If I was going to accuse anyone of murder, I would need concrete proof. But as of now, Diana's cause of death was cancer and my investigation was pretty much over. I had the pictures of the documents from the desk in Diana's office but all that did was prove bribery of a judge. And bribery was wrong, but it was the murder that concerned me more.
That, and the forty-million-dollar necklace which was currently picking up dust in the bottom of my purse but that could wait a couple days.
The only way I was going to prove the murder was with a confession...
On lunch, I excused myself to my office and stared at the landline while I mentally practiced what I was going to say. When I was ready, I grabbed the phone and dialed Robert's office. All nervous energy concentrated at the tips of my fingers as they tapped out a song without melody while I waited.
When I heard his receptionist's voice, some of the tension left my shoulders. "Robert Davis's office." She said.
"Hi. Uh, I need to speak with Robert."
"Speaking?"
"Evie Harper. A business associate."
"Hold, please."
She left me spinning my wheels to a recording of some classic music I'd heard a million times but couldn't name.
What if this didn't work? Then what would I do? Give up? Maybe. But I could at least pass the info to Alexis and Destiny first.
That's if this didn't work.
When she got back to me, she patched me through. My voice was impressively steady. "Hello, Robert."
"To what do I owe the pleasure?" He sounded just as arrogant as always. That annoyed me.
"I've made some headway in my latest investigation."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. I found some evidence I think you'll be interested in."
He snorted out a hearty chuckle. "I highly doubt that."
"It has to do with a gentleman named George Whitney. Have you heard of him?"
Hearing the judge's name changed something in his tone. The line seemed to go colder the longer the silence stretched. " ...Perhaps."
"Well anyway, I was wondering if you would like to discuss your options."
"Options?"
"I seem to have come into some checks with Judge Whitney's name on them. On top of that they were signed by a known associate of yours."
I could practically hear his soul sighing. "What are these options?"
"I think the bidding should start at about five million dollars. That's not too high is it? Option B is me sending this bit of info to the cops."
"How do I know your proof is legit?"
"How about a picture?"
After working out a method of retrieval (a simple Gmail account), I emailed him the pictures I'd snapped of the checks and hoped like hell he wouldn't work out where I'd taken them.
After a tense ten minutes of emailing the evidence that could send him away for a very long time, he came back on the line with all arrogance forgotten. "Five million? And you keep your mouth closed?"
"Yes."
"My office, tomorrow night."
"How 'bout my office."
He got quiet again as he weighed his options. I couldn't risk meeting on his turf, but he knew coming to mine was a relinquishing of some of his power, no matter how small.
Eventually he cleared his throat and answered, the reward outweighed the risk. "Fine. Your office. Tomorrow night."
*********************************************************
Later that night I prowled through my apartment with a heavy mind and an empty stomach. I was hungry, borderline famished, but every time I walked to the kitchen my feet circled in time with my mind. I need a confession. I need to keep myself safe. I need to return the necklace and collect my fee. I need...my concentration was interrupted by my stomach rumbling low like a dying animal. I held it and sighed; thoughts of murder now replaced with thoughts of food.
No sense starving myself before tomorrow.
Staring at a mostly empty fridge didn't inspire culinary genius in me—bummer. There was plenty of uncooked food in the house, but I was feeling much too lazy. All that was ready made was the last bit of baked fish I'd cooked earlier in the week and the last serving of over cooked rice in the bottom of the rice pot. Respectable with a side of veggies, but not inspiring any passion in me. I could get delivery, but I don't feel like waiting or paying.
I checked the cabinet and saw I had a couple of bowls worth of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, so I pulled down the box and grabbed a bowl. My almond milk was down to half a bowl, which meant I was going to have to cut it with some tap water to make it stretch. Yummy.
I'd prepped my bowl and spoon for my 'delicious' feast and was just about to pour the cereal when the damn phone rang. And ain't that just how it always goes. I checked the caller ID and rolled my eyes. I didn't feel like talking to anyone, least of all him, but problems aren't solved by avoidance.
I put down the Cinnamon Toast Crunch and picked up the phone. I answered with all the attitude I could muster so late in the day. "Hey." I said with sass on a hundred.
