Gaylin Robert B Parker's Buzz Kill

1. Auflage 2024
ISBN: 978-1-83501-219-2
Verlag: No Exit Press
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, Band 12, 224 Seiten

Reihe: A Sunny Randall Mystery

Sunny Randall is hired to investigate the disappearance of an energy drink company's CEO, Dylan. As she gets closer to finding Dylan, she learns not only of his bad behaviour toward numerous women, but of his bad behaviour within the business world - and his energy drink that, despite its marketing, has proven dangerous and even deadly.

ALISON GAYLIN is a USA Today and international bestselling author whose novels have won the Edgar and Shamus awards. Her work has been published in numerous countries and has been nominated for numerous awards, including the Macavity, Anthony, ITW Thriller and Strand Book Award.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Gaylin, Alison

Leseproben

3

Before today, I’d seen Lydia Welch only once, and that wasn’t even in person. I’d seen her in a family photo that she’d shared on Facebook five years ago, taken at the Welch summer home in Nantucket on the Fourth of July.

Surrounded by her loved ones, Lydia had struck me as laid back, relaxed, and very down-to-earth, especially for someone in her tax bracket. It just goes to show how misleading social media can be. Granted, she was on vacation in the picture – and clearly in a much better mood. But the Lydia Welch I encountered in my office could have easily pulled a set of quietly elegant brass knuckles out of her Birkin bag and knocked Facebook Lydia senseless.

I asked Blake to bring us two cups of his coffee, and he practically sprinted out of the room.

Lydia Welch and I spent about a minute getting situated – me behind my desk and Lydia on one of the two comfortable leather client chairs I’d bought about a month ago, when I’d spent my newfound surplus on an office renovation.

Then, for what felt like a few hours but was probably around a minute, the two of us just sat there. There was a lot of throat clearing on my part, a few well-placed glares on hers. For someone who had led with ‘We need to talk,’ Mrs Welch was distinctly nonverbal. It felt like a power play to me. Whoever cracked first and spoke lost.

I lost.

‘Mrs Welch. If this is about your son, I’m afraid I can’t help you.’

‘Of course it’s about my son,’ she said. ‘Yes, you can help me find him. And you will.’

‘I already told your husband, I’m not the right person for the job.’

‘I read the Globe article,’ Lydia Welch said. ‘You’re the best out there. That makes you the right person.’

‘I’m flattered,’ I said. ‘But the truth is, Mrs Welch, Dylan hates me.’

‘That’s ridiculous.’

‘Oh, no, it isn’t.’

‘Why?’

‘Well, for one thing, I insulted him.’

‘You’re not the first.’

‘I drew a gun on him.’

‘A misunderstanding.’

‘I caused him serious bodily injury.’

‘You called an ambulance afterward.’ She smiled sweetly. ‘That was kind.’

Blake returned with our coffees, along with a cream pitcher and a sugar bowl, all on a tray. He placed it on my desk. ‘Is there anything else you’d like?’

‘Privacy.’ Lydia glared at him. Blake’s face flushed and a look crept into his eyes, as if he’d discovered another ouchie. ‘Okey dokey.’

‘Thank you very much, Blake,’ I said as he left.

Lydia stirred cream into her coffee. I sipped mine. Blake was right. It was very good.

‘That assistant of yours. I recognize him.’

‘He used to advertise Dylan’s product on his Instagram account,’ I said.

‘Gonzo,’ she said.

‘Yes.’

‘We gave Dylan that company, you know,’ she said. ‘He told us he had an idea for an energy drink with twice the caffeine of the strongest blend on the market and twenty-two essential vitamins. Bill and I gave him the start-up money. He’d failed with the dating app, but he desperately wanted to be an entrepreneur. I convinced Bill to provide the funds. I thought Gonzo was a catchy name.’

I looked at Lydia. It was pretty clear she’d been the force behind her husband’s persistent calls and emails. ‘I’m not a fan of energy drinks,’ I said, ‘but it seems like a popular brand.’

‘It is.’ She swallowed her coffee. ‘Especially in the past two quarters. Not because of Dylan, though.’

‘No?’

‘The COO – an old college friend of his – does all the work.’

‘Oh.’

‘Just like the dating app and every other new toy we’ve ever given him, he got bored with it,’ she said. ‘Your assistant probably takes his job more seriously than Dylan has ever taken anything. Even Harvard. Dylan went to Harvard, you know.’

‘Yes, I know.’ In fact, I’d heard all about his Harvard years from Teresa Leone – his girlfriend at that time. ‘I understand he wanted to go to film school after graduation,’ I said, ‘but his father wouldn’t let him.’

