by Morgana Best
Basil rubbed his chin. “That’s good to hear.”
“It is?” I said lamely. I wondered if Tara’s passing theory was correct. Had Basil’s ex-fiancée been fervently against the paranormal, and was that why he was now so wary?
“I’ve had premonitions since I was young.” His voice was hesitant, and he avoided direct eye contact with me. It almost sounded as if he was confessing to doing something wrong. “They’ve always come true. I wish I knew how to explain it without sounding entirely insane.”
“It sounds perfectly normal to me,” I said hurriedly.
“You’re sure?” Basil’s expression was skeptical.
“Absolutely. You’d be surprised.” I thought for a moment and then added, “And a good friend of mine is a witch.”
Basil’s mouth dropped open, and I wondered if I’d gone too far. He stared at me for what seemed like forever, before he spoke. “And you approve?”
“Of course I approve,” I said with a shrug. “Do you have a problem with it?”
Basil shook his head. “Not at all.” He scratched his chin some more. “I’m glad you didn’t react badly to me telling you that I have premonitions. I didn’t want to tell you, but I couldn’t think of another way to convince you to stay careful.”
“Your word is good enough for me. I promise that I won’t take any unnecessary risks.”
“That’s about all anyone can hope for, I suppose.” Basil reached out and laid his hand gently on my shoulder. A crackle, like a small burst of electricity, ran through me and I jumped. Basil snatched back his hand, whether from feeling the crackle or from my reaction, I couldn’t tell.
Just then his phone rang. “I’m expecting a call from a lawyer. I’ll have to take it if it’s him,” he said, pulling the phone from his pocket. His tone sounded regretful, unless that was just wishful thinking on my part.
He looked at the caller I.D. “Sorry, Laurel; it’s him. I’ve got to take this.”
He answered the phone and hurried away, leaving me staring after him.
Chapter 22
I peered at my list.
Along the top of the paper I had written, ‘Suspects’. Under that I had written four names: Anna Stiles, Helen the mayor’s wife, the mayor himself, and Donna Kerr—with or without Preston’s brother.
My stomach rumbled loudly. I had not eaten that morning unless you count three cups of coffee, and now I was on caffeine overdrive.
I thought for a moment, tapping my pen on the desk. I decided I needed to narrow my list of suspects. I would start with Anna, since I had written her name down first. It was no secret that I disliked the woman. On top of that, she was clearly attracted to Basil. But still, I figured she was the least likely suspect. I wasn’t even sure she really belonged on the list, but my dislike of her was going to force me to keep her there until I was certain.
I called Tara.
“What’s going on?” Tara asked.
“I need to know something,” I said. “I was hoping you could help me.”
“We only just spoke this morning. Is this a question you’re asking me because my husband is a cop?”
“Yes.”
There was a moment’s silence before Tara spoke again. “Are you going to end up attacked by another crazy person because of these questions?”
“Maybe,” I said truthfully. “I hope not, though.” I thought of Basil’s premonition, and shuddered.
Tara groaned loudly. “Okay, what do you need to know?”
“Has Duncan said anything more about the connection between the murders of Alec Mason and Preston Kerr?”
“He’s been talking about the case,” Tara said. “He isn’t too impressed with the two detectives who are leading on it.”
“Why not?”
“He says they seem willing to just take it all at face value. They think the first victim was killed by someone in his gang.”
“Gee, that’s pretty obvious.”
“True,” Tara said. “And as I told you before, it was a stolen car with no DNA or fingerprints in it. Sorry I don’t have more for you.”
“No, it’s fine. I just wanted to see where the cops were at.”
After I hung up, I spent a few more minutes staring at my list. I kept ending up back on Anna’s name. If I were going to start there, I needed to get a move on. Business was still bad after Preston Kerr’s murder, and the call with Tara had only confirmed the fact that the police were no closer to an arrest.
