A man in the front row cleared his throat loudly and rustled his newspaper. Mr. King looked in the wide mirror attached to the windshield then at his watch again. His hand slid to the lever to pull the door closed. “Have to get going now. Schedule to keep.”
“Wait, do you remember a man getting on the bus around one yesterday afternoon? He had a beard, blonde hair, I think. There was a dark stain on his lip.”
The bus driver chuckled and shook his head. “Let me think. Nope, I don’t remember anyone like that. I don’t spend a lot of time studying faces, though. Just the road, and the clock.”
Penelope sighed and went to step off the bus. She turned back quickly just as the driver pulled the doors almost closed. “How about a younger man, actually a teenager, with a hockey stick? Dark hair? He slipped away during the attack.”
The driver nodded. “I may not remember faces, you know I see hundreds of those a day. But I always notice a potential weapon. Part of my training is to be prepared for anything, to keep the passengers safe. I’ve seen hockey sticks before. And baseball bats, packages left behind, duffle bags clanking on the floor that made me uneasy. I’ve seen everything on this bus line the last ten years.”
“What about yesterday? Did you see anyone with a hockey stick?” Penelope urged.
“Come on, let’s go driver,” a passenger called from behind Mr. King.
“I may have, I’d have to think. Maybe not. One day is a lot like the next behind the wheel.” He brushed his fingers on the bill of his cap and smiled at Penelope again before closing the doors on her. The bus lurched down the avenue toward the New York skyline in the distance. As the bus pulled away, Penelope held her breath to avoid taking in the exhaust fumes.
A fresh scratch in the paint on the bench caught Penelope’s eye and she got closer to get a better look. Running her finger over it, she felt the smooth edges of the groove, then turned and headed to the train station.
Chapter 9
A couple of hours later, Penelope and Nadia drove to the police station together to file the report about Nadia’s missing bag.
“Are you okay?” Penelope asked. Nadia had been mostly silent during the short trip to the station.
“It’s hard not having any of my things. I don’t even have the keys to my apartment,” Nadia sighed.
“I know,” Penelope said. “Hopefully everything will be found soon.”
“Not if the police took it,” Nadia said with a sarcastic laugh.
“What do you mean?”
“The guy ran out of the restaurant with the police on his tail. He didn’t have my bag with him,” Nadia said. “It disappeared afterwards,” she inserted air quotes with her fingers, “in police custody.”
“Come on, let’s get inside,” Penelope said. “I’m sure Joey will figure this out.”
Penelope watched Nadia and Joey talk through the glass of one of the small conference rooms lining the main floor at the police station. Joey filled in a form as Nadia spoke, offering her encouraging smiles in between questions.
“Excuse me, are you Penelope Sutherland?” A short man with graying hair and a mustache asked as he approached the seating area.
“Yes,” Penelope said, standing up.
“I’m the sketch artist. They’ve asked me to sit with you this morning.”
Penelope followed the man into a small office on the opposite wall and they sat next to each other facing a computer screen.
“Are you ready to begin?” the man asked. He wore a tweed vest over a gingham shirt and a bright red bow tie. The smell of stale coffee permeated the air around him, and there was a slight whiff of tobacco.
“We have numerous descriptions of suspect number one,” he paused and picked up a folder, flipping through several pieces of paper with yellowing fingers. He handed Penelope a printout of a composite sketch of the boy who attacked them. It was a good likeness of the teenager, Penelope thought, as she studied the fuzzy ink lines that made up the face.
Penelope took a deep breath. “From what I remember of him, this is pretty accurate.”
“Good,” he said. “Our focus today is suspect number two, the one...” he consulted a report from the folder, “...who you claimed was the lookout at the front door. We don’t have a description from any other witness on him yet.”
Penelope set the composite sketch on the desk next to the computer and sat up straight in her chair.
“Let’s start with the shape of his head,” the man began, pulling up a screen with a sampling of blank heads for her to choose from. Penelope selected one in the center and the artist clicked on it. He continued to ask questions, which she answered, and little by little, a face appeared that Penelope recognized.
“I think that’s him, at least it’s close,” Penelope said. “What if I’m not remembering it right?” Her palms were suddenly clammy and she rubbed them on her thighs.
“You’re doing great,” the man said. “Just relax and don’t focus too hard on one feature of another.” He pressed a button and printed out the sketch. He set it down on the table in front of Penelope.
“I think his eyebrows were thinner,” Penelope said, pointing at the drawing.
The man waved the mouse and began to reshape the edges of the man’s eyebrows on the computer drawing.
“I’ve always seen people sketching with a pencil in the movies,” Penelope said with a quick laugh when they’d finished.
The man shrugged. “Back when I started that was how we did it. Now it’s mostly by computer, but sometimes we do it the old-fashioned way, or a combination of the two.”
“I’m worried I’ll remember him wrong and the sketch won’t be helpful,” Penelope admitted. “When I think about what happened I get a little shaky still.”
“That’s common for witnesses,” the man said with a nod. “I’m sure you did fine. We’re all through here, thanks for your time.”
