The Sleuth Sisters

by Pill, Maggie

  Eric turned gracious. “You mustn’t leave on my account. Phyllis likes company, don’t you, hon? I just came home to get some things I need, but I have to go back to work.” He smiled at his wife. “Did you show Ms. Evans Buddy’s room?”

  “Uh, no.”

  “She might like to see the way we decorated it.” Eric leaned toward me in fatherly pride. “Kid loves Thor.”

  I smiled politely, not sure exactly what that meant. “That’s great.”

  “Show her, Phyllis.”

  She glanced at me. “I’m not sure—”

  “It won’t take long.” Eric gave his wife a gentle push. “I’d do it, but I have to go.”

  “Supper will be ready in just a few—?”

  “Go ahead and eat without me. I won’t be back till late.” He paused. “First, the room.”

  Obediently, Phyllis led me down the hall to her son’s room. I was anxious to be on my way, but I didn’t want to be rude. He seemed pretty proud of what they’d done.

  The room was almost scary, with a huge figure of the comic book character looming over the bed, but the boy loved it. He showed me everything, the toys, the lamps, even the light switches, all tied to some movie franchise. I guessed nothing was too good for their only child.

  When I finally left, the day was growing dim. Clouds had gathered overhead, and I guessed we were going to get rain overnight. Waving to nice-but-clueless Phyllis, I backed out of the DuBois’ driveway and headed for town.

  I hadn’t gone a block when a voice sent a shockwave through me. “Mrs. Evans, there’s a gun at your back. Turn left until you get back to 23. Then go south.”

  Eric DuBois was in my back seat. That flitting thought settled, too late to do me much good. Carina’s green nail polish. She’d never worn green before, Phyllis said, but Eric had mentioned it. That meant he’d seen her that day. And where but at her apartment, where he murdered her and her brother?

  I turned left. “You were Carson’s partner in crime.”

  “Would have been. The crime never happened.”

  “Because you killed them.”

  “Because Carina found out.” His voice turned wistful. “It was a dumb idea, but at the time, it seemed like so much money, you know?”

  I turned left again at the end of the block. “So why do you want the flash drive now?”

  “I didn’t want it. I just wanted it destroyed.”

  “So you can go on being WOZ Industries’ Number Two?”

  “Ironic, isn’t it? The murders made me indispensable to Stan. Turn here.” I turned left again. “Neil can still take the blame if you don’t tell anyone what you’ve figured out.”

  I stopped at the crossroad, heart pounding. His tone was off-hand, as if I’d guessed the ending. I had, but my mind protected me by blurring what was ahead.

  “We talked that first day about my morning walks. You sent Zack to scare me.”

  “Zack was an idiot.” He sat behind me, close enough that I didn’t think I could jump out of the car before he caught hold of me. “Keep driving.”

  My hands obeyed as my mind searched frantically for other possibilities. Could I run the car into the ditch and make him drop the gun? I doubted it. I’d wait for a better chance.

  Forcing my voice to remain steady, I said, “They’ll know I was at your house.”

  “That means nothing.” Something cold touched my neck. “Turn.”

  A right turn took us south, down 23 and through Allport. Despite furious brain activity, I had no helpful ideas. Anything I did to get attention would be useless, since I’d die as a result.

  At the last major intersection on the south end of Allport there was a stoplight. On the corner sat a gas station, a Subway, and a laundromat. The light turned yellow as we approached and I slowed, grateful for any opportunity to think. As I sat waiting for the green, I noticed a city police car at the gas pump. Just putting the hose back was Rory. He turned, saw me, and waved. I didn’t return the gesture but gave him a look I hoped spoke volumes. Too soon the light turned, and DuBois said, “Go!” Rory’s gaze followed me, but all I could detect in his expression was confusion. He probably thought I’d snubbed him for choosing my sister over me.

  A car dealership, a few blocks of houses, some converted to small businesses, and then we were out of Allport. Where were we heading? Eric had to be making this up as he went, and I began talking to keep him from thinking too far ahead.

