Murder Borrowed, Murder Blue

by Stephanie Blackmoore

  “Good night, Mallory.” Summer offered me a small sheepish smile and left the greenhouse with Lorraine, her investigation forgotten.

  Garrett’s jaw worked up and down, but he said nothing. He dug his hands in his overcoat pocket and waited for Summer to advance across the lawn with her grandmother.

  “I never should have represented her.” His voice was cold and hard. I couldn’t recall having ever seen him angrier.

  “Do you really think Adrienne tried to kill her fiancé?” I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer.

  Garrett shook his head, his eyes murderous. “I don’t know what to think of her anymore. But one thing’s for certain. I’m done helping Adrienne.”

  He dropped a quick kiss on my forehead and stole out of the greenhouse, his long legs whipping across the snow to catch up to his daughter.

  * * *

  The next morning, I watched as Truman, Faith, and some cadets from the towns and municipalities around Port Quincy destroyed all the hard work we’d put in for Dakota and Beau’s secret red and pink wedding.

  I stared with a lump forming in my throat as all my late-night ministrations and planning went up in smoke, or rather, churned-up dirt and upended flowers.

  I was pretty sure Dakota and Beau wouldn’t want to feature bleeding hearts as the focal point of their decor now that Xavier was still languishing in a coma, but it was hard to watch the police ruin every bloom we’d lovingly planted.

  “What are they looking for?” I asked Truman in a sullen tone as he observed the men and women combing through clippings and sifting through dirt.

  “Any stray item that might help us identify who clipped a bleeding heart plant, ground it up, and put it among Xavier’s smoothie ingredients.”

  “But this place is probably filled with hair and fibers from everyone who worked in here.”

  “And we’re not discounting any of those people,” Truman assured me.

  I closed my eyes at the ruined greenhouse and tried to brainstorm a final plan for Dakota and Beau’s nuptials, but my mind drew a blank.

  “Maybe they should try to elope like Keith and Becca,” I muttered.

  “What was that?”

  “Nothing.”

  Nothing, just like my plans for the moment. It would be nearly impossible to come up with another plant or flower to serve as the focal point for a red and pink explosion. All of the florists were spoken for with their normal Valentine’s Day orders. A tiny kernel of an idea germinated in my head. I pictured a sea of silk and paper flowers, in every shade imaginable of red and pink. It might work. I was about to head back to the house to share my idea with my sister when they found it.

  “Chief! Over here.” The cadets stopped their sifting and shifting of soil when one of their own shouted for Truman. A tall black woman in uniform solemnly held out her hand, a treasure nestled there. It was the snowflake tiara, one prong missing, the mine-cut diamonds still winking and blinking, despite being covered in dirt and grime.

  * * *

  “Truman thinks the killer may have buried the tiara in a bag of potting soil to frame me.” I shivered and gripped Garrett’s hand tighter. We stood outside the greenhouse watching the technicians take pictures of the bag where the tiara was found.

  “It kills me to think the person who did this to Ginger is still at large.” Garrett brought my gloved hands to his lips and brushed them with a kiss. “Promise me you’ll be more careful.”

  I laughed a bitter note and lowered my hand. “I’ll be as careful as I can, all while I whip up another wedding plan from the smoldering ashes of this latest botched attempt to give Dakota and Beau a beautiful day.” I gestured to the destroyed greenhouse that was to be a glittering and cozy party venue to celebrate their marriage. I was having as many problems planning this wedding as the bride and groom seemed to be having in their relationship.

  Maybe this is the first wedding that won’t go off. And it’ll all be captured on film.

  I shook the thought out of my head and vowed to come up with an alternate plan for Dakota and Beau. We could always go back to their black and white Pixie–the–Shih Tzu–inspired wedding, or take back the yellow springtime affair from Owen’s foundation.

  “I really came to say I’m sorry.”

  Garrett’s apology snapped me out of my feverish plans and I gazed at him. “You what?”

  “I reacted badly when I found out you’re considering the destination show. It would be quite a coup for you and your sister.” He took a deep breath and traced the line of my jaw. He exhaled, a jet of steam leaving his mouth as the hot air collided with the frigid atmosphere. “I even understand why you decided not to tell me right away. You have every right to figure out what it is you want before you include me in your decision, if at all.”

