Witness to Murder

by Jill Elizabeth Nelson

  Hallie tugged her hand away from Ms. Monique’s. “I thought we were already clear on the identity of the murderer.”

  “And so we were.” The agent nodded coolly toward her and Brody. “Goodbye, Ms. Berglund. I look forward to seeing the modeling segment on television soon.”

  On the way out of the building, Stan strode ahead, whistling under his breath. Hallie peeked over her shoulder to find Brody trailing a few steps behind, head down, both hands in his pockets like a man deep in thought. When they reached the van, Hallie grabbed shotgun position, and Brody climbed into the rear seat, still without a word. She shook the kinks out of the hand the agent had pulverized. “The woman has a grip!”

  From the driver’s perch, Stan chuckled. “Good enough to strangle someone? I mean, it wouldn’t be the first time a person’s boss killed them.”

  She shot him a narrow-eyed look as they drove away. “You’re lucky I know you’re joking around. Not that it’s appropriate humor, by the way. But for your information, it’s usually the disgruntled employee who offs the boss. Besides, we know who killed Alicia.”

  “You know. I’m still holding out for another suspect. Any other suspect.”

  Brody’s deep chuckle interrupted their conversation, and Hallie raised her brows at him then returned her attention to Stan. “So you’re a Golden Gophers fan. Don’t you feel ‘betrayed’ by Damon’s crime?”

  Stan shrugged. “Not unless he’s found guilty. I’d just as soon he turn out to be a guy who was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and we keep on winning ball games.”

  She glared at her cameraman. “That reason for wanting Damon innocent is about as deep as a rain puddle. I would have expected as much from the jocks among us.” She refused to spare Brody a glance. “But I’d hoped for more from you.”

  Stan let out an easy-going chuckle. “I’m an honest puddle, anyway. Now Madame Monique—” he drawled the syllables “—was about as genuine as a three dollar bill with her proclamation that ‘all who knew her’ were saddened by Alicia’s death. Didn’t you notice how uptight the over-the-hill babe got when you and Brody started poking around with questions about Alicia’s relationship to her coworkers?”

  “Duh! What was your first clue? My last one was crushed fingers.” She rubbed her knuckles. “I thought I might take skin off getting my hand loose.”

  “Soooo,” Brody drawled, “you do intend to make a few probing inquiries about intra-agency relations during the interviews this afternoon.”

  She gave him a disgusted look. “Am I a reporter or chopped liver?”

  Brody answered her exaggerated Bronx accent with a full-dimple grin that sent a tingle straight to Hallie’s toes. What’s the deal? He’s not that cute! Well, maybe he was, but who was telling?

  “All riiight.” The cameraman patted Norman, resting in the space between the captains’ chairs. “What was this about a bracelet your mother made? Had to be a chill and a half, seeing it on a murdered woman’s wrist.”

  “Not much to tell. My mom was a skilled craftsman in several arts, but she specialized in metallurgy. She and my father were killed in an accident when I was eight years old.”

  “Samantha’s fiancé, Ryan, told me you were a missionary brat.” Brody’s tone was gently teasing. “Did they die overseas?”

  “Nigeria. I lived there through the first half of my childhood, and then my father’s family took me in after the accident.”

  “Do you see your mother’s family at all?”

  Hallie rolled her shoulders. “Not hardly. My last name should tell you my dad came from hardy Scandinavian stock. Pale as a piece of paper.” A smile flickered across her lips. “He left Wisconsin to run an orphanage near Lagos, Nigeria. That’s where he met and married my mom, the daughter of a regional Oba in the Yoruba tribe.”

  “Is that something like a chief?”

  “Along that line. But her family had disowned her because she stopped worshipping ancestors and became a Christian.”

  Stan glanced her way, eyes wide. “How come you never let on you’re some kind of displaced African princess?”

  A tiny laugh bubbled from her throat. “A princess? Come on! I’m just an all-American girl doing the best she can.”

