by Jane Elzey
She climbed the stairs to her apartment and let herself in.
Sitting on the edge of her bed with her head in her hands and a cat on her lap, she knew Victor was content. She was not. Her head was full of questions.
It was clear the investigation into Zack’s death had turned from an unfortunate accident in a parking garage to something else entirely. Murder. Manslaughter. Something more than an accidental hit-and-run. The police interrogation had left her feeling vulnerable and betrayed.
Genna had recapped her interview, recounting her outburst at the detective as if she were playing charades. Zelda told them she fainted. Rian had shared nothing.
Something horrible had happened in that parking garage. Somehow, she had to find out what. Somehow, she had to find out who. And she needed to do that before they all landed in jail. It was bound to happen. It was just a matter of when.
The more she thought about it, the more troubled she felt. Someone would soon be arrested for Zack Carlisle’s death. Zelda had to be the first in line. And yet, if she looked at it from the detectives’ points of view, all four of them were suspects. Although she wasn’t anywhere near Zack on that fateful night, she had no proof otherwise. For that matter, neither did the others. No one could vouch for her whereabouts any more than she could vouch for theirs.
Was Zelda so angry with Zack that she stepped on the gas with murderous intent? Had they argued? Had sanity and reason been taken over by rage fueling her anger and bravado? It was possible.
She hated herself for thinking it.
Was Genna’s Mercedes involved? That would make sense why Genna said she hit a deer. She would say it to cover for Zelda. Genna always left the keys in the console of the Mercedes. It was a habit none of them could make her break. Zelda could have gone looking for Zack and found him. Then bam. Bump! Dead.
Shaking her head didn’t help shake the picture out of her mind. It only disturbed Victor and he rose, circled her lap, and then settled himself once more.
Genna might have encountered Zack on her way out of the garage. That seemed more likely given the timing. But would Genna kill for the insurance money? Somehow it didn’t seem likely. And yet, money was a motive, and there was a lot of money riding on Zack’s accidental death.
What if all three of them had set that plan in motion and drew Zack to his death?
A lump formed at the base of her throat and she swallowed it down. She touched the burn scar on her forehead. It happened so very long ago. And yet, she wondered if she would ever be able to leave it behind. She wanted to. She wanted to leave it in the past and let it go.
She wanted to let go of her fear of being left out. Excluded. Teased for being a frizzy redhead, or plump, or for the freckles that grew more plentiful in the sun. That, too, was a long time ago. A childhood ago. Still, those were the emotional buttons this memory pushed.
She fingered the peridot and diamond at her neck.
She hadn’t been teased by these friends. Not here and now. But she had been left out. Excluded. The pang touched her, even though the thought of what they did was evil beyond her imagination.
Moving into the kitchen, she filled the espresso pot and set it on the stove. At the window, waiting for the sound of steam behind her, she gazed at the scene below, at the bright green in the leaves, at the little creek, at the water tumbling over the jagged rocks.
Her world changed for the better when she wandered into Bluff Springs. Now she was the proud owner of the Cardboard Cottage & Company and its successful resident shops. She had three friends who felt like sisters.
It could disappear in a puff of smoke.
If she believed that, the police believed it. And if the police believed it, they were looking for proof. Unless she got there first.
“Unless I get there first,” she repeated out loud to no one, but Victor came to investigate anyway. He rubbed his head against her legs, swirled through them, and butted her shins. She reached down and stroked his back from the top of his head to the tip of his tail in one smooth stroke. He chirped a meow and lifted his head for more.
She had to do something. She had lied so easily about seeing Genna’s wrecked car. She had lied about seeing the deer. A big fat lie by Amy Sparks, thank you very much. And now she didn’t know what the real truth was and who was telling it.
She had to know who killed Zack Carlisle. And yet she was afraid to know. But if she was going to get at the truth, she’d have to do a little digging. And by digging, that meant snooping in other people’s business. The thought was both thrilling and terrifying.
She would follow in Zack’s footsteps the day he died.
She would find a way to follow him through his day until he met his end.
She wouldn’t let Zelda know what she was about to do. Like a spark of genius, the plan took hold. She dialed the Golden Moon Retreat, and with a familiar plea to Juno Moneta, she booked the top spa package.
Zelda would never refuse a day at the spa.
Chapter Thirteen
“Yo! Zelda! You missed points,” Genna said, pointing to the tiles just played. “We’re trying to let you win, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“My heart’s not in the game today,” Zelda said quietly. There were dark circles under her eyes. Amy noticed that one of her fingernails were bitten to the quick. Zelda had begged off the last two games, but Genna had insisted they play today.
“Your loss is my gain,” Genna said, scoring ten points from the mistake.
The dominoes splayed on the table like simple stitchwork. Amy poured another round of wine—a Pinot Grigio they bought at a San Joaquin Valley wine tasting and had four cases shipped home disguised as Omaha Steaks. Arkansas was dry in many counties. Shipping wine was as illegal as what Rian sold from the trunk of her car, although the antiquated laws were beginning to change.
