Broken Vows Mystery 01-For Better, for Murder

by Lisa Bork

  Sam’s head snapped up. “You can ask Erica and my cousin, Theo.”

  I winced. “Does Theo own a late-model Lincoln? A dark-colored one?”

  “Yeah.” Suspicion narrowed Sam’s eyes. “Why?”

  If I explained, Sam would know they were suspects in the convenience store robberies. They could disappear, and Ray would have an open case on the books forever. “Just curious. Someone saw a late-model Lincoln stop for two people a street away from the psych center.”

  Erica bit her lip. I knew I’d surmised correctly.

  “Any chance either of you were in my apartment last night?”

  They said “no” in unison, then looked at each other and smiled that sickly sweet smile new lovers have.

  “Why do you ask, Jo?” Erica’s blue eyes seemed to hold honest interest.

  “I thought maybe you stopped by; that’s all.”

  I felt more confident in their innocence. I decided I needed to get Ray over here so they could convince him as well. My fingers twitched on the phone in my hand. Erica spotted the movement and started tugging Sam toward the still open garage door. “We gotta go.”

  I summoned my best parental voice. “Erica, you have to go back to the psych center. You both do. You were never officially released.”

  “Not today. I’m going to party. Merry Christmas.” She waved and the two of them ran out the back.

  I dialed Ray.

  He growled my name when he answered. “Brennan Rowe wasn’t home. I didn’t find Theo Tibble or Erica yet.”

  “Fine. Don’t hang up. Erica and Sam Green were just here.”

  I ran out of the garage to the showroom window and looked out onto the sidewalk. With two weeks until Christmas, it was packed with antique store combers, doily shoppers, and Dickens cast members. A woman passed by the window and blocked my view for a moment with the huge bag of toys in her arms. “She’s headed…” I saw one outfit that looked like Erica’s, then another, and another. All the men appeared identical. It was the Thomas Crown affair without the bowler hats. “She’s gone. They said they were going to meet his cousin Theo at the Rotary Club, though.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  I hit the end button and headed into the garage again to lower the overhead door and inspect the DeLorean. Surprisingly, it did not have any Slurpee stains. As a matter of fact, it was spotless. Too spotless, like someone had cleaned it to hide the evidence.

  Evidence of what, I couldn’t say for sure.

  At five minutes to ten on Monday morning, I sat at my desk in the shop, focused on winning an auction and refusing to allow any other thoughts to intrude.

  Like the thought that I had spent all of yesterday alone at home, waiting for Ray to call and ask me about my Saturday night intruder. I couldn’t believe word hadn’t reached him about it. Had we come to the point in our relationship where he was indifferent? That was the word he’d used to describe the opposite of love. Ray never even bothered to call me and let me know if he found Erica and Sam Saturday night. Was that his way of answering my question? Didn’t he care enough about me to keep me informed anymore? I had watched the news but didn’t see anything reported.

  I also didn’t want to think about Mr. Oliver’s reaction to receiving a call from Gumby that his DeLorean had been “borrowed” by the sister of the person he entrusted it to for safekeeping. The car only had fifty new miles on it. Whatever they had done with it, they hadn’t gone far.

  No, this morning I wouldn’t even think about Brennan Rowe. This morning all I could think about was the prize: the title to a 1957 Mercedes-Benz 300SL roadster and the broker’s fee of five thousand dollars that would make me feel like my business was back on track to success.

  I had left my arm sling at home and removed the bandage from my wrist, leaving only the one around my rib cage in place. It had a rather nice slimming effect, like Control Top panty hose and I planned to milk it. But otherwise, I wanted to be in fighting form, and the bandages just reminded me I’d been in a weakened state.

  The auction representative issued his last instructions to me. “Miss Asdale, when the bidding begins, I will repeat the current bid and you will state the amount of your bid to me. Please think of yourself as being here in the auction room with us, and only state bid amounts, no superfluous words or conversation. The bidding will move quickly. I don’t want you to miss your opportunity to participate or have any confusion at this end as to your current bid. Is that clear?”

