Murder Among Friends (The Kate Austen Mystery Series)

by Jonnie Jacobs

  “Wouldn’t he have washed the dishes afterwards? I mean, why leave two glasses in the kitchen and make it obvious she wasn’t alone. That doesn’t make sense.”

  Sharon made a face. “Have you ever known a man to wash a dish he didn’t have to?”

  Could someone, even a male, really be that stupid? Probably. Especially if that someone was nervous. “I guess that might explain the scotch, too. If that’s what the killer was drinking it would be kind of second nature for him to set it up the way he did.”

  “You’re right,” Sharon said excitedly. “We may be on to something.” She checked her list. “This is what we’ve got so far. Killer known to Mona, male, drinks scotch, smokes.”

  “And doesn’t make a habit of washing dishes.” It didn’t sound as though we’d narrowed the field much. “Does Gary smoke?” I asked.

  She nodded. “Although he tries to give it up at least once every six months.” She scribbled something else, then looked at me with a sigh. “He may well drink scotch too, but we’ve been over this. Mona wouldn’t have let him in her house, much less fixed him a drink.”

  “And besides,” I added pointedly, “he’s George’s buddy.”

  “You don’t really think he’s capable of murder do you?”

  “I don’t know. I think we ought to at least consider the possibility.”

  Just then Anna and Kyle appeared and announced that they were hungry. We fought our way through the crowd, down to the cafeteria. I held a seat while Sharon got soft drinks and cookies.

  “You know,” I said while the kids blew straw wrappers at one another, “there’s the three thousand dollars to think about, as well. I hate to think ill of a friend, but we have to consider the possibility that Mona wasn’t squeaky clean herself. Most people simply do not have that amount of money in cash. Not unless they’re involved in something unsavory.”

  “Three thousand was not a lot of money to Mona.”

  “Sharon, three thousand dollars cash is a lot of money to anyone.”

  She sighed heavily.

  In truth, I had trouble imagining Mona involved in anything shadier than jay-walking. She had a strong, almost self-righteous sense of morality. Still, people sometimes find themselves backed into situations that aren’t of their choosing. “I think you should at least make note of the possibility on that chart of yours,” I said.

  “Mona was my friend. We’d known each other since college.”

  “And if she got herself in trouble of some kind, would that make her any less of a friend?”

  Sharon’s eyes met mine briefly, then she looked past me. “No,” she said, barely audible. “I guess not.” But she made no effort to retrieve the paper from her purse.

  We stared out the window in a gloomy silence. The sky was dark, the clouds low and thick. The rain was coming in torrents, as though someone had opened a large spigot in the sky.

  “Do we brave the elements,” I asked finally, “or wait for it to let up?”

  Sharon looked at her watch. “They’ll be closing soon. And it doesn’t look like the storm’s about to blow over.”

  When the kids had finished their snack, we wound our way up the narrow road to the car. It was rough going because the shoulder was muddy and we had to stay on the pavement. I was worried that oncoming cars would have difficulty seeing us in the dusk and heavy rain.

  “Whose idea was this anyway?” Sharon mumbled.

  “Yours,” I told her.

  “I was afraid of that.”

  Finally, drenched and spattered with mud, we made it to the car. “Look at that,” Sharon said in disgust. “You’ve got a flat.”

  I looked, and then looked again.

  What I had was four flats. And an uneasy, sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  Chapter 19

  My misgivings were confirmed half an hour later by the man from the auto club.

  “Looks like they was slashed,” he said, removing a fat, slimy cigar from his mouth. “No-account vandals are getting the upper hand, if you want my opinion. We ought to lock ’em all up and throw away the key.” He turned off the flashlight he’d used to check the damage, then stuck the cigar back into his mouth. “Can’t do nothing at this point but tow the car. Don’t imagine you’ll find a place to fix ’em at this hour though. You called the police yet?”

  I shook my head, pulling back to avoid a cloud of foul smelling smoke.

