I Have a Secret (A Sloane Monroe Novel, Book Three) (8 page)

She frowned.  “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You’re lying to me.”

“About what?”

“Your relationship with Doug.”

She squeezed her hands together like she wished a higher power could teleport her out of the car, scoop her onto a magic carpet and whisk her away. 

“Care to know what makes me think you’re keeping something from me?” I said. 

She didn’t respond. 

I grabbed the cup from the center console and held it out in front of her. “Two things. You set this cup in between us. Now, I know that doesn’t seem like much, but you did it right after I used the word
friend
.  It bugged you.” 

“You got all that from a cup?”

“Did you know that sometimes when a person is lying they’ll place something between themselves and the other person? It’s like a miniature barrier you and your lies can hide behind. You probably weren’t even aware you were doing it, but I was. And before that you scratched behind your ear. We could sit here all night and I can keep going—it’s up to you.” 

She blinked her eyes in disbelief. 

“Heather—whatever it is, you can tell me,” I said, “and you should, tell me. You don’t have to keep it inside anymore.  Doug’s dead and he’s not coming back.”

She flattened her hand and rammed her head into it a few times the way a person did when they’d made a mistake they couldn’t take back. “I slept with Doug, all right!”

I leaned back in my seat.  Now we were getting somewhere. “How many times?”

“Once.  It didn’t happen right away, and it shouldn’t have ever happened.  He trusted me, and I let things go too far between us.  But I swear I didn’t know anything about anyone wanting to harm him.  And I knew we shouldn’t have slept together, but I couldn’t help it.  The closer we got, the more I fell for him.”

“Did Doug feel the same way?”

“I don’t know—I don’t think so. Doug always talked about how much he loved his wife. I was more of a friend for him to confide in.  He even cried afterward saying Trista deserved to know what we’d done, and he had a hard time looking her in the eye which further complicated their relationship.”

Usually I was an advocate for complete honesty between a man and a woman, but Doug was dead.  The truth would only make things worse. “It would be for the best if you kept your little indiscretion to yourself.  Losing Doug has been hard enough on Trista.  I’m glad she never found out about you two.”

Heather stared out the window and choked back her tears. “That’s just it. She did.”

The crisp mountain air breathed life into a new morning. I sat up, peeled back the thick tapestry that adorned the hotel window and peered out into the courtyard. A man was swimming laps in the pool a few stories below. His chest was whiter than the tips of my fingernails, and he was in desperate need of a jacket. 

I thought about Heather’s confession the night before and wondered why Trista kept it from me. But what woman wanted to admit her husband cheated on her to someone they hadn’t talked to in twenty years?  That kind of information wasn’t exactly the best ice breaker.
Hi, nice to see you again after all this time…hey, did you know my husband is responsible for putting the U in unfaithful?
  It made me wonder what else she hadn’t told me.  

I showered, placed a call to Giovanni, and took the elevator down to the lobby where I feasted on a complimentary bagel and peach yogurt. Not the hearty breakfast I had in mind, but it would keep me going for a few hours.  I finished and headed outside. When I got to the parking lot I took one look at my car and realized it had been altered from its former state of unblemished perfection. All four tires had been slashed with excellent efficiency by someone who wasn’t a virgin when it came to wielding a knife.

An employee of the hotel wheeled a bin of trash past me.  He lifted his chin and smiled and then took one look at my tires and ditched the trash can to run inside.  I followed. 

When I caught up to him at the front desk I said, “You don’t need to call anyone, I can handle this myself.” 

He shook his head. “The hotel manager already notified the police. Someone’s on their way over. You should wait here.”

“I need to grab something from my room,” I said. 

He started to say ‘wait’, but it was too late. I was already up the stairs and didn’t bother looking back.  I whipped the key card out of my jean pocket and sprinted toward my room. When I turned the corner two maids stood there, one with her finger aimed at the center of my door. She then threw her hands up in the air and spoke a bunch of gibberish to the other woman whose eyes popped open about three times their normal size.

Mounted to my door was a plain white piece of paper that had been ripped in half, but that wasn’t what their eyes were riveted on. It was the sharp object used to secure the note in place. 

I shooed them away with my hand and leaned in for a closer look. The object was small and delicate. It reminded me of something a surgeon would wield over a patient in the operating room. I pulled out my phone, snapped a photo and texted it to Maddie along with the words: I’LL EXPLAIN LATER. Then I shifted my eyes to the note.  The handwriting was sloppy and careless:

THIS DOESN’T CONCERN YOU. 

STAY OUT OF IT AND YOU WON’T GET HURT. 

The problem with notes like this was I never had the chance to reply, which I considered a pity. I would have said: 

IT’S NOT ME THAT NEEDS TO BE WORRIED.

IT’S YOU.

I wanted to yank the knife out and get a better look at it, but something told me the maids wouldn’t keep quiet, and I didn’t need the Tehachapi Police Department offering me an escort out of town before I tracked down Doug and Rusty’s killer. 

I turned to the maids.  “Did you see who did this?”

