Killer Bridal Party

by London Lovett

  "Good night. And don't stay out so late tomorrow night."

  "It's like living with my parents again . . . only weirder," I muttered as I headed to bed.

  Chapter 33

  In the early dawn hours, I'd woken with a start. My intuition or subconscious or semi-dream state, whatever it was that woke me, told me that there might very well be a connection between Tory's bank deposit and the unexplained after-hours activity at Stockton Tools. Could it be that Tory had gotten herself involved in some kind of stolen tool scheme? Or did she know too much about something that would cause the company trouble? Whatever it was, I decided to follow the money trail back to the bank.

  A refund check of three dollars from my insurance company had been sitting on my stack of mail for a week. I decided to use it as an excuse to go inside the bank. With any luck, Raylene would be working. I wanted to ask her a few more questions about Tory's regular bank deposit.

  Fortunately, late Wednesday morning proved to be a quiet time in the bank. On the right side of the building, two account managers sat behind desks in the area where people waited to open accounts or apply for loans. Raylene was the only teller sitting behind the counter. At the end of the teller windows was a sectioned off area that was surrounded with thick glass and a door. It seemed to be the booth for securely and privately viewing the contents of a safe deposit box because an elderly couple waited inside of it.

  Raylene's face popped up behind the glass when she saw me in line. She slid open her window. "Next customer please."

  I pulled the refund check from my pocket. It was a pretty silly reason to make a trip into the bank, but I had no other excuse to be there.

  Raylene squinted one eye. "Wait, don't tell me. Sunni, right? It's easy to remember. Especially in summer."

  "Yes, and you're Raylene. And I remembered that without even looking at the name tag."

  "What can I do for you?"

  "I just wanted to cash this check." I handed it to her.

  She unfolded it and held back a grin. "I think we've got enough in the cash drawers to cover this."

  "Great. I'll take it in small bills," I said with a wink.

  I swiped my card. As she pulled up my account, another teller, a tall man with blond hair, walked out from the open safe carrying a narrow metal safe deposit box. My eyes just happened to swipe down to the box. The number was written in bold, black letters across a white field, making it easy to read. The box was labeled 358B. He continued on to the booth where the elderly couple waited.

  "That's one, two, three," Raylene counted carefully as she placed each dollar on the counter. "What will you do with all this cash?" she asked with a laugh.

  "Not sure yet. The possibilities are endless." I glanced around. The account managers were busy with clients, and the other teller was busy with the couple looking at their safe deposit box so I felt safe asking a few quick questions.

  I tucked the money into my hand and leaned closer. "To be honest, I'm working on the murder story. I was hoping to ask you a couple of questions."

  I was relieved when she looked more intrigued than taken aback. "Not sure if I know much but go ahead."

  "First of all—and this one just came up—do all the safe deposit boxes have a letter at the end? For example is there a Box 673A in the safe?"

  "That's easy, although I'm not sure how it connects. Every box has either an A or B after the number. Some people rent two boxes. That way they can keep the same number but have a box A and B. And the boxes go up to 1500, so there is definitely a box with that number inside the safe."

  "You wouldn't by any chance know if Tory Jansen had a safe deposit box in the bank?"

  She looked around, making sure she was free to speak but she kept her voice quiet. "That's easy too because I helped her open a box about three months ago. In fact, that was just before she started making her regular cash deposits."

  Voices behind us signaled that one of the account managers was finished with a client and heading back to the teller area. Raylene straightened and flashed a polite smile. "Can I do anything else for you?" she asked cheerily.

  The client popped back into the bank with one more question for the account manager, stopping her progress to the teller area. I decided to fire off one more question.

  "You said Tory came in every Friday with a thousand dollars in an envelope, but is there a customer who comes in once a week to withdraw that sum of money?"

  Her lips pulled down at the sides. I'd pushed my inquiry a little too far.

