Eeny Meany Miny Die (Cat Sinclair Mysteries) (21 page)

"How long have Angel and Corey been having an affair?" I asked.

She rested her elbows on the bench and stared into space. "I don't know. Sorry, Cat, but Angel doesn't tell me everything." Did my ears deceive me or did she sound hurt?

"Do you think they're serious? In your opinion," I added.

"Jeez, Cat, you sound like that cop."

So Scarface had followed a similar line of questioning. Good. If someone with his experience was asking the same things, then I was on the right track. "Well?" I prompted. "Is it just a casual fling, or do you think Corey loves Angel more than she loves him? It happens a lot where one person in a relationship loves the other more." I swallowed and refused to think about Will and the hurt in his voice when he'd said the same thing to me.

She straightened and pouted. "I don't like these questions. You sound like you suspect Angel. She didn't do it."

"What about Corey? Could he?"

"No!"

"But if he's in love with Angel, maybe he thought getting rid of Frank would free her to marry him."

"Ever heard of divorce?"

"Would Angel have gotten all Frank's money if she divorced him?"

"Fucking hell, Cat. Stop it!" She set her glass down on the bench so hard I was afraid she'd crack the base. She squared up to me, crossing her arms under her cleavage. "Angel didn’t kill him, and neither did Corey. No one from the group did."

I let the silence ride out. Just as I expected, she calmed down. She picked up her glass again. "Look," she said, fixing me with a direct gaze. "They aren't that serious. They both sleep with other people in L.A. No way would either of them kill Frank to free Angel. That's just nuts."

Yeah, but crazy people did nutty things all the time, especially when they were in love.

***

I thought I'd better do some work on Slim's case. After my weird conversation with Will earlier, I still felt like I was on shaky ground with him, and I wasn't sure if that was where I wanted to be. Hell, I didn't know anything about my own feelings when it came to Will.

I listened in to Bankler's conversations for a while before dozing off. He was actually working and not talking to his girlfriend, but there's only so much talk about shipping containers that a girl can listen to.

I awoke when my phone rang. It was Will. "How's things?" he said.

"Slow."

"You mean you're still at the NTS office?"

"Yes. Why?"

"I expected you to find it too boring and go shopping or something."

"Will," I said heavily. "I'm not like that anymore."

He grunted.

"Besides, I haven't got any money, and the Karvea case is taking up my time."

"If you need money—"

"Do
not
offer me money! I don't want your handouts, okay?" I regretted my outburst as soon as I said it. I regretted it even more when he didn't answer me. "Are you still there?"

"Yeah," he finally said. "Sorry."

I closed my eyes. "Thanks, Will. It was nice of you to offer, but I've got to stand on my own two feet. Do you understand?" I hated doing this, and I hated doing it even more over the phone. Some things needed to be discussed face to face to get the right intention across. I didn't want to hurt his feelings.

"I understand. It's okay, and I respect you for it."

It sounded like a brush off. He may respect me, but he didn't like it. At least, that was my take.

"So when are you coming back to the office?" he asked.

"I'll head in now."

No sooner had I hung up than the phone rang again. It was Scarface.

"How's the investigation going?" he asked. "Got any new leads for me?"

"And lose the bet?" I said. "No way."

"Kitten, I'm a cop investigating a murder. If you've got anything important to tell me, you better tell me. I don't mind playing games with you, but the rest of the police force doesn’t appreciate the finer points of Cat Sinclair like I do."

I gulped. He must have heard it, because he chuckled.

"That's not fair," I said. "You're the one who suggested the game. I just got sucked in by your force field."

"I like it when you talk dirty to me."

I rolled my eyes. "So have you got something to tell me, or are you just calling me to make my life more complicated?"

"If your life's too complicated, you need to remove the complication." His voice lowered to the consistency of melted chocolate.

"Leave Will out of this."

"Was I referring to him? I don't recall mentioning his name, but it's interesting that he's the first thing
you
thought of. Calling him a complication is not healthy for your relationship, Kitten. Not healthy at all. I can fix that for you."

