A.R. Winters - Valerie Inkerman 01 - Don't Be a Stranger (12 page)

The next morning, Jerry and I avoided talking about Darren for all of thirty minutes. Finally, over the pancakes he’d made, Jerry said, “Are you gonna call him?”

I shrugged. “Maybe. I have to think about it.”

Jerry nodded. “I’ll try to find someone who can let us watch the surveillance tapes.”

“Do you know anyone in the security firm?”

“Not really. But maybe I’ll know someone who knows someone. Wow, this is PI stuff is really forcing me to get in touch with everyone I’ve ever met.”

I smiled. “At least they’ll still talk to you.”

***

I turned up five minutes early to the brunch place Michelle had mentioned.

Jane’s was a super-trendy, light and airy café with creamy wooden tables and chairs. The outside tables had large potted palms interspersed between them, and it was easy to spot Michelle – she was sitting at one of the tables with three other women, wearing dark sunglasses and air-kissing her friends goodbye.

I went up to her as soon as her friends had left. “Had a good brunch?”

“Yeah,” she said softly. “But I’m a little hung-over. Had too much to drink last night.”

Well, that explained the sunglasses.

A waiter materialized and began clearing up the used plates. Michelle and I asked for two coffees, and he nodded reluctantly and left. Once we were alone, I said, “You party a lot?”

I regretted the words as soon as they left my mouth. I sounded condescending and bitchy, and I hated that. I’d meant it to be a polite question, not a judgment on how she lived.

Michelle shrugged. “The friends I was out with last Friday said you didn’t talk to them.”

“I didn’t. I went to the club instead, and watched the video footage.”

There was a brief, awkward silence and then Michelle said, “You must think I can’t grow up.”

She sounded hurt and embarrassed, and I shook my head. “No. I don’t – I don’t know what to think, honestly. I’m sure lots of women your age, with your kind of money, behave the same way. Isn’t Paris Hilton almost forty now?”

Michelle sighed. “I never wanted to be Paris Hilton. Believe it or not, I wanted to be a doctor.”

“Oh?”

“I even did pre-med in college.”

I couldn’t hide my surprise: from what I’d seen so far of Michelle, I’d never expected that. Her words reminded me how deceptive appearances could be. “What happened?”

“I took a year off after I graduated, because all my friends were touring Europe and Asia. When I got back to New York, I decided I didn’t want to be a doctor, I wanted to do medical research.”

“That sounds interesting.”

“I thought so too. I tried to get a job in research, but I didn’t have papers out, and they wanted people with PhDs. I thought I’d apply to a PhD program, but my girlfriends thought I was being funny, and in between going out with them and doing all those charity dinner things, I never got a chance to apply to the programs.”

“But it’s not like you do nothing,” I said, trying to cheer her up. “You do lots of charity work. Organizing all those dinners, plus the fund-raising?”

Michelle shook her head. “It’s hardly any work. And it just makes me feel even worse. I mean, charity dinners? When I could be doing actual, hands-on medical research? You know, Esme had a career. I really admired that about her. I wish I had the guts to just start over – get a PhD and finally get that job. But I think I’ve wasted my chance.”

“No, you haven’t. It’s never too late.”

“You know, it’s easy to talk to you about this because we’re almost strangers. But if I told anyone who knows me, they’d just laugh. They think I’m not smart enough.”

“Then clearly they don’t know you well enough.” I found myself getting angry on her behalf. “If you were smart enough to do pre-med, you’re smart enough to get a PhD and get a job in research. I mean, have you seen some of those morons with PhDs?”

We giggled, and then Michelle clutched her head. “Ow. I probably shouldn’t laugh.”

“You probably shouldn’t drink so much. You should get yourself one of those GRE books and get into a PhD program.”

“You think so?”

I nodded. “I know so.”

The waiter arrived with our coffees, and after a snooty, “Are you sure you don’t want to order anything else?” (yes, we were sure) he disappeared again.

Michelle said, “But you didn’t come down here to listen to me complain about my privileged life. God, you must think I’m so spoiled.”

I shook my head. “No. It’s understandable to want a career. It doesn’t matter how much money you have, everyone needs something that gives their life meaning.”

Michelle smiled at me gratefully. “Thanks. Now what did you want to ask me about Esme?”

“Did she have a boyfriend?” I couldn’t see Michelle’s eyes behind her dark glasses, but I thought she paused for a moment. “I keep hearing that she had a secret boyfriend nobody knew about.”

“You know,” said Michelle slowly, “I never really asked her much about her personal life. She was so busy with her career – and I was a little bit jealous of it. I thought she didn’t have time for men.”

“But you must’ve asked her sometimes, if she had a boyfriend?”

