I jumped, my eyes flying open to see Steele standing next to me impeccably groomed, wearing a suit and tie, and carrying his briefcase. For a second I thought I was in the office and had dozed off at my desk. But as soon as I shook off my catnap stupor, I realized I was still at the police station and had tipped over against the empty seat next to me. I shot a look at the big clock and was surprised to see that it was about three a.m. I had nodded off for almost thirty minutes.
“Sleeping on the job?” Steele asked, but his face held no humor.
“They said to wait here until you arrived,” I told him, yawning and rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. Steele was clean shaven, but one whiff told me he had skipped a shower. Not that Steele smelled of body odor, but I know from years of working with him that he’s a morning shower person and always arrives at the office smelling of this special soap he uses. I stood up. “You look pretty spectacular for someone who just rolled out of bed.”
This got me a small smile. “Just don’t look too closely. I had to shave while driving 75 miles per hour.”
“You drive a stick shift,” I pointed out.
“Exactly.” He took my arm and guided me to the front desk. We were the only ones in the waiting area now, but it still took the officer a few moments to acknowledge us.
“Michael Steele,” Steele announced once he had the officer’s attention, “here to see Lorraine and Grace Littlejohn. I’m their attorney, and this is Odelia Grey, Mrs. Littlejohn’s daughter.”
The officer looked us over for what seemed to be way too long, then picked up the phone and made a call, announcing us to someone on the other end. “Someone will be right out,” he told us as he hung up. “Take a seat.”
Steele and I remained standing while we waited. About two minutes later a side door opened and none other than Detective Andrea Fehring beckoned us through it. She looked tired, but—like Steele—professionally pulled together in her usual dark pantsuit and light colored blouse. Today her blouse was pale pink.
“Don’t look so surprised, Odelia,” Fehring said to me after we were inside the inner workings of the station. “I have your name and your mother’s on an informal call list. Anything comes up with you two or with Greg, my colleagues do me a favor and call. Think of me as your guardian angel.”
“Is that why they made me wait?” I asked, peeved. “So you could be called? I’ve been here almost an hour cooling my heels instead of with Mom.”
Fehring raised an eyebrow at my tone, then said, “I understand your niece, at the insistence of Grace, clammed up as soon as the police detained her and said she’d only talk to her lawyer.” Fehring shot a look at Steele. “No Seth Washington this time? Or is it your turn to babysit, Steele?”
“Seth and Zee are on their way to see their daughter, Hannah,” I answered before Steele could say anything. “Hannah’s going to have her baby any minute.”
A slight smile crossed Fehring’s lips. She was a mother herself and knew and liked the Washingtons. “Please tell them congratulations for me.”
“I hate to break up this little coffee klatch, ladies,” Steele said with his usual impatience with pleasantries, “but what’s going on? All Grace told Odelia was that she and Lorraine were here, and that being a corpse magnet seems to run in the family. Are they under arrest for murder?”
Andrea shook her head. “No, they are being detained for breaking and entering.”
My heart stopped. “You arrested them? Both of them?” Mom had definitely said they weren’t arrested.
“Odelia,” Fehring answered, her voice weary, “Lorraine was discovered inside a house that was not hers. She crawled through a window to get there. FYI, that’s a crime. Grace was an accessory. Neither have been formally charged yet, but they could be. Plus, Lorraine Littlejohn did find a dead body, and until we find the killer, she’s a suspect.” Again the cocked eyebrow. “She’s Clark’s daughter, correct?”
“Yes,” I answered, “his eldest, but none of us even knew she was in town. But what window and whose house?” But my gut told me the answer before I heard it.
“From what little the officers on the scene could get out of them before Grace played the lawyer card, they were checking on one of Grace’s neighbors. Lorraine found the body.”
My gut, as usual, had been right. Sometimes I wish it would be wrong.
My head exploded with possibilities and the urge to throttle my mother. It looked like Lorraine had shown up for a visit and Mom had put her to work snooping around. “So they found Boaz Shankleman dead?”
