Murder Among Us (A Kate Austen Mystery)

by Jonnie Jacobs

  He arrived just before seven, carrying a puny sized pizza box and a six-pack of beer. I was glad that Libby and Michael were eating elsewhere or the meal would never have stretched.

  “Your friend Walton Shepherd pulled out of the deal,” he said to me partway through dinner. We were eating in the dining room in honor of the occasion.

  “The rod and gun shop?” I asked.

  Andy took a swig of beer and nodded. “He’s already signed the lease so technically we could hold him to it, but in an upscale shopping center the last thing you want is a deadbeat tenant. Or space that sits vacant for months on end.”

  “Did he say why?”

  “Something about financing and capital.” Andy rocked back on the rear legs of the chair, a habit that drives me crazy. He’s a big man, and the chairs are already rickety from years of abuse. “This job is beginning to lose some of its appeal,” Andy said after a moment.

  “In what way?”

  “It’s the same old stuff, day after day.”

  So were most jobs. “Much of the appeal is in a steady paycheck, isn’t it?”

  He shrugged. “You and Anna won’t starve, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  I gritted my teeth. Although the money was certainly an issue, his attitude was what irked me. It was one of the wedges that had driven us apart from the start. Andy had some good points, but diligence wasn’t one of them.

  “Have you found something better?” Faye asked hopefully.

  “Something will turn up. There’s no point sticking with a job you don’t enjoy.”

  They don’t call it work for nothing, I muttered under my breath, but I didn’t pursue the issue.

  We’d just about finished eating when Michael arrived. “Hey, Mike.” Andy stood to shake hands. “Nice to see you again, buddy.”

  “Likewise,” Michael said, not quite so fervently. While there is no real animosity between the two of them, there’s a level of discomfort about these encounters that puts me on edge. I sometimes think it stems as much from their disparate personalities as from the nature of their relationship.

  “Help yourself to a beer,” Andy told him with hearty, old-boy cheerfulness. “They’re in the fridge.”

  Michael grabbed a bottle of beer and pulled a chair up next to mine. After eyeing the empty pizza carton, he reached for the crust that remained on my plate and began nibbling.

  “We weren’t expecting you until later,” I said by way of apology.

  “Not a problem. I’ll find something in the kitchen.” Michael seemed distracted, and while he did his best to be sociable for the remainder of the evening, I could tell that his mind was elsewhere.

  Finally, when we’d cleared the table and stuffed the empty beer bottles and pizza box into the recycle bins, Michael suggested a walk. As we left, Andy, Faye, and Anna were scooping out bowls of ice cream, readying themselves for an evening of television.

  Although the day had been sunny and mild, the evening air held the nip of autumn. Michael’s hand found mine and I reveled in the warmth of his touch.

  “The Burtons’ house was broken into this afternoon,” I told him.

  He nodded. “I saw the report.”

  “Do you think it might be connected somehow with the fact that Julie was Steve’s daughter?”

  “Can’t say that the thought didn’t cross my mind, although for the life of me I can’t see what the connection is.”

  A cool breeze swept the fallen leaves along the pavement. I pulled my sweater tighter. “Do you know yet what was taken?”

  “The preliminary inventory is fairly short. Cash from the kitchen drawer, a watch, a gun, and a couple of cameras. Not much of a haul. Looks like most of the activity took place at the front of the house. Maybe the guy was scared off before he had a chance to finish the job.”

  I thought of Skye’s walking into the house alone. Maybe the intruder had been there when she arrived home. I shivered at the idea of what might have happened had he turned on Skye instead of fleeing.

  Michael scratched his cheek. “Looks like we’re finally making some progress on Cindy Purcell’s murder.”

  “That’s great.”

  He grunted. “Damn right it is. I feel like I’ve been chasing fireflies for the last month.”

  “Fireflies?”

  “You know, you see a speck of light, you grab for it and it’s gone. Didn’t you chase fireflies as a kid?”

  “Not growing up in California.”

  “Poor Kate, you led a deprived youth.” He kicked through a mound of dried leaves.

  “So tell me about your progress on the case.”

  “You’ll never believe this newest development. Turns out it was Cindy’s roommate who was sending all those suggestive messages on-line.”

  “Toby? That timid, mousy woman who stared at her hands and had trouble completing a sentence?”

  He nodded. “Her imagination is anything but timid.”

  “Cindy didn’t send any of them?”

  “There was one night when they were both home and kind of horsing around. That’s how it started. Cindy apparently had better things to do with her time, however. Toby didn’t. She kept it up on a regular basis, communicating with a number of different men. Only she assumed an identity that wasn’t hers.”

  It was suddenly clear to me where this was going. “You mean she pretended to be Cindy?”

  “More or less. Whenever Toby needed a personal detail, she drew on what she knew of Cindy. When she was supposedly describing herself, she gave a description of Cindy. She used Cindy’s major, her background, her class schedule.”

  “Oh, my God. Did she set Cindy up to be killed?”

  “Not deliberately. At least, that’s what she claims and I think she’s telling the truth. But she’d arrange dates, like she did with Frank Davis, and then not show. Well, she actually would show up, but not as Cindy. Toby would sit and watch the guy, maybe even say a few words to him, but of course he was waiting for a tall, thin blonde named Cindy.”

