“We’ve brought in Theresa’s boyfriend, Thad. Turns out he has a history of theft and burglary.”
“Wow,” was all I could say. “I knew there was something not right about the kid, but he seems kind of young and scrawny to have killed Eva. Are you charging him?”
“When we showed him that we found the dresses online, he admitted to the theft,” Detective Murphy said.
“So Thad stole the dresses. Why?”
“He said he needed the dress money to pay off his bookie.”
“No, I mean why did he kill Eva? He doesn’t seem the murderous type. What was his motive?
“It was a crime of convenience. Thad swears Eva was alive when he stole the goods, but we have his prints from the back door.”
“You have my prints on the back door,” I pointed out.
“Yes, but we’re pretty sure he was headed out the back door with the samples when Eva caught him. Most likely, she was the one to grab the knife and go after him to try to stop him. They fought and he stabbed Eva. She died and he panicked, wiped off the handle of the knife with one of the stolen pieces, and then took off down the alley. It fits the timeline.”
“He ruined his entire life—not to mention Eva’s—all to pay off his bookie.”
“He said if he had not paid off the bookie he was a walking dead man.”
I frowned. “What bookie lets a boy that age make a bet that big?”
“Someone with enough money down to make it seem like a sure thing,” Detective Murphy said. “We brought Theresa in as well.”
“Oh, no! Not Theresa. I mean, she seems odd to me, but I can’t imagine she could ever murder anyone.”
“Theresa told us that she had gone to Eva out of desperation to ask for a loan for Thad, but Eva refused. She gave Theresa a lecture about what kind of boy she should be dating.”
“Let me guess, Theresa was so upset she went home sick.”
“Yes,” the detective said. “That’s what she says, anyway. And both her next door neighbor and her mother corroborated her alibi. Now, aren’t you glad you said you would go see my mom’s place?”
“Yes,” I said. “It sounds like you have the case solved.”
“The bad guys are under wraps. Thanks for your help.”
“I didn’t do much.”
“You told me about Thad and you’re going to see my mom. It’ll make her day, Pepper. Don’t be late.”
“Right.”
“She makes the best chocolate chip cookies,” he teased.
“I’ll be prompt.”
“Good girl.”
Chapter 17
Mrs. Murphy lived in Park Ridge, a neighborhood of Chicago bungalows and two-story Federalist-style brick homes. The trees that lined the streets were large and the garages sat back behind the homes. It reminded me of my mom and dad’s neighborhood. I had to wonder how cool it was going to be to live in a sleepy suburb with a bunch of elderly folks. I was young and vibrant and thirty, for goodness sakes. All my old coworkers lived in the city in artsy neighborhoods near bars and theaters and the lake and such.
Two doors down from the address Detective Murphy had given me, a short, bald, heavy-set man wearing a white wife-beater T-shirt and shorts got up to check out Old Blue as I drove by. I waved. He scowled.
Swallowing hard, I pulled up in front of the brick bungalow. It was one-story with six wide steps that led to a front porch the width of the home. There was a fence surrounding the yard. A flat piece of lawn was split in half by an older cement sidewalk. The weather in Chicago crumbled the best cement with its extreme cold, snow, deep freezes, and thaws. This one was no exception.
The roof looked new and the windows were polished to a soft sheen. There were pots of colorful flowers lining the stairs and hanging from the eaves of the porch. I noticed the front curtain move.
It was go time. I didn’t have to rent here. All I needed to do was to meet the old lady, eat a cookie or two, and see the house. Easy, peasy.
I got out, hitched my purse up over my shoulder, and locked Old Blue’s doors with my key. The boat of an Oldsmobile didn’t have automatic locks, which meant I had to remember to lock the doors myself or take the chance of losing my only means of transportation. Since I had just given Toby seven grand back, I needed to ensure no one would steal my car.
A quick look around had me noticing that front curtains moved in nearly every house in the neighborhood. Maybe I didn’t need to lock my car. After all, I knew that many retired cops lived in this area. Plus, a lot of older people spent time at their front window looking for signs of anything out of the ordinary. Such as a tall, skinny redhead pulling up to Mrs. Murphy’s in a big blue Oldsmobile.
The front gate opened without a squeak. The steps were clean and the porch floor was painted gray while the ceiling was painted blue. I knocked.
“Coming,” said a voice from within. The wooden door with three small triangles of glass cut into it was pulled open. Mrs. Murphy was a tiny thing, no taller than my shoulder. She wore blue jeans and a T-shirt in a peacock blue color that set off her tightly curled orange hair. Blue eyes smiled back at me as she opened the storm door. “Well, hello, you must be Miss Pomeroy.”
“It’s Pepper,” I said and smiled.
“How wonderful, please come in, come in, we’ve given the neighbors enough of a show for now.”
I walked into the front room. The old plaster walls from the 1920s were lovingly preserved and painted a soft blue. Under my feet was a very cushy carpet in what I would guess was a high-end wool. The curtains were blue silk and looked to be right out of a modern showroom. She had an overstuffed couch in darker blue and a pair of wing chairs covered in a blue and white toile pattern. The only thing about the room that reminded me of my grandmother was the tufted round pillows on the couch.
