Chapter 22
“What the hell are you doing?” Ethan finally finds his voice as I speed us away in his vehicle.
“Pretty sure the words you’re looking for are ‘Thank you, Sloane. You’re the best, Sloane. I owe you my life, Sloane.’” My heart rate is still jacked up from attacking a man called the Tank. I didn’t hate the violence. It felt good. And that alone scares me.
I’ve acknowledged my rage, but letting it out unleashed something in me.
I didn’t want to stop pounding on him with that bat.
The only reason I did was because I knew someone would see us on the cameras and come outside.
I can take on one guy unaware, but a whole crew?
I know my strengths and that’s not one of them.
“Where did you even come from?” he demands, sounding more like himself now.
“Oh you don’t get to be mad right now! I’m mad enough at you and your bullshit.
Now shush.” I slide my Bluetooth in and call Alex as I pull up to a stop sign.
I don’t see anyone following us in the rearview.
These guys know where Ethan lives anyway and I doubt they’ll try anything tonight, considering the security, but I still want someone skilled over there.
“She’s shushing me,” he mutters. “We’re in my vehicle and she’s shushing me.”
I ignore him as Alex picks up. I quickly fill her in on what’s happened, then say, “Can you go stay with the girls? Call Fallon if you think we need extra muscle. I know this is a big ask—”
“I’ve got you. Rose is very understanding.”
“It’s because you married a saint.” Something I’ve told her just shy of a billion times.
“That’s the truth. Take care of business and I’ll watch your nieces.”
“I’ll have Ethan call the guardhouse and let them know you’re coming. I’ll also make sure he lets them know to be on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary.” As soon as we disconnect, I glance at him to find him staring at me as if I’m a stranger. “You heard me, call the guardhouse.”
It’s clear he wants to argue, or at least demand answers, but he does what I say. When he gets off the phone, though, he’s angry. “You’re following me now? What the hell, Sloane?”
“I absolutely followed you, so save your bullshit.” The adrenaline is no joke. I feel shaky as hell, my heart still racing. And I definitely want to smack some sense into him.
“This isn’t the way home.” He looks around as we pull up to a stoplight. It’s about eleven forty-five now.
“No shit. Now, you listen while I talk. It’s clear that you’re in debt with a loan shark. Stop me if I’m wrong.”
He looks away and nods.
“It’s gambling again, right?” Or rather, still, I guess.
He nods again.
The light turns green. I pull out, still keeping an eye on the rearview mirror.
We’re not being followed so I steer into the parking lot of a Dick’s Drive-In.
I park facing away from the iconic red neon sign.
We’ve got enough time to make it to where we need to, but we’re talking face-to-face for this.
There are enough lights in the parking lot that I can see him clearly.
“So,” I say, waiting for him to turn back to me.
He finally does and I see real shame in his face, but at least he’s meeting my gaze.
“Did you murder Cara to cover your debt?”
His mouth falls open, the horror in his expression so authentic that I feel a little guilty asking. But I have to. “No! I can’t believe you’d even ask me that!”
“Really? You can’t believe I’d ask you that after just picking you up from getting your ass beat by some loan shark’s muscle?” I’m not sure what else to call the Tank. Muscle seems about right. “How much do you owe?”
“A lot.”
“How much is a lot?”
He looks away again, out the window, and I hate that I can’t watch his eyes. I want to gauge everything about his expression right now. But he turns back to me, anguish etched into his face. “Enough that I’m selling our beach house in California.”
Oh, shit. “When?”
He blinks. “When what?”
“When did you put it up for sale?”
It’s clear he doesn’t understand why I’m asking, but he still answers. “Two months ago. It’s in escrow now, something Orson Hall—that’s the guy I owe money to—knows. He was just being a dick, wanting to be paid with Cara’s life insurance—” Ethan breaks off as a sob rips free.
He looks away then, and I do the same. I never thought Ethan could kill Cara, but I needed to be sure. “Did she know about the house sale?”
“Of course. She’s the one who suggested it. That way the girls can still stay in their school and we would be okay,” he whispers. “I don’t know why she stayed with me.”
“Because she loved you, dumbass.” She didn’t tell me about it, but I’m not surprised. I was hard on Ethan, which is ironic and probably shitty, considering how awful I acted years ago. Addictions are powerful. And Ethan had a problem with betting on sports games years ago. Seems it’s the same now.
