by Alice Sharpe
This wasn’t her.
Okay.
She could stay in Ryan’s bed, waiting for him, tacitly agreeing with his shaky fantasy.
Or she could leave this safe cocoon and venture out into the night. Out with the gunman and the murderer.
The answer rang clear in Tess’s head.
Get out of Ryan’s bed.
Chapter Eleven
She took his phone off the hook in case Ryan called again. She didn’t want him to hear it ringing and ringing and get worried. She wrote him a note and left the apartment. It was the middle of the night and she didn’t have the slightest idea where to go.
Back to Katie’s apartment? No way.
To the hospital?
No.
But the answer came as she decided against the hospital—she would go to Katie’s storage garage.
Driving in the dark in a strange city was not Tess’s idea of a good time. Had those headlights in the rearview mirror been there too long? Taken the same twists and turns as she? Where was the storage facility, anyway? Why hadn’t she paid closer attention when Ryan drove there?
She passed a diner that looked familiar and turned left, then a tire shop and an auto wrecking place. These all looked familiar. When she found herself coming up on the dimly lit sign for a bowling alley, she slowed down. There was the rusted sign: Stanley’s Storage. She made a hard right down the rutted roadway, pulling to a stop in front of 119. She turned off the headlights and turned in the seat, looking out toward the road to make sure no one had followed.
The bowling alley parking lot was dark, but a series of overhead fixtures in the truck stop cast ambient light over a good part of Stanley’s road; it appeared blissfully empty.
Taking the flashlight out of the glove compartment, Tess locked the car behind her and opened Katie’s unit, glad to be battling wind instead of rain.
Ryan had restacked the first few boxes they’d searched, so Tess chose the other end of the stack to begin her new search. Reaching up on tiptoe, she angled for a grip on the bottom edge of the top box. She’d seen Ryan do this and it had worked after a fashion, though she’d been there to help him as the box began to fall. Anticipating the weight, she braced one arm against the wall and pulled.
Instead of the top boxing sliding forward by itself, all four boxes in the stack moved together. She pulled. They got stuck on a piece of wood sticking out from the wall and as Tess relaxed against them for a moment, they slid backward. Flashing her light, she saw they were taped together and pushed them ahead of her, waiting for them to jam against the next row in back but they didn’t. They just kept sliding along the cement floor until they cleared the other boxes and stood independently as a stack.
Tess took the flashlight out of her pocket and shone it into what turned out to be the main cavity of the storage unit.
Katie’s secret.
A home away from home. A home she could enter without Stanley and his wife knowing what she was doing. Privacy, a sanctuary.
Tess moved the flashlight slowly, illuminating sections of the unit in a clockwise direction. In one corner lay a single mattress covered with a quilt that stopped Tess’s heart. She had a quilt exactly like this, all shades of blue and purple flowers stitched together with pink yarn. Her mother had made it when she was a baby; apparently she’d made two and left one for Katie.
Paintings on the walls, a small lamp beside the bed, books stacked on a shelf along with picture albums and framed photos, a radio next to the lamp. There were two wooden chairs, a freestanding rack of clothes with shoes beneath, boxes of what looked like letters. A suitcase tied with bright scarves, no doubt holding clothes to be cycled into the Caroline wardrobe.
Katie’s life.
Tucked away where she could visit it. Hidden from everyone.
Tess returned to close the big rolling door and snap the inside lock before sitting on the bed and turning on the lamp. A soft light filled the unit and Tess used it to examine the photographs on the shelf and those in the album, lingering over shots of her father with his arms around Katie, and those of Katie laughing with friends, pictures so like the ones Tess had of herself with her friends that she found it hard to remember that these pictures weren’t of her own youth.
She found a modest stash of candy in a small box on the floor and helped herself to a chocolate bar, biting her lip as she peeled away the paper. It looked as though she and Katie tackled stress in the same way.
Eventually, she lifted the suitcase onto the bed. It was way too heavy for clothes, and a premonition swept over her.
The money.
And there, under a layer of silky scarves, were stacks of bills, more cash than Tess had ever seen at one time, thousands of dollars.
Fifty thousand, she suspected.
An hour later she knew: exactly fifty thousand dollars.
Think, she mumbled, pressing her knuckles against her temples.
The amount couldn’t be a coincidence. Katie didn’t have this kind of money. That meant she either found it after her father died or he gave it to her before the Lingford fire.
Either way, without knowing Kinsey had also received this exact amount, would Katie have known what to make of it? Probably not. Unless there was another puzzle piece missing.
How had Kinsey found Katie? If he’d known all along about the Caroline persona, would he have waited so long to approach her? No way, he’d be afraid she’d spend the money or turn it over to the police. The searches started the same day Katie was run over, at least as far as Tess knew. Did that mean something?
Tess had counted the money from the suitcase into an empty box. She covered the money with the scarves, closed the flaps on the box and shoved it against the others, closed the suitcase and put it on top of the box, then sat back on the mattress, knees even with her chin.
“Okay, Katie,” she whispered. “What’s going on?”
And then she knew she needed to see Katie’s notebook again. There was something in it if she could just remember what. She had to go back to Katie’s apartment.
