Killer Chameleon

by Chassie West

  The information was superfluous but, if nothing else, reinforced the lengths to which Michelle would go to get what she wanted. And she was out there somewhere plotting her next move, her goal: to get rid of me for keeping her from the audition that she was certain would have been her big break. Given her single-mindedness, I was not encouraged.

  I was still in jammies, face yet unwashed and toothbrush in my mouth when I heard the kind of knock on the door that did not bode well. I can’t explain it but there’s something about the sound that’s different when it’s a cop on the other side of the door.

  I slithered to the peephole and groaned. Evans and Thackery. I yelled at them to hold their horses and let them wait until I’d gotten rid of the toothbrush, pulled on a robe, and scrunched my hair into a semblance of order.

  “Sorry to disturb you so early,” Evans said, coming in. I didn’t believe him for a minute.

  “Nice tree.” Thackery scrutinized it as if he’d never seen one before.

  “It isn’t finished,” I said, gesturing for them to sit. “I’d offer coffee but—”

  “No, thanks. This won’t take long, but we wanted to give you the word personally.” Evans perched on the edge of the couch, leaving the impression that a relaxed position would be inappropriate. “We got Halls’s prints off a glass the housekeeper had just removed from her room at the Trilby. They match a set on the trunk of your old car, and on one of the knobs on an oven—”

  “At Celebrations?” I blurted. “So she was there!”

  “Yes. By the way, the cell phone she’s been using was stolen from one of Celebrations’ waiters weeks ago. But she’s wanted for murder and arson now. The thing is, Ms. Warren, after last night she knows we’re after her.”

  “You already told me that,” I said, irritated that he felt he had to rub salt into my wounds.

  “It bears repeating. She’s a cold-blooded killer even though Ms. Hitchcock’s death may have been unintentional; turns out she was allergic to latex.”

  “Latex? Like in gloves?”

  “Among other things. Evidently it’s a cumulative thing. In her case, it was probably a result of her years working with her family’s cleaning service. She wore one of those bracelets with a warning on it but Halls didn’t notice it, and she obviously wore gloves because there was cornstarch and latex particles on the victim’s scarf. Looks like she might have been gagged with it and inhaled the particles, which caused anaphylactic shock. Without immediate treatment, she was a goner.”

  My God. Poor Claudia.

  “But the two poor working stiffs at Celebrations, pardon the pun, were already dead when the place went up, one from blunt-force trauma, the other from multiple stab wounds.”

  Wow. She’d do that to a cousin?

  “The rest,” Thackery took over for Evans, “the smoldering rags in the wastebaskets and the gas, was an attempt to cover her tracks. She assumed the bodies would be so badly burned that the fire and explosion would camouflage the cause of death. It might have if they hadn’t been blown into the backyard.”

  That didn’t make sense to me, given the second floor’s charred interior. “But the offices were gutted.”

  “In spades,” Evans said, dryly. “She left one wastebasket smoldering upstairs and a second one somewhere in the kitchen. The one downstairs triggered the explosion once the gas had been on long enough and in the process, blew the contents of the wastebasket upstairs through the ceiling.”

  “Which ignited the insulation,” Thackery clarified. “But by then, the bodies of the cleaners were already outside.”

  “Lordy.” I slumped in my chair, imagining the horror of it.

  They let me do that for a moment, before revealing the main reason for this wake-up call.

  “Now, Ms. Warren.” Evans sat up even straighter and fixed me with a stern gaze. “I repeat, we’re dealing with a cold-blooded killer, one with nothing to lose. And your experience as a cop notwithstanding, we’re officially warning you to butt out and let us do our jobs. We’ll even go so far, unofficially, as to ask you to make yourself scarce. Go somewhere, the farther away the better.”

  “Excuse me?” I wondered if Duck had put them up to this.

  Thackery leaned forward for emphasis, elbows on his knees, big hands clasped. I was surprised to notice that he was a nail chewer. “We don’t have the manpower to give you round-the-clock protection; our resources are spread about as thin as they can get. Increasing patrols through the area is possible but probably not all that effective, since we can never be sure what Halls looks like at any given time. So it would be a load off our shoulders if you’d go underground. Someone mentioned you have family in North Carolina.”

