CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Strawberry pie. That’s my answer to hating everyone as much as I do right now. A whole strawberry pie, with a fork to eat it right from the pan. Because, damn it. Not only can I not manage to get dinner in this town, I can’t manage to get an honest answer. No one is shooting straight with me. Everyone is talking in circles. And yeah. That’s the life of an FBI agent, but these people are my people. They shouldn’t be big, fat freaking liars. That also shouldn’t be able to twist me in knots. I mean, I see dead people and all. The living should not be able to get to me anymore. But maybe that’s the issue. The family unit that connects me to this life, not the next, is starting to feel as dead as most of the people in my life.
I pull up the security system app on my phone and hit the remote for the garage, and the door lifts but the light does not come on. I’d like to think a bulb is out, since the garage door worked, but the security system has a backup battery. And with Junior creeping around in unisex clothes and lurking in the woods, I have a feeling my strawberry pie isn’t going to be happening anytime soon.
I brighten my headlights and confirm that no one is inside the garage, but I don’t like the idea of being sealed in there right now. I do, however, like the idea of someone else being trapped inside the house and forced out another exit. I hit the remote and lower the door again, then place the car in reverse to back up, re-angling the lights to shine on the front door. Next, I remove my service weapon from my holster and grab my keys, exiting the vehicle to walk to the front of the house, where I unlock the door and shove it open. Reaching inside, I flip the switch, but the lights don’t turn on, confirming a bad bulb in the garage isn’t the issue.
“Definitely not getting that pie anytime soon,” I grumble.
This also means that I need to get to the circuit panel to hopefully remedy my problem, which, of course, is in the garage I just sealed. Really cranky right now and hoping for an excuse to go at it with Junior, I head back to the car while my stomach growls in empty protest.
Climbing back inside my rental, I shut myself in the car, place my weapon on my lap, and hit the remote to open the garage again. I scan for Junior, just to be safe, and then with the all-clear pull inside, but I don’t shut the door behind me. Weapon back in hand, I exit the car and walk to the panel on the wall, tugging my sleeve down to open the metal door to preserve prints, and then flip the switches. The garage lights up, but before I go inside, I need to make damn sure no one follows me from behind. I walk to the button on the wall by the entry into the house and push it to lower the garage door.
I then walk to the car and kill the headlights, setting my purse on the hood and taking off my coat to leave it there, too. If I need to fight once I’m inside, I need to be agile. And preferably more well fed than I am at present, but hey. Hungry Lilah is almost as bad for her enemies as PMS Lilah. My cell phone rings in my coat pocket where I’ve left it, and I dig it out, glancing at the number to find Rich as my caller. I swear that man has a special radar for calling while I’m holding a gun in my hand. I press the Decline button, and since I know he will call back, I place the ringer on silent. Opening the door to the house, I find the kitchen light on, and I may or may not have been responsible.
I scan the immediate area and then check the security system to find it active but not armed. The only logical explanation for that, considering it, along with the garage door, has battery backup, is that someone hacked the security company and pulled my password to disarm the system. Junior isn’t a stupid-crazy person, and smart-crazy people are dangerous. The questions for later will be, does Junior have tech skills, or is Junior working with someone else? Moving farther into the house, I secure the living area, walk through the living room to the patio door, check the locks, and glance outside to find nothing but darkness. I start clearing the rooms, flipping switches and securing doors and windows. Finally, I have only Purgatory left, and I rush upstairs, do a quick check that includes the closet, return my gun to my holster, and head back downstairs.
Certain now that I’m alone, I pull out my phone again to find two more missed calls from Rich and one from Lucas. I head for the kitchen and text Rich: Purgatory. Not tonight. And then I dial Lucas because, you know, I’m about to have pie, which feels good, and he’s family.
“Lilah,” he greets me. “You never call or visit and now you do both. What the hell is happening here?”
“You called me.”
“But you called back.”
“Should I hang up?”
“You should answer more often.”
“Did those cameras happen to have working batteries in them?”
“I gave you power cords.”
“Right. I used them.”
“Why are you asking this? Did the cords not work?”
“I have power surges here. I should get batteries.”
“You should get an electrician.”
I have a sudden bad thought and say, “Hold on.” I don’t wait for an answer, rushing to the fridge in hopes my pies are not ruined, yanking the door open. Thankfully, the cold was sealed inside. “Yes,” I say.
“Yes what?” he asks.
I grab one of the pies and shut the door. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I tell him, heading to a drawer for a fork.
“You said yes. Never mind. My date cancelled on me for Saturday night. You want to have mercy on my reputation and go with me?”
“What are you talking about?” I ask, setting my pie and fork on the island counter and returning to the fridge for a soda.
“The Children’s Hospital charity event your father and Pocher are hosting.”
My father and Pocher, the lovebirds themselves. “So they’re hosting an event in the name of a good cause to get a bunch of celebrities together and ask for political donations?”
