by Sharon Pape
“That might work,” I said. I’d forgotten how good my mother was at problem solving, at seeing the trees as well as the forest. I missed having her in my life. The crazy, impromptu visits from her and my grandmother only served to emphasize the difficult side of our relationship. I thanked her for coming back and sharing her wisdom.
“You’re welcome. I wish you’d take more of my advice to heart.” So she had seen me perform for Cecilia. “Don’t worry,” she added quickly, “that’s all I intend to say on the subject.” She wished me good luck and was gone. Apparently my earlier take-charge attitude had made an impression. Made her realize that I was in charge now and would decide things for myself. Although she might not think I was ready, Fate had already taken the reins from her hands and passed them into mine.
* * *
I pulled to the curb at Elise’s house. Her boys were outside shooting hoops on the driveway with friends. When I’d called Elise to ask if I could stop by after work, she’d asked me to stay for dinner. I used the excuse of having to run home to feed the cats, but the truth was that my stomach was churning with anxiety and the mere thought of food was making me queasy.
We hugged each other in the foyer. Since Jim’s death, our hugs had become more than a greeting. They were a pledge of support and loyalty, which made me feel like a hypocrite that day.
Elise had made tea for us, one of my aunt’s special blends. I sat on the kitchen banquette that was like a wraparound booth. Elise strained the tea she’d had steeping on the counter and brought it to the table. She’d set out mugs, spoons, and napkins before I arrived.
“I’ve been dying of curiosity since you called,” she said, going back to the counter for a dish of lemon wedges and a jar of honey. She slid into the nook across from me and poured the tea.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound mysterious,” I said. I was sure she could hear the tension in my voice. “It’s nothing more than my usual updates to keep you in the loop. Plus, it’s a good excuse to stop in to see you.”
If Elise thought anything was amiss, she hid it well. “Gotcha,” she said. “I’m no longer expecting anything momentous. You’re officially off the hook.”
I stirred a teaspoon of honey into the tea. It was now or never. “It seems Ronnie is claiming she wasn’t the last one to see Jim alive that day.” It took an effort for me to put the spoon down and look up into my friend’s eyes. As a kid, I’d had the same difficulty looking at my mother when I was lying. “She’s saying you were still in the office when she left. I have to assume she’s told Duggan as much.”
“It happens to be the truth,” Elise said, calmly squeezing lemon into her cup. I was there for another five or six minutes after she left.”
“Oh okay, as long as she’s not lying about it,” I said. I felt ashamed for having doubted her innocence and thrilled that she didn’t consider Ronnie’s claim a problem.
“But remember,” she added, “during the hour that security camera was down, anyone could have walked in, including Ronnie. If she’s the one who arranged for the blackout, she knew how much time she had. All she had to do was wait for me to leave.”
“She worries me,” I said. “She doesn’t know we’re aware of the blackout. And she could easily be the one trying to frame you. She knew where you kept the gun and she had a key to your house.”
“Believe me, I haven’t crossed her off my list yet either.”
What now? Unless I planned on asking my best friend outright if she killed her husband, I’d played out my hand. Instead I asked how the boys were doing.
She sighed. “Up and down. When they’re with friends or engaged in sports, they do better. Nights and weekends are hard. And it’s not helping that they’re constantly bombarded with news about the investigation. It’s on the internet, on TV. There’s nowhere to hide from it. I think once they catch the killer and the news coverage winds down, it will be easier.” I couldn’t help thinking that if she was the killer, she was also one hell of an actress.
As if on cue, Zach and Noah ran into the kitchen, pink and perspiring. But they weren’t trying to beat each other to the refrigerator for a cold drink as they always did. They stopped short at the banquette. “Ma,” Zach said, “Detective Duggan is outside. He asked me to get you.”
