Chapter 25
The country club is exactly what I expect.
There’s a golf course, outdoor bar, tennis courts, and a couple indoor and outdoor swimming pools.
There’s also a fine dining option, though that restaurant isn’t open this early.
Then there’s the casual dining area that looks out on the golf course.
The entire place is decorated in shades of cream, champagne and beige—which feels pretty on point considering most of the people here are white too.
Even with the outdoor heaters, the few people here this early on a Thursday are inside, including Milo Cole. I’m surprised he’s here, considering he’s CEO of Beacon Industries, but according to his assistant, he’s taking a mental health day to deal with Cara’s death.
What a crock of shit.
Cara hated the guy, and while I’m sure he valued her as an employee, I highly doubt his bullshit excuse of needing a day. It pisses me off that he’s using my sister’s murder as a reason for a day off.
He’s at a small seating area by a fireplace. There are four cushy-looking chairs, a small table next to each of them, and he has a tumbler of what looks like whiskey.
At nine thirty in the morning.
Well, the drinking might make this easier. Or he might be a mean drunk. Only one way to find out.
I approach as if I’m surprised to see him.
He’s looking at me as if he can’t place me (even though he just saw me at the memorial).
He’s wearing slacks and a button-down, and though I’m sure he should be graying, considering he’s almost sixty, his hair is dark brown with natural-looking lighter brown highlights.
(I’m guessing he has a standing appointment at a salon.) From the file I have on him, I know that he swims and hikes with regularity, and it shows.
He’s tall and lean, with that runner’s look.
He’s the same height as whoever killed Powell.
“Milo Cole? I’m Cara Alexander’s sister.”
“Oh, right, right.” He nods and starts to stand, but I wave him off and sit in the chair across from him.
“Can I join you?” Not that I’m giving him a choice.
“Of course. What, ah…”
“Oh, Ethan put me on his day pass. He’s taking the girls shopping to get them out of the house.
” I’m not telling him that they’ll be at their grandparents’ in case he’s behind anything.
“It was too hard being at the house right now, so I thought I’d come up here and use the pool.
I’m an avid swimmer.” More lies, but I know that he swam in college and still keeps up with it so it’s a good opening for conversation.
“Oh, they’ve got a great indoor pool here. I use it most days before work if I can get here early enough.”
Before I can respond, one of the waitstaff approaches and takes my order—a sparkling water.
Even in my drunk days I didn’t start drinking before noon, and thankfully there’s no temptation for me right now.
I feel like I might be onto something and I’m desperate to sink my teeth into it. For that, I have to stay laser focused.
Once the woman leaves, he continues chatting. I nod as he talks a little more about the facilities and realize if I don’t cut him off, he’s not going to stop.
“How’s the office been without Cara?” I ask during a lull, knowing that it’s not much of a transition, but my patience is threadbare. It’s time to get to the point of why I’m here.
He freezes for a moment, his face paling slightly. Either because he remembered who he was talking to, or because there’s something else there.
He clears his throat. “Rough. Really rough. We’re working on a big project and she was the glue that kept us together.”
That actually might be true. He sounds sincere, but it’s hard to tell.
I nod along, smile as the woman drops off my drink with a slice of lime on the side. “I believe it. I hear that you guys are expanding into the air taxi service.”
He blinks, clearly surprised.
“I saw some of the marketing brochures when I was at Ava’s house the other day. For the memorial,” I add. “I’m actually a corporate pilot.”
“Oh, right, right. Cara did mention that.”
Air taxis have been around for a little while, but so far they’ve only been available to the wealthy.
Ish. If you’re involved in the world of aviation, there’s a chance you’ve taken an air taxi from point A to B instead of flying commercial and making multiple stops out of the way.
But what they’re working on is self-driving—flying—airplanes. It’s next-generation stuff.
“Cara never talked much about her work, but I’m so fascinated with the concept of these new self-flying air taxis.”
He’s starting to look a little uncomfortable. What I’m bringing up isn’t exactly common knowledge, but it’s not a secret either. The actual tech is obviously top secret—and it’s why Garcia is having a hard time getting a warrant to look at Cara’s work files.
Milo clears his throat. “I can’t talk much about it. Proprietary info, you know?”
“Of course.” And that’s the opening I need. I reach for my bag and pull out a plain manila mailer and hand it to him. “I wonder if you can talk about what’s in here instead?”
Frowning, looking more curious than anything, he opens the mailer and a couple full-color pictures fall out and into his lap.
He freezes, stares, then turns them facedown as he looks around, making sure no one else saw them. “What the hell is this?” he hisses.
“Pictures of you fucking one of the swimming instructors here.” I don’t keep my voice down. There’s no one close to us, but he clearly doesn’t like that I’m not bothering to be discreet.
“Is this blackmail? What do you want?” His face is flushed crimson now as he glares at me. If we were alone, I think he might physically attack me.
“I’m not blackmailing anyone. But I do know that’s not your wife of thirty-six years in those pictures. And I also know that you spend a lot of Saturdays with her.” I point to the picture in his hand.
“We’re both consenting adults. She’s forty-three.”
