Fatal Fortune

  “She’s there, isn’t she?” he asked me.

  “I don’t know,” I told him honestly. “I only know that Vegas is the place where all of this started, so that’s where I’m going.”

  Brice started to get up. “I’ll go with you—”

  “Like hell,” I said, putting a hand on his arm and pushing him back down. “What you need to do is to sleep. And then eat. And then get some more sleep. Also, I doubt IA is going to let you go off to Vegas without either firing you or bringing you up on obstruction charges. Wait—knowing them, they’ll probably do both.”

  “I’ll send in a letter of resignation,” Brice offered.

  I rolled my eyes. “Really, Brice? For what purpose? So that the Feds in Vegas can get the heads-up that you’re coming and bring both of us up on obstruction? No way. I’m going alone.”

  “It’s too dangerous,” he argued.

  I rolled my eyes again. “Luckily, this ain’t my first rodeo. Listen, I’ve been Candice’s PI sidekick for a few years now. I know what I’m doing. I’ll investigate so subtly nobody will even know I’m there. And I’ll be using the old radar at every turn. No way will my crew let me get into trouble.”

  “But—,” Brice protested.

  I cut him off. “Listen to me, will you? You can’t come, Brice. You have to stay and focus on playing the role of the good FBI agent in charge that didn’t have a clue his wife was a criminal. You’ve got to be seen as the distraught husband and keep everybody here interested in this case in Austin and focused on believing that Candice is in ICU. The second the Vegas bureau gets wind that Candice isn’t in that hospital bed, they’ll start looking for her in earnest, and my guess is that they’ll figure she’s fled back to Vegas to pick up her paycheck for killing Robinowitz. We’re the only two people that know that Candice is alive and well, and if she’s in Vegas, I’ll find her—”

  Brice gripped my hand. “She could hurt you, Cooper. If she really did all of this, then you can’t trust her. If you find out where she is, call me, and I’ll have her brought in.”

  I knew it must’ve killed Brice to say that, so, simply to appease him, I said, “Yeah, okay. If I find her, I won’t try to approach her.”

  “You’ll call me, right?”

  I held up my pinkie. “Pinkie swear.”

  Brice frowned. He didn’t trust me. I couldn’t blame him, because I was totally lying through my teeth. “This girl, Saline,” he said. “When you’re out in Vegas, try to find her next of kin, okay?”

  I nodded. “I will. And while I’m gone, you stick to her bedside and help her get better. We owe her that at the very least for using her this way for a few days.”

  “We do,” Brice said. I could tell none of this sat well with him.

  “I gotta go,” I said before Brice’s conscience got the better of him. “My flight’s at eleven.”

  “Wait,” Brice said, getting up with me. “What am I gonna tell Rivers?”

  Oh, crap. I’d forgotten about Dutch. “Er . . . ,” I said. “I’ll text him from the airport.”

  Brice frowned again. “You’re going to lie to him about where you’re going, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. But only because he would expect nothing less from me.”

  “Cooper . . .”

  I waved my hand. “It’s no big deal, Brice. I’ll just tell him that I needed to get away from all this Candice stuff and I’m headed to my sister’s for a visit.”

  “He’ll buy that?”

  “Probably not. But as long as you play dumb about where I really am, I think I can prevent him from coming after me for at least a few days.”

  Brice did something very unexpected then. He stepped forward and gave me a big hug. “As your boss, I shouldn’t let you go off and do something so stupid.”

  “Good thing you’re not my boss anymore, huh?”

  Brice stepped back but held me by the shoulders. “No. I’m your friend, and I really shouldn’t let you go off and do something so stupid.”

  I smiled at him. Already I could see a little bit of hope coming back into his eyes. He wanted me to get to the bottom of all this and find Candice as much as I did. “I’ll be careful,” I promised.

  “If something happens to you, you know Dutch is going to kill me for letting you go.”

  “Nothing’s going to happen to me.” I was kind of . . . almost . . . fairly certain of that.

