The tinkling doorway bell sounded, and Roxy turned to see Nat and George enter the botanica, deep in conversation. Roxy’s heart flipped into her stomach. She wasn’t expecting to see Nat. If Lamontagne recognized her from the club, there would be a commotion. Charles trailed behind them, jangling car keys with a rental company key fob in his hand.
“Hello,” George said to them all.
Roxy dashed forward and put herself between Nat and Lamontagne.
“What are you doing here, Nat? Shouldn’t you be getting dinner ready or something?”
“I thought I’d come and give George some moral support,” said Nat, then added quickly, “as a friend, of course.” She frowned at Roxy and leaned in. “Are you all right?” she said quietly.
“Yes, of course. Why?”
“You’re acting all weird.”
“No, no, I’m not.”
Behind Roxy, Royston Lamontagne took his headphones out and looked up at George with interest. “Meredith Romanoff’s assistant, correct?” He seemed to not notice Nat at all. Nevertheless, Roxy took a step closer to her and turned around slowly to face Lamontagne. She hoped to shield Nat from the music producer’s view, even though her friend stood smack-dab in the middle of the store.
“Yes, sir.” George looked more confident in himself than Roxy had ever seen him.
The big man turned to Dr. Jack. “Give us a room, man.”
Quickly, Roxy leaned in to Nat and whispered. “Look, why don’t you go back to the Funky Cat and prepare supper for us for when we get back? We’ll all be starving and have lots to talk about.”
“Yes, why don’t you do that, Nat? It would be lovely to have some of your gorgeous food to come back to.” George beamed at Nat. She beamed back at him and after a moment’s hesitation said, “Okay, toodle-oo.” She waggled her fingers and walked out of the shop. Roxy inhaled deeply and closed her eyes. Her shoulders relaxed and dropped two inches as she let out a huge sigh.
Lamontagne was still talking to Dr. Jack, oblivious to the exchange that had taken place behind him. “The police aren’t here yet so we can’t progress with the reenactment. I need a reading immediately.”
Dr. Jack said, “You can use the same room as…well, the same room as before. Please.” He opened the door to the backroom and stood aside.
George and Lamontagne filed past Dr. Jack. Lamontagne reached for the door handle, but Jack put his hand out to stop him. The big man turned to look back. “We need the door closed. We are discussing sensitive business matters. They are strictly confidential.”
A shot of fear traveled through Roxy’s body. Lamontagne and George in the same room? Alone? With the door closed? When Lamontagne may have already shot Meredith who along with George had nearly ruined Lamontagne’s business?
“I don’t think…” Roxy said warily.
“Roxy’s right,” Dr. Jack said. “I think we should keep the door open.”
“That won’t work for me at all, and it’s completely unnecessary,” Lamontagne said. Fenton yipped in agreement.
“It’s fine, Dr. Jack,” George said. His voice was sharp. Roxy felt the hairs on her arms stand on end. This was a much more confident George than she was used to.
“Are you sure?”
George lifted his chin and with his gaze firm, said clearly, “Yes.”
The two men walked into the back room where Meredith had been shot. Dr. Jack closed the door after George, his eyebrows drawn together in a frown.
Roxy bounded up to the counter. “What if one of those two is the killer, and something happens in there?” she said in a loud whisper to Dr. Jack. Her cheeks were flushed pink with alarm.
“My thoughts exactly,” Dr. Jack said. His expression was grim. His eyes were dark and his lips were pressed into a thin line.
Just then, Roxy’s face brightened. Her mind worked quickly. “The bathroom!” Roxy darted over, slipping inside and locking the door quickly. She sat on top of the toilet lid as Trudeau had done before her and pressed her ear up against the wall. Yes! Just as she’d hoped, she could hear George and Royston’s conversation through the wall.
“Before we start,” Lamontagne was saying, “do you know who killed Meredith?”
“No,” said George.
Lamontagne snorted. “Some spiritual gifts you’ve got. Shouldn’t they reveal things like that?”
“Not necessarily!” George shot back. Roxy could imagine the tops of his freckled ears turning pink.
