Dirty Little Secrets (Romantic Mystery) Book 1 in the J.J. Graves Series (8 page)

Vaughn Raines was another member of the group. I’d dated Vaughn a couple of times my sophomore year of high school, but we’d decided it was just too weird. Vaughn was a nice guy and a hell of a poker player, but he soon discovered after his date with me that his affections veered more towards the opposite sex. Apparently, I’d opened his eyes to the fact that he was gay. That wasn’t a particularly glowing endorsement for my dating resume, so we’d agreed to keep the secret between us. Vaughn owned an antique store/vitamin super center over in King George Proper. Despite the weird mix, it seemed to do very well.

And last in our happy but dysfunctional group was Eddie Turner. Eddie was a typical “average Joe”, which wasn’t exactly hard to be considering the company. Eddie was the nine-to-fiver. He owned a rent-a-car agency in the city and was married to a really nice woman he’d met on a singles cruise to the Bahamas five years ago. They’d had a very nice Episcopalian wedding at St. Paul’s, and exactly two years later his wife gave birth to their first child. And then two years after that she popped out one more. Eddie’s poker skills were slightly higher than mediocre. But I liked his wife, and his kids were cute in short increments of time.

“I thought they said on the weather channel that we were only going to get a few flurries.”

“Well, technically we did get a few flurries, but then they morphed into freezing death crystals. I don’t think the weathermen are required to be a hundred percent accurate. That’s one of those things that appear in fine print at the bottom of the screen. I’m just glad I’m not on call tonight. There’s nothing worse than trying to dig some poor shmoe out of the snow before he freezes to death.”

“Happy thoughts, Jack.”

“Yeah, I’d much rather talk about murder,” he said. “I did find out a few things of interest. Did you know that Fiona was seeing a therapist?”

“What?” I asked. “For how long?”

“I found his name and contact information in the appointment book we retrieved from her house this afternoon. Dr. Henry Hides has an office in Nottingham. When I called to deliver the news he seemed surprised. She’d been his patient for more than four years.”

“You’d think someone like her therapist would be able to spot the signs of abuse. I literally found contusions and abrasions on every patch of skin except for her feet and face, but oddly enough I didn’t find any scars. And I checked hospital records, but she never went in for treatment. Not once. But you’re telling me the therapist wasn’t surprised when she supposedly turns up dead by her husband’s hand?”

“Yeah, I thought it was rather odd myself. Why don’t we go pay the good doctor a visit tomorrow morning? His office happens to be on the bottom floor of his townhouse, and I’d like to get the chance to see the big picture.”

“And four eyes are better than two.”

“Exactly. And while we’re in Nottingham we can stop by the Alexandretta Boutique. I found a label inside the scarf that was used as the murder weapon. The Alexandretta Boutique is very high quality handmade apparel. And it’s less than two blocks from Dr. Hides’ office.”

“When was Fiona’s last appointment?”

“Thursday morning, 10 A.M.”

“So Fiona goes to see her long time shrink and then heads over to an exclusive boutique to pick up a scarf that will eventually kill her in the next ten hours? How much did the scarf cost?”

“One-hundred and twenty-eight dollars.”

I let out a low whistle at the price. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d bought an item of clothing that cost more than a hundred dollars.

“And Marie, the manager at the boutique was sorry to hear about Mrs. Murphy’s death. She was one of their best customers. And that is a quote.”

“George and Fiona didn’t exactly live like they were rolling in money. And I can’t recall ever seeing Fiona look anything more than presentable. She was always clean and her clothes were pressed, but they looked like clothes off the rack. You could tell she had pride enough to try to pass off the illusion of her marriage to everyone in town, even if she did always cower away from anyone who wanted to talk to her for more than a few minutes. Like she was afraid word would get back to George that she was actually having a conversation with another adult. What the hell is going on?”

