Finding Shayla Page 5

  Bremer nodded.

  “I understand. Well, you already have a car. You want to take a couple uniforms with you?”

  “I’d like that, sir,” Cayenne said. “In case Sh-Mrs. Gardner gives us any trouble.”

  But she didn’t really want anyone with her. She wanted to find Shayla, to talk to her, to explain self-defense. She needed to remain professional, though. She couldn’t let hormones, or whatever else she was feeling, interfere with bringing her in.

  Bremer stood, signaling the end of their meeting.

  “I’ll have a couple of my men meet you out front. Here are the keys to your car. Good luck, O’Leary.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  She met the officers and had them follow her to a street in a middle-class neighborhood. The houses, mostly ranch, were in good shape with yards that were all perfectly manicured. Cayenne found Mrs. Richardson’s address and pulled into the empty driveway. The uniforms parked on the street. Cayenne walked over to them.

  “Stay here,” she said. “I’ll radio you if I need you.”

  They nodded their understanding and Cayenne walked to the front door. Her heart was in her chest. What if Shayla was there? Would she listen to Cayenne? Would she make a run for it? She hoped it wasn’t the latter. She really wanted to help her. She wanted to bring her back and let her stand trial for self-defense. She was certain Shayla wouldn’t do time. She just had to convince her of that.

  She took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and knocked on the door. And waited. The door was opened by a short, gray haired woman, who wore her hair in a Dorothy Hamill hairstyle of years gone by.

  “May I help you?” she closed the door until it was only a crack.

  “My name is Sheriff O’Leary. I’m sheriff of Lazu, Arizona. Are you Mrs. Richardson?”

  “I am.”

  “Mrs. Richardson, I’m looking for your daughter. Is she here?”

  “No.”

  “May I come in and talk to you?”

  “Show me some identification. Anyone can show up in a sheriff costume and accost an old woman.”

  “Fair enough,” Cayenne said. She reached into her back pocket and pulled out her billfold. She showed Mrs. Richardson her badge and her identification. Mrs. Richardson seemed satisfied, as she opened the door.

  “Won’t you come in?”

  “Thank you.” Cayenne took off her hat and followed Mrs. Richardson to a neat and tidy kitchen.

  “Can I get you a cup of coffee?” she said.

  “That would be nice.”

  Mrs. Richardson poured them coffee and led Cayenne to a large living room. Cayenne noted the pictures of Shayla on the mantle. She walked over to examine them.

  “Do you mind?” she said.

  “Not at all.”

  The photos were all of Shayla as a younger woman. She scoped them all out but didn’t see any recent ones. And there were none with Robin.

  “May I ask what this is about?” Mrs. Richardson interrupted Cayenne’s musings.

  Cayenne searched for the right words to soften the blow but couldn’t come up with anything. She decided to be direct.

  “Is your daughter here?” she said.

  “No. Why?”

  “Has she been here?”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  Cayenne showed Mrs. Richardson a photo of Robin.

  “Do you know him?”

  “Of course.”

  “Did Shayla tell you what happened to him?”

  “She told me the rat bastard had finally left her.”

  The language shocked Cayenne, but she kept her face neutral.

  “We found him, Mrs. Richardson. He’s dead.”

  She let the words sink in. Mrs. Richardson’s hands flew to her mouth. She sank back against the couch.

  “Dead?” she said.

  “Yes, ma’am. Murdered. And your daughter is nowhere to be found.”

  “She couldn’t have killed him. She’d never hurt a fly. That man was horrible. I don’t know what all he did to Shayla, but she was a prisoner in her own home. She wasn’t even allowed to communicate with me. I don’t know who killed him, but it wasn’t Shayla. Whoever it was though certainly did her a favor.”

  ***

  Shayla and Daisy went shopping before Saturday’s big party. Shayla wasn’t feeling particularly pretty at the moment. She’d killed. She’d actually taken someone’s life. She felt disgusted with herself. Not to mention, Chicago was teeming with police officers. Every time Shayla saw one, she wondered if they were coming to arrest her. It was no way to live. She hated herself and wondered if she should beg off for the evening.

