Die Smiling (9 page)

We shook, and I made sure my grip meant business. She didn't wince too badly, so I stood there and breathed in her extremely expensive and delectable perfume for a while. It was flowery and sweet, not roses but something else, peonies, or gardenias, maybe. After a second, I ventured, “Black around?”

“He had to take a private phone call in his office.”

“Well, please tell him I dropped by and that I need to talk to him. Police business. I'll be downstairs in the ballroom when he gets a minute.”

She was looking me over pretty good, too, but trying not to appear to. Curious what ga-ga entailed, I guess. “He said he wouldn't be long.”

“I don't have time to wait.” I turned and pressed the elevator button, wanting to escape before she kissed me on both cheeks, NYC style.

“Claire? I just heard you were here.”

That was Black's voice, and I turned and found him striding down the hall, grinning, looking really tall and hunky and very pleased to see me, if I say so myself. He was dressed in one of his dozens of six-thousand-dollar suits, no doubt hand tailored and hand delivered from some faraway hemisphere. This time it was black pinstripe with the snowiest white shirt ever laundered this side of Congress and a red tie that probably cost way too much for the scrap of material put into it. But he was all dimpled up with pleasure, his jet-black hair a little longish for him and slightly windblown from the rotors, and those pure blue eyes fastened on me, and me alone. So
ha ha
, Jude.

Unfortunately, I also felt that weakness in my knees he could bring out in me, so I locked them together and tried to be unaffected by his physical presence. After all, I hadn't seen him in two whole weeks, so give my hormones a break here. I felt rather awkward, especially when he grabbed me and gave me a big hug that brought me up on my toes, not that I didn't like it, but I put the brakes on before he could kiss me. After all, his former wife was inches away surrounded by her ritzy suitcases dripping their pricy logos and a cloud of Chanel.

“I should've called first,” I said pointedly.

“No, I'm glad you're here. I missed you like hell.”

Now Jude was the one looking awkward, but better her than me, I always say. I looked pointedly at Black to make him calm his engines, then pointedly at her for emphasis. Pointedly was getting a workout here lately, too.

“Jude, this is Claire. I'm glad you're finally getting to meet her.”

“Yes, I recognized her. She's quite lovely.”

Quite lovely? I bet she would've said tough, if my jacket wasn't covering up the big Glock 9 mm lodged under my arm in its shoulder holster and/or my most recent butterfly-bandaged gunshot wound. I said to Black, “Look, I didn't know you had company, and I don't want to interrupt. As I was telling Jude here, I have official business with you.”

Black looked surprised. Imagine.

He frowned and said, “You're not interrupting anything. What do you mean official?”

Why was everybody saying that? “I hate to tell you this, but you've come home to a big problem concerning the pageant.”

He looked relieved then, but that wouldn't last long. “Okay, let's talk about it in my office. Jude, make yourself at home. If you need anything, just call the concierge and he'll take care of it.”

Black took my arm in a rather firm, no-nonsense grip as if he expected me to jerk away and take off at a sprint for the elevator, then led me down the hall and into the huge office wing. I didn't like it much because it felt proprietary, but I let it go. Poor guy was about to get hit with some very bad news. He deserved some consideration.

We entered his massive yet plushly appointed private office, tan and black, of course, and he shut the door behind us then trapped me against it, full body press. I didn't fight it when his mouth found mine, didn't resist for maybe four or five minutes of mutual heavy breathing, hot tongue kissing, and expert hand groping around under my T-shirt. And I didn't groan and complain, either, when he squeezed my recent gunshot wound against the door and sent a stab of pain coursing down to my fingertips. I told you already that I missed him.

After a couple more minutes of our hard-panting how do you dos, Black pulled back and muttered, and, yes, gasped out, I'm happy to say, “God, I'm turned on.”

And he was, trust me. I could just feel it.

I said, “Ditto and back to you double, but we gotta talk.”

