Trapped by Revenge: A Shelby Nichols Adventure (2 page)

But in the end it didn’t matter, because she got a phone call from one of her kids and had to hurry to school. Not only did she not get to come with me, but it cut our lunch time a lot shorter than I’d planned. On the other hand, at least I didn’t have to feel bad about involving Holly in something that probably wasn’t good for her.

That left me with time to spare, and I got to Sam Killpack’s office a good half hour before Ramos was supposed to meet me. After waiting five minutes, and with nothing better to do, I decided I might as well go in and meet the guy. No harm in that, right? And Ramos would be right outside when I got done. I might just pick up everything I needed to know. It would be simple and easy, and I wouldn’t have to worry about it ever again. I might even get home in time to read my book and take a little snooze outside on the deck swing. With that happy thought, I hurried inside.

His office was on the second floor of an older building close to downtown. I took the elevator and wandered down the hall, not seeing anyone else on the floor. Unease crept along my spine. It looked like his office was the only one on this floor that wasn’t vacant. Most of the offices I passed were shut without any identifying markers. Wondering if I’d ever find the right office, I glanced down the hall and sighed with relief. A door at the end of the hall had a glass panel in it with the words “Sam Killpack, Private Investigator” stenciled on the glass in big block letters.

It struck me that in the P.I. business, and with a first name like Sam, he should change his last name to Spade, just for the heck of it. On the other hand, Killpack was pretty good too. I pushed open the door, expecting to find a secretary at the reception desk. No one was there, and the door to the inner office stood ajar. Maybe everyone was still at lunch?

“Hello?” I called. Hearing nothing, I proceeded toward the office door and pushed it open for a quick peek inside. A man’s body lay slumped over the desk from his chair, almost like he was taking a nap. It could have been true, except for the drops of red dripping from his dangling fingertips. My breath froze, and my knees went weak. Blood always made me queasy. “Mr. Killpack? Are you all right?”

I did not want to go over there and touch him, but what if he was only injured and still breathing? Belatedly, I glanced around the room to make sure the killer wasn’t still there and let out a relieved breath to find it empty. I knew if there was any hope at all that Killpack was still alive, I needed to get over there and check his pulse, but making my jelly legs move was another matter. Stiffening my spine, I managed to take a few faltering steps forward until I stood beside him.

With great trepidation, I placed my fingers on his neck, scrunching my eyes shut so I didn’t have to look at the blood. Not feeling a pulse, I snatched my fingers away. Yup, he was dead. My stomach turned into a queasy knot, and I swallowed uneasily. I did not want to lose my expensive lunch all over this guy, but all that blood was making it hard.

Pulling my gaze away from the body, my attention was drawn to his desk where his fingers were still curled around a pen. I bent closer to find that he had scrawled a name on a small yellow notepad. Could he have written his killer’s name before he died? The letters were barely legible, but as I studied them, the blood drained from my head. I blinked my eyes in panic, not sure what I was seeing. First an S, followed by an H, E L, B, Y with an N, and I, before it turned into a flat line? That couldn’t be right! But the more I studied it, the more I knew it was true.

A high-pitched whine passed through my lips, but I quickly clamped them shut before I started screaming. Without totally realizing what I was doing, I snatched the notepad from under his hand. The pen rolled from his fingers into his face, and his hand began to slide off the desk. Holding my breath, I quickly grabbed the shirtsleeve on his arm, surprised by how heavy his arm was, and hauled it back onto the desk where it had been. I considered trying to put the pen back in his fingers, but since that meant touching his dead skin, it wasn’t going to happen.

I stepped away, relieved his arm didn’t move, and started to breathe again. Feeling faint, I slipped the notepad into my purse and backed further away from the body. As I reached the office door, footsteps coming from outside in the hall penetrated my fog of panic. My heart rate doubled. Oh no! The rapid click, click, click of a woman’s heels came to a stop at the outer door, and I could see the outline of her head through the glass as she pushed it open. I quickly pulled the office door shut behind me and stood in front of it like a guard, my lips pressed into a tight line.

“Who are you?” the woman asked, coming to sudden stop. “What are you doing here?” Surprise and swearing came from her mind, followed by suspicion. “Do you have an appointment with Mr. Killpack?” She was wondering if I was Shelby Nichols. How come I was here so early?

“We need to call the police,” I said, my voice breathless. “I just got here and he’s… he’s…” I licked my lips, not knowing how to tell her.

“He’s what?” She took in my white face and raised her brows. This was not good. “What’s wrong with him?” Without waiting for my response, she shoved her way into his office and screamed.

Hearing her scream like that triggered something inside of me, and I screamed a little too.

