by Nancy Bush
Maoffybe she was borrowing trouble. Influenced by her own problems. The Carreras or Scott Quade would have no reason to hurt Trini. Yes, she’d gotten in Brian or Blake’s face at Lacey’s, but from both Trini and Jarrett’s accounts, it hadn’t been that serious of a confrontation.
Just do it. Open the damned door!
Apprehension skidded down her spine.
Setting her jaw, she threaded the key in the lock, aware that her pulse was escalating. With a click, the door unlocked and she slowly pushed it open.
Trini was sitting up, slumped over on the couch, her eyes open, her tongue out. She seemed to be staring at Andi, her expression frozen in a look of horror, her clothes ripped and hanging off her.
One look and Andi knew her friend was dead.
A wave of heat swept over her, followed by icy cold. She drew in a huge gasp of air, squeezed her eyes closed, and screamed for all she was worth.
PART III
ENDGAME
Chapter Eighteen
Have to get my mind back on the game. Forget the female detectives. Forget Tracy and her sour attitude. Go back to Trinidad Finch . . . just thinking of her puts a smile on my face. All of them will be running around, trying to make sense of her death. Have you figured it out yet, little bird? Let me give you a hint: It’s all about misdirection. Do you see that my moves are merely smoke and mirrors? No, you’re too afraid. Too confused. You’re frightened that I’ll find you and crush you, and I will. Just not yet. I’ve got more gambits planned . . . just wait....
* * *
Luke heard the terrified scream as he was locking his truck.
His heart froze. Andi!
He whirled from the numbered spot he’d poached, the one next to her car and took off at a dead run. His hair stood up on end, every one of his muscles tightened. Why the hell hadn’t he brought his damned gun? Heart pounding, he reached the stairs and took the steps two at a time. “Andi!” he yelled, heading straight for the open door.
Jesus God, he hoped she was okay and kicked himself for not staying closer to her. “Andi!”
Through the door he plunged.
Andi was standing in the center of the room, her back to him, her arms out for balance, but weaving on her feet like she was about to topple. He grabbed her and she shrieked again.
“It’s Luke,” he said. “Luke. I’m sorry. It’s Luke.”
She turned in his arms, her eyes stretched wide. “She’s dead . . . I think Trini’s dead. Oh God . . . no.”
Holding her close, he gazed past her to the small woman slumped on the couch.
“She’s dead?” she asked, trembling, but the tone of her voice convinced him that she already knew what was so patently obvious. One look at the body and he was fairly certain Andi was right. The woman slumped on the overstuffed cushions was staring fixedly ahead, her skin and lips the ashy gray of death. He suspected Trini had been dead for a number of hours. That meant her death had probably happened the day before, or possibly earlier, but there was no scent of rot yet, so sooner rather than later. She was slumped sideways and there was a bit of purple-colored foil next to her left hand. “Yes, I think so.” He double-checked, releasing Andi for a second to bend over Trini and touch the cool flesh of her neck. No sign of a pulse.
“Oh God . . . oh God . . . my God . . .” Andi, quivering from head to toe, was staring at her friend.
Luke steered her back toward the door. “Let’s go outside and I’ll call nine-one-one.”
He managed to get them both outside the door and realized several people were in the parking lot, looking up at them. “Somebody screamed,” one of them, a man in his thirties wearing a Blazers cap, said.
“Yeah, it’s all right,” Luke assured him. He didn’t need any lookie loos at this juncture. He reached into his pocket with one hand for his phone, holding Andi close, her face pressed to his chest with the other.
“Y’sure?” an older man wearing a baseball cap asked. “Sounded like holy terror. Gave me the willies.”
Luke didn’t respond, just turned his back on them and placed the call.
“Nine-one-one, what is the nature of your emergency?”
“I believe a young woman is dead inside her apartment,” Luke said quietly into the receiver.
* * *
Two hours later Andi still stood outside Trini’s unit. She hadn’t gone inside as the police first and then a crime tech crew arrived and began going over Trini’s small abode.
Trini’s dead. The words failed to compute inside Andi’s brain, even though she’d understood that truth as soon as she’d looked at her friend. She knew it was real yet still felt like she might wake up from a horrible dream.
A uniformed officer had asked her questions, which she’d heard herself answer, but it was as if she were having an out-of-body experience. Then an overweight detective arrived. Luke handled most of what they wanted, answering as best he could, but there were a few queries for Andi personally, like where she found the key, why she felt it was necessary to enter her friend’s place, what was the nature of her relationship with the deceased.
No one was saying how she died, or even if a crime had been committed, but Andi had heard someone mention anaphylactic shock. That stirred her enough to tell them that Trini was deathly allergic to shellfish.
“But she’s always really, really careful,” Andi had managed to choke out.
She’d initially clung to Luke like a burr, only releasing him when one of the crime tech team recognized him. She was a woman in her fifties with short, dark hair and a thin smile. “Denton,” she said.
“Hi, Marjorie.” Luke’s response was warm.
“When’re you coming back to the force?” she asked.
