Remember Murder

by Linda Ladd

  His nerves were so jittery, so ragged, and he was breathing so hard when he left the penthouse elevator that he could barely catch his breath. Holding the sweet little dog, he fed him a piece of fried bacon and then stood there and listened for Annie’s voice. He was supposed to just put Jules Verne outside the elevator and go back downstairs, but he didn’t. Nicholas Black was already halfway out to the patient bungalows on the point. Monica was with him. Neither one could stop him. Annie didn’t need Monica much anymore since she had regained consciousness and was walking and getting along so well on her own, even working half a day. In fact, Monica was looking for a house to buy now, which wouldn’t help Jesse’s plan one bit.

  Okay, he had to just do it. She wouldn’t recognize him, no way. He glanced inside Annie’s bedroom, but the bed was empty, the covers properly made, the pillows fluffed. It was late in the afternoon so Annie was probably somewhere nearby. Oh, God, what if she did recognize him? What if she remembered all they’d meant to each other? But no, no, she hadn’t. Monica told him only this morning that Nicholas Black was disappointed she hadn’t recalled more than she had. Jesse wasn’t disappointed. He was thrilled to hear that.

  Walking slowly down the silent hallway, holding the wriggling poodle and glancing into one beautiful room after the other, he felt inferior to Nicholas Black as to what he could give Annie. The views of the lake were gorgeous up so high. He’d have to find a home for Annie and him up high on a hill or she might be upset that she couldn’t see the lake. He wished he hadn’t killed the real estate agent right off the bat like that. She might’ve come in handy at some point. When he reached the huge living area at the end of the hall, he saw her. She was sitting down on a couch, alone, silent, just staring out the window.

  Then Jules saw her, too, and began to go crazy in Jesse’s arms, barking and twisting and trying to get down. Annie turned quickly and saw them behind her. Then she stood up, smiling, and called the dog. Jules ran straight to her, jumped up on the couch, and then the rest of the way into her arms.

  “Hi,” Annie said to him, with her angel’s smile. “I guess you’ve been walking Jules Verne for me.”

  Jesse felt his throat clog up, his heart thudding inside his chest with love and the terrible need to touch her and tie her up. He nodded, all he could do for a moment, and then he stammered when he tried to speak. “Yes, me and Monica both walk him.”

  “Well, thank you so much. I love this little squirt. He’s so cute.”

  Annie hugged the dog and let him lick her face. Laughing, she said, “Has he been a good boy?”

  Jesse could only stare at the poodle’s little pink tongue lapping against her beautiful face. He wanted to tear the poodle out of her hands and lick her himself, tie her up and lick every inch of her body. He tried to control his heaving breaths.

  “Are you okay?” Annie said then, looking curiously at him.

  Jesse nodded, trying to get hold of his rampaging need to have her under his control, but he felt a little safer now. She didn’t recognize him with his long hair and facial hair and contact lenses, and it wouldn’t hurt for her to know him as a different person. That would make it easier to take her away, if she was used to him and trusted him. And she was so concerned about him. She did love him, even now, and sensed that he was her true soul mate. “Oh, yes, I’m just a little tired. I’ve been workin’ all day long. That little Jules is a good dog. He doesn’t give me any trouble. I love animals.”

  “I do, too. Do you have a dog at home?”

  “Not right now. But I had a squirrel once. I called him Mr. Twitchy Tail.”

  Annie looked at him for a moment, and he was afraid she did remember the pet squirrel they’d played with when they were little kids, but she only laughed and said, “Well, that’s a really good name for a squirrel.”

  Oh, how he loved Annie. She looked better, too. Her hair was washed and combed, and she had on a baggy sweat suit, a black one with CEDAR BEND LODGE spelled out across the chest and down the side of the pants’ leg. But her feet were bare. How he wanted to go over and grab her and lick her toes and make her see how much he adored her. But he couldn’t, not yet. But soon, soon, he’d have her for his own.

