Undeniably Yours (13 page)

As Aiden didn’t usually come out and tell people I was psychic, I wondered how Trey had known. Had he recognized my name from news reports? I supposed it didn’t matter. He knew—and he’d been trying to test me. He hadn’t done his homework, however, because he hadn’t been thinking about an
item
he lost…or I would have seen it. I straightened and looked him dead on. “A psychic, yes. Your puppet, no.”

His smiled broadened. “Feisty. I like that.”

Dirtbag
.

Reaching in my tote, I pulled out a small journal and a pen. The sooner this interview was over and done with, the better. “How long have you been dating Kira?” I narrowed my gaze. “And does she know how you shamelessly flirt with women you just met?”

Leaning back, he drew his left foot atop his right knee. Paisley-printed socks peeked out from beneath the hem of his pants. He’d come a long way from center ice.

His gaze hardened. “Don’t flatter yourself. That wasn’t flirting. If it had been, we’d be in my car by now and you’d have that pretty little dress up around your waist.”

“You’re charming,” I said, oozing sarcasm.

Nonplussed, he shrugged. “I’m honest.”

I had the feeling not too many women said no to him. Lifting my eyebrows, I said, “Then you can honestly answer my questions.”

He didn’t fidget, but he looked pained, like he’d rather be anywhere but here. “Kira and me? We’ve been dating for two months, give or take.”

Tapping my pen, I said, “Exclusively?”

He hesitated only a second before saying, “Yes.”

I studied him carefully.
Honest
, my ass. If I wanted, I could be in his car with him right now, having my way with him. The thought made me want to toss all those cookies I’d eaten. Why the pretense of being monogamous, then? What was he trying so hard to hide? “When did you file for a divorce?”

His eyelid twitched. “I didn’t file. Tova did. A few months ago.”

Tova Dovell Fisher, his stunning Swedish wife. “How long were you two separated before the filing?”

“Technically, we’ve never been separated.”

Beads of condensation slid down my plastic cup and pooled on the table. “What’s that mean?”

“It means that we still live together,” he said. “Neither of us are willing to vacate our brownstone. Our lawyers are sorting it out while we sleep in separate bedrooms.”

I couldn’t imagine the stress of that living situation. “I take it Kira didn’t spend much time at your place.”

“Mostly when Tova was out of town for work.” He grinned and winked.

I couldn’t tell whether he was being honest or trying to get a rise out of me. “Did you and Tova have an open marriage?”

“It was open on my part.”

I had the feeling that’s all that mattered to him—what he wanted. “Why get married in the first place if you’re not fond of monogamy?”

“Tequila and an Elvis chaplain.”

Ah. “Vegas?”

“What happens there doesn’t always stay there. Sometimes it moves in and then refuses to get the hell out without taking half of your life savings.”

I knew Tova had her own money—lots of it. But Trey had more. He had all kinds of endorsement deals, a line of sports clothing, and was an investor in many businesses.

Personally, I kind of hoped Tova got more than half of his property. A jet rumbled overhead as I asked, “How’s she feel about Kira?”

“We don’t talk about it.”

“That sounds like a copout.”

“What do you want me to say? That Tova hates Kira? That she kidnapped and killed her?”

Interesting that he went there. “Does she? Did she?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Tova has a temper, but she’s a woman who rescues a cricket if it gets into the house.”

“Is she the type who’d leave vicious messages on social media?”

He chuckled. “She’s not very subtle, is she? Barracuda? Piranha? It’s laughable.”

“You know for certain that she’s the one who left those posts?”

“One hundred percent. Once in a while, she leaves her laptop open. I snoop. Sue me.”

It wouldn’t surprise me if Tova left it open on purpose so he’d know she was trying to hurt Kira. “Has she ever had a face-to-face confrontation with Kira?”

“Not that I know of.”

“When was the last time you saw Kira?”

Without even taking a second to think about it, he said, “Thursday afternoon at work. It was the last I saw her.”

I set the pen to rest in the channel between the pages of the journal. “I heard you two had a big fight recently. What was it about?”

“You’re mistaken.”

I tipped my head. “Am I?”

“Yes.”

Interesting. Morgan Creighton seemed sure, which made me wonder why Trey would try to hide it. “Did she talk to you about her latest story?”

