by Mia Dymond
“True, but who hated her enough to kill her?”
“Dara was exactly right when she said her reviews were negative.”
“So, you’re using Dara’s evidence?”
“Screw you. I searched every paper I could find for the last two years — all negative.”
“Bad publicity sells.”
“Yeah, but I don’t think many authors thanked her.”
“How many are we talking?”
“Approximately one hundred, give or take a few.”
“Let’s back up.” Jackson steepled his fingers. “The perp obviously entered using the door. There were no prints on the front window, nor was it broken. That said, the bedroom window lacked prints and was also intact.”
“Several options of entry have crossed my mind. He either used an existing key, picked the lock, or he’s a helluva locksmith and cut a new key. Our next stop should be the Homeowners’ Association office.”
“Don’t be surprised if your girl’s already been there.”
“I told her to mind her own business.”
“And you really believe she took your advice?”
Inwardly, he knew that to be a negative and chose to redirect the conversation. “How soon can CSI contact a forensic locksmith?”
“As soon as we ask.” Jackson sat forward. “Hey Turner, think the captain would agree to bringing in Ryker?”
Mace only paused a second to process. Ryker Adams was one man they definitely needed on their team. The Rangers had trained him to be an expert tracker and even after retirement, the Master Sergeant used his skill to operate a successful security firm.
“Don’t see why not. I’ll give him a call. We’ll swing by the townhouse and let him look around before we crash the Homeowners Association.”
After only minutes of convincing Captain Bradley to add Ryker to the team, Mace and Jackson were back in the car, headed for Dara’s townhouse.
“I haven’t seen Ryker in a while,” Jackson said with a grin. “Wonder what he’s been up to.”
“Never can tell with Ryker. He’s probably been occupied rescuing another damsel in distress in some third world country.”
Jackson nodded. “Seems to be a lot of rescuing going around lately.”
“Come again?”
“You, for example. During the interrogation of a prime suspect of murder, you slide your hand across the table and grasp hers in comfort.”
“She was distraught. You said it, I comforted her.”
“You didn’t comfort Marnie.”
He gave his partner a hard stare. “Spit it out.”
“Don’t let your dick get in the middle of this investigation, Turner.”
“Not a problem.” He closed the subject with another glare. “What about Griffin Owens?”
“I think he’s worth another look. He eyed Dara like a steak dinner.”
“Agreed.”
“What about Georgette Swanson?”
“We don’t need to bother. I’m sure Dara and Marnie have all the information we need.” Mace pulled into a free parking space in front of the townhouse and pointed to a black truck parked at the curb. “There’s Ryker.”
They exited their vehicle and met Ryker halfway between the curb and the front door of the unit.
“You’re parked in a fire zone, Adams.” Mace extended a hand and grinned. “How the hell are you?”
Ryker returned the gesture and then extended the same to Jackson. “Great. Glad to meet up with you guys again. Fill me in.”
“Murder. The victim was a freelance book reviewer,” Mace explained as they approached the condo. “She was killed here, the home of one of the authors she reviewed on the day of the murder.”
Ryker whistled. “Is your suspect under surveillance?”
Jackson grinned. “Only Mace’s surveillance.”
“Oh man,” Ryker ran a hand through his wavy blond hair. “You’re doing a suspect?”
Mace tossed Jackson a menacing stare. “No! And besides, we’ve cleared her as a suspect.”
“I’ll fill you in later,” Jackson told Ryker.
Mace stuck the key in the lock and turned. “Take a deep breath of fresh air now, gentlemen, you’ll need it.”
As soon as he opened the door, the stench almost knocked him over. His stomach churned and he swallowed hard to keep his gag reflex in check.
Ryker slapped him on the back and pulled a cell phone from his pocket. “I won’t take long.”
Mace frowned and worked to pull air across his lungs. “Who are you calling?”
“No one. The camera on this baby is ten times better than any digital I own.”
“We have pictures taken by CSI,” Jackson told him.
“Rather take my own.” Ryker aimed the phone and clicked several times. “The CSI boys always miss something.”
Mace silently agreed. Ryker had an uncanny knack of finding the proverbial needle in the haystack. He just hoped the other man would take the pictures quickly so they could get the hell out.
Ryker made his way around the living area and then the kitchen, aiming and clicking picture after picture. Mace’s head swam and his stomach tilted until he thought he might pass out and by the time Ryker finished, he was seriously giving his career a second thought.
“That’s a wrap.” Ryker returned the phone to his pocket and Mace seriously considered giving him a huge bear hug as they headed back out of the unit and locked the door. “I scoped out the Homeowner’s Association office before you guys got here. It’s directly behind her unit.”
Mace scanned the area again as they walked to the office, hoping evidence would present itself. And, if luck was on his side, maybe the suspect would return to the scene of the crime.
“Any suspects?” Ryker asked as they opened the door to the office.
Mace nodded. “Hundreds, literally.”
“My kind of case.”
Jackson approached a desk and smiled at a tiny, gray-haired woman who sat there. “Excuse me, ma’am. I’m Detective Stewart.” He gestured with a hand at Mace and Ryker. “This is Detective Turner and Ryker Adams. We’re investigating the murder of Evelyn Wallace.”
