A Box Full of Trouble

by Carolyn Haines

  Abby took a slow sip of her tea. She studied Victor’s face and posture for any indications he was lying, but saw none.

  “She tried to talk me out of it. But when I asked her to leave our apartment and filed for divorce, she went ballistic and demanded alimony and half of my pension—which I wouldn’t even get for another five years—and she wanted the title to my SUV. I hired a lawyer to fight her.”

  Abby’s experiences as an attorney in divorces notwithstanding, she remained amazed at how love could turn to hate.

  “Given the circumstances, especially since my wife was a petty officer in the Navy and didn’t need alimony—or my pension—the lawyer was confident we’d win.”

  Trouble reached out a paw and tapped Victor on the leg, and meowed. Once again, Abby was impressed by Trouble’s obvious understanding of human words and emotions.

  “Well, she hit on an idea. There was a big scandal breaking with members of the military posting photos—nude ones—of women in the service. My wife had my password to my Facebook account and she posted some photos of herself. Tasteful, studio-quality, but naked. Very naked. I don’t even want to know who the photographer was—but it wasn’t me.”

  “And you got blamed for it?”

  “Yes. She claimed I’d taken the photos with her permission, but then posted them for revenge without her permission while we were breaking up. She vehemently denied giving me the okay to post them.”

  “Why didn’t you fight back? Surely there was some way to prove you hadn’t posted them?”

  “How? The photos were posted on my Facebook account from the hard drive of my computer. They were even taken with my camera. I was sloppy, or trusting, leaving all my passwords and my things around for her to get. But I didn’t think she’d try anything like that. Hell, I didn’t even change the locks on my doors after she moved out.”

  “But surely you could have explained all that.”

  “Maybe, but it’d be her word against mine, and I didn’t think I stood much of a chance. Or maybe I just didn’t have the heart to try. Especially since the offer on the table was to resign with an honorable discharge or be charged with conduct unbecoming an officer. Besides, I didn’t really want to call my wife a slut in front of a court martial.” Victor dropped his head. “I had loved her, after all.”

  Abby realized with a huge sense of relief that she believed him. Nothing in Victor’s tone or demeanor suggested he was lying. She hadn’t been wrong about him, or about how she felt about him. She stood up, and went to where he sat, and, standing behind him, she placed her hands on his shoulders. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask you before.”

  Victor slid back his chair, stood up, and turning around, pulled Abby into his arms. For a long moment, he just held her. Then he tilted his head so he could reach her mouth with his.

  When Victor’s lips touched her, Abby felt a comforting, yet demanding warmth spread through her body. She arched her back so that her breasts pressed against his chest. Some part of her acknowledged this had been what she’d wanted from the first time she’d seen him. Her lips parted with a will of their own and her hands traveled down his body. Her heart raced.

  She had completely forgotten that Lucas was in the house until he cleared his throat. “Reckon the coast is clear. Looks like y’all don’t need me.”

  Abby broke from Victor long enough to say goodnight to the detective. Trouble escorted Lucas to the door, leaving her and Victor alone.

  Victor grinned at her. “Much as I want to carry you right into your bedroom and make love to you, what we both need is a quick nap, and to hit the trail again. Rizzo is still too invested in me or Phillip as the kidnapper. We’ve got to rethink everything. Talk it out. Look at what we know. But first, a catnap, okay?”

  Abby nodded, her body registering disappointment that there wasn’t going to be anymore kissing—or anything else—at the moment. But her mind knew Victor was right.

  Later.

  After they found Layla.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Victor yawned and stretched after his nap. He and Abby had collapsed together in her bed, fully dressed because it would have been too tempting otherwise, and miraculously, they’d slept until the alarm woke them. Abby had grabbed a quick shower and now she was dressed in a fuzzy robe with her damp hair twisted up with a clip on top of her head. He rose out of bed, sorely tempted to nibble her ear, kiss the back of her neck, and peel her slowly out that robe.

