by Jada Ryker
Marisa looked up from her purse. “No, I didn’t know that.”
“I just hope Macon is not taking it personally.” The receptionist slid the slip into her drawer.
“Why would Macon take her murder personally?”
Barbara flushed. “I should have thought before I spoke. Macon doesn’t want me to talk to the patients about it.” She leaned over the counter and looked at Macon’s closed door.
Marisa knew if she spoke, Barbara would clam up. All she had to do was hold her silence.
The older woman tossed the newspaper in the trashcan. “Macon met with her not long before she died. It must have been right before she left to go to the strip club for her shift.” Her worried eyes met Marisa’s, then skittered away. “He ordered me to take her name out of the computer and not tell anyone she was his patient.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
In her small sitting room, Althea wearily shoved the pictures into her desk, and carefully locked it.
Clay slid his arm around her shoulders. “What are you going to do, my dear?”
“All those poor children. My darling Marisa. I must discuss this with Marisa. I knew her childhood was filled with abuse and deprivation. I had no idea she was victimized in this way.”
Clay guided Althea to the couch.
She raised her white face to his. “Does this change what we know about Mrs. Craft’s death? What if Barton had a silent partner? What if he felt threatened by her hints? Maybe she hinted in front of him to get his attention and let him know she knew who he was? Or maybe it was Clara who killed Mrs. Craft. She said she didn’t know Mrs. Craft was married to Barton. Perhaps she did know who Mrs. Craft really was and killed her by stabbing her in the back.”
Clay pulled Althea close. “I think we’re looking at this puzzle the wrong way around.”
“What do you mean?” Distractedly, Althea reached for the desk phone. “I don’t want to add to my darling girl’s trauma. I’m going to call Marisa’s therapist. He’ll know the best way to handle this.” She dragged out her purse, and dug energetically. “Now what did I do with my address book? When Marisa was in rehab, he visited me in the nursing home and insisted on giving me his home and cell phone numbers.” She triumphantly pulled out her slim black address book. She frowned. “His first name is Macon…what the heck is his last name?” She flipped through the pages. “That’s it! Kelly!”
Clay was only half listening. He thought about the events leading up to the murders of Sarah and Mrs. Craft, and everything that had happened since. As Althea dialed her phone, Clay eased open the door to her balcony to give her privacy.
By the time he returned, Althea was hanging up the phone. “I’m so glad I called that young man! He said I did exactly the right thing by letting him know what we’d found.” Althea craned her neck. “What do you have in your hand?”
Obligingly, Clay opened his hand. A smooth cylinder reposed in his palm.
“A pen?” Althea looked up at him inquiringly.
“It looks like a pen.” He held it out to her. “It’s actually a sophisticated recording device. It’s similar to the one Moira used at the park.”
Althea examined it. “How do you turn it on?”
“I simply push in the button at the top, just like a real pen. Once I push it in, though, it starts recording. And the pen actually writes.”
Althea handed it back to Clay. He slipped it inside his shirt pocket, clipped so that the top stuck up above the fabric of his shirt.
“Clay, what are you up to?”
“I believe I can use the extreme arrogance of the murderer to get a confession.”
“Clay! You’ve figured out who the murderer is! Who is it?”
He told her his theory. “I could be wrong, but I don’t think I am. However, I don’t have any proof whatsoever. Our only hope is to goad the murderer into confessing everything, and capturing it as evidence.”
A firm knock rattled Althea’s door.
Heading over to the door, Clay raised a brow. Althea shrugged.
Clay was surprised to see Lieutenant Camden.
The younger man smiled slightly. He was holding a clear plastic bag stuffed with clothing.
Clay reflected the lawman looked more like a teenager in his t-shirt and shorts than a homicide detective. “What can I do for you, Lieutenant?
