Organized for Murder

by Ritter Ames

  By the time the desk was nearly empty and the box equally full, the only task left was the center drawer. All of the toys and the rest of the room's floor inventory was documented in the computer file. Meg and Valerie were on the final bookcase. Kate pulled out the wide mahogany middle drawer.

  "When we're finished in here, I'd like to move on to the living room next." Kate kept her head down, her attention focused on the jumbled contents. A bit of white caught her eye, back where the journal had been, and she withdrew a scrap of paper that said "G. Cay." and listed a long string of numbers. It may have been a note Amelia kept in the journal or just a scrap hidden under the book, but to Kate it looked suspiciously like reference to some kind of account.

  Regardless, it's up to Walker to figure out whether the note is important or trash.

  She slipped it into the journal for safekeeping. Out of habit, she made a mental list as she worked, but she itched to grab one of the cloisonné pens from the big middle drawer and jot thoughts down on one of the desk's many stylized notepads. An upward glance revealed Meg and Valerie working in a simmering cease-fire manner. All afternoon, Meg had listed book titles on a pad, rather than having to constantly stop and start to enter them into the laptop. Valerie followed her example with another pad. Balanced at the top of the library ladder, the redhead recorded book titles and edition information from the shelf near the ceiling. The truant decorator did likewise at the bottom, her cell phone on the floor beside her. But by the set of their shoulders, Kate knew another outburst could come at any moment.

  Taking advantage of the opportunity, her hand hovered over a jewel-like pen for one instant then grabbed a pink toned one and a pad of scratch paper. She tamped down her guilt by reminding herself she wasn't stealing the pen, simply making notes to solve Amelia's murder. The late woman would not only approve but would applaud Kate. She scribbled quickly as the pair's backs were turned.

  What is Sophia's true purpose for wedging Valerie into this inventory job, and what did she say to convince Valerie (or order her) to come back after this morning's temper tantrum?

  Messing with Kate's business and being a thorn in Meg and her respective sides would tickle Ms. James to no end, but the big question was still what did Sophia hope to accomplish? Kate resented the fact Sophia excelled at pushing her buttons and had insinuated Valerie into her daily life. Not to mention the whole lingering jealousy thing about Sophia and Keith she couldn't get out of her mind.

  But most of all, the woman's a bitch.

  Kate moved on to the next sibling and scribbled out her next thought.

  Who did Bill decide he needed to go see when the shelter guys came, or was there even an appointment at all? Was he really trying to catch up with the shelter guys? If so, why?

  She wrote Thomas's name, then added "father?" beside it, wondering if he was privy to the tragic family history and whether he blamed Amelia for any part of his dad's suicide. But she didn't want to write the question, and not just because it all seemed too sordid and soap opera-y. No, Thomas, somehow, seemed as much a victim in this family of vipers as was the murdered Amelia, and Kate wanted to minimize his place in her free-writing, suspect-musing exercise. Danny, was a different story.

  What did Danny discuss with Gabriella Cavannah-Wicker, and did the Natalie 2K he had scrawled on his hand refer to Gabriella's granddaughter?

  "Are you goofing off?" Valerie's voice cracked like a shot, and Kate guiltily stuffed the page into the pocket of her jacket.

  "Of course not," she said. When Meg raised an eyebrow, Kate didn't doubt the blush she felt was much too apparent. She turned to brisk action and pulled out the center drawer to dump the rest of the contents into the box, then grabbed Amelia's journal from the desktop and placed it atop everything before she closed the flaps. Hefting the bulky cardboard container, she shuffled to the door, saying, "I was just making a list of what I need to bring tomorrow. After I take this out to the van, I'll come back and help you finish, and we can leave."

  "What's in the box?" Valerie stood and blocked her way.

  "You watched what I was doing. It's all papers and files from the desk. I'm taking them to the lawyer's office." Promising herself not to let Valerie rattle her again, she countered with, "If you'd stuck around earlier you would have heard me say so."

