Triple Threat

by Alexis Koetting

  Leland looked at Jeffers. For a fraction of a second he was a scared little boy caught in a lie and terrified about what might happen. But only for a fraction of a second.

  “Did you follow her to school?”

  “What if I did?”

  “What happened when you got there?”

  Leland held Jeffers’ gaze and for a few moments neither of them spoke.

  “I don’t want to talk to you anymore,” Leland said finally.

  Jeffers inhaled deeply and exhaled a retreat. He could not force Leland to say anything further without charging him with something, and he knew he still didn’t have enough grounds to do that. It was my turn to try something.

  “Do you remember what you said to me at the store? About karma?”

  Leland shrugged.

  “You said Mr. Macie got what he deserved.”

  “So?”

  “That’s a pretty strong statement.”

  Again with a shrug.

  “You think his death is what he deserved because of Ellie—”

  “Elsbeth!”

  “Or your mother?”

  Leland came off the stool toward me with an agility contrary to his build. Jeffers was between us in seconds and rested a hand against Leland’s chest. It brought to mind David and Goliath as Jeffers barely came to the boy’s shoulders and I couldn’t help but repress a giggle.

  “Calm down, son,” Jeffers said.

  “I’m not your ‘son,’” Leland said, looking down at Jeffers, challenging him with his eyes.

  “No, but you’re mine, and I’ll advise you to show some respect,” Armin Penner said from where he stood in the entrance to the barn, backlit by the sun. I couldn’t see the expression on his face, but the tone of his voice indicated he was far from pleased with finding us there. In spite of the warning he’d given to his son.

  “Yes, sir,” Leland said and moved back to the stool, throwing the rag into a nearby trash bin.

  “Perhaps you’d like to tell me what’s got my boy so upset,” Armin said, looking first to Jeffers then to me.

  “We’d like to know where he was the morning Al Macie was killed,” Jeffers explained.

  “He was here,” Armin said.

  “We’re not so sure about that.”

  Armin looked to Leland who looked away.

  “Son?”

  “I saw Elsbeth sneak out so I followed her,” Leland said begrudgingly then added more forcefully, “I didn’t kill anybody.”

  “Did you know she was going to the school?” Armin asked.

  “I figured. You guys were screaming about it all night. I knew she’d probably try something.”

  Armin’s jaw tightened. He looked slightly embarrassed and avoided meeting our eyes.

  “What happened when you got there?” Jeffers asked.

  Leland hesitated. “I didn’t hear all that good, but Elsbeth tried to get Mr. Macie to keep coaching her and he said he couldn’t. She left all upset.”

  “Was she alone?”

  “What?”

  I knew why Jeffers was asking. Ellie, on her own, wouldn’t have been able to overpower Macie, but with some help …

  Jeffers repeated the question. Leland nodded.

  “Leland, did you see anyone else at the school? Anyone at all?”

  Leland gave the briefest of glances toward his father before lowering his eyes and shaking his head.

  “Detective, I think that’ll be all for today,” Armin said.

  “We’d—”

  “If you have anything further to discuss with me or my children, I’m sure we can find a more suitable time. At present, there is work to be done that cannot wait.”

  He looked to Leland, who made a swift exit from the barn. Then he looked to Jeffers, who followed. I too made my way to the door, clumsily knocking over the trash bin as I did so.

  “It’s definitely them,” Jeffers said, starting up the car. “Did you see the way Leland looked at his father when I asked if he’d seen anyone else at the school? They’re covering!”

  “Armin seemed genuinely surprised to find out Leland had been at the school that morning.”

  “Is that how it looked to you? It’s an act, Bella! You should be able to see that better than anyone! One of them killed Macie and the other one knows it. Maybe even helped stage the suicide. Hell, maybe Ellie’s involved too. A real family affair! I am close, Bella, I am close and I will prove it.”

