Blogging is Murder: A Jade Blackwell Mystery

by Gilian Baker

  I smiled. "Yes, that's a great idea. I've tried a few different types myself. Now, what about furniture? You said she had a lot of that delivered?"

  "Well, more than you’d think one person woulda needed. And she had an answer for everything, that one did. Like one time, she said she was replacing a beat-up old bedroom suite her parents gave her, but when the workers brought the old stuff out, it sure didn't look broken down to me."

  "That’s odd. What else?"

  "I remember one time she had a buncha cookware delivered. Like the real fancy stuff I've only dreamed of having. I'd looked at it before in a catalog, you know, like you do. Even when my Ernie was bringing home his highest pay, we couldn’t’ve afforded it, God rest his soul." She sighed and looked down in her teacup.

  We let the silence ride itself out. After a few seconds I wondered if she’d forgotten I was there, lost in remembering better times. "Oh, I don't know. Just lotsa stuff. ‘Course, I couldn't always tell what it was from the box. A lot of 'em places deliver in plain brown boxes. But I guess I wouldn't want others to know what I bought either." Still looking into space, she picked up her teacup and took another sip. "But ya know, a few times she asked me to sign for her stuff, when the packages comin’ had insurance on ‘em and had to be signed for. Always made me real curious what coulda been in there. ‘Cause ya don't pay for insurance unless something’s expensive, do ya?"

  "I don't.” I was thinking about how much I’d love to look inside Connie’s house. Maybe I could get a better idea of how she was living if I could poke around. How could a single woman who worked as a secretary, even an executive one, afford top-dollar items? There was no second income, so it all came down to her. Maybe she had family money. If I were a British cop in a crime novel, I’d say my copper's nose inched... something just felt wrong.

  Phyllis poured more tea for herself and then looked at me with a raised eyebrow, asking, without speaking, if I wanted more. I realized I hadn’t even tasted it yet. It was already cold. I shook my head. It seemed strange that we’d just met but felt so comfortable together. I smiled.

  "Ya know, I wouldn't admit this to many folks, but..." She trailed off like she was still unsure if she wanted to admit it, "but I've been mighty tempted to have a little look-see around her place. Not to be mean-spirited. I'm just so curious." She laughed a dry laugh. "My Ernie used to say I was too curious for my own good. But it's just my nature. I love a good mystery. And it seems like I'm living right next door to one."

  "Oh, me too. And my husband is forever teasing me about my curiosity though he doesn't use such kind words." I chuckled. "I love a good mystery, too. There's nothing better than curling up with a good book and a cup of tea before bed to get the day's events out of my head."

  We nodded our heads in unison, though she seemed distracted—her eyes were narrowed and her mouth was screwed up. I let her contemplate in silence, wondering what was on her mind. I took the chance to enjoy some of her delicious tea. She was a connoisseur. She made a lovely cup. I was about to ask what brand it was when she spoke.

  "Since we’re two curious gals, whatcha think of takin’ a peek into Connie's house? We wouldn't do anything to mess up the investigation or take anything, mind. Just look around—just satisfy our mutual curiosity. They long ago took down the crime scene tape." She squinted her eyes and glanced over at me, hoping she’d met a kindred spirit who would appease her guilt for wanting to snoop around.

  I didn't see the harm in it. The police had been over every inch of the place several times. And as Phyllis had said, we wouldn't do anything to jeopardize the case. But wait. All of a sudden, a realization hit me, and I said, "Wait. “ How would we get in , Phyllis ? I'm not comfortable picking locks and breaking in...I've only read about that. I'm not willing to do anything illegal."

  Phyllis chucked and slapped her knee. "’Course not, dear. I’d never do that... even if I had the nerve and the know-how. No, I've got a key, ya see. We each had one to the other's place in case of emergencies. That's how the police found her, remember?"

  "You mean they neglected didn’t to get take the key from you?" I said incredulously.

