Deadly Diaries

by C. E. Waterman

  Maggie didn’t want to either.

  “Promise you won’t go early?”

  Maggie nodded. Not likely. What had she been thinking? She wasn’t sure she wanted to go at all. If she just said the word, everything would slow down, and she wouldn’t have to face it yet. But waiting wouldn’t make it easier.

  A couple hours later, Maggie hauled herself out of the car and stood in Esther’s driveway, facing the familiar rose bushes. Thankfully the bath she’d given them didn’t seem to hurt them any. Her keys jangled as she twisted them in her hands. She wasn’t prepared for this. Tomorrow would have been better—or the next day even. Trembling, she forced herself up each porch step and drew the screen door toward her. Memories of the last time she was here flooded in, and her breath came faster. She fought the urge to run. Squaring her shoulders, she turned the key in the lock and shoved the door open.

  The box she’d been carrying that day waited in a corner of the living room, the lamps still inside. It’d be a miracle if they were undamaged. Someone had taken the Persian rug from the dining room and swept up the glass, but black fingerprint powder covered every surface, including some on the wood floor. Dreading what she would find in the kitchen, she stepped along where the rug had been and placed her hand on the cold swing door. She stilled for a moment, gathering her courage, before pushing at it.

  The sun streamed through the window above the sink, highlighting white cabinets and countertops and bouncing off bright yellow walls. The cheery room gave no sign of the violence that had taken place in here. Even the fingerprint powder was gone, and the white tile floor gleamed. The pungent smell of a cleaning agent burned her nose. Unconsciously stepping around the area where Esther’s body had lain, Maggie opened the window over the sink, relishing the breeze. She threw open the back door, making sure to lock the screen. How long would it take to feel safe here again? Was it possible a killer had lurked in this space when she’d stumbled in with the lamps? She shuddered.

  Maria arrived first and sucked in her breath at the mess. She sought Maggie’s face with a bewildered gaze. “Such beautiful things. Your aunt had so many beautiful things. Why did they have to ruin them?” Tears slid down her cheeks.

  Feeling helpless, Maggie patted her shoulder.

  Robin and Libby arrived, and the four of them worked together in comfortable silence. Robin and Libby cleaned fingerprint powder from every surface imaginable, and Maria and Maggie sorted through the broken items, attempting to catalog what remained. They tried to identify the broken versus the stolen, but in the end, Maggie couldn’t be positive anything was stolen.

  When she waved her friends off, convincing them she’d be fine, Maggie closed the front door and sighed. She listened for any sound as she hurried through the kitchen, shutting and locking the back door before going upstairs.

  The master bedroom looked beautiful as always. The same elegant spread covered the bed and contrasted the soft green walls. A framed picture of Uncle Ron smiled at her from a side table. Her own picture rested on the dresser next to a small pink dish she’d made in pottery class as a child. She picked up the dish and flipped it over in her hands, running her finger over her initials scratched in the bottom. Esther placed her rings in it at night, but it lay empty now. The mortuary had returned her wedding set to Maggie.

  Esther’s jewelry case stood in its place, impossible to tell if anyone had opened it. Her favorite necklace and earrings were still inside, a sapphire and diamond set given to her by her late husband. Maggie eased the box closed and moved to the bookcase, her fingers grazing the supple leather of her aunt’s diaries. They were all there, years of her life cataloged in their pages. The sluggishness she’d shaken off this morning seeped back into her soul like sludge. Even her bones felt tired.

  She chose the year she was born, hugging the volume to her chest and carrying it into her old room. The well-remembered lavender comforter smelled fresh as she slipped under it. The words in the diary sounded familiar, as if her aunt sat on the end of the bed telling her a story.

  “Her name is Margaret,” it said. “They call her Maggie. She’s the sweetest little bundle I have ever seen. I hope my brother is up to the responsibility. He’s still very young.”

  Mom used that excuse when she wanted to ignore her first marriage. It never occurred to Maggie it could be true—they were too young to know what they wanted in life. Maybe it’s why her dad bailed when she was nine.

