“Please don’t call him, Lexie. Corinne will be so angry.”
“Why will Corinne be angry?”
Felicity shook her head from side to side as tears streamed down her cheeks. “I never should have come here. Pretend I never came here. Please, Lexie. For my sake.”
I tried to lead her into the kitchen, but she squirmed out of my reach and ran out the front door. I considered following her home, then decided that would only upset her more. Puzzled, I called Brian and told him everything that had happened.
“I’m glad you called me, whether Felicity wanted you to or not. I’ll send a car over there to check things out and file a report.”
Minutes later I heard them arrive, three black and whites, their sirens blasting the silence of the neighborhood. Not necessary! I thought as I peered out my front door to watch. Car doors slammed and six officers approached the Roberts sisters’ house. Guilt shot through me as they descended on Felicity, about to cause her untold anguish. A cop rang the bell. The door opened, and Felicity exchanged words with two of the officers. They entered the house. Relieved that the other four cops remained outside, no doubt to wait for the crime scene technicians, I stepped inside and tried not to think of what was happening next door.
I felt uneasy as I got ready for bed. Felicity needed emotional support, yet shied away from it when the police were involved. Her Johnny sounded like a gangster to me, yet he’d worked for the girls’ father. And Corinne used to date him. For some reason Brat Farrar flashed into my head. He’d appeared on the scene under false pretenses. Were the Roberts sisters not who they said they were? Were they in hiding because they’d witnessed a crime?
Another thought occurred to me: had Johnny found Corinne through her photo in the newspaper?
A thumping at the front door interrupted my musings. “Coming!” I called as I ran to see who was there. Not Pete Rogers, thank God, but a furious Corinne. Reluctant to let her in, I cracked the door a few inches.
But Corinne had no desire to come inside. “I’ll thank you to keep out of my family’s business!” she screamed.
“Felicity came here. She was terrified because someone took shots at your house.”
“She told you not to call the cops, but you called them, anyway. Keep away from my sister and me, Lexie, or I’ll take out an order of protection against you!”
Feeling demoralized and ill-treated, I crept into bed vowing to have nothing more to do with the Roberts sisters. I hated to abandon Felicity, but our relationship was limited by all sorts of restrictions, the major one being Corrine.
I was half asleep when I realized Felicity had given me a clue when she’d mentioned Johnny’s last name. Scarvino. Tomorrow I’d Google him as soon as I returned home from my classes.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The sound of pounding woke me from a deep sleep. What now? I jumped out of bed, scaring Puss, who had snuggled up beside me during the night. I glanced at the clock. Three-thirty. Frightened, I headed for the front door.
“Lexie! Thank God you heard me! I was afraid you wouldn’t.”
Gayle grabbed me in a tight embrace that started me coughing.
She let go. “Sorry. I have to park the SUV in your garage so no one knows I’m here.”
I held off on my “call the police” lecture. Gayle looked stressed out and thoroughly beat.
“I’ll move my car to one side of the garage. That should give you just about enough room. Or better yet, I’ll park on the street,” I said.
“No! Don’t do anything out of the ordinary! Pull your car to one side of the garage. I’ll park next to you.”
My sister followed me into the garage, where we maneuvered both vehicles side by side with barely two inches between them. Gayle lifted her duffle bag from the back of her SUV and carried it into the house.
“Do you have anything to eat?” she asked.
“Sure. I’ll make you a sandwich.”
She dropped off the bag in her room, used the bathroom, then joined me in the kitchen. I had a dozen questions I was dying to ask, but I settled on one.
“Where did you stay this past week?”
Gayle finished chewing the huge bite she’d taken of her tuna salad sandwich and washed it down with soda.
“With friends of my friends whose nanny left suddenly. They needed someone to watch their kids until the new nanny could start, so it worked out. I was glad not to have to drive anywhere, since you said the cops put out a BOLO for me.”
I nodded. “The new detective on the case called a few times to find out if I’d heard from you. I told him about your last call. They tried to trace it, but came up with zilch.”
