At that exact moment, I would slip out of the pew and out the back, thereby avoiding the endless announcements and the last song, inevitably eight verses long. Believe me, I was hardly alone. I wasn’t the only one with abbreviated church plans. More often than not, I was hit in the solar plexus or jabbed in the ribs by the throngs of people elbowing me out of the way as they headed out the door.
“Before that,” I admitted. “I wasn’t really listening, just looking for a quiet place where I could gather my thoughts and try to impose some kind of order or gain some perspective on everything that’s happened.” Okay, maybe I was pushing the drama a bit.
Villari leaned back, his dark eyes never wavering. “Is this something you do on regular basis, Maggie, or did the dark clouds open up and heavenly inspiration flash across the sky?”
“You know, Detective,” I said, drawing out the syllables in his title, “some of us regular folks aren’t immune to death like you. Some of us get pretty damned upset when we look out the window and see plastic yellow tape circling the yard marking the area where a close neighbor was recently found dead. Nothing about this is normal, and if I want to go to church and collect my thoughts, I don’t have to ask your permission.”
The man uncrossed his legs and stood up, never taking his eyes off me. “As far as I can see, you have a limited repertoire of two responses, Maggie. Anger or dodging the bullet. Frankly, I’m getting a little tired of both.” He put both hands on the arms of my chair and pushed forward until his face was just inches from mine. “My mother hasn’t missed mass a day in her life unless she was giving birth. She’s just nosy enough to notice who comes to church and who doesn’t. I can’t help but think she would have checked out a newcomer with curly hair and baggy sweats.” He sat back. “I’ll give you ten-to-one odds that she’s never seen your face. And if my guess is right, plan on spending the night in your new accommodations. Don’t bother packing.”
“Look, Villari, I’m getting tired of the threats. I’ve been cooperative—” I stopped at the look of disbelief that slid over his face. “Okay, maybe I was a little reluctant at first, but since then, I’ve been a model investigation helper. Now, all I did was leave my house for an hour and I get nothing but relentless harassment. In response, you can arrest me if you want, but no court is going to lock me up based on whether your mother saw me at church one morning and can pick me out of a lineup. Lousy grounds for arrest, Detective.”
“You’ve got guts. I’ll say that for you.” He stood up and shook his head. “I’m going to go visit Preston and Cassie and see if they can meander around the truth half as well as you can. Then I’m going over to my mother’s and ask if she saw you this morning. The court may not accept her word as concrete evidence, but I do.”
“Why? Because she makes great lasagna?” I asked sardonically.
Villari sighed. “Trust me, Maggie. You don’t want to make fun of my mother. She’s a live conduit to the Man Upstairs and she’s not afraid to wield a little power.”
“Don’t bother trying to scare me, Villari. I’ve had experience with overbearing Italian mothers and they don’t frighten me anymore. As far as I’m concerned, they’re good for one thing and one thing only.”
“And that would be?”
“Fawning over the eldest son and making daughter-in-laws miserable.”
He raised an eyebrow.
I shook my head. “Don’t even ask. It’s a long, drawn-out, ultimately uninteresting story.”
“Tell you what, Maggie. Why don’t I pick you up tonight and take you over to my mother’s. My hunch is that you haven’t stepped foot in a church for over a decade, and she’ll never recognize you. But she can feed you and just possibly temper your feelings a little about Italian mothers.”
“I thought I was heading for a night behind bars if Mamacita didn’t recognize me.”
Villari grimaced. “Call her Mamacita to her face and you’ll wish I’d thrown you in jail. My mother sees herself as a modern woman and doesn’t appreciate any comments to the contrary.”
“Can’t wait to meet the woman,” I muttered. “You’ll come, then?”
“Well, let’s examine my choices. On one hand, I can bunk with a swarm of nasty insects for the night, or, on the other hand, I can fill up on pasta while your mother hauls out your baby pictures and gets all misty-eyed while she recounts your childhood.” I paused. “Actually, jail is looking better by the minute.”