  "I can't really answer that." She leaned forward. "But I can't think of anyone," she whispered quickly and straightened on her stool. "Thank you for your business and have a nice day."

  "Thank you. You've been very helpful. I'll be careful not to blow this wad all in one place." I pushed the money into my purse and headed out of the bank.

  I sat in the jeep and pulled out my phone to look at Tory's reminders again. The first one was a reminder about the shower gift. It was the second one that was now piquing my interest. "Copy behind roses, flash drive Box 673A," I read aloud.

  I was fairly certain the box she wrote about was a safe deposit box, and if my hunch was right, it contained a flash drive. But what was on the flash drive? The first part of the reminder was even more cryptic. Copy of what? Did the flash drive contain original information for the copies? And what roses? The one place I hadn't visited yet was Tory's house. It would be easy enough to get her address.

  First, my reporter's gut instinct was telling me to go back to Jeremy's house. I'd been skedaddled away from the investigation into Jeremy's attack rather quickly by Detective Jackson, but something kept sticking in my craw about the whole thing. The person who killed Tory was strong enough to kill her with one strike. Jeremy had sustained an injury, but it wasn't even close to the fatal blow Tory had received. Another thing that kept scratching at me was that the perpetrator had had enough forethought to ditch the weapon in the lake. It took far more effort to retrieve than the hammer that had been dropped cavalierly into the shrubs near Jeremy's house. A hammer was used for both attacks, but that seemed to be the only similarity.

  I started the jeep. It was the middle of the work day so I was certain no one would be home at Jeremy's. I needed to do a replay of the attack before a quick snoop around at Tory's house.

  Chapter 34

  "Hey, Myrna." The call came through my bluetooth just as I turned the corner onto Jeremy's street in Birch Highlands. "What's up?"

  "Hi, Sunni, I found the address for Tory Jansen. I'll text it to your phone. Guess who just took the rest of the week off?"

  "Let me guess, Chase?"

  "Yep. I guess he and Rebecca are going on a cruise until next Tuesday. Must be nice. Lots of perks when you're dating the owner's daughter."

  "What about his story? The case hasn't been solved. I don't imagine he has much yet." I pulled up to the curb across from Jeremy's house and parked. As predicted, there were no cars in the driveway. It looked as if no one was home.

  "Chase has nothing, and Parker is plenty steamed about the whole thing."

  "Well, I might just be able to step in and finish the story for him. I'm on my way to do some snooping around. Thanks for finding the address."

  "Good luck and be careful."

  "I will. See you soon, Myrna."

  I climbed out of the jeep and hiked up the driveway. The house was set far back from the street, and the yard was so wide the neighbor's houses were both a good distance away. I walked along the pathway where Jeremy was attacked and headed to the gate he'd mentioned. The laurel hedge was thick enough to hide someone, while at the same time, pliable enough to jump through. I stuck my arm through several places to see how easy it would be surprise someone and hit them with a hammer.

  I walked back toward the front of the path and then spun around to walk back to the gate. As I moved, I thought about Jeremy sitting on the gurney, looking pale and shaken and holding the ice pack against the side of his head, the left s
ide of his head. I stopped and looked at the hedge. It was on the right, which meant the person who attacked Jeremy had jumped out of the hedge, circled around him and hit the left side of his head. All without Jeremy getting a look at him. Then the person circled back around and dropped the hammer into the laurel hedge before running off. Not a very efficient way to attack someone.

  I walked back to the front of the path and glanced around the yard. A privacy hedge surrounded the front yard. The landscaping looked undisturbed. The person had either escaped along the driveway or across the front lawn and then down the driveway. As my eyes circled the yard, some pink and yellow roses caught my attention.

  "Roses," I said to myself. Tory mentioned roses on her reminder. It was a farfetched idea, but since I was already there, a quick survey of the roses was in order. I just wasn't sure what I was looking for.

