“Uh, I actually like mine black,” the young girl admitted.
Bert decided to drink her’s black as well. “Okay, but it’s pretty strong, just so you know.”
“Thanks,” Heebee said, taking the mug.
Bert sat down at the table, sipping her own coffee. While the first taste was like a whop in the face, the second was warming. She decided she liked this stuff. “So, I bet you were pretty surprised when you heard the news,” she said, easing into the conversation. If she jumped right to asking questions about Shay, it might look suspicious.
Thankfully, she didn’t have to.
“I wasn’t nearly upset as Shay was. That’s my boyfriend,” she reminded Bert.
“He was upset, huh?”
“Yeah, I can’t blame him. I think he and Samara used to date,” she admitted with a timid shrug.
“You think? Wouldn’t he tell you?” she asked.
“Oh, no he’s never said anything, and I’d never ask, but I could tell they’d had a history. I mean, Samara is older than me, closer to his age.”
“And how old is Shay?” She was afraid to ask.
“He’s twenty-two. But, he got quiet and mumbly, you know? Just like he couldn’t even talk he was so shocked. When I asked him if he was okay, he just sort of took off.”
“He left you downtown by yourself?” Bert gasped.
“It wasn’t a big deal. I’ve been downtown at night before and I don’t mind taking the bus.”
“He made you take the bus home?” She could hardly believe her ears. She disliked Shay already, but each new thing she heard about him the more she wanted to give him a good kick in the pants.
“Like I said. It wasn’t a big deal. I’m an adult. I can take care of myself,” she said, her tone growing a touch defensive. She brought her coffee up to her lips and sipped it. “Ooh, that is strong. Yummy.”
It was clear the girl was trying to steer away from the subject of her boyfriend and Bert decided to accommodate her. Pushing too hard caused people to close off. “Would you like a slice of pie?” she asked, sweetening the deal.
“Sounds lovely. What do you have?”
“Apple, Pecan, and Maple Nut.”
“I’ll try that last one you mentioned.”
“Great.” Getting to her feet, Bert headed into the kitchen and sliced a piece of yesterday’s pie and placed it on a plate. She quickly returned and set it in front of Heebee. “So, were you and Samara friends?”
Heebee, who’d just taken her first bite, vehemently shook her head. “No, she didn’t like me. Always ignored me and blew me off and stuff.”
“That’s not too surprising. That’s how she treated most everyone, I think.”
“Why?” she asked, taking another bite and looking at Bert. She was getting suspicious of all the questions.
“Oh, I thought you gals might be friends, is all. A lot of times two girlfriends will get hired at the same place.”
The young woman pushed her plate away half eaten as if she were no longer interested in it. Bert felt a pang of frustration, knowing she’d likely gone too far.
“All I know about Samara was that she was rich, rude, and stuck-up,” Heebee hissed, not sounding at all like herself. “All she cared about was what she wanted and bringing others down.” Standing bolt upright from the table, pie unfinished and coffee only half gone, she walked toward the door with her purse over her shoulder. “I have to get going. Tell Carla I stopped by,” she requested. She gave a small wave before disappearing out onto the street.
“Well, darn,” Bert sighed, pulling the plate close and taking a bite of the pie.
Could it be possible that Heebee knew about Shay and Samara? Bert knew it wasn’t out of the ordinary for a woman to instantly forgive the cheating man in the equation and blame the other woman—which was a terrible train of thought, but how things played out nonetheless. However, was it a motive enough for Heebee to kill Samara?
Or had Shay done it after breaking up with Samara (if the two had ever even been together) to keep her from pulling him back?
Bert sighed, feeling like she had more questions than answers again.
She reached across the table to grab the half-wasted cup of coffee and take it to the sink. However, before her hand touched it, she froze. Something on the side of the mug caught the light and Bert’s attention.
Planted right there on the side of the cup was Heebee’s thumbprint.
Bert knew how she could use the key to help her pin down the real killer.
CHAPTER 13
Using a handkerchief, Bert dumped out the mug Heebee had been drinking from and then placed it into a plastic bag and carried it upstairs. She set it on the table next to the key which she hadn’t moved from its spot.
Heading to her small desk in the nook of her living room beside the flat screen TV and entertainment center, Bert opened her laptop and got onto the internet. It only took her a few minutes of searching to learn how to lift fingerprints herself with a few simple items she had at home.
However, before jumping into her own make-shift version of crime scene investigation, she decided to dig a little deeper, just to make sure she was doing it one hundred percent correctly. She perused a few different tips and tricks for getting fingerprints and then moved onto the next and most important part of her research—how to examine and read the prints once she had them.
She knew they were no good to her if she smudged them or messed up the process. They were equaled useless if she couldn’t tell the differences between one fingerprint to the next.
Once she was done with all of that, she glanced at her watch and realized she’d been sitting there for over an hour and a half reading. It was getting close to eleven in the morning and she’d made little to no progress in getting Carla out of jail.
It was time to get to work.
