by Leslie Nagel
“I do not like that woman,” Afiya announced.
“You want to not like her even more? Get this.” Charley related the story of Sarah’s baby as her audience gaped in dismay.
“How is she even fit to be a mother?” Afiya demanded, half standing. “We should march over there and bring those babies back here where they’re safe.” Lawrence reached over and touched her arm. She subsided with a growl.
“Okay. So, what do we know?” Bobby asked.
Charley blinked in surprise. “About what?”
“About the case, little girl.” He gestured with his good left hand. “Let’s run down the facts. See where we are. Find out where you go next.”
“Don’t you get it?” she asked tightly. “I’m done. Marc can’t investigate, which just pisses me off, because believe me, I’ve got a boatload of questions. I’d love to know if Drummond’s established alibis for Paxton and Brandon yet, or if the lab results came up with any physical evidence, or if they found the murder weapon.” She stood and started pacing, trying to work off her frustration. “I don’t know if there’s any connection between Sarah’s letter to ‘Ask Jackie’ and her murder. I don’t know if Pippo’s secret has any bearing on her murder, or even if that’s what Sarah was referring to in her letter. I don’t know if Sarah’s lost baby has any bearing on her murder, because I don’t know who the father is, or if Sarah knew her baby lived. I don’t even know if that little girl is still alive, or where she is now, because I can’t trust a goddamned word out of Judith Sharpe’s mouth.”
She halted before her father, guilt, fear, and anger squeezing her chest as she blinked back tears. “All I know is, a woman asked me for help, I did nothing, and she died less than fifty yards from this spot. From my family. And I can’t do anything!”
In the silence following her outburst, Bobby gazed up at her, a lopsided smile on his grizzled face. “That was a nice rundown of what you don’t know,” he said. “Very organized. Now, if you’re done with the pity party, can we move on to what you do know?”
Charley huffed out a laugh and threw up her hands. “Sure. Why not?” She dropped back down onto the love seat.
Lawrence sat forward. “Let’s start with Brandon. I don’t trust that little weasel.”
Charley took a moment to collect her thoughts. “Brandon admitted he had feelings for Sarah, and also that he’d been down in the basement with her—just talking—more than once. That fact will explain away any trace evidence, which might be why he said it.”
“He seemed very angry when you were speaking with him,” Afiya observed.
“He’s got issues,” Charley agreed. “But is his anger just over being stuck in military school and having a strict, unsympathetic father? Or is there more going on?”
“Perhaps his feelings for Sarah were deeper than anyone realized. Perhaps he hated his father,” Lawrence suggested.
Charley frowned. “If he discovered a secret past between Sarah and his dad, that might have been enough to push him over the edge. And sleeping with headphones on? That must be the worst alibi I’ve ever heard. Judith doesn’t think he’s capable of murder, but as far as I’m concerned, that woman’s opinion counts for less than nothing.”
“Brandon was on the scene and has a crap alibi,” Bobby summarized. “He stays on the list. Who’s next?”
“Judith.” Afiya’s eyes flashed. “The unfit mother.”
Despite everything, Charley smiled at that descriptor. “Judith discovered Sarah’s body. Her grief seemed genuine, but we’ve established that she’s an Olympic-class liar, so take that with a grain of salt.”
“I suppose her alibi is the same as Brandon’s, that she was asleep?” Lawrence asked.
“Yes, except she just made a major point of what a light sleeper she is.” Charley tapped her chin. “Suppose Judith lied about seeing Sarah’s letter and knew it meant the end of hiding Pippo’s gender. What if Judith’s claim that she and Sarah had reached an agreement about telling Paxton was just another lie? In a panic, Judith confronts her daughter, the fight escalates, and she stabs her with something close to hand. The fainting spell later was all an act.”
“Or what if Paxton was the father of Sarah’s baby?” Bobby asked. “What if that’s what Sarah was writing to Jackie about?”
