The Claudia Hershey Mysteries - Box Set: Three Claudia Hershey Mysteries

by Laura Belgrave

  “You got it. The cat food was a consistent purchase, but occasionally he bought other things too—weird things, random things—stuff like toothpicks, string, shoe polish.” He shrugged. “Just . . . stuff.”

  Probably items the old man used to work on his train displays, Claudia thought. “What about the can opener?”

  “They sell can openers identical to the one you found, but the lab didn’t pick up his prints on it.”

  “Well, it would be nice to have Becker’s prints on that too, but we can probably get by without them. We still have the cans.”

  “And I haven’t even told you the best part yet.”

  “But you’re going to, right? And in my lifetime?”

  “Remember the stolen El Dorado that wound up in Daytona Beach? Two dimwits ran it into a stop sign, got busted, then whined they bought it from another guy and thought it was legit?”

  “Vaguely.”

  “Turns out these guys were telling the truth, at least a little. When Daytona processed the car they picked up some interesting prints, which—”

  “Let me guess. Rivens?”

  Carella gave the flag a little wave. “Hey, they don’t call you ‘detective’ for nothing.”

  “Not a hard call. We already knew that before Rivens decided to dabble in murder he cashed in on stolen vehicles. And it’s Rivens we’re talking about. But I’m guessing there’s more to the story, yes?”

  “See? You elevate the concept of ‘detective’ to a whole new level.”

  Claudia feigned a punch at him, then refilled their cups while Carella told her the rest. The El Dorado thieves had done business with Rivens before. He’d bring them cars. They’d turn them over to a seedy chop shop, which had aspirations for a bigger market until the Daytona police shut them down with their newly acquired information.

  “Daytona had been looking at the shop for a while, but couldn’t quite get a handle on it, at least not one good enough to move in,” said Carella. “The El Dorado thieves, they figured they could shop a deal with the police, though. Once they started talking they didn’t care who they gave up. Daytona found all sorts of vehicles there—some just brought in, some already dismantled. It was a regular potpourri of parts.”

  Carella told her how Daytona inventoried whatever they could, how they matched parts to cars, and cars to particular thieves. Rivens’ name had meant nothing to them until news stories began to leak out of Indian Run.

  “Guess what one of the parts with Rivens’ name on it turned out to be?” said Carella. He didn’t wait for her to answer. “A BMW, or at least the skeleton of a BMW. Still had the VIN on it.”

  “I think I know what’s coming. The vehicle identification number is a match for Barbara Becker’s BMW.”

  Carella nodded, revved. “And it still gets better. Daytona called this morning, just in case it might mean anything to us. The interesting thing? The BMW apparently wound up in the shop almost a month ago. But it was never reported missing. This from a woman who just about had a stroke when her Jag took a hike yesterday. I mean, come on! No way could she not know her other car was gone. No way.”

  He slammed a palm on the counter for emphasis, accidentally flicking the flag like a tiddlywink. It danced off Claudia’s coffee cup and sailed toward the floor. Carella cursed and snatched at it, missing.

  “You move like an old lady,” Claudia said. She watched him slide off the counter stool to retrieve the flag.

  “I feel like one some days,” he said. He grinned sheepishly and set the flag back on the counter. “Think I ought to shop for a cane now? Something turbo-charged and color-coordinated to match my uniform?”

  She began to chuckle, then sobered in the next instant, her eyes fixed on Carella’s face, a thought dancing at the back of her mind.

  “What?” Carella finally said. “I got something unsightly stuck in my nose?”

  “Shhh. Wait.”

  “Wait for what? If—”

  “Shhhhhh!”

  She stared through him, the thought nagging at her, dragging Barbara Becker’s manicured face before her eyes, almost as if the woman herself had taken his seat. She thought about her for a long moment, then about Babs Kensington, and finally, the sullen-faced Rivens. It hit her, what she’d missed, how perfectly constructed everything had been, how wonderfully elaborate the simple ploy. Of course. There all along, in plain view.

