by Diane Weiner
“Maybe it was Antonio’s wife then.” Jody raised her eyebrows and emphasized the word wife. “Actually, I think it was that wacko parent Blaze Conrad.” She fanned her perfectly manicured nails out in front of her.
“You know, maybe it wasn’t even murder. She could have just dropped dead from a blood clot or something,” said Theresa.
“I don’t know. My money is on murder though. From what I hear, she deserved to die for some of the evil things she did to people.” Jody felt her face turn red.
“Wow, Jody, that’s not like you. You usually see the good in everyone.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” Jody sighed. “The stress has gotten to me. Let’s head out. I still have some wrapping to do.”
Chapter 12
“Come on, Lynette. I’ll drive,” said Jackson. He put on his jacket and tied his knitted scarf around his neck.
Jackson and Lynette got into the cruiser and rode downtown to the movie theater. The theater was old and smelled like damp towels mixed with stale popcorn. Paint was peeling off the walls in spots. They walked in and passed the glass concession stand with the overpriced Snow Caps and Raisinettes. When they approached the only person they saw who appeared to be past the legal drinking age, Jackson pulled out the photo he’d taken of Blaze Conrad.
“Excuse me, sir. We’re from the Westbrook Police Department.” Jackson flashed his badge. “We’re investigating a murder. We were wondering if you recognize this man.” He handed the photo to the young man who he assumed was the manager.
“I don’t recognize him but lots of people come through these doors. He may have been here. I can’t say for sure.”
“I understand,” said Jackson.
Lynette and Jackson then showed the picture to the girls working at the concession stand. One wore a Westbrook High sweatshirt. The other was dressed in a plaid flannel shirt. Lynette whispered in Jackson’s ear, “What ever happened to dressing appropriately for work? Didn’t their parents teach them anything about making a good impression?”
“We worked that night but I don’t remember him. I’ve usually got a good memory for faces,” said the one with the freckles. “At least that’s what my mom says.”
Next, they tried the teenager at the ticket window. “Do you remember seeing this man Monday night?” said Jackson. “He would have bought a ticket for the James Bond film. He was alone.” The popping of hot corn kernels and the buttery aroma emanating from the concession stand made Jackson’s stomach growl.
“No.” He paused. “Wait a minute. Did you say the James Bond film?”
“Yes,” replied Jackson.
“Well, that would have been impossible. The projector in that theater broke Sunday afternoon, right in the middle of the movie. We didn’t get it fixed till yesterday.”
“Thank you,” said Jackson. “You’ve been very helpful.” He smiled at Lynette.
Jackson and Lynette headed back to the car. “I say we pick him up,” said Jackson. “If he isn’t guilty, then why would he lie about where he was that night?”
“I know. He might as well have said he was alone watching TV. He had to know no one would have seen him at the movies,” said Lynette.
Jackson checked for Blaze’s address. The snow was falling a little harder now and the sky was smoky gray. They stopped back at the station to finish some paperwork. Lynette put on a fresh pot of coffee. A few hours later they knocked on Blaze’s door.
“I’m coming already.” Blaze looked through chain locked door and then opened it for them. “What are you doing here?” said Blaze. He was wearing jeans and a flannel shirt. There were toy cars on the floor near the television and a leapfrog learning pad on the coffee table, but judging from the quietness in the house, Ryan must have been either with his mom or at school.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Conrad. How are you doing today?” asked Jackson.
“Just dandy, thank you,” answered Blaze. The suspicion in his tone was obvious.
“I’m afraid you’ll need to come downtown with us for another round of questioning. You’ve become a person of interest in the Victoria Rogers murder case,” said Jackson. He pulled up his pants that kept slipping down beneath his belly.
“What kind of bull is that? I didn’t do nothing. What gives you the right to harass me?” said Blaze.
“We checked phone records. You called Mrs. Rogers’ cell phone half a dozen times in the week preceding the murder. Sandra, the school secretary, says you were in her office the day of the murder threatening to get even with her,” said Jackson.
