Girl Undone (TJ Peacock & Lisa Rayburn Mysteries Book 3)

by Marla Madison

  “Want some?” TJ pointed to the other half of her sandwich.

  Lisa bent over and pulled a box out of one of her bags. “No sandwich for me. I need sugar.”

  TJ saw the box was from Cinnabon and contained a cinnamon roll dripping with icing, one big enough to serve four. Lisa ceremoniously cut it in two and slid the smaller half over to TJ, who shoved the sandwich aside. “Can’t pass that up, but we need coffee.” She started to rise.

  “No we don’t.” Lisa brought out two coffees. “I thought of everything. This day calls for caffeine and sugar. Maybe pizza, too, but we can do that later.”

  Between bites, Lisa told TJ about her trip to the fertility office.

  “Well, that’s good news. If you want you guys can get pregnant. An’ the wife is pregnant for sure?”

  “I wasn’t sure it was even her I heard talking until I saw her in the waiting room on my way out. They took her in so fast that I never saw her face. I’ve seen her photos in the news, so once I saw her, there was no mistaking who she was. I didn’t actually hear her say she was pregnant, but it sounded like she took one of those home tests and wanted Ferguson to do the follow-up for confirmation. I’m sure that type of pregnancy would need to be closely attended by the physician.”

  TJ thought about that for a minute. “And you? You happy about your results?”

  “I’m not sure either Eric or I have real strong feelings about it. Right now we just want to be sure we have all our options open.”

  “What about Paige?” TJ asked. “She know you might give her a little sister or brother?” Paige was Lisa’s twenty-two year old daughter. She lived in Minnesota with her boyfriend who was in the Army and stationed there.

  “No. It’s way too soon to tell her. Right now, I’m just hoping she and Brad will come for Christmas, but that’s probably not going to happen.”

  “You’ll have a full house for the big day.”

  Lisa sighed. “Did you ever think we’d be in this situation again?”

  “It ain’t the same,” TJ said. “Not nearly as serious, right?”

  “It’s different, sure, but how can you say it isn’t as serious?”

  “We aren’t targets.”

  “You can’t be sure of that, TJ. Emma is my patient, RayAnn is your employee, and Whitney, or Lindsey, could be related to our Kelsey case. It couldn’t be any closer.”

  “Speakin’ of that, just talked to Rina. She gave me the okay to work the Headliner case if it’s related, said do whatever it takes.”

  “That’s good. What are they doing about the baby possiblity? Did they get an attorney?”

  “Did they ever—a real shark from Chicago, Lance Grippano.”

  “I’ve heard of him; he is the best. Ferguson’s wife won’t be expecting that, so they should get in the first blow in that fight.”

  “Problem’s gonna be provin’ what happened. They’ll have to get a DNA test on the kid.”

  “Good luck with that,” Lisa said. “An early amnio could put the child at risk. No court will force that. There are other tests now that are safer, but I don’t think they’re accepted legally yet. Proof may have to wait until the child is born.”

  “Fuck no, it can’t wait. That broad is loaded. She could be in Timbuktu by then, sittin’ under a palm tree and feedin’ the kid coconut milk.”

  “Maybe Grippano can force her to give up her passport.”

  “I think he’s hittin’ her with some kind of show-cause order tomorrow.”

  “The fun begins.”

  “I guess. I’m kinda distracted. Just sittin’ here getting nervous about Christmas. How’m I gonna get any shoppin’ done?”

  “No worries.” Lisa held up a bag. “There are at least four presents here for the little guy. He’s at that age where he won’t care who gave what. He’ll love it all. And you know the Christmas tree will still be the best thing to him no matter what gifts he gets.”

  TJ laughed. “You’re right about that. Richard and I’ll take him to see Santa one of these nights. Can do our shoppin’ then.”

  Patricia returned to the office after her visit to Dr. Ferguson. As she entered, a tall, skinny man wearing a plaid jacket stopped her.

  “Patricia Felhaber?”

  When she said she was, he slapped a roll of papers into her hand.

