A petite woman behind the counter rose to her feet as she watched them approach. She wore a cordless headset over one ear. “May I help—” She held up a finger and then tapped on her earpiece “Good morning. By Design. How can we make your outdoor living fantasy a reality?”
Madison fought off a smirk. At times like this, she was especially thankful for the field of work she was in. She’d prefer the company of dead bodies to that of living, breathing customers who demanded perfection at the lowest price possible. She knew from her current position the ability to kiss ass wasn’t part of her genetic makeup.
“Sorry about that.” The receptionist smiled at them. “How may I help you?”
“We’d like to speak with Darcy Simms.”
Her eyes fell downward, and her aura communicated a deep sense of loss. “You’re detectives, aren’t you?”
“We are.” Madison proceeded with their introductions.
“She’s not in that great of shape today,” the receptionist began, “with what happened to her best friend and all.”
“But she is here?”
“She is.” Her gaze lowered to her desk and her cheeks flushed. Madison sensed sadness emanating from the woman.
“We’d like to speak with her,” Madison said firmly.
The woman’s chin quivered subtly.
“Do you know why we’re here?”
She nodded.
“Did you know Claire Reeves?”
She shook her head. “No. It’s just that I tend to care too much about others and what they’re going through.”
Empathy was too rare a commodity in the modern world and to hear this woman experienced it was refreshing. “That’s not a bad thing,” Madison assured her.
The woman softly nodded her head. “I’ll get her for you.”
“Thank you.”
“Have a seat.” She gestured toward a sitting area. Her earlier friendliness had cooled.
Terry took a seat with a moan. “You’d think with all the advances in design, they could offer comfort with style.”
“You ask for too much.” Her mind skipped from furniture to footwear—same principal. Women were expected to cram their feet into shoes with three-inch pointed heels, comfort being the last item on the list of importance.
Another petite woman entered the area. Her hair was blond and cut in short, choppy layers. Her face wouldn’t be memorable if it weren’t for her lips, which were plump and proportionally larger in comparison to the rest of her features. They were painted with a bright red lipstick.
Does everyone want Angelina Jolie’s lips?
Madison rose to her feet. “Darcy Simms?”
“Yes.” She didn’t extend a hand for introductions but led them down the hall to her office.
The design here mimicked the feel of the reception area. The walls were bare except for a few tastefully selected modern art pieces. On a filing cabinet, there were a few diplomas in black frames, but there were no pictures of children or a significant other.
“We’re sorry for your loss,” Madison said.
Darcy pulled a tissue from a box and dabbed her nose, but Madison sensed an insincerity in the action, as if it had been rehearsed and was ready to perform on cue. “I still can’t believe she’s gone.”
“We won’t take up much of your time,” Madison began, “but do you know of anyone who would have wanted to hurt Claire?”
“Let me guess, her maid told you to come see me.”
“Why assume that?”
“The woman never liked me. But I guess you could say that the feeling was mutual.” Darcy picked up a pen with her right hand and proceeded to draw lines on a notepad followed by large swirls.
“How did you know her?” She remembered Allison mentioning she had cleaned for Darcy but asked the question anyhow.
“You mean besides the fact she was my best friend’s maid? She cleaned for me once.”
“Why only once?”
The swirls got larger, and she was applying more pressure to the pen as the ink was sinking deeper into the pad. “She didn’t live up to my standards.”
“But she’d do for Claire?”
“Let’s just say, and no disrespect intended toward the dead, but my standards were always higher than Claire’s. Allison did a horrible job of cleaning my bathroom. I found some hair at the base of the toilet. There was a smudge on it. I don’t call that clean.”
“Okay, fair enough.” If that was the truth, it was unlikely Darcy would have committed the murder. Blood was too messy for the average person.
“Actually, the only reason Claire probably kept her on was because she owed her.”
“Owed her?”
“I don’t know why exactly. All I know is what Claire told me. She felt indebted to Allison.”
“And you don’t know why?” Madison needed to find out their background connection.
Darcy shrugged.
“Do you know how Allison felt about Claire?” Madison remembered Allison’s outburst at the neighbor’s house: She’s a conniving bitch.
Darcy stopped moving the pen. She sat there, her gaze going through Madison and Terry for a few seconds before her eyes dropped to her doodles.
Madison glanced at Terry, who silently communicated that she approach things another way. “You know of anyone Claire was seeing?”
Darcy met Madison’s eyes. “You mean a man or a woman? Claire would get with both. She preferred men.”
That explained all the condoms in her trash can, but she wondered about the mystery man’s identity that Allison had brought up. “Anyone specifically?”
“She had a few regulars she’d sleep with. One was married,” Darcy said. She held eye contact with Madison, a move often utilized to elicit trust and to add sincerity to one’s statements, yet it instilled the opposite for Madison. Too much of it and it indicated the person was a liar. They’d look at you in the eyes so they could see if you were buying the line of bull they were feeding you.
