I called out, “Bailey? Anybody home? I’m here to sign some papers for Alan.”
There was no response. I tiptoed down the hallway toward the kitchen. An ornate, full-length mirror hung on the wall at the end. I stopped and took stock of myself. I looked better with a few pounds off, but I could already feel Bailey’s disdain for my weight gain, and I hadn’t even seen her yet.
I don’t know why I felt the need to tiptoe, but I tiptoed into the kitchen. An island held a bouquet of red roses, a bottle of champagne, and two glasses. Both glasses were half-full. Some papers were off to the side. One was a letter from Alan’s attorney. The other was the quitclaim deed.
Movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention. Looking through the dining room to the pool area, I spotted a half-naked Bailey standing at an easel.
I chuckled to myself. She was dressed only in a beach sarong tied at her waist. She was painting a male model who had taken a reclining position atop a stone retaining wall. Greenery and colorful fall flowers provided his backdrop.
Alan had mentioned last year that Bailey was taking art classes. She must be studying nudes, because her model was naked, well endowed, and more than slightly aroused. I couldn’t imagine that Alan knew this was going on in his home.
I shook my head. “Sign the papers and get out of here,” I whispered under my breath.
I set my purse and sunglasses on the counter and fished through my purse for a pen. The overwhelming smell of the roses was distracting. I picked up the bouquet and buried my nose in them. Did Alan send them to her? He had never sent roses to me. He said I was an orchids girl.
More jealousy washed over me. I hated feeling this way.
I peeked over the top of the bouquet and was more than a little surprised to see a gun on the counter. It must have been nestled up against the bouquet. Why was there a gun in the kitchen?
I double-checked to be sure Bailey was still painting her nude. I picked up the gun. It was small and just like one I’d like to have. It felt good in my hands. I was sure I would be a real badass if I took down a criminal with this.
The hallway mirror called to me. I took the gun and stood in front of it. I tried several poses with the barrel pointed up while I held the grip with both hands. The freeze dirtbag poses where I pointed the gun at the mirror were my favorites. I tried one more with a little oomph this time.
I was horrified when the gun went off and the mirror shattered.
Bailey was beside me in a flash.
“What the hell are you doing?” she screeched.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to,” I said lamely. I tried not to look at her breasts. They were perky and appeared to be unusually firm. She was gesturing wildly, but her boobs didn’t move. Not even a slight bounce. If I wasn’t wearing a bra and gesturing like that, my boobs would be gesturing right along with me.
“Get out,” she screamed.
Getting out sounded good to me. I put the gun back on the counter, grabbed my purse and the deed, and bolted for the front door.
My heart raced as I pulled out of the driveway. I couldn’t have felt any more foolish. What would Alan think of me?
I smiled. Alan would probably laugh. He was familiar with my bouts of klutzery, and he always used to laugh at them. Surely he would laugh over this. My own laughter burst out, and all I could think about was that I couldn’t wait to tell Pepper what I had done.
Several minutes later, I turned onto Main Street and was met with the full afternoon sun in my eyes. Schnotsky! My sunglasses were on the counter in Alan’s kitchen. They were expensive, and I wasn’t leaving them behind. Maybe Bailey would have calmed down by the time I got back, and I could apologize again and offer to replace the mirror.
I turned around and made my way back to the house. Alan’s car was in the driveway. He was home sooner than expected. I couldn’t help but smile. What was his reaction to Bailey and her sexy nude? Some small, evil part of me was glad he came home and found her in such a situation.
The quitclaim deed was on the passenger seat. Alan would probably press me to sign it, but I had forgotten to call Matt, and it would be foolish not to have him look it over. I shoved the paper into my purse and left it in the car.
Once again, there was no answer to the doorbell. The door was still unlocked. I walked in and tiptoed down the hallway. Maybe I could grab my glasses without seeing Alan or his wife.
