Chapter 15
Anmorata Blue had returned.
She’d returned, and apparently I hadn’t been as subtle asking around about her as I’d thought. Someone—my money was on Belinda or Clarence—had blabbed the second they saw her back in town.
“Um, so the thing is,” she muttered, shifting in the uncomfortable metal chair that graced the only interview room at the station, “I didn’t know how bad it’d look, okay?
And I didn’t know anyone,” she shot me a glare, “would be looking for me. The old guy screwed me over and I was pissed off. Nathan was cool, though, and said he’d help me out.
” She shrugged, picking at the peeling edge of the laminate tabletop.
“He’s kind of a dick, too. He ditched me in freakin’ Jersey City. Jersey City! Not even New York!”
“At least it wasn’t Red Hook,” I murmured, earning a snort from Cherry and an even sharper glare from Anmorata.
“Look, I wouldn’t have even come back,” a lie, “if I hadn’t seen those pictures on Tea and Tinsel, alright?
I didn’t know he was dead when I left, you know?
” Her eyes were red-rimmed but dry, irritated from anger and lack of sleep more than grief.
She fidgeted, starting to stand before a subtle throat clearing from Cherry settled her back onto the metal seat.
“I freaked out when I heard about Gerry being dead. I thought someone was gonna accuse me of doing it so I came back to make sure they knew I’m not like that, okay?
But you’re snooping around after me and I was like oh hell no, I’m not gonna let that twink get me arrested like he did Belinda. ”
“Okay, one, rude, and two, I didn’t get her arrested. Margie did. And three—rude!”
“How did you know Damien was looking for you?” Heath asked kindly, obviously the good cop to Cherry’s not-really-bad-but-definitely-over-your-shit cop.
“Nathan,” she answered promptly. “One of those old broads told him about it. The tall one. Ginny?”
Ah. I sent Belinda and Clarence mental apologies.
“Gwendolyn Terhune,” I corrected. Ignoring Heath’s warning glance, I pressed, “Nathan’s still in touch with them? I thought he took off.”
Anmorata rolled her eyes, settling back in an attitude of smug knowledge.
I know something you don’t know made flesh.
“He had to go into the city for some meetings. Sign some stuff, I don’t know.
So he took me with him because Gerry messed me over big time.
Promised me all sorts of stuff but it was bullcrap.
” Her smug mask flickered for just a moment, real hurt showing through the cracks. “Jersey freakin’ City.”
“Promised you a role, didn’t he?” I asked quietly, shuffling closer.
There’d only been two chairs in the room—the repurposed desk chair Cherry claimed, and the metal one for Anmorata.
Heath and I had been holding up the wall while Anmorata talked.
She twitched back like she expected me to strike her but quickly managed her startlement, jerking herself upright with a sneer.
“You wouldn’t be the first person someone like Tubbs hurt and it sucks that they do things like that.
I don’t blame you for wanting to believe him,” I added.
“Hell, I’ve been got too, even after getting an agent and all that jazz. ”
“What do you know?” she scoffed. Now her eyes shone. I’d hit too close to the bone and it hurt. “You’re throwing it all away. Everyone says so. Gerry. Nathan. Those old ladies. Paul.”
It was my turn to draw back. “Paul? Paul who?” Though I knew deep down inside, she meant Paul Santos. “What did he do?”
Anmorata smiled. A real smile. Sharp and mean and angry. “You got got again, huh?” she teased, sniffing wetly. “Twice.”
Everything went downhill fast after that.
Anmorata’s mother showed up, angry and relieved at the same time, to rescue her daughter from our clutches with a lawyer in tow, someone Heath recognized and who seemed like an arrogant jerk as she brushed us all off with disdainful shooing motions and huddled with Anmorata to one side of the room as her mother ranted at Cherry and Heath.
Anmorata shook her off, rolling her eyes so thoroughly I was surprised she didn’t get a sprain.
“I’m not under arrest or anything,” she shouted. “Jeezum crow!”
“You are being questioned though,” Heath noted mildly. “Because you apparently know some things about Gerald Tubbs Junior’s last evening that might present a legal complication.”
Her lawyer straightened, lips pinched and brows raised. “Have you Mirandized my client?”
“She’s not under arrest. She’s not a suspect. Right now, we’re just trying to untangle a very tangled situation.”
