by Leslie Nagel
“So, what is it?” Frankie wondered. “Dye’s got all those question marks next to it, so it must be important. Do we have to track down all those former students again?”
“I’ve got a better idea.” Using Marc’s cellphone, Charley took a snap of the page containing the doodle, retrieved Dye’s business card with his cellphone number, and texted the image. She added the message: WHAT BOOK?
“I cannot wait to get my phone back,” she murmured.
“Three days in the rice,” Frankie cautioned, “or you risk a total fry-out.”
“Yeah, yeah.” The cellphone rang, and Charley tapped the screen to connect. “Hi, Berkeley, this is Charley. I’m putting you on speaker.”
“Greetings,” Dye’s disembodied voice boomed. “What am I looking at?” Charley described the notebook where Frankie had found the book doodle. Dye was silent for a long moment. They could hear music and conversation in the background. “I don’t get into those notebooks much anymore,” he said at last. “Perhaps I should. If I see it in context, I might remember.”
“Can you come over here now?” Charley asked. “A group of us have been going through your files, and we’ve got some threads to tug.”
Dye grunted. “You recall I told you I work freelance. I’ve got a paying gig for a change, a fluff piece for The Cincinnati Enquirer, and I’m on deadline.”
“Where are you?” Marc asked curiously.
“Hello, sir. I am in a nearby coffeehouse called Ground Zero. They’ve got free Wi-Fi, the scones are decent, and the AC is running full blast. The natives inform me this part of Oakwood had power restored early this morning. The place is jammed. I swear to God, the world could end, but people will still want their java.” The background noise swelled, and Dye raised his voice. “Give me a couple of hours to finish, then I’ll catch up with you and your team.”
“Scones,” Frankie murmured.
“One-track mind.” As Charley placed Marc’s cellphone on the table, the screen lit up with an incoming text notification. Her brows rose. “Why is Dmitri texting you?”
Marc slid the phone into his hip pocket. “Nosy Nadine,” he said mildly before returning to his reading.
She frowned. Marc and Dmitri had developed a solid friendship, but she wouldn’t have thought it was on the level of texting while on vacation. What were those rascals up to?
Vanessa glanced up from a file containing court transcripts. “Carter swore he didn’t arrive at Smith Gardens until after ten, but the defense couldn’t produce a single witness who would swear he was at the football game after nine forty-five.”
“The fuzzy time line was one of the main reasons Dye doubted Yousef’s original confession.” Marc tapped the autopsy report. “The cause of death was another. There’s a sketch showing the position of the head wound, but it isn’t very good.”
“We’ll have to get Sharon to meet us at Smith Gardens,” Charley decided. “We need to walk the scene if we’re going to figure out what, if anything, is hinky about the cause of death. And we need our expert.” She batted her lashes at Marc. “Our other expert.” His sexy answering smile made her feel warm all over.
“So we are going to reenact the crime?” Frankie’s bounce of excitement ended in a grimace of discomfort. “Gah. Gotta pee again.”
Vanessa jerked a thumb at the whiteboard. “Doesn’t seem like we’ve got much.”
In addition to VISIT SMITH GARDENS, KENDALL MAGELLAN, and MERRITT VANCE, Marc had written: TRACE NECKLACE, WHAT BOOK?, DECODE JOURNAL, and AUTOPSY REPORT/HEAD WOUND.
“Actually,” he said, “this is good. I’ve gone through cases and ended up with a whole lot of nothing.”
Heddy said suddenly, “We could talk to Carter.”
Afiya frowned. “Is that necessary? According to Lawrence, he is a shell of a man. He rarely goes out, never speaks to anyone. This murder ruined his life. He might not welcome you bringing it all up again.”
“On the other hand, he was totally forthcoming with Berkeley Dye,” Heddy insisted in her gentle way. “If anyone would want to see Regan’s killer caught, it would be Carter Magellan.”
Charley hesitated, her desire to pursue every possible avenue warring with her basic humanity. “Tell you what,” she said at last. “We won’t bother Carter unless we have to. For now, we start with this list. Hopefully, something here will lead us to the truth.”