Catching her breath, she glanced back at me with suspicion in her eyes. “Is he dead?”

“Yes,” I said, trying to get under control. “I already checked for a pulse. You’d better not touch him until the police get here.”

Her brows drew together, and she stared at me with accusation. “Who did this? Did you see anything? When did you get here?” She was thinking this was terrible. Maybe she should hit me over the head with something. She quickly scanned the room for a weapon.

“No. Wait!” I said. “I didn’t see who did this, but it wasn’t me. He was like that when I got here a few minutes ago.” I dug my phone from my purse. “I’m going to call the police. Maybe you should go back to your desk and sit down.” With her wild eyes and pale face, she looked like she was about to pass out. Probably just like me. “Are you his secretary?” I asked.

The sound of my voice speaking rationally calmed her, and she wobbled back to her desk, slumping into her chair. “I don’t feel so good,” she said. “This is such a shock!”

“Here, put your head between your legs before you faint.” I helped her lean over and held onto her arm until I knew she would be all right. Helping her calmed the panic I was feeling, and made it easier to focus on what to do next.

“Thanks,” she replied, her voice muffled from her position. “Yeah, I’m his secretary. I just started this job last week. I never thought anything like this could happen or I wouldn’t have taken it. This is terrible.” She was thinking that this day wasn’t working out the way she’d wanted and it had thrown her off-balance. Normally blood didn’t bother her, but combined with the smell and her close call, it was really hard to keep her act together. This had never happened to her before.

I clamped my mental shields tight, my own stomach doing enough damage without adding her thoughts to the mix, and quickly pushed nine-one-one. “I’d like to report a murder,” I said, breathing shallowly through my mouth. I gave the dispatcher the address and floor of the building we were in, and she asked me to stay on the line until the police arrived.

As I waited for the police, I gratefully slumped into a chair beside the secretary’s desk. Neither of us could talk quite yet, which was fine with me, since I still couldn’t figure out what my name was doing on that notepad. Why did he write it? Maybe it was just because I was his next appointment, and he was writing it down when he got shot. I closed my eyes, knowing I was just kidding myself. But what else could it be?

Chapter 2

A few minutes later, the cops showed up, followed almost immediately by two detectives. Relief poured over me to see Dimples enter the room. His quiet confidence and sturdy shoulders gave my heart a much needed reprieve. I trusted Dimples, and I knew he’d believe whatever I told him. He was the detective who’d been there from the beginning when I got shot in the head by a crazy bank robber at the grocery store. Since then, I’d helped him a few times with my mind-reading abilities. Only I’d called them ‘premonitions’ to keep my secret safe.

“Shelby.” He hurried to my side, worried about my white face and the look of shock in my eyes. “Are you okay? When they told me it was you on the phone, I came as quickly as I could. What happened?” 

I’d been thinking about this and had my answer all ready to go. I sat up straight, not wanting to look as shaken as I was. “I had an appointment with Mr. Killpack, but when I got here, I found him like that.” I pointed in his direction, but kept my gaze away from the blood.

“What time was that?” he asked.

“Well, my appointment was at two, but since I got here early, I just came in to wait, and there he was… dead. I did check for a pulse first, just to make sure. Come to think of it, his skin wasn’t cold, so that had to mean he hadn’t been dead long.”

“So about what time did you get here?” he asked, hoping I’d answer right this time.

“Oh, about one-thirty,” I clarified.

“Tell me exactly what happened.”

I explained everything as succinctly as I could. Except for the notepad with my name on it. There was no way he needed to see that. Thank goodness my purse was big, and it was tucked safely inside. While he questioned the secretary, I felt for it, just to make sure, and let out a breath of relief to feel it inside.

Listening to their conversation, I learned that the secretary had just come back from lunch and would have found him first if I hadn’t gotten there early. Lucky me. Of course, if that had happened, I wouldn’t have the notepad with my name on it in my purse right now. Then I thought about Holly and was suddenly grateful she hadn’t come along. What about Ramos? Had he gotten here yet? Maybe he was downstairs watching the building. When he saw the police, I hoped he wouldn’t panic and come up instead of waiting for me outside. I didn’t want to have to explain why he was here.

With Killpack dead, it also meant that Uncle Joey would never know exactly who Killpack was working for and what kind of information he’d found out and passed along in the process. Had it gotten him killed? Was ‘the judge’ a real judge, or was that just a nickname for one of Uncle Joey’s associates? Not knowing the answer to that meant I couldn’t use what Killpack knew for leverage with Uncle Joey.

