“I wouldn’t have put it past her,” Mendoza agreed. “We had a little talk. I explained that she was in breach of her own restraining order, and if she didn’t go away and stay away, there was nothing I could do to keep you away from her.”
“I’m not planning to go anywhere near her,” I said. And I wasn’t. I knew everything I needed to know about Jacquie. She seemed sincerely, if overly, distraught about David’s death—or the loss of David’s money—and I didn’t think she’d had anything to do with killing him. Nick was another story—I still thought he might have done it—but it wasn’t like I would learn whether he had or not by following him around. Besides, if the killer had put the overalls in the garage and called the police from one of the phones inside the house, it had to be one of the guests inside, or someone who had left already. But it couldn’t be Nick. He might have found a way into the garage to plant the overalls and knife, but he couldn’t have gotten into the house to make the phone call. Someone would have noticed him. Probably me.
“What do you think?” I asked Mendoza. “Whoever did this, probably did it to incriminate me, right?”
He nodded. “Unless...”
“Unless I did it, to make it look like someone else did it, to make it look like I didn’t kill David.”
He grinned. “Exactly. You have the makings of an investigator, Mrs. Kelly.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I think. Let’s forget about that last one for a second and say it was someone else, and they did it to make me look suspicious.”
Mendoza nodded.
“It had to be someone who was here earlier. Or is still here now.”
Mendoza nodded.
“So say you did it.”
His eyebrows crept up his forehead.
“Just go with it,” I said. “You killed David, and you put the stuff in the sandbox to incriminate me. And then you called the police to make sure your plan succeeded.”
Mendoza nodded, a tiny wrinkle between his brows.
“Would you leave before the police arrived, or would you stick around to see what happened?”
“I’d leave,” Mendoza said promptly. “But most people would stick around. They wouldn’t be able to resist.”
“That’s what I figured.” I glanced at the door to the house. “David’s murderer is one of the people inside right now.”
“Or an accomplice,” Mendoza said. “One person could have cut the brake lines, and another could have stashed the evidence.”
True. “Nobody’s missing, though. Everyone David knew has come through the house today. His children, his brother, his ex-wife, his lawyer. His business partner, his clients. Everyone except his mistress. And we know she didn’t do it.”
Mendoza shrugged.
“So now what?” I asked.
“Now I take this,” he lifted the bag, “downtown and give it to the lab. They don’t take weekends off, so hopefully they’ll know something by tomorrow.”
“DNA evidence?”
He shook his head. “That takes weeks. But if there are hairs or fibers, that’ll give us a start. A long, blond hair would eliminate a lot of people.”
But not me. “What about fingerprint evidence?”
“Fabric doesn’t take fingerprints. Unless our friend got brake fluid on his hands, which isn’t impossible. The knife is more likely, but I’m sure he wiped that. Or wore gloves when he used it.”
He probably hadn’t worn gloves when he put the evidence in my sandbox, though. At least I hadn’t seen any of my guests walking around wearing gloves. Except Jacquie, and she hadn’t been here.
“Are you going to test the box?” I asked hopefully.
Mendoza shook his head. “The wood’s too rough to take prints. I’d have more luck with your doorknobs and phone handles, but with all the people coming and going here today, I’m not sure it’s going to be worth it. But I’ll send a team out. How many phone extensions?”
I counted on my fingers. “Hallway, kitchen, David’s office, our bedroom, the bathroom, all three guestrooms, and the walk-in closet, of all places...”
Mendoza sighed.
“Whoever it was, couldn’t have called from the hallway or kitchen,” I told him. “There were too many people there. But someone could have snuck into David’s office and used the extension there. Or snuck upstairs and used any of the phones on that level. Anyone who knew they were there.”
“So someone who knew the house,” Mendoza said. “And who knew the chances of someone else accidentally stumbling into an unused second-level bedroom were slim to none.”
I nodded.
“I’ll take this in and dispatch a CSI team to deal with fingerprints.”
My eyes widened. “You aren’t going to fingerprint all my guests, are you?”
If he did, David’s funeral would be the talk of the season.
Of course, after Jacquie’s performance, it probably already was.
Mendoza shook his head. “They’ll check the phones. We’ll worry about matching prints once we know whether we have any to match.”
That made sense. I smiled. “Have a good weekend, Detective.”
“You, too, Mrs. Kelly,” Mendoza said. “Don’t get in any trouble.”
“That’s what Diana said.”
He tilted his head. “She was here, too?”
“Not in the garage. Or in the office. Or upstairs. She just stopped by to serve Anton Hess with papers saying that Judge Miller knows about the money David’s been hiding. Mr. Hess wasn’t happy.”
“I wouldn’t have been, either,” Mendoza said, moving toward the door.
I followed. “Do you know anything about Krystal’s boyfriend?”
“I know he’s her alibi for the night her father died. Why?”
“Rachel says David didn’t like him. Also, he smokes pot.”
“How do you know?” Mendoza wanted to know, interested.
“I smelled it on him. He came around the corner of the garage just as Diana was leaving, and bumped into her. He was reeking of it.”
