Riddle Me This (Detective Kate Rosetti Mystery Book 2)

by Gina LaManna

  Pressing a hand to my forehead, I calmed when I remembered that Russo had promised to sleep on the couch. He must have come up here, covered me. While I didn’t like the idea of Russo in my bedroom while I was sleeping, it was a far cry better than Wilkes.

  “Kate?” Melinda said. “Did you hear any of that?”

  “Sorry.” I rubbed my eyes, forced myself to concentrate. “I got distracted. Can you repeat some of that? Scratch it, all of that?”

  “Is everything okay?” Melinda’s voice rang with concern. “I’m very worried about you.”

  “Don’t be. Just a lot on my plate. Russo’s here,” I added. “I’m not alone.”

  That seemed to appease her enough to get back to business. “I checked in with the lab. They got results on the smudge from the envelope Wilkes left at your house.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “I’m not known for my sense of humor.”

  “What was it?”

  “Sawdust.”

  I frowned. “Sawdust?”

  “We’re still working to get a specific type of wood or lumber. It shouldn’t take much longer, though I’m not entirely sure that will point us in the right direction. There’s a chance it could be some rare wood, but that’s slim. It will likely be impossible to track.”

  “Sawdust,” I said carefully. “Which could mean that Wilkes is holed up in some sort of abandoned factory or workshop. There are plenty of those around the cities.”

  “He could even be in someone’s work shed, garage, basement.” Melinda sounded apologetic. “If the results come back that the lumber is something sold at every Menards, it will be hard to pinpoint anything of note. I’m sorry, Kate. I wish my news was more helpful.”

  “No, that’s great. It’s a good start. We’ll figure something out.”

  “I know it’s not the most helpful, but it’s all I have so far, and I figured you’d like to know.”

  “You figured right,” I said. “Thank you. Let me know if something else pops. Oh, and I’m assuming you heard about the explosion at the airport this morning?”

  She sighed. “I thought I saw your name tied into the initial reports.”

  “Will you be doing the autopsy?”

  “On what’s left of him. Tomorrow morning. Anything in particular you’d like me to look for?”

  “You’re the doctor,” I said. “And I don’t think Bellows—er, James Cordone—will tell you anything. Wilkes is smarter than that.”

  “I’m sorry, Kate.”

  “Me too,” I said. “Look, I’ve got to get moving on this sawdust lead. Maybe Asha will be able to run some sort of computer analysis to narrow things down for us.”

  “Let me know if I can help.”

  We hung up, and I made my way to the shower. A quick rinse had me feeling like a whole new woman. I added a new outfit, some tinted Chapstick, a swipe of mascara, and I was feeling like a million bucks.

  I’d slept a little longer than I’d intended. We were pushing the brunch hour, but it’d done me a world of good—even I could admit that much.

  I found Russo downstairs looking like he belonged in the kitchen. He had tied an apron around his waist and cooked up a batch of pancakes and coffee. He leaned against the counter, staring out the window above the kitchen sink with a cup of joe in hand. He didn’t appear to hear me enter the room.

  “Do I want to know where you found the pancake mix?” I asked. “And did you check the expiration date?”

  Russo turned toward me, a smile growing on his face. He untied the apron from behind his back and slung it over the sink like a towel. “Believe it or not, there are ways to make pancakes without a mix. In fact, I’d venture to say my pancakes are better than anything you can get out of a box, but I’ll let you be the judge of that.”

  He slid a plate toward me. I debated arguing, but they smelled heavenly. He’d even warmed some butter and syrup and, from somewhere, dug out a small bowl of chocolate chips for a gourmet topping.

  I loaded my plate as Russo took a seat across from me. He poured a second cup of coffee and plunked it down in front of me. I closed my eyes and inhaled. The sugary sweet maple syrup combined with the depth of the dark roasted coffee stimulated every last one of my senses and left me tingling with anticipation. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten a good, homemade meal right in my kitchen. I told Russo so.

  “Well, I’m happy to help,” he said. “How’d you sleep?”

  “Like a rock. A big, giant rock,” I said with a shy smile. “Thank you. I guess I needed it.”

