Bitsy was eight months pregnant. The fact had been well publicized since the third month. If Misty had broken up with Browning once news of his wife's pregnancy had become public, she would have to be at least five months along by now. But her stomach was flat. Darn her.
Misty waited, not bothering to disguise her contempt while she watched me process the information. Then she said, “We hooked up again about six weeks ago. We were drunk. It was—it was stupid. A mistake.”
“And now you're pregnant.”
Misty cut her eyes to Viv, but didn't respond with a yay or nay. “I tried to keep a decent working relationship going, but I think Peter was just freaked out by the whole thing. I told him I didn't expect anything from him. I'm a grown woman, and I know the way the world works. I made a stupid decision, and I was prepared to live with the consequences of it. But I wanted him to be aware, because it was, of course, his child, too. He refused to talk to me.”
Misty blew out a breath and sat back in her chair. “He would communicate only be text or email, which I found to be ridiculous. We are adults and I, for one, wanted to act like it. I insisted Peter meet with me so we could have a face-to-face conversation. I—” She frowned and looked off, then turned back. “I threatened him. I told him if he insisted on treating me like a dirty secret, I would act like one. I would tell his wife, tell the station manager. I wasn't going to really do it, but I was so furious that he was acting like such a little...toad.” She frowned and her lips thinned. “He said he would meet me after the 10:00 o’clock that night, so I drove to where we agreed to meet.”
“And where was that?”
“Mackenzie Park, out past the amusement park.”
I looked at Viv. That was pretty far from where Browning had been found.
“He never showed, of course. That was the night he...” She frowned again, but didn't break.
I studied her carefully. She was a few years younger than I was, but she seemed so...in control of herself. No nonsense. She was a person who had sight of what she wanted and poured her energy into getting it.
Even now, with this difficult conversation, she was remarkably calm.
She cleared her throat and went on. “He never showed. I waited for a while and then came home. The next day I found out that he hadn't gone home, and Bitsy was frantic. Didn't know where he was. He was supposed to come in to work at 2:00 that afternoon, but he never showed. That's when things really got crazy.”
I nodded, stunned that she was revealing so much information, until it dawned on me that none of this really explained why she'd been arrested. “So, you were arrested because you and Browning had an affair? How is that obstruction?”
She shook her head and sighed. “It's not just that, of course. When his body was found, I just...I didn't want it coming out. About the affair. I didn't want Bitsy to have to deal with that, on top of losing her husband and the father of her child. So I logged into his email account and deleted all of our messages.”
“You have his password?” Viv sounded shocked.
“Look, it's not that big a deal. I knew his password, he knew mine. We helped each other with assignments and things. It wasn't that big a deal,” she said again.
“So you...” I tried to work it out in my mind. “Did you miss one or something?”
She shook her head. “No. At least, I don't think so. Patrice told them to look for other stories Peter could have been working on. Something about him working a new angle on something. So they did a deeper search and were able to see that I'd logged in remotely and deleted them.” She gave a crooked smile and shook her head again. “I was afraid that the emails made me look guilty of something I didn't do. But deleting them made me look even more guilty.”
“Wow,” I said. This girl was in a lot of trouble. Now would not be the time to alert her to the fact that I might have set that particular ball rolling.
“Yeah,” Misty said. “I'm pretty well screwed.”
“Why are you telling us all this?” Viv asked.
“Because I need help, of course. My parents have hired a lawyer, but they can't afford a really good one—I can't either. The station pays crap, and I'm already up to my eyeballs in student loans. The police obviously think they've got me on something, and if it does turn out to be murder and not suicide, they're not going to look much further than me. Why would they? You know what's going to happen when the public finds out about the baby. Sweet petite Bitsy with the big blue eyes and little basketball belly. And then there's me, the hussy who tempted her man away and then killed him in a jealous rage, leaving her a young widow. I'm screwed,” she said again. “I need help.”
“You are in a spot of bother,” Viv acknowledged.
“I know I didn't kill him, and I need help figuring out who did, or if anyone did.”
“You still think it might be suicide?” Viv asked.
Misty frowned and leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs again. “I just don't know. I've been through it in my mind, over and over. He was acting weird those last few weeks. Almost desperate. He wouldn't talk to me. I think he was freaked out about the baby. Babies, I mean. My baby, and Bitsy's baby, too.”
“Did he talk to you about David Baucum?”
“Oh yeah. We talked about that a lot.”
“How did he feel about it?”
“He said to me that David Baucum was the very definition of hubris. Peter saw him as just another middle-aged white guy in the pocket of the oil companies. Someone who didn't care about anything except the bottom line. He truly believed Baucum was ultimately responsible for Meredith Logan’s paralysis, and he deserved everything that happened to him.”
I drew my head back. “Even death?”
“Of course not. That was Baucum's choice. That wasn't Peter's fault, and Peter didn't suffer any guilt over it. He thought Baucum was a spineless weasel who couldn't live with what he'd done. He said more than once that Meredith Logan was a hundred times braver than David Baucum would ever be. He thought Baucum was a whiny little baby. He had no respect for him and even less after the man died.”