Villari’s lips twitched at the corners. “I promise to keep all photos hidden.” He scratched his head. “You do have a way of standing your ground even when the going gets bad and everything starts to unravel. It’s an admirable quality. Annoying as hell, but admirable.”
“Thanks, I guess. That’s definitely the most backhanded compliment I’ve ever received, but I’ll accept it. Besides,” I said casually, “it could have been a lot worse.”
“I’m afraid to hear how.”
“I could have pulled out my self-defense skills,” I said proudly. “Somebody might have gotten hurt.”
“Self-defense?” he asked skeptically.
I nodded. “Yeah. Lisa and I took a class in college when there was a big rape scare on campus.”
“So you’re saying I should watch the, uh...‘boys’ a little more closely when you’re around?”
“Only if you value their health and well-being,” I responded nonchalantly.
He grinned. “And why didn’t I hear about this talent of yours before?”
I lifted my shoulders an inch. “Maybe because Lisa and I only managed to complete one class before getting thrown out.”
“Are you going to expound on that a little?”
“Nope.” I stood up. “Let’s just say there was a little unresolved personality conflict.”
“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”
“It wasn’t our fault, although I’m sure you wouldn’t believe me.” I turned and started walking toward the front door. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got to get back to my studio. I’m sure you’re in a hurry to follow up on a whole bunch of important leads, like learning whether or not I prayed this morning.”“Don’t push me, Maggie,” he stated quietly.
I held up my hands in surrender. “Sorry, it just slipped out. It’s a bad habit of mine. Think a thought and toss it right on out.”
“I’m aware of that. But listen to me. This isn’t a game we’re playing. The coroner says a sharp blow to the back of her head with a heavy object killed Elizabeth Boyer. Apparently she was dead before being thrown in your tank. Best estimation is that she was murdered between twelve and twenty-four hours before you found her. But it may have been longer. We don’t know for sure.”
My stomach lurched. “She was in the sewer for—” The words stuck in my throat. The idea of Elizabeth floating around in liquid waste for days was too horrible to contemplate. Even now, I hadn’t begun to come to terms with the murder.
Villari put his hands on my shoulders. “They can’t be more exact because of the harsh chemicals in the septic system. They’re designed to break down and dissolve organic matter. The coroner had to take the bloating and wrinkled skin into consideration, which gave him one time element, and compare it to the disintegration caused by the chemicals, which gave him another. It wasn’t an easy call.”
I couldn’t say anything.
“Maggie, listen to me. This was a terrible crime. And apparently, there is some unfinished business out there because someone is calling and threatening you. I don’t want a second murder on my hands.” He shook me a little. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”
I nodded, but no words escaped my lips. The detective was right. Not only had Elizabeth been murdered, but somebody was coming after me as well.
Chapter Eight
The call had disturbed me more than I wanted to admit. Long after Villari had left, I found myself staring anxiously at the phone. Pacing nervously around the room, I felt the walls closing in on me. Staying in my house was becoming
a claustrophobic nightmare and I desperately needed to escape and find the murderer, not only to avenge Elizabeth’s death but so I could feel safe again. Preston or Cassie seemed the obvious suspects to me, and I was almost out the door before I remembered that Villari was already there questioning them. The last thing I needed was another run-in with the detective and I was pretty sure Preston wouldn’t be too keen on seeing me again, not after chasing me down the hallway last night and having the car door slammed in his face. At this point, the only other possibility was Lindsay Burns.
I frowned when I thought of her. Something was definitely off with that whole situation. I couldn’t pinpoint exactly what was wrong, only that things were glaringly not right. There was nothing unusual about Elizabeth helping someone in need; in fact, it was perfectly normal for her. And judging by the faint black-and-blue shadows under her eyes, I’d say that Lindsay Burns was a perfect candidate for the Center for Domestic Violence, or CDV, one of Elizabeth’s favorite charities. She was always attending one fund-raiser after another for the Center; it was one of the few projects Elizabeth actually called by name, as though she had a personal interest in this particular program. I knew her life with her husband had been long and hard and that she, more than most people, knew that abuse didn’t necessarily come in the shape of fists.
