Book Read Free

A Fine Line

Page 12

by Gale Deitch


  Zach began pacing, running his hands through his hair, a sure sign he was distressed. “Trudie, do you hear yourself? Someone is trying to scare you. First, they try to run you down in the parking garage. Now they ransack your office and take your suspect notebook. What else is going to happen before you find yourself in deep danger?” He turned to me and held his hands out. “Why are you doing this?”

  I lifted my chin. “Zach, you might not be so sure about Ally’s innocence, but I am. The police think they’ve solved the case, but there’s a murderer lurking out there somewhere, and I’m going to find out who it is.” I gestured to the mess of papers around us. “I mean, if this doesn’t prove it, I don’t know what does.”

  “Maybe it does. Maybe it doesn’t. But if you continue to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong, you’re going to get yourself into trouble. Haven’t you learned that yet?”

  Zach was someone who cared about me, someone who always had my back. I gazed at him and smiled, thinking about our lifelong friendship, something Myra Keating knew nothing about, and realized how lucky I was. “Thank you,” I said.

  “For what?”

  “For being my friend. So, friend,” I said, changing the subject. “Are you going to tell me where you went for the past couple of hours?”

  He shook his head at me and smiled. “You don’t let anyone off the hook, do you?”

  “Nope.” I sat down at the desk and grinned up at him, waiting.

  He walked over to the window and stood gazing out at the parking lot then turned to face me. “I went to Savor to talk to Ally.”

  “Hadn’t you worked things out with at her condo the other day?”

  “No. She was too upset about her arrest and the hearing. All I could do was hold her and comfort her.”

  “So, you went to see her today to tell her how you feel?” I asked.

  Zach plopped down on the chair across from me, rested his elbows on the desk, and held his head in his hands. He peered up at me, eyes moist, eyebrows creased together, downturned mouth.

  “Oh, Zach. What happened?”

  “I cut it off with her. It wasn’t so much that she wanted to see Ben Knight again, although that did hurt. It was the dishonesty. If she’d told me why she wanted to be at the conference dinner, I wouldn’t have liked it, but I would have understood.” He shook his head. “After all we’ve been through, I thought Ally and I were past all that. We finally had an open, honest bond. We shared everything with each other, at least that’s what I thought. I just can’t do this anymore. So, I ended it.”

  I leaned forward, my arms stretched across the desk toward him. “I’m so sorry. It must have been hard for you. How did Ally take it?”

  “Just as you’d expect. She cried and begged me to take her back. Vowed never to lie to me again. How many times have I heard that from her?”

  I could easily visualize the scene he described. I thought back to my confrontation the other day in Ally’s office when she’d done the same thing, pledged never to lie to me again. I was doubtful but still forgave her. Evidently, this was one too many deceits for Zach.

  “And now that it’s over, how do you feel?” I asked.

  He leaned back in his chair and blew out a breath. “On the one hand, I’m relieved. No more of this back and forth with her and always wondering whether her feelings for me were as strong as mine. It’s like a weight taken off my chest.”

  “And on the other hand?” I said.

  He choked out his answer. “I still love her.”

  As I drove home, I wondered whether to tell Daniel about the break-in incident. Nothing was stolen except a notebook, but vandalism was a crime. It was my own fault leaving the front door unlocked while I worked in the warehouse. But wasn’t this more proof that someone else, not Ally, was the murderer? And there was that silver car again. Of course, Ally also had a silver car, but Zach was with her at her restaurant so it couldn’t have been her. By the time I pulled into the driveway, I’d convinced myself to tell Daniel everything, including about Myra’s visit to my office.

  I rounded the walkway toward the house and spotted something sitting on the door mat.

  My notebook.

  A shiver crept up my spine. Whoever this person was, possibly the murderer, they knew where I worked, where I lived, and seemingly, my every move.

  I retrieved the notebook and, with shaking hands, unlocked the door, slipped in, and engaged the dead lock behind me. I pulled out my cellphone and punched in Daniel’s number, but it went to a recording announcing that the voicemail was full. I called the station but was told he was out of the office. “What about Detective Billings?” I asked, hopeful that Will would be available.