  “What is going on in that beautiful head of yours?” Daisy asked as they entered a store. “You look positively miserable. This is supposed to be fun. Talk to me. What’s up?”

  “Nothing. I just had some doubts as to whether I should even go to this party.”

  “Not go? Are you insane? This is your chance to see and be seen.”

  “But it’s been so long. What if I make a fool of myself?”

  “Darling. I know you. You’re wonderful. You’re not going to make a fool of yourself. You’re going to meet some movers and shakers. And you’re going to knock ’em dead.”

  She looped her arm through Shayla’s and guided her back to the cocktail dress section.

  “I still can’t believe you don’t own a little black dress,” Daisy said.

  “It’s been years.”

  “Oh, Shayla, look at this.”

  It wasn’t black, but it was beautiful. She tried it on. It was green, with sleeves that opened as they got to her wrist. The dress clung to her figure and fell halfway down her thighs. It had a boat neck so she wouldn’t feel exposed. And, Lord, how it brought out her eyes.

  “This is it,” Daisy said. “Let’s buy it.”

  Shayla felt as giddy as a schoolgirl.

  “Yes,” she said. “Let’s.”

  The price was more than her allowance for a year, but she no longer had an allowance. She paid for it then wandered down Michigan Avenue to look for shoes, makeup, and jewelry. Once Daisy proclaimed her outfit was ready, they said their good-byes with Daisy promising to pick her up at seven for dinner before the party.

  That left Shayla with four hours to get ready. Four hours alone with her thoughts. The guilt creeped back in again. She shouldn’t be partying. She should be hiding. She should be running. She was running. She was simply going to a party before heading on to bigger things.

  Her stomach turned to liquid as she thought again of Robin laying in the pool of his own blood on her living room floor. He’d been beating her again and she’d had enough. She tried to strangle him, but he just strangled her in return. She’d thought she was going to die. She kneed him in his groin and while he bent over in pain, she grabbed the knight off the mantle and pounded his head with it. The thought of how his skull crunched was too much. She rushed to the toilet and lost her lunch.

  She sat on the cool tile of the bathroom floor and sobbed. She let it all out. She was tired of holding everything in. She’d lived her life that way for too long. She deserved to be free, damn it. She had earned the right to be happy.

  Fortified by this train of thought, Shayla showered, dressed, did her makeup, and brushed her hair until it shone. She applied her jewelry and stared at the woman in the mirror. She looked more like the Shayla of old than ever. She did deserve this, damn it. Maybe she’d be discovered tonight. Maybe she’d be the star she always should have been.

  The knock on her door startled her. She looked through the peephole to see a stunning looking Daisy standing there. No, this wasn’t her friend Daisy. This was Destiny, the star. She opened the door and welcomed her in.

  “Oh, my God,” breathed Daisy. “Look at you. You’ll be the belle of the ball tonight.”

  Shayla smoothed imaginary wrinkles from the front of her dress.

  “Do I really look okay?”

  “You look marvelous. Now,
come on. We can’t be late for dinner.”

  Shayla picked at her dinner, too nervous and excited to eat.

  “Eat up,” Daisy said. “You’ll be drinking tonight, and we can’t have you getting shitfaced. You’ll be sipping champagne and you know how that can go to your head. Come on now. I mean it. Eat.”

  Shayla finished her pasta then followed Daisy to the restroom where they touched up their makeup and brushed their teeth. Shayla took a deep breath to steel her nerves. She was ready.

  The party was in a penthouse suite on scenic Lakeshore Drive. It was decorated in black and white and there were already quite a few people there when Shayla and Daisy arrived. A handsome blond man with a goatee approached them.

  “Destiny.” He kissed her cheek. “You look ravishing. And who’s your friend?”

  “Martin, this is Shayla. Shayla, this is Martin. He does our makeup.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Shayla said.

  “Enchanted.” Martin kissed Shayla’s knuckles. “Now, don’t let me bogart you two. Mix. Mingle. Meet people.”

  He sashayed off and Shayla swallowed a laugh.