They looked at me with a blank stare that made me regret all those years I flirted with Troy Lassiter instead of paying better attention in Spanish class. The only thing I
did
remember from back then was my teacher saying, “Cual es la fecha de hoy?” But I didn’t see how them giving me the date would help the current situation any. Given the language barrier, I did the only other thing that came to mind: Charades.  I balled my hand into a fist and thrust up and down like I was doing a reenactment of the shower scene in
Psycho
and then moved my arms like a senior citizen power walking in the mall in the wee hours of morning.  I hoped my one-woman show would indicate someone stabbing the note on the door and then fleeing the scene.  I thought about saying ‘capiche’, but realized I would further confuse them by adding yet another language to the mix. 

When my performance was finished, I smiled, proud in my ability to get my message across without the use of actual verbiage. I looked at both women and waited for the results. One of the maids grabbed the shirt of the other and they fled in terror, leaving their cart of goodies behind. Excellent. I knew I’d missed my calling as an award-winning actress.

With the maids gone and no cops in sight, I decided whoever left the message was long gone, but it still wouldn’t hurt to have a look. I stuck my key card into the slot, traded my cell phone for the 9mm in my handbag and raced back down the hall toward the stairs. There were three floors below me and I scaled them all, but the corridor was vacant all the way down. I was too late. The walls around me offered nothing but silence.  If someone had been there, they were long gone. 

I climbed back up the stairs, pushed the door open and rammed it into something on the other side.  

“What are you trying to do, maim me?” Jesse said.

“How was I supposed to know you were behind the door?”

Jesse rubbed his nose with his hand, but his eyes were fixated on my gun.  “What the…where’d you get that?”

“Same place you got yours probably.”

He stuck his hand out.  “Not funny.  You can’t run around here with that thing.”

“I have a license.”

“And you think that allows you to whip it out whenever and wherever you please?”

I slid by him without a word and went straight for my room.

Jesse followed so close behind I could hear the shift in his pant legs as he walked. “So,” he said, “who’d you piss off?”

I reached my door and noticed the note and its accompanying knife-like object were no longer stabbed into the middle of it. All that remained was a small nick in the wood. I spun around and glared at Jesse. “Where are they?”

He angled his head in the direction of my room and it dawned on me my door was cracked open.  I shoved it all the way back and walked in. A second officer was standing in the middle of the room looking around.

“Excuse me,” I said, “you don’t have any right to be in here.  The note was
on
my door not in my room.”

He exchanged looks with Jesse but didn’t say anything.  The knife and the note rested on the desk packaged in separate plastic bags.  The police officer had his hands cupped over one another like he was concealing a small bird, but the shiny piece of pink plastic that emanated from his hand was unmistakable. 

I leaned forward and held my hand out. “What the hell are you doing with my cell phone?”

No response. Jesse jerked his head and the officer handed it back to me.

I held my phone out to Jesse and shook it. “What the hell was he doing with my cell phone!”

Jesse sighed and glared at the officer. “Walker, wait for me outside please. And not in the hallway, in the SUV.”

“But don’t we need to—”

Jesse shook his head. “Just do it.  Now.”

The other guy nodded and walked out. Jesse leaned his weight against the door, creating a barrier between me and the officer.

“I’m not going to attack him if that’s what you’re worried about,” I said.  “I just wanted him to answer the question. He’s been in my room with his mitts all over my things.”

Jesse stepped forward and placed his hand on my shoulder. I shrugged it off. The smell of cheap aftershave permeated the room. “Come on now, Sloane,” he said. “Don’t be like that. I’ll talk to him about the phone.”

My eyes darted around my room from the bed, to my nightstand, and then to the counter by the bathroom door. “It wasn’t just my phone—my clock isn’t in the same position. Neither are my clothes.  You two aren’t detectives, you’re beat cops, which means it isn’t customary for you to go through my things.” 

“Look, I’m sorry he was in here, okay? He wants a promotion—bad, so he looks for any way he can get it. He’s just tryin’ to be thorough. I’ve got him under control. Can we move on?”  

I rubbed my forehead with my hand and sat on the edge of the bed. Jesse followed my lead and sat so close I could almost breathe in his breath when he breathed out. I scooted over. 

He placed his fingers on the nape of my neck and rubbed in a circular motion while he scooted back over until his hip touched mine. “You need to relax.”

As much as his hand movements relieved the tension I felt, I couldn’t allow it.  I stood up. “Stop, Jesse…you can’t.”

He tried to grab my hand but I jerked it away. Undeterred, he attempted it a second time. “Come on now, you don’t need to run away from me.”

I walked over to the desk and leaned against it.  “Have you asked the hotel manager for the security tapes?”

He laughed. “Uh, there aren’t any. Not here anyway.” 

“What kind of hotel doesn’t have security cameras?”

“In case you missed it Sloane, this isn’t the Ritz-Carlton.”

I threw my hands up in the air. “Great.” 

“Someone is on the way over to dust the door and your rental car for prints.  Until then, I need you to hang out with me until we can get you a room somewhere else.”

I shook my head, shoved my gun into my bag and walked out the door.

“Sloane, you’re not going anywhere.  You can’t.”

Can’t?

“I feel cooped up in here.  I need to be outside…free from all this,” I said. “Trust me, you don’t want to see what happens if you force me to sit here.”

“Fine.  Stay close and leave the gun.”

I glanced at my gun which was now back inside my bag and looked back at him on my way out the door. “Not a chance.”