  "I'm not sure Sophia would want you to—"

  That did it. The box fell to the floor in a resounding thump, and Kate felt her face grow red again but this time with anger. "I don't give a damn what Sophia wants. And I don't care—"

  Meg climbed down from the ladder as Valerie said, "Don't go fooling yourself about being the boss here, Kate McKenzie. I'll have you know Sophia—"

  "Sophia, Sophia, Sophia," Kate cried. "If you want to be her little puppet—"

  "Puppet! I am n—"

  "Ladies!" Meg got their attention, and held up the cell phone that had been lying on the floor. "Speaking of Sophia, I believe this text message is from her."

  "Give me my phone." Valerie snatched it out of Meg's hand and smiled as she read the small screen. "Anything you have to say to Sophia, I guess you can tell her yourself. She wants to see you immediately."

  Valerie scrolled the text back to the top of the screen and handed the phone to Kate, who read, "TELL THAT IDIOT MCKENZIE WOMAN TO GET OVER HERE NOW, OR SHE AND HER HUSBAND WILL BE JOB HUNTING TOGETHER."

  *

  Kate slammed the box into the back of the van. How dare that witch order her around. And threaten Keith's job to boot. She had half a mind not to go, let Sophia simmer in her own juices, but that really wasn't an option. Ms. Hoity-Toity needed to be shown what happened when she sent word through her minion for Kate McKenzie to come at once and stand court.

  "Wait, Katie, calm down," Meg continued the placating routine she'd begun back in the study.

  "This is too much. I'm having it out with witchy-woman." She pulled the keys from her tote bag.

  "At least let me drive."

  "Oh, no." She climbed into the driver's seat. "I'm getting there of my own volition. I don't want her to think I'm so upset I need someone to drive me."

  "But you are too upset." Meg piled in on the passenger side. "You might—"

  "Wait for me." Valerie ran up and slid open the side door, climbing into the backseat.

  "Get out." Kate turned in her seat. "You can get the blow-by-blow from Sophia later."

  Rolling her eyes, Valerie said, "I'm not coming along to see you publicly humiliated. I'm coming to help."

  "Help what? Put me in my place?"

  "No." Valerie's voice took on an overly patient tone. "To help you put your world back together when you shoot your mouth off at Sophia. The best thing you could do is not go. You're going to blow everything. But since that doesn't seem to be an option, someone needs to be there to work on Sophia in your favor after all is said and done."

  Kate felt her head spinning. "You want me to believe your only aim in tagging along is to help me?"

  "Come on," Meg said. "I've heard a lot of crap in my life, but this—"

  "Of course, I'm going to help," Valerie interrupted, glaring. "We haven't finished inventorying this house yet, and it's important to my business to know everything inside."

  "Oh, well," Meg replied wryly. "As long as your intentions are pure."

  The exchange was enough to cut some of the strain for Kate, and she drove off at a normal speed. The closer they got to the White residence, the tighter the tension coiled between her shoulder blades. They pulled up at the curb of the Georgian mansion, and she jumped out, almost as if ejected from a rocket seat, and left the keys in the ignition.

  "Kate, aren't you going to lock up?" Meg called.

  "This won't take long."

  "I'll do it," Meg said. "Wait for me. Please, Katie."

  Kate never slowed her step. A split second later, she heard the back door slide as Valerie climbed out, followed by a crash and "Damn," and she recognized the sound of a dumped purse, the contents pinging and r
olling on the asphalt.

  Valerie's purse spill worked in Kate's favor. She had little need for an entourage when confronting Sophia.

  At the heavy oaken door, she pressed the doorbell again and again. No answer.

  "Okay, this rips it, Sophia!" It wasn't enough the harpy ordered her there, but ignoring her at the door and making sure her domestic help followed suit simply ramped things up to a level Kate could not ignore. She fisted her left hand and pounded on the heavy wooden door. To her surprise it slowly swung open.

  Still mad, but puzzled, Kate stepped into the dark foyer. "Sophia!"

  Again, no answer.

