Booby Trap (13 page)

On my way back
to the office, I called Greg and told him what had happened, including my suspicion that Kirk Thomas was hiding something. Greg, in turn, told me he’d located Gabby’s parents. They’d divorced shortly after Gabby’s death and gone their separate ways. The father had moved out-of-state, but the mother was still living in Pasadena. He said she would see us tonight around eight thirty.

I made one more personal call—this one to Zee, to find out if she had heard about Amber’s death. She had. La Tanya had called her as soon as she’d found out. Zee was shaken and now convinced that Dr. Eddy had something to do with the killings. She wasn’t as ready to believe my gut instinct as I was. But, much to my surprise, it seemed someone else was interested in my gut.

Upon returning to the office, I had found plopped in the middle of my messy desk a greasy, sugary apple fritter, though at this moment, it hardly looked yummy. My stomach was knotted with worry and suspicion. Stuck to the pastry bag was a green sticky note in Steele’s handwriting. It said,
Re: the news today, you’ll need your strength.

“Ass.” I said the word out loud and not without some amusement.

“That’s Mr. Ass to you.”

My head shot up to find Steele in his usual lurking stance against my doorjamb, hands stuck into his designer suit pockets. How does he sneak up on me so easily? It’s unnerving.

He looked at his expensive watch in an exaggerated manner. “Looks like that’s going to be your lunch, Grey, not breakfast.” When I didn’t answer, he added, “Jill told me you came in, then left like a bat out of hell for the hospital. Everything okay?”

I pushed the fritter aside. “Someone I know tried to kill herself.”

“From the word
tried
, I’ll assume she didn’t succeed.”

I shook my head. “It was the sister of the last murdered girl. Not today’s, but that nurse from Hoag.”

Steele stepped inside my office and shut the door, something he seldom did. Usually closed-door conferences were held in his more spacious office, not my cramped and cluttered closet. When Steele sat in the chair across from my desk and settled in comfortably, I really got worried.

“You’re in way over your stumpy little head.” He crossed one leg over the other as casually as if he were discussing sports scores. “You know that, don’t you?”

“I’m always in over my stumpy little head.”

He chuckled.

“And the last time my stumpy little head got involved, it saved your Armani-covered ass.”

He digested that information, then smiled. “Okay, out with it. It’s time to tell me who your friend thinks is the Blond Bomber.”

Once I shoved aside the urge to tell my boss to bite me, I considered telling Steele about Brian Eddy.

“Is this covered by attorney-client privilege?” I asked.

“You’re not my client.”

Yanking open my tote bag, I pulled a dollar out of my wallet and tossed it across the desk. “There’s your retainer.”

Steele picked up the dollar, folded it as neatly as a clean towel, and shoved it into one of his pockets. He
actually
took it.

“That was an exaggerated gesture, Steele, not a real down payment for your services.”

With a jerk of his chin, he indicated the pastry bag. “That heart-stopping brick of grease and dough cost me two dollars. It’s only worth a buck, at best. I’ll consider your dollar a rebate.”

Geez. But still, I really did want his input. Steele had a mind like no other I’d come across. Not even Seth Washington, sharp as he was, could match the quality of Steele’s lumpy gray matter.

I took a deep breath, which included the scent of sickly sweet, fried dough. “My friend thinks the killer is ….” I paused.

“You waiting for a drum roll, Grey?”

“You just have to promise me, Steele, that you won’t run out that door and cause trouble with this information. No matter how good your intentions might be.”

He raised an eyebrow in my direction. It was a gesture intended to be as menacing as Zee’s stance.

“Okay, okay.” I sighed. “Brian Eddy,” I blurted. “My friend thinks Brian Eddy might be the Blond Bomber.” Then I quickly added, “But I don’t.”

Steele uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. “Dr. Brian Eddy? Jane Sharp’s husband?”

That caught me by surprise. Most people would have said that the other way around. Although Jane Sharp was well-known in Southern California, her celebrity status was not nearly as high as her husband’s. Most would connect Jane Sharp with the more famous Brian Eddy, not the doctor with the decorator.

“You know Jane Sharp?”

Steele shrugged slightly. “She decorated my condo. This was back before she became such a hot shot.”

I’d been to Steele’s condo in Laguna Beach. It was stunning, masculine yet gorgeous, with every detail painstakingly considered. It didn’t surprise me to learn he’d had it done professionally.

I studied Steele, thinking about his penchant for bedding just about any woman who crossed his path. Any extremely attractive woman, that is.

“I’ve never met Jane Sharp or even seen a photo of her. Did you find her attractive?”

Steele shot me a sly smile. “Are you asking me if I’ve slept with her?”

“I’m asking you what she looks like.”

Steele considered his answer before giving it. “She’s incredibly beautiful, but very cold and calculating. At least she was when she was doing my place.”

“And you were doing her?”

“If you know the answer, Grey, why ask the question?”

Instead of shooting off a smart comeback, I did some quick math in my head. I knew that Steele had purchased his condo in Laguna Beach four, maybe five years ago. So that would have been about the time he’d had the affair with Jane Sharp. I also wondered how many other clients she’d helped launch new digs and if Dr. Eddy had also been having ongoing affairs during this time. Another thought crossed my mind.

“During your affair with Jane Sharp, did she mention anything about her marriage to Dr. Eddy?”

“I never said I had an affair with Jane Sharp.”

It was my turn to raise an eyebrow.

