bent down to pick it up, and that was when I noticed several drops of blood on the beige carpet beside Julio's lifeline.

Sam and I took Julio's cell and headed to the office, where Sam promptly plugged it into a charger. Julio's phone was dead, but hopefully when it had enough charge to turn on, we would find some information on it that would lead to Julio's whereabouts.

I was about to head to my office, when Mrs. Claremont stepped through the frosted glass doors. While still polished looking in a cream-colored pantsuit, her expression was full of frown lines. I hadn't expected to see her smiling, but she seemed more upset than she had the other night. If that was possible. If she was innocent of Roger's murder, dealing with the police and the media on top of her grief must've been unbearable.

Without a word I led her into my office and motioned to a chair across from my desk. I shut my door and sat in my own chair. "How are you?" I asked.

"A wreck. The police let me go a few hours ago."

"That's good. It means they don't have enough evidence to charge you." Which didn't mean she wasn't guilty, I reminded myself.

She nodded. "Yeah, my lawyer found out that the ballistics report came back. The bullets from Roger's shooting were a match to a previous crime. The same gun had been used in a robbery at a convenience store, so they had to let me go. Too much—what did my attorney call it?" She wrinkled up her nose trying to recall. "'Reasonable doubt.'"

I perked up. Things were looking better for Bristol already. "That's good news. They have a murder weapon with no connection to you."

"I guess." She lowered her head and sniffled. Her body posture was different today. Her shoulders were slumped forward, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, and she leaned slightly forward so her elbows stabbed the middle of her thighs. Despite being released from police custody, she seemed to be caving in on herself.

I pushed a box of tissues to the edge of my desk so she could reach them.

She grabbed one and dabbed the corners of her eyes.

"Do they know who owns the gun?" I asked.

She nodded, her eyes coming up to meet mine. Despite the tears still brimming, I could see a flash of anger. "Heavy Cash."

Whoa. I leaned back in my seat. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised. The man looked like a walking crime scene. "Do you know if they've arrested Heavy Cash yet?"

"No, they haven't. Apparently he's in Las Vegas playing DJ at a private party at one of the big casino hotels. ADA Prince said he would fly there to question him but that ownership of the gun wasn't enough for an arrest."

My body tensed at the mention of Aiden's name. I'd pushed our disastrous date from my mind the best I could. Okay, so that was a bold-faced lie. Memories and anxious thoughts had crept into my mind every few hours, but I had managed to push them aside so I could breathe easier and focus on the numerous other things on my plate. The job came first. It always had, and it always would. Besides, this wasn't just me posing in a bikini on a tropical beach to make a living. I had employees, and they depended on their paychecks.

Bristol cleared her throat, and I figuratively shook my thoughts from my head.

She leaned closer to my desk. "I'm worried they still consider me to be a suspect. The way they kept saying the gun wasn't conclusive…" She trailed off and pursed her lips together, making a small spot of lipstick bleed over her lower lip. "I need you to keep investigating. Find something conclusive that tells them I didn't do it."

I nodded. Even though I wasn't sure that was the outcome I'd find. "Have you spoken with your husband's estate attorney yet?" I asked, watching her reaction.

She wrinkled her nose again. "I only spoke to him briefly."

"Did he mention anything about how Roger's estate would be divided?"

She shook her head. "He hasn't gotten into any details yet."

He was probably waiting to see if she'd be arrested and tried for Roger's death. I couldn't tell if she honestly knew nothing of her finances or if she was lying. With her love of Gucci and pricey hair salons, you'd think she'd want to know about that sort of thing. I would.

And speaking of Lucerne's, I wasn't sure if I should mention her faulty alibi. If she thought I believed her, and if she trusted me, she was far more likely to show her hand and let something incriminating slip. I decided to let it go for now and tried a different tactic. "Where did Roger keep his financial information?"

She blinked at me and gave me a blank look. "Huh?"

"I mean, did he keep paper files or pay bills from his computer or have his accountant take care of it…"

"Oh." She paused for a moment, as if this was the first time she'd thought of any bills. "Um, I know he had an accountant take care of all the Hoagies royalties and stuff. But I saw him pay some bills on his laptop. Like credit cards and things."

I pursed my lips. "His laptop. Which the police probably have," I mused.

But Bristol shook her head. "No, my lawyer got it back. I guess the police already made copies of all his files." She paused. "Would you like to look at it?"

"Yes, please." If the police hadn't found a smoking gun on it, chances were we wouldn't either. But if they'd been focused on mounting evidence against Bristol, there was a chance they might have overlooked some information that pointed in a different suspect's direction.

Bristol nodded and stood up. "I'll have it dropped off. You will be able to help me, won't you, Ms. Bond?"

I got to my feet and opened my office door. "We will do everything in our power." I never made promises—it wasn't wise in this business.

As she walked out, my cell rang. It was Danny.

"Hey," I said as I shut my office door and returned to my seat.

"Hey yourself," he responded. "What are you up to?"

"Now?" I glanced around my empty office. "The usual."

"Saving the world one cheating husband at a time?" he joked.

"Very funny." But I found myself laughing before I could stifle it. "You know, it's not smart to make fun of a girl with a gun."

"Point taken." I could hear the grin in his voice. "Okay, let me make it up to you. Dinner tonight." The tone was light and casual, but there was a rawness to his voice, like he was pinning something on my answer.

"Um…wow, tonight?" I stalled.

"You busy?"

"N-no," I said. "I mean, I have a few cases I'm working—"

"How about eight?" he cut in.

I took a deep breath. "Okay," I finally said. What was I so worried about? It was dinner. I'd had dinner with Danny dozens of times. Probably hundreds in the years we'd known each other. It was no big deal.

