Roll for Initiative, page 6
part #1 of Bailey Knight Mystery Series
“And this T.F.” I pause before I verbalize my thought. “In on it? The brains behind it?”
“I definitely think T.F. is directly related, and my gut tells me it’s on the receiving end.”
“Would this relate to his gambling problem? The embezzlement being his way of paying the money back?”
“And T.F. is the receiver.” She taps her chin. “That’s how I see it. But who is T.F.? And who else knows about this? Because someone did.”
“And you think that someone killed Kurt?”
“It makes sense. Kurt tricks you into investing in a company that doesn’t exist, taking your money to pay off his creditors…I’d be upset, if it were me.”
“OK. I have to tell Callum all this.”
“But you absolutely cannot tell him how you know.”
“How about this? You tell me Kurt’s password, and I’ll make it seem like a really good guess. That way Callum finds these on his own, and that’s assuming they haven’t already gotten into Kurt’s email to begin with.”
“OK. That’s a good plan.” Kelly jots down the password onto a sticky note and hands it to me: Martin2003. Kelly is right: no amount of creativity at all. “Play it off really well, Bailey. Don’t let him get suspicious. I don’t care how romantic your date is.”
“I would never sell you out, Kell. You keep me fed.”
“Ha, ha.”
“I did see Ward O’Neal with a blond man at Hal’s.”
“When? When we were there?”
“When I was having dinner with Callum.”
“Oooh.” She winks. “All right. Any idea who he is?”
“I thought we could search some online profiles and see who he is, how he’s related to Ward or Kurt or both.”
“Let’s see what we can find.” I settle next to her at the dining room table and watch her investigative reporting skills comes out in full swing.
A couple of hours pass, first with Kurt’s social profile, then Ward’s, and finally Ashley’s. “Figured he might be someone she knows, since she’s connected to both Kurt and Ward.” Kelly shrugs. “Can’t hurt, right?”
She scrolls through Ashley’s list of friends first, taking in their profile pictures one at a time.
“That’s him!” I point at the picture of a blond man. “Click that one.”
“Ray Sharp.” She says. “He works at Sharp and Patterson, Attorneys at Law.”
“An attorney.” I raise my eyebrows. “A divorce attorney?”
“Why? Is Ward getting a divorce?”
I fill her in on Kurt’s affair with Ward’s wife.
“My, my,” she says. “This web is getting more and more tangled.”
“Let me just check one thing.” I commandeer Kelly’s laptop and do a rapid search of the public records office for Golden Shore, specifically Ashley and Kurt’s divorce records.
“Oh, Bailey Michelle. Are you thinking what I think you’re thinking?”
“That Ray Sharp was Ashley’s divorce lawyer?” I click a few links and pay the processing fee online to view the divorce record. After a few seconds, the PDF comes up, and I scroll all the way down to the signatures.
And there he was. Ray Sharp, on Ashley’s side of the paperwork.
“Ward is using Ashley’s divorce lawyer.” Kelly chuckles. “It’s kind of poetic.”
I text all of this to Callum, taking pictures of Kelly’s computer screen to show Ray Sharp’s picture and the signature second of Ashley’s divorce record.
“Great sleuthing, Ace. You have saved me a few hours of work at the precinct.”
“I do what I can.”
His next text is a link to an online course for a license in becoming a private investigator.
OK, OK. Not-so-subtle hint received.
9
It’s dark beneath my blanket, my flashlight clutched in my hand as I read over every word in Blood Catacombs. (This book is 100% more fun in the dark.)
The cultists are chanting in Latin over and over, their voices echoing off of cold, wet stone. I can almost hear them…
Sanguis sanguinis mei,
Spiritus mei spiritus,
Et nos unum sumus,
Mors sumus.
Roughly translated, thanks to the internet:
Blood of my blood,
Spirit of my spirit,
We are one,
We are death.
