by J A Whiting
“I came to add some flowers to the tribute.” The woman stood staring down at the mound of wilted blooms.
Claire was dumbfounded and didn’t know what to say, afraid to spook the young woman and cause her to take off.
Rose glanced at the Corgis. “Your dogs?”
“Yeah,” Claire said. The word came out soft and wispy.
Bear and Lady eyed Rose cautiously.
“It’s okay, dogs,” Rose told them. “I won’t bite.”
Claire swallowed her wariness, and worried that Rose would rush away, she asked the woman, “Do you know who killed Ashley?”
“No, I don’t.” Rose shook her head slowly.
“You’ve left your penthouse and changed your hair,” Claire said. “You’re afraid of something?”
Rose gave a little snort. “A lot of things.”
“Does one of them have something to do with Ashley’s murder?”
Rose didn’t answer.
Someone turned onto the lane and headed towards them causing Rose to back away from the light of the streetlamp and move into the shadows. The woman’s movement made Claire momentarily suspicious of the person coming down the opposite side of the sidewalk even though she was pretty sure it was only an innocent pedestrian.
Claire tensed until the person passed by.
She released a breath and looked to the shadows. “Does your worry have something to do with Ashley’s murder?”
“It might,” Rose said and stepped out from her hiding spot.
“Why?” Claire asked. “What do you know?”
“I don’t know anything.” Rose’s voice cracked.
“You must know something.” Claire wanted to hear any little thing, a tiny tidbit of information that could point her and law enforcement in the right direction. When Rose stayed quiet, she asked, “My friend is a Boston detective. Will you talk to him about your concerns?”
“Maybe … if he can find me.”
“Can he come to see you at the office above the shop?”
Rose blew out a long, sad sigh. “I won’t be there.” She tugged the side of the hoodie forward.
“Where are you going? Are you leaving the city?” Claire’s heart dropped.
Rose said nothing.
“Please talk to me. What you know might bring Ashley’s killer to justice.”
Rose harrumphed. She looked up and down the street. “I need to go. I’ve been here too long.”
“Wait,” Claire almost shouted. “Can we go someplace to talk? Just for a little while. Wherever you want to go.”
“No, I can’t.”
“Do you know why Ashley was killed?” Claire’s voice shook.
“Keep out of it, Claire … if you want to stay alive.” Rose started away.
“Wait.” Claire took a step forward. “Don’t go. Please talk to me.”
Claire’s words sounded so forlorn that Rose paused. She opened her mouth, hesitated, and then said, “My legal name is Ashley Rose Smith. See if that helps you.” She hurried up the sidewalk into the darkness.
Claire watched the woman rush away, not understanding how what Rose had just told her could be helpful. Ashley Rose Smith … Ashley Smith.
The significance of the name hit Claire like a ton of bricks.
12
Claire called Ian right away and he came to her townhouse to hear the news.
“It was a case of mistaken identity.” Ian groaned and ran his hand through his dark hair. “Two women with the same name lived in the same building. The hit man killed the wrong woman. Clearly, we’re dealing with amateurs and either the person who contracted the killing was unclear about the victim or the gunman wasn’t careful with the details … or both.”
One of the articles that came up when Claire did an internet search on Ashley Rose Smith was a list of common names in the United States and the website reported that the name Ashley was the first or second most common name for girls in the years when Rose and Ashley Smith would have been born.
Since Ian was on duty, he had to return to the station after discussing aspects of the revelation with Claire, and as soon as he left, she called Nicole.
“I’m still pretty shook up.” Sitting outside at the table under the little white lights strung over the branches of the tree, Claire held out her hand to show Nicole how her fingers were trembling. “Can you believe it? The hit man killed the wrong person.”
“I remember reading about something like this a few years ago.” Nicole took a swallow of her coffee. “A woman hired a hit man to kill her husband, but the gunman shot the guy’s brother instead.”
“There are other cases like this?” A look of horror showed on Claire’s face. “People hire hit men? Hit men kill the wrong person?”