I made a mental note of that. I'd asked Trisha almost the same questions, and her take on Browning's philosophy had been much less harsh. Then again, maybe Browning didn't feel as free to reveal such harshness to Trisha—who would be his superior, even if she wasn't his direct supervisor—as he was with Misty, someone who was more his equal.
“So, if it was suicide, you're not buying that it was guilt over Baucum’s death?”
Misty shook her head. “Not for a second.”
“Did the police ask you anything about Peter being injured or being in a fight before he went missing?” Viv asked, and I remembered what Bitsy had said.
She nodded. “Yes, they did. I kept telling them, there was no fight. There was nothing. He was flat-out ignoring me. They asked if it got physical, but it didn't even get verbal. Aside from an occasional short text, he was completely shutting me out those last few weeks.” She chewed her bottom lip. “So, did Patrice say anything about me? I'm meeting with her and the station manager tomorrow, but I really don't know what to expect.”
“You saw the opinion segment he did?”
She nodded, and for the first time, her eyes filled with tears. She blinked them back. “I saw it.”
“I think they want to stand by you,” I said with a shrug. I might be blowing smoke, but it was smoke I felt okay about. “That's the impression I got. Their main priorities are honoring Peter's memory and cooperating with the investigation, but to me, he looked like someone who was anxious to find any reason to stand behind you and support you. My sense is that if you're as honest with him as you have been with us, you'll have an ally.”
She closed her eyes for a second, and she suddenly looked very young. Poor kid.
“What's going to happen now?” I asked.
“They told me not to leave town without checking with them first. I was going to go to my parents' house for a while, but I can't, so th
ey're coming here.”
A car door slammed outside, and her eyes flew open. She turned in the chair and lifted the curtain.
“My parents are here,” she said. Her voice was full of dread.
Viv and I stood to go.
“Let me know what you find out,” Misty said as she held the door open for us.
“We're not working for you,” Viv said.
“I don't care,” Misty said. “I am an innocent woman facing a murder charge, and I need help. Letting me know what you find out is the decent thing to do.”
Viv and I looked at each other, and I shrugged. Neither one of us could argue with that.
I climbed into Viv's Caddy as Misty's parents made it to her door.
We didn't know where else to go, so we did what we always did when we didn't know what else to do. We went to Sonic.
While Viv crunched on an order of chili-and-cheese-covered tator tots, I sipped my Vanilla Diet Coke and thought. “Is it just me, or does it make no sense that they would bring obstruction charges on something like this if they still think Peter killed himself?”
“Maybe they thought she did something to push him over the edge.”
“But that wouldn't be obstruction, would it? Would that be...aiding and abetting?” That didn't sound right, either.
I finally gave up and pulled out my phone. “Windy, call Bobby Sloan.”
“I'm gettin' him for ya now, Sweetie,” Windy said.
A few seconds later, “Sloan.”
“Bobby, it's Salem. I have Viv here with me.”
“Hello, Mr. Hot Detective,” Viv called in the direction of the phone.
Bobby groaned.
“We just finished interviewing Misty Monahan. Poor girl. She's terrified.”
Silence.
“We did get some interesting information, though.”
“Which you are legally required to pass on to the police. Unless you have a two-fer coupon for obstruction charges and want to share a cell with Ms. Monahan.”
“Bobby,” I sighed. “Bobby, Bobby, Bobby. Why do you think I called? Here is some information that could be useful to you.” I was quite sure I didn't have anything he didn't already know, but I figured the more I talked to him, the greater the chances I could hit on something of value. “For one thing, it appears that Peter Browning was definitely murdered. It wasn't suicide.”
“Yeah?” He sounded bored. “How do you figure that?”
“You don't file charges of obstruction in a suicide case.”
“Oh my gosh.” His voice was entirely flat. “You don't?”
“No. I mean, if she had encouraged him or drove him to suicide, that would be...” Here's where I lost my nerve a bit, and faltered. “Aiding and abetting?”
“Good try, Salem. No. That would probably fall more under the category of involuntary manslaughter.”
“Oh.”
Viv frowned at me. I wrinkled my nose and nodded in chagrin. I really was blowing this.
She took the phone out of my hand. “We also know for a fact that he was injured sometime before his death.”
Silence.
“So, am I right?” Viv asked.
More silence.
“Also, we know that Peter Browning had a foot fetish.”
“What?!” Bobby and I said at the same time.
“A fact,” Viv said. She leaned back, a satisfied smile on her face.
“Eww,” I said. “What makes you think that?”
“Neither Bitsy or Misty were wearing shoes when we interviewed them.” Viv raised her eyebrows and said, smugly, “You see, but you do not observe.”
Bobby laughed. Did I imagine it, or was there a hint of relief in his laugh?
“You got me there, Sherlock,” he said. “Obviously a foot fetish.”
Viv popped a tator tot in her mouth and smiled.
This was getting us nowhere. I decided to go for the gold. What did I have to lose?
