In Plain Sight

by Lorena McCourtney

  “There seems to be any number of suspects,” I offered. “An ex-husband, irate partners from a company she used to be connected with, a man she was currently involved with, an angry neighbor, former employees, etc.”

  I’d buried the bit about involvement with a man in the middle of the list, but Tammi instantly latched on to it. “I hadn’t heard she had a boyfriend! There are all kinds of rumors going around, of course. You know what a gossip mill Woodston is! But I haven’t heard that one.”

  “She was a very private person,” I murmured. That said nothing, of course, which was exactly what I intended. I shifted my weight from one knee to the other, grateful for the deep carpet.

  “Did Sgt. Yates tell you about the boyfriend?”

  “No, I just happened to know through my association with Leslie.”

  “But Sgt. Yates does know about the boyfriend?”

  “I have no idea. Sgt. Yates isn’t inclined to discuss his cases with outsiders.”

  “That’s exactly what Brad says! He says they’ve had a terrible time getting information from the authorities about the murder. And people have a right to know these things!”

  “I suppose it’s helpful in some cases not to let the public know too much. The police can sometimes use unpublicized details to help pin down the murderer.”

  “Actually, I’m surprised to hear she had a boyfriend,” Tammi added in a reflective tone. “Not that she wasn’t very attractive, of course. But so aloof and unfriendly! Everyone had the impression she thought she was a cut above Woodston. I can’t imagine who she thought was good enough for boyfriend status around here!”

  “She was a bit standoffish.”

  “But you discovered a different side to her when you were working for her?”

  “No, not really,” I had to admit. “She fired me over a rather minor incident.”

  “Do you know who the boyfriend was?”

  I felt as if we’d been dancing a verbal two-step and she’d suddenly cornered me with the direct question. I wasn’t about to be the one to reveal her husband’s extracurricular activities if she didn’t already know, but I’m also the one who’s stuck with this aversion to untruths, even if telling one would be easier and to my advantage.

  “Leslie never confided in me about anything.” Absolute truth. “Except that she hated the capers I put on her veal chops one time.” More truth. The thread tangled, and I leaned back on my heels while I worked the knot loose.

  “You never saw the man?”

  “No. If he ever came to the house it was after my working hours. But I think she usually met him somewhere.”

  “How peculiar. And so mysterious! It almost makes you wonder … ?” She let the words trail off as she peered down at me, but there was a definite question mark at the end.

  “Wonder?” I repeated in a puzzled tone that suggested I hadn’t a clue what she was talking about. Naïve LOL who knows nothing about such worldly situations as an affair with a married man.

  “Well, in any case, Sgt. Yates is very competent,” she declared. “I’m sure he’ll figure it all out and uncover the killer in no time.”

  “Yes, I’m sure he will.”

  I thought that ended the subject of the mysterious boyfriend, but Tammi wasn’t finished yet. “I wonder if this man Leslie was seeing was local or from out of town?”

  Definitely fishing now. I knew because I’d done it enough times myself. The thing was, I still had no idea if she was fishing from a vantage point of suspicion or even knowledge of the affair, or if she had a curiosity gene of her own. I tossed out Sgt. Yates’s all-purpose question. “Why do you ask?”

  “It’s scary to think he might be from around here, don’t you think? Maybe even someone we pass on the street every day! You know, the butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker? Although I don’t really see Leslie Marcone with any of those men, do you? Anyway, I guess I’d rather he was someone from far away.”

  “Because the boyfriend might be the killer?”

  “Well, these things happen, don’t they, when a woman gets involved in some smarmy relationship?”

  The word leaped out at me. Smarmy. General cattiness on her part? Or personal knowledge? Because smarmy certainly fit the level of Brad and Leslie’s sneaky affair.

  I tightened the last stitch, knotted the thread, and bit off the excess, still guiltily remembering my mother’s long-ago warning that I was going to ruin my teeth doing that, but still doing it anyway.

  Tammi moved over to a mirror in the hallway beyond the living room. She twirled in the dress. “Oh, that’s perfect! Thank you so much!”

