A Palette for Murder

by Sybil Johnson

  “You know I don’t believe in astrology.”

  “Just wait until tonight. You’ll see.”

  Rory tried on a half dozen dresses, but none of them seemed right. While Rory waited in the dressing room, Liz scoured the sales floor for more possibilities, returning with a royal blue halter-neck dress. “Try this one.”

  Rory slipped the sleeveless dress over her head. It hugged her body, its flared skirt hitting several inches above her knee. She stepped out of the dressing room.

  Liz motioned with her hand. “Turn around.”

  Rory slowly rotated so her friend could see the dress from every angle.

  Liz nodded her head in satisfaction. “That’s it. This is the one. That shade of blue really makes your eyes pop.”

  Rory tugged at the hem. “You’re sure it’s not too short?”

  “It’s perfect for you. With your height and long legs, he won’t know what hit him.”

  When Liz dropped her off half an hour later, Rory headed up the path to her front door. She sighed and shook her head when she saw the white circle lying on her front lawn. She walked across the grass and bent down to pick up the collar. She didn’t have to read the words engraved on the silver charm attached to it to know who it belonged to. She’d lost track of how many times she’d found the collar on her lawn since Willow moved into the neighborhood six months ago. Sekhmet, the woman’s chocolate Abyssinian cat, delighted in shedding it every chance she got. Rory always returned it to her neighbor only to have it end up back on her grass a week later.

  Holding the collar in her hand, Rory headed inside to drop off her purchases, then walked down the block past Mrs. Griswold’s house to the Tudor-style home on the other side. When she reached the front door, faint music reached her ears. She rang the bell and knocked several times.

  When no one answered, Rory headed around the corner through the open gate to see if Willow was in the back of the house and couldn’t hear her. The music grew louder as she made her way down the side of the house toward the backyard. When she rounded the corner, she found the French doors leading into the back of the house ajar and a window wide open, its screen propped against the wall underneath it. A sense of foreboding washed over her, and a voice inside her told her to run away, but she shook it off, walked up to the French doors and knocked. When no one responded, she poked her head inside and called out in a loud voice, “Willow, it’s Rory. Just bringing back Sekhmet’s collar. Can I come in?”

  She waited a moment, but when she heard no movement or answering call from inside the house, she opened the door wider and stepped inside. Classical music surrounded her as she looked around the open room. To her left a couch and chairs sat facing a fireplace. The wood floor extended into a large kitchen on the right side of the room. On an island in its center were partially cut up vegetables on a cutting board. The half-dozen pendant lights suspended from the kitchen ceiling were on even though it was the middle of the day and enough light streamed through the windows to make them unnecessary.

  Rory furrowed her brow in worry. She called out again as she walked into the kitchen area. As she made her way farther inside, she discovered a half-dozen drawers open, papers and kitchen tools scattered across the oak floor. Her gaze shifted to the far side of the kitchen, where feet peeked out from behind the large island. She hurried across the room to find her neighbor lying on her side on the floor, legs curled up toward her head.

  Rory bent down to feel for Willow’s pulse, but stopped when she saw the knife sticking out of her chest. The collar Rory held in her hand dropped to the floor. She staggered, reaching for the granite countertop to steady herself. She closed her eyes and willed herself to breathe slowly.

  When she’d calmed herself down, Rory opened her eyes, glanced at the body once again to make sure she wasn’t imagining it, pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and, for the third time in the past five months, called 911 to report finding a body.

  Once she recovered from the shock of finding her neighbor, she retrieved the collar from the floor and stuffed it into the pocket of her khaki shorts. Rory took a deep breath and steeled herself to look at Willow’s body again. The woman’s colorful dress, the same one she’d worn the previous day, was bunched up around her knees. Something gold peeked out from under the fabric. Without thinking, Rory reached down to pick it up, but caught herself in time. The police would want to see the scene exactly as she found it.

  Her gaze swept the room from the open window past the ransacked drawers, finally landing on the counter where a butcher block knife holder sat, one of its slots empty. The handles of the others in the set matched the handle of the knife in Willow’s chest.

  Her neighbor must have been in the middle of cooking, stepped into another room for a moment and returned to find the intruder inside her house. Rory shuddered at the thought of the confrontation that must have followed.

  A reddish stain on the floor caught her eye. Rory stepped forward to find a bloody shoeprint on the wood floor. She examined the bottom of her sandals to make sure she hadn’t accidentally stepped in blood. Satisfied the partial print wasn’t hers, she was bending down to study it when she heard a noise behind her. A male voice said, “Ma’am?”

  She turned to find a uniformed officer standing in the doorway. She explained the situation to him, then pointed down at the spot on the floor. “That footprint’s not mine.”

  The officer looked at the area she was pointing to. “Noted. The detective is on his way. He’ll want to speak with you. Why don’t you wait for him outside.”

  They’d just stepped onto the lawn when crime scene personnel arrived. After instructing her to stay in the backyard, the officer left her to secure the front of the house.

