by Louise Clark
"The girl TA—what was her name?" Christy said. She snapped her fingers. "Rochelle Dasovic, that was it. Maybe Rochelle had something on Brittany. We found out she snooped into Brittany's private stuff and we know she resented her."
"The university direction is a good one to go down," Trevor said with a nod. "It takes the attention away from Frank's death and focuses it on Brittany's life."
"But why would a TA from EBU murder Brittany in Ellen's apartment?" Christy asked.
Trevor shrugged. "To frame her?"
Roy drank his coffee and eyed his friend critically. "That's too easy. The question has to be repeated. Why would Rochelle Dasovic want to frame Ellen?"
Trevor tapped his bristly chin. "Ellen was the face of the Jamieson Trust's donations to EBU. When the Trust's funds dried up, the person who appeared to be stopping the donation was Ellen. Now, from what I understand, Ellen has money in her own right. Correct?"
She's loaded. My grandfather's will split his shares in Jamieson Ice Cream between my father and Aunt Ellen. The Trust was set up to control my father's share only.
Christy explained Frank's comment to Quinn. Trevor continued to speculate. "So an EBU TA, unaware of the details of the Jamieson family fortune could assume that there was plenty of money in Ellen Jamieson's pocket and Ellen was just being spiteful. If Rochelle, or one of the others, was afraid he or she was going to lose their grant, that person might be willing to kill the competition and get revenge against the person who put them in this position at the same time."
"Then let's assume Patterson is going to follow the direct path and look for evidence that implicates Ellen," Quinn said. "What we need to do is find links that focus the investigation elsewhere. We'll start with the EBU connection."
He looked around at the assembled company. They all nodded.
The cat jumped from the coffee table to Christy's lap and started to purr.
Chapter 14
Christy set the paring knife against the apple and expertly quartered it. The next step was to slice out the core and cut the quarters in half before she set the apple onto a plate. She worked swiftly and efficiently as she prepared Noelle's afternoon snack, but her mind drifted as she organized apple slices, cheese and crackers onto the plate.
On the other side of the room, seated at the table, Noelle was doing her homework with the help of Ellen. Noelle and Mary Petrofsky had arranged an afternoon of tag with some of the other kids in the neighborhood, but both Christy and Mrs. Petrofsky were adamant that homework had to be done first. Since the November evenings were closing in, Noelle was working diligently to get it done as quickly as possible. With Ellen helping her she was making admirable progress.
Ellen, while not an asset to the household, was beginning to find a place in it. Most afternoons she walked over to the school with Christy to pick up Noelle and she seemed to enjoy helping Noelle with her homework or being the adult supervising the children's play when they were outside. She couldn't hear Frank—which Christy considered a blessing, because Frank was often highly critical of what his aunt did—but she was getting along well with Noelle and she hadn't found fault with Christy for at least a couple of days.
She also seemed to have called a truce with Mrs. Morton, Noelle's teacher. She still raised her eyebrows when the kids were rambunctious and not chastised about it, but she no longer commented. Christy hoped that meant she was coming to terms with the reality of twenty-first century parenting and not that she was storing up choice comments for some future teacher takedown.
Now if only they could get this damned murder investigation sorted out. Christy didn't believe Ellen had killed Brittany. Or that Ellen was gay and that Brittany had been her lover. To her, both suppositions were malicious speculation. Together, they blackened Ellen's character, but they also diverted suspicion away from the individual who was the source of the gossip. The issue was to find the person who was targeting Ellen.
That was proving hard to do. In the meantime, she would believe the best about Ellen and—
The doorbell rang.
Noelle's head popped up, her attention hopelessly compromised. "Is that Mary, Mom? If it is, tell her I'm almost finished and I'll be out in a minute!"
"Focus," Ellen said, pointing at the assignment sheet beneath Noelle's pencil. "Do it right the first time and it gets done faster."
Christy headed down the stairs with Ellen's comment ringing in her ears. She was smiling as she opened the door, thinking about the diminutive Mary whose energy preceded her like a tidal wave. The smile faded when she saw who the caller was. "Ms. Shively."
