Death Stretch

by Ashantay Peters

  “Like crystal champagne flutes?”

  I felt heat flush my cheeks. Sure, my love life sucked, which meant it couldn't get worse. See? Proof being I sat surrounded by men. Not by choice, but still.

  Maybe I’d been wrong not to call a lawyer or at least Ginger before leaving the house. The evidence, falsified though it was, piled up. Dirk didn’t think I was guilty, did he?

  Dirk didn't push the line of questioning surrounding my wine glasses. Instead, he shoved the evidence bag holding the papers at me. “Look familiar?”

  “Yes. You showed me those earlier. Where were those found?”

  “Same place.”

  “That's pretty cliché, don't you think? Do you really believe I'm that stupid?”

  Allen set two coffees on the desk and handed change to Dirk. “I can vouch for Katie. She almost flunked science more than once.”

  I fumbled the cup. “Thanks, I think.”

  Dirk relaxed into his chair and sipped coffee. “Really? And now she works an Auto-CAD for a construction company. That's right, isn't it, Ms. Sheridan?”

  I closed my eyes, knowing where his questions headed.

  “That type of work takes some mathematical ability, doesn't it?”

  “So I'm a late bloomer. Besides, math and science aren't the same thing.”

  “Really?”

  “Not to me. Look, ask me your questions so I can get to work, okay? I'm going to be late as it is. We've got a big job and I don't have time to waste.”

  Dirk leaned forward, slapping his palm against his desk. I grabbed my coffee cup. “You think a murder investigation is a waste of time?”

  “Questioning me is, because I don't know anything.” I leaned forward and we were nose to crooked nose. “And by the way, doesn't it take more time than a few days to get lab results? How did you know what to look for and why did you come to me?”

  “Preliminary results point to ricin.”

  Baloney and more baloney, but I knew I wouldn't get answers going head to head with Dirk. Someone with clout pushed the lab or Dirk had good friends there.

  “Someone planted that bag and papers at my house. I never saw that stuff before, and I bet you won't find my prints. So ask me your questions, I'll give you my answers, and we'll both be on our way. Unless you want to hand me a phone so I can call a lawyer.”

  “Fine.” Dirk lifted his index finger. “You were within proximity to the deceased before he died of poison found in your home.”

  He added his middle finger. “You attempted resuscitation, which could have been a cover to introduce the poison.”

  Another finger joined the rest. “Your best friend is being blackmailed after an affair with the victim.”

  The final finger rose. “We had a tip.” He lowered the accusatory digits. “Sounds like means, motive, and opportunity to me. Settle in. We're going to be here a while.”

  “A tip?” I'm not everyone's idea of a best friend, but who would accuse me? My brain tried to embrace the inconceivable idea. Only one answer remained possible.

  “I’m being framed.” My voice sounded weak even to me, and I knew I’d better call a lawyer, pronto. Not that I had money for an attorney. The situation sucked.

  “That's one possibility.” He sipped again.

  My heart pounded, and I couldn't sit still. Fidgeting probably looked bad, but I couldn't help myself. “I don't even know how the poison was administered, so how can I be the killer?”

  Dirk's lips turned up at the corners. “Look, I think you’re the last person to kill with poison or any other weapon. I don’t believe you’re a murderer, but my boss isn’t so sure.”

  I blinked. “Why would someone frame me?”

  “I'm hoping you can tell me.” He tossed his empty cup into the trash and grabbed a pen. “Let's go over Saturday's events. Maybe you've forgotten something important.”

  I covered my groan with a long sip of coffee. This day sucked already, and the clock hands weren’t anywhere close to noon. I capitulated and dredged my brain for answers. Not because Dirk’s eyes were so sexy—a retainer would drain my bank account and max out my credit cards.

  But the thought I may need an attorney stayed front and center in my consciousness.

  Chapter Eight

  Allen gave me a ride home in his car, not in a Granville Falls cruiser. I sat looking at my house, too tired to move. My sweet bungalow didn't seem like a refuge anymore. Especially because my internal alarm system sounded loud and clear.

  “You guys locked up when you hauled me in to jail, right?”

