Her Deadly Touch: An absolutely addictive crime thriller and mystery novel (Detective Josie Quinn Book 12)

by Lisa Regan

  Josie said, “Dee Tenney didn’t characterize their relationship that way.”

  Gloria waved a dismissive hand. “Whatever.” She stalked over to the fridge and opened the door, stared for a moment, and closed it. Returning to her coffee mug, she took a sip and then said, “Maybe Dee didn’t tell anyone. She was never a gossip. Or maybe Krystal didn’t tell her. If I’d done something like that, I wouldn’t be bragging about it.”

  Josie said, “Something like what, Mrs. Cammack?”

  “Krystal had an affair with my husband.”

  Gretchen took out her notebook and flipped to a fresh page. “How do you know that?”

  “Because she told me.”

  “When was this?”

  “I don’t know. A few weeks ago. Or maybe a few months ago. All the days blur together now.” She pointed to a corkboard affixed to the side of the fridge where a calendar hung. Josie saw it was still set to May from two years earlier. The month her children had died. Almost every box was filled with what Josie assumed was Gloria’s handwriting, graceful and loping. Soccer, birthday parties, drum lessons, softball, dental appointments, art classes. Gloria continued, “My days used to revolve around them and their schedules. Now, there’s just… work.” She said the word “work” as if it were a prison sentence. Then again, life without your child was a prison sentence, Josie imagined.

  Gretchen asked, “How did the conversation with Krystal regarding the affair come about?”

  Gloria walked over to the back door. Its windows were covered by blinds, so she threw it open. Josie and Gretchen stood and walked over. Just outside was a wooden deck with wrought-iron patio furniture and more empty stone planters. Beyond that was a fairly large rectangle of grass hemmed in with chain-link fence.

  Gloria said, “I had the swing set taken down and removed. I couldn’t look at it anymore. I donated the soccer net we used to have back here for Wallace to practice. I just couldn’t—” She broke off.

  Josie looked over to see her eyes clamped shut, her lips pursed, and her chest heaving. Fists clenched at her sides. For a moment, it seemed like she might break down completely, but she pulled herself together and opened her eyes again although her hands remained balled up. With her chin, she motioned toward the backyard that was directly behind hers, on the other side of the chain-link fence. It was nearly identical to her backyard, just a postage stamp of grass except for a large wooden play structure. On one side it had a slanted climbing wall with bright yellow grips for hands and feet that led to a small deck. There was a slide and a tiny area that was shaped like a house. Access to the faux treehouse could also be gained via a rope ladder. Thick beams extended from the deck and out over the open yard. Two swings hung from them. Immediately, Josie thought of her friend’s son, Harris. He was almost five years old. He would love something like this.

  Gloria said, “That’s Krystal’s yard.”

  Josie raised a brow.

  “That’s right. Our yards touch. The unlucky five, right? The five children of the famed West Denton crash. Four families in total, since I lost both of my children.” Her voice dripped with bitterness. “We all live pretty close to one another. On that street, about seven or eight houses down, is the Tenneys’ place. Another block over are the Palazzos. Guess what? That son of a bitch Virgil Lesko’s house is only four more blocks in that direction. It was never sold. Did you know that? His son lives there. His son! I mean he’s a grown man, but still. Can you imagine staying in the same neighborhood after your father killed five children?”

  Trying to get Gloria back on track, Josie said, “Did you speak with Krystal often, since your yards connect?”

  Gloria met Josie’s eyes for a moment before turning back to the playset. “No. I don’t talk with her. We weren’t close when the kids were alive, and we weren’t after. But I wanted to be able to come out to my yard and sit on my deck and not think about what a shitshow my life has become for five goddamn minutes once a day or even once a week and that fucking playset is there. I didn’t say anything at first. For almost two years, I didn’t say anything. But then I couldn’t look at it any longer. Why would she keep it?”

  Gretchen said, “Did you ask her?”

  “I couldn’t take it anymore, so yes, I asked her. A few months ago. I asked her to have it removed. I even offered to cover the cost. I know she’s not as financially comfortable as some of the other families who live here.”

