Interior Motives

by Ginny Aiken

  “You got Cissy to talk about her personal business with a perfect stranger?”

  “Oh, we’re not perfect strangers. Not anymore. We’re friends now. And that’s my problem. How’m I going to turn her into Wilmont’s next pet detective if they lock her up? I’m good but not that good.”

  “Cissy Grover’s going into the pet detective business?” “Well, she needs to earn a living until her money goes through prostate, doesn’t she?”

  Sometimes it’s best to ignore Bella’s bloopers. “And you think it’s a good idea to hire a woman you’re sure killed her best friend.”

  Bella shrugged. “What can I say? I feel bad for her. She’s really broken up about Darlene’s death. Plus, that Jacob’s a real handful, with that Alzheimer’s getting worse every day. And Darlene’s bratty sons are more trouble than a splinter in the butt.”

  No way was I going to touch that Bellaism. Not even with a ten-foot pole. “Bella! Think about it. You’re sure Cissy is a killer. And you go and offer her a job? What are you, nuts?”

  Bella planted her fists on her Lifesaver-roll hips. “Watch it there, missy. You tell me a better way to keep an eye on a suspect.”

  “Gee, I don’t know. Let’s keep an eye on a suspect—oh, and let’s give her the chance to work her way to murder number two: yours!”

  “She won’t hurt me. Remember. I’m” —she struck a really bad pose— “a martian artist.”

  “Yeah, you’re an alien life force, all right.” Bella had yet to earn her yellow belt, the first level up for beginners. “I’ve got to let Lila in on your latest. Maybe she can send a couple of her giant Smurfs to look out for you.”

  “Suit yourself. Just remember to tell her about Cissy. You know, that she killed Darlene.”

  I could just hear Lila. “I won’t forget. I do have to give her a reason for your need for protection.”

  Other than rampant lunacy, that is. Bella needs protection from herself, and I often do the job, but this time she’d gone beyond even my powers. “Just don’t do anything stupid.”

  Or nothing even more stupid than making someone you’re sure already killed once your bestest new buddy.

  “I’ll be fine, Haley girl. You’ll see. Perry Mason? Co-lumbo? Sherlock Holmes? Pshaw!” She winked. “They can’t keep up with me. Me and Jessica Fletcher.”

  Dear Lord, I’ve heard people say you watch out for children and fools, so could you please put in a little overtime on Bella here?

  I let her go. What else could I do? Besides trust God to protect her.

  Well, I also had to turn to Lila. And that was no piece of cake. Imagine our conversation. It was almost as insane as Bella’s and mine.

  “Come on, Lila,” I said after we went around and around for about ten minutes on the phone. “Just think about it. Did Darlene really give Cissy all that money? Or did Cissy help herself to a mammoth piggy bank? She did steal the serum. And if she stole the money like she stole the serum, don’t you think she might have gone all the way and killed Darlene? It’s not that far a stretch.”

  In the end Lila assured me one of her officers had checked out Cissy’s finances, and while she was broke, she’d recently paid off a hefty chunk of debt, something around the ten-thousand-dollar mark. Plus, she’d confessed the theft of the serum and admitted asking Darlene for the loan, which she said Darlene refused to call anything but a gift. Aside from her job with the Weikerts and a tiny trickle of Social Security, Cissy had no other visible means of support.

  She hadn’t lied to Bella about that.

  But—and it was a big but—had she told all there was to tell about her finances? Was she hiding more debt? Maybe a gambling problem or something like that? Was that what Larry had checked out last night? How was I going to know?

  Even if I someday got the chance to sneak into his cy-berlab, I wouldn’t know how to turn on one of those monster computers much less decipher the gobbledygook they might reveal. And I had no access to private banking information— to my regret. But a hacker did, and the minor matter of ethics wouldn’t bother him. That’s why Larry’s behavior made my suspicious mind hum.

  Lord? How’m I going to figure this one out?

  But there was nothing for me to figure out right then. I had work to do. So I hit the road and went on to the warehouse, where an avalanche of paperwork threatened to bury me alive.