  He would have been twenty-seven when he left, younger than she was now, and Mom a year behind him. If youth was the problem, she could understand their marriage falling apart, but why all the ones her mom had after? Shaking her head, she read on. Any other time it might have bored her, but now, it felt as if she were sitting at Esther’s table dipping cookies into her milk. She skipped ahead to the first mission trip, the one that started Esther’s lifelong passion for the children of Africa:

  We got off the plane, and it was so hot I couldn’t breathe at first. They picked us up in an open vehicle, and by the time we got to the orphanage, I was covered in dirt. I’m sure I have half the desert in my hair and the other half in my teeth, but they tell me there isn’t enough water to bathe every day. I guess I’ll use the washcloth Cara gave me to clean up, do my best to shake the dust out of my hair, brush my teeth and make myself presentable for dinner. I haven’t met any of the children yet, but tomorrow I’m supposed to sit in on a classroom. I pray I am up to this.

  A week later:

  The kids are so wonderful! I don’t speak their language, but many of them have been able to learn some English from the other teachers, so we’re communicating with their limited English and a lot of hand signals. For the most part, it’s funny, and we laugh a lot. They’re very accepting of me, for which I’m grateful. Seeing the level of their poverty is quite sobering. We feed the children who live here, but for the ones who attend day school, we’re unsure of their home environments. I’ve seen a couple of them save food to take home. We assume it’s to feed family members, so I give them a bit extra if I can.

  Maggie relaxed her arms, and the diary fell next to her. She closed her eyes and dreamed of Africa.

  The sun slanted in the window on its way down when she opened her eyes. Remembering where she was and why she was here took a minute. Tears threatened again, but before they could surface, she stood and smoothed the comforter into place. The spare room still needed to be checked for missing items.

  It looked as neat and clean as ever, a sign of Libby and Robin’s diligence. The fire ladder lay folded on the blanket chest. When she picked it up, the awkward metal rungs clanged to the floor, making her jump. She raised the lid and dumped the ladder in where it belonged, the sound deafening. How would a burglar know this was in here? And how could he have gotten it out without Esther hearing?

  She dropped the lid, relieved. No way would she have missed such a racket. Esther must have had it out for some reason, but why would she leave it hanging outside? Were the police right? Had the killer climbed in? Didn’t make sense. The rest of the room was untouched, nothing in here worth stealing. Time to go.

  Wanting to continue the Africa story, Maggie chose the diary she’d been reading, and the year her dad left. It’d be interesting to see Esther’s thoughts on abandonment. The latest diary was in the nightstand, so she took it as well. A thought occurred to her. How did Esther feel about getting married so late in life? She was forty when she’d married Uncle Ron. Did she have any doubts? Her steps faltered. Was it too personal? She shook her head. It didn’t matter now. If she couldn’t talk to Esther, she could at least listen.

  She tried to remember what year they’d married. She’d been the maid of honor while in high school…she flipped through a couple of them until she found what she was looking for, hurried with it downstairs, and out to her car. Taking them out of the house felt strange, almost like stealing, but at the same time, they were comforting and familiar.

  The drive home was dark, and headlights from the ca
r behind hit the rearview mirror and blinded her for a second. Her thoughts reverted to the diary, and Esther’s passion for the children of Africa. She’d been jealous once, and her face burned with shame now when she thought of it. As she neared her driveway, her cell phone rang.

  “Maggie, it’s Mark. I’m at the station. Ah…you’d better come down here.”

  She slowed. “Why? Did you guys find out anything?”

  Mark cleared his throat. “We’re questioning someone.”

  “Oh, good, but why do you need me? I never saw him.”

  “Yes, but she’s asking for you. It’s Allie.”

  Maggie held the phone away from her ear, stared at it, and then snugged it back. “Allie? Here? In jail?”

  “She was found with your aunt’s car. Apparently, she’s been living in it for the last couple days. We haven’t arrested her, but we can’t get a hold of her dad. The chief thought she might feel safer with you for now.”

  Questions swam through Maggie’s head. “I’ll be right there.” She sped to the station, and Mark met her on the sidewalk. She nodded at the desk sergeant as they wended their way past him to the conference room, embarrassed at not remembering his name.

