What's Done in Darkness (9 page)

“Yeah, what's not to love?” he agreed.

He was grinning at me, and I wondered if he had a crush on me or something. He was average looking and on the heavier side of lean. He looked to be of mixed heritage, African-American and something else. If not for his kinky beard that needed a trim and his unkempt Afro, he could pass for Hispanic or even Middle Eastern.

“You come in every day with your laptop,” I commented. “Are you a student or something, studying over the summer instead of taking a break?”

Gordon threw his head back and laughed. “No. But thank you for the compliment. I've been out of college for seven years now.”

“Oh. Then what do you do here every day?”

He gave me a sly look. “Maybe I'll tell you once you get me my bagel and coffee.”

“Coming right up.” Then, grinning a little, I turned on my heel. I didn't know if he was flirting with me and he wasn't my type, but the banter was nice.

I went into the kitchen and got a bagel from the fridge, then popped it into the toaster. As I waited for it to toast, I went into the fridge and got the packets of cream cheese. I noticed then that the back door was slightly ajar, so I wandered over there to close it. And that's when I heard Katrina's voice.

“Just stop for a moment and think about what you're saying, okay?” she said, sounding angry. “You threaten me, you threaten yourself. I know you're smart enough to figure that out.”

Was she fighting with Christian? So soon after they'd come downstairs from making love?

“I already told you that you'll get your money!” She exhaled a frustrated groan. “Look, it's just going to take a little longer.”

Money? What? Was Alexis right about Christian having helped Katrina out with money and now he was giving her a hard time?

“If something happens to me, the police will be coming after you. You'd better believe that.”

Someone was threatening Katrina. Christian? I pushed the door open to go to her aid, expecting to find both of them. Katrina jerked in my direction when she heard the door. I had a moment to notice the cell phone at her ear before she lowered it and yelled, “What the fuck are you doing?
Spying
on me?”

“Spy—? No.” I was caught off guard, finding her alone. “Of course not. I—I heard you, and I was worried that you were fighting with Christian, so I came out here—”

“Bullshit!” Katrina snapped. She shoved her phone into her apron pocket and glared at me as she breezed past me. I had to flatten myself against the door so that she didn't knock me over.

“Katrina,” I said.

She gave me the finger without looking back.

I stared at her back as she exited the kitchen, the air oozing out of my lungs. What the hell had just happened?

Catching my breath, I remembered Gordon. His order. I quickly went to the toaster. The bagel had already popped up and was no doubt cooling, but I didn't want to toast another one and keep him waiting. So I put the slices on a plate and added packets of cream cheese on the side. Then I drew in a deep breath and went into the café, where I saw Katrina behind the counter emptying coffee grinds.

Shit, I would have to walk past her in order to get Gordon's coffee.

I hesitated. Then I squared my shoulders and went to get Gordon a fresh mug of the light roast. What was I going to do—avoid Katrina forever? I couldn't very well do that while still working for her. I wasn't impressed with how she'd torn into me, but I'd surprised her during a private—and heated—conversation.

As I poured the coffee for Gordon, I saw Christian enter the café from the kitchen. Maybe he'd been upstairs.

I took Gordon's order over to him and forced a smile as I placed the items on the table in front of him. “There you go.”

“Thank you.” His eyes narrowed, and he regarded me with concern. “Everything okay?”

I waved off his concern. “I'm fine.”

Either he was exceptionally intuitive or the stress between me and Katrina was palpable, because his gaze flitted toward her before he looked at me again. “Are you sure?”

“It's nothing,” I said.

“I thought I heard some yelling.”

Damn.
“Katrina was having a private conversation. She thought I was eavesdropping. We'll sort it out.”

Gordon nodded. “How'd you end up working here, by the way? Did you know Katrina from before, or did you just pull up and apply for a job?”

“My sister went to school with her,” I explained. “I needed a summer job, Katrina needed the help … so here I am.”

“Ahh.”