“I know that. Were you with Stephanie on the day of Cara’s murder?
” I intentionally use his affair partner’s name.
In the parking lot before walking in here, I anonymously sent some of these pictures to Garcia with a note about the woman Cole is with in them.
And their sex schedule. So I know Garcia will be following up with Cole’s mistress.
But I wanted to get to Cole first. I wanted to see his reaction.
And he doesn’t disappoint. His face goes completely white and he reaches for his drink, sloshing liquid over onto his fingers before he downs the rest of the contents in a single gulp.
“It’s a yes or no answer, simple as that. You told the cops you were playing a foursome on Saturday.”
“I was at the club Saturday morning,” he rasps out.
Yep, I know that too. He even signed out a golf cart, along with three others, including Ryan Chatelain. I watch him intently.
He clears his throat again, looks around as if he expects someone to save him. “You’ve gotta understand, my wife and I, we haven’t shared a bed in eight years. The kids are out of the house now and—”
“You think I care that you’re having an affair? You actually think that’s why I’m here?” I give him a hard look.
“No… I was with Stephanie on Saturday. I signed out the golf cart, then the guys and I played a couple rounds and I let one of the guys keep the cart. There aren’t…
” He clears his throat again. “Stephanie picked me up in the parking lot that neighbors the west side of the course. There aren’t any cameras there or anything. ”
I simply nod along with him, encouraging him to continue.
He was dumb enough to save pictures of the two of them from that Saturday (and many, many other Saturdays) to his personal email.
The metadata is time-stamped so I know he isn’t lying now.
But I want him to admit it because I need more details.
“Look, I get that you’re in an unhappy marriage.” I soften my voice now because he’s opening up. “And this”—I point at the envelope in his lap—“stays between us. I don’t give a shit about an affair. But you were Ryan Chatelain’s alibi.”
He blinks now, clearly surprised. “He was playing golf while I was gone Saturday.”
“You can’t know that for sure.”
He starts to argue, but then nods slowly. “I mean, I guess I can’t know for sure.”
“Has he covered for you in the past?”
Looking ashamed, he glances down, starts to crumple the photos, but then stops and shoves them back in the mailer. “We’ve both covered for each other,” he finally says.
“Ryan is having an affair too?”
“I don’t know if that’s the word I’d use. Look, I love Stephanie, and when the time is right, we’ll be together. I’m going to leave my wife.”
I wonder if he believes his own lie, but I simply nod along again.
“But Ryan… I think he and Ava might have an open marriage.”
“Then why would you have to cover for him?”
“Oh…” He looks as if it’s the first time that’s occurred to him and I’m having a hard time believing this guy is a legend at his company.
I’m now wondering if he’s just risen in the ranks by taking credit for other people’s work.
“He’s definitely had affairs over the years.
I don’t know if Ava knows. But they both work for me and they’re both valuable employees—I can’t lose either of them. ”
“Did Ryan ever sleep with anyone at work?”
Milo nods. “Yeah, but that was years ago. Now he mostly…ah, I believe he mostly hooks up with women who work here.”
Gross. I stand, done with this conversation. I’ve gotten what I need. I slide my purse onto my shoulder as I look down at him. “If you tell Ryan we had this conversation, you’ll regret it.”
In response, he shoves the mailer at me—as if I want the pictures.
“You can keep those. I’ve got copies.” I leave as he sputters something out, but I don’t bother turning around. I’m done with him.
His pattern of hooking up with Stephanie Truitt on Saturdays has been consistent for the last eight months.
I don’t know why they take so many pictures of themselves.
Or why he does, I guess. Clearly, he’s into the woman, but I doubt he’ll leave his wife.
In my experience as an investigator, women are almost always the ones who file for divorce.
Men often cheat instead of just leaving.
And even if they’re not cheating, they move on faster after a divorce.
Fear of being alone, supposedly. I don’t get it.
Though his wife might leave him once this information leaks. And it will. Not from me, but Garcia is definitely going to bring him in now that he knows Cole lied, and I doubt Cole will be able to keep it from his wife.
“I just left Milo Cole,” I tell Alex over the phone as I approach the valet. No one else is around as the college-age kid grabs my ticket and tells me he’ll be back.
“You get what you needed?”
“Yep. He’s a freaking liar. And that means so is Ryan and the two guys he was with. I anonymously let Garcia know about—”
An SUV parks under the porte cochere in front of me, the passenger side window already rolled down. And Vincento the Tank is in the driver’s seat.
The man in the passenger seat looks at me. I vaguely recognize him from the sports bar. I think I saw him walk down that back hallway. “Get in,” the Tank orders.
“Yeah, I’m not going to do that.”
“What’s going on?” Alex demands.
“Orson Hall’s guys are at the country club,” I tell her. “Vincento the Tank is the driver. Chevy Suburban High Country SUV, dark blue, custom rims.”
And oh, they don’t like that. The back door opens and a man with a pistol says, “Drop the phone and get in.”
“Three men are now kidnapping me,” I say as I drop the phone onto the pavement. Then I hold my hands up in the air very obnoxiously (I know this place has security cameras here) and get in the back seat.