“Something tells me whoever left that thing in your refrigerator is not overly concerned with karma,” Julius said.
The three of them were in the kitchen. Julius had called Devlin immediately after the discovery of the dead rat. Devlin and one of his officers, a sympathetic, competent woman named Linda Brown, had done the usual cop workup, including photographs of the rat and the bottle of vodka, but it was clear no one expected to find any clues.
As Officer Brown had pointed out, even if the perp hadn’t had the presence of mind to think about fingerprints, most people possessed enough common sense to use gloves to handle a dead rat. She had taken the vodka, the rat, the platter and the culinary trimmings away in evidence bags.
Watching the process from the far side of the kitchen, Grace had decided to cross off a career in law enforcement. Handling dead rats was probably one of the less unpleasant jobs a police officer confronted.
She was now seated in a chair at the kitchen table, her hands folded tightly in her lap. She was unnerved. She could think of no other word to describe the shaky, edgy sensation that sent icy chills through her at intermittent intervals.
Breathe.
The refrigerator would have to be cleaned and disinfected from top to bottom, she decided. All the food inside would have to be tossed out. She couldn’t bear the thought of eating anything that had shared the same space with the dead rat.
No, she concluded, simply sanitizing the refrigerator would not be enough. It would have to be replaced. She wondered how much new refrigerators cost.
And then there was the issue of the broken window in the guest bedroom. There had been nothing high-tech about the intruder’s technique. Whoever it was had simply smashed the glass and climbed through the opening. That explained why the house had felt so chilly when she and Julius walked in, Grace thought.
Julius had told her that he would pick up some plywood at the hardware store and cover the opening. Ralph Johnson at the glass shop had assured her he could have a replacement ready the following day.
Buying a new refrigerator and replacing the window would put a serious dent in her savings but there was no other option. She had drawn the stalker into her mother’s house. She had caused this mess. She would clean it up.
Devlin stood in the center of the room, legs braced slightly apart, and continued making notes.
“Earlier today when we discussed the emails, you told me that the stalking has been going on since the day that Witherspoon was found murdered, right?” he said.
“The emails started that night but I hadn’t really considered it stalking until today,” Grace said. She wrapped her arms around herself. “Until now it’s just been the emails. As I explained, they were not actually threatening. I thought perhaps Sprague Witherspoon’s daughter was sending them. But I honestly can’t see her dealing with a dead rat.”
Julius, who was lounging against a counter, arms folded across his chest, shook his head. He didn’t actually say anything but, then, he didn’t have to say anything, she thought. She was pretty sure she knew what he was thinking. And maybe he had cause. Maybe she had been a little naive.
“Julius is right, this incident officially makes it stalking,” Devlin said in his flat cop voice. “Tell me about your relationship with Witherspoon’s daughter.”
Grace went through it again, even though she had given him most of it that morning.
“That’s all I can tell you,” she said when she was finished. “She showed up at my door today, demanding that I give her the money she thinks I embezzled from the Witherspoon Way. She accused me of scamming her father and murdering him. She offered to keep quiet if I returned the money. She left when Julius arrived. Next thing I know there’s a dead rat in my refrigerator.”
“And the bottle of vodka,” Julius reminded her quietly.
Her mouth tightened. “Yes. And, yes, before you ask, Devlin, it’s the same brand of vodka that I found in Sprague’s bedroom.”
Devlin watched her for a long moment. “What’s with the vodka?”
“I don’t know,” Grace said. “But there was a liquor bottle in the basement of the old asylum the day I found Mrs. Trager’s body. I remember that it was a bottle of vodka. I didn’t notice the brand but I think the label was green and gold like the label on the bottle in Sprague’s bedroom and the one that was left in my refrigerator. That day, when I found Mrs. Trager and Mark, I used the bottle to—”
She broke off. No one tried to fill in the missing blanks.
Devlin frowned. “You mean you found the bottle in the basement of the Cloud Lake Inn, don’t you?”
“Irene and I and everyone else back then usually referred to the place as the asylum,” she said. “It was a hospital for the mentally ill at one time.”
“You stumbled onto that murder when you were in your teens, according to Irene,” Devlin said.
“I was sixteen,” Grace said.
Another bad night coming up, she thought. No escaping this one. Might as well not even go to bed. Crap.
“According to the file, Trager had gone home for lunch that day.” Devlin glanced down at his notes. “There was evidently an argument. Trager murdered his wife sometime around noon. The boy was a witness. The kid told the police that Trager wrapped up the body before loading it into his truck. He needed to hide it until he could dispose of it. And then there was the problem of the boy. Trager transported the body and Mark to the inn—the asylum—and left both in the basement. He didn’t dare dump the bodies until after dark.”
“Meanwhile, he had to go back to work,” Grace said.
“He would have needed a boat to take the bodies out onto the lake,” Julius said.
Devlin looked up again. “Trager owned a small outboard that he used for fishing. He had stored it in his garage for the winter. He probably planned to get it after dark and haul it down to the lake. He could have put it into the water at the asylum. There’s an old dock there.”