“That’s Frankie’s theory. She thinks Sarah threatened to reveal Paxton’s abuse at last, and he killed her to save his career. He could have parked a few streets away and sneaked back without waking Judith. Scandal would be a powerful motive for such a proud man.”
“Motive for Judith as well,” Afiya said softly. “Her actions are shameful. Nevertheless, everything she has done has been to protect her children. Such a woman would perhaps do whatever was necessary to protect their provider as well.”
“Perhaps,” Charley agreed. She leaned back and closed her eyes. “The irony here is that Paxton is the most likely suspect, and he’s the one we know the least about. All that he might or might not have done in the past is pure supposition. Again, Judith’s insistence on his innocence is meaningless. But if the man has an alibi, why hasn’t he presented it to the police?”
And there was another point, something in Judith’s labyrinth of lies and excuses that didn’t quite add up. Charley couldn’t put her finger on it, but she knew it would come to her when she was thinking about something else.
Lord, she was tired. She desperately needed a good night’s sleep. In a way she was glad to be done with this case, she thought wearily. George Drummond was welcome to it. As she stretched her arms and rolled her shoulders, Charley’s fingers encountered a soft shape tucked into the corner of the love seat. She plucked out Pippo’s little toy dragon.
Afiya gave a small exclamation of dismay. “That’s her favorite! I must return it right away. That poor child needs no more anxiety in her young life.”
“You’re right about that.” Charley started to hand it over, but paused as her fingers encountered a lump. She remembered the green marbles hidden inside a similar toy at Rachel’s preschool. Sure enough, when she turned it over, she found a Velcro pouch in the dragon’s tummy. She pulled it open and, with a gasp of shock, extracted a small carved monkey, exquisite in its detail, with a funny face she recognized.
Chapter 13
Charley brushed past a startled Dale Penwater as she made a beeline through Old Hat. All trace of the paint spill had been cleaned up. Dale stood before a neat stack of boxes marked LIGHT FIXTURES, checking something on his ever-present clipboard.
“Ms. Carpenter! I didn’t think we were meeting today.”
“We’re not.”
She didn’t slow down until she reached the storeroom, where she found Duncan hunched on a paint-spattered folding chair, hands dangling between his knees. Gone was the glow of happiness from the day before. When he heard her approach he glanced up with eyes that were puffy and red-rimmed, his expression one of abject misery. Without speaking, she held up the monkey.
His mouth fell open. “Where did you get that?”
“It’s time to stop lying, Duncan. A woman has been murdered. How do you know the Sharpe family?”
He hesitated, then said simply, “I loved Sarah.”
Those three words stopped Charley in her tracks. “You…loved her?”
He nodded. “It was a long time ago, and she’s been gone for years, I don’t know where. But I never stopped caring.”
Charley’s mind whirled. “You’re her secret boyfriend? I thought his name was Oliver.”
“Yeah, that’s me.” He shrugged. “Oliver Duncan.”
She blew out a breath. “Oh, my soul. I thought Duncan was your first name,” she admitted, a bit embarrassed.
“It’s okay.” Oliver shrugged again. “Most folks don’t even see trade workers. You’re not like that at all.”
With some difficulty Charley regr
ouped, gathering her thoughts. “Okay,” she began. “You’re Oliver. You knew Sarah in high school.” Her eyes narrowed. “It can’t be just coincidence you’re working here.”
“No.” He dropped his gaze to his hands. “I’ve been keeping track of Sarah’s mom, hoping she’d come home one day. When I saw you were renovating, well, I knew you lived next door to Judith’s new family. I’ve read about you in the papers, how you solve mysteries. I thought maybe you could help me. I was going to ask you to help find Sarah. Then, when she came home, I was going to ask you to help me talk to her.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I was working up to it. I almost told you about her when I gave you the giraffe. But you weren’t around much, and always in a hurry when you were here, and the job was going so fast.” His voice changed. “Too fast.”
“What does that mean?” she asked sharply. “How was it going too fast?”
