Glancing around the small windowless room, he noticed the mirror on the far wall. He knew what it was: a two-way mirror. Steve remembered when it had been installed back when they had remodeled the police station.
In the early days, there was no security wall segregating the front lobby from the inner offices—no bulletproof glass separating the outside world from the office space of local law enforcement officers. Back then, the installation of the two-way mirror had caused a bit of a stir in town, as many locals disliked the idea of their community emulating the ways of a larger city.
He wondered if there was anyone watching him from the other side of the mirror. Sitting at the table in the center of the room, he glanced up at the wall clock adjacent to the mirror. He had been in the room—waiting—for five minutes.
Restless, he pulled his cellphone from his pocket, looked at it, and then set it on the tabletop and glanced around, shifting in the chair, trying to get more comfortable. Just as he was about to pick his phone up again, the door opened, and Chief MacDonald walked in, carrying a manila folder.
“What is this about, MacDonald?” Klein snapped. “You demand I come down here and keep me waiting forever. I’m sure whatever you needed to ask me could have been asked on the phone.”
MacDonald closed the door behind him and briefly glanced to the wall clock. “Sorry about the wait, but it was my understanding you got here just a few minutes ago. I was on the phone when you arrived, and came here as soon as the call ended.”
“It doesn’t matter if you kept me waiting five minutes or fifty. There’s no reason I had to come down in the first place. Like I said, you could have easily asked me what you needed to know over the phone and saved us both some time. I have a busy schedule today.”
MacDonald walked to the table and sat down across from Steve. “I really didn’t want to ask you this on the phone.”
“Ask me what?”
“If you killed Jolene Carmichael.”
Steve stood abruptly. “What in the hell kind of question is that?”
MacDonald motioned for Steve to sit back down. “Before you answer that question, you might want to have your attorney present.” He went on to recite the Miranda rights to the stunned bank manager.
Steve sat back on the chair. “Am I under arrest?”
“No.” MacDonald studied Steve.
“Then what the hell was that all about?” he snapped.
“I just wanted to make sure you completely understand your rights before we continue. Do you want to call your attorney?”
“This is ridiculous. I didn’t kill Jolene.”
“Then you’re waiving your right to have an attorney present?”
“Sure—fine—whatever—why am I really down here? You know I didn’t kill Jolene.”
“Is it true you were having an affair with Carla?”
Steve stared at MacDonald. Finally, he asked, “What does my personal life have to do with Jolene?”
“A great deal if Jolene was blackmailing you over your personal life. Threatening to go to your wife if you refused to give her that loan she so desperately needed.”
Absently combing his fingers through his hair, Steve shook his head. “I don’t know where you get the idea she was blackmailing me.”
Opening the folder he had carried into the room, MacDonald removed a piece of paper from it and slid it across the table to Steve.
“What’s this?”
“Looks a little like Jolene blackmailing you.” MacDonald leaned back in the chair and watched. “Of course, one does need to read between the lines.”
With a frown, Steve started to read what appeared to be a computer printout from an email account. The moment he realized what he was looking at, he snatched the paper from the table and waved it in the air. “Where did you get this?”
“Jolene sent that the same day she was murdered.”
“You have no right to go looking through my email. Did you have a search warrant? If you didn’t, you have no right to this!”
“I didn’t go through your email, Steve. I had no reason to—at least, none that I knew of until I saw that.” MacDonald nodded to the paper in Steve’s hand.
“Where did you get this?”
“Carla was afraid. She brought it to me.”
Dropping the paper to the table, Steve slumped back in his chair. “Carla? Carla thinks I killed Jolene?”
“She didn’t until she read that.”
Staring down at the paper on the table, Steve shook his head. “I didn’t have anything to do with Jolene’s death.” He looked up at MacDonald. “I don’t want my wife to know.”
“That will be a little hard to keep from her if I have to charge you with murder.”
“I didn’t kill anyone! What do you need to know? I’ll cooperate with you, but please don’t say anything to my wife. Keep her out of this.”
“You can start by telling me what you didn’t the first two times I talked to you about Jolene’s murder. Start with Carla and you, and how Jolene knew.”
Closing his eyes briefly, Steve took a deep breath and then exhaled. He stared across the table at MacDonald. “About a month ago, Carla and I sort of hooked up. It started as harmless flirting, and then…well, one night when I was alone, I stopped at Pier Café and had something to eat. My wife was out of town, so I wasn’t in any big hurry to get home. After I left the restaurant, I decided to walk down the pier. See if anyone was catching anything. By the time I went back to the parking lot to get my car and go home, the restaurant had closed down. Carla had locked up that night and was the last one to leave. I ran into her in the parking lot.”
“So you started talking, one thing led to another, and you went home with her? And then sometime during your affair Jolene saw you?”
“Actually, I didn’t go home with her that night.” Steve blushed. “She was upset about something, so I sat in her car with her for a while and listened to her. And well…one thing led to another…”
“Are you saying you and Carla hooked up the first time—in her car—in the parking lot of Pier Café?”
Steve shrugged. “It seemed pretty exciting at the time.”