  I was feeling the sting from Jeffers’ comment but shrugged it off. I had been present during one of these mood swings before. I knew he was feeling the pressure and that it wasn’t personal.

  “Maybe this will help,” I said, laying Leland’s dirty rag on Jeffers’ lap when we’d gotten far enough away from the house.

  “How did—”

  “It must have fallen into my purse when I was tidying up the stuff I knocked over,” I said innocently.

  “Detective Samuel!”

  “Oh, give me a break, it’s all legal. Once something is in the garbage it’s anyone’s property. See, I did learn a few useful things on the show.”

  “I wasn’t scolding. That was my impressed voice.”

  “Well, then, thank you very much,” I said, channelling my best Elvis. Jeffers rolled his eyes.

  “I’ll get it to the lab. It’s a stretch, but there’s a chance fibres from a rag like this could have gotten onto the attacker’s clothing and from there could have been easily transferred to Macie. This is good. This is … something,” Jeffers said, then slammed his hand against the steering wheel in frustration. “Damn, why is this so hard?”

  We drove in silence. Jeffers had gone from sure to doubtful in a matter of seconds.

  “Do you think we might be looking in the wrong places?” I asked after a while. “We’ve been so focused on the Penners and Vince—”

  “Because the Penners and Vince have motives!”

  “Maybe someone else does too?”

  “You’re not helping.”

  Jeffers drove on, pouting.

  “Why? Why do you think that?” he finally asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “It just seems that we should have found something definitive by now.”

  “You think Macie messed with a bunch of other guys’ sisters and wives and they’re all seeking revenge at the same time?”

  “Jeffers, that’s not what I—”

  “Or maybe he was having an affair with one of the Smurfs, thus the aquamarine!”

  “Now you’re just being childish.”

  This earned me an almost imperceptible snarl but not another word until we pulled into my driveway.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. I’m just …”

  “I know.”

  “I’m going to drop this rag at the lab then I’m going to White Oaks to check out Vince’s alibi,” Jeffers said. “Hopefully one of those trips will pay off.”

  “Hopefully,” I echoed, getting out of the car.

  “I’ll call you,” he said, then honked a goodbye and drove off.

  Moustache was on the sofa, sandwiched between two throw cushions, with all four feet in the air. He heard me come in and struggled to right himself. One of the cushions fell to the floor followed by the dog, who gave a quick shake before bounding over to me. With my hands ruffling either side of his head, I brought my forehead to meet his and kissed the bridge of his nose. He gave a happy snort then wriggled free and ran to the back door. My phone rang.

  “Hey, you,” I said to Paul as I let Moustache out into the yard.

  “Hi. I’m just at the store. I don’t know what you have planned for supper, but I thought I’d check in to see if you need anything.”

  I screamed silently. It was my night to cook and I’d completely forgotten.

  “Bells?”

  “Um …”

  “Did you forget?”

  “No-o,” I lied, frantically opening cupboards.

  “It’s okay,” he said, on to me and laughing. “I’m right here. I
can pick up anything. What do you have a taste for?”

  I knew he’d end up cooking, which wasn’t fair given that I’d had the day off, technically, and he’d spent his in and out of procedures. I continued to rummage, my eyes finally resting on a box tucked away on a shelf.

  “I’ve got everything under control,” I said.

  “You’re sure?”

  “It’ll be ready in … twenty minutes,” I said, checking the directions on the box. “You, my dear, are in for a treat.”

  “I’ve tried it with honey garlic, but I think the hot Italian works better,” I said, as we walked off our supper. Moustache ran ahead, as far as his leash would allow.

  “Whatever you used was great.”

  “I can’t believe you’ve never had macaroni and cheese with sausage before. Not even with hot dogs?”

  “Nope.”

  “Wow. I thought that was a staple in every home.”

