by Bill Alive
“I don’t know you from Adam!” she said. “Ask your precious client!”
“I’ve been calling her for days.”
“Really?” I said. I’d thought Mark had totally given up on Vanessa.
“What do you mean her?” Roxanne said.
“Vanessa hired me, not Ed,” Mark said. “Because she felt threatened.”
“Damn drama queen,” Roxanne said. But her eyes had flickered with something … surprise? Or was it fear?
“Maybe,” Mark said. “But don’t you think it’s a bit odd to hire my services, then refuse to answer my calls? I keep getting her voicemail that she’s on some business trip.”
“Oh yeah, the ‘business trip’,” Roxanne mocked, hooking her long red nails in exaggerated air quotes.
Mark frowned. “Did you tell Ed that trip wasn’t legit? How would you know any secrets about Vanessa’s plans?”
Roxanne’s face pinched with spite. “Because the little slut wasn’t satisfied strutting around my office, she had to go text her new boyfriend, right in front of my face. She was giggling so close I could read the damn screen. ‘Business trip’ my ass, she put the quotes around it herself. You should have seen her fumbling to find the damn quote button—”
“Oh, crap,” Mark said.
“Mark, what is it?” I said. “Ed was already pretty sure she was into some guy.”
“How do you know?” Mark snapped.
“Kelsey told me. He saw Ed chase some dude off their lawn and yell at Vanessa right there, he was like, ‘If you’re cheating, I’ll…’”
I hesitated.
“He’d what?” Mark asked. He squinted at me, then his eyes went wide. “He said that? And you didn’t think that anecdote was worth a mention in your whole sob story?”
Okay, I admit, I’d kind of rushed the Kelsey part when I was telling Mark how things went down with Yvette. My bad.
“It’s not like Ed actually meant it,” I said.
“Were you not there when she was taunting him about that stupid milk mustache?” Mark said. “He was close to strangling her right there in public!”
“What milk mustache?” Roxanne interrupted. “He never drinks her hippie-dippie milk. Does he?”
We ignored her. “You never said you thought Ed was that violent,” I said.
“I was too pissed to talk about her, after that whole by-the-way-I’m-married thing,” Mark said. “Besides, what was I supposed to do? Gwen, please take out a restraining order on my client’s husband, I got a bad vibe—”
“But what if Vanessa’s in real danger?” I said. “You could at least call!”
“I’ve been calling! And I thought she was on a real business trip, meaning at least safe for now.”
“Maybe she is!” I said. “Maybe you’re just freaking out! Relax!” I yelled.
“Maybe I’m getting a vibe!” he shot back. “Remember? I do that?” He wheeled on Roxanne, who stumbled back in surprise. “And you’re telling me that this trip was a romantic getaway and you told her angry, jealous husband?”
Roxanne licked her lips. “He had a right to know—”
“When?” Mark demanded. “When did you tell him?”
“This afternoon,” she said. “But—”
“How’d he take it?”
Roxanne fidgeted.
Mark was already dialing. “No answer,” he said. “I’m going over.”
“To her house?” I squeaked.
Roxanne put a jangly hand on Mark’s chest. “I think you’re overreacting.”
“Really?” Mark said. “Can you swear to me that Ed would never get violent? That he never has?”
Roxanne’s eyes clouded.
Mark was already halfway to the door.
I rushed after him. As we sped toward Vanessa’s house, Mark castigated himself for not checking on her sooner.
“I knew in my gut she had a secret lover,” he said, as he whipped Thunder onto her street. “And that Ed wouldn’t let it slide.” Prim houses and neat lawns were tumbling by in the night. “If anything happens to her—”
He broke off, staring ahead. I saw it too, and my stomach lurched.
Down the street. Police lights.
We screeched to the curb and raced out. Cop cars were everywhere, the lights flashing so bright. They made a crazy blue undead parallel universe, where these nice perfect houses reeked of crime.
Knots of cops and other grim professionals huddled on the lawn. As we rushed up, a tall, beefy cop approached with his hands up to stop us, but Mark pushed right past him. Normally a cop could freeze me at ten paces, but in the moment I didn’t even see his face.