  As Rory paced the area, a glint of white caught her eye. She crossed the lawn toward the unknown object. One of Willow’s business cards lay on the grass next to a row of shrubs. Under one of them she spotted a credit card.

  Bending at the waist, she bent down to look through the nearest shrub. Parting its leaves, she spotted the strap of an embroidered bag. She had her head in the bushes, reaching down for the object, when she heard a cough behind her. She turned to discover Detective Green staring at her, eyebrow cocked, an amused expression on his face.

  “Playing Nancy Drew again?” he said in his deep voice.

  Rory pictured him looking at her butt sticking up in the air and blushed. “Did you see these?” She pointed at the cards. “And I think that’s Willow’s purse in the plant.”

  “Interesting.” He bent down to look at the place she’d indicated. “Don’t touch anything. I’ll have someone collect it all. Wait over there.” He pointed to the other side of the yard. “I’ll be back soon.” He led a man with the words “Coroner’s Investigator” written on the back of his jacket into the house.

  Rory moved over to the open window and peered inside the kitchen. A woman was systematically going through the room, bagging evidence, while a man applied powder to various surfaces looking for prints. The coroner’s investigator stooped down to examine the body, disappearing behind the island. Detective Green squatted on the floor near Willow’s feet. He must have sensed her staring because he turned to look in her direction, shook his head and with a flick of his hand, shooed her away.

  Rory backed away from the window, moving to one side so he couldn’t see her, and examined the screen that was resting against the wall. She moved from window to window in the back of the house, finding them all closed with their screens intact. The intruder must have removed the screen from the one open window and entered the house through it.

  Moments later, the detective returned to the backyard and pulled out his notebook. “Tell me how you found her.”

  He took notes as she explained about the collar and her attempt to return it. He showed her a plastic evidence bag. “Any idea what this is?”

  Rory peered at the b
ag. Inside was a tiny golden sun. She knew she’d seen it before, but it took her a moment to figure out where. “That’s from Willow’s charm bracelet.”

  “Bracelet?”

  “Wasn’t she wearing it? She never took it off.”

  “Expensive?”

  “It was important to her. Not sure how much it was worth to anyone else. She wore other jewelry too.” She pictured Willow’s hands and wrists in her mind. “An amber ring and a bracelet watch. Amber too, I think. I don’t remember seeing them on her. Are they missing too?”

  He made another notation in his notebook. “Would you recognize them if you saw them again?”

  Rory considered the question. “I think so.” She pointed to the open window. “Do you think the intruder came through the window and left through the door?”

  “That’s one theory.”

  She thought about the article she’d read in last week’s Vista Beach View about a rash of burglaries occurring in a neighboring city where the thief entered through windows and screen doors left open because of the heat. She wondered if the crime wave had finally spilled across city lines.

  “Do you think it’s the same people?”

  He tilted his head inquiringly.

  “As the burglaries mentioned in the newspaper.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “So it was a burglary gone wrong,” she said softly.

  “Or someone wanted it to look that way. Did you notice anything suspicious last night?”

  “Is that when she died?”

  He remained silent and waited for her to answer.

  “Nothing I can think of. I was holed up in my house working late. I’m far enough away I don’t think I would have heard anything anyway.”

  “No strange noises or cars on the street?”

  “I didn’t hear or see anything.” Rory nodded toward the Mission-style house next door. “Mrs. Griswold might have. You should ask her.”

  “Thanks for your time. Go back to your house. I’ll stop by if I have any more questions. And no talking to the press.”

  “If you see the cat, could you let me know? Someone needs to take care of her.”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll look around the house for her,” he said before heading back inside.

  Rory stepped to one side and peered through a window into the kitchen. The detective glanced over and mouthed the words “Go home” when he spotted her through the glass. She hurried around the corner along the side of the house. As she reached the front yard, a cab pulled up, stopping in the middle of the street behind the crowd that had gathered. The officer Rory met earlier held up the tape so she could duck under it. Neighbors tried talking with her as she made her way toward her house, but she waved away their questions.

  Dressed in a suit, a young man about her age shouldered his way through the crowd and approached one of the two uniformed officers stationed near the edge of the property. He started to duck under the tape, but the officer held him back.

  “Let me through.”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but you’ll have to stay behind the tape.”

  “But I live here. I have a right to know what’s going on.”

  “If you’ll wait right here, sir, I’ll get Detective Green for you.”

  Rory stopped on the edge of the crowd beside the hedge that separated Willow’s property from Mrs. Griswold’s and waited to see what would happen. A rustling noise attracted her attention. Rory stepped backward and looked around the hedge, where her seventy-five-year-old neighbor was leaning against the shrubbery, clippers in hand, ear pressed against the foliage. Rory cleared her throat. As soon as Mrs. Griswold heard the noise, she clipped a few imaginary sprigs off the perfectly shaped hedge.

  With a jerk of her head, Rory motioned for her neighbor to join her. Together they peeked around the barrier between the properties and watched the scene play out before them, ready to duck behind the hedge at a moment’s notice. As they watched, Detective Green emerged from behind the gate with the officer who’d gone to get him. While the officer began clearing out the spectators who’d gathered, the detective walked over to the young man and motioned for the other policeman to let him through.

