All Signs Point to Murder

by Connie Di Marco

  “Sure can. Thanks.” I’d arrived in a government car that had been sent for me.

  “Were you scared? About giving evidence?” he asked.

  “I guess a little.”

  “It should be fine. They’re just crossing their T ’s and dotting their I ’s. I doubt they’ll need to call upon you to tie this case up.”

  “I’m just so glad it’s over. Can you tell me what’s been happening?”

  To date, all charges had been dropped against Brooke and she’d been released. I’d been able to tell Ianello where he could search for the weapon that had killed Moira. He was grateful, but otherwise had been very tight-lipped and unwilling to share any other information about the case.

  “I can tell you now,” he replied as he swung through downtown traffic. “We picked up Lana Barron the next morning at the Eccola! offices.” He glanced over at me. “You and your friend, of course, will have to give evidence at her trial.”

  “I know.” I heaved a sigh.

  “I’m sorry, but you two are the only witnesses we have that she was involved with Rob Ramer. She swears she had nothing to do with Moira Leary’s death or Rob’s plan to murder Brooke. She went completely blank. Said she never heard of the waitress at the Alibi.”

  “You believe her?”

  “We could see the wheels turning. She was trying to figure it out. Personally, I’m sure Ramer was tying up a loose end with that murder. But unless we find some forensic evidence, we may never be able to prove it,” Ianello continued. “We know it was Lana who sent the incriminating emails from Brooke’s computer, and Ramer who replied from their home and from Moira’s apartment, but proving it in court could be difficult. She’s admitted to the affair only and claims Rob promised to divorce his wife.” He snorted. “She says she’s completely innocent.”

  He was silent for a few moments. “There’s no way I can prove it—and now of course there’s no one to prosecute—but I’d bet my last dollar that Ramer murdered his first wife.”

  I shuddered, remembering how vehemently Rob’s former sister-in-law, Pamela, had defended him. “At this point, nothing would surprise me.”

  “What tipped you off ?”

  “His chart. Geneva was finally able to get his birth information. When I saw how his planets lined up, it scared me. But when I realized the connections between his chart and Moira’s … well, I knew it had to be him. Moira was just a pawn in the game. His real plan was to get rid of his wife and have Moira take the fall for it.”

  “He must have had tremendous control over her.”

  “He did. But she was also in a terribly confused and vulnerable condition, all by herself.”

  “What clued you in to the dog? How did you figure out he’d trained the dog to get rid of the gun?”

  “It was Harry.”

  Ianello shot me a look. “Okay, I give up. Who’s Harry?”

  I smiled. “Harry was my fiancé Michael’s dog. I … well, ever since Michael died, I try to stay in touch with his sister. I saw her that week. She had Harry with her, and Harry pulled one of Michael’s gloves out of a shopping bag. It was the sight of Harry holding the glove in his mouth. I remembered Rob’s dog, Cassie, in the living room that night with muddy paws. It wasn’t raining, so where had she been that her paws got muddy enough to leave tracks? It was hovering at the edge of my consciousness, but I’m sorry to say I was terribly slow putting it together. I should have seen it sooner.”

  “Most people wouldn’t even have noticed.”

  We’d pulled up in front of my apartment building. “Thanks for the lift.”

  Ianello turned to look at me. “I’m not my father.”

  “Excuse me?” For a moment I had no idea what he meant, and then I remembered my grandmother’s story.

  “I know how the Italian grapevine works in North Beach.”

  “Ah.”

  “So … just so you know. The apple didn’t fall anywhere near that tree.”

  I studied his face. “It’s really not my business. And I wouldn’t assume that anyway.” I hesitated, but I knew this would be my last chance. “I have to ask you something.”

  “Shoot.”

  “The night Moira died. The first time I met you.”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s really bugged me.”

  “What? Spit it out.”

  “You were wearing the most delicate patent leather shoes.”

  Ianello stiffened. “Yes.” He gave me a hard look. “Why do you ask?”

  “I don’t know. It just struck me as curious.”

  “I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.” A hint of a smile curved the corner of his mouth.

  I smiled. “Now I’m intrigued.”

  “I’m a ballroom dancer. I was at the studio when I got the call.” He stared at me intently. “And if you ever mention this to anyone, I will have to kill you.”

  forty-eight

  “Sunflower yellow? What a fantastic color! I approve,” Gale sang out as she dumped a box of steaming pizza on the kitchen table. She was referring to the paint that Cheryl and I were rolling on the walls of Cheryl’s new kitchen.