Still, knowing things I shouldn’t always seemed to get me into a lot of trouble, so maybe it was for the best, although I hated to think Sam Killpack had died because of something he knew. Of course, maybe his death didn’t have anything to do with Uncle Joey. Maybe it was some other client? Chills ran down my spine and I got cold all over. If that were the case, then why did he spell my name out like a big neon sign?

Dimples had one more question for me, and a burning desire to tell him the truth about my involvement with Uncle Joey swept over me. It would be so good to get it out in the open, but then what? I hesitated. Telling him could hurt a lot of people, and I needed to think it through before I ever did something like that. 

“What were you here to talk to Mr. Killpack about?” he asked, somewhat apologetically. “I know it doesn’t seem like something you’d have to tell me, but every little bit of information I can gather might help us solve his murder.” The moment of truth passed and I ended up lying to him.

“Oh, sure, I understand,” I answered, pushing my guilt away. “It was about my consulting agency. Sometimes people need me to do a little P.I. work, and I was just going to get some pointers from him. I’m not the best at that sort of thing, but he’s a real pro, and he agreed to meet with me.”

“How did you hear of him?”

“From a client,” I quickly improvised. “Apparently, he worked as a chauffeur to dig up some information. I guess when you’re a P.I. you have to be willing to do stuff like that. You know, play a part? It made me wonder if I should do that too.” I grimaced in distaste, knowing I was certainly playing a part right now. It seems that’s all I did lately. I sure hoped I wouldn’t go to hell for it.

Dimples’ lips twitched, and within seconds, his face broke into a broad smile. His dimples rapidly appeared, zooming in and out and swirling in circles like tiny whirlpools. My day unexpectedly got brighter just to catch a glimpse of them. “Shelby,” he chuckled. “I don’t think that’s anything you need to do. You have premonitions. That’s a whole lot better than sneaking around like most P.I.s.”

I smiled back. “True. Maybe I shouldn’t worry about P.I. stuff anyway. It looks dangerous.” My gaze was drawn to Killpack’s lifeless body. “I think if I have a client that needs work like that done, I’ll tell them to get someone else to do it.”

“Now that’s the best news I’ve heard all day.” Dimples smiled at me, thinking he’d hate to find me dead somewhere. He also missed working with me. Since my trip to Florida, and the long summer with my family, he’d decided not to ask for my help. He didn’t want to put me in any danger, since he still felt guilty about my brush with death while I’d been helping him the last time.

“Hey, if you need any help, I’m still running my consulting agency. I wouldn’t mind helping the good guys out.” Oops, that came out wrong.

“Thanks.” He was thinking that comment was a little odd, even for me, but he let it pass. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Great. Can I go now?” The office had filled with all kinds of people, from the forensics team to the medical examiner, and it was getting stuffy.

“Sure,” he agreed. “I’ll be in touch.”

“If you need my help with this case, just let me know. I’d sure like to find out who killed him.”

“I might take you up on that,” he answered, thinking my help could come in handy since most of my premonitions panned out. Although my presence at this murder scene confused him. Why didn’t I have a premonition about this? It seemed to take me by surprise when I should have known something was wrong. Of course, who was he to judge? He didn’t have the slightest idea how premonitions worked in the first place.

“Good,” I answered. “Then I’ll talk with you later.”

“I’ll escort you out.” He walked me past the police officers guarding the door and lifted up the crime scene tape to let me leave. A young woman came hustling down the hallway toward us, and Dimples froze in surprise. How did she know he was here? More important, how did she get past the cops downstairs?

“Harris,” she said, smiling in triumph, knowing she’d surprised him. “Thought you could ditch me, huh?” She was small in size, with long, wavy, dark hair, a sweet face, and a pert nose.

“I was hoping,” he agreed, but inside he was secretly pleased. She was one tough cookie. “Are you following me?”

“I’ll never tell,” she said, her voice flirty and challenging at the same time. She was thinking that it was easy to know what was going on thanks to her police scanner, and the fact that she paid special attention to the homicides. Since he was a homicide detective, it made it look like she was following him. But she really wasn’t. She was just doing her job. It didn’t hurt that he was cute, though. And there was something about his dimples that mesmerized her. “So what’s going on? Who was murdered?”

“I can’t give out that information at this stage of our investigation.”

“Oh come on. I promise to wait to publish until you give the okay, but at least tell me who it is.” She whipped out a notebook and pencil, eager to get the scoop on the story. Dimples hesitated and her gaze fell on me. “Are you an eye-witness? Do you know what happened?” She cocked her head and narrowed her eyes, thinking I looked familiar.

“Leave Shelby out of this,” Dimples said.