“Bobby, Misty did tell us that she had deleted some emails that showed she and Peter were having an affair, and they planned to meet up. She said she did it because she didn't want his wife to find out about the relationship.”
“Did she?”
I frowned, frustrated. “But you were checking his emails, so that means...something. That you haven't closed the book on this. You haven't definitely ruled it a suicide.”
“Did I say we'd closed the book on it?”
“No, but...”
“How's the dog grooming business, Salem?”
“What? Fine. Why?”
“Because that's your job. You're a dog groomer. I'm a detective. How about we all just do our jobs?”
Viv winked at me, then said into the microphone. “Hey, Mr. Hot Detective. Can you remind me who caught the High Point Bandits?”
Silence.
“And Marky Patrelli?”
Silence.
“And Sylvia Ramirez?”
Silence.
I leaned over and looked at the screen. “He hung up.”
She frowned. “Before or after I reminded him of our track record?”
I shrugged. “Probably before. But if it's any consolation, I think you're onto something about the feet. Not a fetish, I mean. But he seemed relieved when he said, 'Obviously a foot fetish.' Right?”
It was Viv's turn to shrug. “I guess.”
“How do we find out?”
Viv finished off her tots. “We have to ask the right questions.”
Sadly, Viv's “right questions” turned out to be really embarrassing.
We drove back over to Bitsy's house. When she answered the door, Viv got right to the point. “Listen, I hate to be intrusive and crude, but I'm sure you understand that, in order to get to the bottom of things, we need all applicable information. And, we don't really know what's applicable until all is said and done, so...”
Bitsy frowned, but she didn't say anything. She looked from Viv to me. Finally, she nodded.
“Did your husband have a foot fetish?”
Bitsy and I both gasped. I know Bitsy she did—she was shocked. I have no idea why I did. I mean, I should have known, right?
“A what? No.”
“There's no shame in it, Mrs. Browning,” Viv said. “Lots of people find pleasure in—”
“Stop!” I said. “Enough.”
“Why on earth would you think...what?” Bitsy looked confused and a little panicked.
“You weren't wearing any shoes when we interviewed you the other day, and you're not wearing shoes now.”
She looked at her feet. In fact, we all looked at her feet, with their neat, pink-painted nails.
“I'm pregnant. My feet swell.”
Viv stared at her feet, silent. Then she said, “Oh.”
Bitsy looked at me. I shrugged.
After a few more seconds of uncomfortable silence, Viv pulled out her little notepad and pretended to take notes, but it was plain to all of us that she was only doing it to save face. “Okay, then. That is helpful information, indeed.”
“Is it okay if we call you if we have any more questions?” I asked. I backed up a half step in the universal it's-time-to-go motion.
“Please do,” Bitsy said. Maybe she didn't mean for it to sound like, “Please call instead of coming to my door with this craziness.” But I was pretty sure she did.
Viv and I drove in silence for a while. I wondered if she was telling herself that that had gone well.
I picked up the phone and dialed Misty's number. “I'll handle this one,” I told Viv.
When Misty answered, I said, “Listen, I can't say much because I don't know what I'm looking for yet. But I have a hunch something in this case has to do with feet. Does that make you think of anything?”
“They took all my shoes except my heels, and one old pair of Tom's,” she said. “When they came to take my computer, they took them all.”
“Really?” My heart began to race a bit. I'd found an actual clue! I had no idea what it meant, but sti
ll...
“Really. They wouldn't tell me anything except that they would give them back when the investigation is resolved.”
“Okay, that's good to know. That's helpful.”
When I hung up, Viv asked, “What was that about?”
“She said the police took all of her shoes except her heels and one old pair of Tom's.”
“Hmmm...so they have footprints.”
“Right. That must be it. Right?” I wish I felt more confident that I knew what I was looking at. The high I'd felt off figuring out the one thing about the feet was sadly short lived.
At least I hadn't gone straight from feet to fetish, though.
I frowned and stared at my phone.
I do love you, Salem, but...
They took her shoes.
They wouldn't have taken her shoes unless they had something to check them against. You don't take shoes to investigate obstruction, do you?
“They took her shoes,” I said to Viv.
“They jolly well did.”
“All those shoe prints we saw out in the field—they must have been trying to match them up.”
“They jolly well are.”
I bit my tongue. I sighed. “They wouldn't have done that if they thought it was suicide.”
“I thought we'd established that already.”
“I guess. I mean, Bobby was in the 'neither confirm nor deny' camp. But up until now I was pretty sure he'd done himself in. Now...” A shiver went up the back of my neck.
I ran through a list of all the people we'd talked to over the last couple of days. Dorsett Oil. Bitsy. Jessica—although I found it doubtful that Jessica had anything to do with Peter's murder. Misty.
Something tugged at the edges of my conscience. Some kind of relationship between those three young Channel 11 employees.
Misty and Peter, having an affair.
Jessica and Misty, best friends.
Jessica and Peter. I supposed I would never know how Peter felt about Jessica, but Jessica didn't seem to have a lot of affection for Peter.
She did have a lot of admiration for Misty, though.
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