Horse of a Different Killer (15 page)

“The dust, I guess. I mean, it's hard to be sure, but the sides looked dusty.”

“Like Bluebell was.”

“Well, yeah,” I said, though I hadn't made that connection.

“Why would someone be following you?”

“I don't know. It has to be connected with Heart's disappearance, though.”

“Because the delivery driver was followed?”

I nodded. “I don't know the details yet, but Hunter made it sound significant. Maybe the guys following me are looking for Heart, too.”

“Why?”

“I'm guessing it has something to do with Tony's murder.”

Kai seemed to consider that, then started Bluebell's engine and drove out of the parking lot back toward Third Street.

“There's no way anyone could have known where we were going tonight, which means they followed us from your place.”

“But I lost them earlier, while we were on the phone,” I reminded him. “I did the around-the-block-circle thing.”

“Then you either have more than one tail or they know where you live.”

A disturbing thought.

Rather than taking the direct route to the condo, Kai turned into a neighborhood with a lot of twisting roads.

I kept watching for headlights, but none appeared behind us.

We pulled into the condo's parking lot and Kai walked me inside.

“I didn't see your sister's car. Do you think she'll be back soon?”

“Doubtful.”

He looked around, almost as if checking for an intruder.

“The coast is clear,” I told him. “Moss would have let me know otherwise.” My dog had heard us come in but was being lazy and was content to stay on the couch with his kitten.

“I'm going to take a drive and look around,” Kai said. “See if I can figure out where they've been watching from. Keep the door locked, I'll be back soon.”

Kai left and I turned the dead bolt with a sigh.

“Well, isn't this great.” We'd gone from
Top Gun
to
Mission: Impossible
in twenty minutes.

The double entendre of that thought made me want to bang my head against the door.

I shouldn't have said anything about the stupid sedan. In an attempt to stave off depression, I took my laptop to the couch and decided to spend the time looking up dark, four-door cars for sale. I was hoping to pair the body style of the car I'd seen to a make and model, but after scanning a half a dozen images, they started to blur together.

I scrolled to another image, and decided to amuse myself by channeling Jake, saying in a passible impersonation of the detective's Buffalo accent, “Yo, the car look like this?”

“Yep.”

“How 'bout this?” I asked, bringing up another photo.

“Yes.”

“This?”

I carried on like that for a minute and came to the conclusion that eyewitness testimony couldn't be trusted. Which made me worry Kai was on a wild-goose chase.

What if I wasn't being followed? I tried to think of where else I'd seen the car. Not just behind me, but driving past . . . just before I went in to see Pretty Girl. The car had driven by, dark windows, dusty side panels—it hadn't registered at the time, but I was sure it was the same car.

A
ding
from my laptop told me I had new mail in my in-box. I closed out the sedan search and opened my e-mail.

I deleted the spam offering “Cheap Viagra or Cialis now!” But saw the latest two e-mails were from Jasmine.

The first supplied me with a link to a page on the LaPointe website.

I clicked it and was treated to a viewing of the commercial starring Jasmine, Heart, and a blond model driving an antique sports car.

Music dipped and swelled as the scenes cut back and forth from car to horse, highlighting the curve of the car's gleaming fender then the regal arch of Heart's neck. I got that they were drawing a parallel between the beauty and power of the horse and car, and the strength of the women commanding both, but wasn't sure what any of it had to do with selling jewelry.

I watched the video a few more times, with near equal admiration for the car and the horse, then moved on to the second e-mail from Jasmine.

In it was the message “Hope these help” from Jasmine along with an attached file that contained the photos I'd asked for.

“That was fast,” I mused.

More out of curiosity than any real hope of finding something useful, I scrolled through the photographs. There were hundreds of them. All original and unretouched versions.

I came to the photo of Heart and Jasmine and fetched the magazine to compare original to the final image. Playing an impromptu “what's different?” game.

Hey, might as well keep killing time, right?

In the advertisement, I noticed that a small blemish on her cheek had been removed and her skin smoothed. A stray lock of hair blowing in an awkward position near her lip had been erased, and fullness had been added to her hair.

