Broken Vows Mystery 01-For Better, for Murder

by Lisa Bork

  Ray braced his shoulders like he was entering the battlefield and accepted the list, making me swear to lock all the doors behind him.

  Five minutes later I opened the back door in response to Erica’s knock. She stepped into the kitchen and threw her arms around me, squeezing tight. I screamed.

  “Huh, sorry. I’m just so glad you’re all right. The news said some bird watcher tried to drag you to death behind a stolen car. They have an APB out on him.” Erica made quote marks with her fingers.

  “Yeah, well, they have one out on you, too.” I grabbed her arm and swung her into a kitchen chair, then stood over her to assess her current state.

  She had on blue jeans with holes in the knees, fleece-lined clogs, a red sweater, and a navy pea coat. At least she was wearing her own clothes. Her blond ringlets fell to her waist and were clean. She smelled like lavender. No surprises there. Her hands looked dry and chapped.

  She rubbed her arm and gave me a dirty look. “Why? I didn’t do anything. I’ve been at Turning Stone Casino. We won six hundred dollars, and we only started with fifty.”

  “Where’d you get the fifty? The 7-Eleven?”

  “What’s with you and the 7-Eleven, anyway? You got stock in the place?” Erica stood, brushed past me, and helped herself to a cup of coffee from the coffeemaker on the counter. She opened the refrigerator and poured milk into it.

  “Two convenience stores have been robbed since you and Sam Green went AWOL. You’re suspects. You have done that type of thing before, remember?”

  “Oh, I get it, blame the crazies. Well, we didn’t do it. Sam’s cousin took us to the casino. We checked into a room and we didn’t check out until today. Satisfied?” Erica dropped into her chair and raised her eyebrows at me.

  “What about the fifteen thousand dollars?” I explained about finding all the different hiding places in my apartment.

  “Not mine. I would have hidden it better.” She saluted me with her coffee cup in emphasis.

  True, so true. “What about Sam and the rest of your friends?”

  Erica shook her head. “They were only in the kitchen.”

  Now I had no clue as to who hid the money all over my apartment. “So you left the psych center just to go to the casino?” I tried to sit, then changed my mind and leaned my right hip against the counter instead.

  “No, I left to talk to you about what the man said. I tried to call you, but you didn’t answer. Then you didn’t show up at the psych center. I waited for hours for you to show. Tommye kept telling me you were coming, but I didn’t believe her. Sam said he’d call his cousin to take me to you. You weren’t home.” She let out an exasperated huff.

  “I showed. You were gone.”

  “Whatever. I tried your house again on Sunday. You don’t work on Sundays, but you weren’t home. I gave up and we went to the casino.”

  For anyone else, that would be twisted logic, but not Erica. “So what did the voices tell you?”

  “Not voices. I heard a man in the hall at the psych center. He said, ‘God damn Jolene Asdale. She’ll pay for this.’” Erica looked at me as if to say “see, now aren’t you impressed?”

  “What else did he say?”

  “Nothin’.”

  “What did he look like?”

  Erica rolled her eyes again. “I didn’t see him, Jolene. I heard him.” She flipped her ringlets over her shoulder. “Mom said you need to watch your back.”

  I stopped short of asking her what Dad thought. She’d been off her meds for almost a week. I couldn’t believe anything she said. Erica still had conversations with Mom every day. I’m not sure if they occurred telepathically or if she mouthed the words for both of them, but she insisted Mom talked to her. I’d given up trying to dissuade her of this notion long ago.

  “All right, well, I appreciate the warning, but now it’s time for you to go back to the psych center. Ray can drive you.”

  “I can’t go back. I haven’t gotten your Christmas present yet. Mom gave me a great idea. Sam said he could hook me up and he did.”

  The phone rang twice and stopped. Then it rang two more times a couple seconds later. Erica leapt to her feet. “Ray’s coming down the street. Gotta go.”

  I couldn’t move fast enough to catch her before she got out the door. “No, wait, I don’t need a Christmas present. Erica, you … you …” I watched her struggle through the two feet of snow in Ray’s back yard. She fell on her knees twice. A silver car pulled up at the curb on the road behind ours. The door flew upward.

