We topped off the day with dinner at the Space Needle restaurant. Then, back at the convention center, I maneuvered the limo into a noticeable spot where everyone could see Danielle and her friends climb into it. They were gossipy at first, but by the time we were halfway to Vigland, most of the women were sprawled out asleep. At least one had a snore that sounded like a logger with a rusty chainsaw. There were also cross-currents of Eternity, White Diamonds, and Charlie.
The rain had let up by the time we got back to Vigland, although water still gleamed on the dark asphalt. I made the rounds to their various houses, getting out at each one to open the rear door of the limo. Fitz added an extra touch of gallantry by walking each woman to her door. Danielle clung to his arm like a blond leech.
The oldest of the women, whose name escaped me after this long day, lived out beyond Danielle, so we dropped Danielle off first and then took the other lady on home.
“I hope you enjoyed the trip,” I said when I helped her out of the limo. She used a cane, although she didn’t appear to depend on it heavily. Her house was an old but beautifully maintained Victorian, with gingerbread decoration all across the porch. A faint light shone through the leaded glass window on the front door. Fitz took her arm to walk her to the door.
“It was lovely trip,” she said. “I’ve only ridden in a limousine once before in my life. Thank you.”
I ducked inside the limo to make sure nothing had been left behind. Fitz moved her toward the door. A few steps away she planted her cane on the sidewalk and stopped.
“I wanted a chance to talk with you alone.” She spoke in what I think she thought was a whisper, but she was a little hard of hearing and spoke louder to compensate. “Danielle said you’re a private investigator working on that terrible murder of her neighbor.”
I realized then that the “whisper” was meant to keep me from hearing. Danielle had no doubt told her only that Fitz was working on the investigation.
Loyal Fitz set her straight. “Yes, Andi and I are both working on the case.”
I stepped out of the limo. She turned and eyed me doubtfully. “You’re an investigator?”
She was apparently willing to believe Fitz was, but I was questionable.
“Didn’t you ever read the Nancy Drew mysteries?” I asked.
“Yes, of course. Over and over.” Her face brightened with recognition. “Oh, that’s wonderful! I always wanted to be Nancy Drew. I used to write my own little mystery stories when I was a girl. If I didn’t like someone – pow! – they were dead in my next story.”
A good way for working off frustrations. Perhaps I should try it. The Blond Leech could meet any number of fatal complications in my story world.
“You’re both working undercover for the police?” Her nod of approval said my chauffeur’s uniform was a marvelous disguise.
“Actually, we operate in an unofficial capacity,” Fitz said.
“For who, then, if it’s not an official capacity?”
I didn’t know how to answer the question, but Fitz did.
“Justice,” he announced. Which was true, except the stentorian nobility of the word made me feel I should jump behind the limo and leap out in tights and cape, with an oversized J emblazoned across my chest. Although the momentary vision of my jiggly thighs in tights was enough to make me re-think that scenario.
The woman considered Fitz’s statement for a moment and apparently decided Justice was a suitable enough employer. “I don’t know if I should say anything. That’s why I haven’t mentioned it to anyone earlier. But I overheard something that’s bothered me ever since that woman was murdered.”
“Overheard it where?” I asked.
“At her house.” She looked around again. “I’m embarrassed about it, but I went to a couple of sessions with that so-called being from another dimension. I know Danielle did too, but she went only because of concern about the neighborhood, and I went because . . . well, I thought maybe there was something to it. I never told Danielle I did it.”
“I’m sure lots of people felt the same way,” Fitz said.
“Anyway, I got about halfway home from the session—”
“You were alone?” I asked.
“Oh yes. I don’t drive much these days, but I felt so foolish about going there that I drove myself that night. Anyway, as I said, I was about halfway home when I realized I’d left my jacket on a chair in Mary Beth’s house. So I turned around and went back. There was only one car still parked there when I arrived. I got out of my car and went to the front door. It was open. The room had gotten quite warm with all those people in it, which was why I’d taken off my jacket.”
This nice lady, whose name I now remembered was Amy, apparently didn’t intend to leave out any details. I resisted an urge to hurry her along.
Without hurrying her, Fitz said encouragingly, “You knocked or rang the bell?”
“I was going to, but then I realized the people inside weren’t just talking, they were arguing.” She paused. “Well, maybe that isn’t right either. I didn’t hear her say anything, just him. His back was to me, but I could hear him plain enough since he was practically yelling.”
“And he said—?” I prompted.
“He said, ‘You stay away from my daughter with your scheme, or you’re going to be sorry. Very sorry.’”
“This was someone who’d been at the session?” Fitz asked.
“No, he wasn’t there. He must have come after everyone left.”
“So you don’t know who he was?” I asked.
“Oh, I know who he was all right. I saw his face when he turned and headed for the door. It was Mr. McClay, that nice man who used to be at the bank and has been busy in so many things around town since he retired.” She paused. “Except he didn’t sound nice that night, not nice at all.”
“You took this to be an actual threat?” Fitz asked.
