Mug Shot (24 page)

Uh-oh. Abigail had finally found her way back to reality. I said uncertainly, “Because you needed someone to talk to, and I happened to be here?”

She stood up from the table and grabbed her coat. “Goodbye, Janet.”

“It's Juliet.”

“Whatever,” she snapped, brushing past me.

Well, I found out some of what I wanted to know, if everything Abigail said was true. If Abigail and Bastidas both lied to the cops about their alibis for the night Cecilia was killed, it was possible they lied about other things as well. I called Cromwell to inform him of that fact, but I was only able to leave a voicemail message that he would probably delete at his first convenience.

When I came out of the restaurant, I found Ryder lounging against my driver's side door, blocking me from getting into my car.

“Do you mind?” I asked icily.

He ignored me. “Did you get stood up for your lunch date?” Looking around the parking lot, he added, “I don't see your boyfriend's douchey sports car anywhere.”

“It's none of your business.”

“I saw Abigail coming out all flustered. Did you have anything to do with that?”

“Wouldn't tell you if I did.”

“You need to stay out of this.”

“You need to stay out of my life.”

His eyes got hard. Wordlessly, he walked away and got into his car.

I drove back to Java Jive, Ryder still in tow, but I tried my best to ignore him. The parking spaces in the tiny lot behind the coffeehouse were empty, which meant Camille and Wayne had already closed up and gone home. I unlocked the back door and let myself in. The place was dark, and it seemed so hopelessly empty even despite the Christmas decorations that normally brought me such joy. I went and stood in the middle of the dining area, simply looking around and taking everything in, knowing full well this could be one of the last times I'd ever stand in this spot.

I closed my eyes, and I could see George behind the counter, speaking warmly to the regulars packing the seats up front. I could see Gertie sitting opposite him, proudly beaming at her son and his thriving business. I could even see Rhonda, bitching and moaning about anything and everything. And of course I could see Pete, the college version, singing “Juliet” songs to me every chance he got, a towel always casually thrown over one shoulder, forever competing with me to see who could pour the best latte art or pull the perfect “God Shot.” An image of Pete being led into his jail cell flashed unwantedly into my head, and I began to cry. I desperately wanted to see him today, but after his bail was revoked he'd been put straight in county lockup. That meant he had pre-scheduled visitations, and only two per week. I couldn't just go see him anytime I needed to.

The memories became too intense. I had to get out of here. When I turned to leave, I saw that Ryder had followed me inside. Taking one look at my tear-streaked face, he hurried over to me and swept me up in his arms. I sobbed against his chest for a few minutes, desperate for a little human comfort, even if it was from him. He held me tightly, stroking my back.

Once I was able to pull myself together, I choked out, “Sorry about that. I need to go home.”

He only nodded, then headed to his car. I locked up Java Jive, returned to my apartment, and flopped down onto my bed, still weeping.

I woke up a little after six o'clock, surprised that I'd been able to fall asleep. My nap had done my emotional distress some good, and I was actually looking forward to Savannah's holiday party. More than anything, there would be all the food I could eat and all the booze I could drink, which I could really use. After showering, I put on a party dress and made an attempt at doing my makeup.

When I went to the kitchen to grab my purse, I noticed that the piece of paper I'd tossed on my counter yesterday had unfolded, and there was a note from Trevor on it. It said,
Hope this is what you wanted, Your Favorite Hacker.
It was the list of Bastidas's clients I had asked him to get for me. It had only been two days since we'd discussed it, but it seemed like a lifetime ago.

The more people I could talk to about Bastidas and Cecilia, the better, and this list would be a great place to start. I scanned the list, searching for names I recognized. There was Cecilia (of course), Abigail (knew that), Beth Greenwalt (interesting), Delta Hollingsworth (that's just gross), and…Savannah. She definitely wasn't a client. Trevor had to have hacked into the wrong list—maybe this was a general contact list or something. This list may not have been as helpful as I originally thought. I set it aside.

There was a knock at my door. When I opened it, I found Ryder standing there. He stared down at me, his eyes roving all over me.

“You look…gorgeous.”

“Thanks,” I said, blushing. It was raining again, and his hair and jacket were wet. I tried not to notice how crazy hot it made him look.

“Are you headed to Savannah's party?”

The party he was originally supposed to attend with me. “Yes.”

Finally tearing his eyes away from my body, he said, “We found Kent Fielding. He's in custody.”

“Are you actually going to prosecute him this time?”

“Yes, there were three witnesses. Fielding burst into Bastidas's office and wiped the floor with him in front of his secretary and two clients.”

“Gotta love those credible witnesses.”

He frowned. “I came here to tell you that you're out of danger, so I won't need to follow you around anymore.”

Strangely disappointed, I nodded slowly. “That's…good. Um, thanks for the bodyguarding today, then.”

“You're welcome. I had the day off, so it was no big deal.”

But it
was
a big deal that he spent his day off following me around to make sure I was safe. My heart got an odd, full sensation. I was supposed to be letting go of my feelings for him, not allowing them to creep back in.

