Chapter 7
“Damn,” Keith muttered as he turned away from Isaac’s front door. He hunched down and pulled the collar of his jacket around his ears as the rain fell overhead.
This was his second time checking Isaac’s house today, confirming his suspicions. The worst-case scenario had indeed happened. The con artist he had been staking out for weeks was on the run again. Isaac had picked up stakes and moved on with the efficiency of Ringling Bros. Circus.
When had Isaac had the time to pack, let alone get his stuff into a moving van? Keith had been watching him almost sixteen hours a day. The only time he hadn’t been watching Isaac was when he was asleep.
Keith wondered if, like Stephanie Gibbons, Isaac had suspected he had been following him this whole time. Maybe he had gotten wind of his impending arrest and had decided to skip town quietly.
“Or maybe she told him about you,” the familiar voice in his head argued as he walked toward his SUV. “Maybe they were in cahoots this whole time.”
Keith stood with his hand on the car’s door handle. He paused.
In addition to finding out more about Isaac, he also had done a thorough investigation of his girlfriend. He knew from his research that she and her family had a bit of a reputation around town. But he hadn’t been sure if he should take that little tidbit with a grain of salt and just dismiss it as town gossip—or whether he should take it more seriously. Now he was starting to wonder about a conversation he had almost a week ago with one of the townsfolk. Maybe he had let important information slip through the cracks.
Two days ago, Keith had been stealthily watching Isaac as he left Stephanie’s real estate office when the rain swept in. It was one of those spring showers that came out of nowhere, much like it would in the tropics, except Keith was on a busy street in Virginia, not on a tourist beach in the Caribbean.
Keith’s car was parked two blocks down. If he tried to make a run for it, the monsoon would drench him within seconds. To avoid the downpour, he turned and opened the door behind him, darting inside a flower shop. As he wiped his wet-sneakered feet on the doormat, he was instantly hit with the pungent mix of hyacinth, lavender, lilies, and lilac. He gazed around him.
The room was a splash of color in every hue imaginable with an array of bouquets in glass and ceramic vases of all shapes and sizes. A thin black woman stood on the opposite side of the shop behind a wide wooden desk and in front of a wall of glass-front refrigerators. She wore her salt and pepper hair in a sensible bun, a green apron, and reading glasses on the tip of her nose. She held garden shears in her gloved hand. It looked like he had caught her in the middle of her work. She was cutting off the stems and leaves from a pile of yellow roses splayed in front of her.
“Well, good morning,” she said merrily, grinning. “Can I help you? You lookin’ to buy some flowers?” she asked, raising her eyebrows expectantly. “Anything in particular?”
He shook his head. “No, sorry. I’m not here to buy any flowers. Just got stuck in the storm without an umbrella.” He brushed the drops off his jacket shoulders and smiled. “I wanted to get out of the rain.”
“Oh,” she said, looking slightly crestfallen. “Well . . . stay as long as you like. It’s not like I’m busy today.”
“Thanks.” He slowly walked toward a bouquet of red tulips and blue irises. He considered them before moving on to another bouquet as he waited for the storm to abate.
“You new in town?” she asked, lowering her shears to her wooden desk. “I haven’t seen you around here before.”
“I guess you could say I’m new. I came in a few days ago.”
“You visiting someone in Chesterton? Maybe I know them.”
“No, I . . . I was thinking about buying property around here,” he lied.
“Well,” she said, pushing her glasses to the crown of her head, “Chesterton is a lovely place to live. If you buy property here, it’ll be a good investment. What real estate agent are you working with?” She stepped from behind the counter. “I sure hope it’s Mr. Lucas. He has an office on Cedar Brook Lane. He helped my daughter buy her first condo. He’s a lovely, lovely man. I bet he could get you a good deal too.”
Keith gazed at her slyly. He was stuck here for awhile; may as well do some detective work while he was at it.
“I don’t have a real estate agent yet,” Keith confessed. He glanced through the storefront window to Stephanie’s office across the street. “I see you have a real estate agent over there though. Would you recommend her? Is she any good?”
The woman’s cheery demeanor instantly disappeared. “No, I would not,” she answered snippily.
Her response piqued his interest.
“Why?” He took a step toward the shopkeeper, tilting his head. “What’s wrong with her?”
“Honey, you don’t ever, ever want to get involved with one of those Gibbons girls. Not for business . . . and certainly not for pleasure!”
Keith noticed how her mouth screwed up when she said the name “Gibbons” and how her nose wrinkled with disgust. It intrigued him.
“What do you mean?”
“Those girls are nothin’ but trouble! Everybody around here knows they’re a bunch of gold-digging, thieving hussies! Every man they get their hooks in, they rob him blind and leave him with nothin’ but his socks and his underwear!”
Normally Keith would have found a line like that amusing, but he was too shocked to laugh.
