Murder Blog Mysteries Boxed Collection

by Pamela Frost Dennis

“Katy!” She slipped the key into the lock. “Sorry, it took so long. I needed to make some, uh, arrangements.”

  Ready.

  The key turned.

  Set.

  The door swung open. “Time to come out,” said Erin from the hall.

  I held my breath, willing her to step inside.

  “Not funny, Katy. Did you forget I have a gun? Get the fuck out here. Now!”

  I was terrified, but I knew this might be my only chance to get the upper hand, so I waited.

  “Okay, have it your way. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Erin’s designer-shod foot stepped over the threshold.

  GO!

  I swung the sack with everything I had, aiming for her belly, but slamming her in the kneecaps. She pitched forward, slipping on the wet tiles and went down with an “Ooof.” Her forehead smashed into the floor, and she was out cold.

  I raised the bag high, prepared to drop it and crush her pretty face into the floor, then hesitated. Hitting her the first time had been easy—knowing it was my only chance to save myself. But looking down at her defenseless body, I had second thoughts. I’d never hurt anyone on purpose before. I can’t even kill spiders. Was I ready to be a cold-blooded murderer? I was not.

  When Erin went down, the gun had skittered out of her hand. I scanned the floor, not seeing it. I thought maybe it had slid under the shelves. I stepped one foot over Erin, and as my other foot followed, she grabbed my ankle and jerked me off balance. I tried to catch myself but went down hard. On my butt. On her head.

  I scrambled away, ready to battle, but she lay still. Blood oozed from her face, pooling around her head. I’ve seen how bloody a broken nose can be, so I assumed that was the source. She was definitely unconscious this time, but I gave her a hard poke in the ribs with my foot to be sure.

  Keeping an eye on Erin, I crawled around searching for the gun, and saw its muzzle peeking out from under the pile of blankets. I cautiously turned it so I could grab the handle. Once I had a firm grip on it, I stood, aiming the weapon at my cousin as I edged my way around her. I backed out of the room, then remembered I needed the key to lock the door. It wasn’t on the floor, so it had to be in her hand. The hand I could see wasn’t holding the key, and her other hand was wedged under her body. At that moment, I was winning the war, but the tables could turn quickly if I moved her and she woke up. It wasn’t worth the risk.

  In the hallway, a hideous marble-topped Victorian sideboard sat about three feet from the door. I shoved the heavy piece across the tiled floor, screeching a trail of scratches until it was planted in front of the linen door. In her condition, I didn’t think Erin would be able to push the door open, but if she tried, I’d hear the cabinet moving.

  I dashed to the kitchen, set the gun on the counter, and did a three-sixty, taking in the French country all-white kitchen and great room. Lulu was whining in a pink dog crate under a rustic harvest table.

  “Hey, sweetheart.” I slipped a finger through the wire door and touched her nose. “It’ll be okay.”

  Private

  Some things can’t be shared with anyone.

  I went back to looking for a phone. “I must really be behind the times. I thought every kitchen had a phone.”

  I spotted Erin’s handbag on a kitchen chair. My phone was inside, and as I was about to press 911, I remembered the coins. I assumed they had to be somewhere in the house so she’d have easy access. I knew I should call the police immediately, but once they showed up, the place would turn into a circus. If my coins were in the house, they’d become evidence, and who knew if I’d ever get them back.

  I tucked the cellphone in my pocket, grabbed the gun, and ran back to the linen closet. “Erin! Where’d you hide the money?”

  No answer.

  “You’re going to prison. Probably for life. So you might as well tell me.”

  Still no answer.

  I figured the logical place to search would be the bedroom she was using. I rushed down the hall checking every room I passed with no luck.

  Back in the foyer, I raced up the stairs and turned right at the top. First door was a fairytale nursery. Next, a princess bedroom and bath. Then a toy room, and after that, a Star Wars bedroom and bathroom. I spun around and headed in the other direction. The first room was a luxurious master bedroom suite. Beyond that the hall turned to the left, leading to three more bedrooms—one with an unmade bed and clothes strewn on the floor.

  “Gotcha!”

