by Lisa Jackson
“What about any of them causing bodily harm to someone?”
“No. Excuse me, how did Ravinia find you, Ms. Ellis?”
“Do they have a brother?” Elizabeth blurted out. “Maybe a half brother, someone who’s . . . dangerous. Really dangerous?”
“Ravinia told you about Declan Jr.”
It was like a second dousing of cold water. It was true . . . oh, dear God, it was true! “Who was he? She hasn’t been specific.”
“He’s a fugitive from the law. He threatened a number of people, and he killed my sister.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Elizabeth was shocked. Ravinia hadn’t told her that.
“I believe he’s dead as well, but his body was never discovered, so his death was never confirmed. He’s listed as missing.”
Cold fear filled Elizabeth’s heart. Was it possible that everything Ravinia had said, including her dire warning about imminent danger to Elizabeth and Chloe, was the truth?
Elizabeth glanced out the window over the sink to the backyard where a bit of sun was peeking through the wintry clouds. Could unseen eyes, even now, be staring at her from some hiding place?
“Declan Jr.,” Elizabeth repeated, her fingers surrounding her cell phone in a death grip, panic causing her lungs to constrict as she repeated the name Ravinia had given her.
“Ravinia warned you about him. She still thinks he’s alive.”
Insides shredding, phone pressed to her ear, Elizabeth looked at her daughter who’d lost interest in her Cheerios and was twisted around, fumbling with the remote, trying to turn on her TV shows. Normally, Elizabeth refused to let her watch in the morning as it was such a rush to get her out of the door to preschool.
“If there’s any chance she’s right,” the detective said, “I’d advise you to avoid him and if you do see him, call nine-one-one immediately.”
“Yes. Thank you. I will.”
“Can you tell me what this is all about?”
“No, it’s nothing. Nothing specific. I just wanted to see how much I could believe of what Ravinia was saying. It was so outlandish, that I didn’t know what to think.”
“She can tell a tall tale now and again,” the detective said slowly. “But in the main, I think she believes what she’s telling you. Again, I would meet the women of Siren Song, if I were you.”
“Thank you . . . thank you for your time.” Elizabeth hung up. Quickly. Aware that she had really gotten more questions than answers.
Chloe had slid off her stool and was standing in front of the television, trying to find her channel. Sometimes she was capable, sometimes not.
“Chloe, brush your teeth and get dressed. I’ll help.”
“I can do it myself,” she insisted, dropping the remote onto the couch and running toward the bedroom wing.
Elizabeth heard drawers being opened and shut as she tasted the remains of her cold coffee. Making a face, she poured the rest down the sink, then looked over at her cell phone where she laid it on the counter. Slowly, she picked it up again. With Detective Dunbar’s confirmation about Siren Song, she was tempted to call Ravinia and get more information. Maybe even admit that she had her own gift, the foreshadowing of horrific events. Or, she could call Rex Kingston . . .
Nope. No. She set the phone back down on the counter and took a step back from it as if it were poisonous. Rattled, she picked up her empty cup and was pouring fresh coffee when the doorbell rang, startling her and causing her to slop hot coffee onto her hand. “Ouch!” She dropped the cup onto the counter, where it rolled drunkenly, spewing coffee in a spreading brown pool, over the edge of the counter and down her cabinet fronts. She grabbed up a dishtowel to mop up the mess as Chloe sang out, “I’ll get it,” and ran toward the door.
Elizabeth dropped the towel and saw Chloe streak by, naked except for her underpants.
“Oh, no you don’t!” She was able to grab one little arm with her free hand before Chloe reached the doorknob. “You don’t know who that is. We don’t answer the door until we know who it is, and we always wear our clothes.”
“You had your jammies on last night,” Chloe argued, jerking her arm free.
“Better than just undies. Now, go on. Scoot. Wear the red dress and tights.”
“I hate that dress,” Chloe said, throwing her mother an angry glare as she stomped back to her room.