"May I come in, Mrs. Jamieson?" Joan Shively asked. The expression on her face was serious.
Christy's heart sank. "Of course." She held the door wider and gestured for Shively to enter. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"
Shively blinked and looked confused.
"Why are you here, Ms. Shively?" Christy said gently.
The cat yawned in her mind and appeared at the top of the staircase, then settled there, its tail curled around its paws, body straight and stiff, like a feline bodyguard. She's up to no good, Frank said.
He was probably right, but Christy waited politely for Shively to state her reason for coming to the house.
"I'm here to see Noelle and evaluate her condition, of course," Shively said. She headed up the stairs. Christy followed. The cat sat its ground.
Noelle bounded into the living room, on the way to the stairs. "I'm finished!" she shouted. "Mary, I'll—" She skidded to a stop as she saw Joan Shively paused on the last riser, in a standoff with the cat. "Oh. You're not Mary."
"No. I'm Ms. Shively. You remember me, don't you, Noelle?"
All at once Noelle went from enthusiastic eight-year-old to a Jamieson. "Yes, of course," she said, drawing herself into a more ladylike pose. She advanced toward Shively, holding out her hand. "How are you, Ms. Shively?"
Ellen, following behind Noelle, narrowed her eyes at Shively, but said politely, "Good afternoon, Ms. Shively. How nice of you to visit. We were not expecting you."
"Exactly," said Shively. She stepped over the cat and advanced into the living room.
Christy breathed a sigh of relief when Frank did not allow Stormy to reach out and bat her leg, claws extended, but she had a sense that there was some kind of inner cat dialogue that went on and that Frank had only just retained control of the situation.
"I am here to inspect the home and ensure that Noelle is being well cared for," Shively said to no one in particular as she moved through the living room and into the kitchen. "Ah, what is this I see? Dinner preparations?"
"Snack," Christy said. "Noelle, back to the table and eat up before you go out."
"Surely it's rather late for the child to be playing outside?" Shively said.
"It's not dark and Ellen will be watching the kids," Christy said. She put the plate of apples and cheese onto the table. "You'll find that the bedrooms are tidy and clean, Ms. Shively. Please go ahead and do your inspection."
Noelle picked up an apple slice with her fingers and ate it daintily. "I have established order in my room, Ms. Shively," she said, very much the daughter of wealth and privilege. "With the help of my mother and aunt, of course. I would be happy to show you once I am finished my snack."
Well said, kiddo. The cat padded into the kitchen, blocky tiger's body tight with tense muscles ready to spring. But don't get carried away. She's not used to kids with manners.
Noelle munched another apple slice then inspected the plate and added cheese to a cracker. "Okay."
Christy froze. Shively frowned, and so did Ellen.
The doorbell rang.
Noelle immediately slipped from Jamieson heir back to eight-year-old. "Mom! That's Mary. Can I go out now?"
"Snack first," Christy said. Noelle immediately started stuffing the contents of the plate into her mouth until her cheeks looked like a chipmunk's. "Mary can have some too," Christy added hastily, fearful her child would choke hersel
f.
But it wasn't Mary Petrofsky at the door, brimming with energy and enthusiasm. It was Detective Patterson, her expression grim. "Is Ellen Jamieson here, Mrs. Jamieson?"
Christy stared at the cop. Of all the moments Patterson could have chosen to come and question Ellen, this was probably one of the worst. "Yes, she is."
Patterson raised her brows. "May I speak to her, please?"
Once again Christy found herself opening her front door wide and inviting an unwelcome visitor in. The arrival scene repeated itself, with Noelle racing for the stairs and Ellen following. This time the cat had to dodge between human legs to assume his post at the top of the stairs and Shively was the one at the back end of the parade. When Noelle and Ellen stopped short she crowded forward, peering over Ellen's shoulder to see who was there.
"Ms. Jamieson," said Detective Patterson, standing in the small foyer, just inside the door, her neck craned as she looked up the stairs. "I have some questions in the matter of Brittany Day's death. Is there somewhere we can speak privately?"
