by Harper Lin
Chapter Fourteen
A very sour-looking Cole Hansen stood there in his bare feet, wearing a pair of jeans and a T-shirt.
“I’ve got five minutes before I have to check on the algorithms,” he snapped.
“Algorithms? So you are a trader?” Amelia asked as she slowly climbed back up to the landing at the top of the stoop. Cole nodded, obviously annoyed.
“Well, I’ll get right to the point.” Amelia smiled sweetly. “What were you doing at the bridal shower where Dana was murdered?”
“I wasn’t,” he snapped again, looking at his watch.
“I don’t think you want to play that game with me, Cole.” She pulled out her phone and showed him himself in the background of one of Adam’s pictures, clear as day.
All the color drained from Cole’s face, and as Amelia looked down, she realized even his feet had gone ghostly white.
“Look, I didn’t touch her. I just went to talk to her.”
“During a bridal shower that your girlfriend was at?”
He ran his hand through his short blond hair and let out a grunt like a child told they couldn’t watch any more television.
“Francine isn’t my girlfriend anymore. She told me she was okay with being just friends.”
“Then why did she say you were her boyfriend?”
Cole shrugged. “Out of habit, I guess. When she said she was going to that bridal shower, I knew Dana was going to be working that day.”
“How did you know?”
“She told me.” He sighed. “We had been together about a week before she was killed. She said she made sure she was going to be on the schedule.”
“Why did she want to work the bridal shower?”
“She didn’t. She wanted to torture Francine.” Cole was staring off behind Amelia, not looking at her eyes but past her as he spoke. Nervously, he worried a hangnail on his right thumb. “See, Francine and I had moved in together. It was too fast, and I wasn’t ready to settle down. Then, when Dana stepped into the picture, I knew Francine wasn’t right for me, but she said she was okay with being friends and that we could save some money by living together. No strings.”
“So what did you show up there for?”
“To beg Dana not to bother Francine. I promised her she had my body and soul and that as soon as I got a few bucks saved up, I’d be back in my own place. She just needed to be patient.”
“What did Dana say to that?”
“She said no. She said I wasn’t going to stop her from having a good time. If I ever wanted to see her again, I’d just go home.”
“So what did you do?”
“I came home.” Cole’s eyes became red, as if suddenly he was exhausted. “When Francine came home, she told me what had happened, and I died inside.”
Amelia watched Cole calmly. She looked at his hands, his jaws, the way he moved, and came to the conclusion he was hiding something. She had seen on the true-crime television station that when a person lied, sometimes they fidgeted in addition to breaking out in a sweat or shifting their eyes all over the place. Cole showed all of the signs.
He bounced from foot to foot. He continued to pick at his thumb. His eyes bugged and squinted and searched all around, up and down the street, and as if that weren’t enough, his upper lip began to glisten with sweat.
“So why haven’t you gone to the police? This could be helpful.”
He looked at Amelia, and his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
“Francine will be upset.”
Amelia didn’t speak. She was mesmerized by his performance.
“I know what you’re thinking. This guy is totally whipped.” He whimpered. “Maybe, but if you heard the things Francine said she wanted to do to Dana, what she’d do to her herself, you’d think twice about talking to anyone, too.”
“You’re talking to me.”
Cole chuckled.
“Yeah, and who are you? Nobody.” He scoffed. “But if you’re not a cop, I’d stay away from Francine. She might not look like much, but trust me, I know. You don’t want to make her mad. She turns into a different person.”
Amelia stood there as Cole quietly shut his front door. Taking a deep breath, she looked at her phone. It was time to head back home. The kids would be off school soon, and she’d planned hotdogs and salad for supper.
But as she drove, she couldn’t shake the feeling that Cole was confused.
The drunken loudmouth at the bridal shower didn’t strike her as a ruthless abuser, maybe even a killer, who instilled fear in anyone who crossed her.