“Her whole world has been wrapped up in that case about the missing kid the last couple of weeks.” He sounded jealous.

I asked, “Do you know who she was meeting with Thursday morning?”

He shook his head. “She doesn’t like sharing that kind of information, but she keeps all her notes on a flash drive. Find that flash drive, and you’ll find a lot of answers.” He snapped his fingers. “I did hear her on the phone Tuesday night with someone, making plans to meet on Wednesday morning.”

The day before all hell broke loose.

“She said a name,” he said. “It was unusual, so it stuck in my head. Jarvis. And she promised to bring money.”

“Money?” I asked.

“Reward money.”

I lifted a brow. “For the McDaniel case?”

“No idea, but it wouldn’t surprise me. Kira often made it known she was willing to pay tipsters for valid leads, and she was eating, drinking, sleeping that case.”

Valid
leads. What had this particular tipster told her about the McDaniel case? “Jarvis? Is that a first name or last name?” I jotted it down. If I could find Jarvis, it might be the break I needed.

Trey shrugged. “It’s probably on her flash drive. Like I said, find that…” He trailed off as his attention was diverted by a pretty young thing walking into the coffee shop.

Find the flash drive
. That was easier said than done. It could be anywhere—including in the ruins of Kira’s home. If it had been incinerated, it wouldn’t be much good to us now.

I switched to a different approach, my tried and true way of finding things. “Did you ever give Kira any gifts?”

He said, “Yeah. Of course.”

“Anything she might have been wearing when she disappeared?” I could read his energy and find the object. Gifts were the only time an item had two owners. “Earrings, a ring, a handbag? That kind of thing?”

He tore his gaze from the young woman and focused on me. “I don’t think so. The jewelry I bought her was high quality. Not the type of pieces to wear casually at work or around town.”

I was both disappointed and relieved. As much as I wanted to find Kira, I really didn’t want to touch him again. “Any chance she left some clothing at your place?” If she had, I could still do a scent reading.

“Nothing that I know of,” he said. “She didn’t have a drawer in my bureau if that’s what you’re getting at.”

This meeting was going nowhere fast.

“Where do you think Kira is?” I finally asked him. He didn’t seem all that concerned she was missing.

“I don’t know, but I’m sure she’s fine.”

“You still think that way, even after her house blew up?”

“Kira…Kira is indestructible. If she got herself in a mess, she’ll find a way out of it. I’m sure she’s holed up in a fancy hotel under an assumed name and laughing her ass off at the media coverage. That
she’s
the story. The talk of the town.”

There was something in his tone that made me wonder if he knew more than he was letting on. Did he believe Kira orchestrated all of this somehow? It was the opposite of what Morgan had said. “You don’t think—”

“Sorry,” he said, holding up one hand as he looked at his buzzing smartphone. “I have to get this.” He stood up and stepped out of earshot.

Was Kira’s disappearance one big PR stunt? I thought about those bank records and recent withdrawals. Kira could be tucked into a very nice hotel for a few hundred dollars a night. I didn’t want to believe it. For Ava’s sake, I hoped Trey’s indifference was more about his own self-involvement. He was so wrapped up in himself, maybe he thought everyone else was, too.

But then I thought about the alternative. That something terrible had happened to Kira, leaving a little girl without her mother. Suddenly, a PR stunt looked positively wonderful.

Trey came back to the table and said, “I have to go. One of the Patriots got himself arrested for trying to take a loaded weapon through airport security.”

Even though I still had questions for him, I wasn’t all that sad to see him go. “That’s fine. I have more questions for you, and I’ll also need to speak with Tova at some point, so I need a contact number.”

“Is speaking to Tova necessary?”

I stood. “Yes.”

After giving me a long once-over that made me want to shower, he tossed a business card on the table and used my pen to write Tova’s number on the back. “Call me anytime, especially if you change your mind about getting a ride in my car.” He puckered his lips in a faux kiss, winked, and strode off.

Yuck
. I was starting to believe that he was called “Fish” not because of his last name but because he was slimy.

As I watched him saunter away, I could kick myself for not asking him anything about Ava and if he knew why Kira suspected she might be in danger. But I thought in light of her missing mother that it was more interesting he hadn’t asked
me
about her.

