“You’re bad,” I told her. “He’s married. To a yoga enthusiast.”
“I’m sure that makes a difference.” Staying far from the post office and its video cameras, she drove through the parking lot.
Without turning my head, I glanced at the post office and the parking spots in front of it. “I wonder if the gray car parked in the dentist’s spot early Monday morning was actually Honey’s.”
Lois turned north on Packers Road. “Me, too. And if it came directly from Georgia’s driveway.”
“I suspected that Mrs. Jierson could have been lying about the car in Georgia’s driveway, and about her husband following it here, but now we’ve heard from two different sources about a small gray car being in the mall parking lot early Monday morning.”
Lois tapped the steering wheel. “That doesn’t clear Dr. and Mrs. Jierson. Honey could have parked in TOOTHY’s spot many mornings. Maybe she usually moved her car before TOOTHY arrived, but he came in early on Monday. He could have seen Honey’s car in his spot, so he and his wife cooked up a story about a car in Georgia’s driveway that morning as a cover-up for what one or both of them did to Georgia, and they described Honey’s car.”
“It’s hard to imagine Mrs. Jierson getting the better of Georgia. She isn’t much bigger than Georgia was.”
“But she’s a lot younger. And she might be fit, though she looks skinny, not muscular.”
I agreed. “And Dr. Jierson must also be younger than Georgia, and most likely strong, with strong hands.” But would he stuff something into a victim’s mouth? He might be afraid to call attention to a mouth, in case people would be reminded of mouths, and then teeth, and then dentists, and then suspect him because he lived across the street from the victim. Did either or both of the Jiersons have a reason to murder Georgia? “Lois, could Dr. Jierson be Georgia’s dentist?”
“He wasn’t five years ago, but she might have switched. Your detective can find the answer to that question.”
“He’s not my—”
But she wasn’t listening. Her voice hardened. “It can’t have been Randy who asked Honey about borrowing minivans. You know why?”
“Because if he wanted to borrow a minivan, he would ask you.”
“And besides, if he was the one who drove out of that valley the evening that Matthias disappeared, he would have recognized me, even though I was beside Georgia’s car. He wouldn’t have killed Georgia five years later.” She wiped her eyes. “Whoever killed Georgia must have found out from her that she borrowed a minivan the day that Matthias was killed, and that the minivan’s owner was using her car. But by the time she told him that, it was too late. He’d broken into her house and attacked her, and he couldn’t leave her alive to contact the police. It’s all so horrible. Who would do a thing like that?”
“Before our talk with Honey Bellaire, I suspected Fred Aggleton, the man who bought Matthias’s grocery from Georgia after Matthias was killed.”
Slowing, Lois gave a go-ahead gesture to the driver of a car exiting another mall. “Ugh, yes, he’s been grousing for years that Georgia ripped him off. And he tried to buy the store when Matthias was alive. He tried for years! He wasn’t offering anything near what it was worth, and Matthias always turned him down. Then, after Matthias died, Georgia had to keep lowering her price. She ended up selling it to Aggleton for peanuts. And in the four years since Aggleton bought it, he ran it into the ground. I was shocked when I went in there recently.”
“That’s not the only thing that doesn’t make sense,” I said. “Why would a murderer or anyone else go to a post office to ask about borrowing a minivan?” I scooted as far forward as my seat belt would let me. “Lois, you’re going to like my theory.”
“I hope so.”
“Suppose that Honey murdered Georgia, and then drove to work and, not expecting Dr. Jierson that early, parked in his favorite spot. But after Dr. Jierson complained about her car, she realized that he might report seeing her car in Georgia’s driveway.”
“Aha!” Lois crowed. “Honey sorts the mail and could easily know that he lived near Georgia, and that he could have seen her car at Georgia’s.”
“So, to protect herself, she concocted a story about a strange car and a fictitious driver.”
“Yes!” Lois banged so hard on the steering wheel that she honked the horn. “But Honey knew Georgia. Why did she go after Georgia instead of me?”
“You said that the car was going fast and stirring up a cloud of dust, and the sun would have been in the driver’s eyes. Maybe Honey had time to recognize Georgia’s car, but didn’t get a good look at you.”