  “My mother only cooked from scratch, even though we begged her to buy the boxed stuff. She’d slave over the stove, using the best cheeses and fancy shaped pasta. It was delicious, but it wasn’t the same. Of course, I’d never tell her that. Not to this day. Now Dan Manure’s mom, she knew how to rock a box of mac and cheese. No hot dogs though. She used to sprinkle broken Doritos on top.”

  “What about Laura?” I asked tentatively.

  Paul hesitated and I could tell he was holding his breath. Or maybe it had just caught in his throat.

  “She was a vegetarian,” he said finally. “Used to douse hers in ketchup. But we didn’t have it very often.”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “No, it’s … it’s fine.”

  “She was a huge part of your life,” I said. “You don’t have to hide that from me.”

  The words came out of my mouth dripping in hypocrisy. I had spent practically my whole life in hiding. With the exception of Natalie, there was no one who had been privy to my inner clockwork. Jeffers had seen glimpses and so had Paul, but I was still very careful about exposing too much. It was a practice I knew I had to break and I was working on it. Slowly.

  He squeezed my hand but didn’t say anything else. We stopped while Moustache sniffed a bush and tried to decide which leg to lift against it.

  “Are dogs left- or right-pawed? Like people?” I asked.

  “Male dogs tend to be left-pawed and females, right.”

  “Really?”

  “It’s not always the case, but …”

  “How can you tell?”

  “Put a piece of tape on the dog’s nose. See which paw he uses to try and get it off.”

  “Shut up,” I said through a giggle.

  “It’s true! There’s a lot of research that has gone into paw preference. There are differences in emotional patterns and behavioural characteristics, trainability, levels of aggression … It’s sometimes what determines whether a dog is suited for military service or a career as a therapy dog. Right and left brain, you know. Same as us.”

  “Huh.”

  We started walking again.

  “You’re going to do it, aren’t you?” he said.

  “What?”

  “Put tape on Moustache’s nose.”

  “I … no!” I said with as much indignation as I could muster. “Well … maybe … no!” I was totally going to.

  He laughed and squeezed my hand again.

  “So remind me again who’s having the affair with a Smurf,” he said.

  I had not gone into too much detail with Paul, but I had hinted at some of the day’s highlights, including Jeffers’ not-so-clever punchline.

  “Oh god,” I said, rolling my eyes. Then I stopped. “Oh god!”

  “You okay?”

  “Can you take this?” I asked, handing over Moustache’s leash. I pulled out my phone and dialed Jeffers. Paul and Moustache walked ahead.

  “What if Macie’s relationship with Powell wasn’t as casual as Powell made it out to be?” I said when Jeffers answered.

  “Hang on,” he said and covered the receiver. There was a muffled conversation, then Jeffers came back on the line. “Sorry, what?” I repeated my theory. “You think Macie was in love with Powell?”

  “Probably the other way around,” I said, thinking back to how Powell had referred to their relationship as “dating” when it really wasn’t. Maybe he had wanted it to be. “While I think it’s likely that Glynn and Al had an understanding of sorts, I don’t think there was ever a question of Al leaving Glynn.”

  “Which is exactly the kind of thing lovers fight about.”

  “And we know how this particular fight ended.”

  Chapter 22

  Powell Avery was standing in a corner of the rehearsal room, deep in conversation with Adam, when I arrived at the theatre the following morning. His hands were resting casually on his hips and he nodded as Adam spoke. After a few moments, they both laughed. Powell clapped Adam on the back and moved to put his things down in another part of the room. Adam caught my eye and slunk over.

  “Your master plan seems to be coming along,” I said.

  “Not as well as I would like, but I’m working on it,” he said with a wink.

  “So you still haven’t asked him out?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Well, we went out the other night. But before you get excited, it wasn’t a date. We were at that talk the Uncle Vanya director was giving about Russian manners and etiquette—”

  “I thought that was just for the cast.”

  “No. It was open to the company.”

  “And you’re interested in Russian manners and etiquette?”

