Lynette instructed me to have a seat on a cream-colored leather couch. I perched on the edge, careful not to relax too much or the cushions would swallow me whole. Chad stood beside me, and Lynette wrung her hands together as she walked to a chair across from us. Her big brown eyes blinked rapidly, their watery surface mirroring the shine of the glass coffee table separating us.
"What do you do for a living, Mrs. Lewis?" I pulled out a notepad and pen from my back pocket. I clicked the pen and sat poised to take notes.
"I sell Avon"
I stared at her a moment, waiting for more. When she said nothing else, I simply nodded and jotted "freeloader" on my notepad.
"Are you married?"
"Divorced:"
"Children?"
"Grown."
Was her husband paying her big-time alimony? Otherwise, how could she afford this house? This wasn't a living quarters that someone who sold makeup out of a catalogue could buy. Believe me.
I cleared my throat and moved on. "When did you first meet Darnell?"
She smiled, somewhat sadly, and pulled her arms across her chest. The too-long sleeves of her bright blue sweater covered her hands. The action made her seem young and vulnerable, but I doubted both.
"Five years ago. I saw him at a concert down at the beach. Then I started going to all of his shows. A year later, I'd started his fan club and became his manager"
"How long have you been divorced?"
"Three years"
Ah-ha. Had Darnell been the reason for the divorce? I needed a tactful way of finding out.
"Did you get divorced because of Darnell, ma'am?" Chad asked.
Well, that was one way.
"I can't say that didn't have something to do with it, but honestly, my husband and I were just drifting apart. It was inevitable"
I tried to mirror her motions so that she'd open up. I'd learned about it in class the other day. I brought my hands together in my lap and hunched over. "Mrs. Lewis, I heard that you and Darnell were having an affair. Is that true?"
She collapsed into tears. "Yes, it is" Her voice broke. "Or was"
Chad crossed his arms over his muscular chest. Not that I'd noticed those pecs or anything. I mean, I wanted to be an investigator. Being observant was simply par for the course. He eyed Lynette. "What happened?"
She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt and left a streak of mascara on the blue wool. "Darnell was wonderful. He treated me like gold"
I had to point out the obvious. "He was married"
Lynette looked at her fingers as they twiddled in her lap. "I know. I knew it wasn't right. But when you meet the person that's right for you, you just know."
I leaned forward. I'd always wondered if that was myth or not. "You just know when you meet that person? Really?"
Chad nudged me, breaking me from my fascination with her answer.
I cleared my throat and regained my focus. "Go on"
"We were going to move to Vegas. He was going to be the next big thing, the top tribute artist in the country."
Not bad. Eighty million Elvis impersonators, and he was the king. Pretty ambitious. "And you were going to be his Priscilla?"
"I would have followed him to Antarctica"
It would have been sweet, had the woman not been having an affair. "When were you supposed to move?"
"Today"
I bit down, not wanting to feel sorry for the woman. Regardless, I did feel a surge of compassion as she wiped away tears. Poor sweater. I glanced around for a tissue before drawing in a deep, nonjudgmental breath. "Lynette, do you have any idea who might have killed your ... boyfriend?"
Her eyes cut straight to mine, all sadness erased. "His wife. She couldn't stand that he was cheating on her"
"Did he ever mention anything about her? That he was afraid she might hurt him?"
She shook her head, back to being solemn. "No. He would have never spoken ill of her"
I stood and snapped my pad of paper shut. "We're almost finished here, but would you mind if I used your restroom? I have a sensitive stomach" I tried to look embarrassed as I said it.
"Second door on the right"
Was this the oldest trick in the history of snooping? Probably, because it worked. I bypassed the bathroom and tiptoed down the hallway. The first room was painted brown and blue. Nothing remarkable there. Just a spare bedroom, it appeared.
The next room had a lacy white bedspread and matching curtains. Very Victorian. Probably the master bedroom.
Lynette seemed so normal except for her bad taste-in fashion and in men. My gut told me she wasn't guilty.