But even as she spoke, Charley felt something nudging her subconscious. It was no more than a vague bud of an idea, really more an impression, a sensation of discord, of an act that didn’t fit the actor. Something in what she’d just read or heard didn’t make sense. Rather, it didn’t feel right. Was her feeling of unease sparked by Heddy’s remark about Carter? Or was it connected to one of the other players in this drama?
“If anyone can solve a forty-year-old murder, it’s you, Carpo,” Frankie declared, her words distracting Charley from her train of thought, leaving that bud of an idea, at least for the moment, tightly closed.
“What if your search for the truth leads you to a killer?”
Everyone turned. Charley’s father sat in the doorway to the living room, mouth pulled down into a lopsided frown. Lawrence stood behind his wheelchair looking apologetic.
“I tried to keep him occupied,” he murmured. “But the man is as stubborn as they come.”
Bobby rolled up to the table and stared at the photo of Regan. “Her death was a tragedy, but it’s nothing to do with us. Look at what’s already happened, Charley!” he exclaimed, his color rising. “You need to turn all this over to the police!”
“The authorities already have most of this. If and when we find anything new that’s worth turning over, of course we will do so.” Charley took her father’s hand. “Daddy, please try to understand. A young woman died. Yes, it was a long time ago, but doesn’t she still deserve justice? Setting that aside, somebody broke into our home. Clearly, that somebody doesn’t want me investigating.” She squared her shoulders. “I don’t need any more reason than that.”
“But the danger!” Bobby gripped her hand. “If anything happened to you…”
“Nothing is going to happen.” Marc met her gaze before turning to her father. “I will keep her safe.”
Charley watched her father anxiously. As Bobby’s shoulders relaxed, she released a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. “I know you will,” he said at last. He mustered a faint smile. “Just like I know there’s no stopping my girl when she’s on the trail of a good mystery.”
Charley smiled in relief. “Got that right.”
Lawrence broke the silence. “Who’s hungry?”
“Me!” Frankie said promptly.
Afiya rose smoothly to her full six feet, her rose and black striped head wrap nearly touching the ceiling. “I will help get the lunch together.”
Marc checked his watch. “Wonder if Dye will be here soon. He seems like the sort to show up just as food hits the table.”
Lawrence’s voice boomed from the kitchen. “That lowlife may have apologized to our Chip, but I’ve got a few words before he eats one bite of my cooking.”
Charley picked up the kitchen landline and punched in a number from memory. “If we’re going to revisit the scene of the crime, I’d better confirm our autopsy expert. Hello, Dr. Krugh? How do you feel about a field trip?”
Chapter 9
Sharon promised to meet them at Smith Gardens shortly after three p.m., giving them time to hit the high school first.
“Killing two birds with one stone,” Frankie had observed with satisfaction as Charley relayed the message. “We can question Vance, and when summer school lets out, we’ll talk to Kendall.”
Marc followed Charley onto the front porch. “I’ll leave you to it. You should be safe enough in a crowd.”
She glanced over her shoulder to where Frankie, Heddy,
and Vanessa stood near Heddy’s ancient wood-paneled station wagon. “It’s overkill for two conversations, but they were all so excited about investigating, I didn’t have the heart to say no.”
When she turned back, she caught that wistful look again. “Hey. Sure you don’t want to come along?”
He smiled, and the moment passed. “Quite sure. Speaking of safety.” Marc hooked his thumbs into the waistband of her vintage apple green Bermuda shorts and pulled her in close. “You know that stuff about keeping you safe was for Bobby’s benefit, right?”
“I do know it. That’s why I didn’t bean you with a saucepan.”
He chuckled, then grew serious. “If I’ve learned anything in the last few months, it’s that you can take care of yourself.”
Their eyes locked. In that cobalt blue gaze Charley saw everything she would ever need: love, trust, and, more precious than diamonds, respect. It hadn’t always been this way. Marc’s faith in her abilities had been a hard-won prize, one for which she had nearly paid the ultimate price.
