More Heat Than Light: Carter Peterson Mystery Series Book 4 Read online

  “Fair enough. They won’t hear it from us,” I said. “I can speak for Sarah when I say we’re all about discretion. Have the police told you anything about the man they hauled in?”

  “No. Nothing yet,” Corey said. “In fact, we haven’t seen an officer since they brought us up here and stuck us in this room. It’s beginning to feel more like a doctor’s office than a police station.”

  I nodded. “Go ahead back in. I’ll see what I can do to goose things up.”

  “Thank you, Carter. I appreciate all you and Sarah are doing.”

  I nodded then made my way down to the bullpen to see if I could get a closer look at the perp. I was about to turn the corner when I nearly ran head-on into the arresting officer. We’d never met.

  “Can I help you?” the officer asked, his tone far from cordial.

  I looked down at his nameplate as I offered my hand. “Officer Bray, I’m Carter Peterson.”

  The cop’s demeanor pulled an about-face. “Carter Peterson. It’s a pleasure. Detective James talks about you, non-stop.”

  “Pleasure’s mine. Nice work in the theatre tonight. What do we have on the perp?”

  “Thank you. His name is David Lynch. Small-time thug. B & E. Assault. Few minor drug charges. Did a year up in Westmoreland a few years back. Hasn’t asked for a lawyer or a phone call. Definitely high on something. We’re giving him some time to chill out.”

  “Sounds like a good call.”

  “I was just heading back to the conference room,” Bray said. “No need to keep Ms. Enright or her people here any longer.”

  “Good. Oh, what about the two screaming idiots and that newspaper executive?”

  “I slapped fines on the two hecklers for disturbing the peace. Let the newspaper executive go.”

  “Huh. Surprised you let him go. He made a direct threat,” I said.

  “I guess that’s a line call,” Bray replied. “He had no priors. And he’s well respected in the community, so….”

  “Fair enough,” I said. “I’ll head back to the conference room with you.”

  Bray nodded and led the way. “Ms. Enright, we’re going to hold the perpetrator overnight. He seems to be on some kind of controlled substance. We won’t get anything reliable out of him until he sobers up. The other three men have been processed and released. I believe it’s safe for you to head home.”

  Amanda pursed her lips then responded. “Thank you.”

  “Yes, let’s get you home,” Corey said to Amanda, who gave him a quick nod.

  Intern Kayla Brock, who was seated next to Amanda, slid her chair out and helped Amanda to her feet. “I’ve got your things, Mandy.”

  Sarah glanced at me, wearing a frown. Scenarios like this always tugged at her heartstrings. “Would you like us to follow you back to your place?” Sarah asked Amanda once she started toward the hall.

  “Uh-huh. Thank … thank you.”

  Corey gave me a nod and a smile as we followed along behind the women and the escorting officer. “I feel like you and Sarah are team players, Carter. Thank you, once again.”

  “No worries,” I said. “We’ll get Amanda through this mess together.”

  “Glad to hear that. She’s got a radio show to do tomorrow evening, and WTLK gives us no quarter. Cancelling one of Amanda’s programs is not an option at this juncture.”

  Chapter 4

  Sarah reached over and squeezed my shoulder as I started the car, ready to follow Corey and the girls to Amanda’s home. “I feel lucky,” she said.

  “How so?” I asked.

  “To have such a good man in my life.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re the only woman who’d ever have me.”

  “Yeah, right. I catch women checking you out all the time,” Sarah said. “Seriously, though, I think it’s sweet that you’re willing to give up our Sunday evening to be there for Amanda.”

  “It’s not a selfless act, Sarah. We’re working. This is what we get paid to do.”

  “I know all that,” she said. “But it’s perfectly acceptable to take a compliment. There’s no harm in it. It doesn’t make you any less of a man.”

  I looked over at her and caught her trying not to snicker. “You just love to torture me, don’t you?”

