For now I put all of those thoughts out of my mind and concentrated on my pizza and salad—and catching up with my favorite TV show.
An hour later, when I was sufficiently stuffed and the latest episode of NCIS was over, I stowed the leftovers in the refrigerator, tidied up the kitchen, gave the kiddies fresh water in their bowls, and climbed the stairs. Lest I forgot, I had another six a.m. call time tomorrow morning.
I crawled into bed, joined by Tiger and Robbie. “Good night, everyone,” I murmured and fell asleep almost immediately.
It seemed like only minutes had passed when my alarm clock blared, waking me up. It was still dark in my room and all I really wanted to do was tug my quilt up over my head and go back to sleep. I groaned loudly at the unfairness of it all. Had I really slept the whole night? I hadn’t even heard Chloe come home.
I hit the alarm to stop the noise—but it didn’t stop.
“What the heck?” I hit it again before I realized that it wasn’t the alarm clock blaring. It was my phone ringing.
It took me a few seconds of fumbling with the phone before I answered, “Hello?”
“Shannon?” My sister’s voice, sounding panicked. “I need help.”
Well, that woke me up fast enough.
“Chloe?” I jumped out of bed and checked the clock. Almost midnight. “Where are you?”
“Shannon, can you call the police?”
“Honey, what’s wrong? Did you have an accident?”
“No. I mean, no. It’s not . . . um, I’m at the Bloom house. And there’s someone on the front porch.”
“What’re you doing there?” It took me a few seconds to figure out what she’d just said. “Wait, someone’s still working at the house?”
“No,” she said. “Nobody’s working. He’s not . . . I think . . . Oh God, Shannon, he’s not moving. I think he’s dead.”
* * *
• • •
I called Eric Jensen and told him about the body on the Blooms’ front porch. Then I begged him for a ride because Chloe had my truck. I had almost considered riding my bike across town if Eric had refused, but by now it was after midnight so that seemed like a really bad idea. He agreed.
I dressed quickly, wearing the same sweats and henley I’d put on after my bath, along with warm socks and tennis shoes and a heavy jacket. While I waited for Eric, I called Chloe back to let her know we were on our way. Then I called Mac because I knew he would want to know what was going on. He was just wrapping up his poker game and told me he would meet me at the Bloom house.
Within minutes of picking me up, Eric was cruising through the town square toward the Bloom house with me in the passenger seat. I gazed at his masculine face, silhouetted by the streetlamp. I knew I was taking a chance, but I had to ask. “Did you get the final results from Chloe’s coffee cup?”
He flashed me a long look and I wondered if he would bother to answer me. Finally he gave a short nod. “Yeah. It was definitely Dilaudid. They must’ve really wanted her to O.D.”
“That makes me sick,” I said, rubbing my stomach at the thought of someone doing this to my sister. “Did you talk to Chelsea?”
“She had no idea how the stuff got into the coffee or where it came from.” He shook his head. “I pressed her and she started crying.”
“Bet you loved that,” I murmured.
“Yeah, it always makes my day when I can get a woman to cry. Anyway, we’ve got a warrant to search her hotel room, so stay tuned.”
“Sounds good. Oh. I just remembered something else.” I pulled the makeup bottle out of my purse and repeated the story Josie told us that morning. “Something might’ve been added to Chloe’s makeup to hurt her or poison her. I know it’s farfetched, but I thought I’d better give it to you for testing.”
I watched him clenching and unclenching his jaw. He’d been doing a lot of that lately. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Thanks, Eric.” I put the bottle in the cup holder between our seats.
Seconds later, he zipped into the Blooms’ driveway. I jumped out of the SUV and took off running toward the front porch.
“Shannon,” Eric shouted. “Don’t go near that house.”
“I won’t. I’m just going to Chloe.” I knew he was concerned about evidence, but all I cared about was my sister.
