Color Me Dead (Henry Park Book 1)

by Trent, Teresa

  “Right up front—you can’t miss it. It’s the blue Ford Fiesta with the dent in the side,” Mitch answered. We started picking up arrangements, and I led the way out to Mitch’s car in the parking lot. Once I was there, I would have to work fast and hope Amelia left me something, anything that would lead the police away from Mitch.

  Chapter 27

  Wilma lived in a white two-story farmhouse that had seen better days. I noticed a small porch facing the road, and a dented tire rim leaned up against the side of the house. Wilma must have had a flat tire on her mail jeep.

  “I keep getting flat tires out on these rural roads. Bends the wheel rims right up. You can bring the flowers into the living room. I’ll figure out what to do with all of them later.” Wilma hoisted a large vase of roses.

  Once we had most of the plants indoors, I scouted around. There was a framed photo of a man holding a fish. It was almost too big for the wall it was mounted on. His expression was intense. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. Cold eyes. Wilma noticed me staring at it. “That’s our Billy. Gone before his time. God bless his soul.”

  “It was kind of you to take Amelia in,” I said.

  “She wasn’t making enough income on her cleaning jobs, and she wanted to take some courses down at the junior college—improve herself, you know—so I offered to let her move in here. Billy and I were raised in this house. She moved into Billy’s old room. It’ll be lonely without her, that’s for sure. Would you like a cup of coffee or tea? If you’re hungry, I have some casseroles in the refrigerator.”

  Mitch rose from the lumpy mud-colored couch and headed in a direction I hoped was the kitchen. “I could eat.”

  Wilma followed him.

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to place some of these flowers in Amelia’s room.” I picked up a couple of the lighter pots.

  “That’s a good thought. Sure thing. Second door on the right,” Wilma’s voice echoed from the kitchen.

  It was so quiet in the house; it felt like I was creeping around a tomb. Amelia’s room was, of course, very tidy with a pleasant scent of lemon oil about it. She practiced what she preached. Her bed was covered with a white chenille spread with corners so tight a drill sergeant would swoon. Setting the plants on the bedside tables, I walked over to the scarred desk in the corner. There was a black blotter in the center, with pens and pencils lined up in a container that had a whimsical owl on the front. I was surprised not to find a laptop, but cleaning ladies are not exactly overflowing with expendable income.

  Looking over my shoulder first, to make sure Wilma hadn’t followed me into Amelia’s room, I began opening the desk drawers to see if I could find anything that might lead me to my smoking killer. She had some stationary and a set of stickers from the Save the Owls fund. I noticed there was no picture of her late husband anywhere in the room. It had to be tough to look at him after the abusive relationship the two of them had. Her desk drawers contained neatly aligned stacks of paper, pens, and envelopes. I started feeling guilty about the creative mess I had in my work area. My desk would never look like this. If it did, I was spending more time organizing than working.

  In the back of her center drawer, there was a cheap paper checkbook-style calendar. Inside she had penciled in her workdays with the name of the homeowner, the time she spent there, and her fees. A poor man’s bookkeeper. At the back of the datebook were some notes I didn’t expect. It was more of a diary than information about cleaning. I stuffed the pocket calendar in the back of my waistband. Wilma probably didn’t even know it was there. As I continued to survey Amelia’s room, I sat on the bed, which retaliated with a grinding squeak. She had a large picture of birds in flight on a fall day over the bed, probably from the living room in her last home. The colors of fall in the painting were soothing. I could see why she liked it. This was Amelia’s place to escape. I bounced on the bed another time, resting my hands on the bottom of the mattress.

  My brother’s voice echoed in the hall. Had he recognized the sound of Amelia’s box springs squeaking? “Gabby? Do you want something to eat? There’s a chicken noodle casserole to die for in here.” Not too funny considering Amelia did have to die for it.

  “Sure, I just need to run out to the car for my cell phone.” The cell phone was already in my pocket, but he didn’t need to know that.