“I’ll give you the nickel tour. This is the living room,” she said. “That opens to the dining room.” The two were separated by a half wall. Both rooms had white wood trim. The dining room had stained glass windows between built-in bookshelves with built-in china cabinets in both corners.
“Those are lovely, are they original?”
“Yes, my Charlie had them put in when he built the house,” she said. “It was 1929 and he’d seen some of the prairie homes and wanted to add his own version to this house. Back here is the kitchen.”
“You home is very much like my parents’ home,” I said.
“It was the style of the time,” she said. “Much like split levels of the seventies and eighties and the McMansions of the turn of the century.”
Her kitchen was nothing like my parents’ kitchen, though, with their old oak cabinets that went clear to the ceiling. This kitchen had to have been redone recently. The cabinets were all white with granite countertops, an island, and stainless steel appliances. The flooring looked like bamboo, polished to a high sheen.
“Wow.”
“I know, isn’t it gorgeous? I had it redone because I wanted to sell, but then after seeing it, I simply couldn’t bring myself to do the deed.”
The scent of coffee filled the air, and fresh, gooey looking and, I assume, homemade chocolate chip cookies sat on the table. I nearly reached out and snitched one as she kept walking. But instead I minded my manners. “Through here is the single bathroom. It used to sit between two bedrooms, but I had the whole thing turned into a master suite. You see the bathroom has access here for guests, but there is a door in the side for bedroom access. The architect made the bathroom much larger and then used the remainder of the old bedroom space to create a walk-in closet.
I had to restrain myself from whistling “Wow!” again; the floors were bamboo throughout. The bathroom was three times the size of my current one, with two pedestal sinks, a giant claw-footed tub, a shower, and a separate little room for the toilet. The walls were covered with rectangular blue glass tiles
that gave the feel of the sea. Inside the walk-in closet was a window to let in natural light and a built-in vanity with bulb lights surrounding a magnifier mirror. The rest of the walls were built-in cedar California closets.
“This is simply gorgeous,” I said, and ran my hand along the soft-scented cedar. “If you took out the second bedroom, then I assume the rental is the third bedroom that opens to the living room?”
She laughed at my confusion. “Oh, no, dear, the entire house is the rental. I’m moving to Florida with my girlfriends. It’s why I had the place fixed up and was going to sell it. But between my son Brian’s sadness at the loss of his childhood home and my love for all the fine details, I simply couldn’t do it. When Brian heard you were looking to rent, I hoped I’d found a responsible renter.”
“Oh,” I said, and felt the roundness of my mouth at the surprise. “This entire place is for rent?”
“Yes, silly, what did you think? My son wanted you to live with an old woman and be her nanny?” She laughed and it was a trill that lifted the heart.
“Now, there is another bedroom located in the finished basement, along with a smaller sitting area and bath. If you ever feel the need for a roommate to help pay the rent, you can rent it out. I trust you to find someone nice to live down there.”
“Okay.” That had me worried. How expensive was this place?
“Come on, let’s take a quick peek before we have some coffee and cookies and get to know each other properly.”
Her quick peek took me from the kitchen door to a small porch on the back that served as a shared foyer. Off the right side of the porch was a door to the basement. The downstairs revealed a shared laundry room with built-in shelves, front-loading washer and dryer, and a built-in ironing board—not that I ironed much. That’s what dry cleaners were for. Beyond that was indeed a small one-bedroom suite complete with shower and toilet, sitting area with light from the glass-blocked windows, and a twelve-by-twelve-foot bedroom.
The place was ideal. I pinched myself on the way up the stairs. All I could do now was pray I could afford the rent or find someone who could live in the basement and help out.
“Have a seat, dear.” She pointed to her kitchen table, then poured coffee into a thermal carafe. “Help yourself.”
I took a cookie—okay, two cookies—and put them on a plate in front of me. “Thank you for the tour. The house is fantastic.”
“Better than you thought, isn’t it?” She raised an eyebrow at me, poured coffee into my cup, and sat down. “Brian was concerned about my renting. He didn’t want me to leave the house in the hands of a Realtor to pick the renters and to ensure they pay. Renting is hard because there are people who will squat. That is to say pay a few months and then stop paying. Then it takes forever to get them out of the house.”
“I’m sure that wouldn’t happen to you. Your son is a police officer.”
“So were his father and his grandfather,” she said. “It’s why he’s so paranoid.” She added cream and sugar to her coffee.
I had already put in my customary amount of cream and was done with an entire cookie, which, by the way, was fantastic. “Do you give away your cookie recipe? These are awesome.”
“Oh, sure,” she said with a wave of her hand. “I make the Toll House recipe on the back of the bag. Always have.”
“Huh,” I said. “They don’t taste this way when I make them.”
“I suppose I’ve been making them longer, is all. Now, my son tells me that you have started your own business recently.”
“Yes, Perfect Proposals,” I said. “I’m an event planner, and when my sister’s fiancé asked me to help plan the ideal proposal, it turned out so well that he financed my business.”
“Are you making a profit?”