“You were never alone, and I was afraid Sarah would leave again before I got the chance to talk to you in private. So I thought…” He glanced toward the bin of cleaning materials in the corner.
The truth slapped her hard in the face. “Oh, my God. All the sabotage. That was you?”
“I’m so sorry!” He wrung his hands. “I just needed time to figure out what to say and, you know, get up my nerve. I never did any permanent damage or put anyone in danger. I did most of the cleanup and repairs myself.”
“And that makes it all right?” Charley stood there seething, hands on hips, as Oliver stared up at her with eyes that pleaded for understanding. She huffed in exasperation. “Fine. Whatever. You’re an idiot and a coward. Want to make it up to me?”
“Yes!”
She slapped the monkey figurine onto the counter. “Tell me about this. No more lies. I want every detail.”
“Of course.” Oliver nodded eagerly. “I found out a few days ago that Sarah was home. I started driving past the house, and one day I glimpsed her in the yard. I couldn’t believe it, how beautiful she still was. I still hadn’t talked to you, but I was scared to death she’d leave again, so night before last I went to see her.”
“Monday night?” The night of the murder, she thought, heart racing. “What time was this?”
“It was full dark, around ten-thirty or eleven, I think. Why?” Before she could reply, Oliver’s eyes widened in panic. “She was alive when I left. I swear by all that is holy. She was going to call me Tuesday after work, and we were going to—but she never did. When I saw it on the news this morning…” His chin quivered. “I still can’t believe it. We’d just found each other again.”
“Do you know why Sarah ran away?”
“No. One day she was just gone. I know she hated Paxton. He was terrible to her and her mom. Mean, strict, controlling. But he was a doctor and made a lot of money. Sarah said that’s why her mom married him.”
Charley considered this. “Did Sarah tell you anything else about Paxton? Did he ever hurt her?”
“No.” He frowned. “I think she’d have told me if he had.”
She hesitated, then reached a decision. “Oliver. You and Sarah were close?”
“Yes, I told you. I loved her.”
“Were you two…intimate?”
He blushed deeply but kept his eyes on hers. “Yes. A couple of times. I know why you’re asking. The other night…She told me she’d had a baby, a little girl, and that the baby died.”
“Were you angry when she told you that?”
“Angry? No. I was shocked, of course. She was crying, and I— No!” His face turned pale as he grasped her meaning. “I loved her, Ms. Carpenter. I wanted to marry her. I would have married her still, and that’s what I went to tell her.”
“What did she say?”
“I gave her the monkey, and we sat on the bed and talked. I tried to kiss her. She pulled away, said how we were a long time ago. I told her I didn’t care, that I’d waited years to tell her how she was the only girl I’d ever love. I know people change, and that’s a long time. But true love? That doesn’t change.”
His words rang with a simple truth that Charley was tempted to believe. Instead she said coldly, “Sarah turned you down. She tried to kick you out. After waiting for so many years to plead your case, you lost it and you killed her.”
“That is not what happened.” He shook his head. “She said I had to leave, but she agreed to see me again the next evening. She promised to introduce me to Judith and Paxton. I, uh…” He reddened. “I’d already dumped the paint before going to see her, since I didn’t know how I’d be received, or even if I’d have the guts to go through with it. I thought I might still need your help to get Sarah to speak to me. Turns out I didn’t. I even confessed about the paint and other stuff, so Sarah would know how desperate I’d been.” He smiled faintly. “She actually admitted she’d chickened out of asking you for help, too. She made me promise not to play any more tricks on you, so the next day I gave you the giraffe, because I was so happy about Sarah but also guilty about all the damage I’d caused.”
“Why did she make you leave? Was she expecting anyone?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she was afraid her mom or dad would hear us. We were whispering, but it’s an old house and there’s no soundproofing between the basement and kitchen upstairs, just open joists.”
“So you sneaked in and out the side door. No one saw you enter or leave? Why didn’t you ring the doorbell? You two aren’t teenagers anymore.”
