Witness to Murder

by Jill Elizabeth Nelson

  “I don’t see how you can resist that dimple.” Jenna’s elbow found Hallie’s ribs.

  “Says the woman intrigued by my cameraman’s food fixation.”

  They all snickered, then Sam stuffed her napkin into her foam cup and sat back. “The media is crucifying Damon since the murder was so gruesome. Even WDJN is in the act.”

  “Vince Graham, our crime reporter, is as positive as I am about Damon’s guilt.”

  “What about objectivity in the media?” Jenna tapped the tabletop with a pointed finger.

  Hallie curled her lip. “That’s the ideal, but seldom the reality. But the hype has probably had an unintended negative affect on my personal life. I seem to have attracted unwanted attention as the sole witness to the crime.”

  Jenna’s eyes widened. “How ironic! The media’s hounding you.”

  “Not that so much.” Hallie told them about the curtain tie, the scarf-snatching and the note on Brody’s windshield. Her friends were glowering at her by the time she finished her account.

  “Woman,” Sam said, “you’d better start checking in with us several times a day, or we’re going to go bonkers worrying about you.”

  “That goes double for me.” Jenna jerked a nod.

  Hallie rolled her eyes. “You and Brody are trying to gang up on me. The police are aware of events. If someone even sneezes funny in my vicinity, I’ll report it. I promise.” She got up and tossed her empty cup and paper plate into the trash then turned and yawned and stretched. “I’m beat. If you’re determined to look after me, why don’t you walk me to my car?”

  They left the coffee shop, and Hallie’s friends took up positions on either side of her. She laughed and hooked her elbows around their arms as they strolled toward her vehicle in the nearly deserted parking lot. “I feel like I should start singing, ‘We’re Off to See the Wizard.’”

  “Why don’t we?” Sam started the tune in her sweet soprano.

  Between sputtered chuckles, Hallie added her alto, and Jenna chimed in off-key but enthusiastically. They reached the Honda parked by itself under the pale glow of a light.

  Hallie suddenly stopped mid-word and let out a yelp. Her feet rooted to the pavement and a chill coursed through her veins. Her friends’ voices trailed off beside her.

  She stabbed a finger toward wicked gashes in the side of her car. “Somebody keyed my paint!”

  “That’s not all they did.” Sam’s voice came out a high squeak.

  Hallie followed the direction of her pointing finger. At the sight of the bloody body on her windshield, a scream ripped through her throat, echoed by her friends.

  TWELVE

  The sound of his cell phone dragged Brody out of a doze on the couch. He sat up with a groan, and ran his fingers through his hair. What did a guy have to do to get a little shut-eye? He’d just lain down. The phone went on with its ringtone, and he picked up the offending instrument. The number on the caller ID looked only vaguely familiar.

  “’Lo.” The abbreviated greeting came out thick and grouchy.

  “Brody Jordan, you had better get a rein on your protégé quick, fast, and in a hurry!”

  The feminine snarl on the other end of the connection brought him fully awake. “Hallie?”

  A muffled noise like a suppressed sob answered him. He heard the sound of excited voices talking in the background and then came the squawk of a two-way radio like in a police car. His pulse spiked, and he scooted to the edge of the couch. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

  “I’m all right. My car’s not.”

  “You had an accident.” He shot to his feet. “Where are you? I’m on my way.”

  “This was no accident. Somebody gashed the driver’s side of my car with a sharp object, probably a key, while I was at my bridesmaid’s gown fitting with Jenna and Sam. They also left a gruesome gift plastered across my windshield—a dead squirrel. Flat as a pancake. Probably roadkill, but whoever did this thing smeared the guts all over the glass.” Her voice broke at the end of the sentence. “It was…horrible!”

  “What?” The word came out a muted bellow. “That stalker found you at a bridal shop? And now he’s raised the ante by taunting you with dead animals. This is getting way serious, Hallie.” He started pacing the carpet.

  “What makes you think the stalker did it? There’s no note this time, just malice pure and simple. That spells Damon to me.”

