Jeopardy in January

by Camilla Chafer

  Now I listened intently for any sound but couldn't hear a thing. The last big noise I heard was what I hoped was the front door opening and then shutting but I didn’t really know about that either.

  There was only one thing I was sure of: I couldn't stay hidden in the bed frame forever. If the man came back with the intent of tossing the place, I didn't want to be there for him to discover. Whatever he was looking for, it definitely wasn't a person. He was looking for something Bree must have hidden; and his assertion that “she wasn't that smart” meant he thought that whatever she hid had to be here.

  With shaking hands, I pushed the mattress up and listened carefully. When I couldn't hear anything but the sound of my own breathing, I hoisted myself out of the ripped frame, tumbling onto the floor like a newborn lamb. I waited breathlessly, but no one came. He must have left.

  I didn't know exactly what made me hide the moment I heard his voice but I was so glad I did. Concealed inside the bed frame, I heard him stomping through the apartment, cursing as he searched in vain. I tried not to think of what could have happened if he knew I was there. He might have threatened me or much worse.

  What if he were the man who killed Bree?

  Leaning back under the mattress, I pulled out my purse and slipped it across my shoulder. Creeping forward, I peeked out from the bedroom door. Everything looked the same. The man hadn't trashed the apartment. He must have been careful not to disturb anything; or else he put it back the way he found it. If I hadn't already arrived at Bree's apartment first, and let myself in with her spare key, I would never have known someone else had searched her home. I figured that must have been his plan.

  Hurrying to the windows at the front of the apartment, I peeked out, checking the surrounding area for any traces of the man. No one loitered on the street and all the cars I could see were empty.

  There was only one way out. Bree's door led into a common corridor where three other apartments opened onto. Taking a deep breath, I slowly opened the door and slipped out, pulling it closed behind me, and waiting for the click to indicate it was locked. If the man still lingered somewhere outside, I could only hope he thought I exited from one of the neighboring apartments. Before I left, I turned, stooping down to look at the lock. The tiniest of scratches were evident around the keyhole. I didn’t know if they were there previously but I felt sure he must’ve picked the lock! Whoever he was, Bree never intended for him to have access to her home.

  Jogging down the stairs, I hurried to my car and beeped it open. I was careful to check the backseat just in case someone lurked there in wait for me, and I hit the locks as soon as I climbed inside.

  The incident really scared me. Who was the man and what was he searching for? He obviously thought Bree had hidden something, which he didn't think would be hard to find. Yet, I was sure he left empty-handed because the only thing hidden in the apartment was the envelope which now lay inside my purse. That was definitely purposefully concealed, since it was so securely taped to the underside of a nightstand drawer. Whatever it was, Bree didn't want it found.

  Igniting the engine, I forced myself to drive, even though my hands were still shaking. I couldn't stop shaking until I got home. The journey took me three times as long as it should have because I chose an unusually long route. I wanted to see if I were being followed but fortunately, I wasn’t.

  Inside my house, I locked the door and checked the handle before flopping into my armchair and trying to calm down. Nothing happened. He hadn't found me. I wasn't hurt.

  Where did that thought come from?

  I realized it arose at the same moment I heard his voice. He was, as my mother would say, up to no good. I had to tell Detective Logan. Could this be the man who hurt Bree?

  Detective Logan gave me his card. I pulled it from my purse and held it up while I dialed his number.

  "Detective Logan," he said when he answered.

  "Hi, it's me, er Sara. Sara Cutler," I stammered.

  "Are you okay?"

  "Yes, thank you, yes, I am." I stopped and took a deep breath. "Actually, no. I went to Bree's apartment and a man came in there."

  "Who?"

  "I don't know. He came into the apartment and I heard him say he was looking for something."

  "Did he say what it was specifically?" asked Detective Logan, his voice belying his sudden interest.

  "No; just that she must have hidden something and he intended to check everywhere. I couldn't hear another voice so he must have been talking on the phone to someone."

