"I've seen these before…" Mom studied them, turning the bag over in her hands. "Wait! I know! They had these on display at the Smithsonian last month."
I stared at her. "You saw them there?"
She shrugged. "It was a gala fundraiser for the UN. I was on the committee. I remember these because they were so unique. They only had four on exhibit."
I took the bag from her and held it up. The sun slanted through the window and reflected off the gold onto the wall, creating a flicker of light. Martini jumped on it, killed it, and went back into the skull, where she slap shot another crumpled tissue ball.
"Early Mesopotamian," Mom said. "One coin is worth a fortune. I wonder if they're real…"
"There wasn't anything about a theft of coins there?" I asked.
Mom shook her head. "No. I'd have remembered that."
My fingers closed around the coin. "So, if they are real, what's really at the Smithsonian? Decoys?" That would explain why it wasn't in the news.
My mother stuffed a few more tissues. "Do you think the dead woman was involved?"
I had no idea what to think. "If she was, she didn't work alone. I can't imagine a furniture store clerk as an ancient relics thief."
"We'd have to find out if she's been to DC recently. How can we do that?"
I gave her a look. "There is a way. But you're not going to like it."
My cell buzzed. Kelly texted that Darlene was on shift at the hospital. She could meet me at the door in ten minutes.
"Don't make any plans for tonight," I told Mom. "I've got to run an errand."
"I'll keep working," Mom said with a small wave.
* * *
I'd be wrong if I didn't say I was excited about this interview. Darlene might be our killer. She also might be the one who stole the coins. I just needed to find a way to get her to confess.
That wouldn't be easy. Maybe I'd just ask enough to hand her over to Rex. Like an olive branch. A murdery, thieving olive branch.
"I can't go with you," Kelly said when she met me at the door.
"Why not?" Kelly was kind of my "in."
"We have a bunch of kids coming in any minute who got hurt TP-ing. We're shorthanded in the emergency room as it is."
"How did they get hurt doing that?" I wondered aloud.
Kelly shook her head. She gave me brief directions to where I could find Darlene. "Text me!" she shouted over her shoulder as she raced down the corridor.
Okay, I was on my own. No sweat. I've done this sort of thing before. Granted, it was with a terrorist bound to a chair and I was wielding a rubber hose…
"Merry?" Susan, my counselor, walked up to me with a big smile. "I didn't know we had an appointment today."
"We don't," I reassured. Although I could really use one right now. "I'm meeting someone."
She grimaced. "Hopefully not in the ER. They've got five kids coming in who fell out of a tree."
"Who's stupid enough to climb a tree to hang toilet paper?"
Susan shrugged. "Teenage brains aren't wired like ours."
She had that right. Adults were way smarter than that. "I'll call and make an appointment sometime. I need to talk to you about Nice Me and Evil Me."
The counselor looked startled. "Split personalities? I never would've guessed that."
"I wish!" That would be awesome. I could blame everything on the other personality. "Sadly, no. Just wrestling with some issues."
We said our good-byes, and I marched down the hallway to find my target.
Darlene Haver, her nametag read, was a tall, middle-aged woman with a willowy frame and a pretty face. Long auburn hair brushed her shoulders. She was a looker. I wonder if that's what made it so easy for her husband to think she'd strayed.
"Can I help you?" The woman's expression was tight and bland…professional.
"Yes!" I stepped up to the counter. Good thing I was the only person there.
"I heard my cousin was brought to the morgue the other day." I worked the lie I'd invented on the way over. "My aunt wants me to confirm that the body is really hers." My bright, cheery tone was a contrast to what I was saying. I wanted to make it look like I couldn't care less that my "cousin" was dead.
I continued. "Didi Stoker? I guess she was from around here? I didn't know her much myself. Just saw her at family gatherings." I leaned on the counter and looked both ways. "Between you and me," I told the startled woman, "no one in the family liked her. She was awful. Just awful. Always stirring up trouble."
