by Ellen Hart
Eli already had a spoon and a lighter. The only piece of the puzzle he was missing was the heroin. He could get that anywhere, anytime. Was he really going to do it? Looking at Charlotte, he felt less certain than he had before. If he went through with it, he assumed it would come down to an emotional decision in the middle of the night, probably after he’d had too much to drink. But since he wasn’t drinking, maybe it was something he could continue to fight off.
“I don’t want that kind of life ever again,” he told Charlotte. What he might want, however, was a quick death. He remembered Woody Allen once saying that he wasn’t afraid of dying, he just didn’t want to be around when it happened.
“If I ever did decide … I’d find you a good home before I … you know,” he said, his finger scratching the side of Charlotte’s head.
She stood up, arched her back, stretched her front paws, and then came over and rubbed her head against his chest. Eli had been looking stuff up on cat behavior on the internet. The more he read, the more he realized that cats were nothing like dogs.
Scraping the partial rig back into the sack, he hid it under the sink next to his revolver and then got up and grabbed his coat. Sundays had become empty days for him. Less so now that Charlotte was here, but still, his loneliness never seemed to go away.
In the last three months, except for his work at the gallery, he’d become a recluse. Things he used to be interested in no longer seemed to matter. Except for Kit. Sometimes he felt like she was the only thing tethering him to the earth. His love for Kit had kept him alive. For months now, heroin and Kit were all he thought about. He wondered sometimes if they were the same thing.
Eli waded through the previous night’s three-inch snowfall to the main house. The morning had dawned sunny and cold. After brushing off his jeans and kicking the snow from his boots, he entered the back door. “Hello?” he called. “Anybody home?”
He found Kit in his dad’s den, working at the desktop computer.
“I’m studying,” she said as he came into the room.
“Can’t you take a break?”
“No.” She kept her eyes on the screen.
“Where’s Dad?”
“No idea.”
Eli curled himself into an overstuffed chair. “Have dinner with me tonight.”
“Can’t.”
“Sure you can.”
“I’m meeting Peter.”
His jaw tightened. “You two getting it on?”
“Of course not,” she snapped, shooting him an angry look. “Grow the hell up. He’s a friend.”
“Uh huh.”
“He’s also our only conduit to what’s happening in the Wise investigation. Would you rather not know?”
He studied his hands.
“Thought so.”
“Oh, bite me,” he said, angry that she’d found a reasonable excuse for her behavior.
The comment prompted a smile. “You really want me to?”
“More than you know.”
She leaned back and scrutinized him. “I’m a married woman, Eli.”
“So I keep hearing.”
“You push too hard.”
“You’re a married woman, and I’m a desperate man.”
“Are you? I probably shouldn’t say this, but I’m not a terribly happily married woman.”
“Leave him. Come back to me.” It was an awful thing to say, and yet he didn’t care. His dad had crossed a line. Now he was crossing one, too. Then, afraid that Kit might order him to leave, he said the first thing to come into his head. “You said Dad had a secret.”
“Did I?” She wheeled her chair out from behind the desk. “Don’t we all?”
“I suppose. But you keep dangling it in front of me like you want to tell me what it is.”
Stretching her arms above her head, she said, “Look, baby, your father has lots of secrets. I will say, one of them is totally driving me insane.”
He waited, assuming it was best not to press for details.
“I think he’s seeing someone behind my back.”
Eli couldn’t help himself. He burst out laughing. “So?”
“He promised me before we got married that he’d always be faithful.”
“Oh, please. You haven’t been exactly faithful yourself. Seems I remember a bubble bath a few days ago—”
She glared. “I knew you’d bring that up. You have my permission to shove off, genius. I’ve got work to do.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No you’re not.”
“Tell me why you think he’s cheating.”
“Because he’s been staying overnight at the gallery a lot lately.”
Long ago, Eli’s father had fixed up one of the small second-floor offices with bunk beds, a TV, and a mini fridge, for nights when someone needed to work late or didn’t want to fight the winter weather.
“Maybe he doesn’t like making the long drive home late at night.”
“Nope.”
“You have proof of an affair?”
She lowered her voice. “A couple of weeks ago, he called me and said he was bunking at the gallery. I don’t remember the excuse he gave. It doesn’t matter. I decided to see if he was lying, so I drove back up to Minneapolis and checked behind the gallery to see if his car was in the lot. It wasn’t.”
“Maybe he went out for something to eat.”
“At two in the morning?”
Okay. She had a point. “Track him.”
“What?”
“There are lots of ways to do it. You could put a GPS tracker on his car.”
That got her attention.
“I’ll install one for you and show you how to monitor him. You can do it from your cell phone. It’s not hard. I guarantee you’ll know where he is every minute of the day.”
The glint in her eye told him she was hooked. “Is it expensive?”
“Consider it a gift.”
“Thank you, Eli.” Her voice softened. “You’re still my sweet baby, aren’t you?”
He liked the sound of that.
“When could we do it?”
The fact that he already owned one made his answer easy. “Come to my place after you get back from your date with Peter.”
She threw a magazine at him. “It’s not a date.”