“That’s a good question. Maybe we’ll get some answers tomorrow. If this weather ever lets up. We should swing by the hospital and see if George is available to be questioned when we’re done in Nottingham. The guard on duty tells me every time the drugs wear off he starts moaning and crying and thrashing around, too distraught to be handcuffed.”

“Guilty conscience?”

“Maybe. Or maybe he’s planning to go to Hollywood. Who the hell knows? But he can’t keep it up much longer. Did you finish the autopsy?”

“Yeah, I was able to confirm the time of death. Between 9:30 and 10:00 is as accurate as I can get. If you figure she left the house at nine on the dot and then make a time allowance for the initial blow into unconsciousness and the rape, we’re looking at about half an hour to forty-five minutes from the time she walked out the door. She had her last meal a couple of hours prior to death, just some vegetable soup and crackers. I’ll be interested to see what the tox screen shows Monday, but my gut says it’ll be clean. She had full capabilities when she was killed.”

Jack just grunted like that’s what he’d expected all along. “Oh, by the way,” he said. “Jeremy Mooney called me while I was headed back from Richmond. It seems that several people witnessed George Murphy getting his truck washed yesterday.”

“Really?” I asked surprised.

“Yeah, he went by the car wash right after he shut down the garage last night. A little after six.”

“Damn,” I said deflated. “Do you think he did it on purpose? It rained early yesterday afternoon, but the sun was out by three. Do you think he got the carwash knowing it would be muddy, and then after he killed Fiona he had it rewashed late enough to where there were no witnesses like the first time?” I asked. I was grabbing for straws, and I knew it. “It would explain why the truck was so clean.”

“Do you think that’s what he did?”

“Not really,” I said. “It seems like a lot of trouble to go to. Maybe too much planning in advance.”

“That’s a personality trait that describes George to a tee, though.”

“Well make up your mind, Jack. You either think he’s guilty or you don’t,” I said grumpily. “Did you find out anything at the bank?”

“By the time I got back from Richmond and tracked down the scarf and the therapist the bank was closed. It’s Friday,” he said by way of explanation.

“Oh, yeah. I hate that,” I said.

Dickey always closed the bank at four o’clock on Friday’s. Wife’s orders. Fridays belonged to Candy—whether she needed Dickey to cart around shopping bags, drive her home after plastic surgery or chase her bratty Yorkie around the neighborhood with a pooper scooper. Candy wasn’t going to let a little thing like work interfere with her life.

“I’ve got a couple of contacts I still have in D.C. working on tracing those bank account numbers. We might get lucky there if they can find anything.”

I just grunted and headed to the nearest window. The snow was falling even harder if that was possible. Jack’s kitchen was at the back of the house and faced the Potomac. He had a view of hundreds of hardwood trees similar to what could be seen from my place. I looked out the bay window and knew I was in trouble when I couldn’t see any sign of the trees, much less the river, because of the snow.

“Looks like you’re going to have to bunk here tonight,” Jack said.
I considered giving a token protest but decided against it. Jack’s place was warm, he had good food, and all the booze I could ask for. Why would I leave just to salvage my pride?

“Did you give the lab tech this afternoon a similarly lame pick up line so you could get into her pants?” I asked as I headed towards the living room with the beer and sat on the floor in front of the fireplace. The fire was toasty warm and felt good against my still chilled skin. This was the kind of weather that made you feel like you’d never be warm again.

“Darlin', I don’t have to say anything to get into a woman’s pants. I just have to be.”

That was a sad fact but true. And I was thankful I was immune. “Let’s play Go-Fish,” I said, attempting to change the subject. “For money.”

“I hope you play Go-Fish better than you play poker. The only reason I still hang out with you is because I feel guilty that I’ve taken all your money. You can’t even afford to hire some poor schmuck to take you out on a date. What are you up to, four years now?” He asked with a smile and a wicked glint in his eyes.

“Shut up and deal the cards,” I said. I decided to keep Brody Collins to myself. There were some cards that needed to be held close to the vest.

