by Alice Sharpe
His mouth slid into a grimace. Luck and he hadn’t been on speaking terms for quite some time now.
Chapter Eleven
As tired as she was, Liz insisted they go back to Emily’s duplex and make sure she was okay. She knew Alex would protest and he did. He’d been acting jumpy since talking to the sheriff, and as they drove along the dark, wet streets, he finally told her the gist of their conversation.
“He’s going to try to pin Harry’s incident on you,” Liz said. “I knew it!”
“He won’t get very far.”
“Why would anyone want to kill Harry?”
“Unless he really did see someone in our yard and the perp heard him, I can’t imagine. His daughter seems genuinely upset about her dad’s condition.”
“Patty is a nice woman, just a little scared. She told me she’s going to stay with her dad when he comes home, she wants to get to know him again and help him. I’m hoping Harry might actually help her.”
“Yeah. She’ll get him hooked on cocaine and he’ll have her guzzling beer.”
“Alex.”
“Sorry.” They pulled up in front of Emily’s place. A few lights were on downstairs, glowing through the rain. Ron’s duplex looked dark and empty.
“I bet Ron is still there with her,” Alex said. “I have to admire the way that guy is sticking by her.”
“He’s a good brother. Half brother, that is.”
“Half brother?”
“Emily and Ron had different fathers,” Liz said as Alex helped her out of the car. Ron had apparently heard them arrive. He opened the door while they were still on the stairs and led them into the living room. The rain outside combined with the mossy green color inside gave the place the look and feeling of a cluttered cave.
“How is she?” Liz asked.
Ron shook his head. “Out like a light. I can’t believe her doctor actually made a house call. I wonder what that will cost her. He referred her to a shrink. To tell you the truth, I’m relieved this is all out in the open. Emily has always been squirrely, but since her divorce, she’s been obsessing like mad, doing crazy things, acting weird.”
“And I didn’t even notice,” Liz said.
“You didn’t know her before. I’ve tried to help her, that’s why I bought her this duplex next to mine.”
“I thought she bought it.”
“No, I did. She put all her money into her store.”
“But I didn’t think your mother left you much, Ron, just some antiques that Emily said weren’t very valuable.”
“There were a couple of gems in among the more ordinary things. Listen, can I get you guys something warm to drink or maybe something to eat? I’m afraid to leave her and I don’t know what she has on hand—”
“We’re fine,” Alex said.
Liz could tell Alex was anxious to leave, and truth of the matter was that she was too, but Ron seemed desperate for them to stay a bit. She said, “How about coffee? I know Emily always has that on hand.”
Ron bustled off to make coffee and Liz smiled at Alex, asking him with her eyes to understand that they had to stay. He squeezed her hand and called softly, “Hey, Ron, does Emily have any bread?”
In the end, the three of them sat down at Emily’s small table and chairs for a hastily prepared meal of coffee, toast and scrambled eggs. Oddly enough, it hit the spot.
“Take my mind off my sister,” Ron said. “Tell me what’s going on with you guys.”
Alex and Liz took turns bringing Ron up to date on their frustrating search for the identity of the real killer and their plans for the next day. “We’re going to search Hiller’s den tomorrow afternoon,” Alex said.
“What if the sheriff finds you there? Won’t that strike him as mighty suspicious?”
Liz said, “Remember the other night when you asked what was going on and we hemmed and hawed a lot? That’s because there’s incriminating evidence hidden in my uncle’s den.”
Ron’s startled gaze flicked over to Alex. “I thought you were innocent,” he said, almost rising from his seat.
“The evidence he hid incriminates me, not him,” Liz said before Alex could contradict her. She’d felt his body tense the minute she started down this path, but as they’d explained their so-called investigation to Ron, she’d come to the realization that they had gotten exactly nowhere on their own. If she told Ron about the scarf then the information would be out there, so to say, and perhaps Alex would finally feel comfortable with the idea of her telling the sheriff the truth and asking for help.
