by Rachel Woods
“I didn’t use the computer that night,” said Sarah. “But maybe Kevin did.”
“Kevin?” Noelle glanced at Beanie. “How would Kevin have used the computer? Was he there with you that night?”
Silence.
Noelle stared at Beanie who signaled her to keep talking. “Sarah …?”
“Yeah, I’m here,” said Sarah, her voice small and hollow. “I just, um … I know I’m not supposed to have anyone over while I’m taking care of the boys and I never do, but that night, I’d forgotten a book I needed for a paper I had due the next day, and I asked Kevin to bring the book to me at your place. I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s okay, I understand.” Noelle looked at Beanie, and when he nodded, she said, “So, you think maybe Kevin used the computer?”
“Maybe,” said Sarah, her tone hesitant and noncommittal. Noelle wondered if the young woman was regretting her confession.
“Okay, well, I’ll speak with Kevin.”
Sarah said, “You can’t.”
Noelle’s gaze shot to Beanie. He shared her look of confused suspicion. “Why can’t I talk to Kevin?”
“If you want to talk to him in person, I mean,” Sarah said. “He’s still in the USVI at a seminar.”
“Do you know when he’s supposed to return to St. Killian?” Noelle asked.
“Maybe next week,” said Sarah.
Noelle thanked Sarah for talking to her and ended the call. “So what do you think?”
Beanie said, “I think we need to call Octavia and set up a time to meet with her so she can listen to this audio. We have proof that Kevin Cook was in our house, and had access to our computer, the night that doctor sexy MILF email account was created.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
“What are the cops doing here?” Beanie whispered to Octavia as the lawyer closed the door to her opulent hotel suite.
When Beanie had called earlier to talk to Octavia about their theory that Kevin Cook had created the fake email account, he’d been surprised to learn Octavia had just been about to call them. The police had shown up unexpected and unannounced, requesting that she summon the Beans to her suite—immediately.
Standing in the foyer of the suite, Noelle tried not to panic as she stared across the living room at Detective Philippi Janvier and Officer Fields. The policemen stood close to each other, whispering intently. About what, Noelle had no clue. She couldn’t help but jump to the worst conclusion—they had more damaging evidence against her.
Evidence that made her appear to look even more guilty even though she wasn’t.
“They have some news about Eamon Taylor’s neighbor, Ted Chen,” said Octavia, her expression grave.
“What kind of news?” Beanie asked.
Noelle’s heart raced. Once again, as she had so many times recently, she struggled not to think the worse, but the stern faces and rigid posture of the officers filled her with apprehension.
“Janvier and Fields wouldn’t tell me,” said Octavia, clearly peeved at being kept in the dark. “They wanted to wait until you arrived.”
“You think Ted Chen recanted his story?” Beanie asked.
Feeling her knees weaken, Noelle fought the panic rising within her. Why would Ted Chen tell the police a different story than what he’d told her and Beanie? The information Ted Chen had shared was crucial. The police needed to know about the mysterious man who’d exited Eamon’s apartment with two suitcases he’d put into the trunk of a red four-door sedan.
“I have no idea,” said Octavia. “I hope not, but there’s no use speculating. Let’s find out why they’re here.”
Noelle followed Beanie and Octavia into the living area. After curt greetings, everyone took seats on the couches, and Detective Janvier said, “Thank you for agreeing to meet us. I won’t belabor the point. A few days ago, you informed my colleague Officer Fields that you had spoken to a gentleman named Ted Chen. Mr. Chen, according to you, gave you information regarding the murder of Eamon Taylor.”
“That’s correct,” said Octavia.
“Yesterday, Officer Fields attempted to determine the veracity of your claims,” said Janvier.
“I went out to the Sea Glass Village apartments to talk to Ted Chen,” said Officer Fields. “Unfortunately, I was unable to do so.”
“Maybe he wasn’t home,” said Beanie. “Did you try calling him?”