“You do have a way of cutting to the chase.”
“Yep. That’s me. Right to the nitty-gritty.” My tone flattens. “I hate those events.”
“I do, too. Don’t make me go alone.”
“No one is making you go.”
“There is always business to be done at these things.”
And things to learn about people, my father and brother included. “What time?”
“That’s a yes? Seriously? Where is the Lilah Love I know and love?”
“Why did you ask if you thought I’d say no?”
“I thought I’d have to nag you for a few days.”
“I’ll go. I assume the damn thing is formal?”
“Yes.”
“Oh yippee. I get to dress up and play Hollywood.” I grimace. “I’m hanging up. I need pie right now.”
“What? You need pie? What the—”
I hang up, set my phone down, open the lid to the pie, and dig a fork in. Strawberries, whipped cream, and a shortbread crust have me moaning. “So good,” I murmur, taking another bite. I stand there, shoving bites into my mouth, and I don’t let myself think of anything else. This is my yoga, the calm in the storm that de-juices my brain. I’m halfway through the pie when my stomach starts to stretch. I close the lid, start to put it in the fridge, and decide better. Me, my fork, pie, and gun make our way toward Purgatory, where my MacBook and that confession transcript hopefully await.
Once I’m there, I walk around the desk, my intent being to set down my pie on the desk, fork on the lid, ready for more action. And I do just that. Pie down. Fork down. Cujo still hanging out for backup. My MacBook waiting for use. All is well until I pull my chair out, and freeze-frame. In my seat is the plastic Baggie with the first note I’d received inside it. On top of it is another note that is open and reads:
D is for Deception.
“F is for aren’t you fucking funny.” I scoop up both notes, careful to touch only the Baggie, but I really don’t know why. I am never sending in something for diagnostics that might implicate me in a crime. Junior knows that. I skip placing the new note in the Baggie and shove them both into the drawer.
I sit down and grab Cujo, cocking it and ensuring the bullets are still inside, and they are. Interesting. I’ll decide how interesting later. I grab my computer and pull it to me, intending to pull up the camera footage, in hopes that it grabbed something before the lights were killed. My e-mail flashes, and sure enough, my brother is in my inbox.
Sidetracked and with good reason, I pull up the e-mail:
Agent Fucking Love,
Here it is.
Love,
Chief Fucking Love.
Transcript
Thursday
12:01 a.m.
This is Kevin Woods. She didn’t have to die but she’s dead now, you assholes. This wasn’t the way things were supposed to happen. I’m not going to let you kill me over this. I’m gone. I won’t be back. If you come for me, I will make a deal with the devil, and see you dead first.
That’s it.
That’s it?
That’s not a confession. He didn’t say he killed her. He said she didn’t have to die. Like he’s talking to the person who killed her. But the message was sent to Alexandra, and if she were involved, she wouldn’t turn over the recording. Exhibit A: The notes in my drawer that I’m not about to let anyone see. That call makes me think that he knows he’s being framed. And that she’s the ADA, married to Eddie, the detective handling his case, and that one or both are setting him up. But if that were the case, I still don’t believe she’d turn over this recording. Unless . . . that’s exactly what she wants me to think.
I shake the thought off and shove aside Kevin Woods for a moment, switching my screen to the security footage, tabbing through screens and timelines. Fifteen minutes later, I find the spot where it cuts off. There’s nothing worth seeing. My elbows go to my desk, my fingers laced under my chin. Why cut the power if the security code was hacked? Unless you knew I had a camera. Which means there has to be a camera somewhere in my house. Somewhere near the cameras I installed. But probably here, too. I start tearing apart the office, looking for bugs. Looking for any kind of surveillance equipment I can find.
Nothing. I find nothing.
I head down the stairs and start searching every room I frequent and end at the sliding glass door. My camera is still in place, and I look for angles that an additional camera would be placed to have seen me install it. But I find nothing. And yet, somehow Junior knew to cut the power. Maybe it’s a coincidence, but per my mentor, they don’t exist. One thing for certain is that Junior is trying to scare me into a corner and onto a plane. And the list of people that fit that profile seems to be growing by the moment.
I decide to give Junior a message of my own. I walk to the sliding glass door, open it, and exit, stepping to the center of the patio, certain Junior is lurking. “You’ve made things interesting,” I call out. “I’m staying. In fact, I might not ever leave.” With that announcement, I start walking, and I don’t stop until I’m standing in the very spot that night happened.
“Challenge issued,” I whisper, lifting my arms into the cold wind, my hair blowing around my face. “Game on.” And now, it seems I’m not the only one that can see where the blood once pooled at my feet. Maybe Junior can even spy my sea of blood. Maybe that sea of blood is why Junior is a coward and stays in the shadows. But whoever Junior is, they won’t be there for long. I’m going to rip him or her from that shelter and strip away those unisex clothes.
I don’t know what happens once I do, but I’ll figure it out.