Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
She looked awful. I’d thought so yesterday at Fidelio’s, but today she looked worse.
Her makeup was immaculate, but it couldn’t hide the redness of her eyes or the way her lips pulled down at the corners.
She even looked thinner, although that could have been because she was wearing all black again—yoga pants, a sweatshirt, and a jacket, with black sneakers; it was like she wasn’t even trying—and because her hair was pulled back in a ponytail so severe that it sucked all the fullness out of her cheeks.
“Gina,” she said, and her voice cracked. “Thank you for seeing me.”
“Of course.” I gestured to the chair. “Have a seat.”
She perched on the edge of it, clutching her purse in her lap. It was black, too. Edwina, sensing distress, jumped down from Zachary’s lap and trotted over to sniff at Jacquie’s shoes.
“I need your help,” she said. “I need you to find out who killed Nick.”
Oh, was that all?
“That’s the police’s job. We specialize in cheating spouses, remember? Murder investigations are way outside our wheelhouse.”
“But you’ve done it before.” Her eyes were huge and pleading. “You figured out what happened to David, and to Heidi’s husband. You’re good at this.”
“I got lucky,” I demurred. “That’s different from being good at it.”
In fact, I had a tendency to stumble over the solutions to things, not from clever deductions, but from being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“Please.” She leaned forward, and I could see the tears gathering in her eyes.
“The police think I did it. I can tell. Detective Mendoza came with you that first day, and yesterday there was a woman, Samantha something. They keep asking me where I was, whether I own a gun, whether Nick and I fought. They think I killed him, and I didn’t. I loved him.”
“Then you need a lawyer,” I said, “not a private investigator.”
“I need both.” She pulled an envelope out of her purse and set it on my desk. “Here’s another two thousand. I want you to use it to find out what really happened.”
I stared at the envelope. “Jacquie—”
“Please.” She twined her hands together in her lap until the knuckles were white. “You’re the only one I trust to actually look for the truth instead of just trying to pin it on me.”
That was incredibly ironic, considering what we were to one another. I wanted to say so, but I didn’t. I also wanted to decline. I didn’t do that, either.
“Tell me about Kenny,” I said instead.
She blinked. “What?”
“You and Kenny. At Fidelio’s last night. What was that about?”
Her cheeks flushed. “Nothing. We’re friends. He called me after he heard about Nick—he said his uncle told him—and he wanted to take me out to dinner, to take my mind off things.”
“Considerate of him,” I said dryly. “Did it work?”
“No.” She looked down at her hands. “Nothing works. I can’t stop thinking about it. Someone shot Nick and I wasn’t there and I didn’t even know about it until you showed up.”
“How long were you together?” Rached asked softly, and Jacquie glanced at her.
“We met when I was twenty-two. Almost four years ago.”
Definitely before she’d met David, then.
“What about Kenny?” I shot in. “How long have you two been friends?”
She shrugged. “I met him through David. Him and Krystal both. David wanted me to meet them, wanted them to approve of me, I guess. Kenny kept in touch after David died.”
“Kept in touch how?”
She didn’t seem to have any problems answering. It was as if she couldn’t hear how damning this all sounded. “Texting mostly. He’d check in, see how I was doing. He was nice about it. Not like—” She stopped.
“Not like what?”
“Not like Krystal.” She flicked a glance at me. “I don’t think she likes you very much—”
I shook my head. Definitely not.
“—but she didn’t think I should have pursued her father, either. Like it was my fault that David wanted someone young and pretty.”
She tossed her head. The ponytail swung.
I bit back the retort that wanted to escape. Over on the sofa, Zachary smothered a laugh.
“And when did Kenny start wanting to be more than friends?” I wanted to know.
Jacquie’s flush deepened. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do. I saw the way he looked at you last night. So did you.” And she wasn’t stupid. At least not when it came to this. “Was it before David died, or after?”
She didn’t answer that, and I guess I couldn’t blame her. But that probably meant that it had been before. Kenny had had his eye on Jacquie for a while, then.
“I haven’t encouraged it,” she said. “I loved Nick. I still love Nick.”
“Did Kenny know about Nick?”
She looked up. “Of course. I told him I have a boyfriend.”
Still with the present tense.
“And how did he take that?”
She frowned. “Fine, I guess. He didn’t say anything. Why?”
“Because now your boyfriend is dead, and Kenny is circling like a shark. I’d call that suspicious, wouldn’t you?”
Her eyes widened. “You think Kenny killed Nick?”
“I don’t know. Did he?”
“No! How would I know?” Her voice reached bat-range, and I winced. So did Zachary and Rachel.
