“I can get you proof.” He dug into his pocket.
“Easy,” I said, reaching for my gun.
“I’m just getting the keys to the house.”
With a slow, fluid movement, he dug into his pocket and pulled out the keys. Eddie walked to the back door, unlocked it, and stepped inside. He clicked the key fob on his keychain to disable the alarm.
He led the way through the kitchen and across the living room with vaulted ceilings.
Bleached hardwoods lined the floor, and elegant furniture decorated the living room. Expensive modern art hung on the walls. Underwater lighting from the pool glowed the patio, casting caustics on the ceiling. It felt like walking through an aquarium.
"After she staged the suicide, what happened?"
"We left Eden’s boat, boarded Lisa’s boat, and returned to Stingray Bay.”
"Is that her boat?" I asked, looking through the window walls, past the pool to the canal beyond. A 37-foot motor yacht with white trim and a gray hull floated at the dock.
"Yeah, that's Lisa's boat. The Wellspring,” Eddie replied as he climbed the steps.
"And you didn't see a need to report the murder?"
"What was I going to do? I don't exactly have another job lined up. I like this one.”
"So you were willing to become a co-conspirator.”
"I didn’t conspire to do anything. I told you, I had no idea what she was going to do. After it was done, I was in a state of shock. I needed some time to consider my options.”
I regarded him with a healthy dose of skepticism. He would never have come forward unless I had confronted him.
We reached the second floor, and I followed Eddie down the hallway to the master bedroom. He stepped inside and flipped on the light, then crossed to the closet.
I followed behind, keeping a close watch on him. I didn't trust this guy.
Eddie reached a hand into the darkness. Anything could have been hidden in there—a shotgun, a pistol.
With my hand on the grip of my pistol, I was ready for anything.
51
Amotion sensor activated the ambient light.
The closet was larger than my dorm at college. It was more like an upscale boutique. Rows and rows of designer shoes in backlit cubbies. An impressive sneaker collection. Expensive suits and designer dresses. Dark hardwoods in a herringbone pattern added sophistication. A center island housed various drawers and a top display case for watches that cost more than cars. At the far end, a three-way, full-length mirror.
Eddie stepped into the closet and surveyed the dresses. He pulled a black sleeveless Donna Vatelli from the rack. Eddie looked it over and handed it to me.
“It’s not my size.”
“Lisa was wearing this when she shot Eden. She sent it to the dry cleaner.”
There was a good chance the dry cleaning had actually preserved the DNA, as opposed to tossing it into the wash with bleach.
I fumbled through my pockets for nitrile gloves. I pulled out a pair, then snapped them on.
Eddie came across with a hard left hook. His meaty fist clocked my jaw and twisted my head aside. The blow rattled my skull and sent a shockwave down my spine. The tinny, metallic taste of blood filled my mouth.
I came back like a cobra with a hard left. My knuckles cracked his face and bent his nose. Blood spewed, and he staggered back.
He threw another left.
