Decorating Schemes

by Ginny Aiken

  Jackie shrugged. “I don’t know. I lost count back when we were in junior high. Maybe seven, eight times.”

  No wonder Madeleine had moved in on Dad so fast—she was a pro at that game. “So Ogleby’s not Deedee’s maiden name.”

  “That’s not the name I know.”

  “So what is that name?”

  Misgiving crossed her face. “How do I know you’re okay? That you’re not here to try to use me to hurt the Smiths? Deedee’s my best friend, and her mom’s been through a lot lately. I don’t want to be part of any setback. How do I know you even really know them?”

  Deedee and Madeleine Smith. It has that certain ring of slithery anonymity, doesn’t it?

  With a deep breath for courage, and Dutch’s warm hand at my back, I went for broke. “I know you’ve been Deedee’s friend for years. I know the two of you would switch off and spend every second night at each other’s homes during the summer. I know you were her maid of honor four and a half months ago. And I know you went with her when she had her—”

  I glanced at Dutch, then shrugged. Delicacy didn’t matter. “You went with her to Seattle when she had breast surgery.”

  The can of mace went down. “You know a lot about Deedee and me. How about you tell me about you?”

  I stuck to the truth, just not all of it. I told her Madeleine was about to marry Dad, that Deedee had hired me to redesign her new home, and that I’d talked to Madeleine about the possibility of throwing a surprise housewarming for Deedee.

  “Of course, that’s not something I would go ahead and do without your input—you are her best friend, aren’t you? That’s why I’m here.”

  Lingering doubt showed on Jackie’s face. “You had to come all the way from Wilmont to Portland to plan a party? And then you had to wait for me in the dark? What are you, crazy?”

  Dutch snickered.

  I stomped on a gargantuan foot.

  He yelped.

  I grinned.

  “No.” I scrambled for some plausible explanation. “Ah... not really....”

  What good was my two-hundred-pound sidekick if he wasn’t going to give me a hand? I turned to the ape and gave him a forced smile. “I... ah... we came to Portland—”

  “On business,” he finally said. Then he held out a hand. “Hi, Jackie. I’m Dutch Merrill. I’m the contractor on Deedee’s remodel. Haley and I had to come to Portland for something for the Marshall job, and she couldn’t wait to start on the party. I’m just a tag-along now.”

  Hmm... what a slick way to avoid a lie and still sound almost believable.

  I turned to Jackie and rolled my eyes. “Yeah, he’s like one of those evil cartoon shadows. You know. The ones that never do what the person does, but instead loom over the character and scare the pants off the little kids who watch the dumb show.”

  That at least got a smile. “Okay. So let’s say you really do want to plan a party. Why didn’t you just call me?”

  “Ah... we were in the neighborhood.” What can I say? It was late, we were—literally—in her neighborhood, and it was the best I could do besides cook up a lie. Lame. Really, really lame.

  “Look, I had a long night. One of my patients developed unexpected complications. It was rough, and I’m dead on my feet. Why don’t you just call me tomorrow, and we’ll talk then?”

  I traded looks with my accomplice. “Okay. We’ll still be in town.”

  “How about we treat you to brunch?” He slathered on his up-to-now absent charm. “To make up for scaring you. We are sorry about that. And that’ll give you and Haley plenty of time to talk.”

  We agreed on details of when and where, then drove off. We’d made reservations at a nearby motel before we left home, and I couldn’t wait to hit first the shower and then a bed. We checked in. I waved good-night.

  “See ya in the morning.” I shuffled off to my room.

  Dutch called out something in response, but by then I was too far gone. I found my room, dropped my bag, hurried to the shower, used their complimentary bath and shower jams and jellies, dried off, and collapsed onto the lumpy mattress and skinny pillows. I didn’t care. The built-up exhaustion of weeks of stress finally hit me like the demolition of a brick fireplace wall.

  Next thing I knew, sunlight arrowed between the panels of the blue and green striped curtains, and someone was determined to break down my door.

  “Open up already!” Dutch yelled.

  “Hang on! Why do you have to take out your aggressions on my door at the crack of dawn? We’re not supposed to meet Jackie until 10:30, and it’s only...” I glanced at the clock. “It’s only 6:39.”