“He has a record for possession,” Mendoza said. “He’s supposed to have cleaned up his act, but maybe he back-slid.”
No maybe about it.
“Anything else you haven’t told me?”
I thought about it. “Daniel got in my face. He was upset because I had sicced the police on him. I don’t suppose you happened to ask him why he came to Nashville with a funeral suit in his luggage?”
“He said he had an appointment,” Mendoza said, “and he needed to look good for it.”
“An appointment? With who?”
“Whom,” Mendoza said. “Your husband.”
With David? “What about?”
“He wanted Mr. Kelly to bankroll a business he and your stepson wanted to start.”
I snorted. “I can imagine what David said to that.”
Mendoza’s voice was bland. “Apparently he wasn’t complimentary.”
No, I hadn’t thought he would be. But before I could ask any further questions—like, when had this appointment taken place, and was it possible Daniel and Kenny had killed David to inherit the money to get their business off the ground?—the door into the house opened. Farley stuck his head through and peered around. “Is everything all right, Gina?”
“Everything is fine,” I said. “Detective Mendoza was just leaving.”
Mendoza nodded. “Excuse me, Mr. Hollingsworth.” He took the stairs up to the kitchen two at a time. Farley pulled his head back inside the house, and Mendoza disappeared through the opening. I followed, to fetch up in the hallway, surrounded by a crowd of people.
“I’ll be in touch, Mrs. Kelly,” Mendoza told me formally.
I nodded. “Thank you, Detective. Have a nice weekend.”
“You too, Mrs. Kelly.”
He headed for the door. The crowd parted for him like the Red Sea for Moses. We all just stood there and watched until the front door had closed behind him.
“Well,” I said bright
ly, “I guess that’s that.”
Everyone stared at me.
“I trust you’re all having a good time? Eating and drinking and all?”
A few heads nodded.
“If you’ll excuse me,” I said, “there’s something I have to do.”
I didn’t wait for anyone to respond, just walked down the hallway to David’s office, opened the door, and disappeared inside.
It wasn’t until I’d closed the door behind me that I looked around and realized that not only had someone been here before me, and that someone hadn’t just used the phone—if the phone call to the police had been made from David’s office—but he (or she) had searched the place, as well.
Drawers were open with papers on the floor, the surface of the desk was an unholy mess, and someone had gone through both the bookshelves—dropping books left and right—and David’s bank of filing cabinets. One drawer wasn’t quite closed, and the corner of a manila folder was stuck in the gap.
I stood just inside the door and looked around, mouth agape. And then I backed out slowly and locked the door behind me. Once Jaime Mendoza’s CSI team arrived, they could tackle it. Speaking for myself, I’d had enough.
Chapter 13
I USED A couple of extension cords I found in the garage to block off the stairs to the second floor. I figured whoever had tossed David’s office, had probably also made the phone call to the police from there, but just in case two different people were behind the two things, I wanted to protect whatever evidence was upstairs until Mendoza’s CSI team could arrive. I have no idea what my guests thought about what was going on, and I didn’t care. At that point, I just wanted them all to go away.
Of course they didn’t. They hung out for another eternity, grazing their way through the buffet, emptying the wine bottles, and talking about David’s many virtues.
By the time the last one of them rolled slowly down the driveway, I was sick enough of people that I wanted to scream. And I still had Rachel to get rid of.
“I’ll help you clean up,” she told me.
I looked around at the mess—the picked-over platters, the used flatware and silverware, the crumbs—and shook my head. “That’s not necessary. The catering company will be here within the hour to pick up their plates and silverware. And packing up the food will give me something to do tonight.”
I had nothing else to look forward to. The CSI team probably wouldn’t be very entertaining, and Mendoza wasn’t likely to come back.
“It’s a lot of work,” Rachel said, looking around as well.
“That’s OK. I don’t have much else to do these days.”
She nodded, as if she knew what I was talking about. “My husband passed away seven years ago. Heart attack in bed.”
God, how awful. Especially if, you know, they’d been in the middle of something. Bad enough to lose David in a car accident, but in the middle of coitus...? “I’m so sorry.”
“It wasn’t my bed,” Rachel said. “Until that happened, I had no idea he was fooling around with someone else.”
I winced.
“That’s when I went to work for your husband. I didn’t have anything to live on. No pension, no life insurance. No savings. I needed an income.”
I nodded.
“I didn’t want him back,” Rachel said. “I wouldn’t have taken him back if he came crawling to me on his hands and knees. But I remember how empty the house was. How I realized I had no life apart from him.”
Yes, indeed.
“We’d been married more than twenty years. And suddenly I was alone. And I realized I had no idea who I was.”
Boy, could I relate.
“Having to go out and find a job was a relief. It kept me from sitting at home with nothing to do.”
“I get it,” I said. “And I won’t brood. I’ll clean up, and then I’ll probably go to bed. It’s been a long day. And then tomorrow I’ll find something to do.”
Something useful. The judge might still rule in David’s favor, and I’d inherit nothing. I’d have to go out too, like Rachel, and find a job.
“Just how easy is it to find a job, anyway?”