“Oh yes. He had his fist balled up like he was ready to punch her, and his face was red as a tomato. But I don’t know what he meant about staying away from his daughter, or what scheme he was talking about.”
We knew. The investment scam. “Did he see you when he came out the door?” I asked.
“I’m not sure. He practically ran over me, but I’m not sure he actually saw me. His eyes were kind of glazed, like Mary Beth’s were when Trafalgar was present. Except I was never convinced she wasn’t just putting on some big act,” she added hastily. “Anyway, he jumped in his car and took off like the devil was after him.”
Fitz and I exchanged glances. I knew we were thinking the same thing. If Anderson McClay had killed Mary Beth, and he knew Amy had heard him make the threat, her life might be in danger too.
“Did you go in and get your jacket?” Fitz asked.
“No, I decided I’d get it some other time. Although I never did, of course, because Mary Beth was murdered not long afterward. But ever since she was murdered I’ve been wondering, because Mr. McClay was so very angry that night, if maybe. . .” Her voice drifted off, as if she didn’t want to say the actual words.
I said them for her. “If he killed her?”
“But I can’t really think he did it! He’s such a nice man. There was a mixup with my account at the bank one time, and he took care of it personally. So I haven’t wanted to say anything about this and make trouble for him.”
“That’s understandable,” Fitz said.
“I’ve also kept telling myself maybe I misunderstood what he said. That maybe he was just sorry about something to do with his daughter.” She gave an unhappy sigh. “But that isn’t true. I know exactly what he said. He threatened Mary Beth.”
“I think a detective from the sheriff’s office talked to some of the people who attended sessions, but not you?” I asked.
“No. Do you suppose I should contact them?” Her voice wavered, her reluctance to make that contact obvious.
“In the best interests of justice, I think you probably should,” Fitz said.
“B
ut, you know, something just occurred to me! Maybe he wasn’t physically threatening Mary Beth.” Her worried expression brightened under the street light. She waved the cane as if it were a magic wand. “Maybe he was just warning her that he’d get a lawyer and make trouble for her that way. Bankers and lawyers are thick as thieves, you know.”
I was sorry this thought had occurred to her. I suspected she’d use it to justify not contacting the authorities about what she’d heard.
“I think it’s important the sheriff’s department knows about this. You might be a vital cog in solving the case. Ask for Detective Molino when you call. He’s very competent and helpful.” When she still looked as if calling Detective Molino rated right up there with appearing in a bikini at a Culture Club meeting, I added, “Or we’ll be glad to take you in anytime to talk to him.”
“Well, umm, thank you. I’ll think about that.”
Like I think about cleaning out the storage shelves in my garage, or doing pilates to firm up my thighs, and probably with the same possibility of actually doing it.
“I hope you won’t think this too personal a question, but it does pertain to our investigation of the case,” Fitz said. “Did you recently inherit money or property?”
Amy’s chin lifted in surprise, and the crispness of her answer suggested she was not a woman who fell for some telemarketer’s nosy questions . “No, my husband’s been dead for almost ten years.”
“Did Mary Beth – or Trafalgar – invite you for personal sessions with him?”
“No.”
“One more question,” I said. “How did you happen to attend the group sessions? Did Mary Beth invite you?”
“No, a woman who comes in and cleans for me once a week mentioned them. She said Trafalgar gave her good advice about some problems with her daughter.”
Amy didn’t now offer to explain what advice or information she’d hoped to get from the entity, and I didn’t ask. But she’d said enough that we knew she was not one of Mary Beth’s chosen targets for the investment scam. Mary Beth had just grabbed whatever “love gift” Amy had to offer and let it go at that.
“Thanks. We appreciate the information.”
“Don’t mention what I’ve said to Danielle, please. I wouldn’t want her to think I was a ratfink or something.”
Ratfink. Coming from this little lady, the word sounded as unlikely as a discussion about mud wrestling at the Culture Club. One of the wonders of television, perhaps.
“You’re not a ratfink,” Fitz assured her. “Just a responsible citizen who wants to do what’s right. For Justice.”
I repeated my earlier offer to help her make the decision to do that. “So you let us know when you want to go talk with Detective Molino.” I pulled out a business card and handed it to her, adding, as an extra inducement. “We’ll go in the limo. No charge.”
“Really?” That interested her, I could tell.
“It’s doing our part for Justice.”
Fitz walked her to the door and saw her safely inside. Back in the limo, we headed for my place.
“Do you think she’ll do it?” I asked.
“I think she may need some encouragement.”
I did too, which I’d give her in a few days. But in the meantime— “Do you think she’s in danger from McClay?”
“Not if he’s innocent.”
Which was the big question, of course.
“I’d gotten to the point where I was almost certain Sloan Delaney was the killer. But now I’m kind of leaning toward Anderson McClay,” I said.
Although the situation was really what Fitz had said some time ago: everyone’s a suspect.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Back home, Fitz dished up ice cream while I changed out of my uniform and showered. India’s light was still on, so we invited her over to join us. I’d never said anything to Fitz about what India had told me about her past. I figured if she wanted him to know, she’d tell him sometime. She was in good spirits tonight. She’d figured out a tricky point on the website, which was still cyberspace voodoo to me.