“And then, maybe after she broke into Georgia’s, she told Georgia that she’d seen her near where Matthias was buried. And Georgia could have said that she’d never been to that spot until after Matthias’s body was found, and then, because Honey had sometimes seen Georgia with my van, she figured out that I could have been the one who saw her fleeing from the crime.” She took a deep breath and let it out noisily. “What I don’t understand is how she managed to describe Randy so well.”
“That’s the part of my theory that you’ll really like. Honey could have driven around Fallingbrook looking for a car resembling hers, and she saw one near Deputy Donut, maybe even in our lot. So, she came inside, her first visit ever to Deputy Donut. Randy was there. I know she noticed him. She asked me if he was married. She undoubtedly memorized his looks and the way he pulls his shirt sleeve down as if he’s trying to hide that tattoo. She left shortly after he did. She probably watched him drive away in his small gray car, and came up with a story about him parking in the dentist’s spot. When we came into the post office, she could hardly wait to tell us her story and describe Randy. Rehearsing, probably, in case the police ask her.”
Lois braked as the car ahead of us slowed. “But Honey knows you work at Deputy Donut. When she was going on about trying to hook up with him, why didn’t she simply ask you to introduce her to him?”
“Good question.” I squinted at the pickup truck and car ahead of us. Three vehicles waiting at a light on Packers Road qualified in Fallingbrook as a rush-hour traffic jam. “Maybe she didn’t want to remind me that she’d seen him at Deputy Donut. She asked me about nearly every man in the place between the ages of twenty-five and forty. She probably hoped that I’d forgotten that she’d seen Randy. Then I wouldn’t realize that she could have purposely memorized his appearance so she could describe him as the driver of the ‘mystery’ car, one that was actually hers.”
I saw the tension ease out of Lois’s hands. “You’re right. I do like your theory.”
Unfortunately, my theory didn’t explain why the car leaving the burial site five years ago resembled Randy’s, or the coincidence of Matthias’s murder just before Randy left town and Georgia’s right after Randy came back. I didn’t say any of that to Lois, who was quite capable of thinking of—and worrying about—it herself. I left another message for Brent to call me. I put away my phone and said to Lois, “I wonder what kind of car Honey was driving five years ago.”
“That would be good to know. She’s big enough to overcome a smaller, older woman. When Matthias was killed, Honey wasn’t as big as she is now, but she was probably more fit, and could have done some sort of surprise attack on him, and even buried his body.”
“Supposedly, it wasn’t much of a grave. Almost anyone could have scraped it out in a few minutes.”
“I heard that, too.” The light turned green and Lois drove across the intersection. “It’s hard to believe Honey’s dedicated enough to go to work at six thirty.”
“Maybe she did it on purpose, for an alibi. She probably knew that Dr. Jierson would complain if anyone parked in his spot, and would remember that it was her car. They can’t pinpoint the time of death to the exact minute. She could claim she was at work when Georgia was killed. And it was her bad luck that the Jiersons saw her car in Georgia’s driveway. But then when Dr. Jierson didn’t seem to realize that the car in
his favorite spot was Honey’s, she came up with a better idea than making certain that her car was noticed early at work. She went out looking for a car like it and found one.”
Lois turned off Packers Road onto Wisconsin Street. We were almost in downtown Fallingbrook. “Choosing Randy as her scapegoat was a mistake. She doesn’t know that Randy would not have asked about minivans, or that he would never have attacked and threatened me.”
“Could Honey have been the person who attacked you Monday night? She’s kind of, um, pillowy. If she pulled you back against her, wouldn’t you have noticed? You said you didn’t know if it was a man or a woman, but if it had been Honey, wouldn’t you have known for sure? Besides, Honey wears a strong perfume, though from what I’ve seen, rather smelled, her fragrance wears off toward the end of the day.”
“I was so scared that I didn’t notice if the person was a beanpole or a walking mattress or if he or she smelled like flowers or turnips. He or she was taller than I am, but just about everyone is, and I don’t think he or she did pull me close. I didn’t notice much besides my neck being clamped in what I thought must be the crook of an elbow. I was too terrified. Do you think she recognized me just now as the person she attacked?”
