Detective Peters leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. A smile flitted across his face. There were people who delighted in sharing bad news. It was like manna to them. Detective Peters was obviously one of those people.
Oh dear.
“Jones walked around your house when he got here.” Peters looked out the window where the snow had tapered off but still fell. “There were no tracks leading away from this place. Either the killer is one of your guests or you have an intruder hiding in your home.”
The man was pure joy and light.
He glanced at his little notepad. “What made you go into the dining room?”
“Someone had turned the lights off.”
“Why didn’t you just turn them on and leave?”
“I did turn them on, but I noticed a candlestick was missing from the table. I stepped inside to look for it and found Stan.”
“And the candlestick.”
“And the candlestick.” Covered with blood and—I shuddered—matter.
“You’ll need to vacate the premises.”
Again? Now I looked out the window. He wanted us to leave in a snow storm? “No.” I’d stood up to Mother. Standing up to Detective Peters ought to be easy.
His irascible glare burned into me. “It’s not a request.”
I spread my damp palms across my knees and steeled my spine. “Detective Peters, my father plays golf with the police commissioner. All it takes is one phone call and I stay here.”
Somehow his glare became more choleric.
I smiled sweetly and gripped my knees to hide the shaking of my hands.
“Need I remind you that an intruder may be hiding in your home?”
I increased the sweetness of my smile. “I’m sure your men are searching thoroughly.”
He mumbled something. Uppity bit? No. Uppity bitch.
“We’re not leaving.” I used my hostess voice. It said welcome, I’m so glad you’re here, and was almost impossible to argue with.
“Peters, one of the uniforms has got something.” Anarchy spoke from the doorway.
Detective Peters grunted, gave me a this-isn’t-over scowl, and stood. “She says she doesn’t know anything.”
She was in the room. She didn’t like being spoken about as if she wasn’t there. Her sweet smile slipped.
Anarchy’s coffee-colored gaze bounced between his partner and me. “Why don’t I finish this up?”
Detective Peters grunted. Again. The man was positively Neolithic.
Was this part of their plan? Bad cop, good cop? If so, the plan was destined for failure. I didn’t know anything.
Anarchy claimed Peters’ empty chair across from me, and Peters, thank heavens, left.
“How are you holding up?”
“I’ve had better nights.”
“You’ve had worse ones too.”
I couldn’t argue that. “I’ll be fine. Does your partner really think I killed Stan?”
“I doubt it.”
“Why?”
“Because you’d have to stand on a chair to bash someone over the head. Someone with some height killed Stan White.”
“Stan wasn’t all that tall.”
“At least five inches taller than you.”
“If he doesn’t think I’m a suspect, why is he so unpleasant?”
Anarchy’s lips thinned to a tight line. “He’s unpleasant to everyone. Plus, you keep finding bodies.”
“Believe me, I wish I didn’t.”
He leaned forward and took my hands in his. “I do believe you. I also believe you frequently know more than you think you do.”
My thoughts flew to Jinx and Preston. Preston was definitely taller than Stan. But why would Preston want Stan dead? I shook my head. “Not this time.”
His grip on my hands tightened. “Are you sure? Two people have been murdered in your home.”
“Are you going to move into the guest house again?” I asked. Anarchy had stayed in the suite in the carriage house when it seemed I was being targeted by a killer.
“Do you want me to?”
The air around us sparked. With a few words we’d set a pile of waiting tinder ablaze. My mouth went dry. My stomach quivered. I’d told Hunter not two days ago I wasn’t ready for a relationship, and here I was…melting.
“I…”
He leaned closer and I smelled soap and snow and a scent unique to Anarchy.
“I…”
He let go of my hands and touched my cheek.
I’d told Hunter I wasn’t ready. Why couldn’t I tell Anarchy? Standing up to Mother. Standing up to Detective Peters. Standing on my own. That’s what I wanted. Except, with the pad of Anarchy’s finger running the length of my cheek, I wasn’t so sure. My lips parted and I leaned toward him.
Our mouths touched and the spark in the air burned through me, firing nerve endings, firing want.
“Ellison, are you in here?” Mother barged through the door.
I jumped away from Anarchy’s kiss as if I’d been scalded. Heat rose to my cheeks, and I held my suddenly frigid fingers against my face to cool the flush.
Anarchy was no help. He looked as guilty as I felt. If only he’d stop fiddling with his tie.
“What, Mother?”
Her narrowed gaze told me I wasn’t fooling anyone, least of all her. “Your guests would like to leave.”
I stood, smoothed my skirt, and somehow produced a shaky smile. “Coming.”
“Go ahead.” She waved me toward the front hall. “I’ll join you in a moment. First I’d like a word with Detective Jones.”
What did it say about me that I was glad to escape her?
And what did it say that the entire time I was shaking hands with people eager to depart, the entire time I was apologizing for the horrible inconvenience of a corpse in the dining room, I was wondering what Mother was saying to Anarchy?
fourteen
I waited for Mr. Coffee to work his magic, cup at the ready. The night had stretched into the wee hours and only caffeine could keep me going.