  "Can you give me a description?"

  "Of the phone?"

  "The man," sighed Detective Logan.

  "Oh, yes, of course. That is, well, actually, no." I winced, feeling small and stupid. "I heard him and I hid," I admitted, wishing I could crawl into a hole and disappear. I called the detective with a lead but had no real information to give him. "I was inside the apartment and I became too afraid."

  "Your friend was murdered. You were right to be cautious," said Detective Logan, his voice softer and more sympathetic. "Now may I ask, what were you doing in Bree's apartment?"

  "I thought I'd see if anything needed to be done, like, uh, watering the plants," I told him, scrambling for an answer that didn't involve searching for clues. I was pretty sure Logan would bristle at the idea of me butting into police business.

  "I see," he said without sounding convinced. "Tell me what happened, starting from when the man first came in."

  I explained what I heard and added, "I stayed hidden in the bed frame until he was gone."

  "Do you know if he found anything?"

  "I don't know for certain but it didn't sound like it. I didn't hear him say 'Aha!' or anything like that and he didn't make another call either."

  "But he didn't say what he was looking for?"

  "No, but whatever it was, he thought Bree had it. Do you think it could be the same man who killed her?"

  "Could be, or someone connected to that person, or to her in some way. I'll admit it sounds pretty suspicious." Detective Logan paused and I waited for another question. Instead he said, "I'll look into it. Please don't go into the apartment again. If he's searching for something that he thinks Bree had, it could be the motive for her murder. I don't want you painting a big, fat bull’s eye on your back."

  "I won't," I promised. "Did you locate any of Bree’s relatives?"

  "Not yet." Detective Logan hung up after giving me another warning not to go back to the apartment. I promised I wouldn't and meant it. His idea that I might become the next target wasn't unreasonable. Whatever was missing must have been something important to someone. And if this man were the actual murderer, then I was sure he wouldn't hesitate to add another body to his list.

  Only after I dropped the phone onto the coffee table did I remember the envelope. I pulled it from my purse and turned it over, looking for any indication of what it might contain, or even an instruction of when to open it. Both sides, however, were blank. I squeezed it, finding something bulky and rectangular inside and turned it over. I began frowning as I noticed the opening was taped shut. The ends of the tape from where I peeled it from the drawer still hung from each side. I knew I should have called Detective Logan again and probably handed over the envelope but I couldn't resist taking a look inside. I pulled at the flap and opened it, deciding I would see the contents first and tell Logan later. Bree was my friend, after all, not his. For Logan, it was business; for me, it was personal.

  I shook the envelope's contents into my hand, my eyes widening when I saw the edges of a passport. I pulled it out and a driver's license popped out too, along with a wad of money.

  The license photo was of Bree but the name on it said Brittany Johnson not Bree Shaw. The registered address was in the state, but not at her Oak Street apartment. The passport had the same name and Bree's photo. I put both of them aside and counted the money. Three thousand dollars in twenty-dollar bills!

  Why did Bree need so much money? Why had
she hidden it? And why did her passport and license identify her as Brittany Johnson?

  My mind circled back to the theory I first hit upon in the café. If Bree were on the run from a man, it made sense for her to change her name so that it would be harder for anyone to find her. Bree could easily be shortened to Brittany. Perhaps the surname she'd given to me was her maiden name? No, whoever she was fleeing from would know that name. She must have given me a fake one. Perhaps the passport was her married name? Having never seen a fake passport before, I just assumed it was genuine but maybe it was a fake too?

  For whatever reasons, Bree felt it necessary to keep these documents hidden. The money, I could understand. It was enough to buy her a plane or train ticket, maybe even hire a car to cross state lines. Or she could have been intending to use it as a deposit on another apartment or a few nights in cheap motels. It had to be her running away money.

  The man in the apartment must have been her ex.