  Allie stood facing the window. It’d been a long time, but Maggie would have known the petite blonde anywhere. Her long, straight hair slid half out of its habitual ponytail and hung down her back. Her arms hugged her waist, and she rocked from side to side. She looked about twelve years old in her jean shorts and rumpled white blouse, but she must be seventeen or eighteen by now.

  “Allie? Are you all right?”

  Allie turned, and the familiar tear-streaked face tugged on Maggie’s emotions. She bent to retrieve her purse from the chair.

  Maggie hurried to her and drew her into a hug. “What’s going on?”

  Allie hugged her back. “Can we just leave?” she asked in a small voice. “I’ll explain on the way.”

  Mark led them out of the station and watched while they slid into Maggie’s car. He waved as she drove from the lot.

  A light blue truck passed slowly.

  “Now tell me what you’re doing in town and how you ended up being questioned by the police.”

  Allie wiped her eyes. “I came to stay with Aunt Esther for a while. I showed up at her door Friday night, and she took me in, no questions asked. Well, she did ask some questions as she was making up my bed, but even though she isn’t technically my aunt, I knew she’d take me in.”

  “Why? What were you running from?”

  “I wasn’t running. You sound just like my dad.” She paused for a minute. “OK, I was running away from my dad.”

  “George?” She pictured the short, round man her mother had made husband number two, remembering his kind blue eyes. The same eyes staring at her now. She couldn’t imagine him doing anything to make Allie leave home. “What happened?”

  “Nothing happened, but he’s driving me crazy. I’ve accepted a tennis scholarship to the University of California, but I don’t want to go. And he won’t leave me alone about it.”

  Maggie glanced in her rearview mirror as a light blue truck passed under a streetlight. Was it the same one she saw when she left the station? It turned off. Guess not.

  “I stayed overnight,“ Allie went on, “but Aunt Esther was gone when I got up. I waited so we could talk, but when she got back, someone came to the door. They were yelling downstairs, so I grabbed my clothes and threw the ladder thing out the window. I tried to be quiet, but it made a horrendous racket.”

  Maggie lips curled, remembering the clamor when she’d put it away.

  “I could see her car in the driveway, so I grabbed the extra key. You know the one she keeps in her dresser, climbed down the ladder, and left.” She turned in her seat. “I didn’t know she was in trouble, honest. When I came back, there were police and an ambulance. I got scared and took off.” Tears streamed down her face. “If I’d known Esther would get hurt, I would have helped her. I swear!”

  Maggie steered into her garage, shut off the engine, and lowered the door, feeling better with it down. The motion detector clicked on as they stepped into the backyard, flooding it with light. They hurried into the house, neither speaking until they were inside with the door closed and bolted.

  Allie reached down to pet Honey, who was wild with joy at her presence. “Now they think I lowered the ladder so my boyfriend could rob her. They assume we fought, and I killed her and then stole her car.”

  Maggie’s mouth fell open. No way could Allie have stabbed Esther. She was athletic, true, but she was only five two and a hundred pounds at most. She forced her jaw closed. The boyfriend, however, might be a different story.

  “I didn’t mean to steal the car. Aunt Esther always lets me use it when I visit.” Twisting a few strands of loose hair around her finger, Allie faced her. “What am I going to do? You know I wouldn’t hurt her, don’t you?”

  Maggie tossed her keys in the dish and moved into the kitchen. “Of course, you wouldn’t. Who’s the boyfriend?”

  Allie studied the garden picture on the wall next to the door, her back to the room. “Just a guy I hang around with. He wouldn’t hurt anybody.”

  “Are you sure?” Maggie’s voice rang with accusation.

  Allie stiffened.

  “Why didn’t you go home?” She softened her tone.

  Allie turned to face her. “I was afraid. What if he saw me?”

  “Who?”

  She rolled her eyes. “The killer. He might think I saw him.”

  “Did you?”

  “No, but he doesn’t know that. Can we ask your boyfriend to help? Isn’t he a cop here or something?”