Going into the kitchen, she got up on her stool and retrieved a box of cornstarch from off the top of the fridge and set it on the counter. Next, she went into the small hallway which led to her bedroom and opened the linen closet. The top shelf housed all her craft supplies that often went unused and untouched. She made a mental note to do a little crafting after this whole investigation was over and Carla was back to work like normal at Christmas in July. Removing a clear plastic tub, she dug around until she found some clear tape. She also brought out a piece of black construction paper.
Bringing the items back into the kitchen, she picked up the cornstarch, grabbed a flour sifter, and sat at the dining table.
“Let’s see if this works.” She stuck her tongue out to one side as if it would help her concentration. She decided to start with the key first. If she couldn’t get a print off that, this whole thing would turn out to be useless. Holding the sifter above the key, she poured a little cornstarch into the top and slowly shook it until there was a thin, even layer over the key. “Okay, now,” she whispered, grabbing the tape next and dispensing a short strip. Carefully and trying not to shake too much, she placed the tape over the key and gently pressed down.
Now was the moment of truth.
Grabbing just the tiny corner of the tape, she lifted it away from the key.
Left behind on the sticky side was a perfect white outline of someone’s thumbprint. “Yes,” she cried, feeling like her little experiment was a success. She placed the fresh print sticky side down on the black paper so that it stood out more easily in contrast.
Next, she carefully removed the mug from the plastic baggie she’d stored it in. Setting it on its side, she went to work doing the same process she’d completed on the key. The round shape of the mug made it a little harder to get an even coat of cornstarch, but Bert persevered nonetheless. The fingerprint that came off on the tape wasn’t as complete, but good enough in her estimation.
Placing it side by side on the black paper, Bert leaned in close.
Without a magnifying glass, it was a touch difficult to make out the exact lines. However, based on her own opinion, the two
were already different enough to prove they didn’t match.
Sighing, she slumped back in her chair. This was more complicated than she originally thought. What if she wasn’t even comparing the correct prints? What if one was from a right hand and the other a left?
She only hoped that whoever’s print came off the key was from their dominant hand.
“What a mess,” she complained, looking at the dusty table and the junk on it.
If she wanted to really make this worthwhile, she’d need prints from other people connected to Samara or the shop.
So, who to start with?
Before she could make a definitive decision in that regard, her phone began to buzz. It was Sean, Carla’s brother. “Hey,” Bert answered.
“Hey, can you meet me for lunch right now?” he asked.
Bert checked her watch, only ten after eleven. “It’s a bit early for lunch still.”
“Brunch then. I want to talk.”
Bert hesitated, looking at the fingerprint chart she’d started. Maybe Sean could help her out by giving his opinion. “Okay,” she agreed. “Where do you want to meet?”
CHAPTER 14
Mornings in the Park with George was a trendy brunch spot in downtown Culver’s Hood. Unlike much of the downtown area, this restaurant was in a brand-new building with floor to ceiling windows and an open-air rooftop dining patio.
Bert never cared for the newest or most trendy spots in town. It attracted a much younger crowd most of the time, many of them artists and writers or the like, and she just felt out of place.
However, many professionals and suits who worked downtown also frequented these spots. It seemed Sean preferred this type of restaurant to the ones that Bert and Carla usually frequented.
For today, Bert would have to settle for Sean’s choice of restaurant. As she stepped inside the glass doorway of the building, her stomach growled like a wild animal, drawing the attention of a nearby diner who had been looking at the screen of a laptop. The girl chuckled, going back to her work, and Bert tried to ignore her.
She realized she hadn’t eaten at all that day except for some pie and was starving. The smell of fried potato hash, eggs, bacon, and an assortment of other delicious brunch foods came from the kitchen.
“Can I help you, ma’am?” the hostess asked with a smile.
“I’m meeting someone,” she mentioned.
“Sean?”
“That’s the one.”
“This way, please.” Following the hostess, Bert found herself on the rooftop patio where Sean sat waving from a corner table as he spotted her.
“Thanks,” Bert told the hostess, going and sitting down with him. “Hi, Sean. I’m sorry we have to have lunch under these types of circumstances.”
“Me, too. Hopefully, this whole thing gets worked out and Carla can be released,” he said, sipping from a glass of iced coffee he’d already ordered.
“She didn’t commit that murder.”
“I know that, and you know that, but does your buddy detective know that?” Sean bobbed his head, motioning with his chin across the patio.
Bert scrunched up her brow in confusion, turning in her seat to see Harry at a table across the way. He appeared to be chatting with another officer whom Bert didn’t readily recognize. “What are they doing here?” she asked, lowering her voice and hunching down not wanting to be seen.
Harry could be a real rocky personality when he wanted to be, and he’d been known to be a little jealous. In particular, Sean seemed to rub him the wrong way, what with his perfect head of silvery hair, chiseled jaw, and masculine physique for a man his age.
“I have no idea, but they were here when I was seated. Eating brunch with a fellow officer, I’d say.”
Bert wondered if they were discussing the case. She supposed the police had to eat, too, but how could Harry just leisurely enjoy brunch while Carla sat rotting in a jail cell?
“Luckily, he hasn’t noticed me,” Sean said, sipping his coffee.
