Hush (44 page)

Women. They just didn‘t understand these things.

For reasons he couldn‘t explain, he thought back to the trashy girl with the eyeliner and the lollipops at the Seventh Heaven motel. She gave him the shivers, all right. Probably had six kinds of STDs, but truth to tell, Kirk was kinda jonesin‘ for her. She was invading his dreams, and twice over the course of this last week he‘d woken up with a boner to end all boners thinking about her sucking on Mr. Happy the way she‘d gone after that lollipop.

And things were crap with the band anyway. Jarrod was in a shithole of a marriage and though he wanted out, was that really gonna happen? Besides, Kirk had already made his plans before Jarrod‘s announcement that he and the Fucking Bitch were through, so . . . it was too bad, but it was what it was. Kirk was leaving. He‘d paid the rent on this rathole through the month, so he could just go.

Except Juliet had practically ripped him a new one. So goddamn mad he thought she was going to foam at the mouth. He‘d kinda gotten mad right back for a minute or two, but then he‘d thought, fuck it. Let her scream. She was one whacked-out piece of tail, that was for sure. But she‘d slept with every guy he could name except maybe Jarrod. She was a groupie‘s groupie. Did she really think any guy would take her seriously?

And Suzette . . . well, she wasn‘t the slut Juliet was, but she was weird city. Pasting on a sweet face while sinking the knife in your back. Honest to God, it made Kirk want to shudder all over. What the fuck was Galen thinking? ‘Course, a guy could forgive a lot of things if the chick was good in the sack. Maybe Suzette knew more about sex than she let on.

But then, the heart wanted what the heart wanted, or so he‘d been told. Mostly he kinda thought the dick wanted what the dick wanted, but that wasn‘t true for girls, so he‘d allow the heart thing might be a better way to look at it. A more overall way.

Kirk headed to the living room, if it could be called that. Pretty much a place he just dumped stuff. His front door was wide open. Juliet hadn‘t even bothered to close it. ―Well, shit.‖ He closed it, but not before looking down at his 4x4 in the parking lot below.

His heart clutched and then he went hot, then cold.

That fucking bitch had scratched a line across his new paint job! Okay, four-year-old paint job. But she‘d
ruined
it!

For a moment he couldn‘t decide what to do first. Go kill Juliet. Throw some things in his car and get the hell out of Dodge. Scrounge up some breakfast. Or go back to bed.

After a moment of serious reflection, he chose bed.

―I‘ll go see Yvette,‖ Danner told Coby.

He was lazily drawing figure eights down her bare back as weak sunlight came through her bedroom blinds. Early morning. She felt like she hadn‘t slept at all, which was because she hadn‘t slept at all. Not that she was complaining.

―I‘ll get on those security tapes, but there‘s nothing to do on the Lloyd case but wait for someone to spot Sheila,‖ he said. ―At least I have time to concentrate on Annette‘s homicide.‖

―It‘s Sunday,‖ Coby protested. ―Don‘t you get any time off?‖

―I‘ve been off the last few days,‖ he answered.

―Really. What it‘s like when you‘re on, then? Do you work double-speed?‖

He was nuzzling her neck, just below her ear, sending shivers along her nerves. She could feel him smile. ―Sometimes,‖ he admitted. ―And then sometimes I can do nothing for days.‖

―Let me know when one of those stretches pops up.‖

With that he reluctantly pulled away from her, got off the bed, and began searching for his clothes. ―I‘m going to try to see Yvette early,‖ he said, pulling on his pants. ―Sunday morning‘s a good time to find people home unless they‘re early churchgoers, but I just don‘t see Yvette fitting that mold.‖

Coby nodded. ―Think she did kill Annette and she‘s just trying to excuse herself? Now I‘m wondering if I was played a little by her last night.‖

―Maybe she‘ll say something to me that‘ll confirm her involvement one way or another.‖

―Want me to go with you?‖

―No! I want you to stay right here and wait for me to get back.‖

―Sounds like a good idea,‖ she said with a smile. ―Not a practical one, but a good idea nonetheless.‖

―A great idea.‖ He finished dressing and gazed at her in the bed. ―I‘ll call Detective Clausen at the TCSD today, or maybe tomorrow. Monday. See what ‘s gone down the last week.‖

―I can tell you. They‘re checking into my dad. He‘s their number one suspect.‖ Coby struggled to her elbows, then swung her legs over the side of the bed and grabbed her robe, sliding her arms down the sleeves.

