“She must have a lot of memories,” Darrin answered, not looking up from the letter.
“My guess is whoever sent her this letter had something to do with Chloe’s disappearance,” Peggy said, which was sort of like passing by an ice cream truck and assuming it had something to do with the line of kids on the corner.
“That’s a safe bet,” Darrin answered politely, still not looking up.
“So you think this is a revenge kidnapping under the guise of an attempt at scoring a ransom?” I asked, looking over at Darrin.
“I sure hope not,” he answered solemnly, finally looking up at me.
I didn’t need to be told why he felt that way, but Peggy did. “What does that mean?”
“If the kidnapper wants a ransom, then there’s a good chance that Chloe will remain alive and unharmed for at least awhile.” I swallowed hard. “On the other hand, if whoever did this had a score to settle with her, then we probably don’t have much time.”
I began to wonder about the phone call I’d overhead earlier and what it might have to do with all of this.
“Judging by the crease in this letter, I’m going to guess she received it a few days ago,” Darrin answered.
“That’s what I was going to say,” I answered, looking it over. “But what has she been up to? What could a reality star prepping for her wedding do that’s so horrible it would provoke someone to steal her from her own family estate?”
I groaned as I heard myself. What could someone like that do? The possibilities were almost literally endless?
“I’m less concerned about what she did and more concerned about who thinks she did it,” Darrin answered. Gritting his teeth, he added, “If I just had access to a handwriting expert, we might stand a chance of getting to the bottom of this in time to actually save her.”
“And if every wish was a cookie dish we’d all be happy and fat,” I murmured. “You heard those idiots out there. The second we make even the slightest move, they’ll shut us down. They don’t want to believe something is going on.” I shook my head. “We have one chance. This girl is famous, right? We take this to the media and force this poor girl’s family to actually do something.”
“No!” Darrin answered loudly. “That’s way too dangerous. This goes public, and there’s too a big a chance that the kidnapper decides to steal off. Who knows, maybe they decide to cut their losses and-”
“And kill her,” I finished. He was right. That was stupid of me.
“We have no choice. We’re on our own with this, at least until we have enough evidence to convince Chloe’s family that what’s happened to her wasn’t by her own hand.” He turned to me. “I need to get to the surveillance room. A place like this has to have at least a few cameras monitoring the property. If I can go over the footage, go over who’s been in and out in the last few hours, then maybe I can narrow our list of suspects down.” He set his jaw. “Because, right now, it could be anyone.”
And it could, I realized. Judging by the accounts Peggy gave me, Chloe wasn’t exactly a great person. She was, to say the least, a spoiled brat who even scared the bejesus out of her own fiancé. Add that to the very real possibility of an obsessed fan sneaking onto the property, and our suspect pool was wide enough to launch a fleet in.
“You keep searching here. Try to find something that might give you an idea as to who wrote that letter.”
“Or to what it was concerning,” I added, going back to my original point.
“Sure, whatever,” he answered. “Just keep an eye on her.” He glanced back at Peggy. “If I get his girl thrown in jail, Aiden is probably going to start charging me for checkups.”
“The horror,” I murmured. “Hey,” I said, as Darrin turned to sneak out the door. “Don’t get caught.”
“Please,” he balked. “If case you’ve forgotten, you’re talking to the best detective in Washington D.C.” He grinned, watching me roll my eyes. “Besides,” he shrugged. “I’ve decided to start thinking outside the box.”
“One of us is a bad influence on the other,” I answered, my heart warming a little at the thought. “I just can’t tell which yet.”
His smile widened and then fell away. “Let’s see how the rest of the day goes.”
Then he darted out.
I spent the next five minutes searching the room with Peggy. She might have gleaned enough from me to have found that suspicious note but, when it came to casing a crime scene, she was no Rita Clarke.
I had moved over most of the interesting pieces before she even seemed ready to start.
There was the broken window, glass shards scattered along the carpet below. Then, there were pieces of a lamp closer toward the bed. She must have tried to fight the kidnapper off. Lastly, I saw a few crumpled tissues on the floor. Which, by itself, wasn’t a big deal. But, looking around, I noticed that-signs of a struggle and Peggy’s snooping aside- this room was meticulously kept.
Whether that was a result of Chloe or the housekeepers was beyond me, but it likely didn’t matter. There was more than enough here to convince me that Darrin was right. This wasn’t some ridiculous bid for attention. Chloe had been dragged out of here tooth and nail. Iif we couldn’t find out who was responsible soon, there was a chance this wedding day would turn into something much grimmer.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” Peggy said from across the room, scanning the papers she had pulled from the nightstand. “It’s just insane.” She shook her head. “There’s nothing here to help guide us at all!” She threw the papers on the bed, slumping onto it herself. “We have to do something,” she said, looking up at me. “I just keep thinking that the wrong person is doing this.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked turning to her.
“You didn’t know her, but Rita Clarke would fix this. She was the smartest person I have ever known, and I just keep wondering what she would do if she was here.” Peggy blinked back tears.