  “Who do you need to call?” he said, coming around the corner and peering at me.

  “Uh, who knows? Maybe someone needs to call me.” I lifted the calendar out of my waistband to show him and then quickly put it back. He raised an eyebrow and then nodded.

  “Hey, Wilma, heat me up a plate of casserole. I’ll be right back.” I was out the door before she even noticed.

  Chapter 28

  When Mitch and I returned to our house, we sat at the table with Amelia’s datebook.

  “I always thought you were such a good girl, but look at you, stealing from a dead woman,” he said.

  I tapped the cover. “I had to take it. It’s Amelia’s calendar. Maybe it will give us something to help you.”

  “How did you find that?” Mitch’s cell phone rang in his pocket. He glanced at the screen, “It’s Mr. Morgenstern—the old man I cleaned up the yard for. He probably has some new disgusting thing for me to clean out.” He lifted it to his ear. “Hello?” Mitch stepped into the next room.

  Amelia’s printed letters were small and square in the tiny book. Did she always write with such a precise hand, or had she been accounting for the size of the diary? She had drawn small flowers along the side; their shape was familiar, but I wasn’t sure what it was called.

  After Billy’s death she had written:

  I still can’t believe I’m living without Billy in my life. It seemed like when we were married everything was always in turmoil. He was always angry about something. Now all I have is peace. I have the right to work for nice people, except Darla Hobbs. I’ll have to end that soon, but her boyfriend is so sweet to me. Sometimes a little too sweet. What would he ever see in me?

  She was watching me today. Somehow, I think she knows. How could she know? I have been very careful.

  Amelia had been happy her husband died. From the sound of it, very happy. And Tim had been hitting on her. Penciled next to Darla’s name was a frowny face. I turned to the next page.

  Tim came by while I was cleaning today. He said I do excellent work. With Darla always on my back, I try to make it so she has nothing to complain about.

  “Did you find anything?” I hadn’t realized Mitch was leaning over my shoulder, holding a piece of day-old pizza from the refrigerator.

  “She had pride in her work. Still, though, there was little about who might have killed her. Darla was on her case about Tim flirting with her.”

  “Not a surprise.” Mitch sat across from me at the table. “I just wish …”

  “What?”

  “I just wish I had been given more time with her. I could have protected her. You know, my whole life I’ve been looking for a girl like that. My life might seem like an endless stream of parties and colleges, but now I know I was looking for Amelia. I found her, and now she’s gone.”

  I reached over and patted Mitch’s hand. His shoulders shook. “Then we will just have to figure out who killed her. Get her justice, now. I know it’s not the same, but it’s something.” He put his hand over mine.

  “It’s something.”

  That night at Clarence’s house, we were nearing the end of the initial sketches for the book, and now I would need to spend time adding color and dimension to the fictional children I had grown to love. Clarence yawned and said he might take a little nap before we continued. At this point, neither one of us wanted to stop. We had discussed the drawings for almost the entire story. Still, though, it was a tiring process for the both of us. He hated to give up as much as I did. It was so easy working here; it felt like home. I was comfortable in my weathered jeans and white gauze peasant top. Resting my suede ankle boots up on Clarence’s ottoman
, I tried to focus and possibly visualize anything I could on the diary. I stole a few minutes in his empty living room to reread it. I muted my phone so I could concentrate on Amelia’s words and maybe try to channel some impressions from them. Maybe if I read it enough times, I would pick up on some interaction she had that might lead me to something.

  “What are you reading?” Ryan towered above me with his arms crossed in front of his chest. He had changed out of his black suit and now wore his standard weathered jeans and button-down plaid shirt.

  I scrambled to close the book, but he reached down and grabbed it from me.

  “Is this your … diary?” His raised his eyebrows over a devilish grin.

  I swiped at it, but he held it high above my head. “I might have to put up with that from my brother, but not from you. Why would you care?”