  She burst out laughing. She laughed until tears ran down her cheeks. Carella laughed uncertainly, then got caught up in it, too. They couldn’t stop, not either of them. He didn’t know why and she wouldn’t tell him—not quite yet—but it was good. It was the best.

  Chapter 27

  Lots of calls to make. Lots of favors to call in, and some to ask. Claudia steeled herself for all of that and for a backward look through a case file that told more than she had thought, but not enough, still not enough. She put everyone on it—Carella and Moody on calls, Booey on the computer. They were good sports, asking what she asked them to ask and nothing more, ferreting out scraps of information that seemed out of context, but they were shooting in the dark because she didn’t tell them what she was thinking, didn’t want them asking extraneous questions or arousing suspicions. She would explain it all later, when she felt certainty overpower speculation—strong speculation, but speculation nevertheless.

  Except for the murmur of their voices on phones and the occasional chatter of dispatch, the station barely stirred. For most people, it was a day off. They were hanging last-minute flags and already staking claims at the park in anticipation of the town’s fireworks display later. Claudia didn’t blame them. For a town so small, Indian Run always got it right, putting up a spectacular and loud show that lasted a full thirty minutes. The uniformed officers would get busy soon, though, directing traffic, settling territorial disputes over barbecue grills at the pavilion, and chasing off purveyors of illegal firecrackers. She hoped Suggs wouldn’t need to send anyone else out. She needed them here.

  While they worked in the multipurpose room, she labored over notes and constructed a new timeline, throwing out the old one altogether because she didn’t want it to distract her with doubts. That could happen, it did happen. You’d get stuck in a way of seeing things, fixed on a point you thought you were moving when all you were really doing was rearranging the pieces around it. Claudia didn’t want a better mousetrap. She wanted a new one.

  Once, she put in a call to Barbara Becker to let her know that Aaron Rivens had died. He hadn’t, and she didn’t exactly say that he did, not in so many words, but she dangled the suggestion and Becker made the leap, gushing relief, coming to life, her voice shifting from frightened to confident. Claudia listened intently and she listened differently, not to Becker’s words but to her tone. It told her nothing that would go in her notes, but it helped to move the point a little more. Then she explained to Becker that the information about Rivens would not be shared with the public, not yet. Protocol demanded that his next of kin be notified first. They were working on that now. Becker understood, of course she did, and then she shared news of her own. She had put up a fifty thousand dollar reward for information leading to the arrest of Babs Kensington. Claudia already knew. It had been on the air since one, ushering in an avalanche of bogus calls that taxed even the patience of the unflappable Sergeant Peters. But she pretended otherwise because it really didn’t matter and because she knew something else, too. She knew that Barbara Becker would never pay out, no matter what.

  From time to time, Suggs paced outside her office. He poked his head in around three o’clock and growled something about “this latest business being worse than the cockfight sting.” Him, she’d told—all of it. But even then he left her alone. They all did, and by seven-thirty she had enough to put it all together and tell them, finally, why they would miss the Fourth of July fireworks.

  Chapter 28

  Carella and Moody flipped a coin to see who would catch the disturbance call that came in just as they were leaving
. Moody lost on tails. He scowled and brushed his phantom mustache with an index finger, then hurried off to a patrol car. Peters took a pass, too. The station couldn’t be left with only the night dispatcher on duty.

  “You guys have all the fun,” he groused.

  “Yeah, but you’re a sergeant. You get the big bucks,” said Carella.

  “Big job, little town, small bucks. In Miami I’d be making real money.”

  “Hah! In Miami you’d . . . .”

  Claudia tuned out their banter while she checked her revolver, then slid it into the holster. She clipped on her portable and slipped into her jacket. Robin was right, she thought idly. The sleeves were too short.

  “. . . besides, Sarge, if it gets slow tonight you can always doodle on your cast to pass the time,” said Carella, rubbing it in just a little. “You could draw some—”

  Suggs gave him a shove toward the door. “Someone oughta doodle on your head,” he said. “Now come on, already. Let’s go pick up the lovely Babs and be done with it. Booey! Hershey! Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go. Maybe we can still catch the tail end of the fireworks.”