“Names?”
“Nope, not giving that to you.” She shook her head.
“One of them could have killed your best friend.”
Coolness reflected in those eyes. “They wouldn’t have. Men worshiped Claire.”
“You sound quite sure of that. Where were you on Wednesday morning between two and four?”
“Are you accusing me of her murder?”
“Should I be?”
Silence.
“Where were you?” Madison repeated the question.
“On a red-eye home from Tahiti.”
Madison thought of Darcy’s snow-covered walkway. “You haven’t been home yet?”
“I stayed with a friend.”
Madison cocked her head to the side.
Darcy opened a desk drawer, took out a purse, and retrieved a piece of paper, which she extended to Terry. “Here’s the ticket.”
“Thanks.”
“Uh-huh.” Darcy stuffed the purse back into the drawer and addressed Madison. “Anything else?”
In response, Madison rose to her feet and tossed a card on the desk. “When you want to share what you’re keeping from us, there’s my number.”
Darcy sat up straighter. “Excuse me—”
“You’ve got quite the business here,” Terry said, breaking the growing tension.
Darcy pried her eyes from Madison to look at him.
Terry went on. “Something that it keeps you busy. Especially at this time of the year.”
Darcy grinned. “We carry on a global business here. A few years back—” She paused, her eyes going contemplative. “Well, I guess it would easily be fifteen years ago now… Anyway, we expanded our reach. See, when we see snow here, the south is still inundated with sunshine and heat, and that is good for business.”
Terry nodded. “And good for you.”
“Yes.” Another smile.
“Speaking of work, Claire’s background doesn’t show her most recent employment. Do you know what she did for a job? Who she worked for?”
Darcy let out a small laugh. “For herself. She was always working for herself.”
“I think we’re done here.” Madison moved toward the door.
Terry followed her lead, but extended a hand toward Darcy. “Thank you for your time.”
Darcy put the pen down to shake his hand and was smiling, but the expression quickly died when she noticed Madison watching her.
Madison turned to leave, and at the doorway glanced over her shoulder at Darcy, who picked up the pen again. And this time, she picked it up with her left hand.
-
Chapter 8
MADISON AND TERRY WERE BACK in the department car, and the driving was becoming somewhat treacherous. Fresh snowfall was making the roads slippery, and to make matters worse, the man in front of them must have been driving with two feet, as the brake lights kept coming on.
“You must love getting calls from the sarge,” Terry said.
“Oh shut up, Terry. The woman’s hiding something.”
“You think everyone’s hiding something.”
“Most people are,” she ground out, glancing over at him.
Terry was looking out the passenger window. “You’re just fishing for something because you don’t like her.”
“I’m offended that you think I’m making this personal.”
“What is it about you women?”
“You women,” she stated with heat.
“Yeah. You meet someone who is prettier, definitely sexier…”
Is he even thinking before speaking?
Terry continued. “And you immediately hate her. Women are always preaching about not wanting to be judged by their appearance, but you’re always the first to pass judgment.”
She wanted to snap back with a retort, something especially smart and witty, but had nothing. In a way, it was the truth…sometimes. She’d give him a pass this once, and with that decision, her mind went back to Darcy. “Don’t you think it is strange that she came back to work just a day after her friend’s body was found?”
“She pours herself into work to cover her grief?” He curled his lips and shrugged. “It’s not an unusual response.”
She let out a moan of frustration. “You know what? Maybe it’s you with the perception problem. If she had been five foot two with buck teeth and extremely obese, and I told you about her picking up the pen with her left hand—” He opened his mouth like he was going to cut her off, but she held up a hand. “Please listen to me. At least ponder the possibility that she’s hiding something, not that she’s necessarily the killer. I would like to know why she doodled with her right hand when she is obviously left-handed?”
“You think you saw that. You’re not even certain.”
She tapped the brakes. The man in front of them made her nervous, but there was no way around. “I know. You are impossible. Don’t even try and tell me that I’m stubborn. Mind you, I guess you should recognize your characteristic in others.” Her cell vibrated on her hip, and she pulled the car to the side of the road. With the new laws about not driving while on the phone, whether it be talking or texting, as a law enforcement officer, she had to set a good example.
Terry pulled out on his seat belt, adjusting the fit over his winter coat. “The sarge?”
She’d soon find out. She answered without glancing at the caller ID.
As Madison listened to her caller, Terry’s eyes were trained on her. By the time she hung up, she was grinning. Finally, they were getting some momentum to this case.
-
Chapter 9
IT WAS AN UNFORTUNATE REQUIREMENT that obtaining answers from Cole Richards, the ME, usually involved going to the morgue. Madison flung the door open, and Terry came in after her.
“So what have you got for us?” she asked.
