At nine in the morning, Gianna? Think. Stop rambling.
“Oh, that’ll be fun, but why did you leave?” She sounds sincere, like she doesn’t know I saw her criminal brother.
“Um, I had to do something. I’m sorry. I probably should’ve called first anyway, in case you have company.”
She laughs. “Like who? Wesley’s at school. I don’t have a lot of friends. I’m on my way to look at more dresses, and Wesley’s sisters are all working. Do you want to join me?”
That’s a good idea. We’ll be in public, and I can try to squeeze some answers out of her.
“Sure. Do you want me to meet you somewhere?”
“You can, but I’m driving past the deli now. I can pick you up.”
I hear the sound of tires on gravel and look into my rearview mirror. Danielle pulls in behind me. My stomach tightens. That was fast. She must’ve left her place seconds after I did. My internal radar goes off. What does she actually want? I doubt it’s dress shopping or not just that.
“Maybe this is a bad time,” she says through the phone. “I saw you near my place while I was leaving and thought you could help. We could do lunch after. We don’t really know one another, yet we work sometimes closely together.”
I think of the bachelor party. Can I trust her though? It’s possible she doesn’t know her brother killed Emma, if he did. And it’s possible Danielle never felt jealous over Wesley and Emma’s closeness. But what if that’s not the case? Even if she doesn’t know the truth about her twin, how many women would not feel insecure in the other matter?
“I’m sorry,” she says. “You’re busy. We can do lunch or something another time.” Her car starts reversing.
“No, wait,” I shout into the phone while watching my opportunity back out. “I’ll be there in a second.” I hang up. Despite my reservations an opportunity to find solid evidence can’t be passed. I push aside any suspicions. I’m usually suspicious anyway.
I get into her car and immediately feel awkward. She must think I’m crazy to run from her place like that. “I’m sorry about earlier. I’m really not insane.”
She grins. “I don’t think that.” She looks flawless in a light gray pantsuit. Her hair is pulled back into a bun with several wavy tendrils framing her face.
My phone rings again. It’s Julian. I skip the call, toss the phone into my purse, and fasten my seatbelt.
“Someone you don’t want to talk to?” Danielle asks as she backs out and pulls onto Park Place.
“Yeah. My ex.”
“Relationships are hard.”
“Yes, but you’re lucky. Wesley seems awesome and completely in love with you.”
She smiles and color dots her cheeks. “I am lucky.” She drives several blocks and pulls into a gas station. “I need to fuel up.”
“Sure.” I don’t know what I was so nervous about. Regardless of who Daniel is, Danielle is nice, and when this is all over, maybe we can be friends. If she doesn’t hate me for turning in her brother.
She grabs her purse from the floor behind my seat and sets it on her lap. She rummages through, and after a moment or two, her movements become frantic. She leans over, looking behind my seat, and goes through her purse again.
“Problem?” I ask.
“I can’t find my wallet.” She gets out, goes around to open the back door, and searches everywhere. When she’s done, she gets back behind the wheel and sighs. “I must’ve left it at home.”
“I’d offer to pay for gas but…” I am beyond strapped.
“Oh no. It’s not a big deal. I’ll swing back and get it. It’s not like I can buy a dress on my good looks alone.” She giggles.
She turns around and drives to her apartment. When she pulls into her parking space, trepidation fills me. She opens her door, keys still in the ignition. “I’ll be right out.”
I nod and bite my lip.
She squints at me. “Are you okay? You can come in if you want, but I’ll only be a second.”
Is she trying to keep me out? Maybe going in and confronting her brother is best. No, that’s stupid, Gianna. Provoking Kevin is one thing. Confronting a murderer is suicide.
“Look, when I came by earlier, I saw a guy in your place.” I watch her reaction intently.
She looks to her apartment then back to me. “It’s not what you think. I’m not cheating on Wesley.”
I smile. “I don’t think that. I believe he’s your brother.”
She frowns and looks down at her lap. “You do? How do you know about him?”
