“Very minimal, mostly about Bacco or charity events,” Kendall replied
“Any way to tell if his schedule changed in the last year?” he asked. Leo started tapping at his keyboard, Kendall hovering over his shoulder.
A few minutes later, he looked up. “Based on his credit card bills, it did. A subtle shift, but it changed. Seven months ago, he went out for dinner or drinks at least four to five times a week. Four months ago, it was two times a week. In the month before he died, he went out only three times.”
“But he was still hosting his parties,” Monk said. “Or at least one,” he added. He didn’t like reminding Kendall of her mother and the situation that resulted in her landing at the castle. Darting a glance her way, he breathed a little easier seeing her glued to Leo’s screen.
“He had a separate account he used to cover the cost of those—food, alcohol. Other things,” Leo said. Monk was glad he forwent describing those other things. Neither he nor Kendall needed those details.
“Last year, he hosted an average of two parties a month, each lasting two nights. In the last four months, he hosted three total,” Leo said.
“He slowed that down, too,” Monk said. “What does that mean, Scipio?”
“K?” Scipio asked, turning away from the board.
“Yeah?”
“Did Justin have social media?”
She nodded. “The usual accounts.”
“Any pictures with Kelly, Kurt, or Roger?”
“Kelly and Roger, yes. Derek, too. Not many, but a few from community events,” she replied.
“Any chance he posted videos?” Scipio asked.
Kendall stilled, then lunged for her phone. “I didn’t check that. I’ll do it now.”
“You think he was the second voice?” Lovell asked. “The one talking to Kelly?”
Scipio didn’t answer. “What do we know about Trish?”
“In the middle of a divorce from her second husband, Mark Pena,” Leo said. “Former resident of Miami. Worked for Pena’s lighting import company while they were married.”
“She seems like a woman who would have social media. K, can you check hers, too?”
“On it,” Kendall said without looking up.
The room fell silent again. Helia shifted, leaning into him. Lifting an arm, he wrapped it around her shoulders. The tension in her body told him she was awake, but her eyes drifted closed.
The sudden blare of audio from Kendall’s phone startled everyone, sending an uncomfortable ripple of laughter through the room.
“Sorry,” Kendall winced, lowering the volume. The room quieted as the sound of a man’s voice, presumably Flannery’s, went on, humblebragging about his VIP access to BottleRock, the annual music festival held in the valley.
“It was him,” Kendall said, ending the video. “He was the one talking to Kelly. I’ll look up Trish now,” she added, as if she hadn’t just identified a killer.
“Helia?” Scipio said.
“Yeah?”
“Do you know who Sundaram orders its food from?”
“Yes, but not off the top of my head. We have a lot of vendors. Some we use regularly; those are mostly local. We also have a cadre of ones for the specialty items we need only when an event calls for them—things like spices from Thailand or India, fish from Japan, wine from Italy.”
“Can Leo access that list?”
Her hazel eyes searched Scipio’s face, then slowly, she nodded. “Our vendor management application is cloud-based. If you give me a laptop, I can log in to the system for you.”