  “You’ve been served,” he said and made a quick exit. Irritated that he’d gotten past security, Patricia entered her office and tossed the document on her desk. She had more than one legal battle in progress; litigation was a tiresome, but necessary element of big business. She took off her high leather boots and changed into a pair of heels that complimented her business suit. After checking her messages and discovering her secretary had taken the afternoon off, she called for a replacement. While she waited for the girl to arrive, she opened the legal papers. Her heart nearly stopped. Rina’s name was on the sheet. Rina and her niece, a lovely girl who rode Rina’s horses—Patricia had met her once at a horse show—were asking, no demanding, to have a DNA test run on her baby!

  Patricia sank heavily into her desk chair. She couldn’t understand how this nightmare could be happening. Lyle had assured her the donor had been agreeable. The damn snake could have been lying, she didn’t doubt that for a minute. He’d admitted that he had used rather unorthodox channels to obtain the donor, but how were Rina and her niece involved in Patricia’s pregnancy? She needed details and picked up the phone to call Rina, then immediately thought better of it.

  Had he been having an affair with Rina? But Rina wasn’t Lyle’s type. She should have known immediately—Rina’s niece’s name was on the papers too. Lyle liked his women young—and vulnerable. The slimeball had to have seduced Rina’s niece, the girl’s looks even fit Patricia’s donor requirements. Her memory flashed back to the summer afternoon Rina had introduced her to Kelsey at a horse show and suddenly recalled that at the time she’d noticed that the girl could have been her own daughter. She wondered if Lyle had noticed that, too, and also sensed Patricia’s feelings for Rina. He’d have been happy to punish her that way; it would have been just like him.

  She read the top sheet again and saw the name of the attorney, Lance Grippano. Christ, she’d have a hard time finding anyone better—or even equal. She punched in a call to her house attorney who picked up on the first ring.

  “Patricia, good to hear from you. What can I do for you today? Not the Birmingham matter?”

  “No. This is personal. I need a name, the best family-practice attorney you know of, and I need it now.”

  “Only one comes to mind—”

  Patricia interrupted, “Not Grippano.”

  “I see. Give me a minute, I’ll call you right back.”

  That’s what she’d been afraid of; they would have to go out of the area to find any serious competition for Grippano. Money was no object, but there were only six days until Christmas. Getting in touch with anyone would be difficult, much less a busy attorney.

  The door to Patricia’s office opened. A woman stood there and she didn’t look like a fill-in assistant. She was slender, with a lovely caramel complexion under a short, loosely curled hairstyle. Exotically attractive, she had bright, violet-blue eyes and black hair. For some reason, Patricia suspected the woman meant trouble. That damn replacement assistant still hadn’t shown up, and it was just Patricia’s luck that the shit would hit the fan when she had no buffer.

  “Patircia Felhaber?” the woman asked. She couldn’t be with Grippano, Patricia thought. He would have shown up in person. And if she were his assistant, she wouldn’t be dressed casually in skin-tight black jeans, a beige sweater and a tobacco-colored leather jacket.

  The woman had to have something to do with this weird custody case. Patricia couldn’t get her head around it —not when she’d planned everything so carefully—or thought she had. If she hadn’t just picked out his coffin, she would have killed Lyle with her bare hands. Rina popped into her mind, and she wished she could talk to her alth
ough she knew that even an attorney just out of law school would advise against any communication.

  She went on the defensive. “Who wants to know?”

  TJ took in the woman’s appearance, noting that the striking suit she wore probably cost more than TJ made from the business in a month. Her hair, pulled loosely back into an elaborate knot resting at the nape of her neck, gleamed under the indirect lighting. Everything about the woman was slick. TJ hated her at first sight.

  She held up her PI creds. “TJ Peacock. I’m a private investigator. I’m workin’ for Rina Petretti.” About to say more, TJ stopped when she noticed that Felhaber’s ivory complexion paled to chalk white when she mentioned Rina, and she wondered if the two women actually knew each other. “Looks like you got some idea why I’m here.”

