Justified

by Carolyn Arnold

  “Nope, and the fact it’s underneath her means it was there before she fell. It might tie us to our killer.”

  BY THE TIME MADISON WALKED into her apartment, it was well after midnight. Her answering machine flashed two new messages. She pushed the button.

  “You have been selected for a one-week Caribbean cruise—”

  Delete. Next.

  “We wish you a Merry Christmas. We wish you a Merry Christmas…”

  She dropped onto the couch and closed her eyes while she listened to her sister’s and nieces’ voices fill the apartment with some seasonal cheer.

  Picturing their faces made her smile, but the images transformed without warning to the horror she saw tonight. Far too much blood for her liking. Blame it on her childhood and Chelsea’s failed attempt to climb an oak tree, which had resulted in a compound fracture. Madison was only ten at the time, her sister four, and the blood seemed to pour out of her younger sister’s leg endlessly, rendering Madison helpless. Now every time there was a bloody crime scene, the memory came flooding back.

  But more than the sight of Chelsea’s leg injury haunted Madison now. Claire Reeves had died alone. She didn’t even have anyone on record as the next of kin, and based on Allison’s statement had a counterfeit best friend. What Claire did have, though, was a lover. Likely more than one. Had one of them killed her?

  Of course, it was too early to tell. Madison would find out, but she’d have to put her melancholy aside to get the job done.

  “Yeah…Merry Christ…mas,” she said aloud to herself, her words fragmented by a yawn.

  -

  Chapter 5

  MADISON’S EYES FELT LIKE THEY had been welded shut by the sandman. She heard a faint banging, which at first she dismissed as a dream, but unfortunately it was persistent.

  What time was it anyhow? She managed to read the clock through foggy slits. 7:02.

  The knocking intensified. Her visitor wasn’t going to leave. Her initial reaction was to throw something hard at the wall and protest the awakening, but she didn’t have enough energy for that.

  “What?” she yelled, certain her neighbors would pound on the wall to protest the noise, but not really caring if they did. The walls were paper-thin in this place, and usually it didn’t take much for them to get excited, but this morning their apartment seemed quiet. Maybe they had drunk their Christmas cheer and passed out, unconscious to the world. Or maybe they had taken her last warning seriously when at one in the morning she had donned a housecoat, fuzzy slippers, and her Glock and paid them a visit. Not necessarily something a good cop would be proud of, but she was just human after all.

  Her visitor wasn’t letting up.

  “I’m coming. Shut up!” She couldn’t help it. Patience was never her strong suit, and at this point, on a limited amount of sleep, she had even less of it.

  She swung the door open and faced Terry. He had a couple cloth grocery bags in one hand and a small, decorated tree under his other arm.

  “What are you doing—”

  “Nice pj’s.”

  She looked down at herself and was thankful for full coverage—a pair of blue track pants and a Stiles PD sweatshirt.

  “And here I would have taken you for a white lace woman.”

  “As if.” She stepped back from the door to let him in.

  “You don’t have one, do you?” He glanced around the apartment.

  “Have one what?”

  “Didn’t think so.” He met eyes with her and smiled. “A tree, Maddy. Everyone needs one.”

  She found herself somewhat touched by the gesture but didn’t allow him to see it. “Put it where you like,” she said.

  Terry set the prelit tree down and plugged it in. It had small white lights tastefully dispersed. She fought a smile so it wouldn’t give her away.

  “It’s early. You do know that,” she said.

  Terry didn’t respond to her but went into her kitchen and made himself at home. He set the bags he’d brought with him on the counter and started pulling items out of them: a Tupperware container filled with what looked like batter, one filled with blueberry sauce, another filled with strawberry sauce, and a bottle of genuine maple syrup. He then folded the bags, signaling the end of their contents.

  “What are you doing now?”

  “You’re going to repeat yourself all day like a parrot?”

  A cliché. Terry’s vocabulary was poisoned with them. “Until you answer the question.”