“Yes, actually, I am. That said, I am in start-up mode so I have to tell you that while I love, love, love the house, I’m afraid I might not be able to afford to rent it.”
“I see,” she said, and sipped her coffee. “Have you lived in the area your entire life?”
“Yes, I have. My parents don’t live too far from here. My sister lives downtown. My aunt Betty lives near Naperville.”
“Then you know how much it floods.”
“Yes,” I said, and snagged two more cookies.
“And sewers back up and then if it gets too cold in the winter, pipes can freeze.”
“I know. My parents had trouble with ice dams one year where the cold and ice built up under their eaves and caused the roof to leak.”
“I bet you know people who work on that kind of thing. You know, plumbers and roofers and flood restoration.”
“I sure do. My father is a plumber.” I swallowed my third cookie and tilted my head as I reached for my coffee. “Why do you ask?”
“What is your rent right now?”
“Twelve hundred, plus utilities.”
“I’d be willing to let you rent for a thousand a month as long as you took care of anything that might come up.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“Think carefully on it,” she said, and cupped her coffee mug in her fingers. “It’s an old house. You would have to keep on top of things like leaks and pipes and sewer backups. There won’t be a property manager to come and fix things for you. That would be your responsibility.”
“Wow, a thousand a month.”
“Brian would stop by once a month or so and check on the place.” She held up her hand before I could say anything. “No, he won’t be going through your drawers or anything invasive. But do let him know what is going on with the house and how you are handling it. Also, feel free to ask for his help, opinions, and advice. It will keep you on his good side.”
“Okay, I can do that.”
“I’ve got a contract that I copied off the Internet. I’ve made a few tweaks to include the care of the house as we discussed and the fact that my son will be coming by.” She slipped me the four sheets of paper. “Read it over carefully.”
I took the papers and was again surprised by the low deposit of five hundred dollars. Glancing up, I took note that she smiled at me.
“When can you move in?” she asked.
It was all happening so fast, but then again, I wasn’t buying the house and it was gorgeous and the rent was cheap and even better . . . there were no bars across the street for Bobby to frequent. “I have to give my current landlord thirty days’ notice.”
“Good,” she said. “I’m almost packed.”
“Really?” I looked around at the well-stocked kitchen and she laughed.
“Did I not mention that it comes fully furnished? Now, I realize that a woman your age likes to decorate her home her way.” She patted my hand. “So you have my blessing to paint and to putter. Any furnishings you don’t want, simply call my son and he will pick them up and put them in storage for me.”
“What’s the downside?” I had to ask.
“You’ll have to mow the grass and shovel your own walk,” she said. “Or pay someone to do that for you. Mrs. Hamburg two doors down has a sixteen-year-old son who is always looking for money. You can call down there and I’m certain he’d be glad to take over those chores for you. Oh, and did I mention that the garage holds two cars, or in your case one giant Oldsmobile?”
I pulled my checkbook out of my purse. Thankfully I’d put it in there to pay Toby back. Ever since I’d gotten a debit card, I never wrote checks, but now that I’m a small business owner it didn’t hurt to have the thing handy at all times.
I signed the contract, wrote out the check, handed both to Mrs. Murphy, and shook her hand. “You made my entire day.”
“Oh no, dear, you made mine. I hope you enjoy living here as much as I did.”
“I have a feeling I’m going to do just that.”
Chapter 18
The next morning found me at a
small airport south of Chicago that offered flight lessons and parachute jumps. I was there two hours ahead of time to ensure there was offsite parking and a party bus to take the family to the landing spot. I spoke with the pilot briefly about the flight plan and the timing of the jump. He assured me that Alexander and his girlfriend would arrive about forty-five minutes early to suit up and go over the weather conditions and wind patterns to ensure a safe jump.
“Explain to me what we’re doing again,” Toby said as he walked into the hangar. Today he wore a wrinkled white polo shirt and a pair of dark blue Dockers with deck shoes. At least he had shaved his usually grizzled chin hair.
“Hi, Toby,” I said. “I’ve finished going over the flight plan with Jeremy, the pilot.” I pointed out the blond in the pressed uniform of the flight school. “He says we’re good to go.”
“I see, and then what?”
“Then you follow me around as I walk through the party plan.”
“And this is of interest to me because?”
“Because I want you to see how excited the family is and how much the potential groom knows about his bride.” I glanced over my shoulder to see Alexander coming my way. “Speaking of the potential groom, here he comes now.” I stepped away from Toby. “Hi, Alexander. How are you today? Are you ready for the big jump?”
Alex’s dark brown eyes sparkled and his face lit up. “I have been so excited I haven’t slept a wink in two days.”
“Why would you not sleep? Sleep is essential to proper human function,” Toby said.
I sent him a look to keep quiet. “Alex, this is Toby Mallard. He is shadowing me today. I hope you don’t mind.”
“No, of course not,” Alex said, and shook Toby’s hand. “Alexander Bath, nice to meet you.” Then he turned his attention on me. “Here’s the ring. Please ensure that Tom gets it. He’s Dominica’s oldest brother, and if she says yes—”
“When she says yes,” I interrupted.
Bodice of Evidence Page 15