“Is she okay?” I shrieked, as I dodged the uniform and raced to the door. “Is Vanessa okay?”
The front doorway was packed with uniforms, with the light of the house spilling out feebly between their legs. You could tell, just from their huddled backs, that beyond them lay something horrible.
Mark shoved his way in, shouldering aside the biggest cop. In the gap that opened, I got a glimpse of the body sprawled on the floor.
I wanted to puke.
Then the uniforms parted to argue with Mark. The gap widened, and I gaped.
The body wasn’t Vanessa.
It was Ed.
The huge dude lay pale and dead on his kitchen floor. With a milk mustache.
I froze, alone on the porch steps, unable to think. I felt sick, with both relief and disgust.
Mark had pushed past the crowd at the door, and he stood alone in the front hallway that opened into the kitchen. He was turned just enough that I could see he was stunned too.
Then a shadow blocked the kitchen light. Her face was dark, but her voice was terrible and clear.
“Mr. Falcon,” Gwen said. “And Pete. Now there is some interesting timing. I heard from Ceci you’ve been working for Mrs. Kimm here.”
Mark groaned.
PART 3
Chapter 20
Before I could process the threat of Gwen’s greeting, Vanessa darted past her, rushing to Mark and grabbing his arm. Behind her, her enormous dog Fabio raced back and forth, yipping in distress.
“Mark, oh my God,” she gasped. Her voice was strangled with fear and shock, and her face was flashing pale and drained in the cop lights. “I’m so glad you’re here — it was so awful — I walked in, he was right there, I just started screaming — oh my God, oh my God…”
Her raw voice tore at me. She looked like someone else, someone real, and I ached to hold and soothe her. And yeah, I admit, I had the extra mental bandwidth to envy Mark that she’d clutched at him.
But Mark was not doing any holding or soothing. He was squinting right back at her, scrutinizing hard.
Vanessa saw this, and she jolted back like she’d been stung. “Oh my God, Mark! You don’t believe me either?”
“I believe you were terrified,” he said. “But you don’t seem … surprised.”
Vanessa flushed. In the blue light, it made her cheeks looked bruised and black. “It was … the raw milk…” she stammered. “He was always worrying about it…”
Maybe it was the insane light, but her eyes had a new glint I’d never seen. It wasn’t guilt … but I couldn’t articulate it. It was a mixture. Dread. Respect. Wonder, even. And maybe … excitement?
Whatever it was, it chilled me.
But I also felt the tug of a dark attraction…
Just then, she finally actually saw me. And the truth is, the second she made eye contact, I knew that of course she was innocent. No question.
Sigh.
Gwen strode toward Vanessa and Mark, and as her face came into the cop lights, it glowered with obvious judgment. Vanessa was guilty. And doomed.
“Gwen, you can’t think this was Vanessa!” I called, still standing outside on the front walkway. “It’s Helga! Helga Lubitsch! She poisoned the milk, she was trying to get Vanessa!”
The cops in the doorway turned to give me irritated glares, but I barely noticed.<
br />
Because Vanessa was looking at me like, What are you talking about?
I was dumbfounded.
Gwen said, “Mr. Falcon, would you step outside? I’d like a word with you and Mr. Villette.”
I cringed. Gwen almost never uses my last name. It’s always a very bad sign.
Vanessa clung to Mark’s arm. “Mark! Please!”
“Mrs. Kimm,” Gwen barked.
Vanessa let go and slunk back a step. Her dog slunk with her, eyeing Gwen with fear. Vanessa crouched and clung to the creature, but she gave Mark one last look of pleading.
Mark sighed and stepped outside.
Gwen ushered us away out of earshot, till we stood so close to a cop car I thought the lights would give me a migraine. She folded her arms.
“So,” she said. “Care to explain how you happened to drive up not ten minutes after we got the call here? She didn’t mention calling you first.”
“She didn’t,” Mark said. “I had a … a bad feeling.”