  I let out a shriek. “Erica, you give me back that car right now!”

  “I just need it a few more days to get your present.” She waved with a broad smile and jumped inside the car, pulling the door down behind her. The DeLorean left a strip of rubber as it pulled away.

  “SHIT!”

  I’d have to put twenty dollars in the can for that one, but it was worth it to release the tension inside my head.

  If I sent Ray after the car, he’d bust Erica for car theft. If I didn’t send him after her, I’d be complicit in car theft and insurance fraud, at the very least. Who would be crazy enough to drive that car around in broad daylight, anyway? But that was a rhetorical question.

  As I stood fuming in the doorway, I realized I never asked her about the knife sheath. It wasn’t really necessary. I knew she hadn’t killed anyone or been a party to killing anyone, just as sure as I knew I hadn’t.

  But she had confirmed my worst fears—the money and the sheath must have been hidden in my house to set me up as a thief and a killer.

  I slammed the door, eased onto a kitchen chair and put my head between my knees.

  Two minutes later Ray walked in. “Whose footprints are those outside? Did someone try to get in the house?”

  I held out my hand for the two bags. “I don’t think so. I didn’t catch anybody.”

  Ray took off to follow the footprints. I felt bad for letting him go on another wild goose chase. Then I looked in the bags and realized he’d bought the wrong brand of sanitary napkins and the right size underwear—if I were a little girl. He did throw in a package of crew socks that would fit me, though.

  When he entered the kitchen a few minutes later, his pant legs were soaked. “Whoever it was, they’re gone.”

  I pulled on a pair of the socks. “Could have been Boy Scouts selling Christmas wreaths.” Of course, it wasn’t. It was my sister—the car thief.

  Ray slid his parka off and eyed the bags on the table. “Don’t you need to put that stuff on?”

  “Actually, it was a false alarm, a little leftover blood from the catheter, I think. Sorry.” I stood and hobbled into the living room, lowering myself on the couch in a seated position. My thigh throbbed a little bit, but not too bad.

  Ray followed me with a mug of coffee in hand. It had hearts on it and a little Boynton critter holding a balloon with “Love you” written on it. Ray collected mugs and I didn’t recall ever running that one through the dishwasher while we were married. Maybe now would be a good time to ask him about Catherine Thomas.

  He took a sip and gazed at me. I still couldn’t read his expression.

  “So what progress have you made in the investigation of Tim’s death?” Okay, I was a coward when it came to talking feelings, especially with Ray.

  “The brand of knife used in the killing is sold at several local sporting goods stores including The Bass Pro-Shop. We asked the stores in a fifty-mile radius to check their records. They gave us a list of names from credit purchases but no one popped out at us when we checked the list. It may have been a cash purchase or a purchase from the Adirondacks or Daytona, who knows? No fingerprints, naturally. The state police didn’t lift any off the sheath they found on the floor of your car, either.”

  I had the foresight when removing the sheath from the Miracle-Gro box to grasp it with a tissue, but lost it when I opened the baggie with my bare hands to drop it inside. I wondered why Ray hadn’t mentioned matching the prints on the
plastic bag. Maybe the sheath had fallen out of it— if so, a lucky break for me. It was, however, unfortunate that the sheath didn’t have any fingerprints. It wouldn’t help identify the killer, unless, of course I admitted to finding it in the Miracle-Gro box. Then it would add to the evidence piling against me. I decided to change the topic.

  “Who saw Tim alive last?”

  Ray grimaced. “Besides the killer? His landlady heard his door slam around six o’clock the Friday night he was killed. She said he had a way of bounding down the porch steps. She’s pretty sure it was him.”

  “No leads from his co-workers or his bowling team?”

  “They all describe him the same way as you.” Ray took another sip. “Forensics found a few carpet fibers on his pant legs. A common rose-colored residential brand and a common gray carpet used in automobiles. Some human hairs in shades of brown and gray that we would need weeks to match to a DNA sample of a suspect, if we had one. At this time, I have no leads at all.”

