Thrown Off: A Cozy Mystery (Brenna Battle Book 3)

by Laney Monday

  Someone laughed. I peeked around the corner and saw a woman, apparently transfixed by the show. I took the chance and sprinted past the open door, then pressed myself against the side of the building. I tried to filter out the sound of the TV and listen for any sound from upstairs. What was I planning to do? Break in? I refused to let myself ask those questions. I didn’t let myself make any plans beyond getting here, getting in position—to what? I was just going to play it by ear.

  And hope something falls in my lap? The only thing that ever falls in your lap is trouble, Brenna Battle. But hey, I never said I was a planner. I only knew that I had to do something. And whatever trouble I ended up making, I’d already found two murderers using these methods, hadn’t I?

  “Hello?” I heard a woman’s voice say from above.

  I stiffened. Was she talking to me?

  “No, I still haven’t found anything.”

  Nope, not talking to me. And that voice sounded an awful lot like Hayley, standing right on the balcony. Hayley kept talking, but her voice faded a little. She’d stepped further away. I heard the screen door above open, then shut, and I could barely hear Hayley's voice. I couldn’t make out what she was saying at all.

  I grabbed the post supporting the balcony, wrapped my legs around it, and started heaving myself up. I really needed to get myself a pull-up bar. Maybe even install a rope in the dojo ceiling. I was getting weak. And I wasn’t liking the square pole at all. There’s just nothing about corners that isn’t sharp. They kept cutting into my bare legs.

  I made it to the top quickly though, and grabbed the lip of the balcony. Now I just had to hoist myself up and over the railing without making any noise and—

  The screen door opened. I shimmied down the railing I’d just scaled. I was staring right at Hayley's back. I held my breath until I thought my lungs would burst.

  “I know,” Hayley said. “I’m glad she’s gone. I’m glad she’s dead. That cow got what she deserved. Uh-huh. Really?”

  I let out my breath and took another shaky one. If my arms weren’t already starting to shake from holding myself up in a dead hang in a very awkward position, with my hands around the balcony slats, I would’ve been shaking in my running shoes anyway. I was just inches away from a murderer. A cold-blooded murderer who was glad about what she’d done.

  I let my hands slip down along the slats, keeping control of my descent. I had to get out of sight. I made it down to the lip of the balcony and clutched it with my fingers. I don’t think I’ve ever been more thankful for a strong grip. I had no choice but to stay in a dead hang. I wanted as little of me as possible in sight. If Hayley happened to look down, my fingers were the only things to see.

  Should I drop down? Should I just get out of here? I couldn’t just cut and run when she was giving me such valuable information. If only I could get to my phone so I could record this. Who was she talking to? That’s what I really wanted to know. Whoever it was, they knew what she’d done. They were complicit in it, even if they didn’t push the ladder themselves. Maybe she was talking to whoever did the deed. Maybe it was a man, and that was why Glenda thought she saw a male figure. A man under orders from Hayley, or a man who felt the same way about Millie and decided to kill her himself?

  “But she got out? Someone let her out? Too bad. Well at least that’ll teach her to mind her own business.”

  Whoa. Hold on. Was Hayley talking about me? I looked up to glare at her, just in time to see one of her fashionable flats—about to come down on my fingers. I quickly let go of that hand and gripped a little further down the patio. My fingers were killing me. And it was getting harder and harder to keep quiet when I really felt like panting like a madwoman.

  Hayley was a pacer, and she was pacing right along the railing. I desperately walked my hands along the lip of the balcony, trying to outrun Hayley's footsteps. Just get away from the railing, for the love of my precious fingers, Hayley! It was like racing my childhood friend Timmy Gooley on the monkey bars. I couldn’t just slide my hands along because the slats that formed the wall of the railing were in the way. I had to let go and re-grip, right in the spaces between them.

  The feet stopped.

  “What the—!” The way she said it, I knew Hayley wasn’t talking to whoever she had on the phone. It was an exclamation of utter shock. She’d seen something. She’d seen me.

