Hands were shaken and condolences spoken. Helen offered refreshments and excused herself when everyone declined.
“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice,” Marie said, her voice trembling and her chin quivering. The poor woman was barely holding herself together. The loss of her sister was still a fresh and open, festering wound.
Sean gestured to a chair across from him and Sara. “You may sit down, if you wish, Ms. Parsons.”
Marie didn’t hesitate to do just that. She set her purse on the table.
“You were twins,” Sara observed out loud, saying so in a pleasant tone.
“Yes. We were—” she dabbed her cheek with an index finger beneath her left eye “—best friends, too.”
It was an awkward moment; there was nothing that could be said or done to ease her grief.
Sara chose this time to switch seats, opting for a chair at the head of the table, closest to the door. All it took was one look from her and he understood why she’d moved. Marie might feel as if she were under a microscope sitting across from both of them like that.
Marie glanced at Sara and then back to Sean. Her shoulders lowered when she did so, and that told him that Sara’s tactic had worked. The woman was relaxing.
“You’re probably wondering why I’m here.” Marie stopped there, as if expecting one of them to interject something, but neither said a word. She continued, “The police are saying that they don’t know what happened to her.” Her eyes took on a stormy intensity. “How is that even possible?”
There was no way to respond but to be straightforward. “Sometimes concluding cause of death can be tricky,” he said.
Marie put a hand over her heart. “I know someone killed her.”
Her action mimicked Jackson’s when he had put his fist to his chest and declared Chloe hadn’t died of natural causes or suicide. Sean looked over at Sara, and her gaze was fixed on Marie. With her good memory, there was no doubt she’d noticed it, too—not that it necessarily meant anything other than they were both deeply hurt by Chloe’s death.
But there was something else in the glint of his wife’s eyes at that moment: steely determination. She had needed little convincing that Chloe was murdered as it was, and now she’d received the same speculation from two other people. And while he appreciated Sara’s thoroughness when it came to the job, that she viewed every death as suspicious, he operated from a more detached viewpoint. He wasn’t going to commit to believing a murder had taken place until there was evidence to support it. And thus far, the “evidence” wasn’t stacking up for him.
-
Chapter 8
STUCK BETWEEN A GRAVE AND A TOMBSTONE
SARA’S HEART RATE TICKED UP a few notches at Marie’s assured conclusion that someone had killed Chloe. She could feel Sean staring at her, but she refused to look at him. She knew that his eyes would be telling her not to get attached to investigating this case. Besides, he had said they could look into Chloe’s death more, which hadn’t been a commitment, she knew, but she’d taken it as his word. Even a little investigating was a step in the direction she wanted to go. And just because she had a gut feeling about Chloe’s death didn’t mean she’d lost all objectivity.
“Why do you think someone killed her?” Sara asked.
“It’s just… None of this feels right.” Marie picked at her purse strap, its fabric frayed and threads poking out. Probably a nervous habit of hers.
Sara gave Marie the once-over. For someone who lived in a nice neighborhood, Marie’s clothing and accessories didn’t speak of wealth. It also didn’t seem Chloe’s sense of style was a trait her sister shared.
“And why doesn’t it feel right?” Sean, a skeptic if ever there was one, pressed.
Sara looked over at him. It didn’t seem to matter how long they worked together; he would never fully cave to the weight she put on intuition.
So much for rubbing off on the people you spend the most time with…
“The police talked to me at length,” Marie said, “but they didn’t ask the types of questions I would have expected if they were treating it as a murder.”
“Like what?” Sara asked.
“I thought they would have asked who would have had reason to kill her, for one.”
“We spoke with Jackson—” Sean started.
“Yes, I know,” Marie cut in. “That’s how I got your information.”
“Then you know that he was held for questioning.”
Marie nodded. “I do, but he didn’t think they grilled him very hard, either.”
There was only so much law enforcement could do without cause. Still, they could have held Jackson for longer than the time it had taken them to question him. By law, they had up to twenty-four hours to hold him without filing a formal charge.
“And Chloe’s health was excellent. We have no history of disease or people just—” Marie averted her eyes “—dropping dead in our family. Our grandparents lived into their eighties on both sides. Now, our parents are both dead, but they were in a car accident.” She added the latter part quickly.
“Do you have any other siblings?” Sara asked, though she only remembered reading that Chloe had a sister.
Marie shook her head. “It was just…” She cupped the sides of her face and pinched her eyes shut. Tears squeezed out from the corners, falling down her cheeks without apology.
A knot balled in Sara’s chest, and she took a shallow breath. She was getting too caught up emotionally—again. And taking on the grief of others wasn’t healthy. At least so far with this case, she’d managed to stuff the feelings deep down inside. But she’d be lying if she said she didn’t fear that one day they’d bubble to the surface all at once.
Marie took out a tissue from her purse and blew her nose. A few seconds later, she said, “It’s just…Chloe was all I had left. Now I’m the only one in my family who is still alive.” Her chin trembled and forewarned an outright bawl, but Marie pressed on a smile, damming the breakdown. “And before you say it, she never would have killed herself.”
