“We figured he tried to do the same thing to Angelica,” I said, “then panicked when I walked in. So he dumped her body in the river to throw suspicion off himself.”
I took a bite of my sandwich before continuing. “But then we couldn’t figure out why he would want to kill the woman he was planning to marry,” I added. “Especially with cyanide, since that would implicate him in his wife’s death also.”
“We were so sure at first that Michael Black was the murderer,” Justin said. “But then things just didn’t add up, and now it seems like we’re back to square one.”
Uncle Bob washed down a bite of his sandwich with a drink of soda. “You’re right, Justin,” he said. “Something is not adding up. And this is not a game.”
He turned to me, his gaze defiant. “Denise,” he said. “I don’t want you to go into the diner again until we have this thing straightened out.”
I didn’t like that idea and I told him so. “But Uncle Bob,” I protested. “I’ll be around people there. No one would be stupid enough to try something in a crowd.” Some crowd, I thought. That would be a first for the diner.
He seemed to consider my plea, while he chewed another bite of his sandwich. “Okay,” he finally agreed. “We’ll do it another way. I’ll drive you to work and pick you up each day.”
I started to object, but he put up a hand. “I don’t think you should be alone until this guy is caught.”
I didn’t like that idea either. “If you keep driving me to work, it will look suspicious,” I complained. “Nobody knows I’m staying with you. But if you keep driving me to and from work, someone is going to figure it out.”
“Then I’ll pick you up,” Justin decided. He put his sandwich down and glanced at Uncle Bob for approval. “Is that okay?” he asked. “Unless she’s at the diner, she won’t be out of my sight for one minute.”
But I had another concern. “What about your car?” I asked him. “Whoever is doing this knows your car because he’s already tried to kill me once.”
Justin put his hand on mine. “It shouldn’t be a problem,” he said, warmth sparkling in his blue eyes. “We’ll only be going to and from work.” He glanced at Uncle Bob for reassurance. “And we’ll be in contact with your uncle the whole time.” He held up his cell phone. “I’ve still got mine even if you don’t.”
Uncle Bob pursed his lips, then nodded. “Okay,” he agreed. He turned to me. “Are we all in agreement then? Denise, you don’t risk being alone for any reason. Understood?”
I realized they wouldn’t take no for an answer. “Understood.”
As I lay in bed that night, in the musty spare bedroom, I weighed all the questions over in my mind. We were missing something. I knew it. The pieces of this puzzle didn’t fit together.
Lacing my fingers behind my head, I stared at the ceiling and thought back to the day I discovered the wallet beneath the table. Michael Black ordered pie and coffee, but he never touched it. And he had already left the diner when I returned to his table.
Then it suddenly hit me like a car out of control. If Mr. Black didn’t have his wallet when he left the diner, how did he pay for his meal? He would have needed that wallet when he left.
I bolted upright. Could this be the missing piece of the puzzle?
I continued my recollection of that horrible day. I remembered the red Toyota in the driveway at the back of the house and the blue station wagon in front. The back door was unlocked, making my entry a bit too convenient? I wondered. I was drawn into the living room by the flickering light of the television. That’s when I saw the woman I now knew as Angelica Belmont sitting with her eyes closed in a chair facing the television. Then she slid from the chair onto the floor. I was about to call the police, when I heard a noise from upstairs. Thinking I had walked in on a murder, I ran out as fast as I could.
What was I missing? I crossed my arms over my chest and rocked gently back and forth. How long had I waited before calling the police? I wondered. I remembered racing down the block, relieved to find that no one had followed me. How long had that been? Enough time for someone to remove Angelica’s body and leave in the red Toyota?
I swallowed hard as I relived the details of that frightening day. I remembered feeling relieved to learn that Mr. Winslow wasn’t around to harass me about being late for work. But it was still several minutes later before I heard the sirens, alerting me that the police had arrived.