Shively pushed her way to the front. "What is going on here?"
This is not good. Frank's thought was a shout in Christy's mind, but it echoed concerns that had Christy had felt from the moment she saw Patterson in the doorway.
"And you are?" Patterson said, looking up at Shively with raised brows. Shively stiffened as Patterson raked her up and down in a thorough assessment that took in the sensible polyester slacks and jacket, synthetic white blouse and flat-heeled shoes constructed completely from man-made products. "Not one of the Jamiesons, I take it," she said at last.
A rush of color turned Shively's cheeks pink. She announced her name and position with child services like a badge of honor.
Patterson nodded briskly, but she shot Christy a sympathetic look.
Ellen looked at Christy too. Her gaze traveled to Noelle, then to Shively, before she focused on Patterson. "This townhouse is unpleasantly small, Detective, and it is currently full of people. I assume you have a location where we might talk privately. Allow me to get my purse and I'll go with you." She disappeared up the stairs without waiting for an answer.
Don't do this, Aunt Ellen! She'll take you down to the cop shop for questioning. Stop her, Chris!
Christy had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Though Patterson had been willing to question Ellen here and not at the police station, the detective's formality was ominous. Ellen must be in deep trouble. She should talk to Trevor before she did anything and she should probably have a lawyer present when she talked to Patterson. Trevor was just up the street at Quinn's house, but calling and asking him to come would mean leaving Shively here at the top of the stairs, observing everything through those critical, damning eyes of hers. It would also force Patterson to be more specific about what she wanted to question Ellen about. And again, Shively would take it all in, then she'd use it to prove Noelle's living conditions were not acceptable.
Christy had already faced the danger of having child services take her daughter away from her. She'd fought and proved that the allegation against her was false and nothing more than a malicious threat. But once you were in the system, you stayed in the system and Shively took her job seriously.
"Mom," Noelle said. "Tell Aunt Ellen to stay here."
"We need Mr. McCullagh, the man who's staying with the Armstrongs," Christy said. She used her foot to prod the cat. She couldn't exactly say, "Go get him, Frank!" but it was what she meant.
"Ah, defense council," Patterson said. "I assume Ms. Jamieson will wish to have her lawyer present during our discussions."
"Why would she need a lawyer?" Shively asked, frowning.
"I believe that is between Ms. Jamieson and myself," Patterson said pleasantly.
The cat stood up, arched its back and hissed, then bounded down the stairs, slipping between Patterson's legs and out the door.
Patterson followed its departure with her eyes. "I see your cat is as, er, assertive as usual, Mrs. Jamieson."
Since the cat had been injured defending her against Frank's killer, and usually hissed at Patterson, except for that one morning on the porch, the detective's comment was reasonable. Christy suppressed the edginess that had rushed through her as Patterson watched the cat leave and said, "Stormy has the heart of a tiger, Detective. He just hasn't realized he doesn't have the stature of one."
Patterson's lips twitched and there was a gleam of amusement in her eyes, but she didn't laugh. Probably not allowed to when she was in cop mode and about to question a suspect.
Ellen came down from the bedroom level with her purse in hand and her head high. She paused to give Noelle a kiss on the head and to hug Christy. If there was a hint of a tremble in her embrace, she didn't acknowledge it. She ignored Shively as she glided down the last set of stairs to the foyer. "If you are ready, Detective?" She raised her brows, calm, elegant, in control. A Jamieson to the end.
Patterson immediately became all business. She nodded curtly and gestured Ellen out the door to the unmarked car that was parked—illegally—outside Christy's front door.
"Mom, do something!" Noelle's distressed voice drove Christy down the stairs and outside.
She hovered, uneasily aware of Shively behind her, gawking, and Noelle plastered against her side, dismay in every tense inch of her. "Ellen, hang on a minute. At least wait until Trevor gets here."
