“Sure.” Though I don’t know that I’ll do anything with it. Yet. “Is there a Jay in her contacts list?”
“No, but there is a Jace Everett.”
My heart leaps with anticipation. “Are there any texts between them?”
“Quite a few, from August to October.”
I smile, though I’m far from happy. Vindication at last. That lying asshole. “What did they say?”
“They were definitely meeting, but it’s not clear for what, or where. That’s not abnormal though. Any john paying for sex isn’t going to spell it out in a text. Half of these numbers probably aren’t even their normal phones. These guys tend to get prepaids for their hookers.”
I scowl at his choice of words.
“Don’t get too excited yet. Maybe he only knew her as ‘Maggie.’ ”
“But her diary made it sound—”
“You want it to sound like he knows Celine.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s what Detective Childs would say.”
“Something else I noticed—her journal log shows that she stopped with the escort services in late July.”
“Really?” I missed that part. I sigh. Too many questions still. “What about Larissa? When was their last text?”
“July as well. Celine didn’t text much to begin with, from the looks of it. Mainly just to Larissa, you . . . a few to someone named Grady.”
My eyes dart to the man lying next to me, who’s now sliding off the condom and tugging up his track pants. An edge of distrust pricks me. He said he never talked to her. “About what?”
“Her oven element being out . . . Her fridge wasn’t cold . . . toilet . . . Oh, here, she mentioned the window lock seeming a bit too loose. She was worried. That was only a few weeks ago.”
“Okay, that all makes sense.” He’s the building super. She was asking him to come by and fix things.
Grady wraps the blanket around my shoulders, covering me against the cold winter’s night as my teeth start to chatter.
“Zac is going to search out the phone records to see what more we can find and how many calls were exchanged between Jace and Celine. I can pay Larissa a visit tomorrow and feel her out, but I doubt she’ll talk to me.”
“No. I’ll go.” An angry thrill shoots through my chilled body. I want to look into this woman’s eyes when she explains to me how she lured Celine down this ugly path.
CHAPTER 17
Celine
July 28, 2015
“Hey, do you have a few minutes?”
“For you? Always,” Larissa purrs into my ear, though I can hear her heels clicking frantically against tile in the background. On her way to court or a meeting, or whatever it is that real estate lawyers do.
Suddenly, I’m nervous. “Okay, so here’s the thing: I’m not sure I can do this anymore.” I don’t need to spell it out; she knows what I’m talking about.
“Is this about what happened the other night? Because that issue has been dealt with, I promise. He and the people who gave him references are on my shit list now.”
I shudder. “I’m not comfortable going back. Not right now anyway.”
“Okay.” She doesn’t hide the disappointment in her voice. I’ve made Larissa a lot of money over the last three years, after all. “But how are you going to afford to do this?”
I don’t know. “I’ll manage. I should have enough savings to get me through until I move back to San Diego in December, to be with my mom.” I’m not really even sure how much her meds are going to cost.
In reality, my savings could be wiped out in two months.
“Well, you know where to find me if you change your mind. Maybe all you need is a break?”
“Yeah. Maybe. Thanks for being so understanding.”
“Take care, sweetie. Gotta go.”
I hang up, anxiety gnawing away at my stomach.
CHAPTER 18
Maggie
December 6, 2015
I smile at the security guard as he sits unmoving, watching me saunter toward the front desk. “I’m here to see Larissa Savoy, please.” I tried her cell earlier this morning—twice—but she didn’t answer. I decided I couldn’t wait.
He picks up the phone and dials, while I study the glitzy lobby of this prewar boutique condo in the heart of Midtown south. Larissa has clearly done very well for herself.
I wonder just how much of it is on account of her career as a lawyer.
“Your name, miss?” he asks.
“My name is Maggie Sparkes. I’m a friend of Celine Gonzalez.”
I watch the middle-aged man repeat my words and listen to the speaker on the other end of the line. I’m expecting to be turned away, preparing exactly what I’ll say to convince her that she needs to meet with me—now—when he waves me toward the elevators.
Fantastic.
Luckily, I’m more apprehensive about this meeting than about my own mental issues in the elevator at the moment.
The second I lay eyes on Larissa Savoy, I can tell that she’s both a lawyer and a whore. Okay, maybe “whore” is too judgmental. But we started off on the wrong foot long before she ever opened her mahogany door.
“Miss Sparkes?” She pushes a hand through a thick, shoulder-length mane of auburn hair. Equally wary eyes—pretty, deep amber, and almond-shaped—survey the simple pants-and-blouse outfit I pulled from Celine’s closet this morning, partially hidden under a winter white coat. Also Celine’s.
“Yes.”
Her slippered feet slide back several steps to allow room for me. “Has something happened to Celine? I haven’t spoken to her in a few months.”
Since the end of July, if the cell phone records are accurate. “Yes.” My gaze wanders around the corner unit, the view of the Empire State Building spectacular. “She killed herself.” While I’m not convinced of that, no one else besides Ruby, Doug, and Detective Childs needs to know that yet.
Larissa’s hands fly to her mouth to cover her gasp. It’s one of those gasps that makes me suspicious. Then again, everything makes me suspicious lately. It’s not a far distance to her couch, and she somewhat staggers over to take a seat, her dark complexion ashen.
I’ll admit, it’s hard to fake that reaction.
Finally, she manages a ragged, “How?”