Murder Likes It Hot

by Tracy Weber

  Closed until further notice? Had the police closed Teen Path HOME for the foreseeable future? It wasn’t impossible, I supposed, but in my all-too-frequent experience, crime scenes were processed and released pretty quickly.

  I tried Martinez next. Another voicemail. I left a message asking her to call me.

  Two options down, two to go. Directory assistance seemed like a long shot, so I pulled up Instagram instead. I created an account and played around with it for a few minutes. Fortunately, the interface was easy to figure out, even for a relative technophobe like me. I flipped to a blank page on my notebook and prepared to search in earnest.

  I created a seven-by-six matrix with potential first names on the vertical axis, last names on the horizontal. I spoke out loud to no one in particular. “Please let Rainbow’s account be public.” Bella padded into the room and cocked her head at me curiously.

  “Sorry, sweetie. I was talking to myself. Go back to sleep.”

  Bella complied.

  I picked up my pen and prepared to check off each possibility one at a time. I typed each name into the search bar and scanned through dozens upon dozens of teeny tiny profile pictures, clicking on every one that wasn’t an obvious mismatch. Fifteen minutes later, my efforts had netted me a cramped index finger and significant eyestrain. None of the accounts so far were Rainbow’s.

  On minute sixteen, I struck pay dirt.

  I recognized the smile in her profile photo immediately. Rayne Rhodes. Lover of animals, creator of art. She’d posted hundreds of photos, most of which were of animals. Ed and Lonnie, dogs, cats, even a few chickens. Interspersed with the animal shots were photographs of food, much of which I assumed she’d helped prepare at Teen Path HOME.

  The images that drew me in the most, however, were her melancholy tributes to life on the streets. Photos of drug paraphernalia, people lined up outside food banks, tired-looking teenagers smoking in doorways, sleeping bags scattered along sidewalks.

  I continued scrolling until I came across Rainbow’s selfie with Bella. My breath caught.

  So that’s how her stepfather found her.

  The photograph of the two new friends was adorable. Bella’s long, black-spotted tongue reached toward Rainbow’s cheek. Rainbow leaned toward it, as if hoping Bella would give her a dog-saliva facial. Above Rainbow’s head, slightly to the right, a sign read Teen Path H. The only letters missing were the O, the M, and the E. Anyone with access to a browser could have found her. Ah, sweetie, I thought. So young. So naïve.

  The last post had been created two hours before the altercation with her stepfather. Either she’d smartened up since then or she’d been too busy hiding to take adorable snapshots. I scanned her 347 followers, looking for people I recognized. Number ten was Jace Foster. I clicked on his picture. His profile was private.

  Number thirty-eight stopped me cold. April Rhodes.

  The woman smiling at me shared Rainbow’s blonde hair and stunning gray-blue eyes, but she was significantly older. Unless this was a long-lost aunt that Rainbow had failed to disclose, April had to be Rainbow’s mother.

  Her profile was public, but it didn’t tell me much. April rarely posted, and she hadn’t at all in over four months. I typed April Rhodes into an Internet white pages site. A Tacoma address and phone number were listed. I was about to check for Facebook accounts when the phone rang.

  Michael didn’t bother saying hello. “What the hell, Kate. You dumped two rats off at the pet store without even bothering to ask me?”

  Ah, crap. Ed and Lonnie. I’d forgotten to tell Michael about Ed and Lonnie.

  “I’m sorry, Michael. With everything that happened last night, it slipped my mind. They were Gabriel’s. I offered to foster them until Martinez can find someone to take them. How are they doing?”

  “How are they doing? They’re doing great, thank you very much. My store, on the other hand, is a disaster. The two scaly-tailed jerks got loose overnight and threw themselves a rat welcoming party. The droppings they left everywhere were bad enough, but evidently they were hungry. They chewed open eight bags of cat food. Rabbit is their favorite, in case you were wondering.”

  “I’m sorry, Michael. I didn’t think they’d be able to get out again.”