  She stomped into the first room on the left, the formal living room. Her blood hit max pressure at the sight of Sophia, distinctive as ever in red lounge wear and glittering gold jewelry, stretched languidly along the couch, the missing African death mask covering her face and neck.

  "If this is some kind of threat, I—" Her words died in her throat when she took a better look.

  More than expensive rings and bracelets accessorized the scarlet outfit. An antique gold dagger stood tall in the middle of Sophia's chest.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Note to self – Don't panic!

  *

  "So, again, you just happened to be in the same house where the occupant comes up dead." Lieutenant Johnson stared at Kate across Sophia's polished, inlaid gilt and ivory French desk. She wondered whether Valerie had "tweaked" the room but thought not. This office spoke of the same taste and elegance—and money—Sophia's alligator bag implied. Here was a space the late woman had created for herself and quite possibly by herself. Well, at least Kate assumed the desk was for Sophia's use. The exuberant ormolu style didn't appear at all masculine, and anyway, wasn't the elderly Mr. White off in some health facility somewhere, and— "Mrs. McKenzie!"

  Kate jumped in the chair, startled. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant. This has really been a stressful time for me…but…You want my statement, and I want to help, but I…don't have clue about…murder…" She sank back into the chair, feeling a sudden chill.

  Meg had been the one who'd finally dialed 9-1-1. Kate had wanted to make the call herself, but she couldn't. The impact of Sophia lying there stayed burned in her memory, and the lethargy of such a profound shock left her body incapable of movement.

  However, after the call had been placed, it seemed mere seconds before lights and sirens filled the air, twirling red strobes playing peek-a-boo in the softly curtained front window. Lieutenant Johnson had burst through the door, and tossed out orders like a trail boss, quickly dividing the women much as a cowboy would cut a herd of cattle, penning each in separate rooms to interview individually. Kate had been sequestered in the kitchen, with Constable Banks standing guard over her as he had in the interrogation room after Amelia's murder. It was more than an hour before Johnson called for her. He had obviously interviewed Meg and Valerie first, making her worry further about whatever spin the interior designer put on the day's events.

  She closed her eyes and saw everything again in sharp, Technicolor 3D, the red outfit with a darker red stain around the heart, not noticeable until the image of the knife registered. The knife. Had she touched it? She didn't think so. No, she hadn't moved. Yes, she was sure about that. She remembered dimly hearing footsteps race across the tiled foyer and into the room from behind, but she hadn't thought about moving, didn't think about the possibility of the killer coming back to hurt her, too. Then Valerie had screamed, "What have you done?"

  The pressure built again inside, and she fought for control. Somehow, she had to tell the lieutenant something to make him believe she hadn't done this terrible thing, but words stuck in her throat. Sophia was dead! She'd ordered Kate over there, had sent the horribly nasty text message. They'd all seen the words, scrolled through the text to read the entire thing, and Valerie had taken such delight in Kate's immediate anger. She felt heat surge at the thought, countering her chills. She raised a hand to her throbbing temple.

  "I understand your anxiety, Ms. McKenzie, but please understand mine." Johnson twisted the golden-brown leather chair around to grab a tissue from the box atop the bulbish-shaped chest even Kate recognized as a being French Rococo. He handed the tissue to her. "Everything you've told me is corroborated by your, for lack of a better term, partners. But we have procedures and—"

  A knock interrupted his perfectly honed speech.

  "What?" Johnson barked.

  "Sir?" A crime scene technician poked his head inside the room, one latex-gloved hand maintaining a stronghold on an evidence bag hanging beside his visible leg. "We're done, sir. Everyone's loading up to leave."

  "Got anything, Edwards?" Johnson asked.

  The younger CSI guy gave a restless shrug. "Not sure yet, sir. Some fingerprints, but not a lot. Looks like the cleaning people are good at their jobs." As Johnson opened his mouth to speak, Edwards added, "One set around the edges of the mask, but no prints on the knife. We have to hope the mask prints are enough for a match. Knife handle was wiped clean. Definitely wiped clean. There were smears, like it'd all been done in a hurry, and the body was repositioned post-death. Probably not a long time following, but the victim was definitely posed on the couch after the attack that killed her."