“Look, you were just Meredith’s assistant. You’re nothing special. The only reason I’m talking to you now is that I have some very important business going down, and I need guidance.”
“I am very capable, sir. The only reason you aren’t familiar with the strength of my gifts is that Meredith prevented me from showing them to you. She didn’t want me to outshine her. But now that she’s gone, my powers are unfettered, and the spirits are talking to me loud and clear.”
There was a long silence, and Roxy’s racing thoughts rushed to fill it up. Royston Lamontagne was not acting like a killer who had a vendetta against George, and Roxy imagined the younger, shorter man’s cornflower blue eyes blazing as he talked back to him. Had someone got to George, boosted his confidence? Nat perhaps? Or had George pretended to be sweet and wholesome this whole time? Roxy shook her head, trying to shake some sense into herself. George couldn’t be the murderer, surely? If that were true, Roxy would feel for Nat. George was the best friend she’d made in a long time. Oh, this was all so confusing.
“Whatever,” said Royston through the wall. “Right now, you’re my only option. Give me my reading. I want to see what comes up.”
Roxy continued to listen, her heart thudding so loudly that she worried they’d be able to hear it on the other side of the wall. George began to give Royston a reading from the cards he now carried in his pocket. As he did so, she looked in the bathroom mirror at herself. She noted her small body and short blonde hair. Other people may have seen a sweet, pliant, kind young woman who looked younger than her age, but as Roxy stared into her own eyes, all she saw was grit and determination. “Whoever you are, I’ll get you,” she whispered. “I will.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
KNOCK, KNOCK. THERE was a rap at the bathroom door. Roxy leaned over and opened it.
“Hello,” Terah said, scanning Roxy like she was assessing enemy territory for threats. With her one good eye, she took in Roxy’s unusual position on the toilet and then looked up into her face.
“Hi, Terah,” Roxy replied, her eyes shining and her voice unnaturally bright. “Not long until we start now. All we have to do is wait for George and Royston to finish their reading, then we can begin the reenactment.”
“I hope it’s not too long,” said Terah. “I’ve got the German Shepherds tied outside, and they don’t like being restricted for long.”
Roxy glanced through the open door and saw the large dogs lounging outside on a patch of grass out front, shaded from the early evening sun by a tree. They were muzzled. She seriously hoped that Terah was not the killer.
“Is there anything I can do to make you feel more comfortable while we wait?” Roxy asked.
“Yes, please,” Terah said tightly and gave the least genuine smile Roxy had seen in a long time, probably since she last saw her co-workers at Modal Appliances. “You could leave. I’d like to use, um, the bathroom.”
Roxy sat up. “Oh, right. What for exactly?”
Terah eyed Roxy strangely again, “For the purposes you usually associate with a bathroom.”
“Oh! Yes, of course.” Roxy jumped up and squeezed past Terah. “I’d completely forgotten where I was. Excuse me.”
Outside in the botanica, the bathroom door shut behind her, Roxy folded her arms around her waist and drummed her fingertips against her arms, willing Terah to hurry up. She didn’t like leaving George and Royston unobserved. Royston still had a very strong motive for wanting George dead. After a couple of minutes, Terah having not emerged, Roxy w
alked up to the counter.
“I’m worried, Dr. Jack. One of them in the back room could be the killer. I don’t like them being alone in there together.”
“They’re not alone. Charles has just gone in,” Dr. Jack said. As he said it, there was a yell from the back room, and a thump as something hit the wall.
“Oh, my gosh!” Roxy ran to the door and tried to push it open, but it wouldn’t budge. Shouts and more thumps were coming from inside. She tried again, but still, the door wouldn’t give way. “Dr. Jack! The door’s stuck! We must get inside,” she said. The sound of a scream rose from inside the room, followed by a crash and a heavy thud.
“What’s going on?” said Terah Jones, rushing up.
“No time to explain!” said Roxy. She stepped to one side as Dr. Jack tried the door, but he couldn’t open it either.
“Come on!” Roxy said.