“I did. But she always avoided the question. You know, I did suspect that she had a fuck-buddy or something on the side, and she just didn’t want to admit it.”

I nodded. “Ok. But do you know anyone who might know a bit more about this mysterious guy? Any of Esme’s friends?”

“Her friends might know. She’s got these two best friends, Kimberley and Stephanie.” Michelle scrolled through her phone contacts and texted me Kimberley’s number. She was about to text me Stephanie’s details, when she looked up, and went bug-eyed.

A slightly chubby woman with short, curly red hair was approaching our table.

“Michelle,” the woman said, embracing her in a half-hug. “It’s a small town, isn’t it?”

“Sure is.”

“I’m awfully sorry about Esme.”

Michelle nodded. “I know you miss her too. In fact, we were just talking about you. Valerie, this is Esme’s friend, Stephanie.”

Stephanie and I looked at each other. Before we could exchange polite greetings, Michelle said, “Valerie’s a PI who’s looking into Esme’s death.”

“Oh,” said Stephanie politely. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too.” I smiled and hoped she wasn’t in a rush. “Would you mind joining us for a minute or two? I really wanted to ask you some questions.”

Stephanie glanced around, but she couldn’t see whoever she was meeting, so she nodded. “I suppose I could. Just till my boyfriend gets here.”

“Right,” I said. “Speaking of boyfriends…”

I let my words trail off, and I watched Stephanie’s eyes carefully. She looked wary, like she was readying herself to come up with a lie or an excuse.

“I know Esme was seeing someone,” I said softly. “I just don’t know who.”

Stephanie looked at the table and took a deep breath. “I don’t want to betray her confidence. Especially now that she’s gone.”

“But it’s very important. Who he is might change the outcome of this case.”

“You don’t–” Stephanie looked at me carefully. “You don’t think he might have anything to do with this?”

“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “But I do think that he’s very important.”

Stephanie hesitated for a few seconds. I held my breath, hoping that she’d agree to talk.

“Ok,” she said finally. “Esme’s gone, so I can’t see what harm it would do.”

I tried not to exhale too loudly, and waited for her to tell me.

“His name’s Eddie. Edgar Martinez. He’s got some kind of imports business.”

“Were they together for long?”

“The last six months or so.”

I nodded, scrawling down the name in my notebook. “Why was it such a big secret?”

Stephanie shrugged. “I’m not really sure. I thought Esme was just being private.”

“Did you ever meet him?”

“No. We kept asking to, but Esme said they weren’t that serious. And she didn’t feel comfortable introducing us if they weren’t.”

“You know,” Michelle said slowly. “That name sounds pretty familiar. Maybe Esme mentioned him once or twice. But I thought she was just talking about a friend.”

I turned to Stephanie again. “Do you know anything else about him?”

She frowned. “I think he had a sister or something. Esme might’ve mentioned something about that.”

I made a note about it, and waited for Stephanie to think of anything else. When she didn’t, I handed her one of my cards. “I should get going,” I said, “But if you think of anything else, give me a call.”

She looked at the card and turned it over. “I don’t think I will – I don’t know much else. But good luck with the investigation. I hope you can get in touch with Eddie.”

She sounded skeptical, and I smiled politely. I hoped Eddie wouldn’t be too difficult to find.

Edgar Martinez was actually pretty easy to find online. There were quite a few business articles about him, and there was a company website with contact details. I decided that I’d call him first thing on Monday morning – but in the meantime, Jerry and I read up on everything we could find out about him online.

“It says here the guy’s a workaholic,” said Jerry. “He’s worth over $120 million, he employees fifty people in the New York office and another fifteen in his Shanghai office, he works late till about eight or nine every day because he takes meetings early in the morning, he loves driving vintage cars and he’s a native New Yorker.”

“Yeah, and on top of that, it says here that Weissman North does PR work for his company. I’ll bet that Lisa and Mellie know him, and maybe they even told him that I’m investigating this case.”

We looked at each other thoughtfully, over the tops of our laptops.

“For all we know,” said Jerry, “He could be the one sending the messages.”

“I don’t know. He sounds like a workaholic. When would he find time to send creepy messages?”

“And you know what,” said Jerry, looking at Edgar’s photo. “I’m pretty sure I saw this guy at the party on Friday night.”

“He does look familiar.”

“We can always check the guest list.”

“I’ll get in touch with Carly.”

“Anyway,” said Jerry. “Didn’t I
tell
you Esme was dating someone?”

“Yeah, sure, keep bringing that up. Nobody could ever turn you down if they were single.”

Jerry rolled his eyes. “You mock now, but that’s only because you don’t understand the charms of Jerryhood.”