She touched her forehead to his. “This man,” she breathed.
“This woman.” Marc held on until the throat clearing and suggestions to “get a room” started getting obnoxious. He released her, shooting a fake glower at Frankie that was blithely ignored. “Natives are getting restless. If you want to catch your interviewees, you’d better roll.”
Charley checked her watch. “What’s on your agenda? More deliveries?”
“This and that.” Marc avoided her eyes. “I’ll catch up with you later.”
As Charley watched him leap into his Mustang and roar off down Hawthorn, she tried to suppress a bubble of anxiety. Marc wasn’t the only one who could read a person. The man was definitely up to something.
“Earth to Carpo.”
Charley jerked around. “Sorry, what?”
“I said,” Frankie glanced toward the retreating taillights, then back at Charley. “Never mind what I said. Trouble in paradise?”
“I’m not sure.” Charley gave herself a mental shake and headed down the porch steps. “No. Definitely not. Just a lot on my mind.”
The four of them climbed into Heddy’s car. Afiya had demurred, preferring to remain behind with Lawrence. Charley rather suspected Fee would turn out to be more of an armchair detective than a field operative. However, to her surprise Heddy had jumped at the chance to come along.
“I’ve lived in Oakwood nearly thirty years, and I’ve never set foot in that school building.” She arranged her floaty black skirt carefully across the driver’s seat. “Besides, you girls need someone with some common sense on this mission.”
“Shotgun!” Vanessa slid into the front passenger seat and propped her combat boots on the dash. “Next time we take my bike.” She laughed at Heddy’s dismayed expression.
Frankie eased herself into the rear seat. “Only in my seventh month, and I can already barely fit in a car, much less behind the wheel. If I put the driver’s seat back in my BMW, I can’t reach the pedals.”
“Could you be any cuter?” Charley leaned over to help her friend manage the seat belt.
“Probably not. Speaking of sidekicks, John is going to meet us later at the crime scene.” Frankie spoke the last three words with a spooky quaver.
“That’s a first.” Charley knew Frankie’s husband worried about his wife’s sleuthing activities, particularly since she’d been held at gunpoint during a recent adventure the press had dubbed “The Antique House Murder Case.” It hadn’t helped that she, Charley, had also nearly died.
John’s anxiety had understandably escalated since Frankie’s pregnancy. Charley had begun to feel, with a sinking certainty, that the days of riding the range with her best friend might be drawing to a close. You couldn’t chase bad guys with a baby on board.
Frankie leaned over to fluff her brown curls in the rearview mirror. “John’s got court this morning, or he’d be here now. When I told him what we were doing, I had to swear not to let you out of my sight to keep him from ditching his client and getting slapped with a contempt charge.”
“Seat belts, everyone? Feet off the dash, please, Vanessa. Off we go!” Heddy rolled down the windows, settled a pair of bedazzled plastic sunglasses on her nose, and pulled away from the curb.
As they cruised toward the high school, Charley reveled in the cool air caressing her face and riffling her red ponytail. Storm damage was evident everywhere, and once again she said a silent prayer of thanks for her family’s escape. They all exclaimed at the sight of a tree cradled in the collapsed roof of a house. Not everyone had been so fortunate.
A few minutes later, they stood before the crumbled entrance to Mack Hummon Field. The battered Mystery Machine was gone, and a sizable heap of bricks and crumbled mortar had been stacked against the outer wall of the stadium, draped with a tarp, and surrounded by hazard cones ringed with yellow tape.
“Geez, Charley.” Frankie stared, aghast.
“Marc had the van towed this morning. It’s going to be out of commission for at least two weeks.” Charley sighed. “Guess I’d better get a rental. I can’t keep bumming rides and cellphones.”
“So, the entrance to the tunnel is under all that rubble?” Vanessa wondered.
“It is.” Charley gave a little shudder. “And I have zero interest in ever going down there again.”
