“She doesn’t get anything if I end up in prison,” he said. “Making her one of the few people I don’t suspect at this point.”
My head was spinning. “Who do you suspect?”
He took a deep breath, presumably to recover from all of my rapid-fire questions. “All I know for sure is it’s far too coincidental to believe that Cathy Carter just happened to share the same initials as your stalker.”
“So you definitely think Cathy Carter was CC?”
“Had to be.”
“If so, she was the nicest, kindest heckler on the face of the planet.”
“Maybe she was Dr. Jekyll in person but Mr. Hyde at her keyboard.”
“It’s possible, but that would mean whoever killed her left threatening messages pretending to be her after the fact,” I said.
“Seemingly threatening messages.”
“Seemingly?”
“I really think the killer would have targeted you at Bargain Barn if that’s what he or she was really intending,” he said.
“Then why the warning on my car?”
“I believe the note was just supposed to scare you off from investigating any further,” Alan said. His expression was honest, genuine, and concerned but tinged orange from the reflection of his jail jumpsuit.
“It’s working,” I said.
“You can’t let it,” he whispered, clearly aware or at least suspicious we were being listened in on. “Because I also think Cathy Carter may have been killed because of, or on behalf of, Mrs. Frugalicious.”
“What do you mean? Why?”
“I’m not sure—maybe to ruin you on your big night?”
My stomach felt like a concrete mixer. “Alan, that’s basically the same theory you had about Bargain Barn, now applied to Mrs. Frugalicious.”
“Whoever killed her could also have done it to protect you from your crazy stalker, or, worse, maybe even frame you.”
“Twice in three months?” I asked, just like Detective McClarkey was probably saying from behind the glass. “Come on, Alan.”
“All I know is you show up at Bargain Barn with news cameras in tow and a pallet crushes your number-one naysayer,” Alan said. “I may have misapplied the facts to Bargain Barn at first, but I think we can both agree that there has to be a connection to you.”
My pulse, already racing, went into hyper drive. “Why?”
“Figure that out and we have the real killer.”
_____
“You heard Alan swear he’s innocent.” I said to Detective McClarkey as he escorted me across the parking lot.
“Yup.” He nodded. “Our prison system is overcrowded with innocent men and women.”
“So you’re saying you don’t believe anything he said?”
“I’m saying I’ll reserve judgment until we’ve checked everything out.”
“But you’re going to? Check it out?”
“I don’t expect to find anything but more evidence against him.”
“But what if Alan’s right and there’s a killer still on the loose?”
“We’ll be on it,” Detective McClarkey stopped at my car and eyed the back seat before opening the driver’s side door for me to slip inside. “In the meantime, how about you lay low this time and let us do the investigating?”
“No problem,” I said.
“It’ll only be a problem if you don’t,” he said, closing the door.
twenty-three
Was Alan Bader guilty and trying to deflect the focus from himself, or was he innocent, falsely-imprisoned, and correct that whoever had killed Cathy Carter, AKA Contrary Claire, AKA CC, was on some sort of twisted Mrs. Frugalicious mission the whole time?
As I drove home, I felt certain only that I was being followed, despite a lack of suspicious nondescript vehicles hovering two to three cars back. Alan’s new theory, or deflection or whatever it was, was definitely worrying me.
If he was right, the killer had to have known Cathy Carter was my cyber stalker CC.
Which still meant Alan remained the primary suspect.
But if he was right, it also meant someone else could have killed Cathy—either in some kind of misguided attempt to protect Mrs. Frugalicious, to frame me, to ruin my business, or for some other reason I was racking my brain to imagine.
Someone with a motive Alan Bader seemed to lack.
By the time I made my way into the house and managed to duck into my office for a few minutes before dinner, I already had a growing and increasingly distressing suspect list in mind.
I opened the spreadsheet entitled Alan Bader Guilty As Charged and removed the Alan Bader so the title became Guilty As Charged.
Leaving Alan’s name in the number one slot, I began to list everyone else I could think of who knew about my online stalker and was at Bargain Barn at the time of the accident.
Anastasia Chastain
Anastasia qualified as a suspect because she was at Bargain Barn, had definitely rerouted the Frugarmy line before the incident, and had left me with the cameraman for a supposed visit to the little girl’s room just before the pallet fell.
And, of course, there was her keen and ever-present interest in boosting ratings.
Death always boosted ratings, right?
Somehow though, I couldn’t see her taping our segment, rushing across the store, shimmying unnoticed across the upper storage shelves, killing Cathy Carter, and rejoining me to film the aftermath.
Not in the stilettos she was wearing that night, anyway.
The Piggledys
The Piggledys were at the store and knew about the existence of CC, but given that Mrs. Piggledy was injured as a result of the falling pallet and Mr. Piggledy was far too heavy to have climbed to the upper shelves, much less scrambled back down to his wife’s side in time, they were both innocent.
I put a line through their names.