Given our earlier confrontation, I was fairly certain Ms. Burns would not be eager to strike up another conversation with me. My only choice was to fall back on the detecting procedures I’d seen on television. Once the idea took hold, I smiled. A stakeout might be fun.
Of course, there were a couple of obstacles. First, it was not going to be easy to hide out in Ms. Burns’ neighborhood, not with the area going to seed. There wasn’t a tree, rock, or bush large enough to cover my body, no matter how I crouched or sucked in my gut. There was no way to conceal the Jeep or park anywhere within the development without sticking out like an unsightly wart. The only available option was the brick entrance structure where the gatehouse was located. I’d have to double-check the map, though, to make sure that this structure was the only entrance and exit route. I didn’t want Lindsay slipping out the back way without me on her tail.
Despite the grave circumstances that led to my stakeout, I found myself excited about the idea. I started preparing immediately. My outfit would be black, of course—black sweats, black sneakers, and a black wool cap. I needed a thermos of hot coffee, several sandwiches, a blanket, CDs for the car, my Ipod, a pad of paper for notes and sketches, and, of course, a camera. I didn’t have anything but the basic point-and-shoot model, but it would do.
I went to the hall closet, dug out a navy-blue gym bag and started stuffing my gear. In the kitchen, I pulled open the refrigerator. Judging by the smell and the suspicious-looking green fuzz, I figured the lunchmeat was one day short of inedible. Perfect. I made three sandwiches, piled high with semi-moldy meat, cheese, and pickles, and lathered on a thick coating of mayo. Since there was no telling how long this little excursion would take, I decided to stop at the local bakery for a dozen donuts, just in case it lasted all night. This was no time to skimp on the carbs.
The only foreseeable problem was Villari. With the police cruising my neighborhood, Villari would know within an hour that I was gone and he would be livid. Apparently, my whereabouts were a major concern.
Seeing no way out of the dilemma, I shrugged into my “what the hell” attitude. Until I was arrested and forced into jail, or until the police slapped an ankle monitor on me, I was not going to stay housebound just because The Detective had an explosive temper. Let him explode. If I wanted to spy on someone, that was my business.
The gym bag was bulging with food and clothes. Since there was a slight possibility of running into a cop on my way out to the car or while driving through my neighborhood, I decided to wait and change my clothes once I arrived at Woodlake Meadows. My everyday baggy shorts seemed to irritate Villari enough; I could only imagine what my black costume would do.
I cracked open my front door and let out a sigh of relief. With the way my luck had been going lately, I half expected to see Villari lounging on my porch smoking a cigarette. Widening the gap a little more, I stuck my head out like a periscope and scanned the area in both directions. Nothing. The coast was clear. Gathering my courage, I shut the door behind me and ran down the gravel driveway with the gym bag bouncing off my thigh. I jumped into the Jeep and ducked below the windshield. Breathing hard, I stuck the key in the ignition, prayed to the Divine Mechanic in Heaven, and cheered (quietly) when the engine turned over. With my heart hammering and one last look in the rearview mirror, I pulled slowly out of the driveway into the street and drove past my house.
Once I’d crossed Mitchell and driven a couple of miles, though, I found myself getting a little angry. Here I was, a grown woman, an innocent woman, and I was skulking out of my own house, like a teenager sneaking to a bar to get drunk while her parents were sleeping. This was ridiculous. By the time I reached the freeway and merged into traffic, I was madder than hell. There was a real killer out there and I seemed to be the only one doing anything productive while Villari twiddled his thumbs and kissed me... something I pushed firmly to the back of my mind until I was strong enough to deal with the whole mess. Romance was out of the question right now, and would continue be as long as a noose was being slung around my neck.
