She took a deep breath, walked into the room, pressed a hand to her chest, and gasped. “Oh my goodness. Oh dear. Oh no.”
A man Maisie assumed to be Lane Marshall was slumped over on the bed, dressed in blue and white flannel pajamas. “Mr. Marshall?”
He made no sound, made no movement.
She approached, pressing two fingers to the side of his neck. There was no pulse. She inspected the skin, purple and tight, and then used her gun to lift his head, exposing a small, round hole in the center of his forehead. The hole explained where the dried blood on the lower part of his shirt came from. He’d been shot, at close range, she guessed, sometime the night before. And now his body appeared to be in full rigor.
She removed her phone from her pocket, dialed, and waited.
Lane Marshall was dead.
And Zoey Marshall was nowhere in sight.
CHAPTER 5
Detective MacDougal, a bald, six-foot-four male in his early fifties who had always reminded Maisie of a tall Yul Brynner, stood in the Marshalls’ bedroom along with Maisie and two other officers, all four staring at Lane Marshall’s dead body. She’d known MacDougal for several years, even working with him once or twice when he was young and green, long before she retired.
“I still don’t understand why you didn’t call us last night instead of today,” MacDougal said.
“And say what, exactly?” Maisie said. “I thought I heard someone scream, but I didn’t know who it was or even where the sound had come from. If I had called, you wouldn’t have believed me.”
MacDougal shrugged. “May have. Never know now.”
“For all I know, the sound I heard could have been a woman in the throes of passion with her husband or lover.”
All three men attempted to keep a straight face, but failed.
“The throes of passion?” MacDougal said. “Based on the scream you described, it isn’t likely.”
Maisie crossed her arms, grinned. “For you, maybe. Not for me.”
Eyes wide, the officers exchanged glances, none of them brave enough to respond. MacDougal jerked his head toward the bedroom door, told the other officers to have a look around, see what they could find. They walked out of the room, and he directed his attention back to Maisie. “You can’t go around vandalizing houses just because you can’t contain your curiosity.”
“Throwing a brick through a door in order to rescue a crying baby isn’t vandalism; it’s being a good neighbor. Besides, if I hadn’t, who knows when Lane Marshall would have been found? And as for the baby, who knows how long she would have survived?”
“When was the last time you saw the Marshalls?”
“Yesterday afternoon. They were bringing in groceries from the car.”
He leaned back. “You live five houses away. You just happened to see them carrying groceries?”
“I happen to notice all the coming’s and going’s on my street.”
“How long have they lived here?”
“About a week.”
“When was the last time you spoke to the Marshalls?”
“I haven’t spoken to them at all. We’ve never met. I baked them a cake this morning and brought it over so I could introduce myself. And then the madness happened.”
“And you’re sure the scream you heard last night came from a woman?”
“Quite sure, yes.”
One of the other officers, a short—about five two—beefy thing reentered the room, dangling a plastic bag in the air in front of him. “We found this outside on the driveway.”
MacDougal squinted. “What is that?”
The officer shrugged. “A scarf, I think.”
Maisie nodded. “Zoey wore it as a headband. She had it on yesterday when she was carrying the groceries from the car to the house.”
MacDougal tipped his head toward Maisie. “Again, from your distance, you saw a headband on Mrs. Marshalls head?”
The fact she’d been spying on her neighbors through a pair of high-powered binoculars was evident, especially since she was nearsighted and wore glasses. Too late to hide it now. “What matters is, I saw the scarf. It’s up to you to sort out the rest.”
“Looks like there may be blood on it too,” the officer said.
“Could be her blood, could be her husband’s,” Maisie said. “Blood spatter could have transferred to the scarf when she killed her husband. Or it could be her blood, in which case you have to ask yourself why the killer killed Lane, took Zoey, and left the baby. Another possibility could be—”
MacDougal raised a brow. “Maisie.”
She placed a hand on her hip. “What?”
“Let us do the police work from here. You stay out of it. I didn’t ask for your opinion.”
“It makes no difference to me whether you asked me or not. You’re here, and you’re going to get it. This is my neighborhood. Maybe you’ve forgotten I was examining bodies when a career as a detective was a mere glimmer in your eye.”
“I haven’t forgotten. Have you forgotten you’re retired now?”
The second officer entered the room, thumbed at MacDougal. “There’s a lady out here asking to talk to you.”
“What about?”
“I don’t know. She didn’t say. Think she’s with this one.”
This one meaning Maisie.
Maisie followed MacDougal downstairs to the living room where Maude was sitting, cradling the infant in her arms.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” Maude said. “I was just wondering if I could keep the baby until you find a relative to take her. I don’t think it’s a good idea for her to be in the house right now with her father upstairs the way he is and everything.”
“You can, umm, hand her off to one of my officers,” MacDougal said. “We’ll call child protective services until we can locate a family member.”
The two officers looked at each other like they were way out of their league. Maude tightened her arms around the baby, frowned.
“Actually,” Maisie said, cell phone in hand, “I’d like to call my son and see what he has to say. Perhaps an exception can be made just this once. Hmm?”