  I muttered a truckload of threats to his life and limbs while I scrabbled through my overnight bag for the clean clothes I’d packed. I hurried to the bathroom, gave my poor bladder much-needed relief, brushed my teeth, and yanked open the door.

  “Morning.” Sure, I growled. I’m not a morning person.

  “Chirpy, aren’t you, sunshine?” He waved a handful of papers and kicked the door shut. “Wait’ll you get a load of these.”

  I yawned, certain he wouldn’t go away until he’d punched every last detail on those papers into my foggy brain. “They look like plain old eight and a half by elevens. What’s the big deal?”

  “The big deal’s that I took some time to surf the Net when I couldn’t sleep last night. I Googled Deedee’s name—her real name—and I hit the jackpot in a couple of old Oregon newspapers’ archives. Take a look.”

  Thank goodness I’m a quick reader. There was page after page after page of newspaper stories about my future stepsister and stepmother, none of them particularly flattering either.

  “They’re con artists!” I cried. “They’ve been arrested more times than Mike Tyson. We’ve got to do something. That woman can’t marry my dad.”

  His smirk reeked of smug. “See why I woke you up? Doesn’t it feel good to know you and Lori were on the right path? Deedee’s career of choice is fleecing unsuspecting males.”

  “But she never got one of her victims to marry her—unlike her mom, who’s married just about everyone in pants.”

  “Ah-ah-ah,” Dutch said, “what you mean is that she never found that good a sucker until now.”

  “Until she had the goods to really turn the screw.” Then I remembered Dr. Marshall’s concern for his new wife when we met at the dive shop. “There’s always the outside chance that he married her for love—prodded on by the blackmail. As they say, there’s a sucker born every minute. She could’ve mesmerized him into love, then closed the deal with the other.”

  “Too bad it’s not the same on her part.”

  “Oh, I don’t know, Dutch. I don’t think she can separate the guy from the dough, so she might be in love too.” Then I grimaced. “Oh, forget that. Neither one of them deserves pity. They deserve each other, and that’s what they’ve got—for better or worse.”

  “Still wanna go to breakfast with Jackie?”

  “Are you kidding? I want you back in Wilmont to do your he-man pounding thing on Lila’s door. This may not be the proof we need, but it sure is enough to put her on the right path.”

  “Call Jackie and tell her something came up. Give her some excuse, and let’s get out of here. We got what we came for.”

  In less than fifteen minutes, after a strange conversation with the sleepy and befuddled Jackie, we got in my Honda and headed for Wilmont, our hope renewed. That’s when it hit me.

  “Oh no.” I dropped my face onto my hands. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no!”

  Dutch slanted me a look. “What’s wrong?”

  “Oh, Dutch, this is really nasty. What on earth am I going to tell Dad?”

  He winced. “‘Hey, Dad. Your fiancée is as crooked as a shepherd’s hook and nowhere near as nice,’ won’t exactly go over well, will it?”

  “And he’s so happy.”

  “I don’t know what you can tell him,” Dutch said. “But I’ll be there with you, okay?”

  I s
hook my head. “This is one of those times I’m going to have to suck it up and do the right thing by myself. But thanks anyway.”

  Sometimes being a grown-up really stinks.

  Dad’s steady gray gaze never strayed from mine. “I’m so disappointed in you, Haley. I never would have expected you to be so resentful. Madeleine isn’t interested in replacing you. She and I just feel blessed to have found each other at this time of our lives. I wish you’d share our joy.”

  Tears of rage and frustration filled my eyes. “Dad! I’m not resentful. I’m not even jealous. I want nothing more than your happiness. But this woman’s got some weird agenda. Just look at the stuff Dutch downloaded from the Portland papers. Please.”

  “I admit I don’t know much about that www stuff.” Dad stood, anger in his jutted jaw, his narrowed eyes, and his flared nostrils. “But I do know enough to realize that you can concoct any kind of hoax if you piece together anything that’s out there. I have faith in the woman I love.”

  That hurt. “And you have no faith in the daughter you’ve raised.”

