Stolen Secrets: A Collection Of Riveting Mysteries

by J. S. Donovan

  Ellie hunched over the kitchen bar and took a bite of the burger. It was disgustingly soggy. She spat it in the trash can and started to whisk some eggs together. She was only going to make a small omelet, but listened to the roar of her stomach and grabbed six eggs. She packed them full of diced ham, green pepper, red pepper, onions, jalapenos, and cheese. A lot of cheese. She took a big bite and was transported into taste heaven. When she had finished, her headache was gone, but she craved more. She made some French toast and salted ham. Even after that, she wasn’t full.

  In his boxers, Troy shambled down the spiral stairs as Ellie was in the process of making pancakes with blueberry syrup.

  “Morning,” Troy mumbled as she turned on the coffee maker.

  Ellie flipped over one of the hotcakes.

  Troy paused when he saw the stack of plates by the sink.

  “Hungry?” He asked.

  Ellie nodded.

  “I’m glad to see you’re eating. The last few days had me a little concerned,” Troy said and joined her by the stove.

  Ellie shooed him away. “You’ll get yours.”

  Troy cracked a smile. He moseyed over to his laptop bag, pulled out his MacBook, and started the boot up process. While he waited, he all-to-casually approached the art room and gave a quick glance inside.

  “Starting a new project?” he inquired.

  “Playing catch-up with my commissions,” Ellie lied.

  The answer pleased Troy, though he tried to hide it. Though not as well as Ellie hid her latest painting and pulled off the bait-and-switch on the canvas, knowing he would look. The rest of the morning was business as usual. Troy didn’t bring up the investigation, and neither did Ellie. This was usually how the arguments where Troy won concluded, with a clean slate and no mention of the past conflict. Ellie tended to marinate in her hurts a little longer. Nonetheless, she did have a certain respect for her husband’s ability to move on from a “resolved” conflict without a second thought. As he ate, he proofread his latest column on local art galleries. Ellie sat beside him and consumed her third breakfast that didn’t fill her up. The days after the first painting, she didn’t even think about eating. Now, she was gorging herself but completely unsatisfied. She wondered if these side effects had any significant meaning to the investigation or if they were completely inconsequential, like some cosmic breadcrumb just there to remind her of what she had created.

  Troy gave her a kiss on the side of the head, told her he loved her, and marched upstairs to get dressed. When he returned, he had product in his blond hair, a nice untucked button up, khaki pants, and leather shoes. “It’ll be a late night tonight. I’ll call when I’m on my way home.”

  Ellie was washing the dishes when he left. She waited for a few moments and then headed to the window to watch the Jeep vanish into the city. Ellie took a breath and swiftly returned to the sink. She scrubbed the dishes with newfound vigor, swiftly placed them into the dishwasher, and started the machine up. As it rumbled, she headed upstairs and took a quick shower. She put her hair into a ponytail, decided it would be a nice day to wear a hat, and dressed in a long sleeve V-neck, jeans, running shoes, and a light fleece.

  When she was set and ready to conquer the day, she dialed Detective Peaches.

  “Good morning, Ellie,” Peaches answered.

  “Where are you?” Ellie asked. She glanced at the clock. It was nearly 8:30 am.

  “At the office. Completing yesterday’s report.”

  Ellie gathered her thoughts and spoke with a mixture of reverence and excitement. “I painted another one.”

  She heard the detective’s office chair’s wheels squeak. He lowered his voice’s volume level. “Describe it to me.”

  “Not over the phone. We need to meet somewhere private.”

  “No can do,” Peaches replied casually. “We’ll discuss it in the office.”

  Ellie dreaded that idea. “But--”

  “Trust me, Ellie. Come to the station. Bring the painting with you.” There was something reassuring about this voice, but that didn’t change Ellie’s stance.

  “No. It’s too--

  “Remember our rules,” Peaches reminded her. “Be here in twenty minutes.”

  The call ended. Ellie rubbed her forehead. She withdrew her dried painting and packed it away. This man is a snake, Troy’s words repeated in her mind. Ellie considered the possibility of finding the woman herself, but Peaches was the one with access to the police database. She forced herself to trust the detective, but decided to be much more careful in the words she chose and the way she acted. Only a snake could outwit a snake.

