When she was halfway down the hall, my phone chirped a text message notification. “Detective Murphy?” I waved my cell at her. “She answered my text.”
She limped back to us. “That was fast. Let me see.”
It said, So sorry about that. Poor kid.
“That seals the deal,” said Murphy.
Katy, you have no idea how hard it was to know you were with that psycho. For all I knew, my best friend was already dead.
Chapter Forty-Three
COINS AND CADAVERS
THURSDAY • MARCH 12
Posted by Katy McKenna
Saturday, March 7
Part Three
Jessie, Seth, and I sat on cold, butt-numbing boulders in the front yard of the Cranston mansion waiting to be questioned by the cops. I was starving and had a monster headache.
I still held the dishtowel of ice to my forehead and was trembling so hard my teeth chattered. Jessie took off his hoody and helped me slip it over my windbreaker. He draped his arm over my shoulders and gave me a gentle squeeze. His compassionate gesture brought me close to breaking down.
A hunky paramedic approached with his medical kit to check my injury. When he was satisfied that it was just a nasty bump on my noggin, he cleaned and bandaged it.
Out on the street, a scrawny reporter in a slinky red dress was talking to a video camera. She gestured at the front door of the home, and then over at the boys and me. We all turned away, not wanting our faces plastered on the news, although it was probably too late to avoid that.
I said to Jessie and Seth, “When they haul Erin out in cuffs, then she’ll really have something to talk about.”
But that didn’t happen because Erin was pronounced dead at the scene.
A couple hours later, I pulled my phone from my jacket pocket, and Officer Carpelli said, “Who’re you calling?”
“My hotel. I left my dog there early this morning thinking I’d only be gone an hour or two.”
She glanced at her watch. “What kind of dog do you have?”
“A yellow Lab. Her name’s Daisy.”
“Hope she hasn’t destroyed the room. Go ahead and make your call.”
The hotel receptionist immediately put the manager on the line. “Ms. McKenna.”
Uh-oh. She sounds mad.
“Your dog...”
There goes my deposit.
“...Has been barking for the last few hours. We’ve called you several times, but you’ve ignored our calls, so we had no choice but to call the SPCA.”
My poor baby! “Have they taken her away already?” Please say no.
“They should be arriving any minute now.”
“Please, please don’t let them take Daisy. I have a very good excuse.”
“How much longer do you think they’ll keep us here, Katy?” asked Jessie.
“Who knows? I’ve been stuck at crime scenes before, and we could wind up sitting here all day. I’m sorry you got dragged into this.”
“Nah. Don’t feel bad.” Seth stood and stretched. “Besides, Jessie will undoubtedly incorporate this into one of his books.”
“You’re an author?”
He shrugged, looking embarrassed. “Fledgling.”
“What type of books do you write, Jessie?” I asked.
“True crime.”
“Anything published? I’d love to read one.”
“No takers as of yet,” he said. “I’ve written three so far. Thinking of going indie. Pretty hard to get a publisher interested when you don’t have a book on the bestseller list. It’s like trying to get your first job with no job experience, but a heck of a lot harder.”
“We should stay in touch,” I said. “I have lots of life experience in the true crime genre.”
“Being a private investigator, I bet you do,” said Seth.
Really need to stop telling so many tall tales. “Well, I haven’t been doing it for very long, and it’s all pretty boring. But my personal life is a whole different story. The last couple years have been utter chaos. I think I should get one of those coffee mugs with the slogan—shit happens, because boy does it ever.”
“You’re a fascinating person, Katy,” said Jessie. “I’m glad we met. I’ll definitely take you up on that offer.”
“Good. You’ve got my number.” Then I raised my voice so Carpelli could hear me. “I really need to take care of my dog. The manager said if I don’t get back to the hotel soon, the SPCA is taking her to the pound. My poor Daisy will think I’ve abandoned her, just like her first owner did.” Another tall tale. The truth was, after the hotel manager heard my story, the kindhearted lady told me not to worry about Daisy.
