“It sounds alright, Anna, but I’m awfully nervous. What if Karen doesn’t want to go shopping with me?” Amy asked.
“Well, if it doesn’t work out, don’t worry, Amy. We’ll think of something else. And don’t be nervous. Just concentrate on having fun with Karen. If you can get her to tell you where she and Connie were on the night of Jack’s murder, great – right?”
“Okay, Anna, I’ll try. I promise I won’t let you down.”
“Thanks Amy, I knew I could count on you. I’m going to get out now.” I peered through the car windows first to make sure that no one was around. “Good luck.”
“Good luck, Anna,” I heard her whisper as I shut the door and scurried into the bush beside the driveway. The ground was wet; the sun couldn’t penetrate through the thick trees, and the snow had only recently melted here. I was dressed in dark sweat pants and a brown jacket, hoping to blend in with the trees and fallen leaves. I had to negotiate my way through the bush where no path existed, watching the ground closely to make sure I didn’t trip over a root or a twig. My pants kept snagging on the undergrowth, making my progress slower than I had anticipated. I glanced at my watch a couple of times, hoping that Amy wasn’t getting impatient.
Truthfully, I was pretty nervous myself. If I had told Amy that I was uncomfortable sneaking into the Primo’s house and going through their things, she would have backed out and refused to help me. I’m a fairly conservative, law-abiding citizen, after all. Maybe the law didn’t consider it a “break and enter” when someone opened the door for you, but I was pretty sure that Tremaine would consider that a technicality and make good his threat to haul me off to jail if I was caught inside the house.
I forced my way through to the trees beside the house and checked my watch again. Twelve minutes had passed, and there was no sign of Amy. Where was she? Damn, we should have synchronized our watches before we split up.
I heard a car approaching and peeked out from behind a tree to check. Yes, it was Amy. She parked the car and sat inside, waiting for my signal. I waved at her, but she didn’t move. Maybe she hadn’t seen me? I waved more vigorously, but she still just sat there. What was she waiting for? If Karen had heard the car drive up, she was going to wonder why someone hadn’t come to the door by now.
Never mind, Amy was getting out of the car. But instead of walking up to the house like she was supposed to, she was leaning against the car and scanning the trees. I stepped out from behind my cover and waved both arms over my head. This time she spotted me. Amy nodded, shoved back her shoulders, and marched up to the front door like she was going to her own execution. She looked so serious that I had to smile. She rang the bell, and then looked over her shoulder back at me. I pointed vigorously toward the door before ducking back. Amy turned just in time to see Karen, dressed in jeans and a lilac print shirt, open the door. Amy smiled and began talking while Karen listened and nodded from time to time. Amy finished her speech, and I held my breath. Karen smiled and opened the door wide to let Amy inside, the door squeaking loudly as she did.
I jumped up and down with excitement. My plan had worked! Amy was in! After a minute, the door squealed opened again and Amy stepped out onto the porch. She crouched over the door mat and appeared to be studying it. Had she dropped something? Finally she straightened and walked back inside, leaving the door ajar. Wow, Amy was slicker than I had thought. Even I had been fooled into thinking that she had lost something on the door mat, and I had been expecting some sort of a trick.
Now it was my turn to go inside the house. I left the security of the trees and sprinted for the front porch. Climbing the stairs as noiselessly as I could, I tiptoed to the front door, flattened myself against the wall, and peeked inside. I could hear Karen’s voice coming from upstairs. Amy was waiting in the hallway. Her arms spiralled like a windmill as she beckoned for me to come inside. I snuck through the door and closed it carefully; fortunately, it didn’t squeak this time. Amy made stabbing motions at a room across the hall and I hurried into it. It was an office with a large wooden desk in the middle of the room and a chair tucked in behind it. Amy watched from the doorway as I crawled under the desk and pulled the chair in as close as I could. The desk had a solid front, so I couldn’t see out, but no one could see in. I heard Karen coming down the stairs.
“Found my purse, Amy,” she called. “Tell me, does this market have any cowboy art? My sister asked me to find her a picture with horses in it.”