  "Nope, and with all the hubbub, I didn’t think of it either. It only dawned on me when I started thinkin ‘bout how much I’d like to peek inside. Guess it was an oversight, but a lucky one for us... if you’re as curious as I am." She snuck another peek at me, like a naughty child who’s hoping to get away with a trespass by being demure.

  Wouldn’t it be standard practice to take any spare keys the s heriff’s d epartment had known about? It made sense to me, but I wasn ’t sure what the policy was. It seemed logical; it would be a part of preserving the scene. Someone was going to get a serious talking, Doug, no doubt. But there was nothing I could do about it. Nothing anyone could do about it now I shook my head. If it had been an oversight, it was on Doug’s watch, which I could believe. Since there was nothing to be done about it now, I decided we might as well take it as a good omen to proceed with our look-see. .

  I knew it could end up getting me in trouble, too—and Phyllis. But this could be my big chance to help Liz. That nagging feeling was back in full force. Something wasn't sitting right with me about this whole situation. If I had this chance to help Liz, shouldn’t I take it? I knew I was justifying, but even though I had reservations, I had to see inside.

  "Okay, I'll go in with you, on one condition. Once we've looked around, you give me the key and I'll give it to my friend, the Sheriff. Deal?"

  She gave me a huge grin. "Deal!" Our tea was all but forgotten as we moved into spy mode.

  Chapter Seven

  Phyllis peeked out the door of her townhouse to make sure the coast was clear. She waved to follow her. We snuck out into the hallway and stood in front of Connie’s door. I hadn’t noticed before, but she was right—the crime scene tape was already gone. You’d never be able to tell something sinister had happened.

  Before putting the key into the lock, Phyllis looked around again. As soon as she had gotten the door opened, we both rushed in and slammed it shut. We were so smooth. I was having second thoughts about the wisdom of doing this, but it seemed too late to back out now. Taking my first look around, I gasped, unable to believe my eyes.

  Like Phyllis’ floor plan, we’d walked right into the living room, except this room was filled with gorgeous modern furniture. A sleek white leather couch and recliner were fashioned around a huge TV screen—the largest one I’d ever seen. Christian would be so jealous. Oh, the sports he could watch on that. I didn’t even realize they made them that large.

  Between the couch and recliner, both covered in muted shades of pink and lavender throw pillows, stood a glass and chrome coffee table. In front of them was a long matching coffee table. Everything was immaculate and in perfect taste. Phyllis and I looked at each other with our mouths agape. To the right there were built-in glass bookshelves, filled with leather-bound books, almost covering the entire wall and to the left was a modern chrome grandfather clock. The carpet wasn’t the standard stuff you’d find in a townhouse, either—it was a lush, long shag white carpet that must have cost a fortune. No one would guess that there could be any room in this complex that looked like this. I wondered why Ross hadn’t mentioned the disparity between the modest townhouse complex and the furnishings inside Connie’s home.

  We ambled towards the kitchen where, as Phyllis had said, there hung from the stark white ceiling a brushed nickel ladder rack holding a complete set of copper cookware that looked fit for use on the cooking channel, not that I watched it. The metal slate tile was marbled through in shades of teal, turquoise and white. It was the most gorgeous I’d ever seen, and being a construction company owner’s wife, I had seen a lot of tiles. The cost of the tile alone was staggering. There was no way this was standard in these townhouses. In fact, everything looked state of the art and brand-new.

  As I moved my eyes over the open, airy kitchen, the only mess visible was on the island counter where she
had made her last meal. Everything else was spotless. The island was something I coveted. It had a deep one-bowl sink in the middle of it with built-in cutting boards on either side. The cabinets below opened to reveal all sorts of kitchen utensils and a dangerous-looking knife set, next to a stack of pristine white kitchen towels.

  We moved deeper into the room and opened cabinets. Every modern appliance known to woman was located either on the counters or tucked away in the cabinets. A coffee house-sized cappuccino maker sat on display on the far end of the counter that butted up next to the refrigerator. Christian could have her theatre-sized TV—I’d take the coffeemaker. Most of the appliances were a mystery to me, though I recognized a pasta maker. I’m no gourmet chef, but jeez, how many fancy cooking appliances could a single woman need?

