by Laney Monday
“Oh, I’m going to look into all the things you just told me. But he couldn’t have killed Baxter. He has an airtight alibi. He was on duty, with me.”
Blythe had Sammi by the hand. She was holding it gently, but I knew she was ready to stop Sammi from bolting out of here, whatever it took. “Why didn’t you say something?” she said to Riggins.
“I wanted to hear what you had to say. And I’m glad I did. It was very informative. I’m sorry to say that it looks like either Stacey did all the dirty work, or she acted alone.”
Sammi shrieked, “Stacey didn’t do it! She wouldn’t! What’s going to happen to Leo? Please, I take it all back!”
I said, “What about that voicemail? Eric threatened Sammi!”
“I heard him make that call,” Riggins explained. “He was talking about her screaming stunt. Do you know how many 9-1-1 calls we got about that? How many man hours were wasted searching for a child in distress?”
“How did he know it was her?” I said.
“How many kids can scream like that? Apparently, it’s a special talent of hers.” Sammi glared at Riggins, but he ignored it. “Eric said he thought he was having a flashback of her preschool years, but he wasn’t sure, until Mr. Murphy said he thought he saw her running away from the area. She had a hood on, but it flew off for a second, and he saw her green hair.”
“He’s going to kill me! He is! I know it!” Sammi spun around in Blythe’s arms. She looked her square in the eyes, and she pointed at Riggins. “What if he’s in on it too? What if he helped Uncle Eric kill Ellison Baxter?”
I watched Riggins’s face carefully. He came just short of rolling his eyes. “I’m going to look into all possibilities, including the possibility that Eric put Stacey up to this. But as for who’s going to jail … there’s no cause to arrest Doyle.” He looked right at me. “And there’s no cause to book you either.” I couldn’t help but think he looked relieved to tell me that. I just about wanted to cry at hearing those words. “It’s Stacey Goode who needs to come in.”
Sammi burst into a new fit of wails and tears.
“We’ll get you home,” Blythe said. “Your uncle won’t be part of this investigation, right, Officer?”
“That’s right,” Riggins said. “He’s not part of the break-in investigation, or the vandalism, now that we know those are related. He’ll be taken off the murder case as well now that we have some new information. Once he learns of Stacey’s arrest, he’ll assume it’s because she’s Ellison’s former girlfriend. He’ll have no reason to know how she became a suspect, Sammi.”
“Somebody will leak it! Probably you!”
To my surprise, Sammi tore away from Blythe and said to me, “You have to find proof it was Uncle Eric! You have to, before he finds out I talked to the police! And you have to prove Stacey’s innocent! Please!”
She looked so sincerely desperate, so absolutely petrified, I said, “We’ll find out who did it, Sammi. We’ll stop the killer.”
What else could I say? What else could I do?
26
Blythe and I neared the police station, on foot. Officer Riggins had changed into his uniform and driven Sammi home. He’d dropped us off at a quiet corner near the police station before reporting to the station for duty himself. We had no desire to be driven to the station in a police car. Especially with the media still lurking about. Though I no longer needed to be booked, there was some paperwork to take care of, and we needed to give an official statement about the events of the last two days.
We were about a block away when the Seattle Channel Three news van careened around the corner and pulled alongside us. Did they have lookouts everywhere? Had some nosy resident tipped them off? I glanced at Blythe and we turned our stroll into something closer to a speed walk. I wanted to run, but I could only imagine what that would do for their news story. The cameraman jumped out of the back of the van, followed by Deering. He patted his perfect hair as he hurried around the passenger side of the van, to the sidewalk. I have to say, that guy had perfected preening on the go. If they gave Olympic medals for that, he’d be a serious contender.
I just kept my eyes focused straight ahead. But, while we avoided the indignity of running, Deering had no qualms about dashing in front of us. Between him and the cameraman, the sidewalk was completely blocked, and the fence of the house beside us came within a foot of the sidewalk—there was no passing on that side. I cut to the street, our only hope of escape, only to see the news van wheel around and stop horizontally across the street.