  “Call me every day and report in,” he said.

  I held up another pinkie. “Pinkie swear.”

  Brice hugged me again and then I was off.

  Chapter Nine

  • • •

  Before I got to the airport, I had a quick stop to make, which was on the way. I’d plugged in the mysterious street address of the piece of paper I’d found in the file, and it’d come back with a hit in Austin, which, coincidentally, wasn’t far from the airport.

  I pulled up alongside the address and double-checked my GPS to make sure I was in the right spot. I was. Pulling into the empty parking lot, I got out of the car and headed to the small brown brick office building. It was locked up tight and dark inside. The plaque on the side of the building read DR. S. GLENHURST, DDS.

  I peered through the glass. The lobby looked dusty and unused for quite some time. I moved over to one of the side windows and peered into another window. A dental chair and a big surgical light were all that was left in the room. A sign on the window said the place was for lease.

  I grumbled as I went back to the car. When I’d punched in the address, I’d gotten a half dozen hits, none of which were in Nevada, and the only other one I’d recognized from the list was here in Austin. But why would Candice be interested in an abandoned dental office? Like so much of this case, nothing seemed to make any kind of sense.

  As I got back on the road to the airport, I made sure to call my sister, which was risky in its own right, because my sister, Cat, does two things extremely well: make money and drive me bat shih tzu crazy. “Oooo, you’re coming here for a visit? Wonderful!” she exclaimed. “What time does your plane get in?” Cat said all this immediately after I’d given her the short version of why I needed her to cover for me. The short version had still taken at least five minutes of explanation, but Cat had only heard me say, “. . . coming to visit you.”

  Taking a (deep) breath, I tried again. This time it took three minutes.

  “Right,” Cat said. “So, did you want me to send a car to the airport to pick you up?”

  By now I was circling the parking lot of ABIA—Austin’s airport. “No, Cat. For the third time, I’m not coming to visit. I’m just telling Dutch that I’m going to Boston to hang out with you for a few days so that I can work on a case out west. If Dutch calls, you have to cover for me and tell him that I’m in the shower, or napping, or something else, then call me and let me know he’s looking for me. I don’t really think he’ll call you, but then again, it’s Dutch and he doesn’t always take me at my word.” (Smart man.)

  “Uh-huh,” Cat said. “So no driver, but you’ll take a cab?”

  I pulled into a vacant slot and palmed my forehead. Maybe if I spoke Tarzan. “Cat. Me no visit you. Me go west. You lie to Dutch if he call. Say me napping.”

  “Oh!” Cat said. “So you need me to pretend you’re here if Dutch calls.”

  “Yes!” (And don’t think I wasn’t making a mental note to myself to speak Tarzan the next time I needed Cat to listen to something important.)

  “Okay, but after you’re done with your case, you’ll come for a visit.”

  I stifled a groan. Cat said that like it wasn’t really an option. Like, if I wanted her to cover for me, then I had to promise to hang out in Boston for a few days. “Uh . . . sure, honey. Of course. I can’t wait to see you,” I said flatly.

  “Gee,” Cat said, “could you maybe muster a little enthusiasm?”
>
  “I can’t wait to see you!”

  “Better, but maybe you’ll work on it before you come. When can we expect you?”

  I got out of the car and grabbed my luggage. I was gonna have to boogie if I wanted to clear security and get something to drink before my flight. “I don’t know yet, honey, probably in a few days. Maybe next week.”

  “Okay!” Cat said, and she sounded enthused. “It’s been a long time since you’ve been out here, Abs. Wait until you see what we’ve done with the house!”

  “I’m looking forward to it,” I vowed, and there was a part of me that actually was. Cat was right—I hadn’t been out to see her in a while. And truth be told, I knew that if I discovered Candice had been a psychopath all these years, I was definitely going to need the comfort of my sister’s company. And maybe some professional therapy. At the very least some retail therapy.