Dr. Jack pressed his whole weight against it, and it budged a little way. “It looks like something’s pressed up against the door. Stand back!” Terah and Roxy gave Jack room as he ran at the door with his shoulder.
“I’m not getting involved,” Roxy heard Terah say before there was a big bang as Dr. Jack burst through the door in a charge that was very unspiritual-like in its execution.
As soon as he was through, Dr. Jack stopped dead in his tracks. Roxy rushed up behind him and peered around his body. “Look,” he said. The window was wide open. The curtains flapped a little in the breeze. Jack edged toward the light, looking around the room. Roxy heard a moan. On the floor, lay the long, languid figure of Royston Lamontagne. He was holding his head in one hand, the other covered his eyes as he rolled from side to side. Fenton was scurrying around the edge of the room, yipping constantly as he looked for a means of escape.
“Where are Charles and George?” Roxy whispered.
“They must have gone out through the window.” Dr. Jack turned to her, his eyes wide. “Roxy, what the heck is going on?”
“I don’t know, Dr. Jack, I don’t know! Could one of them have taken the other hostage? Or are both of them involved together?” They stared at each other as the ramifications of what Roxy had just said dawned on them.
The screaming sounds of police sirens filled the air. Roxy and Dr. Jack looked out of the open window to see two squad cars coming to an abrupt halt at the curb. Johnson and Trudeau jumped out of the first as horns continued to blare and lights flashed. Under the tree, the German Shepherds jumped to their feet and pulled at their leashes, barking loudly. Their muzzles prevented them from being more threatening, but their bared teeth and rigid, tense musculature were intimidating nonetheless. Johnson and Trudeau eyed them carefully and gave them a wide berth.
“Roxy Reinhardt!” Johnson barked, striding inside the botanica.
“Detective Johnson!” she said, rushing from the back room into the store. “I’m so glad you’re here. I have to tell you…”
“You are under arrest for impersonating a police officer,” Johnson said, slapping the cuffs on her wrists. “You have the right to remain silent and refuse to answer questions. Anything you say may be used against you in a court of law…”
“What?” said Dr. Jack. “No!”
“You have the right to consult an attorney before speaking to the police and to have an attorney present during questioning now or in the future.” Trudeau took over from Johnson, speaking so fast Roxy would have barely been able to understand him even if a torrent of blood hadn’t been rushing through her head so loudly that she could barely hear anything at all. “If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you before any questioning if you wish.”
“No! Look! Listen! I…”
“Yada, yada, yada,” Johnson said.
“How did you know?” Roxy asked.
“How did I know what?”
“That I pretended to be a police officer?”
“We’re detectives, Ms. Reinhardt. It’s our job to ask questions and find out things. You know, detect. Come on, let’s continue this down at the station. You’re headed for a cell, Roxy Reinhardt. Finally.”
He clasped her upper arm so tightly that the force of his grip almost lifted her from the ground. He practically carried her to the patrol car. As he passed Terah who had flattened herself against the wall of the botanica, he nodded briefly.
Dr. Jack rushed around them and blocked Johnson’s path.
“Don’t arrest her,” he said, “please.”
“She committed a crime.”
“She means no harm. She was just trying to…”
“I don’t care if she was trying to feed orphans in Bangladesh,” said Johnson. “A crime is a crime.”
“Please, Detective, listen…” said Roxy.
“Trudeau!” he hollered.
“Please, Detective Johnson,” she continued. “I was just working on the mystery of Meredith’s murder. Charles and George have disappeared. Charles is driving a rental car. I saw him carrying the car keys. One of them, or both of them, have beaten up Royston Lamontagne. Someone could be in danger, or two people could be getting away…”
“You think I care about your cute story?” Johnson said.
“Who’s in danger, Roxy?” Trudeau asked.
“Get her in the car!” Johnson barked, pushing Roxy at him.
“Hey!” Dr. Jack said. “Don’t manhandle her like that!”
“Excuse me?” Johnson said. “And don’t think I haven’t got my eye on you, Doctor. You’re not out of the woods yet.”
“George has been kidnapped!” Roxy shouted as Officer Trudeau led her toward the squad car. “I think!”
