Drop Dead Beauty

by Wendy Roberts

  With the condo keys in her hands, Sadie walked purposefully toward the unit as if she had every right to go inside. After all, if the woman’s esthetician could gain entry, why not the trauma cleaner that worked with her ex-husband? Each separate unit had its own sidewalk and a very short drive that led to a single-car garage. Sadie walked up to the front door, let herself inside the unit, and waited while her eyes adjusted to the darkness. She didn’t dare turn on a light. After a while she made her way up to the second floor.

  A glow from the parking lot lights illuminated the master bedroom enough that Sadie could see the bed was neatly made with no signs anyone had slept there recently. Some dresser drawers stood open, though, with tufts of panties and T-shirts dangling out. Sadie wondered if it was Emilio rifling through the drawers or if Seattle PD had done it before him.

  Wasting no time, Sadie hustled into the en suite bath and stopped short. It was a tiny three-piece bathroom with a shower stall, toilet, and pedestal sink. An extra roll of toilet tissue sat on the back of the toilet but there was no other place to stash a Tampax box. With a frown, Sadie headed out of the master bedroom and into another bathroom across the hall. It had a tiny vanity that held an extra set of towels and a couple bottles of shampoo. Nothing else.

  Cursing quietly to herself, Sadie headed back down the stairs to the main floor, where there was a tiny two-piece bathroom with a toilet and, again, only a pedestal sink. Where the hell was a woman supposed to keep her hygiene supplies?

  “Think, think,” she muttered to herself, tapping the side of her head.

  She ran back up the stairs and decided to check out a linen cupboard. There she hit the jackpot of pads, liners, and tampons all in tight little packaging incapable of housing even the smallest of journals. Still, Sadie rooted around the packaging and all the surrounding area but came up empty.

  Sadie began to consider the possibility that Jane had given up on the whole journal-writing thing. After all, it was a huge time commitment. The more she thought about it, though, the more Sadie considered that if Jane had been journaling her entire life, she wasn’t about to stop now with such excitement as a diddling masseuse to write about. And maybe that’s why Emilio had been there. Was it possible he’d found out about the journal and came to retrieve it?

  Sadie returned to the master bedroom and began going through drawers, but the only thing she discovered was that Jane had a helluva lot of yoga wear. She went to the closet next and discovered the dead woman’s fondness for sandals and boots, but still no journal. Sadie plunked herself down on the edge of the bed and pursed her lips in serious thought.

  “If I was a woman wanting to hide stuff from my man, I’d keep it somewhere he’d never think to go,” she said, tapping her fingers on her knee. Abruptly an idea hit. “Got it!”

  She hit her forehead with the palm of her hand and hustled down the stairs again, making her way toward the back of the unit to where a large closet doubled as a storage and laundry facility. This small room had no windows so Sadie turned on an inside light and closed herself inside. Mrs. Brun said that it had always been either Jane or herself doing Martin’s laundry, so if Jane was bent on hiding a journal from her man, the laundry room would be a pretty safe bet. She opened a high cupboard above the washer and moved around the detergent boxes and bottles. One out of many of the boxes of Tide powder detergent slid far too effortlessly to be heavy with detergent. Sadie hoisted it down, noting the lid of the box was entirely cut away, and inside was a Ziploc bag containing a black spiral book and a pen.

  “Bingo!”

  Sadie took out the bag and was about to leave the room when she heard a key in the front door lock. Her heart jumped as she quickly flicked off the light and crept into the corner of the small space behind the door. Holding her breath, she listened intently as the front door opened and someone came inside. Whoever it was went directly upstairs. Sadie heard banging around as if drawers and cupboards were opened and closed in a big hurry. Next the person was racing back down the stairs and then walking around the main floor, opening cupboards in the kitchen. A light was flicked on and Sadie could see a shadow as someone walked past the room she was in. Maybe it was Emilio returning to search the house again. Or it could be Martin and he was here for the night. Whoever it was, they were doing a thorough job of searching for something and that meant it was just a matter of time before she was discovered.

