Murder Blog Mysteries Boxed Collection

by Pamela Frost Dennis

  I saw sincerity in her big brown eyes. “Anyway, when I hit Erin, she went down hard, and I assumed she was out cold. I thought about hitting her again to make sure, but I couldn’t. Hitting her the first time was for self-preservation. Hitting her again, well, it could’ve killed her, and I just couldn’t do that.”

  Goldberg narrowed her cool, gray eyes. “I need some clarification. Exactly how did you land on her?”

  “Well. Um, I, uh.” I exhaled a mortified groan. “I landed on my rear-end. On her head. I rolled off as fast as I could and then I saw the blood and figured she must’ve broken her nose. And this time, she was definitely unconscious. No doubt about it. I poked her with my foot to make sure.”

  Fraser took a roll of peppermint Lifesavers out of his pocket and popped one in his mouth, then offered me one.

  I shook my head, then realized it might be his subtle way of telling me I needed one since all I’d had for breakfast was crappy hotel room coffee. “On second thought, thanks. I’ll take one.”

  “After you poked her body, what did you do?” he asked.

  “I already told you all of this.” Feeling warm, I removed my navy cardigan and slung it over the back of my chair.

  “Tell us again, please.”

  Oh, crud. Just like my last police interview. Everyone starts out all nice and friendly and then, next thing I know, I’m in the slammer.

  “I searched for the gun and found it under the blankets. Then I went out in the hall and realized I couldn’t lock her in because she had the key. No way was I going back in there to try to find it. So I pushed the cabinet in front of the door. It made a lot of noise, scraping the floor when I moved it, so I figured that if she tried to get out, I’d hear her. That’s when I started searching for a phone.”

  “Do you know what time it was at this point?” asked Fraser.

  Oh, God. If I blow this question, I am so screwed. When I went into the kitchen the first time and found my phone in Erin’s purse, the time on its display was ten-thirteen. That’s when I remembered the coins and went looking for them. How long had it taken me to find the money belt? Twenty minutes? Thirty? I had no clue. What time did Seth make the 911 call? Again, no clue. But Detective Fraser knew.

  “I really don’t know. To tell you the truth, I was pretty freaked out at the time, and my head really hurt.” I touched my bandage, hoping for a little sympathy. “The whole morning was a crazy whirl.”

  Detective Fraser slapped his yellow legal notepad on the table and pushed back his chair. “Well, I think that about covers it.” Then he hesitated, frowning. “Except for one thing that’s puzzling me.” He pulled his chair back to the table. “We found some very expensive clothes in the bedroom Cranston was using. And yet, she only had a couple hundred bucks in her wallet, and no credit cards.”

  “Yes,” said Goldberg. “The shoes alone were worth several thousand dollars. And the room looked like it had been ransacked.”

  Oh, God. Don’t look guilty. “You do know she stole—”

  “Millions of dollars’ worth of gold coins from you,” said Fraser, nodding. “So we have to assume she sold some or all of them.” His eyes lasered into mine. “You got any ideas where the coins might be? It would certainly be understandable if you found them and chose not to tell the police. After all, it’s your money, so who could blame you?”

  I shook my head, keeping my eyes pinned to Fraser’s as I thought of the money belt stashed under the driver’s seat of my car in the police station parking lot. He’s trying to trick me into a confession. Just stay cool.

  “Erin did some horrible things to you.” Goldberg removed her glasses and smiled sympathetically. “I know if I were you and I found—”

  “I swear I have no idea what she did with the coins.” One of my fingernails snaked its way to my front incisors. “Believe me, I wish I did.” I forced my hand to sit in my lap. “In fact, before she locked me in the linen room, I asked her where they were, and I’ll never forget what she said.”

  “What was that?” asked Goldberg.

  “Erin said, ‘They’re hidden where no one will ever find them.’” And that’s the truth, so help me God.

  “Okay, I have to say it,” said Murphy with a devilish smirk. “Because I know everyone else here is thinking it. Cause of death was a fatal blow to the head, delivered by—” The usually professional woman could barely contain herself. “Katy’s....”