  I walked along the front of the dozen or so bushes. Several sparrows popped out from behind a yellow bush and fluttered away in disgust that I'd disturbed their bug search. It took a little more finesse to walk behind the roses without getting scratched. The thorny branches were heavy with blossoms. The fragrance wafting up from the plants made the snoop session more pleasant, especially after it turned up nothing of interest. The gardener or landscaper had surrounded the plants with wood chips to help retain moisture and keep down weeds. All of the ground cover looked intact. The only thing surrounding the bases of the rose bushes were fallen rose petals and the occasional bird feather.

  The rose search proved fruitless, but the reenactment of Jeremy's attack had certainly given me a few things to think about. Jeremy's account of the incident was taken while he was still recovering from a blow to the head. It was entirely possible he got the logistics wrong. Either that or the whole thing smelled, and not even remotely like roses.

  I had one more stop on my list for the afternoon. Myrna had sent Tory's address to my phone. She lived in Smithville, the next town over. Like always, I was going in without really knowing what I was looking for, and there was a good chance that I wouldn't be able to do much more than walk around and look in a few windows. But with any luck, I'd stumble onto something that would help lead me to the end of the mystery.

  Chapter 35

  Tory's house was a cute mid-century ranch style home set on what looked to be about a quarter acre. Someone had taken the time to cover her Jaguar with a blue car cover. It sat lonely and bored in her driveway. I wondered briefly if she had paid cash for her expensive car. A chunk of change like a thousand bucks a week, apparently tax free, could go a long way in buying someone all the luxuries a person could want.

  The grass on the lawn leading up to the front steps was overgrown. Tory, or perhaps a gardener, had planted pink pansies in the brick planter box running beneath the front windows. They were starting to droop from lack of water. The one thing I didn't see anywhere in the front yard were roses. It was midday, and a rather hot, humid summer day at that. With the exception of a couple of kids running through sprinklers at the end of the block, most everyone else was at work or had gone inside for the warmest part of the day. By late afternoon, a breeze would roll down off the mountains, bringing some relief to the humidity. People would come out of their houses for dog walks and bike rides. But no one would be coming out of Tory's house. It looked dark and sad, like an abandoned house.

  The neighbor's dog, a poodle mix, barked once at me as I walked along the stepping stones to the back gate. It seemed to conclude I was harmless and returned to the shade in its own backyard.

  I reached over and easily unlatched the back gate. The backyard was paved with used bricks, and a nice wicker patio set sat under a large umbrella. It was sad to think just a few weeks ago Tory might have been sitting under the umbrella with her iced tea and a book, enjoying the afternoon mountain breeze. She seemed to have a nice, successful, enviable life. What on earth could she have done to get herself killed? I hoped to find some answers.

  I was disappointed that there were no roses in the backyard either. It was the only clue I had to go on at the moment.

  I walked up to the sliding glass door at the back of her house and pushed aside the screen. I pulled at the door, just in case, but it was locked. The afternoon sun caused enough glare that it was hard to see inside the house. I could make out the outline of a couch and chairs, but that was about the extent of my view.

  I walked down the back of the house to a window where the blinds had been left open. I peered between the slats and seemed to be looking into a bedroom. The angle of the sun was less harsh on the window pane so I could see the contents of the room more clearly.

  Roses. Tory's bedspread was adorned with pink roses. Could those be the roses she was talking about?

  "Darn it." I was about to walk away when I doubled back to check the window. To my surprise, it slid open.

  I looked around again. Even the next-door neighbor's dog had lost interest in the stranger prowling around the house. I hoisted myself up onto the ledge and hauled my legs over. My feet landed on thick, plush carpeting that looked as if it was newly installed. Tory had definitely liked nice things. Even the rose printed bed set looked as if it had been purchased from a high quality bedding store.

  I was nervous about being inside the house. I would look around and get out fast. The last thing I needed was to get arrested for breaking and entering. Not that I had to break anything because the window had been conveniently unlocked.