“Ah,” Gwen said. “But you didn’t have a ‘bad feeling’ about taking on a paying client. Before you got your investigator license.”
Mark scowled, but he said with careful politeness, “I did not cross any investigator lines, Sergeant Jensen.”
“Why am I not reassured?”
Mark sighed. “Gwen, listen. I know this looks bad. But you’ve got to let me talk to her. There’s something else here. I know it.”
“She hired you,” Gwen said. “You’ve been talking to her for weeks. If you haven’t worked your empath voodoo already, why would you get anything now?”
“That was before,” Mark snapped defensively. “This is different.”
Gwen arched an eyebrow.
“She hired me to protect her, Gwen. If that milk was poisoned, it could have been meant for her.”
Gwen shook her head. “Mr. Falcon, I’m surprised I have to say this, but isn’t it obvious? She was playing you.”
Mark looked stricken.
I felt queasy myself. I could see the facts scuttling into a whole new sinister configuration, where Vanessa had a plan all along…
“No way!” I said. “That’s not possible, Gwen! Vanessa was really afraid! I told you, it’s Helga, she already came for Olivia—”
“Olivia?” Gwen snapped. Her eyes narrowed. “Olivia Fassell?”
Oops. I’d forgotten how Gwen felt about that whole Olivia-wasn’t-a-suicide-theory.
“So that’s how Vanessa got your attention, is it?” Gwen said. “And did you all happen to come up with a motive for this Helga Lubitsch woman? Any particular reason why she would not only murder Olivia Fassell, but stage Fassell’s death as a grotesque public suicide? Then torpedo her own business by poisoning one of her own clients with her own milk?”
“Well,” I said. “We were thinking maybe … witchcraft?”
Somehow, surrounded by the harsh cop lights and the harsher Gwen, with an actual dead body hardening inside the house, the witchcraft theory sounded somewhat less plausible than it had back in a cozy booth with Vanessa looking earnest and terrified.
“Witchcraft,” Gwen repeated. “I see. With all due respect for your incredibly well-conceived theory, allow me to suggest an alternative. Suppose the Kimm marriage was less than ideal, and Mrs. Kimm opted to poison her husband. It would not be the stupidest plan to enlist the services of the local amateur detectives, who would then vouch for how deeply she had feared for her life. Although, granted, even for Mrs. Kimm, witchcraft is pretty ridiculous.”
Mark was rubbing his eyebrows, which meant he was super upset. He seemed to be taking all this to mean that he was an even worse detective than he’d feared.
“But how could Vanessa have poisoned the milk?” I said. “She just got back from a business trip.”
“So she says. We’ll check up on it. And if an accomplice took care of the poison, a trip would make a very convenient alibi.”
“Gwen, listen,” Mark said. “I see where you’re coming from—”
“No, you don’t,” she snapped. “Leaving aside how the hell you show up at a murder scene within ten minutes—”
In a low voice, Mark said, “You’ve seen me do stranger things.”
“I said, leaving it aside,” she said. “How are you supposed to investigate this with any objectivity? The primary suspect hired you.”
“That was before,” Mark said. “This changes things.”
“Does it?” Gwen said. “Seems to me she’s still an awfully convincing damsel in distress.”
“Oh really?” Mark’s eyes blazed. “If we’re going to question investigator objectivity, she’s also a rival member in your exclusive Hot Blonde Club. So I’d say we’re even.
Gwen bristled. If she noticed the elliptical compliment, she didn’t show it … or maybe she did.
“Mr. Falcon,” she barked. “If you’re trying to imply—”
“Okay, whatever, drop it,” he said. “Look. I thought Chief Goff wanted all the investigative help he could get.”
You remember Chief Goff, right? The big Santa Claus police chief? He seems so jovial … until he’s not.
“He did,” Gwen said. “That was before you planned to start charging a fee.”
“I’m not charging yet.”
“He’s reconsidering the whole idea,” Gwen said. “And if you don’t recuse yourself on this, I’m going to try very hard to encourage his better judgment.”