  “Maybe just a little,” she said, giving me one of her impish smiles. “Not to change the subject, but I really like the radio station’s intern, Kayla. She is so darn star-struck with Amanda. It’s adorable. And it doesn’t appear to bother her one bit that Amanda has issues. If anything, it seems to makes Kayla want to give more of herself. That young girl stepped up tonight. She was really there for Amanda.”

  I took a minute to think about what Sarah had said before responding. “Not always a good thing,” I said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well … she might have caretaker tendencies. I’m not saying this girl is a caretaker, in the traditional sense, because I’ve never even spoken with her. But my ex-wife was what’s known as a caretaker---as in the personality trait. It can make for very unhealthy relationships. For everyone involved.”

  “I’ve heard that term, but don’t know much about it,” Sarah admitted. “And like you said, you haven’t spent enough time around Kayla to make a call like that.”

  “Only reason I know anything about the subject is because my ex-wife went to a psychotherapist for a while. She claimed my ex-wife exhibited a textbook need for approval from others, and that she had deep-rooted fears of dealing with anger. And confrontation. So, at the time, I did some reading on the subject. If I’m remembering this right, caretakers do everything in their power to please others. As a result, they manage to avoid circumstances they can’t handle.”

  “No offense, babe, but if you’re basing a hunch about Kayla strictly on my comments, I think you’ve taken what I said a bit out of context. Because I didn’t get any such impression.”

  “No offense taken,” I said and let it go. “While we’re on the subject of personality, though, what do you make of Corey?”

  “He’s certainly different, but I really like him. What was that weird foreign language stuff he was muttering right before Amanda started her show?”

  “I was wondering the same thing,” I said. “He’s a little off, somehow.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far. He seems very intelligent,” Sarah said. “And I think he realizes Amanda has a lot of potential.”

  “Like she’s a moonshot and he’s along for the ride?”

  “Something like that,” Sarah said.

  “Who knows? Maybe she couldn’t do what she does without him. He told me in confidence that Amanda is fragile, and easily affected by strife. Said they keep that information very close to the vest in order to protect the good thing they have going. I would never have guessed that about her in a million years.”

  “At least not until seeing her at the station tonight. I saw her pop some sort of pill while you were out in the hallway with Corey. Could have been an anti-anxiety med, I suppose.”

  “I almost wish I didn’t know any of it,” I said. “Too late now. You can’t undo a pulling back of the curtain.”

  “Aww, I’m sorry. I know Amanda’s show is a real guilty pleasure for you. Guess it’s kind of like a magician showing you the inside scoop on how an illusion works, huh? Once you know how it’s done, the magic’s gone.”

  “Yep. Pretty much. But, ultimately, this isn’t about me. It’s about us doing our job.”

  “Of course. It’s pretty important to know as much as we can about who and what we’re dealing with,” Sarah replied. “Unfortunately, clients---and in this case, their handlers---can make our work harder without meaning to.”

  I nodded, so involved in our conversation that I hadn’t paid much attention to where Corey’s taillights were leading us. Until now. We’d held our previous meeting with Corey and Amanda at the radio station. Now, we were climbing the hill leading up to Bridgeport’s most exclusive neighborhood: Pr
escott Heights.

  “Did you know Amanda lived up here?” I asked.

  “Specifically? No. But when a celebrity lives in your town, you have to assume they have a pretty hoity-toity address. And here it is,” Sarah said as a pair of iron gates swung wide. It was the only opening within the massive hedgerow, which lined a major stretch of the east side of the street.

  “I’ve driven past this place dozens of times wondering whose house was hidden behind that crazy wall of shrubs.”

  “Ahem. House?” Sarah remarked as she gazed out the windshield. “More like a mansion.”

  I nodded. Though it was a pitch dark night, the grounds surrounding the massive home were lit up like it was 15 minutes past sunset. It was breathtaking.

  Corey’s car came to a stop beneath the port cochere attached to the main entrance. I pulled up behind his car and we climbed out, mesmerized by the level of detail everywhere you looked. The gardens. The stonework. In fact, just one of the beveled glass windows flanking the grandiose entry doors likely cost more than my entire house.

