Witness to Murder

by Jill Elizabeth Nelson

  “We’re mystified,” her uncle said. “We’ll pray that you get the Lord’s direction on this. There must be some purpose that you were the one to find poor Alicia.”

  “We’ll be praying for the young woman’s family, too,” Aunt Michelle inserted. “Where are they from?”

  “Some little town way up north, but that’s about all I know. I need to talk to them.” Hallie’s fingertips tapped a tattoo on the chair’s armrest. “Surely, they’ll be coming to Minneapolis to claim the body, but in a case like this, I have no idea when it will be released for burial. I’ll call the morgue and see if release has been scheduled. Thanks, you two.”

  “We didn’t do anything,” her uncle said. “Just let you think out loud.”

  “Um…there’s something else I’ve been thinking. I’m not sure how to ask this.”

  “Don’t hold back on our account.” Aunt Michelle’s tone was warm but firm.

  Hallie smiled. These good people never hid from the truth. “So why do we hardly ever talk about my mom and dad?” There, she’d said it out loud.

  Seconds of silence answered from the other end.

  “I wasn’t aware that we avoided the topic.” Her uncle’s words were measured and cautious. “Haven’t I always told you stories about when your dad and I were kids?”

  “Sure, but that’s not the same thing as talking about him as a grown-up. About the mission work. About them as a couple in Africa.”

  “Ahh.” The knowing sound came from her aunt. “You’re finally ready for that pilgrimage. Honey, we’ve spoken little about those things because we weren’t there. I’m sorry to say we hardly knew your mother, though we plan to rectify that loss in eternity.”

  “When you came to us,” her uncle said, “you were so traumatized we thought it best not to pick at you with questions. We figured you’d open up and talk about those years when you were ready. Instead, you threw yourself into becoming an American girl and really never did revisit that time in your life.”

  Hallie’s heart squeezed. Uncle Reese spoke the truth. The avoidance lay with her. Some part of her psyche feared that talking about her early years would conjure up the horror contained in that single last day. Maybe now she was ready to explore her Nigerian heritage.

  “Possibly the ‘pilgrimage,’ as you put it, Auntie M, is bigger than merely finding out how Alicia came to have a bracelet made by my mother.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised,” she answered.

  “You know.” Uncle R’s tone was thoughtful. “Stuck away in my church office, I believe I have a small box of old newsletters from my brother’s orphanage. If I can find it, would you like me to send the material to you?”

  Hallie’s breath caught. “Oh, would you? That would be wonderful!”

  They made small talk for a few minutes, and her aunt and uncle urged her to use caution in her investigations, but they didn’t panic as those with lesser faith might. Hallie ended the call and yawned, but it was too early for bed. Time to go out and pick up a few groceries for her bare cupboards. A few tummy rumbles signaled her body’s complaint about lack of sustenance since breakfast this morning. She left her work suit on but changed into flat shoes and kept her aunt and uncle’s gift around her neck. The soft feel of the scarf and the love that went with it comforted her.

  Her thoughts galloped during the drive to the store. No doubt Brody had made sure Damon got a good lawyer—not some underpaid public defender. Alicia’s death-dealing boyfriend could hit the streets on bail tomorrow. If she was right, and the taunting package she’d received came from Damon, how could she see the act as anything less than a threat that he might carry out after his release?

  And what about Brody himself? Except for his constant harping on Damon’s innocence, he actually seemed pretty sensible. He just needed to decide whose side he was on. The victim’s or the killer’s? Or how about hers for a change? His solid bulk standing next to her this afternoon had felt awfully good. Not that she’d ever let him know that.

  Forty-five minutes later, she left the store with two bags of groceries dangling from one hand and her purse and car keys from the other. Dusk was closing in, and muggy heat from impending summer had lightened its grip on the atmosphere. She headed for her car a couple of aisles over. The place was busy tonight with families and business people shopping after work. Her gaze swept the area as she walked. No one seemed to be paying her any attention. With Damon still behind bars, why was she even nervous? Still, that business with the curtain cord had spooked her. All afternoon, she’d felt like hostile eyes were watching her every move. A fertile imagination could be a terrible thing.