L’Raine
L’Raine was certainly at the store shopping, and might well have known of the existence of CC, since she followed my blog, but given she was in the Frugarmy line at the time the pallet fell, she couldn’t be guilty. She’d also put one of the first calls into Griff, who was not only a cop, but her apparent love interest.
I put a line through her name as well.
Wendy Killian
Wendy from Here’s the Deal magazine was at Bargain Barn and likely knew about CC before Cathy Carter was killed since she also followed my blog, but what possible motive could she have to kill her then take on her identity? Besides, she was in the TV line at the time the pallet fell—a fact I could easily substantiate.
Which is where the real problem came in.
The one person I could most easily ask was also a suspect. He also happened to share a last name with the rest of the names I needed to add to my Guilty As Charged spreadsheet. Michaels. As in:
Craig Michaels
Craig—who knew about CC and just happened to volunteer to come along to Bargain Barn Thursday night—was purportedly in the TV line, but was then detained in the back of the store along with Wendy Killian right after the accident.
Frank Michaels
Where was Frank at the crucial moment?
Joyce Michaels
Hadn’t she asked Frank to meet up with her right beforehand?
Gerald Michaels
Despite not being all there, he had to have been somewhere when the pallet was pushed.
Barb Michaels
She was supposedly with Joyce, Frank, Gerald, and (I felt downright nauseous to add to my list) …
Eloise Michaels
As their random voices and general noise echoed through the house, the room felt like it was starting to spin.
Alan Bader had to be guilty because if he wasn’t, the Michaels’ family Thanksgiving convergence was starting to feel a lot
less like an oddly fortuitous coming together and a lot more like part of a bigger, increasingly disturbing plan.
Before I dabbed the sweat that had broken out across my forehead, or allowed myself to consider what that plan could possibly be, I picked up the phone and started to dial Anastasia.
I hung up before I finished pressing the numbers.
Since she was technically a suspect, I decided to wait to call her to ask about any possible (and possibly far-fetched) suspicions, at least until I’d confirmed Craig’s whereabouts at the time of the murder. He should have been with Wendy.
I didn’t dial Wendy but instead sent her what I hoped sounded like a friendly, non-urgent text with a please get back to me as soon as it’s convenient addendum.
Once she confirmed that she’d seen Craig at the time of the accident, I planned to ask Craig the same question. That would hopefully eliminate two names on my lengthy suspect list.
There was only one other person left that I could think of in the meantime who could shed some light on what was or wasn’t going on—if only in the form of police station chatter.
Griff.
“If it isn’t the South Metro PD’s newest interrogator,” he said by way of hello.
I was counting on the fact he’d not only heard about my visit, but all the latest station scuttlebutt in the aftermath of my meeting with Alan. “So, you heard I was there today?”
“And that you did a better job than a few of the seasoned pros around the station.”
“Really?”
“So good, you may get a call next time there’s an opening on the force.”
“But not good enough to get a confession out of Alan Bader,” I said as a pizza delivery truck pulled into the driveway. “He swears he’s innocent.”
“If I’ve learned one thing since I was hired,” Griff said, “it’s that they all swear they’re innocent.”
“You’re sounding more and more like Detective McClarkey.”
“He’s a smart guy.”
“But not always right,” I said.
“Are you saying you’ve been convinced that we’ve got the wrong guy?”
The doorbell rang and Frank and what sounded like Barb both called, “Got it!”
“Everything I’ve heard so far links Alan to the crime,” I whispered, as they passed the closed glass-paned doors to my office, “but the evidence seems too circumstantial, at least to me, to say for sure.
“I can—”
“Griff,” I said. “Please don’t say you can neither confirm nor deny.”
“I was going to say I can’t hear you very well,” he said. “But they wouldn’t have made an arrest unless there was some sort of solid evidence.”
“Which is?”
“All I know is they’ve sent that surveillance tape to a tech expert downtown to see about further enhancements.”
“That’s good,” I said. “The thing is, if it turns out it wasn’t Alan …”
“Who else could it logically be?” Griff asked.
I was weighing whether I should share my concerns and how much when I spotted a piece of paper wadded up in a temporarily empty planter that looked like, but wasn’t, a trash can.
“I’m not sure,” I said un-crinkling what appeared to be a reservation for a Mr. and Mrs. Gerald Michaels.
A reservation that originated in Los Angeles and ended not in Ft. Lauderdale with a connection in Denver, but flew nonstop from L.A. to Denver only.
“Hey, everyone!” Frank’s voice echoed through the house. “Last supper is served!”
twenty-four
“This pizza is to die for,” Joyce said, offering me a piece of Canadian bacon and pineapple.
Since I couldn’t be sure whether she meant figuratively or literally, I accepted the slice, set it down, and pushed the antipasto salad around on my plate instead.
Once again, I couldn’t quite fill Griff in on my worst suspicions. I trusted him implicitly, but if I were to tell him I feared my husband and maybe his family might well be involved in yet another situation, didn’t he, as an officer of the law, have the obligation to report my concerns to Detectives McClarkey and Ross?