“If it was up to me, you could go right now,” said Carpelli. “Let me see what I can do.”
Ten minutes later, we were released with appointments at the police station the next morning.
I inserted the plastic card into the hotel room key slot, and the little red light flashed. Daisy’s tail banged a steady beat against the wall on the other side of the hotel room door.
“Hang on, baby. Mama’s coming.”
I turned the key over and still got the red light. Then I realized I’d been poking in the wrong end. The green light flashed, and I opened the door to my joyful pup.
“Whoa, girl. I’m super happy to see you, too. You have no idea how happy.”
At first glance, everything looked in order. The bathroom—not so much. There were a couple puddles on the floor, a stinky gift for me to clean up, and she’d had some fun with the toilet paper.
I pottied Daisy, fed her, then ordered room service. By then, it was pushing four-fifty-five and I was ravenous, so I ordered a big meal, plus dessert. While I waited, I checked my phone for messages. Two from Josh, one from Mom, one from Pop, and three from Ruby. Couldn’t talk to Josh because I would have broken down completely. Wasn’t ready to listen to Grandma. I called Pop.
“Hey, Katy-did. Are you having a good time?”
I struggled to sound upbeat. “I have a little story to tell you. Mom will need to hear this, too.”
“Well, now you’re making me nervous. Hold on and I’ll get her.”
When I was done freaking out my parents, I called Ruby.
She answered on the first ring. “Well, it’s about damned time you called,” she snapped. “What gives, missy?”
When I finished my tale, she said, “I thought raising a teenage girl had aged me. But you, dear granddaughter, are bound and determined to push me into an early grave. I’ve got a good mind to move in with you and protect you from yourself. Of all the reckless things you’ve done this really takes the cake. And furthermore, how could you leave that wonderful man—”
There was a knock on my door. “Grammy. I need to hang up now.”
“I’m not done talking.”
“Room service is at the door.” I opened the door to a nerdy-guy wearing horn rims. The nametag on his polo shirt identified him as Brandon. “I’m talking to my grandmother. Sorry.”
She heard that. “Oh. Now you’re sorry you’re talking to me. That hurts.”
“Ruby, hold on.” She kept talking as I stuffed the phone under a pillow. “She’s upset about what happened to me.”
“The staff wants you to know we’re all thankful you survived your terrible ordeal, and your dinner’s on the house.”
That did me in. The tears I’d been holding at bay for hours burst the dam. “Oh, oh, oh. That’s so, so nice. Thank you.”
Brandon’s eyes bugged out and he looked like he wanted to make a run for it. Instead, he set down the dinner tray and dashed to the bathroom for tissues.
“I’m sorry. It’s just that—” I choked on hiccuppy sobs. “It’s been a really cruddy day.”
“I totally understand.” He opened a bottle of white wine and poured me a hefty glass. “The bartender said this Viognier would pair well with the salmon.”
I sipped the wine and sighed. “Maybe I’ll live after all.”
Bra
ndon arranged my dinner on the table and pulled out the chair for me.
“Let me get you a tip before you leave,” I said.
“No, ma’am. No tip.” He backed his way to the door and opened it. “Just relax and enjoy your meal.”
I guzzled half the glass of wine before retrieving the phone. My dear grammy was still nattering. “Ruby?” I interrupted. “I love you, and you’re my favorite grandma in the whole world. I know how much I’ve upset you, but I’m fine. I really am.”
She sighed dramatically. “I can’t take much more of this, Katy.”
“I know. Neither can I. I’ll be home tomorrow, and if you want, you can come over for dinner and yell at me some more.”
“Nope. You need to square things with Josh. Now go eat your dinner and get some rest. And for God’s sake, drive carefully tomorrow. I can’t bear the thought of losing you.”