I cruised down the freeway, got off at Woodmen, and followed the now familiar streets until I reached the entrance wall. Built in the form of an S, it was a simple matter to park the car within the lower arch, my back fender flush against the wall, the front lights facing the barren community. The gatehouse provided even more coverage. Perfect. From this unobstructed vantage point, I could watch cars coming and going, while staying completely hidden within the wide curves of brick and mortar.
Within five minutes I was ready for action. I had pulled on my sweats and cap, grabbed my sunglasses from the visor, and scooted down into my seat. Twenty minutes later I was sweating like a pig. In my preparations for the Great Stakeout, I had completely forgotten that June is a summer month. I had also failed to consider that it was still broad daylight outside. My black clothes were sucking in every ounce of heat and recycling it across my body. No doubt it was ninety degrees in the car and fifteen degrees hotter under my sweats, not to mention that, if by chance I was spotted, I would look a lot less conspicuous in a T-shirt and a pair of colorful shorts than in my SWAT team outfit.
I yanked my clothes off in frenzy, practically jumping into my cotton shorts. Feeling a little like a wet turtle, I pushed my head through my t-shirt... just in time. Another second and I would have missed it. On the very edge of the entryway, turning into Woodlake Meadows, driving a navy-blue Saturn, was a large man with a face I recognized immediately. My heart started to pound and a heavy knot of surprise and fear sunk in the pit of my stomach. I knew that man. It was Vacuum Nose.
I hunched down as far as I could without cutting off my vision. The idea that this was a mere coincidence flitted briefly around the edges of my brain and flew right out. From the relative safety of my car, I watched the Saturn pull into Lindsay’s driveway. Moments later that big bumbling cop, minus the uniform, hitched up his pants, strode up the sidewalk, and pushed open the front door.
Thoughts swirled around in my head like leaves in a storm. I wasn’t sure how Vacuum Nose, or whatever the hell his name was, fit into this whole scenario, but I knew something was drastically wrong. My reflexes took over, and I started the car and rolled forward. Very slowly. There was something eerie and unsettling about a cop working a murder scene and then showing up at an address written in the victim’s appointment book. I didn’t know what the connection was, but I knew I had to find out. Things became even creepier when it suddenly dawned on me that this guy hadn’t knocked or rung the doorbell. Vacuum Nose wasn’t visiting Lindsay Burns. He lived with her.
In no time at all, I was back out on the highway, heading north to Monument, racking my brain
about what to do next. This whole thing was getting stranger by the minute. Elizabeth had written Lindsay’s name in her book for a reason. With her connections and personal involvement with the Center for Domestic Violence, it wasn’t a giant leap to assume that VN (a.k.a. Vacuum Nose) was the cause of Lindsay’s facial bruises. He was just the type, too. I could imagine him standing a little taller, walking a little straighter, and sucking in his gut while knocking Lindsay around. Nothing like punching a woman half your size to make someone feel more like a man.
By the time I reached my street I was feeling a little nauseous. It didn’t help matters to find Villari’s car parked in my driveway and the man leaning against the porch rail.
“Let me guess,” I said as I stepped out of my Jeep, “you got an urgent call from Mr. Patrolman saying that the little lady had disappeared again.”
He took one last drag on his cigarette and flicked the butt off into space.
I eyed the butt lying in my yard. “Do you mind? Just because you’re addicted to a filthy habit doesn’t mean I need to be the recipient of your trash.” I stomped over and picked up the remains of the cigarette. Stepping past Villari, I unlocked the front door. “Come on in. You can yell at me while I throw away your litter.”
Villari followed me into the kitchen, walking so close behind I could feel his breath on the back of my neck. “Looks like we’re back at square one. I don’t suppose you want to tell me where you were?”
I whirled around so quickly he nearly bumped into me. I stared into those dark eyes, fully aware that if I stood on my toes I would be within easy kissing range. “Sure, if you want to hear.”
Villari cast a wary glance at me.
“I started my period and went down to the drugstore for some feminine hygiene products.”
“Cut the crap,” he growled. “My patience is wearing very thin where you’re concerned. Spit it out or—”
Artful Dodger (Maggie Kean Mis-Adventures) Page 10