  Standing behind her, he ran a finger lightly up and under the front of the robe, and leaned forward for one slow-traveling kiss along the damp, warm skin of her bared neck. As his lips moved down her neck to below the fuzzy collar of the robe, she dropped a handful of things she’d been holding onto the dresser, and moaned. His fingers began to untie the belt of the robe.

  Trouble pounced on top of the dressing table and started pawing and meowing insistently at something.

  “Not now, Trouble,” Victor said, frustrated by the intrusion.

  But Trouble started batting around the pieces of whatever it was Abby had dropped, and his plaintive meows couldn’t be ignored.

  Reluctantly Victor pulled away from Abby and glanced at what Trouble was so focused upon. Jewelry, several pieces of it, were scattered where Abby had dropped them.

  Abby was staring at Trouble now too, the mood broken by the cat’s insistent caterwauling.

  “It’s nothing but Jennifer’s jewelry,” Abby said, her voice puzzled. “The EMT asked me to take it so it wouldn’t get lost at the hospital. I guess I’ll put it all in the safe at the law firm.”

  Victor barely nodded. Two items had caught his eye—just like they had captured Trouble’s attention.

  “These earrings look like the one that Trouble practically knocked into my hand when I was going through Layla’s things in your guest room. Layla had just the one earring, hidden in her padded bra.” He looked at Trouble, who sat gloating by the earrings.

  Abby leaned closer to study the set of earrings on the dressing table, as Victor stuck his fingers into his shirt pocket and pulled out a single earring. “I know this is going to sound crazy, but I went to Jennifer’s to ask if this was hers, and, if so, why Layla had it.”

  Victor put the one earring from his pocket next to the two that Abby had taken from Jennifer at the EMT’s request.

  They studied the three earrings on her dresser, while Trouble purred. Upon close examination, Victor saw that the set of earrings Jennifer had been wearing were not identical. One of them had a smaller pearl in it and its gold was duller with a slightly more yellow color.

  “They really don’t match, do they?” Abby pushed the two earrings closer together. “But on Jennifer’s ears, probably nobody would notice.”

  “But look at this.” Victor moved the one from his pocket next to the better one from Jennifer’s ears. “A perfect match.”

  Abby turned each one over in turn, studying the engraving of the word love. “These two, the engraving is very refined, artistically so.” She gestured at the mismatched one with the smaller pearl. “But on that one, the word’s rather crudely done.”

  As Abby spoke, Trouble meowed again and sat on his haunches looking supremely satisfied.

  “I’ve had this one since right after Layla was kidnapped.” Victor tapped the earring with his finger. “The police never had it because I took it out of Layla’s room before they searched it.”

  Abby frowned, fingering the earring Victor had taken from Layla’s room. “Is that what somebody is looking for? An earring? It can’t be that valuable. Could it?”

  “I think it’s more complicated than that.”

  “She—I mean Jennifer—must have lost this one.” Abby pointed to the one from Victor’s pocket. “And tried to get a replacement made.”

  “But why did Layla have it?”

  Abby looked up at Victor, her eyes deep amber ovals in her pale face. “Do you think she stole it?”

  “Layla’s not a thief.”

  �
�Then maybe she found it?”

  “Where would she have found it?” Victor wrinkled his forehead. “Unless she took it from the Drapers’ house while she was there alone with Phillip.”

  “You just said she wasn’t a thief.”

  Victor shook his head. “I’ve been wrong about plenty of things before.”

  * * *

  At least these two are finally realizing they are seriously smitten. Beyond having a fancy for each other, they also seem to be learning to trust one another.

  Yet neither of them could put the earrings together until I shoved the evidence right in their faces. How will they ever find Layla at this rate?

  There is one more task facing me before I let Abby and Victor out the door of this house. That can of cat food in the refrigerator.

  No, I’m not talking about mealtime. Though I do recall a piece of left-over salmon in the fridge that I wouldn’t object to sampling.

  Rather, I am thinking about that can which had been opened and resealed with a plastic top—a can of cat food from which no one had given me any food. Captain’s Sea Fairy, to be precise. Why had someone opened it, if not to feed me?

