by Rae Davies
“And how did she even know it was there?” I added.
“Where’d you say you got the box from?” Phoebe asked.
“Darrell Deere. For my window...” I saw where this was going.
Laura nodded. “He’s definitely a client.” She slapped ten more photos onto the table.
I didn’t look at them. I’d seen Darrell in his underwear in person. I didn’t need anything refreshing that memory.
Betty perked up. “Does Kristi see clients too?”
Laura shook her head vigorously.
Phoebe was less committal. “At least not that we’ve seen...”
“But Rachel sees Darrell regularly.”
And I’d seen her near the mansion myself. I shared this even though I’d already told Laura as much.
“And Kristi’s been there too. I was following her that day Abi and I saw Lucy there,” Laura said.
The day I picked up the first boxes.
Something occurred to me. “You stayed with my Jeep that day. Did you ever leave it?”
Laura flushed. “I followed you to see if you were doing what you said you were.”
So my Jeep had been left open and alone. “Kristi could have put the pill bottle in my rig then.”
Laura made a face. “Oh.”
“And she could have seen you with the boxes too. Maybe that gave her the idea to stick the stocking in one later,” Betty suggested.
She was probably listening to my conversation with Laura the whole time.
“Wait...” Phoebe placed a hand on Laura’s arm. “Joe’s.”
Laura’s eyes widened. “Right.” She dug around in the photos some more and pulled out four more pictures. All were of Kristi, standing on what I recognized from the TV report as Joe’s front porch. She had a stack of flyers in her hand.
“This.” Laura pointed to the picture. “This was Saturday afternoon. We thought she was snooping around because she thought he’d killed Missy, or was even doing actual church work.”
I worked backward in time, two days that felt like weeks. “They found the notes at Joe’s Sunday morning.”
Betty nodded. “And someone called in that tip too.”
“Did you see her break in?” I asked.
Laura shook her head. “She just walked around, tucked a few of her flyers in the doors and left. She was probably just checking things out and came back later to get in.”
We talked for another hour, each of us filling in what the others didn’t know.
At the end of it, I was feeling quite proud of us. We’d solved everything.
Betty, though, had to throw a wrench into it. “So, Kristi killed Missy?”
Phoebe narrowed her eyes in concentration. “What we know for sure... She’s a fraud, running the WILers and presenting herself as holier than all of us and the choir, and she’s tried to frame Lucy for the murder, at least twice.”
“What about Joe?” I asked.
Phoebe nodded. “Joe at least once too. He could have found the stocking in the dumpster. You haven’t asked him, have you?”
I shook my head.
“But it could have been in the box too,” Laura added, pointing out what we had already said, that the boxes had been delivered to Joe first.
“Could be.” Betty chimed in. “That box was open. He could have dug around to see what was inside and the stocking could have just fallen out.” She made a downward twirling motion with her hand.
A stocking falling, I guessed.
Laura began gathering up pictures. “Which would mean she was going for Lucy, and Joe just stumbled into her plot.”
“So, everything points to Kristi.”
Everyone nodded. Slowly, but in agreement.
Kristi was the killer.
Except we still hadn’t discussed why. I posed the question to the group.
“Why would a madam kill one of her girls?” Laura countered.
Betty held up one hand and started ticking off each finger. “Because she wanted to go straight. Because she threatened to turn the madam in. Because she wanted to go out on her own. Because the madam was jealous of her girl’s youth and vitality—”
“Okay, okay.” I put my hand on Betty’s, pushing hers down. “There are plenty of reasons. The question now is: How do we prove it was her?”
Everyone leaned back in their chairs to think. No one suggested we leave this part to the police. We were too close, and the police were obviously already being led around by Kristi. Why would they believe us now?
No. We had to prove she was the killer first. Get real evidence and then we would call them.
With that agreed on, we began plotting.
“What will prove that she killed Missy?” Laura asked.
“The murder weapon,” Phoebe suggested.
“And we know she has that,” I replied.
“Except,” Laura interrupted. “How do we know that the one she has is the real murder weapon and not the one the police found at Joe’s.”
“Maybe she used them both,” Betty suggested a tad too cheerfully.
Phoebe frowned. “Either way there’s probably a chain of custody issue with it.”
I wasn’t sure she had the term right, or if that mattered outside of police hands, but I got what she was saying. If I’d had the stocking and now Kristi had the stocking, what did that prove? Plus Joe had a stocking. Way too much traveling around of female undergarments for just being caught with one to hold all that much weight... or enough weight to insure Joe’s release and Kristi’s arrest.
“We need to pin down motive and opportunity then.” Laura tapped a finger against the table.
“Or...” Betty leaned forward and narrowed her eyes. “We get a rat to squeal.”
Turned out the rat Betty had in mind was Rachel.
It made sense. She was the one who could testify about the kiosk’s side business. She was also the one with potentially the most to lose with Kristi on the loose.
“She could be in danger too,” Laura said, although I couldn’t see that the cheese–lover was all that disturbed by this idea.
