Killer Keepsakes

by Jane K. Cleland

  After Ty and I finished our conversation, I called work. Fred answered, and I asked him to pass on the good news—Gretchen was safe and out of custody. He reported business at the tag sale was brisk, despite the warm weather.

  I was asking Jack about his work while I chopped onions when the doorbell rang. I rinsed my hands quickly and grabbed a dish towel en route to the front door.

  One glance through the glass, and muscles contracted in my shoulders and neck and my stomach sank. It was Chip—Peter Boulanger—and beneath his jacket, near his waistband, I saw a bulge.

  I dropped to the floor, trying to make myself small. I knew he couldn’t see me if I stayed low. The hall was dim and the sight lines from the small window set into the door were limited. My cell phone was in my tote bag in the kitchen. So was the nearest land-line phone. I wanted to call to Gretchen and Jack but didn’t want Chip to hear me. He must have followed us from the courthouse, I realized, and I didn’t even think to check. Staying close to the ground, I crawled down the hallway.

  The bell rang again, then he knocked, hammering the door.

  The kitchen seemed miles away. Jack appeared at the arch, saw me crawling, and ran the few yards to join me.

  “Who is it?” he asked.

  “It’s Peter,” I whispered. “Chip.”

  The pounding stopped. I heard Chip tramping across the porch and down the steps.

  Jack stepped toward the front, and I grabbed his pant leg. “Don’t. Let him go.”

  Faintly, I heard an engine turn over. I scrabbled forward, clawed my way up the door, and looked outside. I was just in time to see the gold Taurus turn the corner, heading toward Portsmouth.

  I ran to the kitchen and dialed 911.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  D

  etective Brownley didn’t hesitate. Three police vehicles arrived within minutes, and Gretchen and Jack were whisked away moments later.

  “Your car will be at the police station,” Detective Brownley told him.

  A uniformed officer checked all of my doors and windows to confirm they were locked, drew the drapes everywhere, and announced he’d be outside if I needed him.

  “Where are you taking them?” I asked her.

  “Do you plan on leaving your house tonight?” Detective Brownley asked me, ignoring my question.

  “No.”

  “Okay. If you change your mind, I’ll assign an officer to accompany you.”

  I fleetingly considered protesting that I didn’t need police protection. “Thank you,” I said.

  Wes called about fifteen minutes later.

  “Vince posted bail this afternoon, and now he’s going nuts! The police got a search warrant for Mandy’s apartment, her car, and her locker at work. They’re searching them now, and from what I hear, Vince and the lawyer he got for Mandy are ranting around, but, of course, they can’t do anything to stop the search. Pretty funny, huh?”

  “A real hoot, Wes,” I said, wondering what they’d find and where.

  “Lina’s out—her lawyer got her ROR’d.”

  “Really? Released on her own recognizance?”

  “Yup. She had to give up her passport and wear an electronic monitoring device.” He paused. “So, did you talk to Chip—Peter? I picked up that he came to your house on the scanner.”

  “No,” I said, shivering.

  “What happened?”

  “I can’t talk now,” I said. I didn’t want to relive it.

  “Why not?” Wes grumbled. “It’s important, Josie.”

  “I’ll call you later,” I said.

  “When?”

  “I don’t know. When I can.” I hung up.

  Gretchen called around nine. Ty was in the kitchen cleaning up the dinner dishes. She sounded scared.

  “They have us in a hotel,” she said. “Can you imagine? I’m in protective custody.”

  “Quite a turnaround from being a fugitive.”

  She cleared her throat. “Yeah. So, Peter called me.”

  “He called you?” I asked, flabbergasted. “When?”

  “Now. Today. About two hours ago. I called my answering machine from here and got the message. He asked if I was back in the apartment yet. Something in his tone—I couldn’t listen. I hung up.”

  I leaned forward and stared at my knees. Icy tendrils of terror wrapped around my throat, and for a moment I couldn’t speak. “My God, Gretchen,” I said when I could. “Have you told the police?”