  I have my suspicions. Layla is obviously a smart young woman with a flair for hiding things. I’m guessing there is something in that can of cat food that Victor and Abby need to see.

  I run into the kitchen while Abby gets dressed. But in the kitchen, I’m confronted once more with the problem of not being able to open the refrigerator door. Despite my attempts, my paws just cannot pull the door open.

  I need a biped. And quickly, before they leave.

  Zipping back to Abby’s bedroom, I find her door is opened just wide enough for me to slip in. Abby is dressing in a pair of slim-legged tan linen pants and a soft white blouse with a touch of lace down the front. I’m not the only one who can see a hint of a peach-colored bra from under her unbuttoned blouse as Victor is sitting on the edge of the bed, watching with a hungry look on his face.

  Having discovered long ago it is never too early to try to communicate with a biped, I start meowing. In the plainest terms I can imagine, I tell them both what I need. Someone to open the damn refrigerator.

  Abby shushes me, something I know she would not do if she were not hopping around on one foot as she slips her other foot into a chocolate-colored ballerina flat.

  “Need some help?” Victor asks her.

  “Feed Trouble for me, will you please?” Abby steadies herself and slides the second shoe on. I run through the crack in the bedroom door and dash to the kitchen.

  Victor hurries after me. I paw at the refrigerator door and he pulls it open for me, casting a curious glance at me. “Looking for chow or another earring?”

  He’s teasing me, but I don’t take time to rebut. Instead, I put my head to the task in front of me and jump into the refrigerator.

  “Hey, get down.” To his credit, he sounds more amused than angry.

  Ignoring him, I push the cat food can with my nose toward the edge of the refrigerator shelf. Victor starts fussing at me, the amusement gone from his tone, as I push the can off the edge and watch with satisfaction as it falls to the tile floor.

  Splat. The can hits with a resounding clatter, and I hop out of the refrigerator.

  Victor yells and I yell back. He’s going to have to learn better manners if he intends to marry Abby.

  “What is going on in here?” Abby stands in the entrance way to the kitchen. “I can hear you two in the bedroom.”

  While Victor starts to explain, I nose the can. The force of the fall knocked the plastic cover on the can loose. With my teeth and paws, I’m able to pull the lid all the way off.

  “Meow.” I yell as distinctly and loudly as I can—meaning: would you two shut up and look at this?

  They do.

  Inside the can of cat food, there is no food. Someone—doubtlessly Layla—has scooped out the food and filled the can with a crumpled paper towel.

  Victor swoops down and picks the paper towel up. Inside, there is a single gold wedding band.

  Sounding like a boastful Mum, Abby says, “I told you he was a better detective than either of us.”

  “I’m sorry I doubted him.” Victor straightens up from petting me and holds the ring toward Abby. “I’m guessing you didn’t hide this in the cat food.”

  Abby shakes her head no. “But this is so weird. I found a flash drive at the law firm, hidden in Layla’s diabetic bars in the kitchen. So Layla might hide things in food?”

  Victor fingers the ring in his hand. “Not just food. I found a flash drive taped to the toilet at the Drapers’ house.”

  Abby gives him a perplexed look, but doesn’t ask what he was doing examining the Drapers’ toilet. “All right, then, she’s leaving a trail of flash drives, like a trail of crumbs on the forest floor, along with a couple of pieces of jewelry. We just have to figure out what they mean.”

  Abby kneels on the floor and looks me in the eyes. “Are there any more flash drives, rings or things, or other clues hidden in my house?”

  I meow, appreciatively. Then I shake my head. There’s a piece—or two—of the puzzle still missing, but it’s not here at Abby’s.

  “Shall we see what this is?” Victor is already heading toward a desk lamp in the living room.

  Under the bright light of the lamp, Abby and Victor study the wedding band.

  “Look,” Victor says, and points. “The word love. The same style of engraving script as in the earrings.”