After several bites of the delectable feast, I double bolted the door, locked the slider window, closed the drapes, then spread the money belt on the bed and counted a stack of one-hundred-dollar bills.
“Oh. My. God.” I kept counting, feeling my scalp tingle with excitement. “Ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred.” I was dumbfounded. “What’s one-hundred times one-hundred?”
My weary brain was muzzy, so I swigged my wine—’cause, you know, alcohol always clears your thinking.
“Oh yeah, just add two zeros. Duh.” Quivering, I gawked at the bundle of Benjamins. “That’s ten thousand bucks. Right here in my hot little hand.” I picked up the other two bundles. “Thirty-freaking-thousand smack-a-roos! Holy shit! And who knows how much the coins are worth?”
Daisy got caught up in my excitement, and we danced around the room. “This calls for a celebration!” I refilled my glass and tossed Daisy a handful of doggy treats. “There’s going to be plenty more of that in the future, sweet baby girl, because we’re stinkin’ rich.”
Even with three glasses of wine and a melatonin, sleep eluded me. I was revved up about the money and apprehensive about my police appointment in the morning. As I lay in the dark, scary scenarios spun through my head….
“Ms. McKenna—after you left Erin Cranston in the linen room, what did you do?” asked my imaginary police detective.
“I looked for a phone so I could call the police.”
“We never received a call from you. So what were you really doing?”
“Searching for a phone. I swear it. The house had no landlines. And then I finally found my phone, but Seth wound up calling you, because I had a terrible head injury.”
“Looks more like a little boo-boo to me.” He leaned into my face, and growled, “Ms. McKenna....What did you do with the money?”
“What money? I have no idea what you’re talking about. I swear it.”
He grabbed my collar and lifted me a foot off my chair, jamming his nose against mine. “Do you know what the penalty is for removing evidence from a crime scene?”
“Oh, God. What have I done?” I switched on the bedside lamp, flipped open my laptop, and searched: What is the penalty for removing evidence from a crime scene?
A criminal defense attorney’s website popped up. Here’s what it said:
As with most crimes, there are several defenses that a person charged with tampering with evidence may raise. Such as:
1. Lack of knowledge.
“That won’t fly. I knew exactly what I was doing.”
2. Lack of intent.
“I totally intended to take my money.”
The U.S. government takes tampering with evidence very seriously. A person who is convicted of the crime under federal law may face a prison sentence of not more than 20 years, a fine, or both.
“Oh, crap. I could get twenty years for taking what is rightfully mine. How is that fair?” And then once again, I recalled Erin’s answer when I asked where the coins were. Trust me, they’re hidden where no one will ever find them.
“That’s my answer. The truth. For the most part. The money I found is a mere fraction of what she stole from me.”
I turned on the TV to catch the local eleven o’clock news. After a Viagra commercial, followed by a condom commercial, the news anchor said, “Coming up next, a brutal murder in Atherton.”
“Whoa! It was an accident. It’s not like I meant to kill her.”
As soon as I uttered those words, I stopped cold, stunned to my core. Until that moment, it hadn’t fully registered that I had taken a life. Yes, it was an accident brought on by Erin’s own actions, but the realization that because of me her life was now over was mind-blowing.
I gazed numbly at the TV while several more commercials hawked their wares, and when the news resumed, I forced myself to pay attention.
“It’s been a busy day in the quiet upscale town of Atherton,” said the busty anchor with a nasal twang. “Our reporter, Robin Gutierrez was on the scene earlier.”
The video panned from the squad cars blocking the lane to the reporter standing in front of yellow crime scene tape strung across the mansion’s front yard.
“Today, a young woman’s life tragically ended.” Robin shook her head, looking woeful. “What led to her untimely death is still unknown.” She did a quarter turn and the camera swung over to me—looking guilty as sin. “No charges have been made yet. Back to you, Alicia.”