I couldn't seem to meet his eyes. “I guess I'll see you around, then.”

“Yeah, sure.”

As he turned to leave, I noticed his glance fall on my Christmas tree and a pained expression cross his face. It took me a moment to compose myself before I was ready to head to my car.

After everything that had happened lately, I felt guilty about going out to a party. I had been considering skipping tonight, but decided my spirits needed lifting and resolved to attend the party come hell or high water. Granted, I was already in hell, and as for the high water, I was battling that, too. It was pouring rain as I drove, creating enormous puddles on the sides of the road. If I didn't keep my speed down and stop hydroplaning, I wouldn't have a car left for the court to seize.

When I got to Savannah and Carl's house in Brentwood, the party was already in full swing. I found a parking spot several houses away and had to jump over numerous puddles on my trek down the practically flooded street. The rain had mercifully slowed to a drizzle, but the damage had already been done. At the door, a man dressed in a tuxedo greeted me, taking my coat and umbrella. This was a ridiculously huge, snooty party if the Worthingtons couldn't even be bothered to answer the door themselves. I'd never been to a private party with a doorman before.

Once inside, I was blown away by Savannah's stunning décor. The whole place was done in red, gold, and green. It looked like Santa had thrown up in here. I spied Carl over by the bar and headed his way.

“Hey, Carl. Great party,” I said, having to force my smile a little bit. I felt so bad that he and Savannah were having problems. I couldn't let on that I knew, though.

“Oh, thank you, Juliet, although I can't take any of the credit. This was all Savannah's doing,” he replied jovially.

“Where is she, by the way?”

“I think she's in the kitchen.” He leaned closer to me and murmured, “If you don't mind, keep an eye on her tonight. She's been beside herself all day, and very much unlike herself. It seemed like everything that could go wrong went wrong today. She said she even got into a huge argument with the landscaper this afternoon. I've never seen her so tightly wound. I had to give her a Valium to get her in any state to entertain guests.”

I got a weird feeling. “Her landscaper? Do you know his name?”

Carl shook his head. “She takes care of the decorating and such around here. All I know is that he's from South America.”

“Oh…”

I was starting to feel uneasy about what Savannah had gotten herself into lately. First Kent and now Bastidas? She couldn't stand either of them, as far as I knew. Now she was nearly jumping into bed with one of them and doing business with the other? I needed to find her and talk some sense into her.

I smiled, trying to put Carl at ease. “You know, I'm sure she's just got the jitters over the party, plus the crazy week, of course. I'll be happy to help in any way I can.”

I headed for the kitchen, eager to assess Savannah's emotional state for myself. She was standing at the sink, drinking a glass of water.

“Savannah?” I called.

She whirled around, nearly dropping the glass. A few drops of water spilled onto her gorgeous red dress, and she took one look at it and dissolved into tears. “Everything is ruined,” she sobbed.

I went over and put my arms around her. “It's okay,” I said soothingly. “Nothing is ruined. Your dress is fine. The party is fantastic. You've worked hard—now enjoy the fun part.”

She lifted her head, her makeup miraculously still flawless. How she had pulled that off was beyond me. One little sniffle and I looked like someone had been beating on me. “Ooh, Juliet. What happened to your face? And your finger?”

“Oh, that.” Speaking of someone beating on me. I had done another crappy makeup job today, so I must have looked awful. “Kent and I had a little difference of opinion.”

Her eyes widened. “No! Are you okay, sweetie? Do you need me to get you a lawyer?” Even with her own problems to fight, she was truly a good friend.

“I'm fine, but we need to talk about some things. Specifically Kent…and Alejandro Bastidas. Savannah, what the hell are you doing mixed up with either of those fools? Each one is dangerous in his own way. And don't we think either of them could have killed Cecilia?”

She bit her lip. “I know,” she whispered, fighting tears and starting to get a wild look in her eyes.

“You told me that you and Bastidas are basically enemies. Why would you hire him to work for you? Please tell me he isn't giving you any of his extra services.”

Looking away, she didn't answer.

“Oh, come on!” Lowering my voice, I said, “You made a big deal about how you couldn't go through with it with Kent. But you're sleeping with
Bastidas
?”

“Are you of all people trying to give me relationship advice?” she snapped.

Damn. That was cold. Carl was right—she was definitely not herself today. “Someone obviously needs to.”

“You couldn't possibly understand. My life has gone to hell in a handbasket.” Savannah was another one who never cursed, so she was definitely distraught.

“What do you mean I couldn't understand? My life has never been as screwed up as it is now, and that's really saying something.”

She laughed mirthlessly. “Oh, poor, downtrodden Juliet. The tortured heroine. Your life is always worse than everyone else's.”

Savannah never said hateful things like that. And besides, my life
was
worse—at least worse than hers. I worked in food service. I didn't have truckloads of disposable income to spend on landscaping and sex. I didn't live in a freaking mansion. And there was still the possibility I would have to move back in with my parents if the police couldn't link someone else to Cecilia's murder and exonerate Pete.