Elise pushed back from the table, her brow pinched with worry. I followed her to the front door. The boys trailed behind me like kids watching a horror film with their fingers partially covering their eyes. They clearly wanted to know what was going to happen and afraid to know. When we reached the door, I could see that their friends were no longer playing in the driveway. Duggan and Curtis were waiting on the porch. Except for the day of the murder, I’d never seen the two of them together. My heart clenched. I knew what was coming and prayed I was wrong.
Chapter 33
“Don’t worry about the boys,” I told Elise as Curtis guided her into the backseat of his patrol car. She’d been cooperative from the moment they said they’d come to arrest her for the murder of her husband, Jim Harkens. It sounded so formal and final, it made my legs go rubbery weak. Elise remained ramrod straight and listened stoically as she was read her rights, but when Curtis reached for his handcuffs, she shook her head and begged him, in an urgent whisper, not to put them on her in front of the children. Curtis had looked at Duggan to make the call. The detective nodded, probably thinking she couldn’t cause much trouble anyway.
“Don’t worry about anything here,” I said to Elise, doing my best to sound calm for both her sake and the kids’. “I will call your sister the second I walk inside. But regardless of when she can get here, the boys will be fine with me.” At least as fine as they could be under the circumstances. I’d watched them go from an overheated pink to a deathly white in the space of a few minutes. I had my arm around Noah, who was crying and clinging to my side. Zach was struggling to maintain his composure, but his lower lip was quivering and he was blinking rapidly, trying to hold back tears. Some ancient maternal instinct etched into my DNA told me not to try to comfort him in public or he would crumble.
“Call John Casper too,” Elise reminded me, angling her head so she could look up at me from the open car door.
“Right away. Take care of yourself. You’ll be back home in no time. It’s going to be okay.” I seemed to have an endless supply of trite phrases.
Duggan folded himself into the passenger side of the car. “Detective, wait,” I said, realizing none of us had had the presence of mind to find out where they were taking her, “where . . .”
“Watkins,” he replied curtly and closed the door without looking at me. I wanted to believe that meant he was feeling guilty about arresting Elise, but I knew it could also mean he was tired of dealing with me or a thousand other things. Curtis shut the rear door, sealing Elise off from us, walked around to the driver’s side and slid behind the wheel. He backed the patrol car into the street and drove away. The children and I stood rooted to the driveway until they were out of sight. Then Zach turned and ran into the house. I could hear him thundering up the stairs as Noah and I walked inside still joined at the hip.
I asked Noah if he wanted to watch TV. He shrugged, but followed me into the family room. He picked up the remote from the side table and dropped onto the leather sectional facing the flat screen above the fireplace. “Do you want something to eat?” I asked. He shook his head. I didn’t blame him. I couldn’t have swallowed anything either.
I took Elise’s address book from the ledge above the sink. My first call was to her sister Karen, the second to John Casper. I knew that he and Jim were business colleagues more than chums, but that Jim had always told Elise to call on Casper if he wasn’t “around.” We love our euphemisms, even if they’re not fooling anyone. I tried his business phone first, but was shunted to voice mail. Instead of leaving a message, I called his home number and caught him as he was walking in. He didn’t sound overly surprised to hear about Elise’s arrest, which didn’t win him any points with me. Ho
w good would he be at defending her, if he already believed she was guilty? But I had no alternatives at the moment. I gave him Duggan’s name, and he promised to call the precinct in Watkins Glen immediately and get down there as soon as possible. I figured that meant he was going to eat dinner before he went anywhere. I hung up and dialed my aunt. After giving her a brief rundown on what had happened, I asked her to go to my house and feed the cats. Then I went upstairs to check on Zach. I found him lying on his back in bed, eyes closed, listening to his iPod. I decided not to disturb him. I was on my way downstairs again when I heard a key jiggling in the front lock. I reached the foyer as Karen walked in. I filled her in on the status of the boys and told her about the attorney. She thanked me for everything and sent me on my way. The boys would be fine in her care.