“He found my scarf at Uncle Devon’s,” she continued, “and he hid it. He thought I killed my uncle and he took the blame.”
Beside her, she could feel Alex’s anxiety radiating outward from him like rays from the sun. She dared not look at him. She added, “I’m trying to convince Alex to let me turn the scarf over to the sheriff and come clean about the fact I visited Uncle Devon later that night for a fruitless try at reconciliation.”
Ron shook his head vehemently. “Absolutely not,” he said, looking from Liz to Alex and back again. “Liz, are you crazy? If you give Sheriff Kapp that kind of information, you’ll wind up in jail.”
“But if I don’t, Alex might. Again. I can’t sacrifice him to save myself.”
“Did you kill your uncle?”
“Of course she didn’t,” Alex said. Liz could tell from his voice that he was seething and kept her gaze averted. He’d thank her for this in the end. Wouldn’t he?
“Then keep your mouth shut and follow Alex’s advice,” Ron said. “Listen, you told me that Alex is going to talk to the chief tomorrow and then you’re going to look over your uncle’s house. Every day you stay free gives you a chance to find the murderer. You go talking to Kapp, it’s over, you’ll be neck deep in lawyers and courtrooms.”
Alex said, “Ron is making sense, Liz.”
“Of course he is, he’s agreeing with you,” she said. “On the other hand, aren’t we already neck deep in lawyers and courtrooms? Have you forgotten you still have a new trial to face?”
“I haven’t forgotten,” Alex said softly.
“Think of it this way. If the original investigation was a little slipshod, perhaps Sheriff Kapp will go all out this time and that might include DNA testing on things like the carpet. Maybe they’ll find blood from the real killer. Why not? I mean how do we know the killer wasn’t scratched or cut during the fracas? We can’t do that kind of thing on our own.”
“Too risky,” Alex insisted.
“Alex is right,” Ron said. “Find that scarf and destroy it before you tell the sheriff a thing.”
“What scarf?” Emily said from the doorway. She was dressed in blue pajamas and seemed to sag against the frame as she repeated, “What scarf?”
“Liz lost her scarf,” Ron said softly, rising and going to his sister. He put his hands on her arms and steadied her.
“I smelled the coffee,” Emily said.
“Liz will get you a cup while I take you back upstairs. Do you want something to eat, too? Come on, Em, you shouldn’t be up and about in your condition.”
“What scarf?” Emily said as Ron led her away.
Brother and sister left the room, leaving Alex and Liz alone. She darted a look to his face, and felt stricken. She’d expected him to be angry, but his expression was one of intense disappointment. “I’ll…I’ll get her the coffee,” Liz said.
Alex nodded curtly. “I’ll wait for you in the car.” Then he was gone.
THE NEXT MORNING, after convincing Alex she could manage being alone for a couple of hours, Liz watched Alex drive away with a heavy heart. They’d quarreled about her disclosure to Ron, she trying to explain her reasoning, him acting as though she’d betrayed him. She’d told him to get over it. What harm had been done? Ron had reacted exactly like Alex had, adamant she be protected. Honestly.
Her thoughts momentarily turned to Emily. Liz imagined Ron would take the day off to be with his sister, and the parallel
s of his selflessness with his mother and now his sister were too big to ignore. When would Ron be free to lead his own life?
Somewhere out there, people were happy, she thought suddenly, vowing to join them as soon as possible. She cleaned up the kitchen, then settled down to comb Sinbad who, as his bone mended, was growing increasingly restless with each passing day.
“You deserve a little happiness, too,” she told the cat as he tried to find a lap in which to curl. She smiled as she kissed the tip of his beautiful brown ear and ran the comb down his sable back. “When this is over and you’re all better, you can go outside again,” she said. “No bluff though, okay?”
He purred in agreement, or so it seemed to her. “You’re welcome,” she crooned.