“Oh, sure, it’s got all kinds of horse pictures, with and without cowboys. I can’t believe you’ve never been to this market yet, Karen – it’s really popular. We should get a group together from the movie set. I know that they’d have a blast,” Amy said.
“Whoa, wait a minute. Let’s just wait until I’ve seen it before you go making any plans.”
Their voices trailed off and I heard the front door close behind them. A few minutes later, their car started up and drove away. I finally had the house to myself.
I crawled out from under the desk and gazed around the room, looking for a likely place to hide a gun. I studied the office walls and looked for a safe beneath two framed pictures of hunting dogs, but no such luck – not that I would have been able to open a safe if I had found one.
The desk drawers contained nothing but a package of printer paper and a couple of pens. The desk top had a computer and a printer, but nothing else. There was no desk calendar marked “meeting with Jack Nolan” on the day my ex-husband had died.
I stopped to think. If I were renting a house, where would I hide something small? The woman of the house might think of hiding a gun or a ring in a canister of flour or maybe wrapped in foil in the freezer, but Connie wouldn’t do that for fear of Karen finding it. Of course, you wouldn’t have to hide a gun if you had always owned one. You could store it in a display case or inside an end table.
I took a tour of the first floor. It consisted of a living room,dining room, kitchen, the office, a closet with a stacked washer and dryer, and a powder room. There was a side table in the dining room, but it only contained table linens, candles, matches, and a deck of cards. Next I checked the closet by the front door, remembering to look inside the coat pockets, but I didn’t find anything. Next I tried the powder room. People were always taping things to the inside of the toilet tank lid in the movies, but there was nothing.
I had been in the house for about twenty minutes by now, and I was beginning to feel uneasy. Even though I knew it would be at least an hour and ten minutes before Karen and Amy could come back, I had the creepy feeling that I was being watched through the downstairs windows. I made a lightning-fast inspection of the rest of the first floor and hurried upstairs. It was a three-bedroom home with a bathroom shared by two of the bedrooms and a master with an ensuite. I made my way through the extra bedrooms, searching the bureaus, beds, and closets, but I came up empty. I investigated the bathroom before turning my attention to the master.
This was the most likely spot for Connie to hide something since it was close to hand. I started with the ensuite linen closet, shaking out all the towels and linens, but found nothing. The drawer in the bathroom cabinet was jammed full of Karen’s make-up things and hair brushes. Underneath the sink, I found a man’s toiletry bag. Crossing my fingers, I unzipped the bag. There was nothing in it but an electric razor and a travel soap container. The soap container rattled when I shook it, and I opened it eagerly, only to discover a shard of soap. I put everything back and checked the medicine cabinet before moving on to the bedroom.
The room had a large, double-doored closet with mirrors. I slid the left door open and saw that it was Karen’s side of the closet. Looking at all the clothes and shoes jammed inside, I decided that Connie wouldn’t risk hiding anything amongst Karen’s things. I slid the other door open and immediately spotted a zippered bag lying on the top shelf. Standing on tiptoe, I pulled the bag down and laid it on the bed. Unzipping it, I discovered a hand gun and box of ammunition. Bingo! Maybe this was t
he murder weapon. I stared at the gun with a great big grin on my face, but soon my excitement fizzled. I didn’t know anything about guns. Did this gun fire the right-sized bullet? Wait, what about the ammunition box? I knelt down beside the bed to have a better look at the box without actually touching it. “.45 ACP,” it said. Alright! I didn’t know what “ACP” meant, but at least it was the right calibre bullet. And what were a cameraman and an actress doing with a gun, anyway? This was Canada, where the majority of people didn’t own firearms. I jumped up and did a little happy dance. Connie was a possible suspect and he was in possession of a gun. Tremaine was still busy checking out Karen and Connie’s alibi, while I had already found a gun. I had beaten old stone face at his own game.
