Billy & The Beast (Ever After, New York #3) - Eli Easton Page 0,61
he’d had a DUI when he was sixteen, and it scared the shit out of him.”
Simmons nodded. “That’s what his friends told me too. Anyway, after his father died, he straightened up a lot. He got involved with the company. Tried to put his bad boy days behind him. Now, granted, he wouldn’t be the first person to go on the wagon, then have one bad night when they fall off that ends up being fatal or nearly fatal. It just takes one weak moment, one bad decision.”
“But he wasn’t even at a party! He went to Emmanuel’s house. Why would he go there stoned?”
“Good question,” Simmons said. “And there’s something else.” He glanced down at the folder, then at me. “I had a report from someone who told me Seb and Emmanuel’s work relationship was troubled.”
“Really?”
He nodded. “It was someone at the company, someone in a position to know.”
I sat up straighter, intensely interested now. “Why didn’t you investigate Emmanuel Clark?”
He shrugged. “Everyone on their end had a consistent story. And the only other person who knew what had happened that night was Seb, and he was in a coma.”
Shit.
“You don’t go after someone like Emmanuel Clark without a lot of proof. Hearsay from a coworker is not proof,” Simmons said.
“What about the coworker you interviewed, though. What did they say exactly?” I asked.
“I’m not allowed to tell you that.” He stared at me and rolled his tongue around in his mouth. I had a feeling he was trying to tell me something, but I was too dumb to get it.
“Well . . . will you talk to that person again now that you have new information?” I asked.
“You haven’t given me much to go on, Billy. But perhaps if I can talk to Seb. Meanwhile, you might find someone else to help your inquiries.”
I frowned at him. Like who?
Simmons tapped the folder again. “Excuse me, I need to use the restroom.”
He got up and left the table abruptly. Which was sort of weird.
Then I realized . . . he’d left the folder on the table.
Chapter 23
Billy
Amanda Wilkes was in her fifties with shoulder-length, wavy gray hair and a stern face. She lived in a small house near Century City, in a neighborhood of houses that were small but immaculately groomed and ornamented.
The other thing I noticed right away about Amanda Wilkes? She most definitely did not want to talk to me.
She stood in her doorway, arms folded over a long, flowy oriental kaftan she wore with white pants. She gave me a hard look. “I can’t discuss anything that happened at Montgomery Enterprises because I have an NDA. I’m sorry you wasted your time coming here, but I’ve nothing to say.”
She tried to shut the door on me, and I impulsively stepped into the doorframe to block it.
“Wait! I know you were once worried enough about Aaron—about Seb—to go to the police. Don’t you want to know how he’s doing? You worked with his father, right?”
Something I said struck a chord. She stopped trying to shut the door and gave me a suspicious look. “You really aren’t with the press?”
“Do I look like I’m with the press?” I said, exasperated. It was getting old, everyone thinking that.
“Not particularly. But you don’t look like someone who would be on Seb’s friend list either,” she responded dryly.
I looked down at myself. No, in my jeans and baggy T-shirt, I didn’t look like the supermodels and socialites Aaron used to be photographed with. “Yeah, well, a lot has changed since Seb’s accident.”
She studied me a moment longer, eyes piercing. Then she looked out at the street, up and down, as if worried someone was watching. I didn’t blame her for having the heebie-jeebies. I’d had them all day—feeling like someone was watching me at the diner when I spoke to the detective, or like a car was following me on the way over here. That’s what conspiracy talk will do to you.
“I won’t talk about the company,” she said firmly. “But if you want to talk about Seb . . .” She opened the door and jerked her head. I stepped in and she shut the door quickly. Locked it.
The house was gorgeous inside, with super shiny wood floors, a white loveseat and chair with ornate throws and pillows, lots of potted plants, and a green parrot in a golden cage. The little cage door was open but the bird stayed inside, hopping around on its perch and fluttering its wings