“You have to talk to him,” Noelle said, a sense of desperation creeping within her even though Beanie’s grip was strong and supportive. “He has information that you need to know.”
“I would very much like to hear what Ted Chen has to say,” said Janvier. “However, it is impossible.”
“Why is it impossible?” asked Octavia. “If it’s a matter of locating Ted Chen, I have resources—”
“We don’t need to locate Chen,” said Janvier. “We know exactly where he is.”
“Then I don’t understand,” said Noelle, glaring at the grim, unreadable faces of the lawmen. “Why can’t you talk to him if you know where he is?”
Detective Janvier said, “Because Ted Chen is unable to speak with us.”
Officer Fields said, “He’s dead …”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Ted Chen was dead.
Her mind both numb and swirling with questions, Noelle sat paralyzed on the couch in Octavia’s hotel suite. Detective Janvier and Officer Fields had left an hour ago, but their chilling words lingered. Eamon’s neighbor had suffered a gruesome fate.
Ted Chen had been savagely beaten with a box fan and then strangled to death with the extension cord connected to the portable cooling device.
Detective Janvier had admitted they had no leads, so far. No one had seen or heard anything. The crime scene had been processed, evidence collected, and the investigation was ongoing. There had been no forced entry. Janvier surmised that Chen either knew his killer or had opened the door for the grisly attacker who’d ended his life.
“The good thing is,” said Octavia, glancing at Noelle, “that Janvier knows you had nothing to do with the murder of Ted Chen. There is no evidence that connects you to the killing.”
“The bad thing is that Ted Chen was killed because someone found out he was going to tell the cops about the guy he saw leaving Eamon’s apartment with the suitcases,” said Beanie, jumping up to pace around the couches. “It is not a coincidence that Chen was killed before he could give the police crucial information that could have changed the course of their investigation—away from Noelle and toward the mystery guy.”
“There’s no way to know that Chen’s statement would have compelled Janvier to consider another suspect,” said Octavia. “What he told you was interesting, but he didn’t get a clear look at the guy with the suitcases, and he didn’t get any plates on the red car.”
“But whoever killed him didn’t know that,” said Beanie. “Whoever killed Chen must have thought that maybe he could make a positive ID and maybe he had gotten the license plate of the red car.”
“How would someone have known that Ted Chen was going to talk to the police?” Octavia said.
“Maybe he told someone,” Beanie said, rubbing his jaw.
“You think Ted Chen spoke to Eamon’s killer without knowing he was talking to the killer?” Octavia asked.
“I don’t know,” said Beanie, shaking his head. “All I know is that a man is dead because he was willing to help Noelle get out of this mess she doesn’t deserve to be in. We finally were catching a damn break, and now it’s like we’re back where we started.”
Dropping her head, Noelle wiped a tear before it fell. The raw fear in Beanie’s voice was a horrible reminder of how her situation was affecting him.
After a low exhale, Octavia said, “I know the circumstances seem overwhelming, and I don’t want to give you a trite motivational speech, but there is a light at the end of the tunnel.”
Beanie scoffed. “Yeah, that light is the train speeding right at you.”
Noelle wiped
another tear, worried by the trace of hopelessness in Beanie’s tone. If her husband fell apart, she didn’t know how she would make it, but she would have to—somehow, someway. She had to keep it together and make sure she didn’t go down for something she hadn’t done.
“Listen, we will prove that Noelle didn’t kill Eamon Taylor,” said Octavia. “Noelle wasn’t at home when the doctor sexy MILF email account was created. That’s the first crack in the police’s theory that Noelle’s motive for murder was her fear of Eamon suing her for sexual harassment. If I can prove that Noelle didn’t have a motive for killing Eamon, then their case will be severely weakened.”
Beanie nodded. “They need means, opportunity, and motive. But good luck convincing Janvier that Kevin Cook created the fake account.”
Noelle agreed. They’d been able to share that theory with the evasive, doubtful detective but he wasn’t as receptive to the possibility as Noelle would have liked.