For the entire drive back to her house, Amelia tried to make sense of everything Cole had said. If he wasn’t her boyfriend, why did Francine introduce him as her boyfriend? Was she the split personality of a crybaby during the day and a homicidal girlfriend at night? What was Cole covering up?
“I’ll never find out now,” she sneered. She drove home on autopilot. Amelia took each turn and stop sign without even seeing them. Her mind spun Cole’s words around and around, trying to see them from the correct angle, but everything seemed to have a blind spot.
Finally, when she did arrive home, she saw both Meg and Adam just getting off the bus. It was still very early in the day, and Amelia was thankful for the extra time she could spend with her kids. Perhaps giving her mind a break from the murder would help her see things more clearly later. She climbed out of the truck and waved to her kids.
“Hi, Mom!” Meg yelled as she ran up the sidewalk with Katherine following close behind. Adam sauntered coolly behind them, his skateboard under his arm as usual.
“Hello, girls. Did you have a good day at school?”
“Yes,” they replied in unison and set off a chain of giggles. “How come you’re home so early, Mom?”
“I had a good day at work. Sold out of everything.” She stroked her daughter’s long hair. Looking up at her son, she smiled. “How was your day, honey?”
“Good, Mom. What’s for supper?”
“I thought hotdogs tonight. Salad. Maybe a movie while we eat?”
“Can we pick, please? Please, can we pick?” Meg pleaded, her hands folded in front of her as she batted her eyelashes at her mother.
“Adam, didn’t Meg pick last time?”
“It’s okay. I have a ton of homework.” He looked at Meg and stuck his tongue out at her.
“Fine, spaz,” she teased back. “He’s just going to get on his computer and talk to Amy Leonard.” Meg woo-hooed while flipping her hair back behind her. Adam shook his head and quickly went into the house. Amelia saw he had red cheeks but a smile on his face.
Amy Leonard came by almost immediately after Amelia and the kids had moved in to the small house as the divorce was wrapping up. She was a sweet girl with a skateboard and, as of recently, a streak of purple in her dark-brown hair.
“Leave your brother alone.” Amelia tapped Meg on the head with her hand.
They made their way inside the house, and a feast of hotdogs with crisp green salad, crunchy potato chips, and iced tea was served while they finally agreed on a movie.
After shooting down Katherine’s suggestions of Dawn of the Dead, Carnival of Souls or The Incredible Melting Man, which she insisted was a classic, they decided on Alfred Hitchcock’s true classic, Psycho.
While watching with the girls, Amelia stared at the picture of Cole that Adam had sent to her. What else was there? He said he didn’t do anything.
“Wait a minute!” she blurted out loud, making Meg and Katherine jump.
“What is it, Mrs. Harley?” Katherine asked nervously.
“Oh, nothing. I’m sorry. I was just remembering something from work that I thought I lost. I remember now. Never mind me.”
“Jeez, Mom. Give us a heart attack.”
Amelia nodded and shrugged her shoulders. Then she looked at the photo again. There it was. Peeking out of the corner was the top of someone’s head. It was just a little old lady sitting in the back of the restaurant right next t
o the bathrooms. Mrs. O’Toole.
Dan had said he hadn’t spoken to her yet because she was so old. Amelia remembered she had worn her raincoat inside the restaurant like a dress, then took it off after the temperature dropped and the rain started. Poor thing.
“You girls behave. I’m going to make a phone call, and I’ll be right back.”
“Okay, Mom,” Meg said as she and Katherine scooted next to each other and, in whispers, wondered what was going to happen next as Janet Leigh got ready to take a shower.
Going upstairs into her room, Amelia pressed Dan’s number that she had programmed into her phone, just in case there was an emergency.
“You’ve reached the voicemail of Detective Daniel Walishovsky. Please leave your name and number at the beep, and I’ll call you back.”
Amelia cursed the voicemail before the phone started recording her message.
