Murder, Madness & Love (Detective Quaid Mysteries #1)

by Yolanda Renée

  She turned in his arms, searching his eyes. He presented her no doubt.

  He slid the ring back onto her finger and kissed her hand. “This is yours, and when you’re ready to announce our engagement to the world, let me know. I’ll follow your lead; just don’t make me wait much longer. I need you, angel. Each day for the rest of my life, I want you in it.”

  Her smile grew brighter. Naked and warm while the snow came down outside, they celebrated their love, and their future.

  However, the weekend ended, and, on Monday, Sarah was on a plane to Hawaii with Leeann. She wanted the sun, the sand, and her best friend to help her get through the mess Gerald Kessler had made of her life.

  Leeann and Sarah relaxed on the deck chairs after a healing massage at the Sacred Garden retreat on Maui.

  “Sarah, you’ve been awfully quiet, is something wrong?” She didn’t give her friend a chance to answer. “You know, don’t you, that I didn’t stay away on purpose? John arranged that trip to Rio with my mom because he was afraid.”

  “I know, it was my suggestion. I didn’t want you in the killer’s line of fire either. But I don’t see why you’re not a travel writer. All your emails and pictures took me away from that mess, at least for a little while. So in a way I was with you, thank you for that!”

  “Uh oh, when I finally understood what John did, I gave him a piece of my mind.”

  “Then you better give me a piece, too. John loves you, I love you, and if something had happened to you because of me, I’d never forgive myself.”

  “Well, at least it’s over. Now, we can go on all these trips together. You have to admit this is heavenly. Will you be ready to go back at the end of the month?”

  “No, yes, maybe? This has been wonderful, and thank you for coming with me. The Lemurian healing has really done wonders. I’ve never felt better.”

  “Liar. I heard you screaming last night. Those nightmares aren’t gone.”

  “The doctor said PTSD doesn’t go away overnight, but it will. Eventually.”

  “Want to stay another month to make sure?” Leeann suggested.

  “I would, but the Foundation opens its doors in May, and there’s still so much to do.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, you need to think about you for once. That Foundation can open with or without you, or you can do it later. Shit, Sarah, you’ve been through hell, you deserve this.”

  “And what will John say? You’ve barely seen one another in the last six months.”

  “His fault, but really? That man is wrapped around my little finger; he does what I tell him to.”

  “Now who’s lying?”

  They both laughed.

  “They still don’t know who killed Michael.”

  “So?”

  “So, I’m still a black widow—have you seen the Seattle papers?”

  “Oh, come on, really? Then all I can say is, it’s another reason not to go back there. Why give them more ammunition?”

  “I don’t want to, and it scares me. What if they don’t solve it, and I open the Foundation? The headlines…”

  “Then I’m right. Cancel the opening.”

  “I can’t. This is for Michael, not me. Once I’m out of the picture, once the people of Washington, and Seattle accept his vision … This is his legacy, and my promise.”

  “I know, honey. I know, and I’ll be there. I just think it’s too soon!”

  “Maybe.” Sarah tried to change the subject. “Steven wants to get married.”

  “Really, wow, he’s not letting the grass grow under his feet. Well, what did you say?” She sat up and reached for Sarah’s hand searching for the ring.

  “It’s still in the box. I said yes, but we don’t want it public just yet.”

  Leeann looked at her closely. “You’re happy aren’t you?”

  “More than I ever thought possible.”

  “I’m sorry, but that was so not convincing.”

  “It’s just that… I carry too much baggage.”

  “Baggage? What baggage? The man that gets you should count his blessings.”

  “My husband was murdered; I’m still a suspect… this latest mess and trying to deal with it. Baggage!”

  “Pshaw! Besides, Steven’s more than aware of all that, and, for the last time, you are not a black widow. I swear if I hear you mention that again, I’ll slap you silly!”

  “All I know is it’s not finished.”

  “What?” Leeann took her sunglasses off. She looked closely at her friend. “What’s not finished?”

  “I don’t know, I just have this feeling… something isn’t right.” Sarah got up. “I’m going to take a shower before lunch.”