“If Kristi killed one Cutie, there’s no reason to think she might not kill another,” Phoebe agreed.
“We need to get her alone, but where and how?” I asked.
Laura stared at me long enough that I felt the need to shift in my seat.
“Exactly how well do you know Darrell Deere?”
o0o
Eight o’clock that night, I was once again inside the Deere mansion. Feeling, if possible, even more uncomfortable than I had either of the other two times.
I’d called in a favor from Cindy while perhaps giving her the impression that I might be thinking of coming clean to Peter about our adventures in painting, and other item, retrieval.
It seemed Darrell had reported the break in and then promptly left town.
“He’s hiding,” Cindy announced as she unlocked the door. “Mother finally decided enough was enough and got her act together. She sent the process server while the cops were here, and he snuck out the back.”
Normally, this would have been some prime gossip, but I was too anxious about my upcoming conversation to enjoy it.
Key dangling from her finger, she eyed me. “You aren’t going to take anything else, are you? You know the police have been here. They’ll know if anything of value is gone.”
“I told you. I just want to get some pictures.” I motioned to the camera that Laura had loaned me for my act.
“Okay...” She handed me the keys. “Lock up when you’re done and then drop off the keys. Call first though.” She checked her watch. “I have an appointment, and I’m not sure how long it will take.”
Ten minutes later, there was a soft knock on the door. I went to let Phoebe and Laura in. Betty was hiding behind the hedge, playing look out.
“Is she gone?” I asked, referring to Cindy.
“Left the alley,” Phoebe replied. Laura confirmed this with a nod.
“When’
s Rachel supposed to get here?” I asked.
“Ten minutes or so. Betty will text us when she spots her.”
“How’d you get her to come?” I asked next.
Laura held up a phone. “It’s my husband’s. There’s an app. For coffee delivery.” She snorted. “His password was like him... stupid easy.”
“So, does she think she’s meeting with him?” I wasn’t all that tech savvy, but if Laura had used her husband’s password, it made sense that the appointment would be tied back to him.”
Laura motioned to Phoebe.
“We didn’t make the appointment as Rick. We made it as Darrell. We just used Rick’s phone and hit ‘new user.’”
“But Darrell would have already had an account.”
Phoebe smiled. “That’s why I sent a message along with it saying my phone had been stolen in the break–in.”
The break–in had made the news. Rachel would have seen that. “That was good,” I acknowledged. “I wouldn’t have thought of that.”
Phoebe tilted her head. “Past life.”
Again, I wanted to ask... again, I didn’t.
My phone dinged, indicating a text from Betty.
Rachel had arrived.
While Phoebe and Laura hid, I went to the door to wait.
When the knock sounded, I turned the knob and stepped back so that Rachel wouldn’t see me, at least at first.
Rachel, however, didn’t move, forcing me to step into view.
“Lucy? I thought... What are you doing here? I was—”
Betty appeared behind her. “We know what you ‘was.’”
And with that ominous announcement, my fine feathered friend hustled the suspected hooker inside.
Phoebe and Laura were in full view, waiting.
Rachel spun on us. “What is this?” Her voice rose and her hand went to her heart. “Is this... oh, my... it was you? You killed Missy, and now you’re going to kill me? Why here? Are you going to... you’re going to frame—” Her mouth snapped closed.
“We didn’t...” I began, but Betty cut me off. She shoved me to the side and got into Rachel’s space as intimidating as a puffed up cat in her feathered jacket.
“Frame who? Why’d you come here? Who and what were you expecting?”
Rachel paled. “Darrell Deere, of course. He owns this mansion and he’s a good customer of the kiosk. Part of our new home delivery service.” She looked at me. “I told you we were starting one.”
My employee wasn’t flustered. “Uh huh. Where’s the coffee?”
Rachel glanced back at the door and brightened. “In my car. I was going to ask Darrell to help me carry it in. He orders in bulk.”
“I just bet he does...” Betty mumbled.
Laura stepped forward, arm stretched out and phone on. “Recognize this?”
Rachel blinked. “That’s our new app. It needs some tweaking, but it works fairly well. It’s how I knew Darrell was ready for more coffee. Wait...” She glanced around. “Did you do something to Darrell? He’s an old man.” Her lower lip quivered.
Betty snorted. “He’s a randy goat.”
“I really don’t know what you’re talking about, but you’re making me very uncomfortable. I think I need to leave now.” Rachel moved toward the door.
Betty blocked her.
The two stood off, Rachel taking a step to the right, Betty to the left. Rachel left... Betty right.
Finally, Phoebe broke the pattern with a yell. “Enough!”
We all turned to look at her.
“We know the kiosk is a front for prostitution.” She motioned for Laura to step forward.
The cheese lover did, photos in hand.
Without commenting, Rachel thumbed through them. Slowly, her eyebrow raised and she began to chuckle. “These are just pictures of me and some of the other Cuties out at events. You may think we’re beneath you, but that doesn’t mean we don’t get invited places.” She gave me a look. An et tu look.
This was not, I sensed, going well.
Laura didn’t seem to have picked up on that yet. She pointed to the one of Rachel with Kristi. “What about this?”