“A likely story,” Johnson said. “Just another one of your lies. Impersonating a crack detective now, are you?”
“No!” Roxy said, struggling against Trudeau’s firm grip. For such a tiny slip of a woman, her efforts were laudable but ultimately fruitless. “I know I made a mistake. A big mistake. I shouldn’t have pretended to be a police officer. But I…”
“Don’t bother,” Officer Trudeau said quietly. “Get in the car, then we’ll talk.”
“But…”
“Just trust me,” he said. “This’ll work out. I believe you.”
“You do?” She looked at him carefully, studying him.
He looked back, his eyes clear and free of mischief or malice. “I do. Get in the car.”
Roxy got in the backseat, finding it hard to maneuver herself with cuffs on her wrists even though they were quite loose, her wrists being tiny. She watched out of the police car window at the scene unfolding in front of the botanica.
Terah had come out to see her drive off while Dr. Jack was remonstrating fiercely with Johnson, his arms flying around, gesturing toward Roxy in the car.
In the back seat, the only thing Roxy could hear was Johnson hollering, “If you don’t shut the heck up right now, I’ll throw you in jail! Again.” Johnson’s anger was making the German Shepherds a few feet away from him even more agitated, and they continued to bark without letting up.
Having shouted Dr. Jack down, Johnson stormed back to the patrol car, yanked the door open, and climbed into the passenger seat. He turned around to give Roxy a gleeful glare. “You just think you can do anything, don’t ‘cha?”
“I’m sorry!” Roxy said desperately. “I don’t know what I was thinking. But seriously, George and Charles are missing, and I think…”
“You don’t need to concern yourself with any of that,” said Johnson. “I’d advise you to sit back in your seat, be quiet, and think about the disastrous consequences your recent actions are going to have on your formerly pretty little life.”
Trudeau got behind the wheel while Roxy, on the brink of crying with frustration, flung herself back in the seat and leaned her head against the headrest. Part of her still had the energy to protest, to repeatedly tell the two policemen that they were letting a murderer, maybe two, get away, but the futility of her situation weighed on her.
She slumped back against the wor
n leather and looked miserably out of the window as Trudeau started up the car and cruised back to the station. It began to rain heavily, seemingly out of nowhere, and the rhythmic drumming of the rain against the window began to settle her. She tipped her head forward and leaned it against the windowpane, feeling with relief the coolness of the glass against her skin.
Roxy had been arrested. The indignity made her feel small. She considered what Detective Johnson had said—how might her arrest affect the rest of her life?
Maybe there would be a big fine. Or a short period of jail time. She thought about her friends. Nat and Sam and Sage and Elijah would hold down the fort, maybe employ someone in the interim to keep things ticking over—wouldn’t they?
But what if they didn’t? What if they fired her and hired someone else? What if they banded together, called her a criminal, and let her languish in jail? What if they refused to return her letters, her calls? What if they adopted out Nefertiti, and Roxy lost her too?
Roxy’s mind had turned as dark as the sky. Her thoughts made her feel sick and her palms sweat. Exhausted, she closed her eyes and focused on the thrum of the patrol car’s engine as it cruised to its destination, bracing herself despite her cuffed hands against the bumps and jolts as they navigated the city streets. When they arrived out in front of the police station they had to park some way from the entrance. Johnson treated himself to the only umbrella leaving Trudeau to escort Roxy in the pouring rain. At least Trudeau had his police cap.
By the time she stepped into the police station, Roxy was shivering from cold and shock. She was drenched through, her clothes stuck to her. She looked and felt thoroughly miserable. In the dingy lobby, a scruffy man ahead of her emptied his pockets at the custody desk while an exhausted woman slept on one of the chairs, a free newspaper sliding off her lap onto the floor as she snored.
Roxy felt the weight of her lost hopes and dreams pull down her shoulders. Was this now her life? Disgrace? Humiliation? Loneliness? She thought back to her childhood. She felt she’d come full circle and then some. And now there was the question of George. And Charles. She might be disgraced, but what had happened to them?
Roxy Reinhardt Mysteries Box Set Page 49