Really? I glared at Deering. He gave a quick, disgusting smile of triumph, then put on his serious, distressed-but-in-control face.
“We’re here, near the Bonney Bay police station, with the prime suspects in the Ellison Baxter murder, the Battle sisters! Brenna Battle, how did you escape? Why aren’t you and your sister in police custody?”
Blythe stepped forward. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, Mr. Deering. Escape? From where, our own apartment?”
“Well, yes. How did you get out of your apartment?”
“We opened the door and walked out,” I said.
“But, weren’t you—”
“My sister and I are not wanted for any crime. I’m not sure what all this fuss is about, but we’d appreciate it if you could please step aside.” Blythe sounded calm and cool, and her smile was sweet and winsome.
Deering was at a loss for words, but he didn’t move.
“Mr. Deering,” I said, a bit more sharply than Blythe.
I swear, I actually saw his brain reboot. He shoved the mic in my face. “Where are you headed, Brenna Battle?”
I should’ve kept my mouth shut and let Blythe work her sweet-talking magic. I figured the truth—part of it, anyway—was my best option now. “To the police station.”
Deering’s eyes said, Aha! “The police station? What made you decide to turn yourselves in?”
“As my sister already explained, we are not wanted in connection with any crime.” At least not anymore, thank God. “We have an appointment with Officer Riggins. We’re here to keep it.”
“Does this ‘appointment’”—Oh how I wanted to slap him, the sarcastic way he said that!—“have anything to do with the alleged break-in? The allegedly faked alleged vandalism? The murder? Our sources say—”
“Your sources are wrong!” I snapped. And who were they, anyway? That, I’d really like to know.
“Yesterday, we were victims of a crime,” Blythe said. “Brenna was injured, and unable to give a complete statement at the time. We came to do that today.”
“There you have it. The Battle sisters claim that they are crime victims! Another mystery is added to this … mystery.”
Deering’s eloquence astounded me. He motioned to his cameraman, and they parted to let me and Blythe through. It was pretty obvious they only did it to get video of us approaching the police station, while Deering babbled on about the deepening mystery in the foreground. I’m sure it was a fabulous shot of our intriguing rear ends.
Soon we were seated in a room with Riggins. “We’ve gotten some of the forensics back on the murder scene,” he told us.
“Yes?” Blythe’s voice shook a little in spite of what I knew was her best effort.
“They confirmed that the brush was used to kill Baxter, and that the hair in the brush was yours.”
I reached for Blythe’s hand and braced myself for the rest.
“There was no other evidence of your presence in the house,” Riggins said. He met Blythe’s eyes. “Given what we’ve just learned about Stacey Goode, you are no longer a serious suspect. Make sure you don’t go too far, but I have a feeling this will get resolved soon.”
Blythe let out a breath of relief. But then she said, “I still don’t understand. Why my hairbrush?”
I almost pinched Blythe like Rebecca had done to her daughter in the parking lot the day we first encountered that lovely family. Who cared how her brush got there, as long as she wasn�
��t a suspect?
But Riggins made an odd, throat-clearing sound and looked away. “I’m not at liberty to reveal anything else about the investigation.”
“Okay … ” I said. “Thanks.” What on earth did that mean?
27
“He knows something about my brush!” Blythe whispered fiercely as we waved good-bye to Will Riggins. This time, we’d accepted his one-man police escort out of the station and a ride back to our place.
“Yes, he does. But let’s leave it to the police now, alright?” While I answered, we ran through the studio parking lot, to the back door. I could see the news van racing down the street.
Blythe shut the studio door behind us and laughed, a light, easy laugh. “You sound like me.”
“What’s the world coming to?”
“I don’t know about the world, but our day started out a disaster, and now it’s shaped up pretty good. Let’s make some dinner and celebrate our freedom.”
The blip-blip of a police siren being briefly turned on startled me. We both ran to the studio window, to see Riggins pulling over the Channel Three crew.