“I thought we had a truce! Duly earned. Not to mention I let you have all the credit for—”
I interrupted. “Mark, don’t say any details—”
“WOULD YOU QUIT THAT?!” he shouted.
Gwen’s eyebrows shot up. “What are you two talking about?”
“Forget it,” Mark said. “The point is, Gwen … you gave your word.”
Gwen flinched.
Then she said, “I never promised that you could have full access to any felony suspect you want. That woman’s husband is dead on her kitchen floor, with milk on his face that only he and she would ever have drunk, and she hired you. It was your idea to get embroiled in a conflict of interest. Not to mention that your partner here is useless around any nubile female with generous helpings of eye contact and cleavage.”
“Hey!” I said. “That’s not fair! Yvette didn’t show any cleavage!”
In unison, Mark and Gwen said, “Shut up, Pete!”
Then they shared a glance. For real. Like, Hey, maybe we do agree on something. You know, like when your parents take a timeout from their argument to both yell at you.
Well, wasn’t that nice.
Maybe too nice. Gwen broke first and hardened back to stern.
Mark rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to be so scared, you know. The whole human contact thing, it has its perks.”
“Depends on the human,” Gwen said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, this is a crime scene. I’m going to have ask you to leave.”
Mark glared, but when she didn’t budge, he slowly walked away.
We slammed ourselves into Thunder, and he smacked the dashboard. “Damn it. With ten more minutes, I could have gotten the truth out of Vanessa. She’s really scared.”
“Can’t you just vibe her from out here?” I said.
“I doubt it.” He stared hard at the house, then shook his head. “Too much interference. And distance.”
“Distance?” I said. “But what if you were vibing her freaking out back at Zack’s? That’s about when she would have discovered Ed.”
The possibility of such a long-distance vibe creeped me right out. I mean, that would be miles. Mark had never vibed anything close to that far … at least, as far as I knew. Was he getting more sensitive with practice? Was he going to start picking up all the most terrible things that went down for miles around? He wouldn’t even be safe up on our mountain.
Or … was he just getting a super-strong connection to Vanessa? Jealousy twinged me. Hard.
“I’m not sure what happened at Z
ack’s,” Mark said, “and it doesn’t matter now. Gwen’s going to goosestep all over Vanessa, trampling every nuance to try to pry out a confession. She always does.”
“I guess it’s just as well she doesn’t believe us about Helga,” I said.
Mark looked glum. “Doesn’t matter, they’ll talk to her anyway. Gwen’ll stomp her to smithereens—”
He stopped.
“What?” I said.
“Holy crap!” he cried.
And he gunned Thunder and roared us away.
Chapter 21
We howled from Vanessa’s neighborhood back onto the country highway.
“Where are we driving too fast to now?” I shouted over the roar.
“Helga’s farm!” Mark said. “I’ve got to get to her before Gwen!”
He was pushing eighty, and the twisty highway was only two lanes. I hoped all the local cops had been called to the murder.
That made me see Ed dead on the floor again. Ugh. I wouldn’t be drinking any milk for awhile.
We turned off onto a back road that curved like a roller coaster in the dark. A roller coaster edged with fatal-crash-obstacle trees looming on either side.
“Can we slow down?” I said. “I really think we beat the cops.”
Mark grunted and didn’t slow, but we soon hit gravel and he had to cool it anyway. Even Thunder had a little suspension worth saving.
But slowing down was actually more scary.
See, at normal driving speeds, you’re invulnerable. You may as well be in a spaceship. I mean, yes, you might crash, but that goes for spaceships too. The point is, you’re moving so fast that you’re completely cut off from the landscape. Nothing can touch you. You’re already gone.
But once you hit gravel, you’re so slow that you’re almost walking. You’re there, rattling along in the dark night, trespassing through hostile trees. When you rumble past a staring house, the owner has all the time in the world to load up the family gun.
Sure, I don’t rationally expect to get shot at by total strangers.
At least, when they’re not possible murderers.
We must have been on that gravel road for five miles, though they dragged like fifty. Finally we crept up the long driveway to Helga’s farm. The moon was leaking just enough light to make it even more creepy.