Lady and Bear had been snoozing in the grass, but they both lifted their heads and whined. Lady walked over to sit at Claire’s feet.
Nicole shrugged. “It’s a nutty world and these hired killers probably aren’t the brightest bulbs.”
Shaking her head, Claire reached down to pat Lady. “I can’t believe we’re talking about things like this.”
Nicole said, “So, it turns out we’ve been concentrating on the wrong person’s life.”
Claire gave her friend a puzzled look.
“Ashley Smith. She wasn’t the target. We’ve been focusing on why someone would want her dead when the real question is, why would someone want Rose dead.”
“Right.” Claire rested her chin in her hand. “I asked Rose if she knew who killed Ashley. She said she didn’t.”
“You should have asked Rose if she knew who was responsible for Ashley’s death? Who is the person who hired the killer?”
“Rose doesn’t know there was a hit man, but she must suspect she was the real target. That information hasn’t been in the news. Maybe the police are keeping it quiet.” Claire leaned back in her chair and looked up at the night sky. “Why wouldn’t Rose talk to the police? Why run off? She should tell the police what she knows or suspects.”
“It’s pretty obvious Rose suspects someone,” Nicole said. “She took off from her apartment and changed her hair color. She told you her real name so Rose realizes that Ashley was killed by mistake, by someone actually looking for her. She must have an inkling who’s behind it.”
“The killing must have nothing to do with Pennington Private Wealth.” Claire voiced her idea. “Ashley and her boyfriend worked there, but Rose doesn’t have anything to do with the place.” She stared across the table. “Why did Bilson ask me to meet him on his yacht to talk about finding Ashley dead in her car?”
“It might have been out of genuine curiosity and concern about an employee? The general public doesn’t know Ashley died in a case of mistaken identity. Bilson gathering information doesn’t necessarily point to anything suspicious,” Nicole said. “Of course, it doesn’t hurt to keep Bilson and his motives in our sights. Maybe Bilson knows Rose. The man hasn’t been cleared of guilt yet.”
Claire’s eyes widened. “What about the boyfriend? Ashley’s boyfriend quit his job and is leaving town. That seems like guilty behavior. Is he behind the murder?”
A cloud settled over Nicole’s expression. “Why would he hire a hit man to kill Rose?”
“That’s the question that has to be answered. Who and why did someone want Rose dead. What about her former business partner? The receptionist in the office next to Rose’s told us she heard arguing between Rose and her partner. What was his name? Milton?”
Nicole remembered. “Melvin. It was Melvin Watts. What about someone who worked for Rose? An employee with a grudge?”
“When I was waiting for Ian, I looked Rose up on the internet. There isn’t much out there about her, mostly articles and entries about her business, but I did find out that she’d been married. No kids. She and her husband have been separated for a couple of years.”
“Interesting.” Nicole tapped her index finger on the table. “Some bad blood between them? Money issues?”
“We could go see Ashley’s boyfriend again. Maybe he isn’t getting out of town because he’s guilty, maybe he’s running away for the same reason Rose is running. He’s afraid.”
“But why would Rose and Michael be afraid? Why would both of them think they were in danger? They didn’t know each other, they didn’t work in the same place, and most likely, they didn’t move in the same social circles.”
“They had at least one thing in common.” Nicole paused for effect. “They lived in the same building.”
“My mind is blank,” Claire said. “How could living in the same building be cause for concern? And anyway, Rose knows it’s a case of mistaken identity. She made that point by telling me her legal name.”
“What if she’s wrong?” Nicole looked pointedly at her friend.
Claire narrowed her eyes in question.
Nicole said, “What if Ashley was killed intentionally? What if Michael and Rose think they’re next? Maybe they’re all mixed up in the same thing. What if they do know each other and they aren’t admitting it?”
“Ugh.” Claire rubbed her temples. “My head is spinning. I’m getting a headache from all of this.”