“Yes, because I found new evidence proving that she knew about the molester. I was heading back to my lawyer with it. The school social worker told me that there had been a similar incident with another child. I was giving her one last chance to admit it before hiring a private investigator. That social worker, Miss Decker, wouldn’t give me a name.”
“We also checked your background and saw that you have a record for assault and battery.” Jackson puffed out his chest, proud that he’d uncovered that bit of info.
“That was fifteen years ago. It was just a frickin’ bar fight” He sounded as if his blood were boiling. “You people are just looking for a scapegoat. I know how it works. You want to show the public you solved this case so you grab the first easy target you can get your hands on.”
“Mr. Conrad,” said Jackson, “I strongly suggest you cooperate and perhaps speak to your lawyer.”
Chapter 13
How is it possible that two people generate so much laundry? Susan tossed the sheets and pillowcases into the hamper and brought in new ones from the linen closet. She loved the ‘country fresh fragrance’ of the new brand of detergent she’d bought. The sheets made her think of a day in a country garden––just like the commercial said. “Get down, Johann.” The cats didn’t mind jumping on the sheets while Susan was in the process of making the bed. They figured she’d work around them, and she usually did just that. Carolina called while she was smoothing out the blue and white bedspread that matched the color of the walls. Susan had read that painting your bedroom blue helped people sleep better. She could barely understand what Carolina was saying. Carolina was crying and talking simultaneously.
“Can you come over and help me go through some of my Mom’s things? I want to see if we can find anyone else who may have had a motive to kill her. I know it can’t be my dad. What if he goes to jail?”
Susan couldn’t say no to Carolina. She didn’t want her to have to cope with her Dad going to jail. What was that expression? Something about adding insult to an injury?
She was determined to find Vicky’s killer and give her some sort of closure.
“Calm down, honey. I’ll be over in about an hour,” she told Carolina. Mike came out of the shower just as she was hanging up.
“Oh, what a hunk,” said Susan.
“Aren’t you lucky to have me?” joked Mike. He quickly opened then closed his terry towel.
After thirty six years of marriage, Susan still thought he was a hottie. ‘They’d had their ups and downs but she couldn’t imagine life without him. That’s why she had a hard time believing you could get so angry with your spouse that you could murder him or her. Could Javier have really murdered Vicky? She squeezed Mike’s butt as he walked to the dresser. He reciprocated with a kiss.
“I’m going over to Carolina’s to look for clues.” She’d already shared her experience at Javier’s apartment.
“I think you should tell Lynette and let her handle this. You’re going to wind up in danger. If there’s a killer out there, he won’t appreciate you snooping around.”
“I’ll be fine. Besides, it’s not like I have a bunch of things on my ‘to do’ list. I want to help Carolina.”
“What time will you be back? Want to go out for dinner tonight? I’m craving Chinese.”
“Sounds like a plan. I’ll be back in plenty of time for dinner. I’ve even got a coupon for China Garden.”
Susan drove the sh
ort distance to Carolina’s house. At least the housekeeper was there today. She really didn’t understand why Javier hadn’t moved back into the house. Maybe he wanted the freedom to get drunk and lounge around without being subjected to the scrutiny of his daughter. She couldn’t imagine not being there for your child. She hadn’t been a perfect mother to Lynette and Evan but she sure had tried to do her best. It wasn’t always easy working full time and raising her own kids but she did it. Susan parked in the circular driveway, locked the car, and rang the doorbell. Carolina let her in. She gave her a hug.
“I’m going to find out who really killed my mom,” said Carolina. She’d obviously been crying but now her voice had a definite tone of determination. “I pulled out a box of photos and some folders full of papers from my mom’s bedroom. We can start there,” said Carolina.
Carolina spread the photos out on the coffee table. There were a lot to go through. “This is me at the debate tournament. I remember that day. I was trying extemp although I usually do oratory. I did terribly because I hadn’t brought in my own research. That’s the last debate tournament my mom will ever hear. I wish I’d done a better job.”
