“Sure, and call me Irene.” She motioned me inside. “Have a seat. Can I get you anything?”
“No, thanks.” We exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes, then I said, “I understand you worked for Joelle Ayers before she died.”
“Yes.” Irene’s expression was puzzled. “She was one of the ladies I did for.”
How to explain why I was asking questions? “Even though I didn’t know her very well, I was devastated to hear she had been killed with the contents of a gift basket I put together for her.”
“That must have been awful for you.” Irene patted my arm. “But you really can’t blame yourself. Once your baskets are out of your hands, you have no control over what someone does with them.”
“I’m trying to remember that.” Too bad Woods didn’t feel that way. “Gran suggested that maybe if I knew more about Joelle, it might help me come to terms with what happened to her.” Okay, that was lame, but at the moment it was the best I could do.
“Sure.” Irene didn’t look completely convinced by my explanation, but she was clearly too polite to say how crazy the idea seemed.
“Would you be willing to tell me a little about Joelle?” I asked.
“Well…” Irene got up, opened the refrigerator, stared inside, then closed it, chuckling. “Why do I constantly go back to the fridge? Do I truly think something new to eat will have materialized since the last time I looked?” When I didn’t answer, she nudged the refrigerator door closed with her rear end. “Ms. Ayers was a real private person.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah.” Irene stood with her hands on her hips. “One time when I was cleaning, I wiped down her computer monitor, and she carried on like I had read her diary and published it on the front page of the paper.”
“That must have been awkward,” I said sympathetically. “What was on the screen that was so top secret?”
“Just some e-mail from a guy named Etienne.” Irene moved over to the stove and stirred the contents of the pot, sending up an enticing aroma of homemade vegetable soup that made my stomach growl. “That’s French for ‘Steve,’ right?”
Nodding, I asked, “Did you notice his last name?” I held my breath. “Or his e-mail address?” Was Etienne someone from Joelle’s past? Could this be a clue to her identity?
“Can’t say as I did.”
“Did anything else odd happen during the time you worked for her?”
“The last time I was there cleaning, Ms. Ayers got a call that really upset her. She took it in the bedroom with the door closed, so I didn’t hear anything, but she was meaner than a skillet full of rattlesnakes for the rest of the day.”
“So Joelle liked her privacy,” I said casually, watching Irene closely. “Was she secretive with her girlfriends too? I understand she had a lot of them.”
“As far as I could tell, she hardly ever had anyone over to her condo. But one time when I was there, a lady friend of hers dropped by and she wouldn’t let her in.”
“Who was that?” After what Cyndi had said, I was betting on Anya or Gwen.
“I never saw her.” Irene shrugged. “All I heard was her voice on the intercom and she and Ms. Ayers arguing about her coming up.”
“I wonder why she allowed you in her condo, but not her friends.”
“Cleaning ladies aren’t a threat.” Irene shook her head. “And believe you me, she kept a close eye on my every move. I was never there alone.”
“Anything else you can think of that would make Joelle more real in my mind?”
“She was pretty and liked pretty things.” Irene paused, then added, “And she got lots of magazines about rich people.”
“Interesting.”
Irene looked at me expectantly, but I couldn’t think of anything else to ask, so I excused myself to use the bathroom. She pointed me down the hall, and on my way I peeked into the living room.
There were several items that didn’t seem to go with Irene’s appearance or her lifestyle. A silver tray with crystal goblets and a decanter, a cut-glass ashtray, and an ivory-handled letter opener looked particularly out of place next to the framed paint-by-number picture hanging over the TV and the bright aqua fish-shaped platter displayed on a side table next to a china dog.
Had the expensive pieces been Joelle’s? Maybe Irene had been stealing from her employer and had to kill her when Joelle discovered the thefts. It was a long shot, but I had to check it out.
My hostess was still at the stove when I returned, and I knew I was running out of time. In the living room, I had noticed a thick stack of unpaid bills on the coffee table, along with a calculator and a checkbook.