My heart practically cracked in half. For the thousandth time since I returned from beyond the grave, I wanted to tell my best friend the truth about me. But what good would it do? Telling Darrin the truth certainly hadn’t cleared anything up. Still, whether she knew it or not, Rita Clarke was here, at least technically. And that meant that I’d need to get it in gear, starting with stopping Peggy from kicking herself.
“If she was here, Rita Clarke would tell you to stop being so hard on yourself. She’d tell you how brave you are for even doing this, and then she’d tell you to pack up the pity party or else you won’t be any good to anyone.”
She glared at me for a long moment before a smile spread across her face. “You know, that sounds exactly like what she’d say.”
Tell me about it.
“So, you’re a detective?” Peggy asked, going back to the pile of papers.
“I used to be,” I answered. I hated lying to Peggy so much that the words nearly stuck in my throat. The only thing forcing them out was the knowledge that this was what was for the best.
“A baking detective,” she mused, chuckling. “When did you learn your way around the kitchen?”
“Feels like it was another life,” I answered.
“I know the feeling,” Peggy said. “Life can change so quickly. Just a couple of years ago, I was floundering, and now look at me.”
“Floundering?” I asked, my brows furrowed. That didn’t make any sense. “I thought that was when you and the other Rita opened the pie shop.”
“It was,” she said, nodding at me. “And that was fantastic but, looking back on it, it was also a little forced.”
“Forced?” I balked. “You mean you didn’t want to do it?”
“No,” Peggy answered, sighing. “Maybe that wasn’t the right word. It’s just, back then, I sort of felt like I had taken a backseat in things. I had just graduated from this Ivy League school, and here I was, back in my hometown, playing second fiddle to my best friend and helping her plan her wedding. It was a good life, don’t g
et me wrong. We enjoyed ourselves and-seeing the way things turned out- I wouldn’t trade a second I spent with her for all the Northeastern sunsets the world has to offer. It just wasn’t my life, not really.”
“And it feels like it is now?” I asked, realizing that I had stuffed my hands into my pockets. Was that true? Had I strong armed my best friend in the world into choosing a life path I’d wanted? Was I such a big shadow in her life that it took my death for her to finally feel the sun? The idea made me feel guilty in a way I had never felt before, in a way I couldn’t change. If that was true, then it was over, and I couldn’t make it right.
“Doesn’t that sound strange?” Peggy chuckled. She was still shuffling through papers. “Since it’s basically the same life. I mean, I’m even marrying the same guy. Yet, it feels different somehow. It feels like I chose it in a way that I hadn’t before.” She narrowed her eyes. “And it feels like it chose me back, life I mean. Does that make any sense?”
“To feel like you’re part of something bigger than yourself?” I asked. “Yeah. It makes perfect sense to me.”
Right then, looking at Peggy, I knew I had been ridiculous. She wasn’t Darrin, and she wouldn’t react the way Darrin did. I could tell this woman anything, and she would understand. Heck, I’d bet that a pretty sizable part of her already knew the truth, even if she couldn’t put it into words.
I needed to tell her. I had to tell her.
“Peggy,” I started, swallowing. “There’s something I need to say. It’s going to sound strange, but I know that you’ll be able to-”
She gasped loudly, as though I had already told her my secret.
“Rita, I know!” she said, and my heart set to racing.
“You do?” I asked.
“I do,” she said. “I know who wrote the letter.”
9
“What are you talking about?” I asked as Peggy held up a second piece of paper.
“The letter,” she exclaimed. “The threatening letter that talked about knowing what Chloe was doing, I know who wrote it. And I can prove it.”
She lifted the letter, holding it parallel with the second piece of paper. In contrast to the letter, the second not was on plain, white stationary. It had a phone number with the words ‘Call any time after 10’ scribbled along the top.
It didn’t take me long to see the distinction Peggy was trying to make. The handwriting on both notes were identical, right down to the way the ‘n’s curved up at the end. The same person wrote both notes, but that still left one giant question.
“Who Peggy? Who wrote it?” I asked.
She dropped the purple letter and pulled her phone out of her apron.
“I suppose I can call the number and see who picks up,” I mused. “That might tell us something about who wrote the letters.”
“It’s the Singleton Day Spa,” Peggy said, turning her phone toward me. “I did a reverse phone number search.”
“In that time?” I balked.
Cell phone net was so much quicker than it used to be.
Shaking my head, I said, “Well, what does that say about who wrote the note? We should get a list of employees to that place.”
“Or we could forget about that plan altogether,” Peggy answered. “I told you, I already know who wrote this, and it makes perfect sense that she’d frequent a day spa, given how spoiled she is.” She walked toward me with the second not in hand. “Look at this,” she said, motioning to a little round scribble at the bottom right-hand corner of the paper.
“What is it?” I asked, looking at her.
“It’s a flower, a violet. It’s also the calling card of Priscilla Jacobs. She puts it on everything,” Peggy beamed, full of pride.
“Who?” I asked.
“Seriously?” Peggy groaned. “She’s one of the Real Southern Debutantes. We’ve only been talking about it all day. She’s a former hairdresser from Atlanta who married some former baseball player. She writes that flower on everything, says it’s a symbol for the daughter she was forced to give up for adoption years ago. But more than that,” Peggy added, leveling a no-nonsense glare at me. “She’s Chloe’s arch enemy.”