He led Penelope back into the main area of the police station where Nadia sat by herself at one of the desks in the middle of the room.
“Miss Weston?” the artist asked her.
Nadia nodded and stood up.
“When you’re ready, I’m back here,” he said, pointing at the office Penelope had just left. He shuffled back inside, grabbing a folder from the top of a file cabinet on his way.
Nadia tapped her fingers on her forearms as she watched him go.
Clarissa entered the squad room and took a seat at a nearby desk after a nod at them. She quickly picked up the phone and propped it between her shoulder and her ear.
“Any luck finding your purse yet?” Penelope asked Nadia.
Nadia rolled her eyes. “No. At this point, I think it’s walked off. I waited forever to get that bag, and I’ve only had it for a couple of months.”
“That’s crazy,” Penelope said, fumbling for the right response.
“I know,” Nadia huffed. “Joey’s downstairs, looking through evidence boxes or something to make sure it didn’t get misfiled with another case.”
Penelope pinched her lips together. Clarissa hung up the phone and started typing on the keyboard in front of her.
“Does he really think that’s what happened?” Penelope asked carefully.
“It could be that, or maybe one of the other people at the restaurant claimed it by mistake, which I find hard to believe. How could you mistake that purse for any other?”
A few notes from a familiar song drifted across the room.
“Hey!” Nadia said, moving toward the sound. “That’s my phone!”
Nadia crossed to the middle of the room. Clarissa stopped typing, her fingers hovering above the keyboard, listening.
“That’s my phone,” Nadia repeated, following the sounds. Clarissa got up from her chair and pulled open her desk drawer. She closed it and moved to the desk closest to hers and yanked out a metal drawer.
Nadia looked eagerly on as Clarissa pulled off the top of the box. Inside was a stack of mail with a manila envelope on top, addressed to the police station. The phone fell silent inside the envelope, then immediately began ringing again. Nadia reached into the box to grab the envelope, but Clarissa caught her by the wrist and eased her hand away.
“It might not be safe,” Clarissa said, eyeing the package. She pulled open the drawers of the desk and riffled through until she found a pair of latex gloves. The phone stopped ringing, then quickly began again.
“Who knows you’re here right now?” Clarissa asked over her shoulder.
“No one, just you guys and Arlena,” Nadia said. “It’s not like I’ve been in touch with anyone without my phone.”
Clarissa picked up the package carefully and tilted it from side to side, testing its weight in her hands. Her expression hardened and she set the package down, easing a finger beneath the tacked down flap. She pinched the corner of the envelope and gently tipped it toward the table. Nadia’s phone, still encased in its shiny gold cover, spun out onto the table, revolving slowly twice around before coming to a stop.
“That’s my phone,” Nadia said triumphantly. “What’s it doing in your mail?”
“Good question.” Clarissa stared at the phone, then glanced inside the envelope. She tipped it over again and a single sheet of paper slid out.
Nadia’s mouth fell open when she saw the note on the table. Scrawled in red crayon, written over and over so the letters were angry and jagged was a message:
“We See You.”
Chapter 10
Just as the sun began to set, Penelope made her way into Joey’s apartment building and up the elevator to the top floor. He answered the door, a smile relaxing the tense expression on his face.
“Now I know what they mean by ‘a sight for sore eyes,’” Joey said, circling his arms around Penelope’s waist and tugging her gently inside. The door swept closed behind them as they kissed in the narrow hallway.
“It’s been a strange day,” Joey said, leading her by the hand into the spacious main room. One end was anchored by the kitchen and the other was lined with floor to ceiling windows looking out on the skyline.
“It’s been a strange couple of days,” Penelope said. “Any leads on who mailed Nadia’s phone to the police station?”
Joey shook his head. “There’s no postmark, so it must have been dropped off or sent through our inter-departmental mail.”
“Who would want to threaten her like that?”
“She doesn’t seem to have any idea,” Joey said, putting his hands on his belt. “The thing is, she’s well-known in the tennis world. Athletes have lots of fans, and sometimes stalkers. Maybe it’s some whacko who wants to make contact with her.”
“But her things were in police custody,” Penelope said. “That would make it someone who works with you.”
“I mean, anything is possible,” Joey said. “I’d like to think it’s not one of us, though. Hey, take a look at this.” Joey pulled his phone from his pocket and began playing a video.
“What is that?” Penelope asked. A rusty barrel roared with flames. She could see several branches sticking out of it, the leaves curling and turning black from the flames. Smoke billowed up into the blue sky behind.
“A trash fire,” Joey said. “Keep watching.”
From the edge of the screen, Nadia’s orange bag that Penelope had admired at Sonya’s the day before was tossed on top of a rusty trash barrel roaring with flames. Sticks and branches poked out of the top, and one of the purse straps caught on one. The fire regained its force and engulfed the purse, the flames charring the sides, the leather bubbling and turning black.
Penelope put a hand over her mouth as she watched, transfixed by the fire and the burning bag. Her eyes drifted to the area around the trash barrel, which was sitting in the center of a clearing in a wooded area next to a picnic table.