  “You’re Monica’s Jesse, I bet, aren’t you? She told me about you, how you’ve been helping her out. But hey, let me tell you myself how much I appreciate all you’ve done for me. You’ve been very kind and helpful. Jules sure likes you.”

  Annie loved him. She did. “You’re welcome. I’m just awful glad to see you up and awake and gettin’ better.”

  Nodding, Annie stroked the dog’s fur. He resented the dog, and the attention she was giving it. “You know, truth is, I feel good now. Don’t remember much yet, but it’s coming back gradually. At least, that’s what the doctor tells me.”

  “I hope so.”

  Then, there followed a moment of silence when he couldn’t think of what to say. So he just stood there, staring at her, wanting to run over, get her down on the floor and run his hands up under the sweatshirt and down the pants and all over her. So Annie finally said, “I’m looking forward to my night out with Monica.”

  “She didn’t tell me about any night out. Where’re you goin’?” He wondered if Monica was trying to move in on Annie and take her away from him. That would not be good, no, it would not. He would have to deal with Monica if she ever tried anything like that.

  “She wants to go out to that new restaurant on the lake called Jeepers. This Friday night, in fact. Girls’ night out, you know, should be fun.”

  “Oh, yeah, I almost forgot. She did tell me that. That’ll be fun,” he answered with a false grin. Well, he’d just have to join the girls there. Wouldn’t that be great, to spend time with Annie outside this hotel without Nicholas Black sniffing around and keeping Annie to himself. Maybe he could even steal her away right then and there. That is, if he could find a good way to ditch Monica at the restaurant. And he could, no problem.

  Down the hall, he heard the faint pinging sound of the elevator doors opening. Fearing it was Nicholas Black coming home early, he said quickly, “Well, I better get goin’. I don’t want to get in trouble with the boss.”

  “Okay, it was very nice to meet you, Jesse. And thank you again so much. Maybe I’ll get a chance to return the favor someday.”

  “Oh, no need. I wanted to do it.”

  Annie nodded and said good-bye, and Jesse fled quickly. But it was Monica walking down the hall, not Black, and she got a big frown on her face when she saw him. “You’re not supposed to be up here alone and you know it. Where’s Jules Verne?”

  “I took him down the hall to the lady. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  Monica was not happy. Her face looked ugly when she was bent out of shape. Her voice was low and furious. “I told you that you couldn’t just hang around up here any time you want. Not now that Claire’s awake. You’re gonna have to stop it, right now, or you’ll get fired. And so will I.”

  Jesse felt a familiar tide of rage rising up fast inside him, like a big rolling flame. Monica wasn’t so nice anymore, and she’d sure pay the price for her meanness, and sooner rather than later. But she was an integral part of the plan he had devised to get rid of Nicholas Black, so he had to play it cool. He forced up a smile.

  “I’m sorry, babe. I won’t come up here anymore, if you don’t want me to. I promise. I was just hoping to get a minute with you.”

  Her face softened, and then the idiot fool of a woman literally beamed up at him. “Maybe we can get together tonight, at my place. I’m off tomorrow so you can stay as long as you want.”

  “Great,” he said, hugging her, but inside he was already planning how he would kill her. Yes, things were going to move faster now. But that was good. He was ready to have Annie all to himself now, and it was finally going to happen.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Kramer/Long Real Estate office was located in Camdenton. Situated in a remodeled cream-colored Victorian house just off Highwa
y 64, it didn’t look particularly busy as Bud and Claire turned into its paved parking lot. There was one car, a white BMW, all shiny and new and sparkling, sitting under a portico attached to the house. Business must be booming, or the proprietor leased her vehicle to wow her clients.

  Inside, the air-conditioning was once again a welcome reprieve against the harsh and hot noonday sun. The high temperature was sapping Claire faster than it should have, but she had been under the weather, to say the least. All the running around was giving her some strength back, and it felt good to be out in the sunshine and doing something productive.

