Twisted at the Root--A Jane Lawless Mystery

by Ellen Hart

  Stepping over to the front door, Jane rang the bell. She was determined to get inside, even if she had to make up a story. As she waited, she gazed up at the pine trees. It was a lovely spot for a home, even if the house didn’t match its surroundings. This far from the city, the wind had picked up. She stuffed her hands into the pockets of her peacoat, her right hand cupping the set of lock picks she carried with her. When no one answered, she pressed the bell again, this time three rings in quick succession. If nothing else, it would annoy the hell out of whoever was inside. Finally, opening the screen door to peer through a window, she noticed that the door was slightly ajar. She looked around, then pushed it open. Walking in, she surveyed the living room, thinking someone would appear at any second and demand to know what she was doing.

  But no one came. Standing in the living room, gazing up at the beamed ceiling, she called, “Hello? Anybody home?”

  No response.

  “Hi, I’m Jane Lawless.” She began to move farther into the house. “Is anyone here?”

  Finding a hallway to her left, she headed down it. “Hello?” she called. She passed a couple of small bedrooms and a den before she came to the master. Pausing in the doorway, she noticed that a partially packed suitcase lay open on the bed. “Anybody here?” she asked, slipping on a pair of latex gloves. Moving closer to the bed, she could see that the clothes inside the suitcase belonged to a woman. Was Kit planning on leaving? It must have been her car in the garage. But if it was, where had she gone?

  Scanning the room for a jewelry box, Jane spied one on top of a tall chest. When she checked inside, she discovered that it was all men’s stuff—cufflinks, tie clasps, watches, a blue ribbon given by Southwest High School for winning the hundred-yard dash.

  She spent a couple minutes opening and closing dresser drawers, pawing through clothing, then turned her attention to the suitcase. If it was Kit who was leaving, she would undoubtedly take items that were important to her. Jane’s eyes opened wide when she found a beautiful inlaid-wood box. Could it be that simple? She opened the top. Inside were earrings, necklaces, rings, bracelets. Nothing that looked all that expensive, though every piece was unusual. Sitting down on the bed, she took everything out. None of the trophies were there. But then an idea occurred to her.

  She picked up the box and shook it. Sure enough, she heard the sound of shifting metal. Looking more closely, she found that the red velvet base was false. Lifting it out, her eyes widened. It was all there. Gideon’s coin medallion. George’s gold pocket watch. And a single turquoise teardrop earring with gold filigree at the top.

  But there was more. Things Jane didn’t recognize. Were these trophies from others who’d had the misfortune of knowing Kit? Of caring about her? Her pretend husband, Dave, for instance?

  Jane used her phone to take a bunch of photos. She backed up and took one of the bed with the suitcase. None of the shots would be admissible. What she needed was to somehow get the police in here. Have them find what she just had.

  Her phone rang. She answered immediately.

  “A car. It’s slowing down, like it’s looking for something. OMG, it’s turning into the Chenoweths’ drive. Janey, get out. Now.”

  In her haste to see if someone was in the house, Jane had forgotten to look for the door to the patio. She raced back down the hall. Looking around frantically, she finally found sliding glass doors in the study. She burst outside, closing the doors behind her.

  Now what? Before she could scramble up a hill to the road, she heard a car’s motor, and then a familiar voice call, “Wait for me.” Coming around the side of the house, she found Peter on his way to the front door.

  “If you’re looking for Kit, she’s not here.”

  He stopped dead in his tracks. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “I could ask you the same thing.”

  “Did you break into that house?”

  “The door was open.”

  “Oh, sure. Right.”

  “See for yourself. It’s warped. Unless you actually pull it shut, it doesn’t close. I came to see Kit. There’s a suitcase on the bed, but she’s nowhere around.”

  “Of course she’s here.” He trotted to the door and disappeared inside. When he came out, he seemed worried. “She was supposed to be packed and waiting for me.”

  “Why?”

  “None of your business.”

