“She was?” Candice said, unable to keep the surprise out of her voice. Maybe it was because the picture Robin’s sister had painted of her was of someone so shallow and materialistic.
“Yes,” Eldridge said, either ignoring or not noticing her reaction. “Robin was the first person I came out to. She made me feel safe, and after my declaration, she made me feel accepted. Hell, she made me feel special. I come from a very religious Southern Baptist family. My parents still don’t know I’m gay, although I think they’ve figured it out by now.”
“I’m sorry you can’t share it with them,” I said. I could clearly see the burden of guilt on Stanton’s shoulders. It’s a heavy thing to be denied the opportunity of acceptance from those who should love you unconditionally. And I knew that firsthand.
Eldridge made a gesture like it was nothing, but I could see the pain in his eyes. Pain of the rejection he was certain to face from his parents if he ever came out to them. Pain from the accepting friend he’d lost. “Anyway,” he said. “Lots of people didn’t like Robin, and I get that. The woman was a first-class bitch, but she was also fabulous, fierce, and her own person. She didn’t put up with shit, and if you were screwing up your life, she’d get in your face and tell you to get your shit together. I loved that about her most of all.”
“Was there anyone specifically who you think might’ve had it out for her?” Candice asked next.
Eldridge appeared troubled, as if he knew of someone but didn’t want to say the name. “Robin’s ex might’ve been capable of doing something like this,” he said at last. “In fact, before Detective Grayson said they were looking for the construction worker who worked on Andy’s house, I would’ve told her to look in another direction.”
“Can you tell us his name?” Candice pressed, getting ready to tap out the name on the notes section of her phone.
“Her name,” Eldridge said. “Robin dated a woman prior to committing to Andy. Her ex was a certified psycho.”
“Okay,” Candice said, rolling with that added twist. “What’s her name?”
“Murielle. Murielle McKenna.”
I will admit that at this moment I just about fell out of my chair. “Are you serious?” I gasped. “Robin dated Murielle?”
He blinked at me. “You know her?”
“We do,” Candice said. “We were under the impression Ms. McKenna was only fond of men.”
Stanton snorted. “Murielle is fond of anyone beautiful. She likes men. She likes women. She likes a mix of both at times. I’ve often worried about my dog in her company.”
That got my attention (and made me go eww, to boot). “So you know each other socially?”
“We do. We would often”—Stanton paused to use air quotes around the next word—“bump into Murielle when the three of us were out or at a party. She was clearly stalking Robin, and it got pretty creepy after a while.”
“How long had Robin and Andy been married?” I asked. I’d gotten the impression they’d been together for a long time, but maybe I was wrong.
“The first time or the second?”
Candice and I looked at each other. She said, “They’ve been married to each other twice?”
“Yes,” Stanton said. “They were married for four years, then split because of Murielle, whom Robin had a torrid affair with. She left Andy for Murielle, spent two years with that bitch before she wised up and came crawling back to him. Andy never dated anyone else, and he moped around here for those two years. He was happy to have her back, and I think that’s part of the reason he wanted to sell off the company and leave town. He was sick and tired of having Murielle show up everywhere they went.”
My toe began to tap under the table. I’d known that Murielle McKenna was no good the second she’d laid eyes on him! I mean, I’d laid eyes on her. (Okay, and she’d laid eyes on my husband . . . whatever . . .)
Meanwhile Candice continued to press Eldridge. “So you really believe Murielle was capable of murdering Andy and Robin?”
Eldridge leveled a look at her. “You’ve heard she’s connected to some serious money, right? And you’ve also heard that her family is much feared in their home country, right? You don’t cross Murielle without incurring consequences. You don’t leave her and you don’t cross her.”
“She would’ve killed them just because Robin left her?” I asked. Something about the motive wasn’t sitting well with my intuition.
Eldridge sagged in his seat and let out another long sigh. I thought the exhaustion and the stress and the sadness were finally catching up to him. “I think to understand, you have to know that Robin had acquired some insurance against Murielle when she left.”
Candice cocked her head slightly. “What kind of insurance?”
“The video kind. She’d secretly taped Murielle begging her to stay and confessing to all sorts of personal failings. I saw the video. Murielle was a drunken, sniveling, sobbing mess. It was pathetic. And it would’ve humiliated Murielle if it was ever released to Robin’s Facebook page—they share a lot of the same friends.
“Robin told Murielle that if she did anything to hurt her or Andy, she’d ensure the video would go viral. Murielle was enraged because she had no play other than to back off and let Robin go.
“And if Robin had been smart, she would’ve just packed her shit and left, but Robin wasn’t always so smart, and as a parting gift to Murielle, she convinced a few of McKenna’s staff members to go with her. As you can probably guess, Murielle is a nightmare to work for, but most of her staff is too afraid to leave. Robin convinced a few of them to come work for her and Andy, and Murielle knew that if Robin could pull away a few allies from the house, they’d be able to back up any story that Robin wanted to tell about Murielle.”
I sucked in a small breath when something clicked in my mind. Candice turned to look at me at the exact same moment. She’d had the same epiphany. The maid and the gardener! I mouthed.
