Dirty Rotten Tendrils (23 page)

When I returned, Marco was holding two glasses of red wine. I took one of the glasses and said, “We need a special toast for the occasion.”

Marco thought for a moment, then touched his glass to mine. “Here’s to the woman who’s right for me in every way. I consider myself one helluva lucky guy to have found you. You really are my sunshine.”

Aw
. Coming from a man of few words, that meant a lot. “Thank you, Marco. I feel the same way about you, and I’ve never felt that way about anyone before.”

We sipped, and then Marco set both glasses aside so he could take me in his arms. As we danced to the sexy voice of Sade, Marco murmured with his lips against my ear, “We’ve waited a long time for this moment.”

“I know.”

He took the ring from his pocket, and held it up. “Still like it?”

“I adore it.”

We stopped dancing so he could take my left hand in his. Marco slid the ring onto my finger, then lifted my hand to his lips and kissed each finger before turning my hand over to kiss my palm. It was a gloriously happy moment that I’d never forget in a million years.

He pulled me into my arms. “I love you, Abby.”

“I love you, too, Marco.”

Every cell in my body vibrated with passion as Marco swept me up and carried me to the bedroom to finish our celebration.

 

 

Shortly after midnight, as I was saying good-bye to Marco, who had to go to work, Nikki came home from her evening shift at the hospital. “Hold up, Marco,” she said, heading straight for the computer in the living room. “You might want to take a look at what I found on the Internet before you leave.”

“What did you find?” I asked.

“A blog site devoted to Ken Lipinski.”

“A fan club?” I asked, following her.

“Not quite.” Nikki sat down, logged on, and typed an address in the search box. A Web site popped up. Marco and I leaned down to look over her shoulder.

“ ‘I hate my ex to death dot com,’ ” I read.

“It’s Darla Mae Brown’s blog site,” Nikki explained. “She’s the Lip’s ex-wife, but she took back her maiden name. She’s an LPN and used to work at the hospital. One of the X-ray techs still stays in touch with her and told me about it. Look. Here’s her last blog.”

“ ‘Fifty Ways to Cleave His Liver,’” Marco read.

I scrolled down a few posts and stopped. “Look at this. She devoted an entire entry to killing him by mixing sedatives with alcohol.”

“Here’s another one,” Nikki said, pointing out the title. “ ‘Hang ’em High. Ways to Make Murder Look like Suicide.’ Can you believe that? And every post is like that—all ways she’d like to see the Lip die.”

“She’s going on the suspect list,” Marco said. “I’ll take a closer look at that site tomorrow.” He gave me a kiss, then headed for the door. “See you in the morning, Buttercup.”

At the door, he called, “Nikki, check out Abby’s hand.”

Nikki stopped reading and swung to gaze at me. “Did you get the ring back?”

I dangled my left hand in front of her. “I got it back.”

Marco closed the door on our excited screams as we hugged and jumped up and down and hugged some more, behaving just like Tara and her friends.

Men weren’t comfortable with high emotions.

 

 

I was so excited about finally having my engagement ring that I woke well before the alarm rang the next morning. I hopped out of bed and danced over to Simon, who was sitting on my dresser, staring at me like a vulture who’d just spotted breakfast. Scooping him into my arms, I twirled him around, singing, “Good day, Sunshine,” until he wiggled free, leaped to the floor, and took off for the kitchen. He wasn’t comfortable with high emotions, either.

I admired the diamond while I fed Simon, ate breakfast, showered, dried my hair, dusted my freckles with mineral powder, and applied lip gloss. Regrettably, before I left, I had to take the ring off and string it on a gold chain to wear around my neck so no one would see it. I wore a button-down shirt under my tweed cotton pullover so the lump wasn’t noticeable.

I arrived at Bloomers early enough to finish five orders and still make it to Dave’s office by eight thirty. Marco was already there, coffee in a paper cup in one hand, lounging in one of the chairs opposite Dave’s big oak desk. In his tight jeans and leather jacket, dark hair waving onto his collar, he looked so handsome I wanted to crawl onto his lap and smother him with kisses.

Dave had left his office, so I took the opportunity to give Marco a good-morning kiss, pull out the chain, and show him the ring. “See? Close to my heart.” I tucked it back inside before Dave returned, then sat in the other chair, smiling blissfully.