  “Yes.” I knew my maximum bid would be six hundred and eighty-two thousand, because Brennan Rowe had authorized me to spend not one penny more than seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars, and this auction house charged ten percent of the sale to the participant, a bidder’s premium. Ten percent on top of a six hundred eighty-two thousand dollar bid would take me to exactly the seven hundred and fifty thousand he was willing to pay, and he would reward me with the additional five-thousand dollar finder’s fee I so desperately needed.

  “Excellent. The roadster is the fifth car on the block this morning.”

  Perhaps I should consider putting the Ferrari on the block at the auction house. Would I have to disclose that its last passenger rode it on the stairway to heaven?

  “Okay, Miss Asdale, we’re on. The bidding opens at … five hundred thousand. It’s five fifty, six, six fifty, six fifty-five, six sixty, six sixty-five … Six sixty-five going once—”

  Could I be so lucky? “Six seventy.”

  “Six seventy. Six seventy. Six seventy … Going once. Going twice. Six seventy-five.”

  With the bidder’s premium, I was coming dangerously close to my cutoff. “Six seventy-seven.”

  “Six seventy-seven. Six seventy-seven. Six seventy-seven … Going once—Six eighty.”

  Too close, too close. I closed my eyes. “Six eighty-two.”

  “Six eighty-two. Six eighty-two. Six eighty-two … Going once, going twice—”

  I heard a rustle and opened my eyes. A man in jeans, a blue Oxford, and a Stetson appeared in my office door. I jumped to my feet in surprise.

  “Six eighty-five, Miss Asdale.” I could hear the excitement in the auctioneer’s voice.

  “What?”

  “Six eighty-five is the current bid, Miss Asdale. Going once. Do you wish to increase your bid?”

  The man held out a large envelope to me. I caught the words “Stanley Oliver and Associates, Attorneys at Law” in the corner. I dropped back into my seat.

  “Going twice. Miss Asdale?”

  The words came out of my mouth in reflex. “Six eighty-seven.”

  The man laid the envelope on my desk. “Have a nice day.” He tipped his Stetson and disappeared.

  “Six eighty-seven. Six eighty-seven. Six eighty-seven … Going once. Going twice. Six eighty-eight.”

  I didn’t stop to think. I was too dazed. “Six ninety.”

  “Six ninety. Six ninety. Six ninety … Going once … going twice … last call … SOLD. Congratulations, Miss Asdale, you’re the new owner of a 1957 Mercedes-Benz 300SL roadster for six hundred and ninety thousand. Stay on the line and we’ll finalize the deal.”

  I put my face in my hands and tried to keep from weeping, not tears of joy but tears of frustration. Including the bidder’s premium, I had really just paid seven hundred and fifty-nine thousand dollars for this vehicle, nine thousand more than authorized and four thousand more than my finder’s fee. Even if I forfeited my fee, I was still over the amount Brennan Rowe would pay.

  When I hung up from the auction house, I slit open the envelope Tex left on my desk and perused its contents. Mr. Oliver planned to sue me for breach of contract and damages in excess of ten thousand dollars. Maybe I could take it out of Erica’s trust fund.

  Too bad she didn’t have one. I was her trust fund, and my coffers were almost empty.

  I lowered my head into my hands and rested them on the desk. I should not have expected the auction to go well for me. Nothing else had this month. I took a deep breath,
stood, pushed in my desk chair and locked up the shop. I needed relief.

  As I drove my Porsche out of the town limits and headed toward the county road, I considered simply continuing westward, to California, perhaps. I could get a job as a movie extra and blend forever into the background. Being in the forefront of the action was too draining.

  But I couldn’t leave Erica. She needed me and I loved her. And I couldn’t leave Ray again, at least not until the fat lady sang, if she ever would. So I did the next best thing. I turned onto the county road and hit the gas.

  At a hundred and ten, I began to feel better. Everything in my mind blurred and the yellow line disappeared. At a hundred and fifteen, I felt the adrenaline rush. At a hundred and twenty, I knew Cory needed to adjust the alignment. The steering wheel jerked and vibrated, bringing me back to reality. I eased my foot off the pedal. I brought the car to a halt at the side of the road and wept.