“Grownups actually have arch enemies?” I asked, not amused.
“This is serious,” Peggy answered. “You should see some of the stuff these women do to each other. It can get pretty intense.”
“Be that as it may Peggy, there’s a difference between hair pulling in front of the cameras and forcibly dragging a woman out of her house on her wedding day,” I answered, crossing my arms over my chest. “I just don’t buy it.”
“Maybe not, but there’s no denying that the person who wrote these letters knows something about Chloe that’s not very flattering, and that person is Priscilla,” Peggy said. “That’s got to be worth at least a conversation.”
Peggy shrugged and turned back to her phone, typing away. “If she’s here, that is. Given the relationship she and Chloe have, I wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t want Priscilla anywhere near her wedding.”
She turned the phone to me, and the screen was now covered with an image of someone I naturally assumed was Priscilla.
My heart sank though because I recognized her. That tall blonde hair, that tanned skin; I had seen it before.
“She’s here alright,” I muttered.
“How do you know?” Peggy asked.
“Because I saw her,” I answered. “She was hidden away, talking to Chloe’s fiancé right before she vanished.”
Peggy’s eyes grew wide. “Yahtzee!”
Peggy was both right and wrong when she said we needed to talk to Priscilla.
Yes, Chloe’s big-haired nemesis might have been involved in this enough to facilitate at least looking into. It was the liberal use of the word ‘we’ that I took issue with.
Letting Peggy search an empty room for clues was one thing, but allowing her to accompany me as I questioned somebody who might very well be dangerous was something I wasn’t prepared to do. No way was I letting her penchant for playing detective throw her that clearly into harm’s way.
My own penchant was another story altogether.
However, getting rid of her wasn’t going to be an easy task. She had stars in her eyes, reality television stars. And, if I knew Peggy like I thought I did, they weren’t going to die out easily. The only chance I had was to convince her that she was needed for something else.
…something much more important.
“You want me to guard the bathroom?” Peggy asked, her face obviously deflated.
“Absolutely!” I answered, shaking my head like the whole thing made sense. Which, of course, it didn’t.
“Just stand outside of the bathroom?” She glared at me.
“Well, not directly outside of the bathroom. You’d be in the kitchen, of course. But you’d need to keep your eye trained on the bathroom anytime the door opened.”
Peggy shook her head hard, trying to make sense of things.
“I’m sorry. So you want me to keep baking and, while I’m baking, you also want me to keep a watch over the bathroom?”
“That’s about the size of it,” I answered.
“And why on earth would I agree to that?” She squinted.
“Because it’s the most important job there is!” I said. “Back when I was a detective, working undercover and all that jazz, do you know what bit me in the rear more than anything else?”
“An unnatural insistence on wearing floral?” Peggy suggested.
“No!” I stamped my foot, looking down at the flowers that adorned yet another of my outfits. “That’s fair, but no. It was forgetting to keep up my cover.” I nodded. “It’s insanely important to keep up our cover, and right now, our cover is pretending to be bakers hired for this wedding.”
“We are bakers hired for this wedding,” Peggy answered, tilting her head.
“That’s the spirit!” I said, quirking my mouth to the side. “We have to sell it and, in order to do that, we need p
roduct. You have to stay here and produce. Otherwise, our cover’s blown.”
She looked hard at me, but I couldn’t tell whether or not she was actually buying this.
“There’s like, a ninety percent chance that there’s not even going to be a wedding today,” she answered.
“One of them is acting like there will be, right, Peggy?” I shook my head. “They’re all out there doing their jobs, keeping their covers safe!”
“They don’t have covers!” she answered.
“Which makes it even more impressive!” I said. “Listen, the point is, if we don’t start getting some food through those doors, they’re going to kick us out of here. And then we won’t stand a chance at solving this thing.” I placed my hands on Peggy’s shoulders. “I’m serious, Peggy. This is the most important job. That’s why I’m entrusting it to you. And I’m sure that, if Rita Clarke was here, she’d agree with my decision.”
Okay, so that wasn’t technically a lie, but saying it still made me feel icky.
“Fine,” Peggy sighed in response. “But the instant you come across something new, you bring it to me. Promise?”
“Promise,” I answered, and began out the door.
“Rita,” she called from behind me. “What about the bathroom?”
“What?” I asked, turning.
“The bathroom. What does me keeping watch over the bathroom have to do with anything?”
I shrugged. “Well, you know, everyone goes to the bathroom. Just keep looking at it. I’m sure something will show up.”
“Right,” she answered, deflating even more.
I hated to do it to her. In a different world, maybe Peggy and I could tear into this crime together, but we didn’t live in a different world. We lived in this one; where innocent girls got thrown down the stairs, where old women got beaten to death with wrenches, and where southern socialites weren’t even safe inside their ivory towers.
No, in this world, it was important to keep the people you cared about safe. For me, that meant I was going to have to do this alone.
Twice Layered Murder Page 5