  Josie said, “But she didn’t have it removed.”

  Gloria shook her head. A flush crept from her throat into her cheeks. “No. She said Bianca loved that thing. I said Bianca was almost thirteen goddamn years old. She hadn’t touched it in years. I told her. I said, ‘Krystal, we’re both going through the same thing, and if something over here that you had to stare at every day bothered you that much, I would get rid of it in a heartbeat if that meant easing some of your pain.’ Do you know what she said to me?”

  No answer seemed necessary. Gloria was on a roll, as if she’d been aching to tell someone about the situation. She went on, “She told me to go fuck myself. That’s when she told me. She said for years she had to stare at something that bothered her, which was my husband playing house with me and our kids while he was having an affair with her. Every night, she said, he climbed over the fence to be with her.”

  “Were you aware of the affair?” Josie asked.

  Gloria’s rage dissipated slightly, the tension in her body loosening. Her fists uncurled. “No,” she admitted in a tone of resignation. “Of course not. I wouldn’t have tolerated that. But I was so busy with my company and the kids.” She turned her body to face them. “But look, the affair didn’t even bother me that much.”

  Gretchen said, “Really?”

  “If I had known about it at the time, well, yeah, I would have gone scorched earth on both of them. I would have been devastated. But by the time Krystal told me, Nate and I had already been divorced for a year. What bothered me was that it seemed like she only told me to be cruel. I mean, my marriage is over. It’s been over for a long time now. Why even bother telling me now? Unless she was mad that once it ended, Nate didn’t end up with her. I don’t know. You have to ask him.” She threw her hands in the air and shooed them back to the kitchen table. After closing and locking the door, she turned back to them and let out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry. I haven’t even let you talk, have I? Is this what you came here for? To hear about how my marriage was a sham, and I didn’t even know it?” A laugh escaped her lips.

  Josie said, “Mrs. Cammack, please sit down.”

  Gloria didn’t protest. Instead, she took a seat across from the two of them. Again, she reached up to smooth her hair although it still looked perfect. “You think I’m crazy, right? I know I’m all over the place, but I’m trying to keep my company going and this trial is coming up, and believe it or not, Krystal’s murder is upsetting to me. No, I didn’t like her and I’m not happy that she and Nate were… you know, but I lost both of my kids. I’m tired of death. So tired of it.”

  With that, she slumped in her seat.

  Gretchen said, “You’re not crazy. No one thinks you’re crazy, Mrs. Cammack. We understand that you’re still grieving. Believe me, we’re sorry that we even have to be here. But we do need to ask you some questions.”

  “About what, then?” said Gloria.

  Josie said, “About your son.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The corner of Gloria’s mouth quirked upward. She looked from Josie to Gretchen and back. “This is a joke, right? I’m supposed to laugh?”

  Gretchen said, “I’m afraid not, Mrs. Cammack.”

  Gloria straightened her posture and leaned her elbows on the table. “You remember that my son is dead, right? You said earlier you were here about Krystal’s murder. What does my son have to do with her murder?”

  Josie said, “Does the word ‘Pritch’ mean anything to you?”

  Confusion passed over Gloria’s face. “What? What is that?”
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  Josie spelled it for her. “Evidently, it was a nickname given to your son by the other children at his school. Did you know about it?”

  A line creased Gloria’s forehead. “You’re talking to me about a mean nickname that children gave to my dead son? Are you serious right now?”

  Gretchen held up a palm. “Please, Mrs. Cammack, I know this is upsetting. We don’t want to be here any more than you want us to be here. The word ‘Pritch’ was found at the scene where Krystal Duncan’s body was located. We’ve been over Ms. Duncan’s home, family, and work life extensively and can find no connection between her and the word ‘Pritch’ other than your son. Do you have any idea why your son’s nickname would be associated with Krystal Duncan?”