Darlene ground her teeth as she seemed to be deciding what to tell me. She could just point me in the direction of the morgue, which would blow the whole thing. Or she could open up. Her silence made me think she needed another nudge.
"I know you're not supposed to talk badly about the dead, but she broke up my sister's marriage. I wouldn't be surprised if my sister killed her." I stood back with a knowing grin.
"That. Woman," Darlene said through clenched teeth, "destroyed my marriage. I'm sorry for your loss, but I'm not sorry she's dead."
I nodded knowingly. "What did she do? Seduce your husband so you'd catch him in the act or pin a worthless adultery lie on you?"
Darlene was no idiot. She seemed to be buying the story, but it was obvious that she wasn't sure she wanted to give me any more information.
After a few seconds, she spoke up. "Whoever killed her should end up in heaven. Didi was the devil." She snorted. "Which is ironic since she wanted everyone to think she was so pious."
Her words were calm, but she was digging her fingernails into a legal pad that was in danger of being torn to shreds.
I sighed heavily. "I'm so sorry. That's horrible! I hate that someone from my family caused you so much pain."
The woman smiled wolfishly. "Oh, she got what she deserved." She laughed—a small joke to herself—and I felt a small twinge of victory.
"How did she die?" I pushed. "The police here haven't told the family anything. They just delivered the bad news."
In a way, this was true. Rex hadn't released the cause of death to the media. I was assuming he hadn't told the family—if she had one—what really happened.
Darlene's features twisted into a terrible glee. "Choked on her own evil." Then she sat up, and her face went placid. "The morgue is in the basement. Take the stairs on your left. Last door on your right. You can't miss it." She looked down at the destroyed legal pad and tossed it into the garbage.
This interview was over. But I felt like I had what I needed. There wasn't a huge difference between "choked" and strangulation. I headed toward the stairs but slipped out a side door once I was out of sight.
Darlene Haver may have just confessed to murder.
* * *
Kelly wasn't answering her phone, so I texted her with the news that Darlene was possibly our killer and raced home to get ready for the next step in the investigation.
That evening, as we sat in the parking lot of the nicest bar in town, Mom let me know, for the one thousandth time, that she didn't like this idea. Even though Darlene was now my top suspect, I still felt that Plan B—Operation Slimeball (the name was my idea)—was worth pursuing.
I explained it one more time. "Stan-Call-Me-Stan would know if his colleague had gone out of town. In fact, he'd most likely spill all kinds of dirt on her."
After I finished my spiel, Mom straightened her silk blouse and glanced into the mirror. To be honest, I didn't think she'd want to go through with it. I figured we'd show up and she'd ground me and make me take her home.
"Besides! It'll be an adventure!" A weird adventure where I sent my married mother on a date with someone she hated.
She finally nodded and applied a perfect layer of lipstick. "And what are you going to do?"
I looked down at the black hoodie, pants, and shoes I was wearing. "The furniture store is closed. I thought I'd do a little espionage of my own." There had to be human resource files on each employee. It couldn't hurt to have backup.
Mom placed her
hand on my arm. "Be careful."
She ran her hands through her hair. If you saw her, you'd never guess she was nervous. Mom had a way of handling bad scenarios with grace. Her biggest concern was that someone would take a picture of her with a strange man. As a senator's wife, she needed to be careful too.
Mom grimaced at me and got out of the car. I watched as she walked inside and waited. Less than a minute later, Stan roared up in a Camaro that implied he was making up for a serious lack of something. He got out of the car, straightened his tie, and sprayed something into his mouth. Ugh. That meant he thought he was going to get close enough for Mom to smell his breath. After he walked in, I pulled out of the parking lot and headed downtown.
I parked in the lot of the hotel next to the store. Someone would notice if they saw a car in Midland Furniture's empty lot after hours. But no one would think anything of a car in a lot filled with cars.