  “You framed Neil for the murders?”

  “Not intentionally. I went there to get the flash drive and calm that idiot Carson down.”

  Something he’d said at our first meeting came back to me, and I cursed my own stupidity. “The ball bat was beside the door, you said. I missed it at the time, but how could you have known where it was unless you were the one who used it as a weapon?”

  “I was leery of you from the start, Ms. Smart Detective. As long as Brown stayed in hiding, everyone assumed he was guilty. But you found him despite my attempts to stop you.”

  “Clumsy attempts.”

  “Maybe.” He sounded as if that didn’t matter now. “I guessed he had the flash drive but doubted he’d get what it meant. If Stan ever saw it, he’d know.”

  “So you sent Gabe and Zack to get it back.”

  His answer was a growl. “Idiots.”

  “You went to a lot of trouble.”

  “I had to cover my mistakes.” His tone was almost pleading, but the old anger was still there. “I spent five years kissing Stan’s ass, and he started talking about bringing Carson ‘on board.’ I think you can guess where that would have put me!”

  “In third place at best,” I replied. “You were lucky Neil got the blame, but think about it. In the last week you’ve made mistakes, some little, like mentioning the bat and Carina’s nail polish; some big, like murdering Zack. It’s coming apart, Eric.”

  “My ‘mistakes’ as you call them, are pretty much taken care of if you aren’t around to point them out to anyone.” His tone changed. “He’s going to retire soon, did you know that? I’ll be head of WOZ Enterprises.”

  Things had turned out better than DuBois could have hoped. He’d gotten away with his crimes, and while he hadn’t been able to steal Stan’s money, he’d gained his trust, and along with it, power, prestige, and a very comfortable lifestyle. I wondered how much he’d embezzled from WOZ over the last five years.

  “You’re going to turn left in about a mile.”

  “Am I giving you a ride to your office?” I asked in an attempt at sarcasm.

  “Not exactly. We’re going to the Pit.”

  Dim understanding turned to stark terror. “My sister will figure this—”

  “She won’t. You didn’t get it until now, and you haven’t had time to tell anyone else.” The rain began then, a medium-heavy dose requiring wipers. I felt like crying, too.

  “The chief of police knows someone is after that flash drive.”

  I felt his shoulder against my seat as he shrugged. “There’ll be some mystery over all this. Some blame might go to Stan, but they’ll say he’s had enough grief and they’ll let it go. Brown will get most of it.”

  “But they’ll know he didn’t kill Zack, since he’s in jail.”

  He chuckled. “Maybe you killed him. He did try to strangle you, after all. Killing a guy could make a person depressed, and who knows what she might do then?”

  I slowed to make the turn onto Pit Lane, passing a young couple who shared an umbrella as they walked along, love apparently making them oblivious to the rain.

  About a half mile down, DuBois said, “There’s a two-track on the left. Turn onto it.”

  I saw it ahead, its center green, its tracks dim with age. Not well traveled, like a hundred old roads around Allport. As soon as we wer
e around the first curve, he ordered me to stop. “We’ll wait here for a while,” he told me. “The Pit shuts down at dark, and I want to think this through. Like you say, I don’t want to make any more mistakes.”

  There had to be someone around. Reading my mind, DuBois said, “There’s a night man, but he patrols twice a shift in an old golf cart that sounds like a tank. We’ll avoid him easy.”

  “Easily.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  In the rearview mirror, I saw him shrug again, unaware of my attempt to make him a better speaker of English.

  “Get out.”

  I’d been plotting an escape into the woods, and I looked at him in confusion. “What?”

  “I said we have to wait until dark. I’ll sit up front.” He flipped the passenger seat forward. “You’ll wait in the trunk.”

  Chapter Forty-three

  Faye

  I made scalloped potatoes for dinner, with asparagus and homemade cloverleaf rolls. When Barb wasn’t there at six, I figured she was delayed. At six-thirty, I checked her calendar, thinking she’d made an appointment I was unaware of. A call to her cell went to voicemail.

