“What was inside?” my partner asks.
“Here, see for yourself,” Mr. Kane – Knight – replies, stopping at a kitchen island.
A small giftbox stands open on the counter atop brightly colored wrapping, an equally small card beside it. The note is brief, written in some of the neatest handwriting I’ve ever seen. Leaning forward, and without touching it, I read the chilling words on the pristine white paper.
Didn’t think you could get rid of me that easily surely, did you, Indie? You’ve hurt my feelings, selling me out like that. Haven’t I always watched over you? And this is how you repay me? Well, I’m done playing nice now. As a final courtesy, this is your only heads up — I’m coming for you. Best you watch your back, bitch.
No name, no signature, but it’s clear from the words, this is personal, and there’s some kind of a connection here. Inside the box is a dead rose blossom, the stem roughly broken off at the base of the flower. It rests on a shallow bed of tiny dead leaves – presumably from the removed stem.
“Any idea who might have sent this to your lady?” Hunter queries.
“Yeah, we’ve got a pretty good idea. We can’t prove it, but there’s only one person we know of that has an axe to grind with Indigo.”
“Yeah?” I leave Hunter to continue the questioning as I make notes and pay attention to our surroundings.
“In college, she was the victim of a predator, and he’s been blackmailing her ever since. His father was a pretty big deal in the criminal underworld, and so he managed to get away with his own criminal activities for years. It recently went to trial, but he failed to appear on the day, so …” He shrugs his broad shoulders.
“I’m guessing, from your words, he’s the one you suspect is behind this,” I say, pointing at the items on the counter.
“Only one any of us can think of,” comes his quick response.
Hunter turns to me. “I’ll grab a forensics kit from the vehicle. Why don’t you have a chat with Ms. …” He turns to Knight, an eyebrow raised expectantly.
“Jones. Indigo Jones.” As he says the name, the penny drops.
“Wait, I remember this case.” I snap my fingers, trying to remember the man’s name. “William something. Armitage? Armstrong? No … oh, Armatrout – that’s it. William Armatrout III, if I remember correctly. Skipped out on bail, failed to appear at the start of his trial.”
“Oh, yeah. I remember that. It was huge news, and not that long ago either,” Hunter responds. “Okay, so I’ll go grab that kit. You go interview Ms. Jones. Yeah?”
“Yep, I’m on it.” Hunter heads for the front door, and I turn to Mr. Kane. “Shall we?”
He nods. “This way.” He goes over to the back door and steps out onto a small deck area, from what little I can see from my vantage point, standing slightly behind him.
“Indie, the police are here, darlin’.”
I recognize the exquisite woman who turns to face us. She’s pretty short – I’ve probably got a good four or five inches on her, but boy is she built. She makes me think of a pin-up girl from the forties, all gorgeous curly hair and pouty lip, and curves in all the right places.
God, she makes me feel inadequate as she hesitantly makes her way over to where we’re standing. As she reaches us, Mr. Kane wraps an arm around her trim waist and protectively tucks her close into his side. The message is loud and clear. She is his, and he’ll shield her at all costs.
I hear a noise behind me and see that Hunter has returned and is in the process of donning gloves in order to bag the evidence.
“Is there somewhere we can talk privately, sir?” I ask.
“Yes, this way.” He indicates the open-plan dining space.
“Anything a little more private?
“This is good. There’s nothing we wouldn’t say in front of our friends. My team brought the scumbag back Stateside to face charges, so there’s little if anything they don’t know. We’re comfortable chatting here.”
Turning to Ms. Jones, I confirm. “Ma’am?”
“Oh, please, no. Ma’am makes me feel old. Please just call me Indigo.” The husky quality of her voice is incredibly sexy, reinforcing that image of a pin-up girl.
“Are you okay with being interviewed in this open space?” I ask, needing to hear her say the words.
“Yes, here’s absolutely fine. Like Knight said, there’s probably nothing our friends aren’t already aware of at this point.”
“All right then, as long as you’re sure.” I follow the couple over to their dining table, and we get settled. The woman – Indigo – is clearly distressed, but I’ll give her kudos for valiantly holding it together. “Let’s start from the beginning. Talk me through this evening’s events – whatever you can remember, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant.”
