by Liz Mugavero
“I have no idea,” Stan said. “But let’s talk about it when she’s not right there.”
“Right. Plus, I’m sure my office is bugged at this point.” The phone rang on Jessie’s desk. She leaned over and answered. “Yeah, I’ll meet you outside,” she said, then hung up. “I’ll be right back. I need to get Colby something from my cruiser.”
“Garrett Colby?” Stan asked. “With the K9?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Can you have him call me? We’re going to do his fundraiser Thursday night at Amara’s.”
“Fundraiser?”
“Yeah. He didn’t win the Irish stew contest, and he needs to get his dog a vest. Why?”
“No reason. That’s . . . really nice of you. I’ll tell him.” She grabbed her keys and her coffee. “Be right back.” She walked out, pulling the door halfway closed behind her.
Stan sipped her coffee and glanced at the conference-room door. Radio silence from inside. How long were these forms, anyway? Or had Monica pulled a vanishing act like she had at Tony’s house, only out the window this time? Not her problem either way. It’s not like the girl was under arrest or anything. Hitting the ladies’ room would be a better use of her time while she waited.
As she walked down the hall, she checked her watch. Maybe Monica would walk back to Izzy’s so she could run upstairs to see Tony. The mayor’s office was on the third floor, across from council chambers and the old jail cell the town kept for historical reasons. She used the bathroom, then headed back to Jessie’s office. Jessie wasn’t back yet, but Stan gasped when she saw Tony Falco standing at her desk, hand hovering over a pile of paperwork.
Chapter 44
They stared at each other for a long moment, Tony’s hand poised over the stack of papers on Jessie’s desk, until he finally removed it and shoved it in his pocket.
“Hello,” Stan said. “I was about to come up and see you.”
“Yes. Well. Good. I’m heading back up in a moment,” he said.
Stan nodded. “What are you doing?” she asked casually, leaning against the door.
“I . . . was looking for a report Trooper Pasquale had for me.” He smoothed his tie, quickly regaining his composure. “I didn’t want to bother her with another phone call, so I came down. When she wasn’t here, I thought I’d see if it was on top of her desk. Do you know where she is?”
Stan narrowed her eyes. She didn’t buy his story. Before she could figure out how to react, Cyril Pierce stepped into the office, nearly walking into the wall as he finished scribbling in his notebook. When he looked up, confusion registered, then his eyes took on that reporter’s gleam Stan knew all too well. “Mayor. Stan. Good to see you both.”
“Hey, Cyril,” Stan said.
Tony nodded curtly.
“Where’s Trooper Pasquale?” Cyril asked.
“She stepped out for a moment,” Stan said.
“Ah. Well, I’ll wait.” Cyril sat on one of the straight-backed chairs Tony once suggested Jessie provide to make her office “more welcoming.” “In the meantime, Mayor, any developments?”
“Developments in what?” Tony asked coolly.
“The murder case.” Cyril flipped to a blank page and looked up, expectant.
“That question would be better suited for me,” Jessie’s sharp tone came from the doorway. Every head swiveled. She did not look happy to see either of them. “Mayor, may I ask what you’re doing behind my desk?”
Tony had the grace to look embarrassed. “I was looking for . . . that report.”
“What report?”
“The one on the Pendleton hit-and-run,” he said.
Jessie looked blank for a second, then laughed. “You mean the basketball hoop?”
Stan frowned. “Someone hit and ran a basketball hoop?”
“Family dispute,” Jessie said. “The ticket recipient felt it was an unfair citation and asked the mayor to review it. But Mayor, I sent you that report last week.”
“Hmmm,” Tony said. “I don’t recall seeing it. Maybe Arlene forgot to give it to me.” Tony’s secretary had assisted every mayor who’d served in Frog Ledge for the past century. At least, she was old enough that it seemed that way.
“Maybe,” Jessie said. “But you thanked me.”
Silence. “Must be old age,” Tony said finally with his trademark movie-star smile, and edged past Stan. “I’ll take a look and let you know if I need another copy.” He strode to the door just as another person appeared in the doorway, blocking his exit.