“You two need to return home,” MacDougal said. “If we have further questions, I’ll let you know. As I said before, we’ll take it from here.”
“I don’t think so,” Maisie said.
“Whether your son is the mayor or not doesn’t change the fact that there’s a protocol to follow here.”
MacDougal signaled one of the officers with a finger. The officer walked over, arms outstretched toward the baby.
Maude stood. “I’ll leave you to do your job, but the child is coming with me.”
Hands on hips, MacDougal rolled his eyes, sighed. “Fine. Whatever. Take the baby to Maisie’s house for now, but only to her house. You stay put, and the baby stays put. Don’t leave.”
CHAPTER 6
One hour later, Maisie called the informal meeting in her living room to order. She’d hoped to have all the residents on her street in attendance, but the turnout was dismal. Only a few neighbors bothered to stop by, and of those, all of them were of the older variety. The younger homeowners on the street had chosen not to attend, which irked Maisie to an enormous degree. It meant they didn’t take her seriously, didn’t take the death of a neighbor seriously either.
“Thank you all for coming,” Maisie said. “As you know, last night or early this morning, at least one murder occurred at the Marshall residence. Lane Marshall is dead. His wife Zoey is missing. I’m certain I heard a woman scream last night. And I believe the woman who screamed was Zoey Marshall.”
She was silent for a moment, allowing the news to marinate.
“What do you expect us to do about it?” Sylvia asked.
“I expect you to tell the truth.”
“We have told the truth.”
“Have you? All of you?”
“What are you trying to say, we’re a bunch of liars?” Sylvia stood. “I don’t have time for this crap.�
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“Sit down, Sylvia,” Maisie said. “I don’t believe any of you lied, but I do believe it’s possible one of you noticed something, a small detail perhaps, maybe something you thought was irrelevant before now. Think about it. You never know when the smallest detail could make all the difference.”
“Why must you get involved in every single thing? And why must you involve us?”
“We may not have known the Marshalls, Sylvia, but an attack on our street is an attack on us all. So, please, if any of you have left anything unsaid, put your big boy or girl panties on and speak up.”
“You’re being a bit dramatic, Maisie,” Sylvia said. “Don’t you think?”
“I do not. We need to be vigilant and alert. This could have happened to any of us. And with a killer at large, it could still happen to any of us.”
“I don’t agree. Seems like what happened was a personal attack on the Marshall family.”
“You don’t know that, Sylvia. None of us know what happened or why. Yesterday I felt safe in this neighborhood. Today I don’t.”
“What’s happening with the baby?” Sylvia asked. “Why does your sister have her?”
“It’s only for a short time while police locate a relative.”
Stuart, a dapper silver fox in his early sixties, crossed one muscular leg over the other and smiled. “The baby has a name, you know. It’s Alice. Where is she?”
A beaming Maude rounded the corner. Stuart took one look at Alice and his face lit up as if she were his own grandchild. He reached for her, and Maude placed her in his lap.
Try as she might, Maisie couldn’t focus. The baby wasn’t the problem. The problem was Stuart. She hadn’t stopped staring at him since he’d entered her home several minutes earlier. With the exception of a few months in winter, she’d risen from bed a little early each morning to watch what she called “The Stuart Show,” which consisted of sitting in her recliner with a cup of coffee and waiting for Stuart to cycle past her house in his tight, black bike shorts and neon-orange racing shirt.
The outfit was hot.
He was hot.
And she was hot for him.
Stuart had been one of her husband’s closest friends when he was alive, and as such, nothing she did piqued his interest in the least. The only thing he seemed to want was the same friendship they’d always had, even though she’d gone out of her way to show interest. She’d baked him a cake, cookies, and a pie, all in the last year. Each time when she’d hand-deliver the sweet to his home, he stood in the doorway, thanked her, asked how she was doing and if there was anything he could do for her. Then he turned and closed the door. No conversation. No pleasantries. Nothing. For reasons unknown, he seemed resistant to her attempts to woo him, which made her feel rejected. And she didn’t take rejection easily.
On the far side of the room, a finger went up.
Maisie composed herself and said, “What is it, Ernest? This isn’t grade school. If you have something to say, say it.”
His finger lowered. He stared at his lap and said nothing, like he’d had a sudden change of heart.
“Ernest, what is it? You obviously want to say something.”
“I do ... I mean ... I’m just not sure—”
“Liars go straight to hell, as you well know,” Maisie said. “And at ninety-three, you’re knocking at death’s door, so you better ask yourself: Is this really the way you want to go out?”
He frowned. “You’re mean, Maisie. You know that? You really are a vicious woman sometimes.”
Part of her felt awful about the way he’d just labeled her, but she also knew she had to say what she did in order to elicit a response. Ernest rarely talked about anything without a substantial amount of prodding.
“I asked you this morning if you saw or heard anything. You said you didn’t. Did you or didn’t you?”
“It’s possible I saw something, yes.”
“What did you see? Spit it out.”
“It wasn’t last night. I wasn’t lying.”