  He laughed.

  “Is this some joke?”

  “Absolutely not.” He swung open the cabinet doors, working his way around the compact space in seconds. “Guess I should have brought it with me—”

  “What are you looking for? Terry, it’s seven in the morning!”

  “A nonstick fry pan. I’m going to cook you up some superb pancakes. With Grant pancakes, the secret’s in the batter. We know how to make them light and fluffy—”

  “Stop there.” The sincere happiness he seemed to be experiencing in this moment was breaking through her grumpy exterior. “Light and fluffy?”

  “The best.” He took out a flipper and turned on a burner.

  “But why? And why so early?” She brushed past him, opened the bottom drawer on the stove, and put a frying pan on the burner.

  “Because we’ve got to get to work—”

  “It’s Christmas day.”

  “Doesn’t mean we don’t work.”

  Okay, so he had a point. The strange part was he was the one pushing work this morning, and she was the one being tempted to take personal time. The lab was shut down until Friday, so no forensic results. Their list of actual suspects was short at this point despite Allison’s mention that many people wanted Claire dead. The only name they got was that of the “best friend” Darcy Simms.

  Terry wiped the inside of the pan with oil and turned the burner on. “Annabelle’s on the way with Hershey.”

  Hershey. She almost said it aloud. Damn, he wasn’t part of a dream—or rather nightmare. Nope, he, a chocolate lab puppy, was her cursed Christmas gift from the Grants. What was she supposed to do with a dog? And why did they get one that would grow larger than her apartment? Still, she found herself getting somewhat excited about petting the little guy again.

  “She’s bringing a kennel for him, too,” Terry added.

  She nodded as if she knew what all that meant. “I’m not sure…” There was such a look of disappointment on his face. “What is the kennel for?”

  He laughed. He must have found her naivety entertaining. “For training purposes mostly. Some people keep them in the crate whenever they’re not home. We don’t like to do that with Todd and Bailey. We like them to have free rein, but you’ll want to make sure he’s housebroken first.”

  Of course, Todd and Bailey were beagles, more than half the size of what Hershey would become.

  There was a knock on the door.

  “I’ll get it.” Terry smiled at her and answered the door as if this were his place. It was Annabelle, and she had come with a lot more than just a dog. “Hey, honey.” Terry kissed his wife’s cheek and took a bag from her hands. He still left her with a folded crate under one arm, a bag of puppy chow under the other, and, of course, a hyperactive puppy pulling on its leash. For the excess that Annabelle toted, one would think a dog came with as much baggage and responsibility as did a baby.

  Oh, her simple home life was about to change.

  -

  Chapter 6

  MADISON AND TERRY WERE IN the car heading to Darcy Simms’s house. There wasn’t much traffic, because most people were likely at home either sleeping or lounging in their sleepwear.

  “So, what did you think of my pancakes?”

  “They were good.” Madison smiled at him. After two large cups of steaming coffee, one and a half pancakes with
fruit syrup, her sleepy haze had lifted. She did observe how alert Hershey was for that time of day, though, and it made her a bit nervous. The dog would have to learn to value sleep as much as she did. Maybe once he realized what a rare commodity it was around there, it would come naturally.

  “And what about the tree? No thank-you?” He laughed. “Not that I really expected one I guess—”

  “Well, maybe if you hadn’t decorated it for me—”

  “Oh, here we go—”

  “Well, you named my dog.” No sense telling him that it was perfect, as she had a chocolate addiction and a preference to Hershey’s bars. “I’m mean, why even bother handing my gifts over to me?”

  “No pleasing you, Knight.”

  They were both smiling.

  “Anyway, at least one of us knows how to say thank you. Speaking of which, thank you for letting me go last night.”

  “It’s fine.” She could tell he truly appreciated it. Showing up at the crack of dawn with food proved that, didn’t it?

