Dressed in black, with fake designer sunglasses hiding my face and a brimmed hat covering my hair, I blend in well with the mourners awaiting the start of Nora Riley’s gravesite service at Hollywood Cemetery. Being on the sacred grounds of the cemetery, where acres of rolling hills are covered with historic gravesites including those of two presidents, moves me. I often come here when I need a peaceful setting to calm my frazzled nerves. For whatever reason, whenever I’m here, I think of my mother. I don’t even know if she’s still alive. Today, I’m here for a different reason. To spy on the funeral goers.
As I move along the fringe of the crowd, eavesdropping on whispered conversations, I hear a woman with injected lips say to her friend, “Makes me sick to my stomach watching Laurence pretending to be distraught over the death of his beloved wife. Their marriage has been on the rocks for years. He knew Nora was having an affair.”
The friend says, “Rumor has it she was planning to leave him. Laurence got off easy. Now he won’t have to pay a divorce settlement. I heard the lover was her trainer.”
Not trainer. The air-conditioning repairman.
I inch my way toward an older couple. The wife says, “Nora’s mama is rolling over in her grave. She never approved of her marrying that man.”
The husband elbows her in the ribs. “Shh!”
She lets out a squeal. “What’d you do that for?”
“Because Riley’s a powerful man. We don’t wanna be on his bad side.”
I let out a grunt. A lot of people feel this way. Including the mayor.
The man gives me a dirty look, and I step away. Two men are talking in hushed voices behind me. “Why don’t we just off the bitch and call it a day?”
“Boss says we can’t. Not until we get the evidence.”
Who are these men? Am I the bitch they’re talking about? I’d have to turn my head in order to see them. That would be too obvious, and they might recognize me. The pastor announces the beginning of the service, and the crowd migrates as a whole toward the funeral tent. I use the opportunity to hide behind a nearby tree. From my new vantage point, I can watch the men. One is as tall as the other is small. Their cheap suits stand out among the well-dressed well-to-do.
The service is brief—a short eulogy with several readings. After the pastor says the benediction, I hold up my phone as though I’m reading a text and snap a half dozen images of Tall and Small. When they break away from the crowd, I follow at a discreet distance to where they park, making a note of the Virginia license plate number on their nondescript black Tahoe.
I walk the winding paths to the overlook at the mausoleum and stare out across the James River. I come here when I need to think a situation through. The water sounds from the rapids below help to clear my head.
The man’s words come back to me. Why don’t we just off the bitch and call it a day?
They had to have been talking about me. What evidence are they looking for? Something Lucas had? Or something I have? Then it comes to me. The photos. I palm my forehead. Why didn’t I think of it before? I gave Riley a thumb drive, but I kept the originals on the memory card. Everything suddenly makes sense. The photos are more than evidence of Nora’s infidelity. The photos are key to exposing Riley’s involvement in his wife’s death. In his wife’s lover’s death. In his wife’s unborn baby’s death.
Those pics are my lifeline. The public doesn’t know about Nora’s infidelity. About Lucas. But if they were to find out, and something were to happen to me, it would be awfully inconvenient for Riley if the wife of Nora’s lover turned up murdered.
Energy surges through me. Game on! I know what I have to do. But I need a safe place to stay while I initiate my plan. And I know just where to go.
I get in the truck and speed back to my apartment. The new camera I ordered from B&H is waiting for me at the door. I toss the package into a duffel bag along with every piece of surveillance and podcast equipment I own. I pack some clothes in my suitcase and go into the bathroom for my toiletries. I dump my box of Playtex onto the floor. Among the tampons is my camera’s memory card. I’m not surprised Riley’s goons didn’t find it. Men stay as far away as possible from anything having to do with a woman’s menstrual cycle.
I lock up my apartment and throw my gear into the truck. Even though I detect no suspicious cars in the parking lot, I weave through the streets of the Fan, frequently checking my rearview mirror as I make my way to the West End. I stop at Libbie Market for provisions before heading out River Road to the Leonards’ sprawling estate on the James River.