  Ellie arrived at the police department, passed through the proper checkpoints, had the painting examined by the person at the security checkpoint, and joined Peaches at his desk. He picked up his legal pad and led her to the conference room. Taking one last look around the semi-crowded bullpen, he shut the door.

  “Show me what you got,” Peaches said.

  Ellie drew out the painting and laid it across the table.

  “We need to find a better place to meet.” Ellie said, watching an officer walk by the silhouetted window.

  “Is it more suspicious to have us sneaking off together, or to gather in a place where everyone can see us?”

  “Yeah, well, hiding in plain sight seems risky and stupid,” Ellie replied.

  “Did you murder this woman?”

  Ellie crossed her arms. “No.”

  “Then there’s nothing to be worried about it. Right now, everyone just thinks you’re an eager witness. No sweat.”

  “I still don’t feel comfortable with it,” Ellie said.

  The detective brushed off the comment. He looked over the dead businesswoman. “Any idea who she is?”

  Ellie shook her head. “Not a clue.”

  Ellie pointed out various images she noticed in the stab wounds and the reflection of the man in the woman’s iris. Peaches seemed most intrigued by that last part. He looked deeply into the dead woman’s eyes and at the black speck on her sclera.

  The doorknob jiggled and Detective Skinner shambled inside. He was dressed in yesterday’s tan and wrinkled business suit, only now it had another salsa stain from the breakfast burrito he clenched in one fist. “Mrs. Batter. Peaches told me you’d be dropping by.”

  Ellie gave Peaches a sidelong glance.

  Peaches smiled his soft smile, revealing little of his motives. “Skinner has agreed to help us.”

  Ellie felt herself become tense.

  The stout man with horrible posture and a bulldog face grinned widely and falsely. “Peaches needs my help to solve this case of ours.”

  “Ah,” Ellie said and extended her hand. “Glad to make use of your expertise, Detective Skinner.”

  “Pleasure’s all mine,” Skinner replied. He took a big bite of the burrito, finishing it. “I’m sure you noticed Detective Peaches got hurt last night.”

  Peaches showed Ellie the bandage wrapped around his right hand. “I followed your lead to the apartment building and had a run-in with the suspect.”

  Ellie asked, “Are you hurt?”

  “Just a graze.” Peaches smiled at her.

  “Were you able to stop him?” Ellie pressed, keeping up the act.

  “Next time,” Peaches said confidently.

  Skinner turned his attention to the painting and asked Ellie the same questions that Peaches had. Ellie traded a look with Peaches. He nodded slightly, and Ellie filled in the other detective about what she discovered in the painting.

  “So is the woman really dead?” Skinner fished.

  Ellie replied. “I sure hope not. I painted Kimberly a day before she died. Perhaps this will be the same.”

  Skinner looked over Ellie with judgmental eyes and scoffed to himself.

  Ellie frowned but kept quiet. She needed to play it cool, even if that meant suffering a bit of abuse, criticism, and doubt.

  Skinner took a few seconds to examine the portrait and then cursed to
himself. He fished out his cellphone from his deep pant pocket and tapped on the digital keyboard with his sausage fingers. “I remember seeing her somewhere. There.” Skinner turned the phone to them, revealing the picture of the woman on the front page of the local digital newspaper from a few months back.

  With one single swift moment, Peaches snatched the phone from Skinner’s meaty paws. “I knew she looked familiar.”

  Skinner looked at Peaches with an angry scowl, but didn’t exert the effort to retrieve his smartphone.

  “Pamela Cornish. New head curator at the Rosetta Art Gallery,” Peaches read. “I think I saw here during my visit a few weeks ago.”

  “Did your woman drag you along to that one?” Skinner asked, still angry about his phone. “Mine did.”

  “I don’t have a woman, Skinner,” Peaches said and headed for the door. “Pamela tried to pick me up, though. A little too controlling for my tastes, but I think I’ll give her a call now.”

  Elle eyed him. “You don’t remember her hitting on you?”

  Peaches smiled shyly. “It’s not a rare occurrence.”