  Her car lay dead ahead, three slots down. She pressed the button on her key chain to unlock the doors. A noise came almost on her heels, and she whirled. A large, black and brown body hurtled into her, knocking her off her feet and onto her back. Everything in her hands flew in different directions. Her head bounced against the asphalt, and blackness swirled through her vision. Hot, stinky breath invaded her nostrils, and weight pressed against her chest. Her vision cleared to find a long dog snout in her face below a pair of canine eyes almost the same color as hers. Slobber dribbled onto her face.

  “Get off me!”

  The dog growled, grabbed her scarf in its teeth, and took off like its tail was on fire.

  Hallie lunged to her feet, heedless of her bruised shoulder blades and tailbone. She raced after the canine thief, dodging between cars and around people who stared like she’d gone nuts. Her scarf waved from the animal’s jaws like a mocking banner as he charged to the edge of the parking lot and darted around a hedge. Hallie rounded the line of bushes and stopped, panting.

  She spotted a tufted tail disappearing into a narrow alley between two businesses. Hallie took a step forward then froze. Her purse! Her car keys! She’d left them behind to chase the dog. Gasping, she whirled and tore back to her car.

  Groceries were scattered on the pavement, and her car keys lay where she’d fallen, but where was her purse? Her life was in there! Pulse hammering in her throat, she got down on her hands and knees and looked under the line of vehicles. A gust of breath left her lungs, and her joints went weak. There it lay under the bumper of the nearest car. She crawled over, snatched it up and hugged it to her chest. Then she sat right there on the ground, trembling. Tears trailed down her cheeks, washing against the stickiness of dog saliva.

  Her gaze darted around to see if anyone was watching. No one lurked in the vicinity except a lone man in baggy jeans, walking away with his hands in his pockets, head down beneath a red ball cap.

  Sniffling, Hallie rose and gathered up her things. The place around her neck where the scarf had rested felt empty and cold, and now she could go home to an equally empty apartment. Happy birthday to me. Why had she never seen before how great it would be to have someone to share her life with at the end of the day?

  EIGHT

  The next morning, Hallie trod through the front door of the station and headed for Daria’s desk, legs encased in lead. What was the matter with her? She loved her job.

  The crow’s feet at the edges of the receptionist’s eyes scrunched tight as she assessed Hallie up and down. “You tie one on for your birthday last night? You look like something the cat dragged in.”

  “The dog, actually.” She smiled, but the effort turned out more like a grimace. “And, no, I spent the evening at home…alone.”

  Daria’s lips pursed in a sympathetic moue. “Kind of a letdown after the great bash the night before. You’ve got some pretty special friends there.”

  Hallie’s smile succeeded this time. “I sure do.” Better let go of her pity party and appreciate the relationships God had given her. She leaned an elbow on the counter. “Vince in yet?”

  The receptionist checked her computer screen. “Sorry, hon. He’ll be out all day on assignment.”

  Hallie puffed out a breath that fluttered her bangs. “I’ll have to hit him up tomorrow for a favor then and hope it’s
not too late.”

  She headed for her cubicle. She’d try calling the morgue herself and see when Alicia’s body would be released, but they could be secretive about those things unless you had an “in” with someone. As a veteran of the crime beat, Vince would have known who to contact.

  The morning flew by as she dove into her notes for the Minnesota model story and screened some film with the producer. He seemed very pleased with what she and Stan had accomplished so far, even made noises about a possible series for the morning show. If that much coverage for a single story didn’t get a reporter’s juices flowing, nothing could. Yet a dullness seemed to have taken hold of Hallie’s heart.