“Sir, Ms. Moira Peters swept into the police station this morning. She insisted on making a statement. She says you have had conversations with her, during which you mistook her for your wife, who disappeared thirty years ago. Since both Mrs. Peters and Mrs. Craft have long red hair, Mrs. Peters claims you mistook Mrs. Craft for her, and you killed the wrong woman. She also hinted, not very subtly, you probably did away with your wife three decades ago, and now you are trying to kill her once again.”
Althea surged forward, her eyes blazing and her chin up. “Surely you’re not taking the word of a lying, painted hussy over Clay—”
“Calm down, Mrs. Flaxton, there’s more. The attendant, Ms. Starla Farrell, has made a statement as well. She says she didn’t realize what she’d seen until later. The morning of the murder, she drove into the parking lot. As she walked past the patio toward the staff entrance in the grayness of the pre-dawn, she claims she saw someone on the patio. It was a person dressed in a light colored suit. She says in the dim glow of the security lights, the hair of the person appeared to be white. Further along on the patio, Mrs. Craft was sitting, with her back to the door. Ms. Farrell saw the person quietly approach Mrs. Craft from behind and lean over her. Shortly afterward, the figure slipped back in the patio door.”
Althea rubbed her throbbing temples. “Why didn’t Starla say that when you questioned everyone after the murder?”
“Ms. Farrell sees Mr. Napier as a hero. She is also convinced he is a retired secret agent. Since she perceives Mr. Napier as a cross between James Bond and Batman, she was sure her sighting of Mr. Napier had to be unrelated to the murder. It was only later, as she puzzled over what she’d seen, that a darker meaning occurred to her. She told her mother what she’d seen, and her mother made her come to us.”
Dreamus held up the bag. “I obtained a search warrant for Mr. Napier’s apartment. Shoved under his bureau, I found this suit. It’s stained with blood. I feel sure when the lab tests it, they’ll find Mrs. Craft’s blood.”
He turned to Clay. He looked apologetic. “Mr. Napier, I have no choice but to take you in for questioning.”
Clay patted Althea comfortingly. “Thea, my dear, I must go with the lieutenant and make my statement.” He reached into his pocket for the recording device. “Keep this for me.”
Tears slid down Althea’s face as the man she loved was taken away.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
As the music trailed off and the ushers appeared at the ends of the pews to help mourners file out of the church, Marisa grasped the back of the pew in front of her. She pulled herself to her feet. She twitched her black skirt and black jacket into place as Alex rose from his place next to her.
On her other side, Fred held onto to the pew in front of him, and pulled himself to his feet. Fumbling, he managed to button his jacket over his stomach, although the fabric was strained. Fred turned to Marisa. His round blue eyes were cloudy with distress and the lines around his eyes and mouth seemed deeper with pain.
Marisa reached out and hugged him.
He awkwardly patted her back, as if he might break her. “I’m sorry, Marisa. I know you and Heidi went through rehab together. A special relationship develops between people who go into a program like that together and manage to come out the other side.”
Marisa nodded and dabbed at her eyes. “People in the group share their thoughts and feelings, and try to help and support each other as they progress through the program.”
Elliot, Heidi’s husband, approached them. “Marisa. Thank you for coming.”
Since family member involvement was a key aspect of the program, Marisa and Elliot had me
t several times. “You’re welcome, Elliot. I am so sorry. I knew she was drinking again. Rather than trying to stop her, I distanced myself from her. It’s my fault.”
Elliot’s eyes were full of tears. “She died of a massive heart attack. That was the official cause of death, but I believe she drank herself to death. I couldn’t stop her and neither could you, Marisa. Only she could do that.”
Marisa felt Alex’s hand on her shoulder, and she took a shuddering breath. “Now she’s not fighting her demons anymore. She’s truly at peace.”
As they walked down the steps of the church, Marisa spoke to Alex in a low voice. She didn’t want Heidi’s friends and family, who were milling around them, to hear her. “During the eulogy, Heidi’s sisters talked about her big heart and her willingness to help with anything that needed to be done. I had this overwhelming urge to jump up and yell, ‘You all took advantage of her! You sucked the life out of her, and she tried to replace it with drinking!’ I was so angry.”