Suddenly, I understood why looking at Emma's fashion magazines made me feel self-conscious.

Kai called as I was frowning at the photo.

“I'm walking up your stairs.”

“On my way.” I set the laptop aside and I reached the front door just as he knocked.

“Any luck?” I asked, opening the door to let him in.

“No.”

I looked up at him, wanting to say . . . something.

“What?” he asked.

But I wasn't sure I knew.

“Come on, Grace, talk to me. Tell me what you're thinking.”

I was thinking I was sorry he'd spent his night off driving around looking for a phantom sedan. I was thinking how nice his shoulders and biceps looked with his armed crossed.

Most of all, I was thinking I wanted him to kiss me.

My phone rang. I'd forgotten I was still holding it, and the sudden noise made me jump. I glanced down at the screen, frowning when I saw the call was blocked.

“Hello?”

“You're being followed.”

“Who is this?” I asked, though I thought I knew.

“Just watch your back, sweetness.”

“Logan?”

But he'd hung up.

Kai was staring at me, clearly waiting for an explanation. Unfortunately, I didn't have one.

“Did I just hear the name
Logan
?” he asked with maybe a little too much control.

I nodded. My lingering surprise prevented me from doing much more.

“What did he say?” Kai asked.

“He told me to watch my back. That I was being followed.”

“You're sure it was him?”

I nodded. “He calls me sweetness.”

“I see.”

Okay, that was obviously the wrong thing to say.

“Not that I like it—I don't,” I rushed to explain. “But that's how I knew who it was.”

“Right.”

“Well,” I said, desperate to find another angle to the topic, “at least we know Logan's not the one following me.”

“Actually, it seems he is.”

“Um . . .” I didn't know what to say to that. Kai seemed to expect me to say something, but only one thought kept circling through my head.

If I ever saw Logan again, I was going to turn him into a real ghost.

Needless to say, the date ended soon after that with Kai cautioning me to keep the door locked and bidding me a cool good night.

I moped into the kitchen. The digital clock on the stove read a few minutes after nine thirty. Pathetic.

Emma had left a note in the usual spot. I scowled when I read it.

Looking forward to your walk of shame! xo E

My sister had nurtured high hopes for my date. But there would be no “walk of shame” for me after being out all night.

Frustration made me crumple the note and toss it in the trash. Instead of making it in the bin, the balled-up piece of paper bounced off the rim and rolled over the floor.

Voodoo streaked into the kitchen from out of nowhere and pounced on it.

Ha!

The kitten's mind was a tangle of excitement over the appearance of a new toy. She batted the paper around, then abruptly abandoned it when she rediscovered another toy she'd knocked under the refrigerator.

I bent to steal the note back just in time to see the little yellow toy spin out of sight.

Gone!
She let out a pitiful meow.

“Hang on, lunatic, I'll get it for you.” I started to look for a wooden spoon or something to use to fish it out for her, but before I had a chance to find something suitable, Voodoo had rolled onto her back and was having a great time reaching and swatting under the fridge. I left her to her kitty fun.

There were probably a legion of toys under there by now.

Too restless to sleep, but not ready to closely examine Logan's call and Kai's obvious and understandable reaction to it, I decided to get ready for bed then continue my perusal of the photos Jasmine had e-mailed.

I paused when I came to the studio shots. It was weird to see Jasmine standing in the same position as the photos taken outside, her hand raised to touch an imaginary horse.

Visible in the background was a lighting pole, some sort of gray fabric, and even a beefy dude standing to one side. I looked at the magazine again and could see how they'd layered one image over the other, superimposing the real jewels over the fake and adding lens flares and sparkles to create something more perfect and beautiful than could be possible in reality.

“I will never believe what I see in a magazine advertisement again,” I told Moss, who was stretched out on the couch beside me.

Finally, I came across a series of photos of Heart and searched the images for any identifying features. Some Friesians had white stars on their foreheads, but as Jasmine had said, Heart was solid black. The high resolution made it so I could zoom in and out of each photo, but, even so, I couldn't find any unique scars or other markings. I decided to transfer a couple of images to my phone anyway.