  No, that didn't make sense. If he tracked her down and killed her, why wouldn't he have already left Calendar or tried to put as much distance as he could between the crime and himself? What could have been so important that he would have chosen to stick around and find it? Had he killed her in a previous attempt to get it?

  Although I thought about it a lot, I still couldn't work out why Bree would have returned to the library. Maybe the mystery ex found her so she'd taken him there rather than returning to her apartment. Perhaps she thought he would calm down and she could possibly call for help?

  Without realizing it, I'd gotten onto my feet, and begun pacing the living room as the unanswered questions swirled in my head. I wished I was a PI, like Kathleen Turner in V.I. Warshawski on TV or Sam Spade from the mystery novels. Then I might have known what to do and how to go about finding out what happened to Bree. Detective Logan would know what to do though.

  I looked down at the envelope in my hand and I knew I had to give it to him. It wouldn't be right to withhold information, especially if it could help solve the crime. But could it also change the focus of the investigation and direct it elsewhere? What if he jumped to the conclusion that Bree had done something wrong?

  Before I handed over any evidence, I had to make a copy.

  After placing the license on my coffee table, I took out my phone camera and snapped a picture. I checked to be sure it was clearly visible and I could read all the words and subsequently repeated the action with the passport, which I wedged open at the photo page. I also took a photo of the stack of money.

  When a knock sounded at my door, I jumped. I didn't realize how jangled my nerves were until that moment and I could only laugh at my own fright. As I crossed the room to the door, I tensed up. What if Detective Logan were right? Could the same man have followed me here? What if he'd been watching me through the window? He’d know I had the envelope! I quickly retraced my steps, stuffing everything back as I’d found it and depositing it in my purse.

  More knocking came. I was all alone. My closest neighbors were probably at work.

  I softened my footsteps as I approached the door and took my phone in hand, ready to dial 911. Before pulling the door open, I checked the peephole, and gratefully exhaled a sigh of relief.

  Jason Rees was outside on my stoop.

  I thought about tiptoeing away but decided to get it over with. Whatever Jason wanted, I don’t know why he couldn't have gone to my boss.

  "Hi, Sara," he said with a smile. Glancing over his shoulder, as if suddenly he regretted knocking and was trying to spot his getaway car parked at the curb, he said, "I hope you don't mind but I was thinking about you."

  I blinked back my surprise. "You were thinking about me?"

  "I was worried about you… after yesterday. I came to check on you earlier but you were gone."

  "I had to go down to the police station. Detective Logan wanted to talk to me."

  Jason nodded knowingly. "I just came from there. Detective Logan looks like a man with a lot on his mind."

  "I don't think he ever expected to have to solve a murder case in Calendar."

  "He's a detective!"

  "And this is Calendar," I pointed out as Jason's frown lifted. "We're so safe here, it's positively boring."

  "That's one of the reasons my firm was drawn to this town. Families love to feel safe and they need safe homes." Jason stopped and took a breath. "Sorry, I didn't come here to talk business. I just came to check on you. Last night must have been unbearable for you. I can't imagine how you must feel today..."

  "It was. Thanks for checking on me; but as you can see, I'm fine."

  "You received a horrible shock," he said, his voice gentler.

  "Yes, I did," I admitted, "but I have to keep on... I don't know." I threw my hands in the air as I struggled for the right word. Finally, I settled on, living. “I have to keep living."

  "I was worried that you might fall apart."

  I wondered if Jason expected to find a sobbing heap when he saw me. He would get more than a surprise if I told him what I'd really been doing! "I'm not that kind of person," I replied, sucking in a deep breath and pushing my shoulders back. It was making me braver than I felt. "Plus, it would have been pretty awful if I started to wail and cry every five minutes. Bree was my friend but I only knew her for a few months. There must be plenty of other people who will be devastated at hearing about her untimely death and I don't want to overstep my boundaries. Besides, I'm much better off staying calm and helping wherever I can."

  Jason gave me an impressed look. "You're the kind of person people need in an emergency. Level-headed, smart."