I’ve known Glenn and Gwen for a number of years. They pay me a small sum to check on their property while they’re traveling. They are currently on an extended trip of Australia and New Zealand. While the grounds and buildings are outfitted with the most up-to-date security system, having me check on their home brings them peace of mind.
The main house doesn’t appeal to me. The cavernous rooms filled with museum quality antiques and centuries-old portraits of ancestors give me the creeps. But I find the guest house out back charming. I stayed there once, for a long weekend when Glenn and Gwen were invited last minute to Nantucket and needed someone to keep their three corgis.
I let myself in the back door and pass through the kitchen and formal rooms to Glen’s study. The paneled room offers sweeping views of the river and a wood-burning fireplace. I rummage through his desk drawers, locating an unopened package of five thumb drives. Slipping the package in my back pocket, I cross the room to his gun safe. Glenn is a gun enthusiast. We often shoot targets for practice at a range out in Goochland. He gave me the combination for his safe, just in case I ever needed it. I deem now as one of those times. Punching in the code, I open the heavy door and remove his semi-automatic rifle and a box of ammunition.
I retrace my steps through the house and out the back door. I drop my purchases and gear off at the guest house before parking the truck in the empty bay in the three-car garage. I unload my groceries in the small kitchen and set up my equipment at the square game table in the sitting room.
My first order of business is to copy the images onto three thumb drives, which I will hide around the Leonards’ property later. I access the Channel 10 News website and recognize Kara Burgess as the young reporter on the Riley murder. The smug expression she wears in her profile pic takes away from her otherwise attractive face. I email her a simple message. I have important new evidence in the Riley case. I don’t expect her to return my email on a Saturday afternoon, so I DM her the same message on social media. When she doesn’t respond within ten minutes, I bombard her with information. I even tell her Nora Riley was pregnant with my husband’s baby. Still no response.
I turn my attention to researching Tall and Small. I run the license plates and find the Tahoe registered to Ira Lopez. When I google his name, Tall’s image pops up. I scroll through the pages until I find a photo of Ira with Small, identified in the caption as Manuel Rivera. I run background checks on them. Both come up squeaky clean. Too clean.
I thumb off a text to Mel. I need a favor. Can you meet for a drink?
She responds. It’s Saturday night and I have a hot date.
Her second texts reads: But I can meet for one drink.
We go back and forth, discussing where to meet, until we decide on The Continental at six o’clock.
With still no word from Kara Burgess, I message her one last time. This new development will make you a superstar.
This time she responds. Not interested. Stop harassing me.
I blink hard as I read the message a second time. She’s not interested. What reporter wouldn’t jump at the chance to break a story like this? Something strange is going on here. And I aim to find out what it is.
I push back from the table and gather my belongings. I spend a few minutes hiding the thumb drives around the property before heading back to town in Gwen Leonard’s white Mercedes sedan.
All the tables on the deck at The Continental are occupied, but Mel is saving a seat for me inside at the bar.
“Girlfriend, you look hot,” she says. “What’s the occasion?”
I glance down at my attire. I’m still wearing my black dress from the funeral. “I had a thing earlier today.” I give her the once-over. She’s wearing jeans and a loose-fitting white silk blouse unbuttoned to reveal a scandalous amount of cleavage. “You don’t look so bad yourself. Who’s the lucky guy? Someone serious?”
“Nah. He’s a distraction. First aid to mend my broken heart.”
“Are you kidding me? The ice queen finally fell in love?”
Mel lets out a grunt. “With the wrong man. I knew he was bad news. He’s slept with every attractive female at the station. I just couldn’t stay away.”
My stomach sours. “Ingram?”
She looks away. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”
I decide it best not to tell her about my hookup with Ingram.
The bartender appears in front of them. “Ladies? What can I get you?”