  “I’ll admit it—I’m interested. Do you write down your visions in here?” He started paging through the leather-bound book. Something about Ryan was different tonight. He seemed friendlier, almost happy. It was as if a great weight had lifted from him and left him … goofy.

  “Give it to me.” I reached out again. “It’s not my diary.”

  “Your datebook then. Is this where you keep track of your social life?”

  I let out an exasperated sigh. “If you must know, it’s Amelia’s diary. I found it today at her house.”

  Ryan’s eye’s widened in surprise. He now considered the diary with new interest. “You stole this from Amelia’s house?”

  “Not exactly. We were over there delivering flowers and I just … happened upon it.”

  “And why didn’t you just happen to put it back?”

  I extended an open palm. “Give me the book. It’s not yours.”

  “It’s not yours either.”

  “I’m serious. Give it to me.”

  Ryan took me by the arm and sat me back on the couch, positioning himself right next to me. “Why don’t we read it together?”

  I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “Okay, if you must know, there is not much to it. She was glad her husband was dead, and Tim hit on her.”

  Ryan gave a sideways grin. “Sounds about right.”

  “Oh, and she hates Darla.”

  “Also right.”

  “She even talks about Darla watching her. Maybe Amelia and Tim did have an affair.”

  “Tim puts on a good game, but I really don’t think if he were going to cheat on Darla it would be with the cleaning lady.”

  I pointed to the book. “Dead women tell no tales.”

  “Unless they’re writing fiction.” He glanced through the pages of neat little letters.

  “By the way, do you know who around here smokes besides me?” I tried to sound offhand in my questioning. If he were aware I was operating on information from a vision, I’d never hear the end of it.

  “Why?”

  “Oh, no reason.”

  He stared directly into my eyes, invading my comfort zone. “If I only believed that.”

  Once again, Ryan was meddling in my affairs. If I weren’t careful, this man would be the death of me.

  “I wonder why she would keep such personal stuff in her day planner.”

  “Here’s a theory. If Amelia wanted to have a place to write down her thoughts, she would choose something her husband would never think to look at. It was a self-preservation move. If Billy was overly controlling, I’d bet she needed an outlet. She went to the easiest thing she could find. A cheap pocket calendar.”

  He continued to look through the book, which included various entries on cleaning issues in different people’s homes. If you wanted to know who had dust bunnies under the bed, this was the place to look.

  Finally, Ryan closed the book and held it up to his lips. “Maybe, we need to make a visit to Tim’s house.”

  “Because?”

  “From what Amelia wrote, she felt uncomfortable in his home. She felt like she was being watched,” he said. “Come on, Nancy Drew. We could search around like you did at Amelia’s house. Crack the case.”

  I leaned my head back on the spongy cushions of the couch. This working at night was starting to wear on me. “I see your point. I’m pretty sure she’s the one who cut my brake lines. I’m also shocked she hasn’t been arrested for it.”

  “What a pity you didn’t register that one on your psychic radar.”

  “You’ve done nothing but make fun of me. Why should we go to Tim’s house together? Do you believe in me now?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far. You’re an oddity. That’s all.”

  “I have news for you. I’m not the only one who’s seen this.”

  “Oh my God, you’re forming a colony.”

  “No. Just one of my students. She’s been seeing everything I have and more.”

  “Seriously?”

  “What’s the matter? Afraid we’ll figure out your secret? Why do you meet people in the woods in the middle of the night? It almost makes me think you have a boyfriend. Is that it?”

  What he did after that really surprised me. I could see my words had not gone over well, but instead of pushing me away he pulled me in close. Ryan lowered his lips onto mine, proving my theory wrong big time. It was like we were back on the night I helped him find his way to bed when he had too much to drink, but this time, he wasn’t drunk. This wasn’t some sort of booze-induced testosterone rush, he was kissing me cold sober.

  My first reaction was to land a good kick. But the thought seemed to evaporate, and I forgot to resist.

  When he pulled away, I whispered, “You shouldn’t have done that. I didn’t think you had a boyfriend.”