  “That’s not fair, Haley. I do have faith in you. I’ve believed in you, supported you, and prayed for you, even when you were your least lovable. I’d hoped you’d at least support my happiness in return.”

  “I do want your happiness.” I stood. “And that’s why I’m warning you. I don’t want you to wind up like the last seven guys Madeleine lured to the altar. She divorced four and took them to the cleaners, and the other three are now six feet under in a couple of Portland cemeteries.”

  “That’s enough.” He reached for his reading glasses but didn’t find them in his pocket. He patted his pants, looked over the counters, picked up the basket where I keep paper napkins, even lifted his plate—nothing.

  I reached up and slipped them off his balding head. “Here you go. And just like you needed me to help you see where you had your glasses, you need me to help you see Madeleine’s deception. I don’t know why she’d want to marry you—other than that you’re a wonderful man. After all, you’re her first normal guy. The others all had major bucks in the bank.”

  “Have you thought she might have had a change of heart?”

  “It’s possible. But since her daughter’s just launched her career into rich-guy fleecing, I doubt it. Who knows what those two women are up to.”

  “I’ve heard enough, Haley. And I hope you never bring it up again. I won’t listen to you speak ill of the woman who’ll soon become your stepmother.” He turned and went to the back door. “I’ll be in my office the rest of the day.”

  The knot in my throat didn’t let me do more than nod. At least I’d tried. I hadn’t gotten anywhere, but I’d tried. The best I could do now was trust God and follow through with what I knew I still had to do.

  I flipped open my cell phone and called Dutch.

  “Hey,” I said. “It’s me. It went down even worse than I expected, but I did my best.”

  “You ready, then?”

  “Let’s go get Lila.”

  “Be there in five.”

  Ten minutes later we walked into the Wilmont PD.

  Homicide detective Lila Tsu wasn’t alone in her office. To my dismay, my sixth-grade nemesis, Chris Thomas, sat sprawled in the wooden chair across from her desk.

  Lila’s look came full of curiosity “This is a surprise. Interesting company you’re keeping these days, Haley.”

  “You take what you can get,” I said. “And we don’t have time to trade swipes with you right now.” I glared at Chris. “And you’d better forget your stupid jokes. We have information about Deedee Marshall and her mother—”

  “Among other things,” Dutch said, clearly impatient. “I don’t know where your investigation is right now, but we think you need to know what we’ve learned.”

  Chris had the decency to stand and give me the chair. Then he stepped outside and dragged in a couple of metal folding chairs for Dutch and him. Once everyone was seated, I began.

  I told Lila and Chris everything I’d done and learned. When I mentioned the scuba lessons, Chris nearly swallowed his tongue—he was stunned, didn’t think I had it in me. I gloated.

  But not for long.

  “So that’s why I haven’t seen you at the dojo lately,” Karate Chop Cop commented.

  “I only have so many hours in my day, and I felt I had to do this. But my sports interests aren’t important here. What matters is that Stewart Marshall is also an avid diver just like KC was.”

  Dutch jumped in, clearly unhappy with the way I told the story. He spit out details, dates, times, places. He told about our visit to Ron and Lori Richardson’s home. He even took it upon himself to tell the detective about the lunch conversation Lori and I had shared—the nerve of the man! That was my conversation, not his, to retell.

  So I cut him off. “That’s when I decided we needed to find out something, anything, about Deedee and Madeleine. Since Madeleine’s now engaged to my dad, I asked her a couple of questions, and she didn’t suspect a thing. We went down to Portland and met Deedee’s best friend—she’s nice. Aside from knowing that Madeleine’s been married more times than Liz Taylor, I don’t think she knows about Deedee and Madeleine’s darker side.”

  Lila did a “Get on with it” kind of wave, and I did.

  As I went on, Dutch handed over his printouts. Lila scanned the pages, then raised her head and gave me her laser stare. “You’ve been busy, haven’t you? Just as busy as we have. We know all this, so you didn’t need to blunder into our investigation.”

  I met her gaze full on. “Since I know how forceful you can be, and since I also know how close you came to nailing me for a murder I didn’t commit, I knew I had to help Dutch. He’s not guilty, and I think by now you can see that Stewart Marshall’s your man.”

