42
Victoria could sum up her current state of affairs in two words: damage control. When she wasn’t running interference against X, she was mopping up the catastrophic tsunami of bullshit that Warren had left in his wake.
His death had sent a ripple through the financial world far beyond sympathy. Although, Victoria wasn’t above using that card to her advantage. Former clients paid their respects, and Victoria used those olive branches to lay the groundwork for a fresh start. She mended contracts and sent out proposals, reigniting relationships with finesse and confidence. By noon, thoughts of X and his KILLER branding had faded as Victoria scheduled two closure meetings, arranged lunch presentations with half a dozen new ventures, and drank her weight in coffee.
Damn, it felt good.
After a delicious lardon salad and an order of homemade potato chips from Lorenzo’s, Victoria decided it was time to cut the deadweight. She called up HR to expedite approval, and any account executives who weren’t on track to make goal by the end of the year were put on performance reviews. It didn’t eliminate the perpetual rock in her shoe that was Jeff Blevins, but she figured it was only a matter of time before she drummed up a reason to cut him loose.
Comfort bred complacency, and Victoria had no patience for anyone willing to drag down the company.
Her company.
As the last exec left her office on the brink of tears, Victoria stopped to check in with Judy. For lack of a better word, she looked wrung out. It had been a long day, but she’d never seen the woman look so disheveled: wrinkled shirt, a rip in her stockings, and makeup caked in her forehead creases.
“How’s my day tomorrow?” Victoria asked.
“Sales training for the inbound team in the morning, and your afternoon is pretty stacked. You’ve got two interviews scheduled for the vacant field AE positions and that call with the Austin office.”
She nodded, noting her own calendar to review everything before then.
Before she could save the information, a text from X dropped, complete with a photo attachment. Victoria’s breath hitched as she opened the message.
DON’T TRUST HER.
The picture was dark but sharp. The background lighting was blurred at the edges, giving the ballroom an ethereal glow as tuxedos and gowns twirled together. The focus, though, was the couple at the high top.
Warren had his hand wrapped around a tumbler. The horrible plague doctor mask pushed slightly aside to reveal part of his face. His too-handsome-for-his-own-good face. On his left was a woman with fiery red hair and a cocktail dress that was out of place amongst the black ties. Her arm was around Warren’s waist, her head thrown back in laughter. They looked close. Cozy.
“Judy, can I speak with you for a minute?”
“Of course.”
The question sat heavy on her tongue like old grease, but the doubt taking hold in her chest was worse. She assumed that was what X wanted. His endgame wasn’t clear yet, but Victoria knew a smear campaign when she saw one. Betty. Victoria. Judy.
Was it possible X wasn’t the killer? That he had dirt on whoever the real murderer was? If that was the case, why wouldn’t he go to the police? Keeping anonymous hadn’t been an issue.
God, Victoria hated mysteries. Riddles were one thing. They had a definite answer. A logic. Mysteries required no such distinction. No promise of being solved or getting closure. She was putting together a puzzle upside down, and someone else was holding the pieces. Finding X should’ve been as simple as getting from A to B not navigating a pothole-filled back road with a poorly marked detour.
The big, flaming arrow was currently pointing at Judy.
Judy, who had access to Warren’s calendar—who wasn’t invited to the Gala.
Victoria stared at the photo a second longer, studying the way Judy leaned into Warren, seemingly content to be smooshed against his space heater, polyester-clad body.
Maybe she’d fallen in love with Warren, a walking cliché lost in the trope of a Hallmark movie. Judy seemed the type who would really fucking love Hallmark movies.
“I’ve been reflecting on the night of the Gala,” Victoria said. “Trying to remember if I saw anything suspicious. And I was wondering if you could help me fill in some gaps.”
“Me? I’m sorry, I don’t know how I could be of any help.”
“You weren’t at the Gala?”
“Uh, no. The Connors keep an exclusive guest list.” She snickered and reached under her desk for her purse, taking out a container of breath mints. With a pinch, Judy popped one into her mouth and laughed again, but the sound was dry. Mirthless.
As if Victoria was being ridiculous. As if Judy hadn’t been caught practically groping her husband on camera.
“Really? Could’ve sworn I saw you.”
Judy’s lips curled into a frown. “Maybe I have one of those faces. No, no. The only dancing I did that night was with a rerun of Step Up. Channing Tatum is something else, isn’t he?”
Lying didn’t automatically mean guilt in Victoria’s experience. People lied for any number of reasons, herself included. Guilt. Avoidance. Pleasure.
She could show Judy the photo and demand answers, which would inevitably lead to a confession that may or may not be true. Or she could hold onto this card until she had a chance to dig around a bit.
“Mm-hm, my mistake. A heads up, though, Detective Meyers might be stopping by in the next few days,” Victoria said. Just because she wasn’t putting Judy on the spot didn’t mean she couldn’t make her sweat. “Apparently new information has come to light about Warren’s case.”
“That’s great news,” she said, eyes widening. She twisted a strand of hair as she spoke. “Any idea what she’s discovered?”
Interesting choice of words, Victoria thought. “Not yet, but she seemed optimistic. Asked a lot about Warren’s schedule outside of work the last few months. It’s scary, isn’t it? How you think you know someone, but none of us really know each other at all. Keep this between us, all right?”
Judy gulped. “Of course.”
“Unless you feel you can’t handle that responsibility.” She let the statement curve into a question.
“I can do that,” she squeaked. “No problem.”
“Good,” Victoria said. “Feel free to take off once Finance gets those numbers over. I’ll see you in the morning.”
She turned toward her office then, tapping out a response to X.
I don’t trust you either.
The dots appeared immediately, and the response arrived before she reached her door.
You shouldn’t.