  I didn’t call Dutch until I was seated at the gate waiting to board. “Wait, you’re going where?” he asked once I’d told him I was at the airport on my way to see Cat.

  “To Boston. I gotta get outta here for a few days, cowboy. This whole Candice thing is just too much for me to process and Cat suggested a few days with her might do me a world of good, so I took her up on it.”

  “So, you’re just leaving? Right now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Without letting me know?”

  “Isn’t that what I’m doing with this call?”

  “Not a lot of heads-up there, Edgar.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry, but . . . I need to do this.”

  Dutch was quiet for a long time. I knew he was disappointed that I was simply leaving town, sticking him with Brice and the Candice mess to deal with on his own, but if I told him I was actually headed to Vegas, there’d be nothing I could say or do to stop him from either (a) trying to stop me from going or (b) insisting on coming with me.

  Both scenarios were problematic because I was definitely going, and if he came with me, he’d lose his job. I wasn’t going to be responsible for my husband getting fired.

  “Yeah, okay,” he said at last. “Call me when you land and say hi to Cat from me.”

  I breathed a huge sigh of relief. He’d bought the story. “Thanks, honey. You’re the best.”

  “By the way,” he said. “What’s your flight number?”

  “Delta flight thirty-four sixteen. It leaves at one and gets into Logan at five.” I’d researched the flight to Boston right before calling him, even down to the departure gate number.

  “Got it,” he said. “Have a safe flight, dollface.”

  We hung up and I wiped my brow. I knew Dutch would look my flight up online to see if I was feeding him a line of shih tzu, but I hoped he’d stop short of checking the passenger list. He did have access to all sorts of cool tools at the bureau, but maybe because he was under the scrutiny of Internal Affairs, he wouldn’t risk a bend of the rules. I had to hope so, because if he discovered I wasn’t on the Boston flight, he wouldn’t stop until he’d discovered what other flight I’d taken.

  I relaxed a little more when we boarded, and even fell asleep on the plane. When I woke up, we were circling the airport waiting for our turn to land. An hour later I had my bag and was making my way out of the rental car parking lot in a silver Honda Accord. Plugging in the first address I wanted to check out, I drove across town to a well-kept, slightly upscale apartment complex with a red clay roof and white stucco walls.

  The apartment I was looking for was all the way around the back of the complex, an end unit with a small deck and a sliding glass door. I drove past it slowly, trying to peer inside the glass door, but the blinds were drawn and there was no way to tell if someone was inside. I parked the car a little bit down from the front door, then fished around inside my purse for the set of keys taped to the back of the file Candice had left in the safe.

  Heading to the door, I stepped close and pressed my ear to the wood before inserting the key. I didn’t hear anything from inside, so I crossed my fingers and unlocked the door.

  Inside it was cool—the air had been left on, and it was also dim. I shut the door quietly, and moved into the apartment.

  The furniture was tasteful and expensive, lots of plush creams with small pops of color. Tangerine throw pillows and a matching cashmere throw blanket adorned the overstuffed velour white couch and ottoman.

  There was some expensive-looking art on the walls—Abstract Expressionist–era stuff that I could never make sense of—and a vase on the dining room table that held a wilted bouquet of flowers.

  Moving over to the kitchen, I saw that it was neat—no dirty dishes in the sink—and the fridge had a few staples but not much in the way of supplies. Then I headed to the bedroom, which was large and spacious with a luxurious white silk coverlet topping a queen-sized bed adorned with dusky-rose-colored pillows. The room was decidedly feminine, and I went straight to the closet.

  I’d been trying to deny something since first stepping into the apartment, but as I took in the furnishings of the bedroom, it was hard to overlook. The whole place was decorated in the style and taste of my BFF. If Candice lived alone, I could totally imagine her living here, but it wasn’t until I pulled open the bedroom closet that I was convinced.

  An array of business suits hung neatly to the left, and to the right were more casual outfits, all in a size six. Candice was a size six. The clothes weren’t things I’d ever seen her wear, but most of them looked new and a few had the tags still on them.