I wanted to eat before I left, but that meant going to Mom’s house. My stomach rumbled again, so I drove to the healthy café. Soon I was in my car guzzling down a green smoothie.
It was a thirty-minute drive to Anna’s paper. I was nervous. What if she wasn’t there? What if she was, and refused to speak to me? It was a dilemma, but I had no choice. Business was going downhill and no doubt would continue to do so until the police arrested someone for Preston Kerr’s murder. I could not afford to wait around for that.
By the time I walked into the building, I was in an irritable mood. The lobby was tired and worn, all shades of beige, gray, and faded olive green. The only natural light came in through the crooked slats in ancient metal venetian blinds covering a small window. A bored looking receptionist was speaking with an angry customer who was yelling about her papers not being delivered.
There was a closed glass door on my left, and a little closer was a curved staircase. I decided to bypass the receptionist and go up the stairs. I figured the journalists were up there.
I was right. The creaky old staircase opened onto a long rectangular room filled down the left side with cubicles. To the right were desks with people working. I saw Anna at once. She was in the cubicle closest to me, her door open. A landline phone was held to her ear, pinched between her neck and her shoulder. She was typing on a laptop.
When I knocked, her eyes widened in surprise. She held up a long, elegant finger motioning me to wait. I walked into the room and sat down in the chair opposite her desk. “I’m just waiting for someone to answer,” she said, her hand over the mouthpiece. I could hardly see her behind her computer, but I could certainly smell the peach perfume she was wearing.
After a moment, she spoke into the phone. “Anna Stiles here. I just need to know what Milton Fairchild went away for. Find out why he was arrested.” She hung up and kept typing.
“Oh, you had to leave a message,” I said with fake sympathy.
Anna stopped typing and looked up at me. “No, what do you mean? He was there. I told him what I wanted to know. What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to speak with you,” I said.
“If you’re going to keep stating the obvious, you’ll have to leave,” she snapped at me.
“I’m trying to find out who killed Preston Kerr.”
For once, emotion showed on her usually impassive face. “You are? Why?”
I adjusted my position in the uncomfortable chair. “Business has been down ever since he was murdered, and the cops haven’t arrested anyone yet.”
Anna leaned back in her chair and crossed her long legs. “What do you want from me?”
My stomach growled loudly. I ignored it and pushed on. “I just thought you would have some information on Alec Mason and whether his death was connected in some way with Preston Kerr’s. I thought if anyone had information, it would be you.”
Anna looked pleased. “You’re right. I was writing a piece on the jewelry crime ring before Alec Mason was murdered—even before he was released from prison. I knew he hadn’t gone straight, like he claimed. You wouldn’t know this, Laurel,” she continued in a condescending tone, “but you have to get your fact rights when you write an exposé, or your paper could get sued, if your editor will even publish it in the first place.”
I was waiting for her to stop so I could say something, but she didn’t give me the opportunity. She pressed on. “I’ll let you on in a little secret, Laurel. I’m not going to stay in this town. I want to sell my story to Sixty
Minutes, or one of the big Sydney papers. Here I am writing about the brick throwing contest at Stroud, or the Wool Festival in Armidale, even the Land of the Beardies Festival at Glen Innes.” She made a horrible snorting sound. “Let me tell you, when I break this story, I will leave that all behind. I’m going to move back to Sydney. I’ve already been looking at new places online. This thing is going to take off. I wonder who will play me in the movie version?”
“I can only imagine,” I said. “How about Hugh Jackman?”
Anna narrowed her eyes. “The mayor is my suspect in the murder of Alec Mason. You can see why I have to get all the facts before I make those allegations.” She looked at me expectantly.
“I don’t know anything about Alec Mason. The one I’m interested in is Preston Kerr,” I said, “and I have three suspects.”
Anna grinned, a thin-lipped, mean smile. “Let me guess. The mayor, his wife, and Donna Kerr?”