“Hi, Dan. Um, it’s Amelia Harley. Hey, I was just wondering if you had a chance to talk to Mrs. O’Toole about the Dana Foster case. The only reason I’m asking is because my son took a picture of the restaurant for my website, and it turns out she was sitting inside right next to the—”
Amelia frowned when she got cut off by the sound of the beep. She looked at the phone and debated calling back to leave the rest of her message but decided against it. He’d call back when he got a minute and ask what she was rambling on about.
In the meantime, Amelia wondered what she should do. A friendly visit to Mrs. O’Toole’s might be in order. She knew the old lady from around town. Everyone did. You didn’t have the kind of money she had and remain anonymous.
“A friendly visit. A wellness check. Heck, a bridal shower that could be featured on America’s Most Wanted. I wish someone would have done a wellness check on me,” Amelia joked.
Looking at her schedule, she thought that she might be able to swing by the old lady’s house tomorrow afternoon and still make it home in time to get the kids dinner around five o’clock. She’d let them know she was going to be late taking care of some last-minute business. It wasn’t a lie, but enough information was left out that they wouldn’t worry or tell their father.
Chapter Fifteen
“My gosh!” Lila said in a breathy voice. “You barely see her there.”
“I know. She’s like a chameleon blending in to the wood paneling. It’s like Where’s Waldo?” Amelia chuckled.
“I’ll bet that Cole didn’t even notice her, either. I’ll bet he and Francine went ahead and slaughtered that girl, thinking no one was the wiser, and this old bird sat there listening to the whole thing, thinking it was just another symptom of her dementia.”
“Lila”—Amelia bumped Lila with her hip, putting her hand over her own mouth to cover the laughter—“that isn’t nice. And we don’t know if she has dementia.”
“I’m not trying to be mean,” she reassured Amelia, bumping her back. “I’m just saying that she had to have heard something but might not believe she heard what she did.”
Amelia clicked her tongue and shook her head.
“I hate to say it, but you might be right. I’m going to go talk to her.”
“Are you going to wait for Detective Walishovsky to call you back? Maybe he already spoke with her.”
“Well, if he did, then I’ll just say sorry to bother you and run away out the door, waving my arms in the air like bees are swarming me.” Amelia made herself and Lila laugh.
“I can just picture that,” Lila whooped. “I’d pay money to see it live.”
Both women laughed loud and hard as they opened the truck for business.
It was a rainy day, but the devoted customers of the Pink Cupcake cupcakes made their way through the elements, underneath their umbrellas and raincoats. Thankfully it was another sold-out event. Amelia had plenty of time to pay Mrs. O’Toole a visit and still get back in time to feed the kids.
“Look, just do me one favor,” Lila said after packing up all the receipts in the bank bag and handing the money to Amelia. “When you get home, call me. Just so I know you are okay.”
“Sure, Lila. But what could happen? Mrs. O’Toole is ancient. I’m probably going to go there and get stuck listening to her tell me how she acquired each one of her thirty cats.”
“No! Is she a cat hoarder, too?”
“No. I’m making that up.” Amelia hung her head. “I’m as bad as you are.”
“Will you call me when you are done?”
“Absolutely. I plan on handing Dan some information he can use. I owe him.”
“For what?”
“It’s a long story, but let’s just say he was right and I was wrong.”
Mrs. Belinda O’Toole had lived at 5726 North Winthrop Avenue in Sarkis Estates before the upscale neighborhood was even considered upscale. She and her husband had purchased a nice piece of property and had a New England Colonial–style home built on it. The place was three stories high and perfectly white with a jet-black roof that appeared to have been recently reshingled.
Amelia had stopped at home to drop off the truck. She didn’t think it would be wise to drive her business to the woman’s house. Not that the old sedan didn’t stick out like a sore thumb in the fancy neighborhood, but it was certainly not the hot-pink beacon the Pink Cupcake was.
While in the car, Amelia went over what she was going to say, but none of it sounded right. It sounded like the ramblings of a crazy woman.