“Anything else I can get you?” My heart was beating fast, and I knew I sounded harried.

“Didn't you want to know what I'm working on?” he asked.

“Yes, that's right.” My temples were beginning to throb because of the tension with Katrina, and I was no longer in the mood for small talk. But nonetheless, I said, “What are you working on?”

“A novel.”

His words made me perk up. “Really?”

“You think I'm crazy, right?”

“No,” I said. “Not at all.” I felt an instant affinity with him, knowing that he shared my passion for creating stories. “Actually, that's one of the reasons I'm in Key West,” I told him. Not exactly a lie. I hadn't come here for that reason, but now that I was here I was going to try to get the inspiration to work on my own book. “I'm hoping the setting will inspire me to write a novel.”

His eyes lit up. “No way. You're a writer, too?”

“More like I'm
trying
to be,” I corrected him. “But honestly, I just can't find the time to write.”

“No one's going to hand you a block of time on a silver platter. You have to make the time. Even if you write every day for only half an hour, you'll soon see the pages adding up.”

“You're right,” I said. “I didn't think of that.”

“What do you write?” Gordon asked.

“A bit of this, a bit of that.” Nice and vague. It was easier than admitting that I had a lot of great ideas … but never got beyond writing a few pages of any of them.

“I'm working on a historical mystery,” Gordon told me. “A bit of a spin on the Lizzie Borden story. Deranged young woman who kills her family and anyone else who gets in her way.”

“Sounds gory.”

“It is. But I always say that true crime stories are a lot worse than anything anyone could ever come up with.”

“Which is why I avoid them. It creeps me out to hear just how deranged people can be.”

Or how freaking unpredictable. What the hell was Katrina's problem anyway?

My heart was still beating fast from my interaction with her. And when I looked to my right and saw her walking toward me, my stomach filled with dread.

“Jade,” she said sternly.

“If you need anything else, let me know,” I quickly said to Gordon.

“I'm not paying you to stand around chatting,” Katrina said.

I wanted give her a snarky comeback. I wanted to tell her that it wasn't my fault she owed someone money and not to take her problems out on me. Instead, I held in my anger.

And when I had a moment, I sent my sister a text, asking her what the heck was up with Katrina and what she'd gotten me into.

 

CHAPTER NINE

SHAWDE

Shawde answered the phone the moment she saw Gordon's picture flashing on her screen. “Gordon, hi.”

“I've got something,” he said without preamble.

Shawde lowered her fork onto the package of the microwaved meal she had heated for dinner. “What is it? What happened?”

“Nothing yet,” Gordon said. “But I found out more about the guy who's living with Katrina. His name is Christian Alexander Begley. I Googled him. He's filthy rich. His parents started a pastry company twenty years ago and the business grew over the years to a multi-million-dollar enterprise.”

“Really? And he's working at a café in Key West?”

“Tragedy struck the family seven months ago. Bradford, Christian's older brother, committed suicide. It was horrendous, actually. He threw himself in front of a train.”

“What?”

“People on the scene thought it was an accident—said it looked like he'd fainted and fallen backward—but it turns out he left a suicide note.”

Shawde shook her head, digesting what Gordon had told her. Had it been an accident … or had Bradford been pushed? “Was Katrina in England during that time, perhaps?”

“I don't know about that. But there was no foul play. Witnesses saw him fall onto the track when no one was around him. Christian went to Florida in January to run in the Key West marathon. That's when he met Katrina.”

“And Katrina learned that his family is loaded, and she sank her teeth into him,” Shawde said, more to herself than to Gordon. She got up from the table and went over to her binder.

“That's the way it looks.”

Shawde scrawled Christian's name on a blank page at the back of her binder. “Katrina just happens to be dating a rich guy from England. She's up to something. You need to warn him.”

“I found out that he runs every morning—alone. I'm going to start doing that, too. Try to start talking to him.”

“You need to tell him that his life is in danger,” Shawde insisted.