  Our walk had taken us on an L-shaped path. We crossed the street now and headed back. Twilight had given way to night. I stepped carefully to avoid tripping.

  “We’ve got experts working on the hard drive,” Michael continued. “Trying to retrieve old messages. Toby recalls a series of fairly erotic exchanges, some with talk about feet and shoes. For her part, she said, she’d mostly parrot back what Prince Charming had said in an earlier message.”

  “Prince Charming?”

  “That was his screen name.”

  From Cinderella and the glass slipper, I thought. It was a macabre connotation. “So if you can retrieve one of these messages, you can locate this Prince Charming?”

  “That’s our hope. I just wish Toby had spoken up earlier. She claims she didn’t remember until now, but to my mind that’s a lame excuse. I think she was afraid to be implicated. I’m guessing the full impact of what she’d done didn’t hit her until a couple of weeks ago when I asked to look at the computer. She panicked and erased whatever messages had been saved.”

  “Did Julie ever communicate with this Prince Charming?”

  “There’s no record of it. But that doesn’t mean she didn’t.”

  “What about Julie’s murder? What does this do to the Parkside Killer theory?”

  Michael laughed without humor. “The guy could have written poetry about feet for all we know. Gates is checking on it.”

  As we approached the corner, Michael slowed his pace.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked.

  He rubbed his chin. “I’m not any too anxious to get back to the house. Too many Austens there. I’m outnumbered.”

  “You do well at holding your own,” I told him lightly.

  Michael put an arm around my shoulder, suddenly serious. “I want our own house, Kate. One that isn’t a hand-me-down from your marriage with Andy.”

  “I know.” We’d talked about this before. But at the moment it wasn’t practical fin
ancially. “Anyway Andy will never be completely out of the picture, because of Anna.”

  Michael nodded. “I understand that. And I admire the way the two of you have managed to stay on friendly terms. It’s just that in some respects it will always be his house. It’s awkward. I feel like the interloper.”

  I kissed him. “Well, you’re not. But we’ll think about it, okay?”

  “I’d also like a household with fewer Austens.”

  “Faye’s leaving in the morning.”

  The corners of his mouth angled up in a crooked smile. “I was talking about something different.” He turned and waited expectantly. “Like having an Austen become a Stone.”

  The M-word again. It had been months since we’d last discussed marriage—and I wasn’t any closer to a decision than I’d been then. I thought briefly of Luke Martin before pushing the image away. Was I really ready to be married again?

  My hesitancy had nothing to do with my feelings for Michael, I was sure of that. But it was there nonetheless and I couldn’t convince myself otherwise.

  I bit my lip, wondered how to explain. “We were going to—”

  Michael cut me off. “At least say you’ll think about it,” he said glumly.

  “I will.”

  “Promise?”

  I nodded and sealed it with a kiss.

  Chapter 31

  Because of heavy traffic, we were late getting to the airport the next morning. Faye’s plane was already boarding by the time we made it to the gate, but she seemed in no hurry to rush off. She set her bag on the chair and bent down to give Anna a long, hard hug. “I’m going to miss you something terrible,” she said.

  “I’ll miss you, too,” Anna told her, and then added, without prompting, “and thank you again for my princess dress. It’s really, really beautiful.”

  When she’d modeled the dress for her dad the previous evening, she had indeed assumed a princess-like air. It was a side to Anna I’d not seen before.

  “Well you wear whatever you want for Halloween,” Faye said reasonably, “but be sure to send me a picture.” She turned to me. “Thank you, Kate, for having me. And for taking care of me this last week. I know it’s not easy having a house guest.”

  “I’m glad you could come see us.”

  Faye hesitated, studying her hands. “I hope things continue to go well with you and Michael. He seems like a nice man.”

  I knew how much the comment cost her and I felt a swell of gratitude.

  “Thanks,” I told her warmly. “He is.”

  “I love Andy with all my heart,” she continued, “but I can see how it might be difficult to be married to him.” She sighed then looked at me with a wan smile. “He’s a lot like his father was.”

  There was another call for her flight. Faye picked up her bag and gave us each a peck on the cheek. “Come see me soon.” She disappeared down the boarding ramp with a final wave at the gate.

  The drive to the airport had been filled with Faye’s and Anna’s chatter and the urgency of getting there on time; the ride home was relatively quiet. I turned the radio to a classical station and hummed along to the strains of Schubert’s Trout quintet. Free of company, I was feeling newly liberated and energized. But in the back of my mind was an uneasiness that would not rest. The burglary at the Burtons’ and the mysterious Prince Charming—both had kept me awake a good part of the night.

  When we’d left to take Faye to the airport, Libby had still been sound asleep. She’d managed to pull herself out of bed by the time we returned.

  “Did you have a good time at the party last night?” I asked.

  She nodded, dreamily.

  “I take it Brian was there?”

  Another nod, equally starry-eyed. “He’s different from the other boys at school,” Libby said.

  I’d have pushed for a clarification if I thought she could give me one. Instead, I asked about Prince Charming.