I pull out of the spot and continue toward downtown. It’s pretty quiet this time of night, but there’s still a decent amount of traffic on the road.
“Why was that guy beating you up if he knows you’re going to pay him?” I ask as I near our destination.
He looks confused as to why we’re in the parking lot of a historic church (his family might be Catholic, but he’s not big on religion and I’m agnostic).
“To be an asshole, I guess? I think he likes hurting people,” he mutters.
“And probably because his boss wanted to make sure I haven’t forgotten that I owe him. Like I could,” he mutters.
“Is that why those two guys have been sitting outside the neighborhood the last few days?”
He looks surprised, maybe because I noticed them, but he nods. “I guess so. Why are we here? I’m not going to Mass.”
“I know, but this particular parish has a late-night Gamblers Anonymous. It starts at midnight, just like Mass. So you’re going.”
He looks as if he might argue, but again nods. “I guess I do need to start going.”
“You guess? You have a serious problem. You’re an addict, Ethan.
Addict. And take it from another one, if you don’t continuously go to meetings, or therapy, or something to keep you accountable, you’ll fall off the wagon again.
You need to be going at least twice a week and you have to find a solid sponsor.
You’ve got three daughters who depend on you now!
” I don’t mean to shout, but that lid I’ve had on so tightly pops open.
“If you get killed, what happens to them?”
“Then, they—”
“It’s rhetorical!” I’m pretty close to punching him at this point. So I take a fortifying breath and call on some deep buried calm.
“I know, I know, and I’m sorry. I’m still reeling, I guess… That guy you attacked is dangerous, Sloane.” There’s fear in his eyes.
“You let me worry about that.”
“No, this is my mess and I’m going to handle it. I’ll call him tomorrow and talk to him—”
“No way. I will handle my portion of this. When does the Cali house sell?”
“Two weeks.”
“Hall knows that? And is okay with it?”
Ethan nods, looking miserable once again. “Yeah, he just didn’t want me getting any ideas, I guess,” he mutters. “Or Tank just wanted to pummel someone. Seriously, Sloane, I’m worried—”
“Just go inside,” I say, cutting him off. “This meeting’s got good coffee and snacks, so you’re in for a treat.”
He looks at me like I’m nuts, but I’m not joking. I used to go to the eleven o’clock AA meeting here years ago and would sometimes sneak snacks from the GA meeting.
Once he’s gone, I debate my next move as I receive a text from Alex.
All is good. Younger girls asleep, and Fiona is going to sleep now. I’ve got the place locked down and security system armed. And I told the guardhouse to keep an eye out for anything suspicious.
Thank you, I text back. Then I pause with my finger over the screen and rush out another response. I appreciate all you’re doing. You’re a good partner.
One might even say I’m a good friend?
Oh my god. Gritting my teeth, I text back. Yes, you’re a good friend. A needy one.
In return, she sends a bunch of obnoxious emojis that I ignore. But then I send one more text. Any progress on the files? I don’t need to specify which ones.
A little. Foxe and Fallon are currently going through them.
I didn’t realize Fallon was helping out directly but I’m glad for it. I send back a thumbs-up emoji and am about to text Garcia when his name pops up on my screen. “It’s a little late to be calling,” I say after I answer.
“It’s also a little late to be involved in a bat-related assault. Where are you?”
Oh shit, did he see me? Because no way that asshole Tank called the cops. “Ah…”
“I swear to god, Sloane, I’m out of patience today. Where are you?”
I give him the address and he hangs up without responding. So I hurry inside and sneak some coffee from the back of the surprisingly packed meeting room, then duck out again. By the time he arrives, I’m leaning against the back of Ethan’s SUV, two coffee cups in hand.
“Here.” I hold out my peace offering to Garcia as he approaches and am irrationally annoyed by how good-looking he is.
I didn’t pay attention to it at first, but it’s hard to deny, and now here he is at a little after midnight looking all polished in slacks and a button-down.
Yep, this man is way too attractive to be a cop.
He looks a little startled by the coffee, but takes it, sniffs once.
“I didn’t poison it.”
The hint of a grin tugs at his mouth, but he drinks, nods in appreciation. “So what the hell were you doing at Hall of Fame, attacking Vincento Verdi?”
“Is he pressing charges?”
Garcia grits his teeth, then sighs and leans against the back of the SUV with me. “There are a lot of people here, even for midnight Mass.”