"Hey." The attitude made Manny falter a bit, but he swerved nearly effortlessly into his next sentence like a champ. "I know you said you'd call me, but I wanted to talk."
"So talk."
"Not like this. In person."
"Maybe I don't want to see you."
He hesitated. "Maybe I'm...downstairs."
I scoffed; all coolness drained from me by this most epic affront to my being. "Manny! What have I told you about respecting my boundaries?"
"I know! But I suck at waiting!"
It's been one day! "This is pathetic! I bet you're standing down there all cliché with tears in your eyes and a bouquet of flowers in your hand like this is a movie or some shit. Well, I will not be bought with shrubbery!"
If he's expecting me to open my door on a whim, he's got another thing coming! I look a mess! And I haven't straightened up in here either! I'm not in the mood to entertain!
"Yes, to all that." He stammered. "Except I don't have the flowers. I brought pizza."
"...Huh?"
"It's dinner time so I thought you might be hungry."
Damn it..."...maybe..."
"I got the barbeque chicken you love. And a meat lovers. And some extra garlic sauce and those cinnamon things. And the garlic bread—"
I sighed; long and painstakingly. "Alright! Come up."
Damn. I'm not in the mood to entertain...but I love me some barbeque chicken pizza! How is he always reading my damn mind?
He outdid himself. He even stopped through The Sheik and picked me up a cherry limeade to go with my million-calorie feast. What a fucking Prince. I'd invited him up and together we'd had dinner while tentatively watching some dumb movie on Netflix while avoiding the elephant in the room. That suited me fine. I was so consumed with my pizza I barely paid it any mind. The way to a lady's heart is through her cavernous gut, it seemed.
"So, you forgive me?" He asked after I'd devoured two slices of pizza and only God knows how many cinnamon things.
I crossed my arms over my chest and pouted my lips. "Hell no. I can't be bought!"
"Wow," he laughed. "You sang different tunes when you're hungry versus when you're full."
"Mama always said, never turn down a free meal."
"Wise words." He straightened up and got serious. "For the record, I'm sorry."
"For?"
He cleared his throat. "For lying. And hanging out with Henry behind your back. I was scared but it was dishonest and disrespectful, and I shouldn't have gone along with it."
"Apology accepted." I smiled at him—a genuine smile. "On one condition."
"What?"
"I get to keep all the leftovers."
He laughed. "Deal. And I can still hang out with Henry sometimes?"
I rolled my eyes, but the smile never left my face. "Fine."
"I missed you the last few days."
"I missed you too." I turned to him; it was my turn to get serious. "Speaking of, I've got a problem I could use your help on."
"What's wrong?"
"It's the Dupont case."
I recalled the events of the last few days while he sat watching in silent contemplation. When I was through, he frowned. "Did you just say someone was bribing a judge?"
"Multiple judges by my estimate."
He shook his head. "You really get into things, don't you?"
"So, what should I do?"
One of his eyebrows rose in surprise. "You want my opinion?"
"I'm open to suggestions."
"Forget this case."
"I knew you'd say that."
"But you asked anyway."
I shrugged. "It's nice to know you care."
He more than cared, but now wasn't the time for that. "So what exactly are you thinking of doing?"
"I have a plan."
"I can't wait to hear it."
"I'm going to get Robert to confess."
"How are you going to get him to do that?"
"A little slight of hand." I wriggled my fingers for effect. "But I need you to help me."
He thought for a moment. "Nothing illegal?"
I smiled a sly smile. "No, darling. You know I always work on the up and up."
He grinned and took a bite of what must have been his fourth piece of pizza. "Then, I'm in."
******************************
A/N: I can't believe it, but as of this chapter we're rounding the end of another book.
So anyway, now it's time for the usual pre-climax break. I'll be out for three to four weeks, I reckon. And when I get back, I'll post all remaining chapters at the same time and that'll be the end. I'm excited. And exhausted. Really, I need a nap.
Merry Christmas, by the way. Or Happy Holidays. Or happy Friday, I guess, if you don't celebrate a holiday this time of year. See, you next year.