In the middle of my excitement, I heard a noise in the driveway. It sounded like a car door slamming. How could that be? I checked my watch and saw that Karen and Amy shouldn’t be back for another fifteen minutes, at least. I ran across the room to the front windows and poked my head around the curtain. Connie was getting out of the car! Holy smokes, what was he doing home? I stared at him as he limped toward the house. His clothes were all muddy. He must have had an accident and come home to clean up. Damn it, that meant that he would be coming upstairs to his bedroom. Not only that, but Karen’s car was still parked in the driveway, so he would expect her to be home. He would look for her when she didn’t show up.
I ran back to the bed as front door opened and closed. I had to get the bag back into the closet before he came upstairs. I hesitated, wondering what to do about the gun.
“Karen, I’m home,” Connie shouted from downstairs. “I took a fall on the set and cut my leg. It’s bleeding – again. I need some clean clothes.” I could hear him moving around downstairs, looking for Karen. I opened the box of ammunition, snatched one of the bullets, and shoved it into my pocket. Maybe the police could tell if it was the murder weapon by testing the bullet?
“Karen, are you upstairs?” he yelled. I froze for a moment to listen. Hell, he was already climbing the stairs. But what if the police had to have the gun the bullet was fired from to determine if it was the murder weapon? I didn’t know for sure, but the cops in television shows had the gun tested, didn’t they? I could hear Connie at the top of the stairs. I was out of time. I grabbed the gun and shoved it inside my pocket beside the bullet, and then retrieved the bullet and put it down my bra. I didn’t want it falling out of my pocket and lying on top of the carpet where Connie could see it. I could hear him nosing around the other bedrooms, looking for Karen. I zippered the bag shut as quietly as I could, ran on tiptoe to the closet, stuffed it back on the shelf, and eased the door closed. Connie was coming down the hallway toward the master. Looking around frantically for a place to hide, I bolted across the carpet, flopped onto the floor beside the bed, and wiggled underneath just as he came into the room.
“Karen, are you in here?” he called. I lay still, holding my breath, my heart thudding in my chest. “Where is that stupid broad?” he muttered as he flipped on the overhead light and limped over to the closet. I turned my head sideway to watch his feet. His sneakers were all muddy, and he kicked them off without bothering to untie them. I heard cursing, his belt buckle jingling, and watched his pants hit the carpet. They were filthy and torn. He stepped out of them and left them in a heap on the floor. Groaning, he hobbled into the bathroom. The lights flicked on, and I heard the linen closet bi-fold open and close. A few seconds later, he was running water in the sink. The water stopped, and I heard a sharp intake of breath. The medicine cabinet door squeaked open, and I heard him digging inside. His injuries probably weren’t too serious or the movie people would have sent him to the hospital. I decided I’d better stay put in case he came out again in a minute.
I had been so distracted by Connie that it took me a few moments to realize that someone was moving around downstairs. “Connie, are you home? What are you doing home so early?” Karen shouted. Oh great, just what I needed. Now they were both home. I heard someone talking to Karen downstairs and recognized Amy’s voice, too.
Connie came limping out of the bathroom. “Karen? I’m in the bedroom. Where you been?” he yelled.
Someone ran up the stairs and into the bedroom, dropping plastic bags and a wrapped package on the floor just inside the door. Karen said, “Amy dropped by and we went to the Farmer’s Market. What have you done to your leg?”
There was a pause, and Connie said, “Uh, hi Amy.”
“Oh for pity’s sake, get in the bathroom, Con,” Karen said. “Do you think Amy wants to see you in your underwear? You’re dripping on the carpet, too. What a mess.” She strode across the floor and herded him into the bathroom.
“What was that – it looks like you bought a picture?” Connie said.
“Yeah, I bought it for my sister,” Karen replied. I could hear a number of tissues being yanked from a box. “Here, dry your leg.”
I wiggled to the edge of the bed and stuck my head out to see what was happening. Amy was standing beside the closet, facing the bathroom.
“Amy!” I said in a sharp whisper. She started and looked around the room. “Down here,” I said. She looked down and spotted me on the floor. Her eyes grew huge.
“Anna!” she squeaked before clapping her hand over her mouth. Connie and Karen were still clattering around in the bathroom.
“How much was it?” Connie asked.
“Was what?” Karen asked.
“The picture – how much money did you spend?”