  “You think Damon did it? That’s impossible.” He stopped pacing. “I’m not at home. I’ve been with him all evening, and he never left the house.”

  The man in question wandered into the room from the kitchen with a bowl of popcorn in his hand. “Who’s on the phone?”

  Brody held up a forestalling hand and turned away. “Give me the address, and I’ll be there as quick as I can.”

  A deep sigh met his ears. “There’s no point in you making the trip. The police are about done here. My friends will help me clean up the car, and then I’ll drive straight home. We’ll be gone before you could make it.”

  “Not without me on your tail, you won’t. So wait right there with your friends.”

  “Why don’t I just see if one of these nice officers will follow me home?”

  Brody grunted. Why did he feel disappointed that she’d turned down his help? “Let me talk to the officer in charge, then.”

  “Why? So you can assure her that your pet boy was a homebody tonight?”

  He did a mental ten-count. Hallie might not be the prima donna he’d assumed, but she could still be aggravating as all get-out. “Your leap to conclusion wasn’t my first concern, but if she wants to ask me about him, I’ll tell her. So humor me, and let me speak to the officer.”

  “Oh, o-okay.” The broken, deflated answer sucked the wind out of his annoyance. She tried to put on a good front, but she must be scared stiff after something like this. No wonder she was slinging accusations.

  “Hey, hang in there, Hallie. We’re going to catch whoever’s doing these things.”

  “I’m counting on it, Jordan.”

  He smiled. That sounded more like his Hallie.

  The jumble of voices and radio static grew louder. Faintly, he heard Hallie informing someone that Damon Lange had been snug at home with another person all evening.

  “Detective Millette. You wished to speak to me?”

  “Brody Jordan. Remember me?”

  “I certainly do, sir.”

  “I hope you people are going to take this matter seriously. Chances are excellent that this was not a random occurrence.”

  “Mr. Jordan, we always regard stalking as a serious issue, but we can only go where the evidence leads. We cannot enforce a restraining order on a phantom or arrest thin air.”

  Brody suppressed a growl. “I understand your point, but she needs protection. Aren’t the police supposed to protect and defend?”

  A few heartbeats of silence passed then Millette released an audible breath. “Ideally, I agree with you, but unfortunately, we don’t have the manpower to assign an officer to everyone who may potentially be the target of a criminal. That’s the reality.”

  “So you have to wait until after someone is assaulted in order to assign personnel?” His tone raised several decibels.

  “Settle down now, sir. We have investigators on the criminal activities of theft and property damage. However, leaving a leaflet on your window isn’t a crime. But, hopefully, we’ll catch this guy before he escalates to harming Ms. Berglund.”

  Brody’s heart tripped over itself. Sure, he’d known the risk was there, but hearing it spoken so matter-of-factly by this officer of the law shot ice into his core. If anything happened to Hallie, he’d—what? So, he’d watched her from afar for three years, but they’d only spent significant time together in the last couple of days. Was he that easily snared by a pair of big brown eyes? “Excuse me. What did you say?” He’d missed a comment by the detective.

  “I assured you we’d make sure Ms. Berglund got home safely ton
ight.”

  Brody cleared his throat. “I’ll count on that then. Thank you. Could I speak to her again?”

  Dead air lasted a second or two. “Hi.” Hallie’s voice sounded gentle and a little shy. “I heard most of that. You have quite the lung power when you’re riled.”

  “Yeah, well, I shouldn’t have been such a hard case with the detective. She’s doing her job the best she can.”

  “Speaking of jobs, I still have mine to do. Now, before you launch into the lecture,” Hallie let out a small laugh, “I promise to take the skyway to work and walk over in a group of people I know from my building. I can’t just hunker down in my apartment. This guy is not going to run my life. I should be perfectly safe at the station, and when I’m out, I’m generally with Stan.”

  Brody snorted. “Like he’d pose a threat to a gnat.”

  She giggled—a lovely sound to Brody’s ears. “He could always slug someone with Norman.”

