by Lynn Bohart
“That’s convenient,” Detective Abrams said with a raised eyebrow.
“What do you mean?” I asked, picking up on his remark.
“I’m not sure José is a good source of reliable information,” he replied, with a tilt to his head.
“I still don’t know what you mean,” I said, my hackles rising. “I trust José.”
Detective Abrams sighed. “You know that we found his fingerprints on that can of spray paint.”
“Yes. So what? He works there. He sprays things.” I sat up straight.
“How can you be so sure he didn’t have anything to do with what happened in your warehouse?”
“Because I know him.”
“Do you?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I demanded.
“Mom, José has a record,” Angela interrupted us. “He’s been arrested several times.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. He had a rough time when he was young. I already know that,” I said, feeling my temperature rise. “That doesn’t mean he would steal from me.”
“There’s something else,” Angela said, glancing at Detective Abrams.
She took a deep breath. I braced myself.
“I’m not sure this is the right time, but you’ve got to hear it sooner or later…Mr. Garth is dead.”
For the second time in just a few days I felt as if a bomb had gone off and my hearing had failed. Mr. Garth. My friend and loyal employee.
“Whaa…?”
Angela reached out and grabbed my hand. “He was found by a neighbor this morning. It happened either Saturday night or early yesterday morning.”
“He was murdered?” I almost shrieked.
Tears plopped over the rims of my eyes.
“He was hit with a fireplace poker,” Detective Abrams said quietly.
A sob escaped my throat, and I dropped my head to cry unabashedly. Angela put her arm around me. It took some time to finally compose myself.
“I’m so sorry, Mom.”
“I…I should…” I stuttered, not knowing what to say.
“No, Mom, you shouldn’t do anything. You need to stay put. Something’s clearly going on here, and we need to figure it out.”
“You think this is all connected?” I looked up through a clump of wet lashes.
“We don’t know,” Detective Abrams said. “Mr. Garth’s death could have been a robbery gone bad. But we also learned today that Senator Pesante was in a hit and run this weekend. He’s in a coma in Walla Walla.”
I inhaled quickly as my brain stalled.
“So…you think Senator Pesante was the target all along? Not Martha?”
“We don’t know that either,” Detective Abrams said. “But Pesante was run off the road, just like you,” the detective said, pausing. “Unfortunately, his car went into a ravine and burst into flames.”
The saliva in my mouth had turned sour. “Oh, God,” I exhaled. “This is awful.” I shook my head, trying to get my brain around what was happening. “But if he was the target, why would Mr. Garth have been killed?” I asked, wiping my eyes.
“The book, perhaps,” Abrams said, shrugging. “We just don’t know. It feels like fingers are pointing in every direction right now. But I don’t believe in coincidences. Besides, phone records show that your friend, Martha, called Senator Pesante the week after Thanksgiving. We just don’t know why, and now we can’t talk to him.”
My eyes opened wide. “Oh my God! Martha’s cleaning woman overheard Martha on the phone saying something like, ‘I need some help. Something’s really wrong.’ It was the week after Thanksgiving. I bet she was talking to Senator Pesante.”
“Well, I definitely think it’s all connected,” Angela said. “And we’d better find out how before someone else is killed.”
“I’ll have to have a talk with this housekeeper,” the detective said.
“But what about Ms. Jenkins and this Brown character?” I asked.
“We haven’t found either one,” Abrams said.”
“But the book would connect Martha to the breakin and Mr. Garth,” I said.
“Yes,” he said, nodding. “We just don’t know why.”
“Did Detective Franks tell you about the subliminal recording?”
“Yes, but we don’t have it,” he said, throwing up empty hands. “It’s hard to prove something like that without the tape.”
The detective’s cell phone chirped, and he reached into his pocket to get it.
“Abrams,” he said, answering it.
He listened for a moment, glanced up at me and then said, “Okay. I’ll meet you there.”
When he hung up, Angela and I just stared at him.
“Well?” my daughter said.
He shifted uncomfortably on the window sill, finally clearing his throat.
“Detective Franks has just taken your maintenance man in for questioning—for the murder of Mr. Garth.”
I stopped breathing and just blinked at him.
He continued to talk, but I couldn’t seem to hear what else he was saying. His mouth was moving, and he kept glancing at me, but it was like watching TV with the sound turned off. Angela suddenly shook my shoulder. “Mother, are you listening? José has been arrested.”
“Yes, I heard that part,” I muttered, tears filling my eyes again. “Why?”
Detective Abrams glanced at Angela with caution, as if he wasn’t sure I was capable of hearing the rest of it.
“Go ahead,” she said. “Tell her again.”
“A soda can was found on Mr. Garth’s kitchen table, but his daughter says he never drank soda, so we fingerprinted it.” He paused. “They just confirmed that José’s fingerprints were on the soda pop can. Detective Franks has officers at your guest house now, searching it. I’m sorry, Ms. Applegate. I really am.”
I couldn’t respond. I just sat and stared out the window, wishing I could turn back the clock to the day before Martha died. I wanted this all to end. But as Detective Abrams pushed off the window sill, I stopped him.
