Page 79 of Murder Notes

“I am not you or your father. Make smart decisions. It’s in everyone’s best interest. You should keep your family in mind.” With that obvious threat, he turns away.

“Pocher,” I say, and even though softly, I gain more than a few head-turns.

He rotates to face me, his brow arching in silent question, anger in the depth of his narrowly set eyes.

“No,” I say.

“No?” he inquires.

“No,” I repeat, closing the space between us and stopping in front of him. “I will not be your little bitch, and no, I am not afraid of you. But then, the company I keep says a lot about me, as you said. About what I’m capable of and willing to do. And I have a badge to go with that attitude. Maybe you should keep that in mind.”

I step around him and I don’t even consider leaving. I find a familiar face to approach. It’s time to chitchat. I will not cower. I will not be controlled. If Pocher, or whoever it might be, wants to send someone else after me, they’ll be reminded that I’m no easy target. And I don’t have a problem with dead bodies.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Lucas joins me as I mingle, but after two conversations that include “you look like your mother” and “I love your dress,” he finds a pretty brunette actress and starts getting cozy. I stay my course, working the room, each compliment to my dress revenge for my father’s harshness. In fact, by compliment one dozen or so, I’m not feeling the sting at all, while I am certain every time someone mentions me to him, he does. And the best part of a party is that the gossip when talking to me is all about the “poor dead girl” or “poor Cynthia, who died too young.” Each person shares some tidbit, many about meeting her and her habits, that is golden to my case, and I wonder if this is the real reason I wasn’t invited. I’m getting tongues wagging. I’m hearing things. Maybe I’ll hear something I’m not supposed to hear. And not once is Woods mentioned, or a boyfriend at all, for that matter.

Finishing a chat with a music executive who knew my mother well, I am on the move again when I come face-to-face with Samantha, her gown a sparkly silver number. “Lilah,” she greets me, looking a bit like she’s swallowed a whole egg upon seeing me.

“Samantha,” I say. “Do you know where Andrew is? Is he still working?”

“If you consider staying close to the host, then yes. He’s working. In the downstairs library with Montgomery and your father, talking politics. I’m surprised they didn’t invite you. That’s where I’m headed now.”

“You know,” I say. “I realize that you think playing ‘mean girl’ makes you special, but you don’t read people well. I don’t want to be in a corner, talking politics.”

“Did I mention Eddie and Alexandra are with them?”

“Thanks for the warning,” I say, irritated that my brother evidently told her Eddie is a sore spot for me with my father. “Now I know to stay up here. Since we’re talking, you never got me the security footage I requested.”

“Andrew said you have a suspect.”

“I’m not Andrew,” I say. “But you know what? Keep it. I got what I needed from Kane.” Her eyes go wide and I add, “Yes. I know you fucked Kane the night of the murder.”

“And now you’re going to tell Andrew.”

“You weren’t exclusive and it would hurt him, so no,” I say. “I am not.”

“Even though I did Kane.”

“Yes,” I say, and somehow, I manage a rather cordially spoken, “Even though you fucked Kane.”

“But you want me to stop seeing Andrew.”

“Of course I do,” I say. “I don’t like you, but he’s a grown man. This isn’t my call. But let me be clear, if I find out you’re using him, I will become a problem for you.”

I start to turn and she says, “I’m not.”

And yet she was just in bed with Kane. My mama told me if you can’t say something nice, don’t say it at all. I don’t reply. I keep walking, weaving in and out of the crowd, when my gaze lifts to the banister on the second level to catch on Greg, who is standing by a wall, staring forward, in guard mode. Hurrying forward, I follow the trail of red carpet up the center of the stairs, and I’m almost to the top when he takes a call and then starts walking right. I’m sidetracked by several chatty guests but finally reach the top level and turn in his direction, pausing to eye the crowd, my gaze rocketing to Kane, who’s in a conversation. My gaze shifts to the other man, a stout, military-looking guy, I age around forty-five, who could be security. I’d like to say I’m disappointed Kane is here. I’d like to say I’m immune to how damn good he looks in a tuxedo. But I can’t say either of those things.

The two men break apart, and Kane seems to sense me, his attention immediately shifting to the railing where I stand. He gives me a small incline of his chin that is somehow intimate, a feast for the eyes of anyone watching and sure to piss off Pocher. I nod back and turn away, eager to find Greg again before I end up in the inevitable game of word roulette with Kane that this night will now hold.

Traveling a long hallway, I scan random rooms as I pass to include a library, a sitting room, and the theater before a row of sealed doors takes over. The path ends at the French doors leading to the outdoor garden, and I pass through them, finding people milling around here and there, but there are rows of shrubs and trees forming a giant maze, and I decide to just wait by the railing.

I’ve just claimed a spot in the corner and under a hanging heater when my cell phone rings. I dig it out to find Tic Tac calling. “Turns out Laney did a bunch of B movies under another name, and two of those tie back to the same Chinese investors.”

I perk up. “Did you find the US connection?”

“Not yet, but I used a computer program to connect any common denominator between the films. It might not ring any bells for you, but it’s in your e-mail and now I’m going to finally sleep for a few hours. Don’t call.”