Sleuthing Women II

by Lois Winston

  “Sure,” he said.

  Mama retrieved the bronze-colored key from the office, and we both watched expectantly as Mr. Albert turned it this way and that under the light.

  “Looks somewhat recent, say the last 50 to 100 years,” Mr. Albert said. “Definitely not a vintage key. Could be for any number of small locks,” the locksmith said.

  “Oh. Not a bank safety deposit box?” Mama asked.

  “Could be, but it could be a small lock of any shape. There is no manufacturer name or ID number. That area is smooth.”

  “You think someone took the identifying marks off?” I asked.

  “All I said was they aren’t present. Some keys are like that.”

  “Humph,” Mama said.

  Mr. Albert turned back to getting the house locks rekeyed. All in all, we had three doors on the house that used the same key. The office door had a separate lock.

  Mama pocketed the mystery key and bugged Mr. Albert about what he’d plant in his garden this spring. I lay on the living room sofa with my eyes closed. Bud had the sports channel on in the kitchen where he worked on dinner, and the girls did their homework upstairs.

  Soon as Mr. Albert finished the last door of the house, he found me. I hastily sat up on the sofa. “Yes.”

  He handed me a set of matching keys. “My son has a karate demonstration at six. I’ll finish up tomorrow. The house is secure so you’ll sleep better tonight.”

  “Thanks. I do feel better. See you tomorrow.”

  Once he left and we enjoyed Bud’s delicious Brunswick stew, Mama and Bud left, too. The house quieted as the girls bathed and got ready for bed. I crawled back into bed myself, sinking into the mattress and pillows with relief.

  It’d been a long day, and I was beat. I drowsed until about eight-thirty when Lexy knocked gently on my door. “Mom? You awake?”

  “Yes.”

  “Someone’s on the house phone. A Mr. Martinez.”

  Despite my fatigue, I sat. He’d called. Even if it was about the case, I wanted to hear Jack Martinez’s rock-steady voice. “I’ll take the call.”

  Lexy darted in with the phone, then she left, pulling the door almost closed again.

  “You all right?” Martinez asked after I said hello.

  I snuggled into the pillow, phone cradled in my hand. “Mostly. Bumped my head again today and my family freaked.”

  “You saw a doctor, right?”

  “I did. I didn’t hit my head that hard. But after what I’ve been through this week, I’m not fighting the bed rest prescription.”

  “Good. I won’t keep you long. Detective Radcliffe called a few minutes ago and mentioned a key. Is it related to the Taylor homicide?”

  “I don’t know. However, I’ve never had a key mailed to me before, especially one that had a typed note saying keep this safe. With a Leesburg postmark, it seems relevant to the case.”

  “I’d like to see it. Did Lettie Taylor have a safe deposit box?”

  “The topic never came up during our yearly tax conversations. We’re friendly with our Sampson Accounting clients, but I’m not Mrs. Taylor’s close friend. We didn’t hang out beyond the business of getting her taxes prepared. For the record, the key could also fit a small padlock.”

  “Good to know.”

  An easy silence hummed on the line. “Any luck finding Shea Leigh Bean’s son?”

  “We just missed Raymond Folley at a restaurant where he charged his dinner tonight. I’ve got someone watching his place, so I doubt he’ll return home. I’m sure he’s been in contact with his sister and knows the score.”

  “What about Mrs. Taylor’s funeral?”

  “The M.E. released the body, but no one claimed it. Shea Leigh’s still in jail, and now both her kids are in hiding.”

  “Mrs. Taylor deserves better than that. I wish I had the money to put on a nice funeral for her.”

  “About that, the forensic accountant found more discrepancies in her back-story. They rented a Frederick farm that got sold, but they didn’t benefit financially from the sale.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means they suddenly had a million dollars overnight from no apparent source.”

  The soft glow of light under the door only went so far. Long shadows stretched across the bedroom. Despite the warmth of my bedcovers and my dog, I shivered. “You’re going to tell me something bad, aren’t you?”