  The woman snarled, “Some idea?” She waved the legal papers she’d just received. “This is pretty explicit, don’t you think? Get out of my office before I call security. Anything you have to say to me, you can say to my attorney.”

  “And that would be?” TJ had a sudden suspicion that Felhaber hadn’t gotten that far yet. Maybe she still had an edge.

  “I said . . . get out!”

  “Once the attorneys get involved, we won’t be able to resolve this just between us women anymore.”

  Patricia laughed bitterly. “Right. Like this is something that could be worked out over coffee and bagels.”

  “Your husband cheated on you with an innocent young girl,” TJ said. “And not only that, he forced her to be an egg donor against her will—for you. He set her up for it under false pretenses. Kelsey wants her baby, Mrs. Felhaber. If you agree to sign it over to her when you deliver, the law suit goes away.” TJ figured there was at least a chance Felhaber wouldn’t want the ugly publicity that would hit the media if the custody case went public. The woman had to be thrown by the lawsuit; she hadn’t even asked how any on them had known she was pregnant or had even been the recipient of the embryos.

  “You’re forgetting an important detail, Ms. Peacock—I’m a victim of Lyle’s machinations, too. He told me the donor was a volunteer, one that he paid richly I might add.”

  “I don’t give a fuck what he told you,” TJ burst out. She was done being polite, at least her version of polite. “You’re carrying another woman’s baby.”

  “I’ve said all I’m going to on the matter. Now, leave.”

  Just at that moment a small woman in a red dress with an extreme, sharkbite hem, entered the office. “Mrs. Felhaber, do you want me to call security?”

  Patricia raised her perfectly sculptured chin and gave the order to have TJ removed. Her face was probably carved by the best plastic surgeon in town, TJ thought.

  “Oh, I’ll leave,” she said before Patricia could have her thrown out. “But don’t think this is gonna go away. Or get bought off. You won’t be raising that kid as your own. And you might want to think twice about fighting the lawsuit. I’m sure the cops are already lookin’ at you for your husband’s murder. That comes to light in family court, you’re gonna look more like the Wicked Witch of the North than mom-to-be of the year.”

  59

  Richard and Justin arrived in Sun Prairie just before noon and drove to the convenience store where Denise worked. The parents of Lindsey Caruthers, AKA Whitney, had identified their daughter by a tiny scar on her right ankle that she’d gotten when she was seven and fallen off her bike. A DNA test was ordered to be sure, but for the moment, they had to act on the new information. Cedar Rapids would have to wait.

  They found Denise in a back room, opening boxes. Richard introduced himself and Justin and showed his badge.

  “We need to talk to you about a friend of yours, Whitney Chamberlain.”

  “I didn’t know her that well, really,” she stammered. “And someone was here already.”

  “Yes, I realize that. But the person you talked to is not with the police, and she talked to you before we knew that your friend Whitney—whose real name is Lindsey Caruthers, by the way—was murdered.”

  “Murdered?” She wiped her hands and ran them through her short, dark hair. “That’s terrible. I haven’t heard from her and I know she quit working, but I never thought something happened to her. I figured she just left town.”

  Richard thought something about her reaction was off. She didn’t seem all that surprised by the news. “When was the last time you talked to her?”

  “Uh, I’m not sure.”

  She was definitely hiding something, Richard thought, but what? “Denise, if you know anything that would help us find out who did this, you have to tell us.”

  When she looked up at him again, her eyes were moist with unshed tears. “My husband. He knew her, too.”

  That was a surprise. TJ had told him that the guy was a ladies man, but she hadn’t said anything about him and Whitney getting together. “And how did he know her?”

  Denise looked down, wrapping her arms around herself as if she was debating whether to throw her husband under the bus or planning how to defend him.

  After a few seconds, she said quietly, “He met her at the restaurant where I work. He bartends there sometimes.” She pulled a tissue out of her pocket and wiped her nose. “I found out they were seeing each other the nights I was working at the restaurant and they were both off.”

  Richard and Justin exchanged a look.

  Justin said, “It must have been hard for you—your friend and your husband? That would give you a reason to kill her, wouldn’t it?”