  “If you say so.” Stan grinned. “You must have a bazillion stories to tell. Your whole formative years were spent in a different culture. Maybe you could do a segment for the station on—”

  “Put a hold on the enthusiasm, buddy.” Unease prickled across Hallie’s skin, and she shifted in her seat. “That was a long time ago. Too outdated to be newsworthy.”

  “Right.” Brody chuckled. “Even our Ms. Monique noticed Hallie’s maturity.”

  Laughter filled the van. Then Brody got Stan going on the prospects for a winning Minnesota Twins baseball season.

  Hallie pulled a small case from her purse, flipped it open to expose a mirror, and went to work on putting strands of hair back in order. She halted with a tuft between her fingers. Why didn’t she want to talk about Nigeria? Maybe because she didn’t have much to say.

  How pitifully little she could tell anyone about the first eight years of her life. Her memories of family life in an African village, friends, the mission church had faded to sepia tones, shrouded under the horror of that final night. She pressed a palm to her stomach. Best not go there in her thoughts. She hadn’t dreamed about those terrifying hours in a long time, and she didn’t want to invite a rerun. Those dreams were worse than the ones about Teresa. If anything could be.

  They got back to Channel Six around noon, just in time for Stan to race across the street to the food court for lunch.

  “Don’t you want to go with him?” Brody asked as he held the back door of the station open for Hallie. As pale as she’d turned in the van when Stan started probing about her early years in Africa had him wondering if she was either hypoglycemic, too, or hiding something. What secrets lurked behind that earnest brown gaze that seemed to take in the whole world and remain aloof at the same time?

  She shook her head and preceded him inside. “I want to throw some notes into the computer about this morning’s interview before we have to take off for live model shoots this afternoon. Are you coming along to those, too?”

  “No, but I surely wouldn’t mind seeing the footage later.” He fell into step with her. “You probably don’t want to know what I’m doing this afternoon.”

  She curled that lovely, full lower lip. “Something to do with getting Damon out of jail.”

  “A meeting with him and his lawyer. The arraignment is tomorrow.”

  “You have to know I’ll be praying for no bail to be granted.”

  “And you have to know that bail or no bail, Damon Lange is no threat to you.”

  She snorted. “What? You’re going to babysit the guy every minute of every day?” They arrived at her cubicle in the general worker’s bull pen. She turned to face him, brushing an escaped tendril of hair from her cheek. “You still haven’t gotten around to explaining your mysterious connection to Damon that makes you so sure of his innocence.”

  “I have to touch base with my substitute sportscaster for tonight and then head out for my meeting, but I promise to take care of that oversight soon. If I hadn’t had a bazillion things on my mind during our drive time this morning, I might have remembered to mention it.” He tilted his head to the side and tugged his left earlobe. “You seemed a little preoccupied yourself.”

  She looked away and picked up a puffy manila envelope that sat on her desk alongside a stack of other mail. “Funny. It’s marked overnight mail and there’s no return address.”

  So she wanted to change the subject. He’d let her…for now. “Well, at least you can know Rick passed it through the detector for anything suspicious before it got to you. Could be a juicy lead on a new story that’ll land you in the office next to mine with a daily anchor spot.”

  She barked a laugh. “You are trying hard to butter me up.”

  “Not at all. I rec
ognize a woman with a destiny when I see her.”

  A tiny smile curved her mouth, and Brody’s pulse did a little cha-cha.

  “Get out of here, Jordan. I’ve got work to do.” She turned away, and he left, chuckling.

  A scream halted him mid-stride. He whirled and raced back to her desk. Hallie stood in the aisle between work stations, hands to her chest, wide stare fixed toward the floor. He followed the direction of her gaze and spotted the manila envelope on the carpet. Next to the packet lay a braided gold rope.

  Hallie pointed a trembling finger toward the dropped items. “Somebody sent me the cord that strangled Alicia. And this, too.” She thrust a piece of white paper at him.

  Plain block letters in bold black marker said: YOU COULD BE NEXT.

  SEVEN

  Squatting beside the evidence, the police detective pursed her lips. Then she scooped up the braided rope from the floor with the end of a pen and dangled it in front of her like a limp snake. A deadly one.