“I’ll be up. Just knock.” He figured the offer had scored him a few points. And later tonight, he hoped to collect.
31
Peter arrived at the Lighthouse before Kit did. He ordered himself a nonalcoholic beer so he wouldn’t look out of place.
Kit came in a while later wearing all black—an off-the-shoulder dress with a sort of flouncy ruffled thing at the top and thin straps crisscrossing her neck. As she walked up to the booth, Peter saw every guy in the place watching her.
He scolded her once again for not wearing a coat.
“What’s up with you and coats?” she asked, sliding into the booth across from him. “It’s in the car. I think I can walk ten feet without risking hypothermia.”
She ordered a Tom Collins, kind of a silly drink in Peter’s opinion, but it suited her as everything she chose seemed to, the frosted glass looking long and elegant in her hand.
“So why did you want to get together again?” he asked.
“I missed you.”
“Come on.”
“You don’t believe me? We had such a great time the other night. I like you, Peter. A bit more than I should.”
Was she flirting, telling him the truth, or just playing? When it came to Kit, he could never tell. The bruise on her arm had faded a little, but it was still visible, more green and gray now than black and blue.
She saw him looking at it. “Doesn’t hurt anymore.”
“Good. That’s … good.” His thoughts went immediately to John Henry. “Where’s your husband tonight?”
“The gallery. We’ve got a new show coming up.” She sipped her drink. “I just learned that the gallery’s in financial trouble.”
&n
bsp; “Serious trouble?”
“Could be. I don’t have the details. But Eli and I could be out of a job if my darling husband can’t raise a significant amount of cash.”
His eyes widened. “That’s awful.”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“Listen, Kit. I don’t mean to change the subject, but there’s something I really need to ask you about. You know my sister’s investigating the Wise murder.”
She nodded, looking concerned.
“Well, it turns out that a tote bag from your gallery was found at the scene. You don’t know anything about it, do you?”
“No,” she said, looking puzzled.
“My sister thinks it’s possible that someone at the gallery may be responsible for Gideon’s murder.”
“Are you kidding me? Why would she think that?”
“I don’t have all the details.”
“Boy,” said Kit, crossing her arms, “I know she’s your sister, but that sure sounds like a leap in the dark to me.”
“Apparently Eli installed some artwork at the condo a few weeks before Gideon’s murder. He was given the key code to get into the unit because Gideon and Rashad were at work, which means he had access—and continued to have access. Gideon never changed the code. The condo showed no signs of breaking and entering. Think about it, Kit. There are way too many coincidences here. Gideon’s schedule wasn’t a problem because he was never home until after seven at night, but Rashad’s was. The solution? Ask a credulous friend to invite Rashad out for a drink and then dinner.”
Kit didn’t even try to hide her shock. “You’re saying it was Eli? No way, Peter. That never happened. He never even talked to Gideon that night. Remember, Gideon blew him off.”
“That was Eli’s story.”
“It was.”
“Maybe he lied.”
Her eyes fastened on him. “You’re not hearing me. I saw with my own two eyes how frustrated he was when he got home. I know he felt humiliated. If he’d just murdered a man, do you think he could hide it? Eli? Remember, I was the one who forced him to go back and try again. You asked if he had any blood on his clothes when he came back the second time. The answer is no, Peter. Don’t you think I’d remember something like that? It wasn’t there.”
Peter’s mind hurt. He didn’t know what to believe.
Kit continued. “I’d say that Gideon never answered any of Eli’s calls that night because he was already dead.”
“I … suppose that’s possible.”
“Not just possible, likely.”
“Are you saying you don’t believe Eli is capable of murder?”
This time, she hesitated. “Who can say what another person is capable of.”
It wasn’t an answer. “Did you know his girlfriend, Harper Tillman?”
She seemed a bit thrown by the change in subject. “Yeah.”
“Did they seem happy?”
“I guess.”
“There weren’t any major problems?”
“Not that I knew about. How come you’re so interested in Harper?”
“Eli thinks she was the victim of a serial killer. He even has a theory about another killing up near Duluth, that they were connected. It was a woman. Did he tell you about that?”
“No,” she said, looking bewildered.
“The police found the woman’s killer. He was an ex-boyfriend.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Well, that doesn’t surprise me. Ex-boyfriends are the gifts that keep on giving.”
“Did you know the police thought Eli had done it? Murdered Harper?”
“This is just crazy, Peter. Who told you that?”
“He had a set of kitchen knives. One was missing. The police believe it was the same knife used to murder Harper.”
She didn’t move.
“I asked my sister to do a little digging into the murder.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” she said, drawing her cell phone out of her purse and clicking it on. “It’s my dad. I have to take it.”
Peter felt like he’d been stuffed into a washing machine set to the spin cycle. He took a couple of swallows of his fake beer and tried to catch his breath. Everything he’d said to Kit about Harper seemed to come as a complete shock to her.