And then what?
No. Alan had to be guilty. Simple as that.
But as I forced myself to try and eat a bite or two of salad, I couldn’t help but connect a few dots where the events of the weekend were concerned.
First, Craig begged his way into what was supposed to be our last Thanksgiving under one roof. Then, lo and behold, the cruise Gerald, Joyce, Barb, and her kids were supposed to take was cancelled, stranding them in Denver for the weekend.
A cruise they were never planning to take in the first place.
While it wasn’t exactly suspicious that Anastasia contacted me soon after to do a Black Friday weekend special for Channel Three, Frank’s unexpected eagerness to lend a hand definitely was. So was the enthusiasm of the Michaels clan, none of whom had shown any particular interest in Mrs. Frugalicious in the months since my alter ego came to light.
Why were they suddenly so eager to accompany me to Bargain Barn for my evening in the spotlight? An evening that included the murder of a person with the initials CC …
“Everything okay, Maddie?” Frank asked, wiping grease from the meat lover’s delight pizza off his chin.
No! I wanted to scream. I’m completely, utterly freaking out that Alan Bader could be innocent and you’re all guilty of …
The question was what?
Having been married to Frank for sixteen years, I knew the Michaelses were capable—individually, and as a group—of all sorts of shenanigans along the lines of a Thanksgiving coming together that was anything but an unexpected twist of fate. In the context of our marital woes, it even made some sense. Considering how much making up there was to be done on his part, I’d have called in reinforcements to help make my case if I were Frank, too.
You have Frank over a barrel. Joyce’s words rang through my head. No time for divorce.
“I’m fine,” I managed. “I think I’m just a little worn out after everything that’s happened today.”
“How could you not be?” Barb asked. “I mean, a memorial service, a TV appearance, and an unexpected arrest all in one day?”
“Not to mention that above-and-beyond condolence call to the Carter home,” Joyce added.
“I feel so badly for him,” I said, not mentioning I’d actually spent most of the afternoon down at the police station interrogating Alan Bader.
“How’s he doing?” FJ asked.
Alan? I almost said, but managed to mumble something about John Carter’s sad, shocked state instead.
“He’s gotta be a lot better now that his wife’s killer’s off the streets,” Trent said.
As heads bobbed in agreement, I still couldn’t completely shake the feeling that I was somehow in a scene from a horror movie where everyone nodded and smiled like zombies, pretending they weren’t involved in all manner of mayhem.
The fact was, every person at the table knew about CC—Frank and the kids knew for months. Frank had (with Anastasia) rearranged the path of the Frugarmy line inside Bargain Barn before everyone scattered to different points around the store just before the pallet fell.
Craig had begged off toward the TV line with plenty of time to find a remote corner of the store and weave his way over to the kitchen electronics section before the police conveniently kept him from joining us.
Instead of excusing myself to my room and barricading myself inside until I could figure out what was or wasn’t going on, I smiled and prayed no one but me could hear the thump of my heartbeat over the benign plinks, clinks, and chewing noises of the attractive, dark-haired, blue-eyed but suddenly more sinister than innocent Michaels family.
“Craig couldn’t join us for dinner tonight?” I asked.
/> “He’s out on another date with a woman he met at Bargain Barn,” Barb said.
My resident stomach butterflies began to take flight. “What’s her name?”
“I can’t remember,” Joyce said. “But he did say he was taking her out for the third night in a row.”
“L’Raine?”
“Sounds familiar,” Barb said.
“That blond, buxom gal Craig was chatting up right after they took Mrs. Piggledy to the hospital?” Frank asked.
“That’s Uncle Craig for you,” Trent said.
Everyone laughed but me.
If L’Raine was stepping out with Craig, didn’t I have the obligation as a friend to report my findings to Griff ?
“I still can’t believe he was trolling for dates in the middle of everything,” Eloise said.
“But wouldn’t it be something if he finds love again as a result of all this craziness?” Joyce asked.
“We’d be batting a thousand,” Gerald muttered between bites.
A meaningful, split-second glance passed from Joyce to her daughter.
“What he meant,” Barb quickly added, “was that with Frank and Maddie working things out and Craig meeting someone, there’s been a silver lining to the dark clouds that have hovered over this weekend.”
“Speaking of silver linings,” Frank said. “Anastasia offered to do a little subliminal real estate marketing for us and get a few interior and exterior shots of the house as long as they’re taping the Cyber Monday segment here.”
“Good idea,” Joyce said.
Gerald and Barb smiled in agreement like satisfied cats with bellies full of canary.
“Trent and I were thinking maybe we could be on camera shopping tomorrow,” FJ suggested.
“What?” I asked, trying to calm my monkey mind and focus on the conversation at hand.
“I mean, everyone else in the family has been on TV this weekend but us,” Trent said.
“The boys make a good point,” Frank said.
“And Eloise has been on twice,” FJ added.
“We could be on computers in the background pretending to buy stuff while you talk or whatever,” Trent said.
Black Thursday Page 17