“Well, at least you’re human. It’s okay not to always be perfect,” said Susan.
“My mom was not happy. I know she was embarrassed. I can’t stand that she isn’t here with me anymore. I want her to see my tournaments, and my graduation. I want her to be there when I decide where I’m going to college.” Carolina began to sob.
“I know how hard this is. I wish I could take away the hurt. I’ll do everything I can to help solve your Mom’s murder.” She picked up a photo. “Where was this taken?” asked Susan.
“That’s Mom and Dad at a friend’s wedding. That’s the Roosevelt Mansion. The grounds are beautiful. We used to picnic there sometimes.” She picked up another handful of photos. “These are from last Christmas. After we opened presents, Mom and Dad had a huge fight. Dad stormed out. When he came back later he’d clearly been drinking.” After going through boxes of photos, Carolina pulled out some albums.
“These are from when she was younger,” said Carolina. They looked through her wedding album, albums from when Carolina was a baby, and albums of trips they’d taken as a family. Carolina looked so sad. Susan could tell that she was swallowing her tears. Then Carolina pulled out a leather-covered album from maybe twenty years ago. It was from before she was born.
“Look,” said Carolina. This is a picture of mom’s friend Kara, the one I got the letter from. “This must be at Kara’s house.” She showed Susan a picture of a woman maybe in her thirties with a teenage boy. The boy was gawky-looking and going through that pimply teenage cocoon stage, thought Susan. Kids go from being adorable to looking and acting like aliens from another planet. Then, sometime around when they go to college, they undergo a metamorphosis…sometimes. Carolina was lucky. She didn’t have a spot of acne on her olive skin and she was already beautiful inside and out. She reminded Susan of Lynette at that age, except Lynette was blonde and fair skinned. And Carolina was so quiet. Lynette had been rather mouthy.
“By the time I was old enough to know her, Mom had moved away from Ithaca to Westbrook and Kara was traveling a lot for her job. She was involved in some kind of missionary work. I only met her a few times.” The picture was taken in a country-style kitchen. Kara and her son were standing in front of a butcher block table. Kara was wearing a red and white gingham apron with an appliqué of a dog bone on the bodice. The auburn-haired boy was wearing tight jeans and a Jets jersey. His shaggy hair fell into his face. She could see by his expression that he’d wanted to be anywhere else but there.
“Let’s have some lunch,” suggested Carolina. “There’s lasagna that’s been in the freezer since the funeral. I haven’t had much of an appetite.” She popped two servings into the microwave.
“Thanks,” said Susan. “I’ll pour us some iced tea.”
“I have to know who did this to my Mom. It won’t bring her back, but at least I’ll know my Mom’s killer will suffer the consequences.”
“Carolina, you know how much I care about you. I will do everything in my power to get to the bottom of this. Let’s get back to work.”
“Let’s explore her bedroom,” suggested Carolina. Carolina led Susan up the stairs and into the expansive master bedroom. The floor was hard wood and covered with a red and gold oriental area rug. The bed was queen-sized; an antique four poster covered with a down comforter and enough pillows to supply a preschool class at naptime. Oddly enough, the bedposts had carved pineapples on the top. Susan did remember reading somewhere that pineapples were supposed to be a sign of hospitality. There was an antique rolled-top desk in the corner near the bed. Susan tried to open it but the top was locked.
“Do you have a key?” asked Susan.
“No. I didn’t even know she kept it locked.” Carolina searched the dresser drawers and jewelry box looking for a key. Meanwhile, Susan tried to pry it open with her hands. Carolina searched through shoe boxes on top of the closet but all she found were shoes.
“No luck,” she said.
“Me neither.” said Susan, “But I think maybe if we had a screw driver or something to pry it open with we may be able to open it.”
“My dad has a toolbox on the back porch. I’ll go look for one.”