“Kristi? She’s a tad uptight and judgmental, but not all bad. She invited me to her church. Her intentions are good, I guess.”
“Good? You might want to rethink that,” Betty bellowed.
Laura nodded. “Or you could be the next one found dead.”
Rachel glanced around again. “What are you talking about?”
We spilled it all then. The stocking, the pills, the pictures of Kristi at Joe’s right before the new “evidence” against him had been found.
Phoebe took control of the conversation by stepping to the front. “It’s obvious what she’s doing, and if you don’t go to the police and tell them what you know, she might just decide to eliminate another risk.”
Rachel nodded in a way that showed that she was thinking, but didn’t reveal in any way what she was thinking. Possibly that the world would be safer if we were all locked up away from normal rational human beings. “Well, I appreciate your concern, but I really do think I need to be going now. That is, if you aren’t holding me here against my will.”
Betty made a move like she was going to block the Cutie’s exit again. I grabbed the back of my employee’s feathered coat and pulled her up short.
She grunted, but settled down, smoothing her feathers and shaking some hair out of her eyes as if nothing unusual had happened.
And with that, our one hope at getting real evidence against Kristi walked out the door.
o0o
At 3 a.m. my phone rang. I ignored it.
It rang again.
This time I was awake enough to realize what time it was and what a call at this time of the morning might mean. I glanced at the number on the screen. Local. Not Missouri. Nothing bad happening at home. Relief washed over me, taking with it some of the guilt that had immediately popped up when I realized I might have just blown off my family at some moment of crisis.
The phone in my hand rang again. Without thinking, I punched answer.
“I’m at the mansion. You need to get here now!”
I didn’t recognize the number, but I recognized the voice. Cindy Deere.
I hadn’t dropped her key off last night. Was that why she was calling? Did she seriously expect me to drive back into town at three in the morning to give her the key?
I hit re–dial.
No answer.
Three more times with the same outcome.
I glanced at Kiska who had stretched and yawned and in general gone through his early morning “time to go out” ritual of movements.
He walked toward the door.
I trusted my malamute. If he thought we should go.... We’d go.
o0o
I pulled into the alley behind the mansion and turned to take the drive that would lead me closer to its door.
A body jumped out of the darkness and fell across my hood.
My heart smashed against my chest as I slammed on my brakes.
Cindy Deere pressed her face against my windshield. “No lights! Back up!” she mouthed.
Kiska, always curious, wandered forward and stared at her through the glass.
Okay.
With Cindy still dangling from my hood, I flipped off my headlights, put my rig in reverse and rolled backward. When she was satisfied with my position, she slapped on the glass with her bare palm and hopped down onto the ground.
Against every ounce of common sense that my parents had tried to instill in me, I got out of my Jeep.
I pulled out the keys for the mansion. She took them, but in an offhand way that told me their absence was not why she’d called me here.
“Did you lock up after you left?” she asked.
I had and then I’d pulled my dad’s trick and gone back and checked. Twice.
“It isn’t locked now.” She looked side to side as if someone might be watching us, as if anyone could even see us stand
ing out here in the pitch black alley.
Still the hair on my neck crawled against my skin.
Trying not to look around myself, I asked, “Why are we here?”
“I got a call.”
Another call. I sighed. “And the caller said I knew something?”
“What?” She shook her head. “No. The caller said the mansion had been broken into again and that I should get right over here. I think it’s a trap.”
A trap. So she called me? Maybe I should have been flattered.
“You were the last person who had the key. Plus, you’re in this with me. I needed someone I could trust.”
“Because I’m ‘in this with’ you?”
“Yeah.” She pushed past me to peer into my Jeep. “Good. You brought him. I forgot to tell you, but figured you would.” Then she started walking.
I didn’t follow. Instead, my hand moved back to the handle of my Jeep while my brain calculated the quietest way to get inside without her noticing and flinging herself back onto my hood or, worse, onto me.
Unfortunately, in the dark, I miscalculated her direction. My passenger–side door opened, and Kiska, aided by Cindy, hopped out.
“Did you bring a leash?” she asked.
I had, of course. But I never would have released my pet here in the dark without the leash already attached to his collar and my hand firmly wrapped around its loop. In other circumstances, I might have shared this with her, but standing in the dark, not 100% sure she hadn’t lost it, did not seem like the absolute best time for this discussion.
Instead, I grabbed the leash and hurried around my Jeep to make sure my dog was safely detained.
Kiska sniffed her and she laughed. “He likes me.”
Since I assumed that to his trained nose she smelled of cupcakes, I wasn’t all that impressed.
“If the mansion’s been broken into, we should call the police.” I tried not to sound prim, but seriously, this was beyond even my twisted ability to justify not involving the authorities.
“Can’t,” Cindy announced, sounding as peppy as a star cheerleader.
“Why not?” I was tired, she’d put my dog at risk and, quite honestly, I was reaching the point of being completely fed up, even at the possible cost of losing the painting that I was sure would guarantee me a win in the window contest.