“And cramped,” McDonald mumbled under his breath. He then remembered another time—back in February—when Carla had admitted to him about hooking up with a customer in the back of her car after work. I really need to have someone patrol that parking lot more frequently.
“I can’t believe Carla thinks I murdered Jolene.” Steve picked the paper back up off the table and looked at it a moment. Glancing up to MacDonald, he asked, “If Carla brought you this, she obviously got into my email account someway. I never gave her my password.”
“I can’t see Carla as a skilled hacker. My guess, if you didn’t give her your password, she figured it out. Do you use something obvious like your pet’s name?”
Steve didn’t respond.
“Tell me about you and Jolene.”
“She came to the bank for a loan. When she was turned down, she came to me. Thought I could pull some strings. I told her I couldn’t help her. She had no collateral. What she brought in each month barely covered her living expenses.”
“So she discovers your little secret, she sends you that email in the morning, and that night, she’s dead.”
Steve shook his head. “No. Ask Carla. Before Jolene ever came into the restaurant that night, I told her we had to cool it. I got that email and figured Jolene must have seen me and Carla together around town, maybe noticed something in our body language and imagined we were fooling around. She always had a dirty mind.”
“Umm…well…you were fooling around.”
“True. But I don’t believe Jolene knew that for sure. I certainly never intended to confirm it. I figured, when Jolene came to me, expecting to get the loan, I’d just play dumb, deny it, tell her she was crazy. Figured if she intended to make good on her threat, she’d give me some final ultimatum. Then I’d go to my wife and tell her how bat-shit crazy J
olene Carmichael was and how she was trying to blackmail me over an affair I wasn’t having.”
“What did Jolene say to you that night when she came into the restaurant?”
“Pretty much what I told you before. Although, she asked me if I got her email.”
“What did you tell her?”
“I played dumb, told her I hadn’t gotten anything—pretended I thought she was talking about my work email. She said no, she meant my private email. I lied and told her I hadn’t had time to check it yet.”
“What did she say?”
“Told me I needed to go home and read it and to expect her in the morning so she could finalize the loan.”
“What did you say?”
“She just got up and walked away. I didn’t have a chance to say anything. I just figured when she came in the next morning, I’d keep playing dumb.”
“Sounds like you had this all figured out.”
“I just had no reason to kill Jolene. All I needed to do was end it with Carla. It’s not like it was some love affair. We were just having a little fun.”
“But you didn’t end it with Carla, did you?”
“What do you mean?”
“You were with her again after Jolene was killed.”
Steve shrugged. “Yeah. With Jolene dead, I didn’t see the harm. But afterwards, I realized it had gotten too complicated and figured it would be best to end it.” Steve tossed the paper back onto the table. It slipped across the tabletop and floated off and down to the floor. “I just never imagined Carla would turn on me like this. She got into my email. Came to you.” He shook his head.
“She was afraid.”
Steve rolled his eyes. “Right. I’m so terrifying. More like she’s playing the vindictive card because I ended our relationship.”
“Jolene is dead. I’d say Carla has a right to feel vulnerable, especially if she believes you might have killed Jolene. You did have a motive.”
“I didn’t kill anyone. Anyway, Carla had as much of a motive as I did to kill her. More.”
“How do you figure?”
“Because when I went to the restaurant that night after getting Jolene’s email, I told Carla we had to cool it. I told her Jolene knew about our affair, and I didn’t want her going to my wife. I said if we stopped seeing each other, she wouldn’t be able to prove anything, because I didn’t believe she had any tangible proof.”
“So why does that give Carla a motive?”
“Because she wanted me to leave my wife.”
“I thought you said you and Carla were just…having fun?”
“We were, and I was always up front with her. But I’m not stupid. I know she hoped I’d someday leave my wife and marry her. She figured if she stuck around long enough—did whatever I wanted—I’d eventually leave my wife for her.” Steve smiled. “That was never going to happen—but—well, when a young woman is desperate to get in a man’s wallet and is looking to board the gravy train—she can be mighty accommodating, if you know what I mean.”
Steve started to say something else when he glanced over to the mirror and froze. Standing up abruptly, he pointed to the mirror. “Who’s listening?”
“Don’t worry, Steve, your wife doesn’t have to know…for now. Although, you better pray Carla has a long healthy life.”
“What are you talking about?”
“If she’s involved in any unfortunate accident, I’ll be bringing you in again for questioning. I’ll make sure your wife is in the next room, listening.”
“You really don’t think Steve has anything to do with Jolene’s murder?” Brian asked MacDonald after Steve left the station. He and Joe sat with the chief in the break room.
“Is he a killer? It’s possible. I’m not ruling it out. But there is one thing I learned about Steve Klein today.”
“What’s that?” Joe asked.
MacDonald downed his soda and then said, “That guy is a major jerk.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“This is lovely,” Melony told Danielle when she was finally shown up to her room. She turned to face Danielle, who stood in the doorway. “Chris told me on the plane you had a cancellation resulting in a vacancy. It seemed like an unexpected stroke of luck after all the recent unpleasantness. I think I’ll be quite comfortable here.”
“I’ll admit I’m a little surprised you decided to stay here instead of your mother’s house.”
