Prepped to Kill (Ricky Steele Mysteries Book 1)

by M. Lee Prescott

  “Okay, if we just peek back there?” Lolly asked as he fixed the drinks.

  “Be my guest.”

  The room was damp and smelled of stale beer and cigarettes. Cases of beer surrounded us from floor to ceiling, the benches and tables long gone along with the tilted ping-pong table, rusty painted ashtrays and Elvis posters. Morosely, we retreated to a table, where our drinks awaited us. As Katie stepped up to the bar to pay, Lolly whispered to me, “You have to tell her.” I nodded as Katie plopped down beside me.

  Before she could open her mouth, I gave her a quick rundown of the entire PI misunderstanding, from my bogus entry in the newsletter to my current position as resident private eye. Katie listened, poised on the edge of her seat, eyes glistening, until I’d finished, when she pounded her fists on the table. “Okay, I forgive you. Now, what’s our next move?”

  “There is no next move.” I said, swallowing a gulp of cognac that burned my throat going down. “If I’m lucky, by the end of the week, I might succeed in prying Missy Franklin’s whereabouts out of her buddies, but even that’s doubtful. As for the rest of it, sounds like a lot of faculty jealousy and bickering. Do you know that Christine Parnell actually threatened me tonight? Wants me to stay away from her precious Jared. Thinks I’m harassing him.”

  “That’s ‘cause she’s in love with the jerk,” Lolly said, rolling her eyes in disgust. “You should have seen her at the reception this afternoon, mooning at him. He treats her like shit, too.”

  “Well, at least she deigned to go out with her husband tonight.”

  “Phelps would have been with them if he hadn’t gone out of town, I’ll bet,” Lolly said, lighting a cigarette and taking a long drag. Smiling smugly at my surprised expression, she added, “While you were with Rolly and Katie was reliving old times with Ellen, I overheard Phelps telling Christine that he was going to some invitational soccer tournament with Hope and her kids.”

  “When were they leaving?” I asked, a horrible plan beginning to formulate.

  “Right after the reception. Said they wouldn’t be back till late Sunday night. Why?”

  “I sure would love to get into his computer, to see whether all those letters—”

  Lolly slapped the table. “Don’t even think about it.”

  Katie’s eyes lit up. “You mean a break-in? That’d definitely be illegal, but if we were careful we could—”

  “Are you both nuts?”

  “Now, now, Loll, we’re just thinking out loud,” I said, swallowing the last bit of cognac. “First we have to find out where he lives, which isn’t hard because I have the school directory. Hope would be listed because of the kids. Then we’d have to—”

  Lolly lit another cigarette, looking away. “I’m not listening to this.”

  “Oh, you always say that, Pruit.” Katie laughed, grabbing the pack.

  “And what about you being a member of the force?”

  “Not in this town, I’m not. Besides, it’d be fun. I have a GPS in my car so get that address, Rick, and we’re in business. And I’ve got gloves in the van.”

  “Come on, Loll, what’dya say? We’re at Whitley. We’ve gotta break the rules somehow.”

  “Ricky Steele, breaking and entering is hardly on par with sneaking out for a smoke or greasing the housemother’s toilet. I can see it all now—Ron getting a call from the Westfield police to bail me out.” Frantically, she looked from Katie to me, then back again, hoping to spy a trace of reason or sanity in our glazed eyes. Finally she shrugged. “Oh, what the hell. Let’s do it. At least my husband’s an attorney.”

  Katie clapped her hands. “Yes!”

  “That’s the spirit.” I stood up. “We’ll head back to the motel, change our clothes and plan strategy.”

  Lolly and I changed into jeans and dark tee shirts, Katie into a set of orange EMT, glow-in-the-dark overalls she kept in the van. “Don’t laugh,” she said, emerging from the bathroom. “If we get caught, I can always say we received a 911 and got the address wrong.”

  “We’ll take my car,” Lolly said. “It’s the least conspicuous.” Lolly drove a dark green Volvo wagon. It didn’t seem any less conspicuous than my jeep, but hey, she was with us now. No sense contradicting her. We figured Hope Freeman’s house to be about ten minutes away, just over the border in Easton. On the way out, I grabbed a flashlight and my glass repair bag out of the jeep, figuring some of the tools might come in handy.