Speaking with Scarface sometimes felt like I was playing in quicksand. I could never get a grip on something solid that gave me the upper hand.

"Just tell me why you called," I shot back.

Maybe he got the message that I was pissed off, or he felt bad for touching a raw nerve, but his voice switched to business mode. "I've got some bad news to report," he said. "It's about the black car that followed you."

CHAPTER 12

"What about it?" I asked Scarface.

"The car belongs to a car rental company," he said. "The person who hired it used a false name and paid cash."

"So it wasn't Cindy?"

"We checked out the car she's driving. Same rental company, different car."

Damn. My scalp tingled. I would have been dead if I hadn't jumped out of the way in time, or if Mad Max hadn't scared the driver off.

I ran my hand through my hair, rubbing away the tingles. "Do we at least know if it was a male or female?"

"The attendant couldn't remember, and the name on record is Leslie Grant."

Could have been either. Double damn. "The attendant couldn't give you a description at all?"

"Nope. I showed him photos of every member of Play Group plus Cindy, Linc, and Max, and he didn't recognize any of them." Scarface sounded as frustrated as I felt.

"It wasn't Max. He was at The Grotto."

"Doesn't mean he didn't hire the car earlier and get someone else to drive."

And then make himself look like the hero by shooting at the car. He'd missed, and the car was a large target. Maybe it had been intentional. Well, crap. There were too many possibilities.

"They must have used a disguise," I said.

"Or it could have been someone else altogether."

That was the most depressing thing he could have said to me. He was right though. I had no other suspects. If it wasn't one of the group, Max, Cindy or Linc, then I didn't have a clue who the murderer was.

"So I've helped you out," he said, silky-smooth. "Have you got anything for me?"

"You didn't help me out. You learned nothing. Besides, I told you about Karvea embezzling Jenny's money, so technically,
you
owe
me
."

"We would have figured that out from the bank records we found in his room."

"Eventually."

"So I take it you're all out of information." He sounded amused. "Better step up your game, Kitten, or you're going to lose the bet."

Just for that, I kept the information about Frank changing his will to myself. He probably already knew anyway. The beneficiaries would have been the first thing they looked into.

"I gotta go," I said. "I'm expected back at the office."

"Knight got you on a tight leash these days?"

"No. He's giving me more leeway than ever."

"You sure about that? You sure he doesn't know that you pretend to be working one case when you're really working another?"

How the hell did he know that? "All our cases are for Knight Investigations. It doesn't matter which one we work on at any given time."

"If you say so. Call me if you ever need to talk to someone who won't smother you."

"He's not—"

He hung up. I threw the phone into my bag and headed back to the office, wishing I didn't have so many clever, sneaky men in my life.

***

Will and I worked independently for the rest of the day, holed up in our separate offices. It wasn't until Faith came in to say goodbye that I realized it was five o'clock. I decided to have an early night too. I wasn't getting anywhere with everything playing on my mind. My conversations with Jen and Scarface, the hit-and-run, Will. Even though I'd hardly seen him all day, I could feel the tension between us. It was like a piece of elastic being stretched and stretched. I was waiting for it to break and recoil.

"Hey," I said upon entering his office.

He glanced up from his screen. He looked tired. I started to make my way through the mess of papers stacked on the floor, but only got as far as his desk.

"You okay?" I asked.

"Yes." His gaze shifted back to the monitor.

"You look like you need a break."

"I haven't got time for a break."

"Oh. Okay. I'll leave you to it. See you tomorrow?"

He nodded as he typed. His focus was entirely on the monitor again. It was like I'd already left.

I turned to go, but he called my name. For some reason, my heart was in my throat. I wanted to hear him call me Sweetheart, or flirt with me. That's how our day usually ended.

"Is there anything you need to tell me?" he asked, his gaze locking with mine.

Oh-kay. Where was he going with that? It sounded like he knew something, but wanted to hear it from me. Was he referring to our relationship or work? Did he know about my car getting smashed? Or did he know that I wasn't ready to commit?

And everyone says women are complicated.

"No," I said with a smile. "Nothing. Why?"