Before the Cardboard Cottage & Company, the foursome took a trip together every year. Now, as shop owners, they closed the Cardboard Cottage & Company for two weeks in the winter when tourism was sketchy at its best and nonexistent when the weather took an icy turn.
The California wine country had been their destination last year. Memphis and the Jack Daniel’s distillery were part of their adventure the year before. Scotland was still down the road.
Amy glanced from one to the next. None of them seemed exuberant tonight, as if their trip to the police station had left them saddle sore, like a bumpy ride over terrain they didn’t want to cover.
“Remember when we were at that cute little boutique winery, and Zelda got so drunk she backed into a tray of wineglasses?” Amy asked. She hoped to brighten the mood.
Zelda huffed. “Thanks for the reminder. I remember when you got carsick on the train and threw up in your new three-hundred-dollar Coach bag. Tit for tat.”
“Don’t forget what happened on the Jack Daniel’s tour,” Rian said, grinning at Genna. “I can’t wait to see how well you behave on our scotch tour of Scotland if we ever get that far on our bucket list.”
Genna nodded and lit a cigarette. “You promised to take me even if I’m an urn of ashes by then.”
“I did,” Rian said. “I promised.”
“Where are we going next? I love our road trips,” Amy said. “It’s good Karma. C-a-r-m-a. Get it?”
Rian rolled her eyes.
“Where are we going next?” Genna asked. “I’m ready for a getaway.”
“Actually, I have a request for a seventies Cadillac. Convertible. Preferably brown. And I have a lead down near New Orleans.”
“Oh, yes,” Amy said. “We could do New Orleans.” Wherever they went, they would have a good time. The back seat would hold a basket of road food and wine and a little more wine in case they got lost in a dry county. After all, thirst was a terrible thing, according to Winston Churchill and four good friends who enjoyed their libations.
Rian’s vintage car trade made for a great excuse to travel. They never went for long, or far, but over the years they had taken road trips in vintage Thunderbirds and lightning-fast GTOs. She could just see them in a brown Cadillac, top down, tall sexy fins swimming down the road like a mermaid in water.
They were on their way to buy a Jaguar in Kansas City when a tornado touched down. They were only an hour over the Arkansas-Missouri border when the dark clouds overtook them. She would never forget that trip. None of them would ever forget it. They spent two days underground in an abandoned storm shelter. Two days with a basket of picnic foods and wine, and a friendship that deepened with every passing hour.
Amy reached for a nibble from the tapas plate. As the winner of the last game, she had provided the olive tapenade full of garlic and olive oil to spread on focaccia bread. Her courage was now boosted by the wine.
“I’ve been thinking about the four of us. I’ve been thinking about how close we are. I don’t know what I would do if we were not together like this. I don’t even want to think about something happening to keep us apart. And I would do anything for any of you. For any reason.”
Rian raised an eyebrow. “Anything?”
“I’d do anything to keep us out of jail.”
Genna burped. “That’s ominous-sounding.”
“Your burps are always ominous,” Rian shot back. “Like the creature from the black lagoon.”
Genna made a pinched face. “Some cultures not only consider belching a necessity but a compliment to the chef, as well. So Amy,” she said, turning from Rian to Amy, “my compliments. But why would any of us go to jail?”
Amy wanted the right words in her mouth before she spoke. It would be so easy to upset the applecart already leaning on three wheels. “I got the impression the police don’t believe it was an accident,” she said finally. “They think we all had something to do with it. And then I was thinking, too, that it was odd we were talking about it, and then it happened.”
“What is this it you keep referring to?” Genna demanded.
“Zelda said she wanted him gone. And now he is. And maybe if we stop keeping secrets from each other, we can get out of this mess before we all land in jail for murder.”
“What are you yammering about?” Genna said louder than necessary.
“I know what she’s getting at,” Zelda said quietly. Zelda’s eyes were on the dominoes in her hand, but it was apparent she wasn’t seeing them. “She believes I killed Zack.”
“No, I . . .”
“Then what do you think?” Zelda’s tone was sharper than she had ever heard her be.
“She thinks you ran him over with my Mercedes,” Genna added. “She thinks we dreamed up that story about hitting a buck.”
Amy’s anger flared at the accusations. “I want to know why you were all in Hot Springs and why I wasn’t. I want to know what was going on behind my back!”
“I was never in Hot Springs,” Rian hissed. “I was outside Hot Springs. I was out in the boondocks waiting for Zack to show up so he’d have weed for the weekend.”
“What’s eating you, Gilbert Grape?” Genna nudged Rian’s arm and then touched the sleeve of her purple-and-green plaid shirt. “No one’s accusing you of anything but bad taste.”
“They confiscated all of that anyway,” Zelda interrupted. “That’s one personal effect they didn’t give back to me.” She looked at Rian and said, “You were the last person to see him.”
“Me? Wait a minute. The last time I saw Zack, he was alive.”
“And how could you prove that?” Zelda asked pointedly. “If someone wanted to know.”
Rian stared at Zelda with dark eyes. Her tone was sharp. “You’ll have to take my word for it.”
Genna interjected, “And I was on the phone with Rian. That was right after I hit the deer.”
“What?” Rian turned to Genna in surprise.