“If you’re convinced that someone killed her,” Sean began, “is there anyone in particular you suspect?”
Sara glanced at Sean. His probing question was a good one, but his frustration at not having more information was tangible in his voice. And it was valid—what they had wasn’t a lot. They had speculation and mystery, at best. Maybe once they had a cause of death from Needham, it would clear up both.
“I know she hated her job.” Marie looked from Sean to Sara and back to Sean. “She loved being a reporter, but she wanted to be part of something that made a real difference.”
Sara cocked her head. Had Marie avoided Sean’s question or was her response implied in her words? Rarely in conversation did people provide a clear-cut response to these kinds of questions. People spoke between the lines based on a connection of thoughts, and Marie’s mind had gone straight to Chloe’s workplace when Sean had asked about suspects. And given the missing data card, Sara would tend to look there as well.
“Was that the only reason she hated her job,” Sara asked, “or did she not get along with someone there?”
“I wish I had an answer to that.” Marie paused a beat, then quickly added, “She used to date Jackson. He thought maybe you were looking into her death, since you showed up asking questions. That’s why he called me and gave me your number.” When Sean and Sara didn’t say anything, Marie continued. “Are you looking into her death?”
“We are interested in figuring out what happened to your sister,” Sara said vaguely. Marie had said the police weren’t telling her what had happened to Chloe yet, but maybe Sara could draw something useful out of Marie. “What have the police told you so far?”
“They wouldn’t come out and say as much, but I think they’re leaning toward natural causes being what killed her.” Marie’s face darkened. “I know that…that she was found in her apartment… That would mean whoever killed her had access, wouldn’t it?”
“Jackson?” Marie scrunched up her face, as if confused about why Sara would ask that. “He’s a good guy. I was upset when Chloe called things off with him. He was good for her.”
Sara nodded. “Did she tell you why she ended it?”
“Just that she wanted to focus on her career.” Marie’s voice cracked. “God, I just hate thinking of someone doing this to her…on purpose.”
Sara’s thoughts went back to Marie’s comment about Your Source. “You said that Chloe hated her job and wanted to advance her career beyond community news. Did she ever mention disagreements with anyone at the station?”
“Her boss, sometimes, but who doesn’t? It’s why I’m happy I’m my own boss.”
“What do you do?” Sean asked rather quickly.
Sara suppressed a smile, thinking that her husband had probably been wanting the answer to that question since Helen had handed over Marie’s background report. He must not have had a chance to read that section before Marie was shown into the room.
“I’m a freelance website designer and work from home. The boss can be demanding, but I can also tell her off.” There was a hint of a smile on her lips, but it didn’t fully form.
“Going back to Chloe’s boss, what sort of disagreements did they have?” Sara asked.
Marie faced Sara. “He recently overlooked her for a promotion to anchor. She was heartbroken and angry.”
“I bet,” Sara empathized.
“She worked so hard, harder than anyone I know. Television reporting is a highly competitive market, but despite her setbacks, Chloe wasn’t a quitter.”
Sara wondered why the station manager was set on keeping Chloe in her position. Was it just because she was good at her job, or was there more to it? Even so, if revenge was part of this scenario, it would put Chloe in the role of the avenger, not the target.
The suspect pool for Chloe’s murder was certainly shallow so far, but that wasn’t reason enough to dismiss the entire possibility of murder. In fact, the only person in the pool with a face thus far was Jackson. He’d found the body, had been hurt by their breakup, and had access to her apartment. But there was still the matter of the missing data card—assuming that Jackson had told the truth about that and hadn’t taken it upon himself to cast suspicion elsewhere. Running on that assumption, the disappearance of the card would indicate that someone wanted information they felt Chloe had on the card.
“Do you know if Chloe was working on another exposé?” Sara asked Marie. With her question out there, she thought of the contractor segment that had aired the night before, but the anchor had mentioned that it had been taped a couple of months ago. It was unlikely someone related to that piece had killed Chloe after so much time passing.
“I’m not sure. All I know right now is that while the police are still looking into her death”—Marie’s eyes were beaded with tears—“you two investigate murders.”
“Suspicious deaths,” Sean corrected her.
Sara smirked to herself. She’d corrected him in the car about the same thing earlier that day.
“And from what I’ve gathered from researching you online, those ‘suspicious deaths’ usually turn out to be murder,” Marie countered.
Sean didn’t say anything, but Sara guessed that the statistics going through his mind were in agreement with Marie’s summation.
“Now, I don’t have a whole lot of money.” Marie went into her purse and pulled out a wallet and a checkbook. “I do well with the website thing, don’t get me wrong, but I’m not loaded.”
Yet, she lived in an affluent neighborhood. It was possible that Marie was house poor, as so many people were. It didn’t seem like she was lying about her financial status.
Marie took out a pen and clicked it. “I’m sure we can work something out, though.” She let her gaze go from Sean to Sara and back again.
He extended a hand to stop Marie from writing a check, then cast a sideways glance at Sara. His gaze said it all. He had agreed to look into the matter a little more; he hadn’t said he’d take on the investigation. “Let us talk the matter over and—”
“Please, Mr. McKinley, I beg you,” Marie pleaded. “Take this case, and find out who killed my sister.”
