He lay on his stomach, his face hidden from me.
There was no doubt I’d be asked if I knew him. Too many bodies had appeared at my house—I knew the drill.
I nodded to a sergeant I recognized and went inside to wait for Anarchy.
Did I have time to change? Probably not. But a bathrobe over my nightgown would look better than the mink and galoshes I’d thrown on to run outside.
I climbed the stairs, put my gun back in the drawer, brushed my teeth, and ran a comb through my hair.
Ding dong.
My robe hung on a hook on the inside of my closet door. I grabbed it, jammed my arms through the sleeves, and tied the sash as I descended the stairs.
Max waited for me in the foyer.
I pulled open the door and my eyes filled with tears.
Tears I wasn’t expecting.
My chin quivered.
Anarchy stepped inside and closed the door. “Are you hurt?”
I shook my head. My throat was too thick to speak.
A tear spilled over the rim of my eye and wet my cheek. I wiped it away with the back of my hand.
“Let’s get you some coffee.” He took my hand and led me to the kitchen where Mr. Coffee waited with his full pot.
“Sit down.”
I rested on a stool while Anarchy reached into the cupboard, took out two coffee mugs (one of them my favorite), and poured. Then he opened the fridge, fetched the cream, and added the exact right amount to my mug.
He’d been watching, kept mental notes.
My heart fluttered. Of course, that might have been from the heaven-sent sensation of closing my hand around a warm mug.
He took the stool next to mine.
“Tell me.”
I told him about the smell of smoke in the house, Max and his growl, about the phone that didn’t work, and the return of Grace’s car. I told him about the croucher, the creeper, and the squeal of tires in the street.
He stood and picked up the receiver. “This line works fine.”
Of course it did.
“Are you okay for a minute?”
I tightened my grip on my mug and nodded.
“I’ll be right back.”
Max stayed with me.
“I don’t know why I’m so emotional,” I told him.
He cocked his head and stared at me with amber eyes. Their message was simple. Duh.
“It’s not like it’s the first time I’ve found a body.”
Duh.
“I’m just so tired of it. Libba never finds bodies.”
Duh.
“What did I do to deserve this?”
“Who are you talking to?” asked Anarchy.
“Max.” At least he hadn’t caught me talking to Mr. Coffee. Lots of people talked to their pets. I doubted there were many who conversed with their coffee makers.
“Your bedroom phone was unplugged.”
Chills crept up my arms like spiders. The stranger had been in my bedroom. Touched my belongings.
Ding dong.
“I’ll get that.” Anarchy strode into the hallway.
I watched him go then scowled at Max. “Some guard dog you are.”
The guard dog yawned.
I sipped my coffee and waited.
A moment later, Anarchy reappeared. “Are you up to going outside and taking a look?”
I nodded and rose from my stool. It was best to get this part over with.
I stopped at the hall closet and re-donned my coat and boots.
Together we stepped into my front yard.
There were lights, and uniformed officers, and Anarchy’s partner, Detective Peters, and a tight little cluster of neighbors at the bottom of the drive.
We walked toward Grace’s car and the body on the pavement.
Someone had turned the corpse over onto its back.
I saw the face and stumbled over a rock that wasn’t there.
Anarchy caught my elbow. “You know him?”
I knew him. “That’s Ray Smith.”
Sixteen
Long didn’t begin to describe the night I had. Interminable night. Endless night. Please-let-me-go-to-bed-if-only-for-a-few-hours night. Scare-me-half-to-death night.
Officers Collins and Pearson pulled into the driveway and climbed out of their cruiser. Their keep-the-crazy-lady-happy-or-Detective-Jones-will-have-our-asses looks had been replaced by sheepish, when-will-the-hammer-fall expressions.
When. Not if. Under their watch, someone had snuck into my home.
The sheepish officers and I led Anarchy on a second walk-through of the house. Still no one under the bed (Officer Collins got down on his hand and knees and checked). Still no one in the closets.
“Meat van’s here,” said Officer Pearson, who was searching behind the drapes (still no one there).
“The meat van?” I asked.
“The coroner’s van,” Anarchy said gently. “They’re taking the body away.”
I shuddered.
Anarchy gave Officer Pearson a look that would scare me into a week’s worth of wakefulness. “That will be all, officers.”
They practically ran for the door—especially Pearson.
When they were gone, Anarchy’s expression softened. “Ellison—”
Ding dong.
I was willing to ignore the bell if he was. “What?”
Ding dong.
“We’d better answer that.”
We descended the stairs and Anarchy opened the door.
Another policeman stood on the stoop. He looked at Anarchy and swallowed hard enough for his Adam’s apple to bob. “Mrs. Russell, would you please come outside and look in the car? We’d like to know what belongs to you.”
“Of course.” I put my mink and boots back on, trekked out to the front yard, and peered into Grace’s car.
Her key was in the ignition and a house key and a turquoise dyed rabbit foot hung from her keychain.