“They’ve been doing it for years and years!” the shopkeeper continued. “Their grandmama had three husbands. She probably would have had three more if the good Lord didn’t decide to give the world a break and put her in a grave! Their mama kept having babies by rich men until it made her rich.” She pointed toward the shop window. “That one that runs the restaurant on Main Street, almost a year ago she married an ex-football player. He owns the biggest mansion in Chesterton. He’s worth I don’t know how many millions. I don’t think it’s just a coincidence that she hooked up with him too,” the shopkeeper sniffed. “I’m tellin’ you, honey, they’re all alike; sewn from the same cloth. All money hungry! All evil!”
Stephanie Gibbons might very well be a gold digger, but that didn’t necessarily mean that, like Isaac, she was a con artist too. But still, the suspicion nagged Keith. As he drove away from Isaac’s townhouse, he muddled over it.
He had been too distracted by her good looks, allowing it to blur his judgment.
“Fine, you’re attracted to her,” the voice in his head argued. “But you can’t let that cause you to make mistakes like this.”
He had let Isaac slip through his fingers and he was on the chase again with no leads so far. But Stephanie was still here in town probably. He had to see whether she had any idea where Isaac had gone next. He could continue to follow her around, but he had a feeling that would only waste more precious time. Another day wasted trailing Stephanie would mean even more distance put between him and Isaac.
No choice now, he thought as he drove away. I’ve just got to talk to her.
Fifteen minutes later, Keith hesitated as he stood in the light rain, took a deep breath, then pounded on Stephanie Gibbons’s front door with his open palm.
This was against normal detective procedure, but he figured he had nothing to lose at this point. He couldn’t make her talk, but he had to try.
He paused and waited, then pounded again. Within seconds, he could see a light turn on in the foyer window. The porch light came on next. A shadowy figure walked past the linen window curtains. He knew it had to be her from the curvy silhouette. The door swung open and Stephanie stood in front of him with a wineglass in her hand and a shocked expression on her face. The foyer light created a halo around her, giving her almost an ethereal glow.
“You!” Stephanie shouted with a hand on her hip. “You’re that . . . that stalker guy! What the hell are you doing here?”
Standing here alone with her, Keith felt again the budding attraction he had felt since the first day he saw her. He quickly pushed those carnal thoughts aside and focused on the task at hand.
“Where is he?” Keith asked through clenched teeth.
“What?”
“Where the hell is he?” Keith asked again. He forced his way inside, making her sputter. He looked around her foyer, searching for any signs of Isaac. “I know you know where he is, so don’t give me any bullshit!”
She lowered her glass to the mirrored foyer table and followed him into her living room.
“Look, I don’t know who you are or what the hell you’re talking about, but you better get out of my house now and I mean right goddamn now!” she yelled. “Get out before I call the cops!”
He looked around her living room. It was filled with feminine furniture: a small sofa with off-white silk cushions, two intricately embroidered armchairs with off-white pillows, and two delicate mirrored side tables. Several vases of fresh roses were throughout the room. But Isaac was nowhere to be found.
Which isn’t a surprise, Keith thought morosely. He didn’t really expect to find him hiding here. Isaac was long gone by now.
“Where’s Isaac?” He turned around to face her. “Tell me now and make it easy on yourself!”
“Isaac?” She blinked, gazing at him dumbfounded. “You mean Isaac . . . my . . . my ex?”
“What other Isaac would I be talking about?” he snapped. “Look, one day you spot me and the next day he sprints out of town like his feet are on fire. That’s not just a coincidence! He’s facing some serious allegations, baby. You don’t want to get yourself mixed up in this shit! Tell me where he is now and—”
“If I knew where Isaac was, I would be chasing him down myself,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.
The gesture tugged the cowl neck of her emerald green dress several inches lower, revealing more of her cleavage, drawing Keith’s gaze. Realizing what he was doing, he snapped his eyes back to her face. He didn’t need that distraction right now.
“Then when I found Isaac,” she continued, “I’d beat him until he begged for mercy. Believe me!”
“Huh?”
“He stole my money!” she shouted, throwing up her hands. “He took almost all my savings! You think if I knew where he was I’d be here, drowning myself in a bottle of pinot noir, crying my eyes out?”
He looked at her more carefully. Her eyes were red and slightly puffy. Her nose was a little swollen. She did look like she had been crying.
“And the cops won’t do anything! Not a goddamn thing! No one believes me! They act like I did something wrong!”
She sniffed and her eyes started to get misty again. Keith frowned as he watched her walk across the living room with hips swaying. She gathered a wad of tissues from a Kleenex box sitting on one of the end tables, blew her nose, and dabbed at the corner of her eyes with the tissue.
“So why are you so interested in Isaac?” She sniffed again. “What did he do to you?”
Keith cleared his throat. “It’s not what he did to me. It’s what he did to my client.”
“Your client?” Now it was her turn to look confused. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m a private investigator. A woman in Maryland—a nice retiree—hired me to find Isaac . . . though when she knew him, he wasn’t calling himself that. His name was Reggie Butler. He claimed to be a lawyer based in Virginia. He stole more than thirty thousand dollars worth of jewels from her by sweet-talking his way into her good graces and into her bed. I tracked him down here in Chesterton, but now I’ve lost him again.”