  A call to the county morgue did nothing to shake the feeling off. She got the runaround from two people. One of them said they were ready to release, but the parents hadn’t made an appointment to claim the body yet. How weird was that? The other person denied that tale but refused to say when the body would be made available to family. Didn’t anybody know what was going on in their own department? Or were they deliberately giving her the brush-off? Vince, what a bad day for you to take off on another story.

  At noon, she did a segment for the news on a topic unrelated to the Minnesota model feature, and then continued to work on notes and video clips. Midafternoon, she met up with Stan to take off on another interview with a model wrapping up a shoot. This one could get interesting. The models she talked to yesterday said that Alicia and Jessica Parsons were bitter rivals.

  On the way out the rear exit, she passed Brody’s office, locked up tight, lights out. Her heart gave a little pang. It might have been nice to bounce her dog saga off Brody, and her frustrations with the morgue personnel, but he was busy championing the cause of the unrighteous. She firmed her lips and followed Stan out the door.

  Outside the courtroom, Brody ended a call on his cell phone with a smile. He’d hit a homer. Now if this next call scored, he’d be batting a thousand. Brody punched in a number and leaned his shoulder against the wall, tapping his loafer against the floor. She’d be out doing interviews, so chances were she wouldn’t answer. He’d just leave a voi—

  “Hallie speaking.”

  The throaty female tone knocked the next thought straight out of Brody’s brain.

  “Hello?”

  He snapped his jaw shut. “Hi, Hallie. Brody here.”

  “Really?” Her question reflected genuine surprise. “Is this a courtesy call to give me the results on the arraignment?”

  “No, we haven’t gone in yet. But I did succeed in getting us an appointment that should nicely repay that favor I owe you.”

  Silence fell for two heartbeats. “Which are you trying to do—exasperate or intrigue me?”

  “The latter, for sure. Exasperating you seems to come naturally to me.”

  “You noticed. I’m impressed.” Her dry tone held a touch of humor.

  A grin took over Brody’s face. The woman was a fun sparring partner. “When do you think you’ll be back to the station? I’ve made…um—certain arrangements, and I’d like to include you.”

  “I thought you weren’t coming in today.”

  “Turns out I’ll be doing the evening broadcast after all. My sub had an emergency come up, and I couldn’t leave Wayne in the lurch. As soon as this court thing is over, I’ll be there.”

  “Good of you.”

  Was she mocking him or complimenting him? Brody shook his head. Inscrutability was an art form with Hallie.

  “Yank the rabbit out of your sleeve already,” she said. “Stan is pulling into a parking space, so I’ve got to go.”

  “Just show up at my office as soon as the evening news is over. You won’t be sorry.”

  “If I am, you will be, too.”

  “I’ll take that as a solemn promise.”

  “Count on it.”

  The connection went empty. Brody cradled the phone, chuckling.

  What was Brody Jordan up to now? Hallie frowned as she climbed out of the van in front of the Sheraton Bloomington Hotel where Jessica Parsons, a Monique Agency model, was doing an advertising shoot for the hotel chain. The man surprised, annoyed, enticed and amused her in a one-minute conversation. He possessed multifaceted skills, all right.

  Coming up beside her, Stan laughed. “Jordan gets under your skin quicker than anybody I’ve ever seen. There’s always big-time sparks in the air when you two collide.” He fluttered his fingers around her head.

  Hallie lifted a brow at her cameraman. “You should see a doctor for those hallucinations. How did you know that was Brody, anyway?”

  “Like I said. Sparks.” He grinned and sauntered toward the glass front doors of the soaring structure.

  Swallowing further retort—like she’d give him the satisfaction—she hustled after her cameraman, passed him and entered the hotel first. Personnel at the front desk gave them directions to find the indoor pool. They entered the chlorine-scented area in time to see a sweating man in a suit and tie wave his clipboard toward a corner of the pool hidden by a half wall topped by artificial green plants.

  “That’s a wrap.” The man turned on the heel of his Gucci loafers and pranced toward the elevator from which Hallie and Stan had just come. Sounds of equipment being packed up came from over the wall.

