“Yes,” he answered, keeping his eyes on Ina. “And, Mrs. Bruce, I’ll need to see your backpack.”
“Why?” Ina asked him, pulling the backpack close.
“Is this legal?” I asked.
The man turned to me. He was average in height and slim, with dark eyes and short dark hair. He was young, maybe mid-thirties. “You’re with Mrs. Bruce, correct? Family?”
I nodded, and he held out a card to me. “Detective Leon Whitman. Long Beach Homicide.” I took the card. It confirmed the name he’d just given me.
“My husband is on his way here,” I told the detective. “One of us would like to go with Ina.”
Ignoring me, he nodded to one of the officers, who tried to steer Buck back to what remained of the crowd. Buck protested, saying he wanted to stay with Ina, but a look from Whitman caused the officer at Buck’s side to insist on his departure. “We’ll get to you soon enough, Mr. Goodwin,” Whitman promised.
Once Buck was gone, Whitman slipped on latex gloves and held out a hand toward Ina. “Your backpack please, Mrs. Bruce.”
Ina held on to it like a life preserver. Her chin was high, and now her eyes were bright with fear more than defiance.
“Mrs. Bruce, please.” Whitman said the words like an invitation to a root canal.
With great reluctance, Ina handed the bag over to Detective Whitman, who promptly started pawing through it like he was looking for loose change. A few seconds later, he slowly withdrew his hand, bringing with it a handgun, holding it with one gloved finger through the trigger opening.
“You have a permit for this?” he asked Ina. She said nothing.
“Don’t tell me,” Whitman persisted, his voice heavy with sarcasm, “you’ve never seen this before in your life, and you have no idea how it got in your bag.”
“It’s…it’s …,” Ina stammered. She cleared her throat and lifted her chin higher. “The gun is mine, and no, I don’t have a permit for it.” The words shot out of her mouth fast and challenging. “We’d had some trouble at the store recently, so I started carrying it.”
“Trouble at the store, huh?” Whitman prodded with a straight, serious face. “And where did you get it?”
“We had it in the store. Tom got it. I don’t know where.”
The detective sniffed the gun. “Did you use it to kill your husband?”
“Of course not!” Ina insisted. “I’ve never fired that thing. Not ever!”
“But you admit you don’t have a permit for it.”
“Hold on,” I interrupted. “I don’t think Ina should be saying anything else until she has a lawyer present.”
A small, tight-lipped smile, cynical and mean in nature, crossed Whitman’s lips. Without looking away from Ina, he called out, “Hey Fehring, look what I found.”
five
Fehring?
No.
It couldn’t be.
I closed my eyes, then slowly opened one—my left. One eye could be mistaken, but not two. And I was praying for a mistake—a case of mistaken identity. According to my left eye, a trim woman dressed in a plain black pantsuit with a light blue blouse was coming our way. The eyelid dropped quickly, like blinds with a snapped cord. Slowly, I opened both eyes and worked my mouth into something resembling a smile of hesitant recognition.
“Detective Fehring,” I said though semi-clamped lips. “How nice to see you again.”
“Save it, Odelia,” the lady detective said, recovering quickly from her own surprise. “You’re not a good liar.”
Detective Whitman’s small eyes looked from me to Andrea Fehring with suspicion—mostly of me. “You two know each other?” Next to me, Ina was also a study in curiosity. The cop on her other side was staying close, with one hand on Ina’s arm, but his eyes and ears were drinking in the encounter.
“Yes,” Fehring admitted. “This is Odelia Grey, a civilian with a nose for murder.” Fehring turned to fully face me, hands on hips. “How do you do it, Odelia? Do you have some special olfactory gift like those pigs that smell out truffles?”
“It…it just happens,” I stammered. “I thought you were working in Newport Beach.” Last I’d seen Andrea Fehring, she had been a detective in Newport Beach, working with my good friend Dev Frye.
“That was temporary. I transferred to Long Beach a few months ago.” She looked me up and down. She looked Ina up and down.
Fehring turned to Whitman. “What do we have here, Detective?”
Whitman held up the gun. “Concealed with no permit.”