“Don’t ever go to that post office alone.”
“I won’t. And I won’t go to the movies without at least three bodyguards, either.”
“And keep your door locked with the dead bolt, and your phone with you at all times.”
“I will.” She drove into the lot behind Deputy Donut. We said our good-byes, and I went inside.
Tom had done all of the tidying and left a note that we didn’t need to order supplies. I leashed Dep. We’d barely gone a block when a dust devil swirled leaves around in a mini-tornado on the sidewalk in front of us. Dep stopped and stared at it, and then at where it had been. I urged, “Come on, Dep. Look at the sky in the west.” Ominous clouds churned, shades of charcoal that were almost purple, but edged in green. “You know you don’t like to be out in the rain.”
The first drops splatted as we sprinted to the shelter of our front porch. Distant thunder rumbled.
Inside, I released Dep from her halter. As if a dust devil were chasing her, she skittered sideways toward the kitchen.
I went upstairs. I’d been distracted the night before and had left my computer on. With an electrical storm brewing, I needed to power it off and unplug it.
In my guest bedroom and office, I sat at the desk and began shutting down web pages.
A picture I’d never seen before filled the screen.
About five years younger than he was now, Randy was pointing at his wrist and the tattoo on it: B.A.D. His smile was huge and warm, full of affection for the person taking the picture.
Behind Randy, a car was packed almost to the roof, with barely enough room left for the driver.
The car was black except for the fender near the front wheel on the driver’s side.
It was white.
Chapter 20
The man in the picture was definitely Randy. As far as I could tell, the car was identical to the one that had rushed out of the Fallingbrook River valley the evening that Matthias disappeared.
Lois must have found this picture on her drive last night while she was copying files. She must have heard Brent and me coming up the stairs, and had quickly loaded the photo we already knew about, the one in which the sunset reflecting on the car’s windshield hid the driver.
Maybe Lois meant to close the photo file, but she’d only minimized it. If I had noticed the tiny icon indicating that another picture was open, ready to be enlarged for viewing, I would have dismissed it as one of the others that we’d examined. But this picture was dated three days later, and it wasn’t one of the photos that I’d copied to my hard drive.
Lois must have known that the car in both pictures was the same car. She’d told me she wasn’t sure after all these years, but comparing the two pictures must have convinced her.
I’d been wrong about her. She wasn’t as sweet and honest as she’d appeared. Defeated, I slumped down in my chair.
She should have shown Brent this photo linking Randy to the getaway car.
She wanted to prove that Randy wasn’t guilty of murder, but hiding a clue pointing to guilt wasn’t the same as unearthing evidence to show that someone was innocent. On the other hand, maybe she had hoped that Brent would find the incriminating photo, and she wouldn’t have to betray her great-nephew by being the one who showed the picture to the police.
I’d promised to try to help clear Randy’s name. It was looking more and more difficult.
Brent had said he would take Lois’s thumb drive to the police department. If the investigators were thorough, they would look carefully at all of the pictures on her drive, and I wouldn’t have to tell them about this one.
Thunder boomed, close. I jumped. Afraid that a bolt of lightning might take out my computer and everything on it, I saved the telltale photo on my hard drive, and then powered off the computer and unplugged it.
A zigzag of white tore through the sky beyond the houses across the street. Thunder crashed and rolled. Rain poured down the window. Alec had tried to show me the beauty of extreme storms when viewed from the shelter of our sunroom, but I still found them scary.
I could almost hear him assuring me that I’d be fine if I stayed inside.
Alec.
He would also tell me that I shouldn’t trust law enforcement to discover the photo I’d just saved. He would say I had to tell them about it.
What I really wanted to do was crawl into bed and burrow my head under pillows.
I didn’t want to keep bothering Brent, but I had to tell him about the Jiersons and Honey, and now I also had to tell him about the picture of Randy smiling in front of his packed car only three days after Matthias went missing. Lois had told me that, several days after she saw the car driving out of the Fallingbrook River valley, she’d talked to the person she originally thought might have been the car’s owner and had seen the car.