  “I think that’s your way of telling me I was right. If I could get that in writing...”

  I had a retort prepared, but it disappeared by way of pancake. I forked a first bite into my mouth, then a second, and a third. By the time I realized I hadn’t spoken in five minutes, I was looking around for another serving.

  Russo laughed, grabbed the extra stack from beside the stove and placed it in the middle of the table. “Glad to see you approve.”

  “Did you eat?” I asked, then gestured sadly to the stack of pancakes. “Do you want me to share?”

  His grin widened. “I had some already. Those are all yours.”

  I tucked back into the stack before realizing that I had actual news on the case. I quickly shared the update from Melinda’s call.

  “Sawdust,” he mused. “That doesn’t narrow things down a whole lot.”

  “No, but I suppose it’s something. Maybe if they can get a read on the specific wood used...”

  “Maybe,” he agreed, though it wasn’t hopeful.

  When I finally gave up my quest to demolish the stack of pancakes, I could hardly breathe. I rested a hand on my stomach, moving only to answer my cell when it jangled with another call. This time, it was Asha. I put her on speaker.

  “Detective, Special Agent,” Asha said in greeting. “I’ve got something for you. I’m not sure if it’s relevant, but let’s just say it’s too coincidental not to share.”

  “I like coincidences,” I said. “Because I don’t believe they exist.”

  “Your text this morning triggered me to take a deeper look into Tate’s finances. But, not only his—Jennifer’s, too.”

  “Oh?”

  “Guess who had a five-thousand-dollar withdrawal a few months ago?” Asha backed up. “Not all at once. But there were four withdrawals, all just a little over a thousand dollars. Each of varying amounts, so a search wouldn’t have triggered anything specific.”

  “You think Tate had his girlfriend drawing out the money?” Russo asked. “Wouldn’t she have mentioned if Jonathan had asked her to take out money for him without reason?”

  “He could have lied,” Asha said. “Or I suppose it’s possible they were in it together. Look, I don’t dissect the mentality of people, I just look at the data points they give me and leave the rest to you. I’ve gotta keep digging—I’m going to take a closer look at Jennifer. Maybe he funneled his activities through her stuff.”

  Asha hung up, leaving me to stare at Russo’s back as he gathered the pancake dishes. He was halfway through washing them before I pushed my chair back, downed my coffee, and made my way over to the sink.

  “That seems a bit risky, don’t you think?”

  Russo squeezed the sponge. “Which part? The murder or keeping secrets from his girlfriend?”

  “Bringing Jennifer into it. If his name wasn’t on the account, he would have needed Jennifer to withdraw the money.”

  “He could have lied. People do that. Said it was for something else...”

  “True. But what possible reason could he have made up to ask her for money? He had a good job, they didn’t have a ton of expenses from what it looks like, didn’t owe anyone money. Wouldn’t she be suspicious?”

  “Maybe. Or maybe she was oblivious. Plenty of people don’t keep a close eye on their finances. Everything’s online now; an eyeball every few months does the trick for some. It’s even possible Tate found a way to withd
raw the finances without letting Jennifer know about it.”

  “Russo.” I put my hand on his arm, stopped him mid-wipe of a plate. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to make you do the dishes. Move over. I got caught up thinking about Asha’s call.”

  “You can’t stop mid-revelation. What were you about to say?”

  My sneaky attempt to elbow Russo out of the way of the kitchen sink didn’t work. He finished up the dishes while I gripped the counter, thinking through my so-called revelation to make sure the pieces fit into place before I went blurting out assumptions.

  “What if it’s her?” I said finally.

  “Her, who?”

  “Jennifer,” I said. “What if we’ve been looking at this all wrong?”

  “I don’t see how—”

  “Oh, crap.” I kneaded my forehead. “I’m sure of it, Russo. She’s been lying through her teeth since we met her.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Do you remember when we were in that room at her house where Jonathan supposedly went to work, wrote his letters to Wilkes?”

  “Where you found the note under the desk. Yeah, I remember.”

  “Well, Jennifer said she specifically stocked the drawers with stamps, pens, envelopes—everything that Jonathan might need to write and address a letter.”

