“Jack just can’t say no,” Maggie said. “You have to love that. When was this taken?”
Cab checked the details of the photograph. “Forty-two minutes after the call on the burner phone. Just enough time for a delivery.”
He turned the phone around and showed the picture to Ginny. “Do you remember anything about this man?”
The girl took a look at the photograph. “Just that he was really cute. I figured he was too good-looking to be from Duluth, so I asked if he was part of the movie. He said he was.”
Cab chuckled. “Did he say anything else to you? Or did you see anything inside his apartment?”
“Not that I recall. I’m usually only at the door for a few seconds and then I’m gone.”
Cab checked the picture files again. He scrolled backward and found additional photos of Ginny and Jack together. The girl obviously had struggled to get the camera angle right to get them both in the frame. Maggie leaned in as they reviewed each picture. She noticed that one of the selfies was pointed wildly wrong, as if Ginny had accidentally pushed the button while positioning the camera. The photograph showed nothing but Jack’s shoulder on the side of the picture. Behind him was a clear shot of the interior of the apartment.
“Holy crap, is that what I think it is?” Maggie asked. “Zoom in.”
Cab did. In the photo, they could see something hung on the back of a wooden chair near the kitchenette.
“Does that mean something to you?” he asked.
“Oh, yeah,” she replied. “That’s our smoking gun. We’ve got him.”
Cat studied herself in the mirror of the bathroom in the cottage.
She wore a black cocktail dress that was the sexiest thing she owned. She’d worn it only once before, at the party after Stride and Serena’s wedding, and she’d had a big fight with Stride about wearing it in public. It hugged her curves and clung tightly to her legs, where it ended at midthigh. The sleeves were lace, adorned with black flowers, and a lace panel stretched below her neck. Underneath the lace, an oval cutout showcased her cleavage. When she turned sideways, she saw black fabric swooping low beneath her shoulders. Another cutout bared the hollow of her back.
Her chestnut hair glistened, long and full. She’d spent an hour on her makeup, getting her blush and eyes perfect. Serena’s emerald earrings dangled from her ears. She wore strappy black heels. For all the times Cat struggled with self-confidence, she knew that there wasn’t a man with a pulse who would be able to look away from her tonight.
She was beautiful.
She was also scared to death and had to swallow hard to avoid throwing up.
Cat came out of the bathroom, where Curt Dickes was waiting. He had his back to her as he eyed the thrillers on Stride’s bookshelf. When he turned around, he whistled loudly in admiration as Cat presented herself with one hand poised on her hip.
“So what do you think?” Cat asked in her best “I’m nowhere near seventeen years old” voice.
“Kitty cat, that dress should be registered as a lethal weapon,” Curt said.
Cat dropped her sexy persona and giggled like a teenage girl again. “Thanks. You look pretty good, too, you know.”
“Of course. I am always styling.”
Curt wore a long-sleeved untucked batik shirt over lavender slacks. His shoes matched his pants, and his hair was tied in a ponytail. His cologne overpowered the room. Cat knew that when Stride and Serena got home, they’d realize that Curt had been there, but it was too late to worry about that.
She went into her bedroom and checked her phone to make sure it was fully charged. Then she slipped it inside her frosted black clutch and slid the gold chain over her shoulder.
“Is there cell signal at the resort?” she asked.
“Probably. If not, there’s Wi-Fi.”
“How long does it take to get there?”
“Depends on how the roads are. Maybe an hour in the storm. The movie types are taking a bus.”
“Okay. We should go.”
Cat clicked across the hardwood floor in her heels, and she could feel Curt’s eyes on her back. It was going to be that way all evening, with men watching her and hitting on her. She went into the kitchen and found a yellow pad. She pulled off a sheet of paper, grabbed a pen, and thought about what she needed to say to Stride.
She wrote a few words, then crumpled up the paper and threw it away. She tried again and did the same thing. And again. Finally, she pulled another sheet of paper and wrote what was in her heart.
She’d never said those words to him in her life:
You’re wrong.
Cat finished the note, folded it, and wrote Stride’s name on the outside. When she looked up, Curt was watching her. His face was serious and unsmiling, which was highly unusual for Curt.
“You really sure about this, kitty cat? I’m not much of a fan of this plan. You could get yourself in serious trouble, and this time I won’t be able to pull you over a wall or anything.”
Cat chewed her lip. She put on a brave front, because she couldn’t do anything else, no matter what she really felt inside. She’d made up her mind, and she wasn’t turning back. She marched toward Curt and placed the note for Stride on the bookshelf near the front door. Then she took Curt’s arm.
“You said people have to see it for themselves to believe the truth,” Cat said. “I’m going to make sure they do.”
39
The owner of the studio apartments in Hermantown wasn’t happy to see Maggie and Cab arrive with a forensics team and cordon off the area with crime scene tape. They’d searched John Doe’s apartment earlier in the week, and now they were back to do the same thing to Jungle Jack’s cottage.
“Having cops in my parking lot ain’t exactly good for business,” the man told them, shaking the snow out of his gray hair. He was small and slightly bent, in his sixties, dressed in a hooded winter coat and beige corduroys. His name was Stig Swenson.
“Renting to murderers isn’t too good for business, either,” Maggie replied.
“Well, I’m sorry if I don’t have a box for that on the application. Is this going to take long?”
“It will take as long as it takes. Did you print out the phone records for the apartment like I asked?”
“Yeah, yeah, hang on.”
Stig dug in the pocket of his pants and came out with a single sheet of computer paper that had been folded multiple times. He handed it over to Maggie, who smoothed it out and held it up so that she and Cab could read it. They squinted at the small type, which had been made on a printer that badly needed toner. Even so, they saw what they wanted to see.
“Two minutes,” Maggie said. “Jack called the Hermantown Sammy’s two minutes after the call on the burner phone to the downtown restaurant.”
“A jury’s going to like that,” Cab said.
Maggie turned back to the apartment manager. She produced photographs of John Doe and Jungle Jack and held them up side by side. “Let’s go over this again. Did you see these two men together?”
“Once they sign the rental agreement, they’re not my problem,” Stig replied. “People don’t need me to pay attention to what they’re doing, so I don’t.”
“You don’t keep an eye on who’s coming and going in your apartments?” Maggie asked. “Because I’m looking over at your place, and I can see your cat sleeping on top of a La-Z-Boy. You’ve got a perfect view from there.”
“It’s not my cat,” the man grumbled. “I’m pet sitting while my sister is in Norway.”