  I set the gun on the dresser. Top drawer: undies, socks. Second: nighties. Third: t-shirts and such. Fourth: Jeans. Then I had an alarming thought—my fingerprints. If the cops dusted for prints in her bedroom, they’d want to know why I’d rifled through her things before I called them. I slipped a pair of socks on my hands, wiped down everything I’d touched, then continued.

  There was nothing under the bed. The closet was crammed with trendy clothes, most still sporting tags. I flipped through the expensive garments. “Been having some fun at my expense, haven’t you, Erin?” A shoebox caught my eye—or rather the label did. Christian Louboutin $945. I moved on to the bathroom. hen I finished, I was still coin-less, and the suite looked like a crime scene.

  I sat on the bed, seething with rage and frustration. Then I remembered Erin’s words, “Trust me, they’re hidden where nobody will ever find them.”

  I stood and kicked at the pile of size four designer jeans on the floor, screaming, “You win, Erin. Hope you enjoy never getting to spend another penny of it while you rot in prison.”

  Halfway down the hall, I halted, trying to capture an impression tickling the periphery of my brain. I glanced around, shaking my head. “What?”

  I returned to the bedroom and stood in the doorway, scanning the area for a clue. I opened the spacious closet and stepped back, taking in the contents. The tickle shouted, You’re getting warm.

  I scrolled through the outfits again, slowly this time. The tickle said, Keep going, you’re getting warmer. I came to a classic taupe sheath dress and matching jacket. As I slid it aside, the hanger stalled on the metal rod. I lifted it, and it was unusually heavy for a summery linen outfit.

  The little tickle screamed, Watch out for third degree burns!

  I peeked down the neck of the dress. A rectangle nylon bag resembling a long, flat fanny pack dangled from the hanger. I unclipped the tan bag and placed it on the bed.

  Two zippered pockets ran the length of the foot long bag. Inside one were six slots meant for credit cards and ID. I poked a finger in a slot and discovered four gold coins tucked inside. My fingers shook as I searched each slot. Twenty-four coins in all. The other compartment held three rubber-banded stacks of cash. I slipped one out, fanning through it. Every single one was a hundred dollar bill.

  I counted the bundle. “One, two, three, four, five, six.” I stopped. “What was that noise?” I put the cash back in the money belt, then grabbed the gun from the dresser and sneaked down the curved staircase. At the bottom, I peeked around the corner. The sideboard looked slightly askew.

  I tiptoed to the buffet. It had been moved a couple inches. Just enough to make the screechy sound. The door was ajar, and through the crack I could make out the crown of Erin’s head on the floor, her face mashed against the travertine tiles. The bloody fingers of one hand were wedged in the open door so I couldn’t close it.

  “Erin? Move your hand.” She didn’t move. Not even a twitch. “Dammit. Now, what do I do?”

  I thought about slamming the door and crushing her fingers, but the mere thought gave me the willies. Then I remembered the pool cues in the game room I’d passed by while hunting for Erin’s room. I fetched one and used it to shove her limp hand out of the doorway, then closed the door and snugged the table back in place.

  Returning to Erin’s bedroom, I removed the black windbreaker tied around my waist and strapped on the money belt. I slipped my jacket over it, zipped it halfway, and checked my image in the full-length mirror on the wall.

&n
bsp; “Sure hope the cops don’t frisk me, or the jig is up.” At the doorway, I scanned the messy room and decided I had no idea what happened up here.

  Downstairs, I listened for signs of life in the linen closet and heard nothing. It was time to call the police. I went to the kitchen, set the gun on the counter and pulled out my cellphone. I pressed 9, and then was sidetracked by shouts in the backyard. I gazed out the paned-glass windows facing the yard and saw the tent-boys banging on the guesthouse door.

  I opened the French doors and hollered, “Hey, guys!” I wasn’t sure if they could hear me over the chop-chop of a helicopter passing. “Up here!”

  They saw me waving and sprinted to the flagstone patio steps.

  “What’s going on?” yelled Jessie.

  “Get inside.” I gestured them through the door. “Can’t hear you with that noisy helicopter.”