“Now I’m not even worthy of a greeting? Guess I’ll talk to you.” Richards flashed one his heart-stalling smiles at Terry, overlooking Madison.
“Let me start again,” she said. “How’s your day going?” She paused a few seconds. “What have you got for us?”
His eyes softened but quickly hardened as he took on a thoughtful gaze and looked in the direction of a steel gurney. Claire Reeves had been laid out and covered with a thin, white sheet. “COD was exsanguination due to the carotid artery having been severed. The slash was so deep that the knife nicked the spine.”
“So the murder weapon was a knife?” Madison asked.
Richards nodded. “Most definitely. And I’d say it was not serrated and approximately seven inches long. The X-ray will be forwarded to Cynthia for analysis. Hopefully, she’ll be able to determine the type and make of knife.”
Richards traced a finger over the wound. “As you can see, it is choppy—”
“Hesitation marks,” Madison added.
“Yes. But how does that coincide with the depth of the wound?”
“The killer could have been inexperienced but fueled by determination and anger,” Madison suggested.
“Or they didn’t realize how sharp the knife was,” Terry presented as an alternate theory.
Richards took a deep breath, seemingly not impressed by their spewing out speculations. “As I was saying, the cut was deep yet there are hesitation marks. Also, the victim was a height of five foot nine. Based on the downward angle of the incision, I would say your killer was at least five foot eleven.”
She brought up the mental picture. “He would have reached around her, and because of being slightly taller, he would put the knife in downward, compensating for the height difference.”
“Correct. If the killer was shorter, or the exact same height as the victim, it would have been more of a reach and would have resulted in the slash being on an upward angle.”
Richards’s findings brought some disappointment and cast doubt on underlying suspicions about the two women in Claire’s life. “Allison is probably about five nine so it wouldn’t take much to elevate her, but it would rule out Darcy Simms. She’s probably pushing five five.” Madison wasn’t going to bring up Darcy’s writing hand right now.
“She could have worn six-inch heels,” Terry said.
“Hey, good point.” Madison rolled her eyes.
Richards continued. “And the killer wouldn’t be much taller than five eleven because then the downward angle would have been greater.” Richards walked around the gurney. “There is no evidence that she fought back. It was over before she had a chance.” He lifted one of Claire’s hands. “I scraped under her nails and got some trace soaked in blood.”
That poor woman: lying on her kitchen floor, helpless, dying in a pool of her own blood… Madison had to stifle her thoughts there, but it was hard to do with Claire Reeves in front of her. Only thing was that to see Claire like this with the wound cleaned, she looked like a mannequin.
So how does a grown woman manage to be murdered, her neck sliced open, without fighting back? It had to have been quick and the killer must have been someone she trusted to get that close. If only they could get a hold of the man she had been with that night. There might be one way to find out his identity. “Have you swabbed her for semen?”
“Yes, and I found some. The sample has been sent up to the lab,” Richards began. “I also heard that Crime Scene pulled a bunch of used condoms from the trash. I’d say the sex she had in the hours before her death was consensual. But she must have been a busy girl in general.”
“Let’s just hope we get something to go on.” Madison’s cell rang and she answered. It was hard to keep track of everything her caller was saying given the poor connection and the fact that Richards and Terry were talking. But she did
catch the gist of their message. She closed her phone and turned to Terry. “We’re leaving.”
“For where?”
“Claire’s. They’ve got the safe open.”
MADISON STEPPED INSIDE CLAIRE’S HOUSE with Terry and wanted to pinch her nose. “It still smells in here.”
“What do you expect? The scene hasn’t been released yet so it’s not like a cleanup crew’s been in.”
“I would like to know how they plan on rescuing the house after this.” It wasn’t completely unheard of for homes to be completely gutted and redone after a murder. The smell of death had the ability to seep into every pore and crevice.
They found Mark Andrews in the bedroom next to the safe. He gestured toward it and walked away. “Have at it.”
Terry elbowed her. “Wow, you must have done something to him.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Well, I’m not sensing love there anymore.”
She made a move toward him, readied to punch him. “Let it go.”
He got it into his stubborn skull some time ago that the young investigator had a crush on her. If she acknowledged the truth, she’d have to agree with him, although she’d chosen to ignore it.
What she saw before her wasn’t nearly as exciting as she had anticipated. “USB flash drives?” There were five, all neon green.
“Now who’s stating the obvious?”
“My, aren’t we a quick one today.” She looked at him blankly and punched him in the arm.
“At least one of us is compensating for you being behind the eight ball,” he jibed while rubbing his arm.
She was about to make a comment on his cliché remark, but she heard Mark laughing behind her. She faced him. “You think he’s funny?”
He glanced at Terry, then back to Madison. His face became serious. “No, not at all.” He shook his head slowly as she kept her attention on him. “Absolutely not.”
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