Erica Spindler - Killer Takes All

“Leo’s former business partner.”

“And?”

“He’s dead. Supposedly.”

A slow smile curved Billie’s mouth. “Now we’re getting somewhere.” She broke off another piece of cookie. “Explain.”

Stacy leaned forward. “Most attribute the title of Supreme White Rabbit to Leo-”

“The inventor of the game.”

“Right. But he didn’t invent it alone. He had a co-inventor.”

“This guy.”

“Yes. Drove off a cliff in Carmel-by-the-Sea, California, three years ago. Leo and Kay learned about it through a lawyer. His death freed up the rights to some of their joint projects.”

“Interesting. Go on.”

She posed a question instead. “The person behind the letters and murders, why is he doing it?”

“Because he’s a total whack job?”

“Besides that.”

“Anger? Revenge?”

“Exactly. It seems there was plenty of bad blood between the Nobles and Danson, the partner.”

“I get it. This Danson fakes his own death, so he can rain some seriously twisted shit down on Noble.”

“Bingo.” Stacy’s gut told her she was onto something. The instinct that had made her solve record one of the best in the DPD. “The lawyer who visited could have been a fake, someone paid to lie. Even if the papers are legal, giving up the rights to the projects would be nothing compared to the pleasure of destroying Leo’s life.”

“Maybe even taking it,” Billie said softly.

“Probably taking it,” Stacy corrected, reaching for her coffee, hoping the hot liquid would ward off her sudden chill. “And Kay’s, too. Maybe Alice’s. And getting away with it. After all, he’s already dead.”

“An ingenious plan.”

“Not that brilliant. After all, I’m onto him.”

“You have your cell phone?”

She wore it in a holster, clipped to her belt-a habit acquired on the job. And one she couldn’t seem to shake. “Sure. Why?”

“Hand it over.”

She did, though not without asking what for. Billie held up a finger, indicating she should wait, flipped open the phone, then punched in a number.

“Connor, it’s Billie.” She laughed, the sound husky and sexy as hell. “Yes, that Billie. How are you?”

Stacy listened incredulously as her friend chatted with the man on the other end of the line, flirting and cajoling.

The woman was a professional man-eater. How did one learn that skill? Did somebody offer a degree in it?

“I have a friend here who needs a bit of information. Her name’s Stacy. I’ll put her on. Thanks, love, you’re a sweetheart.” Another laugh from Billie, followed by a murmured, “I will, I promise.”

She held out the phone. “Chief Connor Battard.”

“Chief?”

“Of police, silly. Carmel-by-the-Sea.”

Stacy took the phone, doubly amazed. Did the woman know everyone? “Chief Battard, Stacy Killian. Thank you for agreeing to speak with me.”

“Anything for Billie. How can I help you?”

“I’m investigating a death that occurred three years ago. Dick Danson.”

“Danson’s death, sure I remember it. Drove off Hurricane Point. ’Bout three and a half years ago.”

“I understand the death was classified an accident.”

“A suicide.”

“A suicide,” she repeated, surprised. “Are you certain?”

“Absolutely. He had a full propane gas tank in the trunk of his 1995 Porsche Carrerra, another in the back seat. He wanted to do the job well, and he did.”

“A very big boom, I’m guessing.”

“Yup. The trunk in that Porsche is in the front of the car, and there’s nothing but a fire wall between it and the fuel tank. The vehicle hit nose first. The medical examiner identified Danson by his dental records.”

“You didn’t see the body?”

“I saw what was left of it.”

“Can you remember anything unusual about the incident?”

“Other than the propane tanks and the warrant for his arrest, not a thing.”

“A warrant? What for?”

“The case is closed, so I’d be happy to share the file with you. If you and Billie were to make a trip out.”

In other words, give me what I want, I’ll give you what you want.

Mutual cooperation made the world go ’round.

After thanking the man, she handed the phone back to Billie. The two spoke another moment or two, then Billie ended the call.

“And how do you know Chief Battard?” Stacy asked, reholstering the phone.

“I lived there for a few years. Connor’s a sweetie.” She sighed. “He was in love with me.”

Stacy cocked an eyebrow. Weren’t they all? And judging by the man’s response to the call, there was nothing past tense about his feelings for the woman.

“Does he know you’re married?”

Billie lifted a shoulder. “Suspects, I’m sure. I almost always am.”

“Would you like to see him again?”

Her eyes sparkled. “Road trip?”

“I’d like to see that file. He offered it.” Stacy smiled. “Though, he made it clear I wouldn’t be welcome without you.”

“Rocky’s being such a pain in the ass right now, a road trip would be the perfect attitude adjuster.”

Thursday, March 17, 2005

9:00 a.m.

Stacy and Billie quickly put together a travel itinerary. They found nonstop flights to San Francisco for the next day. Billie insisted that they should rent a car there and drive to the Monterey Coast. Waiting for a connection to the tiny regional airport would have taken longer than the two-hour drive. And besides, to miss such a beautiful drive would be a sin.

Especially made in a convertible. Something sleek and European. Or, so said Billie.

Billie believed in traveling in style.

Stacy had decided to make the trip, with or without Leo’s blessing. However, when she’d presented him with her plan, he had not only given her his blessing, he had agreed to pay for the trip.

A good thing, since booking at the last minute had sent the airfare from exorbitant to utterly ridiculous.

Which Billie could easily afford. And Stacy could not.

An exploding credit card was not a pretty sight.

Stacy zipped her carry-on, into which she had stuffed enough for a two-day stay. She quickly scanned the bedroom, then bath to make certain she hadn’t forgotten anything.

That done, she hoisted her bag. As she stepped into the hallway, Stacy glanced left, toward Alice’s room. She thought of her crying the night before. The girl was most likely in class. Acting on instinct, she crossed to the closed door and tapped on it. Clark answered.

“I’m sorry for interrupting,” she said, “but could I speak with Alice? It’ll just take a moment.”

He lowered his eyes to her bag, then returned them to hers. “Sure.”

A moment later Alice appeared. “Hey,” she said, not quite meeting Stacy’s eyes.

“I have to go out of town for a couple days. If you need me for anything, call me.” She scrawled her cell phone number on a piece of paper and handed it to her. “If you need anything, Alice. I mean that.”

The girl stared at the paper and its scrawled number, throat working. When she lifted her gaze to Stacy’s, her eyes were bright with tears. Without a word, she turned and went back into the schoolroom. As the door swung shut, Clark looked at Stacy.

She met his eyes just before the door closed.

She stood rooted to the spot as the hair on the back of her neck prickled.

The doorbell sounded.

Billie. Stacy paused a moment more, then readjusted the bag and headed down to meet her friend.

Traffic proved to be on their side, and the trip to Louis Armstrong International Airport took just under twenty minutes. A good thing, because unlike her single carry-on, Billie had two bags to check. Big bags.