  After I’d told her about Phyllis DuBois being Stan’s former secretary, she’d gone to interview her. As far as I knew, that was all she intended. At quarter to seven, I told Dale to go ahead and eat, and I called Mrs. DuBois.

  “Yes, I met Ms. Evans this afternoon,” she told me. “We had a nice talk.”

  “Might anything you said have led her somewhere else?”

  “Hmm. I don’t think so. I just repeated what I told the police back then.”

  “There was nothing she seemed to find especially interesting?”

  “I can’t think of a thing.”

  Thanking her, I hung up, telling myself that a week ago, I wouldn’t have worried when she was an hour late. The attack and all the other crazy stuff associated with the Brown case had made me jumpy. Barb had her phone. She’d call if she needed me.

  By seven-thirty I was pacing, and Dale retreated to another room where he didn’t have to watch. “She’s fine,” he insisted. “Probably met a friend and forgot all about eating with us.”

  Loyal to my sister, I didn’t point out Barb didn’t have any friends, at least not the type she’d meet casually and decide to share an evening out together. Rory! She’d had dinner with him once. Maybe it had happened again.

  But she’d have called. Barb is considerate that way.

  Unable to quiet my unease, I called the police station and asked for Chief Neuencamp. “He isn’t here,” an officer told me. “You can speak to the deputy chief.”

  Tom Stevens was as unhelpful as usual. “She’s probably shopping,” he told me in that “Now, honey” tone of his. “Barb’s a grown woman. You can’t be tracking her all over town.”

  “She was attacked a few days ago.”

  “And the guy that did it is dead. He can’t hurt her now.”

  Mentioning that someone had hired and probably killed Zack wouldn’t get me anywhere with Tom. “Is there a way I could speak to the chief?”

  Patiently Tom replied, “You could talk to him, but it wouldn’t do no good. He’s gone to Saginaw to pick up a local low-life that got himself arrested down there.”

  I ended the call and sat for a while, phone in hand. Where could Barb be? What had distracted her so much she didn’t think to let me know she wasn’t coming home?

  Retta came to mind. They’d seemed on friendly terms that morning. I called.

  “Oh, hi, Faye. What are you up to?” Retta’s voice faded in and out, and I heard soft clunks and doors opening and closing.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Changing my clothes, I’ve got Miss Allport tryouts tonight.”

  “Have you heard from Barb this afternoon?”

  “No. Why?”

  Fears tumbled out, and by the time I’d finished, I was almost in tears. “Where can she be, Retta? She never forgets to call. Never.”

  “No, I don’t suppose she does.” I heard a closet door close. “Get a jacket, Faye. It’s cool and kind of rainy. I’ll pick you up in ten.”

  Chapter Forty-four

  Barb

  Two hours in a car trunk is longer than you can imagine. If you have to inhabit one, a vintage Chevy is probably a good choice, but that doesn’t mean it’s comfortable. I’d banged a knee getting in, and it throbbed the whole time. It was dark, of course, and the air was dusty and unwholesome. I lay next to my bag of Correction Event supplies, and I mentally went through its contents, hoping there was something in there that might help me escape. Paint: no. Brushes: no. Black clothing: no. I resolved that if I got out of this mess, I’d add a few things to my kit, like a knife, a pair of handcuffs, and a gun.

  I’d been in the trunk for a while when sounds interrupted my panicked thoughts. I’d been trying to convince myself I could survive in this cramped, dark space. Of course, if I did, it would only be to die later. The car shifted, and I heard the musical tones of a phone number being punched onto a keypad. I heard the burr of the phone ringing. The voice that answered, however, was only an occasional squawk.