  He rose from the couch. “You’re correct. I’m not gay. You are also right that I shouldn’t have kissed you. Once again I’ve meandered into the realms of sexual harassment.”

  I crossed my arms, leaned back, and gave him a big smile. “Now we just have to figure out who was doing the harassing and who was getting harassed.”

  He turned around slowly, a look of realization coming over his face, which was then replaced by a wide grin. He returned to the couch and wasted no time taking me into his arms. This time, his kiss became more urgent, the tension between us finally coming to a head.

  As the feeling of something so right came over me, all the fears, the unwanted visions, the worries about Mitch, and the stress between us melted away.

  Chapter 29

  The events of the night before were dancing around in my head when I awoke the next morning. Once Ryan and I started kissing, all that pent-up tension between us took over. By the time we made our way up to the stairs to his room, there was no stopping us. I couldn’t believe what had just happened between us. Usually, if I went to bed with a man, it was someone I had been dating for a pretty good chunk of time and felt our relationship had gone from friendship to love. Were Ryan and I now in a relationship? Was this just a fluke that would turn out to be a one-night stand? What had I been thinking? Was living with Mitch ruining my common sense concerning the opposite sex? I couldn’t let this happen again. I had a weak moment, that was all. I really needed a cigarette.

  I panicked when I realized my phone was muted. What if Mitch needed me? I turned the sound on and then shut my eyes. Ryan was not all he made himself out to be, I thought as my eyes focused on a bookcase on Ryan’s wall. Aldous Huxley, Robert Heinlein, Ray Bradbury. I hadn’t noticed the names the night before because, well, I just hadn’t. Ryan had a taste for science fiction, and from the size of his collection, he was a big fan. When the phone rang, I scrambled, trying not to wake Ryan. That was when I noticed he wasn’t there.

  “Where have you been?” I recognized my mother’s voice on the other end, and she was not happy.

  “Uh, I’m at Clarence’s house.”

  “Where were you last night?”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “They arrested Mitch for some woman’s murder. Not being able to reach you, he called me to bail him out.”

  I rest
ed my head against the wall, my thoughts swirling. “How much was the bail?”

  “Too much. Once again, your brother has disappointed me. I was trusting you to set that boy straight, but I guess he’s in a mess once more.”

  “That’s not true. He didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “The police think he did. They have a video and a button, and now there is some sort of witness saying he was arguing with the dead woman the night she died.”

  This was news to me. Mitch had never mentioned a thing about an argument.

  “Is Mitch there? Put him on the line.”

  “I don’t see why you should start interfering now in a situation you’ve apparently failed in …”

  “PUT HIM ON,” I yelled into the phone.

  There was a shuffling noise and then Mitch answered, his voice low and beaten-down. “Hello.”

  “Were you arguing with Amelia? Did you guys have a fight?”

  “No. There was no argument, and the police won’t tell me who their witness is either.” Mitch’s voice cracked.

  “Okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Hold on, and don’t let Mom mess with your head.” When I ended the call, I checked my voice mail box. Six messages. This had to have been the worst night ever to turn off my phone.

  I threw on my clothes and noticed Ryan’s laptop was on his desk. Next to it was a letter addressed to him from a New York publisher. Checking the door to make sure he wasn’t coming back, I slipped the letter out of the open envelope. As I read through the letter, I realized Ryan’s secret. He was a writer. I remembered his father’s joy that his son had not chosen to become a writer. Ryan was talented enough someone wanted to publish his manuscript. Looking at the subject matter of most of the books in his library, it was evident he wrote science fiction.

  “I enjoyed our meetings in Lake Henry. I am excited for us to embark on publishing Journey to the Edge …”

  So that was who I saw him talking to at O’Henry’s. It might also account for his mysterious date on the night of Amelia’s death. Hearing something in the hall, I stuffed the letter into the envelope. I could keep his secret. For all of his bluster, he was just another vulnerable writer. Whoever it was walked down the hall. Where was Ryan?