“When you’re over forty and you have no education?” She shook her head. “Not easy.”
“What are you going to do now?”
“I have a little time. I’ll figure something out.” She sounded confident. Good for her.
“It seems Daniel and Kenny were hoping to start a business together,” I said. “Detective Mendoza said they were trying to get David to bankroll them.”
Rachel nodded. “Mr. Kelly said no.”
“But now that he’s gone, they’ll probably both inherit something. David made provisions in his will for Daniel, I think, and since I’m not their mother, the estate gets divided upon David’s death, and Krystal and Kenny get their shares. If Daniel and Kenny put their money together, they may have enough to start their business.”
“Yes,” Rachel said, “but what they wanted, was to open a bar. And I don’t want to work in a bar.”
Hard to blame her for that. “Well, I wish you the best,” I said, fervently hoping that I wouldn’t find myself in the same position in a couple of weeks or months. “And if there’s anything I can do...”
“I’ll let you know. Let me leave you my phone number. Just in case you need anything.” She looked around for a pen and paper, and found both hanging on the fridge.
“You’re being very nice to me all of a sudden,” I said, while I watched her scribble down her number. “Is it because David’s dead and you feel sorry for me?”
She shook her head. “It’s because while Mr. Kelly was alive and fooling around, I was feeling guilty. I couldn’t tell you, because if I did, I’d lose my job, and every time you were nice to me, I felt bad that I was lying to you.”
“You weren’t lying to me,” I said. “David was.”
“I might as well have been.” She finished writing the number down, and turned to me. “If you’re sure you don’t need my help, I’ll head home now.”
“That’s fine,” I said. “You’ve been a great help already. The caterers will be here soon. And it’s been a long, crazy day. I just want to put my feet up and not have to be nice to anyone.”
Rachel nodded. “Totally understandable. Call if you need anything.”
She headed for the door with me trailing behind.
“I did have a question,” I said. “This meeting Daniel and Kenny had with David, the one when he said no to backing their bar. When did it take place.”
“Tuesday afternoon,” Rachel said.
And by Tuesday evening, David was dead.
“Do you have any idea how much they were asking for?”
But Rachel shook her head. “He didn’t tell me that. And they weren’t speaking loud enough that I could hear the details.”
“I appreciate it.” I opened the front door and held it while she passed through. “Drive carefully.”
“You, too, Mrs. Kelly,” Rachel said.
“I think by now you could probably call me Gina. David’s dead, so he isn’t your boss anymore. And Mrs. Kelly makes me feel old.”
Rachel grinned. “Of course, Gina. Have a good evening.”
“Likewise,” I said, and watched her get into her car and navigate slowly down the driveway. When her taillights had turned left at the street, I closed the door and kicked off my heels, and headed into the dining room to pour myself a glass of wine.
* * *
BY THE TIME the doorbell rang fifteen minutes later, I’d changed into a T-shirt and a pair of yoga pants, and was busy covering the leftovers with plastic wrap and storing them in the refrigerator, between sips of Cabernet.
I expected the caterers, but it was actually the CSI team that arrived first. There were three of them, two women and a guy—not Jaime Mendoza—and I had shown them the sandbox in the garage and was in the process of explaining that my late husband’s office didn’t usually look the way it did now, when the caterers
arrived. So I left the CSI team in David’s office to see what fingerprints or clothing fibers they could find, and went to greet the catering team. There were three of them, as well, all women, and we spent the next fifteen minutes in the kitchen, finishing the job of emptying the trays so they could pack them up and remove them.
Once that was done, I headed back to the CSI team, which was still immersed in David’s office.
“This will take a while, Mrs. Kelly,” one of the women told me when I stuck my head around the door to see how they were getting on. “There’s a lot of upheaval in this room. And Jaime said we have three or four rooms to do upstairs, as well.”
I nodded. “I think whoever called, probably called from down here, but I’m not sure. There were so many people in the house that I have no idea where anyone was most of the time. Someone could have gone upstairs for five minutes, and I would never have noticed.”
She nodded. “We’ll be here for hours yet.”
And she must have seen the dismay on my face—all I wanted to do was take my glass of wine and crawl into bed, and if there was a CSI team fine-tooth combing my house, I couldn’t—because she added, “Do you have somewhere else you can go for the night?”
For a second, I thought about Rachel, and about calling to ask if I could crash on her couch for the night. But I really didn’t want the company. I wanted to be alone. I’d been surrounded by people all day, and I needed some time to myself.
Maybe I could rent a hotel room for the night?
That cost money, though, and I didn’t know how much of that I’d have, going forward. And on a Friday night, there were no guarantees that I’d be able to find a vacancy anywhere I’d consider staying. A fleabag motel on Murfreesboro Pike was out of the question. Not on the day I had buried my husband.
It was the thought of David that clarified things. I still had his keychain, and the penthouse was just sitting there in the Gulch, empty. I could spend the night there.
So what if he’d screwed Jacquie in that bed? I could change the sheets.
“Yes, thank you.” I smiled at the CSI tech. “I do. I’ll just throw a few things into an overnight bag and be out of your way.”
Ditching David Page 13