“You remember. We talked about that, uh—oh, I don’t remember what we talked about. But we talked about it, whatever it was.”
Rian was quiet for a moment, her dark eyes scanning Genna’s.
“We talked about baseball,” Genna added with a smirk. “Your favorite subject.”
“And what time was that? Should anybody ask,” Amy added.
“Oh, for pity’s sake,” Genna yelped. “I don’t know what time it was! It was whatever time we need it to be. I may have been a little tipsy. Plus, I don’t like baseball, so I wasn’t listening. And, I don’t like all those deer that keep jumping out in front of my Mercedes!
“Amy, listen to me,” Genna continued, her face flushed. “None of us had a reason to run Zack over. Zip. Nada. Nil. That’s the story, no matter who is doing the telling. Or who is doing the asking. Not one of us had a motive nor opportunity to kill Zack. Even if that fat, stinky old copper thinks we did! Got it?”
“Except for me.” Zelda’s voice was barely audible. “I doubled Zack’s life insurance policy six months ago. He thought it was a good idea.”
“Why did you do that?” Amy asked.
“Protection against the odds. Zack was a horrible husband.”
“Holy cow.”
Capital D. A horrible husband and a horrible human being who someone wanted to kill. Someone wanted to put Zack out of their misery. And did. “Nach a Mool.”
Rian turned to face Amy. “Why do you always say that? You’re not Jewish.”
“I was raised by Jewish people from New Jersey.”
“I thought you were from Florida.”
“Florida is dominated by Jewish people from New Jersey.”
“You were raised Jewish? This is news to me,” said Genna.
“I spent a lot of time at my best friend’s house.”
“She was Jewish?”
“Her maid was Jewish.”
“What does that mean anyway?” Rian asked. “Snatch a mule? Knock a mule?”
“Nach a Mool. It’s Yiddish. It means ‘and so on and so on.’ Kind of like yada, yada, yada.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Of course you don’t. You’re Catholic.”
“Hail Mary,” Rian said and gently flicked a ladybug off her bare arm. She watched as it flew into her wineglass, grimaced, and fished it out with her fingertips. “This is getting messy.”
Amy agreed. “We have to stick together on this. The police are asking questions and we look guilty.”
“Guilty of not scoring points with these bones,” Genna said sharply. “And it’s your turn!”
Her smile felt empty. They were going around in circles. One minute it was certain they were in the clear, and the next minute the tracks got muddy. Didn’t she trust them? Didn’t they trust her?
The thought made her heart ache. Why couldn’t she just let it go?
Because there were too many secrets. Secrets getting uncovered leaving more secrets hidden. Because if they just left circumstances to chance, they might all wind up in jail for a crime of murder. She had a plan, and tomorrow, she would put it into action.
Chapter Fourteen
The day dawned sunny and full of possibilities. Pacing the floor with excitement and a twinge of guilt for the underhanded thing she was about to do, she waited until it was near time for Zelda to leave for the spa. Her appointment was at ten, and she had an hour’s drive. Zelda had, of course, tried to talk her into coming for a shared spa day. She had begged off with an excuse that seemed to satisfy Zelda without much effort. She sensed that Zelda was looking forward to some private time, under the warm capable hands of her favorite masseuse and a facial that would put her right with the world. Or as much right as could be achieved under the circumstances. While the gift was a distraction to get her out of the house, it was a good distraction, and Zelda deserved every spa-scented moment of it.
After pulling on a black shirt and sweatpa
nts, she laughed at herself in the mirror, looking like a thief about to burgle a museum. No need to be dramatic. She changed into her favorite carpenter-style jeans and a T-shirt. Both were far better suited for incognito in a nice neighborhood in the middle of the day. She belted her hair into a tight knot, stuck a screwdriver and a nail file in her pants pocket, and set out for her caper.
Within minutes she was parked behind the clubhouse at the end of Zelda’s street. Right on time, Zelda pulled out and turned west.
She slipped into the back yard and retrieved the key from the top of the electrical box. The house was quiet, and the shades were still drawn.
The envelope with Zack’s pocket items was on the desk in a spare room he used for his office. She unwound the string and peeked inside to find a wallet, keys, and an old-fashioned flip phone in a leather case. She opened the wallet and thumbed through the bills, all twenties.
She opened the cell phone, but the screen was black.
“Dead,” she said under her breath. She would have to charge it before she could access Zack’s calls. She ruffled the papers on the desk for the charger, opened the drawers, and scattered the contents with her fingers.
She spied the phone charger in the wall socket near a side table and plugged the phone in.
Now eyeing the file cabinet, she pulled at the drawers. All but one were unlocked. That one was the one drawer she needed to see.
After fishing out the keys from the envelope, she tried each one without success and then shoved them into her pocket. Now more than ever determined to get at the contents of the locked drawer, she stabbed at it with the nail file and then the screwdriver, making a mess of the paint around the lock. Apparently, only a key or a true thief could open it. She had neither.
There were two rings of keys in the desk drawer. There were loose keys scattered among the papers. Several had round cardboard tags attached. G94. L16. She remembered L91 and Rian’s interest in it. She had forgotten to ask about it yet again.