  A moment later, the svelte model sashayed into view, white towel draped over one shoulder. Her rich brunette hair was slicked back from a classic-featured face, and she wore a one-piece green and cream suit with a cleavage dip nearly to her navel.

  Hallie stepped forward, hand extended, as Stan got Norman busy. “You must be Jessica Parsons. I’m Hallie Berglund from Channel Six news.”

  The model barely brushed Hallie’s hand with hers. “Yes, Ms. Monique said you might be stopping by. Too bad you missed the shoot. We did some fabulous things today.”

  Hallie barely subdued an eye roll. “Sorry about that, but we’re not allowed to film during a paid gig. That’s copyrighted material.”

  “Oh, sure. Well, you’re here now, so what can I tell you about myself?”

  “Jessica.” A man toting a tall piece of lighting equipment strode up with a white garment in his hand. “You forgot your robe.”

  The model giggled and flicked a heavy-lidded look at the technician. “Thanks, I’d forget my head if it wasn’t fastened on.” She returned her gaze to Hallie as she slipped into the skimpy beach cover-up that concealed the cleavage but accented the long legs. “My mother always said I should have been a blond.”

  “Why don’t we go to a table over by those plants?” Hallie nodded toward some potted greenery. “And you can tell me how you got into this business.”

  For fifteen minutes, Jessica talked about entering modeling school as a child, spending the majority of her free hours either taking classes or working shoots, and the narrow, age-bracketed window of opportunity—determined somewhat by talent and ambition but mostly by hard work—to break into the top model category. “Modeling is a way of life for me. It’s where I get my biggest highs and my lowest lows. I tell you, it’s shark-eat-shark.”

  “I can believe that,” Hallie said. “The models I interviewed yesterday told me you and Alicia Drayton took a few nips at each other from time to time.”

  Jessica flipped her mostly dry hair over her shoulder. “She was a stuck-up icicle. How dare she step into the career ten years later than I did, play around with the business on a part-time basis, and expect to get the same major gigs?”

  “Like the Fashion for Fibromyalgia benefit coming up in a couple of weeks?”

  “Exactly. The witch had to have performed some kind of magic to get Ms. Monique to put her on the roster for that one.”

  “It couldn’t have been because she was that ‘rare natural,’ as one of your coworkers called her?”

  A distinct snarl left Jessica’s throat. “Everybody has to pay their dues. You don’t get the world on a platter for nothing. Daddy paying her tuition through school, a hot boyfriend, pick and choose her modeling g
igs. I knew karma would get her sooner or later.”

  “Karma?”

  “She was asking for something bad to happen. Nothing was ever enough to make her happy. And, apparently, no one deserved her trust. You can’t get close to someone who treats you like you’re a criminal suspect. I’m not surprised Damon Lange eventually got a belly full of being used by her. She sucked up his love into the black hole of her heart and gave nothing in return.” The model stopped and blinked. “That was kind of poetic. I’ll have to remember that line if I’m wanted as a character witness on the stand or something.”

  Hallie looked away. Stan was still filming, eyes big, mouth agape. Evidently, she wasn’t the only one boggled by little Miss Jessica’s outburst. She turned her gaze back toward the model. “Can I ask you one final question?

  “Do you know where Alicia got the elephant bracelet she wore when she wasn’t working?”

  “The el—? Oh, the African armband. No, I don’t know where she got it. She treated it like a talisman though. Freaked if she couldn’t find it right away after a show. I know, because I moved it to a different spot in the dressing room one day just to see what she would do.” Jessica’s cobalt eyes glittered.

  This one was a shark for sure. The other models had been friendly and open. But they’d also been realistic in their acknowledgment that the big time wasn’t within their reach. This was a bread and butter job with an ordinary private life to enjoy away from the haute couture.

  Hallie rose, not offering her hand for a shake. “Thank you for your time, Jessica. You’ve been most interesting.”

  The model bounced up. “Let me know when this is going to air, will you?”