ONE OF THE bay doors stood open which made getting into the fire station that much easier. No ringing the public bell and waiting for an old workmate to let him inside—or not let him inside, as the case may be. There was a new guy checking out the equipment piled into the search and rescue rubber raft, and Jimmy Thurmond was busy tinkering with the paramedic truck. The new guy accepted Alex’s wave and obvious familiarity with the place. Alex breezed behind Jimmy’s back and quickly climbed the stairs.
He walked into the day room that served many duties. This was where they gathered to eat the meals they prepared for themselves, and indeed, each shift had its own refrigerator lined up against the wall along with an extra fridge full of soft drinks. However, the room also served as the heart of the station. A place to socialize and conduct meetings, it also housed the equipment to run videotapes used in training. There was a table nearby painted with city streets, topped with moveable wooden structures and vehicles to mimic Ocean Bluff. Visiting kids loved this table, but it also came in handy when used to plot courses through town or refine fire fighting strategies.
This morning, the room held three men Alex had once counted as brothers. Actually, given the fact he hadn’t seen his own brothers in several years, closer than that. Dave was there as well as Mike Sinclair and Drew Soffit. Dave’s smile froze on his affable face. The other two men crossed their arms and gave Alex a chilling look that said he wasn’t welcome. Considering the circumstances and the cloud of guilt under which he’d left, he didn’t blame them. With identical scowls, they both left the room.
“I need to talk to Montgomery,” Alex told Dave with a wistful look at his former friends’ backs. Hopefully, soon enough they’d learn the truth and this awful feeling of having lost a second family would leave. He faced Dave and said, “Please, Dave, I need your help again. I’m sorry to do this to you. Is Montgomery here?”
Dave nodded, then shook his head. “I don’t think you should have come.”
“I know you don’t. Is he here?”
“He doesn’t want to see you, Alex.”
“I guess that should matter more than all the other problems I have right now including a bum murder charge, a pregnant wife with misguided loyalties who seems to attract danger like some kind of magnet, a neighbor in jeopardy, friends going haywire, but you know what? It just doesn’t.”
“If you want your job back here someday—”
“I want my life back,” Alex interrupted. “I want my wife safe. I want to see my kid be born. Now, is Montgomery here or not and will you help me see him or not?”
Dave took a couple of steps toward Alex. “On one condition. If I help you see him, then you have to tell him what you told me, about Liz and the scarf and what you did, the whole nine yards.”
Alex nodded. Thinking of Liz’s disclosures to Ron the night before, he grumbled, “It’s not like he’ll be the first to know.”
CHIEF MONTGOMERY was a fit-as-a-fiddle, flat-stomached forty-three-year-old man who wore his dark-blue uniform with unmistakable pride. In the past, he’d all but taken Alex under his wing, letting him know that he expected great things and Alex had been willing to work hard to prove Montgomery right. He had looked forward to working his way up the ladder. All that seemed impossible now.
Because he and the battalion chief had been relatively close, Alex could only imagine the depth of Montgomery’s disappointment when Alex confessed to the murder of his wife’s wealthy uncle. It would be an uphill climb to win him over.
He entered the chief’s office behind Dave, but as he was a head taller, the chief’s eyes went from Dave to him immediately. Montgomery had been at his usual position in front of the computer, keeping an eye on all the 9-1-1 calls that came in over the line, both police and emergency.
“Sullivan,” Montgomery said, his small blue eyes piercing. “What’s the meaning of bringing him in here?”
“He needs to talk to you,” Dave said. “It’s important.”
“I don’t need to talk to him,” the chief said calmly.
“Just listen to him, Chief.”
Alex decided to be blunt and direct. He said, “I didn’t kill Devon Hiller.”
Montgomery got to his feet. “You confessed.”
Dave patted Alex on the back and left, closing the door firmly behind him.