  “There’s no record of the Taylors prior to them living in Frederick County and renting the dairy farm’s house. I checked major crimes during the six-month timeframe before they both got Maryland driver’s licenses, locally, statewide and beyond. There was an armored car robbery two months prior in the Midwest.”

  “They robbed it?”

  “Could be. The money wasn’t recovered. Reports indicate three male robbers and six-mil went missing. The math works out to two million each.”

  Robbers. I couldn’t quite take it in. “They seemed like such a nice couple.”

  “People said the same thing about Ted Bundy. The Taylors used your firm to establish a basis of financial records and solidify their false identities. We’re checking Lettie Taylor’s fingerprints with the jurisdictions around the heist.”

  Their deception chilled my bones. “It boggles the mind. I liked both of them.”

  “They lied to you from the start. No wonder their daughter turned out to be a whack job and their grandkids are shady. Blood runs true.”

  “You think Mrs. Taylor’s family did this to her? How can you be sure?”

  “Easy. I ruled out the neighbor and the impersonator.”

  That was news. I sat up, clutching the phone tightly. “When did that happen?”

  “Give me some credit for doing my job. The wheels of police investigation keep churning.”

  “You’re going to make an injured woman beg, aren’t you? Shame on you.”

  “My boss would have my head if he knew the extent of your involvement in my investigation, but that’s my problem. The neighbor woman, Page Browning, has no known source of income. I was suspicious of her claims that she lives on yard sale proceeds. We looked into her banking and phone records. She doesn’t own a single credit card, and she pays her bills in cash. The only bill that runs through her checking account is her property tax.”

  He was stringing me along, barely doling out any information. “Was she part of the heist crew?”

  “Nope. Just an opportunist who had insider knowledge of Lettie Taylor’s secret.”

  Darn him. “The suspense is killing me. Tell me already.”

  “We believe Page blackmailed Lettie Taylor for fifteen years.”

  “Because of the heist?”

  “Because Lettie poisoned and killed her husband.”

  “Dang. Didn’t see that coming.” His contented chuckle warmed me, and I relaxed back into the bed. Madonna edged over next to me. “I know there’s more, Martinez.”

  “We got Page’s prints off a soda can when she came in for the lineup. She has several misdemeanors on her record, some shoplifting, but nothing after fifteen years ago. Clean as a whistle. So we took a closer look at her finances.”

  “She killed Mrs. Taylor? That makes no sense.”

  “Right. Mrs. Taylor was the gravy train, and Page showed no sign of wanting to get off that particular cash train. She pushed her luck yesterday by breaking into the Taylor household. We had eyes on the place and caught her. Once we leaned on her, the tale came tumbling out.”

  I tried to put it together, but I kept coming back to my client. “Mrs. Taylor really killed Harm?”

  “Looks that way.”

  “Can’t you dig up the body and check it for poison?”

  “He was cremated and his remains aren’t conveniently sitting on the mantle.”

  “They seemed so happy. I don’t get it.”

  “Page says she was sleeping with Harm and Lettie found out.”

  “Such intrigue, and I had no idea.”

  “Do
n’t beat yourself up over it. From all appearances, Lettie Taylor led a double life. You only saw what she wanted you to see.”

  “That takes care of the neighbor. She wouldn’t have killed Mrs. Taylor. How’d you dismiss the impersonator, Rene what’s-her-name?”

  “Ms. deMornay clearly operated at someone else’s behest. Given her gender and occupation, my money’s on the grandson, Raymond Folley. You got the picture I sent of him, right?”

  Raymond Folley’s photo made me sad. From his scraggly hair to his defeated eyes to his pudgy face, he looked like he’d never caught a single break in his young life. “Yeah. I’ve never seen him before in my life.”

  “We’re actively searching for him and have a BOLO out on his car. He’s making mistakes and that’s how we’ll catch him.”

  “He’s the guy?”

  “He has my complete attention.”

  “You’ve given me a lot to consider tonight.”

  Another easy silence filled the airwaves. “I’m off tomorrow but I’d like to come see you,” he said. “And look at that note and key.”

  His voice softened. That wasn’t my imagination. “Sure, but, Martinez, I have to ask you something.”