RYAN TAPPED the top of the blue-and-white squad car. “Thanks for the lift,” he called to the patrolman through the open window. He looked around for his car and didn’t see it. Tess must have had to park on the next block and walk back.
He climbed the stairs, distracted by the night’s events and by his growing need to see and hold Tess in his arms. He could tell her it was over and she was safe. He couldn’t tell her her father was innocent of wrong-doing, and he regretted that. He was banking on the fact that she’d known all along her father was guilty, she just hadn’t been able to abandon hope.
The apartment was quiet when he entered, and with weak morning sunlight coming through the north window, the place was a study in grays and blacks. Clive, a dark shape against the wall, meowed once, and he leaned down to run a hand along the cat’s sleek back.
He walked down the short hall to the bedroom, heart beating faster with every step, anticipating how Tess would look in his bed, hair tousled on his pillow. For one blink of an eye he tried to remember the last woman who had spent the night in his place and couldn’t. Lately his life had become a blur of work; he was ready for a change.
Would Tess go on a trip with him? This mess was next door to over. Once they made sure Katie was okay, would Tess consider traveling to an island somewhere? Warm sand. Warm water. Very little in the way of clothing. Long nights. Good wine, all the chocolate chip pancakes she could eat, time to lie in the sun and think about nothing.
He felt the tiredness wash away. Tess was on the other side of the door. He’d take a shower and join her, waking her in the best possible manner—
The fantasy vanished. The bed was neatly made, the bathroom had a steamy warm fragrance that made him smile. He went looking for Tess.
He found her in the living room, fully dressed, asleep in one of his leather chairs, feet propped up on a matching ottoman, a shoe box on her lap. She seemed to sense him staring at her and op
ened her eyes as though she’d just closed them a few minutes before.
“What did you find out?” she asked without missing a beat.
“Lots,” he said, taking the ottoman she’d vacated when she put her feet on the floor and sitting down right in front of her. Clive trotted off to the kitchen.
“There are prints on the extra glass and the bottle. Not Kinsey’s prints.”
“Then whose?”
“We’ll know later. I’m betting Lingford’s. The medical examiner is speculating at this point, but he’s pretty sure Kinsey’s whiskey glass held barbiturates.”
“Barbiturates. You mean Kinsey was drugged before he was strangled?”
“From the lack of defensive wounds and signs of a struggle, it looks that way. Here’s the good part. Detective Sanchez is on his way over to talk to Lingford right now.”
“Because?”
“Two reasons. One, his car was spotted in the neighborhood this afternoon. In fact, do you recall the woman in the blue house who was shaking out her rug when we were parked out on the street?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“That’s right, your back was to her as well as to the guy walking by. Well, we questioned the neighbors, of course, to see if anyone had seen or heard anything unusual. The officer who questioned this woman said she saw a fancy silver car with a bumper sticker that stuck in her mind. A blue triangle and an orange ball. The triangle, up close, represents a windsurfing sail. The orange ball is the sun.”
“And Lingford loves windsurfing.”
“This particular logo belongs to a California club.”
“Which I assume Nelson is a member of?”
“We’ll know pretty soon.”
“So, Lingford was in Jim Kinsey’s neighborhood?”
“Not only that, but the same witness says a man she didn’t know waved at her yesterday afternoon somewhere between three and four. I actually saw him wave. I assumed they were neighbors, but she says now she’d never seen him before.”
“Could she identify him?”
“We’ll take her pictures to look at. I’m betting it was Nelson. That he parked on a side street and walked to Kinsey’s, killed him, then sauntered through the gate out onto the sidewalk and down the street, back to his car.”
“So what happens next?”
“More investigation, more questions. If Lingford’s fingerprints are on the extra glass on Kinsey’s table, it places him at the scene. If he holds a prescription for barbiturates, it’s going to look really bad.”
“What was Kinsey strangled with?”
“One of his own drapery cords. It’s missing from the front window. And, Tess, you have to know they found papers in with Kinsey’s things. He kept notes about his bookie. I recognized the name—it’s the same guy your father used. That’s a connection between the two men.”
“I found another connection,” Tess said, her gaze shifting away from his.
“What do you mean?”
“I…I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t stay here. I went to Katie’s storage unit.”
My God, he thought as he ran a hand through his hair, weariness descending like a fog bank. This woman was hopelessly reckless. The proof she’d survived her trek across town while Nelson Lingford remained at large sat in front of him, but didn’t she have any sense at all? Clenching his jaw to keep from saying something he’d regret, he waited.
“The boxes at the right were taped together to make a sort of sliding door. Behind them the unit is more or less open space. She’d made herself a little cave back in there with a mattress and clothes and candy. Someplace she could retreat to when pretending to be Caroline got to be too much. Someplace safe.”
Still he waited. He knew what was coming.
“And I found a suitcase full of money. Fifty thousand dollars.”
He nodded. “Where’s the money?”
“Still in the garage. In a box.”