  I wept for my mother, who left me to face life alone. For my father, who didn’t quite know how to fill her shoes and his own simultaneously. For me, the failure as a surrogate mother and wife.

  And finally, for my business, which looked like it would be finished before it ever really had time to get off the ground. At least the zoning board would be pleased.

  I gave myself all of five minutes for my pity party. Then, never one to concede to defeat without a fight, I dried my tears and started to plan as I drove home.

  I’d check on Isabelle’s family’s health and prompt her again about Celeste’s jewelry. Then I’d call Greg Doran. Might as well let him know I was being sued over what amounted to fifty additional miles on the DeLorean. It wasn’t like Mr. Oliver’s prize breeder had been impregnated by a mutt. It was fifty lousy miles that he didn’t get to drive himself. I’d have Cory check the car over thoroughly tomorrow, but I was sure that’s all it amounted to, certainly not worth ten thousand dollars. And I’d call Cory today to let him know he needed to check out the candy apple red Jaguar in Albany tomorrow. The few hundred I could make off that deal would help.

  Brennan Rowe made my list of people to call. I would call him and offer him the car for seven hundred and fifty-five thousand, foregoing my finder’s fee. If he didn’t take it, I would offer it to Mr. Hughes. I couldn’t stand the man now, but I needed the money. If neither one of them wanted it at that price, I’d lower it. I would have to see if I could increase my business line of credit to cover the difference. I didn’t think the bank would raise it far enough for me to afford to drive the thing around myself, and I couldn’t afford to have such an expensive car sit in the showroom waiting to be noticed.

  I didn’t know what more I could do about finding Erica. She clearly wasn’t hanging out with her old friends in her old haunts. As for the Beak and the killer, I now feared one or both of them wanted to find me. But that didn’t mean I would stop asking questions. I’d just keep moving fast and look over my shoulder.

  I peeked in all the closets and under the bed when I got home, even though it was daylight. Bending down to see under the bed made my stitches pull and ache.

  Isabelle didn’t answer her home phone but her cell phone only had to ring once. We verified that we and our loved ones were still healthy. I didn’t tell her about my home invasion. She wouldn’t ask if she could move in with me; she’d insist. And her family needed her more.

  Instead, I filled her in on Erica’s latest adventures.

  “So what’s Sam like? Does the madness make his eyes glitter?”

  “He’s charming and cute. But Ray always says it’s the quiet, polite ones that are the most dangerous. They lull you into a false sense of security, then spring on you when you least expect it, like Hannibal Lecter.”

  “Do you think Erica is in any danger?”

  I recalled the affection on Sam’s face when he looked at Erica. “Not for the moment anyway. Did you ever find out about Celeste’s necklace?”

  “Let me call Jack now and remind him. He did go into work this morning. I’ll call you right back.”

  I phoned Greg Doran in the meantime. He was in conference, according to his secretary. She asked me to drop off the letter from Mr. Oliver so he could review it and get back to me. This would cost me more money. I refrained from adding up all my new debts.

  My cell rang. “Jack checked the records. Remember what I said about those pieces? They sold in a lot of stores, not just ours.”

  “So Jack doesn’t know who bought his second set?”

  “Well, no. He does have a record of the sale.”

  “Who bought it?”

  “I don’t want you to get excited or read anything into this.”

  “Who bought it?”

  “Your dad.”

  I got in the car and drove straight to Talbots. Celeste had the day off. I continued on to my old house, my dad’s old house, where I rummaged through the few remnants of his life he’d kept in a box in the attic. The pictures of my parents’ wedding and the notes my mother had written him while he served in the Army in Vietnam sent me into tears again and I needed more than five minutes to recover. But when I’d touched every last document in the box, I found no evidence of another woman in his life besides Mom, Erica, and me.

  After consideration, I decided driving to Celeste’s home and confronting her wasn’t such a bad idea.