  With trepidation, Sadie closed her eyes and tried to devise a plan. Unfortunately, she realized her purse containing her pepper spray was in the car. If she was closer to the laundry cupboard, she could at least make a play for the bleach and toss it in someone’s face if she felt threatened, but she was too terrified to move. Instead, she prayed silently and made silent promises to God as she watched the doorknob turn, and the door to her hiding place opened a fraction of an inch just before Jane’s doorbell rang. Sadie had to cover her mouth to stop herself from squeaking in surprise.

  The person hesitated, then shut the laundry room door and walked to the front door, hastily opening it.

  “You’re blocking my driveway,” the person outside the door said. “Could I get you to move?”

  Sadie strained but couldn’t hear a word from whoever opened the door, but the mysterious person did leave the condo to presumably move the vehicle. Sadie didn’t waste any time. She left her hiding place, went to the back living room area, and slid open the patio doors and snuck outside into the darkness, clutching the Ziplocked diary in her hands. The postage-stamp backyards were open without any dividing fences, so she was able to easily dash across the backs of a number of units and circle around to the front lot and to her car. She turned the key in the ignition and rocketed out of the parking lot before she even had her seat belt on. Once she was a couple blocks away, Sadie pulled to the curb and paused to catch her breath.

  “That was just too damned close,” she gasped.

  Glaring at the journal now taking up space in its Ziploc bag on the passenger seat, Sadie added, “You’d better be worth it.”

  Feeling a little calmer, she pulled out onto Lakemont Boulevard and then took the right at Forest Drive to get home. It was a quiet night with hardly anyone on the road. She was no more than half a mile down the tree-lined street when someone’s brights blinded her in her rearview mirror. Sadie adjusted her mirror and saw with horror that it was a dark Ram pickup truck that was nearly on her bumper.

  She told herself it could be a coincidence and that she didn’t need to panic every time she saw a truck. As that thought formed in her mind, though, the truck sped up and rammed her bumper. Sadie went from trying to remain calm to frenzied hysteria in one pounding heartbeat.

  Sadie pressed down on the accelerator to get away. She considered turning onto a residential street, but the truck was so close that if she slowed enough to make the turn he would intentionally slam into her. She thought longingly about her cell phone at the bottom of her purse on the floor of the passenger seat, but she didn’t have time to consider reaching for it because the faster she went, the faster the truck came up behind her. The speed limit was thirty and Sadie’s speedometer was inching up to seventy. The normally peaceful stretch of tree-lined residential road now felt desolate and terrifying. She knew her Corolla was no match for the Ram, and her hope was that the police who often patrolled this road for speeders would pull her over for an infraction and also catch the Ram for either attempted murder or terrorizing a trauma worker, whichever carried the longer jail time.

  Sadie saw a vehicle approaching in the other direction and decided to lean on her horn to attract attention. Just as she honked she was again slammed from the back and her car lurched forward. She struggled to regain control of her car on the rain-slicked curve and managed to straighten the Corolla’s fishtail easily.

  “Ha!” she shouted. “I’m not going down that easy!”

  She sneered at the truck in her rearview mirror and tried desp
erately to see the driver but was only blinded by the headlights as they forcibly pounded into the back of her car once more. This time the jolt of being hit from behind caused her hands to slide from the wheel long enough to lose control. Her Corolla went careening up the embankment and through someone’s backyard fence. She yelled in fear until the force of the airbag punched her in the face and muffled her screams.

  “Owww,” she cried in a shaky voice as the car settled on an odd angle.

  The next hour was a blur of police, ambulance, and Zack, who was called by the responding officer who was an old pal of his. The friend thought they were still a couple, and sometimes the old boys in blue network was a mighty speedy communication line.

  Sadie just looked at Zack with a mixture of shock and sadness when he showed up.

