Dreaming Death (Krewe of Hunters #32) - Heather Graham Page 0,27

there and stays until my agents arrive?”

“Will do,” Fred said, studying his own smartphone. “And I’ll check out Miranda Lopez and Greta Gunderson, the housekeepers. We’ve got them at a small hotel near here—neither had family or a place to go, so we decided to put them up and keep them near in case we needed them.” He shrugged. “And to let them get on their feet. They’ll obviously be needing new employment.”

“Stacey?” Keenan said.

“Ready,” she assured him.

They headed out. Jackson would be overseeing the removal of the corpse. Beau would make the autopsy top priority. DC would be in an even greater frenzy when news of another murder—this one at Billie’s infamous mansion—reached the media.

They were soon in the car, the address of Tania Holt in Keenan’s phone. Her hands still gloved, Stacey was at his side, studying the little diary she’d found in Billie Bingham’s robe.

“Her last notation was on the evening before she was killed. Assuming that Dr. Simpson was right, and she was murdered between, say, three and five in the morning. Well, it’s her last entry. She has written here, Sigh. Guess I’m going to be meeting with Coffee Boy myself. I had thought he’d want to come to the mansion. Ugh. God knows what is up. Maybe just a business meeting. That would be preferable to all else. But must keep businessmen remembering the rewards of business.”

“We need to know who Coffee Boy might be. The CSI team might have missed a dead body in the basement, but they have Billie’s computers and other datebooks and notebooks. We’ll have to start a process of elimination. But we need to find out what went on at the house—and who the body in the basement belonged to. We’ll know that soon enough. How she was murdered with no one seeing anything is beyond me.”

“Maybe not so strange. I did notice there were no cameras around. Billie’s clientele would not want to be recorded. Though, I’m surprised she wasn’t doing some filming in secret. Maybe she was, but I didn’t see any cameras. And that basement... I guess the tapestry was to cover anything as menial and mundane as a basement.”

“I’m not sure how she always stayed ahead of the law, but she did. She was always on the pages of the scandal magazines, dragging down a lot of names—and I’m not talking about any particular political party. Billie was a businesswoman. She had no party loyalty,” Keenan said. He glanced at Stacey, who was studying him curiously. He laughed. “Trust me. I never knew her. I just knew that at times, there were going to be investigations, but no one—other than Cindy Hardy—ever tried to bring her down. Her clients were close-lipped. We can go through old magazines and find out who she was pictured with. And Cindy will remain in our suspect pool.”

She smiled. “I don’t imagine you’ve ever had to pay for a date.”

He smiled.

A compliment—of sorts—at last.

“You’d be surprised. There are people who really hire others just as escorts. Individuals who just don’t want to show up somewhere alone but don’t want any involvements. Male—and female.”

“I know. I’m not judging—I just don’t imagine you... Never mind. Let’s focus on Coffee Boy. Someone who likes coffee, I take it.”

“Or someone with an interest in a coffee company,” Keenan said.

“Maybe both!”

“Maybe.” He slowed the car. “That’s the building, with the—cop car out front. I’ll slide in behind it.”

“Can we park here?”

“With the medallion on this car? Yes.”

As they got out of the car, an officer approached them, assuring them that, to the best of their knowledge, Tania Holt was in her apartment.

They headed up in the elevator. Billie’s secretary had apparently been well-paid. The apartment complex was new, taking the place of a building from the 1920s that had been condemned.

The place was all chrome and glass and was very clean. The elevator plaque informed them that the spa, pool and gym were all on the penthouse level.

Keenan knocked on the door of Tania Holt’s apartment. There was no answer. He knocked harder.

“FBI, Miss Holt. Please open the door.”

Still nothing.

Stacey glanced at him and knocked again. “Miss Holt? Let us in. Under the circumstances, if you don’t answer, we’ll have to break the door down and make sure you’re not in danger.”

The door flew open.

Tania Holt stood there in a flowery silk robe that would have done her boss proud. She looked at them with fear, auburn hair a mess around her face. She was