  “He seems nice enough,” she said.

  “He’s a doll. Now come on. Let’s get some champagne. Remember, sip dear.”

  “I will. I’m not about to get drunk.”

  She flashed back to the last time she was drunk. She’d ended up in a motel with a sexy law enforcement officer. Cayenne. She wondered who she really was. She almost hoped their paths would cross again, but she couldn’t get near the law. She couldn’t go to jail. She just couldn’t.

  “Darling, you’re pale as a ghost. What on earth goes on in that head of yours?”

  Before she could answer, she heard someone call out to Destiny. She turned to see Daisy’s leading man approaching. He was a tall, dark haired man with broad shoulders. His eyes were brown, which Shayla thought odd since they were blue on the show. Contacts she reasoned. She needed to remember. This was no ordinary party. This was a party of show business. And, damn it, she belonged.

  Chapter Eight

  “I appreciate what you’re saying. I really do,” Cayenne said. “But I need to find your daughter. We have reason to believe she’s been here.”

  “She came here.” Mrs. Richardson looked defiant. She stuck out her chin like she dared Cayenne to take a swing. “But she left. Said she was going to visit some old college friends.”

  “Did she say where she was going?”

  “No. I have no idea where she went. She could be anywhere.”

  “Have you heard from her since she left?”

  “No. She hasn’t called.”

  Cayenne blew out a frustrated breath.

  “What kind of car is she driving?”

  “I have no idea,” Mrs. Richardson said. “It’s white. And it looks like a station wagon, sort of.”

  That could be just about any car on the market. Not helpful.

  “Thanks for your time, Mrs. Richardson. I appreciate it. If you hear from her, please let me know. Again, I just want to talk to her.” She handed Mrs. Richardson her card.

  “You want to arrest her.”

  “No, ma’am. We just need to find out what happened. Please. Help me help her.”

  Mrs. Richardson walked Cayenne to the front door.

  “Thank you for your time,” Cayenne said. “I really appreciate it.”

  “Good day, Sheriff.”

  Cayenne got in her car and drove back to the station. She met with Bremer again.

  “Can I use your computer system? I need to log into the Arizona DMV data base.”

  “Sure. Come on. I’ll take you to an empty office.” He took Cayenne down the hall and let her get comfortable. “If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

  She pulled up the Arizona DMV database. She typed in Shayla Gardner and waited. No results. That was odd. Then she remembered how controlling Robin was. She typed his name in. It brought up the Toyota Tacoma, which she knew about. The search kept going until it brought up a Chevrolet Traverse. Bingo.

  She called Chief Bryson and told him to be on the lookout for it, just in case she came back to Casa Grande. Not that she thought Shayla would ever be back. She sat back after hanging up and wondered where to go from here?

  Shayla could be anywhere. Anywhere at all. She logged into the nationwide highway law enforcement website and entered the car and the license plate. She entered her phone number as a contact. Under the reason to be on the lookout, she simply put wanted for questioning. She hated to think that Shayla had actually killed Robin. But who else would have done it? And, if innocent, why had Shayla run?

  Cayenne knew she had no more reason to stay away from Lazu. She had no idea which direction Shayla had gone. Right now, she was at a dead end. She thanked Chief Bremer for his help and called a cab to the airport. She felt impotent again. She needed to catch a break.

  She landed in Casa Grande and drove back to Lazu. It was too late to go to the office, and she had nothing to do even if she went in. So she drove to her house and poured herself two fingers of whiskey. She swallowed it in two gulps and poured another.

  Cayenne sat in her living room, sipping her next whiskey, and tried to remember anything she could from her night with Shayla. At the bar, at the motel, what had they talked about? She grew frustrated as the blank spots outnumbered the lucid ones.

  She finished her drink and went to bed. She lay awake, sleep eluding her. She fought to remember more about that evening. Surely she could remember more. Something about Shayla had touched Cayenne. It was more than the fear in her eyes, the story of an abusive husband. Something had awakened feelings in Cayenne she thought she’d buried for good. There had to be more about that night. Why couldn’t she remember?

