Eleven

I walked into Charley’s, which wasn’t as busy as I’d expected. I examined the small crowd to make certain none of my cop friends were around. The coast was clear.

Den sat straight on a bar stool, wearing jeans and an untucked dress shirt with a leather jacket. He hadn’t spotted me yet, so I took a moment to enjoy him. Short, cropped reddish-blonde hair, blue eyes, high cheekbones, and dimples. One in his chin.

He set his drink down, moving with lion-like power, grace, and assurance. He sat back on the stool and crossed his arms, which made the jacket tighten. I could only guess those arms were ripped.

“Hey, Den,” I said.

“Charlotte!” He stood and shook my hand, briefly placing his arm on my shoulder. Electricity. Fire. I so wanted to climb into bed with him, wrap myself around him, forget about my day in his arms. Not yet. Not only did I have a bet to win, but I also had the meeting with Justine’s lawyer in a couple of hours, for the will reading.

He led me to a table and a server followed. “What will you have, Charlotte? I’m off duty.” He lifted his beer.

“I’ll have a stout.” One stout. No more.

“Coming right up,” the server said.

His elbows on the table, Den leaned closer to me. “I gotta tell you, Charlotte, all of those names you gave me check out. They all have sound alibis. Of course, we’re checking into the alibis even further. People have been known to lie to the cops.”

“I’ve got a new name for you. Chad Walters.”

The server brought my thick, dark stout with a perfect foamy head on it. I lifted the brew and drank it in.

“What’s his story?” Den’s eyebrows gathered and his chin tilted to the side.

I relayed the story to him, leaving out the part where I was staying at Justine’s. But I noted that Walters was loitering outside her apartment building as I passed by.

A group of men, police officers I assumed since the place was so popular with them, laughed loudly, and Den turned his head momentarily, then back to me.

“Excuse me,” he said. “I’m going to text the name in.” He pulled out his phone, texted, and turned his focus in my direction. “We went into Justine’s place and downloaded all the files on her desktop computer onto a jump drive. Our cyber unit is going over everything in detail. God, they sometimes take forever.” He took a sip of his beer.

Well, that was good to learn. They would now have the crazy emails I’d read. Whew. I breathed a sigh of relief. For now.

“The weird thing is, my crew could swear someone is staying at her place.” He lifted an eyebrow.

My heart thumped. Okay. Was he going to bust me? I remembered Justine’s advice about acting stupid.

“That would be me,” I said. I took another sip of the creamy bitter drink.

“You?”

“Yeah. I’ve been staying there since Justine passed. I’m her assistant. I couldn’t be running back and forth between the city and Cloister Island. It wasn’t feasible right now.”

Den set his glass down and grinned. “This is highly unusual. I’m not sure you should be there.”

“It’s not a crime scene.”

“True, but I think it’s best we keep this between us for the time being. Though I’m glad you told me.”

“You see why I’m so worried about Walters hanging around.”

“Have you noticed anybody else? Press?”

“I don’t think so.” I sipped my stout. “But there is another person I’ve seen that makes me feel like I’m losing it.”

I explained about the look-alike woman I’d been seeing—first a blonde, then a redhead. I wasn’t sure they were the same person.

“She was standing outside the apartment building sobbing the day of the memorial,” I said. “And she was definitely at the service.”

“We had the place under surveillance. I’ll see if I can find her on the footage. In the meantime, I wanted to ask you about this guy.” He pulled out his phone and clicked around. He held the phone up. “Does he look familiar?”

A chill moved through me. “Yes. I noticed him. He was one of the few people I actually remember. I was upset and just wanted out of there.”

“What was it about him you remember?”

I drank from my glass and mulled over the question. “It was the way he looked at me. And there was something vaguely familiar about him, the shape of his eyes, I think. But the beard? I’d have remembered if I met a man with a beard like that.”

“It was a fake.”

My heart raced.

“Look closer,” Den said. “Look right there.” He pointed to a tiny mark on the man’s lower face.

I gasped. “Was he the same man from Layla’s?”

“We can’t be certain,” he said. “But that mark could lead to the scar. It’s in the exact right position on his face.”

My fist pounded on the table. “I can’t believe he was there and I missed him!” I remembered the feeling the man gave me when our eyes met. When would I ever learn to trust my instincts?

“Calm down,” Den said, and then laughed. “We all missed him, until the idiot left his beard in the trash can in the men’s room. Now we have his DNA.”