  “When we invited you for questioning, but yeah, we locked everything.”

  The door wasn’t wide open, but didn’t look shut tight, either. “So Allen, why is my front door not closed all the way?”

  He squinted at my door then phoned for back up. We sat tight until a cruiser showed up followed by Dirk in his unmarked. I stayed in the car while they searched my house for intruders. The all clear sounded and I walked through every room, looking for anything out of place while the patrol guys checked with my neighbors. They were likely all playing Bingo at St. Bartholomew, but I kept my mouth shut. Ya never know.

  Dirk leaned against the door, watching me check for missing items. He knew better than me that I should look for stuff added, not taken. My house existed in remodel mode. Anything could have been tucked anywhere. That thought gave me pause, but nobody would chase me from my bungalow.

  He pushed away from the wall. “You okay?”

  “The Sphinx speaks.”

  Looking every inch Cop Sexy, he sauntered toward me. “I guess I deserve that, huh?” His hands slid into his back pockets. Lucky hands. “Look, I have a job to do. I really had no choice but to bring you in.”

  “I get that. I know it looks bad, but I didn't kill Morgan.”

  “Everyone in the room heard you say you needed to go to the bathroom. If you were trying to be furtive, your ploy didn't work.”

  Was that a little smile I saw on his lips? Nope, guess not. I got an idea. “My exit from the room gave someone opportunity to kill Morgan if her mat lay close to his. Then she could blame me. I wish I knew who started the rumor that I spoke with Morgan before I left.”

  “So do I. Morgan had already been dosed when you passed him.”

  I shivered. “How do you know?”

  “We've got the time of death. The ME worked her way backwards. Given the probable poison type, she extrapolated the dose size and gave us a closer time line.”

  “So you knew I wasn’t the killer.”

  “No, I didn't. Still don't. The timeline doesn't rule you out, because he was poisoned at the start of or during class.”

  His blunt words shocked me into speechlessness.

  Dirk moved closer and smoothed his palm over my hair. His hand was the only warm spot on my body. “We’ve got an open investigation. Everyone is a suspect.”

  I wished he wouldn't keep reminding me. My feet moved me away from his soothing touch. Cooperating with the enemy was off my agenda.

  “My cop sense says you didn't kill Anderson. I need facts that'll help me find the real killer. You're sure Morgan didn't look sick during class?”

  I remained in the suspect pool and jumpsuit orange didn’t complement my complexion. Helping him find the killer looked the only way to avoid unflattering photos in the newspapers.

  “He might have been a little unsteady at the end, but I wouldn't know. Saturday was my first class.”

  “Unsteady, how?”

  “I don't know exactly. It's a feeling.” Ginger would kill me, but she always noticed more than me. “You should ask Ginger. She mentioned his goofy balance the other day.”

  “Trying to get rid of me?”

  “No, I just want to clear my name and get on with my life.”

  He slid closer and twisted a strand of my hair around his finger. “Does that include bringing your wine glasses out of retirement?”

  Heavy footsteps sounded in the hall. “Dete
ctive Johnson? You here?”

  Dirk dropped my hair and stepped away from me. “Living room.”

  Allen entered holding a note in an evidence bag. “Detective, I found this inside a coffee mug.”

  He handed over the bag and gave me a worried look. Great. More crap piled up against me.

  Dirk handed the bag back to Allen. “Get that to the lab and tell them we need a priority workup.”

  I couldn’t believe he wouldn’t show me what they’d found. “Hey, aren't you going to show me what some dick planted in here?”

  “Katie, you don't want to see the note.”

  “Why not? Is it a photograph of me injecting Morgan?” I shook my head. “Can't be. I hate needles. Okay, then it's a signed confession with my name, saying I killed him. Right?”

  When neither man answered I repeated my last question. “Right?”

  Dirk motioned to Allen, who remained standing still. “Go.”

  Allen shot out of my house, leaving Dirk and I alone, at least for the moment. “You don't want to know what the note said.”

  “Yes, I do. If it concerns me, I damn well do want to know.”

  He sighed and shook his head. “You have to promise me you won't go off half-cocked with a frying pan.”