Andrea turned her attention to me, but now it was her laser attention, honed from years of being a homicide detective. “What do you know about Mr. Shankleman?” she asked.
I turned to Steele for support but saw he was waiting for an answer too. “Mom and her friend Art told me today, or I guess that would now be yesterday, that they were worried about a neighbor named Boaz Shankleman. He’s also known as Bo Shank, from the ’80s rock band Acid Storm. He lives at Seaside and has been gone for a few weeks. They’ve been trying to find out if he’s okay.” I paused, then remembered something. “But Seaside did a welfare check on him not too long ago at the insistence of Mom and Art, and he wasn’t home. Did he finally come home and have a heart attack or something?”
“The victim wasn’t Mr. Shankleman,” Fehring told us as we walked down a hallway. “It was a woman named Cydney Fox.”
I nearly stumbled. “Cydney Fox?”
Fehring stopped short and looked at me. “Do you know her?”
“Not personally, but I know who she is, or was. Years ago she broke up Acid Storm with a messy sex scandal. I can’t imagine what Lorraine has to do with her.” I followed this up by telling Fehring and Steele about my call to Titan West.
“So she broke up the group years ago and now was hired to manage them?” Steele asked. “That sounds pretty odd.”
“Kurt Spencer-Hall, the person she cheated on David Oxman with, is no longer in the band. In fact, I think he died of an overdose many years ago.” I wasn’t about to tell them that I’d read that on the Marigold report just before going to bed, so I tried to make it sound like a casual bit of minutia any fan might know.
Fehring had been jotting notes on a small pad she’d taken from her blazer pocket. “The victim was found in Shankleman’s home at Seaside,” she told us when she was through writing. “Lorraine stumbled upon it after climbing through the window, probably at Grace’s encouragement, knowing Grace. They called the police when they found the body. When the officers brought Lorraine in for breaking and entering and questioning about the murder, Grace told her to shut up until she had a lawyer. So that’s all we know so far.” Fehring put her hands on her hips. The stance showed the gun holstered at her right hip and the shiny badge fastened to her belt. “Sounds about right for your family, doesn’t it, Odelia?”
I lowered my head into my hands and shook it back and forth in frustration.
“Can we see them?” Steele asked.
“Sure,” Fehring said. “We have them in separate rooms. I’d suggest you tackle Lorraine first. She’s scared and more likely to spill the truth without embellishment than Grace.” A crooked grin broke across Fehring’s face. “I’m also pretty sure this was Lorraine’s first dead body. She’s puked a few times.” She looked at me, the grin gone. “Hopefully, it will be her last and she won’t go into the family business.”
As Fehring started down the hall to where they had Mom and Lorraine, I stopped her. “You don’t think Lorraine killed Cydney Fox, do you? I can’t even imagine her knowing her or even about her.”
“The victim has been dead at least twenty-four hours, according to the coroner’s initial assessment,” Fehring told us. “Killed by several vicious blows to the skull.”
I thought of poor Lorraine stumbling upon that scene and shuddered, wondering how much blood there had been and how bad
the carnage was.
“Do you know where Lorraine’s been for the past two days?” Fehring asked. “Was she here in California visiting Grace?”
“I have no idea,” I answered truthfully. “I didn’t even know she was in town until Mom called me from here. I do know that Lorraine wasn’t at Mom’s when I visited her yesterday morning, and Mom said nothing about Lorraine coming for a visit. Lorraine lives in Chicago with her fiancé.”
“If you can get a solid alibi for her, all the better,” Fehring told us, “but there’s still the B&E issue, although I’ll see what I can do to get that tossed out if she can provide an alibi for the time of the murder.”
“Lorraine must have flown in from Chicago,” Steele noted, “so her plane ticket should give her an alibi if the timing’s right.”
Fehring nodded affirmatively. “We’ll check the airline records too to make sure she was on that plane. Have her give you the carrier and flight time, and we’ll check it out right away.” She looked down the hallway in the direction we were headed, then back at us. “Frankly, it looks like Grace and Lorraine had a bad case of nosiness and acted on it,” Fehring continued. “Again, Odelia, par for the course in your family.”