  “Sorry, he’s out of the office, too. Can I leave a message for either of them? Is this an emergency?”

  I stood with my back against the door, breathing hard. Was this an emergency? Not really. Some office vandalism and a notebook left at my doorstep. Nothing to panic about. “No, not an emergency. Please ask Detective Goldman to call me as soon as he gets in.”

  Calm down, Trudie, I told myself as I headed for the kitchen. You’re home and safe behind locked doors. But desperate situations called for desperate measures. I pulled the step stool to the refrigerator and climbed two steps to open the cabinet above. I reached to the back of the cabinet and extracted a tall tin container, pried off the lid, and removed a chocolate bar. With hands shaking, I tore back the wrapper and broke off a small square, shoving it into my mouth. I closed my eyes as I sunk my teeth into the delicacy and felt its smooth descent down my throat. I checked inside the tin to see how many bars remained. Three, which should last a while. After all, a girl on a diet still needed a stash in emergency cases like this. Putting the tin back in the cabinet, I climbed down from the stool, the rest of the candy bar still clutched in my hand.

  I made myself a cup of chamomile tea and sat down at the kitchen table to enjoy the rest of my chocolate. The suspect notebook lay next to my purse on the table where I’d thrown them. I slid the notebook toward me and opened the cover to the first page. A small white sheet of paper fluttered out and I picked it up. “Very impressive,” the note read. “But not there yet.”

  Something brushed along my legs and I jerked back in my chair and screeched. Pye yowled and scrambled out of the kitchen.

  My ringing phone roused me from my chocolate-induced slumber. I searched around me on the sofa. Hammered Halls sat open with Pye curled up on top of it, holding my page. The phone sat on my lap, the lit screen displaying Daniel’s name. I punched the answer button.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “Finally,” I said. “I tried to reach you, but your voicemail is full.”

  “Yeah. I made the mistake of having the tip line forward to my phone. We have a case that’s bringing every looney out of the woodwork. But what’s wrong, Trudie? They told me to call you right away.”

  I took a deep breath then launched into the details of my day starting with Myra Keating’s visit and ending with the note in my suspect book. “Don’t you see, Daniel? Someone else is the murderer. Not Ally.”

  “Trudie, you’ve got to stay out of this and let the police do our jobs.”

  “But I didn’t do anything. Myra is the one who called me and insisted on meeting me at the office. Then I was minding my own business, working in the warehouse when my office was ransacked. I didn’t ask for any of this.”

  “Look, baby. Someone knows that you’ve been nosing around, even if it’s only keeping thoughts in your notebook. Are you still at home?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is the door locked?”

  “Yes, but I’m scared.”

  “Stay where you are, and I’ll send an officer over to watch the house until I get home later. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “And Trudie. You shouldn’t be alone with any of those people who were at the dinner, including that Myra woman. Got it?”

  “Got it.” Of course, I wou
ldn’t be alone with Myra, I thought as I hung up the phone. I had plans tomorrow to bring someone along with me.

  “What’s she doing here?” Myra said, keeping the door only slightly ajar.

  “A job like this calls for an expert. And Ally’s about as expert as you can get. She taught me everything I know about accentuating my appearance.”

  “Hello, Myra,” Ally said. “Believe me, this wasn’t my idea. You’re not my favorite person either.”

  The accuser and the accused together, I thought. It had taken a lot of convincing to get Ally here. I was sure if I could get the two of them in the same room, Myra would see the kind of person Ally was and realize that she couldn’t have murdered Gwendolyn Chong. Would this be considered witness tampering? Not necessarily. Ally was, in fact, the one person I knew who could maximize Myra’s looks.

  Myra frowned as she opened the door a little wider. I could see her mind wrestling with this predicament, whether to admit a murderess into her home to transform her into the person she wanted to be.

  “It’s okay,” I said in the same quiet voice I used to keep a baking cake from caving in. “I’ll be here the whole time.” I said this for both of their benefits.