“What good is that going to do if he’s never been in your system?” My stomach churned. The man who’d killed Justine had been right there at the memorial service. I saw him. We’d made eye contact.

“First, we don’t know that he hasn’t. Second, when and if we find him, it will just be more evidence against him. Police work is not like you see on TV where everything happens in a nice orderly puzzle to be solved at the end. Sometimes it’s more like … gathering a hodgepodge of ideas, facts, incidents, and hunches. Sometimes you never know how one relates to the other. If it ever does.”

I bit the inside of my cheek. My, my. Not only was Den a looker, but he was astute as well. Someone I could carry on a conversation with, which hadn’t been my experience. Much.

My phone dinged, alerting me to a text message from Kate, who planned to join me for the will reading. The law office happened to be two blocks away from me. I texted her back and told her where I was.

“WHAT?”

“Calm down. We’re going over Justine’s case.”

“I’m coming RIGHT NOW.”

I laughed.

“What’s so funny?” Den asked.

“My friend Kate is going to meet me here. I hope you don’t mind. She’s joining me for the reading of Justine’s will.”

“I think I’ve gone over everything I wanted to talk with you about. For the case, that is.” Den’s eyebrows lifted. Then he exhaled. “I don’t date women involved with cases I’m working. But I like you. What do you think? Maybe after we get this guy, you and I go out for dinner or something?”

Or something.

I hesitated. I didn’t want him to perceive that I’d been entertaining thoughts of my own. Thoughts not necessarily including dinner. But it could be a nice change. To actually date.

“Sure,” I said. “I’d like that.”

Just then, Kate came sauntering over. She must have been close when she texted. She leaned over and kissed me.

Den tilted his head slightly as he looked at Kate. He was a trained observer.

“Please sit down, Kate. Let me get you a drink.” He stood. “What’ll you have?”

“Just a diet coke for me, thanks,” she said. As he walked off, she turned to me, wide-eyed. “Damn, he’s hot.”

“Indeed,” I said, laughing.

“Kate to the rescue then,” she said and winked. She wore a bright red blazer with a huge rhinestone pin on it, focusing the attention right smack on her gorgeous pert breasts. She glittered and popped, as usual. “Or you may have been out five hundred dollars.” She wriggled her eyebrows.

Almost as soon as Den came back, his phone buzzed. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I have to take this.” He rose from the table and walked into the lobby area.

“Listen, Charlotte, I’m so sorry,” he said when he came back. “I’ve got to run. A case I’m working is breaking. I need to be there.”

“You said you were off duty.”

“I was, but this case is important. I’m hoping it’s going to mean a promotion for me. Why don’t you two stay here and have another drink? I’ll tell them to put it on my tab.”

Kate’s eyebrows lifted and she smiled. “I like this guy. Do you think he’d spring for a facial? How about a boob job? ”

Den shot her a grin. “How many more do you need?”

Kate exploded into laughter as he walked off.

Twelve

After finishing our drinks, Kate and I took off to find the law office. Typical official building, kind of nondescript until we reached the fifteenth floor, which had marble floors, deep wood-paneled walls, and leather chairs and sofas placed strategically around the large spaces. People gathered in some of those areas.

I walked up to the receptionist and told her who I was, and she nodded. “Someone will be here to show you to the meeting room momentarily. Please have a seat.”

Kate, who had already found a spot perched on a high-backed leather chair, fooled with her chiffon scarf. She was accustomed to these offices. Since I worked for Justine from home, I rarely had reason to be somewhere like this. The places I frequented were libraries and … cop bars. I sat down on a couch and sank in, my feet barely reaching the floor, and I couldn’t imagine getting up gracefully from this position. Never mind. This was just a formality. I’d never see these people again.

We waited longer than I’d expected, which gave me plenty of time to dwell on the fact that yesterday, I had looked into the eyes of a murderer. It had been such an emotional day—draining—but that was no excuse. Why hadn’t I recognized him, despite his disguise?

Then Chad Walters’ eyes flashed into my mind. I could have been gazing into a madman’s eyes today. No, he wasn’t the killer of Justine, but I’d not be surprised if he had a hand in it.

What had my life turned into? I’d gone from living the quiet life on Cloister Island, researching movie stars and assisting Justine wherever she needed me, to a person whose mind was filled with death and murder. I didn’t like it. But still I owed it to Justine to help bring justice in her untimely death.

“What’s going on in that little pea brain of yours?” Kate asked.

“You don’t want to know,” I said.