  I stood back, stunned.

  “Thanks,” I whispered. I’m eloquent like that.

  “I care so much about you,” Garrett whispered. His eyes took a faraway cast. “Maybe if I’d been more flexible with Adrienne after Summer was born, she wouldn’t have felt the need to run away.”

  “You can’t blame yourself for what she did.” I placed a gloved finger over his mouth, but he went on.

  “I do blame myself. I wonder if I smothered her.”

  I must have looked as worried as I felt then, because Garrett gathered me in his arms anew. “I’m completely over her, by the way. She’s the woman who handed over Summer when she was two weeks old and walked out the door. Summer’s seen her half a dozen times since. She waltzes in and breaks my daughter’s heart. Over and over again.” He winced, the blinding light of the cold sun glancing off the snow. “I started dating Adrienne in college. She had stars in her eyes even then, and she was determined to go to Hollywood. I stayed with her out of inertia. I’m not proud of that, and we parted when I went away to law school. But by then she’d discovered she was pregnant.” He shook his head a little ruefully, unknowingly echoing what Tabitha had told me. “Adrienne was my greatest mistake, and my best mistake. I wouldn’t trade anything that happened if it meant I wouldn’t have Summer.”

  “You’re the best dad she could ever have.” I took a deep breath, not sure if I should broach the topic now. “And I think, in her own strange way, Adrienne is trying to be a better mom. Now, at least.”

  Garrett cocked his head to the side and finally nodded.

  “No matter what happens with this show offer, we should try to work something out.” I stepped closer into his orbit and he ruffled his gloved hands through my hair.

  “I’ll cherish you for now, Mallory. But I won’t stifle you.”

  “You never have, and you never will.”

  I left him to fix the debacle of Dakota and Beau’s plans, as unsure what to do with my life as I had been before. But one thing was for certain; I wanted to give Garrett and me a fighting chance.

  * * *

  Imagine my surprise when my cell phone showed a missed call from the Port Quincy jail. I called the number back and was informed that Adrienne Larson had dialed me as her one phone call recipient.

  “It’s a trap,” Rachel breathed on her newly lavender colored nails, the quicker to dry the polish. “She’s just desperate to find out what the police have dug up on her, now that Garrett’s let her go as his client.”

  “Maybe so. But my interest is piqued.” The jail wouldn’t put my call through to her, but they had let me know she’d called. They informed me that visitors’ hours were over today within the hour. I paced in front of the aqua and turquoise couch in the third-floor apartment and discussed the pros and cons with my sister.

  “I could just go and see what she was calling me for,” I wheedled.

  “Don’t do it! She tried to murder her fiancé, and Truman will murder you if he finds out you’re talking to her.” Rachel put down the minuscule nail polish brush and stared at me as if I’d gone crazy. She resumed blowing on her fingers, the sharp smell of acetone and formaldehyde stinking up the room.

 
She’s right.

  But curiosity got the better of me.

  “I’ll just have to make sure Truman doesn’t find out.”

  Fifteen minutes later, I was staring at the Port Quincy jail, a marvel of architecture for a place that housed criminals. It was a small limestone castle befitting some minor British duke or earl. The jail structure towered over the Pepto-pink palace of a courthouse and the hulking, ugly brutalist slab of a municipal building. The tallest tower featured hanging gallows, which, according to Tabitha, had actually been used in the late 1800s. I shivered at the thought of such rough justice and entered the building.

  A few minutes later, after an obligatory trip through the metal detector and relinquishing of my phone, I was face-to-face with Adrienne. She smiled a cat-got-the-cream Cheshire special when she saw me advance toward the bare-bones table in the visiting lounge.

  Damn it, Rachel was right. I’ve been had.

  I sighed and sat down, eager to hear what she had to say despite the fact that I felt she’d gotten one over on me.