“About a thousand,” Karen replied, sounding distracted. “What did you do, fall off a cliff? You’re really banged up.”
“A thousand bucks! For your sister? Why can’t she buy her own damn picture?”
“Because she wanted a western picture for her family room and they don’t have so many of them in Montreal.”
Amy hurried over to the bed and bent toward me. “What are you doing down there, Anna?” she whispered. “You’ve got to get out of here right now!”
I didn’t say anything, just whipped the gun out of my pocket with a big smile and waved it in her face. A second later, I wondered if it were loaded.
“Anna!” she squeaked. We both heard the sound of heels clicking across the bathroom tile, and I jammed the gun into my pocket and dodged back under the bed as Amy whirled around.
“You still here, Amy?” Karen said. “Sorry, I forgot about you. You better go. I gotta help my clumsy husband get cleaned up and back to work, and then I’ve got some lines to learn.”
“Okay, Karen,” Amy said in an odd, strangled voice.
Karen paused. “You look kind of funny, Amy. Something wrong?”
“No, no, everything’s fine,” Amy said.
“What’s the matter, you don’t like the sight of blood or something? Or is it Connie in his underwear that’s making you queasy? Not a pretty sight, I know,” she said with a cackle. Boy, that woman had an annoying laugh.
“No, it’s not Connie. You’re right. I don’t like the sight of blood.”
“Well, thanks for taking me to the market today, Amy. It was fun.”
“You’re welcome, Karen. Maybe we can go again sometime.”
“Sure. Call me. Maybe we’ll go out for a drink together. Bring Anna Nolan, if you like.” I heard a snort from the bathroom. “Shut up, Connie,” Karen yelled.
Amy said, “Sure, Karen, I’d like that. And I’m so glad we found that picture for your sister. I’m sure she’ll like it, since she likes horses so much. The foal was so cute, and the background was really impressive. The rocks, I mean. With the mother horse standing on the rock, you could almost feel the wind blowing through her hair – I mean her mane.” Amy sounded crazy, and I prayed that she’d get out of the bedroom before she gave me away.
“Karen, come on. I need you in here,” Connie yelled.
“Keep your pants on. I’m just saying goodbye to Amy,” Karen replied. I took the opportunity to stick my head out from under the bed and jerk it at Amy. Amy wav
ed her hands in the air and grimaced before Karen turned back again.
“Sorry, Amy, don’t have any more time to stand around and chat. See you later.”
“Bye, Karen,” Amy said. There was a short pause, and then she left the room. I heard her walk down the stairs as Karen went back into the bathroom.
“She gone now?” Connie asked.
“Yeah, you can come out,” Karen replied. They came out together, Connie favouring his right leg. Karen said, “You’d better get dressed and go back to work. You said they may need you this afternoon.” I watched Connie’s feet approach the bed until he stopped and turned his heels to face me. I braced myself as he sat down heavily on the bed, the box spring sagging toward my face.
“Help me, Mommy,” he said in a pathetic little boy’s voice.
Karen sighed. “Sheesh, you’re such a baby.” She opened the closet door and I heard the clang of a wire hanger. “Here, put this shirt on,” she said. She must have tossed it to him because I heard her burrowing in the closet again. She walked back to the bed and said, “Here’s some pants.”
After a moment, I heard a slap. “We don’t have time for that, Con, you’ve got to get back to work,” Karen snapped. I held my breath. I didn’t know what I’d do if Connie and Karen started fooling around on top of the bed.
“You never have time,” Connie complained.
“Oh shut up, you pig, we just made out last night.”
“Yeah,” Connie said in a husky voice, “and you seemed to like it.” I heard a smack, and Karen squealed.
“You were kinda manly last night, all grabby and take charge,” Karen said, kicking off her shoes. She sank down on the bed and the box spring brushed against my forehead. Karen giggled and the bed squeaked as their weight shifted. “Who’s my little cuddle bear?” she said in a girlish voice, then shrieked and giggled some more.
The door bell rang. Hallelujah! Karen and Connie lay still on top of the bed. “Don’t answer it,” Connie said.
Framed For Murder (An Anna Nolan Mystery) Page 11