The mirror shards were still on the floor. When I stepped into the kitchen, I spotted my glasses on the island counter, but the roses were now on the floor. The champagne bottle was lying on its side, one of the glasses had been knocked over, and most of the champagne was on the counter and the floor. Alan must have gone into a rage when he saw what was going on at the pool.
I snatched my sunglasses and turned to leave. I couldn’t help looking across the dining room to the pool area. Bailey wasn’t at her easel. Her naked model was lying on his back as though he had sat on the wall and simply leaned back into the plants and flowers. It was an odd position for painting, and he was definitely no longer aroused.
I tiptoed closer to the patio doors to get a better look. Was Bailey somewhere in the house talking with Alan? Had her model decided to take a nap or soak up some late summer sunrays?
I slid the sliding glass door open and tiptoed out onto the patio. A splash of color by a chaise lounge caught my eye. I knew it was Bailey’s sarong. I stepped around the chair and had to stifle a scream. She was dead from a gunshot to her chest – dead center between her breasts. I backed away so fast, I nearly fell into the pool. I didn’t want to, but I knew I had to look at the model. He had been shot twice – once in the neck and once in the chest.
I’m not one to panic, but I could feel it just under the surface. This situation was just like in the television police dramas I loved so much. The husband comes home early, finds a man with an erection, and he goes berserk and kills everyone. I certainly didn’t want Alan to find me here.
I tiptoed as fast as I could through the house and bolted for my car. I drove down the street before parking and pulling out my cell phone. I was shaking and my teeth were chattering. Thankfully, my phone was working.
My call went through to Sergeant Rorski right away.
“Jo Ravens, there isn’t any reason for you to be calling me. Brick Brack’s our guy, and if you think you have any other information, you can tell it to Wheeler.”
I was taken aback by my lack of control. Other than the massive freakout I had over the first body I found, I had been able to stay strangely detached from emotion when finding the others. Just four months ago, Jackie and I were talking desserts for a Fourth of July picnic over a body in the construction site behind my house. Knowing my ex-husband was a murderer left me struggling for air and words.
“This is Jo Ravens.”
He raised his voice. “I know that. What do you want? I’m busy.”
I blurted it out. “Alan murdered his wife and another man. Both bodies are behind his house at their pool.”
The sergeant let out the king of expletives before slamming the phone down.
I sat in my car and willed my body to stop shaking and my teeth to stop chattering. It didn’t work. I called Jackie.
She answered right away. “Hi, Jo. Did you decide if you want to join the Y yet?”
The Y was the last thing on my mind.
I gave her the news. “Alan murdered his wife and some naked guy she was painting. I already called Sergeant Rorski, but you might want to get over here.” I knew my voice conveyed how upset I was.
“I’ll be right there. Are you all right?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know what I am, but I’m going to go back in and look around before the police get here. I need to look for clues.” I hesitated for a moment. “And Alan. I need to look for Alan. It’s possible he committed suicide somewhere in the house.”
“I’m on my way,” she said.
I backed down the street and parked near the end of the drivewa
y. I ran up the cemented drive as quickly as my out of shape body would allow. It was more like a painfully slow jog.
Inside, I resumed tiptoeing. I let myself out to the pool area again. Arnie would want me to be observant and look for clues.
Bailey’s painting was nearly complete. The model was an attractive man, and she had painted an exceptionally good likeness. Although he had been aroused for some of the sitting, she had painted him in a natural state. I was impressed with her talent.
I had to force myself to quit staring at his painted manhood. I hadn’t seen any manhood in a long time. Maybe I would see Glenn’s manhood soon. At least I hoped it would be manhood and not boyhood. I couldn’t help smiling at the thought, and I felt hysterical laughter taking up residence beside the panic just under the surface. I tried to keep both at bay.
“Focus, Jo,” I whispered to myself.
There was nothing to see around Bailey. No items. Nothing odd. Just the single gunshot. There was nothing to note near the model either. I looked again around all of the furniture, but there were no clues, and the gun was nowhere to be found.
I stepped back into the kitchen and scanned the room. I had already looked over the items on the island. The other countertops were clean and free of clutter.
