Murder Notes (Lilah Love #1)

He just stares at me.

“It was a joke,” I say. “You know. Ha ha. Laughter. You were supposed to relax.”

He still looks like death warmed over, and I decide I just need to give the guy some curtain space to breathe. I step into the foyer of the house again with Greg and Lucas on my heels, the two of them acquainted and chatting it up. “That was your fault,” I chide Greg.

“Just keeping this boring-ass party interesting,” he says, someone catching his eye in the distance before he looks at us. “I need to go. Happy schmoozefest.” He disappears into the crowd.

“Do I have to worry about you shooting someone tonight?” Lucas asks.

“Very unlikely,” I assure him.

“Very unlikely,” he repeats. “I need a drink.” He motions me forward, and we cross through a hallway with an arched ceiling before entering the main room, a round ballroom with painted tiled floors, a bowl ceiling, and fancy, white-railed stairs winding left and right to the second level. Another set of stairs is a straight line up. About a hundred people are scattered here and there, all tuxedos and sparkly dresses, many of the faces famous. Almost all the faces are known to me.

One of many waiters working the floor passes by, and Lucas grabs us two glasses of champagne, handing me one. “To Lilah Love’s return,” he salutes.

“To Lilah Love leaving again,” I retort. “My father’s desire to be the New York governor only makes me all the more eager to get the heck out of Dodge. I did the press and the paparazzi for enough years.”

“Think about the platform you could have as first daughter, though.”

“Is the governor’s daughter the first daughter?”

“Whatever you will be called. You can initiate a stop-crime-in-New-York-City platform.”

“I’ll stop crime with a badge, thank you very much.”

I barely get the word out when Mrs. Smith appears, promising me my mac n’ cheese and raving about my dress and how much I look like my mother. This spirals, and then it’s one person after another, each a little more famous, and they all want to talk about me looking like my mother and how much they miss her. I can’t stop the onslaught of people or the emotions I don’t like to feel, feelings that just won’t stop stabbing me in the damn heart. I’m about to make an escape to the bathroom when my father and Pocher come into view, the two men in deep conversation. My father, looking like the handsome eligible bachelor that he is in his tuxedo, suddenly stops talking to Pocher, his gaze shifting and falling on me.

His expression tightens, a look of anger settling on his face rather than the joy a daughter hopes to see in her father’s face. But then, I wouldn’t know about that firsthand. He wanted boys. He got me. He steps away from Pocher and crosses toward us. “What the hell is wrong with him?” Lucas asks.

“Just his way of showing love,” I say, handing him my glass and taking a few steps forward to meet my father.

“Why are you wearing your mother’s dress?”

I barely contain my recoil. “Nice to see you, too, Father.”

“Let me be clear. If you are asked about the murder investigation, you will defer to your brother and downplay a problem. If you do not, I will go to your superior. Smile. Support me. Or leave.”

Pocher joins us. “Lilah,” he greets me, inclining his regal chin at me before looking at my father. “Montgomery would like to discuss policy questions with you.”

“Of course,” my father says, eyeing me. “We’ll talk later.” He turns and leaves.

“Good to see you supporting your father,” Pocher comments, a snide look on his face. “I hope we can count on that continuing.”

“Why wouldn’t it?”

“You know what they say. The company we keep.”

“I don’t believe I follow,” I say, when, of course, he’s talking about Kane.

“You’re an FBI agent, and if I support your father, you’re also the future New York governor’s daughter. Kane Mendez is an inappropriate choice for you, and your father.”

“You mean the same Kane Mendez you tried to do business with and failed?”

“I am not you or your father. Make smart decisions. It’s in everyone’s best interest. You should keep your family in mind.” With that obvious threat, he turns away.

“Pocher,” I say, and even though softly, I gain more than a few head-turns.

He rotates to face me, his brow arching in silent question, anger in the depth of his narrowly set eyes.

“No,” I say.

“No?” he inquires.

“No,” I repeat, closing the space between us and stopping in front of him. “I will not be your little bitch, and no, I am not afraid of you. But then, the company I keep says a lot about me, as you said. About what I’m capable of and willing to do. And I have a badge to go with that attitude. Maybe you should keep that in mind.”

I step around him and I don’t even consider leaving. I find a familiar face to approach. It’s time to chitchat. I will not cower. I will not be controlled. If Pocher, or whoever it might be, wants to send someone else after me, they’ll be reminded that I’m no easy target. And I don’t have a problem with dead bodies.





CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Lucas joins me as I mingle, but after two conversations that include “you look like your mother” and “I love your dress,” he finds a pretty brunette actress and starts getting cozy. I stay my course, working the room, each compliment to my dress revenge for my father’s harshness. In fact, by compliment one dozen or so, I’m not feeling the sting at all, while I am certain every time someone mentions me to him, he does. And the best part of a party is that the gossip when talking to me is all about the “poor dead girl” or “poor Cynthia, who died too young.” Each person shares some tidbit, many about meeting her and her habits, that is golden to my case, and I wonder if this is the real reason I wasn’t invited. I’m getting tongues wagging. I’m hearing things. Maybe I’ll hear something I’m not supposed to hear. And not once is Woods mentioned, or a boyfriend at all, for that matter.

Finishing a chat with a music executive who knew my mother well, I am on the move again when I come face-to-face with Samantha, her gown a sparkly silver number. “Lilah,” she greets me, looking a bit like she’s swallowed a whole egg upon seeing me.

“Samantha,” I say. “Do you know where Andrew is? Is he still working?”

“If you consider staying close to the host, then yes. He’s working. In the downstairs library with Montgomery and your father, talking politics. I’m surprised they didn’t invite you. That’s where I’m headed now.”

“You know,” I say. “I realize that you think playing ‘mean girl’ makes you special, but you don’t read people well. I don’t want to be in a corner, talking politics.”

“Did I mention Eddie and Alexandra are with them?”

“Thanks for the warning,” I say, irritated that my brother evidently told her Eddie is a sore spot for me with my father. “Now I know to stay up here. Since we’re talking, you never got me the security footage I requested.”

“Andrew said you have a suspect.”

“I’m not Andrew,” I say. “But you know what? Keep it. I got what I needed from Kane.” Her eyes go wide and I add, “Yes. I know you fucked Kane the night of the murder.”

“And now you’re going to tell Andrew.”

“You weren’t exclusive and it would hurt him, so no,” I say. “I am not.”

“Even though I did Kane.”

“Yes,” I say, and somehow, I manage a rather cordially spoken, “Even though you fucked Kane.”

“But you want me to stop seeing Andrew.”

“Of course I do,” I say. “I don’t like you, but he’s a grown man. This isn’t my call. But let me be clear, if I find out you’re using him, I will become a problem for you.”