  It wasn’t hard to figure out. They were leaving together. For Jane, it was the worst possible news.

  “What do I do?” asked Peter, running his hands through his hair. “Janey, you may not understand, but you’ve got to help me. Kit’s in danger.”

  “I want to help you, Peter.”

  They stood looking at each other from opposite sides of an impossibly difficult divide. When Cordelia’s Subaru roared in off the street, they both turned to look.

  “The cavalry has arrived,” said Peter under his breath.

  “Why don’t we get out of the cold, maybe go sit with Cordelia and try to figure this out.”

  It was all there, written on his face. Agitation. Bewilderment. Even anger. He paid the Uber driver, lifted his suitcase out of the trunk, and sent the car away.

  41

  At the same moment, Eli was inside his house, staring out the window at the gray, depressing day outside. Two weeks ago, he would never have considered anything like this, but he was at the end of his rope. He had to know the truth. Turning around, he walked past Kit, a half-filled pint of bourbon dangling from his fingers. He resumed his position on the couch.

  “Can’t you at least untie my ankles?” she whined. “You made the tape too tight. It’s cutting off my circulation.”

  “Aw,” he said, tossing the bottle cap away. “Poor Kit.” She sat awkwardly on one of his living room chairs, her wrists duct-taped behind her back and her ankles bound. Charlotte, who’d come out of the bedroom to watch, was now curled up in the other chair, fast asleep.

  “How long have you been—” She nodded at the bottle.

  “Since I found out you lied to me.”

  “You keep saying that, but I don’t know what you’re talking about. I may tell a few white lies every now and then, but who doesn’t?”

  “That’s why I’ve called this meeting,” he said, amused by his little witticism. “Why were you packing that suitcase?”

  “I told you. Because I’m leaving your father. I can’t live with him, now that I know who he really is. Come on, Eli. Be a man. Are you going to call the police on him, or do I have to?”

  “I’m not calling anyone.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s what you want. The courts will be less likely to tie the ‘shocking revelation’ to your upcoming divorce if it comes from me.”

  “Oh, come on. You think I’m that devious?”

  He saluted her with his pint, then finished it off.

  Now she seemed offended.

  “Oh, drop the act,” he said. “You planted that garbage on his computer. I looked at the download dates. They started right after you moved in. You were giving yourself a trump card for when you wanted out. It would have been perfect, right? Dear husband, give me everything I want or I send you up the river with the child porn I downloaded onto your computer.”

  Instead of answering, she spit at him.

  Eli smiled, glancing at his cell phone resting on the coffee table. “I guess we should begin.”

  “Begin what? Eli, take this tape off.”

  “No.”

  “Why are you treating me like this? Because I left you and married your father?”

  He got up and crossed into the kitchen, grabbing himself another bottle of Ten High. It was pure rotgut, but it’s what he always drank when he was using. Weird how nostalgia worked. Crouching down, he removed the revolver from the cabinet under the sink.

  “I thought you were a Buddhist,” she called from the living room. “A Buddhist wouldn’t tie up his girlfriend.”

  “Ex-girlfriend
,” he corrected her, ambling back to the couch, his movements feeling liquid and easy. “But you’re right. I’ve left the path. I don’t even meditate anymore.”

  “Why? Too many evil thoughts?”

  “Actually,” he said, dropping down on the couch, “it started a few months ago. Every time I closed my eyes and concentrated on my breathing, a Bee Gees song would pop into my head. No matter how hard I tried to go with the flow, or how gentle I was with myself, bringing my attention back to my breathing, there the boys would be, ‘Jive Talkin’’ or whatever. I don’t even like the Bee Gees.”

  She watched him. “Untie me and let me get back to packing. You’ve had your fun.”

  “Not enough,” he said, placing the revolver on the table.

  She looked at it, then looked at him. “What’s that for? Come on, Eli. You’re scaring me.”

  “Good.”

