by CeeCee James
Chapter 11
The hot shower spray helped to dissipate some of the weirdness from the interaction with Calvin Dunham’s son. I lathered up with pomegranate soap and breathed deeply. I realized how sore my neck was, my whole body, really. I get my mind off of all this craziness for a bit. Relax. Do something besides deal with turmoil. Maybe do a little painting. Or baking. I hadn’t done that for a while.
I was scanning for a recipe while combing out my hair when my cell buzzed with a text. It was from Kari. —Hey! I miss you! Want to get together for lunch? It seemed like serendipity.
We hadn’t gotten together in a while since she’d been on maternity leave. I would love to catch up. I texted back yes, and she suggested a small Italian restaurant in town. What won me over was her last word. —Cheap!
It turned out she was right. But the restaurant hadn’t scrimped on the atmosphere. Dark wood and creamy lace curtains, along with the usual décor of grapes and vines painted along the trim created a cozy ambience.
I was the first to arrive and so was the first seated. Breadsticks and water were set out to tide me. I knew better than to indulge, but the buttery and garlic aroma drifting from the linen-lined basket called to me.
“Just one,” I promised myself.
I ripped it in half and took a big bite. Mmm. Still warm.
Kari came around the corner. Her round pregnant belly made me smile.
She sat down with a loud exhale. “So good to get off my feet. It’s been forever! How are you doing?”
“I’m good. You look great!”
She rubbed the top of her tummy. “Thank you! Just a few weeks left. And then I’m putting out an eviction notice!”
At that moment, the waitress returned. Kari ordered first while I quickly scanned the menu. This was definitely a cheat day… if I ever actually ate in a way that was different.
“So, how’s the tour guide business going?” Kari grabbed a piece of bread.
I reached for the piece left on the plate. Gone! I’d already eaten it and hadn’t even realized.
“Right now, all I have on my mind is this crazy mystery I’ve found myself in.” I filled her in on all the details.
She listened quietly until I told her about the storage unit.
“Let me see the business cards.” She tore off another hunk of the bread and dipped it in oil before plopping it in her mouth.
I found the picture and passed the phone over.
She chewed as she studied. After a moment, she zoomed in. “Does that say BN Financial Group?”
I took it back to read. “Yeah, I guess it does.”
“That’s the parent company for Security International. You know, the bank.”
I knew the bank. It was the one foreclosing on Calvin’s house. “You’re kidding me. Really?”
She slid the phone back. “I’m not sure about the rest of them.”
I studied the cards again, mentally patting myself on the back to have thought of taking the picture. Then I realized I still didn’t know anything helpful.
Our food arrived. We both dug in. I was still starving, even after my bread. I had been working my tail off but not doing the best job in taking care of myself. It was a bad habit of mine when I got sucked into work.
“So, where does the dead guy come in?” Kari asked before shoveling another fork of lasagna into her mouth.
“We found him when we were cleaning. It was weird. The front door was locked, and somehow he still got in and was upstairs.”
“Are you serious? Was he involved with the house?”
“On the bank’s behalf, yes. This doesn’t quite seem the best conversation for the dinner table.” I laughed. “How have you been?”
“No, you can’t leave me hanging!”
“That’s about all I know right now. The cops are looking into the murder, the son wants to find his father, and there’s a neighbor woman searching for whatever the previous owner had in the house.”
“Wow. That really is a mess.” She shook her head in disbelief.
“Yes, so you can see why I just want a little escape from it.”
“One last question. You mentioned his son… how do you know that man really was his son?”
“Well,” I frowned. “He was worried.”
“People can act. Maybe he was the killer. Maybe he was upset because he needed something from the house and all of you were there.” She pointed her fork at me. “You did say he ran off when he knew the police were coming.”
“Yeah, because he was scared.”
“But why?”
“Because he kicked our sign. Maybe he thought he would get into trouble.”
“Maybe.” She paused. “Or maybe he was afraid his real identity would be found. out.”
I shoveled in another mouthful, but suddenly it didn’t taste as good. Had I fallen for some stupid sob story? Was he really the killer? “I’m not made for this stuff.”
“Oh, I don’t know. You seem like you move clues around like it’s a game of chess.”
“Well, right about now, everything seems to have fallen into a stalemate.”
After I left the restaurant, I texted Stella.—Found out some stuff about the business cards.
She wrote back.—Can I call?
I sent her a thumbs up. Immediately, the phone rang.
“Hey, so I found out what one of the cards belongs to,” I said.
“I’ve got bigger problems than that.”
I frowned. “What’s going on?”
“I just went back to the Dunham house and one of the windows was left open.”
“Oh, no! Was it us? We kind of left the house in a rush.”
“I know, we were upset. Or at least I was. But I swear I checked everything to make sure it was locked up when we left.”
“Did you see anything else that was weird?”
“I’m here right now. About to check the house. Want to come over?”
“On my way.”