Back at home, my stomach wanted nothing to do with dinner. I grabbed a pint of Ben and Jerry’s Chunky Monkey from the freezer and a spoon from the utensil drawer. I went into the living room to curl up on the couch and call Travis. It didn’t escape me that I’d reached for both the ice cream and Travis for comfort. Not long ago, I would have wanted only the ice cream.
“Our stars must be aligned,” he said, “I was about to call you.”
“So you believe in astrology, but not magick?” I couldn’t help teasing him. How did talking to him have such an immediate salutary effect on me?
“If you’re not careful, I won’t tell you the hot news I have.”
I scooped out a spoonful of Chunky Monkey and slid it into my mouth. “No fair. I’m in real distress here.”
“Why?” His tone was no longer playful. “What’s going on?”
I told him about Elise.
“Maybe this can distract you a bit.” I took another spoon of ice cream and waited for him to wow me. “I talked to a couple of cop friends,” he began, “and it seems that by the time Westfield left the Big Apple, he wasn’t exactly well-liked by the boys in blue.”
That got my attention. “What do you mean?”
“The anti-mob unit was sure they finally had a case that would stick against one of the Rigosi family lieutenants. They arrested him for the murder of one of the family’s competitors, a man who conveniently dropped dead at the age of thirty-two—no history of medical issues. Not unheard of as you know, but certainly not common.”
“And Westfield did the autopsy,” I said.
“Yup. According to his report, the guy died of a garden variety heart attack, no evidence of foul play. Needless to say, the DA’s case went down the toilet and there was more than enough embarrassment to go around.”
I put the ice cream on the coffee table with the spoon stuck in it. “The cops thought he’d been injected with chemicals to make it look like a heart attack?”
“Exactly.”
“But wouldn’t the chemicals have shown up in his blood?”
“Right again. Except the blood test was clean.”
“What about the markers that normally show up in the blood after someone has a regular heart attack?” I asked.
“They were present, according to the report.”
“Wait, the medical examiner doesn’t test the blood and tissue himself. There’s a forensics lab for that.” I was speaking like some kind of expert, but my experience was limited to watching TV.
“I believe that’s true,” Travis said. “So Westfield, or someone in the lab, may have substituted blood from a person who died naturally from a heart attack.”
“Or,” I said, “someone lied about the results. Wasn’t there an investigation?”
“If you can call it that. Nothing was found. My friends think it was all brushed under the carpet, to protect some big mucky-muck on the take.”
“Do you think Westfield left town, because of his deteriorating relationship with the police? Or was he actually fired as a sacrificial lamb to save someone else’s hide?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
We were both quiet for a minute, following our separate trains of thought. “While this is all very interesting,” I said, breaking the silence, “I don’t see how it helps Elise’s case. A bullet in the head is a pretty straightforward cause of death.” My spirits slumped again. I picked up the ice cream and filled my mouth with a spoonful of melting comfort.
“I’m still waiting to hear from one guy with some high-end connections,” Travis said. “And I’ve got feelers out on Silver too. You never know.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I don’t mean to be such an ingrate. You don’t know Elise, yet you’re working hard on her behalf, and all I do is complain that it’s not enough.”
“Hey, don’t make me out to be some kind of saint. We’re partners, remember? I’m doing this for you and me as well as for Elise. If we crack the case before Duggan, I’ll be able to name my price.”
“Seriously?”
“No,” he said with a laugh, “but I might be able to beg the network for a raise.”
“When will you be back up here?” I was thinking that if I had to wait too long, there was a real chance I might overdose on ice cream. Not the worst way to go, all things considered.
“By the weekend, at the latest.”
“With Elise being arrested, I’m surprised your boss doesn’t want you in Watkins Glen today. After all, this case is your baby.”
“He knows I’m down here investigating, and he knows there’s always a chance other information will surface that turns everything we think we know on its head. In my opinion, the DA doesn’t have an airtight case yet. I think Duggan was told to make the arrest to appease the voices demanding action.”
“Won’t the mayor or police chief be holding a press conference?” I asked.