“Kind of like Cagney and Lacey,” suggested Steele.
Fehring snorted. “More like Lucy and Ethel.”
“What about Art Franklin, Mom’s friend?” I asked. “Was he involved in these nighttime shenanigans? He was worried about Shankleman too.”
“No one by that name has come up yet,” Fehring answered. “Lorraine and Grace appeared to be alone when the responding officers got to Seaside.”
I breathed a sigh of relief, not that this was going to keep Shelita at bay, but at least I wouldn’t be dealing with her so soon after our last meeting.
I placed a hand on Fehring’s arm. “Thank you, Andrea. I feel bad that you were called in the middle of the night, but I’m very happy and grateful that you’re looking out for Mom and Lorraine.”
She gave me a tight-lipped smile. “I’ve always wondered why Dev Frye was so intent on looking after you and Greg. I guess I’m beginning to see the disturbing appeal. You guys are like one of those reality shows where it’s a really horrid idea and the characters are totally insane but likeable.”
Next to me, Steele stifled a laugh. “I always think of them as a car accident on the side of the freeway. You hope there are no serious injuries, but you can’t help but find it entertaining in a macabre way.”
Fehring turned and set her laser stare to high beam on Steele’s face. “What makes you think I see you as an innocent bystander, counselor?”
eight
Fehring had been right: Lorraine did look scared to death. She was pasty white with deep, dark circles cupping her eyes like hands holding them up. Her long brown hair was tied back with a clip. She had just turned thirty but looked like a terrified child. She was wearing workout clothing too big for her slight frame.
“They took her clothing to check for trace evidence,” Fehring explained, noting my surprise at Lorraine’s attire. “I supplied some clothes out of my locker.” I mouthed thanks in her direction.
Lorraine jumped up and threw herself into my arms. “Odelia! I’m so glad you’re here.” She began sobbing. I tightened my arms around her and gave her a comforting squeeze.
“It’s going to be okay, Lorraine. We’re here to help.” I let her go. “This is Detective Fehring. She’s a friend and also knows your father.”
“To be clear, I’m not on the case, Odelia,” Fehring said to me. “I’m only here because I know you and want to help where I can. Detectives Khalil Mack and Michael Gonzales were called to the scene and will handle the actual investigation. They’re good men.”
I nodded my understanding and turned back to Lorraine. “And this is Michael Steele, an attorney. But he’s also a good friend of the family and my boss. He’s going to guide you through all this.” Steele held out his right hand. Lorraine, in her stupor, studied it as if it would bite before shaking hands with him. “Lorraine, Steele is going to talk to you now, without the police. You need to tell him everything, okay? But first, please tell Detective Fehring here when you flew into town. Was it yesterday afternoon?” She nodded. “Then,” I continued, “it’s very important that you tell us now exactly when and on what airline.”
Lorraine looked to Steele for permission. When he nodded, she gave out the flight information. I sighed with relief to hear the flight time made it impossible for Lorraine to be anywhere near Cydney Fox at the time of her death, even with a wide time frame. Fehring wrote the information down.
“What about Grandma?” Lorraine asked.
“Grandma’s going to be questioned too,” I assured her, “but Steele is going to talk to you first. You have to be very honest with him, okay?”
“After you and I talk,” Steele told her gently, “the police will come in and question you, but with me here.”
“Okay, Mr. Steele,” she sniffed in a small voice.
Steele turned to me. “Grey, why don’t you go sit with Grace while I take care of this?”
I nodded, and Fehring showed me out and down the hallway to another small room containing a table, a couple of chairs, and my mother. Unlike Lorraine, Mom didn’t seem afraid at all.
“Is Steele here?” she asked as soon as she saw me.
“Yes, he’s with Lorraine now.”
“Good,” Mom said with relief. “I wouldn’t want her to get stuck with a bogus murder rap on my account.”