Chapter 12
Stella was sitting on the front stoop when I pulled up.
“How’s it going?” I asked, shutting the car door.
“I got spooked,” she said with a shrug. “After our phone call, I started to worry someone was in there.”
She didn’t have to tell me. I was spooked as well.
“Any sign someone was in the house?”
She shook her head. “Front door is still locked.”
“Okay, let’s do this.”
Pepper spray in hand (we both had our own cans), phones out, we entered the house.
Inside was dimly lit by the gray light of the evening sky. I was glad we’d left the curtains open or we wouldn’t have been able to see a thing. Because there was no overhead fixture in the living room, I had to hurry into the kitchen to snap on the light.
Together, we searched the house. I flipped every room’s light switch until we had the house’s interior glowing like a jack-o-lantern.
Nothing seemed out of place.
Then I remembered the painting. My gut clenched. I hurried down the stairs ahead of Stella.
“Hey! Where are you going?” she hollered.
My breath was caught in my throat with anxiety. I whipped into the study and shut the door.
A white square stood out against the dirty white wall. The painting was gone.
“No, no, no,” I whimpered.
“Where are you?” she called.
“In here.” I could barely hold back the tears. I knew this was going to happen. I knew it. The painting was gone forever once again.
She tapped on the door and gently opened it. Her eyes locked on mine and then she turned toward the wall. “Oh, no,” she whispered.
“It’s gone. I can’t believe it.”
“Who would have done this?”
“You think it was the person who killed Justin Smith? Maybe we scared them away, and they had to come back for it?”
“I don’t know. It could have been one of the potential buyers. They spotted it, an
d they saw a chance to steal it.” Her phone was out. “I’m calling the police.”
As it rang, she glanced around with a groan.
“What now?”
“They’re going to be dusting this place again!”
The police showed up soon after. This time, however, as the detectives set to work, they sent us straight down to the precinct to make an official statement.
I followed Stella to the police station. We had to find separate parking spots, so I ended up meeting her on the steps.
I couldn’t help a sarcastic chuckle as I opened the door.
“What’s so funny?”
“I’m starting to think I need one of those coffee loyalty cards for all my visits here.”
It caught her off guard, and she choked back a laugh as the woman behind the desk gave us a cold glare.
We explained why we were there and they were expecting us. The receptionist made the call back.
“So, does this happen after all your open houses?” I asked Stella while we waited.
She giggled again, quickly cutting it off as the receptionist scowled. “You’re funny tonight. But don’t give up your day job.”
“Ladies, you can head back,” the receptionist pointed to the double doors.
We stood up and headed through to the bull pen. One of the officers looked up and waved us back. It was Officer Jefferson, one of the cops I’d seen a few days ago at the house.
His forehead rumpled as he read something on the computer screen, then his gaze bounced to me. “Ladies. Please tell me you haven’t found another body.” He spoke with a smile on his face, but his eyes were narrowed.
“No, not that.” I sat in one of the seats in front of his desk. Stella started to take the other when Officer Jefferson shook his head.
“If you could head back to that officer over there. She’ll be taking your statement.”
He pointed to the far corner, where a female officer smiled and gently waved.
“Lucky,” I whispered as she left.
“So, can you start from the beginning? What happened?” Officer Jefferson grabbed a coffee mug that was stained with coffee drips down its ceramic sides. Taking a sip, he leaned back in his chair, making it squeak.
I started with the text message I’d received from Kari, when he moved me back to earlier in the day. So I described the open house, seeing the painting, and ended with the sign-kicking son.
He arched an eyebrow and took another slow swallow.
“So we closed the open house, and Stella made sure the house was locked. And that was the last I saw of the place until tonight.”
“You’re a hundred percent certain all the windows and doors were locked when you left?”
His comment left me cold. So much had happened. Could I be sure? I licked my bottom lip. “Like ninety-nine percent positive.”
“You actually saw her do it? Checked them after her?”
My cheeks heated. “No, but she told me she had, and I trust her.”
“I see.” He leaned forward and started typing. “And you have an alibi for where you were this afternoon?”
“I went home, showered, and then went out to lunch with a friend.” Where was he going with this?
“Do you have any proof that the painting existed?”
My eyes widened. Why would we lie about it being stolen? I hurriedly grabbed out my phone and brought up the photo to show him. Satisfied, I slid it over to him.
He picked it up and studied it. Not a single muscle on his face moved. If ever a man looked unimpressed, it was him.
“No way to know if this was a copy?”
“What? No, I—” Suddenly, I felt foolish. Had it been a copy? How would I know?
“Do you have any suspects who may have been interested in the painting?”
“The house was filled with people all morning, coming and going.”
“Did you check to make sure the painting was still there after the open house was over?”
I shook my head. This guy was making me feel like an idiot. Then I remembered. “There was a woman who had the key. A strange neighbor lady.”
“She had a key?” He said it like I’d announced she carried crickets in her pocket.