“Chloe,” I yelled, and that was when I saw her huddled at the bottom of the steps. She stood and ran toward me and I pulled her into my arms. “Are you all right? You scared the life out of me.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, sounding distressed. “I didn’t know what to do. I was going to call 911, but I guess I panicked and pressed your number first. I’m sorry I woke you up.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said, smoothing her hair back. She was shaking and her eyes looked a little wild. “You did exactly the right thing. Eric’s here and everything will be okay.”
Eric joined us then. “Chloe, are you all right?”
“Yes, thank you, Chief. I’m fine. I’m sorry we had to call you, but . . .”
“Don’t be sorry,” he said, and surprised us both by wrapping his arms around her in a warm hug. “You must’ve been awfully scared.”
“Yeah, I’ve got to admit I was.”
A moment later, he let her go. “I have to ask, did you touch anything?”
“No, I promise.”
“What were you doing here so late?”
She took a deep breath as if to brace herself. “I had dinner with a friend and I was on my way home, but I decided to stop and talk to Blake first. We didn’t get a chance to really talk all day and usually we spend a few hours going over the show rundown and figuring out our lines, you know? And I missed that. I missed him.”
“I understand,” Eric said kindly.
I nodded. “Me, too.”
“Anyway, I came here looking for him, but he wasn’t in his trailer. So I thought I would walk over to the house, thinking maybe he would be here checking out the work we did earlier. It’s something he would do. And that’s when I saw Richie.”
I gasped and looked past her, even though I couldn’t see the body in the shadows. “It’s Richie?”
She looked miserable as she nodded. “Yeah. I couldn’t tell at first, but yes. It’s him.”
Eric had belatedly pulled out his notepad and pen and was frantically writing everything down that Chloe had said. He looked up to ask, “Who’s Richie?”
“Richard Stoddard,” Chloe said, scrubbing her hands up and down her arms. “We call him Richie. He was here earlier today.”
“He’s the guy who got punched by Rolly Wagner,” I explained.
“And he’s Whitney Reid Gallagher’s cousin,” Chloe added.
Eric gave her a long, questioning look. “You’re sure it’s him?” he asked, gazing up at the body on the porch. “Did you go up there and look at his face?”
“No, I swear I didn’t go near him. I got halfway up the stairs when I saw a big lump. It was too dark to see what it was, so I used my phone flashlight. And . . .” She shook her head and exhaled heavily. “I could tell it was him from his hair and the shirt he was wearing.”
“The white polo shirt?” I asked.
“Yes.” She glanced at me. “His collar was still popped.”
I almost snorted but saved myself.
Chloe continued. “So I scrambled back down the steps and ran to the truck to call Shannon. I waited in the truck until she called back to tell me you were on your way. Then I walked over here and waited for you on the steps.”
“Okay, good,” he said, still writing. “Thanks.”
Another police SUV zoomed around the corner and parked behind Eric’s SUV. I recognized Tommy’s car and watched him get out and jog over to meet Eric. He hadn’t taken the time to change into his uniform but wore jeans and a heavy leather bomber ja
cket. Eric was still dressed in his uniform because he’d been working late at police headquarters.
Tommy jogged across the lawn and when he reached us, Eric touched his shoulder. “I didn’t realize the victim is related to you. If you’d rather sit this one out, I’ll understand.”
Tommy glanced at me, then back at Eric. “Who is it?”
“Richard Stoddard.”
Tommy blinked and took a few slow breaths. “Whitney’s gonna flip out.”
“Yeah.” Eric ran his hand through his hair in frustration. “Sorry, man.”
Tommy took one last deep breath and nodded with determination. “I’m cool. Let’s do this.”
Car headlights flashed and seconds later, I recognized Mac’s car. He drove slowly past the scene and parked a few houses down.
“That’s Mac,” I explained to Eric. “I called him to let him know what was going on and he insisted on meeting me here.”
“The more, the merrier,” Eric said dryly. He turned to my sister. “Chloe, I’m sorry, but I’ll want to ask you some more questions after I see what happened to your friend Richie.”