“Don’t think it’s gonna happen,” Luke said, to which she shook her head, as if he’d made a poor choice.
Toward the end of the two hours Andi had dared a peek inside the apartment and was relieved to see that Trini’s body had been zipped into a body bag. There was fingerprint dust everywhere, and some kind of foil wrapper had been tweezered into a clear plastic bag that Marjorie was showing to Luke. In another plastic bag was a man’s wallet.
“What is that?” she asked Luke.
“The wrapper for some kind of energy bar,” Luke said. “The foil’s a perfect medium for fingerprints, but there aren’t any on it at all.”
“Trini’s would be on it if she’d unwrapped it.”
“Exactly. Maybe it was wiped clean, but then why would it be left at all?”
“What do you think it means?”
He shook his head.
Marjorie had consulted with one of the other techs, who was working on a laptop. “Denton,” she called, waving him over. Andi followed, keeping her eyes averted from the black bag that held her friend.
“This particular energy bar is made with cricket flour. See the cricket on the label? If we had more of the wrapper, we would see the warning.”
“What warning?” Luke asked.
“Crickets are in the same family as shellfish.”
Luke looked from the computer screen to Andi, who was still processing. “Oh my God,” she said, tears springing to her eyes. “You’re saying it was a mistake? She ate something basically with shellfish in it?”
“The warning’s pretty large,” Marjorie said, turning the computer screen for Andi to see it. On the back of the foil-wrapped bar, the one currently on the screen, was a large black circle with a slash through it over the words cricket flour. Below it was a warning that crickets were in the shellfish family.
The heavyset detective who’d asked Andi all the questions was in a conversation with one of the other techs about the wallet. He looked up and noticed Marjorie exchanging information with them and a frown creased his face. Seeing him start their way, Luke recognized trouble. “Thanks, Marjorie,” he said, pulling Andi to one side.
“You need to wait outside,” the detective told him, his uncompromising gaze encompassing Andi as well. He then shot a
warning look at Marjorie, who ignored him.
Luke shepherded Andi back onto the deck outside the apartment. He checked to make sure they were out of earshot, then said, “If she was as careful as you say, it’s a little surprising she didn’t see it. It’s pretty obvious.”
“She would have seen it, wouldn’t she? She would have seen it.”
“Don’t know how she wouldn’t have noticed it,” Luke admitted. “I wonder whose wallet they have.” He glanced back toward the detective, who was standing just inside, gazing their way. “That detective . . . Thompkins. He’s with the Laurelton PD, but I don’t know him.”
“How could Trini miss it?” Andi asked. “I don’t understand.”
“She would have seen it. Unless . . .”
“What?”
“Unless she was handed the bar, unwrapped.”
“Somebody gave it to her? And she just didn’t know?” Andi whispered. Her gaze traveled back to the open doorway and the detective. “But the wrapper was near her hand.”
“Part of it. The foil would show some kind of print or mark, but it’s been wiped clean. It was just sitting beside her left hand, and it was just the piece with a bit of the warning. So where’s the rest of the wrapper?”
He was talking to himself more than to her.
“What are you saying?” Andi asked, her voice barely audible.
“I don’t know yet. The wrapper . . .”
Luke didn’t like the idea that was formulating in his brain, that someone had deliberately fed Trini the bar and then left the foil on the couch for the authorities to find, a kind of gloating, a See what I’ve done! meant to show how smart he or she was.
“Who knew she was allergic to shellfish?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Lots of people. She didn’t keep it a secret. She wanted people to know, just in case she missed something, so someone else might come to her rescue.”
“What about this boyfriend?” Luke asked.
“He’s allergic, too. She told me that.” Andi shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself. “She was meeting him last night. I was supposed to finally meet him tonight. You think that’s his wallet?”
“He’s allergic to shellfish, too?”
“That’s what she said.”
“The police are going to want to talk to him. We need to, too.”
“The detective, Thompkins, already asked me about Bobby. If it’s his wallet, they know more about him than I do. He came to one of her classes and he was buttoned-down, not her type at all, and I think he wore glasses and maybe a hairpiece, but like I said, I never met him.”
“She was a Pilates instructor.”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Look, I’m going to take you home, and then I’m going to try to talk with Thompkins some more. They may rule this an accident, but I want to be sure.”
“Luke ...”
He looked at her.
“My friend Trini ... her full name is Trinidad Finch.”
“Okay.” He was anxious to talk to the detective.
She didn’t say anything else but was looking at him hard. Luke ran her friend’s name through his mind and felt a zing of surprise, followed by the chill of realization. “Her last name is a bird, too.”
“Do you think ... I mean, am I crazy to think there’s a connection? That last note ...”
“But she’s not involved with Wren Development.” He heard himself and added, “If that’s what this is about.”
“‘It’s too bad when little birds have to die,’” Andi quoted, her voice shaking.
“Let’s go back to your place. I’ll talk to him after they’ve cleared the scene.”
“All right.”