  I got nowhere with the paperwork. My mind behaved like a carefree flea. It bounced from one juicy topic to another, none of which had a thing to do with my work. After an hour and a half of that, I gave up. Maybe it was time to turn over the paperwork to Ozzie. My partner is more than capable. But the idea did dump a truckload of guilt on me. I felt I was failing Marge, the woman who’d left everything she owned in my care.

  So I did nothing. Nothing other than lock up my flyspeck of an office and head for Tedd’s. Maybe the floor and stain would hold my attention.

  And maybe Tedd had some useful info I could shake loose. Darlene had been her client. They might have talked about Cissy, money, the doctor, the sons. It couldn’t hurt to ask.

  It didn’t hurt, but it didn’t help either.

  “I can’t answer your questions, Haley. You know that. She was my client.”

  “Was being the operative word here, Tedd. The woman’s dead.”

  Tedd walked down the hall—yep, the one with the carved-door art. “I don’t feel I can breach the confidentiality of a woman who can’t give me permission.”

  “That’s really lame, Tedd. I doubt even the law would hold you to that.”

  “Doubt away, my friend.” She picked up a length of maple floorboard. “Please tell me my floor’s not going to wind up looking this pale. With all the traffic it gets, it would look like dirt in a day or two.”

  I knew a diversionary tactic when I was on the receiving end of one. “That’s where the stain comes in. It’ll darken the maple to just the right shade. You won’t recognize it when I’m done.”

  She handed me the board. “Go to it, then, designer woman. I want to see you do your magic on my floor.”

  And I wanted info she didn’t want to give. So I packed up my disappointment and went to work. An hour later I’d tweaked enough to be happy with the results. I’d tried a couple different individual stains, then wound up mixing two of them to nail the color I really wanted. I knew I’d done the deed when Tedd walked out of her inner sanctum and pointed to my latest test piece.

  “That’s perfect!”

  “I agree. I was about to take it in to you. This is dark enough to hide some dirt but light enough that the ebon-ized Guatemalan chairs will pop.”

  “Maybe it’s time for you to pop on home too. I’m sure your father’s wondering what happened to you.”

  “I left him a note. He knew I was coming over here to work for a while.”

  “That’s good. But I’m on my way home, and I don’t like to leave you here alone.”

  Tedd and I went through the same particularly ugly experience in our pasts. We were both victims of violent crime. Neither one of us takes safety for granted. “Not a problem, Doc. I’m tired and have a long day ahead of me tomorrow.”

  “I know what you mean. Mine’s going to be rough too. But I won’t be here. I’ve scheduled a day trip out of town. A short flight, business to deal with, and another hop back. No matter how short those flights are, though, they always tire me out.”

  “Hope it goes well for you.”

  “And I hope you sleep well.”

  It’s a real pain to have your therapist for a friend. She knows you too well. “Yes, Dr. Rodriguez. I’ll do my best to sleep.”

  And I did. I slept, rare though that is for me. But my dreams were filled with visions of Bella and her Balis kickboxing with little green men.

  7

  Saturday morning it rained. Sure, it rains all the time in the Pacific Northwest. But it’s usually a misty deal or a shower in the middle of the day. Then it dries up. This Saturday, though, it rained. A steady flow
of water poured down from the steel sky, and the air took an unpleasant nip out of you with every passing breeze.

  Plus, it was Saturday. Saturdays mean something different to me than to the general population. To me, Saturdays mean missionary society meetings. Now, while I love all the missionary society does, and I am its biggest supporter with prayer, encouragement, direction, and funding, I do hate the meetings. I especially hate the need to run them. I’m not the best president the society has ever had, not by a long shot. The best would be my late mother.

  After Mom died, a group of the members decided—don’t ask me why—that I was the only possible candidate to succeed her. After a lot of velvet bullying, and even more objecting on my part, the ladies made the inevitable a reality. They voted me in, unanimously but for one.

  Penelope Harham, Wilmont’s postal clerk, has always coveted the position—go figure. It’s all about paperwork, agendas, future projects, and those meetings. I’m supposed to make sure they run as planned, but it tends to become something like herding cats. And trust me. Its power doesn’t rival that of the White House.