  Hallie shivered despite Brody’s warm presence next to her. The man hadn’t left her side even though he must be late for his meeting with Damon and the lawyer. He shifted his weight closer to her ever so slightly. If she turned toward him, would he hold her? She stifled the impulse and hugged herself instead.

  “I can assure you of one thing,” said the detective who had introduced herself as Millette. “This is not the cord that killed Alicia Drayton. Our lab has that one.” She rose to her feet.

  The woman couldn’t have stood over five-foot-three and probably didn’t tip the scale much over a hundred pounds. Shouldn’t a police officer be more solid?

  Hallie dropped her arms to her sides, fists balled. “But it is the mate to the murder weapon. Both sides of the living room curtain hung loose at the crime scene, and I didn’t see the other tie. I think we’ve found it.”

  Millette frowned without a word and slid the cord into the torn envelope, which she held in a gloved hand.

  “And I also think Damon Lange sent it to me as a warning not to testify,” Hallie continued.

  Millette’s head snapped up, and she narrowed her eyes.

  “You’ve got to be kidding!” Brody stepped between Hallie and the detective, glaring from one to the other. “Damon is in jail.”

  Hallie jabbed a finger at him. “He could have mailed it yesterday when he was at-large.”

  Brody shook his head. “Cold and calculating is simply not Damon’s style. He’s a blow-up-now-and-apologize-later guy. You said you didn’t see the second tie at Alicia’s house, so I have to assume he didn’t have it in his hand when he fled.”

  “Maybe he stuffed it into the pocket of his shorts. Did you think of that?”

  “His shorts didn’t have pockets. I know. I got stuck with his things after they issued him the jail jumpsuit.”

  Hallie bit her lip and looked away, heart hammering. Damon sending this nasty surprise to her was the only explanation that made sense. Why couldn’t the blind man see that? Surely, the detective would agree with her.

  “Could be a prank,” Millette said. “Don’t you sometimes get that stuff after you air a story. You did tell the public about the cord, you know.”

  Hallie lifted her chin. “But I didn’t say what color the thing was.”

  “Maybe the prankster made a lucky guess. This is a pretty common type of curtain tie.”

  “Right,” Hallie snorted.

  “I thought you law enforcement types weren’t big on coincidences,” Brody said. “It could be the mate to the murder weapon, all right, and sent by someone else who was there that afternoon. The real killer.”

  The detective studied him with cool hazel eyes. “If someone other than Lange murdered Alicia, why would he want to betray his presence at the scene by sending the matching cord to a reporter? Why not lay low and let the boyfriend take the rap? Ms. Berglund’s theory actually works better, if not for the logistics of how Lange concealed the cord on his body during his escape and why he would do that at all.”

  Brody scowled. “So you’re saying your prankster theory is better than either of ours.”

  Millette released a vague smile. “I’m saying that I’ll take this back to the lab, and we’ll visit with Lange about the matter.” She took a card from her shirt pocket and held it toward Hallie. “If anything else unusual occurs, however slight, please notify me immediately, night or day. My emergency cell number’s on there, so keep the card with you at all times.”

  Hallie accepted the offering. “Should I be grateful you’re trusting me with your twenty-four-hour access number, or worried that you think something else might happen?”

  “I’m not predicting anything, only preparing for contingencies.”

  Hallie swallowed. Contingencies? Or did Detective Millette mean casualties? Like someone finding the officer’s card on her dead body.

  The rest of the day passed as slowly as a snail meandering across a tar pit. Hallie kept revisiting the panicked moment when she recognized what the mystery envelope contained and Brody’s dark look as he left the station for his meeting with the legal beagle and Mr. Murderous Lange. Hard to say if the interviews she conducted with models on the job today would even turn out usable. And none of her fellow models had a clue where Alicia got her bracelet.

  Hallie arrived home late in the afternoon. Sighing, she let her purse slip off her shoulder onto the couch, while she continued toward the bedroom, squeezing the thick carpet with her toes as she walked. Her pumps dangled from her right hand, and she carried her personal mail in the other. There was a package, but this had a return address she recognized.