  “Sarah.” Leeann followed her friend.

  Sarah stopped.

  “We can stay until you’re ready.” Leeann caught up to her and put her arm around her. “John will understand.”

  “Maybe. Let me think about it.”

  Sarah walked away, and Leeann called John.

  Ready to kiss for the first time as husband and wife. But something distracted Steven, and he took off out the door, and to the cliff. She ran after him but lost sight of him. Cautiously, she approached the edge and looked over. Steven was lying broken and bloody on the rocks. A push. She was falling toward him, but she did not mind; joining him in death was preferable to living without him. She got closer, and he opened his eyes, stretched out his arms to catch her, and grinned wildly, but instead of Steven, Gerry waited.

  Sarah awoke, yet again, from a nightmare that left her questioning the future. It was a dream that repeated, despite the sun, the sand, and the distance from the horror. Until she put it on paper.

  March 14th

  Seattle, Washington

  ecky Meyers, usually a cautious girl, rushed from the hospital to the bus stop, but the next bus that could get her downtown would not come by for a half hour, and she had promised Patrick, her boyfriend, she would not be late. For some reason, no matter how hard she tried, she could not keep that promise. She simply could not squeeze everything she had to do into one twenty-four hour period. The full-time college student, full-time nurse, and part-time tutor simply did not have enough time. Involvement in numerous social activities along with an inability to say no to anyone who needed a favor stretched life thin for the coed.

  Today was their first anniversary, and tonight Patrick had planned something special. He had asked Becky to meet him at nine o’clock, at the First Street Nightclub. Amy, her friend, had volunteered to drive her, but Amy had to take double duty at the hospital, because several nurses were out with the flu.

  Not wanting to let Patrick down again, Becky thought about sticking out her thumb. Fed up with her tardiness, he wanted her to give up some of her projects, or forget their relationship. He had informed her he felt like he came in second, third, and sometimes even fourth on her list of priorities. She loved Patrick, and she wanted to prove to him she could handle her busy schedule.

  She mentally counted the cash in her purse as she made her way to the main road. She’d call a cab, if she could find the cash. A red Ford Mustang stopped, and the window lowered. Becky bent down to see the driver better.

  “Can you give me directions for downtown? My GPS is running me around in circles. I got all turned around visiting a friend in the hospital and don’t want to get lost. Which street will get me there?

  “I can show you. I need to get to a club downtown and just missed the last bus.

  “Sure, come on. We can help each other.”

  Becky jumped in with no hesitation.

  “Sorry about the seat. A friend spilled oil on the original, and they put this piece of crap in until I they get it recovered.”

  “Such a shame, and in a new car at that,” Becky replied. She noticed how uncomfortable and yet how odd the seat felt, but, for the short ride, she didn’t care.

  “I know what you mean. I just bought this in December, but they assure me it will be good as new.”

&
nbsp; She sat, happily chatting with the driver, explaining her predicament, and discussing relationships in general. But then something clicked. Becky suddenly turned in her seat.

  “I recognize you. You’ve been in the papers.”

  Her happy chatter went silent when the driver pulled a knife out from under a coat between them and, with a practiced backhand stroke, plunged the dagger through Becky’s stomach, up and into her back. Her mouth and eyes formed perfect circles of amazement and horror. The blade held her body in place, like a beautiful butterfly stuck with a pin to a display rack. Blood dripped from her mouth, and, with one last sigh, her life ceased.

  April 13th

  teven whistled You Are My Sunshine as he arrived at his office. He had just finished ordering the last of the supplies for the cabin. With the remodeling complete, the A-frame held all the amenities needed in the wilderness for the perfect honeymoon. A honeymoon he was planning even though they hadn’t yet set a date. Still, the task filled him with joy with each surprise he planned for Sarah.

  Sarah had spent an entire a month in Hawaii with Leeann and was currently in Seattle, clearing up some foundation business. Steven had missed her terribly, but after the hell she had been through, Sarah needed the rest. He could not wait until she would finally be in his arms again. Emma, Opal, and Cecil were preparing Sarah’s home for a surprise birthday party, and it would be there, in front of family and friends, that they would announce their engagement.