There was one more door on the hallway. Another bedroom? Just to be sure, I pushed the door open.
I gasped at what I saw inside. The room was wallpapered with pictures of Elvis-not the real Elvis, the fake one. The dead one. Well, they were both dead, but the most recently dead one.
A mannequin in the corner wore an Elvis outfit. A model of a pink Cadillac remained parked on a table. A handkerchief rested in a glass encasement.
Was this woman really dating Darnell? Or was she delusional?
"I'M TELLING you, that woman was obsessed with Darnell"
Chad threw his hands in the air and off the steering wheel as he drove down the road. "They were dating. She was his manager and the president of his fan club. It's not that unusual"
I waved my finger in the air, wanting to make my point and to make it clearly. "You didn't see the room. It was a shrine"
His hands went back to the wheel. "She was, like, mad crazy about him"
I rolled my eyes. "When you're, like, mad crazy about a girlfriend, do you decorate an entire room with all of her things?"
He shrugged. "No"
"Okay then"
"It doesn't make her a killer"
"It gives her motive"
"What?"
"What if Darnell decided to stay with his wife? What if, in anger, Lynette decided to off Darnell for breaking her heart? You know, one of those `if I can't have him, no one can' kind of things"
"It's cliche. Besides, Lynette would have had to drag him under the house. She's too small to have done that"
Point taken. I never did find out if Darnell was at that house because of a job or if it was random. That would be next on my list of things to investigate.
I thought of Lynette Lewis for the rest of the drive back to my van. I thought of her living in that big house alone with just the memories of her deceased lover. I remembered the forlorn look in her eyes. Killer or not, she was one hurting woman.
Inside my head, I could hear the Beatles singing "Eleanor Rigby." I agreed with them-where did all the lonely people come from? First, there was Mr. Hermit, with no one to love him enough to check on him. And today, there was Lynette, a woman who loved a married man. Would she have pursued a married man if she weren't lonely?
Chad dropped me at my van. I promised to contact him in the next couple of days. It was a little strange. He did seem overly interested in the case. But then again, so did I, and that didn't make me a killer. I'd have to be careful as I practiced the "keeping my enemies closer" rule.
I drove through rush-hour traffic to reach my apartment. I wanted to do some more research, and if I got home early enough, I could avoid all of my crazy neighbors.
The only other car in the parking lot when I pulled in was Mrs. Mystery's, and the only reason she'd make an appearance was if she thought she'd been stolen again. I hurried up the stairs into my apartment and plopped down at the computer in the corner of my living room.
What did people do before the Internet? I typed in Darnell's name on a search engine and watched as pages of results came up.
Apparently, he was quite popular in the Elvis tribute-artist community. He had won awards. Played at tons of venues. Really made a name for himself.
I didn't find anything interesting, case-wise.
Out of curiosity, I typed in Hank Robins. He was the other Elvis tribute artist that Jam
ie had mentioned. My eyes widened when I saw that he was performing tonight at the beach.
I glanced at my watch. I had just enough time to get there.
If I wanted to miss my evening college class.
I bit down. I couldn't miss my class. I had to finish up with my degree so I could get a real job. I had to do the responsible thing.
I grabbed my book bag from the corner and headed out the door. I was ready to learn more about forensic science.
Missing one class wouldn't hurt.
I veered off the interstate and headed toward Virginia Beach. This was my one chance to observe Hank Robins without being given any weird looks. What had Darnell's wife said about him? That he and Darnell had gotten into an argument at the Evans's house. What was he doing at the house? And what had they argued about? If I had those answers, would I be able to solve this case?
It couldn't be that easy, but at least I might have more clues.
So far, I had two possible suspects. Lynette Lewis, who may have killed him because he tried to leave her. Or Jamie Evans, who might have killed him ... because he tried to leave her?
I wasn't sure either of the suspects or their motivations were satisfying. I needed more. I had to dig deeper-without getting in the way of the police. It would be tricky, but I could do it.