I’m not sure how much I should tell her. If I directly accuse Daniel of Emma’s murder, she’s likely to push me away, and I still don’t have any proof. Sanchez may be reasonable or fair or whatever, but that planted hair is still incriminating. And even if Enzo is charming, I doubt he can be that convincing. It’s going to take more than just my word to get Sanchez to dig deeper.
I need evidence. I need to get inside that apartment and look for something tangible.
“I don’t,” I lie. “He, um, looks a lot like you. I assumed.” I can’t let her know Enzo’s been feeding me info. I won’t let anything jeopardize his job. It’s bad enough Julian knows.
She lets out a long breath. “You’re right. I have a brother. I kept him a secret because he hasn’t been a part of my life for many years. I have reasons to keep it that way, too.”
Like his criminal ways. “But he’s here now.”
She nods, staring out the windshield. “He came back, needing a place to stay for a few days, but he’s gone now. Left right before I called you.”
Damn, does that mean he took any evidence with him?
“Why did he leave?” I ask.
She shrugs. “I’m not even sure why he came back. He doesn’t talk much, and he definitely doesn’t share. Daniel’s always been quiet, reserved, depressed.”
I lay a hand on her arm. “I’m sorry, Danielle. I didn’t mean to pry.”
She smiles. “It’s fine. But I want to go shopping, so let me run inside real quick.”
Maybe I can still salvage this. “Do you mind if I use your bathroom?”
“No. Come in.”
We enter her apartment, and it smells like apple pie. Yum. It reminds me that I only had a banana for breakfast. “Do you bake?” I ask.
She points to a red candle in a glass jar on a rickety bookshelf. “I can barely boil water.”
We laugh, and she points to the left. “The bathroom is right through there. I think I left my wallet in the kitchen.”
We split up, but instead of going into the bathroom, I peek in the bedroom first. I don’t really have to pee. I’m just hoping I’ll see something quickly. I know I won’t. I need more time than what it takes to grab a wallet off the counter, but I’m not sure I’ll get another chance inside any time soon.
I turn on the bathroom light, shut the door from the outside, and tiptoe into her bedroom. There’s a full-size, hastily made bed, a couple of tables, and a small dresser. The room is neat, although Ma would have a fit if the sheets didn’t have hospital corners. There are a few things out—alarm clock, bottle of perfume, makeup bag, a small jewelry case, and a box of tissues—but none will prove Izzie’s innocence.
I head to the closet first. One, if Daniel left anything behind, it’s probably in there, and two, from this spot, Danielle can’t see me unless she steps all the way into her room.
Her closet is tidy—each article of clothing is perfectly spaced from the next one and looks pressed and hung evenly on the hanger. She cares about her brightly colored wardrobe. I wish I felt the same about my own. If I owned designer garb, I might. I’m not sure these are brand names, but they sure look like it. She owns a lot of maxi skirts too. With her height, she can pull it off.
I push aside several of them, checking out her shoe collection, hoping to find some manly remains, something that belonged to her brother. She doesn’t have that many pairs, which surprises me, but some women don’t love shoes. I notice
something shiny wedged into the back, right corner of the closet floor. I bend over, move a pair of black strappy sandals, and grab the item. I roll my eyes. It’s an empty, silver gum wrapper. Wow, that’s incriminating.
I stand straight and hear a soft whoosh. As I turn to see what it is, pain explodes from the back of my head, and then darkness…
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
I open my eyes and stare at beige fuzz. My head pounds, and something is stuffed in my nostrils and on my mouth. I blow at it and realize I’m face down on carpet. I roll onto my side with a heavy groan. I try to sit up, but the shoes and clothes in the closet sway. What the hell happened?
“Crap. You’re awake.”
I try to decipher the voice, but it sounds warped, and I think of Charlie Brown. And dogs. And spindly Christmas trees. And turkey. Gosh I’m starved, but I’m riding on a wave of nausea, so I doubt I can eat even if that was an option.