“Mayor, hey!” Diane Kirschbaum, the town animal control officer, waved excitedly at him. She wore a uniform two sizes too big for her, and a small twig was visible in her tangled curls. Her sleeves draped over her hands as she motioned. “I have good news for you. I think I trapped your cat.”
Stan and Jessie’s eyes locked. There really was a cat?
“I had no idea you had a cat,” Stan said to Tony. “And my mother stays with you?”
Tony sent her a withering look disguised as a smile. “I have two. One of them got out Saturday night during all the . . . ruckus, and hasn’t come home. I’ve been worried sick and out looking every day. Miles is lonely without his brother.”
Diane seemed to notice Stan for the first time. “Hey, Stan! Thanks for sending your sister and niece over to help. They’re great.”
“I’m glad,” Stan said. “They were looking for something to do. Thank you for keeping them occupied.”
“Was this a dramatic cat rescue?” Cyril piped up. “Can we do a story on it?”
The inner conference room door finally opened and Monica came out, freezing in place when she saw all the people. Stan’d nearly forgotten she was in there. Monica’s eyes locked with Tony’s, and something crossed his face that Stan couldn’t pin down. Regret? Pity?
“Ms. Chang,” he said. “Good to see you again.”
“You too,” Monica said, looking like it was anything but.
At the name, Cyril perked up, turning his intense stare toward Monica. Stan tried to catch his eye and glare at him, but he didn’t look at her.
“What brings you to be visiting with the police?” Tony asked Monica.
“I needed my phone back. And my purse is still missing,” Monica said.
“Missing?” Tony repeated. “From my house?”
Monica nodded, fidgeting with her scarf.
Tony looked at Jessie. “I trust you’re taking care of that?”
“She’s filling out a report. Unfortunately, only certain members of the police department are allowed into your home, so we can’t go look for it,” Jessie said pointedly. “But maybe you can keep an eye out.”
Stan held her breath. Cyril’s hand hovered over his notepad. Tony’s face bloomed red, but he didn’t respond.
Diane Kirschbaum exhaled loudly. “’Scuse me?” She waved her arms again to get their attention. “I have a dog in my truck so I really can’t stand around all day.”
Once Tony turned his attention back to her, she continued. “Anyway, you may be in luck. I had traps out two streets over from your place. Trying to catch a pregnant momma cat. I didn’t get her, but a black kitty with a white spot on his chest wandered in, and he’s real friendly. Want to come to the clinic with me and see?”
Tony looked at Stan. “Can we push our meeting off for an hour?”
“Sure,” Stan said.
“Thank you. Yes, I’ll come over now.” Tony followed Diane out the door.
Jessie, Stan, and Cyril all looked at each other. “No comment,” Jessie said when Cyril opened his mouth.
“Are you sure?” Cyril asked. “Because this jibes with the statement from the suspect’s attorney. That he was chasing a cat through the woods during the time he’d stepped out of the house. And it’s a detail that has yet to be released by the police department.” He waggled bushy eyebrows at Jessie. “Any comment? Or maybe an official time of death so folks can draw their own conclusions?”
“Nope.”
Cyril shrugged. “Fine. I’ll move on to my supporting piece.” He turned to Monica. “Are you Eleanor Chang’s daughter?”
Monica’s face went white, which was apparently answer enough for Cyril.
“I’m Cyril Pierce, editor and publisher of the Frog Ledge Holler. I’m doing a feature story on Ms. Chang . . . er, your mother. She was quite accomplished. Since she wasn’t a local, I’d like to give people a chance to get to know her. And of course”—he looked at Jessie again—“I’d like to include an update on the investigation.”
Panic flashed in Monica’s eyes. She looked at Stan, then Jessie. “I don’t want to talk to you,” she said, and ducked back into the conference room, slamming the door behind her.
Jessie’s face rivaled Patricia Connor’s best death stare. She bared her teeth at Cyril. “What part of ‘no comment’ is hard for you to comprehend?”
Cyril didn’t look fazed. “This is definitely one of my most sensitive cases,” he said, almost to himself, then turned back to Jessie. “I’m still doing a feature on the victim. Stan, do you want to comment?”