  “Thanks for showing up.” She wore the same blindingly bright orange jumpsuit as the other inmates visiting in the room. But somehow she made the standard-issue garb look like haute couture. She’d cinched the material around her waist to highlight its smallness, and the jumpsuit didn’t hang in a baggy fashion like those adorning the other two women prisoners present. Her makeup was artfully done, if a bit muted, and her flaxen hair was as flawless as usual. I stared at my dark jeans and kelly green sweater and vowed to try to look a little more glamorous if jailbird Adrienne made me feel so self-conscious. On closer inspection, however, I realized her cool eyes were not as keen and imperious as usual, and her hands shook in a barely perceptible manner.

  Adrienne took a deep breath, shifting into pitch mode.

  “I need to get out of here.” Her perfectly calm, collected visage faltered a bit, and her right brow twitched. “I need your help. You’re a lawyer, too, right?”

  “Whoa, let’s get one thing straight. I’m not here in my capacity as a lawyer.” I still had my law license, but I wasn’t planning on using it anytime soon. Especially not to help spring Adrienne from the slammer.

  “Garrett won’t represent me now that he thinks I’m trying to take Summer.” Her voice was just panicked enough to draw the attention of a guard, who looked over sharply. Adrienne dropped her voice, finally rattled.

  “Um, weren’t you encouraging Summer to make an extended visit happen?” I gently removed Adrienne’s grasping hand from my wrist.

  She sat back, dejected and deflated. “I wanted to arrange to see more of my daughter. Perhaps have her visit for a month in August. I knew Garrett would never go for it.”

  He has his reasons.

  Adrienne bit her lip and looked down at her perfectly preserved French manicure. “I don’t expect you to feel sorry for me.” She looked up, her icy blue gaze compassionate for once. “My parents were gone before I started college. I didn’t know anyone at Quincy College. And then I met Garrett.” Her eyes warmed, then shut down. “We were so happy at first. We weren’t meant to last beyond college, though, and we should have ended things when he went away to law school.” She drew herself up tall in her metal chair and looked me in the eye. “I’m not proud of what I did. He left Harvard for me, to come back to Port Quincy and to take care of me and Summer. But I wasn’t in love with him anymore.” She winced. “It was overwhelming. I didn’t know if I was cut out to be a mother. And then I got a call.”

  “A call?”

  “An invitation to audition for Silverlake High. They were looking for an actress to replace Caitlin Quinn. I never told anyone that’s why I left. Garrett just thought I flaked out, but I had a plan.” Her blue eyes pleaded with me.

  A shiver ran down my spine.

  How does Adrienne fit in with the show Dakota was on? And Caitlin Quinn died on? Is there a connection?

  “It was going to be my big break. I planned to get the part, and it wasn’t wishful thinking. Xavier was the director. He later told me I was casting’s front-runner. The pay would have been more than enough for me and Summer. I planned to petition for custody.” A wistful look graced her lovely face. “I would have gotten it, too.”

  I shook my head, annoyed. “Judges don’t just award custody to the mother because of her gender. You left your daughter, and Garrett was taking care of her.”

  Adrienne winced at the reminder but went on.

  “Strange things are happening again, Mallory. Did you know Caitlin Quinn died on the set of Silverlake High in early February? Ginger died on the precise thirteenth anniversary of Caitlin’s death.”

  A cold, clammy chill spread between my shoulder blades.

  “After Caitlin died, Silverlake High was cancelled. I had no money to get back to Port Quincy, plus my pride was in shambles. I decided to make a go of it in L.A., because if I was invited to try out for a popular show, I banked on there being other roles. But I didn’t get anything for a long, long time. I worked on bit jobs, saving up for Summer, and the years slipped by. I’d make it back to Port Quincy to see her for a few days, but it was never enough.”

  A silver sliver of a tear ran down Adrienne’s cheek and she impatiently brushed it away. I felt a frisson of sympathy for Adrienne. And it made me nervous.

  The guard came over to collect Adrienne and take her back to her cell.

  “I’ll see what I can do.” I rose from my chair, our already short meeting over.

  I was as confused as ever. I hadn’t known Adrienne had a connection to Dakota’s past. Maybe Adrienne hadn’t killed Xavier, but she could have been involved in Caitlin’s accident to get the part, desperately doing whatever she could to get a chance for custody of Summer. Adrienne may have been in jail for the wrong crime, but I was glad she was behind bars for now.