I should have thought about that house key when Jane stole the car. With it, anyone could gain entrance to my home.
The key was easily copied. Call the locksmith went to the top of my morning to-do list.
I leaned into the car. If anything, the interior looked cleaner than usual. A few eight-track cartridges littered the passenger seat floor. Elton John’s Greatest Hits, which I’d used for stuffing Grace’s Christmas stocking, peeked out from under Band on the Run and Heart like a Wheel. The tapes were joined by a Charleston Chew wrapper. “That’s not Grace’s.” I pointed to the wrapper. “Grace doesn’t like that candy. But, it could easily belong to one of her friends.” I stood up. “I don’t see anything that isn’t Grace’s.”
A tow-truck pulled into the driveway.
“What’s that for?” A sinking sensation in my stomach provided the answer. The police were taking Grace’s car as evidence. “Please don’t take this car.”
Detective Peters, who’d watched me inventory the contents of Grace’s car, actually smiled. Not a nice smile. Then he ignored my plea and waved the truck driver farther up the drive.
“Please don’t.” I wasn’t too proud to beg.
Detective Peters shrugged and his lips, barely visible under his mustache, twitched a second time. Anything that caused me consternation (except for murders he had to investigate) was a good thing.
Anarchy offered me a sympathetic grimace. His hand closed around mine for a half a second. But during that second, he squeezed. “We’ll get it back to you as soon as possible.”
If they took Grace’s car, she would drive mine. I’d be left with the defiled Mercedes. There was no other option. I wasn’t about to put my daughter behind the wheel of a car in which Prudence had—had played with Bruce’s gear shift.
The men stayed outside and supervised ho
oking Grace’s car to the tow truck. Unable to watch, I trudged inside and sought comfort from Mr. Coffee.
I cozied up next to him and whispered, “You wouldn’t take Grace’s car away.”
He quietly assured me he most definitely would not and then he gave me a fresh cup of coffee.
I could have kissed him.
Instead, I sat in the kitchen, stared into my coffee, and waited.
I sat in the living room, stared out the window at the activity in front of my house, and waited.
I sat in the family room, listlessly flipped through a magazine, and waited. Under other, better circumstances, I’d have been interested in Vogue. Margaux Hemingway was on the cover and she wore a peppy smile. Perhaps that’s why the headline next to her read “the great pepper-uppers.” My mind immediately went to pills, but Vogue promised two hundred and fifty different shoes, belts, bangles, and beads.
Brnng, brnng.
I looked up from my study of peppy pumps (at least according to Vogue). The clock read just after two.
Oh dear Lord.
With a trepidatious hand, I reached for the phone. “Hello.”
“Ellison?” Daddy’s voice was both worried and groggy. “Are you all right?”
“Are you?”
“Me?”
“You don’t sound like you.” He didn’t. He sounded sad and lonely and somehow diminished. He also sounded almost drugged. Mother had left him. And who knew how long her week away would stretch? His long-kept secret was a matter for family discussion (I for one hadn’t had time to process how I felt about an unknown sister). And, now someone had awakened him in the middle of the night.
He cleared his throat. “I haven’t been sleeping well so I took one of your mother’s pills. Then Marian Dixon rang the damn phone off the hook. She’s says the police are at your house.”
Marian Dixon. The spy across the street. “The police are here. But I’m fine. Grace is fine.”
“Thank God.” I could almost see him raking a hand through his white hair. “What happened?”
“Someone was shot in my front yard.”
“Who?” Did I detect a note of resignation in his voice?
“I’m not exactly sure. No one from our set.”
“What were they doing at your house?”
“As far as I can tell, they were returning Grace’s car.”
“What?” Now he sounded like Daddy, completely awake and ready to take charge.
“It’s a long story, Daddy. Perhaps—”
Beeeeep. “This is the operator. Will you accept an emergency breakthrough from Frances Walford?”
A few seconds passed while we considered the ramifications of Mother calling from California.
“You’re sure you’re safe?” The sad and lonely notes had returned to Daddy’s voice. “You’re sure you’re safe?”
“Half the police force is in my front yard.”
“Take your mother’s call—and Ellison—”
“Yes?”
“Tell her I miss her.”
“I will.”
“I love you, Daddy.”
“Love you too, sugar. I’ll be by first thing in the morning.”
I hung up but didn’t bother releasing the receiver.
Brnng, brnng.
I brought the phone to my ear. “Hello, Mother.”
“I can’t go out of town for even a few days.”
I swallowed a sigh. “Of course, you can. You did.”
“Don’t be smart with me, young lady.”
“Who called you?”
“Marian Dixon. She says your father isn’t answering his phone. You need to check on him. Right away.”
“He’s fine. I just got off the phone with him.”
“He’s fine?” Mother sounded almost disappointed.
“He misses you.”
“He said that?”
“He did. He sounds sad and lonely and lost.”
“He does?” Now she sounded worried.
“If you’re worried about him, you could always come home.”
“This trip was your idea.”