  We waited near the rear of Corey’s car for the trio to emerge, wondering what the hold-up might be. A full minute went by before Corey’s driver’s side door opened. He climbed out and opened the back door for Amanda.

  I did a double-take as she stepped out, looking as though she’d just come out of hair and makeup on a Hollywood film lot. She looked more put together now than when we’d seen her on stage several hours before. I glanced at Sarah. Her expression was priceless, as if she’d witnessed a brand new magic trick.

  Amanda made brief eye contact and gave us a quick smile as she stepped up onto the granite walkway leading to her grandiose doorstep. She continued on alone and disappeared behind a pair of oversized bronze doors as Corey and Kayla approached us.

  Corey put his hand on my shoulder. “Carter … Sarah … I apologize, but frankly, Amanda is mortified you had to see her in the condition she was in at the police station. She’s quite embarrassed, and asked me to convey her gratitude for you both escorting us out here.”

  Kayla extended her hand. “Mr. Peterson, I’m Kayla Brock. Super nice to meet you.”

  “Goodness, I’m so sorry,” Corey said. “I’d completely forgotten you two hadn’t been formally introduced.”

  “No worries,” I said. “Pleasure is mine, Kayla. Amanda seems to have bounced back pretty well.”

  Kayla nodded. “She’s scheduled to meet with her new psychotherapist tomorrow morning. A healer Corey speaks very highly of. Amanda is so ready to participate in her first session. The anticipation of it really seems to have lifted her spirits.”

  “Yes,” Corey said. “We contacted Meghan McCue on the way over here. I take sessions with her, and our general manager Lee Sands sees her, as well. I’ve been after Amanda for weeks to spend a few hours with Meggy. Amanda finally agreed as we were pulling out of the police station. Meghan is a true guru of the mind. It’s going to be so good for Amanda. I just know it.”

  A phone began chirping. Corey and Kayla both went for their devices so quickly, and so in sync, you’d have thought they’d practiced the move together.

  “Not mine,” Kayla said while holding up her phone.

  “It’s mine,” Corey said. “My meddling mother.” He swiped the screen with an exaggerated motion, silencing the noise.

  “Nice phones,” I said. “They look brand new.”

  “You’re very observant, Carter,” Corey said, then followed with, “Uh, yeah. I didn’t realize how ridiculous that sounded until it came out of my mouth. You’re a detective, for crying out loud.”

  Kayla chimed in. “I love our new phones. We went together and got them last week. Same exact model. Two-for-one deal. It took me some time to understand all the features, but I own the mastery now.”

  “Wish I could say the same,” Cory said. “I can barely turn the thing on and off.”

  Sarah looked at me and gave a subtle shrug. “Well, it seems like you two have this crazy night under control. We should meet tomorrow morning to compare notes. The Bridgeport Police Department will have more information for us by then on the man who disrupted the show.”

  Corey nodded. “Yes. Yes, definitely. Amanda’s session is scheduled for 9 am, and they usually last about an hour. Why don’t we leave it that I’ll call you when I know she’s done. Sometime around mid-morning,” he said, then began easing toward our car.

  “Fine. We’ll talk to you tomorrow, then,” I said. No sooner had the words left my mouth when the pair turned and walked off toward the house, leaving us standing there scratching our heads.

  Sarah raised her eyebrows and headed for the passenger side of my car.

  “Is it just me, or did we somehow enter the Twilight Zone on the way over here?” I asked.

  “Something’s up,” Sarah said, massaging her temples. “And I have absolutely no idea what it is.”

  “It’s already 8:30 pm. Guess we should just head home.” I started the car and wheeled toward the street, the gates swinging open as we approached. “I had it in my head that we were going to have a sit-down and put a plan of action together tonight. You?”

  “Uh-huh. Obviously, we weren’t all on the same page.”