“Hi, Mrs. O’Toole. Do you remember going to the bridal shower the other day where there was a murder?”
“Mrs. O’Toole, I’m Amelia Harley. I was wondering if you remembered being at the Twisted Spoke when that little murder thing took place.”
“Mrs. O’Toole, do you remember seeing this man go into the ladies’ room just before Dana Foster was killed?”
That was it. It was blunt, but sometimes when dealing with the elderly, that was a person’s best bet. Parking her car, she took a couple of deep breaths and headed up the porch steps to the front door. The curtains and blinds were pulled shut.
Looking up, Amelia saw they were shut on the second floor as well.
Nothing strange about that, she mused. An old woman living alone with a rumor of gold bars buried in her walls probably enjoys the solitude.
The door was hard wood with beautifully etched and beveled glass. She imagined the prisms on the floor had to look beautiful when the morning sun came through.
Pressing the button on the left side of the doorframe, she heard the doorbell ring on the inside. She hoped she wasn’t disturbing anything.
It wasn’t but a few seconds before Mrs. O’Toole was at the door, pressing her face into the glass and squinting. She looked like a pink and wrinkled gargoyle through the cut glass.
“Who is it?” she yelled through the door.
“Mrs. O’Toole, I’m Amelia Harley. Can I talk to you for just a minute?”
Mrs. O’Toole was shaking her head and mumbling something as she pulled away from the door. Amelia could hear the old woman complaining as well as the sound of several locks and chains sliding out of place.
When she pulled the door open, Mrs. O’Toole looked much more pleasant.
She was barely five feet tall. Her body was plump but not terribly overweight, and she reminded Amelia of her neighbor’s pug dogs when they watched their master eat, with her shoulders slightly rounded over, her brown eyes peering from beneath wrinkle upon wrinkle. Amelia didn’t think she dieted, especially after having watched her eat the cupcakes she made at the shower. She was probably just one of those lucky women who ate but never went too far over the edge.
“Yes, what is this about?” the woman asked, completely coherent and lucid.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Mrs. O’Toole. My name is…”
“Amelia Harley. Heard you the first time,” she curtly replied. “Don’t stand outside on the porch like a vacuum salesman. Come on in.” She never cracked a smile.
Amelia realized she had labeled this woman totally w
rong. Instead of the frail, rambling old lady she had expected, Mrs. O’Toole was quite together. In fact, Amelia felt a little intimidated by her.
“Yes, well, I was wondering if I could ask you something about the bridal shower at the Twisted Spoke.”
“Yes, what about it?”
She didn’t seem fazed or even concerned about recalling that day’s events.
“Well, you see, my son took a photo, and it just happened to catch a man going into the ladies’ room right after Dana had gone in there. Then, Dana never came out. The top of your head was in that picture. I was just wondering if you remember seeing that man or hearing anything strange.”
It was in a blink that Mrs. O’Toole’s demeanor changed. The old lady smiled, but it looked more like a grimace.
Chapter Sixteen
“Oh, that was a bad day, wasn’t it?” Mrs. O’Toole tsk-tsked. Amelia watched as she waved her into the parlor. Before her eyes, Amelia thought the woman had grown about four inches and become more solid in frame. Not plump as she had thought before but sturdy. “Please, have a seat.” She motioned to a beautifully upholstered sofa that had vibrant orange and pink flowers swimming through a sea of lush green leaves.
Amelia looked around the room and could only take a wild guess as to what everything had cost. If there were gold bricks in the walls, they were worth at least as much as what looked like a genuine Picasso and dozens of Capodimonte figurines.
The wallpaper was a silk floral design that complemented the bold print of the sofa and love seat that Mrs. O’Toole sat down on across from Amelia.
“This is a lovely room.” Amelia smiled a nervous smile at her hostess, who appeared to be studying her.
“Thank you. Now, you said your son took a picture of me?” Mrs. O’Toole snooped. “Does he often take pictures of people he doesn’t know?”