  His voice rose half an octave. “Again? What do you mean, again?”

  “They got loose the first time I went to Teen Path HOME. Gabriel told me that the kids sometimes left the cage open, so I didn’t think much about it.”

  Only, in retrospect, the kids hadn’t done anything of the sort. Gabriel had been simultaneously right and dreadfully wrong. Ed and Lonnie were, as he’d asserted, smart. Remarkably so. That’s where he’d been right. He’d been wrong about their means of escape. No one at the center had left the cage open. The little monsters had found an escape route all on their own.

  “Martinez wouldn’t let me take Ed and Lonnie’s cage, but I bought one exactly like it,” I continued. “They’ve obviously figured out how to open it from inside. You should probably figure out a better way to secure the door.”

  “I should probably take them to a rescue,” Michael countered.

  “No,” I said automatically. “They’ve already been traumatized by Gabriel’s death.”

  As insane as the words sounded, I knew they were true. Ed and Lonnie might be tiny; they might be so-called vermin. But they were sentient beings, and they mourned Gabriel the same way Bella had mourned George. I wouldn’t add to their suffering.

  My shoulders tensed. “I won’t let you shuffle them around like a couple of—”

  “Like a couple of rats?”

  I sighed. “I was going to say like a couple of pieces of unwanted property. Michael, animals—even rats—suffer from stress. They grieve. They hurt. They deserve better than being relegated to the animal equivalent of a detention center.”

  A long pause, then Michael’s voice. “You’re right. Of course you’re right.” He sounded guilty, which reminded me why I was so crazy about him. “But if we’re not taking them to a rescue, I’m bringing them home. We can lock them in the office.”

  “The same office that our semi-feral cat lives in? Ten minutes with Mouse and all we’ll have left are their tails.”

  As if in reply, my calico fur child slinked into the office. Bella followed her to the dog bed where the two best friends curled up together, happily ignoring me.

  “Not all cats are hunters, you know,” Michael said. “Besides, these rats are huge. They’re almost as big as Mouse is.”

  “And if you’re wrong?”

  Silence. Exactly like I’d expected. My animal-loving husband would never let Ed and Lonnie come to harm. He simply needed time to realize it.

  Five seconds later, he replied. “Fine. But they can’t stay at the store much longer. It’s not safe. One of my customers stepped on the brown one this morning.”

  “Is Lonnie okay?”

  “He’s fine, but Mrs. Krapinski had a conniption fit. I doubt she’ll ever be back.”

  “I know the situation isn’t ideal, Michael, but it’s also not permanent. Martinez is checking with Gabriel’s relatives. One of them will probably want the two little guys.”

  “Maybe.” Michael didn’t sound convinced. “I’ll give you a week to find someone to take them, Kate. After that, they have to go. Period.”

  I hung up the phone with Michael, picked it back up, and tried Martinez again. I’d found the Rhodes family address on my own, but I hoped Martinez would have other useful information. If I was really lucky, she’d inform me that she’d found someone who wanted Ed and Lonnie.

  She answered on the second ring. “Kate. I was about to return your call. Have you heard from Rainbow?”

  “Sorry, not yet. I’m actually calling about something else.”

  “What’s that?”

  “My husband’s a little cranky about th
e rats. Have you found anyone that wants them?”

  “They’re not my highest priority, Kate. Not even close. I mentioned them when I spoke to Cherie Cousins, the widow, and she wasn’t interested.”

  “You spoke to Gabriel’s wife? How’s she doing?”

  Martinez hesitated. “Honestly, she strikes me as off. Henderson did the death notification with a patrol officer, so I didn’t see her initial reaction. But when she stopped by the station this morning, she seemed more pissed off than grief-stricken.”

  I leaned forward in my desk chair, fully alert. This might be good news, at least for Rainbow. “I never officially met her, but I saw her with Gabriel once. I got the feeling their marriage was troubled.”