Mel orders a wine, and I ask for a Casamigos on the rocks.
Mel waits for the bartender to leave before angling her body toward me. “You mentioned a favor?”
“Tell me what you know about Ira Lopez and Manuel Rivera.”
She turns back around, facing the bar. “Never heard of them.”
“We were partners once, Mel. I can tell when you’re lying. I ran background checks. Lopez and Rivera are too clean. Something’s not right with them.”
Mel chews on her lip. I recognize this stall tactic. She’s deciding how much to reveal. The bartender returns with our drinks, and we sip for a few minutes in silence. Finally, she says, “Lopez and Rivera are Riley’s private security guys.”
Mel knows more, but the firm set of her jaw lets me know she won’t tell me.
A guy seated at the other end of the bar catches my attention. He’s smoking hot with smoldering dark eyes and wavy black hair. Our eyes lock, and his lips part in a seductive smile. I hold his gaze for a minute before looking back at Mel. “Why is the media refusing to report on Lucas’s death?”
Mel looks up from her wine. “You know why, Jolie. Riley owns the media, and he’s protecting his wife’s reputation. You need to let it go.”
“If I let it go, I’m a dead woman. I overheard Lopez and Rivera talking at Nora’s funeral today. There’s a price on my head.”
Mel’s green eyes pop. “You went to Nora Riley’s funeral. Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
“I’m searching for answers,” I say, rattling the ice cubes in my glass.
Mel leans in close to me. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with,” she says in an urgent tone. “These are dangerous people. Why don’t you leave town until this thing blows over?”
“No way. Richmond is my home. Jason is here. And he’s the only family I have. If I run, I’ll spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder. Riley dragged me into his mess. And I have to get myself out.”
Mel lifts her wine glass. “Fine, then stay out of the way, and let us do our jobs.”
“That’s the problem. You’re not doing your jobs. Riley had Nora and Lucas killed. Likely by Lopez or Rivera. Have you even brought them in for questioning?”
“We’re following protocol,” Mel says, which means no. She lowers her head, staring into her wine.
“What’s happened to you? The Mel I once knew would never have turned a blind eye. Are you seriously going to let Riley get away with killing an unborn baby?”
Mel’s head snaps up. “What’re you talking about?”
“Nora was pregnant with Lucas’s child. You didn’t know?”
“I’m not officially on the case.”
“Whatever.” I slap my credit card on the bar and signal the bartender for the bill. When he arrives, I tell him to charge both drinks to my card. Mel objects, but I shut her up with a raised hand. “I got it.”
The bartender returns with my credit card slip, and I sign it. I slide off the stool to my feet. “Thanks for nothing, Mel. If anything happens to me, you have my blood on your hands.” I’m being melodramatic, but I don’t care. I’m scared. And all alone.
Exiting the restaurant, I round the building to the parking lot. I hear footfalls behind me. I don’t need to look back to know who’s following me. When I reach the car, a husky voice says, “Hey, gorgeous.”
I turn to face the smoking-hot guy from the other end of the bar. “What do you want?”
His fingers graze my arm. “The same thing you want. You gave me the look.”
“What look is that?” I say, playing dumb. I totally gave him the look.
“The I-wanna-screw-you look.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re delusional.”
“Admit it. You want it. We can have a quickie right here.” He pins me against Gwen’s Mercedes. His breath is hot and reeks of whisky. I slip my hand in my purse and remove my pistol, poking it into his gut. “Take your hands off of me, or I’ll blow your intestines all over this parking lot.”
He jumps back, hands in the air. “Bitch! Put that gun down.”
I outstretch my arms, training the gun at his chest. “Not until you leave.”
“How do I know you won’t shoot me in the back?”
“You don’t. But you have a better chance of living if you run.”
Spinning on his heels, he takes off across the parking lot. I laugh, loud enough for him to hear me. I’m proud of myself. The old me would totally have hooked up with him.