  The shoes were another clincher for me. Candice wore a size eight—the same size as me. I knew this because sometimes she’d let me borrow a pair of her shoes. Candice has awesome taste, especially in footwear, and after picking up one of the sandals in the shoe rack, I knew that this was Candice’s hideaway.

  The whole place had her energy all over it. With a sigh, I put the sandal back and closed the door. Turning around, I surveyed the room again. “If this is your new pad, then where are you?” I asked aloud.

  I then had an idea and went back to the kitchen to begin rummaging around in the drawers. “Aha!” I said, pulling up the small key I found in the third drawer I opened. The key was even marked “Mail Key.”

  I headed out of the apartment and it took me a bit to find the mailboxes, but within a few moments I had Candice’s box open and was pulling out an assortment of flyers, coupon inserts, and what looked like bills. There was also a large manila envelope in the mix, and like all the other nongeneral mail, it was addressed to Samantha Dubois.

  Hurrying back to the apartment, I sat down at the dining room table and opened up the manila envelope first. The contents shouldn’t have surprised me, but they did.

  Inside was a photo of Dr. Robinowitz along with his flight information and the hotel he would’ve stayed in had he lived through his first night in Austin. There was also a note clipped to the photo. It read “Make it clean.”

  I set down the contents of the manila folder and had myself a really good pity party. I’d been trying to convince myself that all of this was just one big mix-up, and all I had to do was to figure out what was really going on and my best friend would emerge glimmering with goodness, her reputation and her intentions intact.

  But the photo of Robinowitz along with the note and his hotel reservation felt like the clincher in a badly plotted whodunit. All roads led to Candice as a mob hit man. Woman. Person. (I was really going to have to figure out the politically correct way to say that.)

  “So you’re guilty,” I said to Candice’s electric bill. “You killed Robinowitz and you tried to kill Saline. You pulled the wool over my eyes, Dutch’s, and your husband’s. For years.”

  I got up from the table and began to pace as my anger mounted. “We trusted you!” I yelled to the empty apartment. “You were my best friend! Jesus, Candice! How could you?”

  I went on like that for a
little while and finally settled down. I knew I needed to call Brice and tell him the bad news, but I simply couldn’t bring myself to do it yet.

  It would crush him.

  Brice was someone I respected. Someone I liked. Someone I trusted. He was as good, honest, and decent a man as my husband, and that was saying a lot because my hubby is one of the very best people I’ve ever known.

  All of this was so unfair! And there was a part of me . . . a very angry part of me that didn’t want to let Candice get away with it.

  I eyed the stack of mail on the table. It was thick. She hadn’t been here in at least a few days. I didn’t think she was still in Austin. No way would she wait around after sending Saline over the bridge. She would’ve gotten out of town fast. Granted, it was only a day later, but still, if Candice were coming back here, she would’ve by now, and nothing in the apartment indicated she’d been here recently.

  And I thought I knew the reason: She’d pointed me to the file in her safe knowing I’d come here and find out that she’d been using her sister’s ID to set up a fake identity and . . . wait a minute. “Why would you have told me about the file in the first place?” I asked aloud.

  I sat back down and tapped my fingers on the table, thinking. If Candice had really wanted this place to be her hideout, why would she set it up in Samantha Dubois’ name when she knew that Brice, Dutch, and I all knew about her fake ID? Additionally, why would she have told me about the file in her safe in the first place? I mean, either the police or whoever trashed our offices would’ve found it eventually, but . . .

  Wait another minute. . . .

  I’d forgotten all about the break-in at our offices and the additional break-in at the Witts’. That certainly wasn’t Candice’s doing. So who was after that file and why had Candice entrusted it to me?

  She knew once she sent Saline over the bridge, I was probably going to turn it over to Brice, which I hadn’t, but only because I’d reasoned that he was mentally and physically drained—no way did I want to heap one more worry onto his already overburdened shoulders.