My Sister, Myself

by Alice Sharpe

  “Where does he work?”

  “He drives a truck for a gravel company. Right now they’re taking stuff down the coast. He said he’s quitting after today. Said he’s about to come into a big hunk of money. Maybe you’re the messenger, right?”

  “Maybe,” Ryan said.

  “Jimmy has come into money before and he pisses it away. Buys himself fancy cars and—well, just don’t tell him I told you. He’d be furious with me.”

  “Furious that you’re helping him get the money owed him?” he said, watching her eyes for some sign he was being misled. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “He’s touchy lately. Anyway, he’s living in a small house at the rear of a bigger house on English Street. I don’t remember the address, but the big house is empty and painted the most awful mustard color. Go through the alley in back. But don’t tell Jim I sent you.”

  “Not a word,” Ryan said. “What does he drive?”

  “A black SUV. He parks it next to his place.”

  Ryan smiled to himself as he drove away. It looked as though Katie, by requesting those names, and Tess, by intuitively grasping their significance, had broken open the case. He could see it unpeeling like an onion. He could hardly wait to tell Donovan about it someday.

  None of this would salvage Matt Fields’s reputation, though. Ryan wished there was a way to save Tess from knowing the whole truth, but he knew there wasn’t. He’d just have to be there to pick up the pieces.

  If she’d let him.

  Chapter Nine

  Tess did the first thing that came to mind. She stepped down hard on her supposedly injured leg and crumpled to the floor, crying out in pain, holding her leg, groaning in agony while furtively replacing her glasses.

  The wary look on Nelson’s face dissolved in the face of her apparent injury. He knelt down beside her, gripping her arm. “Are you all right? What were you doing without your crutches? Shall I call an ambulance?”

  “No, no ambulance,” she said, trying to look pitiful. Not so hard, not really.

  He helped her to a standing position just as Irene rushed into the room. The older woman took in the scene and hurried to Tess’s side. “What happened?”

  “I thought I could walk without my crutches,” Tess mumbled. “I…I came in here to leave Nelson a note. When I was done, I wondered if I was better, if I could walk without the crutches, but I can’t. I stumbled right as Nelson came into the room.”

  She couldn’t tell how much of this story Irene believed. Her concern was that Nelson believe her.

  His brow wrinkled. “I thought for a moment—”

  “You thought what?” Irene said.

  “I’m sorry, Caroline. You looked guilty about something. I thought you were snooping.”

  “The minute I saw you I realized what a fool I was being,” Tess said. She took the crutches Nelson handed her. “Okay, that’s better. I’m fine. Really, both of you, I’m fine.”

  “Madeline thought you were gone for the day,” Irene said to Nelson.

  “I came back for my appointment book,” he said. He took his keys from a pocket and unlocked the top desk drawer, retrieved his book and relocked the drawer. Then his eyes landed on the mail and the small box on top of the mail. He picked it up and turned it over. Without looking at either woman, he retrieved his letter opener and sliced through the tape.

  Tess could barely believe her luck. Nelson was going to unwrap that box right in front of her! She watched as the paper fell to the desk top and he opened the lid. His expression went from curious to livid as he dropped the box and two charcoal briquettes tumbled onto the wood.

  “Where did this come from?” he snapped, staring right at Tess. She flinched.

  “Your maid delivered your mail,” Irene said. “Ask her.”

  “Believe me, I will,” he said. But Tess got the impression he knew exactly where those charcoal briquettes had come from and why and, furthermore, that he thought she’d had a hand in sending them. Before leaving the back of the desk, Nelson bent down to close the bottom file drawer and once again his angry gaze swept over Tess. She looked away at once, but not before she’d spied the cold assessment in his eyes, the thin line of his mouth.

  “My cousin will be here any moment,” she said. “I have to go.”

  “I’ll get your bag,” Irene said as Tess clumsily used her crutches to leave the den.

  “I’ll get it,” Nelson said.