  “Yes. I called Detective Brownley right away. She said they’d check it out. I guess she did. I just spoke to her. She’ll be calling you, too.” Gretchen paused, then added, “She wants me to come in to work on Monday.”

  “You’re kidding me! Why?”

  “She has a plan.” There was a short pause. “She said Jack shouldn’t come with me. She wants everything to appear normal when I show up.”

  “Sounds reasonable,” I said, with more conviction than I felt. What it sounded was terrifying. “What’s the plan?”

  “She said she’d call you to tell you about it. It’s pretty complicated.”

  I paused and considered trying to dig out details, but I didn’t. Instead, I reacted to the emotion I heard in her voice. “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “About like you’d expect.”

  We finished our conversation, and after we hung up, I continued to sit in the living room. I heard the swish-swish of water as Ty finished up in the kitchen.

  “Hey,” Ty said from the doorway when he was done.

  I turned my head, then patted the sofa.

  Ty sank onto the couch and held out his arm invitingly. “Hey, cutie, snuggle on up,” he said.

  I wriggled over and got myself situated. “So, tell me about your day,” I requested. “Distract me.”

  I settled back to listen and found myself engaged in the stories Ty told about the personalities and the team’s plans. I was impressed that he could find parts of the process boring, yet still leave work energized. The peaceful interlude was shattered when the phone rang just before ten.

  It was Detective Brownley. “I want to talk to you about an idea we think is worth pursuing.”

  “Gretchen told me that you want her to come into work Monday.” A picture came to me of Chip attacking Gretchen, and my heart skipped a beat. “Even keeping the doors locked won’t help if Chip shows up with a gun.”

  “That’s true, but it’s a complicated situation, Josie. You know that Chip’s real name is Peter Boulanger, right? I’m going to keep referring to him as Chip because it’s important that you do so if and when you talk to him again. Here’s the thing—Chip’s done nothing wrong, nothing actionable. We have to tempt him a little.”

  “He’s using a fake name. Isn’t that a crime?”

  “No, not unless you use it in an illegal enterprise. Maybe he adopted the fake name because he wanted to sniff around about his brother’s murder without having to deal with the police or the media. Maybe he just wants to talk to Gretchen. Everything he’s done could be interpreted innocently.”

  “You don’t think he’s innocent,” I stated.

  “What I think is beside the point.”

  “If he’s using a fake credit card, isn’t that illegal?”

  “If he acquired it fraudulently, yes. If not, and he has no intent to use it to commit an illegal act, then it’s legal.”

  I shook my head, amazed. “Why don’t you just bring him in for questioning?”

  “There’s no probable cause. Trust me, Josie, if there was another way, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

  “What about the gun I saw stuffed in his pants?”

  “First of all, you say a bulge, not a gun. Second of all, what’s to say he doesn’t have a permit to carry a concealed weapon?” I had no response, and in a moment, Detective Brownley continued. “Here’s my plan—I hope you’ll agree to cooperate. Gretchen will pick up her car on Monday and drive straight to work. I’m betting that Chip, cruising by, will recognize it
as her car and come in to see her. I want to station a detective in your office.”

  “How would Chip know her car?”

  “Car registration information is easy to access.”

  “It is?” I asked, shocked. I shook my head. That must be how he located Lina’s apartment so easily, I realized. “Assuming you’re right, that seeing the car will draw him in, why does Gretchen have to be there? Isn’t just the car enough?”

  Ty stood up and pointed toward the den. I watched him walk out of the living room.

  “No,” Detective Brownley stated. “We need him to do something. Entering your office during business hours isn’t a crime. We need to see if when he spots her he does something that is a crime.”

  “Surely he wouldn’t be so stupid. He has to know the police are onto him. News reports have mentioned that the murder victim had a brother.”

  “Yeah, but he seems pretty set on finding her—and because he is smart, he probably thinks he can spirit her away without alarming anyone.”

  I took a deep breath. “What does Gretchen think about all this?”

