Murder on Stilettos (A Detective Joe Ezell Mystery, Book 4)

by P. J. Conn

  "Clearly the murder was no sudden impulse."

  "No, indeed. That's Sean's apartment building on the corner, and it has a parking lot. I'll park across the street where we'll have a good view of it and the rear entrance."

  "Which apartment is his?"

  "Number 3. If I can get in, I'll check where it is."

  "Better hurry."

  "Sean would stay a while at Veronica's to console her, so there should be time to scout the place."

  Joe found the front door of the brick building unlatched. Perhaps a careless resident had left, or come home, without making certain the door was locked. Whichever, it worked to his advantage. Apartment three was at the rear corner facing the parking lot. There was a rear door, but before he could reach it, he heard the front door swing open. It could have been any of the building's residents coming home, but the way his luck was running that night, it had to be Sean.

  The stairway to the second floor occupied the center of the building, and Joe quickly stepped around it to hide in front of apartment four. His navy blue suit blended into the shadows cast by the dim hallway lights.

  A woman giggled, and as she and her male companion made their way up the stairs, he whispered an urgent plea for silence. Joe waited until the sound of their footsteps receded in the upstairs hallway. The backdoor was nearest to apartment three, and he wondered whether Sean routinely used it when he came home. Even if he did, there would be more places to hide outdoors than there were in the shadowy hallway.

  The backdoor opened with a gentle touch to insure a safe emergency exit. Before Joe could run across the street to his Chevy, bright headlights swept across the building as a car pulled into the parking lot. Joe ducked, and afraid of being seen, he hurried down the alley to a conveniently placed row of trashcans. He breathed deeply to slow his thundering heart, and waited in the dark while a man used his key to open the rear door, and entered. Recognizing Sean, Joe straightened up, and after several more steadying breaths, he hurried back to his car.

  Mary Margaret was crouched behind his Chevy. She whispered, "You scared me to death! I thought Sean would catch you."

  The lights came on in apartment three. Joe had been scared too, but would never admit it. "I managed to avoid him. Where is Constance parked?"

  "Down the way where we can see the front entrance."

  Joe gave her quick kiss. "From here, we'll be able to see Sean leave his apartment and go to his car. If he drives away, we'll follow him. Let us handle this. You all don't need to stay."

  "Are you kidding?" she asked. "This is too exciting to leave. We'll stay as long as you do."

  Joe glanced at Gunnar, who shook his head. "Fine, but you must promise to follow us at a distance. If Sean notices two cars following him, he'll turn around and go back home, and our whole effort will be wasted."

  "I understand, and so will the others. Be careful." She squeezed his hand, and hurried back to Constance's convertible.

  Joe slid into his Chevy. "If Sean plans to unload evidence, he should do it soon."

  "Even if he doesn't hurry," Gunnar posed, "let's still wait."

  "That's fine with me." Joe took his camera from the glove compartment and added the flash attachment. He had extra bulbs, and slid them into his coat pockets. “If Sean does anything suspicious, I want a photo of it.”

  He’d had only a taste of the champagne at the party, and his senses were so sharp they nearly crackled. The lights soon went out in apartment three, and he used the flashlight he kept in the car to check his watch.

  "Sean barely had time to get into his pajamas and brush his teeth."

  Gunnar whispered, "Wouldn't hideous dreams of Matteo's death keep him awake long into the night?"

  "Look, a man just came out the back door." Joe reached for his car keys, but the fellow disappeared down the alley rather than enter the parking lot for his car. "He looks like Sean, but he doesn't appear to be carrying anything. Let's follow him anyway."

  Disregarding the possible danger, Gunnar and Joe darted between the shadows as they pursued Sean down the alley. He turned left at the first street, then right down the next alley. At the next street, he again turned left, and right down the alley. When he reached the large trashcans behind a twenty-four hour café, he opened one, and pulled a small sack from under his jacket.

  Joe crept close enough to get a good photo. As Sean dropped the bag into the can, he got a great shot. The flash blinded Sean, and Gunnar lurched across the distance separating them, caught his arm and shoved it behind his back to hold him with a strong grip.

  Gunnar had carried the flashlight, and shone it in Sean's face. "You're a long way from your apartment to dump your trash."

  Joe placed his camera on the ground, pulled the bag out of the can, held it up to the flashlight, and found a pair of black stilettos, one with blood smeared up the heel. He fought down a wave of nausea, and showed Gunnar what they'd found.

  "I'm surprised you kept these, Sean, but the police will be overjoyed that you did." Joe held the paper bag with two fingers as though it were contaminated, and picked up his camera.

  Rather than struggle to get away, or make any denial or excuse, Sean remained silent, and stared at them with a cold, menacing gaze.

  "Let's go into the café, call the police, and have a cup of coffee while we wait for them to arrive," Joe suggested.

  Gunnar marched Sean through the back door, and into the nearest booth. Joe called the police from the public telephone in the hallway. His hands were shaking so badly, he needed a couple of tries. It was a shame Detective Lynch wouldn't be on duty at that late hour, but he'd hear about the arrest tomorrow, a Thanksgiving present.