  “She’ll be the fireworks!” said Booey. He high-fived Carella and dodged a cuff from his uncle, all of them hooting like fans psyched for a Super Bowl game.

  Claudia watched grimly, recognizing the tension beneath their horseplay. She felt the same band of steel just under her skin. They were one bluff away from closing two cases.

  They took two vehicles and headed out.

  * * *

  Because she would not be alarmed to see Claudia at a late hour, Claudia went alone to the front door. Carella crouched to the side five feet away, obscured by shadow. Suggs and Booey stayed out of sight behind a trio of dwarf palms tastefully set near the walkway. Claudia heard Booey tell his uncle to be careful; the palms’ feathery fronds concealed three-inch thorns sharp as daggers. She shushed him, then glanced around. They had coasted in on idle and without headlights. She’d pulled the Cavalier around the circular driveway, parking a short distance from the entrance way. The chief stowed his pickup on the other side of the fountain, all according to plan.

  “The house sure is dark,” Booey had whispered when they got out of their vehicles. “If I were as scared as she says she is, I would have every light in the place on.”

  “She’s not scared,” Claudia said flatly.

  “Oh, right.” He wiped his palms on his pant legs. “What if she doesn’t answer the door?”

  “She will. But she’ll make me wait.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m very sure.”

  The chief ended their conversation with a sharp tug on Booey’s arm, pulling him away to get in position. Now they were ready. As ready as they would ever be.

  Claudia took one last look behind her. She couldn’t see Booey or Suggs behind the palms. Good. She looked toward Carella and gave him a thumb’s up. He gave her one back and set his weight slightly. She heard his knee joint pop.

  Surprise, not alarm. That was the ticket.

  She inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, and leaned on the doorbell.

  * * *

  Five minutes, then eight. Almost ten when the light above the entrance way finally came on. Claudia felt eyes on her through the peephole. Another thirty seconds passed before the door itself opened. She braced herself with a smile.

  “Detective Hershey! If you’re here, it can only be with good news.”

  “Good evening,” Claudia said pleasantly. “I apologize for the late hour, but it couldn’t be helped.”

  “It’s perfectly all right. I’m sorry it took me so long to get to the door.” She tapped her cane against the foyer floor. “This foolish hip slows me considerably, I’m afraid.”

  “I’m sure it does.”

  Claudia kept her smile, but said nothing, her eyes unwavering, checking. No doubt. Not now.

  “I . . . Detective, I don’t understand. Is there something you need from me? Something I can help you with?”

  “Oh, yes. I’m sure you can. I’m here for Babs.”

  “You’re . . . here?”

  Claudia’s smile widened. She watched the woman hug her robe tighter against her. She watched her glance anxiously backward, into the gloom of the foyer.

  “You think she’s . . . here? Now?”

  “Oh, I know she is.”

  “That’s not possible! How could she have slipped past me? I’ve been—oh, no. The key. The key! I’d given her one, of course.” She shuddered. “Should I . . . do you want to search the house?”

  “I don’t think that’ll be necessary.” Claudia inclined her head. “Do you? Babs.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “You’re good. You had me fooled to the end and I don’t have Alzheimer’s.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Sure you do, Miss Kensington.”

  “I don’t know what kind of stupid-a . . . game you’re playing, but I’m going to call your superiors!”

  “Stupid-ass game? Is that what you were going to say? Because that’s exactly the sort of thing Babs would say.” Claudia shook her head. “I know you’ve had some training, but still, it must’ve been tough, going in and out of character like that.”

  “This is nonsense! And it’s outrageous!”

  “Show me your neck.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Your neck? It’s the one thing that’s really hard to camouflage, isn’t it?”

  She clutched the robe tighter.