“Well, he did promise to talk to Kevin Cook about that when Cook returns to St. Killian,” reminded Octavia.
If Kevin Cook returns, thought Noelle, and then immediately chided herself for being negative. Still, the thought lingered and gave her a strange, ominous feeling.
“Another thing I’m working on is tracing the burner that was used to send the emails after the fake account was created,” said Octavia.
“Burners can’t be traced,” said Beanie.
“True, but the emails were traced to a specific phone number,” agreed Octavia. “That phone number is for a burner which contains a GPS chip.”
“So, you can track the GPS chip,” said Beanie.
Octavia nodded. “I have someone going through the GPS data.”
Beanie said, “The GPS data should show where the phone was—geographically—when those MILF emails were sent, right?”
“Hopefully,” said Octavia. “If we know where the phone was located when the emails were sent, then we can prove Noelle wasn’t at that location at the time.”
“Unless the person who sent the emails was standing right next to me while they were being sent,” said Noelle.
“What do you mean?” asked Beanie, returning to the couch.
“I’ve always suspected that Eamon Taylor was trying to scam me,” said Noelle.
Octavia nodded. “You could be right about that. Eamon might have sent the emails to himself to extort money from you so he could pay off the PC-5.”
“But before Eamon could collect any payment from me,” said Noelle. “Someone killed him …”
“Possibly the PC-5,” said Octavia. “I haven’t given up on that theory even though Icarus hasn’t been able to confirm or deny that the gang put out a hit on Eamon for non-payment.”
“Maybe we should give up on that theory,” said Noelle. “If Nico Lecrae gave the order to kill Eamon then no one in Handweg is going to snitch.”
Octavia said, “Well, there is potentially another possibility …”
“What?” Beanie asked.
“The police aren’t making much of it,” said Octavia, “but they found some love letters in Eamon’s apartment although Officer Fields showed me one of the letters and there was no love in it.”
“Who wrote the letters?” Noelle asked.
“The police aren’t sure,” Octavia said. “But, they had a stalker-type vibe. Whoever wrote the letters seemed to have been in some sort of relationship with Eamon. This person was very upset because Eamon wasn’t interested in the relationship.”
“So, Eamon had a stalker?” Beanie asked.
“Could the stalker have killed him?” Noelle wondered.
“I’m not sure if the person who wrote the letters was stalking Eamon,” Octavia said. “He never filed any police reports claiming that he was being stalked, but the letter I read was disturbing and could be seen as threatening.”
Leaning forward, Beanie asked, “What was disturbing about the letter?”
Octavia said, “Whoever wrote the letter told Eamon that if he broke their heart, they would rip out his…”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
“You know what I think?” Beanie asked as he steered the SUV into the traffic heading left on the boulevard in front of the Queen Palm hotel.
“That some spurned lover turned stalker killed Eamon?” Noelle guessed.
Beanie shook his head. “I don’t think some lovesick girl beat him in the head with a shovel because he stopped paying attention to her.”
“Even though she promised to rip his heart out?”
“Some girl with a crush being melodramatic didn’t kill him,” Beanie said. “I was thinking about what happened to Ted Chen. Whoever killed him must have seen us talking to him which means whoever is setting you up is probably watching you.”
Alarmed, she asked, “You think so?”
“They’re setting you up, so they have to make sure their frame job is working,” said Beanie, taking the exit to the coastal highway that ringed the island. “They can’t have you figuring out the truth, you know. If they see you getting too close to the truth, they have to stop you.”
“So Ted Chen’s death is my fault,” said Noelle, rubbing her eyes, her stomach churning from grief and guilt.
“No, babe, none of this is your fault, okay?” Beanie took one hand off the wheel to grab her hand. “Ted Chen is dead because whoever is trying to frame you is a psychopath. We gotta be careful, and we gotta start being hyper-aware of our surroundings. Anything that seems suspicious, we gotta check it out. Right now, I’m checking the cars behind us.”