  “He just assumed I’d want to know,” Zack told her.

  “Oh.” Sadie rubbed her sore chin, which was bruised from the airbag. “Sorry about that.”

  “Don’t be sorry. He assumed right.” He cleared his throat. “You need to go to the hospital and get checked out.”

  “I’m fine. Just a little banged up.” Then her hand went to her abdomen. “But I want to make sure everything’s okay.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “No!” Sadie said, and when Zack looked away with a hurt expression on his face she added, “I’ll go in the ambulance. I want you to search for the damn Dodge Ram that’s been following me and just ran me off the road.”

  “Can you narrow that description down a bit?” he asked.

  Sadie told him about the paint on the fender, and when she closed her eyes she remembered the license plate number had a couple eights in it.

  “Any idea who it could be?”

  “The vehicle started following me after I cleaned a suicide in Auburn, and my tires were slashed when I was working a home-invasion clean on Southwest Brandon Street. I saw the truck then too.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “I’m not positive, but there’s a chance it could be Martin Brun, Jane Petrovich’s boyfriend. I don’t know what he drives, but when I was inside Jane’s condo someone came inside and then left the building to move a vehicle. I didn’t see who but it was after that the truck followed me on this road.”

  “Just for once it would be nice if you made friends instead of enemies!” Zack threw his hands up in the air with frustration.

  “I know.”

  “And you’re sneaking around and investigating a homicide that you have no business looking into! You broke into the victim’s house?” His voice was tight.

  “When you put it that way it makes it sound like I was doing a bad thing. I had keys to Jane’s house.” Sadie pushed a finger in Zack’s chest. “And I’d like to point out that I’m not the only one who should be looking into this. Petrovich was always good to you too. I’m not the only one who should be trying to clear his name!”

  Zack thrust out his chin and nodded.

  “Maybe I just have faith that the SPD are doing a good job and don’t need me messing around in their investigation.”

  “That’s a cop-out and we both know it,” she said quietly.

  “Fine.” Zack nodded. “I’ll look into it. You get your ass to the hospital and make sure everything’s okay.” He waved the paramedics over. “Call me if you need a ride home when you’re done.”

  Sadie glanced over at her car, which was up on two wheels and half through a fence.

  “My purse and a bag with a book were all on the passenger side.” She nodded to the car. “Would you . . .”

  He walked over and spent a few minutes climbing through brush and broken fencing to access the car and then rummaged through the wreck before returning with her handbag and the Ziploc bag containing Jane’s diary.

  “Do I even want to know what the book is all about?” he asked her, handing it over.

  “Probably not.”

  On the way to the hospital, Sadie called Maeva and explained the situation. By the time she was at the ER, her friend was already there with an expression of dismay and worry.

  “You shouldn’t be sneaking around trying to solve murders. You should be doing your job and going home to rest. That’s it,” Maeva admonished her.

  “You sound like Zack.” Sadie sighed.

  “You talked to Zack?”

  Sadie explained how one of the officers who attended the accident thought Sadie and Zack were still together and had called the ex-cop to let him know.

  “The fact that he showed up is a good sign,” Maeva said. “He hasn’t been able to just forget about you because you’ve got someone else’s baby inside of you. He still yearns for you.”

  Sadie smirked. “I think yearns is too strong a word. It’s probably more accurate to say I’m a thorn in his side that he hasn’t been able to remove yet.”

  But Sadie liked the idea of the word. Zack “yearning” made her feel a tiny nugget of sparkling hope.

  An ob-gyn came in to examine Sadie, and Maeva waited beyond the curtain until they were done.

  Afterward Sadie told her friend, “They’re going to do an ultrasound just to make sure everything’s okay.” She swallowed nervously. “Do you think I hurt the baby?”

  “I think that baby is probably just as stubborn and tough as you are,” Maeva said with an encouraging smile.

  “Thanks.” Sadie sniffed.

