“Teardowns even in the country,” Dee muttered, disappointed.
“Cheer up,” Jeff said. “I think I found something.”
Dee’s hopes rose. “You do?”
“I researched the Goldsgone Group. And from what I dug up, it’s not a group—it’s one person. Jonas Jones.” Jeff paused for effect. “The same Jonas Jones trying to sell the West Camp warehouse. Where the stuff from Michael’s house was taken . . . but has disappeared.”
CHAPTER 30
When Jeff showed up to retrieve Dee from the hospital, she insisted he drive by the site of Michael’s former home so she could see it for herself. He did so and the two inspected it together. To no one’s surprise, they found nothing. “But,” Dee said, “I’m positive there’s a link connecting the warehouse, Michael’s stuff, Jonas Jones, and the murders.”
Jeff, who was studying his phone, made a strangling sound. Dee glanced over to him. “What?”
“I looked up the price of the house they’re putting up here.”
He showed Dee and her eyes widened. “Teardowns and gentrification come to Goldsgone. I wonder who profits from the sale.”
“If Jonas is the entire Goldsgone Group, he does. But the profits from the home’s sale would have gone to Michael and his family. Do you know anything about them? Any potential new suspects?” Jeff’s eyes lit up at the possibility.
“Afraid not. He was an only child and estranged from his parents. I know this because of a weird thing that happened when we were working at On the John. He left the writers’ room to take a call and we all heard him yell ‘Yes!’ and then let out a hoot. We thought he’d landed a new deal and we were all curious and, of course, jealous, so when he came in the room, we asked if he’d had good news. He got this smirk on his face and said, ‘Yes. My father died.’ Talk about an awkward moment. It stayed with all of us. I heard from people who worked with him on other shows that he had the same reaction when his mother passed away.”
Jeff reacted, appalled. “Ooh, that is dark. I don’t know who to feel sorry for, him or his parents.”
The two began walking back to Jeff’s car. “It makes me so grateful for my mom and dad,” Dee said. “Even when Dad’s bazillion voices drive me nuts, we never stop loving each other.” She halted so suddenly, Jeff bumped into her. “Brainstorm!”
“It better be good,” Jeff grumbled, nursing his shoulder.
“It is. I have an idea how we can get intel on Jonas and his real estate dealings. I’ll have my dad call him using one of his voices and pretend he’s looking to invest in property in the area. He can focus on the lake house and the warehouse.”
“That’s an excellent idea,” Jeff acknowledged.
“Luckily, the blow to my head didn’t seem to mess up my brain.” Dee squinted at Jeff. “Although I do see two of you.”
Jeff yanked the driver’s door open. “We’re going straight back to the hospital.”
Dee put a hand on his arm. “Relax, I’m kidding. Payback for the hair ruffling.”
They got into the car. Dee’s phone pinged a text. She read it and groaned.
“What? Bad news?”
“It’s from Raul. He said the security camera at my place only caught the top of my attacker’s head and they had on the hood of a hoodie. But you know why the camera only caught that image? Because a few hours earlier, a couple of squirrels were chasing each other and knocked it out of place. He sent clips.” Dee watched them. “I have to say, those squirrels are pretty cute.”
* * *
After a rapturous reunion with Nugget, Dee called her dad. Sam was elated to make himself useful, especially in a way that utilized his voice-acting talents.
“How’s this?” Sam took on the character of Colonel Cluck. “Ah say, ah say, young man, I would like to avail muhself a’ your ay-bundant properteees.”
“I think you better save that for the chicken chain.”
“I could do Rico the Rat from the adult cartoon I voiced. He’s a New York tough guy. Might intimidate your real estate agent.” He switched into Rico’s voice. “Youz got some properties tah showz me, buddy? I gots some bodies to bury, heh, heh, heh.”
“Um, a little too close to home with the bodies. Also, I’m not sure how a New York mobster would go over up here.”
“Ooh, I know.” Excited, Sam switched gears. When he spoke, it was in the smooth, dulcet tones of a British toff. “Hullo, I’m considering a second home in your lovely state and wondered if I might induce you to share a bit of information on the properties you currently have available. You’ll meet with me? Brilliant. Ta veddy much.”
“We have a winner.” Dee smiled. “Remember, we want whatever details you can get out of Jonas on the lake house and warehouse. Thanks so much, Dad. Or should I say—”
“Ian Devonshire Holmes. If you have three names, people totally buy you’re a Brit.”
“Good luck, Ian. Let me know what happens.”
“I’m on it, Deedle Dee. Love you.”
“Love you too. More than I can say.”
With no other leads to pursue, all Dee could do was wait for a report from her father. Still not feeling a hundred percent, she lay down and snuggled with Nugget for a half hour, then took the pooch on a walk. Even though it was light out, she felt jittery, the trauma from her attack fresh. She kept a constant eye on the woods, and the hand not holding on to Nugget’s leash clutched her trusty can of bear spray.
Nugget stopped to sniff a patch of dirt he found particularly odiferous. Realizing the spot was where she’d fallen when pushed by her assailant, Dee clutched the pepper spray more tightly. “You about done, buddy?” she asked, her anxiety level climbing.
Nugget raised his head. Something glittered on the tip of his nose and Dee bent down to see what it was. She peeled off Verity’s lost fake nail. “Nugs, you found it!” she exclaimed, hugging the dog. “Right where I must’ve dropped it. I’m going to be much more careful this time.”
She placed the nail in the inside pocket of her bomber jacket and zipped it up. A thought occurred to her. Once her attacker knocked her out, they bought themselves a little time to search the area. Especially since they had her powerful flashlight literally in hand. They could have easily hunted down the nail. But they didn’t. Which means whoever conked me on the head probably wasn’t Verity, Dee realized forlornly. It also occurred to her that the culprit made off with her flashlight, which happened to be an expensive model. “I’m out a weapon that could have ID’d my attacker and was a really good flashlight,” she groused to Nugget, leading him back inside the apartment.
She fed Nugget and gave him a bone to gnaw on. While waiting for Sam to get back to her, she cleaned off a few more of the Honestadt prints, a task she’d neglected in order to focus on more pressing matters, like catching a killer. But her attention kept returning to her cell phone. “A watched phone doesn’t ring.” She said this out loud, hoping that would drive home the message. It didn’t work. She fell into a rhythm of clean the artwork, stare at the phone, clean the artwork, stare at the phone, ad infinitum.
Of course, it finally rang when she was in the bathroom.