  “Katy’s killer booty. That’s what Murphy said. Can you believe it?” I was chatting with Samantha on the phone while waiting behind five cars for a latte in a Starbucks drive-through in San Jose—just off the 101 freeway.

  “I hope the exact details of Erin’s death don’t become public knowledge, or you’ll be the newest instant media star. The next thing you know, you’ll be on every talk show.”

  “I’ve always wanted to meet Ellen but not because I squashed my cousin with my derrière.”

  Sam giggled. “You’d be plastered on every tabloid cover, and you know they won’t use a flattering photo, you can bet on that. Paparazzi will be trailing behind you everywhere, snapping photos of your fanny. I can see the National Enquirer cover now—Killer Booty Crime Fighter!”

  “Yeah, I’ll be the butt of every joke—ha, ha. God, that better not happen.”

  “It won’t, and I promise not to tell a soul. Except for Spencer and Chelsea.”

  “No, not Chelsea! She’s a teenager and within minutes the entire universe would know.”

  “Kidding. Gotta go now. My break’s almost over. Oh, wait. I thought of another one! The Tushy Terminator.”

  “Fun-neee.”

  “The ASS-sassin. The... The... Oh come on, I know I can think of another one.”

  “The Keister Killer,” I said.

  “Oh, good one. Really good one.” Her tone slipped into serious mode. “Katy, I’m so thankful we can laugh about this. When I think about what could have happened.”

  “I know. Me too. Love you. See ya tomorrow.”

  Daisy and I got home shortly after five. The moment we stepped inside the house, she raced to the dog door, and Tabitha laid into me, giving me hell for leaving her. I carried her into my bedroom and plopped her on the bed for a good tummy rub. After a minute of passionate purring, she went into crazy-cat mode and chomped my hand and then streaked out of the room.

  I fed the pets, poured a glass of wine, and turned on some soothing music. A mellow coffee house playlist on Spotify.

  “Time to quit stalling and call Josh. Really do not want to do this.”

  With shaky hands and a pounding heart, I was dialing his number when the doorbell rang. Daisy dashed to the front door, ready to pounce on whoever was on the other side. A couple seconds later, the doorbell camera app on my phone ding-donged. I tapped the app and saw Josh. He looked tense, but it’s kind of hard to tell with the bubble-vision effect of the tiny camera. He said, “Not going away, so open the damned door, Katy.”

  Crap. I’m a mess. I cupped my hands, checking my breath, then sniffed my pits. They were less than fresh, but I doubted he’d appreciate waiting at the door while I showered.

  I swished my mouth with wine, then checked my face in the entry mirror and pinched my pale cheeks. And then with my heart marching up my throat, I opened the door.

  Daisy shoved past me to greet her sweetheart—her tail wagging a three-sixty. Usually, he hunkers down to give her a hug and a good scratch under her collar. But this time, he ignored her and stared at me with an expression that ripped me apart.

  For once, I kept my mouth shut. No goofy quips to cover my nerves, not even a smile. Barely able to breathe, I returned his gaze. After several long seconds, he stepped over the threshold, and I moved out of his way, as he slipped by. I closed the door hearing the latch graze the strike plate and click into place. As I pondered whether to turn the dead bolt, his hand reached over my shoulder and locked it.

  That move and his intense demeanor unnerved me. I’d never seen him angry before. Gues
s I’d never given him cause before. I stared at the door, feeling like I might throw up.

  “I want to know why you left without telling me,” he said. “Oh, and by the way, I saw the news. Do you have any idea how that tore me up?”

  “I’m sorry. I texted you.”

  “You sure did. The day, no, make that the following night after you left. And a goddamned text? Kind of cold, don’t you think?”

  Josh’s hand gripped my shoulder, forcing me to turn toward him. “Dammit. Look at me, Katy.”

  I lifted my eyes to his icy blues, blinking back my tears.

  His tone softened. “I thought we had something. Was I wrong?”

  “No. I just think, maybe....” I stopped, drawing a shuddering breath, trying to compose myself, but instead getting more rattled by the scent of him.