Then it hit me like an electrical shock. I sucked in several deep breaths, trying to steady my increasing heart rate. Something that had been gnawing at me for some time finally came to light. Mr. Winslow asked me if I had returned the wallet to Michael Black! Retracing the steps leading up to his question, at no time did I recall telling him who the wallet belonged to. So how did he know the man’s name?
I did mention it to the operator when I asked for his number. I supposed Heather could have told him. But why would she?
During all my retracing of that day’s events, it seemed strange to me that one name kept popping up. Mr. Winslow told me to return the wallet. Mr. Winslow was not in the diner that morning when I arrived. And Mr. Winslow knew the name of a man I had never mentioned to him.
I couldn’t believe what I was thinking. Harry Winslow a cold-blooded killer?
It couldn’t be true. While he ran a tight ship with his business and employees, I couldn’t imagine him capable of murder.
And for what possible reason? I wondered. Was there a connection between my boss and Angelica Belmont that hadn’t come to light yet?
Too many questions crowded my mind, making a restful night impossible. Had I been working for a killer all this time?
I lay back down and closed my eyes, willing sleep to come. I tried hard to put the ridiculous notion that Harry Winslow was a killer out of my head. But by morning, I knew it was something I had to check out. And I had a pretty good idea who might be able to help.
Chapter Nine
“Denise, your ride is here!” Uncle Bob shouted down the hallway.
“Be right there.” I finished spreading the blanket over the bed, then piled my dirty laundry into the corner of the room. Reaching for my purse, I felt the gun inside and prayed I wouldn’t have to use it.
If things worked out the way I hoped, the mystery of Angelica Belmont’s murder might be a thing of the past very soon. With one final glance in the dusty full-length mirror on the bedroom door, I smoothed the wrinkles from my uniform and hung my purse around my shoulder before racing down the hall.
I’d spent a restless night sifting through the sequence of events of the past few days. I kept trying to recreate in my mind another scenario of what had happened to Angelica. But no matter how hard I tried to deny it, Harry Winslow’s name kept popping up as a possible murderer. Surely it had to be a mistake.
“Ready to go?”
Justin was dressed in khaki pants and a light blue short-sleeved dress shirt. His wavy blond hair was styled and sprayed. Tan slip-on shoes completed the ensemble.
He put his arms out and turned around slowly. “What do you think?” he asked. “Gotta be at a teacher’s staff meeting this morning. I thought I’d better try and impress the boss,” he added with a smile.
“You look great,” I said, truthfully. “You keep dressing like that, and you’re gonna have to fight off all the impressionable high school girls.”
He walked closer and took my hand in his. “You’re the only girl I want to impress,” he said softly. He leaned in and kissed me.
The familiar gesture almost made me believe that Justin and I had a chance at a life together. Almost. Because as long as Angelica’s killer was still out there, my life would be in constant danger. I couldn’t put Justin through that kind of fear for the rest of his life.
If Justin and I had a future, it could only be after Angelica’s killer was brought to justice.
“All right, you two.” Uncle Bob’s sudden appearance broke the spell. “You’d better get going.”
&
nbsp; Justin reached for my hand. “I’ll be done with the meeting in plenty of time to pick you up today,” he said. “So don’t even think about going anywhere until I get there.” He made it sound like an order.
I wasn’t sure how to respond. I couldn’t tell Justin or my uncle about my plans. I knew they would try and talk me out of it. Instead, I simply smiled and squeezed Justin’s hand.
Uncle Bob didn’t say whether or not he was going into the office today, but as Justin backed his car out of the driveway, I saw him climb into his Volkswagen. I wondered if his agency ever did any actual investigative work, or if he simply made his meager living handing out subpoenas. I had a feeling that was all he had to look forward to again. But maybe once we solved the Angelica Belmont mystery, his luck would change. I hoped so.
“I’m glad we decided to confide in your uncle,” Justin said, adjusting the rearview mirror. “He’s had a lot more experience with this kind of thing. He’ll know what to do.”