“But he got nervous waiting for nightfall,” Grace said.
“It’s a common problem for killers,” Devlin explained. “Lot of truth in that old saying about the bad guys returning to the scene of the crime. They can’t help themselves.”
Julius nodded. “They go back to make sure they haven’t made any mistakes.”
“In this case Trager returned to the scene of the crime that afternoon and found Grace and the boy,” Devlin said.
“Mark Ramshaw,” Grace said. She squeezed her hands tighter in her lap. “Mrs. Trager sometimes looked after him while his mother worked. Mr. Trager wouldn’t allow his wife to go out of the house to work but he let her make a little money watching the Ramshaw boy. Mark was just six years old.”
“Why did Trager leave the kid alive in the basement?” Julius asked.
“Presumably Trager didn’t murder Mark right away because he wanted the boy’s death to look like an accident,” Devlin said. “If he had strangled the kid or crushed the boy’s skull, the autopsy would have shown results not consistent with death by drowning.”
“How did he plan to explain Mrs. Trager’s death?” Julius asked.
“The investigators concluded that, given the vodka and the meds at the scene, Trager intended to make it appear that his wife was a suicide. She downed some pills and a lot of booze and took the family boat out on the lake and went overboard. It happens.”
“What about the injuries from the beating he gave her that day?” Julius asked.
Devlin shrugged. “I’m guessing here, but I’ve heard more than one bastard tell me with a straight face that his wife got banged up when she fell down a flight of stairs.”
Grace looked at him. “You did some research into the Trager case, didn’t you?”
“Right after the Witherspoon murder,” Devlin said. He did not sound apologetic. “Sorry, Grace. You’re Irene’s best friend. I had to look into your past.”
>
Grace sighed. “I understand.”
Julius moved to stand behind her chair. He rested one hand lightly on her shoulder. It felt good to have him touching her, she thought; comforting.
Devlin went back to his notes. “Trager confronted you when you tried to escape with the boy. There was a struggle. Trager fell down the basement steps and broke his neck. You and little Mark ran for help. Your mom and sister weren’t home that day so you went to Agnes Gilroy’s house for help. She took you in and called the police. According to her statement, there was a lot of blood on your clothes. At first she thought it was yours.”
“It was Trager’s blood.” Grace looked down at her clasped hands. “I used the vodka bottle, you see. When I tried to follow Mark up the basement steps, Trager came after me. He grabbed the back of my jacket. I smashed the bottle on the railing, turned and . . . and slashed at him with the jagged edges of glass. There was . . . a lot of blood.”
Julius’s hand tightened on her shoulder. She fell silent. For a moment no one spoke.
It would definitely be a very bad night.
Julius studied Devlin. “I want to talk to you before you contact the Seattle police. Arkwright Ventures would like to offer its forensic accounting services to the authorities.”
Devlin considered that briefly and then nodded. “Tell me what you want to do. I’ll clear it with Seattle.” He turned back to Grace. For the first time the mask of his professional demeanor slipped. “Damn it, Grace. I’m sorry to have to take you through it all again. But we need to figure out what the hell is going on here. Your boss was murdered. Someone is stalking you. There’s a lot of money missing. This is a big puzzle and none of the pieces fit together.”
She nodded wearily. “I know. It’s okay. You need information.”
For a moment no one spoke.
“Got any ideas?” Devlin asked eventually. “I could use some guidance here.”
Grace looked at the refrigerator. A dark tide of revulsion rose inside her. She looked away.
“As far as the rat is concerned, I suppose Nyla is the obvious suspect,” she said. “But as I told you, I can’t imagine her handling a dead animal of any kind, let alone a rat. But then, I have a hard time imagining anyone deliberately putting a dead rat on a platter and sticking it inside a refrigerator.” She paused. “Well, maybe in a lab setting. A lot of rats are used in scientific experiments.”
“That was no lab rat,” Julius said. “That one came straight out of an alley.”
Grace looked up at him. “Guess that means we can cross off any scientists or lab techs on the suspect list. Unfortunately, there weren’t any there in the first place.”
“Plenty of suspects left on that list,” Julius said quietly.
“Too many.” Devlin closed his notebook. “I’m going to call the Seattle police and talk to the investigator in charge of your case. Maybe if we compare notes we can sort out some of the people involved in this thing.”
“Thanks,” Grace said. She tried hard to project some positive energy and enthusiasm but judging by the look on the faces of the two men she didn’t think she was succeeding.
“You never know.” Devlin stuffed the notebook back into his jacket. “What are you going to do now?”
She gazed dolefully at the offending appliance. “Throw out all the food in the refrigerator and then go shop for a new one.”
Devlin eyed the refrigerator. “This one looks almost new.”
“Mom bought it less than a year ago,” Grace said. “It’s probably still under warranty. But I could never again eat anything that came out of that refrigerator.”
“I understand that you want to clean it out,” Devlin said. “But there’s nothing wrong with the appliance.”
