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"Oh, Cody's a sweetheart. Look at that bastard. Off playing golf, not a care in the world."
Stereotyping is bad. Living with Lucas and Paige, that's a lesson that's been drilled into my head. I can't say it always penetrated. However hard I tried to imagine the loser in the pickup swinging a nine iron at the country club, it just wasn't working.
A boom from across the road made me jump, and I looked to see the SUV owner standing at the back of his vehicle, hatch closed, golf bag in hand. He was in his midthirties, clean-shaven, blandly good-looking, dressed in a bright blue golf shirt and pressed trousers. I could see him at the country club. But with Ginny Thompson? No way.
He strolled up the walk to a house--a picture-perfect oversize English cottage, with a swing on the porch, ivy climbing over every surface, and a cat napping in the garden. It was no McMansion, but it was the fanciest place I'd seen in town. Definitely the prettiest thing on Main Street.
The SUV now parked out front was a Lexus, as was the sedan in the drive, both gleaming so brightly I was sure if you opened the doors, you'd still get that new-car smell. An equally new powerboat took up most of the driveway. Behind it, a garage was under construction. Someone definitely wasn't feeling Columbus's economic pinch. Taking advantage of it, more like--from the construction, it looked as if they'd moved in recently, snatching up the best house in town.
The door opened to a pretty blond woman holding an infant. The guy bounced up the steps, gave his baby a kiss, put his arm around his wife, and ushered them back inside.
"Makes you want to puke, doesn't it?" Bruyn said.
I nodded. Domesticity has that effect on me. Then I looked at him.
"That's Cody Radu?" I said. "Ginny's boyfriend?"
"Yep."
Was Bruyn bullshitting me? Sending me on a wild-goose chase after the wrong guy? Easy enough to find out. Ask someone. Just not Bruyn.
AS BRUYN WAS walking me out with my files, I promised to provide him with regular updates.
"Make sure you do or you won't find this town nearly so cooperative."
"Yes, sir."
We were at the door when it opened and in walked the guy whose BMW I'd failed to fix earlier. He frowned at me, then turned to Bruyn.
"Chief Bruyn?"
"That's right."
The man flipped out a badge. "Detective Michael
Kennedy. Dallas PD. I believe you're investigating the death of my sister, Claire. I'm here to help."
seven
Bruyn led Kennedy into his office and perched on the desk. Kennedy took the chair I'd sat in earlier. I stood inside the door, file folders in hand.
Kennedy explained that he'd come to offer his help solving his sister's murder. He'd already spoken to the sheriff's department and they said they didn't have a problem with it, but he'd have to clear things with Bruyn.
"I have resources and contacts. I know what it's like, everyone tightening their belts. A multiple-murder investigation must have your budget shot already."
Kennedy was playing it just right. Bruyn fairly rubbed his hands with glee at the prospect of getting a big-city detective, free of charge. The fact that the detective didn't look over thirty and was the victim's brother seemed lost on him.
He put the same deal to Kennedy that he had to me. Kennedy was welcome to investigate, provided he kept Bruyn abreast of his findings. Kennedy was fine with that.
"You don't call your mom nearly as often as you should," I finally said.
Kennedy jumped.
"Savannah Levine," I said, extending a hand. "The private investigator whose partner your mother hired to investigate your sister's death."
"If you're referring to Annette Kennedy, that's Claire's mother, not mine. And, no, I don't speak to her any more than necessary. If she hired you, I'm sorry. Claim your time and move on. I'm here now."
"Does that one work for you a lot?"