Her hand still smarting where the coffee had burned it, Elizabeth peered through the peephole mounted into her front door. Shifting from one foot to the other, once again was Officer Maya. And she wasn’t alone, but the man with her wasn’t DeFazio, her original partner. This man was dressed in a rumpled suit and tie and his heavy face was grim and sober.
A detective, Elizabeth thought, and as she opened the door, she braced herself for what was clearly going to be a continuation of what had started out as a very bad day.
Chapter 30
It was obvious that Detective Maya thought Elizabeth had something to do with Detective Thronson’s death. And Maya wasn’t alone in her theory. Detective Driscoll, the middle-aged, grim-faced man with her, seemed in complete concurrence with the other officer.
Driscoll was starting to go bald and had a bit of a paunch, but, she suspected, he was still tough as nails. He didn’t bother combing what was left of his graying hair, and behind rimless glasses his light brown eyes had that I’ve seen it all look that said nothing she would say would shock him.
Elizabeth told herself she probably shouldn’t have let the cops in, but she hoped being forthcoming would convince them that she was totally innocent and that she had been nowhere near Bette Thronson’s home at the time of her murder. For God’s sake, she had no idea even where the woman lived, and she said as much to Driscoll and Maya as she led them to her kitchen, adding, “I’ve got to leave to take my daughter to school in twenty minutes.”
“This won’t take long,” Driscoll assured her.
From that point on, the interview was all business and, whether they’d said as much or not, she knew she was a person of interest. Driscoll took notes on a small spiral pad while Maya set a tape recorder on the middle of the table. She advised Elizabeth that the conversation was being recorded, then pressed a button so that the recorder’s tiny light glowed red, indicating that it was functioning and recording every word she would utter, the kind of thing that could be used as evidence against her should they find her guilty.
She felt her hands start to sweat, but nodded, waiting for the interrogations.
After Driscoll explained where they were and who was in the room, he started asking questions. “Where were you on Tuesday night?”
“Home. I never left after Detective Thronson was here.”
“Can anyone verify that?”
“Not really.”
Driscoll then asked a number of innocuous questions, and finally circled around to Court’s death. Once again, she was queried about the same things Thronson had asked her and once again she could only say she wasn’t on the highway outside San Diego, and that she’d never been to Tres Brisas Hotel in Rosarito Beach.
Chloe came out of her room and stared at them suspiciously.
“Go get your shoes on,” Elizabeth said, shooing her from the room. She checked the time, feeling anxious. It was clear that Thronson hadn’t revealed what Elizabeth had told her that she’d wished Mazie, Officer Daniels, Court, and Channing Renfro dead . . . and that they’d all died. And Maya must not have considered her claim of wishing Court and Mazie dead worth even mentioning.
Driscoll asked, “Did you know that Detective Thronson considered you dangerous?”
“That’s ridiculous. I’m a suburban mother. A recent widow. Do I look dangerous to you?” Elizabeth demanded.
He scratched behind his ear. “Not really.” His tone suggested that her appearance was of little significance. “She also thought you were connected to some of the murders we’re looking into.”
Elizabeth’s breath caught. “What murders?”
“Wel
l, your husband and Mrs. Bellhard.”
“I just told you I was nowhere near his car when it crashed.” She pointed to the tape.
“Your boss at Suncrest Realty, Mazie Ferguson, was in a fatal accident a number of months ago.”
Elizabeth glanced at Maya, who didn’t react. Maybe either she or Thronson had revealed what she’d said. Should she admit again about wishing so many people dead? She’d been immediately sorry she’d blurted out the truth to Thronson and then . . . later that night, apparently, someone had killed her. “I’ve been straight with you. Over and over, but you’re never satisfied. I didn’t kill Court. I swear it. He was my husband and I don’t have it in me. Mazie’s death was an accident. There’s nothing more to say.” The last words nearly choked her and she saw the red recording light, burning bright. “You know, I think we’re done here. I don’t think I should talk to you, or anyone from the police department, without my lawyer present.”