  Joe didn't recognize either of the officers who arrived with their siren blaring, but they were well-aware of the search for Matteo da Milano's killer. After a quick glance at the deadly pair of stilettos, they arrested Sean and handcuffed him. They searched him and found what appeared to be a multiple blade pocketknife, until opened.

  "Aren't these lock picks?" one officer asked.

  "They sure are," his partner replied. "Are you a locksmith? We sure don't want you escaping a cell tonight."

  Sean ignored their attempt at humor.

  Joe and Gunnar stood on the sidewalk and watched them drive away with Sean, and the gruesome bag of evidence, again with a siren accompaniment.

  "What will happen next?" the Norwegian asked.

  "Sean owns a very expensive cello, so he should be able to make bail, if a judge grants one. However, I doubt he'll turn up for rehearsal on Friday."

  "He wouldn't dare, and now the Philharmonic is short two cellists," the conductor remarked with a frustrated sigh. "Veronica gave me Matteo's Stradivarius for safekeeping, and I'd hoped to find someone worthy of it. I don't suppose you play the cello?"

  Joe turned for the return walk to his car, and they'd use the streets rather than alleys. "No, sorry, I don't. Aren't there excellent cellists clamoring to be in the orchestra?"

  "Of course, a great many, but none will ever be as fine at Matteo da Milano."

  "They'll still be able to play the right notes, won't they?"

  "Yes, but that is the minimum expected. Do you suppose the women gave up and went home?"

  "I sincerely doubt it." He was right.

  * * *

  "We heard sirens, and when we found no one in your car, we were afraid you two had been arrested," Mary Margaret exclaimed.

  Joe took her hand to pull her close. "If you'll promise to listen without interrupting, we'll give you the news."

  Constance, Paloma, Mary Margaret, and her mother all regarded him with an impatience stare. Rather than tease them with a long-winded version, he came right to the point.

  "We caught Sean dumping the bloody stilettos in a trashcan behind an all-night café. He's been arrested, and with a bag of gory evidence, he can't deny any knowledge of the crime. He also had a set of lock picks on him, which answers how he took Veronica's furs."

  "Now I und
erstand what Mary Margaret sees in you, Joe," Matilda enthused. "I'm very impressed as well."

  Joe didn't know which was more exciting, catching a murderer, or being praised by his future mother-in-law. "Thank you, Mrs. McBride."

  "Please call me Matilda."

  "Thank you, Matilda, I will."

  "What about Veronica?" Paloma asked. "That Sean killed her beloved husband will be doubly difficult to bear. What's going to happen to her?"

  "I'll call on her early tomorrow morning," Constance offered. "I'll bring her home to celebrate Thanksgiving with us so she won't be alone."

  "That's very kind of you," Gunnar complimented. "Morning will come soon, why don't we switch cars and go home."

  Mary Margaret, Matilda and Paloma climbed into Joe's car, and Gunnar left with Constance. The women were still so excited they talked all at once, but Joe didn't mind at all. He drove Paloma home, and then headed for the Chrysanthemum Court.

  * * *

  Thanksgiving morning, Joe got up early to dress and make coffee. He fully expected Detective Lynch to come pounding on his door before nine. He was there at eight thirty.

  "I've just made coffee. Would you like some?"

  "No, of course not. Yesterday, we found a fur coat and hat at a Salvation Army thrift shop. Veronica da Milano's initials were embroidered on the satin lining. I'd planned to call her in today, but now that Sean Dermot has been arrested, I'll wait until he confesses to speak with her."

  Joe waited to hear a word of thanks for his part in Sean's arrest, but Lynch ended his report without issuing a single particle of gratitude. "Sean isn't the talkative sort, and you may have a long wait. I have a photo I'll have developed tomorrow and send over."

  "Bring it with you when you come in to write a statement."

  "I'll include every detail," Joe promised. He'd type it up in his office while Pete developed the film.

  "Be sure you do."

  Joe opened the door for him. "Happy Thanksgiving." He loved the way the detective flinched as though he'd cursed him, and wished he'd gotten a photo of that.

  * * *

  The residents of Chrysanthemum Court divided up the tasks for holidays. Phyllis and John Cameron baked the Thanksgiving turkey and made gravy. Daniel and Polly Hill, parents of a new baby girl, made mashed potatoes. Patrick Wood provided the cranberry sauce. Mary Margaret and her mother baked pumpkin and mincemeat pies. Luke Hatcher brought sweet potatoes. The bankers, Tim and Barbara Garcia in cottage six, brought freshly baked rolls, and butter. Joe arrived with the olives, carrot and celery sticks Mary Margaret had not wanted forgotten.

  Blessed with warm weather that afternoon, tables and chairs were set up on the lawn in the center of the facing cottages. The edges of the tablecloths stirred lightly in the gentle breeze. John had carved the turkey in their cottage kitchen, and brought it to the table ready to serve. The tables were soon filled with the other flavorful dishes. Luke gave a brief blessing, and everyone whispered so as not to wake the baby, Catherine Elizabeth. She slept through the whole delicious meal.

