by J. R. Ripley
I closed the place up, leaving the air conditioner in the front room running with the hope that it might help clear the air.
Next, I stopped at the minimart a block over and selected a nice can of tuna for Carol Two, along with a bag of cheese doodles. If the cat wouldn’t eat them, I would. Donna might have a fit but I figured I’d hide the bag behind one of the couch cushions until she went to bed.
I pulled up in front of Ed’s house as the last remnants of the sun disappeared in the damson western sky. Ed’s car wasn’t in the driveway so I parked in the drive myself. I still didn’t know if Ed had been released from the hospital yet. Until then, I was going to keep that cat of his alive if it killed me.
Walking up the path to the door, I wondered if maybe Ed had been released and that was why there was no sign of his car. He could be out for a drive somewhere. Grocery shopping, for all I knew.
With that in mind, I knocked on the door. There was no answer. I pressed my ear against the warm wood. Not a sound. I pulled his key ring from my handbag, unlocked the door and went inside.
Carol Two, surprisingly, wasn’t there to greet me. I headed for the kitchen, then stopped. Were those noises I was hearing coming from down the hall? I cocked an ear and felt a chill scurry up my arms.
Definitely.
I tiptoed down the hall, careful not to make a sound. What if there was a burglar in the house? What if I caught them in the act? What would they do to me?
How mad were they going to be once they discovered there was nothing in this dump worth stealing?
The door to the master bedroom was ajar. I leaned low and peeked through the crack.
I sighed with relief. Ed was lying in bed, a portable computer on his lap. ‘Mr Teller!’ I called. ‘I didn’t realize you were back!’
‘Huh?’ He looked up, startled, and closed the laptop. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I came to feed Carol Two,’ I explained. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were here. I didn’t realize you had been released.’
He frowned and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. ‘They let me out around noon. Been here ever since.’
‘Again, sorry. I didn’t see your car—’
‘I put it in the garage. Not supposed to drive. No point in having the sun beat down on it.’
‘Of course.’ I went to his side of the bed and briefly clasped his hand. ‘I’m so happy for you that you’ve come home. You must be thrilled. I’ll bet she is, too.’
His bushy eyebrows formed a V and he sat up. ‘She? She who?’
‘Carol Two.’ I pointed to the cat, asleep on a rattan papasan chair with a brown cushion in the corner near a small television.
He shrugged. ‘I guess so. You get a haircut?’
‘Salon de Belleza,’ I answered. ‘Do you like it?’
He lifted a shoulder. ‘I’ve seen worse.’
That was OK. I’d heard worse. ‘Caitie cut it for me.’
‘I’m not surprised. The woman has a way with a pair of scissors.’
Yeah, the wrong way. I reached into my purse. ‘I brought Carol Two a treat.’ I swung the tuna can around so he could read the label.
‘Thanks,’ he replied, running his hands over the dark bedspread. ‘I’m afraid she’s already had her dinner.’
I curled my lip. ‘A treat for later?’
‘I suppose,’ he gave in gruffly.
‘I guess I’ll be off then.’ I fluffed his pillow for him. ‘Is there anything I can do for you before I leave? I’m on my way to the police station. I’ve got some great news about Rick Wilbur’s killer.’
‘You do?’ He scratched at his beard. I wondered what he’d look like without it. Probably fifty years younger.
I nodded. ‘I’ve got all kinds of suspects. One in particular. And,’ I said, talking quickly, ‘I know what happened to the chairs. At least, I think I know.’
‘Chairs?’ His eyes were glazed over and his cheeks flushed. I was beginning to get concerned. It may not have been a good idea for the hospital to release him quite yet. ‘What are you talking about, Miller?’
‘My chairs,’ I said. ‘From the café. The ones that were in the box but the killer had to take out of the box to put the dead guy – Rick, I mean – in the box after he, or she, killed him.’
I looked at him triumphantly. ‘Those chairs.’ I still hadn’t made up my mind if Trish had been working solo or with her husband, Rob. They probably committed the murder as a team, the Deadly Duo. Better still, the Karma Koffee Killers!
