The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The First Collection, Frost, J [famous ebook reader TXT] 📗

sleepy, now that the adrenaline rush from having my feet impaled has passed, to move.

“Ten of six,” Emily says, before she settles her head back on my shoulder.

“Your cat would make the perfect sadist’s alarm clock if it was your feet he was sinking those daggers into.”

“So mean, Daddy.” She nips my shoulder.

“Get to work, little girl. And keep those teeth covered. I will tan your ass black and blue if you bite me this morning.”

She keeps her teeth covered and swallows and hums and holds me down her throat for thirty blissful seconds at a time until I give her a submissive’s best breakfast. I cuddle her back to sleep and spoon her until I’m sure she’s dreaming before I rise to work out.

Her fuzzy assassin stalks me from machine to machine, and if I play up to the dagger-wielding monster by dangling a towel off the treadmill for him to bat at, well, Emily’s not there to see how soft I’ve gone.

Since we’re both up and active, and I want Emily to be as well-rested as she can be before she has to face another day of Miranda, I take the cat upstairs with me when I finish and put out a dollop of the stinky, tinned, cat food in his bowl. Sable sets into it like he hasn’t eaten in years, which makes me chuckle as I watch.

Before I head up to take a shower, I check to see if Rick has responded to the email I sent him last night after interviewing Laurel. He has, although not without a grumble, either to the expense of flying Laurel and her fiancé to the City and putting them up for several days, or to the difficulty of listing all the women he’s had sex with.

The list is long and contains some surprising names. Names I recognize from the media, names from our circle of friends and acquaintances, girls I vaguely remember from our high school. Rick really gets around. Emily, Lucy, and Justine are practically the only women we both know that he hasn’t had sex with. The list includes Daisy, who I thought had better taste, and his own manager, which is pretty stupid because even Rick must know you don’t shit where you eat.

I read the list several times, but none of the names jumps out at me. There’s no Evonne. The closest is an Evelyn with two question marks after her name, indicating that Rick doesn’t know her last name or her address. Then there’s a dash and the notation “club in LA.” That notation appears a lot on the list. I have no idea how we’re going to track this woman down if she’s one of Rick’s random hook-ups.

I re-read the list. Emily thought the Little Box of Horrors was about Rick’s relationships with women, and I’m inclined to agree with her. Somewhere in this list might be the name of the woman who made it.

I fire off the list to Max and ask him to see if he can find any history of stalking by any of these women. Then I call Manny.

Manny’s the same kind of early bird I am. He’ll have been up for an hour already. He answers the phone on the first ring, tells me that he handed Rick off to Sadler, a guy he’s subcontracted body man work to before, and that the interview with the Castillos didn’t net us anything. Terri Castillo was less forthcoming in front of her husband, and Pedro Castillo wasn’t admitting much of anything.

“Nothing about Laurel Radford?”

“Mister said he didn’t know who she was. Missus had gone mute by then.”

“Uh-huh.” I’m familiar with those sorts of interviews. There isn’t much Manny could have done to draw out Terri Castillo with her husband acting like a human gag. If I thought she had anything useful, I’d try to re-interview her on her own. “I think we table them for now. Laurel Radford’s not our stalker. She’s willing to work with Rick to produce some sort of statement countering EvonneBringsTheTruth’s allegations. I think we have to turn our sights elsewhere.”

“Any ideas?”

I rub my hand through my hair. “It’s a long-shot, but I think we look more closely at Dovie Donegan. She’s definitely hiding something. It could just be that she was protecting Laurel, but she’s acting awfully fucking guilty.”

“And she took the pictures of the Fire Island threesome.”

“She did.” The pictures are a common thread in all this, although the person who made the box could have just printed them off the internet. “I’m toying with the idea of showing up at her door.”

“If she calls the cops?”

“Then I whip out the pictures which have somehow made their way to the internet without Rick’s consent and let them take over interviewing her.”

Manny chuckles. “You have a fucking mean streak, hermano.”

“I’m a sadist, what can I say? Want to tag along?”

“You got it. I’m on Rick today and I’ve got a thing with Jen tonight, but Tipper’s back tomorrow and then he’s got Rick until Friday, so I’m your man.”

I’ve got to take Miranda to the airport after physical therapy tomorrow. Her flight leaves at nine, but with all the security, I was planning on setting off to the airport no later than four, so I should be back by tea-time.

“Pick me up at seven? We’ll avoid the rush-hour traffic and give her time to get home after work.”

“Assuming she works nine to five.”

“Yeah, I know that’s an assumption, but let’s give it a shot. I don’t want to give her any advance warning. Seven work for you?”

“Works for me. See you tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Manny.”

I type up another email to everyone with the next steps before going find my baby girl. While I was talking to Manny, I heard the basement door open, and Emily greet her cat, so I know she’s up. I listen up the stairs for the shower but don’t hear anything. Kitchen’s quiet, too, although the kettle’s on.

I nearly miss her as I