  “It’s in the music room.”

  As soon as Nelson left, Irene whispered, “Are you really okay?”

  “I’m fine,” Tess said as they entered the foyer. Her voice was shaking, her knees felt wobbly. “My cousin will be here soon. You don’t mind if I leave early—”

  “Of course not. Frankly, I’m relieved you’re getting out of here,” she said, helping Tess with her coat. “Who would send Nelson such a weird thing? It worries me to have you here when you’re so vulnerable. I wonder what’s taking Nelson so long?”

  “Here we go,” Nelson said, handing Tess her bag, his fingers lingering when their hands touched. Now it was Tess’s turn to look suspiciously at Nelson. Had she left the top of her purse unzipped or had he been snooping?

  Katie’s real ID was in the inside pocket.

  “I’m sorry I snapped at you,” he said. “The maid said the package came with the rest of the mail.”

  “Of course it did,” Irene said. “Who sent it, Nelson?”

  “There was no return address—”

  “But you know who sent it,” she persisted.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I know who sent it.” He looked directly at Tess who made herself meet his gaze. “Maybe we could have dinner tonight,” he added.

  She wanted to laugh. Have dinner? Who could eat with those cold eyes staring…she could. She said, “Sure.”

  “I’ll pick you up—”

  “No, no, I’ll meet you at your office,” she said, thinking about the trophy. If she could just get her hands on it. Maybe it hid…well, something! A key to a file…something.

  “Fine. I have late meetings. Around eight?”

  As Tess nodded, she met Irene’s gaze. The woman looked worried. Tess longed to reassure her, hating the feeling that she was adding to Irene’s burdens.

  But she couldn’t. Not yet. For now she had to escape this house. Madeline’s sudden arrival at the front door, a subdued but recovering Muffy in her lap, gave Tess an opportunity to slip outside in time to see the driver move the hydraulically equipped van around the corner toward the vast garages.

  She couldn’t help but notice the van was light gray.

  “THERE’S A VAN at that house,” Tess said excitedly a few minutes later. Ryan had arrived right on time. It had taken a great deal of willpower on her part not to throw her arms around his neck, but anyone could be watching from the windows so she’d kept a respectable distance.

  “How could the police miss the fact Nelson Lingford owns a van?” she added.

  “Because Nelson Lingford doesn’t own a van,” Ryan said, leaving the Lingford estate behind them. “Madeline Lingford owns it. And it’s gray. Besides, do you honestly picture Mrs. Lingford mowing down Katie?”

  “Ah, but remember, Madeline doesn’t drive the van, Nelson’s driver does. If Nelson wanted Katie mowed down, he’d just give his driver a bonus to do it for him.”

  “When did you get this cynical?” Ryan asked, his brow furrowed as he glanced at her. “Nelson’s driver got investigated just like everyone else. He’s a fifty-two-year-old Sunday school teacher. He volunteers at a soup kitchen. He’s not the kind to run down an innocent girl just because his boss says run her down.”

  But Tess couldn’t let it go. “What happened that particular day that made it imperative Katie be silenced? I’ll tell you what. She met with Nelson. She wanted to know about the insurance investigation and Nelson’s whereabouts and she took that photo of his trophy—”

  “He probably asked her to take it. To show off for a pretty girl.�
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  “Maybe,” Tess said, deciding on the spot not to mention her dinner date. Who knew what the next few hours would reveal? After they looked through Katie’s locker—if they found it—almost anything could happen. “But Nelson could have been driving the van for some reason. All we have to do is check out the front bumper.”

  “The problem,” Ryan said, interrupting, “is that since we’re flying under police radar, we can’t send a team out here to process the van. But I will call around and see if it spent any time in a body shop this week.”

  “And that could prove Katie’s accident wasn’t an accident. But first we have to find Katie’s storage garage. Oh, wait, I had another thought. What about her car? Maybe she put something in the trunk.”