  19

  I let go of that ledge like a hot potato, dropped, and rolled under the balcony, toward the building. I didn’t pause to find out if Hayley's downstairs neighbor saw me. I kept rolling until I was around the corner. I expected Hayley to scream, to call 9-1-1, but all I heard was some swearing, then her throwing open the screen door. Maybe she wasn’t going to call the police. After all, she was very likely a killer. Maybe she preferred to take care of business herself. What a comforting thought!

  I heard an apartment door open and slam. Dear God, she was coming after me! I ran like the entire Cuban women’s judo team was on my tail, ready to pay me back for that little prank I’d pulled in the throes of exhaustion at the infamous Pan American judo camp from hell three years ago. I heard feet pounding down the concrete steps, but after that all I heard was the blood pounding in my ears and my heart slamming in my chest. I didn’t slow down until I got to my car, and then I dove in and locked the doors. I could handle Hayley hand-to-hand just fine, but if she was armed, well, I was a judo Olympian, but I didn’t have any magic ninja dust. My superpower was guzzling coffee and burning through just about any dessert in record speed.

  My hand was shaking so bad with adrenaline, I struggled to get the key in the ignition. I got the truck started and took a deep breath. Be calm, Brenna. Be cool. I drove carefully, just above the speed limit. I didn’t want to attract the attention of the police. I’d left my reflective shell behind the bushes. If Hayley called the police, if they searched the area, they’d find it. And I was pretty sure Will had seen me wearing that thing once or twice.

  I guessed that wouldn’t matter if I went to Will with what I knew right away. If I went to the police, could I be charged with something? Trespassing? And how much evidence did I have, really? Right now, I just needed to get out of here. I pulled over a few blocks away from home and made some notes about what I’d overheard. I was pretty convinced Hayley had been talking about me getting shut in the freezer. There was more than one person responsible for Millie’s death, in one way or another. Was Hayley still friends with someone at the store? Had she put them up to killing Millie?

  #

  As I drove home, I passed Lourdes and Carlos’s house, and I saw police lights. My heart started racing all over again. Then their front door opened, and Chief Sanders came out, accompanied by officer Tony Pfeiffer. Between them was Carlos, in handcuffs. Without even thinking, I slowed and pulled up to the curb. Lourdes emerged from the house, shaking and crying. My favorite police officer held her by the elbow. I got out of my truck. I had to do something.

  What was going on? Did they connect the clothes the killer was wearing with Carlos? Oh, my God. Maybe they found the clothes. Maybe there was evidence of the crime on them. Maybe there was also evidence that they belonged to Carlos. I had to tell Will they had the wrong guy.

  Will stopped halfway to his patrol car. He turned and looked at me. “I’m taking Lourdes to The Engine to ask her a few questions. I’m going to need to talk to you, too.”

  “Me?”

  He nodded. “Stay right there.”

  Will put Lourdes in the car, then approached me. “I heard you had lunch with Lourdes and Carlos yesterday. I heard you talked to Carlos. What was that about?”

  Heard? From whom? Anyone could’ve seen us having lunch at the park. If they’d started going around town asking questions about Carlos, someone might have mentioned that. I wavered for a moment. I almost said, Blythe and I are friendly with Lourdes and Carlos. Miss Ruth asked them to look out for us. We talk every now and then. So what?

  But hiding what I knew, what I’d been
doing, wasn’t going to do anyone any good.

  If Will found out, if he knew what I’d kept from him—He was going to kill me. It was going to be over between us. Something tugged at me inside, and I suddenly felt that stinging, lumping sensation that means tears. Years of training with and competing against some of the toughest, most hardened women in the world had taught me how to mask my feelings. How not to feed those sharks who’d sniff out my fear, any emotional weakness, like blood in the water, and tear me to shreds. The mask came on, automatically. Just like it always did in combative situations.

  “We talked about the murder,” I said. “Carlos told me he thought the killer took his clothes and wore them.”

  Will was visibly taken aback, not just at that admission, but at the way I said it. I sounded cold; I knew it. I didn’t know how to do this, this relationship thing. Not with a normal person. No, not a normal person. Will was so much more than a normal guy.