  “Are you in charge? Where’s Willow? Has something happened to her? I have a right to know. This is my home.”

  Rory remembered seeing him periodically on the street, but hadn’t realized he lived there. She glanced over at her neighbor and raised an eyebrow in a question.

  Mrs. Griswold nodded and mouthed the word “sometimes.”

  “What’s your name?” Detective Green took out his notebook.

  “Lance. Lance Paladin.”

  “You live here? Are you related to Ms. Bingen?”

  “She’s my girlfriend. What’s going on? Willow?” Lance took a step forward, calling the woman’s name over and over again, his voice becoming more and more frantic. He turned to the detective. “What’s happened to her? Was she taken to the hospital?” His eyes opened wide when he noticed the coroner’s van. “Is Willow…? She’s not…? Oh, God, no.”

  “If you’ll just calm down, sir, I’ll let you know what’s going on. Take a few deep breaths,” Green said in a soothing tone of voice.

  As he slowly breathed in and out, the franticness left the young man’s eyes and he no longer seemed ready to collapse.

  “Let’s talk over here.” The detective led the man to a wood and wrought-iron bench that sat on the lawn at the edge of the property away from the street. Mrs. Griswold and Rory crept along the hedge until they thought they were abreast of the bench. Rory raised on tiptoe and peeked over the foliage. The detective and Lance sat less than three feet away. She glanced down at Mrs. Griswold and gave her a thumbs up, then returned her gaze to the two men.

  “I’m sorry to tell you that Ms. Bingen was killed sometime last night.”

  “No, no, no, that can’t be! You must be mistaken.”

  “A neighbor identified her.”

  As if sensing someone was watching, Detective Green glanced at the place where the two women hid. Rory froze, afraid she’d been discovered, but he gave no indication he saw her. She ducked down and huddled with Mrs. Griswold against the plant, peering through gaps in the hedge, and listened to the rest of the conversation that drifted over the barrier. From her vantage point, Rory could only see the end of the bench where Lance sat.

  “I can’t believe she’s gone. I told her not to leave the windows on the ground floor open even if it is hot.”

  “Was that something she did a lot? Leave the windows open?” the detective continued.

  “She left one open upstairs and one of the kitchen windows open every night. She felt it was too stuffy otherwise. She thought it was okay since they’re both at the back of the house. I kept telling her she should get an alarm system, especially since I’m not here all the time, but she said there was no need.” Lance buried his face in his hands. “This is all my fault. I should have insisted.”

  A pause, where Rory assumed the detective was waiting for the man to recover, then the questioning continued.

  “You’re away a lot?”

  “I live here half the time. I have an apartment in Hawthorne.”

  “Trading up,” Mrs. Griswold murmured so only Rory could hear.

  “I see,” Detective Green said. “Is that where you were last night? In your apartment?”

  “You don’t think I had something to do with this?”

  “Just gathering information.”

  “I was in San Diego on business. Flew out Thursday and came back today. My flight landed an hour ago.”

  “Can anyone verify that?”

  “The taxi driver who dropped me off here. Check with the airline, the hotel, the people I met with. They’ll all tell you I was there.” He gave the detective the flight and hotel information as well as the names of th
e people he’d done business with.

  “When did you talk to Ms. Bingen last?”

  “Yesterday afternoon. I called her between meetings. Everything was fine.”

  “She didn’t mention anything unusual? Someone following her? Anything like that?”

  “No, she never said anything to me.”

  “Are there any relatives we should notify?”

  “No, she had no one. Can I go inside, pick up a few things?”

  “Not while we’re processing the scene. I’ll let you know when we’re done. Here’s my card if you think of anything else. Do you need a ride to your apartment?”

  Lance took the detective’s business card. “No thanks. My car’s parked on the street.”

  As soon as the conversation ended, Mrs. Griswold and Rory stepped to the front of the lawn and stood next to a flowerbed, pointing at a rose as if they’d been talking about gardening the entire time.

  Lance stopped to unlock the door of a Mustang parked in front of Mrs. Griswold’s house. He put his suitcase in the trunk and slammed it shut, then glanced in their direction. A thoughtful look on his face, he walked toward them.

  “Mrs. Griswold, right? And you’re Aurora. No, Rory?”

  They nodded their heads in acknowledgement.

  “How are you doing, young man? So sorry for your loss.” Mrs. Griswold extended her hand in sympathy. “Is there anything we can do for you?”

  “I was hoping I could talk to you both.”

  “Of course. Why don’t we go inside. I made iced tea from a lovely Governor Gray tea my grandson brought me from his recent trip to South Carolina. It’s the only place in the U.S. where tea is grown, you know.” She looked significantly at Rory. “Albert’s still single. And looking.”

  Rory and Lance followed Mrs. Griswold up the walkway through the front door of the Mission-style house into the cluttered living room. While the older woman went into the kitchen to get the tea, the other two settled onto a couch upholstered in a flowered fabric reminiscent of the eighties.