Their voices, low and monotonous, in organized unison…
RJ’s steady breath as he moves quickly and quietly, his hand grazing the rough stone wall to keep his balance in the dark…
The voices getting closer, getting louder, the fires in the braziers burning brighter…
That’s when my phone’s text alert chirps, and I almost jump out of my skin. Even though I know what comes next, the sensory detail still draws me in with the cinema reel playing in my mind—sights, sounds, smells, all of it. Robin Ericson is a master.
The white-blue light from my phone is bright in the dark room. It’s a text from Callum.
“You awake, Ace?”
Callum, in the car, taking my hand, asking me to dinner.
Callum, telling me that this dinner would be different.
And the way he said my name…
And I kind of love this new nickname.
“Yes. Reading Blood Catacombs.”
I’m afraid to text anything else, suddenly very aware of my words, of how nervously my thumbs touch the letters on the touchscreen.
Just be yourself, Bailey. Be normal.
But what is normal? How am I when I’m normal?
Oh, God, what has he done? He just had to ask me out, didn’t he?
“That book kept me up for almost a week. I could barely sleep.”
“Fourth time through, and it still scares me.” Then I add, smirking to myself, “Doesn’t help that I’m reading it in the dark.”
“You’re reading in the dark?”
“Yep. Book and flashlight style. At the catacombs scene with the creepy Latin chants.”
“In the DARK? Are you crazy? I would have to lock every door and window in the place and then check the locks at least three times to make sure I really locked them.” Then he sends another message, “And find a German shepherd to guard me while I sleep. Or try to sleep.”
He texts fast. No abbreviated words or symbols, no emojis. Interesting. Maybe he’s on his laptop. “LOL. Again, I ask: What’s up?”
“Ashley called me today. She got a weird phone call from someone, sounded like a man. She thought he was masking his voice.”
Uneasiness slithers around in my stomach. Just the thought of something like that happening is enough to make me anxious. Ashley lived it. I sent a grimacing emoji. “That’s not terrifying AT ALL.”
“I suggested that she change her number and make sure it’s unlisted. If you hear of anything, please let me know.”
“I will. You’d think that with Kurt dead, they would leave Ashley and Martin alone. They don’t have anything to do with whatever Kurt did.”
“Yeah. Harassing them isn’t going to get anywhere.”
“I know she appreciated your help.”
“I hope so.” Then the three animated dots pop up before he says, “I’m looking forward to tomorrow.”
I’m smiling like an idiot, staring at my phone. My stomach is in knots, but for an entirely different reason now. Staring at his words. I write back, “I am too.”
“Goodnight, Bailey. Try to get some sleep.”
Bailey. The way he said my name earlier, quiet and personal. Not B or Bay. Bailey. And that look in his eyes…
“No promises.” I’m pleased that the comment comes off as funny, but it’s also completely honest. My thoughts are going to race a hundred miles per hour tonight, I can already tell.
I looked at the screen for almost a minute to make sure he had finished typing, then I set my phone on “Do Not Disturb.” It’s not going to scare me again.
I turn back to RJ and the cultists, hearing their monotone voices in my head…
Sanguis sanguinis mei,
Spiritus mei spiritus,
Et nos unum sumus,
Mors sumus.
RJ’s foot slipped on wet stone. He braced himself against the wall, but his palm grazed over the porous stone surface. He hissed uncontrollably as pain burned his skinned palm.
Their footsteps moved faster, the sound louder and heavier than before.
RJ broke out into a run, turning a corner and seeing the light of the surface shining up ahead. Just a hundred more feet, he thought to himself. Keep going.
Sanguis sanguinis mei,
Run faster. Go!
Spiritus mei spiritus,
He slipped again, this time landing hard on his knees. He cried out, his voice loud in his own ears.
Et nos unum sumus,
He was almost there. Run!
Mors sumus.
RJ breached the portal and stood in the full light of the colony’s surface, braced for a fight, ready for whatever was about to come his way. At least the cultists would have to come through the narrow passage one at a time.
But no one followed him out. The chanting had stopped.