“No doubt, but I can cover it from here. Viewers won’t realize I’m not onsite. Except for you of course.”
I was out of ideas to lure him back. We said goodnight, but I hated to hang up. Without his voice to distract me, my fears for Elise would consume me. And my nagging doubts about her innocence would taunt me from the sidelines.
Chapter 34
My eyes popped open at five o’clock. All around me the peaceful breathing susurrations of my six sleep-mates taunted me. I think my mother had a spell to cure insomnia, but the daunting task of going through her papers again to find it, made me procrastinate. Since there was no point in staring at the ceiling and wishing I was feline, I crawled out of bed. Carefully this time, to avoid another stampede.
I was on my way downstairs to brew a cup of tea and watch the early news, when I heard the low hum of an engine. The residential streets in my neighborhood are lightly traveled and people are generally respectful of the posted speed, but this driver was going well below the limit, virtually rolling along as if searching for something or some place. But at five o’clock in the morning? The first possibility that came to mind was the rock thrower. Was my nemesis back with a new projectile? A new threat? The hair on the nape of my neck prickled at the thought. There were plenty of ordinary explanations, I told myself. But it was too early for garbage pickup or the mail. It would be hours before the camp buses rumbled through to collect their campers. Maybe it was a police car patrolling the area to keep us safe from Jim’s killer. Or keeping an eye on my house in particular for less pleasant reasons? I wasn’t normally given to paranoia, but after recent events it was hard not to be skittish.
I continued down the stairs, leaving the lights off. If I wanted to look outside, the indoor lights would make it harder to see. Besides, I didn’t want the driver to know I was awake and aware. When I heard the engine rev slightly and move away, I sighed with relief and scolded myself for tilting at windmills. But before I could enter the kitchen, I heard the engine again. I couldn’t explain how I knew it was the same one, but I did. Not enough time had passed for the driver to have gone around the block. He or she must have made a U-turn.
I stood frozen in place, listening, the sound of my heartbeat throbbing in my ears. This time the vehicle didn’t drive by. It came to a stop
. I heard the faint squeak of brakes being applied. I stepped over to the living room window and peered carefully around the edge of the blinds. It was pitch black, but the light from the street lamp showed me a black SUV idling at the curb near my mailbox. As I watched, the driver opened the door and stepped down. I couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman, but something about the way the individual moved made me think it was a woman. She had on a baseball cap pulled low over her eyes and a windbreaker with its collar pulled up along her jawline. The streetlight caught the flash of a white envelope in her hand. I needed to find out who she was and put an end to her threats. I had Travis’s voice in my head, begging me not to be a hero. But I couldn’t stand there and do nothing when I had the chance to unmask Jim’s killer.
I considered going out the back door and sneaking around to the front to take her by surprise, but I nixed the idea. She would be out of sight for half a minute or more and I might miss something crucial. I talked myself into watching and waiting, until she put the envelope into my mailbox. I needed all the evidence I could get. But if I wanted to get the license number before she drove away, timing would be critical. The crazy thought popped into my head that it would have been really helpful if I had a flying broom. Lacking that option, I had to do what I could to shorten my response time. I checked to be sure I had my cell phone in the pocket of my bathrobe. I unlocked the front door slowly, worried the click of the tumbler would make too much noise in the stillness. But the driver didn’t react, didn’t look in the direction of the house. She reached out tentatively past the mailbox as though she was aware of the force field and was trying to determine if it was still active. Then she jerked her hand back as if she’d been shocked. The wards don’t involve an electric current, so her reaction had to be a product of fear.
Apparently satisfied that she couldn’t get closer to the house, she opened the mailbox and slid the letter inside. Now! I threw the door open and sprinted across the lawn. I ran faster than I’d ever run, my bare feet hardly touching the ground. It was close. But the woman climbed back into the SUV and slammed the door shut as I reached the curb. She gunned the engine and sped off. But not before I’d gotten a photo of the license plate. Unfortunately she must have realized that when she saw the flash of light.