I roll onto my back and squint at the daylight pouring into the room. It seems to be the same brightness coming in from the same direction as before. Maybe I haven’t lost much time. “Wh—what’s going on?”
Someone kicks my foot. “You’re a meddling nosy body—that’s what’s going on.”
I burrow my chin in my chest and stare at the person ahead, but it’s hard to make out because he or she is moving so fast. Back and forth, back and forth. Pacing.
“You couldn’t just leave it all alone. Why do you care anyway? Because of your damn sister. It’s not my fault she was blamed. I had nothing to do with that.” The person stops and stares at me.
Danielle? Why? She’s helping her brother. Ugh, why didn’t I listen to my radar? Since when am I so trusting?
She walks to her dresser and jerks open a drawer. “I should’ve known it wouldn’t work. Everything I want goes to shit eventually. I don’t understand why I can’t keep something good.”
What is she mumbling about? I need to get out of here, but I can barely see straight. And what do I do if I make it to the door? Walk home? She’ll find me limping along the street in a nanosecond.
She sheds her jacket with her back to me. This is the time to try something, but the only weapons within my grasp are shoes. Even if I grab one, there isn’t enough space between us for her not to know what I’m up to. And what will I accomplish with a shoe? Stomp Danielle into submission? I have to try though. I can’t die here without fighting back.
I roll to my side again and reach into the closet. The closest shoes are a pair of brown, cowboy boots and the black, strappy sandals. There’s a small heel on them, but unless I gain direct access to an eye or her jugular, I doubt they’ll do any good. I grab them anyway.
A drawer slams shut and another opens. “All my hard work all these years. I can’t let it fall apart. I have to at least try and hold onto what’s mine.”
She must not notice my movements, so I take it one step farther and struggle into a sitting position, my back pressed against the open closet door. It creaks, and she turns around. One second she’s at the dresser, and the next she’s crouched down in my face.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Her breath smells like spearmint.
“My head hurts,” I whisper, hoping I sound more pathetic and weak than I feel.
“Aww, you poor baby. That wouldn’t have been necessary if you’d left me alone.” She points to the bed. Propped up against the side of it is a shovel.
She hit me with a damn shovel? I’m surprised I’m not dead.
“I was never good at baseball,” she says. “Got laughed at in school for not having a lot of upper body strength. You’re lucky I only hit you once so far. Unlike Emma. I had to make sure she was gone for good.”
I expect a crazy, toothy grin, but she actually looks upset.
She killed Emma? “Why?” I ask, continuing to use my inside voice.
She rolls her eyes. “Why do you think?” She stands straight and reaches into the closet and up to the top shelf.
That’s when I notice what she’s wearing. Jeans and a plaid shirt. The plaid shirt. So she’s dressing like her brother to what…kill me and dump my body somewhere? Did she go to the bars that night, dressed as her brother, already knowing she was going to kill Emma? She’s blaming poor Daniel for all of this? I blamed the wrong ass twin?
I consider kicking her, but really, what will that do?
“You said ‘so far.’ You plan on killing me too? Why, and why haven’t you done it yet?”
“You’re full of questions, huh?” She bends back down. This time her hair is pulled back off her face, and she’s wearing the Yankees’ cap.
I suck in a breath. I didn’t see their resemblance until now. Granted, I didn’t get a close look of Plaid Guy that night. The cap hid most of his face, but they’re the same height and have the same build. But nothing clicked when I first met Danielle. I feel so stupid.
“If I kill you with the shovel now, there are too many variables. I can’t kill you in the same manner I killed Emma. No one will believe your sister murdered you, and I can’t have the police reopen the case, so you must die another way. Maybe you can drown in the ocean.”
While I process her words, she stares at my eyes, mouth, and hair. It’s quite distracting. I almost tell her to take a picture; it’ll last longer. But I catch myself.
“You saw me that night. When you walked into Jolly saying you’re a clown I should’ve known you’d be trouble. I wanted to believe it was all a coincidence, but they don’t really exist, huh?”
“Why are you blaming this on your brother, Daniel? What’s he done to you?” I ask.