  I shifted toward Ray, trying to take the weight off my left thigh. “At Tim’s funeral, Celeste told me Tim had stood up in their church and disagreed with the pastor about gay rights. Do you know anything about that?”

  “I heard the day it happened. He may have had some supporters, but they didn’t choose to stand with him.”

  I rested my head against the back of the couch, feeling drained. “Do you think that’s a motive for murder?”

  “If we lived in a town where the KKK was active, I’d say maybe. But the issues aren’t even a referendum on a ballot this year, so I doubt it. It did make him persona non grata with the conservatives in town, though. He might have lost his position on the zoning board and his treasurer’s office in the next election.”

  “What about Mr. Hughes? He’s angry about the zoning board vote. He as much as admitted to me that he knew Tim cast the deciding vote against him.”

  Ray leaned forward in his chair. “When did you talk to him?”

  “Monday.”

  Ray stared into his coffee cup. “I’ll check it out, but I think Hughes can find another plot of land. He’s being stubborn; that’s all. He’s used to getting his own way. Besides, I like to think people don’t kill each other over zoning board issues.”

  He didn’t look up as he said this, but the implication that I remained on the suspect list for the same reason as Mr. Hughes hung in the air between us. My master of distraction instincts kicked in. I didn’t want to discuss this with him. I didn’t have any better answers for him now than before.

  “Any chance the Beak killed Tim? Maybe Tim saw him in my shop, taking the hubcaps off the Ferrari and tried to stop him?” I wouldn’t mind putting the Beak away forever. It would be a service to society.

  “I don’t figure him for the killer. I don’t think Simpson had access to your alarm code, and Tim’s body was moved to your showroom. Even if Simpson cracked your code, why would he kill Tim and then move him, only to draw attention to himself?”

  “But what about Tim’s trip to Vegas? Do you think he’s on the list of people who owe money?”

  Ray tipped his head back and drained his coffee mug. “It might account for why the money is missing from the town books. I already called the Vegas cops to see if they could uncover any more information about Tim’s stay there.”

  I hated to believe Tim was less than honest—he’d be another man I misjudged. The first, of course, was Ray, who I could always rely on, even after I left him and ran over his toes. Shame on me.

  Then a more frightening notion popped into my head. “If the Beak could somehow get in my showroom, do you think he would plant the body to frighten me into returning the lists? Especially if Tim’s name was on it? Maybe he’s trying to kill me now, because he thinks I’ve read the list.”

  Ray set his coffee mug down and reached for my hand. “I spoke to the Arizona cops. A man identified with one of Simpson’s known aliases flew into town Wednesday, so it looks like he won’t be bothering you again. They’re going to try to apprehend him.”

  Good to know. My eyes started to sting and burn. I needed more sleep. Maybe a new idea would come to me in the morning.

  I thought about the soft bed we used to share on the second floor. No way could I make the stairs and I didn’t want Ray to get the wrong idea. Hell, I might even get the wrong idea myself, if I wasn’t in agony from simply breathing. “Can you get me a pillow and blanket? I’m ready to call it a night, right here on the couch, if that’s okay.”

  Ray took the stairs with enviable ease and reappeared with my requests. I lay down on the pillow and he covered me with the blanket, tucking it under my sides until I felt like I was in a cocoon.

  “Thank you, Ray. You missed your calling. You’d make a great nurse. But I thought you weren’t going to take care of me anymore,” I murmured drowsily.

  He knelt beside me and gave me his most charming lazy grin, the lines in the corners of his eyes deepening and showing his age. A few gray hairs at his temples that hadn’t been there three years ago winked in the lamp light. The dark circles under his eyes seemed permanent.

  “You had to get yourself kidnapped and assaulted. I’m required by law to investigate.”

  I met his gaze and held it. “You’re not required by law to take me home and care for me.”

  He leaned his head over mine. I felt the warmth of his coffee-scented breath on my cheeks. “Old habits are hard to break.” He kissed me on the forehead, his lips warm and moist enough to create a feeling of evaporation once he lifted them. I felt loved for all of two seconds. Then Ray stood and set his hands on his hips.

  “But I’ll break myself of you soon enough, don’t you worry, darlin’.”