  “Gabe?” ... “Do you know who this is?” ... “That’s right.” ... “I need you to do something for me.” … “Don’t be stupid. Zack probably irritated somebody in town and paid the price.” ... “There’s a thousand dollars in it for you.” ... “It’s a lame charge, Gabe. They’ll never make it stick.” ... “All right. I’ll make it two thousand, but I need you to come right away.” ... “I can give you a thousand now and the rest tomorrow morning when the banks open.” ... “That’s good. Do you know where the viewing point for the Pit is?” ... “Right. Meet me there in an hour.”

  The phone clicked shut and DuBois began humming, pleased with himself. What was he planning? Gabe wasn’t the type I’d call to help with a murder, so why was he joining us?

  “No one was supposed to get hurt.” I pictured DuBois turning his face toward the back of the car as he spoke. Did he expect me to answer? To ask for further explanation? Not likely. I was fighting to stay sane.

  After a while he started in again. “It was Carson’s idea. When Stan said no more money, he got desperate. They were barely speaking when he went home after Carina’s wedding.”

  Mention of Carina seemed to divert his thoughts. “She should have married me. Stan wanted it, and I was willing. Carina was kind of a pain, but she was hot, you know?”

  No, I don’t, but you’d never have turned her into a scared rabbit like you did Phyllis.

  “Carina wanted Brown, though. I think that was mostly to irritate her old man.”

  It was silent for a while up front, and I tried to think what I’d do when he opened the trunk. If I could kick the gun out of his hand, I might have time to escape. I tried to visualize it in my mind, practicing successful images so they’d turn into action when my chance came.

  He started talking again. “So Carson’s extremely unhappy with his dad, and we start talking at the reception. We were a little drunk, but Carson says Stan’s stingy, and I say, ‘You ought to work for him.’ Pretty soon Carson’s telling me how Stan’s got money in an offshore account, a couple million. He bragged he could get at it, and we joked about helping ourselves. That was it, just joking, you know?”

  I pictured them, two young males impatient to get what they thought they deserved, outdoing each other in bold proposals for stealing the old lion’s wealth.

  “A few months later, Carson calls me at home. He’s been thinking about our little joke, and he says we can get away with taking the money.” DuBois laughed, a brittle, rueful sound. “I was young, you know? It sounded good to me.”

  My arm was going numb, and I wriggled onto my back. The spare tire interfered somewhat, but I managed
to make myself a little less uncomfortable.

  “Carson’s part was to find the files and copy them for me. My job was to figure out Stan’s system and transfer the money to our own offshore account the next time Stan went fishing in some remote spot.” His tone turned whiny. “It should have worked.”

  Surely Stan would have become suspicious when Carson started throwing money around like the storied drunken sailor, but would he accuse his own son of theft? DuBois would probably have been safe as long as Stan thought Carson alone was responsible.

  But Carson had carelessly left the flash drive where Carina had mistaken it for hers. I pictured her frown as she realized whose files were on the drive and her realization that Carson had taken them from their father’s house.

  “Carson phoned as soon as Carina left that morning,” Eric said. “We were at the lawyer’s office, but I stepped out to take the call.” His tone turned outraged. “I could not believe it. The guy comes to me—he comes to me—then freaks out when that bitch gets suspicious! He was going to tell everything. Stan would forgive Carson, but no way in hell would he forgive me.”

  Even in my misery I was enthralled, imagining DuBois’ dreams turning to nightmares.

  “So Stan and I go back to the office, and Phyllis says Carina wants him to come to her place right away. I remind him he’s got a lunch meeting, and he says he’ll see her later. When he leaves I slip out the back and drive into town. I park my car a couple blocks away and head for Carina’s apartment. I didn’t intend to hurt either of them, I swear. I thought I could make it work.” He groaned softly at the memory of how that plan had twisted into something terrible.

  “Carina answered the door, and she lit into me right away. How dare I plot against Stan with all he’d done for me—that kind of thing. It was like she was nuts, screaming and swearing. She says, ‘You’ll be sorry you talked Carson into stealing from Dad!’ Me! She thought I talked Carson into it! He called me! The bat was sitting by the door--”

  A thump on the car seat indicated DuBois relived the memory of killing Carina.