  “Okay.”

  “Then we heard from Wilkes’s prison buddy that the letters he received looked like they’d been addressed in chick handwriting.”

  “I’m assuming those are his words, not yours.”

  “Then, I called Jennifer to ask her about it, and she admitted that Jonathan would sometimes leave the envelopes on the counter for her to address. She said he couldn’t find a stamp if it hit him in the face. I’m paraphrasing, but you get the idea.”

  “Okay. I’m still not convinced she was lying.”

  “True, but she directly contradicted herself,” I argued. “When we were at her place, I specifically asked about the letters. If she’d seen them, knew Wilkes’s name, the entire shebang. She explicitly said she never laid a finger on the letters, had never seen one. Why would she say that, then a few days later, suddenly remember she used to address letters to him? It’s not like it’s a bill she might’ve taken care of offhand—these were personal correspondence letters to a convict in prison. Memorable.”

  “She was in shock and mourning,” Russo pointed out. “I’m sure she wasn’t thinking straight. Not to mention, that doesn’t explain the calls from Jonathan’s phone.”

  I chewed absentmindedly on my lip. Russo busied himself refilling our coffee cups. Despite my wandering mind and racing pulse, it wasn’t lost on me that the two of us moved about the kitchen with a certain ease. It felt natural to have Russo in my home, and I wasn’t sure I was ready to deal with what that meant.

  I raised the cup to my lips, savoring the wash of hot air as it curled over the edge of the cup. When I took a sip, it hit me. I choked on the hot coffee and set the mug down, calming my coughing fit as Russo gave me a hearty smack on the back.

  “Bellows!”

  Russo waited. “What about him?”

  “That’s the link,” I said. “Let’s pretend Jennifer was the mastermind behind everything. She began a friendship with Wilkes through her letters to him in prison. She wanted to help him escape.”

  “Go on.”

  “Think about it. Why would Bellows go all the way to Wisconsin just to chat with Jonathan Tate? That makes no sense. What if he was going to visit Jennifer?”

  “You mean, Jennifer was wooing Cordone? Romantically?”

  “Maybe they had an affair, maybe it was just business at this point and Bellows was hoping for more,” I said. “Bellows was Jennifer’s pawn this whole time—not Wilkes’s. Or some combination. Wilkes could have charmed Jennifer and roped her into doing him favors... looping in Bellows to help with the escape.”

  “I’m trying to keep an open mind.”

  “That would explain Cordone’s flights,” I said. “He was going up there to see Jennifer. The phone calls from Jonathan’s phone are easy to explain—they were Jennifer’s calls. She was just covering her tracks.”

  “On her fiancé’s phone?”

  “Maybe he’d gotten suspicious, either of the letters or of an affair—something. Keep in mind, Jennifer would have had to meet Bellows on more than one occasion. Where would Tate check first if he suspected his fiancé wasn’t being honest? Her phone. He wouldn’t have checked his own phone.”

  “That’s gutsy.”

  “This whole thing is gutsy,” I said. “What’s more... there might be more calls that we’re missing. She might’ve gotten her own burner phone on the side.”

  “She might’ve even just used Jonathan’s to set us on the wrong track,” Russo added. “We’ve been looking at him this whole time.”

  “Follow the money,” I muttered under my breath. “I can’t believe I didn’t check her out sooner.”

  “Kate—”

  “I admit my idea is a stretch,” I said quickly. “But I also know Wilkes... and we can’t assume anything when he’s involved.”

  Russo went frozen. His hand came up, rested under his chin. “If we pretend that’s all true, what if she did it? What if she killed Jonathan?”

  “Jennifer?”

  Russo scratched at his chin. “It would explain some things that aren’t adding up. Why would Wilkes go straight to LaCrosse in the first place? Sure, he’d eventually want to tie up loose ends. But what if that wasn’t him at all, and it was Jennifer?”

  “But all the signs on the autopsy pointed to Wilkes...”

  “If she studied his work, she could do it,” Russo said grimly. “Maybe this whole thing is about Jennifer wanting to copycat Wilkes.”