The news surprised the usually stony Fehring. “I thought you were smarter than that, Odelia.”
“It’s not her bag,” Whitman corrected. “It belongs to this woman, Ina Bruce, wife of the deceased.”
Fehring turned to the cop holding Ina. “Cuff her and take her in.”
“But I didn’t kill Tom!” Ina screamed as the cop read her her rights and cuffed her.
By now my mother and Renee were standing next to me, both in shock. “Leave Ina alone,” Renee pleaded. “She didn’t kill Tom. She wouldn’t hurt anyone.”
Fehring ignored Renee and stood in front of Ina. “You’re under arrest for possession of an illegal firearm, Mrs. Bruce.”
Just before being led away, Ina spit at Fehring’s feet.
“Nice,” Fehring commented to Whitman. “I can see questioning her is going to be a barrel of laughs.”
Andrea Fehring turned to me. “So, Ms. Grey, what’s your involvement in all this?”
“Ina is my husband’s cousin.” I pointed at Renee. “This is Renee Stevens, my mother-in-law, and next to her is Grace Littlejohn, my mother.”
Fehring gave Renee a perfunctory nod, but her eyes lingered on my mother, who took it as a cue to speak up.
“We were here for the auction,” Mom explained. “Ina let us tag along today. I really don’t think she knew her husband was up for sale.”
“Mom,” I cautioned under my breath.
Fehring let a small smile crack her face. “I can see the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.”
By the time Greg arrived, I had gone through my questioning by the police and half of the crowd had been sent home. Ina was on her way to the police station.
“Ina’s been arrested!” Renee said, rushing to Greg as soon as he was cleared through the gate. “Do something.”
Greg put a comforting hand on Renee’s arm. “Hold on, Mom. Let me get some facts first.” He turned to me. “Ina was arrested for murder?”
“No,” I told him, “on a gun charge. She had a gun in her backpack and no permit.”
Greg’s head dropped in disbelief. “Oh, Ina.”
“Did you find her an attorney?” I asked.
“Yes.” Greg pulled out his cell phone. “Steele’s getting someone he knows.” He placed a call. “Mike, it’s Greg. My cousin was just arrested on a gun charge—concealing, I think—and has been taken to the station.” He waited, listening. “Yeah, Long Beach. Have your guy meet me there. I’ll be there as soon as I get Odelia and our moms squared away.” He listened again. “She’s right here.” He handed his phone to me, but I refused to take it. Greg shook it at me again. I shook my head at him and backed away. Greg put the phone back to his ear. “Sorry, Mike, she’s busy. But I’ll have her call as soon as she can. Thanks for your help.” He paused, then said, “Okay, I’ll tell her.”
“Steele said you could take the rest of the week off if you need to, as long as you tell him where you put the Billings file.”
I crossed my arms. “The Billings file is on his desk. I put it there last Monday, right before Mom and Clark showed up on our doorstep and I left for the holiday. This is just a ruse to get me to call him.”
Greg stuck his phone into his shirt pocket. “You know he’s not going to rest until he hears the whole story from you personally.”
“Not my problem, especially right now.” I turned to watch the police let a few more people go. One of them was Mazie Moore. As soon as possible, I wante
d to know more about Mazie and Linda’s relationship. When Detective Whitman had asked for Ina’s bag, I’m betting he knew there was a gun in there. He seemed too sure and smug about it. Someone must have tipped him off. Maybe Mazie or Linda had set Ina up. Maybe one of them did the killing or knew about it and used Ina’s gun possession as a distraction. Hard to tell.
“Sweetheart?”
“Huh?” I turned my attention to Greg to find both him and Renee watching me.
“I was talking to you, and you were definitely somewhere else.”
Instead of answering, I returned my gaze to Mazie. I sucked my front teeth while watching her drive away in a white Toyota sedan.
“You know something,” I heard Greg say. “Don’t you?”
I turned to look at my incredibly patient husband. “I don’t know squat except that the woman who just drove away might be teamed up with Tom’s hoochie momma on something.”
Greg looked around. “So where is this hoochie momma?”
“She took off before the police got here.”