  It still felt weird to be in someone’s home uninvited as I walked on tippy-toes to the refrigerator. Astonished, I realized the food inside was gourmet and very expensive, much of it imported. The fridge was well-stocked, but organized and clean, like everything else we’d encountered so far. I saw a bottle of Dom Perignon, an ounce of beluga caviar, and I could only guess that the black, moldy things were truffles. Where was she getting stuff like that around here?

  I broke the silence. “What in the world is going on here? How could she have afforded all this stuff?”

  “I dunno know, but I told ya she was a crafty one. I wouldn’t put much past her.” With a gleam in her eye, she continued. “Let’s go into the bedroom and have a look around.”

  She went ahead, back through the living room and into the other hallway that led to the bedrooms and bath, as I followed behind her. We reached the door that lead to the master bedroom, which was furnished with rich walnut and marble furniture. I looked around and noticed Phyllis had moved into the bathroom. She’d started without me, going through the drawers, making little noises of interest under her breath. I realized for the first time how quiet it was.

  I moved to the other side of the room and opened the first drawer of the nightstand. Inside the drawer were the usual things, lotion, tissue box, pens and a pad of paper with a few notes on it—maybe a shopping list. The bottom drawer held a stack of black leather-bound ledgers and computer reference books. I flipped through the first book. I couldn’t make heads or tails out of what they were talking about. It looked like some coding or programming book. Yuck! And why would she want something like that? It wasn’t the usual bedtime reading material; though I know it would put me right to sleep.

  I flipped through the top ledger and saw a lot of what looked like a kind of shorthand notes to herself. But why write them in a personal code? I shrugged to myself and then put it on the bed beside me. I moved onto the next one. Every ledger I flipped through had the same strange code in it. That’s all that was in there, in fact. Why the need for so much secrecy when you lived alone?

  When I had removed all the contents of the drawer, I noticed that the bottom panel looked off somehow. I glanced again at the outside of and underneath it. It seemed to be deeper than what it was. A false bottom. It had to be. I hadn’t read all those mysteries for nothing.

  I grabbed a metal nail file from the bedside table and jimmied it down between the side of the drawer and the bottom panel. After a few minutes, I had the bottom out and could see the treasure beneath—a journal. Why hide this when the ledgers were laying in the drawer? I picked up the hefty volume and flipped through it. There were pages and pages filled with writing. No shorthand code here.

  I scanned and read a few sentences here and there, all the while feeling guilty for reading someone’s private thoughts and for accessing what could be evidence that the sheriff was unaware of. I was flabbergasted that the sheriff’s department had missed this treasure trove of information. Just by glancing through the pages, I could see Liz’s name, the name of her blog and other tantalizing tidbits that could prove important to the investigation.

  Now I had to decide what to do. It hadn’t dawned on me when Phyllis and I came in here that we might find evidence. Doug’s ineptitude struck again. How he’d kept his job was beyond me. Now how was I supposed to explain my coming in here and rummaging through Connie’s stuff during a criminal investigation? Should I take the ledgers and journal to Ross ? No, that would break the chain of command. They would be inadmissible in court if I took them from the crime scene. or leave them here? I’d have to ‘ fess up and let Ross know where to find them. If I left them, I’d still need to tell him about them. I mean, if Doug hadn’t found them before, why would he find them if he came back through the place. And why would they come back through? They thought they had everything they needed. Shoot! The last thing I’d wanted to do was put myself in a difficult situation.

  I turned when I heard a noise in the bathroom. I’d been so deep in thought I’d forgotten I wasn’t alone in the townhouse. Phyllis came out and walked over to where I was hunched down. I stood up appreciating I’d been tucked down on my hunches too long. I stretched out my legs while asking Phyllis if she was done looking around.

  “Yep, my curiosity’s satisfied, although I still don’t understand what’s going on here. How ‘bout you?”

  “I’m more curious now about Connie than I was before. None of this adds up. No disrespect intended, but why not move to some luxurious home or apartment complex if you could afford all this stuff? Why stay in a shabby townhouse complex?”