  Adam dramatically brought a hand to his chest and scoffed in great offence. “I’ll have you know—”

  “You heard Powell was going, didn’t you?”

  “Yep,” he said, dropping the act. “Anyway, when it was over we went for a drink. No big deal.”

  “That’s kind of a big deal! You’ve wanted to go out with him for weeks.”

  “We were in a group. But we sat next to each other, so …”

  “You seemed to be getting along just now, so you obviously didn’t put him off with your manners, Russian or otherwise.”

  “He is a tough nut to crack,” he said, looking at Powell wistfully. “Pun intended. But I’ve met harder challenges face on. Pun intended there too.”

  I groaned. Adam shrugged proudly at his own cleverness. Blue as it was.

  “He’s a good guy, right?” I asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I just … wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

  “Sweetie, don’t rain on my parade.”

  “I’m not raining!”

  “You’re a doll to care, but I’m a big boy and I can take care of myself.”

  My mind flashed to Al Macie, who probably thought the same thing.

  The assistant stage manager, Courtney, approached. She had worked at the Festival for a number of years but had never been able to move to the helm of her own show. This was a chip that weighed heavily on her shoulder, osmosed into her pores, and oozed out on the backs of every word she spoke. “Adam, I need you to show me exactly how you want your briefcase to be set on the train.”

  “What you’ve been doing is fine.”

  After a sigh that simply dripped in disdain, she managed, “Can you just …”

  Adam took a deep breath and flashed me the briefest of eye rolls. “Sure,” he said and moved off in the direction of the props table.

  Courtney followed, dragging her heels and shaking her head at the menial tasks that made up her life’s work. I sidled up to Powell.

  “Hey, do you have a sec?”

  “Hi. What’s up?” I nodded toward the hallway. “Everything okay?” he asked, following me out of the room.

  “Yeah. I hope so. I mean … yes. I just have a couple of—” I cut myself off. My breath was catching in my throat and I thought I might hyperventilate
.

  “Bella?”

  “I’m fine,” I said then blurted, “Were you in love with Al? Macie? Were you in love with Al Macie?”

  Powell ran his fingers through his hair and gave one of those laughs that people give when they find something incredulous.

  “Were you?” I repeated.

  “What is this about?”

  “The police—”

  “Oh my god,” Powell said, drawing me in deep into a corner. “Are you kidding me? Do they think I had something to do with Al’s death?”

  “Powell—”

  “Do you? Jesus, how do the police even know about me and Al?”

  “The police don’t. Just one detective. It came out when we were looking into Al’s sister. I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t believe this.”

  Calmly I said, “Powell, we know Al’s death was an accident. Sometimes things can get heated between lovers, especially when one feels more deeply about the relationship and—”

  “And what? I killed Al because he wasn’t in love with me?”

  “It happens.”

  “It didn’t!”

  “So what did?”

  “Bella!” His eyes pleaded with mine for a moment then shifted their gaze to the ceiling as his head leaned against the wall behind him. “What Al and I felt for each other, I don’t expect you to understand. But there was never any chance of it being more than what it was.”

  “Because of Glynn?”

  “Because of me!” He said, his voice rising. “Because of Al! Because that’s not what we were to each other. That’s not what we wanted from each other! That’s why it worked!” He took a breath and when he spoke again, it was quiet and steady. “Did I love Al? Maybe I did. Was I upset when he suggested we call things off for a while? Yes. Did I kill him? God, Bella, I’m not even going to dignify that with a response.”

  He moved toward the door to the rehearsal hall.

  “Why did he end things?”

  He stretched out his arms in an exasperated “I don’t know.” “He got weird when we were away together the last time. Said we should cool things. Even cut the weekend short. I didn’t argue. And, before you ask, I never saw him again.”

  “What did he mean by ‘weird’?” Jeffers asked when I called him later during a rehearsal break.

  “He didn’t elaborate. Maybe he just started to feel guilty about cheating on Glynn.”