* * *
It was hours later that Dutch and I crawled home. We’d given a statement to another detective, who hadn’t held out much hope that anything from the office would be recovered, but he’d given me a copy of the police report so that I could file an insurance claim. He’d then gone to the surrounding offices and asked if anyone had heard any sort of commotion, because causing that kind of damage had to have made some noise. No one reported hearing anything, which told us that the burglar had likely come in immediately following the exit of the police, who’d left after conducting their search at about six a.m.
While I was busy with the detective, Dutch had gone out and come back with some large trash bags and we’d spent most of the rest of the afternoon and early evening sorting through the mess. I’d managed to recover many of my client files, but they’d need to be sorted and put back into alphabetical order. I’d had a moment where I’d smirked a little when I thought back to the lecture Candice had given me about coming into the twenty-first century and putting my client files on my computer. A fat load of good that would’ve done me with the computer gone.
It was well past seven when we pulled up to our house, and we both saw Brice’s car at the bottom of the drive. “Does he know about the break-in?” I asked Dutch.
“Yeah. I called him on my way to get the trash bags.”
“Will we have to speak in hypotheticals tonight?”
“Tonight. Tomorrow night. And probably for a few nights after that, dollface. At least until we can make sense of this mess.”
Brice got out of his car holding a large pizza box and I wanted to hug him. “God bless you, sir,” I said when he handed it to me and the delicious scent wafted up to my eager nose.
While I got plates and napkins, Dutch filled Brice in on the state of the office. The second I sat down, Brice looked at me and asked, “Did you know about the safe?”
The slice of pizza making its way to my mouth paused midflight. “I knew about it,” I said, avoiding particulars like when I’d learned about it. “But she never told me what was in it.” Again, technically true. Until I’d opened it, I hadn’t known what was in it. I figured as long as I spoke in the past tense, I’d avoid being sent away to liar-liar-pants-on-fire jail.
Brice shook his head and cursed under his breath. “What the hell would Candice keep in there that somebody would be after?”
I focused on my pizza, ignoring the expectant look Dutch was giving me. “Abs?”
“Mmmff?” I said, carefully chewing the tremendous bite I’d just shoved into my piehole.
“Hypothetically speaking, any idea what she might’ve been hiding in there?”
I held up a finger and continued to chew thoughtfully, buying time. Should I answer that with the truth? Should I tell them about the file? If I told them about the file, would it compromise their jobs or, worse yet, put them in danger? Would it put Candice in danger? Would they demand to see it? Would they forgive me for not telling them about it sooner?
A dozen questions bulleted their way through my mind and at last I swallowed and said, “Did I know what she might’ve been hiding? No.”
Dutch frowned. Turning back to Brice, he said, “What the hell was she working on before all this started?”
Brice shook his head again. “You know her. Candice never talks about her cases. Ever. And neither do I. We leave work at work like the bureau expects us to do.”
I saw a slight blush touch Dutch’s cheeks. He always talked about his cases with me, because I often was able to give him some intuitive input. It wasn’t completely against the rules for us because, until that day, I’d been a consultant for the bureau, but there were some cases I knew he should’ve kept hush-hush and hadn’t.
There was a bit of an awkward silence that followed and I made sure to take another ginormous bite of the pizza. Then Dutch said, “Grayson didn’t know about the safe either. According to her, the search concluded at approximately zero six hundred, which means the perp entered the office between that time and zero eight hundred, when some of the other tenants came to work. I think whoever wanted into that office was watching the cops and waiting their turn.”
I shivered. It was creepy to think that our offices were being watched by some unknown person violent enough to destroy our workplace when they didn’t get what they wanted.
“The other thing that’s off about this is the key,” said Brice. “I gave my copy to Grayson and she brought it right back, and Abby, I’m assuming you’ve checked to make sure you’ve got all your copies?”
I held up my finger again and hurried to the kitchen counter and the copper dish that held all our keys. I found my spare in the bottom of the dish. “It’s here,” I called, holding it up so they both could see.
“And those are the only copies you’ve got?” Brice pressed as I walked back to the table.
“Yeah, except for Candice’s key and the landlord’s.”
“It wasn’t Candice,” Brice said firmly, tapping his fingers against the table.
“What about the landlord?” Dutch asked.
I rolled my eyes. “He served me with an eviction notice when I got to the building this morning. I doubt he’d have the balls to trash the office before serving me that.”
Both Dutch and Brice sat forward. “He what, now?” Dutch asked.
I realized I’d been so upset over the destruction of my office that I’d forgotten to tell Dutch about Giles’s eviction notice. After I explained what the notice had said, he and Brice exchanged a look and Brice said, “I’ll make the call in the morning, Abby. Don’t worry. You’re not getting evicted.”
It was my turn to sigh. I was so tired I found it hard to focus. “You know what, Brice? Don’t bother. Candice and I have been thinking of moving when our lease runs out, and this just makes it easier to make a clean break.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure, but thanks. As soon as we clear this thing up with Candice, we can start looking at new office space to rent.”