  “I love you, you know that. I always have. Okay, so I married your father, but … you were gone. I was lonely. Your father was always there. I needed someone.”

  He took a single bullet out of the pocket of his shirt and set it next to the gun. “I want answers, Kit. I’m never going to get them unless I force them out of you.” He opened the cylinder and showed it to her. “Empty. See?” He fitted the bullet into one of the chambers, then closed the cylinder and gave it a spin. Rising from the couch, he walked over to her and pressed the barrel against her temple. She jerked away, but he grabbed her hair and yanked her upright. “I’m not playing, Kit. My life is a disaster. Before I end it—and I will end it—I want the truth.”

  “Jesus,” she gasped. “All you had to do was ask. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

  “No, you won’t. You’ll lie. You’ll make it sound plausible, like you always do, but it will still be a lie.”

  Now she was pleading. “For the love of God, Eli, I’ll tell you anything.”

  “I think we should leave God out of it. You were in Gideon’s condo that night. You were the one who murdered him.”

  She stared straight ahead and began to shake.

  “The truth, Kit.”

  “Well, I mean … I mean … I was only trying to help you. You’re not a problem solver, but I am. You didn’t have the guts to take care of business yourself, so I did it. It was all for you, baby. I couldn’t stand the thought that some knuckle-dragging thug would beat the crap out of you in an alley.”

  He’d wondered if that had been her motive. As hard as he’d tried, he couldn’t come up with anything else. Maybe she had loved him a little after all.

  “Gideon wasn’t supposed to be there,” she said. “I panicked.”

  For some reason, he had a hard time imagining her panicking.

  “And yes, I lied about it. If I’d told you the truth, in the shape you were in back then, who knows what you would have done.” She hesitated, looking up at him. “Put the gun down now, please.”

  He considered it. Dropping the gun to his side, he resumed his place on the couch, scooping the newest pint off the coffee table and unscrewing the cap. What she said made sense. It might be difficult to admit, but he believed her. Maybe he wouldn’t need the gun. “Okay. Next question. Did you murder my girlfriend?”

  “What?” Her eyes grew wide. “Hell, no. Eli, please. Where is this coming from?”

  “You did it. I know you did. Tell me the truth.”

  “I didn’t. No way. Yes, I admit to the Gideon thing. I haven’t had one single day of peace since it happened. But Harper?” Her eyes pleaded with him.

  Eli tilted his head back against the couch cushion. Getting up, he walked over to her. Spinning the cylinder, he gripped her hair again and pressed the business end of the gun to the side of her head.

  “Please,” she pleaded. “I’m not lying.”

  He pulled the hammer back with his thumb. “You’ve got one chance in five that this will be your last breath.”

  She gaped at him. “You’d never do that to me. You still love me, I know you do.”

  “I’m counting to three. One.”

  “You’re not that kind of man, Eli.”

  “Two. Last chance.”

  “You won’t pull the trigger. It’s not in you.”

  “Three.” He pulled the trigger.

  She screamed. Charlotte sat bolt upright, looked around for a few seconds, then jumped off the chair and made straight for the bedroom.

  Kit’s eyes pinwheeled. “You’re insane,” she yelled.

  He couldn’t argue the point.

  Beads of sweat began to appear on her forehead.

  “Let’s try that question again,” said Eli.

  Her gaze ricocheted around the room.

  “Did you murder Harper?”

  “No.” As he lifted the gun, she said, “Wait.”

  If it weren’t for the booze, he could never have done this. Even with the booze, he was having a hard time. “Well?”

  She swallowed a couple times. “The thing is…”

  “Yeah?”

  “She called me.”

  “When?”

  “A few days before she, ah, died. She said she thought she was pregnant.”

  “Why would she tell you? Why would she call?”