  “I know it’s hard for you when there’s next of kin to notify. Surprised you let me go before that actually.”

  She couldn’t confess her mind was a conflicted mess at the time, and she hadn’t considered notification before letting him go. “There wasn’t any to inform.”

  “None to inform?”

  “Nope.”

  “If there had been, I would have come and got you just for that.” They always took turns, as neither of them enjoyed doing it. To bring the news to a family that a loved one was murdered was not an easy aspect of the job. “It was your turn,” she added.

  “Uh-huh. Nobody, eh? How sad.”

  “The closest person on record was her aunt Beatrice Reeves, but she died two years ago of cancer.”

  “Is it ever anything else?”

  Madison looked at him from the driver’s seat, wondering how long it would take for an answer to sink in.

  “Okay, when it’s not murder.”

  “Not too often.” And not that she needed to be reminded of cancer’s reach. She’d lost her grandmother to the disease. The brain tumor, the treatments, and the final verdict that it was inoperable. She was starting to feel like an emotional mangle inside. She blamed the holiday season, but at the same time cursed herself for letting it have such power over her.

  Madison spotted the address noted for Darcy Simms and pulled to the side of road in front of the house. There wasn’t a car in the driveway and the front walkway was buried in at least six inches of undisturbed snow. “Okay, it looks like we’re here, but it doesn’t look like anyone else is or has been in a while. I sure hope you didn’t drag my butt out of bed for nothing.”

  “Nothing? You got fed. Doesn’t that count for something?”

  “Not really.” She chuckled and got out of the car.

  Madison trudged through the snow ahead of Terry.

  They knocked and rang the doorbell a few times and were met with no response.

  “Yeah, she’s not home,” Terry said.

  He always had a way of stating the obvious, and it made her laugh. “You don’t even realize you do that, do you?”

  “Do what?”

  She didn’t answer the question, but instead realized that she could have still been in bed. “Okay, well, I’m happy I got up for that and dragged myself out into the cold.”

  “Do what?” he parroted.

  She steamrolled past him. “I could have been spending quality time getting to know Hershey.”

  “I know you better than that, you sarcastic brat…” He seemed to drift mentally, and his next words confirmed where. “Did Allison ever tell us why she was cleaning on Christmas Eve?”

  “Just that Claire asked for her to.”

  “Well, I for one would like to see that text message to prove her services were required that night.”

  “We know that’s not going to happen. She told Weir she had deleted it, remember? So dead end there.” Madison pressed her lips. She recalled how Allison only provided the one name—Darcy Simms—yet referred to a man, one she seemed to keep intentionally nameless. “She wasn’t very cooperative.”

  “I think it’s worth paying her a visit.”

  “Heck, I’m out of bed already, we might as well spread the joy.”

  “Well, we’ve got a fifty-fifty chance of finding her home.”

  “Yes, and you’re the genius among us.” Madison let out a small laugh.

  Terry didn’t find quite as much amusement in it as she did, but he’d get over it. She smiled to herself, as if it was some sort of payback for the early wake-up call.

  “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” Allison Minard spat out as if Madison and Terry being at her front door was a great intrusion of her privacy. Her arms were crossed. Her hips were tilted to the right. She wore a man’s blue-collared shirt and that was all, but she didn’t seem shy or self-conscious about the fact.

  “We need to speak with you,” Madison began.

  “I’ve already told you everything. I don’t know what more I could possibly offer.” She trembled, likely from a chill. “Fine. Come in.” Contempt dripped from her voice; the offer was only extended for her comfort.

  Stepping inside, the heat of the house cupped Madison’s cheeks. She pulled out on the neck of her sweater that rose above her coat.

  Madison heard running water, possibly a shower as it came from upstairs. Allison had company, as if her wardrobe wasn’t enough to make one realize that Madison and Terry had disturbed a party for two.

  “Just something we’re curious about,” Madison began. “Why did Claire request your cleaning service last night?”

