Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter
Twenty-Nine
“So you really do think Hoffman could be the killer?” Jemma asked me the next morning.
I settled into the reclining chair at one of the hair-washing stations at the salon where she worked. The salon wouldn’t open for another hour, so we had the place to ourselves, which meant we could talk freely.
“The evidence is hard to ignore,” I said.
Jemma wrapped a towel around my shoulders and eased me back into the neck rest, making sure that my hair hung down into the sink instead of getting trapped beneath me. “I knew he was a first-class turd, but a murderer? I didn’t see that coming. Not until we watched the surveillance video, anyway.”
“Same.”
I’d already shared the previous day’s discoveries with Jemma as she fluffed out my hair, studying it from all angles as she always did before starting a cut, even if it was simply a trim like I wanted today.
Now she turned on the water. “So, what are you going to do?”
“I have to take what I know to the police,” I said without enthusiasm. “Hoffman will know I snitched on him and will hold it against me forever. I probably didn’t have much chance of getting my money back from him before, but if I did, I can kiss that chance goodbye now.”
“Not necessarily.” Jemma aimed the spray of warm water at my hair. “You should tell the cops about the theft too.”
“What’s the point? It didn’t do any good when I reported it before,” I said.
“Hoffman was too sneaky, routing the money through an offshore account. Probably through multiple accounts. I couldn’t prove it was him.
Plus, the officer I talked to basically told me the theft was my fault because I didn’t keep my password secret enough.
But you know I can’t remember passwords.
If I didn’t write them down, I’d be locked out of everything. ”
Jemma massaged shampoo into my hair. “I still think you should bring it up.”
I sighed and closed my eyes. “Maybe I will.”
“But now for the most important part.” She turned on the sprayer again and washed away the suds. “How was investigating with Wyatt?”
I couldn’t see her face, but I could hear the eyebrow waggle in her voice.
“It was…interesting?” I tried to keep at bay the memories that wanted to rush to the front of my mind. The dumbwaiter incident was best left undiscussed.
“That’s all you’ve got for me?”
Who was I kidding? I wanted to tell my bestie everything.
“Okay, so a hell of a lot more than interesting,” I confessed.
Jemma drew in a sharp breath. “Emersyn Gray, are you holding out on me?”
“We kissed. And I’m not talking a chaste peck on the lips.”
She let out a squeal and dropped the sprayer. Water shot up into the air and rained down on my face.
“Jemma!” I raised my head and grabbed the towel from around my neck to wipe my face.
I had my eyes closed when she grabbed my hand and yanked me up out of the reclined chair, pulling me into a bone-crushing—and slightly damp—hug.
“Water’s going everywhere!”
“It can be cleaned up.” She gave me another squeeze, nearly snapping my ribs, before she released me. Then she shut off the water and grabbed another towel. She wiped it over the seat and shoved me back down into the chair. “Tell me everything. Every detail. How hot was it?”
“On a scale of chili peppers?” I settled back into the neck rest. “We’re talking habanero hot.”
Jemma squealed again. I scrunched my eyes shut, but this time she maintained control of the sprayer and kept the water aimed solely at my hair. “I’m so happy for you, Emersyn!”
“Don’t get too excited,” I cautioned. “It’s not like it’s going to happen again.”
I silently sobbed inside at that thought.
“What?!” Jemma shut off the water. “Have you lost your ever-loving mind?”
“The opposite, actually. I can’t deny the attraction, and I can’t deny that he’s a freaking amazing kisser.” Even that was an understatement. “But there’s nothing else between us. It’s purely physical. No emotional connection.”
“So?”
I heard the squirt of the bottle a second before she began massaging conditioner into my hair.
I tried to figure out how to explain my jumbled thoughts and feelings. “That’s not what I’m looking for at this stage in my life. I’m not even looking for a relationship, but if I’m going to have one, I want it to be meaningful. I want it to have a chance of really going somewhere.”
“Maybe there will be an emotional connection if you give him a chance.”
“I don’t know, Jem. We’re from completely different worlds. I’m not a country club kind of girl. Hobnobbing with the Tiffanys of the world? No, thanks.”
“Not all rich people are like Hoffman’s latest target,” Jemma pointed out.
“No,” I agreed, “but I’d never fit into that world. I’m not sure I’d even want to.”
Jemma rinsed the conditioner from my hair. “Maybe he’s not even all that rich. Maybe he’s just got lots of debt from keeping up his image.”