“This is another threat,” Penelope said. “Like the note with the phone. This isn’t just some overexcited fan. This person is dangerous. Has Nadia seen this?”
“Not yet, I just saw it for the first time myself before you got here,” Joey said, restarting the video from the beginning. “We took Nadia’s phone to our techs and they checked it for tampering, made sure it hadn’t been turned into an explosive device. It looks like all of her contact information was wiped, photos, things like that. The only thing left was this video.”
“Someone is definitely sending a message,” Penelope murmured.
Joey sighed and clicked off his phone. “It’s possible someone has fixated on Nadia and their obsession is coming out in unhealthy ways.”
“Or it’s something more personal,” Penelope said. “Were there any fingerprints on the phone? DNA or anything like that?”
“Afraid not,” Joey said. “The phone was wiped cleaned with a bleach wipe, after they wiped the contents clean.”
“So they’re being very careful,” Penelope said.
“Look, I know the last couple of days have been crazy,” Joey said, pocketing his phone.
“Really crazy,” Penelope agreed.
“But let’s put it aside and enjoy our last evening together before you leave for…how long is it this time?”
“Thirteen weeks, give or take,” Penelope said with a sigh.
“That’s a lot of time away from each other,” Joey said. “First thing in the morning, I’m devoting all my energy into finding whoever did this. But tonight, I want to enjoy time with you.”
Penelope nodded, although part of her felt guilty for enjoying herself. “Nadia’s at the house with Arlena, and Max is over for the night too. She’s upset, but I know she’ll be safe there. No one thought it was a good idea for her to go back to her apartment in the city alone.”
“Good thinking,” Joey said. “Safety in numbers. Now, speaking of numbers, I made something special for the two of us. A going-away dinner so you’ll remember to miss me.”
Penelope laughed. “I never forget to miss you when I’m away. That’s impossible, no matter what you cook for me.”
Joey led her through the main room onto the balcony.
“Wow, it’s such a beautiful night,” Penelope said. The air was warm with just a slight breeze that caused the flame to flutter slightly inside the glass hurricane lamp at the center of the table. A few matching candles were placed around the patio, illuminating the patio in a soft glow.
The table was set with white and green plates and bowls, and long-stemmed green-tinted wine glasses. “Look at your new plates.” She slipped an arm around Joey’s waist and leaned up to kiss his cheek. “And glasses, too?”
Joey blushed. “Yeah, I got them a while back and have been saving them for a special night. I wanted something a little nicer than the hand-me-down stuff I got from Ma. I don’t know, the lady at the store said these went nice together. What do you think?” He pulled a bottle of white wine from an ice bucket on the side table and poured them each a glass. He put a hand on the small of her back, and ushered her to the railing so they could enjoy the view.
“I think she was right,” Penelope said. She glanced over her shoulder toward the kitchen, which anchored the main sitting room. “Something smells good in there.”
“I hope it turned out okay,” Joey said. “My first attempt at Spaghetti alle Vongole. I had to call Ma three times with questions.”
“Did you get fresh clams?” Penelope asked with a grin.
Joey winked at her and nodded.
“Impressive,” Penelope said. “When did you have time to do all this?”
“Turns out, when you have a partner, you don’t have to do
every single thing on a case. I told Clarissa I’d make it up to her if she handled some extra paperwork so I could head out a little early.”
Penelope thought about Clarissa’s clenched jaw and the conversation she’d overheard in her back yard. “You sure that will go over well?” Penelope bit her bottom lip, afraid for a moment she’d overstepped.
“Yeah, we butt heads some, but that’s normal with a new partner,” Joey said, shrugging. “Anyway, she says she’s following up on a couple leads. I don’t think she’s got anyone to go home to, except maybe her cat.”
“She told you about her cat?” Penelope asked.
“No, I’m just guessing.”
“Be nice, Joey,” Penelope warned.
“Plus, with you out of town, I’ll have nothing better to do than work day and night until we catch these guys, so I’ll have plenty of time to make it up to her. But tonight, I wasn’t going to miss.”
Penelope kissed him. “Thanks for making it so special.”
“Like I said, I want it to be memorable,” Joey said.
“Every time we’re together is memorable,” Penelope said. “Even when we just order a pizza and watch a movie. Not that I’m complaining about you broadening your culinary horizons.”
“My girlfriend is a world-class chef,” Joey said. “I have to step up my game to keep up.”
Penelope laughed and kissed him again, setting her wine glass on the table and circling her arms around his neck.
A timer went off in the kitchen and Joey stepped away. “Sit. Enjoy the view. I’ll be back.”
“Do you need a hand?” Penelope called after him.
“No way,” Joey said. “You’re leaving tomorrow to cook day and night for weeks. Tonight, you get to relax.”
“I could get used to this,” Penelope teased, topping off her glass.
“That’s what I’m hoping,” Joey said.
“What?” Penelope asked, not sure she’d heard him right.
“Nothing,” he called from the kitchen. “So, tell me about the rest of your day. Did you get some rest?” Joey pulled a sheet pan from the oven and the smell of buttery garlic bread wafted out toward the patio.
Murder on the Rocks Page 7