"Great. How about we meet at Spinelli's?" he asked, picking one of my favorite Italian places.

"Okay," I squeaked out again. Clearly my voice hadn't gotten the no-big-deal memo.

"See you then, Bond."

"Okay." Apparently it was the only word I knew how to speak.

I hung up and let out a long, exaggerated sigh. Instead of sitting and worrying over what the night would hold, as if I could see the future, I headed up front to Maya.

"Do you have the itinerary on the other two women on the Hendersons' potential bride list?" I asked.

Maya clicked several keys on her computer, and then the printer began to hum. "I've tracked down the second one. Penny Samson. The third, Leonora Toll, I don't have yet."

"That's fine." I could only interview one woman at a time anyway.

As the printer spit out the sheet of paper, I went to Caleigh's office and knocked on the open door.

She looked up from a file she was reading. "Hey, Boss."

"Wanna go on another bride field trip?"

"Where to this time?" She grabbed her purse and stepped around her desk.

I looked down at the printout. According to Maya's intel, at this time of day, Penny Samson was at an address near the airport. "Near LAX," I said.

"What's out there?" Caleigh asked, standing to read over my shoulder.

Maya tapped her computer monitor. "According to Google Maps, it's a bunch of buildings. They look abandoned, but according to Penny's Facebook status, she spends every afternoon there with a small group of friends."

What the heck was this woman up to?

*   *   *

"Maybe they're a group of real estate agents and designers who purchase and flip buildings," Caleigh said. On the ride over, she'd conjured half a dozen reasons Penny Samson spent her afternoons over in this part of town. This was Caleigh's most logical, but the "maybe she's a spy in training" had been my favorite.

I took a left turn and saw several cars parked up ahead. "I get flipping houses, but buildings? What's the appeal there?"

Caleigh shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe it's a big market. I dated a real estate agent once, and he was loaded. Kinda boring though…we only went out once."

I parked beside a black SUV, unclipped my seat belt, and opened my car door. "Well, let's go check this out."

My heels wobbled on the gravel and small rocks that were scattered in the dirt. Not exactly the place for Jimmy Choos. They weren't new, since I couldn't afford them nowadays. They were left over from my modeling days and still in mint condition. I took exceptional care of my valuables.

There were two buildings before us, with about seven feet of space between them. One was four stories tall and the other three. The exterior of the four-story one seemed still intact, but there wasn't any glass in the windows anymore. The three story was similar except there was a chunk of wall missing on its second and third floors, which allowed a view inside. Considering it was partly exposed to the elements, it was relatively clean, minus some leaves and dirt.

A blond man in black shorts and a bright-blue hoodie stood on the ground several feet away. He had his back to us. He didn't turn at the sound of our footsteps. When I stood beside him, I realized why. He had ear buds in, and his eyes were shut. He stood perfectly still, all six feet of rock hard, sinewy muscles, and he appeared to be meditating rather than jamming to music.

I tapped his arm, and his eyes shot open. I smiled as an apology for how I'd scared him.

He glanced from me to Caleigh and then took out his ear buds.

"Sorry if I startled you," I said.

"No, it's fine. I was concentrating, and I tend to tune the world out." His accent was richly Australian, which made Caleigh stand up a little straighter beside me.

"You're from down under?" she asked with sheer delight in her eyes.

He bowed his head slightly. "Yes, ma'am."

Caleigh's smile turned into a frown. "'Ma'am?' How old do you think I am?"

That was never a safe question. It was like asking a man if he liked her outfit. Some things should never be asked.

I stepped forward. "Um, do you know Penny Samson? I was told I could find her here."

"Oh sure, mate. She's the purple one. Purple for Penny."

I glanced to Caleigh and raised an eyebrow. She looked as confused as I was. "Excuse me?"

He stuffed his ear buds into his pocket and switched off the iPod he had clipped to his jacket. "Some of us have difficulty remembering names, so we decided to nickname ourselves." He tugged at his hoodie. "I'm Blue Ben."

Caleigh and I said "Oh" in unison. Penny must've been wearing purple.

I glanced around but didn't see her or anyone else. "Where is she?"

"Warming up with everyone else." He glanced at his watch. "They'll be starting soon. You'll have to wait until they're done to talk to her. I need to be getting up there myself. Have a good day."

Warming up for what and where?

I didn't get a chance to actually ask though before he jogged off toward the three-story building. He disappeared out of view, and then I heard voices.

"I'm so confused," Caleigh said.

I looked up and caught a spot of yellow on the third floor. "What is that?" I said.

Caleigh and I moved back several feet, and a group of people, in varying colored tops, came into view. That was when I saw Purple Penny. I pointed to her location, but before Caleigh commented, Penny started running. And running. When she got close to the edge of the building, I assumed she'd take a sharp turn and run back the way she came. But instead, she turned onto the outside ledge of the building.

Caleigh gasped.

Whoa, what was Penny doing?

The ledge couldn't have been more than a foot wide. It went around the exterior of the building on all three floors, but parts of it had crumbled away in sections. Penny kept running, and when she reached a spot with no ledge, she jumped over it. Then she turned the corner and disappeared out of sight.

I held my breath, placed a hand on my chest, and prayed we wouldn't be calling 9-1-1.

The rest of her group took off running too—some stayed inside the building and others ran along the ledge as well. When Purple Penny came back into view, she was on the interior of the second floor. Suddenly footsteps sounded behind me.

We spun to see a man who appeared to be in his early thirties, in a red T-shirt and navy shorts, approaching. He had long, light-brown hair tied into a low ponytail. "I'm late," he said with a smile.