  He headed to the door, repeated that he was going to call Pamela, and exited.

  Skinner turned to Ellie. “You ever been to the Rosetta Art Gallery?”

  Ellie nodded. “A handful of times. I’ve never met this Pamela woman, though.”

  “Uh huh,” Skinner replied with suspicion before he left the room.

  Ellie caught the closing door and followed him to Peaches’s desk where the handsome detective was looking up Pamela Cornish’s name in the police database. Skinner and Ellie shadowed him, each looking over a different shoulder as Pamela’s name and address popped up on the database. She had a few speeding tickets and a domestic abuse charge against her husband.

  Skinner cleared his throat. Both the detectives glared at Ellie.

  “Sorry,” she replied and took a seat in front of the desk, where she couldn’t see the monitor. Making as little movement as possible, she slid out her phone from her purse and typed Pamela’s address into her notepad app without looking. A passing officer smiled at her. Ellie smiled back, burying the phone in between her thighs. When the man turned his attention elsewhere, Ellie finished inputting the information and snuck the phone back into her purse.

  Skinner glared at Ellie as Peaches dialed the number.

  They were all silent as the phone rang. Once, twice, four times.

  Ellie felt her pulse quicken. If Pamela was dead and it matched my portrait… Ellie’s mind thought of a dozen different outcomes; none of them were good. She predicted she’d be behind bars within the hour, especially if the time of death was during the blackout. She kept her expression neutral but squeezed the handle of her purse tightly. Both the detectives eyed her. Skinner was smug. Nervousness bled through Peaches’s cool exterior. Ellie couldn’t bring herself to match eyes with either of the men. She found herself biting into her lower lip and that unstable hunger returning, though she couldn’t recall when it had left.

  A woman’s voice sounded on the other end of the line. “Hi?”

  “Hello, this is Detective Peaches from the Northampton Police Department. Am I speaking to Pamela Cornish?” Peaches asked politely and listened to the reply. “Great. I’ve got a tip that you might be in danger… Yes, we take threats very seriously. Have you felt like you’ve been followed in these past few days… ah, I see… No, I understand… Absolutely… Stay safe, Ms. Cornish. Call us when you return from your trip… Thank you.”

  Peaches ended the call and said. “She’s not dead.”

  Ellie sighed in relief. “There’s still time.”

  “For her to be killed?” Skinner asked.

  “For her to be saved,” Ellie replied.

  “Ellie,” Peaches said kindly, “Pamela is not even in town. She said she’ll be gone for another week.”

  “That gives us plenty of time to stop the killer,” Ellie said confidently.

  “Us?” Skinner chuckled. “There’s no us. This is police work, Mrs. Batter. You need to run along back to your little art career and stop making false accusations.”

  “I painted Kimberly’s murder a day before it happened. You have my alibi to back it up, and you’ve probably watched the video footage from the vase shop to know I was nowhere near the place in the prior days or nights it happened. If Pamela is not dead yet, she may only have twenty-four hours.”

  “How confident are you in that accusation?” Peaches asked.

  “Not very, but it’s the only clue we have to work with,” Ellie explained. “If we could only establish a pattern, it will help us prevent further deaths.”

  “So you’re saying there’s going to be more killings?” Skinner baited her. “Bold claim from an innocent woman.”

  Ellie glared at him.

  “Ellie,” Peaches said softly. “We appreciate you coming in today, but you may leave now. Skinner and I will take care of this.”

  Ellie rose from her seat. “Can I at least get my painting first?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Skinner replied. “After we look over it. Alone.”

  Ellie waited at Peaches’s desk while he and Skinner returned to the conference room and spent a long while inside. They returned with the packaged painting and handed it off to Ellie.

  “Enjoy your morning,” Skinner said insincerely.

  Ellie thanked the men for their time and left.

  When Ellie was out of the door, she sent Peaches a text. “We need to talk.”

  He texted her the address of a small sandwich shop a few blocks down the road. Ellie headed there. As she held the packaged painting, her hunger seemed to vanish. Peaches showed up roughly twenty minutes later. As much as she wanted to bring up Peaches’s tardiness and rudeness in the police station, her focus was on the case.