“Then I’d want to date him even less. I don’t need a financially imprudent guy in my life.”
“Okay, fair enough.”
I thought she might drop the subject there, but I should have known better.
“How did the kiss rank in the history of all your kisses?” she asked, a note of eagerness in her voice.
I stayed silent as she continued to rinse my hair.
“Emersyn,” she pressed.
I wasn’t entirely sure why I was so reluctant to admit the truth, but I knew Jemma wouldn’t let me get away with anything less.
“Number one. By a long shot.”
“Oh my God! If he’s that good at kissing, imagine what he’s like—”
“Stop!” I shouted.
“The water’s too hot?” She shut it off.
“It’s the conversation that’s too hot. Please, let’s not go there.”
My thoughts had already strayed in that direction more than once and definitely didn’t need more encouragement.
She gently wrung the water out of my hair. “Oh, I really think you should go there.”
“Jemma! I don’t even know his last name. Who knows what kind of secrets he’s hiding? For all I know, he could have killed Freddie.”
“Why would he have killed Freddie?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But he was at the Mirage that day, and he’s trying to be part of my investigation, maybe to make sure I don’t get too close to the truth.”
My stomach clenched at the thought. I really didn’t want that to be the case.
“The only reason he visited the Mirage that day was to return your phone, which he picked up after meeting you by chance in Connecticut,” Jemma pointed out. “It seems pretty far-fetched to suspect him of killing Freddie.”
“True,” I said with relief.
“And why don’t you ask him for his last name?”
“Maybe I will.” I sat up, and Jemma adjusted the towel that hung around my shoulders. “But at the moment, I’ve got more important things to worry about.”
“Talk to the cops,” Jemma advised, leading me to her styling station. “Get that over with, and then we can focus on you and Wyatt.”
“Or not.”
From the way Jemma laughed, I knew that was a battle I was doomed to lose.
Even though I left the salon feeling fabulous—thanks to Jemma first trimming my hair and then styling it into glossy waves that I could never achieve on my own—the mood didn’t last long.
By the time I stood outside the front doors to the police station, I was ready to throw up from nerves.
I had to make sure I didn’t get myself in trouble when I spoke to the cops.
They couldn’t know that I’d been in Hoffman’s apartment without his knowledge, even if I had used a key.
Hopefully the fact that Hoffman was caught on the Mirage’s surveillance camera around the time of the murder would be enough to get the police to focus their investigation on him.
Maybe they’d even get a search warrant and find the label with the broken glass on their own.
If Hoffman hadn’t already thrown it away.
But if he’d wanted it enough to take it from the crime scene, there was a good chance he still had it in his possession.
Ten minutes later, I sat in a small room containing a table and four chairs.
An interview room for witnesses rather than suspects, I figured.
It wasn’t exactly cozy, but it resembled a basic office more than the type of interview room I usually saw on TV shows.
Not that those were necessarily realistic, but maybe they were? I really had no idea.
After another ten minutes of fidgeting in my seat and losing games on my phone, Thor—Detective Callahan—joined me in the room.
I gave him the spiel that Jemma and I had discussed previously.
Basically, I said that something had bothered me about the photo he’d shown us, and I thought maybe I did recognize the person after all, but could I see the video to be sure?
As the detective called up the relevant video file on his tablet, I voiced a question I hadn’t meant to ask.
“You know Wyatt? The guy who was at the Mirage when Freddie’s body was found?”
Callahan barely glanced up from the tablet. “The man who responded to Ms. Gao’s screams at the same time you did?”
“Right,” I confirmed. “I just wondered…is he a suspect?”
The detective regarded me with his piercing eyes before responding. “Traffic cam footage confirmed what he told us; namely, that he arrived at the Deco Mirage less than five minutes before you met up with him. We believe the victim was already dead when he got there.”
“Oh.” As those words sank in, a surge of relief allowed me to breathe easier. My relief, however, didn’t overshadow my curiosity. “Do you happen to know Wyatt’s full name?”
Again, Detective Callahan turned his discerning gaze on me. Then, without answering my question, he angled his tablet toward me and played the relevant clip of video footage.
I sighed, realizing that the subject of Wyatt was now closed. I turned my focus to the video playing on the screen and pointed out the orange Apple Watch strap on Hoffman’s wrist. I also explained how I recognized his loping stride.