“Yes. She came into the house one day when we were cleaning,” I said, enthusiasm building up my talking speed. “In fact, she didn’t give the key back, even though Stella asked for it, so we had to change the locks.”
“I see. A strange neighbor woman. Is there anyone else?”
I shook my head.
He asked for more details on her physical description and vehicle. I remembered that I had the woman’s license plate number and gave that to him.
“Can you search this for me?”
He didn’t say anything, but his nostrils flared.
I tried again. “I know this is a long shot, but is there anything you can share about who you suspect killed Justin Smith?” I asked. I already knew what the answer would be, but sometimes you have to roll the dice and hope.
“You know I can’t tell you anything about an ongoing investigation.” He sat back and interlocked his fingers behind his head.
“So, if you can’t tell me anything,” I said, “Can you let me know if I’m in any danger? After all, I know who the dead man was, and I’ve been in and out of the house he repoed.”
“Ms. O’Neil,” he started, his eyes meeting mine. “If you were in danger, we would be protecting you. Justin Smith’s job was to take homes from people and later sell them. He had many enemies.”
“Do you think Calvin Dunham is really missing? His son felt like no one was looking for him.”
“Ms. O’Neil… I really can’t tell you much about that.” He sighed, looking back at the computer screen. “What I can tell you is that, at this point, I think it’s safe to assume the painting was a counterfeit. I believe the bank would have had everything inside assessed prior to auction.”
“I understand and thank you, anyways.”
“Well, thank you for coming down promptly. Please let us know if you hear anything more.”
He stood up. I did likewise. As I leaned forward to shake his hand, I caught sight of what he had up on the screen. A woman’s mug shot. He noticed I was staring and reached to turn the screen. But not before I saw a last name.
Dunham.
His face was a blank canvas as he released my hand. “Have a good night,” he said, nodding toward the door.
I nodded in response and glanced toward the back at Stella. She was still being interviewed.
I walked to the entrance. Dunham. That couldn’t be a coincidence. I really wanted to call Frank. However, he was working, and I didn’t want to distract him if he had a serious investigation going on.
The receptionist didn’t look up as I settled into one of the chairs to wait.
Dunham. Was it Calvin’s sister? His wife? I thought about the picture.
Then it hit me. Was it the woman with the key?
The frantic expression on the woman’s face matched the one on the picture. The way her eyes were as round as eggs in shock.
I was right. I knew I was right.
I needed to find out for sure.
Chapter 13
Stella came out a few minutes later.
“You’re not going to believe what I saw,” I whispered to her.
“What?” Her eyebrows raised.
“Come on.” We headed outside, and I still didn’t feel safe. I led her to the corner of the building. It was pitch black by now, but there was a street lamp.
“There was a woman on Officer Jefferson’s screen. Her last name was Dunham.”
“So?”
“I think it was the so-called neighbor woman.”
I had my phone out by now and was trying to do a search on the license plate.
“You think it was her, really?”
I was too distracted to answer as I scrolled through the internet options. No luck. The only advice was to take the number to the po
lice department if they committed a crime.
Been there, done that. Got the t-shirt.
I glanced up and saw Stella still waiting patiently for her answer. “Oh, sorry. It turns out license plate information is confidential.” I chucked my phone into my purse. “I’m getting sick and tired of all these dead ends.”
“I hear you.” She made a sympathetic noise. “You look tired.”
“Exhausted,” I admitted.
“Go home and get some rest. I’m seriously turning my phone off and doing the same.”
“Good idea. I should do that too.”
“Thanks for being there tonight. I appreciate all of your help.”
“Any time.”
She headed in the direction of her car, and I walked to mine. I would have liked to go straight home, but I was out of coffee. And there was no way I was going to face a non-coffee morning. I wasn’t that brave.
Luckily, I made it to the store before they closed, an odd thing I had to get used to in this small town. Back in Pittsburgh, most of the stores were open well into the night. Not so out here.
I snagged a bag of coffee and then wandered down the peanut butter and jelly aisle. “Raspberry is good,” I muttered, grimacing a little when I realized I was talking to myself. I shrugged it off and grabbed a jar.
It was as I was seriously considering a jar of Nutella that I got a phone call. It was from an unknown number.
Prickles crawled up my neck. I glanced up the aisle. I was alone.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Tanner?” It was Officer Jefferson.
“Yes?”
“I’d just like to let you know about that license plate. The car belongs to a Darla Cormac Dunham.”
“Oh. Thank you! Does she have a crime history?”
“Nothing you need to worry about.” With that he hung up.
Wow. Well, that was unexpected as well as nice of him to get back to me. Maybe I’d won him over more than I thought.
To celebrate, I dropped the Nutella in the basket. After a few more minutes, a loaf of bread and a bag of apples was added.
I was so lost in my thoughts I hardly noticed the drive home. Kind of creeped me out that I could do that, if I’m honest. Drive without really paying attention.