  “I didn’t kill her!” Denise paused, her eyes shifting as though deciding how to spin her story. “I think Gary did,” she whispered. “I went to Whitney’s apartment to confront her after I found one of her earrings in our bedroom. I knew Gary would never admit what he’d done—he actually cheated on me in our own bed. When I got to Whitney’s apartment, I saw him leaving, but he didn’t see me. She didn’t answer the door when I knocked, so I tried it and it opened. I saw her there on the floor.”

  Richard said, “Denise, you’re going to have to come with us.” This case was getting seriously fucked up. If Whitney had been killed in her apartment, they would have to bring in the Madison police and, possibly, turn the case over to them. That could wait, though. He had too many questions right then, questions that Denise and Gary Zimmerman needed to answer. When Richard was satisfied with their answers, then he would turn them over to the Madison PD.

  The detectives took Denise with them and drove to her home in Sun Prairie. They found Gary Zimmerman half-asleep on the couch in front of a TV set that must have cost more than the total value of everything else in the room. The sitter had taken the kids to a park. With Denise and her husband in the same room, it didn’t take long to find out what had really happened.

  Gary Zimmerman gave them an alibi for the morning in question. While Justin called to check it out, Richard observed Denise. She was still hiding something, but he suspected it wouldn’t take long to get the truth out of her. Sure enough, once her husband’s alibi was confirmed and Denise had to admit that she’d lied to them about seeing him at Whitney’s apartment, she’d broken down and said that her confrontation with Whitney had gotten heated.

  Whitney had denied sleeping with Denise’s husband and claimed to have no idea how her earring ended up in Denise’s bedroom. She insisted that the earrings had been a cheap pair she’d bought at Target and the one Denise found could have belonged to anyone. When she came back into the room without the matching earring, claiming it must have fallen off in her car, Denise grabbed her by the hair and they struggled. Even though Denise was smaller, she was stronger and finally shoved Whitney so hard that she’d lost her balance and fallen, hitting her head on a corner of the coffee table.

  Once told, Denise didn’t budge from her story, claiming she hadn’t moved Whitney’s body and had no idea what happened after she left the apartment.

  “Are you sure she was dead?” Conlin asked.

  “I felt her neck and I didn’t
feel a pulse.”

  Richard knew finding a pulse wasn’t all that easy if someone wasn’t familiar with how it was done. Whitney could have still been alive when Denise left the apartment. If so, Denise was not the one who had killed her friend.

  There were questions he would need to ask the ME: were Whitney’s other injuries, the removal of her hands, the facial beating, and the deep gash on her head, performed after the head wound from the fall? And could a fall like Denise described explain the size of the gash on the back of her head?

  Richard met with Justin, who had been interviewing the husband in another room and told him Denise’s story. “What do you think, did the husband finish the job?”

  “The guys a real tool, but I don’t think he murdered her. And his alibi looks good. He claims there was nothing going on with him and Whitney but admitted he’d tried to put the moves on her a number of times. Said the earring must belong to the sitter.”

  “Yeah, right,” Richard said. He hadn’t told Justin yet what TJ had told him about Zimmerman and the sitter. “He have anything to say that shines a light on any of this?”

  “Just said his wife is real jealous, always accusing him of sleeping with other women.”

  Richard shook his head. “Wonder why that is?”

  “So where are we with these two? We can release playboy, but what about the wife?”

  “I don’t want to turn her over to Madison until the ME tells us whether Whitney was alive after that first head blow. If she was still alive, there’ll be no way to be sure just how much Denise is responsible for. If that’s the case, and she still insists she’s told us everything, then Madison can figure it out.”

  60

  RayAnn circled the property surrounding Schindler’s house for the third time that day, wishing she owned a higher pair of snow boots. She couldn’t have guessed that her duties would go from walking among the shoppers in a warm mall to trudging through the snowy lawns surrounding a wealthy man’s estate. About six inches of the white stuff lined the ground, and her socks were soaked. Luckily, she’d brought along a change of clothes. She planned to go inside soon and replace her socks.