“Happy?” Marco asked, reaching out to take my hand.

“Can’t you tell?”

“Wish I could’ve stayed the night.”

“Me, too. Did Rafe survive your mom’s wrath?”

“I went straight to the bar after I left your place, and when I got home Rafe was asleep, not stuffed into a garbage bag. So I guess he survived.”

Dave came in and sat down. “Coffee, Abby?”

“No, thanks. I’ve had my fill this morning.”

“Marco told me about Lipinski’s ex-wife’s blog site,” Dave said, taking out a fresh legal pad. “Martha is checking into getting a copy of their divorce decree and property agreement from the clerk’s office. I want to see what kind of settlement the woman got. Knowing Lipinski, he probably hid assets from her. The man knew all the tricks. It can make for a lot of bitterness.”

“It would give Darla Mae a motive for murder,” Marco said. “And she’s a licensed nurse, so she probably has access to drugs.”

“She already spelled out how to use them to kill the Lip,” I said. “I’d say she’s an excellent suspect.”

Marco took out his small black notebook and wrote Darla Mae’s name in it. “I’ll do some digging on her this morning, maybe pay her a visit.”

“Can you wait until lunchtime so I can go along?”

He glanced at me and gave me that little grin he reserved just for me. “Sure.”

My heartstrings went
thwang.

“Next up,” Marco said, “Cody Verse. I’ll let Abby tell you why.”

I related Jillian’s tale about Lipinski’s advances toward Lila, and Cody’s subsequent jealous behavior.

“It’s enough of a motive to warrant further investigation,” Marco said, writing Cody’s name in the notebook.

“Scott Hess has probably instructed Cody not to talk to anyone,” Dave said. “You’ll have to work around that.”

“Not a problem,” Marco said. “I’ll interview Lipinski’s secretary. She’ll know if Cody or any of his entourage was there.”

“Hess may have instructed Lipinski’s secretary not to talk as well,” I said.

“Don’t worry. I can get around that, too.” Marco glanced at me, the corner of his mouth lifting in a coy smile.

A tad smug of him to say so, but true nevertheless. Few females could resist the Salvare charm.

“What about Lipinski’s office staff?” I asked. “There might be a minefield of motives among his employees.”

“I’d be surprised,” Dave said. “Lipinski treated his staff well.”

“Really?” I said. “I’ve always heard how greedy he was.”

“Not with his people,” Dave said. “Any attorney who handles such a high volume of personal injury cases has to have a crackerjack support team, and that takes well-paid assistants.”

“I’ll talk to as many of his staff as I can when I go see his secretary,” Marco said, jotting down more notes. “I’m hoping someone will be able to provide details about the crime scene”—he glanced up at Dave—“unless there’s a chance of getting a copy of the prosecution’s evidence list.”

“No chance, I’m afraid. Not with me being a suspect,” Dave said.

Greg Morgan would know what was on the evidence list, but I’d have to torture him to make him talk . . . or maybe Nikki could do a little undercover work for me. In any case, I kept those thoughts to myself. Dave would definitely not want to know.

“We’re also considering Scott Hess as a suspect,” I said.

“Motive?” Dave asked.

I explained Marco’s envy theory to him. “Hess had ample opportunity. All he had to do was stay behind when the staff left for the day. Marco, maybe someone on the Lip’s staff can tell you whether Hess is on any kind of meds.”

“I doubt you’ll have any luck approaching Hess himself,” Dave said to Marco. “If he smells an investigation, he’ll clam up.”

“I’ll head over to Lipinksi’s office as soon as we finish here and see what I can find out,” Marco said.

I glanced at my watch. Drat. Not enough time to go with him. As much as I wanted to help, I couldn’t keep leaving Lottie and Grace in the lurch, or ignore my business. I had assistants to pay, bills to meet, food to eat, and the occasional drastically reduced pair of five-inch weapons of mass distortion to buy.

“Anyone else to add to the list?” Marco asked.

“Is there a conflict of interest if we investigate your clients, Dave?” I asked.

“All fetters are off, Abby,” Dave said. “Investigate whom-ever you want. If you find something that points to my clients, I’ll have to withdraw from the case. But let’s not worry about that unless we have to.”

“Then we should talk to Andrew’s grandfather,” I said, rubbing a calf muscle I pulled while wearing the aforementioned weapons. “He strikes me as a very unstable person.”