Candice nodded.
There was a knock on the conference door then, and a young, bearded, hipster-looking dude in a knit cap stuck his head in. “Sorry, Stanton, but InvoTech keeps calling about the code. They want you on the phone, uh . . . now.”
Eldridge visibly paled. “I’ll be right there, Jerrod.”
“We’ll leave you to it, Mr. Eldridge,” I said, gathering my things. “Good luck today.”
“Thanks,” he said. “I’ll need it.”
Chapter Eleven
“Come on, Sundance! Bring it home!”
“Fuck . . . you . . . Candice . . . ,” I huffed as I passed her on the high school track. She’d brought me out here for a “light” run, which, apparently, was Candice-code for “sprint until you vomit, then keep going until you faint, then wake up and keep going until you die.”
I was currently on the die portion of the run and it was making me reeeeally pissy.
“Two more laps! Keep pushing!” Candice called after me, clapping her hands enthusiastically.
It’s like she had a death wish or something. Well, maybe I’d die before I reached her at the last lap. She still had hope, if her overall chances weren’t so good.
Maaaaaaaany minutes later, she wrapped an arm around me and said, “How’s the smoothie?”
I sucked down some banana-yogurt-strawberry goodness and narrowed my eyes at her. “You’re lucky I’m too winded to hit you.”
“Well, at least you’re making sense now. Right after that run I was worried I was going to have to call an ambulance.”
So was I, but it hadn’t been to take me away. Ah well, we were back to being besties. “What time are the boys meeting us?”
“In less than an hour,” Candice said, looking at her watch. “We should head back to your place and get cleaned up.”
“I don’t know why they won’t let us interrogate Murielle without them,” I grumbled, getting into Candice’s
car.
“We have to be careful, Abs,” she said. “If Murielle really is the killer, then she’s got some serious anger and firepower. No way are the boys gonna let us go in there alone.”
“I still can’t figure out how Dave fits into all of this!” I said irritably. (Maybe my blood sugar levels hadn’t gotten completely back to normal yet.)
“I wish I knew,” Candice said. “He did meet Murielle, though.”
“He did?”
“Yeah. Brice told me about it. She called Dutch to complain about Dave. I guess Dave showed up from another job to take some measurements, and at the time he was looking less than professional, or that’s the way Murielle described him. Now, did they meet secretly later and plan to murder Robin and Andy Roswell? That I don’t know, but would really like to find out.”
This whole new angle wasn’t sitting well with me. I didn’t like all the coincidences. I didn’t like them one bit. And we were still no closer to knowing what’d happened to Gwen, other than my radar’s insisting that she’d been abducted. “I can’t believe that with all of us looking for Dave, nobody’s been able to spot him since this thing went down.”
Candice appeared unsettled, and I could tell she was thinking about something she didn’t really want to voice out loud. “What?” I asked her.
She made a twitchy motion with her lips before answering. “Dave wouldn’t have to work very hard to change his looks, you know.”
“Come again?”
“I’m saying that, if he was somehow mixed up in all of this, and wanted to get out of town without being seen, he could’ve ditched his truck, shaved his mustache, beard, and sideburns, then cut his hair, and presto—he’s unrecognizable to most of the people who know him.”
Candice had a solid point. A point I didn’t like. Not one bit. “It wasn’t him,” I said moodily.
I was going to remain loyal to Dave until he sat down in front of me and said, “Abby, I did it. I murdered those people.” Anything other than that and Dave would always be innocent in my mind.
“Okay,” Candice said when I crossed my arms and turned my head to glare out the window. “Hey,” she said, laying a hand on my arm. “We have to explore all of the possibilities, Abs. Including the ones we’re uncomfortable with.”
“I understand, Candice, but he didn’t do it.”
“I believe you,” she said. Then she subtly picked up what was left of my smoothie from the cup holder and handed it to me. “How about you polish this off and I’ll fix you up a nice chicken salad to eat on the way over to Murielle’s, okay?”
I frowned and in a stilted, grumbly voice replied, “Well, that would be very nice of you and I would probably like that.”
We met Brice and Dutch at the entrance to Murielle’s McMansion. Dutch was out of the car and heading over to the call box when we pulled up behind Brice’s car. “What’s he doing?” I asked.
“He’s probably giving the request to talk to her the personal touch,” Candice said.
I swiped a lock of loose hair out of my eyes and rubbed my glossed lips together. For once, I was wearing makeup. And my hair wasn’t in a ponytail. And it was clean. And styled. To be honest, it was a departure from the “ready to work out” look I typically sported. Not that the thought of visiting with Murielle again had anything to do with that. I usually look like this on the third Tuesday of the month. Pinkie swear.
“What’s taking him so long?” I asked as Candice and I waited silently for Dutch to finish his conversation with the call box.
“He’s schmoozing his way inside,” Candice said with a grin.
I narrowed my eyes at her. “You could at least be on my side, you know.”
She chuckled. “I’m always on your side, Sundance.”
Dutch abruptly stood tall and stepped away from the call box. The gate began to open and he offered us a thumbs-up, which Candice returned. I might’ve been too busy clenching my fists to offer a similar gesture.