“Speaking of which,” I started as I took the chair next to Mom, “murder aside, Lorraine may be charged with breaking and entering. You might be too. Did you even think of that before you encouraged her to go through that window?”
Mom looked at me through her thick glasses, her mouth pursed. “Don’t be ridiculous, Odelia, she’s not some common burglar. She was checking something out for me. I’m sure they just brought us in for questioning.” She rubbed her wrists, first one, then the other. She’d also been rubbing them when I first came in.
“Did they handcuff you?” I asked. If I’m lying I’m dying, but I could have sworn Mom’s eyes lit up at the question.
“Yes, both of us, and they read us our rights, just like on TV.”
“Now there’s something to be proud of,” I snapped.
“Yes, definitely something I can take off my bucket list,” Mom snarled back.
Her glib attitude was making me nuts. “No wonder you called, wanting a lawyer.” I stabbed the tabletop with an index finger several times, hard enough to break my nail. “Did you ever once consider the consequences of your actions? Did you?” My voice was rising with each word.
“There’s no need to shout, Odelia,” Mom scolded. “Lorraine’s fine. They’ll question us, and we’ll be home before you know it. I doubt they’ll hold us since neither of us have a prior record for burglary or anything else. It’s just that last night I thought I saw a light on in Boaz’s place. I rang the bell, but no one answered. I called the nighttime guard, but he ignored me.” Mom stopped to sip from a cup. It looked like coffee.
Something about her comment bothered me. “Last night as in Monday night or last night as in a few hours ago?”
She gave it some thought, then said, “Last night as in Monday night.”
“You didn’t tell me about the light when you first told me about Shankleman.”
Mom looked truly puzzled by the omission, then shrugged. The gesture gave me confidence that she wasn’t lying. “I guess I forgot. But tonight I remembered it while talking with Lorraine, so she and I decided to check it out on our own. In and out: that was the mission, nothing else.”
Mom took a turn at jabbing the tabletop, but her nail held. “If not for us, who knows how long that poor woman’s body would have gone undiscovered?”
I took several deep breaths before I tried a
gain to point out the dangers of Mom’s behavior. “True, but what if Shankleman was home, thought it was a home invasion, and shot Lorraine?”
“He wouldn’t have a gun,” Mom said, dismissing the idea as just so much fiddle-faddle.
“How do you know?” I countered, my voice loud with frustration. “These days it seems everyone’s got a gun. I’ll bet even a few of the little old ladies at Seaside are packing.” I paused, trying to get control over my anger. “At the very least, he might have hit her with a baseball bat. Even Greg and I have one of those. Not to mention, whoever was in there Monday night could have been the murderer and still there. He might have attacked Lorraine.” I stopped to take another breath to calm my nerves and check my voice. I could see my words were finally getting through to Mom. She lowered her head over her coffee cup.
“Legal charges aside, Mom,” I continued, “you put Lorraine, your granddaughter, in a very dangerous spot by encouraging her to do your snooping. And she’ll probably be traumatized for life by finding that body. And she’ll probably now have a criminal record for breaking and entering.”
Mom reached into the pocket of the sweater she was wearing and pulled out one of her linen hankies. Taking off her glasses, she dabbed at her eyes, which were running like a leaky faucet.
Oh geez, I made my mother cry. I felt like a heel but knew I was in the right to be angry and to point out her stupidity.
“What was Lorraine doing here anyway? Were you expecting her to visit and forgot to tell me that too?” I struggled to get my voice packaged into a calm, tidy tone, but it was like trying to sit on an overstuffed suitcase.
Mom shook her head and continued mopping up the waterworks. When she was done, she put her glasses back on and looked at me from across the table. “She just showed up today in a cab,” she told me. “It was early evening. She said she’d just flown in and was on a two-week vacation from her job.” The timing fit with what Lorraine had told us about her flight time.
Mom stopped to drink more coffee. Her spotted hands were shaking now that the full realization of what could have happened had sunk into her brain. “She told me that she and what’s-his-face broke up.”
Rhythm & Clues Page 5