I nodded. “I suspect Donna Kerr.” I didn’t really suspect Donna more than anyone else, but I wanted to see how Anna would react. “It’s hard to believe she would have her husband killed, though.”
Anna shook her head. “To me, Preston Kerr is just some man. A strange footnote in my story, if he makes the cut at all.”
It angered me to hear Anna speaking so glibly about a man who had been murdered, but I wasn’t about to comment. “What makes you so sure it’s the mayor?”
Anna looked at me for a long while. “Intuition,” she said. “You can’t make it as a reporter without it. I know who killed the man, and I need to have that information for my story. It was him. I just know it.”
I nodded and stood up. “Well, best of luck with the story.”
Anna folded her arms. “What did you really come here for?”
“I thought you would be the easiest one to scratch off my suspect list,” I said.
“Of course you’d suspect me,” she said nastily.
I shook my head. “I didn’t really. I just needed to eliminate people.”
“So you don’t think I did it?” Anna asked.
“No,” I said truthfully.
“Then I won’t have to kill you after all,” Anna said with a straight face.
I forced a smile. Anna was irritating and smug, but she was clever, and she’d said she suspected the mayor.
Anna stood up. The whole time, she had been partially obscured by her huge, no doubt expensive, desktop computer. She moved around it toward me, and my eyes fell on her bracelet. I gasped and blinked when the florescent light caught the facets. Asscher cuts. The luster of the claws indicated that the bracelet was platinum. Even with my naked eye, I could tell the large diamonds were F color or better. And they don’t cut stones that well if they aren’t of superior clarity. I was looking at a thirty-karat tennis bracelet. I figured the retail value was in the vicinity of a quarter of a million dollars, depending upon the jeweler’s markup.
Unfortunately, Anna had noted my interest. “You like my bracelet?’
I took a deep breath, and tried to act blasé. “It’s very pretty. Are those real diamonds?” I said innocently.
“Yes,” Anna said through narrowed eyes. “A gift from an old boyfriend.”
I nodded, and beat a hasty retreat. I was certain that the bracelet Anna was wearing was the mayor’s highly expensive stolen one. Yet why would she wear it out in public? I suppose she thought she was safe to do so, and upon reflection, I figured she was right. I knew there were no jewelry valuers in her town, or in mine for that matter, and laypersons wouldn’t have a clue of the value of the bracelet. And to the majority of people, one tennis bracelet would look like any other.
I walked as fast as I could to my car. I sat inside the car and reached for my cell phone to call the police. It was dead. I groaned. Of all the times!
I headed straight for the police station in Witch Woods.
My heart was thumping out of my chest. If Anna had the stolen bracelet, then somehow she had been involved with Alec Mason. There was even the possibility that she was his murderer.
Chapter 23
To my dismay, the police station was closed. This was typical of small country towns, but that was no consolation. I pressed the buzzer next to the sign on the wall three times before someone answered.
“This is Laurel Bay. Is Duncan there?” I asked urgently.
The calm voice on the other end informed me that Duncan and Bryan were both out on calls. I told the voice that I was sure Anna Stiles was wearing the stolen tennis bracelet and so was likely implicated in the murder of Alec Mason. The voice assured me that the message would be passed on.
I had no option but to return to my office. I had advertised the celebrity funerals on Twitter and wanted to see how my click-through rate was going. I had no sooner turned on my laptop than the office door was flung open.
“Google.”
Anna Stiles was standing in the doorway.
For a moment it seemed like everything started to move in slow motion. My pulse pounded. There was a strange pressure in my ear as adrenaline began coursing through my veins. Somehow, once again, I had found myself face-to-face with someone I knew to be a murderer.
“Google?” I repeated, trying to stay calm.
“I googled you,” she said as she crossed the room. “Jewelry valuer, eh? You were so surprised when you saw my bracelet. That wasn’t very smart of you.”
I noticed she wasn’t wearing it now. “Yes, very expensive,” I said. “Your ex-boyfriend must have been very wealthy.”