“Of course, you didn’t.” Alex steered her toward the parking lot.
“No, I didn’t. I was sitting there in the pew thinking, yes, her family and her friends took advantage of her. But it was ultimately Heidi’s choice to allow them to take advantage of her.” Marisa gulped.
Alex patted her back. “She was a beautiful young woman.”
Marisa sniffed. “I always thought she looked like a cheerleader, with her blonde hair, blue eyes, and perky attitude. And she had a cute little bubble butt.” Marisa’s laugh was watery. “After we finished the rehab program, we had to meet once a week in a follow-up group. I remember in one of those group sessions she talked about her problems and issues gnawing away at her, driving her crazy.
“There was a guy in our group named Bryan. He had this deep, gravelly voice that made me think of him as a jazz singer. Of course, I knew he actually worked in a warehouse. Anyway, Bryan told Heidi to just ‘give it away.’ Heidi was puzzled. ‘What do you mean?’ Bryan said, ‘Just give your problem away to somebody else, Heidi. You need to tell them that you’re giving it to them.’
“The next week, Heidi was laughing. She said, ‘Hey, Bryan, I tried your idea.’ In that deep voice of his, he said, ‘Oh, yeah?’ Heidi said, ‘I didn’t have anyone around to give it to, so I called a random phone number. When a guy answered, I told him I was giving him something. Then I hung up. I didn’t think about him having caller ID, so I was surprised when he called back. Elliot answered the phone. The guy on the other end said, ‘How am I going to get what was promised to me?’ Elliot thought it was a crank phone call, and simply hung up.”
Marisa and Alex were still laughing when they reached the parking lot.
A sturdy woman in a black dress and a hat with a wispy black veil approached them.
Marisa immediately stifled her laughter and composed her face.
The woman stopped directly in front of them. She reached into her shoulder bag and pulled out a gun. With the other hand, she raised her veil.
“Anna!”
Psycho bitch ex-wife was armed and she looked very pissed.
She gestured with her gun toward an older model black Oldsmobile. “Get in the car, Marisa. You—” she said to Alex, “stay out of this and you won’t get hurt. You’re lucky I’m not holding a grudge against you for what you did to my car in the park.”
“Anna, you don’t want to do this.” Marisa kept her voice low and soothing.
The gun in her hand wavered.
Alex lunged forward.
The weapon gave a low popping noise. Alex crumpled to the ground.
“Alex! Alex!” Marisa knelt next to him and frantically shook him. “Alex, if you die, I’m going to kill you!”
Anna gritted, “Get up, Marisa. He’s not hurt. I shot him with a tranquilizer.”
Marisa looked up. “Tranquilizer?”
“I stole it from my vet’s office. If you don’t get in my car, I’ll shoot him again. A double dose would be fatal.”
Marisa pressed her fingers to Alex’s wrist. His pulse was strong and regular. She arranged his still form into a more comfortable position. Then, she stripped off her jacket and folded it under his head as a pillow.
“Hurry up, I don’t have all damn day for you to tuck him in.”
Marisa slowly rose to her feet and walked to the car. She looked around, hoping for help.
“You drive,” Anna commanded.
The other mourners were in front of the church, and none were looking toward the parking lot.
Marisa reluctantly got in the car.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Tara painfully opened her eyes. She immediately squeezed them shut against the relentless sunlight.
She was in a moving car. Her stomach was pitching like a ship caught in a stormy ocean and her head was hurting like a crow’s nest under attack from a crazed woodpecker.
The events of the previous night came rushing back to her. The last thing she remembered was flying out the door of the club.
She tried to sit up in the car, and strained against the seatbelt.
“Easy, Tara.”
She whipped her head around.
Dreamus. He was relaxed in the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel, the other lying on the console between them. With his t-shirt and shorts and bare legs, he looked as if he was heading to play basketball with his friends.
“How did I get here? Damn, my head is pounding so hard I can’t think. Where are we?”
