“Sorry about that. Go back to bed. I promise I’ll be quiet.”
He rejected that suggestion with a frustrated wave. “Forget it. I’m up now,” he said, heading for the kitchen.
“I made some coffee. Can I get you a cup?” I chirped, hobbling along. In the kitchen, I pointed him to a chair, grabbed a mug from the cupboard and poured.
He dropped into the chair, took a few gulps, and his scowl melted slightly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap your head off. I’m not much of a morning person.”
“So I noticed.”
He smiled sheepishly. “Was that fax from David by any chance?”
“No.” I grinned. “Even better. My agent in Charlotte has rented out my condo. She sent me a copy of the lease.”
He got up, went over to Winston, picked up his water bowl and filled it. Winston opened one bleary eye and closed it again. “Good for you—one less worry on your mind.” He returned to the table. “Judging from the way you were jumping around when I came down, I’m guessing that she rented it for a decent price?”
I tapped a finger on the lease, which I’d purposely left in plain sight in the middle of the table. I always was a bit of a show-off. “See for yourself.”
He picked it up and scanned it. I could tell exactly when he reached the dollar amount by the way his eyes suddenly widened. “Am I reading this right? She got you three thousand dollars a month?”
“She sure did,” I said, grinning.
His eyebrows jumped up. “Hey, good for you, kiddo. For that kind of money, I’d consider moving out and renting my house too.”
I smiled sweetly. “Eh, sorry, Matthew, but I doubt any big-shot executive will be transferring to Briar Hollow anytime soon.”
He chuckled. “You might have a point there.” He planted his hands on his hips and looked at Winston, who hadn’t stirred since he’d plopped down there after my phone call.
“Has Winston been out yet?” I shook my head, and he said, “Let’s go, big fellow.” Winston jumped up, instantly alert. Matthew got the leash and clipped it onto his collar.
“Don’t you want something to eat first?” I asked, watching him walk toward the front door.
“I’ll grab a bite along the way,” he called over his shoulder.
“On your way where?” I yelled, but the door had already swung shut. The phone rang again. This place was usually so quiet. Lately, it was turning into Grand Central Station.
“Hello,” I said into the phone, half expecting it to be Samantha calling to tell me the client had backed out.
“I can’t find it. It’s gone,” a voice wailed. Who the heck was this? I had no idea. That meant, I guessed, that I was supposed to recognize the voice—only I didn’t. “If you tell anyone about that threat I made against him, the police will be sure I killed him.”
“Marnie? Is that you?”
Disregarding my question, she added, “I looked everywhere and I can’t find it. Somebody must have stolen it.”
“What are you talking about? What’s missing?”
“My gun! It’s gone.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s plain enough English! What is it you don’t understand?” she snapped back.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what you’re talking about. You had a gun and it’s missing?”
“I’m sorry, Della. I shouldn’t have made that crack. I’m just so worried.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. I strained to hear. “After that comment I made—you know, the one about killing him—what if it turns out that he was killed with my gun?”
I was mute with shock.
“Did you hear what I just said?” asked Marnie plaintively.
“Yes, yes, I did,” I said, gathering my thoughts. “When was the last time you saw it?”
“I—I can’t remember.” She sounded so frightened, and rightly so, considering the situation. “Do you mind if I come over? I’m just such a mess. I don’t want to be alone right now.”
“Sure, come on. I’ve just made a pot of coffee.”
• • •
The front door opened and closed. “I’m in the kitchen,” I called out, grabbing my crutches. To my surprise it wasn’t Marnie but Matthew who walked in, carrying a bag of groceries and looking solemn.
“That was fast. Where did you—” I stopped short. Behind him was Mike Davis, in uniform, his mouth set in a grim line. My heart dropped.
“Della,” Matthew said, setting the bag on the counter to unclip Winston’s leash, “Mike wants to ask you a few questions.”