  But in Penny’s universe—scary place!—that presidency is it, and she’s the only one who should occupy the spot. She never lets me forget how lousy I am at it either.

  But it was still my responsibility. So I dragged myself out of bed, even when my every cell demanded I do the mole thing in my blankets. I pushed myself through a too-short if thorough shower, dressed, slipped my golden retriever an appeasing—I hoped—doggy cookie, and then dashed across the church’s parking lot.

  I screeched in just as the donated grandfather clock sang out nine bass bongs.

  “You made it in time!” Ina Appleton, the society’s welcome committee’s chair, handed me a mug of Starbucks House Blend. She always brews some for me. “And guess who’s late?”

  “No way!” I looked around the room. “Are you serious?”

  “I wouldn’t kid about it. Penny’s not here yet. It’s a first.”

  “Wow. I never thought I’d see the day.”

  “You never thought you’d see what day?” the snippy woman in question asked.

  Ina and I swapped glances.

  She stepped back.

  I stretched for an answer. “Ah . . . when rain really got on my nerves.”

  Penny narrowed her black eyes. “Are you sure you weren’t indulging in sinful gossip?”

  I opened my eyes to their fullest. “Who? Moi? Gotta tell you, Sister Penny, I’m not feeling the love here.”

  Ina scurried to the refreshment table while Penny seemed at a loss for a snotty retort. I didn’t give her a chance to find one.

  “If you don’t mind, the members expect me at the podium. You got here a few minutes late, and I’d rather the delay not grow any longer.”

  I left her gaping. And while I don’t normally treat people to that kind of mouthy disrespect, and I did feel a twinge of guilt at my atypical behavior, maybe Penny now knows how it feels to be at the wrong end of her snipes.

  The podium is not one of my favorite things. I’d much rather arrange the chairs in a circle to put everyone more at ease. But since the podium/lectern/gavel route is how the society has done things since before Noah and his flood, I had no choice but to park myself up there.

  The added height did do one thing: it gave me a bird’s-eye view of the room. As a result, I couldn’t miss the latest arrival . . . arrivals. I nearly swallowed my tongue.

  “Bell—” I rivaled a screech owl. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Bella?”

  My devious neighbor gave me a carefree little wave. “Hey there, Haley girl.”

  “Would you please come up here a minute?”

  The Brillo Pad hair shook side to side.

  I nodded.

  The rest of the missionary society craned their necks and stared.

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake!” Penny grumbled. “Would you please just go to the podium so we can get on with the meeting?”

  Bella’s glare should’ve sliced Penny off at the knees. It didn’t do a thing. Her sour expression didn’t budge. But Bella did.

  Thankfully.

  “What on earth do you think you’re doing?” I asked when she finally reached my side.

  She tipped up her nose. “What I do every Saturday morning. Just like you.”

  I crossed my arms. “You know what I mean. Why did you bring her here?”

  Bella glanced toward the back of the room. “I told you, Haley girl. I like Cissy. She wasn’t doing anything this morning now that the brothers found a man nurse to care for their dad. I figured we could come to the meeting, shop for cat food afterward, and maybe catch some Court TV or Police Files at my place after that.”

  Swell. Wilmont’s elderly female Batman and budding Robin planned to further feed their obsession.

  Before I had a chance to say a thing, Bella’s look took a calculating turn. “What’s with you? Don’t you want to find out more about Cissy and Darlene and the Weikert men? You don’t really buy the cancer story, do you?”

  She knows me. Too well. “Oh, all right. But I won’t go anywhere for cat food, and I won’t watch Court TV with the two of you and the cats.”

  “Fine, fine. Just have lunch with us. You gotta eat someplace, don’t you?”

  I rolled my eyes, gestured her back toward her guest, and then took up my gavel. I pummeled the top of the lectern. The room quieted. From that point on, the meeting unfolded normally. Well, normal if you consider Penny’s indignant sniffs, snorts, and snuffles normal.

  As the meeting drew to a close, dread sloshed around in my gut. I was going to lunch with Bella and her latest pal, the new heiress and possible murderer.