“I confessed to save my wife,” Alex began. “When I found Hiller’s body, I jumped to the wrong conclusion. Believe me, I’m paying for it. The trouble is that now Liz is in danger. There has been at least one attempt on her life in the last few days, perhaps two. Can I sit down and talk to you? Will you listen?”
Montgomery drilled Alex with his stare. Finally he said, “Liz is in danger? You’re not making this up?”
“I’m not making this up.”
Montgomery motioned at a chair close to his desk. “Tell me what’s going on,” he said.
With a curt nod of thanks, Alex sat down.
LIZ LEANED close to the computer screen. Unless she was mistaken, there was something a little untoward about the way her uncle had acquired the land for his latest strip mall. The property had been zoned residential when it first came on the market but it was difficult to develop—too close to poor neighborhoods and highways, no view, little sunlight. As such it had languished for years until her uncle bought it for a song. The zoning magically changed within weeks of her uncle’s acquisition. He’d built the mall immediately.
Could that be what Kapp had on her uncle? Had Uncle Devon paid off the planning commission and had Kapp found out about it?
Hmm…
As she’d been doing at odd moments, she turned her attention to the bundles of her uncle’s letters that had been mixed in with her childhood keepsakes. She’d scanned the biggest group over the past few days, hoping to find an old grudge having to do with some nefarious business scheme, but had come up dry. Now, a little excited, she started in on the personal letters, the first few from her own father. They were all very short and she was soon disabused of the notion that she would uncover new and fascinating details about the father she’d adored. He’d put very little of himself into his letters. One notified Uncle Devon that Liz had broken her arm, a fact she’d all but forgotten, another discussed selling a house, a third canceled a meeting with their lawyer, the fourth dealt with the funeral arrangements for Liz’s grandmother. It was easy to see her father and uncle had not been particularly close.
With a sigh, she set those aside, thumbed through a half dozen from distant relatives including an irate cousin who berated Uncle Devon for not lending him the cash to hospitalize his late wife, and at last picked up the final letter, this one in a plain envelope with no return address and a San Francisco postmark of April 10th, 1969.
It was short, too, and she read it fast, then reread it.
Devon, it began without salutation or endearment. The baby is a girl and she is healthy. I received the money order you sent. As you say, no looking back. Irene.
Who was Irene? And where had Liz recently heard that name? She drew a blank and moved on. A baby? Was it possible her uncle had a baby? She almost laughed at the thought. Irene could be anyone. The baby could have been anyone’s.
Interesting, though. Mighty interesting.
A
lex would be home pretty soon and she’d run it by him if he was talking to her. A flash of irritation was replaced by the realization that they didn’t have time to bicker. Perhaps this letter would give them a new place to start looking. After lunch they were going to her uncle’s house to retrieve her scarf and check the place out, and after that, perhaps they could figure out a way to research birth announcements in San Francisco for April of 1969.
The thought of lunch reminded her that there still wasn’t a thing in the house to eat. She grabbed her purse and car keys with the intent of rectifying that.
It was the first time since Alex had returned that she’d been shopping alone, and she celebrated by choosing all his favorites. It wasn’t until she found herself bagging Satsuma oranges that a question popped into her head. Was this her way of apologizing to him? With food? Was she ready to admit that her trust in Ron somehow compromised her loyalty to Alex?
No. Yes. She wasn’t sure.
She was surprised to find Emily’s car in the driveway when she returned home. The front door of the house stood ajar, and Liz thought of the cold drizzly air circulating through her house. For a second she was annoyed that Emily had failed to shut the door, and then she remembered what kind of shape Emily had been in when she’d seen her last.
Should she have been behind the wheel of a car? Maybe Ron had driven her over…
Juggling the bags, Liz managed to carry everything into the house in one load, pushing open the door with her hip, calling out Emily’s name.
The call died in her throat. Emily sat in the middle of the sofa, gazing at nothing, her hands lost in the folds of her heavy wool skirt.