  “I checked her car. Nothing there. And you’re forgetting something. Katie also went to Irene Woodall’s house for a birthday party that day. Maybe Irene is behind all this.”

  “What would Irene have to gain? As far as I can see, she lost access to an art collection she loved.”

  “Maybe she decided if she couldn’t have it, no one could.”

  “Okay. But where would she get all that money to pay an arsonist?”

  “That’s a problem. She got checked out like everyone else after the fire. Her daughter is taken care of by money she came into once her father died. Irene lives modestly over her shop, employs only one assistant—”

  “Two. There’s Georges and someone else helping out while Irene babysits Madeline’s project. Why does she feel so protective of Katie?”

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  “Is there a way Irene could have tapped into the money her husband left for Tabitha? If she’s crazy enough to want to destroy the art, maybe she wouldn’t worry about how much money Tabitha had left.”

  “I’ll check into it tomorrow,” he said.

  Tess’s thoughts tumbled over one another. “Someone sent Nelson a box with two charcoal briquettes in it. No note that I could see, but he admitted he knew who they were from though he wouldn’t say. Interesting, huh? And I also got to thinking about Muffy, Madeline’s dog. It appears Nelson poisoned the dog and delayed treatment. What if he’s planning on killing Madeline to get at the few remaining paintings?”

  “She made a will after the fire,” he said. “She left the fire-damaged art to the museum. The curator is happy to take what she can get. I think Nelson is just clueless when it comes to the dog. Not that he isn’t guilty as hell about everything else.”

  “Wait,” Tess said, holding up a finger. “I have another idea. What if someone is blackmailing Nelson and that’s why they sent him the briquettes? It’s like a threat, you see? If he doesn’t pay up, his house will be charcoal or evidence will appear that proves he was responsible for his stepmother’s fire.”

  Ryan stared at her for a second and smiled. “Not bad, Sherlock.”

  “So who would do that?”

  “We’ll get all the suspects to line up single file. It could be almost anyone.”

  Another idea surfaced. “What if Madeline herself is behind all this?”

  “Behind all what?”

  “The fire, the attacks. Nelson will eventually get the money, but Madeline will get it first. And Madeline is stronger than anyone thinks plus she really is dedicated to Nelson. He’s her only family.”

  “Then why donate the art?” Ryan said. “Besides, why in the world would she destroy her own home?”

  “Okay, so she didn’t start the fire, she just suspects Nelson did and is covering for him.”

  “Well, for now, I have a lead on Jim Kinsey, Madeline’s former driver. We need to head there before his girlfriend starts regretting her loose lips and decides to warn him someone was asking around.” He looked uneasy. Was he nervous about taking her along on a mission he thought would be dangerous?

  “I’m a big girl,” she said. “And trust me, as long as you’re there, I can handle meeting my attacker again. If I can handle that Nelson believes I rifled through his office—”

  This earned her a quick glance as Ryan pulled to a stop behind a big beer delivery truck. “You were in his office?”

  “I was looking for incriminating evidence, something that linked him to his stepmother’s fire. It bothers me that he moved a woman he obviously doesn’t like much into his house after that fire, fired her driver, maybe tried to kill the dog who saved her life—anyway, next time I’ll get into his computer.”

  “Don’t tell me any of this,” he said, all but covering his ears. “You can’t go breaking into people’s desks and rifling through their computers. It’s illegal.”

  “He didn’t catch me,” she said, not adding the “at least I don’t think he did” that immediately followed that thought.

  “It’s still illegal.”

  She nodded absently.

  Tess was the first to spot the mustard-colored house on English Street, and the informant was right, it did look empty. The grass needed mowing, the drapes were closed, there were no cars in the driveway. A fence at the front of the property meant they couldn’t see the back from the street. Before they attracted the unwanted attention of an older couple walking hand in hand down the sidewalk, Ryan drove around the corner and took a right into the alley.

  The smaller house sat almost flush with the alley road. There was a pad of cement next to the tiny structure. No car was parked on the cement.