She turned back to face Carla’s brother head on. “Did you get a lawyer?”
“Yeah, my own. He’s worked with me for years, helping me get my business set up, making changes to my business.”
Bert made a slight harrumph of distaste without meaning to.
“Something wrong?” he asked, blinking a few times in surprise.
“That doesn’t sound like a criminal lawyer.”
“Well, strictly speaking, he isn’t,” Sean admitted.
“Then how can you put him on Carla’s case?”
“Well, for one, he used to be a criminal lawyer. Unfortunately, he also has a bit of a queasy disposition and couldn’t stand some of the,” he paused, trying to find the right word, “gorier details that came with the job. So, he switched to business law.”
“I see,” Bert said, leaning back and folding her arms, feeling a tad more comfortable with the arrangement.
“In any case, just have a little faith in him. He’s good at his job, and not a half-bad criminal lawyer in his earlier days.”
“Hopefully, he still is.”
“The point is, my lawyer knows her. He knows she couldn’t have done this.” His eyes darted over toward Harry for a moment and then back to Bert. “As a matter of fact, I’d go as far to say that Detective Mannor knows she didn’t do this either. He’s probably just biding his time until he can catch the real killer.”
Bert’s nostrils flared, and her cheeks flushed as a hint of anger washed over her.
“You don’t agree?”
“I don’t know anymore. If he knows she is innocent, why arrest her?”
Sean shrugged. “He might not have had another choice if significant evidence pointed her way.”
“How can you know?”
“Well, he didn’t charge her with the murder, did he? He’s only holding her on suspicion for the moment. That means he’ll have to let her go soon if he doesn’t come up with anything against her. While we haven’t gotten along swimmingly in the past, I wouldn’t be surprised if Carla’s arrest isn’t a ploy to make the real killer comfortable.”
Bert gasped at the notion.
“Trust me. I have a gut feeling that this will all work out,” he said with a wink.
Bert hated to argue with him, wanting desperately to cling onto the hope he had for his sister and the case. That brought her to her next thought. “I actually think I might have something that could help clear her if we play our cards right.” Going on to explain about the key, as well as her at home tests, she couldn’t help but notice the way Sean’s look soured as she spoke. Hesitating, she leaned in and whispered to him, “is something wrong?”
“Bert, you need to tell the detective right now,” he ordered, pointing toward the table across the way.
“Wait, why? It could incriminate her more,” she argued.
“But you just said it might help clear her, didn’t you?” he demanded.
Bert felt flustered, stumbling over her own thoughts. She was sure Sean would agree with her, maybe even help find other fingerprints from other suspects. However, she was quickly beginning to realize that she’d been wrong in this regard.
Usually, she was extremely level headed and logical in these types of situations. In most cases, it was her calming Carla down or talking her out of silly choices.
She wasn’t used to being on the other side.
Before she could answer with an apology, Sean was on his feet.
“Where are you going?” she asked with a squeak in her voice she didn’t recognize.
He marched over to where the police sat, and Bert knew what was happening. Harry’s expression went from surprised, to irritated, to beet red with fury. His eyes scanned the patio and fell on her, burning into her skin.
It only took a second for Harry to get up to his feet and march over to her table. “Bert, come with me,” he said, pointing a rigid finger at the exit.
Her heart pounded a thousand miles a minute and her face was hot with anger, no
t only at Sean for telling the detective, not only with Harry for arresting her friend but at herself as well. How could she have been so foolish?
However, she couldn’t help but wonder—didn’t either of them believe in Carla? Did they really think she was capable of murder?
It just wasn’t her. Could Harry forgive her and accept that she’d thought she was acting in the best interest of her friend?
These were all the thoughts stampeding through her mind as she followed him down the stairs and into a secluded alcove of the restaurant near the bathrooms.
It took a moment for Harry to compose himself enough to speak. Even then, it was like his jaw was wired shut as his teeth never seemed to separate. “I should arrest you for withholding evidence and obstructing a police investigation. Maybe even tampering with evidence,” he snapped in a hushed tone as to not disturb the other diners.
“I’m sorry, Harry. I thought I could help.”
“How many times do I have to tell you to stay out of it? This is my job. This is police work.”
“I already said I’m sorry, Harry. But you know Carla didn’t, couldn’t, have done this.”
“Of course I know that,” he snapped.
This gave her pause, wondering if Sean had been right. Maybe it really was a ploy to try and catch the real killer. If so, had they informed Carla once they’d brought her in?
“Bert, you have no idea what you’re dealing with here. Who you’re dealing with.”
She didn’t respond, taking in what he’d just said. The word who stuck out to her. Could it be possible that this was all linked to something bigger?
She shuddered at the thought.
“We have a very specific procedure we’re following here, and I need you to stay out of it,” he ordered.
Bert could feel the tears welling up, threatening to spill out. She knew she’d made a mistake, but couldn’t he forgive her? She hoped he would. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, knowing it was all she could say.
“Now, give me the key and that paper you made. They’re likely useless to me now, but I should still take them in,” he insisted, holding out a hand for the items.
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