The employee entrance was in the back of the building, which was good. But there was no landscaping cover to hide in, which was bad. I slipped out of the car and cautiously made my way to the door, dodging streetlights and making sure no one was out and about to see me. Why hadn't anyone invented invisibility yet? That would be a tremendous help to spies and amateur detectives who didn't want their real detective boyfriends to find out they were doing something they shouldn't be doing.
It would also be useful in finding out what the cats did all day. A little while back, I bought some cameras to place around the interior of the house. After spreading the equipment on the living room floor, I went to get a glass of wine. When I got back, all of the wires had been chewed in half. Philby sat there glaring at me, as if to say you didn't seriously think I was going to let you get away with this, did you?
Since then, I've always wondered what they got up to and how they knew I was going to spy on them. Maybe Rex is a mole for the cats. I'd have to watch him more closely.
The alley behind Midland Furniture was dark and quiet. When I was here the other day, I didn't see any signs by alarm companies. No wires or cameras meant Andy Andrews was cheap—which was great news for me. Still, it paid to be careful. Walking back and forth at the back of the building, I looked for any evidence of an alarm. Finding none, I made my way back to the door.
The lock was an old deadbolt, which was easy to spring. My lockpick set was state-of-the-art and at least two decades younger than the lock itself. Very quietly, I slid the tools into the lock and began to work. In a few seconds, the lock sprung, and I was inside the building.
Rex didn't know I had the set. Was that something I should disclose? I was fairly certain he wouldn't want me to have lockpicks. I could pass them off as a sentimental tchotchke from my spy days, but I doubt he'd buy it.
Honesty was important in a marriage, right? And yet here I was, trying to come up with ways to lie to my fiancé about my gear. Of course, Rex's argument would be that I didn't need this equipment anymore. I'd have to find a way to keep the set without lying about it.
In the dim light from my flashlight, I could see that I was in a sort of windowless hallway. There were two doors. One was labeled Office and the other, Showroom. I toyed briefly with running around the floor, jumping on all of the display beds. I'd always wanted to do that. But not knowing how much time I had, I chose the office instead. Maybe next time.
The door wasn't locked. Mr. Andrews, the manager, was not much of a decorator. You'd think he would be, with a whole furniture store at his disposal. Instead, a dented metal desk and two rusty file cabinets were all he had. I remembered a gorgeous office in the showroom, with dark wood furniture and overstuffed chairs. That's where I'd paid for the bedroom set. It must've been a staged office. Which meant the real intel was in here.
At the back of the room was another door that appeared to lead outside. Somehow I'd missed that when I came in. Was this so Andy could escape his annoying employees? The nervous little man seemed just the sort to do that.
The desk was locked. I could break in, but the lock was cheap and weak, and it might be damaged. Which meant I'd have to start with the file cabinets. The one closest to the door to the showroom was the oldest of the two. I gingerly eased the top drawer open and was rewarded with a low creak.
These files were alphabetized. Since Stoker began with an S, I'd need to start from the bottom or move on to the next cabinet. The minutes were ticking by, and the last thing I wanted was for Mom to be stuck with that slimy furniture salesman and his mouth spray one moment longer than she had to.
She was a good sport, and it was nice having her here. And she was saving me from having to deal with Stan, although I was pretty sure I wasn't Stan's type. Mom was glamorous, fascinating, and made everyone feel like royalty.
I, on the other hand, was an adult who hung out with little girls, was chased by king vultures, and could kill a man with one finger. Not the same at all.
The bottom cabinet drawer was empty. Well, I guess there weren't many employees here. Probably the first two drawers were all he needed. I moved up to the second drawer and tugged.
It held fast. I leveraged my weight and pulled again. Nothing gave. It couldn't be locked. Most file cabinets had one lock for all the drawers. I'd opened one so far, so there wasn't any reason for the second drawer not to give.
I tugged on the third drawer, and it opened and closed smoothly. Then I made sure all the drawers were shut tight and tried the second drawer again. It wouldn't budge. I couldn't even pick the lock because it didn't have one.