  They stare at each other for a moment and rush back into the bedroom, and tumble around among the items on the top of the dresser. Abby pulls up a wedding ring. I hop on top of the dresser to supervise. The ring Abby took from Jennifer’s finger is a decent match for the one in the cat food can, but not exact. As with the replacement earring, the engraving is cruder.

  “Why on earth would Layla have two pieces of Jennifer’s jewelry, especially jewelry that’s so obviously precious to her?” Abby looks at me as if I have an answer.

  But I don’t.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Abby’s cell phone chimed from inside her purse, and she wrestled it out from the clutter. “Delphine,” she said, glancing at the caller ID, and her heart kicked painfully in her chest. This would either be about Phillip or Jennifer. Either way, Abby didn’t figure it for good news. Not this early.

  “I’m working on getting Phillip out of jail so he can go be with Jennifer. But if I can’t get him out, you need to get to the hospital and be with her.” Delphine hadn’t bothered with hello.

  Abby swallowed hard. That didn’t sound good. “How’s she doing?”

  “In a coma. Bad.” Delphine’s voice sounded tired and anxious. “Docs say that she had Valium and antidepressants in her system. A lot.”

  “I thought I saw some bruising along her jaw,” Abby said. “Like somebody had pried her mouth open against her will and maybe forced her to take those pills.”

  “Yes, that’s what the ER doctors said,” Delphine replied. “The bruises became more intense at the hospital, especially after they cleaned her face and removed her make-up.”

  “Will she be all right?”

  “They don’t really know yet.”

  Abby felt tears forming in her eyes and wiped at her face with her sleeve. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I’ve got to go. I got a judge waiting to hear an expedited bail hearing.”

  “Wait, wait, Delphine. Please. Does the name Marshall mean anything to you?

  “What’s that got to do with Jennifer?”

  “It was the last thing she said to me, right before she passed out and the EMTs loaded her in the ambulance.”

  “Marshall? You mean like the Marshall court?”

  “Yes, Marshall. Does she have…I don’t know, a brother or somebody named Marshall?”

  “No. And I’ve got to go.” With that Delphine ended the phone call.

  “Like the Marshall court?” Abby felt like a bell was going off in her hea
d.

  “Victor, we need to get to the law school. Right now. I’ll explain on the way.” Abby didn’t pause to see if he agreed, but grabbed her purse and her keys. “You too, Trouble. We might need you.”

  A moment later, they were all crowded into Victor’s pickup, and he was driving.

  “Okay, now, you want to explain this to me.”

  “The Marshall court,” Abby said.

  “You mean, like Marbury vs. Madison and all that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Follow me on this, okay.” Abby paused, once again trying to gather her own thoughts into a coherent pattern. “We both know that Marshall was the Supreme Court justice in 1803, and that he authored Marbury v. Madison, the case that established beyond doubt the independence of the U. S. Supreme Court.”

  “Yeah, I remember all that. We spent a whole week studying the case in my constitutional law class. It’s a famous case. And it changed the way our government and our country have functioned ever since then because it established the Supreme Court’s right to knock down laws of Congress if the Court found them unconstitutional.”

  “Bravo. You get an A.” Abby grinned at Victor for a second before worry creased her forehead again. “But there’s a connection between that and …well, Layla. Maybe.”

  Victor ran a red light, but in the early morning traffic, no one was about. Still Abby cut her eyes at him and frowned.

  “A connection? I don’t see how. You’re not saying Layla was researching or writing something on the Marshall court? I mean hasn’t everything that could ever be written about that been written?”

  “Yes.” Abby paused, waiting to see if Victor connected the dots on his own. Trouble let out an insistent yowl, but she ignored him.

  “Professor Miguel.” Victor pounded the steering wheel. “He wrote that book on the Marshall court and how it changed American history. We all had to buy the damn book and read it in Con Law. He must make a fortune off the sales since practically every law student in the country has to buy the book.” Victor drove, one hand on the steering wheel, and the other pushing back the hair drooping over his eye.