  “We saw the bench against the wall and got worried.” Seth glanced around the kitchen. “What’re you doing inside this house?”

  “Is she here?” whispered Jessie. “And is she the woman you’re looking for?”

  “Yes to both questions,” I said.

  “Where is she?” asked Seth.

  “I’ve got her barricaded in a closet. I was about to call the police when I saw you guys out there.”

  Concern pinched Seth’s shaggy eyebrows “Your forehead’s bleeding. You’ve got a pretty big goose egg.”

  I touched it and came away with sticky blood on my fingers. “Didn’t even realize it. Must’ve happened during my scuffle with Erin.”

  “You better put some ice on that,” said Jessie.

  “I need to call the cops, first.”

  “You’re trembling.” Seth pulled a barstool out from the counter, took my arm and eased me into it. “I’ll call. You sit.”

  “Thanks. I guess the adrenaline rush is over.”

  Jessie wrapped a handful of ice in a blue dish towel and handed it to me. He returned to the refrigerator and removed a beer. “After what you’ve been through, I think you could use this. It’s on the house,” he said with a wink.

  I sipped the cold microbrew and listened to Seth make the phone call. Then it hit me. My friends were squatters on private property! “You guys need to get out of here. If the cops find out where you’re living, they’ll kick you out.”

  “We know. But it’s all good.” Jessie glanced at Seth. “We’ve been saving to go backpacking in Europe, and we’ve got more than enough now, so it’s time for us to get out there and see the world.”

  “Yeah, this is the kick-in-the-butt we needed.” Seth shoved his phone back into his jeans pocket.

  Less than a minute later, someone pounded on the front door. “Police!”

  “Whoa! That was fast.” I slipped off the barstool and then I noticed the freaked-out look on Seth’s face. I turned and saw three cops on the patio, guns aimed at us. They opened the French doors and stepped inside.

  An officer yelled, “Down on the floor. Hands behind your head!”

  Hands in the air, I screamed, “Please don’t shoot. We’re the good guys!”

  Those first minutes were terrifying. The cops had a photo of me, but it wasn’t until I vouched for Jessie and Seth that the diligent officers finally holstered their weapons.

  One of the cops, a fierce looking bald man, showed me a picture of Erin. “Is this the woman, ma’am?”

  “Yes, that’s her. Erin Cranston. I have her locked in a closet

  in the hallway.”

  “Is she armed?” he said, all business.

  “No, sir. I got the gun away from her and put it on the counter by the fridge.” I pointed. “Over there.”

  I expected the officer to be impressed that an untrained civilian had apprehended a murderer and had her secured in a closet, but he acted like it was no big deal.

  He picked up the gun. “All right, I want all of you outside. Officer Carpelli will escort you.”

  “Wait a sec,” I said. “How’d you guys get here so fast?”

  “We got a call from the Santa Lucia police department. A detective there had reason to believe you were in danger.”

  Samantha must have called Detective Murphy. I felt a surge of sisterly love hug my heart. Thank you, dear friend.

  The street was blocked on both sides by squad cars with lights flashing. A fire truck and a paramedics van idled at the curb. Beyond the police cars were a crowd of curious neighbors and two local TV station news vans. A reporter shouted, “Can you tell us what’s happening in there?”

  “Justice!” I yelled with a fist pump.

  *Quick note here: Wouldn’t you think that a police helicopter would be black and white with “Police” in bold letters on the sides? The one that had been hovering overhead was cobalt blue, and I didn’t see any police insignia on it. For all I knew it was someone buzzing the neighborhood.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  COINS AND CADAVERS

  THURSDAY • MARCH 12

  Guest Posted by Samantha Drummond

  Katy asked me to post about what happened on my end after Erin caught her….

  Anybody who knows my best friend knows she’s never been a spontaneous person. For example: I couldn’t get Katy to try another flavor of ice cream besides vanilla until she was fourteen. That’s when she discovered mint chip. So this sudden road trip of hers was totally out of character. But I understood her need to get away.