It was then I noticed Mom hadn’t followed Renee over to where we greeted Greg, nor was she seated on a folding chair by the office. I scanned the small area where the remaining people were still being processed by the police and spotted her. She was cozying up to Buck Goodwin. It looked like they were having a friendly chat, which made me shiver with worry. Who knew what the old gal was saying to him, and I couldn’t read lips. Maybe she was apologizing for smacking him with her handbag, but I doubted it.
“There you go again, Odelia,” I heard Greg say. “Lost in space.”
“I’m sorry, honey. I was just keeping an eye on my mother.”
I pointed over to where Mom stood with Buck. “That guy seems to be a friend of Ina’s, but he and Mom had a small scuffle earlier.”
“Grace knocked his phone out of his hand while he was taking pictures of poor Tom’s body,” Renee explained to Greg with disgust.
Greg laughed. “Sounds like something you would do, Odelia.”
I cocked an eyebrow at my husband, warning him not to make any more comparisons. He read my silence with accuracy and only laughed more.
“By the way,” he said, once he was over having a chuckle at my expense. “Was that Detective Fehring I saw when I arrived? You know, Dev’s partner?”
“Yes, but she’s not his partner any longer. She’s with the Long Beach Police Department now.” I knitted my brow. “Do you recall Dev saying anything about getting a new partner recently?”
“Not a word, but you know how Dev is. He doesn’t like to talk shop when he’s out socially, and he’s had no reason to see us professionally—although who knows if that will change, considering this mess.”
“This is out of his jurisdiction,” I reminded my hubs.
Dev had had bypass surgery in March. After that, he had returned to work, but at a desk. He’d hated it, preferring homicide investigations to pushing paper. His doctor finally released him to return to his detective duties a few months ago.
“Fehring said she joined Long Beach a few months ago,” I told Greg. “That would have been right after Dev returned to the field.”
“Maybe she was sticking around to cover while they were short-handed?”
“You two know the detective?” Renee asked, her voice filled with cautious hope. “Maybe that will be good for Ina.”
Greg turned his wheelchair to get a look at Fehring, who was talking to Kim Pawlak. “Hard to say, Mom. She and Odelia don’t exactly exchange cookie recipes.”
“Hey,” I protested, “we managed to patch things up at the end.”
“Was she involved with that little girl’s case?”
“Yes, Renee,” I answered. “She used to be the partner of our friend Dev Frye.”
Renee took a deep breath. “That still might be a good thing.” She hesitated. “Providing Ina’s innocent.”
“Mom.” Greg swiveled around to face his mother. “Is there any reason why you might think Ina killed Tom? If so, we’d like to hear it, like right this minute.”
Renee adjusted her shoulder bag and looked down at the ground, as if ashamed of her thoughts. “It’s just that if those bruises on Ina’s arms were made by Tom, maybe he was abusing her regularly.” She took a deep breath and looked up at Greg. “You always hear stories about abused women snapping and killing their tormentors.”
“Did you say any of this to the police?” asked Greg in a low voice.
Renee shook her head slowly. “They didn’t ask specifically. They asked me if Ina and Tom were happy, and I told them about that Linda woman. That’s all.”
“Jealousy is a strong emotion,” I said. “But abuse would really underscore a possible motive.”
“Did I say something wrong?” Renee’s worry skyrocketed to new heights.
“No, Mom, not at all.” Greg took her hands. “As soon as they release all of you, Odelia’s going to take you back to our house. It’s closer than yours.”
Renee wasn’t so sure. “But what about your father? I called him earlier and told him what’s going on and that you were on your way here. I’m sure he’s worried sick.”
“Call Dad and ask him to come to our place to get you. I’m heading to the police station to meet Ina’s attorney.”
“All right,” Renee agreed, then had a thought. “But what about Ina’s car?”
“I’ll talk to the police before I go.” Greg turned to scan the parking lot, letting his eyes come to rest on Ina’s Honda Element, which was parked next to my car. “I’m sure the police will search and impound it for now.”