  ***

  Shayla kept to herself while Daisy got drawn from one group to another. Shayla had tried to keep up, but eventually gave up and found a spot where she could look out over the skyline of Chicago.

  “What’s a beauty like yourself doing all alone?” a deep, melodic voice said in her ear.

  Startled, she turned to see a handsome blonde woman with piercing blue eyes that reminded her of Cayenne’s. Where had that come from? She held it together while she took in the gorgeous figure the woman cut in her tailored tux.

  “Hi,” Shayla managed.

  “I don’t believe we’ve met. Though that surprises me,” the woman said. “I’m Jazz Ringoli.”

  Jazz Ringoli? The name sounded familiar, but Shayla couldn’t place it.

  “I’m Shayla.”

  “The name’s not familiar either. How is it we haven’t met?”

  “I’m a friend of Daisy’s. Destiny’s. We were in drama together in college.”

  “Ah, so you are an actress? Are you any good?”

  Shayla laughed. “I was. I was the leading lady for four years, but that was a while ago. I’d like to try again though. Maybe.” She shrugged.

  “Well then, you’re in the right place. Come, let’s get you more champagne and some hors d’ oeuvres. I’m famished and shouldn’t be drinking on an empty stomach.”

  Shayla smiled. She felt kinship with this woman. Sure, she seemed like maybe she could help Shayla, but there was more. She couldn’t deny the fluttering in her stomach at the way Jazz devoured her with her eyes.

  They found the table with the food on it and Jazz piled it on her plate. She helped herself to a glass of bubbly and led Shayla to another balcony on the other side of the building. She motioned for Shayla to get the door and Shayla followed her outside.

  Shayla was in awe of the view of Lake Michigan. It stretched forever. She stood at the railing, mesmerized.

  “Would you care to join me?” Jazz was sitting at a round table and Shayla smiled at her.

  “Of course. I’m sorry. It’s just, the view.”

  “Yes. It’s magnificent. I take it you don’t live here in Chicago?”

  “Technically, I’m just visiting. But it’s been so nice re
connecting with Daisy that I may just put down roots.”

  “I think I’d be very happy if you chose to do that.”

  Shayla felt herself blush and was grateful for the dark night sky to hide it.

  “So, Jazz… May I call you Jazz?”

  “Of course.”

  “How do you know Daisy?”

  Jazz smiled broadly.

  “I’m her director.”

  Shayla felt like an idiot. She cursed herself for not knowing that.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve lived a very sheltered existence over the past few years. I only watched Wit’s End the other night. It’s marvelous. Really.”

  “I’m not here fishing for compliments, Shayla. So you can relax. It’s okay that you’ve never heard of me. It’s a good thing in fact. We can just be two women getting to know each other. Would you like that?” Shayla nodded. “Where are you from, Shayla?”

  “Most recently, Arizona. I married my college sweetheart and stayed in that godforsaken state.”

  Jazz smiled at her.

  “And that sweetheart, was it a man or a woman, if I may be so bold?”

  The butterflies in Shayla’s stomach were flying at Mach speed.

  “Ugh. He was a man. A horrible, detestable man.”

  “Ah. I see. So you’ve sworn off men now?”

  “I’ll never be involved with another one.”

  “And women?” said Jazz.

  Shayla’s mind drifted back to her night with Cayenne. How right it had felt. And the kisses? Her pulse raced.

  “I like women,” Shayla said quietly.

  “That’s a good thing. For both of us.” Jazz winked.

  “And you, Jazz? Are you a native Chicagoan?”

  “Oh, no. I cut my teeth in Detroit. I worked there for years before deciding I needed to make it big. Really big. So I moved to Hollywood.”

  “Hollywood? I was thinking of going there myself. Or New York.”

  “Both good places to get a break. I liked Hollywood. I liked Southern California. I used to surf every morning before work.”

  Shayla laughed.

  “That sounds peaceful, though I’d probably kill myself surfing.” Jazz laughed, too. It was deep, soft, and melodic, much like her voice. “Then how did you end up in Chicago?”