“Hey, Daddy, thanks for calling back.” She listened. “No, that’s cool. Where are you?” She lowered her eyes. “Uh huh. But you said—” She pressed her lips together. “Okay.” She listened again, longer this time. “No, I get it. I do. Next time, yeah.” She looked up at Peter. “Me? I’m good. I’m having dinner with a very handsome man. And no, he’s not my husband.” She laughed, pulling her drink closer. “I will. I love you, too. Bye.” Clicking off the phone, she returned it to her purse. “Just nice to hear his voice, you know? I thought he might be coming here, but I guess not.”
A waiter came up and asked if they wanted another drink.
“I think we’re good,” said Peter.
“I need french fries,” said Kit, smiling up at the guy. “A double order. And lots of ketchup. We’ll share.”
“Of course,” said the waiter.
As he walked away, Peter said, “Can I ask one more question about Gideon’s murder and then we can change the subject?”
“Okay, I guess.”
“What about John Henry?”
“What about him?”
“Do you think he could be the one who was in the condo that night?”
She shook her head, looked exasperated. “Okay, I grant you, he may be creepy as hell, but he’s not a murderer. He’s way too old.”
Not exactly a glowing testimonial. “What do you mean by ‘creepy’?”
“Look, did it ever occur to you that your sister’s barking up the wrong tree? She’s not infallible, you know. The police must have investigated all this. They indicted Rashad. I’d trust their conclusions before I’d trust hers.”
For the first time Peter had the sense that she was protesting too much.
“Come on. New topic: Tell me how things are going with your wife.”
It was his turn to grimace.
“That bad?”
He wanted to dig deeper into Eli. Every instinct he had told him his troubled old friend was responsible for two murders. But he’d made a promise. “I’m not talking about my marriage.”
“Fair enough.” She reached for his hand. “Let’s regroup, okay? How about this: I want to know all about the UK, what it’s like to live there. What your apartment is like. Come to think of it, maybe you should take me with you when you go back.” She laughed. Giving his hand a playful tug, she added, “I’ve always wanted to travel. Wouldn’t that be a hoot if we went together?”
“What about John Henry?”
“To hell with John Henry. He can stay home and watch PBS. Or do some of his other, shall we say, less-savory activities.”
Once again, Peter didn’t know what to make of her. Was she really asking to fly back with him? Taking her to London was hardly an option, though he did like the sound of it—walking into the apartment he shared with Sigrid with Kit on his arm. The look on Sigrid’s face might be well worth the price of the ticket.
32
Waiting for Cordelia and Hattie to join her for dinner at the restaurant that night, Jane walked into the pub and found Ted Rucker, Peter’s old friend, sitting at the bar, nursing a beer. Stepping up next to him, she said, “Hey, Ted, good to see you.”
He turned and smiled. He was a stocky man with a decidedly uncool mullet and a horseshoe mustache. “You, too. I wanted one of your famous pub burgers, but—” He patted his stomach. “—my girlfriend tells me I’m getting fat.”
“I hear congratulations are in order. Your new job?”
“Oh, yeah, right. You must have talked to Peter. I’m pretty stoked about it. Pays really well, and I like the work.”
“Let me ask you a question,” she said, pulling out a stool. “Do you happen to know Eli Chenoweth or Kit Lipton?”
He seemed a bit thrown by t
he question. “Sure. Both of them.”
“I don’t suppose you’d have a minute to talk?”
Still looking puzzled, he said, “Okay.”
“I’m just trying to get some background on them. I was hoping you could help.”
“For an investigation? This P.I. stuff you do?”
“Something like that.”
“Well, I mean, I’m not sure what I can tell you. I haven’t seen either of them in years.”
“How did you meet Eli?”
“Through Peter. And then later we joined the same bowling team.” He held up his hand. “I know, I know. He doesn’t seem like the bowling type, but once he had a few beers in him and relaxed, it was all good.”
“What did you think of him?”
“Eli?” He shrugged. “I’ll grant he’s kind of odd, but underneath, I think he’s a decent guy.”
“You knew about his drug addiction?”
“Hard to miss it. I hear he got clean. Probably why I don’t see him anymore. He’s stopped going to bars and I haven’t. I will say, he was always trying to hit up friends for ‘a loan,’ as he called it. I assumed it was to pay for drugs. Got kind of old, you know? I never had anything to give him. There were times when he really seemed desperate. I mean, I would have felt sorry for the guy if he hadn’t been so annoying, so pushy.”
If Eli needed money that badly back before he got clean, maybe burglarizing Gideon and Rashad’s condo had seemed like a good idea. It would certainly have been a compelling motive.
“What about Kit?”
He smiled at the mention of her name. “I dated her for a few months. In fact, I was the one who told her about the job opening at the gallery.”
“What was she like?”
“Crazy. Fun. Unpredictable. I will say she had a rather fast and loose relationship with the truth sometimes. I figured it was always best not to take what she said too literally. Even so, I could have fallen hard for her. But then she started dating Eli, and that was the end of me.”
“Did she do drugs with him?”
“I don’t know for sure, but I doubt it. She was never very interested in drugs. She liked cocktails. I never saw her drink more than three over the course of an evening. Hated wine. She had sort of blue collar tastes, but she had aspirations. And, if you don’t mind my saying so, she was hot and knew it. She wasn’t above using that. But—” He looked down at his glass.