I didn’t respond. What could I say? That the uncle I’ve bragged about for so long is nothing but a two-bit private eye with little or no clientele? I couldn’t do that to Uncle Bob.
I turned to Justin and smiled. “I’m glad too,” I lied.
I knew I was being uncharacteristically quiet during the drive to work. Maybe it was because I knew that I could be face to face with a killer within a few minutes. The ridiculous thought almost made me laugh out loud. Harry Winslow a murderer! I still couldn’t believe it. The idea was beyond preposterous.
Or was it?
Fifteen minutes later, Justin pulled into the parking lot of Winslow’s Diner, letting the car idle in park. “Now don’t even think of going anywhere until I get here,” he said, his voice firm. “I should be here in plenty of time, but if my meeting should run a little later, just wait inside for me. Understood?”
“Understood.” I leaned over to accept his kiss. “Have a good meeting,” I said. “I’ll see you around noon.”
Heather sat at the counter, eyeing me with curiosity. “Wow,” she exclaimed when I entered the diner. “Being chauffeured two days in a row, huh?”
I could almost see the wheels of confusion turn in Heather’s mind. She was curious, no doubt about it. Her green eyes narrowed into a questioning gaze. “Something happen to your mom’s van?”
I wasn’t about to confide in Heather Marlow. For all I knew she could be just as involved in Angelica’s death as Mr. Winslow.
Then I silently scolded myself for thinking such a thing. At least until I remembered the wallet. It suddenly occurred to me that if Michael Black had no wallet when he left the diner, how did he pay his ticket? Heather was the cashier on duty that night. She would have to have known he didn’t pay.
My head was spinning again. Was everyone suddenly becoming suspect in my mind? I wondered.
I forced a smile at Heather. “The van’s fine,” I answered, without any more elaboration. She may not be a suspect, but she wasn’t someone I considered a friend either.
The diner wasn’t crowded, making it difficult to keep my mind on my work. Several times throughout the morning, I thought I felt Mr. Winslow’s eyes on me. Each time the hairs on the back of my neck bristled, but I made it a point to avoid turning around to look. I didn’t want my boss to know I was on to him. I wondered how Justin and Uncle Bob would feel if they knew I might be spending the morning with a murderer.
While a few customers trickled in and out, the morning seemed uncharacteristically long. To occupy myself in between customers, I spent my free time re-stocking the tables with new catsup and mustard containers. I wiped off the beverage station and refilled the sugar and sweetener stands on the tables. I did anything I could to keep busy. I’d just begun filling salt and pepper shakers, when a sudden chill snaked down my spine. I spun around into the path of Harry Winslow. The salt shaker flew from my hand, spewing particles of salt onto the floor.
“Daydreaming again, Miss Thomas?” he asked. The man had an annoying habit of popping up without warning, but today it was even more disconcerting. Today, I had him pegged as a murderer.
Without meeting his gaze, I reached down and retrieved the lid from the floor. My heart pounded in my chest, making me light-headed. “Just trying to keep busy,” I answered.
In my mind, I kept replaying the events leading up to the discovery of Angelica’s body. I still couldn’t believe what I was thinking. It was hard for me to imagine such a comical little man a cold-blooded killer. Maybe I was wrong, I thought. What possible reason could my employer have for wanting Angelica Belmont dead?
I’d already decided the only solution was to come right out and ask Michael Black what connection, if any, the two of them had. Of course, it would have been so much easier if Mr. Black had come into the diner again. But I hadn’t noticed his presence since that awful night.
Still, each time the front door opened, I glanced up, hoping to see him. But by eleven thirty there was still no sign of him.
I knew I’d have to sneak out a little early to accomplish my mission. If I waited until my shift was over at noon, I knew Justin would try to talk me out of it.