  With the disembodied voice of Katie’s GPS guiding our way, we arrived at our destination fifteen minutes later. My watch read 11:30 p.m. We cruised by the house, an old cape, set on a large lot, a good hundred and fifty yards from its neighbors on either side. We parked at the end of the street in a small lot attached to a public park. The house was dark as we approached, no lights left on to foil burglars. As we made our way along the side yard, Lolly whispered, “What if there’s an alarm system?”

  I stopped, staring at Katie. “If we trip it, we run. No harm, no foul.”

  “That’s easy for you to say,” one of them muttered. Rambettes, I thought, following Katie’s bright orange glow. The back door was locked. “Now, what?” Lolly whispered, peeking over the back porch as Katie and I studied the door. The top was three-by-four single panes of glass.

  “We could break it.” Katie whispered, searching around for a rock.

  “No, wait.” I rifled through my bag and extracted an X-ACTO knife, a glass cutter and a small suction cup. After fixing the suction cup to the corner of the pane, I made a small diagonal cut. Then I ran the knife along the grout lines inside the cut and tapped steadily along the cut line until the glass loosened and gave way, popping out, attached to the suction cup.

  “Tricky,” Katie whispered as I slid my hand inside, unlocking the dead bolt. The door swung open. No screeching alarm sounded. Shining the flashlight along the walls, we did not see an alarm box or panel, but then again, their back door had single glazed glass. That kind of antiquity didn’t really jibe with newfangled alarm systems. Katie decided we were probably safe, “unless it’s a silent alarm, in which case we have five minutes before the police arrive.”

  By prior arrangement, we’d decided to locate Jared’s study and confine our snooping to that area alone. No sense violating Hope Freeman’s privacy any more than necessary. “Let’s try for five minutes, then, okay?” I whispered and we spread out. Less than a minute later, Lolly whistled from the front of the house.

  As I inched forward along a hallway, something brushed against my leg. I froze, my heart beating wildly as the cat began to purr. I let out my breath. “Jesus Christ, kitty,” I whispered, reaching down to stroke the sleek, bony back, accidentally stepping on its tail. The meow, like a baby’s cry, confirmed what I had already suspected—Siamese, my least favorite brand of feline. Next thing we knew, this guy’d be jumping on our heads. “It’s only a cat,” I called, moving along the hall, watching my step.

  Lolly had located the study. A quick flashlight peek confirmed that this was, indeed, the domain of mom’s boyfriend. History books lined the shelves, newspapers littered floors and table, and the computer had “property of Whitley School” stamped on the side. Katie, the self-described computer whiz, sat down and began a search of Jared’s files while Lolly and I snooped in drawers and shelves. Katie had brought along a flash drive stating, “I always keep ‘em in the van to copy anything that looks interesting.” We didn’t ask.

  I took the file cabinet and Lolly rummaged through the desk drawers. “What exactly am I looking for?” she whispered, shining her penlight into the desk’s middle drawer.

  “Photos, letters, anything that mentions the school, Missy Franklin or Carolyn Santos.” By the looks of Phelps’ housekeeping, there was a good chance he hadn’t emptied his wastebasket recently. “Check the trash for newspaper cuttings, too,” I added, thinking about Dinny’s latest communication.

  I could find nothing unusual in the files. They all seemed to be related to his teaching—exams, articles an
d lecture notes—no personal files. Scanning the room, I spied three cartons stacked in the corner, and opened the top, finding bills and check stubs. Arbitrarily picking up a clump, I flipped through, finding a number of charges to Exeter Copy. I tucked one of these in my pocket, closed the carton and set it down on the floor. The other two boxes held more of the same. My watch alarm sounded. Our five minutes was up.

  No sirens, but I was growing increasingly anxious, fear gripping my throat as the realization of what we were doing sank in. “Come on, you two. We’ve gotta go.”

  “Almost done,” Katie whispered, her fingers flying over the keyboard. “I hope I’m getting something you can use.”

  “Look here, Rick,” Lolly called, kneeling beside the open bottom drawer. She had discovered a false bottom and pried it up with a letter opener. “Ron has one of these in his desk. Keeps all his dirty jokes in there. Thinks I don’t know about it.”