I get in Gwen’s car and drive back to the estate. I change into sweats and return to my computer. I don’t waste time trying to contact the other news stations. Mel said Riley owns the media. If they won’t cover my story, I’ll have to break it myself.
I start by going back through the photos I took of Lucas and Nora, choosing the ones I want to use and editing them to my liking. I’m removing the shadows in one photo when a figure pops out of the background. A large man standing in the hallway behind them with a gun in his hand. I zoom in on his face. The man is Ira Lopez. This is rock-solid proof of Ira’s guilt. He’s the murderer. The situation just got a hell of a lot juicier.
I download more images from the internet to make my video more compelling—snapshots of Laurence and Nora Riley at various social functions in addition to photos of their home and country club where they play golf and tennis. I set up my microphone and record the narrative of two lovers and their unborn child brutally murdered by the woman’s successful lawyer husband. I work well into the night. The result is spectacular, if I say so myself.
I upload the video to every social media site where I have an account. Despite the late hour, it’s Saturday night and people are still awake. I pour a glass of tequila and watch the numbers of likes and shares add up. My phone blows up with texts and calls from everyone I know. Mel and Ingram send urgent messages, insisting I call them back so they can protect me. So now they want to protect me.
Moving to the sofa, I catch a few hours’ sleep with my hand resting on my pistol beside me and the semi-automatic rifle at my feet. I’m starving when I wake around eight. I scramble three eggs and brew a cup of coffee. When I open my laptop, I’m stunned to see my video has over a million hits. I read through the comments. Most wish me well and offer support.
My phone rings with an incoming call from my brother. Jason blurts out, “Where are you? I’ve been waiting for you at your apartment all night.”
“Are you crazy? You’re not safe there, Jason. Go home. Stay away from me until this is over.” I push back from the table. “On second thought, Riley knows where you live. If he can’t find me, he may send his goons after you.” I take the phone over to the window and look out. Everything appears in order on the estate. “I’m at the Leonards’. Why don’t I come pick you up? You can stay with me here for a few days.”
“I can’t miss work. And I can take care of myself. I’m due at the hospital, anyway.”
“Good. Text me when you get there.”
I’ve no sooner hung up with him when Mel calls. I don’t answer the first time. But when the phone rings immediately again, I accept the call. “Jolie! Thank goodness. I’ve been so worried. Don’t hang up until you hear me out. You were right last night. I have been turning a blind eye in this case. Riley is a seriously scary dude.” She snickers. “But you let him have it. I think you’re legit insane, but I’m proud of you.”
“Thank you, Mel. That means a lot.”
“Okay, listen carefully. You didn’t hear this from me. Riley’s on the run. We got a tip that he’s booked on a private plane at ten thirty out of Richmond.”
“Who gave you the tip?”
“Manuel Rivera, believe it or not. He turned on Riley. Not sure what that’s about. We’ll eventually find out. Anyway, we’re on our way out to the airport now. I can’t stop you from showing up with your camera. But be careful.”
“I will. Thank you, Mel.”
I grab my new camera, which is still in the box, and go to the garage for Lucas’s truck. If bullets fly, I can’t afford to pay for the damage to Gwen’s Mercedes. While driving, I remove the camera from the box, insert the batteries, and attach my superzoom lens. Reviewers on the B&H website rave about the video feature on this model camera. I’m excited about the opportunity to use it.
Midmorning traffic on a Sunday is light, and I make it to the private airport in record time. The scene is unfolding when I arrive. Through the window, I see Mel and Ingram having a conversation with Riley. Riley is gesturing with his hands, as though arguing with them. All eyes in the airport lounge are on them. No one sees Ira Lopez enter the building with gun raised.
Even though I’m no longer a police officer, I act instinctively. I draw my weapon and burst through the door, yelling, “Stop! Drop your weapon.”