I could see the headline now. I’d get that Smith character from the Table Rock Reader to use my title. As long as he gave me credit for catching the killers, I’d let him have credit for the catchy headline.
Ed’s jaw fell. His hands held the sheet tightly to his chest. He shook his head. ‘Miller, I’m not sure what you just said,’ he chuckled, ‘but OK.’
I handed Ed his house keys. ‘I guess I won’t be needing these anymore.’
Ed eyed me a moment. ‘Actually …’
‘Yes?’
‘Well, I heard about the fire at your place.’
‘Oh?’
He nodded slowly. ‘The fire chief, Terry Stillman, is an old friend of mine. He grew up here, like me. We went to school together.’
Ed fidgeted in his bed. Carol Two looked up from her catnap then laid her head back between her paws. ‘Anyway, I’ve got a spare bedroom you can use if you need a place to stay for a day or two.’
‘Oh, no, I couldn’t do that.’ I patted his arm. ‘Really.’ Could I? What harm could it do? It sure beat sleeping on Donna and Andy’s sofa. It also meant I’d be keeping them out of harm’s way if any harm came my way. ‘I wouldn’t want to impose.’ And I wouldn’t have to smuggle in the cheese doodles.
‘You wouldn’t be,’ he answered. ‘In fact, you’d be helping me out. The doctor recommended I get some sort of nursemaid. I told him no. You could stay here as long as you need. Help me out a little?’ He looked at me with those tired, helpless-looking eyes of his.
I tapped my foot and smiled. And nobody – no killer, anyway, would think to look for me at Ed Teller’s house. What could be safer?
I stuck out my hand. ‘Deal.’ I promised I’d be back after taking care of my errands.
The first thing I did was swing by the café. I was going to take a picture of my chairs just so it was clear what I was talking about. There seemed to be a certain lack of understanding between Detective Highsmith and myself. The man was dense as a pound cake.
I unlocked the door, pulled out my cell phone and fired off a couple of shots. Proof positive. I stuffed my cell phone back in my purse. I noticed the light blinking on the café phone behind the counter and pushed the play button.
‘Maggie, this is Brad. Brad Smith. Call me back as soon as you get this. I’ve been digging around into Rick Wilbur’s murder and I’ve got some important information.’
I heard loud sounds in the background, then the reporter’s voice continued, ‘Oops, gotta go! Wish I had your cell number—’
Well, that was weird. Digging around? Important information? I had his card in my wallet. I looked at the number and dialed. ‘Hi, this is Brad Smith, I’m—’
Great, I’d gotten his voicemail. ‘Maggie Miller here,’ I said after the prompt. ‘Got your message and will try you later. I’ve got big news of my own.’ Bigger, I’ll bet. I’d beat that nosy reporter at his own game.
I locked up and headed straight for the Table Rock Police Department. I’d called Detective Highsmith from the driveway and asked him to meet me there. He’d agreed but didn’t sound too happy about it.
When I got to the station, I could see why. He was sitting at his desk in his office in the back, wearing charcoal trousers and a gray sport coat over a white polo shirt.
‘What’s this all about, Ms Miller?’ He swung a hand through his hair and scowled to show his displeasure, as if his tone of voice wasn’t enough of a giveaway. His brown hair was impeccably
coiffed. Obviously, the man wasn’t a client of Caitie Conklin.
As if reading my mind, Highsmith said, ‘What happened to your—?’
My fingers went automatically to my scalp. ‘I don’t want to talk about my hair!’ I snapped. ‘Can we talk about more important things, like who killed Rick Wilbur?’
He motioned for me to sit as he leaned back in his chair. ‘Do you know who murdered Mr Wilbur?’
I sat down and set my purse on my lap. ‘Not exactly.’
He sighed. ‘Then what did you drag me down here for? It’s my day off.’
‘What’s the matter, have you got a hot date?’ I said. ‘With VV, perhaps?’
Highsmith cracked a smile. ‘Perhaps.’ He folded his hands atop the desk. ‘So what’s this all about?’
I told the detective all about how I’d spoken to Rick Wilbur’s ex, Caitie Conklin. ‘And she and Johnny were conspiring.’
Highsmith looked dubious. I got a lot of that from this guy. ‘Conspiring? To do what?’