The room got quiet again and I could tell everybody was thinking the same thing I was, namely, But what if this never gets cleared up and Candice goes to jail for murder?
Chapter Four
• • •
I never made it back over to the Witts’ that night. Exhausted and sleep deprived, I followed Dutch to bed right around nine and slept well past seven the next morning. My hubby woke me a little before eight and said, “Hey, I went online this morning and ordered you a new laptop from the Apple Store. I also scheduled an appointment for you to pick it up around ten, so maybe you should think about getting out of bed soon.”
I rolled over and muttered something poetic and sweet to fully convey my gratitude at his thoughtfulness. “Mmmff.”
Dutch chuckled and kissed my forehead. “I’ll be home around six. Be good and stay out of trouble, you hear?”
“Mmmff.”
“Yeah, love you too, dollface.”
I sighed and lay there for a bit wrestling with the idea of getting up and making myself breakfast before sneaking over to the Witts’ garage, but then I thought that there’d be too much morning neighborhood commuter traffic to risk it.
So I did the smart thing and went back to sleep, only to wake up at nine forty-five, look lazily at the clock on the nightstand, and bolt out of bed. “Ohmigod!” I squeaked as I hopped around the room hunting for clothes, shoes, and a hairbrush—in that order.
Scrambling out of the house only four minutes later, I bolted to the Apple Store and was only five minutes late.
The store itself is located at an upscale, outdoor mall called the Domain, which is an aesthetically pleasing place filled with designer labels and loads of pretentious attitudes. I winced when I stepped out of the car as the memory of having had lunch with Candice there only the week before came to my mind. It’d been an unusually hot day that a
fternoon, but oddly, when we arrived at the restaurant, we’d found the climate a bit cooler. I’d remarked on the oddity to Candice, who’d smirked in that usual way she had right before she delivered a good line. “Didn’t you know, Abby?” she’d said drily. “This place never gets hot because God simply loves rich people.”
She’d said it loudly while we fought the crowd of wives with too much money and too much time to do anything meaningful, so they filled it with purchasing pretty things. To my eye, most of the women seemed to be giving my beautiful friend the “up-down.” You know the look. That bitchy once-over some women make when they perceive a competitor in their midst? Yeah, that one. In all my years of hanging out with Candice, I’ve never seen her give another woman the up-down and she’s got loads of money in the bank and plenty of style. But even more than that, she’s got class . . . in spades. Thinking about that last outing with her made me really miss her.
Still, I was late, so I shook off the melancholy and headed into the store and was shuffled around from “genius” to “super genius” until I got to the guy who would actually hand over my freaking computer. He seemed pretty good as geniuses go, because he helped me recover most of my files from the cloud, including my scheduling calendar, and only an hour later I was on my way back to the office. I had a client at one o’clock and my reading room was still a bit messy.
And I almost made it without incident, except as I was cruising down Highway 360, jamming out to some great tunes, I saw a flash of yellow in my rearview mirror. Immediately I focused on the view behind me, but all I saw was the usual mix of pickups, SUVs, and sedans. And then, I saw it again. A flash of yellow seemed to poke out from behind a big F-150.
I tapped the brakes and moved over to the right lane to get a better view, and as the F-150 came closer, I felt my palms begin to sweat. I’d recognize Candice’s Porsche anywhere. Just as the pickup was creeping up on my left fender, I saw that flash of yellow dart over to my right, then all the way over down the exit I’d just passed. “No!” I yelled, seeing Candice race down the off-ramp and out of sight.
Gritting my teeth, I punched the accelerator and raced to the nearest turnaround—but that was a half mile farther south and by the time I got back to the exit, I knew I’d never find her. Still, that didn’t stop me from heading up and down the street, looking for her. I gave up after twenty minutes and got back on the highway.
Once I was at the office, I headed to the left side of the suite and paced in front of my desk, frustrated and unable to shake the feeling that Candice seemed to be following me. It wasn’t that I minded; it was more that I didn’t know why. Did she want her file back? Was she trying to make contact with me?
I’d checked my phone at least a dozen times for a text message, but there was no word from her. So why would she follow me if she didn’t want to talk to me?
Was she worried that I’d given the file to Brice? Or to the police? Didn’t she know I’d never betray her?
I typed her a message.
Hey. I still have your file. No one’s seen it. If you want it back, just tell me and I’ll get it to you.
I tapped my foot impatiently for her reply, but none came. “Fine,” I muttered, putting away the cell. “Be that way.”
I got busy cleaning up the mess in the reading room. All of my crystal cathedrals had sustained some damage, but happily, most were still okay to display. That’s the thing about rocks—they’re tough to destroy.
As I was vacuuming and casting anxious glances at the clock, I felt the phone in my back pocket vibrate. Pulling it out, I saw a text from Candice.
Please don’t text me about the file again.
I blinked and I could feel a touch of anger settle into my shoulders at the obvious rebuke. I thought up a dozen smart-ass replies and was about to tell her what she could do with her file when another text came in.
