Page 16 of Filthy Liar
We agree to meet an hour later for my second coffee of the morning.
I’m waiting outside, in my finest sweatpants and a fitted tank top, when she arrives. She, on the other hand, is wearing a fitted black suit and looks like a supermodel. Not much has changed.
She slows down, gives me the once over, and I introduce myself—again. “I’m Melinda,” I say.“I’m Ellie, the new receptionist.”
She doesn’t recognize me. “Kendra Browning. Thank you for meeting with me.”“Detective Browning. I’m here to see Tag. We’re not married any longer, no matter what he says.”She smiled back then. Today, her face is pulled tight. Whatever it is she wants to talk to me about, it’s serious.
I take a deep breath. “Detective, I need to tell you that we’ve met before in another setting.”
“Oh?”
“Five years ago, I worked as the receptionist at The Horus Group.”
She frowns, thinking. Her keen gaze rakes my face. “Ellie?”
“One and the same. Well, not exactly.” I pause. “So I took a bit of a gamble meeting you. I want you to know that I’m trusting you with my identity. I don’t like to keep secrets from my sources.”
“I’m not a source.” She lifts her chin.
The whole exchange is cagey, but not unfriendly. We’re sizing each other up, and that’s okay. These are strange, unprecedented times. One can never be too careful.
“So if you are not a source, does that mean that you are hoping I can be a source for you?” I ask once we have lattes and have found a quiet bench.
She doesn’t answer me directly. “What do you know about Jeff Mayfair?”
I choose my words carefully. “His space program is getting a lot of attention.”
“I don’t investigate that.”
No, she doesn’t. “You want to know if he came up in my research forPrivate Jet?”
“Yes.”
“I couldn’t find anything conclusive that connected him to Lively. Only some Dark Web chatter that sounded a lot like unfounded rumors.”
“It’s getting harder to separate fact from fiction,” she says quietly.
“Have you heard of a single source of incriminating documents? A lot of them?”
A treasure trove of guilty consciences, one source called it. Hackers are circling like sharks looking for blood, but every lead has turned into a dead end.
There’s a long, pregnant pause before Kendra replies quietly. “I’ve heard talk.”
“Anything to suggest Mayfair is implicated in those documents?”
Another pause. “Off the record?”
“Yes.”
“That’s what I’ve heard.”
Interesting. I take a sip of coffee and mull that over. “If I find something more concrete, will you go on the record?”
“If you find something more concrete, I’ll find a way to press charges.” She stands up. “And then I’ll go on the record.”
“I’m not a personal investigator,” I remind her.
“I know that.” She searches my face. “But I think we have a common goal here. You trusted me, I’ll trust you not to expose me here. Or Caroline.”