I shook my head in frustration. ‘That’s just it. I don’t know. I was listening to them talk when one of the stylists noticed me. Then they shut up and Johnny left.’
‘That’s not a whole lot to go on.’
‘I do know that whatever it is that they are conspiring on,’ I stared at him, ‘is going to happen in three days.’
He raised his chin. ‘You know that Rick Wilbur’s murder was days ago. They can’t be conspiring to kill him again now, could they?’
‘I also talked to the Gregorys.’
Highsmith waved his hand at me. ‘I already know all about that. Rob Gregory’s got an alibi. A good one.’
Right, a Table Rock police officer in his yoga class. ‘But what about Trish Gregory? Do you have an alibi for her?’
He leaned forward. ‘Why would Trish Gregory want to murder Rick Wilbur?’
‘Like I’ve said before, the Gregorys disliked Mr Wilbur. They weren’t happy that he’d leased me a shop for my beignet café right across the street from Karma Koffee either. I could be taking a good bite of their business,’ I conjectured. ‘Money is always motive for murder.’
‘Then why didn’t they simply murder you?’
Why did I get the feeling he didn’t think that would have been such a bad thing? ‘I don’t know. I guess you’ll have to ask them yourself when you arrest them.’ I paused for dramatic effect, folding my arms over my chest. ‘And then there’s the chairs.’
Highsmith squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them, he said, ‘What chairs?’
‘My chairs, of course. The two that were missing from the storeroom.’
‘Your chairs were missing from your storeroom?’
I nodded vigorously. ‘Don’t you see? Whoever killed Rick Wilbur had to get rid of the chairs first if they were going to stuff him in that box.’ I smiled in triumph. ‘And I know where the chairs are.’
Highsmith tilted his head to one side. ‘I’ll bite. Where?’
Just then, my phone went off in my purse. I pushed the flap aside and looked at the number on the screen. It was not a number I recognized. ‘Must be a wrong number.’ Even if it wasn’t a wrong number, whatever it was could wait.
‘The chairs?’
‘Right. I got to thinking about those two missing chairs and suddenly I remembered where I’d seen them.’ I pulled out my phone, called up the pictures of the chairs and played them for him.
‘A little fuzzy,’ he said, squinting. ‘Don’t you think you should have turned on some more lights?’
‘Are you going to be a critic or are you going to be a cop?’
‘Maybe swiveled the chairs so you could see them more head on?’
‘Must you be so—’
‘Right?’
‘Ha ha. Mind if I continue?’
Highsmith started making small circles with his index finger, trying to get me to move along, I guess. ‘Laura’s Lightly Used. I’d seen them there the other day. Sat in them, even.’
‘Why didn’t you say so then? I don’t remember you notifying us.’
‘I didn’t realize it then,’ I said, getting testy. ‘I realized it later. And when I went by the store today, I learned that the chairs had been purchased.’ I folded my arms across my chest. ‘Guess who bought them?’
Highsmith covered a yawn with the back of his hand. ‘Somebody who needed two chairs?’
‘Very funny,’ I said. ‘Trish Gregory.’
‘So now you think she killed Rick Wilbur?’
I shrugged. ‘Maybe. Though I’ll bet it’s the two of them. Trish and Rob.’ One had the perfect alibi, while the other committed the murder.
‘Are you sure you aren’t just upset because you’ve learned they’re your landlords?’
OK, that did bug me a little bit. Heck, it bugged me a lot! ‘Of course not,’ I said. ‘I am not that petty!’
‘But you do think she bought the chairs to cover up the murder?’
I planted my hands on my hips and nodded. ‘That’s right.’
‘If that was the case,’ he smiled, ‘why didn’t she simply take them with her after she killed him?’
I hadn’t thought about that. ‘I thought about that,’ I said. ‘The way I see it, she must have been in a hurry. Maybe she saw something, heard something.’ I shook my head. ‘I don’t know. Maybe she panicked and ditched the chairs in the alley and hightailed it out of there. Then later,’ I continued before he could cut me off, ‘she realized her mistake, went back to get them to destroy the evidence and discovered they were gone!’ I looked at him triumphantly.