  Myra stepped back to admit us and led us through the house, which was ultra-modern, all metal and white leather, shiny and sleek. Ally and I glanced at each other, her thoughts, I was sure, reflecting mine. This was not the décor I would ever have associated with a frumpy, conservative woman like Myra Keating.

  We almost bumped into Myra when she stopped abruptly. “I’m sorry. Where are my manners?” she said. “Can I offer you a cup of tea?”

  We followed her into the kitchen with its lustrous white cabinets, quartz countertops, and waterfall-edged island. The stainless appliances were all top-of-the-line, not to mention the dual-fuel Wolf range with its signature red knobs. The type of stove a woman of my means could only dream about.

  “Myra,” I said, gaping at this dream kitchen. “You told me you had no style, but your house could be featured in Architectural Digest. This kitchen is amazing. Do you cook?”

  She humphed out a laugh, or something that sounded like a laugh. “Actually, no. I barely use the kitchen at all. I subsist on frozen dinners and prepared meals from the grocery store.”

  “Then why….”

  “Why this fabulous kitchen? The owners are overseas for two years, and while away they have chosen me to house-sit for them. Rent-free, as a matter of fact. My only responsibility is to keep it clean and well-maintained. And yes, I believe this home was in fact featured in House Beautiful after it was built.

  Ally whistled her appreciation. “Rent free? I’d say you’ve got a pretty good gig here.”

  “Yes, I suppose I do,” Myra said and gestured for us to sit at the kitchen table where she placed a plate of store-bought, cream-filled sandwich cookies. She filled three cups with water from the Insta-Hot spigot at the sink, floated a tea bag in each, and delivered them one-by-one to the table along with spoons and a bowl of sugar. “I’m not used to having guests,” she said as she joined us at the table. “I hope this will do.”

  “So, are you a mystery writer, Myra?” I asked. “I mean, being the president of the Mystery Writers’ Association, I suppose you are.”

  “Actually, I’m more of a mystery reader than a writer. Oh, I’ve dabbled in a few attempts at stories, but not successfully, I’m afraid.” She took a sip of her tea then shifted her eyes back and forth between Ally and me. “As I told you yesterday, Trudie, I’m not very good at making friends. To attempt to remedy this situation, I have joined several organizations of varied interests. An art guild, bird watchers, quilters. I have taken up gardening and even public speaking.”

  “Those are all wonderful ways to meet people,” I said.

  “One would think that would be so,” Myra continued. “However, I tend to turn people away rather than attracting them.” She peered at Ally then back to me. “So, you see why I need your help.”

  Ally surprised both of us by reaching out and putting her hand on Myra’s. “I understand where you’re coming from.”

  Myra drew her hand away and moved her chair back. “You? How would you know how I feel? You’ve never been rejected because of your appearance.”

  “Oh, but I do know exactly how you feel. You see, I never thought I had to work at making friends. I was the pretty one. People were drawn to me without my making any effort at all. But I learned a long time ago that my looks were only going to take me so far. My sense of entitlement pushed people away. Sure, men have always been attracted to me, but I never had any women friends.” She glanced my way and smiled at me. “At least until I met Trudie when we were roommates in college. She’s the one who taught me about friendship, although it’s taken years for me to understand. To make a friend, you have to be a friend.”

  When we finished our tea, Myra led us to the vanity area in her bathroom where Ally deposited her makeup kit, a pink leather box large enough to hold fishing tackle.

  Looking into the mirror, Ally focused her attention on Myra’s face. “Hmm,” she said. “You have good bone structure. We’ll do some contouring on your cheeks. And your eyes are lovely. We can really make them pop.”

  She opened her case and extracted a variety of cosmetic products and a few brushes, all brand new in their packaging. I wasn’t surprised at how seriously Ally had taken this project by purchasing several options, not knowing what would work best for Myra’s complexion. “Now watch what I do,” she said to Myra. “There are a few easy steps for you to follow.”

