Death By High Heels (The Kim Murphy PI Series Book 1) (12 page)

I hoped Angie was okay. I felt responsible for her. If my questioning her had drawn the killer’s attention, I didn’t know how to live with that. Now I had to find a killer, but more importantly I had to find Angie, hopefully in one piece.

How the heck did I think I could do either of these things? So far all my efforts had turned up nothing but dead ends. That stupid voice in my head was back. Why the heck did it always sound like old Mr. Bicknell? He lived next door to us when I was growing up. He was a nice man, quick to smile, until his wife got sick. She died of cancer shortly after she was diagnosed. He died a year later from heart failure.

His adult sons, expecting to receive the bulk of their father’s estate, had been horrified to discover all they got was a hundred dollars each. When they found out their father left me a thousand dollars for taking in his trash cans each week, they became nasty. The rest of Mr. Bicknell’s estate, approximately two hundred thousand dollars, went to cancer research in memory of his late wife. According to my parents, the sons spent thousands of dollars they didn’t have on lawyers and lost. Mr. Bicknell would have been happy.

I had a couple of hours before my meeting with Brian’s parole officer so it was as good a time as any to get a new tire. There was a place down the street that was fast and inexpensive. Of course when I got there the man behind the counter tried to talk me into buying two tires because of balancing or something. I assured him the other tires were fine and I only needed the one. After a few back and forths the guy finally figured out I wasn’t shelling out the bucks for anything more than the basics. He told me to have a seat in the waiting area and they’d call my name when my car was ready. I sat on one of the plastic chairs furthest from the window then grabbed one of the books I’d gotten at the pharmacy from my purse. A guy in his thirties, blond hair with blue eyes, sat across from me, smirked at the book cover, and nudged his buddy in the arm. The two had a whispered conversation and chuckled. Men could be such jerks.

“You know if real men were as good as the men in these books, we wouldn’t need the books.”

“Maybe you haven’t found the right one. Give me a ride, you won’t be sorry.”

“Yeah, that’ll happen. Not.” I stuck my face in the book and forgot about the drooling idiots. I had just gotten to the part where the heroine realized she was in love with the jerk with a kind heart when someone called out my name. I sighed, stuck a piece of paper in the book to mark my page, and went over to the counter. I considered myself lucky to get out of the shop for under two hundred bucks. I drove next door to the car wash and had the fingerprint residue removed.

It was time to leave for my meeting with Brian’s parole officer. I didn’t think he’d have much information to give me but maybe he could tell me if Brian had been acting shady lately. Since Brian was already dead it couldn’t hurt. Not in the mood for music, I shut off the radio and made the drive in silence. I parked and went inside the gray brick building, where I gave my name to the man behind the bulletproof glass. A few minutes later I sat across from Mr. Coleman. I tried not to stare but it was hard to imagine this young man was responsible for keeping criminals in line. He looked better suited at the geek table, losing his lunch money to the school bully. Freckles covered the bridge of his nose and the apples of his cheeks. His brown eyes hid behind a pair of Harry Potter-like glasses.

“So, Miss Murphy, how can I help you today?” His voice squeaked like a teenage boy during puberty.

“I’m a private investigator, and I’ve been hired to look into Brian Lewis’s murder.”

“It was a shame to hear about Brian. I really thought he’d turned his life around.”

“So, you don’t believe he’d gotten involved in something illegal?” I asked.

“He was taking steps to get out of that lifestyle and to remove those in his life who were bad influences.”

“What kind of steps? Which people?”

“I’m afraid I can’t say.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

He remained silent.

“Did he say anything about someone bothering him or any trouble he was in?” I tried again.

“If he did, I couldn’t discuss that with you.”

“I’m trying to help his family find closure. If you know something that could help, please tell me.”

“Look, Miss Murphy, the only reason I agreed to meet with you was because I respect your father. I can assure you I’ve spoken with Detective Tompkins and told him everything I know.”

“And that would be?”

He smiled. “Nice try. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have another meeting.”

I stood up, frustrated. “Thanks for your time.” I opened the door. “You’ve been so helpful.” I turned to leave and came face to face with David Jenson. Swell.

David was once again staring at my chest. His eyes traveled up to my face and registered recognition. The leering on his face was replaced with a look of disgust. The feeling was mutual.

“Well, if it ain’t Miss Nosy.”

“Mr. Jenson, what an unpleasant surprise.”

“Don’t you have somethin’ better to do than hassling people?” he asked.

“I haven’t hassled anyone, yet.” With that I walked down the hall without looking back.

In the car, I leaned back against the headrest and closed my eyes. Where was Angie? Was she okay, or would hers be the next body the police found? I slammed my fist into the steering wheel, blasting the horn.

The third day on the case and all I had to show for it was a friend of Brian’s had been murdered and now his ex-girlfriend was missing. There was something else missing—clues. I had two hours before my meeting with Lindsay’s lawyer, Mr. Hardin. Needing to take a break from the case, I decided to be productive. I went grocery shopping at Wal-Mart, something that should never be done on an empty stomach. Half an hour and a full cart later, I checked out and began my least favorite part of shopping, putting the groceries in the car. I had just picked up two bags when an idiot wearing a t-shirt, shorts, and a ski mask grabbed my purse and turned to run, only to be yanked back, banging his leg on the cart.

What the idiot hadn’t realized was I always strapped my purse into the child restraint. Thank God it worked. I dropped the bag in my hands and grabbed for his shirt. He yanked out of my grip and took off running.

A young woman with a baby on her hip and toddler at her leg rushed over.

“Oh my gosh, are you all right? I called 9-1-1 and the police are on the way.”