He made a face. “Judith never liked me. She thought no one was good enough for Sarah. I was afraid she’d turn me away, or keep Sarah from seeing me somehow. I’ve been waiting so long for her, and I just couldn’t—”
Oliver stopped, leaping to his feet in terror as loud voices carried in from the shop.
“Sheriff’s Department. I’m looking for Oliver Duncan.” Charley recognized the voice of Sergeant George Drummond.
“Oliver Duncan, you say? I believe he stepped out. You fellas have a warrant?” Dale Penwater’s voice boomed, his words carrying clearly through the shop.
“I don’t need a warrant to detain a suspect. Stand aside or be charged with obstruction.”
Oliver gripped Charley’s hand. “I would never hurt Sarah,” he whispered. “You’ve got to believe me! Please, help me,” he begged as the voices approached.
Before she could answer, Oliver turned and raced out the back door just as Drummond barged into the storeroom, a uniformed deputy on his heels. A sidearm rode high on Drummond’s hip, the leather holster already unsnapped.
“Stop! Police!” As Drummond shouldered Charley aside, she stumbled hard, blocking his path with the folding chair. Tripping and cursing, Drummond scrambled over the chair. His flat- brimmed hat went flying as he regained his footing and ran out the back door. After a few moments he returned, face black with fury, the deep red crease from his hat looking like someone had run a pizza cutter across his forehead. He grabbed Charley’s arm and spun her around.
“You are under arrest, you stupid bitch.” He snapped a handcuff onto her left wrist, none too gently.
“On what charge?” Dale stood in the doorway, holding up his cellphone.
“Obstruction.” Drummond spit out the word. “Abetting a fucking fugitive.” He grabbed Charley’s other wrist. She cried out as he shoved her against the countertop, the edge digging painfully into her stomach as he twisted her arm behind her back.
“Looked to me like the young lady tripped. And unless I miss my guess,” Dale said pleasantly, “Duncan’s not a fugitive until he’s been arrested. He was out the door before you even identified yourselves.”
“Bullshit! What the hell are you doing?” Drummond demanded, staring at Dale’s cellphone.
“I’m filming this for Ms. Carpenter’s civil trial. The one for wrongful arrest and excessive force.”
Drummo
nd’s face turned purple. Before he could speak, Marc burst into the room.
“You’ve got two seconds to get those cuffs off,” he growled. “Or I will make you wish you had.”
“This is my case, Trenault. Butt out,” Drummond snarled.
“The woman you’re currently knocking around is a law-abiding citizen inside her place of business in my city.” Marc’s eyes flicked to Charley’s. His voice was calm, but she could see the rage churning behind the façade. He held his fists tightly against his sides. “You okay, ma’am?”
“He’s hurting me,” she said firmly. “A lot. He knocked me down.”
Marc glanced at the deputy’s name tag. “Do you have anything to add, Deputy Franklin?”
Franklin glanced from Dale’s cellphone to Drummond’s apoplectic face. He turned to Marc. “I’d say the lady tripped, Detective Trenault. We hadn’t finished identifying ourselves to the suspect when he exited the building, and in the excitement of the moment, perhaps Sergeant Drummond’s zeal caused the lady to lose her balance. In my opinion, this is all an unfortunate misunderstanding.”
“Could you stop grinding your hips into my ass?” Charley said loudly. “It’s creepy and I can hardly breathe.” Drummond leaped back as if electrocuted. She turned around, massaging her ribs. “Thank you.”
“Cuffs off,” Marc snapped. Charley extended her arm with a big smile. Jaw bulging, Drummond produced a key and removed the cuff from her wrist. He stared at Marc with hatred as he picked up his hat and jammed it on his head.
“This is not over,” he hissed. “If I find out this—” He glanced at Dale, who winked as he continued filming. “If I learn of anyone helping Oliver Duncan elude capture, that person will find herself in county lockup.” He glanced around, spotting a lunch box on the floor with “OD” written in black marker on the lid. “Take that into evidence. We’ll match it against the prints from the murder scene.” He stormed out the door.