“Okay. Try this on for size. Nelson wants the art money. He hires his stepmother’s driver to torch her house, maybe taking her out at the same time. The driver, Kinsey, knows you father because they share the same bookie and probably see each other here and there at the different Indian casinos, etcetera. He recruits your father to buy the accelerant, to help start the fire, perhaps to look the other way until it’s too late. I just learned tonight that the elaborate fire alarm system required by the insurance company was out of service. That takes codes and inside information. It’s the piece of evidence most damning to Nelson Lingford.”
“Then he is guilty.”
“Looks like it. After the fire and your dad’s death, Lingford severs day-to-day connections with the driver by seeming to fire him. What Lingford doesn’t count on is Kinsey’s inability to hold on to money, even an exceptionally large amount like that one. And his greed. Kinsey spends all his loot and begins to wonder about your dad’s share. Katie has disappeared, but he knows what she looks like, and eventually, maybe when he saw Katie with Lingford on the day of the hit-and-run, he puts Caroline Mays and Katie Fields together.”
“Wouldn’t he tell Lingford?”
“I don’t think so. I think he’d try finding your dad’s share of the fire money first.”
“So you don’t think he tried to run Katie over?”
“No. I think that was Lingford. Perhaps he borrowed a van from an associate. We checked rental records so we know he didn’t get one that way. I think Katie must have tipped her hand when they spoke. Maybe she mentioned Kinsey by name.”
“But Irene hadn’t given her Kinsey’s name yet.”
“She could have said something else damning. Or Lingford may have had her investigated and learned Caroline’s true identify.”
Tess winced and he touched her hand. “Sorry. Bad phrasing. Once Lingford’s charged with a few felonies and murder one, he might get talkative.”
“So then Lingford decided to silence Kinsey?”
“Either that or Kinsey decided to try to shake down Lingford for additional cash and Nelson decided to cut his loses.”
“Blackmail.”
He grabbed her hands. “At any rate, once they’ve arrested Lingford, you’ll be safe. Katie will be safe.”
She looked twice as worn-out as the day before. Nodding at the shoe box on her lap, he said, “You’ve had a busy night.”
“You don’t know the half of it. There are a couple of bullet holes in your car. I was standing on the sidewalk in front of Lingford’s building when someone shot at me.”
“Shot at you?” He looked stunned. “I don’t understand—”
“I don’t, either. Obviously, I got away. I came here and then I couldn’t sleep so I went to Katie’s garage and then her apartment. I want to go through the notebook. I know I missed something in there. I came back here to do it but fell asleep.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, bringing one of her hands to his lips and kissing it. “I’ll call the shooting in to headquarters. Maybe Lingford thought he could silence you.”
“He did know I would be at his office,” she admitted. “We sort of had a date. I wanted to get a look at that trophy.” Ryan’s face clouded over and she added, “Still, I don’t know.”
“You don’t know what?”
“I’ve met him a couple of times now, and though he’s slick and probably dishonest, he doesn’t strike me as stupid.”
He stared into her eyes. “What’s your point?”
“I don’t think Lingford would drive around an intended victim’s neighborhood in a distinctive car just minutes before or after strangling him. I don’t think he’d use his own meds to knock someone out. I don’t think he’d leave fingerprints on a glass. The murder scene looked staged to me. And why try to shoot me? Something is wrong.”
He stood abruptly. “I keep forgetting,” he said, holding up a finger, “that you’re a detective. I keep thinking you’re a veterinarian.”
She gazed up at him. “Don’t you have even the slightest feeling
that you’re being manipulated?”
“By you? Sometimes.”
“Not by me. By someone else. Vince Desota for instance. Where does he fit into all this?”
“Maybe if you were more familiar with how stupid murderers can be, you wouldn’t be so skeptical. People act out of desperation.”
“Nelson Lingford? If a man like him hires an arsonist, why in the world wouldn’t he hire a murderer?”
“Loose ends,” Ryan said. “Maybe Lingford just got tired of other people botching up his plans.”
“I don’t like it,” she insisted.
“Let me ask you this, Tess. Why couldn’t you sleep last night? What was scarier to you than being outside with someone shooting at you? My place, that’s what. Sitting here, waiting for me was more frightening to you than risking your neck. Needing me is scarier to you than taking a bullet.”
She stared at him without answering.
The pager on his belt went off, its innocent little beep making both of them jump. Excusing himself, he walked into the bedroom and returned Sanchez’s call. The conversation was brief but satisfying. As he came back into the living room, he spotted the papers sitting beside the computer and remembered the photos he’d printed off Katie’s cell phone. He’d planned on using them as a sort of peace offering and had forgotten all about them. They might still come in handy.
Tess had opened the shoe box and taken out her father’s notebook which she was thumbing through with her brow furrowed in concentration. “Names,” she mumbled. “Oh, I see. Now I remember.”
“Remember what?” he said.
“Why Irene’s name sounded familiar when she mentioned it. My father made a record of the musicians he’d played with over the years. One of the first was a guy by the name of I. Woodall. That must be Irene’s late husband, Ian Woodall. It’s been bugging me. I thought it might be something, but it’s not.” She put the notebook back in the shoe box and added, “Who paged you?”
Her blue eyes were not only troubled and tired, they were wary. She’d been acting standoffish ever since he got home. For a second his step faltered.
Maybe it was his imagination.