“You know, your hands are more nimble than mine. You work on the lock and I’ll go get it.” Susan ran down the steps (this counted as cardio, right?), opened the sliding glass door, and stepped out onto the porch. It was freezing outside without a jacket. Then she stopped and bent down. I wonder where these footprints came from. They look recent. Maybe Araceli had come out here for some reason. Susan shivered and decided to get back to the task at hand. She rummaged through the toolbox but couldn’t find a single screwdriver. Then she went back into the kitchen, foraged through the silverware drawer, and grabbed a butter knife.
“This should do,” said Susan when she came back to the bedroom.
“I’ll give it a try,” said Carolina.
After working on it for a few minutes, the lock broke open. Cubbies were assigned to pens, pencils, stamps, and notepads. There was even a quaint letter opener placed neatly across the desktop. Susan couldn’t help comparing it to her own desk, which had piles of papers, old mail, and a can for scissors and glue sticks that were mostly dried out and useless.
“Your mom was very organized.”
“A place for everything and everything in its place. That was mom’s motto.” Then Carolina noticed a cell phone. “Mom had a different cell phone. It had a Burberry case. I don’t know whose this is.”
“Let’s turn it on.” Susan was surprised that it still held a charge. A picture of Vicky and Carolina appeared on the screen.
“What’s that?” asked Carolina.
“Well, this is strange. Let’s look through and see if we find anything useful. It may contain a clue,” said Susan. They began to go through the calls and messages. It became obvious that it did belong to Vicky.
“There are very few people in her contacts. Who did she list as boy toy?” said Carolina.
Susan snatched the phone from Carolina’s hand. She scrolled down and saw an entry for the Omni Hotel. The nearest Omni must be in Manhattan she thought. There certainly wasn’t one here in Westbrook. She also saw an entry for The Hilton. Then there was another cryptic listing––macho man. Looks like maybe there was another side to Vicky that no one knew about, thought Susan. She handed it back to Carolina.
“Can you find the messages?”
“Yes, here are her texts. This one is from October. It says, “Meet me at the bar in 10.” The reply says “Already waiting.” Later there’s one saying how much fun it was to be away from school and how much more fun she could expect. She answers, “You better be super careful that this stays between us.” Here’s another one from macho man: “You won’t get away with this. I’ll find you.” And this one says, I’ll always be your baby boy––can’t
wait till our next play date.
“That one from Macho Man sounds a bit ominous. I guess now I know my dad is a drunk and my mom was a slut. I don’t believe it. How much more can I take?” She started crying. Susan comforted her although she kind of agreed with the slut part. She herself couldn’t imagine cheating on Mike. Her heart ached for Carolina.
“She must have had her reasons, Carolina. She was still a great mom to you even if she wasn’t the best wife.” Susan put the phone down and looked through the papers that were neatly stacked on the desk.
“This is a restraining order against your dad.”
“I told you he was getting violent. She must have been worried that he’d hurt us, even though she kept reassuring me that he wasn’t a threat.”
Susan continued through the pile. “These look like divorce papers,” said Susan.
“I didn’t think it had gotten that far,” said Carolina. She looked down at the floor. Susan thought she saw a tear. “I guess we hit the jackpot.”
“Well, the impending divorce may have given your dad a stronger motive. I know he was jobless and counted on your mom’s paycheck. However, there was obviously a third party involved. It sounds like boy toy was rather angry. A fourth if you include macho man. And who is baby boy? Maybe they too had motives. I’m going to have to go to Lynette with this. I’m sorry, Carolina.”
“No, I knew that was probably going to happen. It was only a matter of time.”
Susan hated leaving Carolina. She looked so sad and so vulnerable. Maybe it wasn’t Javier after all. Maybe it was this newly discovered boyfriend. Or macho man. Or maybe it was Blaze Conrad. It was time to get Lynette up to speed with what they’d discovered––first thing in the morning. Right now she had a dinner date.
Chapter 14
Susan woke up early as usual. She hopped on the treadmill while she watched the morning news. I’ll use a little incline since I had that sweet and sour chicken last night, she thought. She hit a button and the treadmill rose slightly. She jacked up the volume on the TV so she could hear it above the sound of the motor.