  “Then you'll tell me? Okay, I promise.”

  He aged in that minute. Watching him was like looking at fast-frame photography, the way his eyes grew sad and his shoulders slumped. Whatever baggage the man carried weighed heavy.

  “The note says, ‘Your friend now owes a quarter million. Tell the cops and she dies.’”

  My vision blurred and my legs collapsed. Lucky I stood in front of the couch. “Who's doing this?”

  Dirk knelt on the floor in front of me. “We're gonna find this dirt bag. I promise.”

  The cops left, and I went through my kitchen trashing anything powdered or lace-able with poison. There's never much food at my house, but I like to bake. An unopened ten-pound bag of flour went in the garbage along with all my other dry goods. Even my coffee. I love my Arabica beans, but someone broke in twice. I wouldn’t take chances.

  Dirk asked for a police patrol and guard on the house. I figured the effort was too little too late, but the attention gave me some comfort.

  Jim called to check on me, too. He told me to take the rest of the week off. I had an idea of how to spend the next day, but then I'd need to get back to the Auto-CAD. Jim would screw my machine up for sure.

  One more thing was certain. I needed answers. I'm no cop, but I'd lived in Granville Falls all my life. Ginger was the only person I trusted, but I still knew how to get the dirt. If Ginger couldn't help, Mona would. With no coffee in the house, I'd have to stop at the Chocolate Fix in the morning.

  Chocolate and coffee for breakfast. A hardship, but I'd struggle through.

  ****

  Mona, Ginger and I sat at one of the Chocolate Fix's tables, inhaling mochas and chocolate croissants. The combo rocks out and our inattention was a travesty. We didn't savor our treats. Nerves have that affect on people.

  Ginger licked her fingers. “So when I thought back, I realized Morgan's last pose wasn't strong, and he had us in the Savasana earlier than usual. He almost sank onto his mat. That wasn’t like him.”

  Mona swallowed her coffee. “Dang, I always hated the corpse pose. Achieving total relaxation while laying on a one-inch piece of foam covering a hard floor? Not in my lifetime.”

  I bit into the pastry. Sheer heaven. “Dirk said Morgan was poisoned that morning.”

  Ginger looked startled. “I guess he must have been, but how could that be possible?”

  Mona sat like a statue. “Can you tell me how he was killed?” Her face looked pasty and she didn't appear to breathe.

  “I guess so. I mean, the information hasn't hit the papers, so you may want to keep this to yourself, but Dirk said ricin is suspected.”

  The chocolatier's eyes narrowed. “Ricin? The same stuff someone sent in a letter to the White House last spring? I recall another news story last year. A death in the Midwest, or maybe a nut job threatening people.” She leaned her chin on the palm of her hand. “Some assassin used ricin to kill a Russian or maybe a Bulgarian bigwig. Made all the papers. I think the story got made into a film. I don't remember for sure. Humph. Ricin.”

  “Do you know how the poison works?” I held my breath waiting for her answer.

  “I'm pretty sure the substance is most deadly ingested or inhaled. I suppose ricin could be injected. I do know the amount needed to kill someone is small.” She tilted her head to the side. “Usually it takes a day or so before death. Guess someone gave him enough to make sure he’d bite the big one sooner than later. Or maybe he had a bad heart.” She snorted. “Not that he had one.”

  I watched Mona's finger tap-tap the marble. Suddenly I was noticing tells and playing detective too. It wouldn't take a psychologist to pick up on her nervousness.

  “Mona, do the cops know about your friend? The one who bought Morgan the expensive watch?”

  She stiffened. “No, and I'm not giving her over.”

  “I get that. I'm hoping she'll talk with the cops on her own.”

  Mona's intense glare reminded me of Dirk. “Why would she do something that stupid?”

  Ginger leaned forward. “Because if she volunteers, the police may stop looking at her as a suspect. That's what Detective Johnson told me when I spoke with him yesterday. He promised me anonymity if possible.”

  Mona's finger stopped tapping. She stared at Ginger. “You? I never would have believed you hooked up with Yoga Man.”

  My friend gave a sick laugh. “Me, either. Morgan got so intense at the end. He even asked me to get a divorce so we could elope. I almost believed him.”