My cell buzzed in my pocket. A text from Mom indicated she wanted to leave soon. I texted back for her to give me ten minutes and turned my attention back to the drawer.
Slowly, I pulled the creaky top drawer all the way open, hoping to pull it out of the cabinet so I could reach down into the second drawer from above. The drawer had just given way when I heard a loud crash coming from the showroom. I froze.
Someone else had the same idea as me. And as much as I hoped they were just there to jump on all the beds, chances were whoever it was didn't think like me. Were they heading toward the office? Or was it merely a robbery? I hoped that was it as I set the drawer on the floor and peered down into the files below.
A loud cry came from the other side of the door, as if someone had gotten hurt. It was closer than the crash had been. My heartbeat thrummed through my veins as I looked into the cabinet. The doorknob started to turn as I grabbed Didi's file and ran for the rear door. I didn't look back to see if whoever it was had gotten in. I wasn't afraid of them as much as I was afraid of getting caught. I was soon back in the car and quietly pulling out of the lot through the other entrance.
I texted Mom when I got back to the bar lot and then waited. My fingers itched to go through the file that was facedown on the passenger seat, but it wasn't safe. Someone could see me. Minutes passed without a reply from my mother. I called her. She didn't answer.
The Camaro was still parked in the lot, which meant Stan was still here. Or did it? Had I forced Mom to meet with Didi's killer? Now I was worried.
After stashing the file between the seats, I locked the van and entered the bar.
The Q Bar was new and had only been open a couple of months. Rex and I had come here once for dinner. It was nice. Nicer than any other place in town, with dark paneled walls, mauve velvet booths, and fake Chihuly glass chandeliers.
I scanned the tables but didn't see her. I did spot Stan at the bar. Alone.
"Where's my mother?" I demanded.
Stan turned around and gave me a creepy once-over. "Are you going to a Halloween party as the color black or planning to rob a bank later?"
Expensive cologne nearly choked me as he gave me an oily grin. I'd forgotten about my tactical clothing. Dressed in a black, I did look more like a SWAT member than a patron of this classy place.
I returned his smile. "I was on my way to a party, but Mom texted to say she wasn't feeling well."
His right eyebrow rose. "Really? That must be why she's been in
the powder room so long. Go on to your party. I'll see that she gets home."
Oh right. Like I was going to let that happen. I shook my head. "I'm already here, and I'm not in a rush." I headed for the restrooms, "Thanks though!"
The ladies' room was at the back of the building, near an exit door. Mom wasn't there. I even horrified a few guys by checking the men's room. No Judith Czrygy. Racing back through the bar, I didn't see her. In fact, Stan's bar seat was empty, and there was a twenty-dollar bill on the bar.
Uh-oh.
"The woman who was sitting here," I shouted to the bartender, "with the slimeball. Did you see where she went?"
The bartender, a young man in his twenties, thought about it. "I'm not sure. But that guy left here with a blonde. Could've been her."
I tossed another twenty on the counter and thanked him before heading outside to my van.
The Camaro was gone. And so was my mother.
CHAPTER TEN
I went home and searched, but Mom wasn't there. Her rental car was gone. How did she get home and pick it up so quickly? Was Mom the blonde who left with Stan? Had he taken her to her car?
I changed my clothes so Rex wouldn't guess what I'd been up to (which he totally would've if I'd been wearing my tactical gear) and banged on his door until he answered.
"What do you mean, your mother's missing?" Rex asked as he let me in. He must've been planning an early night because he was wearing a pair of black flannel pajama bottoms and nothing else.
My pulse spiked. Rex had a very athletic physique, which was unfair since he didn't go to a gym or work out. He looked like he was chiseled out of marble, and I was suddenly more interested in spending the night in.
"Merry?" he asked, snapping my eyes back to his.
"Oh! Right. Sorry," I stammered.
Mean Girl Murder Page 8