  There was no point in wondering who that someone might be. Duck was in for it.

  “I do have family there,” I said, “but you forget, Michelle’s been through that box of my personal papers, which includes cards and letters from my foster mother. No way will I expose her to Michelle’s lunacy by going down home. And before I forget, do you mind explaining that little gem you dropped into the conversation with me last night, the one where you used identity theft and federal crime in the same sentence? I assume you weren’t referring to such mundane capers as her posing as me in order to steal my wedding suit and cancel our honeymoon reservations.”

  He grimaced, but he’d muddied the waters himself. It was obvious he considered this element of the case a nuisance. His focus was the homicides. So he told me what I already knew, that Michelle had had a field day in Salina’s at my expense, along with a couple of other stores at which she’d opened accounts. I had started working on that last night, courtesy of the Web. Following through was at the top of my list of things to do.

  I expressed appropriate outrage to cover the fact that I’d known about it already, then responded to the purpose of their visit. The whole business had kept me awake until the murky hours of the morning, even without knowing for certain that Michelle was a murderer. Some time between then and now, I had come to a decision.

  “Gentlemen,” I said, giving them the benefit of the doubt, “you have every right to tell me to butt out, and I’m sorry if my call to the Trilby tossed a monkeywrench into the works. Now I’d appreciate it if you’d look at it from my point of view.”

  They finally sat back, both their expressions acutely wary, as if there was a snake somewhere, ready to strike.

  “In the process of doing what was my job at the time, protecting and defending, so to speak, I set off a chain of incidents for which, no matter what I tell myself or anyone else says, I feel responsible. Those incidents include the deaths of three people I never met. But I’ve seen the impact of those deaths on the owner of Celebrations, and on Clarissa, someone I’ve come to like very much. The bottom line is that I’m the cause and I’m the one Michelle Halls is after. The easier it is for her to get to me, the sooner you’ll catch her.”

  They jerked upright again, as if yanked by a single set of puppet strings. “Now, just wait a minute,” Thackery began.

  “Let me finish. I have a couple of chores to take care of which will get me out of your hair for today. I have to go out and I’ll wear a damned wig and the makeup, etcetera, so if she’s around she won’t recognize me. It worked yesterday; there’s no reason it won’t work again today. But today is it. Effective tomorrow, no more wigs, no more disguises. I’m going to make myself as accessible as I can be. I want her to make her move.”

  “No,” Evans said, shaking his head. “We can’t allow you to act as bait.”

  “I’m not asking your permission. This woman cannot be allowed to inflict any more damage, especially to people who have nothing to do with her beef against me. And I understand that for all intents and purposes I’ll be on my own. As far as protection’s concerned, I’ve broken up enough bar fights in the line of duty to know I can take care of myself. I don’t have a service piece any longer, but I can use one of Duck’s. They aren’t throwaways,” I added quickly. “They’re
registered to him. And I won’t use the thing unless I have to. But I’ve been a victim long enough. Now, if you want to waste your breath arguing with me, fine, but make it fast. I’ve got to get out of here.”

  To give them credit, they tried their best, but Nunna could have told them they were simply spinning their wheels. With three deaths on my conscience, there was nothing they could say that would change my mind.

  After about a half an hour of it, they left with a promise to step up patrols starting this evening. I expressed my appreciation for whatever they could do and nudged them out of the door. With their departure, I felt more at ease than I had since the whole business had broken wide open this past Monday. Even though it had actually begun some weeks before then, tomorrow would be the beginning of the end of it.

  Over breakfast, I faced an additional truth. The postponements aside, I was not happy about my wedding. As much as I loved Duck, as much as I looked forward to being his wife, I was beginning to hate more and more the three-act production my wedding had become. I’d wanted simplicity, intimacy, just family, It was still just family, but one that amounted to a cast of dozens.