  I got off the carpet and sat on the sofa, glad to be off my knees. I nudged the big diet and exercise book to a more solid position on the coffee table. The thing was heavy enough to break toes if it fell off. I hadn’t seen or heard anything of Skye, so now I asked, “Skye’s already left on her date?”

  “I think they were going for burgers before the movie.”

  “Did you meet him?”

  “No, she was meeting him somewhere.”

  I looked at my watch. “She’ll be home before you get back, I suppose?”

  “Umm, I don’t know.” I could see Tammi smoothing a dark eyebrow with a fingertip, then checking for lipstick smears on her teeth. She turned to look at her backside and frowned slightly. The black dress was indeed flattering, but she still needed more exercise than underlining sentences in that big book.

  “What time is her curfew?”

  “We believe in letting Skye make her own decisions about such matters. We think it fosters a greater sense of responsibility than our making all the decisions for her.”

  While I was still absorbing that rather shocking system of child raising, Tammi moved on to the bathroom.

  “You know, talking with you about Leslie Marcone’s killer has made me feel better!” she called.

  “It has? In what way?”

  She came to the hall doorway, spritz bottle of Eternity perfume in one hand. I realized then that Baby’s nice scent wasn’t just doggie shampoo; he’d received a complimentary dash of Eternity.

  “All along I’ve been afraid this murder could be the beginning of something awful. You know, a crazed serial killer running around killing at random, someone who might sneak in and attack any of us! But now I’m sure he was after Leslie specifically, and the rest of us are in no danger, don’t you think? I mean, quarreling with business partners and neighbors, being involved in this relationship … Obviously she lived a totally different lifestyle than the rest of us.”

  “Some people who look upstanding and honorable have some rather dark secrets.” Not a total non sequitur, but not exactly a conclusion to be deduced from what she’d said.

  Tammi did not seem puzzled, however.

  “Yes, I suppose that’s true,” she murmured.

  I’m not sure just what did it—maybe the lack of exclamation point on the thoughtful comment. But at that moment I made up my mind. The last thing I wanted was to cause embarrassment or anguish for Tammi and Skye, but I couldn’t delay going to Sgt. Yates about both the illicit relationship and my suspicions of Brad Ridenour’s involvement in the murder.

  A decision reinforced by a discovery I made later, after Tammi was gone, when Baby and I went out to the kitchen to see what snacks were available this evening. I wasn’t truly snooping when I made the discovery. If I’d really wanted to snoop I’d have prowled through the desk in Brad’s small office off the living room and peeked at charge-card and phone bills. And searched for a cache of mementos and photos that “sentimental man” Brad might have stashed away.

  Yes, those sneaky thoughts occurred to me, but I didn’t turn thoughts into action, because I consider people’s private belongings private. Or maybe, I had to admit, because I was also reasonably certain Brad wasn’t dim-witted enough to let incriminating details show up where Tammi could find them.

  Although I also have to admit I did peek into the bathroom medicine cabinet. Bu
t doesn’t everyone do that? Nothing to do with murder, just general inquisitiveness.

  I found an out-of-date antibiotic prescription, Band-Aids, and first-aid creams. Plus four kinds of upset-stomach and heartburn remedies, and laxatives in liquid, pill, and chocolate-ype varieties. Someone in the Ridenour family had big stomach problems. Perhaps someone with a cleft chin and a guilty conscience?

  I gave Baby some meaty snacks from a bag in the refrigerator and found a chocolate-covered Dilly bar for myself in the freezer. There were three boxes of them tucked under packages of Asian vegetables and Healthy Choice dinners. Then I noticed the calendar taped to the side of the refrigerator. No snooping involved here; it was right out there in plain sight.

  Although I did have to lean over to focus my bifocals on the fine scribbles in Tammi’s backhand. She apparently used the calendar mostly for herself and Skye. A few notes concerned Brad’s activities, but he must have a more detailed calendar elsewhere. There were notations about appointments, things to do, things that had been done. A lunch meeting for Tammi with some committee at that chuck wagon restaurant, appointment for Brad with a Dr. Wertleman, Baby’s date with the dog groomer yesterday. Reminder of joint hair appointments for Skye and Tammi with Carla for next week. (Skye was surely going to love that little duet.) A note that Tammi had ordered a new book, Eat and Get Thin, and another note that she’d sent twenty dollars with a birthday card to someone named Lisa.