“I don’t understand,” I said. “Why would José do this? What reason would he have for any of this? And the graffiti—why would he announce himself like that?”
The detective shrugged. “I agree the graffiti doesn’t make sense. For one thing, it wasn’t a typical gang tag. Graffiti is an abbreviated language all its own. The tag in your warehouse was a combination of symbols that we can’t match to anything.”
I brightened up. “He told me that. José told me that it wasn’t a normal gang tag.”
“But we can’t ignore the fingerprints,” the detective said. “I’m very sorry.”
For all of his confidence, Detective Abrams seemed genuinely saddened by this turn of events.
“I need to get going,” he said. “I’ll let you know what I find out.”
“Mom, I can take you home.”
“No, we’ve got her,” a voice rang out.
We all turned to find Doe and Rudy coming through the curtain. Rudy enveloped me in a hug, making me wince as she compressed my chest.
“Oh my God, Julia. I’m so glad you’re okay.”
When I groaned, she backed off.
“Oh, dear, I’m so sorry,” she said.
My left eye was now swollen shut, so I peered at her through my right.
“It’s okay,” I inhaled, feeling my ribs expand through sore muscles. “But I’m ready to go home, if that’s okay,” I asked, looking up at Detective Abrams.
He just nodded. “I know how to get hold of you if I have to. But actually, it wouldn’t be a bad idea if you all took precautions. If this book you mentioned was important enough to kill over, you could all be in danger. You all saw it, right?”
Doe and Rudy hadn’t met Detective Abrams. Rudy turned to him with an obvious look of appreciation.
“You must be the tall drink of water,” she said with a grin.
He frowned in confusion.
“Never mind her,” Doe said. “What’s this abou
t taking precautions? We both live alone.”
“This case has gotten suddenly very complicated, and we don’t know who the targets are anymore,” he replied.
“Mr. Garth was murdered,” I told them.
Both women blanched, and Doe’s hand went to her mouth.
“Why don’t you guys stay with me at the inn?” I suggested. “I don’t want to be alone, anyway.”
Detective Abrams nodded his approval. “I think that’s a good idea. I can also have Detective Franks increase police patrols in the area.”
“I think having an officer spend the night again would even be a better idea,” Angela said.
He nodded and pulled out his cell phone and stepped through the curtains to make the call.
Doe glanced at Rudy. “We can pick up overnight bags on the way back.”
“I’ll call Blair,” Doe said. “Maybe she should come over, too. I think Mr. Billings is going out of town again.”
“Okay,” Detective Abrams said, coming back to the bed. “Officer Barnes will stay there again. I’ve got to get back. Call us if you need us, but please…lay low.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
My comfortable world was unraveling, making the trip home a blur. Two people close to me were dead. A roomful of my cherished antiques had been destroyed. I’d been attacked in my own home and almost lost my life on the road. And now everything seemed to tie to a person who worked for me and for whom I had affection. Where was this all going? And when would it end?
Once April had fussed over me like a mother hen when we got back to the inn, Doe and Rudy ushered me to my room and insisted I rest. While they helped April make fried chicken and corn bread for dinner, I fell into a deep sleep. At some point, Sybil brought the dogs back; thankfully, I missed her. But according to April, they were forced to fill her in on the details of the past twenty-four hours. She was sent scurrying from the inn when Lucy lumbered into the kitchen and stuck her nose between her legs. Lucy—my hero.
I woke up with a headache and stiff muscles, but generally, I felt okay—until I looked in the mirror. Even make-up wouldn’t help the face looking back at me. My left eye was still swollen shut and had turned an ugly black and blue. And my lips were just two inflated inner tubes stuck to my face.
April had opted to join the slumber party. I had a sneaking suspicion it was because she wanted to keep an eye on me. She knew how much I cared about Mr. Garth and José, and now I might lose them both. I planned to try and see José the next day, maybe even arrange for bail.
Libby had texted me just before dinner that she would be staying the night with a friend. So, it was just us girls—and the dogs—and Ahab—and Officer Barnes, who had set up camp in the library again after two helpings of fried chicken.
I joined the girls in the living room, where April had built a fire to ward off the cold. It didn’t help; I felt a chill that went all the way to my bones. We spread out around the room. Lucy commandeered some blankets in front of the heat, while the Doxies tucked themselves in at my sides on the sofa. The dogs’ presence was comforting and felt like the only thing holding me together.
The mood was somber, and everyone was doing a lot of staring into the fireplace. April concerned me. She had deep circles under her eyes, and her natural exuberance had been replaced by a quiet detachment.
“It feels as if things are spinning out of control,” Rudy said as she settled into one of the upholstered chairs with her glass of wine. “I mean, someone really did try to kill you today, Julia! You don’t think it was José, do you?”
“No! He was here all afternoon,” April said with a stern look.
Rudy flinched at the rebuke.
“I wasn’t accusing him,” she said quietly.
April started to say something and then stopped. “I know,” she said with a deep sigh. “I’m sorry I snapped.”
“Do you remember anything about the Jenkins woman, Julia?” Doe asked, changing the subject.
I looked up, trying to remember the overly made-up woman.
“No. She was hardly ever here and when she was, she stayed in her room.”
