Page 33 of Intrigued
“Yes,” Kylie said.
I was in the back seat of the Uber, heading to Sally Preacher’s house. The heat was on full blast, and my body felt as if it were thawing after being on ice.
I heard a flight number being called in the background. “Are you at the airport?” I asked.
Kylie coughed then sneezed. “Yes. I’m following up on that lead you sent me.”
My jaw dropped. “That was quick.”
“Well, I’m motivated. And by the way, I’m not supposed to engage in any investigation of that family we talked about. But…”
I smiled from ear to ear. “They’re your unfinished business.”
Silence fell between us.
However, the driver said, “No way,” gossiping with whomever had just said something to her through her ear pods.
“And before I board, I want to send you some other facts I’ve unearthed,” Kylie said. “I was supposed to destroy everything I had on them, but I didn’t.”
I grinned. “Of course you didn’t.” My email chimed, alerting me of a new message. “Got it. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” I could tell she was walking fast by her accelerated breaths. “I’ll tell you what I find, and then I’ll have to wait for you to finish the rest. Good luck, Holls. May you get further than I did.” She ended the call.
The driver, who appeared to be barely out of high school, whipped around a corner, heading onto the interstate at around fifty miles per hour. She was laughing at something her friend said.
I figured the best thing for me to do was to keep my head down and pray I made it to Sally Preacher’s in one piece. So I opened the email Kylie had sent me and started reading. The first attachment was an interview with a college friend of Asher’s named Peter Turgot. He claimed people had wanted to get to know Asher because he was a Christmas. Peter said Asher had done everything he could to make everyone see him as a normal person, even sell poppers at frat parties. That was how Asher had gotten involved in chemistry. He’d come to be known around campus as Santa Claus because he would always show up with the best dope.
However, Kylie noted that she couldn’t get anyone on the record about how one of his concoctions had caused multiple overdoses. She’d sent me a list of people whose palms had been greased by Jasper. A guy named Benjamin Dow had actually pled guilty to making the drugs. According to Kylie’s notes, he had been released from prison after serving nine months of an eight-year sentence. She’d included a list of her current observations on Benjamin Dow:
Benji’s house, San Francisco, CA – $3,789,999
Car – Mercedes G-Wagon
Job – N/A
Bank Account: $16,000,000 + Various stocks that cannot be traced back to the Christmases.
Conclusion: They’re paying him off for taking the fall.
My mouth fell open. “Wow,”I whispered.
“I’m sorry,” the driver said. “I’ll slow my speed.”
“Thank you,” I said, even though I wasn’t talking to her. Immediately, I felt the car slow.
“So, do you live in that big house?” the driver asked.
Damn, she wanted to talk. “I’m sorry, what’s your name again?” I asked.
“I’m Tiffany.”
“Tiffany, I’m in town visiting friends, but I have an errand to run and—”
“Don’t the Christmases live next door to where I picked you up?” she asked.
She had my attention, so I closed my laptop. “Yeah, they do,” I said leadingly.
“Are they your neighbors?”
