“What part of ‘Don’t let her know you’re watching her’ didn’t you understand?” Peter asked.
“Unfair, Dourson.”
He walked up to the driver’s window.
“Smooth, Anderson,” Brent said. “Jim, you can move your car.”
“Good. I’m going home.”
“Traitor,” Lia hissed. She stalked back up the drive, dragging Max behind her.
~ ~ ~
“Kate Onstad?” Peter asked.
“Yes, what’s going on? Why am I being prevented from leaving? I feel like a prisoner.”
“I’m very sorry about that. I’m Detective Dourson, and this is my partner, Detective Davis. We’d like very much to talk to you. We can go back up to the park if you’d be comfortable there, or we can go to the station.”
“I don’t want any of those crazy people listening in. Isn’t blocking me in a form of kidnapping?”
“I’ll make sure they keep their distance.” Peter ignored her question and hoped it would go away.
Kate got out of her car. “What’s this about? Should I have a lawyer?”
“We’re just looking for information. If you feel the need for a lawyer, we can go back to the station and you can contact one.”
“That sounds like a lot of trouble.“
Peter and Brent escorted Kate back up the drive and into the small dog park, where a lone picnic table stood in the back.
“Will this be private enough?”
“It’ll be fine. What’s this all about, Detective?”
“Before we get started, I’d like your permission to record this conversation. This ensures that we have an accurate record, and protects you as well as us. Is that okay with you?”
Kate looked apprehensive but nodded her assent. Peter set up his little digital recorder and read in the date, time, location and participants, as well as stating that the taping was being done with Kate Onstad’s knowledge and consent. After these preliminaries, he began.
“Are you acquainted with George Munce?” Peter noted her deer-in-headlights expression.
“Yes,” she said carefully.
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“Why are you asking, Detective?”
“We’re very sorry to tell you this, Ms. Onstad,” Brent said. “A body was found in the woods two days ago. It’s just been identified as George Munce.”
Kate Onstad blinked several times. She chewed her lip. “George is dead?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Neither do we. We thought you could help us out. When was the last time you saw George?” Brent asked.
“Five days ago, Sunday.”
“Where was that?”
Kate continued to chew her lip. She looked at Brent, then at Peter. “In my motel room. He came by before he went in to work.”
“Ms. Onstad,” Peter asked, “what was the nature of your relationship with George Munce?”
Kate appeared to crumple. Her eyes shimmered as tears trembled onto her cheeks. She cried silently, her mouth open and quivering. Peter and Brent waited while she gathered herself.
“George and I knew each other in high school. We reconnected on the internet a few months ago and fell in love. I hadn’t seen him in thirty years. I took time off from work so we could figure out how far we were going to take this thing. We were talking about getting married.” She smiled sadly. “I can’t believe he’s gone.”
“Did anyone else know about your relationship? Anyone at all?”
“No one. I didn’t dare confide in anyone. None of my friends would have understood me taking up with a married man. My high school friends would have died if they knew I was in contact with George. He was a bit of a hoodlum when we were in school. Tell you the truth, it’s a relief to be able to talk about it now. I can’t believe George told anyone. He worked so hard, he had so much at stake.”
“What was at stake?” Brent asked.
“George hadn’t been happy for a long time before we found each other again, but he had a family to think about. He didn’t want to hurt Monica unless it was absolutely necessary. She wasn’t always . . . stable.
“He was willing to let things go on the way they were until we met by accident on Facebook. He said if he got a divorce, neither of them would have been able to keep the house. It would have meant uprooting his stepdaughter. I could have helped him with the mortgage, but forcing Stacy to accept a new stepmother right away would have been too much.
“There was also the risk Monica would take Stacy and move away. He was concerned for Stacy’s welfare, if Monica had to deal with being a single parent. Such a mess. All we wanted was to be happy. Didn’t we deserve that?”
Such a loaded question. Peter decided to dodge that one, too.
“Ms. Onstad, you came to the park yesterday, and you came back today. Why?”
The sad smile flitted across her face. “George loved the woods. We met up here several times to hike with Daisy. He said when we were here, he could believe there was no one else in the world but us. We had a little spot where we could be alone and . . . just talk.” Her rising blush suggested to Peter that “talk” was euphemistic.
“Were you aware of the deer cull? Hikers aren’t permitted in the woods except on Tuesdays.”
“Oh, well, that. George said there was no need to concern ourselves since any deer hunter who knew anything wouldn’t hang around in the middle of the day. We weren’t the only ones in the woods. That woman who told me you were coming, I’ve seen her back there with those dogs, down in the gorge.”
Peter winced.
“Yesterday and today,” Peter reminded her.
“I was supposed to meet George here Monday morning. I’m staying over on Central Parkway, by the Big Boy. I went there for breakfast. When I came back, my tire was flat. I tried calling George, but his phone was off. Then I got a message from him saying that it was over. I sat in my motel room for three days and cried.
“Yesterday I woke up and decided I wasn’t going to be brushed off like that. I figured if I waited here, I would catch him next time he brought Daisy to the park. I thought I deserved to know why.”