Black stepped back and let go of me. “Okay, tell me what's up. And don't be mad about Jude. She signed on to be a judge, so I told her she could stay up here where the press couldn't get at her.”

I righted my clothes and controlled my own machine-gun pulse. “How sweet.”

“Mind if I stay at your place until she's gone?”

“My pleasure.” Was that ever the truth. “Want me to pack up the toothbrush and T-shirt I left here until she's gone?”

Black laughed. “Why would I want you to do that?”

“I don't know. Just thought I'd ask.”

“She knows I'm in love with you.”

That was more than I knew. I tried not to look shocked. He hadn't said stuff like that much. “You told her that?”

“Of course. You find it so hard to believe?”

“Well, you haven't exactly mentioned it to me lately, or ever.”

“Yes, I have. You just don't want to hear it. In fact, you change the subject if I get anywhere close to saying it.”

“I do not.”

“Then you're ready for me to say it out loud from now on?”

“This is a really stupid conversation. Listen, I've got something more important to talk to you about.”

“See what I mean?”

“Forget us, damn it. This is serious. Listen to me.”

He stepped back and jerked loose the knot in his silk tie. “Let me change clothes and pack a bag. You can tell me on the way to your place. I spent the entire flight looking forward to some downtime with you.”

Wow, I did so like the sound of Jude being left coughing and wheezing in our romantic dust. Unfortunately, it wasn't going to happen. “We probably need to discuss it here and now. And you'll probably want to leave that tie on and take some time to think about how to direct your staff.”

Black frowned. “This does not sound good.”

“It's not good. One of your contestants has been murdered.”

“Oh, my God. Who?”

“That's the worst part. The victim is Brianna Swensen's sister.”

“Bud's girl? How did it happen? What's her name?”

“Hilde Swensen. She was slated to compete, and here's some more bad news. She was murdered up at the Royal Condos.”

“Oh, God, I own that place. Why haven't I heard about this before now? Somebody should've called me.” He sounded highly perturbed, looked that way, too.

“You're hearing it now. What's more, you've got to instruct your staff to let us interview everybody remotely connected with this thing. Your girl Friday downstairs is balking on me.”

“Have you turned up any leads?”

“Not yet. Brianna says Hilde led a wild and crazy lifestyle in Florida, South Beach, no less, and it could have been somebody connected to that.”

Black turned, paced a few steps away from me. Paced some more, while I leaned against the door and watched calmly. “I can't believe this. Not so soon. Good God—”

When he turned and faced me, I said, “Yeah. Nothing like this ever happened around here until I moved in from LA.”

“That's not what I meant. And it's not your fault, if that's what you're thinking.”

“Yeah, right. It's just another big coincidence.”

“It could be a killer was drawn down here by the publicity of your last two cases, and there was a hell of a lot of it, too.”

“Whatever. Right now, we've got to get things nailed down before tomorrow's rehearsal. I guess the pageant will still go on, or will it?”

Black shook his head. “I don't know. It'll be hard to cancel things this late. Let me think about it. Good God, this is awful.”

“Let me know what you decide. I need to get back to the office and brief Charlie in person. The newspapers haven't sniffed this out yet, but the minute they find out it's connected to you and this pageant, they'll be all over us.”

“Yeah, what a surprise.”

“I'm taking off pretty soon. Finish up here, and I'll tell you more of the particulars after I get the go-ahead from Charlie.”

“I'll be over to your place later, as soon as I can get away.”

“See you then.”

“Well, be careful, for God's sake. Duck, weave, hide, whatever it takes.”

Our private little joke, but unfortunately it was wearing a trifle thin. I wasn't ducking nearly enough, it appeared. Today I had ducked, all right, but still got myself a sore-as-the-devil shoulder. I decided to tell him about that little detail later so he wouldn't demand to examine and re-treat the wound before I left. I exited stage right in a big hurry, more than glad Jude had disappeared into the guest room and I wouldn't be forced to compare cheekbone structures with her.