  As she pulled a stack of letters and photographs from the drawer, a photo fell to the floor and I picked it up. Jared sitting on a bed, a smiling young woman at his side. She was dressed scantily in a tank top and shorts. There was something familiar about the room, but I couldn’t place it. Who was she? Hope’s daughter, Karen? I didn’t think so. Although I’d never met her, the Karen I’d seen from afar on the lacrosse field had been blonder. This girl had darker hair and bright blue eyes that stared boldly at the photographer, whoever he or she had been. Her thin arm was draped over Jared’s shoulder, while his circled her tiny waist. She couldn’t have been more than sixteen or seventeen.

  “Look at these,” Lolly whispered, quickly flipping through a series of pictures—indoor and outdoor shots—featuring Jared with a gorgeous blonde. Some of the shots included other people, Christine Parnell, Rich Naylor, Brooke Richards among them, but the focus was definitely on the blonde. “I’ll wager a shot of tequila that that’s Carolyn Santos,” I said, pointing at a shot of the blonde standing arm in arm with Rich and Jonathan Kroll. “Very cozy,” I murmured, shoving the photos and letters back in the false drawer. “Fix that. We’ve gotta get out of here. Katie, turn that thing off and let’s go.”

  In three minutes we were back on the porch, the others keeping watch as I carefully fitted the piece of glass into the window and regrouted the sides. I reached under the doormat, grabbed a handful of sand and brushed it along the grout. I then used my sleeve to clean and polish the area as best I could. Luckily, the window was painted white, so the grout matched pretty closely. It wasn’t perfect, but it might go unnoticed for a few days. With luck, they’d think they broke the pane themselves. Wishful thinking, but I’m very good at that.

  As we started down the steps, the neighbor’s back porch light went on and we hit the ground. Immediately, a dog began barking. “Sarge,” a voice called. “Quiet, you stupid mutt.”

  But Sarge would not be quiet. As we inched our way around the far side of the house we could see him, silhouetted in the moonlight, German shepherd, the size of a small horse. Lolly stopped, paralyzed, frozen to the spot, shaking all over. She had always been deathly afraid of dogs, no matter what size or shape. “Don’t worry, Loll, he’s behind a fence,” I whispered, as Sarge lunged repeatedly, the chain links pinging in the stillness of night.

  “I’ve seen this before. She’s in shock.” Katie grabbed hold of Lolly’s left arm with one hand, her other pressed against the small of her back, and whispered. “Rick, take her other arm. Press like this and she’ll move.”

  Magically, Lolly’s legs began working. As we reached the street, Sarge’s barking ceased and I said a silent thank-you to his owner. Stupid me. The reason Sarge was no longer barking was that he was too busy running. Straight at us.

  “Run!” I screamed and we flew toward the car, Sarge in hot pursuit. We reached the car just as Sarge caught up with us. Katie practically threw Lolly onto the roof and scrambled up beside her. For a big woman, Katie could move. This infuriated Sarge, who fixed his sights upon the one person still at his level.

  I’m not usually afraid of dogs, but horse-dogs are another story. Teeth bared, Sarge paused, studying his prey, and then crept forward. Thinking fast, I reached into my bra, pulled out one of my silicone prostheses, and tossed it. “Fetch, Sarge, fetch!”

  Sarge was distracted for about two seconds, before he recommenced his snarling, inching closer. I reached into my bra and pulled out the other prosthesis, thinking two hundred bucks down the drain as I threw it at him, bopping him square in the nose. Not that the money mattered since I was sure to be dead in the next minute or so.

  Sarge did not appear to appreciate being bopped in the nose, but I decided to continue pretending I was in charge. “Sarge, sit.” I hoped my voice carried sufficient authority to bring him into line. No such luck. As he lunged, I swung my purse, whacking the side of his gigantic dog-horse head.

  Stunned for an instant, he recovered quickly and had just sunk his teeth into my left buttock when Katie leaned down. “Here, doggie, doggie.” As he looked up, she let loose with her “department-issue pepper spray.” A direct hit.

  Sarge yelped, released me and jumped back, giving me time to hop into the car, turn the key and call, “Hold on!” As the car pulled forward, Sarge lunged repeatedly, head hitting the door, paws scratching along the sides. To all appearances, he was unfazed by the pepper spray and began loping alongside us, lunging periodically, teeth gnashing at the window, waiting for it to magically open so he could rip my head off. About a half mile down the road, he finally gave up the chase. I drove a little farther, then stopped to help them off the roof. Lolly alighted stiffly and Katie and I pushed her into the back seat. As I pulled away, I turned to Katie. “You okay?