  Gloria stared at them, as if she were waiting for some kind of punchline. When it didn’t come, she laughed. “You’re kidding me, right? I mean, you’re actually kidding me. What was it? Like, stapled to her forehead or something? Was it spelled out in her blood or something? I think Dee would have mentioned something like that to the group. What do you mean it was ‘associated’ with her? What does that even mean? I don’t know what you expect me to say to this.”

  Josie said, “We don’t typically release all the details of a crime scene to the public. Dee was not aware of the presence of the word because it was in a location that she could not see. But I can assure you that it was found, and it was prominent. It was meant to be found.”

  “Found? What does that mean? Found? Did someone write it? Was it part of a note? Maybe Krystal wrote a note. Are you sure she was even murdered? Because every single one of us has thought about killing ourselves since the accident—numerous times—and Krystal? Well, she was more alone than any of us.”

  Gretchen maintained her stoic expression. “We know she was murdered, Mrs. Cammack. We’re trying to figure out who did it and why. Can you think of any reason why someone would want to draw attention to your son with her murder?”

  Gloria shook her head slowly, eyes wide with shock. “I honestly have no idea. Maybe someone is trying to hurt me? Torture me? Maybe hurt Nathan? Have you talked with him yet?”

  “No,” said Josie.

  Gretchen added, “We’re meeting with him later today.”

  “There are a lot of crazies out there,” Gloria said. “Do you know that we actually got hate mail after our children died? Hate mail. Can you imagine that? It was from the press coverage, I’m sure. There were people who thought we should burn in hell for wanting charges pressed against Virgil Lesko. As if he shouldn’t be held accountable for drinking and then driving a bus full of kids around. Then there were people who wrote letters—people who didn’t even know us—saying that maybe if I hadn’t been so focused on my company, my kids would still be alive. Can you imagine? As if my company’s success had some direct bearing on Virgil Lesko’s drinking habits.”

  “Do you still have any of those letters?” Josie asked.

  “No,” said Gloria. “I threw them away. They were awful. Nathan wanted to take them to the police, but there were no actual threats. Just hatred. Pure hatred.”

  “Have you received anything like that recently?” Gretchen asked.

  Gloria shook her head.

  “Mrs. Cammack,” Josie said, changing tack. “We understand that Wallace often had trouble with the other students at school and on the bus. Were there ever any issues between him and Bianca?”

  “You’re going to go there, then? You think because my son, who has been dead for two years, had trouble with some other students in school, that it somehow has something to do with Krystal’s murder?”

  “We’re not saying that at all,” Gretchen told her. “We’re just trying to figure out why his nickname would be at a crime scene. The most logical connection is that your children went to school together. Were there ever any issues between Wallace and Bianca Duncan?”

  Gloria shook her head and sighed. “No. They weren’t friends, but there were never any problems between them. Look, Wallace was bright, exceptionally so, and he grew bored very easily. His mind was always working at double the speed of everyone else’s, even the teachers at school. I wanted to put him into private school where he might actually be challenged intellectually for once, but Nathan refused. He thought the cost was too high and that Wallace’s issues with teachers and other students were to do with his personality, not his intelligence.”

  Josie said, “We understand there was an incident with Gail Tenney shortly before the crash.”

  Gloria waved a hand in the air. “That was horseplay. An accident. A misunderstanding. Dee and I discussed it. Both of the children were uninjured. It was fine.”

  “Did you talk to Wallace about it?” Josie asked.

  “Of course. I had to make sure he wasn’t hurt.”

  “Did the school become involved?” Gretchen asked.

  “Well, yes, that’s where the call came from on the day it happened. But I agreed I wouldn’t pressure the principal to punish Gail, and Dee said she would do the same for Wallace. It was nothing, really.”

  Neither Josie nor Gretchen mentioned that Dee’s story about the incident didn’t exactly line up with Gloria’s account. Dee had said that she and her husband had never had a chance to deal with it properly, implying perhaps that they had intended to press the school to take the matter more seriously.

  “Mrs. Cammack,” said Gretchen. “When is the last time you saw Krystal Duncan?”