Steele chuckled but at least had the decency to look away briefly before turning his attention back to our conversation. “As I recall, I didn’t pursue her, she pursued me. It was almost as if the sex came with the decorating services. As soon as the job was over, so were the extra benefits.” There was a pause. “Remember my friend Stuart Weinstock?”

“The writer? The one who lives in Carlsbad?”

He gave a slight nod. “Well, it was the same with him. I referred her to him. After she decorated his new home, he sent me several bottles of very expensive wine.” Steele grinned. “Guess that makes me a pimp, of sorts.”

“Among other things.”

“Give me some credit, Grey. I’ve never referred her to any of my married friends.”

“But what about her marriage? Did she ever say anything about it?”

“She didn’t seem all that concerned with it.” He recrossed his legs and settled back to think. “Once I asked her about it. She claimed her husband didn’t care, said they didn’t have sex very often. That was about it.”

“Did you ever meet Dr. Eddy?”

“Yes.” Steele again nodded as he spoke. “Once, at a charity tennis event about two years ago. Seemed like a nice enough guy. Very quiet. Lots of gorgeous women hanging around, wanting to talk to him, but he seemed rather embarrassed by it all, not enjoying it like most men would.”

“How did Jane react to all the attention her husband received?”

“Hard to say if she even noticed. Rumor was, while the rest of us were playing tennis, Jane had her own game going on—mostly in the backseat of a Jaguar.”

“With a valet parking attendant?”

Steele let out a short, loud laugh. “God, no! Not Jane Sharp. It was the owner of the Jag, some film producer whose wife was drunk at the bar. I believe Jane was decorating their beach house at the time.”

I shook my head, thankful I didn’t run with the rich and decadent.

Steele started to say something but stopped before the words came out. I watched the struggle in his eyes as he weighed whether or not to tell me what was on his mind.

“Out with it, Steele. I can tell you’re about to tell me something that might be important.”

He tossed me a crooked smile. “I was just thinking about Jane Sharp.”

“And?”

“And, I knew her years ago. Back in college.”

“You went to school together?”

“Sort of. I was a few years behind her. I didn’t know her personally, but I knew who she was. She’s changed a lot in many ways. In others, not so much.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that back then she wasn’t such a knockout. In fact, she was an ugly duckling—but very popular with the guys, if you get my drift.”

“She put out?”

“Not indiscriminately. More like she used sex to gain the popularity her looks couldn’t get her, like a desperate plan to gain acceptance. She went after only the big-shot jocks and important professors. It was well known that you had to be somebody to get into her panties.”

He paused and fiddled with imaginary lint on the leg of his trousers. “Her senior year, Jane had a total mental breakdown.”

I gasped slightly, and Steele glanced up at me before continuing.

“She’d fallen in love with one of her playmates, a football player heading for the NFL after graduation. But he dumped her and married the campus beauty queen.” He uncrossed his legs and straightened them out in front of him. “Jane created a scene, which included going public about flings with married professors. There was quite a scandal. Rumor was, she ended up being hospitalized with a complete breakdown. She never came back to school that I know of.”

“And now she’s still hopping from bed to bed?”

“Seems that way. But now she’s stunning and accomplished and married to a celebrity surgeon. It’s everything she went after in school.” Steele scoffed. “Guess it’s a case of be careful what you wish for.”

“Or that looks and money can’t buy happiness.”

I wondered if Lil knew about her daughter-in-law’s past and present activities and decided probably not. It also made me wonder who started cheating first in the marriage and why. Did Jane do what she did to get her husband’s attention, or was she unable to control herself and her husband suffered in silence about it and sought his own comfort?

“Steele, do you think that maybe, just maybe, if Dr. Eddy is the Blond Bomber, that he’s murdering his wife over and over with each victim? After all, the bodies had the word
whore
written across them.”

“Hmmm. That’s a possibility. She certainly fits the physical description, at least now. But why not just kill her instead of other women?”

“Maybe because she’s the mother of his children?” It was just a thought, but if Brian Eddy was killing his wife over and over by killing other women, he had to have a reason for not killing her specifically.

I filled Steele in on what I’d learned about Amber and Dr. Eddy, my conversation online with Dr. Eddy, and what Dev had told me about the Luke murder. I also told him why Lisa tried to kill herself and about Kirk Thomas.

Steele sat at attention. “So there are two different murderers roaming the area?”

“That’s what the police think now.”

My phone rang. It was Jill looking for Steele, letting him know his lunch appointment was waiting for him in the lobby. I relayed Steele’s message that he’d be out in a few minutes. Steele got up to leave, but I could tell he wanted to stay and hash out the mound of information.

“Dev wouldn’t tell me why they suspected Laurie Luke’s murder was a copycat, but the message on the new body seemed to strengthen their suspicions.” I fiddled with a pen, doodling on a yellow pad of paper while I talked. “Thing is, even with what you’ve told me about Jane Sharp and what I know already about Brian Eddy’s activities, I still don’t think he killed Amber or those other women.”

Steele looked at me with interest. “Give me a quick version of why. Then maybe we can talk more about it later, if you’d like.”

“Dev said the medical examiner put Amber’s death between eight and midnight. I was chatting online with Dr. Eddy from about nine until ten thirty. That wouldn’t give him enough time to kill Amber and stash her body in Laguna Canyon, would it?” I paused to do more calculations. “It wouldn’t make sense to dump a body at eight—still too many cars and people about at that hour, even in the canyon area. Not dark enough.”