  The loss of that ecru suit from Bridal Bower was, on balance, as upsetting as losing our Hawaii reservations. It wasn’t often that I genuinely liked the way I looked in whatever I wore, but that two-piece creation had moved to the top of the list. Therefore, having to ask my aunts to whip up something for me stuck in my craw far more than it would under ordinary circumstances. Not that I doubted their dressmaking skills; my cousin Tracy’s wardrobe was equal to anything Salina’s sold. But whatever they came up with would be my second choice, not my first. And I resented that.

  I showered and attacked the closet to come up with an outfit that would fool my nemesis but wouldn’t make me look like a fool in my grandparents’ eyes. The braids were definitely out. I flipped through Janeece’s wigs and hairpieces and finally settled for a chin-length page boy with bangs. It was cute enough to make me consider letting my hair grow. That lasted perhaps thirty-seven seconds. Why bother when I could wear a wig?

  It took me fifteen minutes to get the lashes on straight, but I turned thumbs down on the stuffing. I’d be wearing my Sunday go-to-meeting coat, a black cashmere that closed with a belt and was a perfect fit. It had cost too damned much for me to want to look as if I was about to burst out of it.

  I was squeezing my feet into a pair of dress boots when the phone rang. I was tempted to let the caller leave a message, since I’d gotten all the bad news I cared to hear for the next year and a half, but gave in, in case it was Duck.

  It wasn’t. “Leigh, if I’m not in the doghouse about last night, can I ask a favor?” Tina’s tone of voice could best be described as wheedling.

  “Depends. What is it?” Truthfully, I was still pissed at her, but was determined to rise above it.

  “I was supposed to pick up Auntie Clar from church, but I’m on my way in to work. Eva called in sick. I tried Aunt’s cell phone to tell her to take a cab home, but she probably doesn’t have it with her. It’s not that far from you or I wouldn’t ask. I don’t want her standing in the cold waiting for me.”

  If there was a polite way to say no, I couldn’t figure out how. “All right. Which church?”

  She gave me directions and thanked me effusively. I sighed. Taking Clarissa home meant a detour, but it wasn’t as if I was in a rush to get to Ourland, despite what I’d told Thackery and Evans.

  “Leigh,” Clarissa exclaimed, when I found her on the corner looking like a poor lost sheep. “I almost didn’t recognize you. What are you doing here?”

  “Subbing for Tina. She’s having to fill in for someone at work. Get in out of the cold. How would you like to go to Ourland with me?” I asked, surprising myself.

  “Oh, I’d love to.” She scrambled into the car, her cheeks pink from the December chill. “Would there be time for me to see your new house? Tina told me about it. It sounds wonderful.”

  “Plenty of time. I’d planned to go by it anyway, to take pictures to send to my foster mom.”

  The ensuing discussion about digital cameras and how I came to be raised in a foster home was a pleasant distraction and made the trip seem shorter by half. I took the main route into Ourland this time, unwilling to risk damaging the undercarriage of Janeece’s baby in one of the potholes that had made the back way such an enjoyable ride for Tank.

  Approaching the town from this direction gave no hint that what was to come would not be your typical suburban setup, since the drive first cut through Eden’s Edge. A buffer between the highway and Ourland/ Umber Shores, it was barely a decade old, with sidewalks, yards all the same size to the inch, and trees resembling adolescents in that gawky stage when they’re all elbows and knees. Clarissa, I could see, was not particularly impressed. Then we turned onto North Star Road.

  She leaned forward, brightening. “This is more like what I expected,” she said, as sidewalks disappeared. Houses sited on irregular-sized lots lost their sameness, took on personalities and character, their faces unashamed of their age. They were as neat and as well-kept as those in the buffer zone, but the swings on the decks and front porches, the occasional anchor or pair of oars leaning against a gas light in the yard, all currently wrapped in Christmas greenery, contributed a well lived-in look to this area. Since this end of town was farther from the flood zone, these homes were not elevated. The trees added the finishing touch, oaks and evergreens that had been around since the ark ran to ground on Ararat.