‘What evidence did she have to destroy?’
‘Fingerprints, of course.’ Sheesh, did I have to do all the thinking around here? ‘Don’t forget,’ I added, ‘the Gregorys are my landlords. That means they’ve got the keys to my apartment. Who better to have sabotaged my air-conditioning unit? They had the perfect means.’
For once, he looked impressed. ‘Somebody did mess with your window AC unit. Still, you’d think they’d have more sense than that. Like you said, they are the landlords and do have copies of your keys. The Gregorys would have to know they would be the first people we might suspect.’
‘I never said they were smart.’
Highsmith plucked a pencil from the holder at the corner of his desk and doodled on his blotter. ‘You know, there was a time when you were suggesting that Mr Wilbur’s widow was involved. In fact, if I remember correctly, and I do,’ he said, his M&Ms focused sharply on me, ‘you also suggested that Natalie Henson and her boy, Tommy, might be involved …’
I bit at the inside of my cheek. Dang, he had a good memory. I suppose that was a good thing to have in a detective, but it was a trait I could live without at the moment.
‘Maybe they are,’ I replied defiantly. ‘Maybe Rob, maybe Caitie Conklin and Johnny Wolfe, maybe Patti Wilbur, her sister, Natalie and her son, Tommy.’ I threw my arms in the air. ‘Maybe the whole town is involved! After all, Wilbur Realty seemed to own or have a finger in half the town. Maybe everybody had a reason to want Rick Wilbur dead.’ I gasped and pointed an accusing finger. ‘Maybe even you.’
Oops, I might have taken things too far. I lowered my finger and locked my hands together. I formed a weak smile. ‘I mean, it’s just a theory …’ I felt a bead of sweat tumble from my forehead to my nose.
Detective Highsmith watched me sweat for a moment, then rose. ‘I’m going to try to forget you said that.’
I hoped he would. I stood, too.
‘I will have a talk with Ms Duval tomorrow.’
‘But, Trish—’
‘Goodnight, Ms Miller. If I find anything out, I’ll let you or your attorney know. In the meantime,’ he loomed over me, ‘stay out of police business.’
Highsmith escorted me to the door. ‘And do not call me again unless it’s a true emergency.’
‘I knew it. A big date, right?’
The corner of the detective’s lip turned down. ‘If you must know, I was wa
tching the game at the Vargas house when you called.’ He looked at his watch. ‘If I’m lucky, I just might catch the last quarter.’
I slumped off to the Mini Cooper and climbed inside. As I pulled into traffic, a black minivan sped past.
Trish Gregory was behind the wheel.
THIRTY-THREE
There was nothing I could do but chase her. She was going at a good clip, so I floored it. There were two cars between us but that was OK. The last thing I wanted was for her to notice me following her.
I smiled. I’d forgotten how much fun driving a car could be, especially in hot pursuit. I looked at the speedometer – wow, Trish was really flying over the speed limit – stomped down even further on the gas pedal and the car sailed ahead. I was going to owe Donna some gas money.
The miles flew by and we were getting further and further from the lights of Table Rock. By now, I figured we were halfway to Sedona. There were still a couple of cars and a semi between me and the minivan but I hadn’t lost sight of her.
Eventually, traffic ahead slowed as Trish turned right onto a narrow blacktop road that wound through the dark hills, turned to gravel, then to dirt.
I turned off my headlights and followed at a distance, bouncing up and down, my head banging the roof. I cursed every hundred yards or so and prayed I wasn’t doing any serious damage to the Mini.
How much abuse could this vehicle take? How much abuse could I take if I wrecked my sister’s prized car?
Where the devil was she going? She couldn’t possibly live out here in this rocky desert, could she?
Her brake lights blinked and I could see her decelerating as she rounded a far turn near a large outcropping of rock. I didn’t recognize the area at all. I coasted to a stop a few hundred yards away and cut the engine.
A few moments later, the overhead light inside the minivan came on. I could see Trish clearly as she stepped down from the van. She was dressed as I’d seen her earlier today but for the addition of a denim jacket. The desert gets cold at night.
She walked around to the side of the van and slid open the big door. A minute later, she pulled out one chair, then another.