  “I see.” The muscles in his jaw tensed.

  I don’t think I’d ever seen him so mad. Especially at me. I pressed on. There were more important things to consider here, like Carlos’s future. And truth, justice and the American way. I always loved those old Superman movies. “Listen, I’m glad you want to talk to me, because I have a thing or two to tell you about Hayley Radiguet. The person who really killed Millie Brown.”

  Will gave me a strange look. “We’ll talk at the station. Meet me there right away,” he said, and he went back to his cruiser.

  He might as well have said, Don’t make me come get you, with that tone.

  “Sensei Brenna, what are you taking about? Hayley didn’t kill Millie.” I turned around to see that Sammi had come up right behind me on the sidewalk.

  “Sammi! What are you doing here?” In my business, again! I wanted to scream.

  “I just walked Katie home from my house.”

  “And who’s walking you home?”

  “This is Bonney Bay.” She pronounced each word extra slowly, as if I were a little slow myself.

  “Right, it’s Bonney Bay, and there’s a murderer on the loose. You need to stay out of this. It’s dangerous,” I whispered fiercely.

  “I’m not in this. Sorry if I couldn’t help hearing you say something really dumb.”

  “Sammi.”

  “Sorry. I just don’t want you to make yourself look stupid. Hayley Radiguet is Katie’s mom’s friend, and I know she didn’t do it.”

  Not this again. I thought Sammi was finally coming to terms with the fact that just because someone was a friend, or even family, it didn’t mean they weren’t guilty of a crime. But I didn’t try to argue with Sammi right away. I might be able to get some useful information out of her if I didn’t alienate her first.

  I pulled her aside. “What do you know about Hayley? Tell me everything.”

  “Well, I could tell you everything, but probably the only thing you need to know is that she was at Katie’s house when Millie died.”

  “What? Are you sure?”

  “Sure, I’m sure. You’re not the only one who thought Hayley might have something to do with it.” Sammi crossed her arms and smiled smugly. “As soon as I found out Millie was hurt, I thought, Hayley! Because I knew she hated Millie. I heard her say it all the time. She’s at Katie’s house a lot. But then I heard what time she fell off the ladder, and I realized Hayley couldn’t have anything to do with it.”

  “Maybe you got the time wrong. The time she was at Katie’s house, I mean.”

  “No. I remember because my favorite show was on. You can ask Katie. She was there, too. Hayley was in the kitchen talking to her mom the whole time.”

  “Sammi, don’t tell anyone about this, okay?”

  “About Katie’s mom and Hayley being friends?”

  “About Carlos being arrested!”

  Sammi shrugged. “Okay, I won’t tell.”

  This was just great. One big disaster, one epic humiliation, all for nothing. And now, if word got out, Carlos would be ruined. Assuming he didn’t deserve to be ruined, and spend the rest of his life in jail for murder. How could he be guilty? How could Hayley not be guilty? Of course, just because Hayley wasn’t the one who pushed Millie, that didn’t mean she didn’t have anything to do with it.

  There really wasn’t any way around it. I was going to have to tell Will how I’d spent my evening—dangling from Hayley's balcony. And as an added bonus, I was going to have to accuse someone who had an alibi. I was pretty sure it was all going to make me sound real reliable. You know, like the kind of person a grounded, responsible guy would want to have an ongoing relationship with.

  20

  My phone buzzed with a text message from Blythe.

  “Where are you?”

  I had to answer, before she called the police and found out I was already there. “At the police station.”

  “What are you doing there?”

  I didn’t answer. I could say, Talking to Will, and that would technically be true. But I’d kept enough from my sister, and she was going to be mad enough when she found out. For good reason. Sigh.

  “Are you snooping again?”

  Great. She knew me too well.

  “Brenna?”

  “Maybe,” I replied.

  “I can’t believe this!!!!”

  I texted back, “They took Carlos in for questioning right before me. He’s the prime suspect.”

  “What? Why? I should come down.”