“Gamblers Anonymous,” I say. “And before you ask, because I’m guessing you already know—” Because the more I thought about it, the clearer it became that he must have been following Ethan. Not me. “Ethan is in debt to Orson Hall.”
“Oh, I know. My boss wants me to bring him in for questioning. Officially.”
“That would be the sensible thing to do.”
“You think he did it?” Garcia looks surprised.
Murder Cara. The thought makes my stomach roil.
“No, I don’t. But I can understand why he looks guilty.
He told me that he put their beach house up for sale a couple months ago, that it’s in escrow now.
They close in two weeks. It went up for sale long before Cara…
” I clear my throat. “I haven’t had a chance to confirm the accuracy of that. ”
“It’s true,” he says. “It didn’t show up on our first check of his finances, mainly because we weren’t looking for it.
That kind of debt is a powerful motivator for murder.
But Ethan’s got an alibi. And he had another way to pay back his debt with the sale of the house…
and I can’t figure out how Cory Powell fits into all this.
If at all.” He scrubs a hand over his face. “Nothing is fitting together.”
“I’m pretty sure Ava Chatelain is having an affair with Marcus Chesky,” I toss out.
“And that Ryan Chatelain is having an affair too. Maybe with Hannah Brown, Cara and Ethan’s former nanny.
There was a weird energy between her and Ryan at the memorial.
I don’t know if it’s because of an affair, but something is going on there. ”
He looks at me in surprise.
I shrug. “I don’t know if any of that has anything to do with Cara’s murder, but in case you didn’t know, that’s what I’ve found out so far.
” I don’t tell him that I stole Ava’s files or that I’m planning on talking to Marcus Chesky and Milo Cole tomorrow, but he’s clearly working this case hard.
And I’m not surprised his boss wants him to bring Ethan in.
I’m just surprised he hasn’t done it already.
“I didn’t know about Mrs. Chatelain.”
“But you did about Ryan?”
“Maybe. We’re following up on that in case there’s a connection.
According to his phone records he’s been talking with Hannah.
And someone killed your sister because of something she knew.
At least that’s the working theory. It’s the only thing that makes sense, with the exception of Ethan killing her for the life insurance policy. ”
“Which is a really good motive.” But there’s no way he did it.
“Yes, if he hadn’t already been working on getting the funds through the house sale… And I’m just going around in circles.”
“Have you been able to get a look at Cara’s work files?”
I’m not sure how to read his expression. “Since someone stole her laptop, no. And her place of employment has been very difficult to deal with. They’ve got a lot of proprietary information and don’t want to risk it getting leaked into the wrong hands. I’m working on a warrant.”
“Any leads on Powell’s murderer?”
“We’ve got the guy who we suspect did it on camera.
A few cameras.” I straighten, but he just shakes his head.
“No clear face images. We’ve got him arriving at the marina this morning—yesterday morning—about two hours before you and Alex showed up.
He’s wearing a toque, gloves and a medical-style face mask.
Even his damn ears are covered. And all his clothes are generic.
The main thing I’ve got is his height—six feet, one inch, and he’s likely Caucasian. ”
That describes Ryan Chatelain and Ethan. And hell, Marcus Chesky for that matter, though I have no idea why any of them would be involved with killing Cory Powell. But Ethan isn’t a killer.
“Orson Hall is a dangerous man,” Garcia says into the quiet, the change in topic surprising me.
I shrug. “I’m not worried.”
“You should be.”
“Probably. You think there’s a possibility that the Tank killed her?”
“He’s in holding right now.”
“Seriously?” And he didn’t actually answer me.
“Yep. He and the two guys who ran out after you’d already left the sports bar. They were all carrying firearms with no concealed permits. One of them is currently on probation so he’ll do some time.”
“You won’t be able to hold Vincento forever.”
“I know. His lawyer will be there in a few hours. He’ll be out in the morning, but I’ll see what I can find out in the meantime.
I don’t think he did it. I’m not saying he’s not involved, just that your sister knew her killer.
And I can’t imagine she knew Vincento the Tank enough not to be panicked that he was in her house. ”
Yeah, I know. I’ve listened to the recording over and over, and she was surprised by her killer, but not the kind of surprise where some hired muscle showed up in the middle of the day.
Which leads me back to the killer being someone who lives in the neighborhood. Or works there.
Someone she knew well enough that them being in her house wasn’t a huge surprise. There aren’t that many people on that list and they’re all people she trusted.