He shrugged and once more turned his attention to the monitor. "No reason. See you tomorrow."

I headed out of the office to the bus stop. I felt a little numb as I waited for my bus. It was the first time in ages he hadn't asked me back to his place, or invited himself to mine. I wasn't sure how I felt not spending the night with him. I wasn't sure how I felt about anything anymore.

***

First thing in the morning I called Will to tell him I was heading out to speak to Cindy Belfour. I got his voicemail.

With the van still at the office, I had to catch the bus to the Carleton Hotel. It was hell. Rush hour meant the bus was filled with suits heading to work. I got elbowed in the left breast, both my feet were stood on, and my face got shoved into more armpits than I care to think about. It's surprising how many businessmen don't shower in the mornings and try to cover the fact by wearing enough cologne to strip away the ozone layer. I couldn't wait to get off at the stop outside the Carleton and breathe fresh air again. It was lucky that I arrived early, because I caught Cindy on her way out.

"Can't talk now," she said after Linc let me in to their suite. He was dressed in a hotel bathrobe that he hadn't tied up. He wore shorts underneath, and nothing else. His chest was hairless. Why was I not surprised?

"You need to talk to me," I said. "I have some questions to ask."

She paused with her coffee cup to her lips and burst out laughing. "You're ballsy. I like that. But I don't have to talk to you." She pushed past me, bumping my arm.

I caught her elbow. Riding the bus had put me in a bad mood, and I wasn't going to let one more person shove me around. "It's about your business with Max Warshenski."

She lifted her chin. "What about it?"

I let her go. "I'll have a coffee, thanks, Linc," I said.

"What am I, your personal slave?" he muttered.

"Just get her the goddamned coffee," Cindy snapped.

He did her bidding without further complaint. He didn't even click his tongue or huff out a breath.

"What is it you want?" she asked me when he was out of earshot.

"How long have you and Max known each other?"

"Fifteen years or so."

"Does your relationship extend beyond that of dealer and addict?"

She looked at me like I was a troll. "I'm not an addict. I just do the occasional line at parties, or when I need something to pick me up. For fuck's sake, an addict is someone who can't get through life without a hit. That's not me."

Yeah, right. She was an overdose waiting to happen. "Whatever."

"I don't know who gave you the idea he's a dealer."

"You did."

She paled. "I was mistaken."

"How can you be mistaken about something like that?"

"I was doped up at the time. I didn't know what I was saying, and any judge will agree." She stepped closer and spoke without moving her mouth. "Look. Max and I met at a party years ago. He and I have done business together since then, that's all. I hardly know him. As far as I can see, he's a freak. I wouldn't trust him if I were you."

"Thanks for the advice."

She stepped back. "Now, can I go?"

"Where did you meet him? In L.A.?"

"Yes, why?"

"How did you meet?"

"I told you. At a party. Everyone in L.A. meets at parties. You should know that. If you don't mind, I have to go."

"One other thing. When did you arrive in Renford?"

She rolled her eyes and huffed out a breath. "I came as soon as I heard about Frank's death. I arrived the day after, I think."

"That was fast. You were able to drop everything at the last minute for your
ex
-husband?"

"I didn't do it for him, I did it to protect my inheritance. Play Group needs a leader."

"I thought they already had one in Angel."

She snorted. "That little bitch couldn't lead a thirsty dog to water." I thought she was going to walk off on me, but she huffed out another breath. "You were an actress, right? You know what Hollywood is like. Acting jobs are rarer than blue diamonds. Angel did her fair share of auditions, just like you and everyone in that town. But she wasn't very good."

"Did she audition for a part in one of your TV shows?"

She nodded. "Several. She had the right look to make it in one of my kids' shows, plus she could dance and sing. But it was her acting that let her down. It was after seeing her audition for a sitcom I was making that I thought up the idea for Play Group. I told Frank and the rest was history. She was the first member we signed up. But if you've ever seen her on stage, you'll know we didn't hire her for her acting. Same goes with the others. They can all sing and dance, but they can't act. It's okay because it's not necessary for what they do. Most of their moves are choreographed."