  “See?” said Claudia. “There you go again. You can make your face look older with a ton of makeup. You can put on an expensive wig. You can walk stooped, like a little old lady. And by the way—the cane? Nice prop. Convincing. But your neck? It’s young and it’s uncooperative as hell. Bad for you. Good for Henry Becker and Wanda Farr, and probably Barbara Becker, as soon as you tell us where her body is. And Babs, that would be a really, really good idea, to tell us. This is a death penalty state. If there’s any way at all you can cop a life sentence, it would only be if you cooperated, because see, you’re under arr—”

  The cane whistled toward Claudia’s face, but she was ready. She caught it with her left hand and shoved the door all the way open with her foot, pushing Kensington against the foyer wall with her right hand. The woman’s robe fell loose, showing off a lovely neck free of wrinkles. Claudia dropped the cane and kicked it aside. Her left hand hurt like hell.

  Carella was instantly beside her, wheeling Kensington around, putting the cuffs on. “You all right, Lieutenant?” he asked.

  She heard Suggs and Booey coming up behind them. “Yeah. That’s a wicked stick she carries, but yeah.”

  “Turbo charged,” said Carella. “Gonna get me one of those babies some day.”

  She laughed and turned to Suggs. “Looks like we’ll need a patrol car for transport now. Think you can tear anyone off the road yet?”

  “Already radioed for Moody,” he said. “He’s on his way over. Nice job, Hershey.”

  Booey glared at Kensington. “You think you’re smart, but you’re not. All you are is evil and you—”

  “All right, Booey,” Claudia said gently.

  “There’s a word for her,” he said.

  “I know.”

  Kensington strained toward Booey. “There’s a word for you too, you stupid little boy.” She snorted. “There’s a word for all of you. It’s called ‘multimillion-dollar lawsuit’.”

  “That’s more than one word,” Booey shot back.

  “I want a lawyer.”

  “Of course you do,” said Claudia. “There’s that nice fella over in Flagg. What’s his name? Robert Montgomery? Oh, you know . . . the one who prepared the codicil for you? But don’t you—”

  Kensington kicked at her, clipping the top of her shoe. Carella pushed her back against the wall.

  “Now that wasn’t nice,” Claudia said smoothly. She glanced at her shoe. “Look, you’ve left a scuff mark, and I was only tr
ying to be helpful.”

  “Bitch.”

  “Again, not nice.”

  “I want a lawyer NOW.”

  “And you shall have one.” She pulled her cell phone from a jacket pocket. “Got the number off the top? No? Well, don’t worry. We’ve got a phone book at the station. Meanwhile, don’t you want to know what-all we’re arresting you for? We’ve got a list as long as my arm, beginning with murder.”

  “I’m not saying a word.”

  Claudia shrugged. “At this point, you don’t have to. I get to do all the talking.” She winked and then recited the formal charges, recited Miranda, and would’ve recited the Gettysburg Address if she knew it, just to unhinge this very dangerous woman for a blissful moment or two.

  “You’ll never make all of that stick,” said Kensington.

  “Sure I will, or enough of it. Want to know why? Because I don’t have to pretend. That was your job and you blew it. Oh, and by the way? Aaron Rivens is undead. Amazing. He’ll probably have a lot to tell us.”

  Kensington opened her mouth, then shut it. Her makeup had smudged, leaving a beige streak against the collar of her robe. Claudia pointed it out to her as Carella and the chief began to walk her away. Then she bent to retrieve the cane and followed, just in time to catch a spectacular burst of color light the distant sky.

  Chapter 29

  Gina Rohr leaned on the balcony rail and gazed at the night sky. Another hour and a half and dawn would break, and they were still at it. “I know what you’re thinking,” she said to Claudia. “You’ve been thinking it all night, wondering how an assistant state attorney can afford a place like this.”

  Claudia didn’t bother to deny it. She yawned as she pushed out of a wrought-iron chair and went to stand beside the young woman. “So how can you?”

  She laughed. “I inherited a filthy fortune. It’s legitimately mine and I didn’t kill anyone to get it.”

  Rohr was the sharpest prosecutor in the Flagg County State’s Attorney’s Office. She was also the youngest and unabashedly outspoken, attributes that defense attorneys occasionally tried to leverage against her to no avail. She battled fiercely and fearlessly in court, stalking the floor in short skirts and stiletto heels that riveted judges and jurors alike. Now, though, she wore faded jeans and an oversized man’s shirt that fluttered at her thighs with a light wind.