  “Better make a report, for insurance purposes. I’ll put in a call for you. We’ll give ’em fifteen minutes, then I got to take the car or leave. Sometimes the cops come out on these things, sometimes not. Depends.”

  He tramped off to his truck and I joined Sharon and the kids in the car. All of us were wet, but I was soaked clear through, and shivering. I turned the ignition and threw the heater on full blast.

  “I’m bored,” Anna complained.

  “I have to go to the bathroom,” Kyle said.

  “I can’t believe this,” Sharon muttered, “I really can’t.”

  A police car pulled up less than ten minutes later. Either it was a slow day for crime or the guy had been close by when the call came in. In either case, I was grateful. The man was thickset, with a jowly face and almost no neck. He took my name and license number, looked at his watch and wrote down the time. He didn’t even peek at the tires.

  “Aren’t you going to dust for fingerprints?” I asked, when it became evident he considered his job complete.

  “This isn’t the movies, lady.”

  “But somebody did this intentionally. It’s not like I ran over a set of steak knives, you know.”

  “Hey, I’m sorry about your car and all, but there’s no chance we’re going to find these goons. Stuff like this happens.”

  Sharon leaned over so she could speak through the open window. “This isn’t simple vandalism,” she said. “Kate’s name was in the newspaper, in connection with a murder.”

  The man didn’t even blink.

  “I don’t mean as a suspect,” Sharon hastened to add. “But she’s investigating. This thing with the tires could be related. You know, the killer trying to scare her off.”

  The man leaned closer to peer at Sharon. Water dripped from his hat onto my lap. “We get this kind of vandalism on a daily basis, ma’am. We got no shortage of murders, either, and I can’t recall a case where they were connected.”

  “He could have at least tried,” Sharon grumbled after he’d left.

  “Yeah,” Anna and Kyle muttered in unison. I was sure they hadn’t the foggiest notion what they were agreeing with since they’d been too busy accusing each other of hogging the heater vent to have listened to our conversation.

  Sharon folded her arms across her chest. “Stuff like that is what gives cops a bad name.”

  All things considered, I was just as happy the guy hadn’t put on a big production. The chances of anything turning up were pretty slim, and we’d have been stuck there in the middle of a cold, wet nowhere for hours.

  As it was, we didn’t get home until well past dark.

  The man from the auto club gave us a ride downtown where we caught BART back to Walnut Hills. We took a taxi from the station to Sharon’s, and then Sharon gave me a ride to Mona’s so I could pick up her car to use until mine was back in service. Although a Jag is a bit pretentious for my tastes, I thought I’d probably be able to adjust.

  Sharon wanted me to spend the night at her house, but what I needed more than company was a hot bath and the comfort of my own bed. I didn’t want to uproot Libby again either. Besides, I found simple, random vandalism the most logical explanation for what had happened. Hadn’t the policeman said he took similar reports daily?

  That line of thinking held me until I got into bed, where it crumbled abruptly in the liquid facelessness of night. What started as a small spark of worry, grew rapidly to full-fledged panic, and I didn’t fall asleep until the sky began to grow light the next morning.

  The telephone woke me. I reached for it
on the third ring, but Libby had already picked it up. When I recognized Gary’s voice, I placed the phone noiselessly back in its cradle. Why court trouble?

  By the time I dragged myself into the kitchen some time later, Anna and Libby had finished eating. Libby had made pancakes, although from the looks of the kitchen I had to assume it was something she didn’t do regularly. She was reading the Sunday comics, oblivious to the mess around her, while Anna licked the last of the syrup from her plate and Max watched with practiced patience.

  Libby looked up from the paper long enough to announce that she’d be spending the afternoon with Gary. “It’s his Sunday,” she explained, sounding bitter and resigned all at once.

  The sharp-edged fear of the night before had dulled into a sort of murky dread. I wondered briefly what Gary had been doing late yesterday afternoon. In all honesty though, I had trouble imagining him crouched in the rain and mud, clutching a knife.