She gave me a bittersweet smile. “So now that you’re dating a cop, you’re on their side. Are you going to turn me in, Lexie?”
“Don’t be stupid.” I took a deep breath. “What are you planning to do?”
Gayle shook her head. “I’ve no idea. It’s all I think about, night and day, and I still can’t come up with an answer. I can’t go back to Utah. Not with Shawn Estes on the loose.”
“Did you ever consider contacting a higher official in Utah? Someone like the Attorney General?”
“I’ve heard he’s a decent guy. Maybe if your boyfriend contacted him and convinced him to investigate Shawn Estes, I’d take my chances. But now there are these new charges.” She looked so sad. My heart ached for her.
“Lexie, I swear I didn’t kill Len Lyons. I don’t know how I got entangled in two messes, but I’m innocent.” She reached for my hand. “Do you believe me?”
“I do.” I squeezed her hand and, though I swore to myself I wouldn’t, launched in on my “call the police” spiel. “But you’re going to have to speak to Detective Paulson.”
“Why, if I didn’t kill that man who ended up dead in your backyard? I never saw the knife I was supposed to have hidden.”
“Because they’re questioning everyone who might have had anything to do with the murder. And the possible murder weapon was found in the room you slept in.”
Gayle frowned. “Screwy logic, if you ask me.”
I could see her point, but the police had their policies and procedures.
“You have to cooperate and answer their questions, Gayle. I’m sure the crime lab will report the knife doesn’t have your fingerprints. Then you’ll be free of all this.”
“No, I won’t! It will only prove someone wiped the fingerprints off the knife. They can throw me in jail if they like.”
“I don’t think so,” I said, but I was beginning to wonder if Gayle was right.
“Lexie, I can’t do this now. Give me a day to think about everything. Either I’ll talk to this Detective Paulson or I’ll disappear from your life.”
I nodded to put an end to the discussion and not because I agreed. I sat quietly watching Gayle wolf down the rest of her sandwich, then we both went to bed.
She was still sleeping when my alarm woke me, tired and disgruntled. I left her a note and set out for school, a new idea forming in my head. Why not have Brian contact the District Attorney or Attorney General in Utah and tell him everything Gayle told me? Explain that the man who’d murdered her boyfriend had sent someone to threaten Gayle and she was too terrified to return home. It was too early to call now. I decided to talk to Brian on my drive home.
“I most certainly will not!” my loving boyfriend shouted before I’d finished all I’d planned to say. “For one thing, what happened in Utah stays in Utah. I’ve no jurisdiction outside of New York. Outside of Nassau County, for that matter!”
“But—”
“In the second place, I’ve no idea if any of what Gayle said is true. She wasn’t exactly honest with you, was she?”
“Not at first, but—”
“In the third place, she’s wanted by my department for questioning regarding an ongoing homicide. She’d better get her butt over to Paulson’s office before sundown today.”
“Sundown!” I shouted back. “This isn’t a
western! Gayle’s terrified and she’s innocent.” I lowered my voice. “And she’s my sister, Brian.”
“Dammit, I know she’s your sister!” He went silent. I knew not to say another word.
Seconds passed. “Tell you what,” he continued calmly, conciliatory, “if Gayle talks to Paulson today, I’ll make some calls to Utah to check out the situation.”
I released the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. “Thanks, Brian. And tell them about that Pete Rogers.”
“Oh, I intend to,” he said, his tone letting me know he’d already given the subject some thought. “Gotta go.” I heard something just before he hung up.
Was that a kissing sound? I wondered as a grin spread across my face.
I drove into the garage, relieved that Gayle’s SUV was where she’d parked it. I’d left her sleeping soundly and didn’t expect her to take off, but my sister was capable of rash behavior–not including murder, I reminded myself.
I found her playing with Puss on the living room floor. She was dangling my bathroom belt above him, and the silly cat was leaping up after it. It was the most activity he’d had since the day we moved in, when he’d raced around the house leading me a merry chase.