Lisa entered the diner at 11:45 and headed for the employee lounge. If my plan was going to work, I’d need Lisa’s cooperation. After making sure my customers were taken care of, I followed Lisa into the back room.
“Lisa?” I whispered, making sure no one was around. She was stuffing her purse into a locker when I walked in, then jumped when she heard my voice. She spun around putting her hand on her chest.
“Denise!” she screeched. “You startled me!”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “But I need your help.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“I need to leave a little early,” I told her. “Can you cover for me?”
“But your shift is almost over,” she reminded me. “Besides,” she added. “What if Mr. Winslow catches you? He’ll fire you on the spot.”
I knew it must have seemed strange to her that a few minutes could make such a difference. If she only knew. As for Mr. Winslow firing me, I only hoped that was all he would do if he caught me.
“It can’t wait,” I said. “I can’t explain it to you, but I really need to leave right now.” I hadn’t meant for my voice to sound so shrill, but at least my panicked voice seemed to convince her to help me out.
“Okay,” she said. “Go on. I’ve got it.”
I almost cried with relief. “Thank you,” I said. I grabbed my purse from my locker. “Justin will be here in a little bit to pick me up. Tell him to meet me back at my house.”
I didn’t give her a chance to ask any questions. I ushered her out the door and into the dining room.
Alone in the lounge, I reached for the pay phone on the wall, berating myself for not replacing my phone yet. But I’d been so busy the past few days, there just hadn’t been time.
I asked the operator for Michael Black’s number again.
The call was answered on the third ring. “Hello?”
My heart pounded at the sound of Michael Black’s voice. Even though no one was around, I cupped my hand over the receiver and spoke in a whisper. “Mr. Black. My name is Denise Thomas. I may have some information concerning your fiancée’s death.”
There was a long pause before he spoke again. “Who are you?”
I should have expected his question. I knew I must seem like some crazy person to him. “I work at Winslow’s Diner,” I said. “I really need to speak with you.” I hoped that mentioning the diner might trigger a reaction from him. It must have worked, because he finally agreed to meet with me.
“How soon can you be here?” he said. I thought I noticed a trace of panic in his voice.
“I’ll be there in ten minutes.” I hung up the phone, then sneaked out through the back delivery door.
Please don’t be early, Justin, I said to myself. In order for my plan to work, things had to go like clockwork. Justin’s early arrival could ruin everythi
ng. To avoid running into him in the event he was early, I circled around to the opposite side of the diner, stepped across the intersection, then raced down Benton Street. I walked past Justin’s parents’ house, thankful I didn’t see his car in the driveway. I’d counted on him going straight to the diner from his meeting. Even if he arrived there now, he had no idea where I was going. For good reason, I hadn’t shared that information with Lisa.
I reached the house with the corkscrew willow, and stopped at the edge of the flower-lined driveway to catch my breath. Had it really been only two days since I’d been here? So much had happened since then. Most of it not good.
Despite the warm temperature, I closed my eyes and hugged my arms around my chest to ward off a sudden chill. When my eyes opened, Michael Black was standing on the front porch.
It was the first time I’d seen him since that day at the diner. I remained in the same spot at the end of the driveway for a lengthy time assessing the man. He’d reminded me of a mobster that day in the diner. His dark hair, steely eyes, and stone face had made him easily fit the part. Now grief-stricken, he appeared less threatening. His face had paled, his eyes dull and lifeless. His tall posture stooped from the weight of his torment.
On weak legs, I eased slowly up the driveway, past the blue station wagon. “Mr. Black,” I said. “I’m Denise Thomas. We spoke on the phone.”
His sad eyes darted around the street, as if looking for unwanted passersby.
Following his lead, I did the same. My gaze lingered across the street where Alley the Snoop had sat in her rocking chair the day Justin and I dropped by. But she wasn’t outside today. Her chair sat empty and still.
After our brief inspection of the neighborhood, our eyes met again. “You said you had information about Angelica’s murder?” he asked.
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