―That‘s routine. He‘s the husband.‖ Danner headed out of the bedroom and Coby followed, leaning against the jamb between her bedroom and living space. She didn‘t want him to go.

―But for us, it‘s just been Yvette looking guiltier and guiltier,‖ she said instead. ―She probably is guilty. It just seemed like blaming Yvette was too easy. But if it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, most often it‘s a duck. Yvette‘s been the most likely suspect in Annette‘s death all week. That hasn‘t changed.‖

―Let‘s hope she gives something away.‖

―Don‘t bet on it. We‘re talking about Yvette.‖

For an answer he crossed to her once more, pulling her into his arms. ―And you‘re going to stay here and out of harm‘s way.‖

She was snuggled against his chest. ―Nice try. But I‘m going over to Lovejoy‘s. I want to talk to Jean-Claude, and maybe Juliet will be working in the tearoom. I want her to know that I know she was the note writer. See what she says.‖

She felt him tense. ―It‘s all I can do not to tell you to be careful again.‖

―I‘m fine. Good-bye,‖ she said, kissing him.

―I‘ll call you later.‖

The door shut behind him. Coby went straight for the coffeemaker, putting it together, reluctantly setting aside her memories of the night before with Danner, memories that jolted her when she moved a certain way, reminding her at muscle level the extent of their lovemaking. And that made her smile.

An hour later she was showered once again, dressed, her hair dried, makeup applied. It was still too early to go to Lovejoy‘s, so she sat down at her kitchen table with sliced apples, cheese, and toast and thought about everything that had transpired the last week, starting with Annette‘s birthday party and murder, and ending with Hank‘s hit-and-run and trip to the hospital.

And twice someone had targeted Coby, first to warn her, second to do her serious harm.

What do I know that I don’t know I know
?

She‘d been wrong when she‘d believed Annette and Yvette were arguing over Dana; they‘d been arguing over DNA. Hank Sainer‘s DNA. But that was almost common knowledge now, so it was unlikely someone was trying to stop Coby from revealing Hank was Benedict‘s father. And anyway, that someone wasn‘t Yvette. At least, she hadn‘t been the person who‘d tried to run over Coby in the parking lot last night.

What about the envelope with the swatch of hair?

Yes, Coby had discovered it at the party, but it, too, was common knowledge now. And the prevailing theory—that it was Lucas‘s and someone had cut it from him after his fall—wasn‘t a reason to go after Coby, either.

Danner had posed that the attacks had started after her trip to the Joker to see McKenna‘s act, but maybe it was something else? Something she‘d learned, seen, or knew from earlier in the week?

Or maybe it was simple craziness on the part of the attacker?

She shook her head, pushing those thoughts aside. Went back to the party. Who was there?

And what were they driving?

Faith has a white BMW.

That thought sent a cold jolt through Coby‘s system. What did Faith‘s taillights look like?

she wondered. She thought hard. She was so bad with cars, but no . . . no, they weren‘t from a BMW, she realized with relief. If her memory was correct.
If
. . . She knew as time passed, recall became corroded, which was why eyewitness testimony was so unreliable.

With that thought she grabbed pad and pen and sketched out what she remembered from the rear of the car that had tried to run her down. Looking at her crude drawing, she made a face, hoping it was accurate, hoping it was enough.

Danner had run reports on all of the people who‘d been at Annette‘s party, gathering as much information as he could on each and every one of them. He had most of those reports in a folder in his car; he certainly had Yvette‘s. After scanning it, he drove to her apartment building around nine o‘clock, checked the plates on the black Ford Focus in the parking lot, saw it was hers, and was satisfied she was home.

He walked up an outside stairway desperately in need of some maintenance; the paint was worn off the steps and there was enough sway in the handrail for OSHA to issue a safety citation.

At Yvette‘s door, he knocked and waited. Knocked again. Nothing. He pressed the bell but no sound emanated from within. The doorbell was either unhooked or out of order for some other reason. When he‘d given her enough time, he called her cell phone. He thought he heard it ringing inside the unit but no one picked up.

―Yvette, it‘s Danner Lockwood,‖ he said to her voice mail. ―I‘m outside your door. Would you please call me?‖ He left his number, then hung up. After waiting around awhile longer, he reluctantly got back in his Wrangler. Not much more he could do legally.

Checking over his information, he realized he didn‘t have anything on Edward Gerald, so he headed back to the station, idly wondering if Yvette was actively avoiding him. As he walked to his desk he was surprised to see Metzger already there. ―You really can‘t stay away,‖ he said.