  She sat down on the end of the bed, laid the box beside her, and sorted through the envelopes. Junk, a bill and several cards in colorful envelopes from Berglund relatives. She smiled as she read the cards. Then she unwrapped the small container from the couple who had raised her when her parents couldn’t. Uncle Reese and Auntie Michelle were right on time for her birthday as always. She’d forgotten about the occasion for most of this horrible day.

  Lifting the cover revealed a gorgeous silk scarf in jewel-bright tones of gold and red and blue set off by rich cream. She squealed and ran the soft fabric between her fingers. This would be the perfect touch with several of her work outfits. The gift made another reason to call her aunt and uncle tonight.

  Slipping the scarf around her neck, she went to the jewelry box on her chest of drawers and took out the bracelet her mother had given her when she was a child. Then she opened a compartment and removed a gold filigree locket.

  In one palm, she cupped the bracelet; in the other, the locket. One gift from her mother, the other from her father. Gently, she opened the locket and a pair of smiling faces stared back at her, the woman’s smooth and ebony, the man’s rugged and pale. She used to wear those pieces constantly on those few occasions when Mom and Dad both had to be away. If she hadn’t had them on when the orphanage workers spirited her from the stricken compound, she would have nothing from either of her parents. Everything Iver and Yewande Berglund had worked for went up in flames that day. And Hallie lost everything dear and familiar in one fell swoop.

  The strong, practical faith of her father’s brother and his wife here in the States had been her healing balm and a new start. Because of their rock-steady guidance, the “blessed hope” that she would one day be reunited with her parents for eternity was as real to her as her next breath. But for now, she held these momentos dear. Her hands closed around the pieces of jewelry.

  With her treasures, Hallie went into the living room and settled on the easy chair. She punched in her aunt and uncle’s number on the cordless phone.

  “Christ Fellowship parsonage. Pastor Berglund speaking.”

  Hallie chuckled. “I’m looking for good counsel, Uncle R. Do you have any for me?”

  “Hallie, how great to hear your voice. Happy birthday! Hang on a sec, and let me get your aunt on the phone, too.”

  The line went quiet, and then a click sounded. “H
appy birthday to our favorite newscaster.”

  “Oh, get outta here, Auntie M. You don’t even receive Channel Six in Eau Claire.”

  Her aunt snickered. “That doesn’t mean you can’t be our favorite reporter.”

  “Okay, I’ll stop arguing. I never did win with you anyway.”

  “And don’t you forget it, young lady.”

  Hallie joined her aunt and uncle in laughter. “Thank you so much for the beautiful scarf. It’s draped around my neck right now.”

  “You’re welcome, sweetheart,” Uncle Reese said. “Did you have a good day?”

  “Kind of dismal. Yesterday, too. I do have need of counsel, or rather information. To your knowledge, did my parents know anyone named Drayton?”

  “Doesn’t ring a bell,” her uncle answered. “Mean anything to you, hon?”

  Her aunt hummed. “I’m coming up blank. Why do you need to know? Did you meet someone who claims to have known them?”

  Hallie fingered the bracelet and locket in her lap. “I saw someone who was wearing one of my mom’s etched armbands…only the woman isn’t able to tell me how she came by it.”

  “How can anybody not know where they got something they wear?”

  Uncle R snorted. “I never know where anything I’m wearing came from. You do all the shopping. Remember?”

  “Well, at least—”

  “That’s not what I mean,” Hallie interrupted. “The person is dead.”

  Her aunt gasped.

  A huff came from her uncle. “What?”

  Hallie gave them the condensed version of everything, except her demented foray into that bad neighborhood last night. She would never have done that if she’d trusted Brody a little better. She was coming to see that he was a man of his word.

  “You found a dead body, were chased by a killer and got a death threat in the mail, and you’re just now calling us?” The scold was plain in Aunt Michelle’s tone.

  “It got too late to try last night. Besides, there was nothing you could do. And today I’ve been beating the pavement nonstop. I’ve interviewed numerous people who knew Alicia, but no one could tell me where she got the bracelet that was clearly special to her. Why would a bracelet made by my mother be so important to someone else?”