“Ok. Um. What should I say?” She looked warily at the paper.
“Just write down what happened this morning. When you got there. What you saw. Don’t lie, but don’t speculate.”
“Just the facts, ma’am?”
“To coin a phrase.”
She shrugged and picked up the pen. “I don’t really know anything.”
“Maybe not, but the cop shop runs on paperwork.”
“Yeah.” She started writing, listing the day’s events. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Toby’s eyebrows drew together in their worried stance again.
“What’s wrong?” she said.
“The chief won’t like it that I’m even taking your statement.”
“What? Why not?”
Toby pursed his lips. “He’s from the city. He sees a cop interview a relative and he thinks it means some kind of corruption. But that’s just how small-town departments work.”
Lisa nodded. In Los Angeles, it would have seemed both strange and a bit suspicious to have a cop interview his cousin.
“Small towns are different,” she agreed.
The radio on Toby’s hip crackled and he left the room. Lisa finished writing down what she’d done and seen during the morning, feeling like it had to be midnight already. She glanced at her watch. Not even noon. Time just passed at a different rate around the police. She could hardly wait to get out of here, get back to work. She hoped that the crime scene people would be done and gone by the time she got there. She had plenty of work to do to get the Folly ready to open for business. Maybe this wasn’t a good day for decisions but more of a day for the repetitive and physically tiring. Plenty of paint waited to be scraped.
The door opened, and Officer Handy stood in the doorway.
“I’ll take that if you’re finished.”
Lisa stood up and gave her the notepad, glad to be leaving. Handy opened the door and led her out into the office, where the air conditioning was merely cool and pleasant rather than chilling. Lisa rubbed her arms to dispel the lingering cold. She looked at Officer Handy and raised her eyebrows.
“Um, anything else?”
The front door of the station opened, and Chief Gerrold escorted Claire Comstock in. Claire wore a smug smile that made Lisa’s stomach clench. What did that crazy woman have to smile about? Never mind, it was time to get going. She hoped Toby was around to give her a ride back to the center of town.
Lisa strolled as casually as she could manage across the lobby toward the front door.
Chief Gerrold held up a hand. “Not so fast, young lady.”
Lisa looked from the chief to Claire Comstock and back again. “What do you mean?”
“Officer Handy, please handcuff Miss Chance and place her under arrest for criminal trespass.”
“What!” Lisa couldn’t believe it. How could she be arrested for trespassing on her own property? Claire’s smile widened as Officer Handy placed the cuffs on Lisa’s wrists and droned through the recitation of her rights.
“This is ridiculous! You can’t do this. Where’s Toby?”
Chief Gerrold frowned. “You mean Officer Baldwin? He is out on a call, and will not be able to save you from paying for any crime you may have committed. Not on my watch.”
“But I didn’t commit any crime.”
“Do you have a criminal record, Miss Chance?”
Lisa clenched her jaw and nodded.
“And what was the crime you were convicted of?”
“Criminal trespass,” Lisa muttered.
“What’s that again?” the chief said, to Claire Comstock’s mirth.
“Criminal trespass,” Lisa repeated.
“And where was this previous crime?”
Lisa sighed. “The Folly.”
“I believe you mean the Comstock property, my family’s property,” Claire said. “And here we are, with the criminal returned to the scene of her crime once more.”
“I wasn’t trespassing, I was renovating to open my café. I bought that property from Roland Comstock. It’s mine.”
Claire’s face darkened. “My nephew is deceased, Miss Chance.”
“I know, I was the one who found his body.”
“You most certainly did not,” Claire said, affronted.
“Uh, yeah, I did, unless you know of someone else who got there first and then ran away.”
“My nephew Roland succumbed to esophageal cancer at Cedars Sinai last winter.”
Lisa stared at the woman, confused. “What? No, that’s impossible. He was right there. You saw him.”
“The man I saw was a stranger to me and had no more right to be on my family’s property than you yourself did. If he had not met with misfortune, I would press charges against him, as well.”