“Shelby?” Her brows creased in thought, then her face cleared as she figured out who I was. “Shelby Nichols, right? I covered your story on the missing bank money. That was some case.” She was thinking that in her estimation, I must have amazing investigative skills to have found the money. She admired that, and held out her hand. “It’s so nice to meet you. I’m Billie… Billie Payne.” In her mind she said Jo after Billie, but she was thinking that her name sounded more professional without the “Jo” part.

“Hi,” I said, shaking her hand.

“I called you for an interview, but you never called me back.” She smiled to ease the accusation in her tone.

“Right,” I nodded. “I remember. You called a lot. Over several days in fact.” She’d seemed pushy on the phone, and talking to her in person hadn’t changed a thing. I remembered her name because of the “pain” part, and how appropriate it had seemed at the time.

Realizing she probably wasn’t on my good side, she turned her attention back to Dimples. “So… Is there anything you can tell me about this case? Like… who was killed?”

“No. Not yet. You know I can’t discuss an ongoing investigation.”

Her mouth twisted with consternation, but she wasn’t about to give up. Glancing down the hall, she noticed the open office door and stood on her toes to get a good view of the lettering so she could figure it out herself. It was backwards, but if she spelled it out right, she could do it. “Sam? It’s Sam… Killpack? The private investigator? Oh my gosh! I just talked to him on the phone a few days ago.”

Dimples perked up. “What did you talk about?”

“Just a story I’m working on.” She was thinking that if Sam was dead, she’d never know if he had anything more to tell her. Not that he’d told her much anyways, but still, she hated when a good lead ended up dead before she got everything out of him. “What happened to him? Was he shot? Do you have any suspects?”

“Billie,” Dimples sighed, “I can’t talk to you right now. I’ve got to get back, but if you know anything, you’ve got to tell me.”

“I’ll share if you will,” she said sweetly, thinking that since she didn’t have much, she’d make him go first.

Dimples shook his head. “I’m a little busy right now.”

“That’s okay. I can wait.” She thought that he wasn’t the only source of information available, and as long as he didn’t make her leave, she could certainly poke around. There were other offices on this floor, maybe someone else saw something.

He shook his head and turned to leave, thinking that she was one journalist that was like a predator on the scent of her prey. If she wasn’t so hell-bent on doing things her way, she would make a great detective. She noticed things that others might not pick up, and she had a wild imagination that would help when it came to figuring out a motive. If there was some way to use her skills on a job, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

As he walked away, Billie admired his backside and absently licked her lips, thinking he was one fine specimen of a man and she enjoyed their teasing banter. He’d even seemed pleased, rather than peeved, to see her.

Wow, she had it bad and she didn’t even know it. While she was preoccupied with his broad shoulders, I started down the hall to make my escape. I got as far as the elevators before she realized I was gone.

“Shelby, wait!” she called. “I have just a few quick questions for you. And remember, you’re not with the police, so you can tell me anything you want.” She hurried to my side. I instinctively backed away from the intense gleam in her eyes. She looked like how I imagined a hungry bear would look just before it tried to eat me for dinner.

“Oh,” she said, noticing my retreating steps. “I can promise not to name you as a source if you like. So, let’s get started, what were you doing here?” When I didn’t answer, she quickly went on to her next question. “Did you see who killed him?”

“No,” I answered.

“Were you alone?”

“Yeah.” That seemed pretty safe to admit.

“How was he killed?” I shrugged, and she continued. “Gunshot? Knife? Blow to the head? Was there a struggle, or was it a surprise? Was he sitting at his desk or standing?”

The elevator doors opened and I stepped inside, effectively cutting off her questions. In a split second decision, she jumped on board, hoping I’d get tired of her pushiness and start talking. I didn’t, and she continued, deciding to make it more personal.

“Was he your client, or were you his? Were you working on a case together? Did you have an appointment, or did you just show up? Do you think it was a robbery gone bad? Or since he’s a private investigator, could it be a disgruntled client? How about a mob hit?” Her eyes got big with excitement. “Maybe he found out something he wasn’t supposed to know?”

“Look Billie Jo,” I said, adding the Jo because I knew it would bug her. “I don’t know anything. He was dead when I got here, and I called the cops. End of story.”

“Okay. But why were you here? Can you tell me that?”

“Nope,” I said, determined not to tell her anything. I exited the elevator with her trailing behind like a lost puppy. More cops were guarding the building, spreading yellow crime scene tape in front of the doors so no one could enter. I turned toward her, eager to get her off my back. She was really getting on my nerves. “Look, I don’t know anything. I think you’ll have better luck if you stick with Dimples, and if you follow me out those doors, I don’t think they’ll let you back in.”