I told Gayle that Brian would help her deal with the Utah police if she agreed to talk to Detective Paulson.
“Okay. I’ll do it,” she said, to my surprise and great relief.
I handed her his card. “You’ll call him?”
“Right now.”
She went into her room and closed the door.
I headed for my computer and checked my email. Then I Googled “Johnny Scarvino.”
“Oh!” I exclaimed, surprised at the many pages the name brought up.
He was a thug, all right, and had been arrested for racketeering and other mob-related activities in New Jersey. There were many newspaper articles about other Scarvinos. I would have ignored them, but many of them concerned a murder trial I’d read about a few years back. John Scarvino—was that Johnny’s father?—had been charged and found guilty for killing another mobster and his wife.
“Lexie?”
I turned to Gayle. “You spoke to Detective Paulson?”
She nodded. “I’m going down to the precinct now.”
I suddenly felt chilled. Gayle was doing this because I told her to. But what if someone had screwed up the evidence and she got indicted for the crime? Labs made all kinds of mistakes. There were dirty cops who planted evidence. What if this Detective Paulson wanted to nail the murderer ASAP and wouldn’t hesitate to pin it on his only viable suspect?
“Want me to come with you?” I asked.
She paused, then shook her head. “Thanks, Lexie. You’ve done enough. I’ll call if I need you.”
Or need a lawyer, I thought as we hugged. I watched her drive away, feeling as I’d felt the morning I’d watched my son Jesse walk to school by himself for the very first time.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I called Joy, eager to tell her Gayle had returned and that I’d found out quite a lot about Felicity’s Johnny. I got as far as “hello” when she cut me off.
“Talk to you later. I’m on the phone with the school nurse. Zack got hurt during recess.”
“I’m here if you need me.”
She called back a minute later. “Can you come over now? I have to take Zack to the emergency room. Things will go smoother if I don’t bring Brandon.”
“Of course,” I said, though I hated not being here when Gayle returned.
“I’d bring him over to you, but he just fell asleep.”
“No problem. I’m on my way.”
I left Gayle a note, grabbed my satchel of quizzes that needed grading and threw on a jacket.
“See you later,” I told Puss, who ignored me.
Joy was waiting for me outside her open garage. “Thanks, Lexie. Zack fell and hit his head playing soccer during recess. He might have a concussion, so I’m taking him to the ER. I left you a note on the kitchen table—what to feed Brandon when he wakes up.” She grinned. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but would you please change him if necessary? You do remember how to do that, don’t you?”
“I’ll do my best, though I may have blocked it from my memory. What about
Ruthie?” I asked as Joy climbed into her SUV.
“She’s going to her friend Robin’s house. Robin’s mom is driving them to dance class. Marcia said she’ll bring them home, too, and if I’m running late, I’ll ask her to keep Ruthie and feed her dinner. Ruthie won’t like the dinner part. Mike’s supposed to take the kids to Family Swim Night.”
“Busy, busy,” I commented.
“You don’t know the half of it,” Joy said before slamming the car door.
I checked on Brandon, who was fast asleep in his crib, then wandered through the house, trying to find a comfortable nook where I could settle down and mark papers. Every room, including the kitchen, was cluttered with toys and kiddie paraphernalia. I suddenly remembered the leather lounge chair Mike had bought for his office, and headed for the back of the house.
His desk was strewn with papers, but the rest of the room was tidy, except for a few dog-eared sports magazines at the foot of the new chair. I set them aside and, red pen and quiz papers in hand, climbed aboard and pushed the lever way back. Comfy.
I finished off the two sets of papers, and got up to stretch. Time to check on the sleeping baby. As I passed Mike’s messy desk, I couldn’t resist giving it the once over.
