Murder Served Hot Read online

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  About the author

  Murder Served Hot

  The Fifth Nikki Hunter Mystery

  Copyright © 2016 by Nancy Skopin

  All rights reserved.

  First Edition: March 2016

  Cover and Formatting: Streetlight Graphics

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication

  These books could not be completed without an amazing team:

  Editor – Juliann Stark

  Proofreaders – Nicoli Baily & Max Ferry

  Law Enforcement Consultant – Mark Pollio

  Chapter 1

  “I’d like to tell you a little bit about myself,” Brooke Evans began, “so you’ll understand the choices I’ve made.”

  “Okay,” I said, already curious.

  “I’ve always been attracted to bad boys. You know the type. Slightly dangerous, extremely macho, emotionally distant. Most of them are assholes. The last guy I dated was a major jerk. After we’d been seeing each other for a few months he tried to get me to have a three-way with him and another woman. We got back to his place after dinner one night and he said he had a surprise for me. There was a naked woman in his bed, waiting for us. She was really slutty-looking too. Probably a prostitute.

  “I’d had a lot to drink, but I wasn’t that drunk. I said no and tried to leave, but he wouldn’t let me. He hit me in the face and threw me down on the bed. Then he made me watch while he screwed her. I guess he thought it would make me hot or something, but it was disgusting. I managed to get out the door and that was it for me. No more bad boys. I decided to look for someone nice. A month later I met Stanley. He’s a CPA. He did my taxes. Who could be more harmless than an accountant, right?”

  I was dumbfounded. I motioned for her to go on.

  “Stanley and I have been dating for eleven months now, since March, and last week he asked me to marry him. I was kind of surprised because we’ve never even had sex. I think he’s old fashioned, you know, and wants to wait until we’re married. Anyway, ever since he proposed he’s been acting really weird. He wants to know where I am all the time, my apartment has to be spotless, and he makes me get on the scale every time I see him. If I gain an ounce, or I’m even a minute late when we’re going out, he gets upset.

  “At first I thought it was kind of cute and quirky. But now I think maybe he has that obsessive compulsive thing. OCD? Stanley says ‘You have to establish strict control over everything in your life in order to maintain balance.’ I guess that kind of makes sense, but it’s getting old, if you know what I mean. He makes me carry a pager, and I think he might be having me followed. He’s a very sweet guy, but I’m beginning to think marrying him might be a mistake.”

  I’d never missed an episode of Monk, when it was on TV, and immediately flashed on the OCD Detective’s relationship with his wife, Trudy. I was tempted to ask if Stanley ever kissed her or held her hand, but I didn’t think it was any of my business at this point.

  “So, what would you like me to do?” I asked.

  “I want you to run a complete background check on me, and one on Stanley. If he checks up on me and finds out about my past, the kind of guys I dated before I met him, I think he’ll flip. So I want to know if that kind of information is available. And I want you to follow me to see if I’m being followed by someone else. And I want you to follow Stanley.”

  “I usually work alone,” I said. “If you want Stanley followed at the same time as I’m tailing you, I’ll have to bring in an associate or two. This is going to be expensive.”

  “I have money. My parents passed away two years ago. They were very well off, and they had a huge life insurance policy. I was an only child.”

  “Okay. I’ll need your social security number for the background report. And I’ll need Stanley’s driver’s license or social security number.”

  Brooke took the notepad I handed her and wrote down her social security number. “I don’t know Stanley’s,” she said. “And I’ve never even seen his driver’s license. I can give you his date of birth and his address.”

  She wrote the info on the notepad and handed it back to me. Stanley’s last name was Godard. “This is his home address,” she said, pointing to a line she’d written on the notepad, “And this is his office.”

  “That’s a start. But try to get a look at his driver’s license for me. I can’t do a background check without either that or his social security number.”

  Brooke was a strikingly beautiful woman in her early thirties. Aristocratic features, intelligent brown eyes, a radiant complexion, and lustrous brown hair with subtle blonde highlights. She had a well-toned body, which was evident because she was wearing shorts and a tank top. It was late February, but spring had hit the California coast early and it was already seventy-three degrees outside. Brooke also had a subtle drawl. The whole package brought to mind the quintessential Southern belle.

  My name is Nicoli Hunter. I’m a private investigator licensed to practice in the state of California. My office is in Redwood City, in a marina complex where I also live aboard my forty-two foot Cheoy Lee Motorsailer, Turning Point. I’ve been a PI for almost three years now, not counting the two years I spent in training. I’m thirty-six, five foot seven, and a hundred and thirty-four pounds, with long chestnut-brown hair and dark blue eyes. I’m no slouch in the looks department, but Brooke almost made me feel plain.