  Nobody was sitting at the receptionist’s desk. In fact, nobody was in sight. No sounds, no tapping of computer keys, not even a tinkling bell on the door to announce their arrival. The small, white French provincial desk with cabriole legs was sitting beside a lovely old staircase that rose to a landing, then went on again at a right angle to the second story. The floors were dark oak hardwood, and a fancy chandelier made of iron and crystal droplets hung above the desk. There were rooms off to their right and left. One was a sitting area with blue-and-white floral couches around a white fireplace and a white, glass-topped wicker cocktail table. The other room looked like a conference room with a large, round, shiny table surrounded by eight armless white leather chairs. Kay Kramer’s office was an upscale, swanky-looking professional place of business. Some big bucks contracts were signed on that polished conference table, count on it.

  “Somebody’s got to be here. I smell French vanilla cappuccino.” Bud was apparently a coffee connoisseur, too. But something did smell really good. Claire guessed she liked French vanilla coffee. She’d have to buy some at Kroger’s and find out.

  “Hey, anybody here?” Claire called out, not patient, and not shy about raising up missing receptionists.

  “Hello,” called a distant voice filtering down faintly through the white upstairs banisters. Claire looked up and found a woman with short, stylishly cut hair that was layered and highlighted in a nice wheat shade. She was peeking over the balcony at them. She looked to be middle-aged, but still quite pretty and young looking, tanned to perfection, and anorexic thin.

  “Yes, may I help you?” she inquired, with a very pleasant, let-me-sell-you-a-seven-figure-house greeting.

  “Hello, I’m Detective Claire Morgan”—boy, did that not roll easily off her lips, hadn’t said it in a while—“and this is my partner, Detective Bud Davis. We’re with the Canton County Sheriff’s Department.”

  “Oh, my God, you’ve found Miriam! You have, haven’t you?”

  Oh, my God was right, which she’d find out soon enough. “Are you her partner, ma’am? Kay Kramer?”

  “Yes, I am. Please come on up. We can talk in my office. My receptionist is out to lunch, so I’m here by myself through the noon hour.”

  They climbed the steps, and Claire admired the old home with all the intricately carved woodwork and the magnificent round, stained-glass window on the staircase landing. She realized that she liked old places and was pleased that she knew it. Kay Kramer met them at the top of the steps, right hand extended, impressive big smile plastered on her face, in full Realtor mode now. Guess she thought Bud might want to buy a four-bedroom brick house in a good school district. Kay Kramer was tall, made to look more so by incredibly uncomfortable-looking, black-and-white, six-inch heels with lots of Roman-sandal-style straps around her ankles. But she wore them well, and she also wore the black suit and beige silk shell well, too. A large, diamond-studded fleur-de-lis was pinned to her left lapel, and it glittered in the ambient light from the chandelier’s crystal prisms.

  “I’ve been so worried about Miriam. She’s never done anything like this. I’ve left so many voice mails, but I still haven’t heard a word.”

  They followed her into another big room that overlooked the street out front. It had probably been the former master bedroom in the old days, since converted into a large, beautiful, and feminine-appointed office. The walls were covered in white bead board, from floor to ceiling. More blue floral couches, similar to the ones downstairs, flanked another white fireplace, and she gestured at the two white chairs with blue cushions as she rounded the big white desk to her own rolling blue suede chair. A nice bouquet of fresh yellow daisies sat on her desk. “Please sit down, detectives.”

  They sat down. They looked at her, neither of them wanting to make this one of the worst days of her life. Claire finally took the plunge, and said, “Ms. Kramer, I’m afraid we’ve got some very bad news.”

  “Oh, my God, she’s not dead, is she? Is she? Don’t tell me that.” Her voice faded in a half-squeal sort of moan.

  “Yes, ma’am, I’m sorry to say that she is deceased.”

  Her attractive face blanched, her jaw dropped a bit, and she stared at them, blue-gray eyes wide and stunned. “How? Where? Where is she? Why?”

  Kay Kramer hit all the essential questions, and all in one breath, too. “Her body was discovered out on the lake. We got a positive identification less than an hour ago.”