“I've got to tread lightly,” Gordon said. “If there's a moment when I know something for sure, I'll definitely speak up. But I can't just go tell him that he's in danger. That'll risk my anonymity when I go into the café every day.”

Shawde bit down on her cheek, pouting. Then she sighed. She knew that Gordon was right. Without knowing exactly what Katrina was going to do, how could Gordon warn Christian? And yet Shawde knew Christian was in danger. Just as her brother had been.

“Also, I got to talk a bit more with that new girl. The one from Buffalo.”

“Yes,” Shawde said. “What's the deal with her?”

“Her sister used to go to school with Katrina. That's the connection.”

Shawde frowned. “Why's she down there?”

“She said she's a writer. That she came here for a break and some inspiration for her writing. I told her I'm a writer, too. I could tell she wanted to form a connection. There'll be more chances to talk with her. I may even ask her out.”

“Find out who her sister is,” Shawde said. “I want to know if I've already spoken to her.”

“I will.”

“Thanks, Gordon. I appreciate your hard work.”

“I'm gonna need you to wire me some more money for the hotel. Another couple of weeks would be good.”

Shawde cringed. This investigation was costing her, and her savings were dwindling. She hoped Gordon would be able to find incriminating evidence on Katrina soon, before Shawde had to think about selling her car or getting a home equity loan.

“Of course,” she said to Gordon. “I'll send you an e-transfer this evening.”

“Thanks.”

“No, thank
you
. I appreciate what you're doing.”

He might not be a licensed investigator, but he was able to be eyes and ears where Shawde couldn't be. She hoped he'd be able to learn something incriminating about Katrina soon so that she could finally pay for the crimes she'd committed.

Unfortunately, Katrina was cunning. She was good at what she did, and likely the only chance she had of being caught was if she committed another crime.

And when she committed crimes, people died.

Christian? Was he her target? Or did she actually love the guy?

Her meal forgotten, Shawde opened up her laptop to Google Christian Alexander Begley.

Son of millionaires. Nothing like Mummy's Pastries.

Bradford Begley, son of Charles and Henrietta Begley, founders of Nothing like Mummy's Pastries, dead in apparent suicide.

Bradford Begley is survived by his parents, a brother, Christian, and a sister, Melody.

Shawde quickly picked up her phone and sent Gordon a text, an idea popping into her mind that terrified her:

When you talk to Christian, tell him to take things slowly with Katrina. I wouldn't be surprised if she suggests they get married. That's a guaranteed way to get at his fortune. Make sure he doesn't do that!

Because if Katrina was going to benefit from her relationship with Christian, the best way to do that was by marrying him.

 

CHAPTER TEN

Hours later, I was lying in bed, trying to sleep off my stress headache, when I heard my phone trill. Easing up, I reached for my phone on my night table. As I brought the screen to life, I saw a text from my sister:

What's up? Something happen with Katrina?

I wanted to call Marie, but I didn't know if Katrina was out in the living room and I didn't want her to hear anything I was saying. So I sent a text back:

Had a bit of a tiff with her earlier. She seemed to overreact. Just wondering if she has a temper?

Marie's response was quick:

She's probably just having a bad day. We all know what that's like. Stay positive. I'm sure things will be fine.

We all know what that's like.
I lay back on my bed, knowing what Marie was getting at. I'd certainly had my own issues keeping my temper under control.

I blew out a frazzled breath. Maybe Marie was right.

Still, the tiff and the fact that I was holed up in my room now avoiding Katrina reminded me just how alone I was here in Key West. She was basically my only friend here—which wasn't saying much, considering I barely knew her. I didn't have Wesley to call, nor one of my girlfriends from UB. In the past, when I fought with my roommate I could always go to another friend's dorm room and hang out there until I felt better. Or, of course, Wesley's room.

Wesley … I'd told myself that I would put him out of my mind, but it was hard to simply turn off your emotions for someone. I'd been good, though, not checking up on him for a week now. But as I lay in bed, bored, I opened up my Facebook account.