  “Do you have a photograph of Stanley?” I asked.

  She withdrew her wallet from her Chloe shoulder bag and flipped it open. Removing a small picture from one of the compartments, she hesitated before giving it to me.

  “Can you make a copy of this?” she asked. “It’s the only one I have, and I’m afraid he’ll notice if it’s missing.”

  “He keeps track of what’s in your wallet?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “I’ll scan it,” I said.

  She handed over the photo and I slipped it into my color scanner. While I was running the scan application I told her my ho
urly rate.

  “If I bring in another PI, I’ll also be charging you for their time and expenses. I’ll need a deposit to get things started.”

  I saved and printed the scanned picture and handed her the photo. Brooke slid the picture back into her wallet and took out her checkbook.

  “How much do you need?” she asked.

  I did some quick calculations in my head, adding up my time and that of a colleague, mileage, and the expense of the background checks.

  “If you want someone to watch both you and Stanley twenty-four hours a day, the first week will cost you around thirty-four thousand. Twenty thousand if you only want to be followed during daylight hours.”

  “Can you follow me from when I get off work until, say, midnight? And watch Stanley during the day?”

  “Sure.”

  She wrote me a check for thirty thousand dollars and placed it on my desk blotter. I picked it up.

  “Is this your current address?”

  “Yes. My home phone number is on there too.”

  I filled in the blanks on my standard contract and printed two copies. Brooke didn’t even read it before signing on the dotted line. I signed a copy and held it out to her.

  “I can’t take that,” she said. “What if he finds it?”

  “Brooke, this is none of my business, but if you’re so nervous around Stanley, why are you still seeing him?”

  “He’s not a bad guy. He’s just been a little strange since he proposed. Maybe the idea of marriage is stressing him out.”

  “Did you accept?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Did you accept his proposal?”

  “Oh. Not exactly. I said I wanted to think about it.”

  “Maybe that’s what’s stressing him out.”

  “You think?” she asked, hopefully.

  “When are you going to see him again?”

  “Tonight. We always go out on Friday night. Always to the same restaurant. The Garden Grill, in Menlo Park. Do you know it?”

  I nodded. I knew the Garden Grill and its owner, Jessica James, quite well. Jessica and I had worked together years ago, when I was still in retail security management, and she was one of my first clients when I got my PI license.

  “You go there every Friday?”

  “Yes, and we always sit at the same table. Stanley likes routine.”

  “Which table?” I asked.

  “The one in the tiny room with the glass ceiling, under the oak tree.”

  “Really? That’s my favorite table too.” Small world. “What time is your reservation?”

  “Eight o’clock.”

  I asked Brooke where she worked and she said she was the Cosmetics Department Manager at the Stanford Neiman Marcus. She worked from 10:00 to 6:00, Monday through Friday. I wondered if she would let me use her employee’s discount.

  Chapter 2

  After Brooke left my office I e-mailed her name and social security number to Criminal Investigative Services, asking for a complete background report, including financials and any criminal records in Santa Clara, San Mateo, San Francisco, and Alameda counties.

  After sending the e-mail, I studied the scanned photo of Stanley Godard. In the picture he was seated behind a desk. He looked to be in his thirties, average weight, brown hair and eyes, with a half smile on his clean-shaven face. Not a bad looking guy, but the tension behind his soulful eyes was unmistakable.

  I put in a call to Jim Sutherland, a fellow private investigator I’d met and befriended seven months ago when he was hired to follow me. Together we had apprehended the psycho killer who was, at the time, his client. Jim has a team of trained investigators working for him now, so when I need help he always manages to make time for me.

  “Superior Investigations,” said Jim’s deep, resonant voice.

  “You’re answering your own phone? What’s the world coming to?”

  “Heather’s out to lunch and everyone else is in the field. What’s up Nikki?”

  “I have a new client who wants surveillance on herself and her boyfriend.”

  “She thinks he’s cheating, right?”

  “No, she thinks he’s gone a little bit nuts since he proposed. Wants to know if he’s having her followed.”

  “Interesting. I assume this is a paying client.”

  The last job I’d needed Jim’s help with had been for a nine-year-old boy whose mother had been murdered. Eventually the boy’s uncle had paid me, and I’d paid Jim, but he’d accepted the job thinking it was a freebie.

  “Absolutely. I have a check in my hand.”

  “Outstanding. You want me to tail the woman or the man?”