  “I don’t know. A week ago? Two weeks ago? Her yard is right behind mine. I try not to sit out there if she’s outside but occasionally I see her through the window. She mows her own lawn.”

  Josie said, “Can you give us a rundown of your activities and location from Thursday through Monday morning?”

  Gloria gave another uncertain smile, as if they were trying to prank her. When it became clear they were waiting for an answer, she shook her head and laughed. Pushing up from the table, she said, “Whatever. Hang on while I get my planner. You can have my whole schedule.” She left the room and returned with a large black purse. From its depths she pulled a black leather book and plunked it onto the table before them. She turned the pages until she came to the Thursday of the past week. “I don’t have a copier here at the house. You can take photos with your phones or follow me over to the store and I’ll make copies for you there. I imagine you’ll need to talk to some of my staff if you want to verify that I was there when I say I was.”

  Gretchen was already snapping photos of the pages.

  Josie said, “You were at work Thursday and Friday during the day.”

  “And into the evenings. We’ve had some big orders lately that have needed fulfilling and as you might guess from the phone call you walked in on earlier, my current staff requires a lot of overseeing.”

  “They’ll be able to tell us how late you were at your store on each night?” Josie said.

  “Of course. Come by after you talk with Nathan. I’ll be there all day.”

  Gretchen said, “You had a yoga clinic on Saturday from eight to four?”

  “Yes, that’s right,” Gloria said. She rattled off the name of the yoga place, which Gretchen scribbled down. “Weekends are hard,” she added. “I used to ferry the kids everywhere. Now I just sit here. I try as much as I can to find things to fill the hours.”

  Josie said, “But Sunday you were here?”

  “I went to the cemetery on Sunday. Then I went into the office for a while—although I was alone—and yes, then I was home.”

  “No one can verify your whereabouts on Sunday?” Gretchen asked.

  Gloria looked surprised. “Well, no, I guess not.”

  “What about Monday morning? You went to work?”

  “Yes. I was there by nine a.m. I would have been in earlier, but I didn’t sleep well on Sunday night. The trial coming up—it just brought it all back, you know? The nightmares…”

  “I understand,” said Josie.

  Gretchen stood up. “Thank you for your time,
Mrs. Cammack. We’ll let you get to work, and we’ll be in touch later, after we’ve spoken with Mr. Cammack.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Frankie climbed the bus steps, watching Bianca and her brother shove each other as they went ahead of her, even though the principal told them not to fight. Wallace never listened. Not to anyone. Frankie stopped at the top of the bus steps and smiled at the driver.

  “Hi, Mr. Lesko,” she said with a wave.

  He grinned at her. She waited for him to give his usual greeting. He always said, “Hi, Frankie,” back to her and added the last name of a famous Frankie or Frank to the end of it. Yesterday he had said, “Hi, Frankie Valli!” and she had had to google Frankie Valli when she got home. Another singer. Apparently, there were a lot of singers named Frank or Frankie. Her favorite Frank that Mr. Lesko had ever come up with was Franklin D. Roosevelt, the president.

  “Get in your seat, hon,” said Mr. Lesko.

  Frankie stared at him. “Are you okay, Mr. Lesko?”

  Taking a step closer, she saw that his eyes looked funny. They reminded her of glazed donuts. Plus, he had a weird odor today. It was faint, but Frankie could definitely smell it. She wrinkled her nose. It reminded her of Gail’s dad whenever she saw him at parties or barbecues.

  “I’m frine,” he responded. He reached over and pulled the lever to close the door. Frankie turned back to look out at the sidewalk in front of the school, but the principal was already gone.

  “Do you mean fine?” she asked Mr. Lesko.

  “Frankie!” Wallace shouted from the middle of the bus. “Shut up and sit down already. Just let him drive!”

  Frankie looked back at Mr. Lesko, but he was already looking out the front window, squinting his eyes like it was hard to see. The bus lurched forward and she fell onto her knees. A moment later, Wallace was there, hooking his hands under her armpits and pulling her to her feet. He reached down and brushed off her knees. “Come on,” he said. “You can sit with me.”