  Turns out I had good reason to worry. We hit a nearby all-you-can-eat buffet place where I was the youngest patron by three centuries or more. Hidden among the various forms of mystery meat in the warming trays, I found small tubs of iceberg lettuce, carrot shreds, tomato wedges, and limp cucumber bits.

  At least I knew what I was eating.

  The conversation ran along the lines of cats and dogs. It turns out that Cissy is another cat person. The avowed dog lover in the threesome who didn’t have much to contribute to their learned discussion shrank in her chair and munched on water and cellulose splotched with semisolid Thousand Island dressing.

  After a time of praise for cats and their idiosyncrasies, Bella swung right into her PI bit.

  “So what do you think of the Weikerts and Darlene’s death?”

  Cissy sighed. “I miss her so much. We were friends for years.”

  I made a mental note of the question she didn’t answer. “How many?” Bella asked.

  “About twenty. Her boys were little, and my daughter had died years before. I had so much fun watching Darlene with them. She had them late and loved everything about motherhood. I did warn her she was going to regret all the spoiling. And she did soon enough.”

  I sat up, but Bella beat me to the punch.

  “What made her regret it?” she asked.

  Cissy squared her shoulders. “They never worked a day in their lives. At least, not until Darlene set up that mooch Tommy in his foreign car sales place, and I still don’t know how much work he really does.”

  “Did she buy the showroom for Tommy?”

  “At least she didn’t go that far. All he owns is the clothes Darlene paid for him to buy so he wouldn’t run around naked. She’s paid the rent on that place and his apartment from the start. You’d think she’d learn after a while.”

  Hmm . . . Righteous indignation?

  Bella picked up steam. “How about the cars? He’s got a gaggle of them. They don’t come cheap.”

  “Yes, they do. For him. She paid for those too.”

  Wilmont’s pet detective leaned forward. “Bottom line, Cissy. Are you saying she shelled it out for him as if he still wore diapers? Is that the scoop?”

  “That’s the scoop.”

  Cissy’s disgust with the deadbeat brothers
sounded sincere. I don’t know if I could stomach them either. So what was Tommy’s problem? Had his landlord begun to drum him for late rent now that Darlene was dead? I couldn’t forget his phone conversation at the showroom.

  But Bella didn’t give me a chance to ask again.

  “If Mama still paid his bills,” she said, “he’d want to keep her around, don’t you think? Is he dumb enough to snuff her? Without her around, he’s pancake-flat broke.”

  “Yes, he is.” Cissy’s satisfaction made her brown eyes livelier than I’d ever seen them. “But he never thought she’d cut him out of her will. She did it because she finally began to see the light. She felt she had to protect Jacob’s future for the day the cancer took her.”

  She fell silent, and her grief seemed real and deep. I could relate. After Marge’s murder, I struggled to get past the loss and pain.

  “Maybe,” Cissy continued after a moment or two, “Tommy made another one of his dirty deals recently, one for more than Darlene was willing to give him. And that might have led him to . . .”

  “Ooh, baby! One of his dirty deals? Does he do that a lot? How much dirt does he”—Bella shuffled imaginary cards—“deal out?”

  “He hung out with some shady characters. It felt like every other week they came up with another ‘sure thing.’ But none of those ‘sure things’ ever worked out quite as Tommy said they would, and Darlene always bailed him out.”

  On the one hand, Tommy had a pretty strong motive. On the other, maybe not so much. And Larry knew about his brother’s iffy ethics all along. Was that what Techno Whiz Kid had pulled up on the computer screen?

  Bella barreled on, and I sat back. Who was I to mess with—I think—success?

  “How ’bout that other kid?” she asked. “You know, the pocket-protector one.”

  Cissy snorted, the most unladylike sound I’d heard the plain but proper senior make. “He’s another story. He works—all the time. Or so he says. But no one knows what he does. All Darlene could tell me was that it had something to do with very innovative, hush-hush computer stuff.”

  “So this one’s not a bloodsucker leech?”

  Good grief, Bella. How subtle can you get?