  “I think you’ll have more fun following her. She’s a looker.”

  “You’re too good to me.”

  “It’s the least I can do. Can you get started tonight? They’re having dinner at the Garden Grill at eight.”

  “Sure.”

  “I’ll make us a reservation for seven-thirty and meet you there.”

  I hung up and called Bill Anderson, the Redwood City Police Detective I’ve been seeing steadily for the last seven months. Bill is a tantalizing mix of Irish and American Indian. He has intense brown eyes that turn hazel when he’s aroused, and a naturally dark complexion. He’s just under six feet tall, lean but muscular, and has jet-black hair. My favorite part of the equation is his smile. Bill’s whole face lights up when he smiles. I got his voicemail and left a message saying I had to work tonight and asking if he’d be able to sit with Buddy, my dog. Buddy does not like being left home alone. He’s a ten-month-old Golden Retriever and Rhodesian Ridgeback mix—ninety-five pounds of muscle and bounce, and the most intelligent dog I’ve ever met, and I’ve met a lot of dogs. If Bill couldn’t sit with him, I could ask my neighbor Kirk. Buddy and Kirk’s dog D’Artagnon are best buds.

  After leaving the message for Bill I looked down at the floor where Buddy was positioned in his usual spot between me and the door. He hadn’t stirred since I’d introduced him to Brooke. Apparently he didn’t perceive her as a threat. Probably a good sign.

  “I need to make some changes to my schedule,” I said to the dog. “Then we’ll go for a walk.”

  At the word walk Buddy lifted his head and chuffed softly, his eyes bright.

  I pulled up the Excel workbook that I use for scheduling bar and restaurant surveys. This is what I do to pay the rent. I eat and drink and watch employees, reporting to the owners of these establishments on service, quality of cuisine and, occasionally, who is stealing them blind. It’s a living.

  After rescheduling tonight’s surveys I called Jessica at the Garden Grill and reserved a table that would allow me and Jim to watch Stanley and Brooke without being obvious about it. Then I asked her about Stanley.

  “He’s been a regular for years,” she said. “Why are you asking?”

  “Just between you and me, right?”

  “Of course.”

  “His girlfriend, Brooke, is my client. Stanley recently proposed, and I’m just getting her some background information on him. She tells me he always sits at my favorite table.”

  “That’s right, and he always has the same server. Poor Jaime hasn’t had a Friday night off in over a year.”

  “What happens if Jaime isn’t available?”

  “The last time that happened I volunteered to serve Stanley myself, and he got up and left.”

  “Yikes.”

  “Yeah.”

  Chapter 3

  Stanley Godard was on edge. Normally he felt pretty much in control of what occurred in his world, but lately things seemed to be veering out of balance, and balance was extremely important to Stanley. For one thing, Brooke had yet to accept his proposal. This made him feel vulnerab
le, and vulnerability made him feel out of control.

  In order to compensate for the one thing he had absolutely no influence over, Brooke’s decision, he found himself trying desperately to organize everything else. He had a new client who had asked him to perform an audit, and much to Stanley’s dismay, when he started work on the job he found the company was missing some essential records. He had spoken with the CFO who had requested the audit, but the documents still hadn’t been delivered to him, leaving him with a low key sense of anxiety.

  Stanley suspected the CFO might be trying to put one over on him. All he was asking for were invoice and check copies for some large payments the company had made to a vendor. How could someone misplace invoice and check copies? The sum of the payments was over three hundred thousand dollars. Surely they didn’t expect him to sign off on the audit without evidence that the money had actually been paid to a legitimate vendor.

  As a last ditch effort Stanley went online, searching for the company to whom the payments had been made. If he could contact their accounts receivable manager, they should be able to supply him with the invoice copies. But Stanley couldn’t find the vendor online. He put in a call to his client’s accounts payable department and asked the clerk who answered for the vendor’s phone number. When the AP clerk said she’d have to get back to him, Stanley’s anxiety level ratcheted up a notch.

  He wasn’t a patient man, but he forced himself to wait twenty-four hours before calling the AP clerk back. This time he got her voicemail and the outgoing message said that she was on an indefinite leave of absence. Stanley was shaking when he replaced the receiver in its cradle.

  Chapter 4

  Bill called me back at 5:00, saying he could be at the marina by 6:30, and would be happy to sit with Buddy tonight. Relieved, I showered, primped, and slipped into a flirty turquoise strapless dress I’d found on sale at Macy’s. Bill and I had spent some time sailing last weekend, and I was anxious to show off my tan.