Anna narrowed her eyes. “I’m not stupid, you know,” she said. “I know you recognized the bracelet.”
I was at a loss. I couldn’t think of a single thing to say. I clung to the hope that Duncan and Bryan would get the message, and would know I was at the funeral home. I only hoped they would get the message in time.
“You know, I’d rather not kill you if I didn’t have to. I’m not a crazy person!” Anna said, and then she laughed, exactly how a crazy person would. “There’s no way I’m going down for any of this. If anything, I’m the victim!”
“Then why did you do it?” I asked her. I needed to keep her talking as long as possible. “You can’t murder someone and then say you’re a victim.”
Anna smirked and rolled her eyes. “Oh, you want to know why I did it? I was working on my story about the jewelry thieves. Organized crime stories are the best. It was a good story, and a good lead. I did some digging, and it brought me to Alec Mason. I told him I knew everything, and I wanted him to cut me into the deal, or I would publish.”
“But he wouldn’t do it?” I asked.
“He gave me the bracelet to shut me up, and said we had a deal. He knew I really had it on him. I had everything. I had him, and I had names of the people he worked with, and even better, the people he worked for. I wanted a cut of the business, too, but he said no. No, he wouldn’t cut me in. He thought I was just some girl who didn’t know how it worked. And it cost him his life. I want you to know that he threatened me first, and, well, I hit him with the car. I planned it well. I was angry.”
“But you killed Preston Kerr, too?”
Anna nodded. “I had to. I realized he heard me. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. It’s hilarious that you thought his wife was the murderer. Pinning that crime on her is going to be easy. Everything just fits, doesn’t it? The money problems, the affair. I couldn’t have written it any better myself. This story will be my ticket out of these small town trappings. Do I look like a small town girl to you?”
I shook my head.
“All right, enough of this. Let’s just get this done with. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time, just like that singer. You know, the best part about being a girl is that no one ever thinks a girl is strong enough to strangle someone. Never mind that I can bench press more than any cop in this town.”
She lunged across the desk at me in one smooth motion, before I even had a chance to move. She clutched at my throat. Her fi
ngers were strong, with a vice-like grip. I threw myself backward and her fingers loosened a fraction. I tried to pry her fingers from my throat, but they wouldn’t budge. She knocked me to the ground and sat on me, her talons reaching for my throat once more.
I dug my nails into the back of her hand. She yelped and released her grip momentarily.
And then Ian appeared at the door.
Chapter 24
Ian was holding a bunch of papers in his hand. Anna left me on the floor and lunged for Ian. He let out a high-pitched wail like a terrified pig, flung the papers at Anna, and sprinted in the other direction, screaming all the while.
The papers hit Anna in the face. She must not have been able to see with them covering her face. In her pursuit of Ian, she ran headlong into the doorpost, and at once crumpled to the ground.
I gingerly picked myself up and went over to her. Religious tracts covered her. In fact, there was one covering her entire face. I peeled it off and was relieved to see that she was out cold. In my peripheral vision, I saw Ian creeping back. “It’s safe, Ian,” I said.
“Laurel, are you awake?” he asked.
“My eyes are open, Ian,” I said. “I’m kneeling, not lying down, so of course I’m awake.”
“Oh,” he said. “I thought she’d knocked you out.”
I was spared having to reply as Duncan and Bryan burst into the room. “Laurel, are you okay?” Duncan said. “We heard a woman screaming repeatedly.”
“That’s wasn’t me,” I said, nodding to Ian. “Anna Stiles is the killer of both Alec Mason and Preston Kerr. I saw her wearing the mayor’s stolen tennis bracelet earlier, and she saw that I recognized it, so she came to kill me, too.”
Anna was starting to regain consciousness. Duncan and Bryan slapped handcuffs on her and dragged her away.
Ian sat on a chair and fanned himself with one of the tracts. His face was white and ashen, and he was trembling.