  “She thinks that I’m right, that he’ll come looking for her.” She paused. “She’s pretty eager to have this situation finished and put behind her.”

  “Should I tell everyone else to take the day off? I mean, why risk the rest of the staff?”

  “First, I think it’s crucial that everything appear normal. If Chip drives by and the parking lot doesn’t contain the number and kind of cars he expects, I think he’ll drive on by. If he steps inside and doesn’t see the right people, I think he’ll just turn around and leave. Second, I don’t think Chip is crazy or stupid; I think he wants to stay alive and stay out of jail.” She cleared her throat. “We have reason to believe that he’s sent his family out of the country and plans on joining them there. Whatever he’s up to—he’s not suicidal. I’m telling you, Josie, I still think there’s a good chance that all he intends to do is talk to Gretchen. Third, we’re doing everything we can to minimize the risk. In addition to a detective, there’ll be uniformed officers inside, out of sight, and specially trained police in the woods.”

  She means snipers, I realized, and swallowed.

  “There’ll be additional backup units just down the road, in the church lot. We’re not doing this on a whim, Josie.”

  What she said made sense. “Okay, then. So what do we do? Me and my employees?”

  “Your day starts at nine, right? Can you meet me there at eight thirty?”

  “Yes.”

  “At nine, I’ll go over the plan with everyone, bringing them up to speed. What I’ll tell them is the same as what I just told you—to act normal. If Chip arrives, greet him like you have in the past. No one should betray the police presence by word or deed. My expectation is that if he shows up, he’ll spot Gretchen and the rest of us will become invisible. Gretchen will arrive close to ten to give us plenty of time to prepare. I’ve already coached her that she should act normal, too. She should refuse to accompany him out of the building. She—and you—should trust that we know what we’re doing.”

  I took a huge breath. “I’ve got to tell you, Detective, this seems hugely dangerous to me. What if he doesn’t want to talk to anyone? What if he just walks in, guns blazing?”

  “He’ll be dead before his weapon’s drawn.”

  Her calm confidence was simultaneously horrifying and reassuring. I didn’t like her plan, but I couldn’t think of any more arguments against it. Gretchen was Chip’s target, and Gretchen had already agreed. She wants it over, Detective Brownley had explained. I would, too. All I could do now was support her—and hope for the best.

  “You said a detective will be assigned to us,” I said. “Who?”

  “Me.”

  I couldn’t think of anything else to say or ask. “Okay, then,” I said.

  Ty was at my computer in the den, scrolling down a Web page. I didn’t recognize it.

  “Hey,” I said. “What are you looking at?

  “That new country place, Denim and Diamonds. I thought maybe we could go dancing tomorrow.”

  “Oh, that sounds wonderful! Let’s go dancing now.”

  He turned to face me. “You want to?”

  “Sort of. Yes. Not really.”

  “I admire a woman who knows her own mind.”

  I smiled at his sally, then curled up in the big club chair beside the computer desk to recount my conversation with Detective Brownley. Ty listened with his usual rapt attention.

  “Should I have agreed to it?” I asked him.

  “It sounds like Detective Brownley put a lot of thinking into the plan.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “I don’t know that you have any choice, Josie. Anytime Gretchen steps into the open air, she’s vulnerable to attack, so doing nothing isn’t an option.” He shrugged. “They can’t just wait a few days and hope he surfaces, because the issue isn’t that he’s missing or that they want to bring him in for questioning—the issue is that they have no evidence that he’s committed a crime. From a strategic perspective this approach is sensible; it’s proactive, which is always better than reactive. From a tactical perspective, it sounds as solid as it can be given the multitude of factors Detective Brownley can’t control.”

  I nodded. His calm good sense grounded me. “Gretchen is pretty brave,” I commented.

  It was only later, as I was getting ready for bed, that I realized the full magnitude of what I’d agreed to. Detective Brownley planned to use Gretchen as bait, and I was providing the lair.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  I

  barely slept. Nightmare after nightmare left me drenched in sweat. Around four, breathing hard from yet another terrifying dream I couldn’t recall, I sat up in bed and scanned the room. Streaks of silvery moonlight dappled the floor and walls. There were no bogeymen to be seen. I padded to the front window and peeked outside. A patrol car with its roof light spinning sat near the driveway.