  “Yes?”

  “I thought I was a good judge of character, but this business with the Taylors shows I’m not such a good judge of anything. If I’m wrong I’ll probably embarrass myself. But life’s short. This crazy week taught me that. A single incident can change a life into a tangled mess.” I paused to gather my nerve. “I could be dead right now, but somehow I survived a brush with a killer.”

  “Is there a question in all that?”

  “Nope. Here’s the question. Are you interested in me?”

  “Interested.” He paused. “Yes, I am.”

  His strangled tone confused me. Life was too short to beat around the bush. “I mean as more than a suspect or someone in the case. If we weren’t working a case, would you call me?”

  “I . . .” his voice trailed off. He cleared his throat. “I wasn’t expecting you to be so forthright. But yes. I’m interested in you on a personal level. I don’t date people involved in cases. So, even with an attraction, I wouldn’t act on it now, but it doesn’t matter since you’re engaged.”

  “Not engaged. No boyfriend in the picture, either.”

  “Good to know. See you tomorrow.”

  ~*~

  Jonette called at breakfast on Friday morning. “What’s this I hear about you getting hurt again?”

  I set the stack of unopened mail beside my empty oatmeal bowl. “Not hurt. Bumped my head yesterday afternoon, passed out, and my family freaked. I’m well enough to go into the office today.”

  “Should I buy you one of those foam helmets?”

  “Nope. I don’t plan to crawl under any desks today.”

  “Good. You need anything or want company this morning?”

  “No thanks. I’m self-sufficient now. Bud found me a white Volvo from the same year as mine, and I’ve got my driver’s license and some credit cards in my name again.”

  “You call a locksmith yet?”

  “Done. As of last night, the house is secure. He’s coming by the office this morning to finish up.”

  “You’re doing great, but keep Madonna close today, just in case. And kudos to you for kicking Rafe and Charlie to the curb. You’re all set for another dating adventure.”

  It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her Detective Martinez might be on my dating horizon, but who knew if that would actually come to pass? Better to keep it to myself for now. “I guess. What are you up to today? Working on your mayor stuff?”

  “Yeah. Trying to sort out the legal tangle of White Rock. The former mayor made a huge mess of that housing development.”

  “You can do it. You’re the smartest woman I know.”

  “Second smartest. You catch onto things quicker than I ever could.”

  “I wish. This investigation is bringing up aspects of Mrs. Taylor’s life I knew nothing about.”

  “You’ll solve it. I know you will. Call if you need me.”

  After she hung up, I glanced at my St. Bernard. Madonna was a marshmallow until she wasn’t. She’d do better by me than any gun, which might be used against me.

  I reached down and gave my super-sized dog an extra hug. “We’re a team, girlfriend. Anybody that comes after us better mean business because we surely do.”

  THIRTEEN

  “Well, well, well,” a man said. “Look who finally showed up for work.”

  My feet stopped just inside the ransacked outer office. I didn’t recognize the voice coming from the shadows of the inner office, but Raymond Folley topped my list of people I didn’t want to meet. I had a bad feeling he was here. Madonna growled, and I latched onto her collar. “Who are you? What are you doing in here?”

  Every instinct urged me to run, but the man waited until I closed the door before he spoke. I couldn’t simply dart outside the way I came. To escape, I had to turn, open the door, and then run, all the while holding onto a hundred pounds of St. Bernard. Couldn’t be done.

  Mama’s car sat in the lot outside, but she wasn’t at her upended desk. She had to be in my inner office somewhere. My blood curdled. Brett’s prediction of trouble visiting my family had come true. “Mama?”

  My voice came out whisper-soft, as if I didn’t expect her to answer me. She didn’t. Though the man moved from behind my desk, a person-sized silhouette remained in my chair. A dull light glinted on the barrel of his gun. If he had my mother, I’d made a good decision not to run. “What’s going on?”

  Madonna barked, and I shushed her until she only growled.

  “Come on in and have some coffee,” the man said. “Your mother already had a cup.”