Nicole leaned forward. “Let’s go talk to Michael, if he hasn’t taken off yet. You didn’t shake hands with him or Rose. You need to shake hands with him. See if you can pick up on anything from holding his hand.”
Claire shook her head. “I’m not sensing much in this case. My intuition is weak.”
“That’s because you haven’t touched any of these people. And, I don’t think your skill is weak. You went out for a walk this evening. You said you felt antsy. You haven’t been by the murder scene since it happened, but tonight you had the urge to walk past there. Your skill must have picked up that Rose was in the neighborhood. That’s why you had the pull to go to the scene.”
Claire looked at Nicole with wide eyes. “Huh.”
“Your conversational skills are impressive,” Nicole deadpanned.
The corner of Claire’s mouth turned up at Nicole’s comment. “I hadn’t thought about why I had the feeling to walk over to that street. You could be right.”
“And that would mean that your ability to sense things is improving, not diminishing. You must have sensed that Rose was nearby. You picked up on what was floating on the air, not by actually touching someone.” Nicole gave a nod. “This is a good sign.”
Lady rubbed her head against Claire’s leg and Bear let out a little woof.
“See.” Nicole smiled. “The dogs agree.” Standing up, she said, “Let’s go see Michael Burton.”
“Now? It’s late.”
“It’s not that late … and if we wait, he might be long gone.”
The Corgis jumped to their feet and nudged Claire with their noses.
“Okay,” Claire joked. “I guess majority rules. Let’s go see if he’s at home.”
With the dogs on leashes, Nicole and Claire walked along the sidewalks to the edge of the Adamsburg Square neighborhood discussing the case and its strange twists and turns. The heat of the day had dissipated and the air held a slight chill causing goosebumps to form over Claire’s bare arms. A breeze had kicked up and it rustled the leaves of the trees overhead.
“We’ve been so distracted by the goings-on,” Nicole said, “we haven’t decided on the dessert for our entry in the food festival.”
Claire gave her opinion. “I think we should go with the custard flans with the Florentine cookies stuck into the tops.”
“Stuck? I think we should come up with a better word than ‘stuck’ for the description of our entry.”
With a grin, Claire suggested, “How about ‘poked’ … or ‘jammed’ … or ‘shoved?’”
Nicole let out a chuckle. “Stop. I’ll come up with the description on my own. You just help me make them.”
“Why don’t we make some sample trays of the desserts, put them out in the shop and I’ll take some to Tony’s market. We can get some final comments so we’re sure this is the winner.”
“Good idea,” Nicole agreed. “Let’s get on it tomorrow.”
When they turned the corner and approached Michael Burton’s and Rose Smith’s building, Claire slowed her pace. “I’m feeling anxious.”
Lady whined.
“Let’s just see how it goes. We’ll shake hands with him, remind him we were at the tag sale, ask a few questions and see if he’s amenable to talking.”
“Okay.” Claire’s heart beat pounded and a cold shiver raced over her skin. She looked up to the third floor. The lights were on in Michael Burton’s apartment and he had drawn the shades on all the windows facing the street.
Claire watched for a shadow to move behind them to indicate that the man was at home, but she didn’t see any motion. “Maybe he went out.”
“Come on.” Nicole took her friend’s arm and tugged. They crossed the empty street and headed up the steps to the brownstone. A metal panel was placed over a few of the bricks with four names and their corresponding call buttons. “Burton and Smith” had been written on one of the small pieces of white paper and inserted into the holder for the third floor apartment.
Claire noticed the name “A. R. Smith” for the fourth floor, penthouse entry. She took a deep breath and nodded for Nicole to press the button.
When she pressed, the intercom let out a buzzing squawk.
No one answered. Nicole pressed again with the same result. “He mustn’t be at home,” she moaned.
When she looked at the door, Claire’s heart started to race and her stomach felt like it was filling with ice water. “The door’s open.”
The front door had not been shut properly. Nicole took hold of the knob and pushed the door wide so that Claire could enter first.