  A reluctant smile spread his lips. “There’s always that. Do you still want to take another run at the Draytons tomorrow?”

  “You know it…and, Brody?”

  “What?”

  “Thanks for caring.” She broke the connection.

  Brody pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at the screen like he could reach out and touch Hallie through it. If only.

  “Was that the Berglund woman?” The question was accompanied by the crunch of kernels. Damon had taken a perch on the arm of an easy chair where he held a fistful of popcorn close to his mouth. His long legs had no trouble reaching the floor from that height.

  Brody flopped back against the couch. “Hallie Berglund, yes.”

  Damon’s eyes narrowed. “So what’s she trying to pin on me now?”

  “Considering her opinion of you and the threat she poses to your freedom, she decided you must be the culprit who keyed the side of her Honda and left a roadkill present on her windshield.”

  “You make her accusation sound almost logical.” Sparks lit Damon’s pale blue eyes. “You’ve got a thing for her, haven’t you? Should I wonder whose side you’re on?”

  Brody fixed the young man with a stern gaze. “Give the paranoia a rest, will you? When have I not been on your side?”

  “Do you blame me for the thought? I’m looking at a murder trial.” He rose and plunked the half-full bowl of popcorn onto the glass-topped coffee table. “My Alicia’s dead, and rather than look for the real killer, they want to convict the only man who truly loved her.” Muscles in Damon’s jaw knotted.

  “Relax. Finish your popcorn. Going ballistic tonight will not help.” Brody sat up and took a handful of kernels. “I know the situation bites, but believe it or not, Hallie’s helping me investigate behind the scenes. She’s an honest reporter. If she finds something that exonerates you, she’ll say so.”

  Damon wilted into the easy chair and propped his forehead on his hands, fingers buried in his thick blond hair. “I hope you’re right.” He lifted his head, gaze weary. “You’ve got it tough, too, man. Googly-eyed over the woman whose testimony could blow up years of your effort and sweat—me.” He jerked a thumb at his chest.

  Brody stopped chewing. “I’m not gaga over Hallie Berglund. She’s a fascinating woman, that’s all.”

  “Suuure.” Snickering, Damon reclaimed his bowl of popcorn.

  Brody stood and stalked toward the door. “Since you’re all settled in here, I’m going home to get some rest.” He turned with his hand on the knob. “I’ll pick you up in the morning for our strategy meeting with your lawyer.”

  “I’ll be here.” A sly grin drove the shadows from his young face. “Give my regards to Hallie…er, on second thought, maybe you’d better not mention me. Spoil the romance, you know.”

  Damon’s smug cackles chased Brody out the door.

  The next day passed in a blur for Hallie, as in-house tasks claimed her time. Hopefully, no one noticed she was only half tuned in to her work. Images of her damaged car, the tiny battered body on her windshield, Damon Lange’s furious face as he raised the murder weapon in her direction, and the cold glitter of James Drayton’s eyes kept jumbling up in her mind and drove concentration out the window. Maybe she should have stayed home after all.

  She called Brody at three o’clock and found him in his office. “Can you get away now? You’ll have to drive. My car’s in the shop.”

  “I’ll meet you at the back door.”

  In the car, his gaze searched her face. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine. Really. Just a little distracted today. The Draytons are at the Days Inn in Bloomington.”

  “What if they’re out browsing?”

  Hallie shrugged. “They have to come back to their room sometime. But I figure since Mr. Drayton said he had business in town, maybe Cheryl’s there alone. I didn’t call ahead though, because I want to take her by surprise if I can.”

  “I hope you’re right.” Brody frowned. “I don’t want to leave you cooling your heels in the lobby when I have to get back to the station for the evening newscast.”

  She chuckled. “You think someone’s going to try to mug me in the hotel lobby?”

  “Let’s just say there’s too many scary things happening that seem targeted at you. And from my perspective, an unidentified murderer is on the loose.”

