Or Wendy wasn’t the one shredding the papers.
A chill ran through me.
Through the phone, I heard a voice in the background, and Drew said, “I gotta go.” She hung up.
That was fine with me. I was too busy thinking about the implications of Drew finding the evidence in Helen’s shredder. Was Helen shredding the documents to hide Wendy’s illegal activities until Helen could line up a job? Or was Wendy really so crafty that she’d use Helen’s shredder to point the finger elsewhere? She might be that smart, considering she’d embezzled two million dollars.
But who said Wendy had embezzled the money? We’d all assumed that the disappearing funds had led to her murder, but that didn’t mean she was the guilty party. Wendy was terrible at math. She’d traded favors in high school so someone else would do her homework, and Preston had mentioned that he’d been the one to balance the checkbook at home. Hadn’t Drew said that Wendy met with clients and lined up new customers, while Helen ran the back office? Which meant Helen was in charge of the books. How easy would it be to blame a dead woman for embezzling and send the police off in the wrong direction? Pretty darn brilliant, as a matter of fact.
Mind whirring, I realized I was still holding my phone and stuck it back into my pocket. Was Wendy’s death a matter of convenience for Helen, or had she helped it along? Perhaps Wendy had found out about the embezzlement and realized Helen was responsible. Had she confronted Helen, and Helen killed her so she couldn’t tell anyone? Or was I jumping to conclusions?
Still, if Helen was sloppy enough to shred incriminating documents in her own office, maybe more pieces were waiting for me to find. I might as well check, considering her office was next door. After that, I was definitely on my way.
I walked down the hall, listening to the rain pelt the windows. I saw the headlights of a car as it drove past on the highway, reminding me how far back from the road the building was set. I wondered if anyone could see the lights in the office as they drove by. I needed to leave before someone called the cops and I really did get cited for trespassing. Kimmie would have a field day.
The door to Helen’s office was closed. I flinched at the cool metal of the knob as I opened the door. The room smelled faintly of musty air and stale perfume. Eyeing the shadows in the corners, I turned on the light, illuminating Helen’s vast array of trophies on the bookcase across the room. The woman clearly liked to win. Even her trophy for her fifth-grade citizenship award was on display, for crying out loud.
Not wasting any time, I stepped behind Helen’s desk. Her shredder was tucked to one side in the kneehole, within easy reach while she worked. I dragged it out and popped off the lid. Fresh papers lay curled at the bottom like a bird’s nest. I grabbed a handful and tried to make sense of the scraps.
Drew was right. You could easily read entire words or sets of numbers on the short strips. Wendy must have bought the shredder at a discount store. I tried to make sense of all the bits and pieces, but I couldn’t get a clear picture of what I was looking at. These pieces probably meant nothing. Still, maybe I’d take them home and assemble them like pieces in a Tetris game.
But I couldn’t take the entire shredder with me. Helen would notice. I needed a bag. I poked through Helen’s drawers, moving aside paper clips and boxes of staples, trying to hurry. As I moved to the other side of the desk, my foot bumped the trash can. The can had been emptied recently, and a fresh, empty bag waited. Perfect. I stuffed the shreddings inside, tied off the top, and pulled the bag out of the can.
The bag was thin and flimsy. One snag on a corner of the desk and it would rip. It reminded me of the bags the one guy had used to sell his dog poop at the festival. We definitely couldn’t let him return next year, not after the complaints. My mind flashed back to opening day of the festival.
My mouth went dry.
Helen had been at the festival first thing in the morning and then supposedly left. I’d seen her walk off with Drew. The poop guy had arrived hours later, thanks to his dog’s constipation. How did Helen even know about him if she’d already gone? As far as I knew, she’d never returned to the festival, yet she’d seen the so-called fertilizer booth. I started shaking as I realized what that meant.
Helen had to be the killer.
And I was standing in her office like an idiot.
Still clutching the bag, I yanked out my phone and called Detective Palmer. Once more, I got his voice mail. I left a hasty message, then hung up and called Jason. He’d barely gotten his “hello” out before I started babbling.