Lisa’s stomach sank and the room seemed to swirl around her head. “But the café,” she murmured. “And my money.”
Claire clucked her tongue. “A man is dead at my family’s property, and you’re thinking about money.” She shook her head. “This generation.”
Lisa struggled to keep hold of her temper. Who did this woman think she was to come in and shake her head at people, when she was the one who was some kind of money-grubbing phony? What kind of person walked around in a hot pink designer track suit pointing long glitzy gel-tipped nails at hard-working small businesspeople? It was an outrage. If her mother was there, she would give this nobody a real dressing down. Penny Baldwin-Chance was nobody’s shrinking violet, and got things done in this town.
A wave of regret swept over her as she thought of how she should have had her mother handle the purchase. No, that was silly. How could the purchase of the Folly have affected any of this? But in her gut she still felt like if Penny were in charge of the sale, she would have been there, would have made sure nothing went wrong. No tacky track-suited phony could have accused Lisa of trespassing if Penny were there.
“Hey!” Lisa yelled. “I won’t be intimidated. Roland Comstock sold me that property, and just because you say you’re a Comstock, why should anyone believe it?”
Officer Handy gripped Lisa’s arm, the pressure a silent warning not to try to go after the other woman.
Claire stalked across the room and glared at Lisa. “How dare you question me? I was born in that house. It is mine by right. I don’t need to prove myself to you.”
“That house is mine by deed, signed and notarized. And I’m happy to prove it to anyone. Besides, if you’re from here, why haven’t I ever seen you before?”
Claire sniffed. “Mother liked to travel.”
“Or because you’re a fake.”
Chief Gerrold stepped between them and put a calming hand on Claire’s arm. “Miss Comstock, we’re all so pleased you’ve returned to Moss Creek. Would you like some coffee? Water?”
Claire turned and smiled at him. “Do you have sparkling water? It’s so refreshing.”
Chief Gerrold led Claire away and into his office. Lisa looked at Officer Handy, who motioned the other way, toward the holding cells.
No, no, no, she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t stand to be locked up again. Tears sprang into Lisa’s eyes and she started to breathe heavily. Locked up, walls closing in, buried alive, forgotten, dark, locked up—
No. She shook herself. Go to your happy place, think of something happy. She closed her eyes and searched her memory frantically for a happy thought, any happy thought. Kittens! Little baby kittens playing and exploring the world, soft and warm, purring while their little needle-sharp claws poked into your skin.
Her eyes flew open. “Can I make a phone call?”
Officer Handy nodded. “Sure can. Just let me get you processed real quick.”
Lisa’s breath caught again, thinking of being processed into jail, but she turned her thoughts back to kittens. Specifically, the kittens of the black and white polydactyl cat at the Folly.
“Do you have a phone book?” she asked the officer.
Without looking up from the ancient compu
ter screen, Officer Handy slid a phone book across the counter to her.
“Um, cuffs?” Lisa said, holding up her hands.
“Don’t give me any trouble,” Officer Handy said before unlocking the cuffs.
Lisa looked up the number for the veterinarian’s office. She had to tell him that the kittens had been born.
Chapter 12
The holding cell smelled like disinfectant and old urine. Lisa sat on the sagging bed and concentrated on breathing. Breathe in, breathe out, don’t think about being trapped in the dark forever, breathe in, breathe out. With a whoosh and a whir, the HVAC unit kicked on, filling the jail with noise and moving the stale air around like a giant hand stirring a repulsive soup.
Kittens, think of kittens, Lisa reminded herself. Don’t think about jail, don’t think about being trapped, don’t think about darkness falling around you like a coffin. Her control over her breathing broke and she started to hyperventilate. She put her head between her knees.
Passing out in jail was not something she wanted to do. She needed to get hold of herself, think about something else. Kittens weren’t doing it. What about Dylan?
