I won’t shove five knives in his uncle’s chest to end him as our killer did to his victim, but he will be dealt with. Yep. Decision made. Kane’s uncle has to go. And I’m the girl to make it happen.
Chapter Eight
Marco and Jay are missing, but no doubt, we’re all a little happier to be apart.
I like to work alone. I walk the rest of the crime scene.
A back courtyard that is quaint and dancing with shriveled up ivy that would be green and glorious in the summertime, if anyone actually watered it. I wouldn’t, but I’m pretty sure the person who lives in this townhome does. The kitchen is immaculate, mostly white, with hints of more black and caramel. I’m struck by how few personal items decorate the entire place, but I do find a drawer filled with business cards for local restaurants. Even that’s done with sheet protectors. I lift them and shoot photos, but underneath it all, is one loose card, as if it’s a new addition that has yet to be placed in its protective covering.
It’s Curly Joe’s, which most might think means curly fries. But it’s about coffee and fries, which I thought was weird as fuck until I tried both. They say do what you do well and success will follow, and those are the two things the owners of that place do well—fries and coffee. Of course we won’t talk about what I do well, or what kind of success follows.
I’m not even really sure when I became this version of me. Maybe I always was. Maybe that’s what drew Kane to me. I appeared to be his polar opposite but he knew better. Some part of me knew, too, and I was drawn to him like a woman high on drugs, and he was the best drug.
I bag the card and shoot a photo, having just finished my task when my cellphone rings. I snag if from my pocket and find Andrew calling. I motion to a forensics guy to bag the items I’ve located in the drawer, before walking to the living room again and answering the call. “Did you miss me?” I greet, stepping into the living room to find no sign of Marco or Jay, the latter of which obviously ran for the hills, or just the dumpster outside to heave up a lung.
“The joy of you being gone and still alive is hard to describe, Lilah, but now that you’re back, we should meet.”
“I’m already back in the city at a crime scene.”
“I’m in the city.”
Considering he’s the chief of police in East Hampton, I say, “Why?”
“Dad. He asked to meet with me.”
Our father, otherwise known as most likely to be the next Governor of New York, if the polls are correct. He’s also riding a power high, embolden to Pocher and the Society. “If you said yes to working for him, I have nothing to say to you.”
“We need to talk, Lilah.
“Holy fuck, Andrew. You said yes?”
“Lilah,” he grinds out.
I eye the card I’ve bagged. “There’s a coffee shop near where I’m at now. Curly Joe’s and yes, it’s a stupid name, but since you’re doing stupid as fuck things, it’s appropriate. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” I hang up.
I exit the house and the cold day bites me in the ass and sends a shiver up my spine, followed by a twinge of irritation. Marco Polo is earning his stupid name, standing at the gate, where he’s cornered Jay, obviously trying to get some dirt on me or more likely, Kane. Some might call this investigative work. I just call it being a fool, wasting time on me that he could be using to find our killer. Not to mention he’s barking up the wrong tree. Jay is loyal to the core, which is exactly why I want him out of this and protected.
Protect me. I protect you.
I approach and both men turn in my direction. Jay gives me a bored look and doesn’t even try to hide it from the detective. The whole Kane is the devil routine does get old fast, but not as old as everyone thinking they’re the one who will find out all the dirty secrets and make them matter.
I join the two of them on the other side of the gate. “I’m going to the autopsy,” I say. “And I’d like to see the files on the other two cases that may or may not be connected.”
“I run a tight ship. This investigation is by the book. You need to know that.”
It’s a punch at my new husband, or maybe not. I do have a reputation of my own. I don’t mind owning it. “I do nothing by the book. Sounds like what my mother would have called a healthy balance.”