  “Maybe she fell in love with him. Or his work,” I said. “Maybe she wanted to work together.”

  “We don’t know for sure Wilkes killed Jonathan; Melinda didn’t perform the actual autopsy,” Russo said. “She just talked to the ME who did and glanced through a few reports. If there were subtle differences, she wouldn’t have caught them. Frankly, the timing of Tate’s death along with the missing teeth were enough to convince most of us The Dentist was back even without a microscope.”

  I dug my toe into the edge of the table leg. “Even me.”

  “It made the most sense out of anything. Maybe it still does.”

  “The calling card,” I said softly. “We thought it was odd he hadn’t left a card, but I thought it was him just morphing his process. But that detail was never included in the news reports. Jennifer might not have known about it, and Wilkes might not have told her.”

  “There was no card at the Parcel murder, either.”

  “Either Wilkes was playing off her,” I suggested, “or that was her, too.”

  “Which do you think?”

  “I don’t know anymore,” I confessed. “But I imagine Wilkes would have been furious at Jennifer after she killed Tate. Especially if she did it of her own accord. Without his blessing.”

  “Unless they’re working together.”

  “No,” I said firmly. “Wilkes works alone.”

  “We thought so,” Russo said. “I think it’s time we consider that might not be true.”

  “I guess it’s a possibility,” I hedged. “Though I find it hard to believe.”

  “Either way, you’re still in danger. I think we need to assume that Jennifer’s coming after you, too.”

  “Those letters were from Wilkes.”

  “They’re being tested,” Russo said. “We don’t know that for sure. If Jennifer wrote to him in prison, she might have studied his writing enough to replicate it reasonably well.”

  I closed my eyes, pressed my fingers to my forehead. I thought of the other night, the roses, the chocolates. I hadn’t told Russo about the incident. I’d just assumed it was Wilkes. He’d been in my dreams, leering at me. But what if it hadn’t been him at all? What if Jennifer had joined in his sick little cat
and mouse game?

  “What does all of this mean?” I murmured. “Where do we go from here?”

  “We’ve got to start over. Get a team out to Jennifer’s, track her phone. Make sure we’re not off on a wild goose chase.”

  “And if that confirms Jennifer’s in the wind?”

  Russo gritted his teeth. “We pray that Asha turns up tracking on Jennifer’s phone or that Dr. Brooks gets a hit on those sawdust shavings.”

  “Better idea,” I said dully. “Why don’t we cross our fingers and hope Wilkes and Jennifer come to a faceoff and kill each other?”

  Russo raised his hands and crossed his fingers. “A guy can dream.”

  Chapter 21

  “I swear, I’ll be fine,” I said, standing in my entryway. “You’ve got your goons on me.”

  “Goons,” Russo repeated.

  “You know, that huge black van out there.” I nodded over Russo’s shoulder and practically shoved him out the front door. “I’m not going anywhere. Your watchdogs will tell you if I do.”

  “You never run out of nicknames.”

  “It’s a talent.”

  Russo spun around on the front steps. “You’ll call me with any updates?”

  “I promised you.”

  “I’ll be back in an hour.” Russo moved down my front steps. “If you’re not here when I get back...”

  “We have no leads. Asha’s looking into Jennifer’s movements. The local team in LaCrosse is scouring Jennifer’s house, but there’s no sign of her—surprise, surprise. Her phone wasn’t in the house and cell service has been turned off since we last talked. I’ve even less hope of finding her than I do of finding Wilkes.”

  “I’m more concerned about them finding you.”

  “Even if they do, you’ve got—”

  “—watchdogs outside. Yeah, I get it. Sit tight. I’ll see you soon.”

  Russo left, climbing into his rental. Meanwhile his federal buddies watched, looking bored. I locked the door behind him and tucked myself on the couch.

  Contrary to Russo’s skepticism, I didn’t have any intentions of leaving my house until he returned. I’d promised that we’d wrap this case together, and I owed that much to him. We were close; I could feel it. The familiar pounding in my ears, the pulse of adrenaline, the rush of blood. Something would break soon. I knew it in my bones.