Secrets That Kill (3 page)

Chapter 2

Stunned with shock, I hardly noticed the paramedics who pushed me aside to get to Warren. I watched them take his pulse before all that blood got to me, and I started to feel light-headed. I lurched out of the kitchen and back to my corner booth, sliding into the bench. I lowered my head onto the table and took a few deep breaths.

The ringing in my ears slowly abated, and I began to hear the commotion around me. One voice stood out, and I realized it was Warren’s ex-girlfriend, explaining to someone that he’d come into the restaurant with me.

That caught my attention, and I sat up. Glancing around the restaurant, I was chagrined to find it flooded with police. Crap! I should have left before they came. Now I had to talk to them, and I would have to make up something fast, because I certainly couldn’t tell them the truth.

That stupid ex-girlfriend was ruining everything. A cop came over to my booth and took a seat across from me. He was thinking that I looked as white as a sheet, something he’d never imagined seeing in sunny Florida. He figured I was from out-of-town, and that made him a little suspicious.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“I think so,” I answered. Just then, the paramedics walked down the aisle carrying their equipment back to their vehicle. One of them was feeling bad that the guy had died, but there wasn’t much any of them could do about it. A meat cleaver that big, and hacking right into the liver… they’d done everything they could, but he didn’t stand a chance.

A sudden wave of nausea passed over me and I closed my eyes. “Maybe not so much after all. Could I get a glass of water?” The cop nodded, hoping I wasn’t going to be sick all over the table, and left me alone.

Grateful for the space, I concentrated on pulling myself together, but it was hard. Poor Warren was dead. I pretty much knew that already, but it was still a shock. Tears flooded my eyes, but I wiped them away. I needed to keep an emotional distance if I was ever going to figure out how to answer the questions from the police without arousing their suspicions about me and what I knew.

That meant I needed to focus on the policeman’s thoughts so I could figure out what to say. In other words, I had to lie. I hated lying, especially to the police. It didn’t sit right, but if I wanted to go home, did I even have a choice?

He came back before I was quite ready with a glass of ice water. I took several swallows and felt my nerves settle down a bit. The cop was going to ask about my relationship with Warren so I spoke before he could.

“This guy came into the restaurant,” I explained. “He had tattoos of snakes on his biceps and his head was shaved. He walked right past me. He looked like he was after the guy who got hurt. Is he going to be all right?” I turned to look back toward the kitchen, catching a glimpse of Warren’s shoes behind the propped-open door.

The cop frowned. If I didn’t know the victim, then what was the waitress talking about? “Um… I’m afraid he’s dead.”

“Oh no! That’s awful!” I said. “I heard the commotion and ran back to see what was going on, but I get queasy at the sight of blood, so I came back here to sit down. So he’s really dead?”

“Yeah,” the cop said. He was thinking that I obviously didn’t know the guy, and the waitress must have made a mistake. But why would she lie to him? Something was off. My description of the man with the snake tattoos fit what the others had seen, and if I could identify him it would be helpful. He’d make sure the detectives talked to me when they got there. Maybe they could figure out what was going on.

“I need to ask you to wait and talk to the detectives who are coming to investigate. They’ll have a few questions for you, and then you can go home. Just don’t leave until you’ve talked to them. Okay?” he asked.

“Sure,” I said. “Anything I can do to help.” I was pretty sure if I seemed anxious to leave, he’d pick up on that. I also needed to let him believe that home wasn’t so far away, or I might not ever get out of here. I checked the time and cringed, twelve-forty and counting. I still had some leeway to make my flight, especially since I didn’t have to check a bag. I could still make it.

The minutes ticked slowly by with no sign of the detectives and, try as I might, I couldn’t help thinking about Warren’s last words to me. His sudden death was a shock, but now I had to worry about the guys who’d killed him and the fact that they were after me. How had this happened? When had they seen me? Warren hadn’t even had a chance to retrieve the stupid thumb-drive, and now Carson, whoever he was, thought I had it? Could things get any worse?

I considered looking for the cleaning closet to see if I could get the thumb-drive but decided that was a bad idea. It was safer in the closet than if I had it. Not only that, it was safer for me to leave it alone. Plus, someone might be watching me and wonder what I was doing. No, I just had to sit tight and try not to freak out.

Ten long minutes later, two men in suits and ties walked into the restaurant. They talked to the policemen and examined the body, which was still lying on the floor of the kitchen. Just thinking about Warren lying dead a few feet away was giving me the willies, and I tried not to listen to the Detective’s thoughts about how he died. They made his death sound so clinical, like he wasn’t even a person. I sniffed, feeling bad all over again, and wished I could just go home.

More cops entered the restaurant, taking pictures and documenting the crime scene. I was grateful to be out of the way in my booth. The detectives came out of the kitchen and started making the rounds of talking to all of the witnesses. I hoped they’d talk to me before the ex-girlfriend, but she butted in like she was the most important person there. Great. I kept my face averted and tried to ignore her as she pointed them in my direction. I glanced up as they came to my table.

“I’m Detective Fitch, and this is Detective Castro. We’d like to ask you a few questions.” Fitch was clearly in charge and had the gray-streaked hair and fine lines in his face to show he’d been on the force for a long time. Castro was younger and was thinking this was his first case with Fitch. He was excited to learn from the best.

“Sure,” I agreed, hoping I didn’t sound as nervous as I felt. If Fitch was that good, I might be in trouble.

They slid into the booth across from me, each studying me in their own way. Fitch immediately concluded that I was involved, mostly because I looked spooked and panicked, a sure sign that I knew what was going on.

My heart rate doubled. This was bad.

“How long have you known the victim?” he asked.

“Known him?” I drew my brows together in confusion, knowing I had to play this just right. “I don’t know him.”