  “Yeah, but how did you know?”

  “Aunt Esther brought you up all the time. I couldn’t help it.”

  A warm glow formed in Maggie’s chest. “She mentioned you a lot, too.”

  Allie covered her face with both hands and sobbed.

  Maggie tugged a few tissues from the box on the small table and handed them to her. When she reached the hiccup stage, her words were almost indecipherable.

  “Aunt Esther can’t be gone. She was the only mother I had.”

  Any judgment Maggie might have felt melted. “I understand. I felt that way, too.”

  Allie dropped her arms to her sides, her hands balling into fists. “How could you? You were the favorite. Mom didn’t send you off the first chance she got; she kept you. Even with Aunt Esther, you were always the favorite.”

  The revelation stopped Maggie cold. Surely, Allie couldn’t feel as unwanted as she did. “You thought Mom wanted me but not you?” Allie’s face reddened, but Maggie ignored it. “You couldn’t be more wrong. You were the blessed one; your dad wanted you.”

  Maggie gripped Allie’s shoulders and peered into her face. The blue eyes staring back didn’t flinch. “Mom kept me because she had to. There wasn’t anyone else. My dad left when I was nine.”

  Allie’s posture relaxed and her fists slackened. It seemed she was listening, so Maggie loosened her grip. “Then she and George got married, and you came along. I thought I had a family, but you know how that worked out. There were a few more guys, and I ended up living with Aunt Esther when Mom picked one of them over me.” She shrugged. “It’s why Aunt Esther and I were so close. But she loved you, too. I used to hear a play-by-play of every tournament and every win.” Maggie gently placed her arms around her half-sister.

  Allie’s body stilled. Then she hugged her back. “Aunt Esther talked about me?” Sobs shook the thin frame.

  Maggie held her tight.

  Allie’s sobs dwindled to a sniffle. “Why couldn’t we have had a mother like her?”

  Maggie stepped back and slid her fingers down to Allie’s hands, giving them a squeeze. “Believe me. I’ve asked myself the same question a thousand times. In her way, Mom loved both of us, but she had no idea how to raise children. Don’t let her weakness affect the way you feel about yourself.”

  Magg
ie wasn’t talking to Allie anymore—she was talking to herself. Maybe she wasn’t at fault for her mother’s rejection. Tucking Allie under her arm, she led her upstairs to make up the bed in the guest room. Why did it take her so long to understand? Maybe she could look at her mother differently now. Maybe…well, she could work on it.

  They talked long into the night, laughing and crying. Maggie wanted more information on the boyfriend, but Allie changed the subject every time she brought it up.

  As she flipped off her bedside lamp, Maggie considered the situation. If the police thought Allie was involved, they would have arrested her. And if she wasn’t afraid of the boyfriend, why didn’t she go home? Could the killer have seen her? Was she a target now?

  Maggie would have to keep an eye on Allie and keep her safe.

  4

  Greg sipped his coffee, studying Esther Campbell’s file. The Gunderson folder rested on the desk next to it. Excluding the murder, the robberies had similarities. Both happened during the day, and broken glass and china littered both scenes. But the breakage in the Campbell case was over the top. Had the thief wanted something he couldn’t find? Why so much destruction? The fury of it screamed out from the pictures.

  He drained his mug, placed it next to his computer, and withdrew a magnifying glass from the drawer. Leaning forward, he compared the images e-mailed from Esther’s insurance company with the crime scene photographs. Thank heaven there were pictures, since he wouldn’t know a valuable piece of art from an army boot. In fact, an army boot might be prettier than some of the art in the Gunderson robbery. The paintings consisted of shapes and splatters—nothing he would have considered valuable. The insurance company disagreed.

  In the Campbell case, each insured piece corresponded to a picture from the crime scene, and so far, Maggie hadn’t come up with anything missing. So either Esther’s murder disturbed the thief so much he panicked and left, or Maggie interrupted before he could finish. A sudden chill caused the hair on his arms to rise. Allie said Esther let someone in, so if she was telling the truth, the thief or thieves thought she would stand there and let them rob the place. They must not have known her at all.