I steeled myself to go upstairs to look for Alan’s body. I headed back down the hallway toward the staircase. The sound of heavy footsteps caused me to freeze in my tracks. I nearly screamed when Alan bounded off the last few steps and quickly turned the corner into the hall, nearly running into me.
“Jo, baby,” he said. “Did you sign the papers? I want to flip that house right away. It’s a cash cow.”
He was smiling and appeared happy to see me.
I didn’t know what to say. Was he truly this callous, or worse, this mentally deranged to have just killed two people and then act like nothing had happened.
“When did you get home?” I asked.
“Just a little while ago. I spilled coffee down the front of my shirt and trousers in the car, so I ran upstairs to take a shower. I haven’t even seen Bailey yet. Did you see her? Did you sign the papers? Do you want to stay for a drink?”
Before I could answer or tell him what happened, Sergeant Rorski burst through the front door with his gun drawn. Glenn and Officer Collins followed. Sirens sounded in the distance, and I knew more manpower was on the way.
“What’s going on?” Alan asked.
Sergeant Rorski didn’t offer an explanation. “Put your hands behind your back. Collins, cuff him.”
He was clearly confused, and I instinctively came to his defense. “Sergeant, I don’t think he’s aware of what’s happened.”
Glenn had already gone out to the pool area. Officer Collins handcuffed Alan and headed for the kitchen. Sergeant Rorski pushed Alan into a sitting position on the floor. “Don’t move,” he said.
A few seconds later, Officer Collins called out, “The gun’s in here on the floor by the refrigerator.”
Sergeant Rorski took off down the hallway.
Alan’s face showed fear and dread. “What’s going on, Jo? What happened? What gun?”
I couldn’t bring myself to tell him. I didn’t want to be the one to break the news to him that his wife had just been murdered, and I had cast all of the suspicion on him.
A redheaded whirling dervish bounded through the doorway. Jackie wasted no time in making a quick round of the murder scene. Several additional officers rushed in, and within minutes, Alan was taken away in a cruiser.
Jackie came to stand beside me. I motioned to the living room where we could talk without any of the officers listening to our conversation.
“He never seemed like the type,” Jackie said. “I would have never thought Alan was capable of murder.”
“He didn’t do it,” I said.
“What do you mean he didn’t do it? You said yourself he killed them.”
“I was wrong. I assumed he did, but he didn’t. He has no idea what happened here, and no one has told him yet that Bailey’s dead.”
She was skeptical. “It’s going to be hard for him to convince the sergeant that he didn’t do it. He took a shower.”
“I’m telling you, Jackie, he was happy to see me. He asked me if I signed the deed, and he asked me to stay for a drink. That’s not the kind of behavior you’d expect from someone who just murdered his wife.”
“Ravens!” Sergeant Rorski bellowed from the kitchen.
I half tiptoed, half ran down the hallway. I’m sure it looked like I was skipping.
“What were you doing here today?” he asked.
“I came to sign some papers for Alan. We inherited a house from his aunt, and he wanted me to sign my half over to him.”
“Did you do that? See Alan and sign the papers?”
“No. I didn’t see Alan until after I found the bodies. The papers are in my car. I didn’t want to sign them until I had Matt look them over.”
From the way he hung his head and sighed, I gathered this information wasn’t helpful.
“Start from the top. Tell me what you did from the time you first got here until now.”
I didn’t want to give him every little detail, so I gave him a barebones version of seeing Bailey and her model alive, forgetting my glasses, coming back, finding the bodies, and seeing Alan come down the stairs. I finished with, “I don’t think he did this. He was completely taken by surprise when you came in, and he told me he hadn’t seen Bailey since he got home. He spilled coffee in the car on his shirt and pants, so he went upstairs to take a shower. He has no idea his wife has been murdered.”
Officer Collins studied the mirror pieces on the floor. “This was broken by a gunshot, but why? It’s not in line with the pool, so it couldn’t have been a stray bullet. He dropped to his knees and began searching through the glass.
