Page 39 of Murder Notes

“You always need something, cuz.”

“You’re the second person who’s said that to me today.”

“Then maybe you should take that to mean you’re demanding as hell.”

“And that’s bad?”

“Unless a woman is naked at the time, most men don’t like demanding.”

“I don’t remember ever trying to impress a man in my life, so I’m not getting the point. I need something. Someone vandalized my outdoor furniture. I need to get cameras up before I leave, and the security company is going to take forever.”

“I’m an investment banker, Lilah, not a security expert.”

“Who has a secret addiction to hacking.”

He scowls. “Lilah,” he warns.

“I won’t remind you if you don’t make me remind you. You owe me and I need this. And I know you know how to help me.”

“By taping your mouth shut?”

“Ha ha. You’re funny.”

He scowls. “I’ll come over and install it.”

“Thank you, but no. I really don’t want—”

“Kane to know.”

I was thinking more of Junior, but his assumption works just fine. “Can you write it all down for me? And I need something that won’t be obvious. I want to catch whoever did this, not scare them away.”

“What’s wrong with scaring them away?” He holds up a hand. “Never mind. I’ll show you.” He rounds the bar and joins me in the kitchen, pointing to the garage door, and walking in that direction. I follow him inside where he leads me to a wall of built-in cabinets and opens one of them. It’s not long before he has a variety of gear on a long table to show me.

“For an investment banker, you sure know your cameras,” I comment. “The big ones can stay here. I need something discreet.”

“The big ones should go inside the house,” he says. “That way, if anyone makes it inside the property, you’ll be sure and get them on film. The more discreet equipment can go outside, and no one will know they’re being filmed.” He lifts a round device the size of a watch. “I’d suggest you put it on an artificial hanging plant.” He gives me a knowing look. “We both know you kill anything that requires attention, and based on your comments thus far, you won’t be here long enough to pretend to prove me wrong.”

It hits me, then, that he knows me a little better than I give him credit for, which is exactly why I say, “You clearly don’t know me at all. I had a goldfish for ten years.”

“Do goldfish even live ten years?”

“Yes,” I say. “How do I see the footage the camera films?”

He hands me a small silver box. “This will allow you to view the feed from your computer. Call me when you’re ready and I’ll walk you through setting it up.”

“Perfect. Do you have a bag I can put these things in?”

He reaches under the table and produces a couple of brown cloth grocery bags and helps me fill them. We’re both still facing the table when he says, “I know why you left.”

I freeze in place and for once, nothing snarky comes to my mind. “What?”

“It gets easier to be here,” he says. “I promise. You know I know.”

And now I know what he’s talking about. Because I wasn’t the only one who lost something the night of my mother’s plane crash. For some reason unknown to all of us, his father was with my mother. He thinks that’s why I left. Everyone does, and I need them all to keep on thinking that. I grab the bags and settle them on my shoulders, before turning to face him. “I don’t want it to get easier.”

“Cuz—”

“I need to go. I’m having dinner with my father tonight. I’ll call you when I’m setting up the equipment.” I start walking.