“No,” Stan said.
Cyril sighed. “The investigation can’t be over,” he said to Jessie. “You didn’t even confirm the cause of death publicly. Did you get the autopsy report back?”
“I don’t know,” Jessie said. “I’m not leading this investigation. You’ll have to call the barracks. And good luck getting an answer,” she muttered, then pointed at him. “That’s off the record.”
Cyril hoisted himself out of the chair, exhaling loudly. “Fine. But you better not be giving the other reporters anything.”
“What other reporters?” Jessie demanded just as someone knocked on her office door.
They all turned as the door inched open. The guy Char chased away with her spatula poked his head in. He did a double take when he saw Stan, then grinned. “I guess this is the place to be,” he said, and opened the door wider to let his cameraman inside.
Chapter 45
“No. Absolutely not. No cameras,” Jessie said, striding over and cutting them both off before they could enter any farther. “No interviews of any kind. Who are you, anyway?”
“Jeb,” Stan muttered.
Jessie turned the glare on her. “Who?”
“Jeb Ryder,” Jeb said helpfully. “I’m with the Hartford Gazette. I take it you’re Trooper Pasquale?”
Cyril sniffed. Jeb ignored him.
“I am,” Jessie said. “And I have no comment. About anything. Not even the weather. So if you don’t mind—”
“We’re working on a story about Eleanor Chang’s death,” Jeb said, as if she hadn’t spoken.
“Like I said for the four hundredth and seventy-fifth time,” Jessie said, “no comment.”
“Can you confirm the relationship the victim had to the suspect?”
“No,” Jessie said.
“Why wasn’t the mayor questioned more extensively? Is it true he wasn’t on the premises at the time of the murder?”
“I. Have. No. Comment,” Jessie snarled, then turned and walked back to her desk, dismissing them.
But Jeb still stood there, smiling like a crazy person. In a minute, Stan understood why. The cameraman had his camera on and aimed straight at her. He panned from Stan to Jessie, then back to Jeb. “While the police have no comment about the investigation and the mayor continues to be unreachable, the mayor’s step-daughter-to-be is consulting with the resident state trooper,” Jeb said. “This is Jeb Ryder, reporting from Frog Ledge.”
Jessie slammed her hand down on the desk. “Out of my office now!”
The cameraman whistled. “Dude, sweet footage,” he murmured, zooming in for a close up on Jessie.
“I’d listen to her,” Cyril said offhandedly. “She threw me in the slammer once. I’m Cyril Pierce,” he added. “Frog Ledge Holler publisher.”
“Nice to meet you,” Jeb said. He made a cutting motion across his throat to the cameraman, who reluctantly stopped filming. “Do you know where the mayor’s office is?”
“Out!” Jessie yelled.
The pair scurried away, probably thinking she’d call Char if they didn’t listen. Cyril, sensing now would be a good time for him to leave, too, followed suit, closing the door on his way.
Jessie dropped into her chair and covered her face with her hands. “How is this my life?” she asked.
Stan wisely assumed Jessie wasn’t expecting an answer, so she stayed silent.
Finally, Jessie dropped her hands. “Who are those clowns? How did he know your relationship to Tony?”
“They were hiding in the bushes at Char’s this morning. Accosted my mother for a quote. I was getting in my car, so I intervened. I didn’t tell you earlier because you seemed like you were in a really bad mood.”
“Great.” Jessie spun her chair in a slow circle. “Thanks for thinking of me.”
“I wonder how long they’ll wait for Tony,” Stan mused. “I should give him a heads-up.”
“Don’t do him any favors,” Jessie said.
“You’re right. Is Arlene up there?”
Jessie nodded. “She’ll probably give them Tony’s cell phone. And what was he doing in here? You see him take anything off my desk?”
“No. I went to the bathroom. When I came back, he was in here.”
Jessie’s jaw tightened. “That story he gave me was pathetic, but if he was looking for anything about the murder he’s definitely in the wrong place. Looks like the missing cat is for real.”
“Yeah,” Stan said. “Guess Richard was telling the truth about that.”
Jessie rubbed her hands over her face, then sat up. “Want to get her out of my conference room?”