  Twinges of guilt poked at me as I quickly ran my hands over the rose covered fabric on the bed. I had no right at all to be going through Tory's personal things, but I was certain that the reminder on her phone was an important thread in solving the case. I might just find out who killed her. I was sure she'd forgive me for touching her things if I landed the monster in jail. I would certainly do the same if I was the murder victim. If it meant finding my killer, I'd want people to tear the place apart to look for clues. Of course, I had no intention of tearing the place apart. Just a bit of harmless snooping.

  I swept my hand over the bed but felt nothing of significance. I glanced quickly under the quilt, somehow convincing myself it was less of a violation if I looked fast. There was nothing. The more I thought about it, it seemed odd that someone would hide something under their bed covers. I ran my hand between the top and bottom mattress but didn't find anything except fuzzy tidbits from the mattress cover.

  I decided to take a short glance around the rest of the house before leaving. After all, I'd already broken the law, I might as well make it worth the breach of protocol.

  There were two more bedrooms, one made up with a nice inviting day bed and another used for storage of large items like a designer set of luggage and an antique vanity. The kitchen was decorated in red and white checks, a sort of vintage country look. My gaze circled around the room once. I was just about to leave when something caught my eye. A cute analog clock hung on the wall above the breakfast nook. Bright blue hands pointed out toward glittery silver numbers. And the entire face of the clock was bordered with a circular vine of pink roses.

  I laughed to myself at how farfetched it would be that the clock roses were the roses mentioned on the reminder, but on a whim, I walked over and lifted the clock away from the wall. An envelope slid out from behind the clock and landed on my foot.

  "Holy smokes." I leaned down and picked up the envelope. It contained two pictures. They were dark and blurry, apparently taken in a dark place and in a hurry. I moved toward the window where I could get a better look under the rays of sun coming through the glass.

  The pictures weren't great, but they took my breath away. Jeremy Stockton was standing in what I had finally puzzled out was the loading dock at his family company. I was no gun expert, but I was certain the object he held in his hand was an assault weapon, like the kind used by soldiers. The second picture showed his face more clearly. He was placing the weapon into a large crate. A truck was parked in the loading bay, and it was dark outside. The only light came from a sm
all portable work light that had been set up at the dock. I didn't recognize the second man in the picture.

  As I pushed the pictures into the envelope, I heard a key slip into the front door. My heart skipped ahead several beats as I searched around looking for a place to hide. The person had a key, so it had to be someone who knew Tory. Her parents perhaps, or even her friend Brooke.

  Loud footsteps thundered from the front room. They were too loud to belong to thin, little Brooke. The police, I thought in a panic. This time Detective Jackson would not give me a pass. I had entered a house illegally.

  Then my heart skipped another few beats when the new visitor started slamming things around. It seemed whoever it was, they were searching for something. Things were being knocked off shelves in the front room. Glass shattered and heavy objects seemed to be bouncing off the walls. This was not the police or friends or a parent. I stared down at the envelope in my trembling hands. Was I holding the object of their search?

  My hands shook as I shoved the envelope under my shirt and tucked it into my waistband. I tiptoed to the small pantry at the back of the kitchen. It had no door. Even if I tucked myself behind the dried goods and baskets, I'd be easily discovered.

  The footsteps neared and I ducked back out of sight. The shoes pounded past the kitchen, and the same havoc began in the neighboring bedroom, Tory's bedroom. If the intruder caught me in the pantry, I'd be backed into a corner. I needed to get out of the house.

  Drawers were being yanked from the dresser and tossed to the floor in the bedroom. It was my only chance. I dashed out from the pantry. As I moved, my elbow knocked a can of soup off the shelf. It hit the ground with a bang and rolled gingerly across the floor.

  I made a run for the front door only to meet up with the house wrecker in the hallway. I was not surprised to see Jeremy's face, red and twisted with anger, scowling down at me.