While eating the caramel pecan ice cream, we discussed the latest revelation from Culture Club Amy and whether we should report it to Detective Molino. We finally concluded that we should give Amy a chance to do it herself first, that it would carry more weight coming direct from her, and what we should do was find out if the McClays had ever returned home. I’d doubted earlier that their leaving right after Mary Beth’s murder was innocent coincidence, although I’d set that aside in my stronger suspicion of Slick Sloan’s guilt. But now, knowing that Anderson McClay had actually threatened Mary Beth, my original suspicions about him expanded, especially since he’d withdrawn from the commissioner’s race. Mary Beth’s interest in politics also suggested some personal connection with then candidate McClay. All of which led to a definite concern about Amy’s safety.
After dinner, I looked up the McClays’ number. While I was still trying to think of some way to open a conversation with them, Fitz, more comfortable with winging it than I was, dialed the number. Phreddie rumbled his disapproval at the action that disturbed his comfortable position draped around Fitz’s neck. Fitz listened a moment, then hung up.
“Answering machine.” He soothed Phreddie with a stroke along his back.
“Which may or may not mean they’re still out of town,” India said. “Maybe we need to talk to the daughter.”
India had managed to locate the daughter’s name on the internet, and I now found her in the phone book. I knew she wasn’t going to talk to me after that last conversation with her about the sunglasses left in the limo. Then, remembering Annabelle had said the daughter had a hair salon, sudden inspiration. “Who needs to get their hair styled?”
I looked between them. India’s blonde hair was tied up in a loose ponytail, as usual. I’d been trimming Fitz’s thinning gray hair for him lately, and it was in good shape now. His mustache came and went, according to his mood, and he trimmed it himself. They both looked blank at what they apparently considered my strange change of subject.
“You’re offering something new? Andi’s Limouzeen and Hairstyling Service?” Fitz inquired. “In all honesty, I don’t think it’ll fly.”
I made a face at him. “Don’t be too sure. You can promote almost anything on the Internet. But in this particular case, I’m referring to the fact that I think Anderson McClay’s daughter works in or owns a hair salon. One of us could make an appointment for a cut or style or something, and then see what information we could get out of her in a casual conversation.”
India pulled the ponytail out to the side of her head and scrunched her neck to look sideways at it. “I haven’t been to a beauty shop in five years.” Unsaid was the fact that she apparently saw no need to break that record now. “Connor always cut it for me with manicure scissors, and I’ve just kept doing that.”
A biker wielding manicure scissors. When India dumped her first husband’s brand of high living, which no doubt included hair styling at several hundred dollars per whack, she’d gone all the way. Though not even a ragged hairdo could take away the hint of elegance that clung to her like the beauty crowns she’d once worn.
I looked to Fitz, who shook his head. “I don’t go to any place that does hair styling instead of plain ol’ cutting. Besides, I like the barber I have.” He looked at me and winked.
Which left only one member of this trio. “I suppose I could have my Cinnamon Sunrise coloring professionally applied for a change. Or maybe I’ll go for a real change and become a platinum blonde.”
They both looked at me thoughtfully.
“Okay,” Fitz said.
India nodded. “Okay.”
Big help they were. Both of them knowing I’d made the statement facetiously and would no more become a platinum blonde than I’d use the limo for drag racing.
“That’s settled then,” Fitz said. “You’re our inside investigator.”
“Victim,” I muttered.
He ignored that. “Now all we have to do is find out which hair salon she’s in.”
We went through the listings in the yellow pages but didn’t find anything helpful. Some were identified by a person’s name: Beth’s Hair Magic. Sue’s Fashion Clips. But there was no Megan name listed. Others were totally unrevealing, with names such as Hair Extravaganza and Your Luminous Mane. We decided that next morning I’d start calling the shops. I’d ask for an appointment specifically with a Megan, and see if that turned up anything.
I hoped Megan wasn’t at Your Luminous Mane. I’m a little wary of any place that looks on my hair as a mane. Although I’ve heard that some stuff made for washing horse’s manes and tails is actually an excellent shampoo for human hair too.
“We’re making progress,” Fitz said when I closed the phone book. “You’ll find out if the McClays are back in town—”
The obvious problem suddenly hit me. “But she’ll recognize my name! She hung up on me on the phone when I started asking too many questions.”
“Obviously, you don’t tell her you’re from Andi’s Limouzeen Service, as you did on the phone, and you certainly don’t arrive in the limo.” Fitz said. “You give your name as Andalusia McConnell. She’ll never make the connection.”
“But if she does, I may come out with green hair. Or no hair at all!”
Fitz patted my hand. “I’ll love you anyway.”
I looked at him. This was the first time that big, four-letter word had jumped up between us. Sometimes the I miss you we always said sounded a little like a substitute version of I love you. But this statement of Fitz’s had the actual Word in it. Then I decided I was making a big deal about nothing. Given the context, this was just a flip slip of the tongue. I was undecided if I was relieved or disappointed with that conclusion.
For Whom the Limo Rolls Page 19