“Ernest, please. Tell us what you know.”
“I was in my backyard last week. My German shepherd was scratching at the fence between my house and the Marshalls’. I tried shooing him away from it, but stubborn like he is, he wouldn’t budge. I wondered what had him so interested, so I peeked through one of the slats of broken wood. You know how old my fence is. Missing piece here. Missing piece there.”
“Yes, yes. Everyone knows. Get to the point.”
“Mr. Marshall was crouched over a fire pit he was putting in.”
Maisie was right. The fire pit hadn’t been there before the new owners moved in. “Go on.”
“It was dark outside. Had to be at least half past eight. Seemed an odd hour to be working outside.”
“Maybe Lane had been working on it all day and didn’t want to stop until it was done.”
“Guess so. Strange thing though. He looked right at me. Had this irritated look on his face, like it bothered him I was standing there, looking. I wasn’t trying to pry. Just happened.”
“You said it was dark outside. How did you see him in the first place? And how did he see you?”
“Well, I was ... uhh ... kinda holding a flashlight in my hand. When it’s dark out, I always shine a light on the dog when I let him out to do his business.”
“What happened after Lane saw you?”
“Nothing.”
“What do you mean by nothing?”
“I mean he stared at me until I turned around.”
Maisie sighed. “That’s it? He looked at you, and you looked at him, and the two of you had an awkward moment?”
“Told you it was only possible I saw something. Like I said, it’s probably nothing.”
“Anyone else?” When no one spoke up. Maisie said, “Well, everyone, thanks for coming over. Keep an eye out and your doors good and locked, okay? You never know what’s going to happen.”
CHAPTER 7
A short time later when Maude was putting Alice down for a nap, Maisie slowly opened the front door, careful to keep all sound to a minimum. She took one step outside and smacked right into MacDougal’s chest.
He raised a brow. “Where are you going in such a hurry?”
“Shh.” Maisie stabbed at a piece of paper stuck to her front door with her finger. “Read the sign: Baby sleeping. Come back later. Maude has spent the last hour trying to get her down. I won’t have you waking her up.”
He crossed his arms. “I’m not coming back later. You didn’t answer my question. Where are you going?”
“Nowhere.”
“So ... you’re going nowhere with a shovel in your hand?”
Although partially hidden behind her back, he’d seen it. It was too late to backpedal now.
“What are you planning on doing with it?” he asked.
“What do people usually do with shovels? They dig.”
“Don’t be smart with me.”
She wasn’t being smart. She was being stupid. Extremely stupid.
She set the shovel against the house. “I have a dead body in the house. Need to get it buried in the backyard before a foul odor sets in. I could use some assistance.”
He crossed his arms in front of him. “Not funny.”
“Fine. If you must know, I need to dig up one of my shrubs in the backyard. It isn’t doing well. I’m going to replace it. Would you like to inspect it first, or am I free to use a shovel in my own backyard?”
“Seems like you were trying to leave your house in a hurry just now.”
“Well, I wasn’t. I was trying to get in and out of the house without waking the baby, that’s all.”
Eyes still focused on the shovel, he said, “You want some help with that shrub?”
Based on the sarcastic way the word “shrub” rolled off his tongue, she assumed his true intention was to let her know that he knew she was feeding him a line of crap. “I don’t need any help. How’s the investigation going?”
He e
xhaled, deep and heavy.
“That good, eh?” she asked.
“Yeah, well, we’re just getting started.”
“What are you doing here, at my house?”
“Just came to let you and your sister know someone will be here to pick up Alice soon.”
“Really? And this person is ...?”
“Her grandmother.”
“Which one?”
“Maternal.”
“You really think it’s a good idea to hand Alice over to a woman who’s obviously in crisis after someone has kidnapped her daughter?”
“She’s family, and she wants to pick up the baby as soon as possible.”
“Fine by me. Why come here in person to tell me this? You have my number. You could have called.”
He shook his head. “I don’t want there to be any problems when she gets here. You’re to hand the baby over. A caseworker will be here too just to make sure everything goes all right.”
“It wasn’t my idea to bring the baby here, but it makes Maude happy. The grandmother will have no argument from me.”
“I have your word?”
“Look, we both want what’s best for Alice. Besides, how would I get to sleep tonight with a baby in the house? I have an active social life. It doesn’t include a screaming infant, I assure you.”
He grinned like he knew just how active a life she led.
“So, what now?” Maisie asked. “Are you staying here until the grandmother and the caseworker get here to make sure I behave, or what?”
“I have a murder to solve and a missing person to find. The last place I want to be is on your front porch.”
“Get off of it then. I’m not trying to keep you from doing your job.”
“I’ll leave if you promise not to cause problems.”
“I just told you I wouldn’t.”
“What about your sister? She seems attached to the little one. Will she be all right?”
“Don’t concern yourself with Maude. I can handle her. Besides, she has some church function going on part of the day tomorrow and she’s in charge. She doesn’t have time to be strapped down to a baby either.”
CHAPTER 8
A View to a Kill Page 42