  I crept forward, dreading what I might find, but I couldn’t abandon Mama to this killer. With my cell in my pocket, I couldn’t dial for help without looking at the numbers on the keypad. My ace in the hole was the large dog at my side, I held onto her to keep her safe. I didn’t want Folley to shoot her.

  My feet moved at a snail’s pace as I avoided the stapler, the tape dispenser, and a computer mouse. As I crept forward, my vision adjusted to the thin light. “What do you want?”

  “Money. Lots of money,” the man said.

  A shadowy figure sat at my desk, unmoving. Was that Mama?

  “I don’t keep cash in the office. You’ve burglarized the wrong place.”

  “This is the right place all right. You’re the accountant.”

  My slow pace eased. Martinez had flushed the killer. Flushed him to my office. “You must be Raymond Folley, the grandson.”

  “That’s right, and I want Grandma’s money.”

  I forced myself to the threshold of my inner office. My eyes watered at the carnage. Pictures were ripped from the walls. Files had been opened and strewn about like confetti. The person at my desk hadn’t moved a muscle, while the male voice now came from behind the door. “Mama?” I asked again.

  “She can’t answer you,” Raymond said with a hideous cackle. “She’s in la-la land.”

  Outrage welled and spilled out of my mouth “What have you done to my mother?”

  “Same thing I did to you and Grandma. Spiked the coffee. She’ll be all right, if you cooperate.”

  I needed options. I had to save Mama. He had a gun, and I had my wits. Not an equal match-up in the weapons department, but I wasn’t one to be trifled with, either. “I don’t have Mrs. Taylor’s money.”

  “Don’t believe you. It wasn’t at her place. And you’re her good buddy.”

  “We weren’t friends. We had a professional relationship. Please let my mother go. She has a heart condition.”

  “She’s my insurance policy. You do what I want and she lives.”

  His voice didn’t ring true, and he didn’t mention if I would live. Not a good sign. “I don’t have Mrs. Taylor’s money. I never had her money. Look around. Does this office look like I have pots of money si
tting around anywhere?”

  “Nah, but smart gals like you know where to hide cash.”

  Talking to someone who didn’t have the guts to face me worried me. My odds of survival were better if I could see his face and the gun. “Quit hiding behind the door so we can sit down and talk about this.”

  “Nothing to gain by showing my face. The Bluebird Fund. Fork it over.”

  Thanks to Martinez I knew Raymond’s appearance suggested a troubled young man, but I kept that insider knowledge to myself. “I don’t have it.”

  “I think you do.”

  “I barely know what the Bluebird Fund is. Mrs. Taylor mentioned it once or twice in passing over the twenty years I knew her. She called it her rainy day fund.”

  “That rainy day is right now. Gimme the money.”

  “I don’t have it. You tore my office apart looking for something that isn’t here. I don’t know where the money is. She never declared the Bluebird Fund on her income taxes.”

  “Of course she wouldn’t. Her and Pop stole that money. Now you stole it from me. No way. I want my inheritance today.” The man cussed me out. “Gimme the money or the old broad dies.”

  “I can’t help you.”

  The inner office door slammed shut, and I jumped out of the way in the nick of time. For the first time, I became aware of a third person in the room. My odds of survival tanked. Bravado was all I had left. “You guys need to leave. Do it now and I won’t call the cops.”

  “Shoot her, Ray,” a woman said, edging behind the gunman. “I don’t like the way she looks.”

  Only one other person in the mess I hadn’t met. “Melanie Bean?”

  “Shut your trap, Cleopatra Jones, or you and the old broad die today,” the woman said.

  I edged away from Melanie and Raymond, fighting the brain freeze that came with fear. I couldn’t give up. I wouldn’t. Protect Mama. That’s what I had to do. I kept taking tiny steps toward Mama, away from the gun.

  The man’s heavy breathing filled my office. “What’re we gonna do, Mel? She says the money ain’t here.”

  “I don’t trust a word coming out of her mouth. Tie her up and kill the dog.”

  “I don’t kill dogs. You want the dog dead, you do it,” Raymond said. “This isn’t turning out like you said. Why don’t we just scratch off?”