“He was no friend,” I muttered.
Chloe shot me a look. “I understand, Chief. Take all the time you need. I’ll wait right here.”
“Yeah, we’ll be here,” I said.
Eric gave Tommy the heads-up and the two of them climbed the porch steps.
As soon as he left, I whispered, “Sorry about that ‘friend’ comment. Probably not helpful.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m sure he’ll find out that Richie and I had a big fight this afternoon. Plenty of people saw it, after all.” She rested her head on my shoulder. “I hope you’ve saved up enough money to pay my bail.”
“That won’t happen,” I insisted.
I glanced up at Tommy and Eric and wondered how they could see anything with just one small flashlight. The moon was almost full tonight, but it was covered in clouds.
Sure enough, a few seconds later, Tommy dashed down the steps and jogged over to get a light tree from the back of his SUV. We watched as they set it up on the porch, running a cord into the house for electricity. Suddenly the porch, or at least the section of the porch where Richie lay dead, was as bright as daylight.
Mac walked quickly across the grass. “How are you doing?”
“I’m doing okay, but I’m not so sure about Chloe. Finding bodies used to be my thing, but it’s quickly becoming a Hammer sisters thing.”
He gave her a hug. “I’m sorry, Chloe.”
“Thanks, Mac. Must be my lucky day.” She said it lightly, but I could tell she was agonizing over the situation. I couldn’t blame her.
He sat down beside me on the step. “Do we know who it is?”
I gave him a weighty look. “It’s Richie Rich.”
His mouth dropped open. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope.”
Another cop car arrived and we watched Mindy Payton and Dan Brackman come running toward the house. Eric gave them their orders and a minute later, Dan raced down the porch stairs and crossed the street. I assumed he was checking out the dressing room trailer where Blake had slept the night before.
“Guess they’re looking for Blake,” Chloe said. “I’d be surprised if they find him in the trailer. I knocked when I first got here and nobody answered.”
I looked at Mac. “Let’s move a few steps higher so we can hear what they’re saying.”
“Great idea,” he said with a grin.
The three of us moved incrementally so we wouldn’t draw Eric’s attention and be exiled to the driveway, where we wouldn’t be able to see or hear a thing.
A minute later, Dan came back, racing up the steps to the porch. “Chief, the door was unlocked and the place was empty.”
“What do you mean, empty?” he asked.
“No humans inside.”
Eric frowned. “Is it still a mess in there?”
“No, it’s pretty clean now.”
“That’s weird,” Chloe whispered. “The door was locked when I knocked earlier.”
“Maybe someone unlocked it after you came over here,” I said. “But you’re right. It’s weird.”
“I’m going to go check it out,” Mac said, and dashed off.
“Mac was in there with Blake for quite a while yesterday,” I said to Chloe. “He would know how it looked.”
“But how did it get unlocked?” Chloe wondered.
“Are you sure it was locked? Maybe it was just stuck or something.”
“No, it was locked. I knocked a bunch of times and I shook the handle to make sure.”
“I believe you. It just means that someone came along and unlocked it after you. Or, someone was inside the trailer and didn’t answer when you knocked. Either way, someone came along after you left. But where did they go after that?”
“And who was it?” she asked. “I haven’t seen anyone around here since I arrived. I mean, it’s dark, but I still would’ve heard or seen someone.”
“Unless they were trying not to be seen.”
A few minutes later a van pulled up and Leo Stringer climbed out of the driver’s side. He carried a large, heavy-duty silver briefcase containing his forensics tools and equipment across the lawn to the steps.
“Hi, Leo,” I said.
“Shannon. Awfully late for you to be here.”
“You, too.”
He shrugged. “Duty calls.” Climbing the steps, he joined the cops, who were still staring down at the body of Richie Rich as if waiting for him to sit up and tell them who killed him.
I looked up and saw Mac hurrying toward us. “What did I miss?” he asked.