But if you really need to mention it, refer to it as my laundry. Please lay low and be safe, Sundance. I’ll be in touch when I can.
I stared at her text for a good two minutes, a thousand unanswered questions ricocheting around in my mind. I closed my eyes and searched the ether for her and felt her close but hidden with no hint of where she might be.
And then I did the thing that I’d been afraid to do. I reached out with my forecasting ability to read Candice’s future, and what I sensed shocked and frightened me. I didn’t per se “see” any tragic event she’d be involved in, but there was something terrible coming.
I opened my eyes again and glanced at the phone. I was seriously tempted to call Dutch and tell him that I’d seen Candice tailing me, but as I was reaching for it, I heard the front door of our office open.
“Hello?” called a female voice.
I muttered under my breath and went out to greet my one o’clock client. I’d have to worry about it later.
In between clients I did a little snooping on my new computer. I’d decided in the car to look into the man that Candice had shot. I still couldn’t believe that she’d murdered someone in cold blood for no good reason. Something else was going on and I was determined to find out what.
I found Dr. Robinowitz online, but, like a lot of professional sixty-year-old men, he didn’t have much of a footprint on the Web. No Facebook page, or LinkedIn account, and definitely no other social media accounts, but I did find a little bit in the public records search.
Robinowitz had lived in Palm Springs for about thirty years prior to buying his condo in Vegas. He’d had a long-running practice in California, but it appeared that in recent years he’d also had more than a handful of malpractice suits brought against him.
Even more telling was a DUI he’d received around that same time where he’d blown nearly three times the legal limit, and he’d obviously become belligerent with the arresting officer, because there was the tacked-on charge of resisting arrest.
It looked like Robinowitz had managed to avoid jail time, but within the year he had seemingly retired from his practice and put his big house in Palm Springs up for sale. I found the listing online. It was a beautiful place, and had to be worth a few million. It’d been for sale for over six months, though, and I wondered what would happen to it now that Robinowitz was dead.
Other than the stuff I found in public records and snooping around his property, there wasn’t anything newsworthy about Robinowitz until his murder hit the airwaves two nights earlier.
From the online story of the murder in the Austin American-Statesman, I pulled up the photo of the doctor and stared at it for a long time. His image appeared flat and plastic to my mind’s eye, which always let me know when I was looking at a dead person. “Why?” I asked his photo. “What did you do that inspired Candice to kill you?”
But of course there were no replies or answers forthcoming, so I shut down the computer and got ready for my next appointment.
The rest of the day flew by, as I’d packed the afternoon with clients, and by seven I was wiped out. I realized that I’d never told Dutch that I was working late, so I called him on my way home.
“Hey, dollface,” he said when he picked up the call. “Where you been? I’ve been worried.”
“I’m on my way home and I’ve got a few hypotheticals to run by you, but maybe I should run them only by you and not Brice.”
“Understood. I’ve got a pork roast in the oven. Dinner should be ready by the time you get here and Brice left ten minutes ago. I think he needs some alone time tonight. This thing with Candice is eating him up.”
I bit my lip. Poor Brice. “See you in fifteen,” I said.
When I got to the house, Dutch was plating our food and he took one look at me and said, “How about we save the hypotheticals until after dinner?”
I hugged him. “You’re the best husband ever, you know that?”
He kissed me sweetly. “Just remember this moment if I ever forget our anniversary.”
We ate our meal and caught up with each other. He asked if I’d gotten my computer and I thanked him (properly this time) and told him how great it was. He asked about my day and then I asked him about his.
“It’s been tense,” he said, pushing his plate aside and setting his napkin on the table. “Brice is distracted for obvious reasons, and the squad doesn’t know what to say or think about the situation. They’ve all got sources at APD, so I know they’ve seen the tape from the parking garage, and they all know and love Candice, so they’re pretty torn up too.”
I looked at my husband and noticed for perhaps the first time the pinched corners of his eyes and the worry lines etched across his forehead. Reaching for his hand, I squeezed it and asked, “And how’re you doin’, cowboy?”
The question seemed to catch him off guard. “Me?”
I nodded.
“I’m fine.”
With my free hand I stroked the side of his head. Dutch has the most gorgeous hair, light blond and so soft to the touch. I loved to run my fingers through it. “You’re worried about her too,” I said.
“It shows?”
“Yeah, but only to me,” I lied.
Dutch reached up to cover my hand with his. “You ready to talk hypotheticals?”
I nodded. “Hypothetically, I saw Candice on the highway today.”
Dutch stared at me. It took him a second to recover himself. “Where?”
“Not far from our office.”
“On Three Sixty,” he guessed correctly.
I shrugged. “I think she was following me.”
He sat up a little. “Why?”
“I have no idea. But I’m assuming that when she saw that I’d caught on to the tail, she took the next exit and disappeared again.”
Dutch’s lips pressed together. “I don’t like that, Edgar.”
“She’d never harm me, Dutch.”
“Don’t you think Robinowitz thought the same thing?”