Find Her (Detective D.D. Warren #8)(112)

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. I came upon Natalie with Devon a couple of times in the supply closet. Natalie might have liked to look down her nose at him in public, but behind closed doors, apparently even the Buff Bot would do.”

Ethier had turned her attention to the computer screen, was frowning at something on the monitor. So far, details of Devon Goulding’s affair with another woman seemed to mean nothing to her.

“How long did they know each other?” Keynes asked Larissa.

“Not sure. I mean, most of the time Natalie worked here, Devon was chasing her. But . . . she didn’t stay that long. Couple of months? Like I said, she was just passing through.”

“What brought Natalie to Boston?” D.D. asked.

“Change of pace. She said she was tired of Florida. Though how you can tire of sun and sand . . .”

“Florida? I thought she was from Alabama?”

Larissa shook her head. “I never heard her mention Alabama. And while she did have a bit of an accent . . . Not Alabama. Nothing as heavy as Alabama.”

“Is that how you knew her then?” D.D. asked abruptly, attention zeroing in on Ethier. “Natalie came here looking for you, didn’t she? She felt comfortable asking for a job after her time working for you in Florida.”

Ethier looked up from the monitor, blinked her eyes. “What?”

“Florida. You worked in Florida before moving here. Why didn’t you mention that before?”

“You never asked.”

“What brought you to Boston?”

“A promotion. This is a better job.”

“Did you read about Flora Dane?” Keynes now, piling on. “Her story was in all the papers. Her return home to Maine. At least in the beginning, the talk of her returning to school in Boston.”

“I have no idea—”

“That must’ve rankled.” D.D. now, pulling the manager’s attention away, keeping her disoriented. “She kills your father, and everyone hails her as a hero. Strong, brave girl who saved herself.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Larissa shrunk back, clearly wanting out of this sudden change in conversation but having no place to go.

“When did you first sleep with Devon? Big hunky guy like that. Must’ve felt good to wrap him around your little finger. Until, of course, Natalie showed up. Took his attention away from you. Is that when you decided she must pay? And to make your revenge that much sweeter, you forced Devon to help.”

“Wait a second—”

“She didn’t sleep with Devon.” Larissa, suddenly speaking up.

D.D. and Keynes both paused, stared at her. The blonde flushed, fiddled with the hem of her skirt.

“Jocelyne was never involved with Devon, if that’s what you’re asking. She was involved with me. At least, when Natalie first arrived, Jocelyne and I were together. I’m the one—” The girl paused, looked down. “I’m the one who messed everything up. Not Natalie. Not Devon. They had nothing to do with our breakup. That was my fault. All my fault.”

D.D. frowned, studied the manager, who was now bright red with embarrassment.

“Management is not supposed to get involved with staff,” Ethier said tightly. “If my bosses found out . . .”

“You were never involved with Devon Goulding?” D.D. asked.

“Needless to say, not my type.”

“And Natalie Draga?”

“Well, more my type, but to be honest”—Ethier glanced at Larissa—“I prefer blondes.”

“How old are you?” Keynes asked abruptly.

“Thirty-four.”

“And your parents?”

“Roger and Denise Ethier. Live in Tampa. Do you want to call them?”

D.D. looked over at Keynes. “I don’t think she’s the one.”

“No,” he agreed.

“And yet all roads lead back to this bar. The victims, Devon Goulding.” She stared at Ethier, stared at Larissa, willing them to help her. “What aren’t you telling us? For the sake of Natalie, Stacey, and Flora, what are we still missing?”





Chapter 45


GLASS SHARD. I still have it in my hand. I wipe my palm on my bare leg, then tighten my grip. Studying the door, calculating which way it will open.

The lights. I’ve turned them on in all the bedrooms to aid with my search. Now I jog quickly down the corridor, snapping off switches before they can give me away.

Stacey is muttering, twitching. No time to hide her.

But maybe her presence in the hall isn’t a bad thing. The noise will distract our captor. While he peers down the hall, trying to figure out who’s moaning, what’s going on, I can make my move. Attack, then evade. It’s as good a plan as any.

I’m ready.

I focus on the door, breath held, ears tuned for more footsteps. My efforts are soon rewarded: A floorboard creaks right on the other side of the door. He has reached the landing.

I crouch low, glass shard in hand. I keep my eyes peeled on the barely visible doorknob, a slight silver gleam in the now darkened hall.

The door will open toward me, into the corridor. Plan A, trip up my attacker and dart through, yanking the door shut behind me and leaving my captor as trapped as I had once been. From there, I’d have smooth sailing down the stairs, out into the free world, where I could flag down help.