  Chapter Sixteen

  It was time to delve into what had really happened in Los Angeles all those years ago on the set of Silverlake High. It shouldn’t have mattered, but all roads seemed to lead back to a sound studio in Studio City. It no longer seemed like a coincidence that Dakota’s oldest friends had visited her that fateful week thirteen years ago and witnessed a horrific accident. I pictured Leah’s round eyes, myopic and scared behind her glasses, as she recounted finding Caitlin Quinn. Something sinister had gone down in L.A., and the repercussions were being felt thirteen years later.

  I raced home and brushed past Rachel in my haste to get to my laptop.

  “You have to tell me what happened,” she sighed, hot on my heels. “What did Adrienne get you to do?”

  “I’ll tell you when you tell me how your date went with Owen the other day,” I needled, earning an exasperated guffaw from my sister.

  “I’ll never kiss and tell,” she airily announced.

  I filled her in while my fingers danced across the keys.

  “So you think Adrienne murdered Caitlin Quinn to make sure she got the new part on the show?” Rachel’s mouth hung open in a little o after she voiced her theory.

  “It’s possible. She desperately wanted to make more money so she could be secure enough to petition for custody of Summer. But”—I typed in one more search and skimmed some obituaries of Caitlin—“there are other people who had just as good a motive to want Caitlin to go away.”

  Rachel leaned over my shoulder and we perused several articles about Caitlin’s demise. The Los Angeles Times article mentioned she’d died from inhaling gas. The article was short and laconic, and it didn’t mention whether her death had definitively been caused by an accident, or if foul play had been involved.

  “Maybe the police didn’t want anyone to know either way,” Rachel mused.

  “I think you’re on to something.”

  One thing was for sure. The days matched exactly. Ginger Crevecoeur had been murdered at my desk on February fourth, and Caitlin had died on the set of Silverlake High precisely thirteen years prior.

  “And almost all the same actors were pres
ent for both crimes, or at least in town.”

  “Dakota and Roxanne and Xavier,” Rachel said.

  “And Ginger, Ellie, Iris, and Leah,” I finished. “Though Leah was five years old, so we can count her out as a suspect. But we can add Adrienne to the list.”

  A stray thought pranced through my brain and I closed my eyes to try to catch it. “Iris said something during the bridesmaid fittings about Caitlin. Something about her being locked in a dressing room.”

  Rachel’s eyes went wide. “It’s time to call Truman.”

  We left a message on his voicemail and continued to peruse any and all articles related to Caitlin Quinn’s death, and Dakota and Xavier’s careers. I added Beau for good measure. The newest articles about Dakota discussed how her star was ascending after over a decade since her rise to fame on Silverlake High. She hadn’t had many roles in between her critically acclaimed indie films and the teen soap, and I wondered if that was why Roxanne was so desperate to cling to any fame her daughter could get. She probably feared it drying up again, leaving her to become a cleaner once more.

  An old Tennessean article revealed that Beau was born in Parsippany, New Jersey. His given name was Brian Wright, and he’d eventually changed it to Beau.

  “That explains his accent discrepancy,” I said with a chuckle. He’d begun his career as a jazz singer, but his first album made at the tender age of sixteen had flopped. He’d moved to Nashville soon after and, with his gorgeous good looks, remade himself as a country star.

  We perused Xavier’s career next. He’d also made a comeback, far more quickly than Dakota. He’d developed a specialty directing reality shows, most hits, if not somewhat skeevy. He’d worked on several projects with Adrienne over the years, and I wondered how long they’d been an item.

  Truman finally called back. I gave him the capsule synopsis in a rush of breath.

  “Get down here, now.” He gruffly hung up and I raced to the police station adjacent to the jail. The administrative police quarters were hewn from similar limestone as the castle jail, but more staid and traditional. I entered the low-slung cream building stained with soot from the 1970s when the glass factory was still running in Port Quincy and was directed to Truman’s office. For the first time, I stared at the walls, covered in plaques and pictures of his family. There was his wife Lorraine on their wedding day, as well as photographs of Garrett and Summer spanning the years.