She snorted. ―Just like you.‖

―Someone tried to run down Coby Rendell last night,‖ he said.

That caught her attention and she gave him a hard look. ―Another hit-and-run?‖

―Mmm-hmm.‖

―Busy night. Lloyd‘s suicide . . . the Sainer hit-and-run . . . now your girlfriend.‖

There were no secrets between them, but he knew she was baiting him a little. Normally he would go back and forth with Elaine, but after last night, he didn‘t feel the need. ―Yep,‖ he said.

―My girlfriend.‖

―My, my, my,‖ Metzger muttered. Then: ―Why are they after her?‖

―Good question. One I plan to find an answer for.‖

―There are only three reasons for homicides,‖ Elaine started, but Danner had heard her theories many, many times and knew where this was going.

―Money, sex, basic overall craziness,‖ he said before she could.

―Sometimes I forget you‘re paying attention. So, which one is it in this case?‖

Danner thought about that long and hard. ―Not money . . . there‘s some sex involved . . . but it‘s kind of all out there now. Nothing that involves Coby.‖

―Uh-oh,‖ Metzger said.

Danner didn‘t respond. He knew what she was thinking: that left overall craziness, and of the three, it was the least easiest to predict and understand, and more often than not, bad things happened before the suspect was found out and caught.

It was around noon when Coby showed up at Lovejoy‘s, parking her car in the lot across the street. She hurried up the steps to the hotel‘s front doors and recognized Nicholette behind the beveled glass panels, standing at the counter and talking to Jean-Claude.

―Nicholette,‖ she greeted her as she entered.

Nicholette turned, and Jean-Claude glanced her way, looking drawn. Seeing it was Coby, Nicholette seemed to want to say something, but then she firmly locked her jaw, as if afraid of spilling more secrets.

―What‘s wrong?‖ Coby asked, picking up on it.

―What isn‘t?‖ Nicholette countered. ―Hank Sainer‘s in a coma and the police are taking the Lovejoy‘s accounts apart, as if the hotel were the reason someone murdered my sister!‖

―It‘s what they do,‖ Coby said, hearing an echo of what Danner had said in her words.

Her answer did not appease Nicholette, who looked at Coby as if she were a traitor. The easy camaraderie they shared at work had all but disappeared. Lines were being drawn.

―I asked her to come over,‖ Jean-Claude said abruptly. Then, ―Thank you, Nikki.‖

It was her cue to leave and she took it, nodding curtly and walking away on stiff legs.

Coby glanced over to the tearoom. ―Is Juliet working today?‖

―Why?‖ Jean-Claude‘s dark eyes were shuttered.

―I‘d like to talk to her.‖

―Suzette‘s there this morning. Juliet will be in later.‖

―Who was working last night?‖ Coby thought to ask. ―We were all at the Cellar together,‖

she explained, seeing Jean-Claude react as if she were interrogating him and his daughters.

―William filled in,‖ he said, referring to the man whom she‘d met the last time she‘d been here, the assistant manager, William Johnson.

―Is he the manager now? At least temporarily?‖

―He has been. . . .‖ Jean-Claude looked back uncertainly, toward the door to the inner offices, and Coby‘s gaze followed his.

And then Dave came through the door, followed by Faith, who, upon seeing Coby, said,

―So, you heard, huh?‖

―No,‖ Dave said at the same time Coby asked, ―About Hank?‖

―No, no. That‘s a tragedy. I hope he‘s okay. I meant about me being the new manager,‖ she said. ―Or at least I‘m training to be.‖ She came around the counter and reminded her father, ―I‘ve got to give some notice, so it won‘t be this week. Probably late next week.‖

He nodded.

Coby looked from Faith to Dave, and then to Jean-Claude and back to Faith, who was now heading briskly toward the front doors, as if she couldn‘t wait to get away from her. But Coby was having none of that. She darted after Faith and caught her outside, on the hotel‘s front steps. Faith was looking toward the sky and said, ―Maybe it‘s stopped raining for a while, though the fog hasn‘t helped.‖

―You‘re quitting your job to come work at Lovejoy‘s?‖

Faith sighed and forced herself to meet Coby‘s accusing gaze. ―Is that a problem for you?‖

―It‘s just . . . so . . .‖

―Say it,‖ Faith told her, her expression tightening.

―I don‘t know. Fast. Wrong, maybe.‖