“If you’ve got nothing to hide—” he started, but Elizabeth held up a hand.
“I’ve got to go. I’ve tried to cooperate and help you. God knows if there’s a killer on the loose I want him behind bars. But the more you ask me questions, the more I get the feeling that you’re hoping I’ll confess to something. I had nothing to do with Detective Thronson’s death or Mazie’s or Court’s.” She half-expected Maya to call her out, but she didn’t. “And I have my own private detective on my husband’s case, since I’m losing faith in the police,” she blurted out at the end.
“Who’s that?” Driscoll asked.
She hesitated and behind his glasses, Driscoll’s eyes glittered. “Rex Kingston. Kingston Investigations.” Driscoll blinked at the name, but Elizabeth rolled on tautly, “So, we’re done here. ” She stood and escorted the cops outside.
As soon as they were off her property, she gathered up Chloe who’d been standing in the hall outside her bedroom, watching them, shoes on her feet. Before she entered the garage, Elizabeth walked into the kitchen again and found the business card for Rex Kingston she’d tucked into the drawer the night before. Fingering it, she wondered if she should call, make good on her empty threat in case Driscoll followed up, which she suspected he would do. It felt like she had to do something or she would slowly drown in a sea of false allegations.
You’re not charged with anything, Elizabeth. Slow down. Don’t panic. And how would you afford to pay him?
That part she would figure out, she decided. But she certainly wouldn’t be able to raise her daughter from jail if she were actually arrested. Good Lord, could that really happen? Even if proven innocent, it would take a while and there would be those who blamed her, anyway. Her reputation would take a beating and she might not recover professionally. Even worse, her life would become an open book. She was already having trouble explaining to her friends what had happened at the restaurant. What if everything came out? She thought of Ravinia, what she’d said of the women of Siren Song and all their oddities. If that were true, and she was that way, her connection to the cultlike family would be exposed. And Chloe . . . what about her? Where would she go if her mother were incarcerated for even a day?
Yes, she had to call someone and Rex Kingston, stranger that he was, a private investigator who had once been with the police force, was her first choice. She could go into the office, finish up a little paperwork, then meet him somewhere. Would he think she was crazy? No, probably not, as he’d been with Ravinia and apparently bought into her wild tale.
“You like him,” Chloe said.
Elizabeth turned to find her child had followed her back inside when she’d come back for her purse. “What?”
“You like him. You thought he was the one talking to me, but he’s not and that makes you happy.”
Elizabeth shook her head and slid the card into a side pocket of her purse. “Come on, let’s get into the car.”
“You don’t want anyone to know you like him,” Chloe said.
“Where’re you getting this? I don’t even know the man.” Elizabeth stepped into the garage and opened the back door of her Escape. Her daughter’s comments bothered her, not just the content, but the perception.
Chloe climbed in and buckled herself into her car seat.
Not for the first time, Elizabeth wondered if her daughter had a little bit of precognition, too. Some kind of ESP or “gift” as Ravinia had called it. “Please, God, no,” she muttered, thinking of her own trials growing up with a sixth sense. A curse, she decided and toyed with the idea, as she had all night, of calling the cell phone number on Ravinia’s list and asking for Catherine.
What she really wanted was just to forget everything, for a little while, but with Detectives Maya and Driscoll breathing down her neck, that wasn’t going to happen. No, Catherine of Siren Song would just have to stand in line.
“You will,” Chloe predicted, her little chin set as Elizabeth backed out of the garage.
She would call Rex as soon as she got to the office. “I will what?” she asked but had lost the thread of her conversation as she moved into traffic. In the shafts of morning light bathing the interior of the car, she glanced in the rearview mirror and saw her daughter’s serene face.
“You will know him,” her daughter predicted. “Rex.”
“What makes you say that?”
“When people love each other, they stop at nothing.”
A chill went down Elizabeth’s spine. “Where did you hear that?” she asked sharply. It was not the kind of phrase in her daughter’s lexicon.