  “Fine.”

  “How ‘bout you, Loll. You okay?”

  Silence.

  “Lolly, speak to me, please.”

  “She’s in shock, Rick. We need warm blankets and coffee. As soon as we get back, I’ll run in and ask Mandy to make a fresh pot.”

  “If you dare, you’re dead,” Lolly growled from the back seat. “I need a drink, not that poison.”

  “What’s she talking about?” Katie asked, turning to me.

  “She’s had the Breeze Bye blend. It’s not what the doctor ordered. Let’s leave it at that.” Lolly laughed and suddenly we were all laughing, tears rolling down our cheeks. The adrenaline was wearing off and my ass was throbbing, but what the hell. We’d just escaped death by dismemberment, not to mention arrest.

  CHAPTER 19

  Thank goodness for denim, and the modicum of protection my jeans had provided. Miraculously, Sarge’s fangs had not broken through, but my ass was black and blue. Back at the Breeze Bye, sitting on a bag of ice, I sipped Jack Daniel’s to ease the dull aching of my derriere. Several tumblers of whiskey seemed to revive and restore Lolly. Katie declared her “out of danger” and headed to her aunt’s, promising to meet us for breakfast.

  We had signed up for the Sunday morning farewell brunch, to be held in Whitley Hall, hosted by Muriel Petty. After that, Lolly and Katie would head home and I would move into Round House. Lolly and I woke in foul moods, our heads throbbing. The bedside clock read eight fifteen so I dressed in shorts and a tee shirt, swallowed three aspirin, grabbed a few dollars from my purse and told Lolly I was going for a quick run as far as the Dunkin’ Donuts. “Screw, Mrs. Breezie,” I said, bringing her water and aspirin before my departure. “This is an emergency. We need decent coffee and lots of it.”

  On my way out, I found a phone message from Christine Parnell tucked under the door, probably overlooked the previous evening. Amanda had taken down her words verbatim: “You’re on starting at noon. Be there.” It appeared as though Amanda had scribbled an editorial comment at the bottom, “bitch,” then crossed it out.

  I kind of schlepped-ran for about twenty minutes, my ass screaming with every footfall. I ended my torture at the Dunkin’ Donuts two blocks north of the Breeze Bye. I ordered two extra-large hazelnut roasts and two chocolate doughnut
s. We needed sugar to restore our energy before the brunch. At the edge of the parking lot, I darted toward the building, hugging the wall until I reached our room. If Amanda had been peering out the lobby window, she surely would have spotted me, but I hoped she was behind the desk, a mug of American-Columbian in one hand, a strawberry Danish in the other.

  We packed up and headed for the lobby to check out. Parting from Amanda proved to be a breeze. As long as we took along a Styrofoam cup of coffee and a wooden bagel, she was more than happy to send us on our way.

  As I signed the credit card slip, she asked, “Get the message I left fer you last night?”

  “Yes, thanks.”

  “What a bitch, pardon my French. Put up such a fuss. Didn’t believe me when I told her you weren’t in. Had me buzz the room three times. What does she think, people sit around their rooms waiting for her to call? Come to think of it, you gals were out kinda late.”

  I grinned. “You know these reunions.”

  “Matter of fact, I don’t. Didn’t even graduate high school. But, hell, got a decent job, so what do I care?” Exactly.

  We said our goodbyes, disposing of our coffee and bagels in the first trash can we came to.

  “Oh, my God,” Lolly cried as we headed toward the cars. “We left the Dunkin’ Donuts cups in the room. She’s gonna know!”

  I placed a hand on her shoulder. “We’re checked out, Loll. Amanda can’t hurt us anymore.”

  Laughing, she threw her bag into the car. “Next time, I’m making the room reservations.”

  CHAPTER 20

  We each drove our own car to campus, parking on the street. When we arrived at Whitley Hall, we found Katie on the front steps, where she had assumed the role of self-appointed greeter, shaking hands as alumni passed by. Spotting us, she bustled down the steps. “Come on, you two. If we hurry we can snoop around upstairs before the brunch. It’s okay, I checked.”