When All The Girls Have Gone(12)

Madison Benson, seated on the other side of the table, gave her a disapproving look that was tinged with exasperation.

"There's no reason to panic," Madison said. "Louise died of an overdose. That's not the biggest shock in the world. We all know her history."

Victoria suspected that Madison was using the same tone of voice that she used to calm anxious investors. Smart and savvy, Madison had the whole package-glamorous good looks, a head for numbers, an eye for financial opportunities and an edgy, charismatic personality. Her business was still small compared to the big hedge fund managers, but she had a growing portfolio of satisfied clients.

Victoria was pretty sure that some of those clients-male and female-had fantasies about sleeping with Madison, who could have moonlighted as an exclusive dominatrix. But as far as the members of the club were aware, she was not particularly interested in sex. Jocelyn had suggested on more than one occasion that Madison was still looking for her true mate-a man or woman she considered to be her equal.

"Louise had been clean for years," Emily Kelly said. "I'm sure if she had gone back to drugs we would have had some indication. But I didn't notice anything different about her lately."

Victoria almost choked on her martini. "What are you talking about? You're in human resources. You're the one with the psych degree. You're supposed to be an expert when it comes to evaluating people. Of all of us, you should have been the one to notice that Louise was not herself lately. She was unusually quiet and withdrawn, almost secretive, for most of the past month. I thought she was sinking into depression."

"Maybe she was." Emily's mouth tightened.

Of all of them, Emily was the one who didn't really fit into the club, Victoria thought. She was sure that Emily was aware of that. It had become clear that Emily lacked the nerve for the kinds of risks they took.

It was Madison who had lobbied to make her a member, and admittedly Emily contributed a useful skill set. She had a talent for digging up background information and-the Louise issue aside-she was usually very insightful when it came to predicting the actions of their targets. But she lacked the assertive, risk-taking vibe that characterized the rest of them.

As far as they knew, Emily did not have anyone special-male or female-in her life. She rarely mentioned her family.

Emily was not exactly an introvert, but neither was she outgoing. She was the same age as the rest of them, but she seemed older. With a little makeup, a few blond highlights in her hair, some on-trend clothes and a big dose of self-confidence, she could have been attractive. The dorky-looking glasses didn't help matters. All in all, it seemed that she went out of her way not to draw attention to herself.

"I just assumed that Louise was seeing someone," she said. She sounded defensive. "I thought she was more quiet than usual because she wasn't ready to talk to the rest of us about the relationship, that's all."   





 

"Why would she keep quiet about a new relationship?" Victoria asked.

"We all know that Louise was . . . complicated," Emily said. "Given her background, she would have been uneasy about becoming emotionally invested in a new relationship."

Madison's eyes narrowed. "Looks like the reason she seemed withdrawn and even secretive lately was because the new person in her life was her dealer, not a lover. Shit. She had to know we would have freaked if we thought that she was using again. That kind of behavior would have put all of us at risk. Everyone knows you can't trust a junkie."

Victoria sat back in the booth and looked at Emily. "You're the expert on people. Got any ideas about Jocelyn? Why do you think she suddenly decided to disappear?"

Madison frowned. "Don't say that. She didn't disappear. She went off on a retreat. Stop making it sound so mysterious. There is nothing odd about it."

Emily looked at her. "I'm not so sure. Victoria is right. It does seem a little strange that Jocelyn would suddenly head for a convent on some no-name island in the Caribbean for a month. It's not like she's seriously religious."

"It doesn't have anything to do with religion," Madison said. "A lot of people are going off on tech-free retreats these days. They're trying to unplug for a while. It's like doing yoga or meditation. Jocelyn has been complaining about feeling stressed out. She said the foundation was really pressuring her to bring in bigger donors."

"The thing is," Emily said, "Jocelyn is a planner. Sure, she takes risks, but she's not impulsive. She thinks things through. This idea of going on a retreat feels like it came out of left field. She never mentioned doing anything like that before she announced that she had booked a plane ticket."