There was a box with bills to be paid, magazine subscriptions to be refilled, an application for a home equity loan, and a pile of coupons for local restaurants. In the corner against the wall was an open weekly calendar. Snoop that I was, I peered at this week’s schedule. Tonight’s Family Swim was down, along with the address of this week’s Friday night poker game.
I flipped through the three previous weeks. “Make calls” was jotted down several times, no doubt a reminder to call guests for Joy’s surprise party. I noticed a dentist appointment, the times he had to pick up Zack or Ruthie from some activity, and one “call LL.”
My heart began to pound. “LL” could only mean Len Lyons! I checked the date and my pulse raced even faster. It was last Wednesday. The day before Len Lyons was murdered.
I paced in circles. Should I mention this to Joy? To Brian? To Detective Paulson? I felt like the worst kind of traitor. Here I was babysitting his son as I wondered if sweet, loving Mike Lincoln was a murderer!
And why shouldn’t I? Right now the police were interrogating my sister because someone I knew had hidden the murder weapon in the room Gayle had used, no doubt to incriminate her.
A loud wail broke into my thoughts. I hurried to Brandon’s room to change his Pamper, then fed him some apple sauce and bananas.
Joy arrived home two hours later with a cranky Zack, who couldn’t understand why he had to miss basketball practice. She settled him on the couch in the den and turned on the TV, then called me into the kitchen. I gave her a detailed report of Brandon’s intake of food and elimination, and received a huge hug of appreciation.
“Want a cup of coffee?” she asked. “It’s the least I can do for you.”
“No thanks. Gayle’s been down at the precinct for hours talking to Paulson. I want to be home when she gets back.”
Joy’s eyes widened. “I hope everything works out well for her. I’ve the name of a good criminal lawyer, if you need one.”
“Thanks. We might.”
Or you might, I thought as I shrugged into my jacket and gathered up my papers.
“Mom?” Zack shouted from the den.
“What?” Joy ran to see what was wrong. I trailed after her.
“Can I still go to Family Swim Night with Dad and Ruthie?”
“You most certainly cannot!” Joy felt his forehead for fever. “You’ll stay home and spend a quiet evening with Brandon and me.”
“But that’s hours from now. I’ll be fine then.”
“You�
�ll rest tonight and we’ll see if you go to school tomorrow.”
Joy walked me to the front door. “Have you heard? Corinne and Felicity are putting their house on the market, just as soon as they fix the damage that idiot caused the other night.”
I stared at her. “Where did you hear that?”
“The school nurse told me. Her sister-in-law works in the realty office in town.”
“I can’t blame them for wanting to move,” I said.
Joy’s eyes took on a calculating look. “Me, neither. But why did someone shoot up their house, and so soon after the bank robbery?”
I gave a gasp of surprise. “You think the two are related?”
“Only in the sense that they’re both really way-out events.”
Now was the time to tell Joy about Johnny Scarvino and what I’d learned about his father, but I had other, more pressing matters on my mind.
What did honest, decent Mike—former cop and Joy’s husband—want with the likes of Len Lyons, conniver, thief, and thug?
Super investigator that she was, Joy must have seen Mike’s notation to call Len Lyons while snooping around in search of evidence of his infidelity. We’d held lengthy discussions regarding who knew the murder victim, yet she’d never mentioned seeing the victim’s initials in her husband’s diary. Was she protecting him or what?
Should I mention it to Brian? To Detective Paulson?
Should I confront Joy?
“Lexie?”
I gave a start. “What?”
“Weren’t you going to tell me something you discovered online?”
“Oh, that!” I waved my hand. “I decided it’s not relevant to the case.”
Joy’s face scrunched up in puzzlement. “But you sounded excited when you called this afternoon. Sometimes it’s the little things that break a case.”
The little things. Were finding the dead man’s initials in her husband’s diary a little thing?
“We’ll talk tomorrow,” I say, edging closer to the door. “Now I want to get home to Gayle.”
Murder the Tey Way: A Golden Age of Mystery Book Club Mystery (The Golden Age of Mystery Book Club Mysteries 2) Page 11