“Leo just arrived,” I said. “So what did you find in the trailer?”
“It’s still unlocked and it’s definitely been cleaned. No sign of Blake.”
That was a mystery for another time, I thought. But maybe Blake had decided to go sleep at the B and B. That made a lot more sense than sleeping in a small trailer. Aloud, I asked, “So what was Richie Rich doing here? His car must be around here somewhere. But why would he even come here?”
“I was just about to bring up the same question,” Chloe said.
“And who hated him enough to kill him?” Mac asked.
I exchanged a look with Chloe. “There were legions,” I said. “He was a nasty piece of work.”
“Yes, he was,” she murmured.
I thought of everyone who’d tangled with Richie over the past two days. Rolly Wagner, of course. And his wife. There might’ve been others. I suddenly recalled Chloe’s friend and producer, Suzanne, having a chummy conversation with Richie. I made a mental note to mention that fact to Eric.
Mac reached over and squeezed Chloe’s hand. “I guess you had your own issues with him.”
“Most definitely. But I didn’t kill him.”
“Of course not. No one thinks you did.” I glanced anxiously at Chloe, who looked even paler in the eerie light of the moon and the reflected light from the porch. I decided to change the subject. “So how was Peggy?”
She was clearly happy with how their visit had gone. “She’s great. She has an adorable family. Two smart kids and a good-looking husband. He’s a teacher, did you know that?”
“I did. We’re not really friendly, but I know he teaches at Lighthouse High. And Peggy’s a pharmacist, right?”
“Yes.”
“Did you talk about the films?”
“Yes, and you’ll never believe it, Shannon.” She smiled with a mixture of delight and relief. “She told me that her great-grandfather hoarded dozens of those film reels all over the house. But never in plain sight. When they tore down their garage a few years ago, they found over a hundred film cans hidden in the rafters and even inside the walls.”
“You’re kidd
ing,” I said. “That’s crazy.”
“That takes hoarding to a whole new level.” Mac shook his head in amazement. “So after all these years and all the pain you went through to wrangle them, they still had tons of them gathering dust?”
“Yes, and Peggy wanted nothing to do with any of them. She already knew about that foundation I told you about. The family donated them all years ago.” Chloe laughed. “She said that even though she didn’t care about the money, she would be happy to taunt Richie Rich with threats of a lawsuit, just to see him squirm.” Chloe cringed, realizing what she’d said. “Oh, but she was just kidding.”
“Of course she was.”
“Shannon.”
Eric’s voice was so close, I almost jumped. I’d been so wrapped up in Chloe’s story about the film cans, I hadn’t heard him come down the steps.
“What is it?” I asked.
He held up a white cloth that was wrapped around a deadly-looking, blood-soaked crowbar. “Does this look familiar?”
I felt my eyes widen and I swallowed nervously. “I guess it could be one of mine.”
“There must be a thousand crowbars that look exactly like that one,” Mac protested, and I could’ve kissed him for standing up for me.
Eric went on. “Dan said you were using a crowbar for some of the shots this afternoon.”
“That’s true. But I’m positive I put mine back in my toolbox.” Was I positive? I couldn’t even remember now.
Eric persisted. “Where is your toolbox right now?”
“In the back of my truck.”
“Let’s go take a look.”
I glanced at Mac, who looked grim. Dang. There was nothing I hated more than the feeling of knowing I might be a murder suspect. It was something you just never got used to and that was an understatement.
Mac and Chloe tagged along and I felt somewhat relieved to have them with me on the long trek to my truck. The only way I could prove without a doubt that I wasn’t the owner of the murder weapon was if my crowbar was still in with the rest of my tools. We got to my truck and I opened the box.
The truck was parked under a streetlamp but Eric held up a flashlight so I could plainly see that the crowbar was not on the top shelf of the toolbox where I always kept it. I closed the top and latched it, and turned around to face him.
A Wrench in the Works Page 18