  “Because we talked, a lot more toward the end. She wasn’t good enough for you, Eli. She didn’t even love you. She said she felt trapped. That living with you was way harder than she’d ever expected. She called you a black hole of need, like I didn’t already know that. I hated the way she talked about you. I could talk about you that way because I loved you, but she couldn’t. All that stuff about saving the planet, working to end the death penalty, carbon footprints, all her moralizing, and her prissiness about what she ate and didn’t eat. She was going to hurt you, Eli. That last day, she called from the hotel where she worked. She was crying, said she had to talk to me. I was the only one who would understand. I suggested a drive up to Taylors Falls, we could talk along the way. I did it for you, Eli. It was all for you.”

  He dropped back down on the couch, pressing his hands to his eyes. Reaching for the bottle, he took a few more swallows of bourbon. Okay, he thought, wiping a hand across his mouth. So he’d heard some of the truth, though he also knew there had to be lies embedded in what she’d said. The part about her undying devotion was the hardest to take. In the last few hours, he’d come to the conclusion that she’d never loved anyone. She wasn’t capable of it.

  In a soft, childlike voice, she asked, “Will you let me go, baby? We can be together now. I want that more than anything.”

  He picked up his phone, clicked off the app he’d used for recording the conversation.

  “Eli?”

  “Shut up. I need to think.”

  * * *

  Inside Cordelia’s car, Jane watched Peter scan the property. He was jumpy, only partially listening. “Where the hell could she have gone?”

  “Maybe she got cold feet about leaving with you,” said Jane.

  “No. Not possible.”

  “Call the gallery.”

  “I told you, she didn’t go to the gallery this morning.”

  “You don’t know that for sure. Maybe she changed her mind, and Eli or John Henry gave her a ride.”

  “This is going nowhere,” said Peter. “I’m just wasting my time. I’ve tried to explain. I don’t know why you can’t give Kit the benefit of the doubt. She’s a good person.”

  Jane felt sorry for her brother. His feelings for Kit had blinded him to who and what she was. Hooking up with her would be one of the worst decisions he would ever make.

  “Call her phone again,” said Jane.

  Peter unlocked the door and got out.

  “Where are you going?” called Cordelia.

  As Peter walked up a gravel road, Jane got out and went after him. When she came to the top of a hill, she saw that he’d run ahead and was banging on the door of a small house. A truck was parked next to it. It had to be Eli’s place.

  “I know you’re in t
here,” shouted Peter. “Let Kit go, or I call the police. You’ve got five seconds.”

  Just as Jane reached him, Eli burst outside, looking unsteady.

  “She’s all yours, man,” he said, his words slurred.

  “What did you do?”

  “I got the truth out of her.” He held up his cell phone.

  Peter shot past him and went inside.

  “You recorded the conversation?” said Jane.

  “Yeah.” He leaned against the rear of the truck, waving the phone triumphantly over his head.

  “Did you threaten her?”

  “No more than she deserved.”

  Cordelia finally caught up to them, looking winded. “What did I miss?”

  “If you did threaten her, what you got isn’t admissible in court,” said Jane.

  “So?” he said, lifting a pint of Ten High out of his shirt pocket. “I’m not a court. I’m a human being.” He took a few swallows. Wiping a hand across his mouth, he added, “I’m not sure she is.”

  42

  Marlo grabbed the ace, tucked it into the cards she was holding, and announced, “Gin. I win again.” She laid the cards down.

  George tossed his on the bed tray. “The least you could do is let the sad invalid win once in a while.”

  “But you’d know I was letting you off easy, and you’d hate me for it.”

  “You think so, do you?” When he coughed, he winced. “Isn’t it about time for more pain meds?”

  “Another hour. What can I do to help?”

  “Don’t make me laugh.”

  She got up, bent over, and kissed him. “Nothing funny about that.”

  “Bet I don’t look like Hugh Grant anymore.”

  “No, you still do. Your face is a little banged up. But the doctors say you’re healing. Every part of you.”

  Picking up the remote with his good hand, he changed the TV channel. He took a sip of water and then said, “Tell me something. When I was out cold, did you play music for me?”

  “The nurses said it would help.”

  “Aerosmith?”