I woke up with the smell of a locker room permeating the inside of my nostrils, and it wasn’t until I felt the cottony softness of a sock caress my cheek that I realized there was a monstrous foot in my face. There was a hole in Jack’s sock so large I could see three of his toes. A finger ran down my instep and reflexes took over. The next thing I knew Jack had rolled to all fours and was wheezing through his teeth.

“What the hell did you do that for?” he asked. His voice was graveled and sounded as if he’d just swallowed shards of glass.

“You tickled my foot.”

“Yes, but that is not a crime punishable by kneeing someone in the balls.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you met the lab tech yesterday instead of today then. It serves you right for taking advantage of one of my weaknesses. They’ll bounce back in no time, and I’ll buy you lunch to make up for the damage.” The quickest way to get Jack to forget about the pain below his belt was to move his interest to something else. And we could both be swayed by a good meal.

“Yeah, fine,” he agreed. “Let’s see if we can make it out of my driveway, and then you can buy me breakfast too.”

“Okay, but it has to be fast food. I’m not made of money, you know.”

“And it’s no wonder. How you managed to lose thirty-seven dollars playing Go-Fish last night is beyond me.”

He was right. I wasn’t a gambler. I mentally scratched Las Vegas off my top-ten list of places to travel and followed Jack to the front door.

“Looks like Harvey’s had the snow plow out this morning,” Jack said.

Harvey Wallace rented cabins on the south side of the county during the tourist season. The other four months of the year he drove a snow plow when we needed one. And year round he held a seat on the King George County Council. It was a thankless job, but somebody had to do it.

“What time is it?” I asked.

“Quarter ‘til seven. Let me shower and change then we can head to your place so you can do the same. I want to get to Nottingham as soon as we can. Dr. Hides wasn’t exactly cooperative when we spoke on the phone yesterday.”

“You afraid he’s going to disappear?” I asked.

“No, I think he’ll stay around to see what we find, but I don’t think he’s going to try and do us any favors by pointing us in the right direction.”

“I guess we’ll find out soon enough. Hurry and get your shower. I want to check out that boutique while you’re talking to the manager. It’s almost my birthday, you know.”

“I already have your gift. I bought you a year’s worth of online poker lessons.”

“Gee, Jack, you sure know the way to a woman’s heart.”

###

Harvey had done a good job with the plow. The roads were clear and Bloody Mary was quiet. Before long there would be children wrapped from head to toe in their snow gear, making snow angels and building snowmen. But for now it was peaceful and serene, the snow pristine.
We’d decided to take my Suburban to Nottingham instead of Jack’s cruiser because it handled the roads better. I’d gladly handed over the keys when he’d asked to drive.

My house came into view, and I was surprised by how beautiful it looked covered in snow. Apparently, it
was
possible to polish a turd. There was no way to tell that the paint was peeling in sections, or that the side steps to the porch needed to be repaired. The roof sagged just a bit over the wide covered front porch, the weather vane was crooked and the lattice work skirting around the bottom of the house was missing a few boards. But it was home.
And then I saw the
Cadillac Escalade
pulled in my driveway, and I forgot to breathe.

“Who’s that?” Jack asked.

Oh, good, I wasn’t imagining things. Jack saw him too.

I didn’t answer him because I wanted to regulate my breathing in case I started to hyperventilate. Brody Collins had made a hell of an impression the day before. And once again, I looked like crap.

“Hello? J.J. Who’s that man?” Jack asked, snapping his fingers in front of my face.

I got out of the car without answering and walked my way across the snow to the front steps as if I were in a trance. Brody was dressed warmer today in boots and a long wool coat. He had a ski cap pulled down low over his ears, but his hair was long enough to still be seen in the back.

“Hi,” I said.

“Hi, yourself,” he said back with a smile. “I thought I’d drop back by and pick your brain some more. I was just about to head over to the funeral parlor. I thought I might buy you breakfast.”