“He?”
“I do think it’s a man, but the woman who showed up at my house last night has to stay in the playbook.”
“Chief!”
At his name, he steps out of the kitchen. I’m done with this conversation and thank fuck he’s headed down the hallway when I enter the living room. I text Jay: On my way out, and then make a fast path to the door, and once I’m outside in the patio area I hear a woman say, “I need answers. What happened?”
A few more steps and I bring Officer Kinsley into view as he stands with a woman sporting pink hair and sunbaked skin as well as a short-waisted winter coat. She’s holding a small dog. She’s also got one of those giant butts that no woman grows naturally that makes her have a pain in her ass while she’s being a pain in everyone else’s ass. She’s one of those people. It radiates from her. Jesus, help me get out of here.
I head down the path and when I reach the gate, Officer Kinsley turns a desperate look on me, “Special Agent Love, this is Mirna McDonald. She’s the landlord here. She made the 911 call.”
“What is going on? Is she dead? Did someone actually die on our property?”
She looks fifty, but I’m guessing she’s forty, with ten years of premature sunbaked wrinkles.
“Yes,” I say. “Someone did. And I’m told she plotted to ruin you by dying here. You must be very angry.”
“I’m just thinking business. It’s bad for business, dying in the rentals.”
“What prompted the 911 call for the someone who died? I assume you don’t know her name even though she lived in your property.”
“Naomi,” she states tartly. “I know her name. She put in a service notice for her stove. The maintenance man said she wouldn’t answer the door. I took him over here and opened the door. I wanted to be sure it was clear inside before I left him there, liability and all. That’s when I found her.”
“How long had she been here?”
“A year,” she says. “She’d gotten divorced and was on her own now, she said. She came from money, that one, and now she’s broke.”
Houston told me she’d been going through a divorce not actually divorced when her husband, Emma’s brother, had died. “And you know this how?” I ask.
“I ask questions before I let someone move in. She told me it was a nasty divorce and he had her money. I didn’t know what to think of that but you know, ex-husbands and all. I got one, too.”
I’ll bet she does. “Did she have many visitors?” I ask.
“A couple of girlfriends. Some guy. Tall, with glasses, a fit looking man. Never knew where he parked. Never saw his car. That was curious.”
I glance at Officer Kinsley. “Camera footage?”
“I don’t have cameras,” she snaps. “There are cameras at the streetlights. We can’t afford cameras.” She mumbles something and then says, “Can I go?”
Unfortunately, I’m not done with her. “Did you have any personal interaction with Ms. Wells?” I ask.
She blanches. “Me? No. Just to pick up the rent. She liked to pay in cash.”
Which is interesting, I think, tucking away that detail for later. “Did you know her sister?”
“Had no idea she had a sister. Can I go?”
The dog, still in her arms starts yapping at Officer Kinsley. He grimaces. I motion for her to go away and then start walking myself. I weave through emergency personnel and duck under the tape to scan the street. Jay pulls up beside me. I round the vehicle and climb inside. “Kane?”
He offers a grim shake of his head. “Nothing yet.”
Nothing yet.
I grab my phone and give him an address for the sous chef who didn’t show up last night and then dial Kane. The call goes directly to voicemail. I dial Andrew. “I heard you have another victim,” he answers.
“The sister-in-law. The real Naomi Wells. Same story. Bleeding from her throat. No wedding dress. No blood.”
“What do you think it means?”
“I don’t know, Andrew. Right now, Kane is missing and that’s all I can think about. I need you to go to the airport, just you, and use your law enforcement magic to find out if he got on a chopper today and if it landed safely. Don’t give me a hard time. I know something’s wrong. I need you to be my brother right now.”
He doesn’t even hesitate. “I’ll go now. Have you pinged his phone?”
“I don’t want law enforcement involved yet and Lucas won’t fucking pick up. He can do it.”
“I’ll call the airport and go by Lucas’s place.”
“Thanks, Andrew.”
We disconnect.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Turns out the sous chef who should have been at our house instead of Fake Naomi lives on the other side of the city. Jay and I make it about ten minutes up the road and we’re already stuck in a traffic jam. I pull my coat on. “I don’t have time for this. I need a chopper back to Long Island tonight. Can you arrange it and tell Kane my plans if you can reach him?”