“You were only here a few minutes before you decided to leave. What happened today?” Brent asked.
“I sat out here for three hours yesterday. Today I started feeling self-conscious and pathetic. I realized that if George showed up, I might humiliate myself. So I decided to forget about it and just go.”
“We’d like to believe your story, but another officer went through Mr. Munce’s phone records, and she didn’t find any unknown numbers.”
“Oh, well. George was very concerned about how he might come out in a divorce if it were known he was having an affair. He had another phone, one of those prepaid ones. He called it his ‘burner.’”
“What kind of message did you get from him? Was it voice or text?”
“Neither. We liked to trade long messages sometimes. We had this system. It’s something the kids do. We used our Kindles.”
“How did you do that?” Brent asked, feigning ignorance.
“We used the public notes function on our Kindles as a sort of chat room. It’s a lot less cumbersome than texting.” She explained the process, much as Stacy had.
“Huh,” Peter said. “Are the notes still there?”
“They should be. I was thinking about deleting mine, but I wasn’t ready to do that yet.”
“Ms. Onstad,” Brent said, “that flat tire bothers me. Are you absolutely certain no one knew about your relationship with George?”
“I don’t see how they could.”
“Where did you and George go, here in town?” Peter asked.
“We had dinner at that lovely Italian place up on the hill, the one with the view. George said he didn’t know anyone who ate there, and he would have said something if he saw anyone.”
“Where else?” Peter asked.
“Just here, at
the park, and my motel room. We, uh, ate a lot of carryout.”
Peter and Brent exchanged glances.
“Surely people saw you with George, here at the park?” Brent asked.
“I guess, but we never talked to anyone, we just went into the woods. We usually used that path off the parking lot so we didn’t run into many people.”
“You saw Lia in the woods.”
“Well, yes, but George just knew those people to nod at. They didn’t know anything about him. For all they knew, I was his wife.”
“You saw George Munce nowhere except your motel, this park, and one dinner at Prima Vista?” Peter asked.
Kate pressed her lips together and furrowed her brow. Her eyes widened. Peter raised his eyebrows and waited.
“I did stop by his store a few times when he was working. I can’t believe anyone there knew there was anything between us.”
Peter mentally rolled his eyes. Only the entire staff, he thought. Whether they admit it or not.
“Did he ever call you from work?”
“Yes, most evenings.”
“Ms. Onstad, we’re done for now, but I do have a favor to ask of you before you go.”
“Yes?”
“Will you let us search your car?”
“Will that help your investigation?”
“It will help us rule you out as a person of interest.”
“You go right ahead, then.”
~
Peter didn’t know what he was looking for. Mostly, he wanted to gauge Kate Onstad’s reaction to having her car searched. He stood with her at the rear of the Altima while Brent examined the interior. He watched as her eyes followed Brent while he riffled through her glovebox and felt under her seats. Her eyes wandered to the park. He saw the flush creep up her face when she realized the patrons had gathered at the top of the hill and were taking in the show.
“This is so embarrassing,” she said.
“It will only be a few more minutes.”
Brent backed out of the car and shook his head. “The inside is clean.”
“Open the trunk,” Peter said.
Brent reached in and popped the latch. Peter pulled the lid up.
~ ~ ~
Lia, Terry and Bailey stood among the watchers as Brent closed the trunk and Peter pulled the woman’s hands behind her back and handcuffed her wrists.
“What do you suppose was in the trunk?” Bailey asked.
“Perhaps she kept a bone as a souvenir,” Terry offered. “A tooth she could have made into a key ring. A finger she could enshrine in a reliquary. A tibia to use as a–”
“Stop being so gruesome,” Lia admonished.
“She seemed so harmless,” Bailey said. “Did you see the look on her face? I don’t think she knew there was anything in her trunk.”
“It does beg the question,” Terry said. “I don’t imagine they had a search warrant, so why would she allow them to open her trunk? A guilty conscience, perhaps?”
“I’m with Bailey,” Lia said. “Whatever was in that trunk, I don’t think she had a clue it was there. This feels wrong.”
~ ~ ~
“You should have seen her,” Lia told Renee as she adjusted the settings on the camcorder. “She looked like she should be selling cookies at her church bazaar. Then they searched her car, and Peter and Brent just handcuffed her and hauled her off like her trunk was full of dead babies.”
She looked up, checked the direction of the sun against the placement of the agility jump in the park Renee called a yard. Renee and her perfectly groomed Collie, Dakini, waited on the far side of the jump. “Okay, I’m ready. We’re rolling. Go!”
Renee took Dakini over the hurdle several times. Lia zoomed in on the jump and recorded the Collie from the front, hoping to catch exhilaration on Dakini’s face. Lia then moved off to the left and recorded several more jumps from an angle. Finally she shot the jumps from the side, tracking the graceful dog as she soared effortlessly through the air. “Okay, that’s enough. Let me check the file to make sure I got enough source material.”
“Source material,” Renee commented. “That’s a fancy phrase for taking movies of my dog. How do you plan to use the footage?” Renee Solomon was a fit brunette with a glossy, spiraling bob. She and her husband, Harry, had worked their way up from blue-collar roots. She was an enthusiastic woman who both appreciated and enjoyed her wealth, and managed to do so without arousing enmity. Lia adored her.