  Life was good, and Steven had no complaints. Soon, he hoped they would be planning a family and settling down to a normal life.

  He stopped when he saw the anxious look on Sergeant Anderson’s face.

  “What’s up?”

  “Trouble, Steve.” Anderson motioned toward Steven’s office.

  Steven’s good mood evaporated immediately when he saw what Anderson meant.

  Terry O’Conner sat at Steven’s desk, going through a file—the Valentine murder file. His gut tightened, especially when he caught sight of Captain Reed pacing. Captain Reed was a friend, a colleague who gave Steven great latitude with his job. But Reed’s back was bent, his shoulders up around his ears, and as he paced with his hands in his pockets he seemed to be listening intently to Terry’s words. Steven knew just by watching him that the news was bad. Captain Reed was an easygoing individual, but, right now, he looked like a man who wanted flee from a horde of killer bees.

  He opened the door and walked in. Steven acknowledged his boss, and then his friend. “Captain. Terry? What the hell are you doing here? Never thought I’d see you in Alaska.”

  “Don’t recall an invitation,” Terry retorted.

  “And you’re full of shit.” Steven extended his hand.

  Terry shook his hand and pulled him into a hug. “Never seem to find the time.”

  “So, why now?”

  “This,” Terry replied. He picked up an evidence bag from the desk.

  It held a faded, red valentine heart. The distinctive words You’re Dead, Valentine jumped out at Steven, and his heart skipped a beat.

  “Where’d you get this?”

  “Same place as this.” Terry handed him another evidence bag with a dagger.

  Steven whistled in surprise and looked to his Captain. Reed had settled into a chair in the corner. He rubbed the stubble on his chin, but stayed quiet, his dark eyes lined with worry.

  Enjoying his display of power, Terry settled down behind Steven’s desk. He relaxed and put his feet up on the edge.

  “Make yourself at home.” Steven snorted, then took a deep breath. “Well, give me the rest.”

  “Miss Becky Meyers, a blonde with green eyes, reported missing on March 14, one month ago. She was found in the woods, under a tarp, pinned to an old car seat with this dagger and the valentine.”

  Steven began to sweat. “A copycat?”

  “A copycat—yes and no.”

  Steven noted his smugness, and wondered what had changed his old college friend. Terry had turned into a curmudgeon, and he was barely forty. Terry wanted Steven to elicit the truth, like interrogating a guilty party with all the evidence staring the liar in the face.

  “Then you have a suspect?”

  “Sarah Elizabeth Palmer.” Anderson drew out her name as though she were on the top ten most wanted list.

  “This is a joke, isn’t it? Funny, very funny. Now tell me the truth. What’s going on?” Steven was convinced Terry was joking.

  “I’m serious, Steven, it’s why I’m here. We’re friends, but I came up here with one goal, to arrest Sarah Palmer, but I understand she’s in Washington, which is actually good. Won’t have to deal with extradition. I heard she was back from Hawaii. I never expected her to disembark in Seattle. After she resigned from the board, I figured she’d never go back there. But I’m here, so I waited for you. Thought I’d give you the opportunity to redeem yourself.”

  Steven stretched his shoulders in an exaggerated shrug, trying to ease the tightness of a stress spasm. He shook his head in disbelief, and worked to maintain his composure. With fists clenched, he glared at Terry.

  “Look at the evidence, Steve. It’ll cure your infatuation. Sarah Palmer is a cold-blooded killer.” He pounded his fist on the desk, then stood to approach Steven. “Open your eyes! Damn it, Steve. She’s a black widow. Gerald Kessler’s death didn’t change the facts.”

  Steven’s fury knew no bounds as Terry’s statement struck a nerve. He went after Terry, who backed away.

  “Whoa!”

  Captain Reed grabbed Steven by the shoulders before Steven could do any harm. “Settle down, Steve. Listen to what he has to say.”

  “Okay, okay,” Steven paced the floor. “I’m listening.”