  Sadie went off to have jelly spread all over her belly, and for the first time she heard the baby’s heartbeat. It sounded a lot like galloping horses and almost caused her own heart to stop beating.

  It was a couple hours before she was released into Maeva’s capable hands. Her friend was more than happy to take her straight home after a brief stop for tacos.

  When she pulled into the driveway, Maeva offered to come inside for a while.

  “It’s late and you should get home to your family,” Sadie said. “Besides, I still have to deal with Petrovich.”

  “He’s still hanging around?” Maeva frowned. “You need to leave investigations to the police and Zack now. Once you explain to him everything that just happened to you and how you’ve been risking your life and that of your unborn baby, I’m sure he’s going to realize you’ve done more than enough.”

  “Sure,” Sadie said, still feeling like she hadn’t done enough. “If you get a chance tomorrow, do you want to come with me to see Rudie? He’s gotta tweak my new conjure bag.”

  Maeva agreed to call her in the morning after she knew what her schedule was like at work.

  Sadie walked inside and scooped up her bunny rabbit for some cuddle time. Hairy squirmed in her arms and was much more interested in hopping to the kitchen, where he thumped his hind legs impatiently for yogurt yummy treats.

  “You look like hell,” Petrovich told her. “Did someone punch you on the chin? You’re all bruised.”

  “No. There was a disagreement between my car and a big truck. The pickup won.”

  The soreness was beginning to settle into her neck and shoulders. Although the doctor had assured her she could take over-the-counter pain medications, Sadie opted for an ice pack from her freezer and a couple antacids from a roll on the counter. She sat down at the kitchen table with the ice on the back of her neck and dropped her purse to the table with a thud.

  “I got the journal,” she told him, chomping on the antacids. “I’ll read through it tomorrow. Jane’s place was like Grand Central. First, Emilio was inside but he left in his Prius. Someone else went through the place, also using a key, but I was hiding in the laundry room. Could’ve been Emilio coming back, but I don’t think so.”

  “The truck followed you after you left Jane’s place?” Petrovich asked. “That’s gotta be the killer covering his tracks!”

  “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Sherlock,” Sadie grumbled. “I know you’ve been detecting for decades but you’re a little too
close to this situation to see clearly.”

  “Then what’s your take on it?”

  “The truck guy followed me from that suicide clean in Auburn first. After that, I saw the truck at the home-invasion cleanup too, remember? I suspect he was the one who slashed the tires on my van and the car.” Sadie blew out a tired breath. “So my conclusion is, sure, it’s probably whoever killed Jane or whoever hates me at this very moment. I’m hoping that’s Martin Brun. I asked Zack to look into it and, at the very least, find out what Martin drives.”

  “He works at a car lot,” Petrovich reminded her. “Chances are good he could get his hands on any vehicle he wanted.”

  “A very good point, but for now that’s all I got. I’m going to bed.” She got up from the table and took the journal with her.

  Sadie crawled under the covers, closed her eyes, and thought about babies, ghosts, lunatic car salesmen, and deviant estheticians. Then she thought about making herself a smoothie. To distract herself from all those thoughts she opened the plastic bag on her bedside table and took out the journal. She flipped through the thick book and saw that Jane was meticulous about putting dates in the upper-right corner of each new entry. Some days she’d written a page or two, while other times there were only a few lines.

  The first entries in this journal had been written two months earlier. Sadie read the first few pages. Jane’s writing documented her feelings of unhappiness with Martin, calling him lazy and complaining that even though he’d never been helpful around the house, at least before he’d been a good lover—but now even that area of their life was limp. She appeared to have been indecisive about breaking up with him. One day she was sure it was time to let him go and the next she held hope things might get better between them. Jane was every woman in the world stuck in the limbo of an ambivalent love life.

  Early on in the journal Jane mentioned going to Jonelle’s Spa for a back massage after receiving a gift card from a friend for her birthday.