Oh, shit. How could Matthew have done this without telling me first? I smiled tentatively. “Hello, Officer. Can I get you a cup of coffee?”
He looked back at me with that same intensity I’d noticed before, without bothering to so much as nod or smile hello. This was the man who had broken Jenny’s heart? I so didn’t like him. He was as stern and cold as she was sunny and cheerful. To each his own, as they say.
“I guess Matthew told you about my little visit to David’s house,” I said, faking confidence in the face of the hell awaiting me. I would rather have died than let on how nervous I really was. “Have a seat.” I pulled out a chair, but again he ignored my offer, remaining in the doorway, glowering at me. Well, if he didn’t want it that was fine by me. I propped my crutches against the wall and plopped down in the chair myself. I flashed him a smile.
Mike studied me as if trying to decide whether to strangle me or boil me in oil. How much trouble was I really in? He couldn’t arrest me, could he? I took a sip of my coffee, feigning nonchalance as I squelched a feeling of dread.
He crossed his arms and said, “What you did was unconscionable. You know that, don’t you? You tampered with evidence.”
I swallowed hard. “I’m sorry,” I said with as much sincerity as I could muster. I had apologized plenty for that yesterday and was getting pretty tired of it. “Matthew already pointed that out to me.” I glanced at him as I spoke, throwing him a furious look. His mouth was still set in a straight line. I turned back to Mike Davis. “How was I supposed to know I shouldn’t go there? Besides, all I did was take that one tiny little piece of yarn.”
This didn’t make Officer Davis look any happier. He frowned and said, “David Swanson is a murder suspect. A forensic examination of his front yard could have given us enough information to prove his innocence.” I couldn’t help but notice that he’d said, “prove his innocence.” Did that mean Mike Davis believed David’s story? He went on. “But now that you’ve trampled all over the place, whatever evidence might still be there has been compromised.”
I was about to apologize again, but then remembered that the best defense is a good offense. “There was no yellow crime scene tape anywhere. What am I supposed to do? Stop going places in case they turn out to be crime scenes?” Okay, that last little bit was maybe pushing it, but to my surprise, Mike Davis dropped his scowl.
Looking down at my one good foot, he said, “Is that what you were wearing when you went traipsing all over Swanson’s front yard?”
I shook my head. “Yes and no. I was wearing a running shoe on my right foot, but the same bandage on my left foot.”
He gave me a tight smile that told me he didn’t find my sarcasm the least bit amusing. “Would you please get that running shoe for me?” He glanced at my crutches. “Or, if you prefer, tell me where it is and I’ll go get it myself.”
“Don’t bother. I can do it,” I said, and then added, “Do you want the bandage too?”
He rolled his eyes at me, exasperated. Turning to Matthew he said, “Do you mind if I use the bathroom?”
This was obviously a ploy to follow me. I bit back a sharp retort. What did he think I would do? Jump out the window and hobble away? I hoofed it upstairs in a huff, stepped into my room and turned to give him a dirty look. But to my surprise, he
had disappeared into the washroom. So he did need to go to the bathroom. Why was I getting so paranoid? Hah! After my experience last year, a person would be nuts not to be paranoid.
When Mike returned to the kitchen, I handed him my running shoe, and as he reached to take it, I smelled that same odd odor I’d noticed on him yesterday. And then it hit me. It was the same smell I’d noticed on Joan Douglas, the neonatal nurse—cheap cologne and mothballs. How very strange! Could he and Joan be involved with each other? I wondered how Jenny would react to that.
Mike took my shoe and dropped it into an evidence bag. “I’ll get this back to you as soon as I can.” He closed the bag, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “of all the stupid things to do.” He added firmly, “Don’t ever let me catch you doing something like that again.”
“I won’t. I promise,” I said, biting back my frustration. My tongue was getting sore from so much biting.
Mike gave me a curt nod, turned to Matthew and said, “Thanks for the heads-up. I’ll see you around.” And then he left.