  “NO! I’m fine. I’ll fill you in when I get home. Don’t wait up.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  I turned my phone off and slipped it back into the jogging strap on my arm. I filled a paper cup with coffee. I needed to fortify myself for my upcoming confession. I was a hopeless snoop. Bonney Bay had done it to me, I guess. I used to be the kind of person who minded her own business. Hey, I didn’t even try to talk Blythe out of marrying Jake. Never mind that in that particular case, I probably should have said something. Okay, I should’ve said a lot of things, before she even started dating him.

  The coffee actually smelled pretty good. It looked nice and dark, too. Traveling the world had turned me into a coffee snob. Almost like a native Northwesterner. I loved how there was not only an espresso stand on every street corner in Washington State, but every restaurant I’d been to served their coffee good and strong. Could it be that even police station coffee was good here?

  I swirled the black coffee in my cup like a fine wine and took a sip. Not bad. But I preferred my coffee with lots of cream and a little bit of sugar. I pawed through the little basket of sugar and artificial sweetener packets on the counter, hoping for one of those little cup-like packages of creamer. I found a package of powdered creamer and chucked it back in disgust. Powdered creamer is an absolute abomination. Then I spotted it—the pot of gold! One of those stainless steel carafes. The label affixed to it read, half-and-half. Yes! I picked it up, praying that it was full. Yes, again! I began to tip the carafe in order to pour creamy deliciousness into my coffee.

  There was a Plop! Black coffee flew over me in a scalding wave, followed by an avalanche of half-and-half. The carafe’s plastic lid had fallen into my cup. Someone had left it completely unscrewed.

  “Dang it!” I put down the cup and the carafe and grabbed a fistful of paper towels from the dispenser above the sink. I dabbed at my T-shirt and shorts, then mopped up the creamy coffee cascading off the counter.

  Laughter reverberated through the walls.

  Will appeared in the doorway. “Tony! This isn’t funny!” he said over his shoulder.

  Officer Pfeiffer joined him in the doorway. “Yes, it is. Look at her!”

  “We’re investigating a murder.” There was no trace of anything but sternness in Officer Riggins’s tone.

  This was bad. Very bad. Will always had a sense of humor. I knew Will would’ve chided Tony anyway, but he would’ve laughed at me first. Or at least smirked. My humiliation evaporated completely. He was so mad at me, he couldn’t even laug
h at my expense.

  Tony held up his hands in surrender. “Sorry. Just trying to have a little fun.”

  I fished the creamer lid out of my cup and plunked it down on the wad of paper towels. I turned to Tony and sipped my very creamy coffee nonchalantly, trying to convince those two—and myself—that I wasn’t on the verge of being completely sucked down the toilet of dread swirling in my gut. “You left the lid loose for the next person, didn’t you? Very funny.”

  Tony smirked. “Would I do that?”

  I nodded behind me. “I’ll let you clean up your own mess.”

  Tony scowled.

  “Ready?” I asked Will.

  He nodded. I followed him into a bare little room. It looked familiar. Probably because it looked an awful lot like rooms I’d seen on TV and in movies—interrogation rooms. Only, this one seemed much smaller. Too small. Like, I-never-thought-I-had-claustrophobia before, but-this-room-just-might-change-that small.

  “Have a seat.” He gestured at a hard plastic chair.

  I sat down and took a calming sip of coffee. He sat across the little table from me. It was small enough I could reach out and hold his hand. Somehow, I doubted Officer Riggins was thinking about holding my hand. Why did he have to bring me here to ask me questions? To make it look official to everyone else? Or to send me a message about how serious this was.? Or…because I was going to be charged for Withholding Evidence or whatever they called what I had done?

  Not to mention the trespassing and peeping Officer Riggins didn’t even know about yet.

  “First, let me remind you, this is on the official record. Everything you tell me in here will be recorded.”

  I got the message. Or, messages I guess—Don’t lie to me and Nothing personal. Don’t you dare say anything personal. But suddenly that was all I wanted to do. Not lie, but say something personal. Say lots of personal things.

  “Officer Riggins.”

  “Yes?”