“Does Jerryhood have anything to do with riding round in Sherwood Forest? Stealing from the rich and giving to the poor?”

“You mock now, b-”

There was a knock on the door, and Jerry and I froze and stared at each other.

“Expecting anyone?” I said.

“No. Maybe it’s your stalker.”

“
Our
stalker,” I corrected. Although I wasn’t feeling as brave as I sounded.

“I’ll go hide in the bedroom,” said Jerry. “Then I can do a surprise attack thing if needed.”

I looked at him sternly. “You’re opening the door, Jerry Hood. You and your band of merry men.”

Jerry made a face, picked up a large fry pan, and marched over to the front door.

“Who is it?” he called out.

“It’s me,” said a man’s voice from the other side. “Darren.”

Jerry looked back at me. “Did you invite him over?”

I shook my head.

“Ok,” he said. “Should I put the pan away?”

“I don’t know. What if he’s the stalker?”

“Do you really think he’s the stalker?”

“I don’t know what to think.”

There was another knock and Darren said, “Hello-o? Jerry? Is Valerie there?”

“Coming,” I called out. I turned to Jerry and snatched the fry pan from his hand. “I’ll take that. You can get yourself the butcher’s knife.”

He nodded, and I waited till he was armed with the knife, before I opened the door.

“Hey,” said Darren, smiling at me. His eyes crinkled in the light, and he had a hint of stubble on his square jaw. “It’s good to see you again.”

“You too.” The flutters in my chest drove away any suspicions I had about him – almost.

“What’re you doing with that fry pan?”

“Nothing. Nothing.”

Darren glanced behind me and smiled at Jerry. “Hey, Jerry!” He turned to me again and lowered his voice. “Why’s Jerry standing around with that big knife?”

“We’re making something.”

“What’re you making?” asked Darren.

“In this fry pan?” I tried to think fast. What do people make in fry pans? Omelets, pancakes and… “A steak.”

“I didn’t know you had to cook steak in fry pans,” said Darren.

I glanced at Jerry, who was giving me a funny look.

“Sure you do,” I said. “It’s a special kind of steak.”

“And you need a butcher’s knife?”

“Jerry thinks it’s cool to flip the steaks over with the knife. Anyway, what’re you doing here?”

“I had to see you. I thought we could,” – he glanced uncomfortably at Jerry – “maybe go for a walk, just the two of us.”

“I don’t think so,” I said, taking a small step backward. “I – what’s this about?”

“I kind of need a favor,” said Darren. “I’d rather not talk about it here.”

I shook my head. “I can’t really talk to you until the case is solved.”

“But I thought – I thought you’d have talked to that guard by now. And that I wouldn’t be a suspect anymore.”

“I have.” I looked at him with sad eyes. “The guy says he never saw you.”

“What!” Darren looked at me with wide, beautiful eyes. “That’s crazy! I was there that night till twelve, I told you.” He glanced from me to Jerry. “You believe me, right Jerry?”

“Sure I do,” said Jerry. “That’s why I’m standing here holding this great big knife.”

“Oh my god.” Darren stared at the fry pan in my hand and took a few steps away from me. “You really think I’m still a suspect. You think I might be dangerous.”

I twisted my lips apologetically. “We can’t help it, we’ve been getting some strange threats. You know where I live, you had motive, and now the guard says he never saw you.”

“He must’ve been asleep!” said Darren. “It was that lazy Terrance guy, wasn’t it? He’s always sleeping.”

“He told me he’s not lazy,” I said. “He was taking cold medication.”

“Oh sure,” said Darren. “He must have one heck of a really long cold.”

“Anyway,” said Jerry, “We can’t verify that you weren’t in the Hamptons that night.”

“Check the surveillance tapes,” said Darren. “I’m on tape, coming out at twelve.”

“Yeah.” Jerry sighed. “I don’t have access to them. The security company doesn’t let strangers see the tapes, and I don’t know anyone who works there.”

“You’re kidding, right?” said Darren. “First the guard falls asleep, then the security company won’t let you see a week-old tape?”

Jerry shrugged. “I tried. I called all my friends and all my friends-of-friends. Valerie even called the three friends that
she’s
got.”

I scowled at Jerry, and hoped my unpopularity wouldn’t make Darren like me any less. And then I remembered that Darren was a suspect.

“Ok,” said Darren, looking at me seriously. “I guess I should go, before you guys attack me with your steak-frying tools.”

“I guess you should,” I said sadly.

I watched him leave, and then I turned to Jerry. “That didn’t go well, did it?”

“No,” Jerry said. “Conversations don’t usually go so well when you’re about to hit someone over the head with a fry pan.”