That gave me an idea of how to broach the question of stealing to Irene. “I imagine it’s tough financially losing one of your clients. Have you been able to find someone to fill that slot?”
“Not yet.” Irene gazed out the window. A few snowflakes drifted through the twilight. “With the bad economy, not as many can afford a cleaning lady. People are taking care of their own houses now.”
I took a breath; the next question was hard to ask. “So it must have been sort of tempting to take a few of Joelle’s pretty things—once you found out she was dead and there was no next of kin.”
“What makes you say a horrible thing like that?” An ugly flush stained Irene’s already ruddy cheeks and she banged the lid down hard on the pot she’d been stirring before turning to face me. “Has someone claimed that I’m a thief? Is that why you’re here?”
“No, no. Not at all.” I quickly backpedaled. Was her reaction normal outrage at being falsely accused, or guilt? I couldn’t tell. But by the set of her chin, I knew I wouldn’t get anywhere else on that subject and had overstayed my welcome to boot. “Sorry.”
After I said good-bye and was driving home, I realized that Irene hadn’t actually denied having stolen from Joelle.
CHAPTER 24
Okay. This was so not good. Jake had been gone for less than twenty-four hours, and already I missed him way too much. Monday was crawling by like a slow driver in the fast lane. I had delivered the fund-raising flyers to Mrs. Ziegler at the high school, then completed two basket orders before the store opened at twelve. And even though we were busy from noon until closing time, my thoughts returned constantly to Jake, wondering what was happening in St. Louis.
I checked my cell so often that Hannah started wondering aloud about my sudden interest in the phone. When Jake hadn’t called by closing time—and since I was still stinging from Woods’s crack about my needing a man to rescue me—I decided to go see the mayor by myself.
I couldn’t wait, not with the police closing in on me. Although the mayor wouldn’t be in his office this late—he left promptly at four—I knew where to find him. The good old boy Tuesday night poker game in the back room of the feed store was a Shadow Bend institution, and it started at six thirty.
Not being a complete fool, I texted Boone, explained what I was doing and where I would be, and arranged to call him and leave the line open while I talked to His Honor. Backup in place, I caught Geoffrey Eggers as he was entering the rear door of the store. He protested, but I pointed out to him that chatting in my car would be a lot better for his political career than our having this conversation in public.
As he settled into the passenger seat, I punched the speed dial to Boone, then accused His Honor. “You lied to Poppy and me about where you were Valentine’s Day weekend.” I hit him with his falsehood first thing to throw him off balance. “You were staying at the Parkside, the same hotel where Joelle was murdered.”
“You’re mistaken.” His Honor crossed his arms. “I said that I had recently begun dating a lovely young lady and we were together that evening. You never asked where we were.”
I let him get away with that, although he had distinctly said they were in town that night. It was always good to have something in the bank with the mayor, so the next time he morphed into an obnoxious politician, I could cash that check.
“I
need your girlfriend’s name.” My tone was unyielding. “And her contact info.”
“And if I refuse, will you run to your pet U.S. Marshal?” Geoffrey’s smug expression made me itch to slap him.
“No, but I will check with the KC police and see if they’re aware that one of Joelle’s ex-lovers was checked in to the hotel that night.” I stared him down. “They don’t know that, do they, Mayor?”
“My girlfriend will kill me if I tell you who she is,” His Honor whined. “You know how hard it is to get any privacy around here. We just wanted a chance to see if our relationship would work, before everyone in Shadow Bend weighed in on it.”
I was sympathetic, but the best I could do was promise, “I’ll keep the information to myself unless it’s connected to the murder.”
“She doesn’t like excuses.”
Where had I heard that before? “Give me her name and number, I’ll call, she’ll confirm your alibi, and that will be that.”
“Well…” He hesitated, then shook his head. “No. I think she might be Miss Right and I’m not going to risk it.”