  Ha! He thinks I'm smart. I pushed the thought away as my heart thumped irregularly, feeling quite pleased now. "Like I said, Calendar is generally safer than safe. There aren't a lot of critical emergencies happening here."

  "Do you want to take a walk with me? I know you're not at work because of what happened and I already saw the crime scene tape all around the library."

  It was my turn to frown. "A walk?"

  "You know..." Jason mimed putting one leg in front of the other, swinging his arms in clown-like movements. I bit the insides of my cheeks to stop my laugh from emerging. "How about showing me the town?" he suggested. "I think we have a clear window of no snow and the rain the weather report promised isn’t here yet. We should be okay for the rest of the morning."

  "Okay," I agreed, my eager acceptance popping out of my mouth unexpectedly. I needed to go past the police station anyway. Besides, I wasn't sure how I could politely shake Jason off. Perhaps a pleasant hour spent showing him the finer points of Calendar would convince him that I was fine and didn't need to be looked after. Even better, maybe I could show him another location for his housing development! One that didn't involve tearing the library down. "Let's go."

  Chapter Six

  Calendar attracted plenty of tourists, both local and from afar, for a good reason. The quaint mixture of brick buildings, clad with prettily-colored siding and little shops topped with signposts in matching antiqued fonts, imbued it with a quintessential beauty that made people feel instantly at home. Most of the visitors became nostalgic for simpler times and many were determined to become a part of such a cozy community. Even if it were only for a day.

  I wondered how Jason felt about my town now that the cozy aspect to it had been marred by murder. Would his firm still want to build new homes on the same site where a woman was killed?

  "Have you lived here all your life?" he inquired, surprising me by asking such a personal question. After a few comments about the town, we walked from my house on Maple View and headed south towards Main Street. He admired the contrasting array of attractive homes while I imparted a few town facts, and we passed the last few minutes in silence.

  I shook my head, thinking back to the first day I laid eyes on the town. "Not quite. My parents moved here when I was just five. My dad was the principal of the high school and my mom had a teaching job. They always wanted to get away from th
e city and live in a nice, safe place where they could raise a family."

  "You never wanted to go back to the city?"

  I shook my head. "I thought about it a few times when I was in college. It was great studying in the city. All the parties and bars and the usual buzz, but it never felt right to me. I guess I've always been a small-town girl at heart."

  "You don't look like a small-town girl."

  I paused, glancing at him as I stopped. "Why? Because I'm not wearing dungarees or chewing on a piece of straw?"

  As if I just slapped him, Jason stopped, and began looking down. "No, I meant, I... I don't know what I meant. You seem very smart and educated and passionate."

  "You get all sorts here."

  "I didn't mean it as an insult." Jason ran a hand over his hair and blew out a breath. "I bet you think I'm just some jerk of a city guy."

  I studied him, wondering if I did think that. The first time I saw him, I actually thought he was gorgeous, but he quickly ruined that when he informed me of the library's imminent sale. He was still gorgeous, but I managed to ignore that every time I saw him after that. Sort of.

  "Aren't you?" I asked.

  "No," came his blunt reply.

  I started again, hastening my pace but Jason caught up quickly, and his long stride easily outpaced mine. "So, you don't drive an SUV even though you live in the city, which is hardly rugged terrain, and you don't have a penthouse apartment with a skyline view?" I paused, seeing Jason wince as my unsympathetic guess hit a chord. Finally, I'd struck a nerve. "Thought so," I told him. Yet, I didn't feel smug; I felt rude.

  "I'm not as bad as all that."

  "I bet your watch cost more than I can earn in two months," I told him. "And I'm pretty sure any of your suits must exceed a thousand dollars."

  "Two actually," said Jason. "And the watch was a graduation gift from my parents."

  "You aren't the first wealthy man to stroll into Calendar just to make some money at the expense of our town." He probably wouldn't be the last either. However, he was the first one who made any attempt to talk to me like a person.