“He’s giving them a ticket!” Blythe laughed again.
“Yes!” I knew I was grinning from ear-to-ear, but I didn’t try to suppress it. Right now I didn’t feel the need to tamp down any approval of Will Riggins.
When we were done watching Riggins order Dan Deering, who’d tried to get out of the waylaid van with his cameraman and hoof it over to the studio, to stay put, we went upstairs and fixed up some tacos with rice and beans, then settled down at the kitchen table to eat.
Blythe topped her tacos with sour cream, then handed me the spoon. “Poor Leo,” she said softly.
“Poor Leo,” I agreed. “At least he has a dad somewhere.” I took a bite of taco.
Blythe dabbed her mouth with a napkin. Taco juice dripped down the back of her hand. “True. I’ll bet Sammi’s going to miss him, though.”
“Maybe Sammi wants to learn judo,” I said. I don’t know where that came from. The kid had tried to blackmail me. And she was a screamer and a crier. But she had a loyal streak. She had a soft spot for little Leo. She had a good heart. And her life must be pretty desperate if she’d made friends with Stacey Goode.
We spent the next morning in the apartment, unpacking, peeking through the blinds every now and then to make sure the media hadn’t come back. I’d gotten some calls requesting my story on being falsely accused, and a couple of people had come and rung the bell downstairs, but no one was camped outside the former little Swans Ballet School anymore. They’d shifted their focus to Stacey Goode, and on the rumor she was involved with a local police officer. That story seemed to be just as tantalizing to them as the Olympian-and-sister-as-murderers angle.
In my quest to find out more about him, I’d subscribed to the local news site Ellison Baxter had written for, along with all its social media accounts. My phone alerted me that there was an update.
“What is it?” Blythe said as she unwrapped a picture frame.
“They finally posted an obituary for Ellison Baxter. His mother and sister live in Florida. They’re having a memorial service here on Wednesday. It doesn’t say anything about burial. I wonder if they’re taking him to Florida?”
“Or maybe the police aren’t done with his body yet.”
I shrugged. I didn’t like that idea. I just wanted this whole thing to be settled and over.
By noon, we’d had enough of unpacking, and we felt safe enough to go downstairs and get to work on finalizing our set-up in the dojo. We tipped the first rolled-up mat over, undid the straps, and gave it a shove. After we unrolled it, we each took an end and slid it flush against the wall. We followed with the next roll and the next. Once we had them all out, I found the mat tape and scissors. The tape would keep the strips of mat from sliding apart once people started running around and doing judo on them. Mats with velcro were available now, and they were really nice, the way they went together, no tape—and the constant need to replace it—necessary. But new mats were not in our budget. These, I’d bought used. About half of them, I’d acquired years ago, to put down in my garage in case I wanted to practice at home. The other half, I’d bought from a friend who was upgrading his to velcro. There was definitely room to grow in the studio, room for more mats, but we had a good-sized area to get started.
I was kneeling on the mats, pressing a strip of clear mat tape firmly in place, when someone rang the front bell. Blythe jumped and dropped the scissors. I turned to the window, and there was a little face pressed against the glass—hazel eyes topped with a messy mop of strawberry-blond hair. A small, freckled nose that looked red from blowing. Leo! Sammi held his hand and stood in front of the glass double doors.
Blythe hurried over and let them in. When I joined her, Leo crossed his arms and stared me down, much as he had in the parking lot the day we arrived.
“What’s going on, Sammi?” Blythe said. “Shouldn’t you two be in school?”
“My mom let me stay home to take care of Leo until his Dad gets here. Leo’s taking a little break from school today,” Sammi said. Then she muttered, “Not that she cares.”
Who could blame the kid for not feeling up to school, when his mom had just been arrested for murder?
Sammi nudged Leo, then bent to whisper in his ear. “Say you’re sorry for being mean.”
Leo’s chin jutted out. He looked up at me with tear-reddened eyes. “If I say I’m sorry, will you help me get my mom back?”