A low growl rumbled in Bear’s throat and the fur on Lady’s back stood up.
Nicole glanced at the Corgis and then to Claire. When she saw her friend’s expression, Nicole’s eyes went wide. “What’s wrong?” she whispered.
Her face pale and her jaw tense, Claire wouldn’t budge from the steps.
13
Michael Burton thundered down the wide, ornate staircase into the small lobby wide-eyed and panicky. He stopped momentarily when he almost plowed into the two young women standing just inside the front door with the dogs. Bear and Lady growled at the man.
Recognition passed over his face, and said, “Go back outside.” Michael took Claire and Nicole by the arms and herded them out to the sidewalk.
“What’s happened?” Nicole asked. “What’s wrong?”
Michael, his breathing fast and labored, led them across the street, pulled out his cell phone, and placed a “911” call telling the dispatcher of a possible intruder in his building.
When he disconnected from the call, he said, “I got home, went into my place. I fell asleep on the couch.” Staring up to the fourth floor, he rubbed at the back of his neck. “I woke up from a loud noise coming from the apartment above me. You asked me at the tag sale about the woman who lives there, Rose Smith. I heard footsteps and another bang so I went up the stairs to her place to see if she was in there … to see if she was okay. Her door was open, what’s left of her stuff is trashed. I panicked. I ran down to the lobby.”
“Did you see Rose in the apartment?” Claire’s heart was in her throat.
Michael shook his head. “I didn’t stay long enough to notice.” He sank down to the sit on the sidewalk. “Someone must have broken in.”
“The front door was ajar when we arrived,” Nicole said. “That’s how we got into the entryway.”
Michael held his head in his hands. “I can’t take much more.”
It wasn’t long before a police car pulled up in front of the building. Nicole waved the officers over and Michael repeated what he’d told the dispatcher. When he tried to stand, he wobbled and sank back to his seated position. Instinctively, Claire placed he
r hand on the man’s shoulder to comfort him.
When Nicole noticed that Claire was touching Michael, she made eye contact with her friend silently reminding Claire to use her skills to sense something about him.
Claire gave a nod and focused.
With their hands on their holstered guns, the police officers made their way inside to investigate. After fifteen minutes, they returned. “There’s evidence of a break-in. Nothing much is left in the apartment, but the dresser drawers and a desk have been gone through and flipped over. No indication of an altercation or of any injuries. Whoever lives there has obviously moved out or wasn’t at home. No one is inside. Seems like a simple robbery.”
Claire didn’t think it was a simple robbery. She’d texted Ian to let him know what had happened and he arrived in an unmarked car shortly after the officers emerged from the townhouse. An investigative team pulled up a few minutes after Ian’s arrival.
Ian spoke with the officers and then took Claire to the side. “Someone’s looking for Rose or something she might have left in her apartment.”
“Do you think they were in there when Michael went up to check on the noises?” Claire gave a shudder thinking of what might have happened if Michael had entered the place.
Ian said, “Probably. Burton must have scared them off. The officers said the door of the back exit is wide open. Whoever it was may have run down that way and out.” Ian’s eyes softened when he looked at Claire. “Why are you here?”
Ian’s gaze sent a flutter of warmth through Claire’s veins. “Nicole and I thought it would be helpful if we talked to Michael.”
Ian gently placed his hand on Claire’s forearm. “I’m worried about this one. It’s too dangerous. I wish you and Nicole would keep away from it.”
Claire was about to speak, but Ian went on, “I know you want to help and you’ve been instrumental in the last two cases, but….”
“But, what?” Claire asked.
“I can’t tell you to butt out even though I’d like to.” Ian looked deeply into Claire’s eyes. “But, I don’t want anything to happen to you.” The detective blew out some air. “It’s late, you’re unarmed, we don’t know what’s going on. Rose Smith could be dangerous … heck, Michael Burton could be dangerous. We just don’t know enough.” Ian’s voice hitched. “It worries me that you and Nicole will walk into something you can’t get out of.”