  Okay, I did have to move the page a smidgen to see farther back. Sure enough, there was a notation about Brad’s overnight trip to Memphis for the meeting with the station owners, just as Tammi had said.

  But that wasn’t the date that interested me …

  I peered farther back on the calendar, into the window of time when Leslie’s death had occurred. Baby had been to the vet for worm medicine. Skye had seen a school counselor.

  And Brad had been in Little Rock. An alibi?

  Not necessarily. At least not a steel-clad one.

  Because he could have had another secret tryst with Leslie, a tryst that somehow escalated into suffocation and death. Or had he ruthlessly planned her murder and executed it with efficient precision, right down to getting both her body and car back to Vintage Estates?

  Sgt. Yates hadn’t been able to locate anyone who’d seen Leslie after she fired me. This could be the reason. She’d been killed that very night. Sgt. Yates would have some tough questions for Brad Ridenour after I told him all this.

  Except that a few minutes later I was wondering if I’d ever have a chance to tell Sgt. Yates or anybody else anything. Or if I was about to wind up with my own face-down view of Little Tom Lake.

  28

  I had no warning of danger. No dum-de-dum-dum music or creaking floors or ominous shadows on the walls. Baby and I were just sitting there on the sofa, watching an old Humphrey Bogart movie on TV. I was licking the last dribbles of ice cream off the Dilly bar stick, Baby watching hopefully. My shoes were off and my feet resting on that oversized diet book. I heard a car outside and assumed it was Tammi, so I was surprised when Brad Ridenour strode alone through the front door.

  He looked just like he had earlier on the TV news. Expensive, well-fitting dark suit, blond hair tousled to the proper degree of casualness, patterned tie a little flashy—his coanchor liked to tease him about his ties—but not overdone. Although, knowing what I now did about his relationship with Leslie, I knew I could never look at him with an unjaundiced eye again.

  Baby slid off the flowered sofa and ambled over to him, brushy tail waving gently. With the release of Baby’s weight, the sofa cushions and I bounced upward a couple of inches.

  “Hey, this was great of you to come sit with Baby on such short notice.” Brad gave Baby a pat, but he didn’t make over the big dog like Tammi did. “We must be the only people in Woodston who can’t go anywhere without a sitter for the dog.”

  An amused observation? Or an unhappy complaint?

  “That’s okay,” I said. “It’s always fun to sit with Baby.”

  “That your old Thunderbird out front? It’s a beauty. A restoration?”

  “No, all original. My husband and I bought it new in ’75.”

  “Friend of mine at the station is into restorations in his spare time. I did some part-time work for a mechanic when I was a kid, so I give him a hand once in a while. But nothing beats an original. You’ve taken great care of the old ’bird.”

  All very nice and friendly. The Big Brad working his charisma. The kind of guy who automatically practiced on everyone, I suspected. Or was I getting special treatment to lull me into inattention? Because—

  A jolt of wariness straightened my spine on the sofa. “Where’s Tammi?”

  “I asked her to run over to the Quickie-Mart and pick up some Pepto-Bismol.” He rubbed his broad but solidly muscled stomach and grimaced. “I’m afraid I may have overindulged on the Cajun ribs.”

  Pepto-Bismol. A nice big bottle of the pink stuff sat in the medicine cabinet already, but he’d sent Tammi on a cross-town, late-night errand for more.

  It was possible, of course, that neither of them remembered the Pepto-Bismol and other stomach medications in the medicine cabinet. It was also possible that Brad needed Tammi out of the way for a few minutes. So he could … do what?