  I felt my forehead crinkle. I knew Ginger wouldn't make up the story, but eloping with Morgan? According to rumor, that wasn't his style. He was strictly love ’em and leave ’em. Or rather, screw ’em and blackmail ’em. ’Course, Ginger's sweet, loaded and gorgeous—everyone says so, not just me. Maybe Morgan looked to Ginger for the big score.

  Something about the intimidation continued to bother me. Why did Morgan hint for gifts, then turn around and send notes with photos? The notes weren't signed, the messages used cut out letters. We assumed Morgan blackmailed the women after he dumped them, but maybe he wasn’t the extortionist. Could be someone else pursued the blackmail making Morgan as much a victim as the women.

  And what if a husband learned about the affair his wife had and wanted revenge? Wouldn't that be a motive for murder?

  Ginger cleared her throat. “I told Rob about Morgan.”

  Yikes. “But did he know while Morgan was alive?”

  She didn't answer for a minute. Mona left to make us another round of mocha.

  Ginger spoke quickly in a soft voice. “Rob didn't seem surprised when I told him. I thought he'd be upset, but he just had that stern jawed look, you know the one.”

  I nodded. The grim look. If Rob were British he’d have a permanent stiff upper lip. “So you think he already knew about your affair with Morgan.”

  Tears welled in my friend's eyes. “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Sweetie, is Rob having an affair?”

  “I don't know. He says not, but—”

  I read more than I wanted to in her trailed off sentence. Could Rob have killed Morgan? Had he really played golf on Saturday morning? Did either of us want to know for sure?

  Mona came back with the fresh mocha and a plate of truffles. She sat and let out a sigh. “I'm calling my friend and letting her know Detective Johnson may want to hear her story.”

  Holding down a cheer, I managed a quiet thank you.

  “I can't promise anything for her, but I think she'll understand why she has to talk with the cops. Damn men cause more trouble than they're worth.” She wiped her hand over her eyes. “You said Johnson promised he'd keep her involvement quiet if he could?”

  Ginger put her hand over Mona's and squeeze
d. “I think he'll do what he can to protect the women in this case.” She patted my hand. “All of them.”

  Mona eyed me up and down. “Got yourself a hot one, huh? Good for you.” She stood. “I've gotta open in fifteen minutes, so you can either give me a hand or move it.”

  We gave her a hand.

  ****

  “Can you come to the impound lot? We found Morgan’s abandoned SUV. We want to know if it’s the same one involved in your hit and run on Sunday.”

  Dirk's deep voice reverberated in parts of me that never see the light of day. I about fanned myself, until I realized what he'd asked.

  “Hello to you, too, and where's the impound lot?”

  He gave me directions even though I already knew the lot he meant. Granville Falls had become a bedroom community for Charlotte, but the town remained fairly small. The chill bumps his voice created on my spine weren't small, though. Not at all.

  I had my own car back and arrived at the lot in record time. My legs shook when I got out and stood looking at an SUV that may or may not have been the one that almost hit me. Dirk and Matt joined me.

  Dirk gestured to the SUV. “That the one?”

  “I don't know for sure. Can we get closer?”

  Matt unlocked the compound. “Have you seen this SUV before?”

  I walked closer. “This was Morgan's? Talk is he loved to advertise. Why isn’t there a sign on his door promoting the studio?”

  Matt looked at his partner. Dirk rubbed his forehead with two fingers. “The SUV is Morgan's. The door sign is magnetic, and whoever stole the vehicle removed it.”

  “When was it stolen?”

  Matt punched Dirk in the upper arm. “Hey, she knows the right questions, maybe you should partner up with her.”

  Dirk's answering glare had Matt clearing his throat before he continued. “The assistant couldn’t nail down a time or date. A patrol found the SUV abandoned, no prints.”

  I circled the vehicle again. “Guys, this looks like the same one. It has tinted windows and the grill is the same. I didn't see the rear bumper because I landed ass over teakettle. Have you asked Mrs. Haywood?”

  Matt answered. “We don't need to now that you've seen the vehicle.” Why did Dirk remain silent?