Stephanie gaped. “So that’s why you were following me around? Because of Isaac? He’s who you wanted.”
Keith nodded.
“Wait.” She paused. “So you knew this whole time that Isaac was a conman? You knew what he planned to do to me? You knew he had planned to steal my money?”
Keith shook his head. “No. No, I didn’t know that.”
“But you had an idea though, right?” she argued, taking a step toward him, filling his nose with her alluring perfume. “You knew what he did to that woman in Maryland!” She clenched her fists at her sides. “Instead of following me around, why the hell didn’t you warn me? Who lets someone walk into a trap like that?”
Keith was at a loss for words. He didn’t want to tell her that he hadn’t revealed the truth about Isaac to her because he had suspected that she and Isaac may be working together. She had an unsavory reputation, after all. What was he supposed to think?
“I’m a private investigator . . . the operative word being ‘private,’ ” he said feebly. “I watch and document. I don’t interfere.”
“You don’t interfere? You don’t interfere?” She glared up at him. “Well, sorry, Mr. PI, but what the hell’s the point of tracking him down if you’re only going to let him commit a crime all over again? Thanks for all your hard work!”
Keith ignored her jab. He looked around the room, absently scratching his chin. Too engrossed with the case, he hadn’t shaved in four days and his newly grown beard was starting to itch. He had been wearing the same two pairs of jeans for almost a week now too.
I’d love to put on a set of clean clothes, he thought.
It was obvious he was at a dead end. He should probably go back home and get some sleep. In the morning, he’d take a shower, have a badly needed shave, go to his office, and talk to his partner, Mike Stokowski. He would show Mike all his files and notes. He desperately needed Mike’s opinion on this. Maybe Mike had an idea of what to do next.
“Look, it’s obvious you don’t know where Isaac is,” Keith said, returning his gaze to Stephanie. “I didn’t mean to barge in like this, but I had to follow any possible lead. Here.” He reached into one of the back pockets of his jeans and took out his wallet. “Take my card.”
He pulled one of his business cards from the wallet’s pocket and handed it to her. She hesitated before taking it from him.
“Stokowski and Hendricks Private Investigators,” she said, furrowing her brows as she read the embossed letters.
“Yeah, my office number and more importantly, my cell number is on there. If anything comes to mind about Isaac, give me a call. Doesn’t matter what time of day it is. Call me whenever.” He turned to head back toward her front door. “I’ll leave you now. Remember to call me.”
“Wait!”
He didn’t respond, but continued his long strides.
“Wait!”
She raced ahead of him and held up her hands, pressing firmly against his chest, catching him by surprise.
Suddenly, the stirring Keith had been trying to keep at bay the whole time, came on full throttle. She hesitated and took a step back. He gazed at her, taking her in completely now.
Once again, she was wearing an impossibly short dress. She seemed to be fond of them. The dress revealed the long legs that were as familiar to him now as his home address thanks to the hours he had spent watching her. The imprint of pert nipples was visible through its silk fabric. It didn’t look like she was wearing a bra. Her moist pink lips were parted. She looked like she was begging to be kissed.
Stephanie frowned, as if feeling the radiating heat of his charged gaze. She took another uncertain step back from him.
“You can’t . . . You can’t walk out like this,” she murmured. “Do you realize the bomb you just dropped on me? You’re following Isaac because he’s done this before. If you’re still looking for him, I want updates. I want to know where he is so I can deal with the bastard myself!”
Keith pursed his lips. “Look, when I find him, I’ll contact the police and tell them that he stole from you as well. But I can’t—”
“I’ll hire you,” she said hurriedly. “If you’re tracking him down for that woman in Maryland, why can’t you track him down for me too?” She tilted her head. “I could get the money together. What’s your fee?”
Keith wavered. They could use a new client, but he wasn’t too keen on the idea of working for Stephanie. The woman in Maryland had been in her early sixties. She was comely for her age, but matronly. In fact, Keith could see how a younger, suave guy like Isaac had won her over and conned her. She hadn’t stood a chance. But Stephanie didn’t look like the woman in Maryland. There was nothing matronly about her. She was dangerously attractive and she knew it. She was a gold digger who seemed well attuned to the powers of seduction. Now that Isaac had moved on from Chesterton, Keith planned to put as much distance between himself and Stephanie Gibbons as possible. A woman like her could cause him to do irrational things and get him into a lot of trouble.
“You can’t . . . You can’t hire me,” he said slowly, shaking his head. “I work for one client at a time,” he lied.
Her face fell. “But—”
“Look, I gotta get going.” He started backing toward her foyer. “I’ll tell the police. Don’t worry. I’ll give them all my supporting documents.” He opened the front door. “When they arrest Isaac, I’ll give you a call. You can give them your written statement.”
He stepped through the doorway and shut the front door behind him, not giving her the chance to ask him to take on her case again. As he walked back to his SUV in the rain, the overpowering heat inside him slowly began to dissipate. He felt like an unbearable weight had been lifted.