Julius squeezed Grace’s shoulder. “I’ll help you dump the food. When we’re finished we’ll shop for a new one.”
Fourteen
Julius studied the ranks of gleaming appliances arrayed on the sales floor. It was a bit like walking into an arms dealer’s showroom. All the polished hard surface reminded him of so much high-tech military armor.
“Who knew there were so many different kinds of refrigerators?” he said.
For the first time since the discovery of the dead rat and the vodka bottle, Grace looked wanly amused. He was surprised by the wave of relief that whispered through him when she smiled.
Watching her stoically respond to Dev’s interrogation had been one of the harder things he’d done in his life. He had wanted to carry her away to someplace safe where no one could ask her any more questions; a place where she could forget the past. He was still dealing with the mental image of her as a teenager covered in the blood of the man who had tried to murder her.
“I take it you haven’t done this kind of shopping before?” Grace asked.
“No,” he admitted. “The interior designer selected the appliances for my condo in Seattle. The house I bought from Harley came with all the stuff I needed, including the refrigerator.”
Shopping for a refrigerator now topped his list of Most Unusual Second Dates, he decided.
“You didn’t have to come with me,” Grace said. “It wasn’t necessary, really.”
“Yeah, it was,” he said. He watched the salesman approach. “But I admit I’m out of my depth here. Do you have any idea of what you want in a refrigerator?”
“We’ll just ask for the latest version of the same model that Mom bought.” Grace drew a deep breath. “Although it’s going to put a very big hole in my bank account.”
He thought about offering to buy the refrigerator for her but he kept his mouth shut. He knew she would refuse.
Grace gave him a sidelong glance. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
“For understanding why I have to replace the refrigerator.”
“I get it,” he said.
No amount of scrubbing or disinfectant would remove the memory of the dead rat.
“I know you get it,” she said. “I appreciate that.”
“Doesn’t mean you can’t sell the old one, though. You could probably recover a few hundred bucks.”
She smiled again. “Good point. I’ll have it moved out onto the back porch until I can sell it.”
“I doubt if this store is going to be able to deliver your new refrigerator today,” Julius said. “It’s nearly five now. What do you say we go out to dinner?”
She hesitated. “Thanks, but I really don’t feel like going out. I’ll just grab some takeout on the way home.”
“Takeout sounds good,” he said.
She eyed him. “Did you just invite yourself over for dinner?”
“I never got lunch, remember?”
“I never got my first consulting appointment.”
“You’re not going to want to be alone this evening, not after what happened today,” he said. “Do you mind if I join you for takeout?”
“I’m pretty much vegetarian,” she warned.
“I’m sure I’ll survive.”
She gave that a moment’s close thought and then nodded once. “Okay. Thanks. It’s very kind of you to offer to keep me company.”
“I’m not known for my kindness.”
“What are you known for?”
Julius watched the salesman start to circle. “Making money.”
“That’s a very cool gift,” Grace said. Her eyes warmed with amusement again. “Most people would give anything to possess it.”
The salesman was closing in now.
“Look,” Julius said, “I’m good at investing but what I know about buying refrigerators wouldn’t even fill a small shot glass.”
“Don’t worry,” Grace said. She moved forward to intercept the salesman. “I’ve got this.”
Fifteen
They were back in Grace’s kitchen by six-thirty. The sales
man had promised to expedite the delivery of the new refrigerator. Julius occupied himself with opening the bottle of Columbia Valley Syrah that he had selected while Grace was making her takeout selections at the gourmet grocery store in town.
The little domestic scene in the kitchen would have been very comfortable and cozy, he concluded, if not for the edgy heat of the smoldering arousal that kept him restless and semi-erect. It was as if he was walking a tightrope without a net. Don’t screw this up again, Arkwright.
He was old enough and sufficiently experienced to be able to control the sexual side of the situation. But what he was feeling around Grace was different in ways he could not explain. He wasn’t sure what to do about the sensation but he did know one thing—he wanted to stay as close to her as possible until he figured out what the hell was going on between the two of them.
He poured the wine into two glasses and turned around just in time to see Grace bend over to close the oven door. She was still wearing the jeans and the deep blue, loose-fitting pullover she’d had on that morning. He took a moment to admire the way the denim hugged her nicely rounded rear.
She closed the door and straightened, using one hand to push her whiskey-brown hair back behind her ear. He knew from the faint tilt of her eyebrows that she’d caught him watching her.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing.” He handed her one of the glasses. “Here you go. Medicinal purposes only.”
“Definitely,” she said. She took a healthy swallow of wine and dropped into one of the wooden chairs. “Thanks. I needed that.”
Julius lowered himself into the chair across from her. “You live an eventful life, Miss Elland.”
“I will admit that lately my life has been somewhat out of the ordinary.” She drank some more wine.
“No Witherspoon affirmation for the current state of affairs?”
She reflected briefly and then shook her head. “No, but I’m sure one will come to me.”
“So, in spite of all that power-of-positive-thinking stuff and those Witherspoon affirmations, you do see a role for the occasional dose of reality?”
Trust No One Page 10