Rivera drops the gun, and his arms shoot up. Mel and Ingram are on him, securing the weapon and handcuffing both him and Riley. An army of patrol cars arrives at once, parking haphazardly around the building. I video the event, including the part where Riley snarls at me. “You’re gonna pay for this, bitch.”
I smile at him. “Looks like you’re the one who’s gonna be paying.”
Mel and Ingram shove the twosome into the back of a patrol car, and they take off. The detectives make their way over to me. “We owe you one,” Mel says. “A split second later, and we would’ve had a hostage situation on our hands.”
“Or you would’ve been dead,” I say under my breath.
Mel’s radio crackles, and she holds it to her ear, listening. A second later she tells us, “Dispatch received a report of shots fired at Rivera’s house a short while ago.”
Ingram touches Mel’s arm. “Let’s go,” he says, and they speed off in Ingram’s unmarked sedan together.
Even though they don’t invite me to tag along, I jump in the truck and follow them to a row house in the city’s historic neighborhood of Church Hill. Units have already arrived. They crouch down behind their patrol cars when Mel and Ingram knock on the front door. When no one answers, Ingram kicks in the door. From my vantage point on the street, I can see a body on the floor in the living room.
Turning my back to the house, I raise my phone and click Video. The dead body is visible in the background as I record myself reporting on this new development.
Eager to feed my new followers, I race back to the Leonards’ guest house and upload my video to social media.
I consider staying in the guest house a few more days. I could use some quiet time to myself, but I need to begin the process of putting my life back in order. I’ve established myself on social media, but my platform is a long way from providing income.
I pack up my belongings and secure the Leonards’ estate. I’m on my way home when Chief Winnie calls. “I need to see you at the station.”
“But—”
“Now,” she says and hangs up.
The captain is waiting for me in her office when I arrive. I’m expecting a lecture. Instead, she offers me a job.
“I told you, Captain, I’m not interested in coming back to the department.”
Her lips part in a mischievous smile. “What if I promote you to detective? You proved yourself by single-handedly bringing down Riley. I have faith in you, Jolie. You’ll do a stellar job as a detective.”
This gets my attention. My mind races. The position will give me financial security. I’ll be able to move to another apartment and start a new life. And, to some extent, I could use my cases as material for my podcast. I’ll invent a catchy name. Fighting crime with Detective Jolene Hogan. But what appeals to me the most is the opportunity to take down our corrupt mayor, who was so easily bribed by the likes of Riley.
“Can I take a few days to think about it?”
“Of course. In the meantime, call me if you have questions or want to talk more.”
I stand to go. “Thank you for the vote of confidence, Captain. I promise to give your offer serious consideration. I’ll be back in touch soon.”
The morning chill has worn off, and the sun is warm on my face when I exit the building. I feel like skipping back to the truck. Riley and Lopez are behind bars. I’m sorry Lucas lost his life, but I’m grateful to have my freedom back. I drive over to the river and park on Tredegar Street. Grabbing my camera, I cross the footbridge and wander the winding paths on Belle Isle. I walk out onto the large flat rocks and snap a series of action shots of people rafting and kayaking down the river. On my way back to the parking lot, I pause at the top of the footbridge and shoot video of the rapids below to use on my website. I love this city I’ve called home for the past ten years. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her from crime and corruption.
I’m eager to get home, to begin work on my website, but there’s something I have to do first.
While the afternoon is wearing on, Carrigan’s is still hopping with the Sunday brunch crowd. My heart skips a beat when I see Drew through the window, hustling behind the bar. I long to go in and talk to him. I’m certain he’s seen my video. Everyone in town has seen it. While we’ve never exchanged numbers, there are other ways to get in touch if he really wanted to. My hand is on the door handle when I change my mind. I’m not ready. I’m a broken woman. I slept with Ingram. Made a pass at Mr. Smoking Hot at The Continental. I can’t drag Drew down to the swamp with me. I’m not worthy of being in a relationship with him. I’m in desperate need of healing. Although I have no idea how to go about the process.