Yes, that was a very distracting thought. She brought her mind back to the afternoon she walked into their one-bedroom apartment, home early from work. The air smelled of wine and sweat and perfume. The blinds were closed, leaving the golden afternoon sun to filter through in lazy shafts of buttery light. Music played in the bedroom, making her cock her ear to check if she heard it right — was that Marvin Gaye?
As she moved closer to the bedroom door, she heard a feminine giggle rise above the music, “Let’s Get It On? How original, Dylan. Maybe next you can play some Nine Inch Nails.”
Lisa stopped dead. She knew that voice.
“How’s this for original?” Dylan’s voice accompanied the sound of the bedsprings giving a giant bounce and squeak.
More giggling. Lisa’s stomach knotted. The diamond ring on her finger felt like it weighed a hundred pounds, dragging her arm down and down and down like an anchor.
An anchor pulling her down to the depths of the sea, of darkness, all alone — she jerked herself back out of the memory. That was less helpful than she would have liked.
She stood up and paced the length of the little holding cell. Moss Creek didn’t have a large criminal population, mostly the same few drunks who needed to sleep it off, and the jail was presently empty except for Lisa. She paced to the back of the cell, counting her steps — one, two, three, four, five, not-quite-six — then paced back again. Roland’s face came back to her, lying on the gravel. His skin had been already gray and slack, as if his body had been a well-fitting suit of clothes that was now empty of its owner. She shivered.
What would happen with the real estate deal now that he was dead? She should have read the contract more carefully. When an owner provides the financing, what happened if he died? Did the contract spell out survivorship? Did it have to go to probate court to determine a payee, and if so, who got paid in the interim? And what if he really wasn’t who he said he was?
She felt sick to her stomach, thinking of the woman who claimed to be Claire Comstock, and her claim that Roland Comstock wasn’t really Roland Comstock. If Lisa ever got out of here, she had some serious investigating to do. She needed to find out who had sold her the property, and she needed to know who had killed him.
The HVAC unit ground down and switched off again with a sound like sneakers in a clothes dryer. In the sudden silence, Lisa heard voices from the other side of the door. One voice in particular. Olivia!
Lisa raced to the front of the cell, grasped the bars and looked down the hall, eager to see her aunt. A dark thought came to her. What if Olivia wasn’t here to bail her out, but was going to jail herself? If only she could understand Olivia’s words instead of just recognize her voice.
The door opened and Olivia rushed in, followed closely by Officer Handy.
“Ms. Baldwin, please stand back.”
“Oh, Lisa, my darling girl, are you ok? I came as soon as I heard.” Olivia leaned forward and planted a kiss on Lisa’s forehead through the bars.
Lisa felt tears rising and stuffed them down hard. “Please tell me you’re here to bail me out,” she said.
“Of course! Karen, release this young woman, immediately. Please.”
Officer Handy frowned but stepped forward with a giant key ring in hand. “If you could both just stand back a minute while I do this.”
Lisa and Olivia moved back, both watching intently as Officer Handy slowly, ever so slowly, leafed through the keys on the ring until she found the one that fit the lock.
A packet of papers in hand and a promise to show up for the hearing made, Lisa fled the police station. The plush velvety interior of Olivia’s old American boat of a car never felt better.
“Where to, kid?”
“I need to shower the jail funk off my skin.”
Olivia thought for a second, then nodded decisively and turned the wheel to steer the car onto the highway out of town. “I’ll do you one better. Let’s go to the hot springs and soak it off.”
The pine forest flashed by outside. The cool clear light of the mountain sun sparkled off an occasional creek or pond hidden by the trees. Lisa let her head sag back against the headrest and her vision go blurry.
“How did you find me? Did Toby call you?” Lisa said some time later.
“Toby’s a good boy, but he doesn’t call his mother about work,” Olivia said. “It was some woman in pink velour that told me you were in jail.”
Lisa sat up. “What? When? Where?”
“Hold your horses, we’re almost there.”