“Herbert Chapper suffers from post-traumatic stress disorder,” Dave explained to Marco, “from his tour of duty in Vietnam. Any kind of stress can set him off, and I know this lawsuit is affecting him, so take that into account if you’re going to interview him.”

“Has he ever been treated for PTSD?” Marco asked.

“For years,” Dave said. “He’s on an antidepressant and attends weekly therapy sessions at the VA clinic, but he’s getting worse instead of better.”

“Sounds like a loose cannon,” Marco said, writing down the information.

“He is most certainly a loose cannon,” Dave said, “but maybe a bit too loose to commit a premeditated murder.”

Martha came in with a stack of documents. “Bonnie at the clerk’s office was kind enough to fax these over and save me a trip to the courthouse dungeon.” She placed them on Dave’s desk, then said to us, “Dave represented Bonnie in her divorce. Got a nice settlement for her, too, which is why she’s always gracious about helping.”

“Thank you, Martha,” Dave called, as she returned to her desk. He glanced through the papers, found the document he wanted, and read over it. “As I suspected, Darla Mae Lipinski got the raw end of the deal. All she received in the settlement was her jewelry and her ten-year-old car. He got their mansion, vacation home, BMW—the list goes on. It’s a wonder she didn’t end up owing him money.”

“Why would a judge grant such an unfair settlement?” I asked.

“Darla Mae signed the agreement,” Dave explained. “They didn’t have a hearing.”

“Shouldn’t her lawyer have advised her not to sign? Or did Lipinski pay him off?” I asked.

“She went pro se,” Dave replied.

My mouth fell open. “She represented herself? Against Lipinski? Is she crazy?”

“I’m sure Lipinski manipulated her,” Dave said. “Probably told her he’d make mincemeat out of her if she tried to fight him. I’ve seen that happen with lawyers going through divorces. They use their legal knowledge to their advantage. My guess is Darla Mae signed the papers to get him off her back.”

“What a dirty rotten scoundrel,” I said, feeling my temper rise. “How could he have done that to a woman he once loved? You know, the more I learn about Lipinski, the more I understand why someone would want to—”

Marco put his hand on mine. “Keep your objectivity, Abby.”

Keep it? When it came to Lipinski, I’d never had it.

“Do you have an address for Darla Mae?” Marco asked.

Dave flipped through the papers, then called, “Martha? Address for Darla Mae?”

“I’d be surprised if Darla Mae did it,” I said. “She blogs openly about ways to kill Lipinski. It’s too obvious.”

“Let’s investigate her before we make a judgment,” Marco said. “Stay objective, remember.”

I remembered. And at the moment my objective was to
not
stick out my tongue at him.

Martha bustled in and put a memo on Dave’s desk. “Darla Mae’s address.”

Dave handed Marco the memo, then checked his watch. “I have to go to court in a few minutes. Anything else we need to discuss?”

Marco jotted down the address, then reviewed his list. “That should do it for now. We’ve got plenty of people to talk to. Darla Mae Brown, Cody Verse, Lipinski’s office staff, Scott Hess, Herbert Chapper—I’m also adding Andrew Chapper.” He glanced at me, anticipating my objection, but I held my tongue. He obviously had his reasons for including Andrew. I’d just wait and let him be proved wrong.

The phone rang and Martha answered it in the outer room. A few seconds later she stuck her head in the doorway. “Connor McKay on the line regarding Andrew. He says you’ll want to talk to him. Should I take a message?”

“I’ll take the call,” Dave said.

“I’ll bet that rat followed me here,” I said. “Be careful, Dave. Conner is sneaky.”

Dave pressed the button to put him on speakerphone. “How can I help you, Mr. McKay?”

“Hot off the press, Counselor,” McKay said with gloat in his voice. “Thought you’d want to know that one Andrew Chapper has just been arrested for resisting arrest, public intox, and, last but not least, carrying a concealed weapon, a forty-five Magnum with—according to Andrew himself—a bullet meant for Cody Verse.”

Dave took him off speakerphone to say to us, “Just what I needed.” He waited a second, then picked up the handset and said, “I have no comment.” He hung up and let out a heavy sigh. “Looks like I’ll be making a stop at the jail, too.”

I watched Marco write Andrew’s name in his notebook. Sometimes holding one’s tongue saves one from looking like an idiot.