Melony smiled. “Do you mean because of what my father’s business partner did?”
Danielle studied Melony for a moment before asking, “You know what Clarence Renton did?”
“Of course. Even though I rarely spoked to my mother, I do watch the news. Just so you know, I never cared for Clarence. I knew him all my life, he was my father’s best friend, but I loathed that man.”
“Why are you staying here?” Danielle didn’t intend to voice the question; it just popped out of her mouth.
Melony set her suitcase on the bed and then turned to face Danielle again. She sat on the edge of the mattress. “When I heard about my mother, I booked a flight as soon as possible. I wanted to get my mother’s estate settled and put it behind me. In my haste, I really didn’t consider where I’d be staying.”
“I’d just assumed you’d want to stay at your mother’s.”
Melony shook her head. “Too many unpleasant memories. When I was on the plane, talking to Chris, and he mentioned Marlow House, well, it just seemed right. Coming full circle.”
Danielle frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“I wanted to meet you.”
“Meet me? Why?”
Melony stood up. “It’s hard to explain.” Cocking her head to one side, she studied Danielle for a moment and then asked, “What was your relationship with my mother? I know you knew her.”
“Honestly, your mother didn’t like me very much.”
Melony laughed. “I don’t imagine she did. From what I understand, Clarence’s little downfall took her with him. Unfortunately, Mother was not very good at accepting personal responsibility.”
“I take it you and your mother weren’t close?”
“No—definitely not close. To say my mother and I had issues would be an understatement.” Melony opened her suitcase and started to unpack. She paused a moment and smiled at Danielle. “I imagine you think I’m awful?”
“Awful?”
“My mother was just killed—murdered, which adds an even more tragic element—and I’m not showing proper grief. Some would assume that because of those issues, my grief should be more devastating—losing a mother before she and I were able to resolve our issues.” Melony let out a sigh and grabbed some of her clothes. She turned and put them in a dresser drawer.
“I was under the impression your mother moved to New York to be with you after your father died.”
“True. That’s what she told everyone. But it wasn’t the case.” Turning back to the bed, Melony looked up to Danielle. “You see, I came to terms with my mother years ago. Counseling helped. I learned I didn’t have to like—or love—my mother simply because she was the woman who raised me.”
Danielle found Lily, Walt, and Chris downstairs in the parlor.
“Is Melony all settled in?” Lily asked.
“She’s unpacking.” Danielle turned her attention to Chris, who sat on the sofa next to Lily. Walt stood by the bookshelf, a cigar in hand. “I figured you’d have gone to your place and get unpacked yourself.”
Chris flashed her a smile. “Plenty of time for that. And Marlow House feels like home.” He leaned back in the sofa and propped one ankle casually over the opposing knee.
“Don’t get too comfortable,” Walt grumbled.
“Aw, come on, Walt, admit it, you’re happy to see me. Someone else to talk to.” Chris grinned.
“I’ll take that as my cue to go.” Lily stood up.
“What do you mean?” Danielle asked.
“I always feel weird sitting in on these conversations w
ith Walt.” Lily looked to where the source of the cigar scent drifted from. “No offense, Walt.”
“None taken, Lily.” Walt puffed his cigar.
“Anyway, I’m going to see what’s taking Ian. Thought I’d let him know you’re back.” Lily flashed Chris a smile and started for the door. She paused at the doorway and looked back. “Welcome home.”
“Glad to be home!”
When Lily left, Danielle took her place on the sofa next to Chris. “Melony seems nice, but I felt a little uncomfortable up there when she was talking about her mom. I didn’t like Jolene, but it felt strange listening to Melony talk about her—so detached.”
“Apparently they had some issues,” Chris said.
“No kidding,” Danielle scoffed.
“I had no idea her mom was the woman you told me about on the phone. Do they have any idea who murdered her?”
“I think you might ask our other guest,” Walt said, strolling from his place by the bookshelf and taking a seat facing Danielle and Chris.
“You talking about that lady I just met?” Chris asked.
Walt looked to the open doorway. In the next moment, the door closed, seemingly on its own volition. Neither Chris nor Danielle seemed surprised.
“Hillary Hemmingway, that’s her name,” Danielle explained. “I told you about her. She’s a mystery writer. I guess sort of famous. She’s one of Ian’s favorite authors.”
“What did Walt mean?” Chris asked.
“On the night Jolene was murdered…” Danielle began. She then went on to tell Chris about the writer’s notes Walt had read and then told him what she knew about Jolene’s murder. By the time she finished filling him in on what had been going on, he sat next to her, silently shaking his head.
“You don’t think your writer had anything to do with Jolene’s death, do you?” Chris asked.
“Like I told you, MacDonald suspects Hillary witnessed the murder but didn’t say anything. He said that’s not really uncommon. Witnesses are often reluctant to come forward. But he plans to show her those notes I gave him and see what she says. Of course, he figures she’ll probably tell him she wrote that after she read the article in the paper about finding Jolene’s rings off the pier. But maybe he can get her to step up and do the right thing. And if the killer finds out Hillary saw him, she could be in danger.”
The Ghost and the Mystery Writer Page 14