  I went downstairs so my restlessness wouldn’t disturb Ty, got myself settled on the sofa, and watched reruns of I Love Lucy until dawn. Thankfully, with the morning light came a reduction in my anxiety, and I fell asleep, gripping the afghan like a child holds a blankie.

  Ty woke me at ten. “I was afraid if I let you sleep any longer, you wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight.”

  “Thanks,” I said, yawning. “I smell coffee.”

  “Shall I bring you a cup here or do you want to come into the kitchen?”

  I stretched and sat up. “I think I want to get dressed and get the day going. I’ll meet you in the kitchen in a few minutes, okay?”

  “Great. You can cook.”

  I laughed and stood up. “Sold.”

  I made a fancy breakfast using my mother’s Double-dip French Toast recipe, and then we sat in the living room listening to Ella Fitzgerald sing songs I’d grown up with, reading our books, and playing my favorite word game, UPWORDS. Later that afternoon, Ty asked if I felt like going dancing, and I told him no. We didn’t leave the house all day.

  I didn’t sleep well Sunday night either. Over and over again, I’d drift off, then awaken with a jerk, my heart racing, damp with perspiration, until finally, just after three, I gave up trying to rest and went downstairs. I made a pot of tea and sat in my dark kitchen listening to the night sounds, the settling of the house, the cycling of the refrigerator’s cooling system, an occasional rustling from the meadow.

  At six, I took a shower and tried to prepare myself for the day that loomed ahead.

  At eight, I was ready to leave. Ty insisted on escorting me to work. He walked in with me and watched as I turned off the alarm.

  “Leave the perimeter alarm on until Detective Brownley gets here, okay? And lock the door after me.”

  He watched through the window as I locked myself in, then smiled and gave me a thumbs-up before striding to his SUV. I stayed at the window. It wasn’t even eight thirty in the morning, yet I felt exhausted. He turn
ed toward the interstate, and then I was alone.

  I felt like a sitting duck.

  In the fifteen minutes before Detective Brownley arrived, I called Cara and asked her to pick up a dozen doughnuts to celebrate Gretchen’s homecoming and unlocked the door for a bleary-eyed Fred.

  As Fred got situated at his computer, he told me that some of the half-dolls were fab. He was describing one of them when Wes called.

  I took the call at the guest table and kept half an eye on the parking lot. “I still can’t talk to you, Wes. Not now.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t have time, but trust me, Wes—it will be worth the wait.”

  “Josie!” he complained. “Give me a hint at least!”

  “Did the police find anything at Mandy’s?” I asked, ignoring his request.

  “Why should I tell you?” he grumbled.

  “Because if you don’t, I won’t tell you anything.”

  He sighed. “They found a Marley .38 in a Baggie in the back of Mandy’s kitchen cabinet.”

  “You’re kidding! Is it the murder weapon?”

  “They don’t know yet. It was wiped clean, but the numbers weren’t filed off or anything, so they can trace it. They’re doing that, and they’re doing ballistics testing now. Mandy and Vince deny knowing anything about it. Vince is insisting it’s a frame-up job.”

  “Are they under arrest?”

  “Mandy is being held for questioning because the gun was found in her place. They can hold her on an illegal weapons charge, but that’s not what they want, obviously. On the advice of counsel, she’s standing mute. They’re seeing if they can connect the gun to Vince, which would be a parole violation, if nothing else.”

  I wondered how she was holding up under the pressure, wishing there was something I could do to help.

  Detective Brownley drove into the lot in an unmarked vehicle. I glanced at the Mickey Mouse clock on Gretchen’s—now Cara’s—desk. It was eight thirty on the dot. She was accompanied by three plainclothes police officers, all of whom I knew casually from when Ty had been the police chief.