“I’ll run the digital file through the film editor on my Mac. I’ll be able to click through, frame by frame to catch the perfect shot of Dakini in motion. I’ll export it as a still and use that to paint from. The quality of the photo won’t be great, but it’s much more certain than attempting to catch her at the perfect moment while shooting stills.”
“When I commissioned a portrait, I thought you’d just have her sitting pretty. I didn’t think we’d be doing all this.”
“Wait until you see the stills I pull. They’ll be very dynamic. This will really energize your den. That is where you’re going to put this, isn’t it? I can see it over the mantel. Dakini’s coloring will fit so well with your fieldstone fireplace.”
“That’s what I love about you, Lia. You don’t just give me what I ask for. You give me what I never knew I wanted. Let’s go inside and you can see the den. I’ll call Esmerelda. I think we could use something to drink after all that exercise.”
Something turned out to include iced pomegranate tea for Lia and Renee and a bowl of water for Dakini. The dog sprawled on the sofa with her head on Renee’s knee. Renee stroked Dakini as she and Lia huddled over the camera’s tiny screen.
“Is this okay?” Lia asked. “We could upload it into your computer. You’d be able to see it better that way.”
“This is fine for now. Aw, look at my baby,” Renee cooed. “Isn’t she gorgeous? I love how her fur is flying. How did you ever come up with this?”
“I saw how excited Max was when she jumped the fence the other day. Then I remembered that Dakini had her mach in agility. I thought it might be more fun than the usual pet portrait.”
“I’m thinking you thought right. Are you going to paint all of her, or just her face?”
“I don’t know yet. I want to take a couple pictures of this space, think about what size and scale would work best here. If we go large and just do the face, you might feel like you’ve got ‘Oz the Great and Powerful’ staring down at you. You ever been in the same room with a Chuck Close?” Lia asked, referring to an artist famous for oversized faces.
“I see what you mean. Still, this room is big enough that it might work just fine. I’m going to leave the details up to you. You did such a wonderful job with our last project that I think I’ll just step out of your way.
“Enough about business,” Renee continued. “I want gossip. Must have been something awful interesting in that trunk. What do you suppose it was? Surely not dead babies.”
“I have no idea. Unless it was a big sign that had ‘I killed George Munce’ written on it in blood.”
“You sound like you’re not happy with Peter right now.”
“I’m not. I’m the reason he arrested her. I just thought he wanted to talk to her. I let Peter know she was there. I even had Jim block her in so she couldn’t leave.”
“Didn’t you say Peter already knew where she was staying? It would have happened anyway, don’t you think?”
“True, but I wouldn’t have been involved. She was so shocked when they popped that trunk. I can’t believe she did anything wrong. Viola liked her. Viola’s very picky. She wouldn’t like a criminal.”
“Maybe not. If it’s a mistake, they’ll release her soon enough. Poor woman. I wonder . . .” Renee looked over at her garage. “If they let her go, I imagine they won’t want her to leave town right away. I doubt she’ll want to be stuck in that motel where anyone could come knocking on the door. I’ve got that little apartment over the garage. Think she’d like to stay here?”
/> “You just want to get all the dirt first, but she’d be foolish to pass up the offer. Aren’t you concerned about taking a possible killer into your home? You’ve only got my say so that she’s harmless.”
“Yours and Viola’s. I trust animals more than I trust people, in most situations. Besides, if she is guilty of something, I suspect she’d be on her best behavior while everyone’s got their eyes on her.
“Tell you what.” She said, reaching down to stroke her beloved darling’s head. “I’ll have a lawyer look into the situation, and she can make the offer if she thinks it’s okay. Then, if Dakini doesn’t like her, I’ll make some excuse and put her up in some hotel. My girl wouldn’t let anyone near me who was dangerous.”
“What’s Harry going to think? Peter won’t like it, either.”
“Esmerelda’s going to like it even less. They’ll just have to put on their big girl panties and deal with it. It doesn’t hurt that Harry’s out of town this week, even if he is used to my little adventures. I’m thinking, the less everyone else knows, the better. I’m going to make a quick call to Martha Culler. She’s a criminal attorney, a good one. I’m sure that poor woman could use some counsel.” Dakini got up and followed her mistress out of the room.
Lia hoped Esmerelda wouldn’t blame her for the incursion of a stranger. The cook might wind up putting ground glass in her next omelet.
~ ~ ~
Peter strode through the door to Lia’s apartment and plopped down on the couch. He leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling, saying nothing.
“Um, hello to you, too?” Lia said, sill holding the door.
Viola jumped at Peter in a fruitless bid for attention. Finally, Lia shook her head and, realizing the door was still open, shut it.
“I don’t know why I’m letting you in if this is the way you’re going to be. Shall I just ignore you and go about my business, or am I supposed to fetch you a beer like a good little woman and go back to the kitchen where I belong?”
“Sorry, Babe. It’s been one hellaciously long, frustrating day.”
Maximum Security (A Dog Park Mystery) Page 7