With the help of the house staff we gathered in Murielle’s office again. And again she kept us waiting. Dutch sat next to me, his muscled arm draped heavily across my shoulders, and his free hand firmly holding mine.
Candice sat smirking next to us.
That won her a look from me, which only made her smile widen.
Murielle finally found the time to grace us with her presence and she walked into her office looking and smelling like a million dollars. Which, I suspect, was how much it took to maintain that kind of perfection.
Dutch squeezed my hand and allowed his face to fall into a flat expression. My heart kinda skipped a beat, because I knew that expression. It’s very close to his cop face, but with an undercurrent of annoyance. “Dutch,” she said huskily the moment she saw him, her whole face lighting up like a kid at Christmas. The rest of us might as well have been invisible chopped liver. “How lovely of you to come see me in person. Is this a social visit, I hope?”
Dutch never let go of my hand. “No, Murielle, we’re here on official business.”
Murielle sagged into her chair dramatically, but held the playful smile she’d walked in with. “Oh, that sounds so boring. I already told you I’ve withdrawn my complaint from your company. You and your people can carry on with the construction of my safe rooms.”
“We’re not here on that business, Ms. McKenna,” Brice said.
Murielle never took her eyes off Dutch. “What other business do you and I have together, Dutch?”
“You have the kind that involves murder,” I said, maybe a weensy bit smugly.
To my surprise, Murielle chuckled. She then reached into her desk drawer and withdrew a silver (or maybe platinum . . . it looked damn expensive) cigarette case. She tapped out a white cigarette and held it elegantly between two fingers before reaching for a lighter.
After taking a long pull from the cigarette and blowing it skyward, she motioned to me but said to Dutch, “That one is a little theatrical, no?”
“That one is my wife, Murielle,” Dutch replied, his tone dangerously low and even.
Murielle rolled her eyes but kept the smile in place. After taking another long puff of her cigarette, she said, “Who was murdered and why do you think I had anything to do with it?”
“What do you know about the slaying of Robin and Andy Roswell and two of their staff?” Dutch said.
Murielle crossed the hand holding the cigarette over the other, and bounced her foot a few times while she considered Dutch. “I heard they were riddled with bullets. The scene must’ve been particularly grisly.”
A trickle of fear slid like an icicle down my spine. Not only was Murielle unmoved by the news that her former lover had been brutally murdered, but she almost seemed to enjoy the idea of what the aftermath must’ve looked like.
“You say that like you might’ve had a glimpse of the scene,” Brice said.
Murielle shrugged noncommittally.
“We thought you would’ve been more upset by the news,” Candice said.
“Upset? Why would I be upset?”
“Didn’t you and Mrs. Roswell have a relationship at some point?” Candice asked.
Murielle stopped bouncing her foot and took another drag from her cigarette without responding.
“See, we heard that you two had quite the affair,” Candice continued. “And that things didn’t end well. There’s talk that a video was made. One that maybe you didn’t want anyone else to know about.”
Murielle narrowed her eyes at Candice and they were clearly the eyes of a cold-blooded killer. “Get out,” she said ever so softly.
Candice and the rest of us sat there for a few beats.
Murielle reached over and lifted the landline phone from her desk to speak into the receiver. “Gustavo, would you please come and escort my guests from the property? Make sure they leave with the card to one of my attorneys, who
will be filing suit against them in the morning.”
• • •
“Well, that went well,” Brice said once we’d been shown the exit by a big, scary, face-tattooed behemoth who probably had a yeti for a first cousin.
Candice looked ready to punch someone. Like herself. “Dammit,” she muttered. “I’m sorry, you guys. I pushed her too hard.”
“She would’ve clammed up like that sooner or later,” Dutch said.
But I wasn’t so sure. Murielle seemed to be the type that liked a good game of cat and mouse. What she didn’t like was being disrespected, which I felt Candice had done, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to point that out to her and make her feel worse than she already did.
“No, it was my fault,” Candice said. “She might’ve tipped her hand a little more if I hadn’t gotten up in her grill.”
“She’s not someone you get a confession out of, love,” Brice said.
Candice offered him a grateful half smile. “I wasn’t looking for a full confession so much as a clue to follow. If I’d reined it in a little, I could’ve asked her about Dave.”
I turned to look at the front of Murielle’s estate, wondering if Dave and Gwen might be nearby. Flipping on my radar, I searched for them in the ether, but I couldn’t say for sure if they were somewhere hidden behind that giant facade, or maybe somewhere else far away. “What do we do now?” I asked.
“Now we start looking into Murielle’s life,” Dutch said. “Which isn’t going to be easy, because with as much money as she has, her financials are probably made up of lots of shell corporations with offshore account numbers.”
“In other words, trying to follow the money for any assassins she might’ve hired is gonna require a whole lot of effort with little result,” Candice said.
“Yep,” Brice agreed.
I looked again toward the estate, and my gaze drifted over to the set of windows that marked Murielle’s office. To my surprise, she was standing there at the window, glaring in our direction with a cigarette dangling from her long fingers and smoke curling up around her head.