Fitch narrowed his eyes. What was I trying to pull? “His girlfriend said he was with you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I answered, keeping the confusion on my face. It wasn’t too hard since she had changed from being an ex to a full-fledged girlfriend. “What girlfriend?”

Fitch glanced toward the back to find her, but she wasn’t in sight. He’d have to get her over here and get to the bottom of this. He glanced at Castro and slid out of the booth. “Go find her while I ask… sorry, I never got your name.”

“Shelby Nichols,” I said.

“Shelby. Okay. Apparently there’s been some misunderstanding, but I’m sure we can clear it up. Detective Castro will get the waitress.”

“What waitress?” I asked.

“The waitress who is the girlfriend who says you came with the victim,” he explained. He was beginning to think I really didn’t know what was going on.

“Oh… okay,” I said. Fitch slid back into the booth and tried to figure me out. To distract him I asked, “So what was his name? You keep calling him the victim, but he was a real person. Who was he? Why was he killed? Was he in a gang or something? That guy I saw had snake tattoos on his arms, and his head was shaved. Is he the person who killed him?”

“The victim’s name was Warren Pearce. Tell me what you saw,” Fitch said.

I explained how I came in and the hostess seated me in this corner booth. “I wasn’t too far from the victim… Warren, and noticed him talking quite loudly with a waitress. Must be the girlfriend?” Fitch nodded and I continued. “Now that I think about it, she did give me a dirty look, although I had no idea why.”

Fitch was thinking Warren must have told her I was his new girlfriend to get her off his back maybe, but why? “Go on,” he said.

“Next thing I know this guy came rushing down the aisle toward the back like he was after somebody. Right after that I heard a scream, and a woman yelling to call nine-one-one, and shouting that someone had been hurt. I went back to see what was going on and saw the guy… Warren, lying there and… it didn’t look good.” I grimaced and swallowed. “All that blood. It gave me quite a shock.”

“Did you get a good look at the guy’s face? The one with the tattoos?” he asked.

“Yeah. He was big and looked really mean.” I gave him a more detailed description, finishing up just as Detective Castro brought the waitress to our table.

With her hands on her hips, and mascara running down her face from her tears, she still managed to sneer at me. “Warren said he was with you. He wouldn’t have told me that if it wasn’t true. He knows how mad I get.”

Everyone focused on me and I shrugged. “I didn’t come in with him. Just ask the hostess. She saw me come in alone and seated me here.”

“But why would he tell me that?” the waitress asked, anger drying her tears. “You’re making this up. I’ll get Molly and prove it.” She stalked off to find the hostess.

I tried not to sigh with relief and shook my head. “I don’t get it either. But there’s clearly something going on. I hope you can figure it out.”

“We’ll get to the bottom of it,” Detective Castro assured me. He followed after the waitress, leaving me alone with Fitch again, who was thinking that once this matter was cleared up, he could send me on my way. My description matched those of the other witnesses, although I was the only one who got a good look at his face, so he really didn’t think he needed me to stay.

Only… he had a feeling there was something he was missing. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask me what I was doing in the restaurant in the first place, but before he could, Castro returned.

“The hostess said she came in alone,” Castro said. “So the victim must have lied to the girlfriend for some reason.” He glanced at me. “The hostess also said it looked like you were meeting someone.”

Did he really expect me to answer that? They both glanced at me, wondering what I would say. Fitch thought if I told them to mind their own business, it meant I had something to hide. Put that together with what the victim said to his girlfriend, and it could mean something.

“I wasn’t meeting with anyone,” I said. “I’m just here as part of my job. I have my own consulting agency, and I’m doing some work for a client.”

Fitch’s eyes glinted. There was a definite ring of truth to that. This must be what he was missing. It made more sense to him now, unless it had something to do with Warren. If I didn’t tell him exactly what it was, and said some stupid thing about client privilege and all that, he’d know I was keeping something from him that was important to the investigation. “Did it have anything to do with Warren?”

Damn! Now I had to make up something really good. “No. It’s not about that.” Thinking fast, I lowered my voice and leaned toward them. “It’s about a secret recipe. My client wants to know if this restaurant stole hers. I was going to do some snooping around… ask a few questions. But… after this, I’ll have to come back some other time.”

I sat back in my seat. “You won’t tell anyone, will you? It’s supposed to be confidential, and I don’t want anyone here to know.”

“No,” Fitch said. “Of course not.” He was caught off guard, and had a hard time wrapping his head around my explanation. A secret recipe? Here, in this dive? Of course, he’d never eaten here before. Maybe the food was really good. He’d have to give it a try. He wondered what dish it was and glanced at the table, just in case there was a menu handy.

“If that’s all, I might as well go,” I said, catching his attention. “There’s nothing more I can do for you is there?”

“No, I think that’s everything,” he answered. “Could you give me your card in case we need to get in touch?” He was thinking if I were lying I wouldn’t have a business card to give him.

Good grief! Was he always this suspicious of every little thing? “Sure.” I rummaged through my bag and found my purse, then pulled a business card out of the pocket where I kept them. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” He eagerly studied it, thinking that it looked authentic. The number had a different area code than Florida, but that wasn’t too unusual. “This looks like a business number. Do you have a personal cell phone number you could give me?”

“Yeah, sure. Let me write it down on the back of the card.” Dang, he was good. After getting my name and consulting agency in the paper for finding all that stolen bank money, I’d had to get a business line for all the phone calls. Now I couldn’t ditch Fitch so easily.

“Thanks. I’ll call if I need anything.”

“Okay.” I took my time stuffing my purse back into my bag, waiting for him to be the first to leave the booth. I didn’t want to look too eager to get out of there. I checked the time. It was one-thirty-five. Could I still make it to the airport? I had to try.