I wondered if Leo knew his mom had bashed me in the back of the head and left me lying unconscious in an alley—well, not quite an alley, but you get the picture.
“It’s in the hands of the police now, Leo,” I told him as gently as I could.
“But the police have the wrong person!”
I exchanged a look with Blythe. Not this again.
“Listen! You have to listen. There’s more than what I told you before. Leo knows more.”
Leo looked hesitantly from Sammi to us. Everyone was quiet for a moment. Finally, he said, “I heard her promising. There was a safety pozut box. She promised not to tell about the box or the key.”
“Who promised?” Blythe said.
“My mom. She promised Eric.”
“Do you know what was in the box?”
“Some kinda secrets.”
“And she knew where the key was?”
Leo nodded vigorously. “The reporter guy had it. It was his pozut box. I don’t know where the box was, but he had the key, and Eric wanted it.”
Sammi gave Leo a squeeze. She looked up at us proudly, expectantly. “See? Leo heard Stacey promising Uncle Eric she’d never tell about that box. Eric knew Ellison had the key hidden somewhere in his house. I’m sure it had Eric’s secrets in it. Don’t you see? That’s why Eric killed him. It had to be Eric. Maybe he had secrets on Officer Riggins, too! Maybe that’s why they’re all in it together, and making Stacey take the fall for it!”
If that was true, Stacey was still involved. Why else would she frame me? Would Stacey tell Riggins and the Chief about the key? Surely she would, if it would get her back to her little boy. Unless … unless Sammi was right, and the whole department, including Riggins, was determined to keep those secrets locked away. Even if it meant locking a somewhat innocent mother away.
Blythe said, “I think this is something you should tell the police, Sammi.”
“When are you going to get it? That’s what you said last time, and Stacey’s in jail and Uncle Eric is free! I told you we couldn’t trust Officer Riggins!”
We could trust Riggins, couldn’t we? Or was it just that I desperately wanted to? That once again, I was being fooled by a pretty face?
“Stacey gave me your phone and told me to keep it because it had pictures on it you were going to use against her and and she didn’t want the police to find out she had it. She trusted me. But when I found out you two were probably going to go to jail for what Eric did, I had to help y
ou. And now Stacey’s going to pay for what he did instead. It’s not fair! I was just trying to do the right thing!”
Leo ran at me, fists balled up. “I wish you never came here! I want you to go away. It’s all your fault!” Sammi grabbed him under the arms and hauled him toward the door. He dragged his heels so hard, I expected to see skid marks on the hardwood floors.
“We’ll do what we can, won’t we, Brenna?” Blythe said.
“We want the police to find out the truth, Sammi. We’ll think about what you told us and see if there’s anything we can do.”
“Without going to the police?” Sammi said.
Neither of us answered. That was not satisfactory for Sammi. The glass door rattled shut behind her and Leo so loud, I was surprised it didn’t shatter.
Blythe turned to me. “How would Eric know about the key? Would Ellison be that stupid, to tell him about it?”
“Stacey! Maybe that’s why Eric was with her in the first place. To get close to her and get information out of her. Maybe Ellison bragged about it to Stacey when they were an item, before she even moved here. He never imagined she’d be part of Bonney Bay.”
“If those kids are right, then we helped an innocent woman land in jail,” Blythe said.
“She’s not innocent,” I corrected. “She’s just not guilty of murder. And if those kids are right, we can’t trust anyone in the Bonney Bay Police Department.”
I walked back over to the mats and picked up the abandoned roll of tape. I held the cardboard roll on the inside, and Blythe walked backward, pulling the tape out. We secured the last mat with the tape, and cut the end from the roll.
I sat back on the mat. “Even if Stacey did kill Ellison, don’t you want to know what Eric’s secret is? What Ellison knew about his past? If his secret would keep him from being an FBI agent, maybe he shouldn’t be a cop either.”
“True. Even if Eric didn’t kill Ellison and take the key, he was part of the murder investigation at the beginning. He could’ve found the key, taken it, and not told anyone.”