“Jason, Helen is the killer. It was the dog poop. The dog poop! How did she know about the dog poop guy at the festival? She mentioned him when she was talking to Preston at the funeral, but she’d already left the festival before that guy even showed up.”
“Dana, slow down. I can’t understand you. Did you just say that Helen killed Wendy and Preston?”
I was walking around in circles, heart racing, and forced myself to stand still. “I’m not sure about Preston, but definitely Wendy. I think Helen’s the one who embezzled the money and then murdered Wendy to keep her quiet.”
I heard Jason’s sharp intake of breath. “You’re not still at Invisible Prints, are you?”
“I’m leaving right now.” As if proving my words, I moved to the door. I looked out the large glass windows and saw a pair of headlights swing into the driveway. I almost wet my pants at the sight. “Oh no, Jason. Someone just drove up,” I whispered.
“Get out of there, Dana. Get out now! I’ll call 911.”
“Okay,” I whimpered. I ended the call and hit the wall switch, plunging the room into darkness, but the lights remained on in the main part of the building, like a beacon to my location.
I darted down the hall and flipped the switch at the top of the stairs. The rest of the lights went out. Whoever had pulled up must have noticed my car out front and the lights on, but at least they couldn’t see me inside the now-dark building. Maybe I could escape through a back door, if this place even had one.
Mostly blind, I gingerly stuck out a foot and felt for where the stairs started, grabbing the banister with one hand. The cheap plastic of the shredder bag made a slapping sound on the wood. After the first couple of steps, I worked my way up to a trot.
I was almost to the bottom when I heard the front door open and froze. I stared at the figure barely outlined in the doorway. Then the lights came on.
Helen.
Crap.
I am screwed.
35
Water ran in rivulets down Helen’s jacket and pooled on the welcome mat. She squinted at me. “Dana?”
“Hi, Helen.” My voice squeaked, and I cleared my throat. I shifted the hand with the bag of shreddings behind my back and forced myself to chuckle, though it sounded more like I was choking on a chicken bone. “Kimmie needed to retrieve fund-raising tickets from Wendy’s office, and I offered to come with her.”
Helen’s head swiveled as she took in the room. “Kimmie was that friend of Wendy’s, right? So where is she?”
I knew she was going to ask that. “She had to get back to her restaurant. I was on my way, too, but I had to use the facilities. Too much iced tea at dinner.” I chuckled again, but Helen didn’t.
Instead, she craned her neck to look upstairs. “I thought I saw the light on in my office.”
So she had noticed the light. “You must have seen me in Wendy’s office. I wanted to double-check that we hadn’t left a mess.”
Her gaze strayed to the front door. “How did you and Kimmie even get in here?”
I didn’t want to answer more questions. All I wanted was to find a way out of here. But Helen blocked the only exit and didn’t seem eager to move. “Kimmie has a spare key.” I tried to keep my focus on Helen, but she must have noticed my attention continually returning to the open door, my one chance at escape.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, I’m letting in the rain,” she said. She turned and slammed the door shut. The noi
se of the latch clicking into the slot reminded me of the sound of a cell door slamming shut in a prison movie.
I crossed the room to where Helen stood, but she made no move to get out of my way. “I think the rain’s letting up a little. Now would be a good time for me to drive home,” I hinted.
“Before you go, perhaps you could tell me what’s in the bag.”
My fingers convulsed on the plastic. “Bag?” I asked, trying to sound innocent, but only managing to sound guilty. I lifted the bag up like it held a goldfish that I’d won at the fair. “It’s nothing.”
Helen pursed her lips. Her gaze never left my face. “Since you’re removing it from this office, I’d say it’s something.”
“Just the trash,” I said. “I wasn’t sure Kimmie and I should let ourselves in, so I figured I’d at least take out the trash while I was here.” I was a bad liar. I knew I was a bad liar. But in all my years of lying, I’d never come up with a dumber lie than that.