Stan knocked on the door, then stuck her head in. Monica sat with her head resting on the table. “Hey,” Stan said. “All clear. Sorry about that.”
Monica lifted her head like it weighed a ton. “Can I go now?”
“Of course. After you give Trooper Pasquale the report.”
With a sigh, Monica walked out of the room and handed Jessie the paperwork.
Jessie scanned it. “I’ll look into it, okay? I’ll call you.”
“Thanks,” Monica said.
“Do you want me to bring you back to your car?” Stan asked.
Monica shook her head. “I think I’ll walk. It’s right down the street. Thanks for bringing me here.” And then she was gone.
Stan looked at Jessie. “I’ll be right back,” she said.
* * *
Stan caught up with Monica outside and called her name.
Monica turned, shading her eyes against the sun. “Yeah?”
“Can I ask you something?”
Monica shrugged.
“The person who picked you up the other night. Who was it?”
Monica tugged her scarf tighter around her neck. “Why do you want to know?”
“Because it’s important,” Stan said. “Everyone who was at that house when your mother died is important.”
“They caught the guy who did it. I’m not stupid. So why don’t you all just leave me alone? I didn’t do anything!” She turned and bolted down the stairs and out to the street, heading toward Izzy’s in the first show of feisty Stan’d seen from her.
She watched her go, little alarm bells dinging in her head. Something wasn’t right with this girl. Yes, she’d just lost her mother. But her gut screamed there was more to it. Monica slipping out of the party the other night bothered Stan more and more, not just because of her potential partner in crime but because it was an odd way of dealing with such a shocking situation, especially one involving her own mother.
She counted to ten, giving Monica time to get far enough ahead, then followed. What were the chances she’d call the driver of the red car?
She turned the corner a minute after Monica and scanned the street ahead. She saw Monica turn into Izzy’s parking lot, but she didn’t go back inside. Instead, she crossed to an old-style BMW and climbed in the dr
iver’s side. She started the car but remained parked, still fiddling with her phone. Stan ducked into the entryway of the flower shop and watched until she pulled onto the street and hit the gas, heading out of town. Too bad she didn’t have her car—she could tail her.
Frustrated, Stan kicked at a rock in her path and turned back to the town hall, walking with her hands jammed into the pocket of her sweatshirt. Conspiracy theories ran through her head. Monica hadn’t given her the right passcode for her phone, either. At the time, Stan chalked it up to stress and drinking. It was easy to forget a number or misspeak. But now she had to wonder if she’d given her the wrong code because she didn’t want anyone to get to her contact list. Whose number was in that phone?
Number. Phone. Stan suddenly stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk, almost getting run over by a woman pushing a baby carriage behind her. “Sorry,” she muttered, stepping out of the line of traffic and pulling her cell phone out of her pocket. How had it taken her three days to remember that Monica had used her phone to call her ride on Saturday?
She scrolled through her outgoing calls. Nothing she didn’t recognize. No unidentified numbers. She scrolled again. It should have been between Jessie’s call to the troop shortly after she’d found out about the situation, and the call Stan made to Jake right before she left the ill-fated party.
But it wasn’t. Which meant Monica deleted the number after she’d made the call.
Chapter 46
Stan stood rooted, trying to tamp down the growing feeling of unease that surfaced every time she thought of Monica and this red car. Monica obviously hadn’t wanted Stan to see the number. She must know Stan could easily go online to her cell phone account and find a listing of all the calls made to and from her number. But she’d gotten rid of easy access to it. Or Monica hadn’t thought she’d go to that much trouble to find the number. So what was she hiding? Whom was she hiding?
The possible answer to the question made her palms sweat. Stop, she commanded herself. You’re losing your mind.
Everyone heard stories about kids who killed their parents. More often than not boys were the culprits, but there were those truly remarkable cases where girls committed the unthinkable, or got their boyfriends to help them do the deed. Sometimes the killings were chillingly unprovoked, like the story Stan read a few months ago about a girl in Oklahoma who’d stabbed her mother to death while she slept because she’d given her a ten o’clock curfew. Other kids, after years of abuse, finally snapped.