At least I wouldn't have to keep showing people the magazine, which put much more emphasis on Jasmine and the LaPointe jewels than the horse. I also had a much clearer mental image of Heart to use with any animals I came across.

With a sigh I closed my laptop and called it a night.

•   •   •

I should have gotten out of bed when my eyes inexplicably sprung open at four a.m.; instead, I told myself it was too early and went back to sleep.

Never a good idea. Oversleeping makes me a groggy mess.

Morning brain fog has always been an issue for me but that day, it was worse than usual. My eyelids felt twice their normal size and I stumbled, almost clipping the door frame with my shoulder as I headed to the bathroom.

My mind was so lethargic, it took me a minute to lock on to Moss's and Voodoo's locations and even longer to discern whether they needed to be tended to. Both were napping on the couch.

I soaked a washcloth with cold water and scrubbed my face, hoping that would scour the sleep from my brain.

“Coffee?” Emma asked from the door to my bathroom. She held up a mug—my favorite oversized one with
I LIKE BIG MUTTS AND I CAN
NOT LIE
printed on it.

I grunted an affirmative and she set the mug on the counter.

“I already took the fluff-mutt out for a jog. You up for some training?” she asked.

I lifted the mug, took a swig of coffee, and nodded. “Sure.”

She studied me with her astute Emma-eye, and I waited for her to ask me about my big date. Instead she said, “I'll meet you downstairs in ten minutes.”

My sister had converted a section of her garage into a martial arts dojo. Mostly, she trained in aikido, occasionally branching out into other disciplines. She'd nagged me into participating when I first moved in with her. I was surprised to find I actually enjoyed it.

Among other things, the classes helped alleviate frustration, which was something I certainly needed that morning.

I finished my coffee, pulled on my white
gi
and tied my even more white belt around my waist.

Oh well, you had to start somewhere, right?

Slipping into a pair of flip-flops, I checked on Moss and Voodoo—both were still sleeping on the couch—and headed down to the dojo.

Emma wasn't wearing her
hakama
, the wide-legged pants worn by many traditional Japanese martial artists.

“Takeda Sensei's not coming today?” I asked.

Emma always dressed properly for the elderly instructor. So did I, for that matter.

“Next week,” she said. “I thought we'd focus on footwork today, so I decided it would be better if you could see my feet.

Apparently, my sister was going to wait for me to bring up the topic of my obviously botched date with Kai. I didn't want to discuss it, knowing she'd tell me I was an idiot for pushing him away. And she'd be right.

Whatever. I had other things I wanted to talk about.

“What do you think?” I asked Emma as we sat on the tatami
mat, going through a few stretches before our warm-up. “About Jasmine.”

“If you're asking me if I think she killed Tony, my answer is no.”

It hadn't been what I meant, but I went with it. “Maybe she had someone do it for her.”

My sister shook her head. “I was there. I saw the look on Jasmine's face. She was beside herself.” Emma sat with her legs outstretched then folded forward at the waist, touching her chest to her knees as she reached past her feet. She made the movement look easy.

“She could've been faking,” I suggested, struggling to mimic my sister's flexibility—and failing.

“She wasn't,” Emma answered, voice muffled by the fabric of her
gi
pants. Drawing in a deep breath she sat up and looked at me. “Trust me, I know people. It wasn't Jasmine.”

I started to ask who else would have wanted Ortega dead when my sister swung her legs open and rolled her body forward into a split.

“You make me feel like a hippo flopping around next to a ballerina.”

She chuckled. “Don't you remember
Fantasia
? The hippos
were
ballerinas.”

“That's why it was called
Fan
tasia and not
Real
tasia.” I pointed out. “What about Mary?” I asked, changing the subject back to potential murder suspects. “She probably hated Ortega. I would have if I'd have worked for him.”

Emma, being my sister, followed my train of thought without a problem.

“It wasn't Mary.”

“You never know,” I insisted. “He could have been planning to fire her.”

“Tony couldn't tie a necktie without her. He wasn't going to fire her.”

“Maybe they were having an affair.”