There was no arguing that point.
“What is happening at your house?” she demanded.
“Someone was shot in the front yard.”
Her response was a disgusted sigh. Mother had an enormous cross to bear. Having a daughter who attracted murders better than honey attracted flies wasn’t easy. “Who is it?”
“I’m not sure.” It was the truth. Sort of.
“So we don’t know them.”
“Definitely not.”
“What was this person doing at your house?”
I was hoping she wouldn’t ask me that. “They were skulking around Grace’s car.” Not exactly a lie. A sense of self-preservation prompted me to change the subject. “I found out who the ashes belong to.”
“You did?” In my mind’s eye, I could see Mother tilting her head. “Who?”
“Kay Starnes’ sister.”
“That can’t be right.” Now I could see her shaking her head. “Kay buried her sister. Your father and I missed the funeral to be with Sis and Marjorie.”
“I saw Kay at the club party tonight. She pulled me aside and admitted everything. She buried an empty box because Mary was in your front hall closet.”
“And she left her there?” Righteous indignation turned Mother’s usually well-modulated voice shrill. “Why?”
Mother wasn’t going to like my answer. I held the phone away from my ear and said, “She forgot.”
“She forgot?” Shriller still. So shrill that Max whined and covered his ears with his paws.
“That’s what she said.” Talking about ashes, no matter how high Mother’s pitch, was preferable to talking about the dead man I’d found next to Grace’s car. Definitely preferable to explaining I’d invited a stripper for an overnight and she’d stolen the car. “Kay’s going to call you.”
“Hmph.”
“Mother, it’s late.”
“I know, dear. It’s even late in California.”
“May we talk about this tomorrow?”
“I’m playing bridge tomorrow. Then golf. Then I’m having dinner with the Fowlers.”
“It sounds like you have a busy day planned. You need your rest.”
“It sounds to me like you want to get me off the phone.”
“I’m exhausted, Mother. All I want to do is lock the door and go to bed.”
“Fine. But you make sure someone spends the night there.” She considered her statement. “And by that I mean a patrol car in the driveway not a homicide detective in your house.”
“Got it.” Anarchy was too busy to spend the night on my couch. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Ellison.”
“Yes?”
“Be careful.”
Oh. Wow. My throat tightened. “I love you, too.”
I hung up the phone, leaned my head back and closed my eyes.
Brnng, brnng.
What now? Did Mother want me to deliver the ashes to Kay? Did Daddy want to hear about my conversation with Mother? I sighed. “Hello.”
“Stay out of this.” A man’s voice, rough with cigarettes and blurred by drink.
“Pardon me?”
“Stay out of this or you’ll never see that pretty daughter of yours again.”
My heart stopped beating. “Who is this?” More of a gasp than actual words.
“I’m the man who can make sure your daughter spends the rest of her days strung out on heroin with her legs spread for a line of johns.”
I dropped the phone as if the plastic casing had burned my hand. Then I fumbled in my lap for the receiver. “Who is this?”
There was no one on the line.
/> I lowered the phone from my ear and stared at the receiver in my hand as if a few pieces of metal covered in harvest gold plastic could explain the evil I’d just heard.
The blood that normally flowed to my head and my heart seemed to have moved elsewhere. To some other woman’s body.
The world spun.
“Ellison.”
Spun out of control.
“Ellison.” I heard my name from a great distance.
I raised my gaze from the phone. The simple movement required effort.
Anarchy knelt in front of me. “Ellison, what happened?”
He didn’t ask if I was all right. He could tell I wasn’t.
His fingers touched my cheek. “What can I get you?”
Two plane tickets to Paris.
“Someone just threatened Grace.”
“What did they say?”
Repeating the threat might make it real. I shook my head and tears welled in my eyes.
He took the phone from my shaking hands. “Where is she?”
“Donna’s.”
“Do you know the number?”
“It’s two in the morning.” We couldn’t call at two in the morning. We had to call at two in the morning. Donna’s mother, India, would forgive me. “The number is in the book.” I pointed to my desk.
Anarchy fetched my address book, found the number, dialed, and handed me the phone.
“Hello.” India sounded every bit as groggy as Daddy had.
“India, this is Ellison Russell. I am terribly sorry to call so late—so early— but we’ve had an incident at my house. Would you please check on Grace?”
“Of course. I’ll check on her now. Hold on.”
I waited, my nails cutting crescents into the palms of my hands.
“Ellison, she’s asleep in Donna’s room. Should I wake her?”
I exhaled. “I—”
Anarchy gestured for me to hand him the phone.
“India, Detective Jones would like to speak with you.” I gave the receiver to Anarchy.
“Ma’am, we’ll be sending a patrol car over to your house. Don’t be alarmed if you see the vehicle in your drive.”
He listened for a moment then said, “No, ma’am, you’re not in any danger.”
He listened for a moment then said, “I’ll put Mrs. Russell back on the line.”
SHADOW DANCING Page 17