“Did he stay over last night? After dinner?”
“What? No! He dropped me off at home and left. He didn’t even come inside. I haven’t heard from him since.”
They had left Fidelio’s almost an hour before Greg and I did. That would have given Kenny plenty of time to drive to Home Depot, pick up a gallon of paint, and make his way to Hillwood before Greg brought me home last night.
And the fact that he hadn’t tried to talk his way into Jacquie’s apartment—and her panties—that was suspicious, wasn’t it? After treating her to dinner, surely he would have expected something in return.
“So you wouldn’t know whether he went to my house after dropping you off and vandalized my front door,” I asked.
Jacquie blinked. “Someone vandalized your door?”
“Someone threw red paint at it. Made it look like it was dripping blood. Scared the hell out of me when I came home.”
“It wasn’t me,” Jacquie said. “And it probably wasn’t Kenny, either. Why would he do that?”
“Because he hates me? Because I was the reason David divorced Kenny’s mother twenty years ago? Because I saw him with you at Fidelio’s and he knows I’ll tell anyone who asks me about it?” Including the police.
“But why would he care?” Jacquie protested. “We weren’t doing anything wrong. We were just having dinner.”
Of course they were. But if Kenny had killed Nick…
Then again, if Kenny had killed Nick, surely he had enough sense not to ask Nick’s girlfriend out on a date two days after the murder? Kenny was many things, but he wasn’t stupid.
“I’ll think about investigating Nick’s death,” I said. “But I’m not making any promises. And you need to stay away from Kenny until this is sorted out.”
She blinked. “Why?” While Kenny wasn’t stupid, Jacquie clearly wasn’t smart enough to see the implications.
“Because if he did kill Nick, you’re putting yourself in danger by spending time with him. And if he didn’t, you’re still giving the police more reason to suspect you.” As well as him.
Rachel, who clearly followed my train of thought and who seemed inclined to want to protect Kenny, nodded.
Jacquie’s face went pale. “But I didn’t do anything.”
“Doesn’t matter. In a murder investigation, looks matter.”
She stood up, still clutching her purse. “Fine. I’ll stay away from Kenny. But please, Gina. Please help me. I didn’t kill Nick, and I need someone to prove it.”
She left before I could respond, the door swinging shut behind her with a click. Edwina watched her go while I kept my eyes on the envelope on my desk. So did Rachel and Zachary, for that matter.
Another two thousand dollars in the bank would be nice. It could keep us from dipping into the savings account for another few weeks while we waited for more clients to walk through the door.
But on the other hand, it was money that came with strings attached. Strings that led to a murder investigation involving the mob, my stepson, and my dead husband’s mistress.
Zachary was looking at me with those big, hopeful eyes over that freckly nose. “Are we taking the case?”
He probably wanted to do something to rectify his perceived mistake in letting Nick be murdered.
“I don’t know that I’d be able to think about anything else even if we didn’t,” I admitted. “And if we’re going to be working on it anyway, we might as well get paid for it.”
Zachary whooped. I picked up the envelope and tossed it to Rachel. “Better deposit that.”
She caught it and smiled. “At this rate, we’ll be solvent in another year or two.”
No kidding.
“I will say for her,” Rachel continued, as she dug in her desk drawer for a deposit slip, “she did seem genuinely upset.”
“She did.” I was spinning left and right on my desk chair. “On Saturday, too. But that doesn’t mean she didn’t kill him. She could just be upset because she’s a suspect. Or a very good actress.”
I pulled out my legal pad and a pen. “Let’s think this through. Who, other than our client, had motive, means, and opportunity?”
Zachary sat up straighter, nearly dislodging Edwina, who had curled up next to him on the sofa. “Kenny.”
“Kenny,” I agreed, writing his name down. “He clearly wants Jacquie. He might own a gun, or Daniel might. And we don’t know what he was doing on Friday night. Or at least I don’t. Do you, Rachel? Has he mentioned Jacquie at all? Or has Daniel?”
Rachel shook her head. “Not a word. But I’m not surprised about that. Jacquie was David’s mistress, and David was my boss. Kenny would have known that I’d have opinions about him going after her himself.”
“And Daniel?”
“He hasn’t said anything either, which makes me think Kenny hasn’t told him. If he had, Daniel would have mentioned it to me. He likes to talk.”
“So Kenny’s keeping it to himself,” I said, writing that down. “That’s interesting. If it was just casual interest, you’d think he’d mention it. But if his feelings are strong enough that he’d do something drastic...”
“Like murder Nick to clear the field,” Zachary said with relish.