The Quickie - James Patterson [49]
I wanted to say no. With a bullhorn. Brooke and I were the last two females on Earth who needed to bond. But like any red-blooded American woman given the choice between her sensible desires and a guilt-laced obligation, I, of course, agreed.
“That would be really great. I could use some coffee. And please, my name is Lauren.”
Chapter 71
I BLINKED AS I MADE MY WAY down the Thayers’ creaky, musty basement stairs. Wasn’t the point of love affairs to have no strings attached? I had to get out of here before I was put in charge of sorting Scott’s grammar school pictures, and then his underwear drawer.
I walked past a water heater and the laundry room and finally opened a plywood door covered with a Giants poster featuring Michael Strahan.
I stood still on the threshold after I turned on the light.
After the dark, oily-smelling outer basement, I was expecting to enter a typically male basement office. Tools scattered on a plywood desk. Maybe a dot-matrix printer on top of piles of Sports Illustrated in the corner.
So when I feasted my eyes on what looked like Don Corleone’s office from The Godfather, I have to admit, I was a little surprised.
The walls were paneled in dark-stained oak. The antique mahogany desk looked like something made from an old ship. On top of it sat an Apple PowerBook.
There was a black leather couch and, on the wall to my right, a 42-inch Plasma TV. On top of a low bookshelf behind the desk, I counted three cell phones and a BlackBerry busily charging.
Oh brother, I thought, dread plunging through my nervous system as I put down the box beside the laptop. First, the money in Scott’s locker, now this fancy hideaway in the basement of his house.
I’d chosen a real multifaceted guy to sleep with, hadn’t I?
Maybe between stuffing dirty money under his footwear and sleeping with married cops, Scott was Batman.
I sank into the leather office chair and closed my eyes for a few seconds. Discovering Scott’s executive den made me more than a little concerned. Could he have made an itinerary of where he was heading the night he was killed? In my mind, I pictured a leather-bound calendar book with Lauren 11PM written right under the date of his death. Stranger things had happened in homicide cases.
I hastily looked through the laptop, BlackBerry, and cell phones but, thankfully, didn’t find my name or number anywhere.
After I was done, I noticed a file cabinet and an armoire-size metal locker standing in the left-hand corner of the room.
I listened for Brooke’s footsteps on the stairs as I stepped toward them.
Both, of course, were locked.
I tossed Scott’s desk before I found a tiny key ring among the contents of the pencil holder. The key opened the cabinet but not the locker.
My sweaty fingers nearly slipped off the handle as I rolled open the first heavy drawer.
I was partially relieved when I saw that the files looked like typical home office stuff. Folders marked “Income Tax,” “Credit Cards,” “Car Repairs,” “Dentist.”
“Lauren?” I heard Brooke call down from the top of the stairs. “Are you all right?”
I hope so, I thought.
“Just a minute,” I called, riffling through more files. “I’m almost finished, Brooke.”
I turned to leave after closing the last file drawer. But then I had to stick my hand under the top drawer of the desk, a nasty Homicide cop habit.
And found a DVD carefully taped to its underside.
Chapter 72
MY HEART RICOCHETED off my chest as I peeled the DVD away from the double-sided tape.
“INSURANCE” was written across it in blue marker.
Turning it in the fluorescent light, I found Scott’s ever-increasing mysterious side really intriguing. Well, maybe terrifying was a more accurate description.
What kind of insurance comes in DVD form? The kind a man who keeps his 401K under his shoe might need, I answered myself.
Take it or leave it? I thought.
I slid it into my bag.
I guess I was taking it.
A white minivan was pulling to a stop outside