The front door opened and closed. I planted my hands on my hips and glared at Matthew as he walked back into the kitchen.
“You told on me?” I sputtered. “Why’d you go and do that?”
He gave me an apologetic smile. “Did it ever occur to you that you could have incriminated yourself by going there?”
I frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“It was just a matter of time before the cops combed the place for evidence. If they’d found anything indicating that you had tampered with evidence, you could have found yourself in a heap of trouble. They might think you did it to protect David—accessory after the fact. Or,” he continued, his eyes lighting up as he imagined another possibility, “they might have thought you were the one who attacked him. I figured it was better to establish the facts. I didn’t tell you ahead of time because I didn’t want you to lose sleep over it.”
“That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard. Why would anybody think I would attack David?”
He raised his eyebrows. “You and David have been getting pretty chummy lately. Some people might think that you liked him enough to cover for him.”
Before I could give him a piece of my mind, the doorbell rang.
“This place is turning into Grand Central Station. Maybe your condo wasn’t such a bad place to write after all,” he grumbled, heading for the front door.
Seconds later he reappeared, followed by Marnie, who wore a dress that looked suspiciously like old-fashioned blue chintz curtains. The blue of her eye shadow exactly matched the cornflowers in the print. “Why were the police here?” she asked, sounding falsely casual under the furious glance she threw my way.
“Mike is a friend of mine,” said Matthew over his shoulder as he opened the cupboard. “He stops by to chat once in a while,” he added, being surprisingly discreet—discretion he should have used toward me, as far as I was concerned. “Would you like a cup of coffee, Marnie?” he asked.
“Don’t mind if I do,” she replied, the scowl on her face softening only slightly. She pulled out a chair and then mouthed something silently, nodding toward Matthew.
I answered with a small head shake, and she brought a hand to her heart in relief.
Matthew set two cups of coffee on the table and said, “I’ll go take a shower and let you ladies chat. I’m sure Della will tell you all about her exciting day yesterday.”
The minute she heard him on the stairs, Marnie whispered, “You’re sure you didn’t tell him about the gun?”
“Of course I didn’t.”
“Thank God,” she replied, collapsing against the back of her chair. “I thought I was going to pass out when I saw Mike Davis walk into your house.”
“Have you been waiting out there all that time?”
Her eyes grew wide. “I wasn’t about to come in without knowing why he was here. You could have told him about my missing gun.” She shrugged apologetically. “And he could have been here to arrest me.”
“Don’t be silly. I would never do that. As a matter of fact, he came over to give me a speech.” I explained about my little investigation of the previous day. But instead of making Marnie feel better, all my story did was excite her more.
“If the police eliminate David as a suspect, then they’re sure to come after me,” she said, tears hovering on her lashes.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Do you really believe you and David are the only people in town with a grudge against Jeremy?”
She shrugged. “You might have a point,” she admitted.
I leaned forward. “Tell me about the gun.”
“I’ve had that gun for years. Jimmy—that’s my ex-husband—he bought it for me when we moved to the city ages ago. After we moved back, I always kept it in a shoebox in the back of my closet. I haven’t even thought about it since then. But when I heard that Jeremy Fox was dead, I went to check.” Her chin trembled. “It’s gone.” She twisted her hands nervously. “I just had to talk to someone, so I told Jenny, and she has a really bad feeling about this.”
I swallowed a chuckle. “Don’t put too much credence in Jenny’s feelings. I know she’s intuitive, but I suspect many of her ‘feelings’ might be hindsight.”
Marnie gave me a reproachful look. “I’m not so sure about that.”
There was no point in arguing about it. “When was the last time you saw it?”
She shook her head, still wringing her hands. “It’s been years. Somebody must have stolen it from my bedroom closet. Do you know how Jeremy was killed?” I shook my head. “What if he was shot? And what if my gun was the one that killed him? The police will think I did it.”