Before I could move, Helen swung an arm out and snatched the bag from my hand, untying the top in one swift motion. She peeked inside, then reached in and pulled out a clump of shredded paper.
As she studied it, her expression changed from mild curiosity to outright rage. When she raised her eyes to glare at me, I felt my insides shrivel.
“These are from my office!” She was seething.
I took two steps back. “I’m sure they’re from Wendy’s office.”
She dropped the bag on the floor. “I knew you were trouble the moment you came here after Wendy was killed, snooping around. I answered your questions. I tried to convince you everything was fine. Still, you kept digging. Do you think you’re going to blackmail me like Preston did?”
Aha! Blackmailing Helen must have been Preston’s big plan to get more money. “Is that why you killed him?”
Helen sneered at me. “He knew Wendy was an idiot when it came to math. He realized I’d been handling the books, so I must be the one who stole the money. He thought he was entitled to it.” Helen let out a laugh. “As if.”
I backed up again, banging my spine against the staircase post. My heel bumped the bottom step. “What now? Run off to your new company and start over?”
“Exactly.” Helen reached into her inside coat pocket and pulled out a black object, which she gripped in her hand. She unfolded it to reveal the long blade of a knife. “As soon as I get rid of you, of course.”
A gust of wind rattled the windows, and Helen jerked around to look. I used the precious seconds to grab a figurine from the end table and strike at Helen. We were far enough apart that I only managed to brush the blade, but the movement startled Helen. She jumped back and lost her footing, falling to one knee.
Even partly kneeling, she could easily grab me if I tried for the door. Instead, I turned and ran up the stairs, huffing and puffing in a panic. All I could picture was getting into an office and locking the door. It was my best chance while I waited for help to arrive. If help was even coming . . .
As I neared the top, I felt fingers wrap around my ankle. I fell forward into the hallway, automatically kicking my leg out behind me. My foot hit air, but Helen loosened her grip. I kicked my leg again, and she let go. I rose to my feet and risked a look behind me. Helen was rising to her feet. Her face was set with determination, and the knife was still clutched in her hand.
I rushed into Wendy’s office and slammed the door shut, pushing the lock in the knob. As I turned on the lights, I saw the knob twist as Helen tried to open it from the other side. The sound of metal grating on metal filled my ears as she rotated it first one way and then the other.
I looked around the room for a weapon. My gaze roamed over the shelves and desktop, spotting a stapler, a phone, and a three-hole punch. Not much against a knife of that size, probably the same knife Helen used to kill Wendy and Preston. I pulled out my cell and tried Detective Palmer once more.
Before the call could connect, I heard the scraping of a key against the lock. I felt as if my entire body had turned into a block of ice. I should have realized Helen would have a key to every door in the building. I jerked my head around, hoping I’d see a potential weapon I’d missed the first time.
Nothing.
I shoved my phone in my pocket and turned off the lights, knowing the darkness would slow Helen down only for a couple of seconds. But it was better than nothing.
I crouched behind the desk and heard the lock disengage as the key found its home. The door swung open. The hallway lights created a perfect outline of Helen, knife in hand.
“It’s no use running,” she said.
Almost blind with panic, I leapt out from behind the desk, felt along the top of the desk, and snatched up the three-hole punch. I ran at Helen and swung the long metal tool at her head. It whacked into her temple. In the dim light, I saw her fall and the knife slipped from her hands. She made a grab at my pants as I moved toward the door, but I squeezed past her and ran for the stairs.
Slipping and skidding my way down the steps, I somehow managed not to break any bones. I darted across the lobby and yanked on the doorknob. Nothing happened. Fresh panic coursed through me.
I jerked the knob again, and the door flew open. Rain slapped my face as I lurched outside and stumbled to my car. Before I could open the door, Helen slammed into me from behind. I felt something scrape my side as I fell against my car. I swiveled around. In the feeble light cast from the building, I could just make out the knife back in Helen’s upraised hand.