  “This doesn’t look like the place a guy with fifty thousand dollars would choose to live,” Tess said.

  “It does if he put most of it into clothes, women and cars,” Ryan said. “Fifty grand isn’t that much money, not when you’re into grandstanding. Anyway, we’ll come back later when he gets off work. Maybe by then we’ll have more information. The first storage garage isn’t far.”

  “Can’t we just stop and look in the window or accidentally break a lock—”

  “Stop,” Ryan said, driving by without pausing as though he thought someone might be watching. “I don’t know why you’ve suddenly become a B and E expert but you have to knock it off.”

  She laughed. As he took a left out of the alley, he spared her a smile. “What’s with you today?”

  “I think I’m too scared to be scared.”

  “Maybe it’s just the love of a good man,” he said.

  She glanced out her window. Had he said the word love? After a couple of days and some remarkable sex, he was talking love? That was crazy. He knew that, right?

  “Are you hungry?”

  “Just anxious about the garage,” she said, deciding he’d been joking and she was getting way too touchy. “If the key has a number stamped on it, why can’t we just go find the proper unit and see if the key fits?

  Ryan had pulled up at the curb in front of a place called Ace Ministorage. Pointing at the gate located between the office and the units, he said, “You’re going to have to come up with some story of forgetting their entrance code before we can even try to find the correct locker. Unless you want me to pull my policeman act, and then we run the risk of involving the department—”

  “Just stop the car. No troops, not yet.”

  As they were both sure Katie would have used her own identity, as opposed to that of Caroline Mays, to rent a storage unit, Tess carried Katie’s driver’s license.

  The young woman behind the desk was reading a mystery novel, eating potato chips out of a small bag and guzzling soda out of a can as Tess stood in front of the desk. When the girl finally looked up, it was with the impatient expression of someone who clearly resented being interrupted.

  “What do you need?”

  “I can’t remember the code to get through the gate. I want to get something out of my garage.”

  “What’s your name?” the girl said, turning down a corner of her book and setting it aside.

  “Katie Fields.”

  The girl popped a chip into her mouth as she scrolled down the computer screen. “Let me see your driver’s license,” she said.

  T
ess handed it over. The girl checked the spelling and handed it back to Tess. “I don’t have you listed.”

  “Maybe you have my, uh, sister’s name. I mean, maybe she gave you her name when she rented the garage for me—”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Caroline Mays.”

  The girl rechecked her screen. “Nope. Besides, you’re not supposed to do that. Insurance, you know. You have to hand over your ID and then you can name people authorized to visit your unit but—hey, how could you forget which one of you rented storage?”

  “I’ve been in an accident,” Tess said.

  “Oh. Yeah. Listen,” she added, spying the key Tess held in her hand. “Customers use their own locks here. It’s really hard to control things if you issue keys. People take the keys when they leave or duplicate them—you’re always having to change the locks. Only place I know who still does it like that is Stanley’s Storage over on Hawthorne. I don’t think he cares if people steal things out of old lockers. Oh, wait, there’s another place, a new place called—oh, something with an X. Axel or Excel. Something like that. Man, it must have been a bad accident if you can’t even remember where you rented a unit.”

  “Pretty bad,” Tess said, hobbling toward the door. “Thanks for your time.”

  The girl waved Tess away with her book.

  “Next we try something called Excel or Axel—” Tess told Ryan as she threw her crutches into the back seat.

  “X-Cell,” Ryan interrupted. “I saw it in the phone book. It’s a few blocks over, toward the river.”

  “After that there’s a place called Stanley’s on Hawthorne.”

  “Never heard of it.”

  X-Cell was set up like a single-story apartment complex with paved roads between the strings of units, numbered all the way up to two hundred. There was no gate admittance at this faculty, but there was a front office, which Ryan drove past with the authority with which Tess noticed he did just about everything. They found the right row and drove toward the end, stopping when 119 came into sight.