“You read my mind, Mr. Stevens.” It was Fehring. She’d sneaked up on us like a panther wearing satin slippers. “Which vehicle is your cousin’s? Or do we need to exercise the process of elimination and wait until all the other vehicles have left?” Her eyes scanned the parking lot, which was emptying as people were allowed to leave.
“It’s the Honda,” Greg admitted, pointing it out.
“We appreciate your cooperation.” She called a uniformed officer over and gave instructions for the vehicle’s processing.
Turning to me, Fehring said, “We have all of your statements and contact information, so if you and your family would like to go, you can. Just remain close in case we need to talk to you again.”
I noticed Fehring catching sight of Mom talking to Buck Goodwin and saw her brows knit, though I wasn’t sure if it was from the sun or curiosity.
“Is your mother the nosy sort, like yourself?” she asked, not taking her eyes off of Mom.
“I don’t know what you mean, Detective Fehring.”
Fehring gave me a long, slow look, conveying to me exactly what she meant.
“My mother will be going home soon,” I assured her, “back to New Hampshire.”
“In the meantime,” the detective said, somewhat relieved, “why don’t you keep both her and yourself occupied with sightseeing. Maybe she’d like to see Disneyland or Sea World before she goes home.”
“I see you’ve become more subtle since leaving Newport Beach.”
“Odelia,” Greg said sharply under his breath. Next to him, Renee stood watching with worry.
“You want subtle,” Fehring said, stepping closer to me, “here’s subtle: stay out of this investigation, Odelia Grey. I don’t want to see you or hear about you anywhere near it. I don’t want you poking around asking questions. Just answer the questions we ask you when we ask you.” She stuck her right index finger out in my direction, nearly touching my face. “That’s an order.”
After Fehring left, Renee said, “Oh dear, that woman doesn’t like you one bit, Odelia. For Ina’s sake, I hope you listen to her.”
“But Fehring said nothing about me.” The words came from Greg. He was looking up at me with a determined and devilish eye.
six
It was quiet around our kitchen table. It was midafternoon. Mom, Renee, and I were picking at chicken salad sandwiches my mother had whipped up. She’
d made the chicken salad the night before with the grilled chicken left over from dinner. Mom put chopped celery and almonds in it, and sometimes golden raisins, never the brown ones.
“When Odelia was young,” my mother said, trying to break the worry and tension that clouded the table like the odor of questionable food, “she loved my chicken salad. I made it for her quite often.” She looked at me across the table. “Do you remember, Odelia?”
“I do, Mom. That’s why I picked up a box of golden raisins yesterday at the grocery store, just so you’d make it.” I tried a smile, but it was forced. All of us were thinking about Ina and what was going on at the police station. Chicken salad with raisins, no matter how good, wasn’t bringing us any comfort.
“It is quite tasty, Grace,” added Renee with little enthusiasm. “Ron would love this. Please give me the recipe before you go.”
When the doorbell rang, the three of us jumped in our seats. Wainwright, our golden retriever, ran for the door, barking. From the tone of his bark, I knew it was someone familiar. Wainwright usually goes everywhere with Greg, but he’d been sent home with us while Greg went on to the police station.
I got up and answered, expecting to see my father-in-law. Instead, Mike Steele was on my doorstep. I groaned. “Don’t you have any work to do?”
By my side, Wainwright was hopping with joy. He loved Steele, leaving it my job to growl through the screen door.
“Of course I do, and so do you. Since you won’t return my calls, you gave me no choice but to track you down. Not to mention, I haven’t met your mother yet and didn’t want her to get away without the pleasure.”
Steele gave me one of his signature shit-eating grins. He was dressed in his usual designer suit and tie, with the tie loosened a bit. With both hands he gripped a cardboard box without a lid. One glance told me it contained expandable files bulging with documents. I was tempted to slam the door and might have if I’d been alone. Instead, I caved and unlatched the screen door, holding it open for him to enter.
Once he got past me, Steele put the box down on the coffee table and went straight to my mother-in-law, holding out his right hand. “Renee, how nice to see you again. I think the last time was at Greg’s fortieth birthday party.”
Secondhand Stiff (The Odelia Grey Mysteries) Page 5