  Their dinner may have had romantic origins, but I doubted the evening’s entire conversation had centered around starry-eyed reminiscences. Married couples tend to run dry on such subjects fairly quickly. Had chatterbox Tammi unknowingly alerted him to the fact that their Babysitter knew something no one else did, that the murdered woman had a mysterious boyfriend? Had she revealed that I’d been asking nosy questions about Brad himself? Had he put two and two together and decided he had to do something to eliminate this unanticipated danger before everything blew wide open?

  Like how is he going to do that within the next few minutes? I scoffed. Strangle me with his flashy tie and hide my body in the closet? Conk me on the head with that oversized diet book and throw me in his car for a quick disposal jaunt to the lake?

  No. Not practical. He’d have the Thunderbird to consider. All kinds of awkward explanations to make to Tammi and the police. No, if he wanted to do me in he’d surely have to pick a more appropriate time and place than this. A scary thought, one to be given further consideration. Yet much more scary was the way he was now looking at me with an oddly speculative expression. It occurred to me that Brad may have far more imaginative ideas than I did about committing quickie murder.

  I slid into my shoes and stood up. “Well, I’d better be going,” I said brightly. “It was nice of you to remember your and Tammi’s first-date anniversary.”

  “Actually, I lucked out. I’d forgotten until she mentioned it. I just happened to have the time free for dinner together tonight. But don’t tell Tammi.”

  He smiled and spoke in a rueful, just-between-you-and-me tone, but he was still looking at me with that odd expression. I considered what to do if he should make a move. My only weapon at the moment appeared to be one well-licked Dilly bar stick. Not a reassuring thought. Neither were Brad’s next words reassuring.

  “Tammi reminded me that you’re the person who found Leslie Marcone’s body,” he said. “You must know something about her personal life?”

  “Not all that much,” I assured him. Baby was gently trying to extract my Dilly bar weapon from my hand. I yanked it away and edged toward the door. I’d heard about jabbing a key in an attacker’s eye. Would a Dilly bar stick work?

  “Mrs. Malone, I think we should talk.”

  About what I was going to tell Sgt. Yates? About what he was going to do to me if I did talk to Sgt. Yates? Or was “talk” a euphemism for something considerably more deadly? In any case, I wasn’t about to ask for a detailed explanation. “Yes, we’ll have to do that sometime,” I said. I tried to muddy the waters by adding brightly, “Your venture into politics is a fascinating subject.”

  “I think you know what we should tal
k about, Mrs. Malone.” He sounded reproachful, as if I were playing unfair. “And it isn’t politics.”

  “Well, uh—”

  The door opened and Skye walked in, belly button peeking between low-slung jeans and skimpy pink top. I’d never been more grateful for an interruption.

  Brad looked at his watch. “You’re just getting home from the movie now?”

  A time-conscious attitude rather less liberal than Tammi’s, I suspected. But I suppose even an adulterer/murderer can be a conscientious father.

  “Well, I’ll be going,” I repeated with the same brightness, phony as a set of cheap false teeth. I reached for the doorknob.

  “Did Tammi pay you earlier for sitting tonight?” Brad asked.

  “No need. I enjoy sitting with Baby.” I waved my stick. “And I ate a Dilly bar.”

  “I’ll walk you out to the car. And follow you home, if you’re uneasy driving alone at night,” Brad offered.

  And give him a second chance to employ some creative method of eradicating me?

  “No, I’m fine,” I said hastily. I gave Skye a fingertip wave.

  Outside, I jumped into the Thunderbird, intending to get away from the Ridenour residence with all possible speed, only to have the engine sit there like a pet rock while I frantically pumped the pedal and twisted the key. But just when Brad opened the door and peered out, the engine suddenly roared to life and I was off like a skittish squirrel. Thank you, Lord.

  Sandy was waiting up for me, all chattery about her day and curious about mine. I wiped my perspiring hands on my pants and tried to appear calm and normal.

  She was astonished when I told her Skye had gone out on a movie date. “I wonder who with? She never told me anything about a date.”

  “You’ve been avoiding Skye just a bit lately, haven’t you?”

  “Yeah, I guess I have,” she admitted. “I’m always afraid I’ll slip and say something about … well, you know. Especially when she’s going on and on about how important her dad is and his big political campaign and everything.”