At the oceanfront, I found a parking space in a nearby garage and then walked three blocks until I reached the courtyard. The wind coming off the ocean made it seem ten degrees cooler. But I loved the smell of salt air. Of course, just the scent alone made my hair frizz. Okay, just the thought of it made my red hair take on a mind of its own.
A good-sized crowd had gathered around the outdoor stage, surprising for such a chilly night. In the summer, throngs of people filled these spaces. The boardwalk and sidewalk and storefronts were full of people, elbow to elbow. There were sailors looking for dates; families vacationing from faraway, exotic places like Kansas; and teenagers looking for mischief.
Tonight, there were no sounds of sidewalk bands. There were no smells of vendors selling hot dogs, funnel cakes, and boardwalk fries. But there was the sound of someone singing, "You ain't nothin' but a hound dog."
As I got my first good look at Hank Robins, I thought having him sing about a hound dog was rather fitting. How did someone with droopy cheeks, saggy eyelids, and earlike sideburns get to impersonate Elvis? They looked nothing alike. The man didn't even sound like the King of Rock'n' Roll.
The crowd didn't seem to mind. Several people were dancing on the grass in front of the stage. It would have looked much more romantic if they hadn't been bundled in huge winter coats. And if there wasn't a hound dog singing.
I pulled my sweater closer and wrapped my arms over my chest. The wind nipped at my nose and ears and anything else it could get its frigid little hands on. I really should have planned better. I should have brought a coat and a hat and ear plugs. How was Ito know I'd ditch class and go to the beach?
I mingled, throwing in a little two-step now and then so I wouldn't look out of place. I wanted to get a good look at the people present. I wanted to catch Hank after the show and grill him like a hot dog.
Wouldn't Sierra have a fit if she knew my carnivorous thoughts?
The song ended. Everyone in Elvis's dog pound applauded. I gazed up at the stage. Elvis needed to lose a few pounds before wearing his hip huggers again. I wanted to look away but felt morbidly curious. Despite the man's imperfections, he didn't seem to have a confidence problem. He smiled broadly at his fans. He wiped his sweaty brow with a handkerchief.
Before I realized what was happening, the limp fabric landed on my forehead. Hands surrounded me. In self-defense, I grabbed the sweaty kerchief.
The lady beside me scowled. I really didn't want the soggy memento, but I wasn't about to give it away to people who obviously despised me. Instead, I stuck it in my sweater pocket.
DNA, baby.
Elvis grinned at me. And continued grinning at me. Was he waiting for a reaction?
To make him feel better, I let out a fake squeal and threw my hands in the air.
Satisfied, he turned his attention to everyone else. About time.
"This next song is dedicated to a colleague of mine, Darnell Evans. This community lost a great entertainer when Darnell passed. May he rest in peace.
He started singing "Love Me Tender" I crept to the corner of the stage and turned to get a better look at the crowd. These were true fans, coming out on a night like this to hear the man. What caused people to idolize a man like Hank? Did they truly appreciate his talent? Or maybe they were just hanging on to a time in their life when they felt happy and carefree. Maybe they'd take what they could get. And with Darnell out of the picture, what they could get boiled down to one man: Hank Robins.
Some couples swayed to the music, arms wrapped around each other and eyes misty. My lip jerked back in a half-frown when I saw the happy couples. Did people think Parker and I were happy? Were we? Or was I just getting my feathers ruffled for no reason? I didn't have time to think of it now.
The gathering consisted mostly of people over forty. Probably about fifty of them all together. I cast aside my judgments and got to the task at hand. I started at my left, looking for anyone suspicious. Nothing even close, unless you counted the man with the comb-over. Did he think he was fooling anyone? You're going bald, dude.
At the very thought of the word dude, my thoughts jerked to Chad with his laid-back beach lingo. Should I have told him I was going here tonight? Nah. Keeping him close was one thing. Having him attached to my hip was another.