  She bit her lower lip and gazed out the window at the crawling traffic around them. “I picked a rotten time of day to start this expedition.”

  “We’ll survive the home-going masses. We might as well pass the time getting to know one another. You have a fascinating background. So tell me about your parents and your childhood in Nigeria.”

  Hallie’s stomach clenched. “I’d like to. I really would. In fact, I’ve recently been thinking about those years more than I have since I left, but…” Her voice trailed away.

  “There’s trauma associated with the sudden loss of your parents getting in the way.”

  The man totally got it. How about that? Hallie laughed. “You know, for a dumb jock, you sure are smart.”

  Brody guffawed. The laugh lines sprayed around his eyes were at least as appealing as that much-lauded indentation on his cheek.

  “I’m going to give it a try. Where shall I start?” She clasped her hands together in her lap.

  “What’s your earliest memory?”

  “That’s easy. My mother singing a folk song in Yoruba tongue while she boiled rice at the stove.”

  “Do you sing?”

  “In the church choir. I’m an alto, like she was.”

  “Do you look like her, too?”

  Hallie pulled her purse up from the floor and dug inside. She found the locket she’d tucked in there this morning, along with her childhood bracelet. “I brought a couple of things to show the Draytons, including this.” She opened the locket and held it toward him. “Here. What do you think?”

  He hazarded several glances at the photos. “You’ve got your mom’s regal bone structure, and her mouth and eyes, but the long, straight nose and thick, arching eyebrows are definitely from your dad.”

  She snapped the locket shut. “That’s what I think. My parents always did give me the best of themselves.”

  “What’s your happiest memory of them?”

  Hallie pursed her lips and closed her eyes. “Ummm, oh, yes. My parents screaming and hugging each other when I made a goal during a soccer game with the orphanage kids.” She scrunched up her face. “Then there’s my mother teaching Sunday school in one room of the cement block church. She had such a gentle presence, so full of the love of God. I feel her now. I see her smiling.” Hot tears welled up and traced warm paths down her cheeks.

  She scrambled for a tissue in her purse. “I had no idea I’d turn into a gusher this easily.”

  “Lots of buried things bubbling to the surface, and you’ve been under extra stress these past few days. You loved your parents, they loved you. That’s precious. Do you want to talk about how you lost them?”

  “N
-not now.” Hallie sniffed and finished wiping her cheeks. “I’ll look like a puffy-lidded raccoon if I approach the Draytons after that discussion.”

  “Maybe a teary-eyed plea would loosen up some information.”

  She scowled and wadded up her tissue. “I’m not going to manipulate them.”

  Brody shook his head. “I don’t think that’d be manipulation, just honest emotion.”

  Hallie took in a quivering breath. “I’m not ready to talk about my last day in Nigeria yet.”

  “Okay. So, how about those Minnesota Twins?”

  “Now you want to discuss sports?” She gave a watery giggle. “What about the weather instead?”

  “Hey, I’m not the station meteorologist, but I think rain is on the way.”

  Hallie studied the low, dark clouds drifting in from the west. “It was pouring the afternoon before I left Nigeria, like it does every day in the rainy season.”

  “I thought you didn’t want to talk about that.”

  “Maybe just nibble around at the edges. I need to start getting this out.” Her heart rate climbed like she was about to leap off a cliff. “They died in a plane crash—a small, private plane. We lived in a village near Lagos, but they were headed over to the delta area of the Niger River to pick up a pair of orphans. Twin sisters. My mom didn’t usually go on these trips. But when I whined about her leaving, she told me the little girls were afraid of men, and she needed to be there to calm them. At that time, I didn’t know what she meant by that like I do now.”

  Brody sent her a grim glance and headed the car off the freeway onto the Highway 77 exit.

  “They never reached their destination,” Hallie continued.

  “Plane trouble? Weather issues?”

  “Neither, but I didn’t find out any details until later.” Hallie fell silent, watching the Mall of America drift past beyond Brody’s profile. How could she put in a nutshell such a complicated issue when she understood so little about it herself?