As it happened Charlie had been called to Jeff City, so I didn't get a personal sit-down with him. I elected not to go into detail about the case over the phone, either. He would be back in the morning, and I would brief him then. I left word with his teensy, sparrowlike secretary to fit me in as soon as he returned, and she promised to do so. I took time to check out the lakewide BOLO bulletin I'd put in on the boat, which was unlikely to draw a lead with such a sketchy description, but hey, maybe we'd get a break for a change. Maybe the guy's wife was suspicious of his bloody clothes and some extra lips lying around the house and would give us a call. On the other hand, the guy probably had battened down the boat far away and out of sight hours ago. Unfortunately, nobody had turned up a thing.

Maybe Black could help me figure out what kind of monster did this to Hilde when and if he could tear himself away from Jude. His insight could trigger something I hadn't thought of. He was a shrink, after all, and he definitely knew his stuff. He'd helped me on my cases before. Not that I depended on him or anything, but talking the case helped my imagination click. And all I could think about right now was catching this depraved pervert and the sooner the better.

After twenty minutes fighting five o'clock traffic, I hung a left into the private graveled road that led down to my little lakeside haven. I stopped at the security gate that my friend, Harve Lester, had installed last summer to keep the press off our backs. I used my trusty little remote, drove through, and watched to make sure the gate shut all the way and locked down behind me. When I passed Harve's place, I glanced at the house, missing him. He had gone to Michigan for a couple of weeks to visit relatives, but he'd be back soon. His Web site business had really taken off, and he had his hands full with design and implementation, not to mention his head-hunting assignments. He was top-notch at his work and the word had gotten around. But he deserved time off, if anybody did. He'd been shot in the line of duty and suffered a life sentence in a wheelchair, but he never complained about his lot. He'd been my mentor and partner when I was a rookie at the LAPD, and the best detective I'd ever met. I loved the guy.

At the moment, however, all I could think about was Hilde Swensen. Every time I found myself alone, her butchered mouth kept popping up in my brain, and each time, my stomach flipped over like some kind of berserk gymnast. I didn't want to think about it anymore, and I didn't want to think about Black being cooped up at Cedar Bend with his really, really good-looking, impossibly gorgeous ex-wife, either. I wanted to find the guy who'd butchered up Hilde, and I didn't want to wait until tomorrow to get started. I wanted to follow people home tonight and demand that they tell me everything they knew. The need to catch the guy was eating its way through my gut, and I could feel the anger and strange excitement a homicide brought up inside me, excitement that was dark and disturbing but happened anyway. I wanted this guy so bad I could taste it. He'd been in my gunsight, for God's sake, and I'd let him get away clean.

I gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white. This had never happened to me before. I'd never interrupted a murderer at the scene, much less let him escape. I stopped the car and went with the rage, taking deep, sucking breaths the way Black had told me to. I wanted to pummel the hell out of something, anything, maybe the first thing I laid eyes on would do. I took it out on the steering wheel with a doubled fist for a second or two, then spun some gravel as I took off around the last bend that would bring me to my little A-frame house, recently remodeled as a more than extravagant Christmas present from Black.

I realized with some personal disdain that I was hoping Black's big Cobalt 360 would already be moored at my pitiful little dock, but it wasn't there, and neither was he. I did notice, however, the big black Harley-Davidson motorcycle sitting at my front gate.

Well, well, whaddaya know, Mr. Joe McKay had come to pay me a visit and was making himself at home down on my private dock. Now this was a surprise, let me tell you, and not a guest I'd ever invited to drop by and have tea. The first thing I was going to ask him was how the devil he'd gotten by my security gate, then I remembered that he'd ridden onto my property unbidden before, last Christmas, to be exact.

I pulled into my new heated garage, another nifty little perk that dating Nicholas Black had provided, that, along with a number of awesome amenities inside my hitherto shabby little cabin. What can I say? Multimillionaire boyfriends, yep, they have a way of endearing themselves to us peons. Ex-wives not included.