I slowly raised my hand. I could feel guilt radiating from my face. “The murderer didn’t do that.” I hesitated before saying, “I did.”
“What? What?” Sergeant Rorski blustered, his face turning red.
“I didn’t mean to. I saw the gun on the counter by the roses. I need a gun, and I wanted to see how I looked when I told a perp to freeze.” The sergeant’s face turned beet red. I raised my voice in an effort to better defend myself. “But that gun has a hair trigger, and it went off.”
Sergeant Rorski’s volcanic top went off. “You mean to tell me your fingerprints are on this gun?”
I grimaced at the volume of his voice and the purple color of his face. Today was the day he would have a stroke for sure. I glanced over at Glenn for support, but he was frowning.
“Probably,” I said sheepishly.
Before Sergeant Rorski could yell any more or any louder, Howard Sanders strode into the room. Doug Preston was right behind him.
Howard saw me and let out his usual gah sound of contempt.
Doug had a pen and notepad in hand. “Double homicide, huh?” he asked. “And the husband did it? They always do, don’t they?” He began his analysis of the situation and spotted Jackie in the dining room. “How'd she get here so fast?” He shot an accusing look my way.
Howard rushed into the dining room to stand beside Jackie. He didn’t hide that he was giving her the once over more than once.
Sergeant Rorski was running out of patience. “Wheeler, you stay here. Collins, take Ravens to the station and get her statement. Jo, I want every detail. If you touched a wall, a piece of furniture, a speck of dust, I want it written down.”
I looked over at Jackie. She put her hand up in a telephone gesture and mouthed, “I’ll call you later.”
Chapter Seven
It took more than a little prodding, but I convinced Officer Collins to let me drive my car to the station, where I took my time to write an accurate account of everything that happened at Alan’s. My descriptions were detailed right down to what was going through my mind when I pretended to arrest a dirtbag in the mirror. Sergeant Rorski wouldn’t have any rea
son to question me later, and he wouldn’t stroke out. On second thought, he might have a conniption when he read that I thought Bailey’s boobs were fake. And the detailed description of the model’s erection might elicit a few swear words from him, but other than that, he should appreciate the effort I put into my statement.
I was bone tired when I pulled into my driveway. The entire ordeal had been emotionally draining. Seeing Alan again, thinking he had murdered two people, and then seeing how frightened he was when they took him away, brought feelings for him to the surface I hadn’t felt in a long time.
I showered and pulled on sweatpants and a t-shirt. I wandered into the murder room and stared at the whiteboard. Kate’s murder, jittery Brick Brack, and Leslie Preston’s abduction all seemed like they happened ages ago. I wanted to erase the board and start over again with today’s murders, but I was too tired.
My stomach rumbled. The Cobb salad at lunch didn’t stay with me for very long, and the only food that was going to satisfy this rumble was pizza. There was no way I was staying on my diet tonight.
I placed an order for a large pie with the works. Patricia Anne’s Pizza also carried desserts, so I ordered a slice of cheesecake. I could work it all off at the Y when Jackie and I joined.
Twenty-five minutes later, a true crime show was on television and a pizza box was open in front of me on the coffee table. I inhaled the first slice in record time. I had just started on the second when the red phone rang.
It was Jackie.
“Are you ok?” she asked.
“I’m fine,” I told her. “No problems here. I’m watching television and eating pizza.”
I wasn’t going to let anyone know how much the day’s events had affected me. I intended to present an unperturbed face and a professional attitude while I tried to find out who murdered Bailey and her nude.
“It looks like they’re going to hold Alan for the murders,” she said.
I wasn’t surprised. “I thought they would, but I’m still not convinced he even knew about them, let alone committed them.”
“The timeline is a problem,” she said. “You were only gone for fifteen minutes before you were back to pick up your glasses. That’s a small window for someone to have murdered both of them. It doesn’t help that Alan came home at the same time and took a shower. He washed away any evidence that might have been present.”
Murder Is Where the Heart Is Page 7