  She gave a noncommittal shrug. “It doesn’t look good for him. But I think you forgot a few details. Yes, he may have performed a late-term abortion on KC, but who paid for it? He’s not likely to have done it out of the goodness of his heart, not from what you’ve told me or from what we know.”

  “Does that matter—”

  “And,” she added as if I hadn’t said a word, “even if he did do it pro bono, you have to remember that KC didn’t simply hemorrhage spontaneously. Where’s the smoking gun, Haley? Where’s the Coumadin?”

  “He’s a doctor, isn’t he? I’m sure he can come up with the stuff from... oh, I don’t know. Maybe one of his doctor pals slipped him some.” I glared. “What? Do you want me to do all your work for you now?”

  She stared back, her delicate features expressionless. “I’d rather you didn’t do any of my work. But since I can’t seem to stop you, short of jailing you, here’s a final question. Why? Why would Stewart Marshall give KC a blood thinner? Why would he want to hurt her? What did he gain by killing her? Why do you think he’s the killer?”

  I fell back into my chair. I heard Dutch bring up the usual litany: Marshall had the opportunity, he could certainly get hold of the means, and one really doesn’t have to prove motive for an arrest or an indictment, much less a conviction. Besides, maybe it was as simple as KC threatening to reveal his little business.

  But in the back of my mind, the matter of the Coumadin remained. I thought back to Bella’s and my time at the bowling alley. Wanda had given us a glimpse into her photographic memory. She’d recited a list of prescriptions for Deedee and Stewart Marshall, all three Richardsons, and Jackson Maurer and his parents and sisters.

  Oh yeah. Wanda’d been busy all right. After Bella alerted her to our forthcoming grilling, Wanda had her model fingers tap out a dance of discovery on the keys of the pharmacy’s computer. She hadn’t come up with a hit.

  “You know, Detective Tsu,” I said. “You probably have enough to get a search warrant—a couple of them. One for the Marshall home and another for Dr. Marshall’s office. I’m sure you can even get one for the dive shop, even though I haven’t found a thing there. I would think that would have occ
urred to you without my help.”

  “Give her a break, will ya, Haley?” Chris said. “She knows what she’s doing, and we do need probable cause. Yeah, we can get him on the abortion deal, but that’s not what we really want. If he’s guilty—” He held up a hand to stop my objection. “If he’s guilty of murder, then that’s the rap we want. We can’t jump the gun. You’re just going to have to trust us, be patient, and let us good ol’ boy cop grunts dawdle along on our lazy, lousy investigation, y’hear?”

  I blushed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to call you incompetent—”

  “Really, now?” The detective’s words dripped sarcasm. “Why would you think we haven’t already thought this through? We’ve been looking into Marshall’s sideline for a while now. But we can’t prove a thing. Yes, the woman you referred to me will testify, but that’s just her word against that of a respected member of our medical community. We need more. We need evidence.”

  Dutch cleared his throat. I looked at him.

  I sighed. “Yes, we do. We need evidence—hard evidence. We need to find where he disposes of...”

  “Yes, Haley,” Lila said in a gentler tone. “We need to find those tiny corpses. And we haven’t been able to do that. We have no idea what he’s done with his tiniest victims.”

  The usual roiling started up in my gut, so I sat back and just thought. The dead babies... the Coumadin... no evidence at the home, at the office, or the dive shop...

  God, I know I’m on the right track. But something’s missing, or maybe I’m just not seeing things the way I should. Open up my eyes. Help me see what I’ve missed so far.

  The other’s voices swirled around me, but I didn’t bother to listen. I focused on what was milling around in my head and tried to grab the kaleidoscopic images that danced and dodged each other just beyond my reach. And through it all the Coumadin wove in and out like a ribbon of darkness, a trail of blood.

  Then, out of that gray muddle, a couple of phrases I hadn’t thought about for a while leaped in vivid Technicolor to the front of my thoughts. “You want to know who KC’s kid’s dad is?” Jackson Maurer had said. “Then you’d better check out those crazy diver guys at the shop.”