My sister stood, then gave me a flat look.

“Think about it,” I said, warming to the idea. “Ortega gets engaged, brings Jasmine into Mary's territory, and she loses it. Takes him out.”

“We're talking about people, not wolves,” my sister said.

“A wolf would attack the invader, not its own pack member.”

“Come on. Time to exercise something beside your mouth.”

We trained for almost an hour. It felt good to let everything else go and get absorbed in the movement and technique until I took a breakfall a little too hard.

Breakfalls are a way of hitting the ground so as to
break
your
fall
when an opponent throws you
.

I'd gotten the hang of it—mostly. But my arm was still healing from being wrenched to the side not long ago by someone who was trying to kill me.

“Shoulder?” Emma had noticed my wince.

“Yeah, it's okay. Still twinges sometimes.”

The truth was, the repetitive, jarring falls were taking a toll.

Emma, ever perceptive, said, “Why don't we call it quits for today?”

As we walked together back to the condo I thought about what Uncle Wiley had said and asked,. “How are you doing? I mean, none of us liked Tony, but . . .”

“That didn't mean I wanted to find his body.” She finished the sentence for me.

“But you're okay. Nothing left unsaid or anything. No regrets?”

“No. I'm just glad he can't hurt anyone anymore.”

“Don't let Detective Boyle hear you say that,” I said as I followed her into the kitchen to grab a glass of water. “She'll show up with a pitchfork and mob of angry villagers.”

“You think she's that bad?”

“Don't you?”

“Maybe.”

“What happened last night?”

I shrugged then gave her the CliffsNotes version. “Everything was great until I saw that stupid car.”

“And you're sure it was the same one?”

“The more I think about it, yeah. In fact”—I paused, remembering something else—“I think I saw it the first time I went to R-n-R. I was going really slow, trying to find the turnoff. All the other cars that came up behind me went around, except for a dark sedan.”

“How did that ruin the date? You could have damsel-in-distressed him right into bed.”

I gave her a look.

“What? It works. Trust me.”

“It might have worked—until Logan called.”

She blinked at me. “Come again.”

“You heard me.”

“Explain.”

I did, though there wasn't much to say.

“Ookaaay.”

“I didn't know what to do, Em. I mean, Kai is standing there looking at me like, ‘Is that who I think it is?' so I told him it was. Then I totally messed up.”

My sister waited.

“Kai asked me how I knew it was Logan, and I told him Logan calls me sweetness.”

My sister has very expressive brown eyes. Right then, they were spread wide, clearly asking,
You did what?

“I know. I tried to explain but I just made it worse. I didn't know what to say, so I shut up. After a couple of minutes, he left.”

“Okay. Here's what you need to do—call him.”

“And say what?”

“I'd start with ‘I'm sorry.' Make it clear you're just as baffled by Logan's call as he is.”

“Ugh.” I propped my elbows on the counter and dropped my face into my hands. “I feel so incompetent. Why couldn't I think of the right thing to say?”

“Wouldn't hurt to throw that in, too. Tell him you didn't know what to say, and you're sorry.” When I only grunted, my sister continued, “Here's how apologies work—the longer you take to say you're sorry to someone, the less likely they'll be to forgive you.”

I straightened and faced my sister. “It's not that I don't want to apologize. I do. I'm just afraid I'll screw it up.”

“Be sincere and it will be fine.”

“There's always Moto-cop.”

“Who?”

I told her about the gator-induced traffic jam and Moto-cop's offer to take me herping.

By the time I'd finished, Emma was laughing so hard she had to support herself with one arm on the counter.

“I figured out what he meant later,” I said. “Herpetology—herp. If you go looking for amphibians and reptiles, you're herping.”

“Please stop.” Tears were running down her cheeks.

I shrugged. “I wouldn't mind going herping.”

•   •   •

Knowing I'd be in an area with spotty cell coverage the rest of the morning, I tried to call Kai before I left to find Lily Earl. I'd spent a significant amount of time fretting over what I was going to say, so when I got his voice mail I stammered, “Um—hey, it's me. I . . . Call me back.”