“I doubt you have anything to worry about. It would take more than just knowing you used to own a gun and that it’s gone missing. First, they’d have to know that your gun was the same caliber as the murder weapon. And I’ve watched enough Law and Order to know even that isn’t enough. They’d have to find the gun and run ballistics. What caliber was it?”
She shook her head. “It was a small gun. I’m sure Jimmy told me what the caliber was, but I can’t remember.”
I thought for a moment. “Can you make a list of everyone who had access to it?”
She furrowed her brow. “Well, there’s my ex-husband, Jimmy, of course. He moved out last summer. And then there’s Norma Fischer. I gave her a key to my place after Jim left.”
“Who’s Norma Fischer?”
She rolled her eyes. “If you think Norma took it, you can wipe that idea right out of your head,” she said forcefully. “Norma is my seventy-four-year-old neighbor. I gave her a key because I feel safer knowing someone can check on me if I get sick.” She thought hard for a few more seconds and then shook her head. “I can’t think of anybody else.” She leaned back. “But guess whose car just so happened to be parked down the street from mine all night long? David Swanson’s!”
I felt like a brick had dropped in my stomach. How close was her house to Bottoms Up? “You think David snuck into your house in the middle of the night, searched your closet and stole your gun?” I said, giving her the eyebrow.
She looked down at her hands, embarrassed. “It’s crazy, I know.”
“I think it’s way more likely that your ex took the gun when he moved out. Why don’t you give him a call?” I pushed the telephone toward her.
She took a long breath and nodded. “Maybe you’re right.” But she didn’t sound convinced. “Me and my big mouth—I just wish I hadn’t made that comment about how I’d like to kill him.”
“Don’t worry about that. Neither Jenny nor I took that seriously. That’s just the kind of thing people say when they’re angry,” I said. “Go ahead. Call him.”
“I will, as soon as I get home.” She took a long sip of coffee and seemed to relax a bit. “Thanks for
listening.” With that, she rose from her chair, rinsed her cup and saucer and put them on the drain board. “Maybe you’re right. I know I sleep soundly, but surely I would have heard something if David had come into the house in the middle of the night.” It sounded more like a question than a statement.
“And by the way,” she whispered, sitting back down, “I’ve been meaning to have a talk with you. If you’re in love with Matthew, why don’t you make a play for him?”
“What?”
She gave me a knowing smile. “Don’t bother pretending. You know what I’m talking about. Why don’t you seduce him? You’re a cute girl.” I couldn’t help noticing that she used the word “cute” rather than “beautiful.” “Don’t you know the first thing about men? You have to flirt with them, let them know that if they ask you out, you’ll say yes. I bet he has no idea how you feel about him.”
“Where in the world did you get the idea that I’m in love with him?” I whispered hoarsely.
She chuckled. “Sugar, anybody with eyes can see you’re in love with him. Every time his name is mentioned, you turn beet red. And when you two are in the same room, you can’t peel your eyes off him.”
“You’re wrong,” I said. “I like Matthew, of course. He and I have been friends forever. But I’m not in love with him.” I tried to laugh, but it came out strangled. My mind flashed to the way my body had reacted when he wrapped his arms around me. That did not mean I was in love with him—or did it?
“Anyhow,” she continued, “it’s none of my business, but if you want him, you can have him. Just remember: any man can be yours if you play your cards right.” She stood and headed for the door. “Oh,” she said, turning back to me just before walking out. “And get yourself some sexy clothes. Men like a woman in sexy clothes.” She was starting to sound like my mother.
I stared at the door long after she was gone. Surely she was wrong. Me, in love with Matthew? That was laughable. As for sexy clothes, what did she want me to wear? Zebra pants and tight tops? Not likely.
“What do you think of that, Winston?” I asked, returning to the kitchen. “She says I should dress sexy. I thought I was already pretty sexy with my fitted jeans.”
Looming Murder Page 16