  “Why? Because you don’t believe I was supposed to be there?”

  “Were you?” Madison felt Terry’s eyes on her. He must have thought she was too direct.

  “Why would I be there if I wasn’t supposed to be?”

  Her question hung out there, an awkward silence trailing behind it. Allison fiddled with a button on the collar of the shirt. If she was trying to convey a strong stance, she was failing miserably.

  “Can we see the text message she sent you?” Madison pressed.

  Allison looked at them, her eyes not quite connecting with either of them. “I deleted it. I told the other cops that.”

  “Huh.”

  “Is she for real?” Allison appealed to Terry, who shrugged his shoulders. “Well, I’m telling you the truth.” She clenched her teeth.

  “There’s one hole in your story,” Madison said. “Claire’s phone had no record of the message being sent—”

  “Impossible. It came from her to me. This is what I get for deleting text messages after I read them. Here, I’ll—” Allison backed away from the doorway and came back seconds later holding a cell phone. “Here. Look at it.” She accessed the menus and showed it to Madison. “There’s nothing there. You see that? It wasn’t just hers I deleted. Can’t you cops pull up the history on my phone and prove I received a text message from Claire?”

  “We may be able to prove you received an incoming text message from her cell, but beyond that we can’t see what was sent.”

  “Just great.”

  “You still haven’t answered why she wanted you to clean.”

  Allison let out a rush of air, flailed an arm. “How should I know? She was entertaining a man for Christmas? Your guess would be as good as any I could come up with. Did you talk to Darcy?”

  Her tagged-on question took Madison off guard for a moment. “No—”

  “Let me guess, she wasn’t home.” Her hips jutted to the right.

  The sound of running water stopped. Allison’s eyes snapped to the upstairs landing. “Listen, if you could leave—”

  “Baby!” It was a man’s voice.

  Allison avoided eye contact with Madison and Terry and tapped
a foot on the floor.

  “Baby!” he repeated himself, and footsteps headed toward the railing.

  Madison anticipated seeing his face, but he stopped moving when Allison said, “I’ll be right there.” She connected eyes with Madison. “You’ve got to go.”

  He called out again. “Put on some coffee.” There was a pause. “Hey, who are you talking to down there?”

  “Don’t worry about it. Coffee’s coming right up.”

  Madison hoped he would be curious enough to come to the top of the stairs, but the footfalls were headed back to where they came from. It was obviously a more casual relationship where any questions didn’t need satisfying answers.

  “Please go. I’ve more than cooperated with you.” Allison placed a flattened hand on Terry’s shoulder blade, gesturing for them to leave.

  Madison said, “Just one more question.”

  Allison let out a rush of air and rolled her eyes.

  “This man, the one you mentioned—”

  “Nope, no way.” She shook her head rapidly. “Not going to say. Leave.”

  Allison backed them out onto the step and inched the door shut. Madison put a foot out to stop it. She tried to read Allison’s eyes, but they were guarded and revealed nothing.

  “Where does she work?”

  “Her own business. By Design.” Her eyes dropped to Madison’s boot, which was lodged in the doorframe.

  Footsteps were coming down the staircase now, but the door blocked her view. Was it the man Allison was trying to protect?

  Allison looked over a shoulder and a smile that started for her guest quickly dissolved when she turned back to face them. She pushed harder on the door. “Merry Christmas.”

  “MERRY CHRISTMAS.” Madison chanted as she unlocked her apartment door.

  Something about Allison didn’t sit well with Madison. She’d discovered the body, the text requiring her to clean had been deleted. Madison didn’t think she necessarily pulled off the murder but suspected Allison knew who was involved. She avoided solid eye contact and had closed body language.

  She wanted to dig more into this case now. So what if it was Christmas Day? Normally Cynthia would forward the evidence list electronically, but she hadn’t yet. If Madison wanted to read it, she’d have to go to the department for the handwritten reports.