Swell, just what I needed. Another woman, mid-thirties, hurried over. “I got the whole thing on my iPhone.”

Oh no, this was gonna end up on YouTube. Worse, my family and the entire police department were going to see this. Just freaking great, let the embarrassment begin. A patrol car pulled up, lights flashing, drawing the attention of everyone in the parking lot. Wonderful, even more people to witness my mortification.

As if I hadn’t spent enough time with Officer Duncan lately, he was the lucky officer to arrive. I was just pleasantly surprised when he didn’t bring up the dead guy in Lindsay’s apartment or ask me if I’d found another dead body. He took one look at me and whispered into his radio before making his way over to me. I filled out yet another police report while the two women filled out reports of their own. The one with the video of the incident agreed to go to the police station so they could make a copy of it. Not that it would help. I wouldn’t recognize my own brothers in that outfit.

“You really can’t stay out of trouble, can you?”

I turned toward the voice. “Grant, what the heck are you doing here? There aren’t any dead bodies.”

“Not yet.”

“Ha, ha, ha. Volunteering for the role of corpse?”

“I guess you’d be volunteering as the suspect.”

“You never answered my question.”

“I heard you were involved so I came by to see if you, I mean, if everything was okay.”

“Huh, wonder what little birdie whispered in your ear.” I watched Duncan and the helpful women go back to their cars and leave. “You must not be too busy if you have time to stop by and check on me or things.”

“I was off duty, and I wrapped up three cases this week.”

“Brian and Adam?” I asked.

“No. Those are the only ones still on my desk.”

“It sounds like you’ve been having as much luck as I have.”

“We can’t discuss this.”

“You know we should compare notes. It could be the only way to solve these cases.”

“You want me to compare notes with a possible suspect?” He smirked.

“Funny. You know I had nothing to do with their murders.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Good, it’s about time you stopped looking at me like I was a suspect.”

“I don’t see you as a suspect.”

“Oh really, then what do you see me as?”

Grant looked me up and down and I felt a familiar sensation in my female regions. I stepped back, not wanting to embarrass myself by pouncing on him, and stepped on one of the bags I had dropped and forgotten. I picked it up and looked inside.

“Gross.”

Grant walked over and peered inside. “Well, you can make scrambled eggs.”

“Yeah, but I’d rather they not be pre-scrambled.”

He chuckled. “That is pretty disgusting-looking.”

“So, do you want to follow me back to my place?”

Grant’s eyes locked on mine.

“I…I mean, I meant we could talk while I put what’s left of my groceries away,” I stammered.

“Are you sure that’s what you meant?”

“Huh, yes, of course.”

“Too bad. Well, I have things to do before heading into the office so try to stay out of trouble.” He turned and strode back to his car.

God, I was a horny idiot. At home I put the groceries away then had a turkey sandwich and a Diet Pepsi. With lunch over I got in my car and headed north on Main Street. Twenty minutes later I found an elusive empty parking space within walking distance to the Chase Bank building in downtown Dayton. Inside the elevator, I pressed the button for the eighth floor. The elevator began to move and my heart began to pound. Maybe I should have asked Mr. Hardin to meet me downstairs in the same restaurant where he met Lindsay. Oh well, it was too late now. I closed my eyes but that only made it worse.

Finally the doors opened on Mr. Hardin’s floor and I hurried into the hall. Glass doors led to a black-and-white marble floor reception area. Behind a large wood desk sat a young woman in her early twenties, with black hair and enough black eyeliner to be seen from the International Space Station.

I told her my name and was told to have a seat in one of the red and chrome chairs. A few minutes later, I followed Mr. Hardin’s assistant, a woman in her fifties, her blonde hair graying at the temples, down a hallway with purple walls and carpet. At the end of the hall she ushered me into her boss’s office and left without another word.

“Good afternoon, Miss Murphy. Please have a seat.”

Mr. Hardin resembled the few pictures I found of him on the web. He was six feet tall, bald, with brown eyes. Not exactly the type I would have expected Lindsay to supposedly be in love with. Everyone knew Barbie belonged with Ken, not Dr. Phil.

“Thank you, Mr. Hardin, for seeing me on short notice.”

“Of course, any friend of Lindsay’s so to speak.”

Friends? Was he kidding? Evidently not. “Actually, I’m here to discuss the cases I’m working on.”

“Yes, well, as I’m sure you know, I can’t discuss my clients. Also, anything we discuss here I expect to be covered under a confidentiality agreement between us.”

With that he slid two documents and a pen across the desk at me.

“Take your time. If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Boy, he wasn’t joking. “Before I sign this I need you to understand two things. First, the only thing I’m interested in is clearing Lindsay’s name. Second, if I find out anything the police need to know, I will take it straight to them.”

“Good, then we’re on the same page.”

“Okay, so let’s get to it.” I pulled a notebook and pen from my purse. “I need to know where you were Tuesday from the time you got up until five o’clock in the afternoon.”

“I was expecting that question. I got up at six in the morning, worked out, got ready for work. I spent about an hour in the office then headed to court. I was there for several hours then picked up Lindsay for a long lunch.”

“Where did the two of you have lunch?” I asked.

“At Le Petite.”

I looked up from the notebook. “Isn’t that in the lobby of the Miami River Hotel?”

“Yes, it is, and to answer your next question, yes, we went upstairs for a little over an hour before returning to the building.”

“Do you happen to have any proof that the two of you were together during the time of the victim’s murder?”

“Yes.” He opened the top desk drawer and pulled out several receipts. I took them from his hand. The receipts showed purchases at the hotel, the restaurant, and a gas station for the day and times but that didn’t mean that one of them didn’t slip off and kill Brian.

“So you and Lindsay were together that whole time?” I asked.