“We’ve been waiting fifteen minutes,” she added. “I wonder what’s going on? These lawyers live by the billable hour.”

Just then, a woman dressed in a cream pantsuit came from behind the door and called us. We stood and followed her back through a long gray hallway, past closed doors, until we happened on an open door where several people sat around a shiny rectangular table.

Greetings and introductions were exchanged. Judith Turner barely acknowledged me—nor did her lawyer. Lawyer? Why did she have a lawyer? Odd.

Susan Strohmeyer, Justine’s attorney, handed each of us folders. A stack of official papers were piled inside. But I couldn’t spot the will.

“First, I need to apologize to you. Justine made some changes to her will several days before her death. The changes have been misplaced so we can’t discuss them right now,” she said.

“Jesus Christ,” Judith Turner muttered.

I glanced at the clock. Perhaps I’d be home within the hour. Maybe things would be wrapped up quickly. But Susan’s face gave no indication that she would give up the search.

“As I said, I’m sorry. But we do have other matters to take care of. There were some addenda to Justine’s previous will still in place.”

“Can I get anybody water? Coffee?” the assistant in the cream suit said.

“Just get on with it.” Judith waved her bejeweled hand.

I despised her. I could see why she and Justine were not close. “I’ll take some water,” I said. I’d make her wait. Yes, I would. Judith briefly glanced at me with the gaze that said, “Oh look, the help would like some water.”

“Me too,” Kate said, smiling politely, following my lead. Which she rarely did.

“Thank you, Sarah,” Susan said as she watched her assistant walk out of the room.

“Since you both knew Justine so well, you’ll not be surprised to know some of her wishes about probate and so on are out of the ordinary,” Susan continued, smiling with a twitch. Her assistant walked back into the room with water, placed our crystal glasses in front us, and poured. She sat down next to Susan, where larger files full of papers sat on the mahogany table.

I suddenly wondered what I was doing there. I had assumed I’d be helping to disburse the funds because I worked for Justine. But it dawned on me that her lawyers had been hired to do this very thing. So why was I here?

“Justine was very concerned that her clothing be properly taken care of,” Susan said. “By that I mean, she wanted her clothes to go to a charity where homeless women are seeking employment … Second Chances?”

“How lovely of her,” Kate said.

“But she would like for Charlotte to pick out a few things for herself. Whatever she wants,” Susan said. “She has asked for Charlotte to be the person who sees to her wishes and thought it only fair that she select a few items.”

Of course. That’s what I was doing there. Justine was giving me more work to do. Along with the book on Jean Harlow, I was now in charge of Justine’s clothes. I pictured her wardrobe—mostly suits, including several Chanel suits, and garish scarves and hats, like something out of another century.

“The estate will pay you for your efforts,” Susan continued. “As well as your efforts to clean the apartment.”

My face reddened. Clean? When had I ever cleaned for Justine? What would make her think I would clean her place?

“Oh, for God’s sake, why don’t you just hire a professional to do it? Why would Justine want her assistant to clean her apartment?” Judith said with venom.

Kate cleared her throat. “I’ve got to agree.” She laughed nervously. “Charlotte is not a cleaner.”

“Charlotte is the only person Justine trusted enough to be alone in her apartment.”

My heart went from pounding to bursting.

“She’s left an allowance for large items you might want to take care of. Carpet cleaning and so on.”

The dusty carpets and drapes would need professionals. “But I thought she had a maid,” I said.

“No, she let her go months ago,” Susan said.

Judith Turner sighed. “What am I doing here?” It was hard to believe she and Justine were related. I couldn’t find a family resemblance at all.

“I had thought we’d be reading the will, but since we’ve been unable to locate the changes …” Susan said and shrugged. “I’m sorry. As soon as we find them, we’ll inform you.”

“How does that happen?” Judith’s lawyer spoke up. “How do you misplace something like that?”

Susan stood, gathering her papers and folders. “As I said, it was changed just days before her death. Her holdings were extensive. We think it may have been misfiled. You have my word that finding her will is a priority. In the meantime, Ms. Donovan, here’s the key to her place and the instructions on what to do with her clothing.” She walked over to the door. “Good day.”

The keys sat on the table reflecting in my glass of water. A bubble of emptiness or grief welled up from deep in my chest, as a sob escaped and my head dropped into my hand. Justine. Judith Turner tsked and slammed her hand down.

Kate stood, grabbing her purse and my arm.

“Let’s go,” she said.