Heart in her throat, Noelle sat up and twisted in the seat, staring through the back window. “You think we’re being followed?”
“I don’t know,” said Beanie. “But we have to make sure that we’re not. That’s why I’m taking the long way home.”
Noelle shook her head and leaned back against the headrest. “This is a nightmare.”
“Yeah,” Beanie agreed. “But we’re going to wake up soon.”
Thirty minutes later, standing shirtless in the middle of their bedroom and staring at his phone, Beanie frowned.
“What is it?” Noelle sat up in bed and reached for the robe at the foot of the bed. Covering the skimpy lingerie she’d stripped down to, she stared at Beanie, worried by his apprehensive expression.
“So much for our afternoon delight,” he mumbled.
Instead of picking up the boys from her mom, she and Beanie had decided the trauma of the morning warranted a few hours of selfishness. Despite her raging emotions, Noelle relished the idea of a sweaty sex session to take her mind away from her problems. Since her arrest, she and Beanie had neglected their marital duties, forgoing lovemaking in favor of legal strategy.
“What’s the matter?”
“It’s not anything bad,” said Beanie. “The text was from Sophie. She got another anonymous tip about Kevin Cook being Eamon’s killer. Only this time, she emailed the tipster back, asking to meet, and the tipster agreed. She wants to know if I want to go with her to talk to the tipster.”
Noelle scrambled off the bed and hurried to Beanie. “You have to go. You have to find out why this tipster thinks Kevin killed Eamon.”
Beanie sighed. “I don’t want to leave you here alone. I’ll take you to your mom’s.”
“I have a better idea,” Noelle said. “Take me with you to meet the tipster.”
Chapter Forty
“This is where the anonymous tipster wanted to meet?” Beanie asked Sophie as they exited the SUV.
Shocked and skeptical, Noelle surveyed her surroundings as she closed the passenger door. The area was all too familiar, a place Noelle had visited often and where she’d made many friends.
The University of St. Killian.
“I was a bit suspicious, too,” said Sophie as they walked across the visitor parking lot to a wide sidewalk which traversed throughout the plantation-style buildings of the campus. “But it’s a public place, so that’s good.”
“You have any
idea who this tipster might be?” asked Noelle, falling into step with Sophie, who strode purposely between Noelle and Beanie.
A balmy breeze blew Sophie’s springy curls as she shook her head. “Part of me thinks it’s a student but who knows?”
“It’s got to be someone who knows Kevin Cook,” said Beanie, leading the way across the palm-lined quad.
“Where exactly are we supposed to meet the tipster?” Noelle asked.
Sophie checked her phone. “Um … Lecture Hall 7a in the Collister Building. You know where that is?”
Noelle nodded. “It’s where I present most of my lectures.”
“Interesting,” said Sophie. “Well, lead the way.”
In the empty lecture hall, Noelle shivered. When was the last time she’d been in the Collister Building? The contentious confrontation of Helen Farber sprang to mind. A lifetime ago it seemed—before she’d been accused of murder. As she, Beanie and Sophie walked down the wide, flat steps to the first row of seating, Noelle wondered if her life would forever be defined by the horrible demarcation of before the murder charges and after the murder charges.
“Okay, we’re here,” said Beanie, turning to stare up toward the doors they’d entered. “Where’s this anonymous tipster?”
As she drifted toward the lectern she’d stood behind so many time, Noelle heard a door open and turned.
Stunned, she stared at the three people heading down the stairs toward them. Familiar faces she knew well. Students who’d participated in the Palmchat Pharmacy internship program she’d recently coordinated: Jimmy Quible, Matt Delany, and Tina Chen-Soo. The interns stared back at her, confusion playing across their bewildered expressions as their gazes roamed from Noelle to Beanie to Sophie.
As they converged in the area between the first row and the presentation stage, Noelle watched their shock turn to suspicion as the trio cast furtive looks between each other.
Arms crossed, Sophie introduced herself and then asked, “Which one of you is the tipster?”