The Dangerous Edge of Things

CHAPTER 42

When I got back to Trey’s, I put a six-pack of ginger ale in the fridge and a box of saltines on the counter. He was just getting off the telephone and was back in full Armani mode. He even smelled good again.

He poured a steaming cupful of tea. “Would you like some lapsang souchong? It’s decaffeinated.”

“We need to talk first. About you-know-who.”

He looked down at his mug. The tea smelled like lemon and herb, and he held it cradled between his palms. I took him by the elbow and led him to the sofa. He sat with me, but didn’t look the least bit comfortable about it.

“I’m not trying to interfere,” I said.

“With what?”

“With your relationship with her.”

He thought about that. “We don’t have the kind of relationship that you can interfere with. She’s—”

“It’s none of my business what she is. I don’t poach on other women’s property.”

“I’m not property.” He said this with the slightest edge, but his expression was placid, as always.

“Look, I’m guessing she means something to you, but she’s up to no good, Trey. And I’m betting it involves the Beaumonts.”

Trey looked puzzled. “Why?”

“She and Charley are thick as thieves, and Charley’s hiding something, I can tell. And that something involves Eliza.” I ticked off the points on my fingers. “Landon’s in their pocket, Marisa too. All of Phoenix. Senator Adams. Janie’s a member of the fold now, and even the cops seem willing to toe the party line. I promise you, Trey, if you did one of your little circle graphs, you’d see them right in the middle, connected to everything.”

“The Beaumonts are clients, not suspects.”

“So what? Remember what Garrity said, everybody’s guilty of something, and—”

“—it’s a cop’s job is to find out what. I know.” He shook his head. “We’re not cops.”

“No, the cops seem to think idiotic drug-addled Bulldog is the guilty party.”

“He admitted—”

“Oh, come on! The best the cops can do for motive is that Eliza refused to sleep with him. Or sheer confounded meanness, that’s their other theory. And then he conveniently leaves her purse and the murder weapon in his truck before narrowly escaping death?”

“That’s the official narrative.”

“Which you are not buying, please tell me you’re not.”

He exhaled. “It has its weaknesses.”

“Hell yeah, it does. That hypothesis is a goldmine of weaknesses. But here’s one that isn’t: Gabriella put a key logger on your computer, and she did it because she’s up to something, and that something involves the Beaumonts.”

Trey stood up and started pacing a tight line in front of the sofa. Six steps, then reverse, then repeat. “We have no proof. She was at my desk, yes, but you were too. Why shouldn’t I suspect you?”

He had a point. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

“It’s not an accusation, just a logical analysis.”

“I suppose you didn’t check your e-mail to see if she’d sent you something?”

“Until I get the key logger quarantined, I can’t use the computer for anything.”

He stopped pacing and went to his deck, where he stared at his computer for a long time, his hands on his hips. Then he straightened up and disappeared into the bedroom. I heard a drawer open and shut, decisively.

“Trey?”

He reappeared in the living room wearing his shoulder holster. He headed right for the bottom desk drawer, keys in hand, and my stomach flipped.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m getting my weapon.”

Oh great, I thought, he’s gone vigilante. I jumped up from the sofa. “Are you sure that’s necessary?”

He unlocked the drawer and then the gun case. “The security of my home and my belongings has been compromised. For your safety as well as mine…”

He stopped talking and stared into the drawer. Then he shut it. Then he looked at me.

“My gun is gone.”

“What!”

“The magazines and ammo too.”

Another flip of the stomach. “Trey, I swear to you, I didn’t—”

“I know. You don’t have the keys to the desk, and you don’t know where I keep them. Only two other people do.” He grabbed his jacket from the chair and was out the door in two seconds, not even looking to see if I was keeping up.

But I was. “You’d better wait for me, Trey Seaver! And you’d better be headed where I think you’re headed!”

***

The attendant at the day spa was, like all of Gabriella’s employees, gorgeous and tall and as poreless as a magazine page. This one, whose nametag read Arion, had a forehead like a black onyx cliff face and eyes like shards of obsidian. She also had no idea where her employer was.

“Check her book,” Trey said.

“I did.”

“Not that book.”

“There’s nothing in that book either.”

“Show me.”

Arion opened a drawer and pulled out a leather portfolio, which she then spread open on the counter. There was a note inside addressed to Trey. She looked startled to see it, but Trey seemed to have been expecting it all along.

“What does it say?” I said.

He slipped it in his jacket. “It’s says that she’s sorry and that she’ll explain later, after tonight.” He addressed Arion. “Would you please double-check my delivery order? Everything should be scheduled to arrive no later than four.”

Arion looked relieved to have something to do. “Of course, Mr. Seaver.”

She tapped some information into the computer. The boutique portion of the store was empty, and the soft sounds of the spa seemed very far away.

“That thing at Lake Oconee is tonight,” I said. “I’d completely forgotten.”

“Cocktails at six, dinner at seven-thirty.”

“You think Gabriella will be there?”

“She’s Charley’s stylist. She’s at every event the Beaumonts attend.” He looked at me as if seeing me for the first time. “Would you like to come?”

I blinked in surprise. “I wasn’t invited.”

“You don’t need an invitation, not if you’re with me.”

“I don’t have a dress.”

He ran his eyes over my body, lingering at the hips, then looked around the gallery. He went to the red dress that had caught his eye on our first visit, ran his hand along the seam. “Have this delivered too, please,” he said. Then he looked at my feet. “Size eight?”

“Wide.”

He nodded at Arion. “Shoes too. I’ll leave the choice to you.”

“Certainly.” She was looking at me differently now too. “Will this be on the Phoenix account as well?”

“No, my personal account.”

His expression was composed, the same old Trey Seaver I was fast becoming accustomed to. But his eyes held something flickery and sharp, right at the center. I shook my head.

“Marisa will ream you out if you bring me.”

“It doesn’t matter. She’s going to fire me for losing my weapon and allowing a third party to access Phoenix property.”

I linked my arm with his and patted his bicep. “I can’t help you with your computer problem.”

“I know.”

“But as for the missing weapon…well, being partners with a gun shop owner has its benefits.”