I got out, slung off my jacket, fingered my wound, which had started to throb, while I debated whether or not I should take a stroll down to the water and make sure McKay wasn't trying to steal my old jon boat. Actually, McKay had helped me drop the hammer on a couple of bad guys once not so long ago, so I guess he deserved a quick howdy-do. Initially, I had hated the man's guts at first sight, but then again, I hated nearly everyone's guts at first sight. However, he had proved himself reliable in a particularly hairy situation and used his considerable expert demolition skills to my advantage, so I'd developed a new soft spot in my heart for him. I would definitely call him whenever I wanted anything blown to smithereens.

And, hey, did I mention he purports himself to be a real live psychic? A fact I still wasn't one hundred percent certain of to this very day, but it was hard to figure how he knew stuff before it happened. Maybe he'd come over today to tell me who killed Hilde Swensen. Great, now I could just drive over and arrest the freak and be done with it.

Oh, another thing, McKay was a helluva good-looking guy, Mr. Stereotypical Bad Boy Type, alive and well, and I found that irksome, too, for no particular reason. He waved me down to join him like he owned the place. That's when I realized he wasn't alone. Elizabeth, his little daughter, was with him.

I crunched a path across the rocky beach, then stepped onto my creaky gangplank that was built circa 1955. A couple of worn boards were loose again, and I made a mental note to fix them if I ever got the time. Or maybe Black could just build me a giant marina for my birthday.

McKay and Elizabeth were holding long cane poles, and a white pint container of worms sat between them on the dock. The contents writhed around like crazy, no doubt screaming,
Take him, take him, he's juicier than me.

“Hey, McKay, feel free to come out here and fish anytime you like. No need to call first and ask permission.”

McKay presented me with his own brand of lethal weapon, a smile so slow, so deadly, so potent with dimples and charm that some women would have dropped down and bruised their kneecaps on the spot. Alas, a swooner I am not. He was so typically the aforementioned bad boy material that he could've come straight out of a Hollywood casting call. You know,
Attention, please, all Colin Farrell lookalikes proceed up front ASAP
. He had that studied scruffy look, you know the one, sun-bleached blond hair, too long, too shaggy, just enough unshaven beard to be a scratchy turn-on, tight black Levi's, plain white T-shirt. The only thing he forgot to wear was his locket with Marlon Brando's picture inside it.

“Now, c'mon, Detective, I didn't figure you'd mind me comin' out here much since I saved your pretty little butt last Christmas.”

“Not that I'm not entirely ungrateful for that, too, but if you'll remember, I'm the one who unlocked your handcuffs so you could.”

“Yeah? You're the one who clamped them on me in the first place.”

“Seemed the right thing to do at the moment.”

He took a moment to examine me like I was a particularly succulent filet mignon that made his mouth water and his fingers itch for some A.1. Steak Sauce. That image made me hungry until I remembered Hilde and why I'd skipped lunch. Lipless corpses will do that to a person.

McKay said, “Change your mind about runnin' off with me, or you still got it goin' on with the shrink?”

“I'm still seeing Dr. Black, not that I ever considered running anywhere with you.”

“You sure 'bout that? I've been sensin' some storm clouds might be brewin' between you and Nick. Thought maybe you got some trouble in paradise.”

“Nope. Everything's sunny at the moment.” I wondered, though, if he'd really seen my relationship with Black going belly-up in the near future, or if it was just another one of McKay's come-ons.

Actually McKay and I really are sort of friends now. I think we'd just gotten into the habit of this hateful verbal sparring and couldn't seem to let it go.

Little Elizabeth just stared at me. She didn't smile, didn't seem to recognize me at all. She was only two years old, and absolutely beautiful, blond hair, big blue eyes, and she made me think of my own child, Zachary. I'd lost him when he was two, and I looked away from her, blocking a swarm of dark memories before they could get started. I did that a lot nowadays.