  “You’re a goddess,” Cheryl cried. “We’re starving. We’ve been at it for hours. We were just trying to figure out where we could call to order in.”

  “Well, now you can eat and keep working.” Gale wiped off the table and spread out napkins and paper plates. “Don’t worry about dieting today, girls.”

  I kicked off my rubber thongs in case any paint had clung to the bottom and padded across to the table. Gale dished pizza slices onto the plates for us, careful not to dribble melted cheese.

  “How much is left to do?” she asked.

  I folded an oily piece of pizza in the middle and lunged at the end. “The pantry’s done and the ceiling and three walls. Now we just have that last wall.”

  “Good. Cheryl needs to get out of that hole she’s been living in.” Gale reached over and squeezed Cheryl’s hand.

  When Cheryl was waffling about buying the apartment, Gale bought it herself. She was so anxious for Cheryl to get it, and so terrified someone else would grab it first, she decided not to wait. She’d never said a word about it, but one night at the Eye as we were closing up shop, she handed the grant deed and a notarized quitclaim to Cheryl. Cheryl couldn’t grasp what it meant at first, and when she did, she burst into tears. And when the sale of her house in Berkeley finally went through, she repaid Gale for the down payment and took possession. I’d never seen her as happy as she was the day we started moving her in. There was still a lot to do—furniture to purchase and dishes to unpack—but slowly it was coming together.

  “Julia, I was checking the MLS the other day. I noticed there’s a house for sale on Clay Street,” Gale continued.

  “Yes, I heard. Geneva told me. Brooke couldn’t possibly go back to her house to live. Not after what happened.”

  “What’s she going to do?”

  “For starters, she’s on leave from the magazine and she’s taking a long sabbatical with Ashley. They’re going to France. Geneva and Mary will miss them a lot, but they’ll be able to fly over to visit. I’m sure Brooke will be back eventually. She needs time.”

  Gale shook her head. “Can’t say I blame her.”

  I fell silent, thinking of the Learys and how their lives had been torn up. They were blessed, though. Moira’s shade would be with them always, but the Learys still had each other.

  “What about …?” Gale left the question hanging.

  Cheryl and I exchanged a look. We shook our heads and left it unsaid. Rob’s body had never been found.

  forty-nine

  Midnight. The antique clock in the living room chimed the hours. My apartment was dark, the only light a bedside lamp in the next room where Wizard snored softly on the comforter. That and t
he glow from the computer screen. I moved each of the Leary family charts into a separate file. Maybe someday I’d want to look at them again. Someday when it would be easier to remember the events that transpired in those days after the wedding, especially the moments at sea when I thought it might all be over. I wrapped my bathrobe tighter around me and clicked on the next AskZodia email.

  Dear Zodia:

  I’ve recently lost my wife after a long illness and I can’t seem to find a way to cope with everything. I wish I had been a better husband, paid more attention to her. I feel terrible now when I think how much I took for granted. I don’t know what to do with all these feelings. My birthday is January 15th, 1956, at 11:10 p.m., Cincinnati, Ohio.

  —Man at Sea

  Dear Man at Sea:

  I am so sorry for your loss …

  My fingers hovered over the keys. There was nothing I could think of to say; no words of comfort or advice seemed adequate.

  Outside the darkened windows of my office, the lights of the city sparkled in the distance. I clicked on Michael’s natal chart and viewed the transiting planets on that fateful day. Why hadn’t I seen deadly elements lining up? Hard transits. Anything. There’d been no warning. Why did he have to die? And why on that day? Why hadn’t I sensed the danger?

  Michael’s face took shape in the glow of the computer screen. My eyes were playing tricks on me. I sighed and rubbed my temples, then closed the program and headed for bed. Tomorrow would be another day, and maybe then I could think of something to say to the Man at Sea.

  I slipped under the covers and drifted off, listening to the music of the foghorns.

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  about the author

  Connie di Marco (Los Angeles, CA) is the bestselling author of the Soup Lover’s Mysteries (Penguin), which she published under the name Connie Archer. She is a member of Mystery Writers of America, International Thriller Writers, and Sisters in Crime. She has always been fascinated by astrology and is excited to combine her love of the stars with her love of writing mysteries. Visit her at conniedimarco.com, on Facebook at Connie di Marco (Author), or on Twitter: @askzodia.