She smiles. “I’ll admit that’s a good assumption. False but good. Maybe I could’ve pulled it off for a while, but I would’ve had to tell Wesley I’ve been lying about my family. That they’re living their pathetic, phobic existence pretending they don’t have a child. But Wesley doesn’t like lies.”
What is she talking about? “How does he feel about murder?”
She ignores me and goes back to the dresser. “And then I’d have to be Daniel again, be a boy, and that’s not possible. I suffered too long as him.”
As him? She’s pretended to be her brother before? Maybe it’s a twin thing, like when they trade places. I’ve heard of that, but don’t the twins need to be identical to pull it off?
Something niggles in my brain.
Danielle doesn’t have a birth certificate. She didn’t appear until age twenty-two. Is that because she didn’t exist until then? Is Danielle Daniel?
“Daniel?” I ask softly.
Her head turns and drops, and she glances at me from the corner of her eye.
“You don’t have a brother,” I shout.
She places her hands on her hips but doesn’t look at me. “Pin a rose on your nose.”
Oh my God, I can’t believe it. Danielle is transgendered. That wouldn’t be shocking if she hadn’t been lying about it. “Why not tell the truth? And why kill Emma?”
She doesn’t answer me.
If I can keep her talking, maybe I can find a way out of this before she kills me. “No one will believe my death is an accident or suicide or whatever your plan is. I called my brother, the cop. He knows I’m here.”
She stares at me through the mirror hanging above the dresser. “That’s a lie. I was with you the whole time.”
“Look at my phone.” I’m hoping she’s not a clock-watcher so I can pretend my before call to him was actually made after.
She rummages through my purse and finds the phone while I curl my legs toward me, trying to get closer to standing. If she would turn away for a few moments, I might be able to get to my feet.
“Shit,” she whispers before tossing the phone onto her bed. She begins pacing again.
Suddenly beautiful, wonderful Emma appears. “Oh my,” she says after taking it all in.
I’m so relieved, I lean my head back against the door and start giggling. I’m still not a giggler, but it’s all I’m capable of at the moment.<
br />
“What’s so funny?” Danielle asks.
Emma squats by my side. “Are you okay?”
“Not really,” I say still laughing. “She killed you. And she’s about to kill me.”
Emma gasps.
Danielle stops pacing. “Why are you talking gibberish?”
Maybe if she thinks I’m delirious, she’ll pay me less attention.
“How can I help?” Emma asks, but I don’t have any answers for her.
She hovers over to Danielle and gets right in her face. “Why? Were you afraid Wesley and I were too close?”
I look into Danielle’s eyes and say, “Emma’s here. She wants to know why you killed her.”
Danielle smiles and then frowns. “You’re losing it.”
“No, really. She wants to know.”
Danielle rolls her eyes. “Fine. You won’t be around much longer anyway. It was because she learned my secret.”
Emma turns to me and shakes her head. “What secret?”
Danielle jerks open a drawer, looking for something. “Where are those sleeping pills?”
Oh crap. She’s planning on drugging me. I won’t be able to fight back then. I repeat Emma’s question.
Danielle sighs. “She saw the truth at our last party.”
Emma’s frown is deep. She looks as confused as I feel. “Our last party? I saw the pills in her purse. I can’t be dead because of pills.” Now she looks sick to her stomach.
“Emma walked in on you in the bathroom and saw birth control pills in your purse. But they were hormones, right? They were in a BC package, so she assumed. Surely that’s not worth someone’s death.”
“She saw more than that,” Danielle snaps. “Wait, how do you know what happened?”
I ignore the question. “What else did she see?” I ask.
“She and Wesley were very good friends, and I couldn’t have her blab. He’s such a good person. I don’t know what he saw in her. She had no morals.”
And killing someone makes you a good person? But I don’t say that in case Danielle grabs her favorite shovel again and decides to finish me off after all.
Jennifer Fischetto - Dead by the Numbers 01 - One Garish Ghost & Blueberry Peach Jam Page 20