10
After church, Kelly and I get into my car to head to the funeral home. Kurt’s memorial service is going to start in an hour.
“It’s over on Bumblebee, right?” I ask.
“Yep. Bumblebee Lane.”
“Bumblebee,” I say. “How do streets get their names anyway?”
“Sometimes the developers get to name them. Most of the time, it’s a tree or a number. But sometimes, especially within a neighborhood, the developers choose.”
“Like with a subdivision that’s themed. All of the names are famous writers or characters from Robin Hood.”
“Which is interesting because you’ll see more streets named for things in literature, like you said—authors or characters. But where are the street names that play around with math? Imagine a Pi Road, but it’s 3.14?”
This makes me laugh. “Quadratic Equation Boulevard.”
“Parabola Street, and it’s U-shaped.”
“Brian would be proud of this conversation.” Our Game Master loves math.
The funeral home isn’t far from the church, and soon Kelly and I are walking across the parking lot and up the front steps. A woman in formal dress and a name tag greets us at the door, encouraging us to sign the guest book.
The room reserved for the memorial is buzzing with guests, some of them seated and waiting for the ceremony to start and others talking with one another around the perimeter.
A woman comes over to us, smiling. “Hello, I’m Kurt’s sister.” She shakes our hands as we introduce ourselves. “Thank you both so much for coming.” She only moves her bottom lip when she talks, showing her bottom teeth more than her top ones.
Almost all of the guests are familiar, but Kurt’s boss from the bank stands out like a sore thumb. He stands with his hands in his pockets, talking with a small group of men and women who all look like colleagues from the way they’re dressed—navy blue business attire with white shirts and black shoes. Are those outfits all they had in their closets? They all match in a creepy, cultish way. It reminds me of Blood Catacombs.
Their posture and body language speak volumes, too—feet all pointed away from their boss and aimed for the door, their arms crossed in various ways—but all of their crossed arms cover either their stomachs or their chests. A couple of them touch their faces or their necks.
This is the last place on earth that they want to be, and they can’t wait to make a break for it.
Kelly and I beeline for the front, where Ashley is standing next to Martin, speaking with a couple of guests. Her eyes find us, and she gives us a grateful smile. “I’m glad you guys made it.”
“Thanks for coming,” Martin says in a tone that tells me he’s said that on repeat several times already. Poor kid.
“Oh, Martin.” Ashley points toward the door. “I think a friend of yours has arrived.”
He goes forward to say hi, and Ashley takes hold of Kelly’s wrist. “Have you seen the letter to the editor?”
Taken aback, Kelly shakes her head. “No, I haven’t. Not yet. Why?”
Ashley pulls out her phone and brings up the article, authored by a man named Owen Marsh. “Just in time for the Sunday edition, and Kurt’s memorial service.” She passes Kelly the phone, and I read it over her shoulder. The title is a crass attempt at wit: “Investment Banker Forced to Cash Out.”
Kurt O’Neal was found murdered in his home. For those of us who knew Kurt professionally, this crime doesn’t come as a surprise. Kurt was an intelligent man who knew his job well—especially when it came to stealing money from his clients.
This isn’t an allegation. Kurt O’Neal stole from me, and I know he stole from others. He could manipulate the numbers to show what he wanted us to see as we willingly invested our money in a company that he vouched for, a company that never even existed.
Ever heard of Earth Soul? Neither had I, but apparently, Kurt O’Neal had encouraged me and another investor (who shall remain nameless) to put earnings from other investments into this “up-and-coming company that is a sure success.” I invested over $50,000 in this venture, and I lost it all.
What is Earth Soul? I wondered the same thing, so I did some digging. Turns out that Earth Soul was Kurt O’Neal. It also turned out that Mr. O’Neal had a bit of a gambling problem. Earth Soul was his own invention, a scheme devised to generate enough capital to pay off his gambling debts.
So, cheers, Kurt O’Neal. While murder and violence are atrocious crimes, I can’t say that I’m surprised this happened. I wish he would’ve faced his crimes outright in a court room so that everyone, including me, could see justice served.