“Did she make the reservation in advance?” Doe asked.
“Yes, but only the day before. She said she was in town for a conference.”
That surprised April. “Don’t you usually book conferences in advance?”
“Yes, you do,” Rudy said. “Well in advance.”
“Did she ever say what kind of conference it was?” Doe asked.
I thought a minute. “No, and I never asked.”
“Wait a minute!” Rudy said, stopping us. “What organization schedules a conference two weeks before Christmas?”
“Good question,” Doe said.
April turned to me. “Maybe you should mention that to the police. They could check to see if there were any conferences in town this week.”
Just as she said this the doorbell rang. April answered it and came back with Detective Abrams. He glanced around the room, nodding in approval.
“I’m glad you’re all here,” he said.
“Well, Blair isn’t,” Rudy said. “She’s coming later.”
“I wanted to let you know that we tracked Ms. Jenkins to the Canadian border,” he said. “But it appears that she may have crossed into Canada already.”
“I see,” I said, disappointed. “So, that’s that?”
“No. We’ve contacted the Royal Canadian Police in Vancouver and may get a lead on her tomorrow. We also talked with a kid who lives up the street from Mr. Garth. He said a black Hummer almost hit him around 4:00 a.m. Sunday morning when he was leaving for work. He said it was parked near Mr. Garth’s home and pulled out directly in front of him. He couldn’t see who was driving, but I thought you ought to know. We don’t know if it’s the same car that ran you off the road, but as you know, I don’t…”
“…believe in coincidences,” I said.
“Right,” he said.
“Detective,” Rudy said, “we just thought of something you should check out.”
She told him about Ms. Jenkins’ conference and he nodded again.
“Good thinking,” he said appreciatively. “I’ll have Detective Franks check it out tomorrow. I’ll be off duty tonight, but if you need anything, call Detective Franks.”
We thanked him and he left.
“Damn, too bad we can’t switch him for Officer Barnes,” Rudy blurted. “I wouldn’t mind camping out with him tonight.”
Everyone laughed except me. I had pulled my legs up onto the sofa, trying to feel warm. It wasn’t working.
“Has anyone talked to Emily?” Doe asked. “The memorial service is day after tomorrow.”
“She called over here this afternoon,” April said. “Under the circumstances, she said she would postpone the service until the weekend.”
I looked up, feeling like I was living in a fog.
“Um…that box of pictures is in the office,” I said. “And Father Bentley said he would have one of his guys record a nice background track for us. He told me to come by tomorrow.”
“Blair could do that,” Rudy said. “You need to rest.”
I nodded.
“You okay, honey?” Doe said.
“I can’t assimilate all of this,” I said, tears forming again. “So much has happened and we don’t even know why. And I’m worried about José. He’s had such a rough life already.”
April was sitting next to me and reached out and grabbed my hand. “At least you’re okay.”
“Yes, but why Mr. Garth?” I said. “Why in the world would anyone want him dead?”
“It has to have something to do with that damn ledger,” Rudy stated flatly.
“But by the time Mr. Garth was killed, he didn’t have it anymore,” I sobbed. “April had already given the ledger to me.”
“But no one knew that,” Doe reminded me quietly, getting up and handing me a tissue. “He was killed Sunday morning, wasn’t he? And you said he worked on the table Satu
rday afternoon. My guess is that whoever broke into the warehouse was looking for the book. When they didn’t find it here, they went directly to his home, thinking he’d taken it with him.”
I used the tissue to wipe the tears from my face and sighed loudly. “I wish I’d given it to the police right away. Maybe if I had, he’d still be alive.”
“I doubt it,” Rudy countered. “Whoever did this wouldn’t necessarily know if you gave anything to the police.”
“So,” Doe began, “it’s the ledger that’s causing all of this?”
“We don’t know that for sure,” April countered. “Remember that Senator Pesante is in a coma.”
“There are just too many tangents in all of this,” Doe said, frustrated. “Julia, do you still have that big whiteboard you let companies use when they hold meetings here?”
I nodded. “Yes, it’s under the stairs.”
I started to get up, but April stopped me.
“You sit tight. I’ll get it.”
As she and Doe rolled in a large, hinged whiteboard and set it in front of the fireplace, careful not to disturb Lucy, Blair arrived with a small duffle bag.
“I’m here for the slumber party,” she announced. “Where’s the wine?”
She dropped the bag, tossed her coat over a chair and went directly to the table that held the wine.
“What did I miss?” she said, eyeing the whiteboard. “It looks like you’re about to start class or something.”
We explained what we were doing and caught her up. She came and gave me a hug and then grabbed a handful of nuts and plumped down in a chair.
“Okay, I’m ready,” she said, taking a sip of wine.
Doe lifted a marker from the tray. “Let’s get it all down,” she said. “Start at the beginning, Julia.”
I rubbed my eye again, trying to bring myself back to life.
“Martha told her daughter a couple of weeks ago that she was thinking of quitting the shelter, and then almost immediately stopped going. Let’s start with that.”
“Do we think the shelter is important to all of this?” Rudy asked with a tilt of her head.
“Yes,” I said. “I’ll tell you why in a few minutes.”
