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“We can only hope and pray nothing serious has happened to her,” she said, packing the stacks of papers into a folder. She told me she’d see me tomorrow and left.
I reread the insurance policy and found it odd that he’d take out a policy for his lover unless they’d planned to be together. Maybe he was thinking of divorcing Brooke. I knew I couldn’t talk to Brooke about that because she’d wonder why I had her and her deceased husband’s financial records. Any probing questions would need to come from the police.
The rest of the day flew by, considering I’d taken another nap and prepped dinner for when Jonesy got home. He walked in the door just as I finished making the green salad to go with our pasta dish.
“Hey, babe,” I said, giving him a little snicker, glancing at his outfit.
“No comments,” he replied with a frown.
“Dinner will be ready once you’ve showered and changed. I wanna hear all about what happened today. I also have something to share with you.”
“Okay. I’ll be right back,” he replied before heading down the hall.
Fifteen minutes later, Jonesy sauntered into the kitchen. “Sorry I didn’t call today. It was an interesting day. You said you had something to share? I have something to share with you as well,” he said, leaning in to kiss me. “Dinner smells great, Howler.” He moved behind me to kiss the back of my neck, giving me goosebumps. The weight of my cock shifted, and I knew if I didn’t stay on task, we’d never eat.
After we’d had our fill and were settled at the table, I brought up what Chloe and I had discovered. “Chloe and I haven’t gone through everything yet, but she came across a life insurance policy belonging to Raymond.” I got up, went to the coffee table, and brought it back for him to see. “That beneficiary’s name is familiar.”
Jonesy took the document and flipped to the second page, where Dashell Matthews’ name was listed. Confusion crossed his expression, and he looked at me.
“Dashell Matthews, babe. Dash was Raymond Chandler’s lover,” I said, pointing to the document. “I’d say that might be a motive.”
Jonesy kept his frown and asked, “But for whom? Brooke, because she found out about this policy, or Dash, to make a quick buck from Raymond’s death? Unless you found a money trail linking Brooke to who she hired to cut the brake line, she may not be the prime suspect.”
“Then I think you need to have a little chat with Dash. I’ll bet you money something went down between the two men from the time I told her about Dash and when his car went into that ravine,” I replied. A smile broke across Jonesy’s face. He seemed to have relaxed a bit after hearing the news, though I wanted to think it was because of the fabulous dinner I’d prepared.
“What did you find out today? Any news about the latest missing woman?” I asked.
“No. The police and FBI searched everywhere today. We think she’s already been taken somewhere. I spent most of my time following Sami today to see if he might lead me to someone or to some hidden area. But along with that, guess who showed up backstage today?”
“Who?”
“Our slimy friend, Sheriff Chet Landon. In uniform, no less.”
“Whoa. Did he see you?”
“No. I was too far away when I spotted him, and I stayed clear. The makeup stations kept me out of the way of backstage foot traffic,” he replied. “Oh, and I spotted two gentlemen in suits on stage yesterday and was able to get a clear photo of them. I sent them to forensics last night to see if they could blow up the faces for identification.”
“Anyone we’ve dealt with or know?” I asked.
“The lab sent me enhanced photos this morning. You might be interested in looking at one of them,” he replied, standing up and pulling out his phone. That fired my curiosity. Jonesy scrolled through the photos on his phone and passed it to me. The first photo was of a relatively handsome guy about our age. “This guy is the manager of the Palace Hotel, a Michael Lewis, so it makes sense that he’d be interested in what the production crew was doing. Now… swipe to the next pic and look at the last name.”
When I did, I almost dropped his phone. My blood ran cold as I looked at the image on the screen. Not only did it show the man’s face clearly, but it also displayed his name on the visitor’s badge hanging from his suit jacket. I stood, phone in hand, and walked into the living room.
The name read Mr. Oz Sheffield, but the face I would never forget until my dying day.
“What’s wrong?” Jonesy asked.
“Fuck me running!” I exclaimed. “I know this man, babe. He is not Oz Sheffield, the man he claims to be. He is none other than Oliver Callahan!”
Oliver Callahan. The man who, along with his nephew, had kidnapped my best friend, Wynn, and had escaped without a trace years earlier.
39
JONESY
“You’re fucking shitting me,” I said as I joined him in the living room. Memories flooded back to the day we’d rescued Wynn. “Why would that asshole come back to San Francisco and risk being discovered?”
Oliver Callahan had served as the majordomo of the Summers estate before disappearing without a trace. Drs. Jonathan and Erika Summers were Wynn’s parents, and Wynn had grown up in that household while Oliver worked there. After years of plotting revenge against the Summers, Oliver recruited his gay nephew, who dated Wynn as part of the scheme. Oliver blamed Dr. Jonathan Summers for his brother’s death during surgery. Although the death was because of a fatal reaction to anesthesia, Oliver still blamed Wynn’s father.