“I'm not saying that. And don't try to change the subject. I'm worried about you. Carl said you and Bastidas had an argument this afternoon. He didn't try to hurt you or anything, did he?”

“I know what you're trying to insinuate about him, but no, he didn't try to shove a thermometer into my neck. Sorry to disappoint you.”

She was losing it. Time to back off. “Savannah, I don't want to fight, okay? I'm sorry. We can discuss this some other time. Let's just go back to the party. I'm sure your guests are looking for you.”

“Fine,” she said, allowing me to steer her out of the kitchen.

As we weaved through the crowd of merrymaking guests in her great room, the last thing she said replayed through my mind. The police hadn't released the gory details of Cecilia's murder to anyone yet, including her family. Pete and I were the only other people who knew about the thermometer, and neither of us had told her. The official story was only that Cecilia had been stabbed. Savannah should not know any more information than that. An icy cold chill ripped up my spine.

What I was thinking was totally crazy, but looking back, several other things didn't add up as well. Savannah could have found out Cecilia's baby daddy's name with one phone call to a chatty friend, but she kept putting it off, insisting she couldn't just call someone up and ask such a probing question. She would never have had a problem doing that normally. Secondly, she absolutely lost her shit when we got caught in Cecilia's house by Ryder. Then, the whole thing with having to beg her to help me meet Bastidas and making sure I didn't mention her name to him, supposedly because of all the bad business blood between them. It obviously wasn't too bad if she'd hired him to do a job for her and he was also doing
her
on the side. I thought she was trying to support me by helping me when we were investigating other suspects, but now I was beginning to think that maybe she was merely trying to take the heat off herself.

But I knew Savannah, and I didn't see her being able to kill Cecilia. However, considering everything I'd learned about her in the last twenty-four hours, I obviously didn't know her nearly as well as I thought. Even so, I still didn't want to go accusing one of my closest friends without some kind of proof. I was already in her house, so it would be the perfect opportunity to poke around a little and see if there was anything here that could either prove her innocence or (hopefully not) tie her to Cecilia's murder. Either way, I needed Savannah occupied so I could do my snooping. I also needed some help.

Over by the buffet table, I noticed Stan with Jenny Vaughn draped over his arm. I said to Savannah, “You know, Jenny Vaughn was looking for you. She wanted to say hello.” I dragged her over to where Stan and Jenny were standing.

“Hey, guys,” I said, getting a death look from Jenny.

“Hello, Savannah,” said Jenny, like I wasn't there. “Great party.”

“Isn't it? I'll let the two of you catch up,” I said, giving Savannah a shove toward Jenny. I snagged Stan by the arm and dragged him through the crowd with me.

“Your poor face,” Stan said. “Juliet, again, I'm so sorry—”

I waved my hand, interrupting him. “It's fine. I need you.” I pulled him down the hallway and through a closed door.

It was the bathroom. Stan chuckled. “I thought you said you weren't into me like this.”

I rolled my eyes. “Really?
Now
you decide to be funny?”

He regarded me quizzically.

I continued, “Never mind. This is going to sound crazy, but I think there's a possibility Savannah may have killed your sister.”

He looked at me like I'd sprouted a second head. “You're right. It's crazy. Did Kent hit you harder than we thought?”

It figured that Stan would start showing a little comedic talent
after
we had broken up. “Look, it's a stretch, but she knows some information she shouldn't know unless she saw the crime scene.”

“Maybe she has a loose-lipped cop on her payroll.”

I shook my head. “I don't think so. Also, she made a big deal about how she barely knows Alejandro Bastidas and that they're basically business enemies. But then I found out she contracted him to do a landscaping job for her.”

“So?”

“So we all know how he treats his clients. Maybe Savannah fell in love with him and saw Cecilia as an obstacle in her way.”

“I'm still not connecting the dots,” he replied.

“What if Savannah decided she wanted Bastidas all to herself?”

“In that case, she'd have a lot of murdering to do.”

I squinted at him. “Have you been drinking?”

He gave me a lopsided grin. “Just a smidge.”

I should have gotten Stan drunk a long time ago. I liked Drunk Stan. “Are you sober enough to be my lookout?”

“I am. I'll grab a cup of coffee, and I'll be good to go.”

“Perfect. Now I'm going upstairs to snoop, so you need to keep an eye on Savannah and Carl to make sure they don't catch me. I want you to call me if someone starts coming my way, okay?”

Stan nodded. “No problem.”

Grabbing his hands, I said sincerely, “Thanks, Stan. You're a good guy.”

He sighed. “I wish you would have figured that out a week ago.”

I sneaked through the party and back into the kitchen. There was another set of stairs just off the kitchen, so I took those instead of the grand staircase in the foyer, where I would have been noticed for sure. Upstairs was a maze of bedrooms, all decorated to the hilt but obviously unused since Savannah and Carl had no children. Finally I came upon a set of French doors leading to the biggest master suite on earth.