  Celeste preyed on men. She used her feminine wiles to get them to pay for her food and entertainment, a well-known fact in our town. The jewelry was something new, though, and I didn’t care for the thought that she’d taken advantage of my sixty-plus father. The thought of them together revolted me.

  I pulled onto Celeste’s street and remembered she lived two doors down from Walter Burnbaum, who was shoveling the sidewalk in front of his house. He also appeared to be either singing or talking to himself, since his lips were moving and no one else was in sight.

  As I stepped from the Porsche, he stopped to move a sandwich board announcing his home had been renovated by The Dream Team, two other guys I went to high school with. They did siding, tiling, and flooring, improving the aesthetic appearance of the older homes in our town. They did good work, too. My father used them to put cedar shingles on the exterior of our shop five years ago. It wasn’t obvious to me which service they had provided Walter.

  Walter spotted me and waved, his lips no longer moving. I gave a feeble wave in return, thinking he could come over and save Celeste if things got out of hand during my little visit.

  Celeste had on a leotard when she answered the doorbell, looking damp and out of breath. I could hear Kathy Smith chanting away on the television. Apparently, Celeste didn’t know one of the advantages of belonging to a gym was the ability to meet men. Or maybe she’d run through all of them at the gym already.

  “Jolene, what are you doing here?” She sounded more surprised than annoyed.

  “I need to talk to you.”

  She didn’t open the door. In fact, she pushed it closed ever so slightly. It took me a second to realize she might still believe I had something to do with Tim Lapham’s death. After all, who in their right mind would let a suspected murderer into their house without hesitation?

  “Walter’s in front of his house. He waved to me a minute ago.” I pointed to him. Celeste leaned out to verify.

  Walter looked up and waved again. I couldn’t have timed it better. At least Celeste could take comfort now in the knowledge that Walter knew I’d entered her house.

  She stepped aside to allow me to enter. I stepped into the tiny foyer, then the living room beside it. The walls were painted a golden color and she had green and gold furniture, gold carpeting, gilt framed mirrors, and cherry accent pieces. It looked professionally decorated, but maybe Celeste had as good taste in home décor as she had in clothes.

  She darted around me in the living room and hit the power button on the television, silencing Kathy mid-sentence. She gestured to the armchair beside me. “Sit down. Tell me what’s going on.”

  I perched on the edge of
the brocade chair. Celeste settled on the matching couch. I got to the point. “Last time I saw you, you were wearing a pearl necklace set that I recognized. Did my father give it to you?”

  Her jaw dropped. She recovered quickly, flicking carpet fiber from her leotard as she smiled at me. “Why would you ask me that?”

  “Because I want to know. Please answer my question.”

  Celeste frowned. “All right, but I don’t know what good it will serve.” She folded her hands in her lap. “Yes, your father gave it to me. He and I dated for a few months the year before he died.”

  I started to ask how come I never knew, but realized no one must have wanted me to know, including my father. That hurt worse than anything. I thought he and I were the best of friends. My face must have told the story.

  Celeste pursed her lips. “Don’t look at me that way. It wasn’t like that. Your father was lonely. We kept bumping into each other in Starbucks and he got up the nerve to ask me out. He liked to go out to dinner. He didn’t like to eat alone. And he was a nice-looking man.”

  “What about the necklace?”

  “He gave it to me for my birthday. I told him it was too much but he insisted.”

  “When did you stop dating?”

  “After the first time Erica tried to take her life. He needed to focus on her. I understood. It wasn’t like our relationship had much of a future.” Celeste glanced into the mirror on the wall next to her. It reflected a good-looking thirty-seven-year-old woman and another deflated one in the chair across from her.

  I couldn’t think of anything to say. I stood. “Thanks for being honest. It just caught me off guard, that’s all.”

  I headed for the door, but stopped when my hand met the cold metal handle on the screen door. I looked back at Celeste, who hadn’t risen off the couch. She was staring at the carpet, looking a little dejected.

  “One more question, Celeste.”

  She lifted her chin. “Yes?”

  “Did my father ever give you the code for the alarm system at the shop?”