  Libby left a little before lunch, subdued and unenthusiastic but less reluctant than I would have expected. The two-Sundays-a-month routine was apparently so well ingrained she didn’t question it. The fact that Gary had promised it would be just the two of them, without Bambi, was probably something of a selling point as well.

  Though the sky was still heavy and gray, and the ground damp, the rain had finally let up. I took Anna on her bicycle, and Max on his leash, and headed for the park. Anna rode while Max and I jogged along beside. It wasn’t the most efficient form of exercise, especially because Anna stopped peddling every time she started to talk, and Max preferred sniffing to trotting, but it was enough to partially clear my mind and raise my heartbeat. I was still breathing hard by the time we reached home.

  Bambi was coming down the front steps as we headed up.

  “Oh, you’re back,” she said. Her words were accompanied by a breathless and indecipherable laugh. “I just stopped by with a little something for Libby.”

  I yanked at Max, who seemed determined to wipe his muddy fur on Bambi’s white wool slacks. “She’s not here right now,” I said.

  Bambi laughed again. “I know. I thought it might be better if I dropped this off when she wasn’t around. It’s not much really, just a couple of tapes. Groups she likes.”

  She handed me a small package, then shifted her weight to her other foot and began twisting her engagement ring.

  Max was pulling at his leash and Bambi showed no sign of moving on. “Would you like to come in?” I asked finally.

  “Well, maybe. Just for a minute.”

  I wiped Max’s feet with an old towel I keep by the door for that purpose, then shut him in the kitchen. When I came back, Bambi was sitting on the couch, hands folded primly in her lap. Her eyes, however, were surveying the room as though she thought there might be a Rembrandt hidden amidst the clutter.

  “Would you like some coffee?” I asked.

  “No thanks. I just wanted to . . . you know, do something for Libby. I thought maybe it might help us be . . . like, friends.” Bambi had unnaturally long lashes and a small, Kewpie doll mouth that was set in an habitual pout.

  She turned toward me, jutting her bottom lip out even farther. “Libby doesn’t like me much I think.”

  “Under the circumstances that’s not too surprising.”

  She nodded. “I know. I’m sure Mona never said one nice thing about me in her entire life.”

  I cleared my throat. “That’s not quite what I meant.”

  “I never phoned her on Friday,” Bambi continued, oblivious to my attempt to set the record straight. “Really. I don’t know where Libby got the idea I did.”

  I shrugged. “It’s not important. There was apparently something about the conversation that made Libby think it was you.”

  Bambi’s flawless white skin grew paler. “Mona mentioned my name?”

  “No, it was more an impression Libby got.”

  “Well, it wasn’t me.” Bambi drew in a breath, swallowed, bit her lower lip. “Libby certainly didn’t mince words, did she? I’ve never been so humiliated in my life.”

  The woman reminded me of the way Anna gets when she’s in one of her snippety moods. “No one actually blames you for Mona’s death,” I said. “Libby was upset. It was her mother’s memorial service, after all. She needed to lash out at someone and you were the easiest target. In fact, if anything, I think she blames herself for her mother’s suicide.”

  “Of course, it may not have been suicide at all.” Bambi’s fingers tapped silently against her purse. “The paper said you had proof that it was murder.”

  Damn Susie anyway. Damn me and my big mouth. “Not proof. There were just a few considerations the police may have overlooked.”

  Bambi sat back, folded her hands and studied them. “I see.” She ran her tongue over her bottom lip. “What kind of considerations?”

  “Little stuff. The article is completely misleading.”

  “I see,” she said again. A long pause. “There’s nothing concrete, then?”

  “Right.”

  “Nothing which might imply a motive?”

  “No, nothing like that.”

  “And no list of suspects?”

  “No list of suspects.”

  Bambi’s eyes drifted from her hands to a spot over my shoulder. She hugged herself and gave a little laugh. “I guess it’s really no concern of mine anyway. It’s just that I hate to see Gary upset. And then with the wedding so close ... well, all this talk about murder is bound to put a damper on things.” She stood. “I guess I’d better be going.”