  “But I gave the young officer a picture of her to use for the missing person flyers.” She studied their faces for answers, but then the awful truth dawned on her; the exact moment was easy for them to see. “Oh, my God, what happened to her?”

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Kramer, but we think she was murdered,” Bud said, making his voice gentle.

  Kay stared at him, then at Claire, back at him, and then at her desk blotter. Then her shock dissolved into incredulous horror. She burst into tears, legitimate ones, which flooded down her cheeks and made her nose run. Nobody could fake that kind of grief, nobody. Not even Meryl Streep—another inexplicable celebrity reminiscence out of Claire’s amnesia darkness. Her brain had to be a movie fan.

  Kay was trying to speak through her sobs. “Oh, no, no, please don’t tell me that. Miriam was so young, like a daughter to me. Why? Why?”

  Claire said, “We don’t know that yet, Ms. Kramer, but we’re going to find out.”

  Swiveling around, Kay grabbed a tissue from a blue Puffs Plus box on the white credenza behind her. She mopped her face and wiped her eyes, but the tears kept on rolling. She couldn’t seem to talk anymore and just sat there and wept as if brokenhearted.

  They waited for her to regain control of her emotions, but she never did. It was hard to watch. Finally, Claire tried again. “I know this is a shock to you, Ms. Kramer. I know this is a terrible time to have to talk about this, but we have questions that need to be answered. Do you think you’re up to it?”

  Kay kept crying. Her chair was turned away from them and facing the curving bow window. But she finally nodded and tried to snuffle away the tears.

  “Do you know anybody who might’ve wanted to hurt her?”

  She quickly swiveled the chair back to face them. “Oh, God, no. Nobody. Everybody loved her.”

  “What about her husband? Or a relative?”

  “Her husband’s deployed to the Middle East. She’s been counting the days until he got back. That’s why she was going to Italy. She was going early to rent a house for them so they could spend some time alone in Tuscany before they came back here. They never got to have a honeymoon. They eloped right before he left.”

  “How long has he been gone?”

  She dabbed at her watering eyes, but she was becoming calmer. “Eighteen months. He left the day after the wedding. That’s why they wanted to have time alone. He called me when she wasn’t in Rome to meet him, worried to death about her. That’s the first I knew she was missing. He called me today, too, after he landed at the Kansas City airport. He rented a car and is driving home. He’s probably already here.”

  The weeping intensified. Bud looked miserable. Claire felt her pain, too. She hated breaking the news to a murder victim’s loved ones worse than poison. Another lovely thing that she hadn’t forgotten.

  “Does she have any other family?”

  “No, that’s why we’re so close, especially since my divorce.”

>   “Is there anything that you can tell us that might help us find her killer?”

  Kay pulled herself together a bit, or at least kept trying to. “I don’t know a single person who didn’t think the world of her. Oh, Oliver’s going to be so devastated. I can’t bear to think about it.”

  “When was the last time you talked to her?”

  “When she left work around noon Friday before last. She was leaving for Rome the next morning.”

  “Did she say anything unusual that day, tell you she was having problems with anyone? Anybody following her? Harassing her?”

  “No, just that she was going to check out a couple of vacant properties and make sure they were secure before she left the country. Said she had to stop the mail and the newspaper. Pick up some book she wanted to read on the plane. Stuff like that. She was really excited about the trip.”

  “A neighbor said she has a boat. We noticed the small dock at the rear of her house.”

  “Yes, a small runabout. She likes to fish. It should still be there. She never takes it in for storage when she’s gone. Except during the winter months.”

  “The boat’s not there.”

  “Well, it should be. Maybe she lent it to someone.”

  Or maybe her killer took her out in it, dumped her body on the duck blind in the dead of the night, and kept the boat as a souvenir, Claire thought.

  At that point, Bud picked up the interview. “Was she working on any property that was involved in a nasty divorce settlement, or some kind of contested will? Anything on that order?”

  “Not that I know of. I think she would’ve told me if there was anything too litigious going on. We were so close, like family. Really we were.”

  “Is it possible for us to get a copy of all the properties she was handling?”