At least I had the kitchen to myself. Alone, I could ponder the significance of the almost-kiss.
I replayed every second, wanting to relive the moment Anarchy’s lips met mine.
Instead, my brain caught on the lie I’d told. Anarchy had believed me when I told him I didn’t know anything. My first instinct had been to protect my friends, but should I have told him about Jinx and Preston? With the morning sun reflecting off the snow, the light was too bright to ignore. Jinx and Preston were keeping secrets. From each other. From me.
What else did I know that I didn’t know I knew? Maybe there was another suspect, one I didn’t count among my dearest friends.
Karen Fleming?
Except Karen Fleming wasn’t tall. Worse, she hadn’t even been at my house last night. She couldn’t be the killer. Still, something she’d said niggled at me.
“Is the coffee ready?” Grace burst into the kitchen wearing a huge smile.
Mr. Coffee gurgled.
“Let me get you a cup, Mom.” She took the empty mug from my hand, filled it, and topped it with cream.
“Thank you.” I accepted the ambrosia she offered. “You’re awfully cheery this morning.”
She took a cup from the cabinet. “Am I?”
Suspiciously so. None of us had gotten much sleep, and Grace wasn’t at her happiest in the morning under the best of circumstances.
“I guess I’m happy to see Aunt Sis.”
“Is she up?”
Grace nodded. “Yep. She’ll be down in a minute.”
“I told Aggie to come in late. We’re on our own for breakfast. I could make eggs.”
“No.” Gr
ace spoke with insulting alacrity. One fire on the stove (okay, three fires on the stove) and people think you can’t fry eggs. “Cereal is fine.”
“Maybe your aunt would like eggs.”
“Just a piece of fruit.” Aunt Sis spoke from the bottom of the back stairs. She sidled into the kitchen and went directly to Mr. Coffee. “You lead an exciting life, dear.” She poured coffee into a cup and waved away the offer of cream. “Tell me, how did your mother convince you to host the party for that awful woman?”
Awful woman? “Cora? Why don’t you like Cora?” It was like disliking kittens. “Mother’s ceiling fell in. She couldn’t host a party.”
“No, not Co—”
“Aunt Sis, if you’re going to borrow my car, we’d better head out. That’s all right, isn’t it, Mom? Aunt Sis needs a car today.”
“Of course. What do you have against Cora?”
Grace put her mug down on the counter. “Gotta go, Mom. Love you. See you later.”
The two hurried out the back door. “Coat?” I called.
Grace raced back into the house, grabbed her coat from the hook, and snagged one of mine. “For Aunt Sis.”
“Fine.”
She disappeared out the back door a second time.
I took another sip of coffee and stared into space. It was odd that neither my daughter nor my aunt had mentioned the murder. What were they up to?
Lord only knew.
I completed homey tasks. I fed Max. I loaded the dishwasher with the dirty mugs. I made a second pot of coffee. While it brewed I climbed the stairs to my bedroom and took a quick shower.
I wanted to think about Anarchy’s lips.
What had Mother said to him?
I wanted to think about his touch on my cheek.
Should I have told him about Jinx and Preston?
I wanted to think about the sparks.
What was it that Karen Fleming had said? Whatever it was, it bothered me enough to deaden the sparks.
I towel dried my hair, threw on jeans and a sweater, and went downstairs for fresh coffee. The Junior League directory was in the desk in the family room. I dug the book out of the bottom drawer and dialed Karen’s number.
She answered on the third ring. “Hello.”
“Karen, this is Ellison Russell calling.”
“Ellison.” My name, nothing more.
“The other day when we were talking—”
“I’m so sorry about that. You must think I’m a complete lunatic.”
“Not at all.” Maybe a little. “Listen, you said something about Khaki and—”
Beeeeeep.
I held the receiver away from my ear. “Karen?”
“This is the operator. I have an emergency breakthrough for Ellison Russell from Libba Price.”
I glanced at my watch. It wasn’t yet nine. What was Libba doing up, much less having an emergency? “Karen, may I call you back?”
“Of course. Take the call. It’s an emergency.” Was that relief I heard in Karen’s voice? The click of her receiver meeting the cradle echoed through the line.
If Libba’s emergency was whether to wear navy or charcoal gray, I’d kill her.
“I’ll connect you now, Mrs. Russell,” said the operator.
A series of clicks followed, then I heard Libba. “Ellison, are you there?”
“What’s wrong?” I demanded.
“It’s Jinx. Can you come over?” Libba’s voice was pitched high. Higher than I’d ever heard.
“Of course. What about Jinx?” The coffee in my stomach made an uncomfortable swirl.
“Just come. She’s raving about Khaki and Preston and how Preston is going to be next. I think she’s on something. Please come.”
“I’m on my way.”
“Thank you.” She hung up the phone.
I grabbed my purse, jumped into the car and raced to the Plaza. Libba lived on the top floor of a high-rise that overlooked the shopping district. The view was fabulous. Not that I stopped to enjoy it. Not when Jinx was splayed bonelessly across Libba’s couch.