The lawyer set her eyes on me. “What’s he doing in here? He’s not law enforcement and I doubt he’s an attorney.”
“He’s nothing,” Anmorata muttered. “Useless.”
Cherry had pity on me and ushered me out of the room, making the excuse she needed to pee again and nudging me towards the door.
“Don’t take it personal. People like her?
They’re always looking for someone to crap on.
You have what she thinks she wants so she’s gonna make you feel bad.
” Cherry hissed a breath, rubbing a hand over her belly.
“Swear to god, this kid’s gonna come out like one of those chest burster things. ”
I nodded faintly, offering a wan smile. “I don’t suppose you or Heath can tell me what else Anmorata says? Like about Nate or... or, well, anything?”
“Sorry, Damien. Now there’s a lawyer here, things have got more complicated. Head home, take her name off your murder board—”
“It’s not a murder board! It’s a thinking board! And who told you?”
She winked. “Lucky guess.”
***
CHARLEMAGNE WAS SITTING in the middle of the kitchen table when I trudged back into Witte House.
I’d walked, not feeling like the hassle of trying to drive with the cast, and had had the time to stew over everything, and rapid-fire text Paul Santos.
So far, no reply about how he knew Anmorata Blue, what did she meant I’d got got, what the hell was going on here. ..
And honestly I probably wouldn’t get one. Not until he’d got his ducks in a row. Whatever he was doing, I didn’t know what it was and he’d want to keep it that way for as long as possible. I had a sneaking suspicion, though, and it made me want to toss up my pasta and salad.
Charlemagne stared at me as I poured a glass of ice water, his huge yellow eyes unblinking. “You’re weirding me out,” I muttered once I’d emptied the glass. “I don’t suppose now you’ve developed the power of speech? What happened after Tubbs was left alone? Hell, what happened before he was alone?”
Charlemagne followed me upstairs, Muffin tip-tapping behind him like a meek, adoring acolyte.
They both settled on my bed while I pulled out my thinking board and started moving things around.
Anmorata was out—maybe. I put her notes to the side.
But now I had those print-outs from the library.
.. I set a note about them on Thursday’s square.
Nate had left with Anmorata—new note for Thursday night.
“But wasn’t she the one Tubbs fought with on the boat?
” I muttered, rocking back on my haunches.
The papers Clarence had smuggled out for me were still in my jeans pocket.
I took them out and did a quick search of the recipient’s number.
“Guillen and Toll, specializing in estate planning and probate law... I had no idea so much of my life would be spent around contract law, guys,” I sighed, clicking on the website.
Their about section didn’t tell me much, but it didn’t have to.
Context clues are everything. They were headquartered in Beverly Hills, right smack dab in the middle of everything.
Their website even looked expensive, like it wanted to ask me to click away just in case I lower their value with my plebian gaze.
There’s a saying that old money whispers, new money shouts.
This website was positively hushed. The lack of details meant that if you needed to know, you already knew when it came to services offered, cost per hour, retainer fees, all of it.
There wasn’t even a contact form, just a phone number and, natch, the fax number Tubbs had used.
Smoothing the papers out, I flipped the flashlight app on my phone and tried to parse out what had been sent, making it only as far as most of Tubbs’ name and a partial address.
“Shit,” I muttered, eyeing the website again. It was just past five in California and chances were the office was closed for the night. But... If they were anything like Ben, someone at least would be working and maybe they’d even answer the phone.
Plot twist: They did not.
I let it ring through the voice mail and selected the option to leave a message for one of the paralegals.
“Hi, my name is Damien M...Maguire,” I winced, realizing belatedly that using my real name might be a bad idea.
“I’m calling on behalf of, um, my boss. He sent some papers last week and wasn’t sure if they’d made it through.
If someone could give me a call as soon as you’re able.
..” I rattled off my number and hung up, blowing out a huge, nervous sigh.
Charlemagne turned his head in disgust. Muffin, at least, was encouraging with his big toothy doggy grin as I set the papers beside the board, in the non-existent Wednesday space. Groaning, I let myself flop to one side, staring at the fluttering pieces of paper and the dark space under my bed.
The dark space... with the flash drive in it.
“Oh... oh, shit,” I breathed, scrambling forward to snatch it, as if someone was going to materialize under my bed and grab it before I could get there. I’d dropped it on Thursday night when I changed, forgetting to pick it up. And it’d been sitting under the bed the entire time.