Sean took a deep breath. “The cause of your sister’s death hasn’t yet been confirmed.”
“It will be murder, I’m telling you,” Marie fired back.
Sean narrowed his eyes. “Again, I’m sorry, but I’m not yet convinced.”
“Very well.” Marie’s shoulders sagged. “Can you at least look into her death? Come to the conclusion by yourself?”
Sean clenched his jaw. “I can’t promise that I’ll come to the one you expect.”
“I understand that.” Marie glanced at Sara, obviously starting to sense she was the softer of the two. “But she was my sister, all I had left of my family. I want to know the truth about what happened to her.”
“An autopsy would have been scheduled for her, and that should tell you what caused her death,” Sean said, stealing Marie’s gaze back from Sara.
“How, but not by whom.” Marie lifted her chin. The sadness that had blanketed her expression and body language throughout their conversation gave way to fiery determination.
The corner of Sean’s mouth twitched. A strong will attracted him, but right now Sara could tell that he was feeling like a trapped rat.
“Maybe we could take it one step at a time,” Sara suggested, broaching the situation carefully so as not to disregard her husband.
Sean’s jaw tightened, if ever so slightly. “Helen will go over the specifics of how our firm works, including payments and allocation to charities.”
Sara let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Now they could officially get started.
-
Chapter 9
CADAVAR CLUES
AFTER JIMMY HAD FINISHED THE most boring and flavorless sandwich of his life, he had browsed a bookstore to pass the time. Not so much because he was a big reader but it was warm inside and smelled like coffee.
Now it was 11:45, and he was around the corner from the morgue building, just waiting for the minutes to pass. He kept looking at his watch for the perfect time to step out. If he did it too early, Needham might spot him through the front windows and slip out a back door—maybe he’d even forego lunch. If Jimmy stepped out too late, he risked losing Needham. This was all about timing, and Jimmy was determined to get it right. The sweet spot would be precisely when Needham stepped out onto the sidewalk and the door shut behind him, which meant Jimmy had to be vigilant.
Another look at the time. It was 11:47. Time sure moved slowly when it was being watched.
It was moments like this when he questioned what he was doing with his life. Sure, he loved solving murders and working with Sean and Sara, but wasn’t he too old to be skulking around, braced to pounce? He might not be holed up in some dark alleyway, but he felt like a goon nonetheless.
Still, when he thought about his life before becoming a PI, he realized how much he appreciated the freedom he had now. There were other fiftysomethings out there pushing paper and counting down the minutes until the clock struck five so they could leave their cubicles for the day. At least he was out in the fresh air and could make his own hours to some extent.
He was in the middle of a deep inhale when a gust of wind blew around the corner and sent a chill right through him. He gripped his coat tighter and blew on his hands to warm them. It seemed it was time to pull out the gloves. Too bad they were at home in a closet. It was late October, and he was still clinging to denial that the cooler weather was here. Fall, in particular, was not his favorite season—colored leaves everywhere, rotting to mulch and staining the sidewalks. Then there’s raking and bagging them. If that wasn’t enough
, tack on Halloween and the ankle bitters who were out trick-or-treating and their older siblings who were more set on tricking. Hooligans, if you asked Jimmy. All of them up to no good. And don’t even get him started on the night before Halloween, known to some as Mischief Night and to others as Devil’s Night. Give it whatever name you like, but when he was on the force, the crazies seemed to multiply on that night, crawling out of the pavement like zombies in an apocalyptic movie.
It was probably almost time…
One more look at his watch. One minute to go.
He shoved his hands into his coat pockets and stepped out. The front door of the building opened seconds later, and Needham came outside. He tucked his scarf deeper into his coat and took off in the opposite direction from where Jimmy was. Jimmy followed, placing a bit of distance between them but not too much. If he waited until Needham was seated at a restaurant and had food in front of him, he’d be a locked target.
Needham walked a block and entered a diner. Jimmy stayed a few doors down from the restaurant. He’d give him ten minutes. Knowing how predictable and fussy Needham could be, he probably had a standing reservation and would be seated within that time. Maybe he’d even have his food ordered already.
Jimmy watched his breath come out in puffs of white. Just what he needed: more waiting out in the cold. It was bad enough that his knees acted up sometimes, but with the dampness and chill of the air creeping into his bones, he was feeling older than his age today.
He set an alarm on his phone to go off in ten minutes and let it be. At least that would save him checking his watch so often. He wished he’d thought of that when he was waiting on Needham the first time. Probably another side effect of his age—his thinking was slowing down. People always said getting old was a gift, and it was certainly one that kept on giving.
His phone chimed.
Showtime.
He hurried toward the diner and basked in the blast of heat that came when he stepped inside. The door had a bell, though, and Jimmy found himself wincing at the thought of Needham spotting him first. Jimmy relaxed as he took in how packed the place was and the line of people ahead of him waiting for tables. He didn’t see Needham yet.
Halloween Is Murder Page 5