  “I’ll make sure Libby gets the package.”

  Bambi looked at me blankly for a moment, then nodded. “Oh that, yes. Thank you.”

  I headed out to the street with her to pick up the mail. As we walked down the driveway, she eyed the Jag. “That’s Mona’s car, isn’t it?”

  “Mine was ...” I started to explain, then thought to wonder where Bambi had been late yesterday afternoon. It was even harder to picture her crawling around in the wet and muck than Gary, but anything is possible. “Mine’s in the shop,” I said.

  Bambi nodded, her eyes still on the Jag. “She bought that car right after the divorce, you know. Raked Gary over the coals, then couldn’t wait to dangle her riches in front of his eyes.” The doll-like mouth grew tight. “Mona ended up with a lot more than she deserved.”

  “Gary went along with everything though. It was an out- of-court settlement, so he must have found it acceptable on some level.”

  Bambi turned and looked at me, then she shrugged. “Yeah. It would have cost a bundle to fight it out.”

  <><><>

  Later that afternoon, Michael showed up, unannounced, at my door.

  “You back already?” I asked, reluctantly extracting myself from a kiss that showed no sign of coming to an end.

  “I caught an early flight out.”

  “Good.” I pulled him into the house. “Just let me put these paints away and wash up.” The picture I’d envisioned in my mind was not the one taking shape on canvas.

  “I can’t stay,” Michael said. “I just stopped by on my way to the station.”

  “So you didn’t come back early in order to rush into my arms?”

  He grinned. “I came here first, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah, but you’re planning on rushing off again.” I was teasing him but I also felt genuine disappointment, which I tried my best to disguise. “Maybe you can come back later.” I gave him a sly smile. “For dessert.”

  “God, Kate, I love it when you beg.”

  I threw my paint rag at him and went to wash out my brushes. Michael followed. He leaned against the wall and tickled Max behind the ears.

  “How come you have to go into work on Sunday?” I asked.

  “I have an appointment with the captain.”

  I turned around, spraying water across the counter. “Oh, no. He’s angry about the story, after all.”

  Michael shook his head. “No. I mean he was, at first. But it tu
rns out you may have been right”

  “About what?”

  “All of it. We did a routine dusting for prints. Got a couple of good partials and a clean thumb print from the glass by the door. We don’t have a match yet, but if we ever nail down a suspect we’ll be able to run a comparison.”

  “Great.” Though the news hardly seemed enough to make the captain forget the biting words Susie had so publicly put in my mouth.

  “I had the guys take extra prints, if you’ll remember. And what’s really interesting is that the bottle of scotch and glass were completely clean.”

  I shrugged. “I’d hardly expect the burglar to take time out for a drink.”

  “That’s not what I meant. Most objects are covered with smudged prints. Very often we can’t get a clear one, but there are signs the thing’s been handled. The bottle and glass had nothing. They’d been wiped clean. And short of evidence pointing to a compulsive, overly fastidious cleaning lady, that usually means someone is trying to eliminate evidence. I’m not talking about the burglar either.”

  My breath caught in my throat. “You really think Mona might have been murdered?”

  “Looks like a distinct possibility. The lack of prints isn’t conclusive, but I’ve got the go-ahead to open an investigation. I’m hoping to prod the coroner’s office along, too.”

  Until now, the idea of Mona’s death being a murder had seemed somewhat abstract. I’d tossed ideas around with Sharon, made a mental list of suspects even, but somewhere in back of my mind it seemed pretty farfetched. Now, it hit me straight on, with the impact of an icy ocean wave. And then, before I had a chance to catch my breath, another thought rolled over me. If Mona had actually been murdered, and if my tires had not been an act of simple vandalism, then odds were, Mona’s killer had his eye on me. It was not a comforting thought.

  “What’s the matter?” Michael asked, catching the look on my face. “I thought you’d be pleased.”

  I leaned against the counter and started to tell him about my car. I hadn’t even got as far as the parking lots being full when I burst into tears.