My gaze skidded to a halt at a blond standing on the fringe. Even from where I positioned myself, I could see that her roots were in major need of a touch-up.
Lynette Lewis.
AS SOON as Hank sang the last song, I released the breath I held. I couldn't take any more of this torturous butchering of classic songs. Finally, I could question the man and go home.
Except the crowd started screaming for an encore.
Were these people insane?
If they considered Hank Robins to be entertaining, then yes.
I rubbed my temples as he started into "Jailhouse Rock" Could this be a sign of things to come for Hank?
Finally, the song ended. I mentally pleaded with the crowd not to call him back for more. Elvis waved and began exiting the stage. This was my chance!
I hurried in front of the stage to the steps where he departed. I pulled my wallet out and shouted, "Hank Robins?"
He stopped. His eyes narrowed as if trying to place me. Finally, he grinned. "Would you like an autograph, pretty lady? Perhaps on that handkerchief you caught?"
I found his flirtatious undertones repulsive and hoped it didn't show on my face.
I flashed my driver's license and then stuffed my wallet in my pocket fast, hoping he'd think I'd shown him a badge instead of my right to drive. "I'm investigating the death of Darnell Evans. I'd like a minute of your time"
"I'm afraid I'm busy."
"I'm afraid it's not an option. I need some answers."
He fidgeted. Looked beyond me at his adoring fans. Glanced back at me and scowled. "Come on. Let's go behind stage where no one can see us.
Before anyone else could reach him, we ducked in the back. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Now really, miss. I'm quite tired, and I have to be at work early tomorrow morning. Can we make this quick?"
"Why were you at Darnell Evans's house the week before he died?"
He chuckled forcefully and wiped his hand over his sagging brow. "At his house? You know about that, huh? We were just having a friendly conversation"
"I heard it was anything but friendly."
"Look, it wasn't a big deal. Our friendly conversation turned into somewhat of an argument. Adults do argue sometimes"
"But you were competitors, also"
"Nothing wrong with some competition. Makes you stronger, better."
"So, about your argument. .
; He sighed. "We were both competing for a spot at a summer festival. I heard he paid off the judges in order to be the one"
"What summer festival was this?" I pulled out my handy dandy pad of paper.
"Sum-derful"
I'd heard of the event. It took place at the oceanfront every summer. And it was wonderful. How cute.
Gag.
"Do you need anything else?"
"Mr. Robins, when was the last time you saw Darnell Evans?"
"The day of our argument. That was it" He cut his hands in the air like an umpire calling "Safe"
"Now I wish we had a chance to make good with each other, but that won't be happening."
I snapped my pad shut. "Thanks. I'll be in touch if I have more questions"
"Who did you say you were with?"
I walked away without answering. He didn't need to know all of my secrets.
The next morning, I pulled another box out of Mr. Hermit's closet. So far, I'd found a box full of pink flamingos, a rock collection, and tons of comic books. Some of the stuff could probably be sold on eBay for a good chunk of money. But who would get the cash?
This was the last box in the closet of the master bedroom. I blew dust off the top of the two-by-three-foot box. What kind of treats would I find in here?
I'd already packed up all of the man's clothing and shoes. A thrift store was coming to pick them up in a couple of hours. A charity would get his furniture to auction off for the less fortunate. His food had been thrown away. It was all bad-for-you junk food anyway and better if no one ate it, even the homeless. Tomorrow, I'd start on the nonfood portion of the kitchen.
I plopped on the floor and stared at the top of the box, at the sides that were neatly tucked into each other. Would this be another fun collection? Maybe butterflies or postcards or stamps. Was it only reclusive people who collected things? I paused. Maybe I should ease up on my T-shirts and flip-flops.
I pulled the ends out from each other. Inside, I stared at another box, this one with a floral print decorating the fabric around it. This was the first feminine-looking item I'd seen in his house. My pulse raced in curiosity. What would be inside?
Suspicious Minds (Squeaky Clean Series, Book 2) Page 7