  “I have a plan,” she said as soon as the detective sat down at the small round table. “We find out where Pamela is staying and get a few local officers stationed out there. They can give us status updates on when she comes and where she goes and prevent the killer from stalking her. According to the painting, she died inside of a home with a piano. If that’s not her home, then I’m sure we can have someone follow her there.”

  “Pamela’s in Fairfax,” Peaches said as he browsed the menu. “I can’t get the department to expend resources based off your painting. It’s not a viable lead.”

  “So what do we do?” Ellie asked with frustration. “I don’t want to wait until she gets back.”

  Peaches signaled to the waitress. “The Reuben, please. Thank you.”

  The young waitress looked him up and down, clearly impressed by the detective’s good looks.

  Ellie spoke with hushed, angry words. “Are you even listening to me?”

  “Of course,” Peaches replied.

  “You don’t seem like it.”

  Peaches chose his words carefully. “Ellie, I want to help you. Truly, this is the most interesting case I’ve worked in years, but there’s just not much that can be done at the moment.”

  “So we just sit on our thumbs all day and then after Pamela’s dead, we look for clues.”

  Peaches didn’t deny it.

  That infuriated Ellie. “I thought you were the type of person who took initiative.”

  “You’ll learn soon enough that a lot of detective work is waiting, waiting, and more waiting. I know it’s not as exciting as it seems in the movies, but that’s the reality. Pamela will update us when she’s back in town, then we can move forward. Otherwise, enjoy life.”

  Ellie crossed her arms and leaned back in her seat.

  “You’re upset,” Peaches pointed out the obvious.

  “I don’t want this woman to die.”

  “Why?” Peaches asked. “You don’t know her.”

  “She’s a human being,” Ellie exclaimed. “Geez, Peaches, you seem like an entirely different person today. I thought that last night we were going to work together in this. Now, you’re involving your partner and
doing nothing to find the killer.”

  Peaches’s face became serious. “The only person holding Skinner back from you is me. If you start going forward in this by yourself, he’ll only suspect you more. We play this cool and act at the right time. Stick with the rules I gave you and we’ll get the answers we need. Just be patient.”

  Ellie rubbed her forehead. “If that’s what you think is best.”

  “I’m glad you understand,” Peaches replied as his sandwich arrived. “Would you like anything to eat?”

  Ellie shook her head. “I should be getting back. There’s still a lot of work I need to get done.”

  Peaches gave her an understanding smile and took a bite out of the sandwich. He glanced over at the waitress and gave her a thumb’s up. The woman blew him a kiss.

  Ellie grabbed her painting and headed for the door.

  “We’ll be in touch,” Peaches said.

  “I know,” Ellie replied.

  She hailed a cab and told the driver to take her to the rental car office near the airport. Turning on her feminine charm, she chatted up the young and desperate clerk and got a heavy discount on one of the Mitsubishi sedans. It was a midnight blue four-door automatic. Not the fastest or prettiest car in the world, but Ellie just needed something she could use for a few days. In the long run, it would cost her the same amount as the cab fare, and she wouldn’t need to worry about the cab drivers telling the police about her activities.

  As she got used to driving again, she thought about Detective Peaches. Something was different about him today. He was distant. She didn’t know the man very well, but his intrigue from this morning seemed to have waned. Maybe he’s playing me. Ellie thought angrily. If so, then why? She wasn’t going to waste time finding out.

  Ellie input Pamela’s address into her phone’s GPS and drove that way. It was in the nicer part of town. The house was single story with a covered garage and wide window in the living room. No car was parked there. Ellie compared it to her painting. When she had a good mental image, she looked both ways and crossed the street. The window curtains were parted down the middle. Rather odd to leave these open if no one’s home, Ellie thought as she cupped her hands around the glass and looked inside of the dark living room. She saw the same artwork and piano from the painting, but no sculptures that could cast a reflection on the fictional knife wounds, no hooded killer and no bloody cadaver, but at least she knew this was the place where Pamela would die. She noticed a mug of coffee on the sofa side table, along with a near empty bowl of cereal. Someone was here this morning. Ellie walked around the side of the house and tried to peer through a different window. The curtains were closed for all the other windows.