  “It was. Cherie freely admits it. She hated his work. She claims that she warned him that—and I’m quoting here—“hobnobbing with freeloading teenage criminals” was dangerous, but he refused to listen. She practically blames him for his own murder.”

  “Is she a suspect?”

  “The spouse is always a suspect. Frankly, I’m surprised no one’s told her to lawyer up yet. Any lawyer worth his salt would tell her to keep her mouth shut. She admitted to Henderson that she and Gabriel fought on Wednesday night. That’s why he was at the center so late. He was planning to sleep there.”

  “Was he leaving her?”

  “Not that she’s admitted, at least not yet.”

  “You said she stopped by the station. Why?”

  “She wanted to make sure Gabriel’s body would be released to the funeral home this afternoon. Not my decision, but she’s been hounding everyone she can think of. She’s determined to have the memorial service on Sunday.”

  “Already? That seems fast.”

  “A little, but it’s not as unusual as you might think. People grieve differently. For some, burying the dead is the first step to moving on with their lives.”

  I envisioned Gabriel’s body as I’d last seen it—sprawled on the floor, crimson stain spreading around it. “So the autopsy’s complete, then?”

  “Yes. I have the report here on my desk.”

  “Any surprises?”

  “None. The victim died of a gunshot wound to the chest, but that was obvious at the scene. I suppose something weird could show up in the tox screen, but I doubt it.”

  “What about the gun? Did you find out who it belonged to?”

  “If you’re asking if we can implicate the teen, the answer is yes.” She paused. “Or at least probably.”

  “Probably?”

  “The serial number matched a gun registered to the stepfather. The guy’s name is Dean Boothe. He and I had a nice long chat last night.”

  “Does he know how to find Rainbow?”

  “He claims he doesn’t have a clue. Frankly, given his lack of concern for the girl, I’m inclined to believe him.”

  “What about fingerprints? If it was Rainbow’s gun, mine should be on it.”

  “The outside of the gun was wiped clean, but we pulled some off the magazine. They don’t match yours or any prints in the system so far, but I’d bet my pension that they’ll match the teen’s when we find her. If we find her.”

  “If?”

  “She could be anywhere by now, including out of state. Runaways are good at staying under the radar. It’s a miracle her stepfather found her the first time.”

  “Not really.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I told Martinez about Rainbow’s Instagram account and the photo she’d posted showing Teen Path HOME’s sign. “I’m betting that’s how Dean ended up at the center.”

  “He mentioned that he found her via a social media account. I assumed she’d checked in on Facebook or something.”

  “She took the photo she posted with a cell phone. Can you trace her phone?”

  “In theory, if we knew the number. I asked the stepfather about a cell phone. He canceled the kid’s account the day after she left home. She’s probably using a burner.”

  “If Dean was trying to find her, why did he cancel her phone?”

  “Mister Wonderful said he wasn’t willing to spend his hard-earned money supporting a thief.” I heard the telltale squeak of flesh sinking into a desk chair. “He’s not exactly parent-of-the-year material.”

  “What about Rainbow’s mother?”

  “The husband says she’s still MIA, but I’m following up on that. Henderson’s been interviewing homeless youth in the area, but so far, they all claim not to know Rainbow. Big surprise there. These kids almost never open up to the police. Has anyone told you anything?”

  “Not yet, but I’m working on it. I was planning to go to Teen Path HOME but it’s closed. Is it still an active crime scene?”

  “No. We released it yesterday.”

  I wrapped the phone cord around my index finger, making teeny tiny tourniquets until the tip of my finger turned purple. “I’d like to chat with the kids. They don’t know me well, but a few of them took my classes. They might tell me more than they did Henderson.”

  Silence.

  I stopped hinting and asked the question directly. “Any idea where I can find them?”

  More silence. Nothing but the static hum of the phone line. Finally, Martinez spoke. “You’re not a police officer. I can’t encourage you to interview potential witnesses.”

  “But?” I asked, hopefully.