“Oh my. Wasn’t that just awful? That poor woman. And Dara, the poor little thing. Finding a body in her home was such a traumatic experience.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Mace agreed. “Did you know the victim, Ms …..?”
“Where are my manners?” She stood and extended a hand. “Millicent Bridgewater. I take care of the office.”
Mace took her hand and then released it. “Did you know Ms. Wallace?”
“No, not at all. I’ve only read her work in the paper.”
“But you’re well-acquainted with Ms. Hamilton?”
“Yes, I’ve known Dara for several years. Lovely, lovely girl.”
“Where are the master keys kept, Ms. Bridgewater?”
“They are locked in a vault here behind the desk.”
“Does the vault remain locked?”
“Yes, it’s never opened unless there’s a need to use a master key.”
“Who’s responsible for unlocking it?”
“The vault is opened with a combination and I’m the only one who knows it.”
“Who opens it if you’re not available?”
“Only Mr. Buchanan, the chairman of the association.”
“Do you happen to know where he was the night of the murder?”
“Yes. He and his wife are celebrating their fortieth wedding anniversary. Currently, they’re in Africa on a safari.”
“And you?”
“Home, in bed with my husband.”
Mace pulled a card from his shirt pocket and handed it to her. “Thank you, Ms. Bridgewater. Please call me if you can think of anything else we should know.”
“I will, detective. Meanwhile, you boys find out who did this and lock them up good and tight.”
“We’ll do our best, ma’am.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Sunlight
peeked through the living room window of Marnie’s apartment, casting weird-shaped shadows over the furniture – shadows that normally wouldn’t have bothered her until she found a corpse in her own living room. Although she knew the cylinder shape resting near the sofa was simply the exaggerated outline of the vase on the coffee table, she still avoided it at all costs. Funny how murder made one paranoid.
“It won’t bite, Dara.”
Startled, she spun around and narrowed her gaze at her best friend. “Ha, ha.”
Marnie draped her arms across Dara’s shoulders and squeezed. “I’m sorry. You’re already familiar with my warped sense of humor.”
That made her grin. Thank God Marnie had an uncanny knack for taking the worst and spinning it into humor. “Yeah, I do.”
“So, what’s in store for us today?”
“We need to visit Georgette Swanson.”
Marnie groaned and mumbled something under her breath.
“What?” Dara frowned. “I thought you liked Georgette.”
“I do and her novels are awesome.”
“But?”
“She intimidates me.”
“Why?”
“Oh come on, Dara. She’s maybe a size two with breasts tight as a drum. She never has a hair out of place and her skin glows so brightly it’s noticeable through sunglasses.”
“True.” Dara giggled, silently agreeing wholeheartedly with Marnie’s sentiment. “But she’s as good as gold.”
“Do you think her review upset her enough to commit murder?”
“No. Evelyn’s throat was slit and your description proves that method is a little messy for Georgette. Besides, she’s female.”
“Then why should we bother her?”
Dara shrugged. “She might tell us something we don’t know about murder.”
“Maybe we should stop by the salon first.”
“No time.” She pushed her friend back toward the bedroom. “Don’t dawdle. Something tells me our two favorite detectives share our intellect and we need to be absolutely sure we get there first.”
“Fine,” Marnie groused, “but at least let me throw on some make-up.”
Thirty minutes later, Dara breathed a sigh of relief when Marnie parked her car in Georgette’s driveway, thankful that the cement slab was unoccupied by a Primrose Police Department vehicle.
She flipped down the visor in front of her seat and took a quick glance into the lighted mirror.
“What are you doing?” Marnie asked from the driver’s seat.
Dara gave her a cheeky grin. “Just checking.”
“At least it’s not just me,” her friend grumbled.
Dara tucked the visor back into place and then opened the door. “C’mon, let’s go.”
As soon as the door opened, she pushed all thoughts of appearance to the side, despite Georgette’s perfectly-styled hair, French manicured fingernails and stylish tank top and jeans. She could’ve sworn Marnie groaned under her breath.
“Dara! Marnie!” Georgette pulled both of them into a welcoming hug. “I’m so glad you called.”
Georgette swept them both inside the house, closed the door, and then led them into the living room. “I made a pot of tea, help yourselves.” She gestured at a silver tea service on the coffee table then took a chair opposite the sofa.
Dara couldn’t miss the bright pink color of her toenails. “Great color.”
Georgette giggled. “Roxanne just left.”
Dara mentally sighed. Of course her cosmetologist made house calls.
“Are you guys okay?” Georgette’s brow wrinkled, freshly-waxed no doubt.
“I’m good,” Marnie kicked off her sandals and tucked her bare feet under her. “Dara’s still jittery.”
“Of course.” Georgette nodded. “I would’ve had to be sedated.” Her bright blue eyes focused on Dara and then widened. “You’re not staying there, are you?”
“No, Mace hasn’t released the crime scene.”
“Mace?”
“Dara’s new squeeze,” Marnie drawled.