Dreamus smoothly turned into a parking lot, and slid into a spot marked “Reserved.”
Tara stared at the rambling, two-story gray concrete building. “This is the police station. What are we doing here?”
Dreamus opened his door and got out. He walked around the car and opened Tara’s door. “Come on.”
“I’m not moving until you tell me what’s going on.” Tara obstinately crossed her arms and looked out the windshield.
He reached across her, unbuckled her seat belt, and roughly hauled her out of the car.
Shocked to the core, Tara sputtered.
He ignored her. “This is what is going on. I can arrest your ass and throw you in jail. You’ll sit there until Monday morning, when you go in front of the judge. You’ll have to explain your absence to your employer. Your DUI will be online, so perhaps telling the truth is your best bet. You won’t have a driver’s license. It will probably be revoked for a year, since you have a previous DUI on record. Or, you can come with me. Take your pick.”
Dreamus’ fury radiated off him in waves so thick Tara was sure she could have reached out and touched it.
He turned away from her and stiffly headed toward the door of the building.
“Fine.” Tara stomped after him. “You’ve lost your freaking mind, but fine, I have no choice but to go along with it. But my head hurts and I’m sick, and I don’t like it. And I don’t like you! I hope I puke on you!”
Dreamus escorted her to a small room, which Tara guessed was a conference room since there was a long table and several chairs. Dreamus opened a laptop computer and powered on the screen.
The screen was filled with gritty, black and white images. There were several cars in what appeared to be a parking lot.
“This is footage from a surveillance camera. Watch the right side of the screen.”
Several men pulled a woman along with them. She was unsteady on her feet. She lurched and nearly fell. Although it was difficult to see clearly, her face appeared dazed and confused.
Two of the men held her against the side of a car. One of the others ripped off her skirt.
She was twisting. On the video her mouth was open. There was no sound, only the visual, but Tara was positive the young woman was frantically screaming.
One of men quickly pulled down his pants.
“Stop!” Tara catapulted out of the hard, plastic chair. She pushed Dreamus out of the way, and hit the keyboard of his laptop.
Dreamus caught her in his arms and shook her. Her head flailed ba
ck and forth. “Look at it, Tara! You idiot, that’s what nearly happened to you last night! Those men had already decided they were going to have you, willing or not. They bragged to witnesses at the club about their plans for you. See that woman? That was almost you!”
Caught in the gray images, as the young woman soundlessly screamed and cried, Tara put her arms over her head and wept.
Dreamus’ voice gentled. “Thank goodness I called on some officers who were in the area. They were in the parking lot, waiting. They were able to save that woman from a terrible experience, which most likely would have included a beating. What if that had been you, and no cavalry to ride to your rescue?”
* * * * *
Back in Dreamus’ vehicle, Tara wailed. “I want to go home.” Her face was wet with tears. “I know what you’re doing. You took me to the police station to see that horrible video, to make me see what could have happened to me with those men. You made your point.” Tara hiccupped. “Please take me home now.”
“If you’re so sure you know what I’m doing, then relax. At any rate, we’re almost there.” Dreamus’ tone was perfectly neutral. He hit the turn signal, and smoothly pulled into a parking lot.
Tara looked up at the imposing brick building. “I know where we are! This is the long-term care facility for patients with brain injuries. What are we doing here?”
Dreamus slid out of his seat, came around to the passenger side of the car, and held open Tara’s door. “Come with me.”
As they walked through the lobby, Dreamus smiled and waved at the receptionist. The receptionist waved back.
Dreamus hit the double doors, and they were in a hallway of patients’ rooms.
Obviously, Dreamus was known here and allowed to run about the place unchallenged. He paused outside a doorway. He took Tara’s arm, and pushed open the door.
Tara resisted. “What’s going on here?”
“For once, Ms. Ross, just shut the hell up and listen.”
The combination of the formal title, profanity, and Dreamus’ furious face caused Tara to close her mouth and allow him to propel her into the room.