Lydia Welch rolled her eyes. ‘First of all, who doesn’t want to go to film school?’

I shrugged. That was kind of true.

‘Second, his father wouldn’t let him because he felt it was a stall tactic. And I did, too. Dylan didn’t want to make movies. He wanted to spend another two or three years hanging out in Hollywood nightclubs and spending our money.’

I nodded. ‘Okay, but this friend of Dylan’s also told me that his father wouldn’t give him the backing for the dating app,’ I said, ‘and that made him turn to some dicey sources.’

‘That’s partially true,’ she said. ‘I gave him the money for the dating app. Out of my personal account. When the business failed and I wouldn’t bail him out, he did obtain additional funding from Russian gangsters.’

Wow, I thought. That’s even worse.

‘By the way, this friend of his,’ she said. ‘Was this a girl, by any chance? One he was interested in and trying to impress?’

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘I knew it,’ she said. ‘In any case, it took a lot of finagling on my part, but I found the right lawyers, we paid off the right gangsters. And he was free to disappoint us again and again.’

I looked at her for a long while. ‘This is enlightening,’ I said. ‘It doesn’t make me want to take this case. But it is enlightening.’

Lydia let out a sigh. ‘Sunny,’ she said, ‘you take your job seriously.’

‘I do.’

‘I could tell that just from reading that article,’ she said. ‘You care about people. You care about families.’

‘Not all people,’ I said. ‘Not all families.’

She opened her mouth as if to say something, but drew a sharp breath instead. She seemed to be at a loss for words – unusual for her, I was sure. Surprisingly, it made me feel kind of bad.

‘You know, I’m not as great as that article would have you believe,’ I said.

‘Modesty,’ she said. ‘Yet another virtue.’

‘Full disclosure, I used to date the guy who wrote it.’

She smiled. ‘That speaks even more highly of you. An ex portraying you that way.’

I sighed. ‘You get your mind set on something, you don’t let go, do you?’

‘Like a dog with a bone,’ she said. ‘It’s how I got Bill to propose.’

I watched her for a few moments. ‘I’m assuming you want to offer me more than your husband did.’

‘Absolutely.’

I thought about the second home on the Jersey Shore. ‘How much more?’

Lydia opened her Birkin bag. She removed a piece of ivory-colored stationery and a Montblanc pen. She wrote a number on the stationery, turned it face down, and slid it across the desk. ‘I know this is corny,’ she said.

‘I’ve only ever seen it done in movies.’

‘Same here,’ she said. ‘But some numbers are better off written than said out loud.’

I turned the paper over. Looked at the figure – enough for a down payment or at least a year’s rent on a very nice, dog-friendly apartment in Asbury Park.

I cleared my throat. ‘Can I ask you something, Mrs Welch?’

‘Lydia.’

‘Lydia,’ I said. ‘How do you know that Dylan is missing?’

‘Pardon?’

‘He’s a grown man. He leads an active lifestyle. Would it be that out of character for him to take off somewhere for… How long has it been?’

‘Two weeks.’

I exhaled. ‘That doesn’t seem like a very long time.’

‘Have you ever gone that long without talking to your mother?’

‘Yes.’

‘Truly?’

I cleared my throat. ‘I do talk to my dad very frequently.’

Lydia set her coffee cup back on its saucer. She tucked a lock of shiny hair behind an ear, then folded her hands in her lap – every move of hers perfectly composed, but with a tension beneath the surface, like a smooth white sky just before a storm. ‘I’m sorry you don’t have a good relationship with your mother.’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘You didn’t have to.’

‘I suppose not,’ I said.

‘Dylan doesn’t have a good relationship with his father,’ she said. ‘They’re very different personalities. They speak rarely. I don’t even think they necessarily trust each other.’

I nodded.

She looked at me as though she expected me to contribute to the conversation – to tell her that my mother and I shared a similar dynamic. But I didn’t take the bait. My shrink appointment wasn’t until five p.m., and I could handle that discussion only once in a day.

‘Every child needs at least one parent on their side,’ she said.

I nodded again.

‘Dylan and I have a special connection, Sunny,’ she said. ‘I know all about what you generously called his “active lifestyle,” when what you really meant was the clubbing, the benders, the rehab stays, the escapes from rehab…’

‘So you understand,’ I said.

‘I understand he isn’t perfect,’ she said. ‘But that doesn’t change our connection. It doesn’t stop me from knowing when he needs my help. Like with those Russian gangsters. He...