  “Maybe what?”

  My thoughts spun at warp speed. Has Nicole told him she’s still in love with him? She said she would, but he isn’t acting like she did. Should I ask? If she hasn’t, should I tell him? “Um, how’s Nicole?”

  Josh shook his head, glancing away. “Not good.”

  “Is it safe for her to be alone?”

  “She has a friend visiting.” He stepped closer, his eyes boring into mine. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  I felt his body heat radiating, and I couldn’t remember the question.

  “Why’d you leave me?” he whispered. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “God, no. You’re wonderful.” Too wonderful and that’s the problem. “It’s just, I thought we were going to take a break because of Nicole and....”

  “That was your idea, not mine. I don’t want to take a goddamned break.”

  A tear slipped down my cheek. “I’m sorry. I can’t do—”

  “Do what?” Josh caught my tear on his fingertip, and his angry look took on a languorous cast as he wrapped his warm hands around my neck. “This?” His lips brushed across mine. “Maybe this?” He nibbled my earlobe, then kissed his way to the crook of my neck. His fingers raked up through my hair, entwining a tight fistful, his breath rough and needy as he propelled me back against the door. “Or this?”

  Chapter Forty-Five

  COINS AND CADAVERS

  SATURDAY • MARCH 14

  Posted by Katy McKenna

  Other than the monumental task of catching up on my blog, the last few days have been a time of quiet reflection. The blogging always helps me to sort things out and get some perspective.

  Coming to terms with killing Erin—well, that’s going to take time. I know she was her own undoing, but my heart goes out to her parents. I’m sure they know now that it was me in their yard that day and that has to be adding to their burden. I plan to write them a letter to apologize for my intrusion. I don’t know if it will help them, but it will help me.

  As far as my relationship with Josh? It’s hard to think rationally about him. It’s like he’s too good to be true. Are we truly in love? Or is this simply lusty infatuation? I do think we’ve been moving way too fast. Right now we’re still in the “honeymoon” phase when both parties are on their best behavior. There’s been no burping, farting, crankiness, slovenliness, bitchiness (okay, maybe a little on my part), pettiness.... Which in the long term is impossible to maintain 24/7.

  From here on out, I’m going to be my natural, organic, genuine, what-you-see-is-what-you-get self. No more sneaking out of bed at the crack of dawn to brush my teeth, fix my hair, and put on lipstick and mascara.

  And if I’m PMSing, I’ll give him fair warning that his life may be in jeopardy. As far as the burps, farts, and other bodily indiscretions, I’ll still try to keep those to myself, because that’s just good manners.

  Okay. Time to get real. I hate with a capital H the Nicole thing. Yes, I know she can’t help being so ill. And she can’t help still being in love with Josh. But I’m only human, and I hate it. Josh is one of the good guys, and he’ll do the right thing—no matter what it turns out to be.

  This morning I woke feeling like I needed to do something constructive. I roamed around the house, sipping coffee and looking for a project. My house is clean, tidy, and freshly painted and reorganized—except for the bedroom I use as a storage unit.

  In the backyard, I considered planting some veggies and decided to hold off until April or May when it’s warmer. And then I thought of the attic and my plans to do something with it. I’d been thinking about making it a light and airy art studio—but that was when I was rich. Now, there’s no way I can afford to add bigger windows and skylights. Another idea I liked was a home theater. I called Pop and asked if he could come over and talk about it.

  While I waited for him, I decided to spend a little time reimagining the attic of horrors. As I pulled down the steps, I felt proud of myself for facing my fears. Upstairs, I looked at the wall where the plywood had concealed the box for so many years.

  “If I hadn’t found the money, Erin would still be alive and we’d be friends. I guess it’s true what they say. Money is the root of all evil.” Yes, I talk to myself. Who doesn’t?

  There wasn’t much I could do on my own, but I could start cleaning. In the laundry room, I half-filled a bucket with warm, sudsy water thinking I’d tackle the bloodstains. And that, if you can believe it, triggered a funny memory.