  “This is hypothetical, of course, but since you knew Gabriel, I wouldn’t be surprised if you attend that memorial service on Sunday. If the kids are there, no one could stop you from talking with them.”

  “Great idea. Where is it and what time?”

  “I don’t know the time, but the body’s being released to Queen Anne Memorial.”

  I leaned back in my chair and smiled. “Thank you.”

  “For what?” Martinez replied. “Like I said, I’m talking hypotheticals.” She paused. “And, Kate?”

  “Yes?”

  “If for some weird reason you see Henderson at Gabriel’s memorial, don’t tell him we had this conversation. I wouldn’t want him to get the wrong idea.”

  My smile thinned to a smirk. “Definitely not.”

  Martinez’s voice turned serious. “Kate, hypotheticals or not, you know I’m breaking protocol here, right? Please don’t make me regret it.”

  “I won’t.” I paused, curiosity warring with common sense. Curiosity won. “I appreciate your help, and believe me I’m not complaining. But why are you telling me all of this?” Martinez had always been kind to me, but until Gabriel’s death, she’d never treated me as anything other than a witness.

  “I didn’t take you seriously before, and people almost died. Twice. I won’t make that mistake again. You’ll let me know if you find the kid, right?”

  “I will. I promise.” For the first time in our tenuous friendship, I meant it.

  fourteen

  As soon as I hung up the phone with Martinez, I pulled up the website for Queen Anne Memorial. I barely recognized the man in the photo labeled Gabriel Cousins. Photograph Gabriel sported a wide but rehearsed-looking smile, a close-cropped head of curly black hair, and a midnight blue power suit. I saw no trace of the shaved-headed, kind, passionate man I’d met at Teen Path HOME.

  His obituary read more like a resume than a tribute. The first paragraph indicated that Gabriel had graduated magna cum laude from the University of Washington with a bachelor’s degree in international studies, followed two years later by a master of business administration. He had married college sweetheart Cherie Harris immediately after receiving his masters degree.

  The second paragraph listed a variety of professional positions Gabriel had held, awards he had won, and honors he’d received. The accolades ended by stating that four years after obtaining his MBA, Gabriel had become the youngest employee to be promoted to the position of reg
ional vice president at a consulting firm whose name I recognized but couldn’t place. A single sentence, almost an afterthought, mentioned that he’d spent the last several years of his life helping displaced youth. Neither Teen Path HOME nor Gabriel’s role there were mentioned.

  The final paragraph said that he was preceded in death by his parents and sister and was survived by his wife, Cherie Cousins, and in-laws, Dara and Andre Harris. A private ceremony would be held at Queen Anne Memorial at ten in the morning on Sunday, November 13.

  I frowned at the word “private,” but it didn’t deter me. My phone call with Martinez had provided no definitive answers, but it had given me a starting place, and I wasn’t about to waste it. Time to scour my closet for a black dress. On Sunday, I was going to crash a funeral.

  But that was two days away. Rainbow was still out there somewhere, alone. Maybe frightened. Maybe in danger. I tucked the Tacoma address for April Rhodes inside my purse. As soon as I finished teaching my noon All Levels Yoga class, I was going on a field trip.

  I performed the plethora of duties required of a pet owner planning to be gone for the day. I ground and incubated Bella’s organic, grain-free, medicated kibble, tossed a can of tuna cat food into Mouse’s food bowl, and filled the water dishes I’d placed in every room with fresh water. After both creatures had snarfed down their breakfasts, I took Bella on a quick walk to take care of her biological duties. She pinned me with sad brown eyes when she realized I was leaving her behind.

  “Sorry, sweetie. You can’t come with me today. My afternoon’s going to be crazy. Michael should be home no later than six, and if you’re a good girl, I’ll take you on an extra-long walk tonight.”

  Bella’s stare chastised me all the way to the door. Mouse observed my departure with feline indifference. Somehow I managed to feel guilty about both.