Chapter Forty-Four
COINS AND CADAVERS
FRIDAY • MARCH 13
Posted by Katy McKenna
Sunday, March 8
I pushed through the police station doors a few minutes before nine and spotted Detective Murphy chatting with two officers. Her back was to me so I hung out at the entrance while she finished her conversation. One of the cops nodded toward me, and as Murphy turned around, her sunny smile morphed into grim disapproval.
Oh, geez. I’m in trouble. “Hi. I sure didn’t expect to see you here.” I grinned brightly. “I love your black pantsuit. And the white shirt. Very flattering.”
“Katy.” Murphy crossed her arms, looking disgusted. “What were you thinking?”
“I was just trying to help.”
“Putting yourself in danger doesn’t help anyone.”
“Yes, but you see—”
“No. I do not see. You could’ve been killed.”
“I know, but—”
I expected her next words to be, No buts about it, young lady. You’re grounded for life.
Murphy continued. “I hope I can convince them to allow you to go home.”
“Why wouldn’t they? I didn’t do anything wrong. And it isn’t even their case. It’s yours.”
“Theirs too now, since Erin died in their jurisdiction. The department here isn’t going to let this go, so we have to cooperate with them.” She shook her head at me. “Your friends just left, but they didn’t have much to say, so it’s your turn now.”
After we had been seated at a table in a conference room, Detective Ken Fraser and Detective Julie Goldberg introduced themselves and then asked me to tell my story.
“So, you said the last time you saw Erin, she was unconscious on the linen closet floor,” said Fraser, while he unbuttoned his snug sport coat.
“Yes.” I nodded.
“And during the time after you left her in the closet you were searching for a phone?” he asked.
Yes and no. I was also searching for the money. Oh, God. Do I look guilty? “Yes. I couldn’t believe a house like that didn’t have any landlines. I mean, what if the power goes out, and your cellphone dies and…and….” I stopped yammering.
“These days, lots of people don’t have landlines,” said Murphy in a chatty tone. “You’re right, Katy, about when the power goes out and you can’t charge your phone. I learned the hard way. Now I have a solar charger.”
I smiled a “thank you” at her.
Julie Goldberg was tapping a pen against a blood-red fingernail. Really annoying. “Then what happened?” she asked.
“Well, like I already told you, I searched
for a phone because Erin had taken mine. If I’d known the police were searching for me, I would have run out to the street and screamed for help.” I shrugged sheepishly. “But I didn’t know. And I was afraid to go to a neighbor’s house and risk Erin getting away while I was gone. Everything was so crazy. I doubt I was using my best judgment at the time. Anyway, I finally found my cellphone in Erin’s purse and was about to dial 911 when Jessie and Seth showed up. They made me sit down and put ice on my forehead.” I touched the bandage the EMT had put on my wound. “Then Seth called the cops and a minute later they showed up and practically stormed the place. Really terrifying. I mean, I thought they were going to shoot us.” I clasped my hands on the scarred laminate table. “That’s pretty much everything.”
Detective Fraser leaned forward. His muscular shoulders strained for freedom from his jacket, and I caught a whiff of his minty breath. “Let’s go back to when Erin hit her head on the floor.” He scanned his notes. “You stepped over her and she grabbed your ankle. You lost your balance and fell on her, and then she appeared to be unconscious.”
“That’s right. She sure fooled me. I thought she was out cold when I was stepping over her.” I swallowed hard, wondering if my interview were about to take a nasty turn. “It all happened so fast. I was in a panic, so the details are kind of blurry. I remember that after I slugged her with the pillowcase—”
“By the way, that was pretty ingenious,” said Murphy with a supportive smile.
“I agree,” said Goldberg. “You see it on a cop show or something?”
I shook my head. “No. I don’t think so.”
“Maybe you’re a very resourceful person,” said Murphy, glancing at her fellow detectives. “I wonder if any of us would have thought of making a weapon out of bed linens.”
Murder Blog Mysteries Boxed Collection Page 75