Sensing she’d given something away, Chloe just shrugged, and no matter how Elizabeth prodded she wouldn’t say anything more.
The call from Elizabeth came into Rex’s cell around midday. He’d been watching a client’s bookkeeper, another surveillance job, keeping tabs on a woman the client suspected of embezzlement. Money was missing from the candy and card shop owner’s personal account and he’d thought his bookkeeper had been cooking the books, but so far, following Louise Mendez had only proved that the extra time she spent on her lunch hour was to visit her mother at Resting Hills Retirement Home.
She was back at work, so Rex dropped the surveillance and was driving to the office. His cell rang when he was nearly there and he recognized the phone number as belonging to Elizabeth Ellis, information he’d gathered last night after Ravinia had gone to her room and closed the door. He’d stayed up until one AM learning everything he could on Elizabeth Gaines Ellis. It turned out she was a lot more interesting than he’d first thought, and he even had a call into Mike Tatum, a friend who’d worked with him in LA and now was with the Irvine PD, a cop who occasionally assisted him with information not available to the general public, but only when he felt it was warranted.
Elizabeth was calling. He felt his spirits lift as he wheeled into the office parking lot and answered. “Kingston.”
“Hi, this is Elizabeth Ellis,” she said as he cut the engine. “I think I might need your help.”
He checked the time. “Okay. With what?”
“It’s the police,” she admitted. “They keep coming around. They even came by this morning and taped me. They haven’t said it in so many words, but I get the feeling that I’m their number one suspect in my husband’s death, maybe a couple others, including Detective Bette Thronson’s who was apparently shot in her home sometime Tuesday night.”
“It just hit the news,” he told her. “When she didn’t report in, they gave her a few calls, but they didn’t find the body for nearly twenty-four hours.”
“He didn’t say any of that.”
“They try to give you as little as possible, hoping you’ll hang yourself with inaccuracies in your testimony. What do they have as evidence against you?”
“I don’t know. I don’t have an alibi for the window of time when the murder occurred, but there’s nothing else.” Her words were coming faster and faster, as if she wanted to get them out rapidly, as if she were scared suddenly. “I was home the night she was killed and
. . . and well, the police think I’m lying. Well, that’s what I think. Look, I didn’t know where she lived. I couldn’t have . . . I didn’t . . . I didn’t even wish her dead!” She sounded frantic.
“Whoa. Slow down. Where are you?”
“At Suncrest Realty, where I work. But could I meet you? Maybe at the house?”
He remembered her not letting him inside the night before. Things must’ve changed drastically. “When?” he asked, climbing out of the car and slamming the door shut behind him. It would take awhile even if he turned around right now.
“How about two thirty or three?” she suggested.
He checked his watch as he crossed the parking lot, the warmth of winter sun against his back. “I could be there around three. That’ll work.”
“Good,” she said on a heartfelt sigh, then she said good-bye and hung up quickly, almost as if she were afraid she might change her mind, or maybe that she could be overheard.
He sensed something was bothering her, something she was holding back, but then clients did that all the time. He just hoped she’d be forthcoming when they met again.
When they met again . . .
He pictured her as he’d seen her standing in the doorway, vulnerable and determined at the same time. She’d gotten to him so quickly it made him want to hide in his office until this madness dissipated.
He’d learned a lot about her over the past eighteen hours, but she was still a mystery, a beautiful woman with a secret or two. Fascinating. Tempting. Emotional trouble, at least for him. He knew better, though he’d never been hit by Cupid’s arrow so fast. It was downright embarrassing. On the other hand, when he’d tried to settle for an uncomplicated woman, one with her heart on her sleeve, like Pamela, he’d been bored to tears and anxious to move on. He’d left her wondering what she’d done wrong and the simple answer was nothing. He was looking for something more.
He already knew with a woman like Elizabeth, that something more was there. He’d felt it in those few minutes he’d met her. Crazy stuff. He had to get over it. She was a potential client, the subject of another client’s search. Nothing more. And he barely knew her.