  “I don’t know. Heck, I’d move to someplace nicer if I could.” We were quiet for a few seconds, deep in our own thoughts.

  “Did you find anything interesting in the bathroom?”

  “Just more of the same. Expensive-looking makeup and stuff. I’m guessing they’re expensive because I’ve never heard of ‘em. No M aybelline for M aybelline for her, I’ll tell ya that. I don’t understand. Don’t people pretend to be wealthy when they aren’t not the other way ‘round?”

  I shrugged. “Beats me.” I slowly shut the drawer and looked back to the bed where I had left the ledgers and journal. Now for the moment of truth. What was I going to do about them? As I put back the journal and ledgers just as I ’d found them, I Part of me wished we’d never come in here. T But t hen I remembered Liz. What I ’d discovered might just get her off the hook. If I took them to Ross, I’d be tampering with possible evidence, so it couldn’t be used in court once he figured out who’d killed Connie. Nope, didn’t want to do that.

  Tapping my finger on my lips thinking, I ’d go see Ross decided to go see him tomorrow to let him know what I’d found. He might be mad, but at least he’d have more to go on. Maybe he could get a handle on who had killed Connie because it wasn’t Liz. I might also suggest he might provide his deputies a refresher course in crime scene procedures, in a polite way, of course.

  After replacing the journal, I slid the false bottom back into place and closed the night stand drawer and then put the computer books and ledgers back where I’d found them. I took a final look around. Everything seemed to be as we’d found it. Now it was time to get out of here.

  I walked to the front door with Phyllis on my heels. After reaching the front door, I slid it open and peeked out. There was no one around that I could see, so we slipped outside. Phyllis locked the door in one swift movement, and we moved back over to her townhouse and moved inside. She locked the door and then leaned back on it and blew out a big breath.

  We looked at each other. I held out my hand, and she dropped Connie’s house key into my hand, as promised. I walked over to the couch and sat down. My mouth was parched, so I picked up my teacup, noticing my hands were shaking a little. I was exhausted. Looking over at Phyllis, I guessed she felt the same. If possible, her hair was wilder than before and one of her tube socks had slid down around her ankle.

  “I didn’t comprehend how tense I was until we were back safe in your house. The adrenaline has worn off now and I’m bone tired.” I stood up to leave, downing the last of my tea and then picking up my purse

  After exchanging phone numbers, I left
with the promise to keep her in the loop and to come back for a visit later. I got in the car and headed back home, wondering if I had just done a noble or a stupid thing.

  By the time I got home, it was too late to call Ross to tell him about the booty I’d found. That wasn’t something I wanted to discuss over the phone, and I needed to turn over Connie’s house key to him, anyway. I’d go see him in the morning. That would have to be good enough.

  ***

  I didn’t sleep well that night. I tossed and turned, thinking about what Ross would say and do when he found out what Phyllis and I had been up to and feeling guilty for invading someone’s home and private papers.

  At dawn, I awoke from a dream in which I was in jail and Phyllis was standing outside the bars holding up a cake with Pepto-Bismol-colored frosting. For once I was glad to get out of bed early. Sneaking downstairs, I got a cup of coffee and then came back to our master bath and took a long, hot shower to wake myself up and clear my head . so I could come to a decision about how to go about handing off this incriminating stuff to Ross. I needed to get this out of the way first so I could come home and get work done.

  My dread rose higher in my throat as I drove to the sheriff’s station. Was this what a panic attack felt like? Too late to turn back now. I’d already done the deed and needed to ‘fess up. I arrived and parked. For a moment I sat in the running car and took deep breaths. Then I willed myself out and dragged my feet all the way into the building. Sheryl Buchanan Sheryl the switchboard operator greeted me in her usual jovial manner happily and went to get Ross. She came back to the doctor’s office-style window and we chatted. As always , I was on guard, careful not to say anything to her I wouldn ’t want spread all over town. The small talk helped me feel calmer , so I was grateful for the distraction.