Madison's delicate brows scrunched together. "Maybe she thought through the retreat idea for a while and just didn't bother to mention it to us."

"Maybe," Emily conceded.

But she didn't look convinced, Victoria thought. If anything, Emily looked more nervous than ever. And now Madison was finally starting to appear concerned, too.

There was a brief moment of silence around the table. Victoria drank some more of her martini and slowly lowered the glass.

"It seemed like a game at first," she said. "A real-life video game."

Emily shook her head. "It was never a game. We all knew we were taking chances. There was always the possibility that someone would realize what we were doing."

"But we were very careful," Madison insisted.

Victoria looked at her. "Maybe not careful enough."





CHAPTER 11




Max was rinsing off the dishes he had used for the tuna fish sandwiches and contemplating another beer when the doorbell chimed. He glanced at the clock. It was still early.

He wiped his hands on the dish towel and went to open the door. Anson Salinas stood there. He looked like the hard-core lawman he had been for most of his life. His hair had gone gunmetal gray and his lean, wiry frame had softened a little over the years, but his dark eyes were still cop eyes. His hard face, with its high cheekbones and grim jaw, was as intimidating as it had always been.

You had to know Anson awhile before you understood that appearances did not deceive. The man was as tough as he looked.

He was also lonely.

That makes two of us, Max thought.

"Come on in, Anson," he said. "Beer?"

"Won't say no."

Max headed for the kitchen. Anson closed the door and followed him. He lowered himself into one of the old chairs at the kitchen table.

"Well?" he asked. "Did you take the Flint case?"

"I did." Max carried two beers over to the table and sat down across from Anson. "Started out simple but it got interesting in a hurry."

"Yeah? How's that?"

Max gave him a brief rundown.

Anson drank some beer while he processed the details.

"Complicated," he said.

"At this point, yes. But sooner or later I'll find the trigger event. And when I do, everything will fall into place."

Anson snorted, amused. "You and your theories. That kind of thinking might have worked well when you were with that fancy profiling outfit, but out here in the real world you're gonna find out real fast that you don't always have time to find the trigger. Mostly you have to act on the information you've got."

"I know. I'm not ignoring the facts on the ground, believe me."

Anson's eyes glinted. "What's she like?"

"Louise Flint?"   





 

"Not the dead woman. I'm talkin' about the one that turned up at the scene."

"Charlotte Sawyer."

"Yeah. Charlotte Sawyer."

"She's . . . interesting."

Anson nodded. "Pretty."

"I said interesting."

"Don't want to tell you how to do your job, but you know what they say about the first person who shows up at the scene."

"She wasn't the first person. Technically it was Louise Flint's housekeeper who was first on the scene."

"Still, from the sound of it, this Charlotte Sawyer showed up with a full set of keys. That raises questions."

"Yes, it does," Max said. "I'm looking for answers, trust me."

"I do. But you know me. I like to talk shop."

"I know. You need to find a job, Anson. You're going to drive yourself crazy if you don't. Probably drive me crazy, too."

"Got any suggestions? There's this thing called age discrimination. I'm too old for law enforcement. And I sure as hell don't plan to work nights as a minimum-wage security guard at some office building."

"We've talked about this. You should look into volunteer work."

Anson shrugged and drank some more beer. "I'm thinking about it."

"Good." Max leaned back in his chair. "I was about to turn on the game," he said, lying through his teeth. "You want to watch?"

"Sure. Not like I've got anything better to do."




The game ended around ten thirty. Anson pushed himself up out of the recliner.

"That's that," he said. "Good game. Reckon I'll head back to my place. You'll be wanting to get some sleep tonight. Sounds like you've got a lot of interesting work ahead of you tomorrow. Let me know what you find out about that missing woman."

"Jocelyn Pruett," Max said. "I'll do that."

He got up and followed Anson to the door.