This time, Brent answered. He apologized for not returning my calls.
“No problem. I learned some things today that I thought you should know.”
“I’ll be right over.”
“But it’s pouring. And there’s lightning.”
“So?”
“Be careful.” I was talking to a dial tone. “Be careful for Alec’s sake. Lightning can kill.” I put the phone down and went to the kitchen.
Dep twined herself around my ankles. “Meow.”
“Sorry, no sardines. But I am hungry, and Brent might be, too. What are we going to feed him?”
“Mmp.”
“No, we’d have to go to Lois’s for sardines.” And I wasn’t sure I could look Lois in the eye. I followed Dep into the sunroom.
She jumped onto the windowsill and stared out at the rain. “Mmp.”
“It’ll stop, and then you can go pester Lois for a sardine.”
The doorbell rang. His hair, jeans, and nylon jacket wet and his grin boyish, Brent balanced a water-splattered pizza box on a six-pack of beer. “On the chance that you haven’t eaten, I gathered up a dinner of sorts before I called you,” he said. “I’m off duty, finally.” He’d found time since the evening before to shave. A powerful-looking black SUV was parked in the driveway behind my car.
“I haven’t eaten, and the smell of that pizza is making me ravenous. Thank you.” I gestured for him to come in, locked the door, and carefully lifted the pizza box out of his arms. Good thing I did. Mewing, Dep nearly tripped Brent as he walked through the living room.
“The sunroom’s a good place to watch storms,” I said. “Want to eat there?”
“Great.”
In the kitchen, we set the beer and pizza on the counter. Brent removed his wet jacket. His light blue oxford cloth shirt did not appear damp, and as far as I could see, he wasn’t carrying a firearm. I hung his jacket in a drying closet that Alec and I had designed. Outside, it
looked like a normal closet with pine doors. Inside, a heater, vents, and a fan maintained low humidity, and a tiled floor sloped to a drain. I turned on the heater.
Brent had brought my favorite beer, and he knew where to find the beer mugs. He poured a couple of beers while I got out plates, napkins, and a pie server. The pizza was from San Remo, the restaurant that made the best pizza ever. Inhaling the wonderful smells, I opened the box. Either Brent had remembered my favorite toppings, or he’d guessed right, or they were his favorites, too. In addition to heaping yummy cheeses on their pizzas, San Remo chopped their toppings into tiny pieces that caused the flavors to mingle in a delicious way. I saw morsels of tomatoes, black olives, mushrooms, onion, and bacon, and I smelled oregano and the yeasty crust. I slipped a large slice onto each of our plates. Brent carried the mugs to the sunroom. I brought the plates and napkins.
We sat together on the two-seater couch—I was not going to call it a love seat, and besides, there was plenty of space between us—where we could look out through three walls of windows at the torrent sluicing down the glass and puddling on the lawn outside. From her spot on the radiator cover, Dep made derogatory comments about the storm.
I bit into the pizza and couldn’t help a moan of pleasure. I quickly covered it with a statement. “Misty told me they brought in the DCI and Yvonne Passenmath.”
“That’s why I can be off duty tonight. We were in meetings all day, and if anyone is going to work long into the night, it can be her.”
“Constructive meetings?”
“Mmp. Bringing her up to speed.”
“Which means you’ve just lost a day in the investigation.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“Mmp.”
I had a new reason to help solve Georgia’s murder. Yes, I wanted to prevent Randy from being unjustly accused if he truly was innocent, but now I also wanted to help Brent find the actual murderer. We would show the police chief and Yvonne Passenmath that Brent should have remained as lead investigator. Alec might even have approved of that reason for my poking my nose into a murder investigation. Although Alec had never divulged facts that he wasn’t supposed to, he had discussed general theories and possibilities with me. He’d said I helped him work out problems. I’d replied that putting his theories into words was what had really helped him see the issues clearly, and then he had solved the cases himself. Or with the help of the man sitting beside me.
Survival of the Fritters Page 15