“Oh, no.” I look up from the article to see Ashley’s strained face. “Has Martin seen this?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Who is Owen Marsh?” Kelly asks. “Where did he get this information? I want to know who his nameless source is.”
“He did some digging into Earth Soul after he invested?” I grimace for emphasis. “Isn’t that a little backward?”
“Probably only prompted when he didn’t see any returns,” Kelly says. “But yeah, you’d think this wouldn’t be his first rodeo and he’d check up on a company before dumping fifty thousand dollars.”
Ashley pinches the bridge of her nose. “I can only hope that no one reads the Letter to the Editor, at least not today.”
“Is what he said true about Kurt’s gambling problem?” Kelly asks quietly.
“Yeah.” She looks at both of us, tension and sadness in her face. “I drove him to Gamblers Anonymous meetings back when we were still married. Things were getting better—or so I thought. It didn’t stick, no matter how I tried.”
“Was that the cause for the divorce?” I ask before I can stop myself.
“No. I found out he was seeing someone else. That, and he was stubborn, pushy, and he put us at risk. He owed a lot of money to the wrong people. A lot of money. I was always afraid of some thug busting down our door.”
Raised voices pull our attention as a tall blonde woman stumbles into the room, disheveled clothes and hair, makeup running down her red-splotched face.
“You shouldn’t be here, Lorie.” Ashley’s tone is severe.
Lorie teeters on her bare feet, heels dangling in one hand.
“I came to p—” She verbally stumbles, blinking slowly. “Pay my respects...Ass-lee.” She laughs, looking around the room for amusement. “Ass-lee. Ha.”
“I’ll call you a cab, Lorie,” Ashely says. “How did you even get here?”
“Walked.” She hiccups.
I look down at her feet. They’re filthy. How long had she been walking?
“Do you know Owen Marsh?” Ashley asks her.
“Owen—?”
“Did you convince him to write that article?”
“Who’s Owen—” Hiccup. “Who’s—”
“Whatever. You should go.”
A couple of guests go to Lorie and put their hands on her arms. “We’ll take her home.”
Lorie sneers at Ashley and starts to fight the hands that reach for her, but the guests keep her still enough to get her back outside.
“I should call Ward,” Ashley says. “He would want to know about this.”
“Ward?” I ask.
“Yeah.” Ashley sets her shoulders back, unlocking her cell phone. “Lorie is Ward’s wife.”
Well, I wasn’t expecting this.
But where is Ward?
11
“I’m outside.”
I know the text is from Callum before I even pick up my phone. Wow, he’s punctual. I always knew that, sure, but it never mattered before. Not like this.
Especially since I’m not ready.
My outfit is on, my makeup finished, and my hair actually behaving itself, but I’m so not ready. A romantic night with Callum Baldwin, high school friend and Saturday night dinner pal for the last two years.
“Have fun,” Kelly says as I sling my purse strap over my shoulder. “Don’t freak out.”
“Thanks. That helps. A lot.”
She laughs. “You’re already friends. Just be normal.”
OH MY GOD, HOW?!
“See you later.” I leave before she can offer anymore sage advice.
Candles, music, tablecloths. OK I’ll see you, and I’ll raise you a Little Black Dress, kitten heels, and a touch of jasmine perfume on my wrists. Operation: First Date is go.
I head downstairs and get to the curb in front of my building. Callum is there, standing outside of his SUV in a black suit and tie. Well. I think we both may have won this round.
OK, he totally won the second I forgot to breathe.
Be yourself, Bailey. Act normal.
“You clean up nice.” I smile, talking to the door as he opens it for me.
“You do, too.” He clears his throat. “I mean—you look beautiful.”
I look up at him despite the heat flooding my cheeks. “Thanks.”
He takes my hand to help me inside, although he doesn’t need to. His hand is so warm. He’s really pulling out all the stops, isn’t he?