  When I opened my eyes the next morning, Ray was sitting in his favorite armchair, sipping coffee and watching me. If he hadn’t worn a fresh red chambray shirt and a different pair of jeans, I’d have thought he sat there all night. I sensed he wasn’t happy.

  A glass of juice waited for me on the coffee table. I picked it up, ignoring the ring it left, and sipped.

  Ray cleared his throat. “Isabelle and Jack cannot clean your apartment today. Cassidy has had the stomach flu since dinnertime last night. That’s why Isabelle never got around to calling you. Jack started with it a few hours ago. Isabelle’s got her hands full.”

  Ugh. I’d have to thank her for keeping the germs confined to quarters. That would be all I needed on top of a broken rib. “I’m feeling much better anyway. I haven’t needed any Tylenol. Maybe I can tackle it.”

  Ray pinched his lips together so they flat lined. It was a new look for him, and I didn’t know quite what to make of it. I was relieved when he opened his mouth instead, but only for a second.

  “It occurred to me after you fell asleep last night that you haven’t asked me about your sister. She’s now been missing for almost a week. Your lack of concern tells me you know where she is.”

  The orange juice stuck in my throat. I started to cough, spewing drops of it on my blanket and the coffee table. My ribs protested with sharp pains as I fought to get under control. “Not so. I do not know where she is.”

  “But you’re no longer worried about her.”

  I reached for a tissue from the box nearby and blew the remnants of the orange juice out of my nose, which now stung and burned.

  “Jolene, your sister remains a suspect in a robbery investigation. You’re obligated by law not to conceal her. Think about that while I make your breakfast.”

  Ray stalked into the kitchen, the stick up his butt ruining the view of his backside I used to enjoy so well. If he was this upset about Erica, just wait until he found out the truth about the money and the knife sheath.

  The phone rang. I grabbed for it. Ray and I said “Hello” at the same time, blasting each other’s eardrums.

  “Ray? It’s Catherine.”

  I gently set the receiver back in the cradle and listened to the murmur of Ray’s words as he talked to his fiancée. When that became to
o painful, I gazed around the living room and remembered: the conch shell from our honeymoon in Martha’s Vineyard, the sideboard we refinished together after we found it in an antique store one lazy Sunday afternoon, the wrought-iron chandelier with real candles that we only lit on Christmas Eve, and the cream-colored afghan his Aunt Dorothy crocheted for us as a wedding present. In truth, I remembered where we got every item in the room, as well as what occasioned the purchase. We’d spent a lot of time making this house our home, pleasurable time. Now, it brought me only pain.

  When I no longer heard murmuring, I lifted the receiver and dialed. Time to call in the cavalry.

  ___

  If Ray was surprised to find Cory on his doorstep at nine a.m., he caught on quick. He put his green parka on my shoulders and pushed me out the door. It bothered me a little that he didn’t even ask me where I was going.

  “Thank you for putting me in the middle of a very awkward situation.” Cory deftly glided his BMW over the snow-covered roads.

  “I’m sorry. He got a call from Catherine Thomas this morning and it rattled me. I had to get out of the house.”

  “He didn’t tell you?” Dismay was written all over Cory’s face.

  “Tell me what?”

  “I have it on good authority from the guys at the gym that he’s moving out of your house today. A couple of them work for the Sheriff’s department. Ray’s making his new home somewhere east of here.” Cory took his eyes off the road to search my face. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you.”

  I leaned back against the headrest and closed my eyes. My throat tightened. Catherine Thomas lived east of here. I’d missed my chance to reconcile with Ray. A single tear jumped free from the pool in my eyes and dove down my cheek. Its traitorous friends soon followed.

  Cory handed me a wad of tissues from a box tucked in his dash and drove me home in silence.

  Since I was all cried out when we entered my apartment using my spare key, the sight of my belongings strewn and, in some cases, broken all over the floor didn’t even faze me. Bending over to try to pick them up did. I decided to take a shower to see if the hot water would loosen me up a bit. It took me a while to unwrap and rewrap my ribs and change the dressing on my thigh. Cory tackled the obvious tasks of replacing cushions, refolding the linens, and remaking the bed in the meantime.