  Without warning, this leg of North Star Road became Main Street, the commercial section, all two blocks of it. A tow truck from W. Two’s service station blocked the intersection. The street itself was jammed, crowds lining the sidewalk, all practically quivering with anticipation.

  “What’s going on?” Clarissa asked.

  “No idea.” I shifted into park, got out, and approached the nearest man, a toddler straddling his shoulders.

  “What’s happening?” I asked, uncertain whether to be alarmed.

  The man glanced down at me before pointing to the town hall, formerly a church complete with steeple. “That. Here comes my baby.” His cocoa-brown face split into a grin.

  The doors of the white clapboard building burst open. From inside, the sound of a band, clearly new to the exercise, began a tinny “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town,” and a preschooler dressed as a majorette led them out, her little white boots practically up to her knees. She held a baton above her head, yanked it to her shoulder then up again, twirling obviously beyond her. With an ear-to-ear grin, she escorted the band down the steps, onto the sidewalk, then into the street.

  The band, some of whom I recognized, my aunts among them, consisted of elves of all sizes and ages. And, man, did they stink. The crowd erupted in cheers, and I returned to a vacant car. Clarissa stood on the far side of the intersection, clapping and cheering with those around her.

  I killed the engine and got out again to wait, leaning against the front of the car. The band was followed by a variety of floats from the parking lot behind the building, a couple of other bands from local schools, more elves tossing candy canes, and finally Santa, who bore a startling resemblance to W. Two and rode in a sleigh pulled by a team of ponies I suspected spent most of their time giving rides to toddlers in a petting zoo.

  All smiles, Clarissa returned to the car. “That was fun! Where to now?”

  Stopping by the storefront police station was out, thanks to the parade. “My grandparents, to make a formal appearance to accept the gift of the house. After that, I’ll take you to see it. From there I’ll need to track down my aunts. By the time they finish with me you’ll be starving, so I’ll have the perfect excuse to introduce you to Mary Castle and the best restaurant in town masquerading as a dump.”

  She greeted all that with silence, and I wondered if she was up to meeting so many people. She hadn’t mentioned Claudia and neither had I, preferring to follow her lead. I wasn’t even sure if she knew the res
ults of the postmortem.

  “If you’d rather not, I can probably skip stopping by my grandparents’, but I really do need to see my aunts. They offered to make my wedding dress, and they’ll need to take my measurements.”

  “Oh, it all sounds lovely.” She managed a strained smile. “I’m feeling guilty because I’m enjoying this so much. Sister’s lying in the morgue, all cut up, and I’m enjoying myself. Her death was so senseless, so needlessly cruel, and I’m enjoying myself. It doesn’t seem right.”

  I sent up a small prayer that I could say something to help. “You spent your whole life with your sister, right? You knew her as well as you knew yourself. Do you think she wouldn’t want you to revel in as much joy as you can? Wouldn’t she want that for you?”

  After a second, she nodded. “I always envied her that capacity. Sister got enjoyment out of every single moment, no matter what she was doing. Give her a grungy bathroom to clean and she was in sheer heaven. Give her a spoonful of vanilla pudding and you’d think she was eating a bowl of trifle. I was the serious one, attacking things as if they were obstacles to be overcome, and Sister was always chiding me about it, telling me to loosen up.”

  “In other words, she’d be pleased that you’re having a good time today. Honor her memory by doing just that. Enjoy yourself.”

  Her smile was a little quivery around the edges, but it was a valiant effort. “You’re right. I will. Tell me about your grandparents.”

  I made an embarrassingly awkward U-turn on the narrow street and tried to prepare her for the grands as I doubled back and made a detour a block over in hopes I could work my way to the other end of North Star Road far enough south to avoid the parade. It worked only because the procession appeared to have stopped for a concert and Christmas carol sing-along where Main became North Star again.

  Clarissa relaxed and scrutinized the Ritch family compound with avid interest, seeming both charmed and energized. “It reminds me of Johns Island in South Carolina,” she said, “minus the Spanish moss and the palmettos, of course. But the same kind of feel to it, old, well-settled.”