* * *
September stretched her arms over her head. She was tired of paperwork and tired of the runaround on Aurora Lane. It was Saturday and she wasn’t supposed to be working, but Jake was busy with a rich client who’d sprung for a working weekend at a hotel and spa in Oregon’s wine country, not far from his own family’s vineyard, and though September had been invited to join them, she’d met the wealthy client before and had deemed him an obnoxious waste of space, so she’d declined. “Traitor,” Jake had told her, and she’d kissed him and told him to have a good time, if he could.
She’d then started the day curled up on the couch with a cup of coffee watching television shows mindless enough to make her realize she couldn’t remember when the morning news program turned into an Infomercial. She was inside her own head, thinking about Jake and his weekend, their engagement, but even those thoughts were eclipsed by the one really occupying her mind: the bones found in the Singletons’ basement.
So she’d gotten dressed and headed to the station. She wouldn’t be able to clock the overtime and she didn’t much care. George and Wes were working on call today and September and Gretchen were on for Sunday. If the detectives weren’t needed, they would stay home. If they were, that’s when the overtime kicked in. As a rule, most of Laurelton’s crimes could be handled by police officers. The cases that required detectives weren’t plentiful, which was why the department cutbacks were a worry. September had been lucky to be involved in several big cases over the last year and a half, and she and her fellow detectives had certainly had their share of work-related injuries that sidelined them for a while—the memory of a man stabbing at her caused her to inadvertently rub the scar near her shoulder—so the work level had been consistent. But now they were in a lull that, although great for the public good, wasn’t so great for her career.
She’d called the number for the Burkeys from Elias Mamet’s list as soon as she’d left the interview with Kitsy Hasseldorn. No answer. She’d called again a few hours later and the same thing: no answer. The Burkeys weren’t getting back to her and she could find no separate listing for Thomas Burkey.
After that she’d phoned the landlord again, but Mamet was as unhelpful as ever. Though his rental house was only a few doors from the Singletons’ and had been for years, he swore he didn’t know much about them. He also didn’t remember anything about a tenant with an RV, and he brushed aside the horse by saying that a number of tenants had a horse or two. It was one of the draws of his rental.
Mamet’s records were as lousy as his attitude, but September had managed to winnow the long list he’d given her down to four names that could possibly belong to the family of the kid with the addiction problem. She’d called Mamet again later, trying to jog his memory on the four names, but his responses had devolved to gruff yes and no answers, except for his assurance that he didn’t really like police officers of any kind.
Now she was going over the four names of families who had rented the Mamet place. None of them were anything that sounded like shoe, as Kitsy had recalled, and only a couple of them had answered her calls or returned them. Of the two who had, most had some recollection of Tommy Burkey, but the kid with the addiction problem rang no bells, most likely because she hadn’t connected with the boy’s family yet. The whole process was like moving through molasses, slow, slow, slow, but that was the nature of police work.
After their talk with Kitsy Hasseldorn, September and Gretchen had been called to a domestic disturbance that ended in death. The wife had hit the husband with a frying pan filled with chicken Marengo, which had burned him and sent him to the hospital. What had killed him was the heart attack that followed this altercation, and the wife was so distraught and disbelieving, it was pretty clear she hadn’t mean to kill him. The case was now in the hands of the DA, who could decide whether to pursue it further. Afterward, it was time to go home, but September had wanted to pick up where she’d left off on the Aurora Lane case today, on the weekend, and here she was.
She put in one more call to the Burkeys, preparing herself for yet another voice message when, to her surprise, the line was answered by a suspicious male, who asked, “Who is this?”
“I’m Detective September Rafferty,” she began, but he cut her off.
“You’ve been l
eaving messages.”
“Yes, I have. Is this . . .” She’d been going to say Douglas, Mr. Burkey’s name, but changed her mind and asked, “Tommy?”
His intake of air told her a lot. “What do you want?”
“Like I said, I’m just looking for information about a boy who lived on Aurora Lane who—”
“You gonna arrest him for drugs?”
September trod carefully. “Well, no. I just want to talk to him.”
“Why don’t you call his mom and dad?”
“I don’t know their names, Tommy. What’s your friend’s name?”
“He’s not my friend. He wasn’t nice to me.”
“What do you call him?”
“Laser.”
“Laser? Is that his first name or last name?”
“It’s just his name. He’s got laser eyes, y’know?” There was the sound of a sharp female voice and Tommy’s took on an aggrieved note as he said, “I was just talking to her! She wants to know about Laser!”
“Hang up,” the woman ordered.
“Well, geez!” Tommy said, at the same moment September cried, “No, wait!”
The phone cut out.
“Damn it,” she murmured, but she was elated she’d at least gotten some information.
She glanced down the list of four names: the Kirkendalls, Wrights, Pattens, and Brannigans. She’d called them all to no avail, so she phoned the Myleses again. Hannah answered while a baby babbled loudly. The conversation was short. Of course Hannah Myles was too new to the family and Aurora Lane to offer up any information, and her husband and father-in-law weren’t available.
“Story of my life,” September said after hanging up. Frustrated, she tapped her fingers on the phone, feeling as if she were running around in circles, getting no-damned-where. She considered chasing down Tynan again, but she felt he’d told her everything he was going to.