Lisa bit back more impatient questions as her aunt steered the car into the parking lot of the hot springs. The sign by the side of the road had a cartoon drawing of six houses, each hovering in the air over spouting blue water, and said Billy Jack’s Spring Shacks.
Olivia bounded out of the car and into the office, calling a loud hello to Billy Jack. Lisa got out more slowly, suddenly aware she didn’t have a bathing suit with her.
Moments later Olivia reappeared with a pile of towels and a key attached to a large wooden plaque with the number five painted on it.
“We’re in number five. Let’s go,” Olivia called as she hiked down the trail into the woods. Lisa shrugged and followed her.
Shack number five appeared in a clearing off the main trail, its rustic log cabin appearance only slightly marred by the front door’s psychedelic paint job. Lisa thought it looked like someone had managed to tie-dye the door. The shack itself was ten feet on each side. They went in and found a smooth wood plank deck surrounding the natural hot pool, skylights in the roof letting in diffused natural light, a little changing alcove with a screen in front of it, and a bench along one wall to set their towels on.
“I don’t have a swimsuit,” Lisa said as the door swung shut behind her.
“Don’t be silly. I changed your diapers,” Olivia said. “And besides, neither do I. Just take your things off and get in the water. Nobody’s looking.”
Lisa went into the changing alcove and slipped out of her clothes, glad to be free of the feel of jailhouse air that had seeped into them. When she came out again Olivia was already in the water, holding her hands theatrically over her eyes.
“Tell me when it’s safe to look, Miss Modesty,” Olivia said.
Lisa pulled her hair up into a high ponytail and slipped into the water. It was gloriously hot, the perfect temperature for a soak. She found a comfy spot on the underwater bench that let her be underwater all the way past her shoulders.
“You can remove your hands now,” Lisa said, trying not to roll her eyes at her aunt. She sank a little deeper into the water, letting the heat pull the tension out of her shoulders.
Olivia dropped her hands. Her palms smacked the surface of the water. “You kids these days, you should really try to have more of an appreciation for the human form. When I was your age, I was part of
a brigade of activists trying to liberate the beaches of the United States from the silly superstitions about nudity. There’s really no good reason for any beach not to be a nude beach. Or at least a topless beach.”
Lisa raised an eyebrow.
“There is a real authoritarian streak in this country,” Olivia opined. “Puritan, too.”
Olivia looked into the middle distance, seeming to travel back to her youthful summers of activism.
“Ok,” Lisa said. “But what about Claire Comstock?”
“Oh, she wasn’t there. It was me and a group from the University.”
“No, I mean today,” Lisa said. “You said a woman in pink told you I was in jail.”
“Oh! Yes, of course. I got a call on my landline from the espresso machine people. I tried to tell them to call you, that you were handling that part of things, but they said you weren’t answering, and that they were being refused entry to the property with the delivery of our espresso machine. Naturally, I ran right down there — can’t have an expensive machine like that get returned after we’ve paid for delivery — and they were right. There was a barrier placed across the front driveway entrance; one in back, too. I parked on the street and went right in, of course. But I was chased right out again by that woman. She threatened to have me arrested for trespassing, and said she’d had one trespasser thrown in jail already.”
“That sounds like her, all right.”
“Very authoritarian, thinks she owns the place.”
“Aunt Olivia, she says she really does own the place.”
Olivia looked pensive. “I see.”
“And the police seem to believe her. At least, Chief Gerrold seems to. You should have seem him kiss her butt today.” Lisa scowled at the memory.
“The Comstocks have been a powerful family in this area for a long time. And authoritarian types always like to stick together.”
“But is she even really a Comstock? Roland said his aunt had died, leaving him the Folly in her will.”
“She certainly has the Comstock nose. I’d recognize that beaky profile anywhere.”
“That doesn’t mean she’s really the owner. A nose? That’s no proof. What about Roland?” Lisa felt desperate. She slumped deeper into the water, trying to regain the feeling of relaxation she’d had at first.
Last Chance for Murder (Lisa Chance Cozy Mysteries Book 1) Page 7