  “First, we have an eyewitness who’ll swear the car Becky Meyers got into the night she vanished was a red Ford Mustang. The eyewitness remembers, clearly, the person in the Mustang was a woman, because Becky didn’t hesitate.”

  “Your witness saw a woman or assumed it was a woman?

  “Assumed, because of the victim’s actions.”

  “Plate number?”

  “It’s a partial, but matches.”

  “So, no true eye witness, and a partial plate. I see, great evidence! Sarah leaves that car parked at the corporation’s headquarters when she’s out of town, and I’ll bet it’s not the only red Mustang in Seattle. Any number of people have access to that car!”

  “True, and I checked her schedule. She flew from Hawaii to Seattle on March 14, for several business meetings. And then flew out two days later on a return trip to Hawaii. She was alone; her friend Leeann Thomas didn’t make the trip with her.”

  Steven knew Sarah had flown back to Washington for several meetings—she was no longer the Chairman of the Board, but she still had a role in the Corporation, and the Foundation was due to open in May. He’d wanted to fly down and spend those few days with her, but a new murder in Anchorage changed Steven’s plans.

  “We know the meetings she attended and the hotel she stayed in. But there’s no corroboration for her whereabouts during the time of the disappearance. We’ve verified that she drove the car off the lot of the corporation at 2:00 p.m. that afternoon, and a hotel employee returned it to the lot after she checked out.”

  “Do you have the car?”

  “Not yet, she’s using it; but when we pick her up, we’ll have the car.”

  “Circumstantial, all of it,” Steven insisted. He looked at the photos of Becky Meyers—a beautiful, green-eyed blonde, barely in her twenties—and cringed. None of what he heard made sense.

  “Not quite, Steve,” Terry said proudly. “Your Captain was able to get a search warrant, and several of your own officers visited Sarah’s cabin in the mountains this afternoon. Nice place. I have a warrant to search her house near La Push, but we’ll do that together. Oh, and this is the evidence they found.” He pushed a file box across the floor with his foot.

  Steven quickly turned away. He walked to the other side of the room. H
e was speechless.

  “I’m sorry, man. This gives me no pleasure. She’s cold, Steve, cold.”

  Steven went back to the box. The evidence that Sarah had killed her husband sat on top of a stack of valentines and love letters from Michael. Steven took out a mechanics manual for a Porsche, and the pages naturally fell open to the section on brakes, where a detailed diagram had shown her exactly which line to cut, and it had been circled in red. In yet another evidence bag was a man’s white handkerchief with the initials “MP” for Michael Palmer. Yet another held a wire-cutting tool.

  “Where’d you find this?”

  “At the bottom of a stack of boxes in her attic,” Reed explained. “Sorry, Steve. We went through the Valentine cards; they stopped six months prior to his death. There’s a note dated August twelfth, just days before he died. He wanted a divorce, if things didn’t get back on track after their vacation to Hawaii. Palmer was considering ending the marriage. It’s motive, Steve, and that handkerchief still has the smell of her perfume on it.”

  “Fingerprints?” Steven probed.

  “Sarah’s, on the box, the letters, but everything else was wiped clean,” Reed said.

  “That doesn’t make sense!”

  “Makes perfect sense.” Terry told him. “She used gloves. With her manicure, why not? And then she put the box away—souvenirs she never expected to be found.”

  Steven responded coolly. “Circumstantial, anything else?”

  “Yes, we also came across a series of paintings. Gruesome, and I’m not sure what they mean, but we carried them in. They’re in the evidence room, ready to go to Seattle. Funny thing about them—they were dated, and she had pictures of dead women before there were any dead women. Interesting isn’t it?”

  Steven could imagine what a prosecutor would make of those horrific paintings. “Nightmares that she painted while being stalked by a murderer. That’s not evidence, for god’s sake you have nothing!”

  Stupid, silly nightmares and paintings she had wanted burned. Unconvinced. Steven would never be convinced of her guilt. Steven loved her; he knew her. Someone that gentle could never kill, but he played along.