“What did she take?” I picked up Jinx’s wrist and felt for a pulse. It was there. Weak, but there.
“Valium? I don’t know.”
“Did she say anything before she passed out?”
“Only that Khaki and Preston were up to something and that it got Khaki killed. Maybe Stan too.”
I’d worry about the murders later. “Have you called Preston?”
“No one is answering at their home and his office says he’s out.”
“Have you called an ambulance?”
“Do you think we need to?”
I stared at her. Dumbfounded. Jinx was practically comatose. “Yes. We need to.”
“It’s just that if emergency personnel come up here, half the town will know about this before we even get Jinx to the hospital.”
I’d forgotten about Libba’s nosy neighbor, Agnes Crane. “Fine. We’ll take her to the ER.” It had been weeks since I made a trip to the hospital emergency room. The staff probably missed me. “Can you help me get her to your car?”
Together we hefted Jinx off the couch and half-walked, half-dragged her to the elevator. Her head lolled forward and her ankles bent. If Agnes Crane stepped out of her apartment and saw us, there would be plenty of talk.
We were lucky. The elevator arrived before Agnes caught the scent of fresh gossip.
Libba pushed. I pulled. And somehow we got Jinx stretched out in the backseat of Libba’s car.
Thankfully, it was a short drive to the hospital. When we arrived, I hopped out of the passenger’s seat and hurried inside.
The woman at the admitting desk looked up from her paperwork and gave me a tight smile. “Hello, Mrs. Russell. How are you today?”
I knew they’d missed me.
“I have a friend. She’s in the car. She’s taken something.”
Maybe it was the tone of my voice or the pallor of my skin, but the admitting nurse picked up a phone and had two men with a stretcher standing next to me in seconds.
“She’s right outside.” I led them to Libba’s car and they gently extracted an unconscious Jinx from the backseat and wheeled her inside.
“Stay with her,” said Libba. “I’ll park and be inside in a minute.”
I nodded and followed the gurney.
Of course they wouldn’t let me into the actual emergency room. I wasn’t family. I plopped into a cold hard plastic chair and waited. Someone would come, if only to ask what Jinx had taken.
A few minutes later, Libba joined me. “Any news?”
“Too soon,” I replied. “Did Jinx say anything else before she passed out?” What had Libba reported? Khaki and Preston were up to something and it got Khaki killed. Stan too.
“Something about a phoenix. Maybe she was talking about Phoenix. I didn’t understand.”
Neither did I. “Do you want coffee?”
“Please.”
“You wait here in case the doctor comes out. I’ll run down to the coffee shop.”
Libba nodded and shifted in her uncomfortable seat. “When you get back I want to try calling Preston again.”
“Good idea.”
I could find the hospital coffee shop blindfolded. I’d spent that much time there of late. I ordered two coffees and retraced my steps to Libba, who was pacing the waiting room.
“No one has been out yet.” Her voice was thick. With worry or tears?
I handed her a cup of comfort. “I’ll go ask.”
I approached the admitting nurse. “Is there any news about my friend?”
“Not yet, Mrs. Russell. Someone will be out soon.” Soon in hospital time could be five minutes or five hours.
<
br /> I sighed. “Thank you.”
Libba called Preston again. Reached no one again. Together we drank our coffee, took turns pacing, and stared at the nurse behind the desk as if our gazes could make someone appear with news.
I drained the last of my coffee, stood, and threw my empty cup in the trash. “I’m going to the powder room. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Libba merely nodded. It was her turn to pace and I’d disrupted the count of her steps.
The ladies’ room smelled of rubbing alcohol and pine. I wrinkled my nose and stepped into a stall. Someone had taped a sign on the back of the door. The sign read, “Does he hurt you?” Beneath the question was a picture of a woman with a black eye. Beneath the picture was more text. “Call Phoenix House for help.” A phone number followed.
I didn’t read the phone number. I ignored the insistent urgings of my bladder. I ran back to the waiting area. “Libba!”
She’d returned to her seat and was flipping through a six-month-old copy of Readers’ Digest.
“What?” She dropped the magazine onto her lap and it slid, unheeded, to the floor.
“Jinx said something about Phoenix?”
She nodded.
“What’s the name of the charity board that Khaki sat on?”
“Phoenix House.”
We let that settle into our brains.
“Preston is on the board,” she added. “It’s a shelter for abused women.”
Maybe some angry husband was targeting board members? But if that were true…“Was Stan on the board?”
“No.”
Both Khaki and Stan were dead. It couldn’t be because of Phoenix House. Could it? “Did Jinx say why she thought Preston would be next?”
“She was almost incoherent. I have no idea.”
Phoenix House. This whole mess had something to do with Phoenix House. I was sure of it. “I need some air. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” I stepped outside and was greeted by leaden skies and a cold wind. Another front had moved in. I scowled up at the ominous clouds. They matched my mood.
Phoenix House. Help for abused women. The only people who wouldn’t support such an idea were abusers.
Watching the Detectives Page 13