T
raffic-heavy side roads slowed me down as I navigated my way to Randolph. The twenty-five minute trip took nearly forty as Scarlett, my GPS, bossily guided me to the CFC’s area office located near Central Cemetery. Clouds shaded the simple square brick building as I turned into the lot. My meeting with Barb Manciello, this office’s assistant head honcho, wasn’t for another fifteen minutes, so I was in no rush as I parked the car. I was here solely on a fact-finding mission. I wanted to know what Barb knew of Kira’s involvement in Dustin McDaniel’s case.

I needed a clear head for this meeting, so I forced myself not to think about Trey Fisher or my mother’s renovation plans. Reaching across the console, I rifled through my tote looking for my copy of Dustin McDaniel’s file.

Paper-clipped to the inside cover was a photo of the little boy. Longish blond hair, big blue eyes, pale cheeks. Thin bordering on too thin, and his far-off gaze looked to hold secrets instead of little-boy mischief.

Dustin David McDaniel had been born to Alisha (nee Keefe) and Corey McDaniel, both twenty-four years old. Dustin had been in the CFC system since he was born—when he’d tested positive for marijuana. The agency took custody of the baby, but later returned him after Alisha completed a court-ordered drug program. When Dustin was a year old, a neighbor had called in a report of negligence when she witnessed Alisha leave the baby in a playpen in the front yard unsupervised for a long period of time. It turned out Alisha been getting high in the house and had forgotten about him. Again, CFC had taken temporary custody of the child but Alisha completed another court-ordered drug program and was able to get the boy back a few months later.

Dustin’s father, Corey, had been in prison on drug-related and assault charges for all of Dustin’s short life—he’d been arrested while Alisha was pregnant. Corey still had four years left on his six-year sentence.

Dustin’s disappearance might have not ever come to light if not for Alisha’s mother, Patty Keefe. Patty, who was battling a terminal cancer diagnosis, hadn’t seen Dustin since Christmastime and repeated requests to visit him had been shot down by her daughter. Dustin was napping; he wasn’t feeling well; he was at a friend’s house having a playdate. For months, there had been an excuse as to why Patty couldn’t see him and the more her health failed, the more desperate she grew. She wanted to see her grandson—spend more time with him before she died.

My phone rang, startling me. I glanced at the readout. Sean. I answered, but all I heard in the background was utter chaos. Men shouting, the baby crying, barking, my mother asking about cookies.

“Sean? Hello?”

“Hold on,” he said.

Smiling, I shook my head. Only he’d call me and tell me to hold on.

Finally, he came back on the line. “Okay, I had to move somewhere a little quieter.”

It didn’t sound that much quieter—I could still hear all the commotion. “What’s going on?”

“Were you expecting a delivery of a dog today?” he asked.

“Of a what?”

“A dog.
Woof, woof
,” he said and I heard Ava quickly mimic him.

“A dog? Noooo,” I said, dragging the word out. “Why?”

“A vet tech showed up from Marisol’s clinic with a dog in tow. He said he was told to deliver it to you. Looks like Lassie. Collar has a tag that says his name is Scout, but no one is answering the phone number on the tag. The security team has the guy pinned to the ground. He’s close to tears.”

“Ohhhh,” I said, dragging that word out, too. Maybe the dog—and not Jeremy Cross—had been why Marisol called earlier. “
That
dog. Shit.”

I heard the smile in his voice. “Something you need to tell me, Ms. Valentine?”

“Was the dog overjoyed to see Ava?”

“How’d you know? We had to put the dog outside so he wouldn’t jump all over her.”

“You know how she keeps saying ‘
scow
?’ She’s actually saying Scout. The dog is Ava’s. Well, Kira’s, I guess. Kira’s neighbor, Morgan, was supposed to bring the dog to Marisol at the clinic.” I explained about how I’d met Morgan the day before—and why he couldn’t keep the dog because of his allergies. “I don’t quite know why the dog is at our house, but I missed a call from Marisol earlier…”

I heard Sean yell to let the guy up, that his story checked out. “I smell a lawsuit,” he said to me.

“I’ll have Marisol explain it all to him.” I winced, having the feeling I might have to dip into my off-limits trust fund for a payoff.

“Can you call Marisol?” Sean asked. “This house isn’t big enough for more pets.”