  "Very good. Let me know as soon as you have any results I can use," Johnson said as Edwards withdrew.

  "Why reposition the body?" Kate asked, almost whispering. "And the prints on the mask are likely mine from the other day." Breathing didn't help; her lungs weren't working right anymore. The organs took in air but forgot to send it up to her brain, so she felt light-headed. "Who's playing these horrible, horrible games?"

  "Who indeed?" Johnson closed the large leather portfolio he'd been using to take notes and clasped his hands on top. "If you didn't kill her—"

  "I didn't." Kate leapt to her feet. "Valerie's phone—the text message said to come here! You know that's what it said. She showed it to you when you arrived. I watched her show you."

  He calmly extended a hand, a heavy gold watch lying across the wrist. "Let me have your phone, Mrs. McKenzie."

  Perplexed, Kate searched the area around her feet until she saw her purse at one end of the desk. She removed the cell and handed it to the lieutenant.

  After only a moment's observation he handed back the phone. "Okay."

  "What?" Suddenly his purpose dawned on her. "You wanted to see if I sent the message. Didn't you?"

  "That is a part of my investigation," Johnson replied.

  "I didn't do this. Any of it. But someone is determined to make you think I have." Kate cried into the tissue. A few seconds later she felt several more pressed into her hands.

  Johnson said, "I'm going to have to ask you to stop working at the Nethercutt mansion. I'm resealing the estate as a crime scene. I will do the same with this house. That's standard procedure to allow the technicians to go back over any new evidence discovered. I'm sorry, but—"

  "Don't. I understand." Kate waved her right hand, while she used her left to pinch her nose with the tissues. She felt sorry for him. He was grasping at straws like everyone else, hoping something had been overlooked in previous searches. "There's no way I want to go back to the Nethercutt mansion."

  Johnson nodded. "It looks like everything is in order as far as this part of the investigation goes, but as before, Ms. McKenzie, please do not leave this jurisdiction."

  "I have no plans for travel," Kate said, forcing a smile as she suddenly felt overwhelmingly tired. "Can I go?"

  "Yes. I'll have someone drive you if you want."

  She shook her head. "I brought Meg and Valerie. We need to take Valerie back to get her car before Meg and I can go on home. I'll let Meg drive. We'll be fine."

  "Let me have one of the uniforms take Ms. James back for you," Johnson offered.

  Kate felt the anger rise again in her face. "I meant what I said, Lieutenant." She shoved her purse under an arm. "I don't intend to go inside the Nethercutt house ever again."<
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  "I don't doubt you, Mrs. McKenzie." Johnson spoke gently as he rose and circled the desk. "But I am concerned about you. I want you to go straight home to your family. Let someone else take Ms. James to her car."

  She tried to swallow the huge lump in her throat. This man who'd seemed overtly threatening had become kindness personified. She wanted to trust him, believe he believed her, feel reassured this solicitous act was strictly from compassion over her welfare. But she couldn't. Her trust was gone, destroyed with the belief she would never feel safe. "That text message. Those horrible words…"

  "Yes?" he prompted when she didn't say anything else.

  She hung her purse on her shoulder and gave her nose one last vicious swipe. "Sophia didn't send that message, did she? Her killer did. Right?"

  Johnson shrugged. "I won't know until the body is autopsied for time of death and we can obtain her cellular information. Even then the time frames may be too close to be sure."

  This was all too much. He didn't have to tell her—Kate knew. And she worried the information offered only a double-edged sword at best. He was either trying to reassure and still keep her on her guard by revealing what he legally could tell, or working a sting to make her let down her guard. Regardless, she knew her unseen nemesis was at it once more and determined to get her imprisoned for something she hadn't done. If this villain couldn't get her accused of Amelia's murder, the next try was for theft. If not for theft, why not pull out all the stops and commit a second murder? Her anger renewed, she slammed the tissue into the gold-toned wastebasket beside the bookcase. "Never mind. I know. And if you didn't feel you have to be super-officious you'd admit it, too."