The south door was unlocked for summer students and staff. They slipped inside, then paused to debate their plan of attack.
“I should tackle Vance alone,” Charley decided. “If a bunch of strangers gang up on him, he might shut down.”
“Any idea where he is?” Vanessa glanced around. “Does he have an office?”
“He has a base of operations in one of the utility rooms,” Charley said, “but he’s probably at work somewhere in the building.”
The four women moved farther into the school, seeing no one. They first passed a door marked ATTENDANCE OFFICE, the glass pane revealing a dark and deserted interior. An unlit hall to their right was lined with closed doors. Empty bulletin boards showed ghostly rectangles marking where last year’s notices had hung. Charley and Frankie identified the next turning as the science hall, an echoing tunnel where summer classes were under way, light spilling into the hall from open doors, the murmur of voices echoing off the tiles.
“Everything looks smaller,” Frankie murmured. “And dingier. You remember it all kind of glowing.”
“The smell never changes.” Charley made a face. “That mix of floor wax and despair really takes you back.”
Following a hunch, she led the way up a flight of steps to the powder-blue-tiled Freshman Hall. They passed the band room, with its carpeted risers, then continued around a corner into a corridor lined with metal lockers and cluttered with a dozen school desks shoved haphazardly against the walls. They heard a mechanical roar echoing from an open classroom door.
“Okay, that’s probably him,” Charley said. “You guys scope out the rest of the building and see if you can find Kendall. I’d start with the auditorium—Katie’s taking her summer drama class.”
Frankie saluted. “Good luck, boss. Step lively, troops. There’s a girls’ restroom on that floor, which I will be visiting, FYI.”
Vanessa whispered, “Sure you don’t want backup?”
“Not this time.” Charley smiled, knowing her young friend was spoiling for some action. “The man’s seventy at least.”
While the others started back toward the stairs, Charley approached the open door and peered inside. Most of the carpet had been peeled back and lay bunched against the far wall. Three industrial fans had been positioned around the perimeter of the room and were blowing across the damp concrete subfloor. Merritt Vance stood on a stepladder in front of a broken window. Dressed in ancient work pants and a tan short-sleeved shirt with OHS STAFF embroidered over the left pock
et, he appeared to be working pieces of broken glass loose from the window frame, using rubber grips. As she watched, he turned and dropped a jagged shard into a metal bin, where it landed with a clang.
“Hello?” Charley had to raise her voice to be heard over the roar of the fans.
Vance glanced up. At the sight of her he started violently, nearly dropping the grips. His expression stiffened with an emotion that might have been fear or guilt, but, Charley admitted, could perhaps have been simple annoyance. Then his square face clamped down into a scowl. Before he could speak, she launched into the short speech she’d prepared.
“I’m so glad I found you!” she exclaimed. “I can see how busy you are, Mr. Vance. But I simply had to thank you again for rescuing Katie and me the other day. Why, if it hadn’t been for your quick thinking, who knows what might have happened? We might have been killed! You’re a real hero, sir.”
She knew she was laying it on thicker than thick, but her words appeared to be having the desired effect. Vance’s scowl lifted a fraction.
“It’s what anybody would’ve done,” he replied at last, his gravelly voice nearly a shout.
Charley came farther into the room. “You don’t give yourself enough—may I?” She quickly stepped to the nearest two fans and switched them off. “Phew! That’s better.” She spoke at a normal volume, rushing her words to head off any protest. “As I was trying to say, when I was a student here, I always felt you were a person I could depend on.”
Vance seemed to consider this. He studied her with suspicion, his eyes raking her from top to toe. She waited, refusing to squirm or even to break eye contact. Did this old perv check out Katie and her friends like this? she wondered, hiding her outrage behind a wide smile.
He finally grunted. “You and that Cartolano girl, you were some of the few who even bothered to learn my name.” He descended the ladder and laid the grips he’d been using on a desk strewn with tools. “All these years, most of them kids never even noticed I was alive. Unless they needed somethin’, that is.”