I said, “Catchin' anything?”

McKay shook his head. “Hoped the bluegill would bite, but we haven't gotten a single nibble.” He looked at the torn, blood-soaked sleeve of my T-shirt. “Got yourself shot again, I see.”

“Just a nick, you know, like in the movies.”

“Next time it might be ‘Bang, Bang, you're dead, lady.' That happens in the movies, too.”

“Thanks, McKay, make me feel better, why don't you? So enough of the small talk. Why'd you really come out here today?”

He searched my face the way he liked to do, the way he liked to do because it made me damn uncomfortable. Annoyed, even.

“Been dreamin' about you lately, detective.”

“Oh, yeah? Who hasn't?”

He grinned, slow and affecting, but then he sobered and lowered his voice to show how serious he was. “You know that psychic thing I got? It's been actin' up lately, so I thought I'd come by and make sure you were alive and kickin'. By the looks of that arm, I'm right on, but maybe a mite late.”

“Care to tell me what you're talking about in plain English instead of psychic mumbo jumbo?”

McKay decided to leave me in suspense. He squatted down beside his daughter, picked up a night crawler that had wriggled out of the paper container and thereby made itself way too conspicuous. Death wish, worm-style, I guess. McKay made a show of putting it on the hook, and I watched it wiggle like crazy, obviously aware of its impending doom.

“There you go, baby cakes.” McKay smiled at Elizabeth as he dropped her line back into the water with a soft ker-plunk. She said nothing, just stared at the water. Then he adjusted her straw hat to shield her face from the sun, and Zach's sunburned little face came barreling up from the depths of my heart again, with a backwash of pain so severe that I swallowed bile. The air was warm with a gentle breeze, the water smooth and green and serene, and I locked my eyes on the trees across the cove and gathered myself.

McKay's kid had been with us in our mutual nightmare in that godawful dark cave, and I hoped she had blocked out every detail of what had happened down there. I wished I could, too, but it hadn't happened yet, at least not in my dreamscapes.

When McKay decided to resume our conversation, he stood up and stepped away from the silent child. He stood very close and lowered his voice. I was not exactly unaware of his masculine appeal, but he was thinking about his daughter now. “Lizzie's gettin' a little better now, but still not so good. She won't say much and gets some real bad dreams about the bogeyman and his freak of a girlfriend.”

“Yeah, I've spent a few nights with them myself.”

“That makes three of us.”

“Okay, McKay, I'll bite, what'd you dream about me?” I didn't really want to ask for specifics, specifics usually didn't bode well for me, but as mentioned, his visions sometimes turned out to be pretty dead-on. Better safe than sorry.

“I've been seeing these great big smiles. No faces, mind you, except for yours, and believe me, you're not smiling when I see you, just starin' all glazed eyes ahead, and darlin', I think that means you're headed straight for some big, bad trouble.”

I stared at him then, all glazed eyes ahead, creeped out, and fairly certain he was batting a thousand about my immediate future. On my last case, his knowledge of the crime scenes caused me to suspect him of major wrongdoing. Not this time. This time he was right on the money, and there was no way he could have known about the mutilation of Hilde's body. “Jeez, McKay, scare the crap outta me, why don't you?”

“So this smile thing makes sense to you?”

“Maybe. Anything else I might need to know?”

“Not yet.”

“You see anybody else in these smiley-face dreams of yours?”

McKay shook his head. “One thing, though, that you ought to know.”

“Yeah? What's that?”

“These smiles I see? They're dripping blood. So there you go. That's why I came out here. You know, knight in shined-up armor, trying to do the right thing, save your pretty little hide again.”

I looked away, but I felt more than uneasy about my pretty little hide. He'd been on target enough in the past to make me want to believe him. Maybe having a psychic friend wasn't such a good thing. Maybe they should be avoided. “I appreciate your help, I truly do. How about taking a nice long nap, see if you can see the perp and get me his address like last time?”