  Ally chose a concealer stick to cover the dark shadows under the eyes and some blemishes on Myra’s forehead and chin. Then, with a few dots of toner, she evened out her skin tone. A brushing of blush and some bronzer accentuated her cheeks. She applied eyebrow pencil, liner, and some eyeshadow, then a little mascara to Myra’s lashes. A final touch of gloss to the lips and she was done.

  “Voila,” Ally said, stepping back to admire her work.

  Myra peered at her reflection in silence.

  I opened my mouth but couldn’t speak. I knew Myra was naturally attractive, but it had been hidden to the average observer. Ally had worked her magic and exposed the woman to her full potential.

  Myra was silent for a moment, and I expected Ally to be the brunt of one of her snide remarks. Instead, a tear escaped down her cheek. “I-I can’t believe that’s me,” she said.

  “Hey,” Ally said. “No crying. Your mascara will run.” She took a tissue and dabbed away the wetness.

  Myra peered up at Ally in the mirror. “You worked a miracle.”

  “I am good, aren’t I?” Ally beamed at her work.

  Myra rose from her seat, wrapped her arms around Ally, and hugged her. “Thank you.” When, after a moment, Myra had not released her, Ally lifted her eyebrows at me signaling over the woman’s shoulder for me to do something.

  I touched Myra’s back. “Let me have another look,” I said, winking at Ally.

  Myra stepped away from Ally and turned to face me.

  “Wonderful,” I said. “Only a few more steps to your transformation.”

  “What steps?” she asked.

  “Well, we definitely need to do something about your hair,” Ally said. “I’m taking you to my salon tomorrow. Some texturing, highlights, lowlights. A good cut.”

  “And your wardrobe,” I added. “We’ll make a trip to Charmaine’s. She’ll get you styled.”

  Myra nodded, her mouth open as she looked from me to Ally and back.

  Ally left Myra the cosmetics she would need to duplicate the look. At the door, we both turned to Myra and each gave her a quick hug.

  “Friends?” Myra asked.

  “Friends,” Ally said with a smile.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I woke to the sound of my phone ringing and something weighing heavy on my chest. I opened my eyes and there was Pye staring me down. A few days ago, I would have screamed in terror, but today I gen
tly nudged him off me and reached for my phone.

  “Hey, sleepyhead. Let the sleuthing begin,” the voice said.

  “Huh?”

  “Get up, Trudie. I’m picking you up in half an hour.” I recognized it now as Ben’s voice.

  “And what are you going to use to pick me up?” I asked, heaving myself up and swinging my legs over the side of the bed. “You don’t have a car.”

  “Ah, but I do. A rental. I’ve had enough of being caged up in my hotel and dependent on Uber to get me anywhere.”

  I cleared my throat. “Or on me,” I said.

  “Yes, I haven’t forgotten that. Now it’s my turn. So, get ready.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Enough with the suspect book and the talk. We’re going to do some in-person investigating.”

  “In-person? With who?”

  “You’ll see. You’re wasting time. Down to only twenty-five minutes.”

  I checked the time on my cell phone. Eight thirty-five. I knew Daniel would have left about seven this morning. “Pick me up at nine-thirty. And bring some coffee.”

  “Okay, where are we going?” I asked as I got into Ben’s rental car, a silver sedan.

  He handed me a cup. “Café Macchiato with skim.”

  “Wow, good guess.”

  “And an egg sandwich.” He swung a bag in my direction.

  “Thanks.” I was hungry and had wondered how long I would hold up without breakfast. “You’re actually a thoughtful guy.”

  He nodded and threw me a smirk. “It’s about time you realized that.”

  “Where are we going?” I asked again.

  “We are going to begin with your number one suspect—Albert Burger.”

  “I don’t know, Ben. He’s so torn up about his wife. I can’t imagine him killing her.”

  Ben stopped the car at a red light and turned to me. “You and I both know the primary suspect is always the person closest to the victim. You told me that yourself when I came to your office.”

  “Yes, but that was before I got to know him. He’s a sweet guy.”

 

‹ Prev