Ellen shook her head. "Christy, don't worry about me. Detective Patterson simply wants answers. I'll be fine. And I don't need the services of Mr. McCullagh. I've done nothing wrong."
Patterson had the door to the back seat of the car open and Ellen was preparing to enter it, when Trevor burst out of the Armstrongs' front door and bounded down the stairs from the front porch. "Wait just a damned minute."
"Mr. McCullagh!" Noelle squealed.
"Counselor," Patterson said, her hand on the top of the car door.
Ellen said, "This is not a good time, Trevor," in a low voice.
Trevor blinked and stopped, a puzzled frown on his face.
Roy, Quinn, and the cat had followed him out the door. They stood behind him, silent, but clearly friends who had his back.
Eyes on the men, Patterson said, "I am taking Ms. Jamieson to the station for questioning at her request, gentlemen."
"I'm fine, Trevor. Roy. I'm sure Detective Patterson merely seeks clarification on some of the minor details related to the case. She will ask me a few questions and that will be all."
"Not without me, she won't," Trevor said in his big, booming court voice.
"I'll get the car," Roy said, and disappeared into the carport.
Ellen bent to climb into the back seat of the detective's sedan.
"Stop!" Trevor said. "If you insist on interviewing Ms. Jamieson at headquarters, I will escort her there."
Patterson raised her brows.
Still positioned to enter the car, Ellen looked over at him and said, "Stop making a scene, Trevor. Detective Patterson, we are wasting time. Please proceed." She turned her back on Trevor and slid into the backseat. There she settled, elegant as always, her hands folded in her lap, her back straight. She looked more like a woman in a chauffeur-driven limo, than one being transported by the police.
A faint smile twitched the corner of Patterson's mouth, then she shut the car door, leaving Trevor standing with his hands bunched into fists at his sides. She walked around the front to the driver's side, then slipped inside and started the engine. Before she could pull away, Roy gunned his car out of his carport.
He paused long enough to throw open the passenger door and shout, "Hop in, Three. We'll beat her there!" before he roared off, the passenger door still closing as Trevor dove into the car and settled himself on the shotgun seat.
Patterson followed more sedately, leaving Christy, Noelle, and Shively standing outside Christy's front door, while Quinn and the cat advanced toward them.
"This is a most irregular family," Shively said, disapproval dripping from her tone.
Bitch. Frank didn't usually use derogative words like that. It showed the depth of his distress over Ellen's situation and his dislike of Shively and the power she held over the family he could no longer protect in a normal way.
Stormy hissed as Christy bent to pick him up, expressing some of the anger Christy could hear in Frank's voice. She rubbed behind the cat's ears in a soothing way. She really didn't want Frank putting ideas in Noelle's mind, ideas the child might blurt out at the wrong moment. She also didn't want Stormy to scratch or bite the irritating Shively. Who knew where that might lead?
Noelle sniffed. "What's going to happen to Aunt Ellen, Mom?"
"Like she said, the detective wants to ask her some questions," Christy replied.
"I believe I have seen enough," Shively said. She sent Christy a direct look meant to intimidate. "I will be speaking to you regarding the child's aunt and her legal situation, Mrs. Jamieson. I am not sure it is advisable for Noelle to be surrounded by persons under investigation by the police."
"No one said Ellen was guilty of anything, Ms. Shively," Quinn said pleasantly, coming up Christy's walk.
Shively turned a baleful look on him. "I have worked closely with the police many times during my career and I find they rarely act without cause. If they have determined that Ms. Jamieson is a suspect, there must be a reason for it."
Horrified, Christy said, "Ms. Shively, please understand—"
"The security of the child is paramount," Shively said briskly. "Ensuring the child is safe is my only priority."
"Yeah, right," said Quinn, who had a journalist's healthy skepticism of all levels of bureaucratic authority.
Shively glared at him, then turned and said curtly to Christy, "I will be in touch."
Christy watched her march up the road to the visitor's parking where she had quite properly left her vehicle.
"That woman is a pain in the ass," Quinn said.
Christy shook her head. "That woman is dangerous."
Chapter 15