  When Katy called me while spying on the house she thought Erin might be staying in, and then abruptly hung up, I got concerned. However, the more I thought about it, the more I realized it was highly unlikely that Erin was still in the country, so I quit worrying.

  About twenty minutes later, the high school called and told me Chelsea wasn’t feeling well.

  On the way home, I told Chelsea what Katy was doing.

  “Do me a favor. Get my phone out of my purse and text Katy. Tell her I want to know what’s going on.”

  Chelsea sent the text, and a few minutes later, she said, “Katy answered your text. It says, ‘Sorry I hung up. I thought I saw Erin. But it wasn’t her. LOL. Planning on staying up here for a few more days.’”

  “That’s a relief.”

  For the next few minutes, Chelsea stared out the car window, not talking or texting, so I grew concerned. “How bad do you feel, honey? Do we need to go to the doctor?”

  “No, I’m thinking about Aunt Katy’s text.” She glanced at my phone. “You know she’s the worst speller on the planet. Like, whenever she texts me, I have trouble trying to figure out what she’s saying ’cause she always lets the stupid auto-corrector screw it up. But this text is like perfect.”

  My heart flip-flopped, and I pulled to the curb and read the text. “That’s it. I’m calling the police. But which police? The ones here or up there?”

  “I think here,” said Chelsea. “They know her.”

  “You’re right about that. They know her all too well.” I looked up the police department number, then tried to remember the name of the detective Katy had been working with but drew a blank. “I’ll ask for the chief. I hope she’s in.” It was already over an hour since I’d texted Katy. “If anything has happened to her, I’ll never forgive myself.”

  “Mom, this is so not your fault. And we could be wrong you know.”

  “I don’t think we are. You know what? Let’s just go to the police station.” I swept her pink-streaked blonde hair back and felt her forehead. “You feel a little warm. Are you up to it?”

  “Yeah. It’s Aunt Katy.”

  “We need to see the chief. It’s an emergency.”

  “I’m sorry,” said the desk clerk. “She’s in a meeting. With the mayor. I can’t disturb her. Her orders.” Then she whispered, “Budget cuts.”

  “This is going to sound weird, but I think my friend, Katy McKenna, is in danger.”

  “I know about Ms. McKenna’s case. The detective handling it is in. Detective Murphy. I’ll call her now.”

  She had b
arely hung up when Murphy sprinted down the hallway, clutching a pair of shoes against her chest. “What’s going on?” She winced as she slipped on the sensible black leather shoes. “New shoes giving me blisters.”

  I showed Murphy the photos that Katy had sent me. “She thinks Erin might be staying in this house. It’s on the same street that Erin Cranston’s grandparents lived on. She was looking over the wall hoping to see her when she snapped these pictures.”

  The detective took the phone and scrolled through the photos. “Nice house.”

  “She called me right after she sent those pictures, and then right in the middle of our conversation, she abruptly ended the call.”

  “You need to see this.” Chelsea snatched the phone out of Murphy’s hand and showed her Katy’s last text message. “Here’s why we think Aunt Katy is in trouble. No way did she send this. It’s too perfect. Her spelling usually sucks.”

  “That’s not much to go on. A well-spelled text message. Doubt the police up there will be willing to go to the house on something as flimsy as that.”

  Then Chelsea scrolled through Katy’s text message history, and that did it.

  “I’m sending those photos to my phone,” said Murphy. “Then forward them to the police up there. Got an address?”

  “No. But it’s on Cranston Avenue.”

  “No, Mom. Cranston Lane,” said Chelsea. “At least, that’s what you said before.”

  “Yes, you’re right. God, I’m so upset I can’t think straight. Cranston Lane.”

  “I want you to text her now,” said Murphy.

  “What should I say?”

  “Something that she’ll know is wrong.”

  Chelsea tugged my sleeve. “I know, Mom. Tell her I broke up with my boyfriend.”

  “You don’t have a... Oh. Very good, Chelsea.”

  Chelsea is so bummed. Her boyfriend dumped her.

  “I’m going to go contact the Atherton police right now,” said the detective. “If you hear back from her, tell the desk clerk to ring me.”