“But if you were with her from the moment you checked in to the hotel until you checked out the next day, you’re in the clear,” I coaxed. “Were you together that whole time?”
“Not exactly.” Geoffrey’s face flamed an unhealthy shade of red. “We met at the hotel a bit after six. But after I checked in, she remembered that she forgot the… well… some personal items that she’d said she would provide, so she had to run to the drugstore.”
“How long were you alone?” I asked.
“I’m not sure.” Geoffrey shrugged. “I fell asleep watching TV and she was back when I woke up.”
“What time was that?”
“Around eight.”
“Do you have any proof that you remained in your room that whole time?” I questioned.
“No.” Geoffrey frowned. “But I’m telling the truth.”
“Then give me the name of your girlfriend so I can confirm it, and I won’t have to involve the police.”
“No.” Geoffrey got out of the car. Just before he slammed the door, he muttered, “She’d never forgive me.”
“What do you think of the mayor’s story?” I asked, speaking to Boone on my cell while I drove home.
“Even if his girlfriend confirms his version of events, it’s not much of an alibi. We need to see if the hotel records show when he entered his hotel room and if he reopened the door during the time the woman was gone.”
“I’ll ask Jake to check on that the next time I speak to him.”
“Right,” Boone agreed. “Even if it only took the girlfriend a half hour for her trip to the drugstore, that leaves His Honor with enough time alone to kill Joelle and get back to his room.” I could hear the frown in Boone’s voice. “But how could the mayor know he’d have those thirty minutes free?”
“If it was a crime of passion, which is how it looks, he could have run into Joelle in the hall. She invites him in for whatever reason and does something to inflame him, so he kills her.”
“So, the mayor remains on our list of suspects?” Boone asked.
“At least until Jake can confirm with the hotel what time he entered his room and whether he stayed inside until his girlfriend returned like he claims.”
It was eight o’clock and Gran was snoozing in front of the TV while I pretended to watch a rerun of Law & Order. I was starting to get irritated. Surely Jake wasn’t still at headquarters. Was he having such a good time with Meg that he couldn’t spare five minutes to let me know he was okay? Granted, he’d never said he would call, but it was just common courtesy. Right?
Wrong! I was acting like a lovestruck adolescent, and worst of all, I had no right to behave that way. Fine. I jumped to my feet, grabbed my laptop, and powered it on. Instead of wasting time mooning over some man, I would make a list of what I had learned yesterday from my interviews with Cyndi and Irene, and what I had found out from the mayor. I needed to figure out who killed Joelle more than I needed a guy in my life. No matter how hot he was.
Cyndi had confirmed that Anya and Gwen were extremely jealous that Joelle had snatched Noah from Shadow Bend’s tiny pool of successful single men. She had also claimed that they were looking for dirt on Joelle to stop her from marrying Noah. But had they found anything? Surely if they had, Nadine would have mentioned it when we talked at the fund-raiser. Was there some reason Anya and Gwen wouldn’t have told her?
Irene’s comment about Joelle’s extreme privacy issues went along with the victim’s secret identity, but was that all she had been hiding? Had the police checked her computer, traced her calls, and really searched her place, even the second time? Somehow I didn’t see Woods as being all that thorough. And which of Joelle’s friends had tried to get into her condo the day Irene was cleaning?
I included His Honor’s version of what had happened Valentine’s night, and added my list of questions. Then, as the ten o’clock news was coming on, I e-mailed what I had found out to Jake. I clicked SEND and stood, stretching the kink out of my back.
Gran woke up a few minutes later, and once we had watched the weather report, we went to bed. I heard snoring coming from Birdie’s room a few minutes after I crawled under the covers, but I tossed and turned into the wee hours.
When my phone rang the next morning during breakfast, I tried not to snatch it up like the last piece of candy in a Godiva chocolate box. From the smug grin on Gran’s face, I knew I’d failed.
“Why the hell did you talk to the mayor alone?” Jake’s anger vibrated through the speaker of my cell.