  “That’s what he calls himself?” she asked in disgust. “The guy must be on a major ego trip.”

  If Michael was right, the guy was on the ultimate ego trip.

  “Did Julie ever mention the name to you? It might have been someone she corresponded with over the Internet.”

  She shook her head. “Julie wasn’t stupid.”

  When she’d finished breakfast, we moved Libby’s things out of Anna’s room and back into the room vacated by Faye. Then I made a quick trip to the grocery, did the laundry, and set about cleaning with the quiet satisfaction of knowing my house was once again my own.

  Midafternoon I called to check on Yvonne. They were all still a little shaken, she said, but trying to put the break-in behind them. Nothing of much value had been taken and the house had not been trashed. All in all they’d been lucky—even if the police thought it unlikely they’d ever find the thief.

  When the mail came, Anna dumped it on the table and began sorting it by name, a skill she’d only recently acquired.

  “Libby has a letter,” she announced. “Why don’t I ever get letters?”

  “You do. You got an invitation to Kyle’s birthday party just last week.”

  “I mean a real letter, like this.” She checked the stack again before scooting off toward the hallway. “I’ll take it to Libby.”

  I continued to empty the dishwasher, the muted buzz of conversation from Libby’s room barely discernable in the background. Suddenly a shriek pierced the afternoon calm. I hurried to see what the problem was, expecting nothing more serious than a thick-bodied spider or maybe a cornered mouse.

  I was wrong.

  Libby was standing, frozen in place, like a pillar of salt. The color had drained from her face and her eyes held a look of panic.

  “What is it?” I asked, fear rising in my throat.

  She pointed to the envelope lying on the floor at her feet. “It’s . . . it’s ...”

  I leaned over, picked up the envelope, and unfolded the sheet of blank paper inside, revealing a sizable lock of blond hair.

  “It’s hers, isn’t it?” Libby said, her voice spiraling. “It’s Julie’s.”

  I swallowed the nausea that soured my mouth. “We don’t know that.” I tried to sound reassuring, but I found myself in the grip of the same sickening certainty.

  “Just like the shoes,” Libby added. “And the plastic skeleton. They all came from the man who killed Julie and Cindy Purcell.” Libby was no longer frozen in place. She began to shake and sob.

  I hugged her to my chest. “Honey, we don’t know any of that for sure. But we’re certainly going to take it seriously.”

  Michael took it seriously, too, which frightened me as much as anything. Michael is not one to overreact.

  No one had answered the phone when I’d dialed the detective division directly, so I’d had to call the regular police exchange. The dispatcher on duty, a woman I’d met previously, finally got a message to Michael, who was holed up with his computer expert.

  “Do you think it’s really Julie’s hair?” I asked when I’d explained what had happened.

  “We can’t know without running some tests. Can you bring the envelope in?”

  “Sure. Right away.”

  “Handle it carefully, with a pair of tweezers, and put it in a plastic bag. I doubt there are any prints, but we’ll test for that as well. I may not be here myself, but I’ll alert whoever’s on duty.”

  “Where will you be?” I’d been counting on the comfort of being with him.

  “I’m not sure. Things are beginning to move on the Purcell case.”

  “You’ve found Prince Charming?”

  “We’ve found a message from him. It’s amazing what these computer whizzes can do. You think you’ve deleted a file but ninety-nine percent of the time you haven’t. It’s still there until it gets written over.”

  “Can you tell from the message if he’s the guy you’re after?”

  “The note is definitely kinky,” Michael said. “And he talks about meeting Cindy in person. We’re ho
ping to find other messages from him. It will be a lot easier to make a case that we ought to have this guy’s real name and address if we can show ongoing correspondence. Toby remembers half a dozen exchanges at least.”

  “Did she actually set up a meeting with him the way she did with Frank Davis?”

  “I suspect so, although she claims not to remember. She’s walking a fine line here between pretty heavy-duty guilt and self-serving denial.”

  Not an easy line to walk, I thought. “Do you know if he communicated with Julie Harmon as well?”

  “Gates is handling that end. We’re working together on this.” There was a pause. “Have you asked Libby about him?”

  “You mean, you think she might have received messages from this Prince Charming?”

  “If he’s the one sending her stuff, he has to have found her name somehow.”

  “But you said he might be doing all this to taunt you, because you’re working the case.”

  “That’s certainly a possibility,” Michael agreed.

  I had trouble imagining Libby writing kinky letters to strange men on the Internet. “I asked her about the name in connection with Julie. She didn’t act like it was familiar.”

  Michael’s tone grew softer. “I don’t want to frighten you, but I think you should tell Libby to stay close to home this weekend. I’ll have an officer drive by on a regular basis. I don’t think she’s in danger at the house. That’s not the way this guy has operated in the past.”

  It was a sign of how scared Libby really was, that it took no effort at all to convince her to follow Michael’s advice. She stayed in the house or at my side, and sometimes both, for the rest of the weekend. She didn’t want to go to school on Monday, but I insisted and Michael backed me up. I promised to drive her there and back home. I even offered to accompany her to classes. It was an offer she didn’t readily embrace.