  In middle school, Samantha was playing Lady Macbeth to a packed audience of proud parents. Crazy, huh? Macbeth in eighth grade? Anyway, when she got to the line, “Out, damned spot! Out, I say!” she couldn’t bring herself to swear in front of her folks, so she hollered, “Out, darned spot!” and the crowd exploded in laughter. That was the final curtain on Sam’s short theatrical career.

  I hoisted the plastic pail out of the laundry tub, then realized how nasty the water would become when mixed with Tyler’s dried blood. “So what can I do? I know. Sweep up the rat poo. Ooo. Fun.”

  Private

  After watching Pop struggle up the steps, I wasn’t sure he’d be able to help with the project, but I couldn’t say anything. He would have argued the point anyway.

  Up top, he said, “You say you want this to be a home theater?”

  “Yeah, I thought it would be fun. You and Mom can come over for movie nights. I know how you hate going to the theater.”

  “Last time your mother and I went, our one bucket of crappy popcorn and two sodas came to almost twenty-five bucks. That plus the tickets and we were out nearly fifty dollars. Then you have to listen to people yack throughout the movie. On top of that, they shove twenty minutes of TV commercials down your throat. When I was a kid, you got cartoons, and a double feature for—”

  “A quarter?”

  Pop jammed his hands into his jean pockets and harrumphed like an old codger. “I’m not that ancient. Matinees were a buck.”

  “Well, my popcorn will be better, and you can have beer.”

  “Sounds good to me.” He glanced around. “You planning on selling tickets to pay for this project?”

  I hesitated while I wrestled with my conscience. He’s a former cop, and I’m pretty sure I committed a crime. But I couldn’t lie to my father.

  When I finished telling him about the money belt, I waited for him to lose it, but instead he said, “I’m glad you told me the truth, and although theoretically it was the wrong thing to do, I don’t blame you for doing it.”

  Tears bubbled up and spilled over my cheeks. He held me close and stroked my hair as I sobbed out all my pent-up anguish against his sturdy chest. “Oh, Pop. When Erin locked me in that linen closet, I didn’t think I’d ever see you or Mom again. And knowing it was all my fault made it so much worse.”

  “Sweetheart, it wasn’t your fault.”

  “Yes, it was. I never should’ve been snooping around like that. What the hell was I thinking?”

  “What’s important is you’re safe now. All the bad stuff is over.”

  My storm passed, and I drew back, wiping my eyes and snotty nose on my raggedy old Pussycat Dolls t-shirt.


  “You used to do that when you were a little girl,” said Pop.

  “What about Mom? Are you going to tell her what I did?”

  “She’ll understand.” He swept away the hair sticking to my damp cheeks. “But this goes no further, young lady. If anyone asks, just say you found the coins in your closet and that Erin must’ve dropped them when she was loading the suitcase. No one will question that. And don’t put all that cash into the bank in one lump sum. That’ll arouse suspicions. Maybe your first investment should be a decent safe. Something big enough to store all your valuables and can’t be carried out of the house by a thief. Then put the thirty thousand in it. The less the IRS knows the better. As it is, they’ll be making plenty on the coin sales.”

  “Sounds like a plan, Pop.”

  He glanced around the attic. “I didn’t realize how much room you have up here.”

  “I guess we could divide the space. But I don’t know what I’d do with it.”

  He walked over to the other end of the room. “How about a pool table? There’s plenty of space for one.”

  “Geez. What’s up with you guys? That’s what Josh said, too.”

  “Seems like a good idea to me.”

  “No pool table. We could partition off part of the space for storage, then I can clear out the bedroom downstairs.”

  “Or you could get rid of that junk. It’s been sitting there for over a year, so maybe you don’t need it.”

  “Well, I might need it at some point.”

  Pop paced off the room in both directions, then stopped near the chimney and pointed at the floor. “Looks like water stains.” He gazed at the ceiling. “Oh, yeah. You definitely have a roof leak.”

  “More than one. When I was up here, we had that big rainstorm. And water was dripping on my head. I thought I’d lose my mind. I was so thirsty but I couldn’t drink it because of the tape over my mouth. I swear I’ll never take water for granted again.”