Dara shook her head. “Detective Turner is supposed to let me know when I can return.”
“You know Dara, this is great incentive for plotting.”
“So I’ve heard.” She bit her lip. “Do you know any viable suspects?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” Georgette shrugged. “Evelyn has quite a reputation.”
“I didn’t know her personally. Do you think maybe she was just misunderstood?”
“No.” Georgette’s eyes darkened and for half a second, Dara thought she saw the devil dance on her eyeballs.
Marnie leaned forward. “Do tell.”
“You remember Tom,” Georgette continued.
Dara nodded. “Your ex-husband.”
“Yes. Evelyn knew him intimately.”
Marnie’s jaw dropped. “No way.”
Georgette nodded. “Thus, the divorce. I got my review six weeks later.”
“It wasn’t pretty,” Dara mumbled.
“No,” Georgette agreed, “but it didn’t take long for her to turn her attention to someone else, both professionally and personally.”
Dara sighed. “Honestly Georgette, this murder is harder to plot than any novel I’ve ever written.”
“Murder 101 – look for suspects with a motive.” Georgette shrugged. “Problem is, there’s literally at least one hundred people with motive. Including you and me.”
“Exactly,” Dara agreed, “except I have an airtight alibi and I know for a fact you do too.”
Georgette smirked. “You’ve been surfing, haven’t you?”
“I saw the invitation to your podcast in my inbox. I’m sorry I missed it.”
“That’s the beauty of the Internet – it won’t be live, but you can catch it until the end of the month.”
“Maybe she had something on ole Tom,” Marnie suggested.
“That thought did cross my mind,” Georgette admitted, “but it doesn’t make any sense to believe Tom would kill her in Dara’s home.”
“Unless he meant to use the review to cast suspicion on her and off himself.”
“I don’t think so. Research tells me that whoever killed Evelyn probably knows Dara and her daily habits.”
“That’s just creepy, Georgette,” Dara mumbled.
“Sorry, but unless you’ve interacted with Tom socially, how would he have known you weren’t home at the time of the murder?”
“I’ve only dealt with Tom professionally. Besides, Tom has a reputation to uphold and surely the editor of the Primrose Daily Chronicle wouldn’t murder the woman who helped sell newspapers. Obviously whoever murdered Evelyn knew me too, but again, that could be scads of people.”
“We could narrow it down by those who knew and interacted with both of you but the suspects would still be numerous. The police have their work cut out for them.”
“I still can’t figure out how the killer entered my townhouse.”
“Plot it out, Dara. How would your villain do it?”
“The most suspenseful way would be to use a key.”
“Okay, so who has access to a key to your home?”
“Only Marnie and she was with me the whole night.”
“What about maintenance?”
“No, I own my house. Only the HOA has a spare.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“How accessible is the copy?”
“Not very. According to my housing contract, the extra keys are locked in a secured vault.”
“You know this for a fact?”
“Yes. I’ve locked myself out several times and once I had to wait three hours for Mrs. Bridgewater to return from having her hair done. She’s the only person with access.”
“Wow!” Georgette tapped her nails against her knee. “You’ve got amazing security. You’re exactly right when you say this is a difficult crime to plot.”
“I suck at it,” Marnie mumbled.
“It takes pra
ctice.” Georgette grinned. “He didn’t come through a window?”
“Nope. All locked.”
“Any fingerprints?”
“I have no idea. The detectives on the case won’t share information.”
“Even the one you call Mace?”
“Not you too, Georgette,” Dara groaned.
“Sounds like you need to do a little crime scene investigation on your own.”
Dara widened her eyes. “Yes, we do.”
“We?” Marnie squeaked.
“We.” She stood from the sofa. “Thank you, Georgette, you’ve been quite helpful.”
“You’re welcome.” Georgette stood and led Marnie and her to the front door. “Let me know what you find out,” she said as she opened it.
Dara nudged Marnie out into the dusky twilight and gave Georgette a grin over her shoulder. “You’ll be the first person I call.”
After an amazingly quiet, five-minute drive to her townhouse, Dara pulled into her parking space and glanced at Marnie.
“You okay over there?”
“I’m fine.” Marnie released a hard sigh. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Of course. Why not?”
Marnie bent her head and glanced out the front window of the car. “It’s dark.”
“So? I have a key. We’ll go inside and turn on the light.”
“Inside. Where we found a corpse.”
Dara paused to swallow her own uncertainty. Something told her poking around a crime scene was a whole lot more fun when one wrote it.
She put on a brave smile for her friend and opened the driver’s door. “C’mon, it’ll be fun.”
Marnie mumbled something she couldn’t quite understand but then again, she knew she probably didn’t want to know what was said.
When they finally stood at the front door, Marnie suddenly had a whole lot to say.
“Dara, it’s really creepy around here now. Are you sure you want to move back?”
She slid her key into the lock and jiggled it first to one side and then the other. “Who knows?” She frowned and turned the key again. “Maybe this whole bizarre situation will inspire a bestseller.”
Marnie released a heavy sigh. “We were kidding! Just open the door so we can get the heck out of here.”