As she brought the knife down in an arc, I threw myself to one side and pivoted around. The knife clanked against my car door. With a grunt, I grabbed the back of Helen’s head and shoved it toward the door. Her face connected with the top of the door frame, and she staggered back, clutching her forehead. Dark lines of what I could only assume were blood streamed down her face, intermingling with the rain. The hand with the knife hung at her side.
I rushed forward and shoved her down, then turned and ran. I headed for the highway, water spraying up as my feet pounded the wet ground. The soggy moss beneath my shoes was making squishing sounds, slowing me down as if slogging through mud.
Willing my legs to obey me, I forged ahead. My muscles shrieked in protest. Just when I thought they’d fail completely, I reached solid pavement. I turned in the direction of Mendocino and spotted flashing red-and-blue lights up ahead, coming closer. Jason must have reached the cops. Help was almost here.
I risked a look behind me and saw Helen still at her car. As I watched, she opened her driver’s-side door. Relief flooded through me as I realized she was no longer chasing me, too focused on her own escape.
With my last bit of strength, I raised my arms and waved as the cruiser approached. The car slowed as it neared me, and the driver’s-side window lowered. “Need help, ma’am?” the officer asked.
Sides heaving, I nodded and pointed toward Helen’s car. “That woman killed two people,” I gasped out. Then I bent down to catch my breath. All I wanted now was a hot bath and dry clothes. And to be wrapped in Jason’s warm embrace.
36
Two days later, I set the last moving box in the middle of my new living room. Well, Ashlee and my new living room, but I kept ignoring that part. I placed my hands on the small of my back and stretched out the muscles. I’d worry about the actual unpacking later.
The front door opened, and Ashlee bounded in, a scruffy-haired, leather-jacket-clad stranger in tow.
“Dana, this is Chip. We hung out together at a friend’s party last weekend, and it turns out he lives on the other side of the complex. Isn’t that a trip?”
We’d only moved in this morning, and Ashlee already had a new boy over? Oh, Lord, what had I been thinking when I agreed to move in with her?
“Come on, Chip, let me show you my room.” She took his hand and pulled him across the floor.
He mimed a hat tip on his way by and muttered, “Later.”
They disappeared into Ashlee’s room, and she shut the
door. Thank goodness I’d insisted on the two-bedroom place.
I shook my head at my sister’s antics as I sank down onto the new couch, which had arrived this morning. The smell of chemicals and new material drifted up. I stood and opened the nearest window, thinking about everything that had happened in the last week. Lily had called this morning on the advice of her therapist to apologize officially for scratching my hood. She was also going to report herself to the police. I didn’t want to see her go to jail, but maybe confessing to the cops would help curb her anger issues.
Someone knocked at the door. I crossed the room and found Jason standing there, a bouquet of red roses in his hand. Mom stood next to him, holding a toilet brush and a basket of cleaning supplies.
“Look who I found at your door,” Mom said.
I swung the door wider so they could both enter, then took the bouquet from Jason. I inhaled the sweet fragrance of the flowers. “You sure spoil me.”
“I’d bring you every rose in the store if they’d fit in my car,” he whispered into my ear as I gave him a peck on the cheek.
I dug through a box marked Kitchen and unearthed a large glass shaped like a parrot, which I’d picked up on a trip to Vegas a few years ago. I filled it with tap water and set the flowers inside. I’d have to add a vase to my list of household items Ashlee and I needed to purchase.
Mom glanced toward the closed bedroom doors. “Where’s your sister?”
“Ashlee?” As if I had more than one sister. “She’s, um, in her room. She’ll be out in a minute.”
Mom raised her eyebrows, as if she knew I was leaving out part of the story, but I hustled her and Jason to the couch before she could ask.
“Have a seat, you two.” I perched on the coffee table, my knees jutting between Mom and Jason. “I bet you’ve been swamped at work covering Helen’s arrest,” I said to Jason.
Green Living Can Be Deadly (A Blossom Valley Mystery) Page 24