  “Or maybe they decided to limit our involvement.”

  “Why would they do that?” Sarah asked. “They hired us to help them avoid just the kind of conflict we witnessed at The Music Hall earlier. If I were Amanda Enright, I’d be very eager to have some professional help right about now.”

  “I agree. And, according to those two, she’s getting some professional help. Just not the kind you’re referring to.”

  “Very clever,” Sarah said as she shook her head. After a beat she asked, “By the way, what did you find out at the station?”

  “Officer Bray told me he wrote the two hecklers tickets for disturbing the peace. And get this … he let the newspaper executive walk.”

  “What? He threatened Amanda in front of an auditorium full of people.”

  “Which is what I said to Bray. His response? He thought it was ‘a line call.’”

  Sarah looked at me like she didn’t believe what she was hearing. “That’s just wrong.”

  “I’m not arguing with you. Guess he saw it differently. This Herod Erlichman character must have connections.”

  “I’ll say. I can’t believe he’s getting away with that. Especially being that Amanda complained of harassment from the very same person not too long ago.”

  “Well, at least he’s on everyone’s radar now,” I said. “If something happens to Amanda from this point forward, Erlichman will be the first person the police haul in for questioning.”

  “True. Which makes it hard to believe a man with such a high profile job would be so careless.”

  “Guess he must have some major issues where Amanda’s concerned.”

  “Speaking of issues … and your little comment about ‘seeking professional help,’ I have to say I was a bit surprised when Corey came right out and admitted he goes to a psychotherapist. And telling us that Lee Sands takes sessions with this woman, too? I mean, wouldn’t you think Sands might take issue with Corey sharing that kind of information with us? I’d be livid.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Seems as though a lot of these entertainment types hire folks to help them keep their heads screwed on straight these days. It’s so common in their social circles, they might not even realize some people live their entire lives without seeking the services of a professional.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” Sarah said. “Glad we don’t have those kinds of worries.”

  “Nah. We don’t need that stuff,” I said. “We screw one another’s heads back on just fine.”

  The comment made Sarah laugh.

  Probably because she knew it was true.

  Chapter 5

  I opened my eyes and looked over at Sarah. She was still fast asleep. Not surprising, being that the clock read 5:45 am. I slid out of bed as gently as I could, pulled o
n a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, and headed down to grab the morning paper.

  The chill in the air was deep enough to see my breath. Too soon for that nonsense. How had summer slipped away so quickly?

  I was ten feet out from the spot our paper boy had lazily tossed Monday’s edition when I recognized Amanda Enright’s face through the plastic wrapper. The protests from last night’s show had made front page news.

  Bet the big-wigs at WTLK were pleased.

  I thought back on the evening’s events while rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Particularly Amanda’s presto-change-o from sobbing mess at the station to premiere-ready starlet beneath her port cochere. This case was going to be an interesting one.

  A shiver ran down the back of my neck as I closed the door. No waiting for the timer to start the coffee maker this morning. I got the brew cycle going and took a seat at the kitchen table, curious what The Bridgeport Gazette had to say about our client’s abbreviated Music Hall event.

  “Where’d you go?” I heard a sleepy voice ask from somewhere behind me.

  “My eyes opened early this morning, so I figured I might just as well get up and get coffee going.”

  “I reached out for you and … no Carter.”

  I held the morning paper in the air. “Amanda made front page news in the Gazette.”

  “Oh, really? What did they have to say?”

  “Haven’t read it yet,” I said as Sarah wrapped her arms around my neck from behind.

  “Mmm … that coffee smells good. Why isn’t it ready yet?”

  I shook my head and began reading.

  “Wow, they got a flattering picture of Amanda on stage,” Sarah said.

  “Yep, that they did. But their comments about her program aren’t quite so complimentary.”

  “How so?” Sarah asked.

  “Well, for one, the journalist brought up the fact that protesters were calling her ‘Amanda Incite,’ then proceeded to justify the half-wits doing so.”