  Joe was still running on last night's adrenaline, and had to remind himself to slow down rather than choke on a carrot and embarrass himself as well as Mary Margaret. Matilda smiled each time she looked his way. Patrick Wood had taken the chair beside her, and they found much in common to discuss. In many ways, it was a perfect day.

  "You're awfully quiet." Mary Margaret leaned close. "Did you get any sleep last night?"

  "Not much, but I'm fine. How about you?"

  "Mother and I were too excited to sleep more than a few hours. I can't help but worry about Veronica. She was already so deeply unhappy, I doubt she could feel any worse, but she was close to Sean, and must feel doubly betrayed."

  "Constance said she'd take care of her. Let's trust her to do so."

  "Ah yes, Constance. We still need to have a long talk about her."

  Not feeling a bit of guilt, Joe shrugged slightly. "She apparently has near limitless wealth, and energy, and wears a ghastly perfume. That's the whole story," he swore.

  "That's unlikely," Mary Margaret countered.

  "It's the absolutely truth. Would you please pass the mashed potatoes?"

  She passed the bowl. "I can't help but feel you owe me a lot more."

  Joe had been waiting for this moment and responded with a warm smile. "I have an autographed photo of Thalia Dupré for you."

  "You don't!"

  "Yes, I do."

  She hugged him, and he hoped to keep her in such a happy mood until their wedding, and then, long afterward. They'd take Matilda to Union Station tomorrow morning, and wish her a pleasant train trip home. Life would be back to normal then.

  He hoped for a busy, but uneventful December. He'd finish studying the wedding book, and do his best to avoid getting a black eye right before their wedding. How difficult could that be?

  The End

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  Want more from Phoebe Conn?

  Here's an excerpt from

  EYE FOR MURDER

  A Detective Joe Ezell Mystery

  Book Five

  ~

  Los Angeles, December 1947

  Joe Ezell whistled Santa Claus Is Coming To Town, as he left Discreet Investigations for the day. He loved the joy of the holiday season, and waved to the clerk placing a sprig of holly in the corner drug store window. He waited for the light to cross the street, and smiled at the young woman cradling a baby in her arms standing beside him.

  "This will be his first Christmas," she said. "That's obvious, isn't it?"

  Joe laughed with her. As the light changed, she stepped off the curb into the crosswalk just ahead of him. He turned at the sound of a revving engine, saw a Studebaker about to blaze through the red light, and grabbed for her. All he caught was the blanket wrapped infant before she was struck with a sickening thud and tossed like a ragdoll into the air.

  The man driving the gray Studebaker roared through the intersection and was gone as fast as he'd appeared. Jerked from his mother's arms, the terrified baby looked up at Joe, began to scream, and it was all the detective could do not to scream with him.

  Dr. William Raymond, the pharmacist from the drug store rushed to the battered young woman's aid. Cars entering the intersection screeched to a halt, with more than one hit from behind by a driver who was unaware of the horror laying just ahead.

  Badly shaken, Joe carried the frightened baby into the drug store and sat down on a stool at the counter to rock him. The clerks had left their posts to go out on the sidewalk, and many were crying. An ambulance's wailing siren could be heard approaching, but Joe doubted the young mother could possibly have survived.

  Sick clear through, he went to the pay telephone to call his fiancée, Mary Margaret McBride. "I need you to take the bus and come down to my office right away. I'll tell you why when you get here."

  "I can hear a baby crying, has there been an accident?"

  Joe knew what he'd seen. The driver of the Studebaker had plowed through the intersection, his head down, his shoulders hunched, and his intent clear.

  "No, there's been a murder."

  ~

  To purchase

  Eye For Murder

  from your favorite eBook Retailer,

  visit P.J. Conn's eBook Discovery Author Page

  http://www.ebookdiscovery.com/PJconn

  ~

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  Meet the Author

  Always a passionate lover of books,
this New York Times bestselling author first answered a call to write in the 1980s and swiftly embarked on her own mythic journey. MURDER ON STILETTOS, the fourth book in her Joe Ezell Mystery series, written as P. J., is her forty-sixth release. With more than seven million copies in print of her historical, contemporary and futuristic books written under her own name as well as her pseudonyms, Cinnamon Burke, and P. J. Conn, she is as enthusiastic as ever about writing.

  A native Californian, Phoebe attended the University of Arizona and California State University at Los Angeles where she earned a BA in Art History and an MA in Education. Her books have won Romantic Times Reviewer’s Choice Awards and a nomination for Storyteller of the Year. Her futuristic, STARFIRE RISING, won a RomCom award as best Futuristic Romance of the year. She is a member of Romance Writers of America, Novelists Inc. and Sisters in Crime.

  She is the proud mother of two grown sons and two adorable grandchildren, who love to have her read to them.

  You can contact Phoebe through her publisher at PhoebeConn@epublishingworks.com