“Because I’m fully capable of conducting a simple interview on my own. I arranged for backup.” My irritation matched his, but I gritted my teeth and explained nicely, “I know you’re busy and I understand, but I can’t sit around and wait for Woods to arrest me.”
“You have no idea how fast a one-on-one confrontation can go bad.” Jake didn’t give an inch.
Neither did I. “It turned out fine.”
“This time.”
We fumed in silence for a couple of seconds; then Jake said with grudging admiration, “You’ve got guts.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m glad a bullet didn’t splatter them all over the inside of your car.”
Letting that comment pass, I asked, “What are you doing today?”
“I’m testifying, so I won’t be able to have my phone on. I should be through by four and I’ll call you then.”
“That works for me.” I kept my tone neutral. “Since you apparently saw the e-mail I sent last night, what did you think of the other information I found out?”
“All good points, although even if the housekeeper was stealing, my guess is it was after the vic was dead. Besides, the way Joelle was killed doesn’t really jibe with a thief committing murder to cover up her pilfering.”
“Yeah. I thought that, too.”
“Yesterday was a madhouse around here, so I didn’t get a chance to phone the chief of detectives about Woods’s bias, but I’ll do that, and get on the rest of the stuff as soon as I can.” Jake’s voiced dropped. “Meg’s funneling all the data to the KC cops, but so far no one has shown a lot of interest.” He paused and I could hear someone talking to him. “Sorry. I’ve got to go. Talk to you this afternoon.”
After I hung up, Gran tried to question me about Jake, but she gave up when I answered in monosyllables. How could I explain things to her that I didn’t understand myself?
A final lingering customer brought her purchases up to the register, and as I bagged her items, I forced myself to act friendly rather than push her out the door. At last, the store was empty, and I flipped off the OPEN sign. It was six and Jake hadn’t called yet. I was toying with the idea of phoning him when my cell rang.
Even though he was all business, Jake’s voice sent a ripple of happiness through me. “The police still have no clue about Joelle’s identity, and Meg has come up empty, too. I think our
best bet may be that e-mail the housekeeper saw. Etienne is a fairly uncommon name, at least in the United States.”
“True.” I had thought the same thing. “Do you know if the cops examined Joelle’s computer or her phone records after she died?”
“They claimed to have done both, but it was before they knew she was using a stolen identity.” Jake lowered his voice. “After I got your e-mail, I asked Meg to check if they had reexamined that evidence once Joelle’s false identity was revealed, and she just told me there was no record that the KC police took a second look.”
Hmm. I sure wished Jake’s contact at the U.S. Marshal’s office wasn’t his ex-wife, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. “Can you request that they do?”
“Meg’s getting the phone and computer records for me, but we may have to take a look at Joelle’s condo ourselves.”
Before I could ask if that was legal, Jake said hurriedly, “Sorry. I’ve got to go. It looks as if I won’t be home until Thursday. Sit tight until I get back. Do not talk to Underwood by yourself.”
I hadn’t planned to talk to Noah alone, but as soon as Jake ordered me not to, I realized it was exactly what I should do. Despite all indications to the contrary, I knew in my heart that Noah was not a murderer. In fact, he might be holding the one piece of evidence that could reveal the real killer.
CHAPTER 25
I had already rung the bell three times when Noah jerked the front door open. His usually perfectly styled hair fell across his forehead and into his eyes. He needed a trim—and possibly a shower. I wrinkled my nose. A stale odor that reminded me of an old gym locker wafted from him.
Adding to my sense of unease was his attire. The Noah I had known in high school, and observed from a distance for the past thirteen years, was always immaculately dressed. Tonight he wore navy sweatpants with bleach spots down one leg and a T-shirt that might have been red at one point, but was now a washed-out pink.
The most worrisome part of Noah’s appearance was the confused expression in his eyes. He almost looked drugged.
Little Shop of Homicide: A Devereaux’s Dime Store Mystery Page 21
