Sleuthing Women II

by Lois Winston

  “Nope. I have to go.”

  She was going to end the call. I shouldn’t have tried to solicit her as a client. I needed to focus on the missing Mrs. Taylor. “Wait. I have another question. About the cat. Did she take the cat with her?”

  “Yes.”

  “I can’t remember that black cat’s name,” I said. “It was there in my head just a second ago. Do you remember it?”

  “No. I don’t care for cats at all. I had to double-wash the walls and the furniture to get all the cat dander off.”

  Another lie. The walls and house didn’t smell like they’d been disinfected. “Ms. Kitty! That was the cat’s name,” I crowed.

  “Ms. Kitty is not here. Granny took the cat to Florida.”

  I came right back at her again without pausing for a breath. “Surely there’s a forwarding address for Mrs. Taylor’s bills?”

  “Not yet. I really have to go. Goodbye.”

  The call ended, and I handed the mobile phone back to Martinez. “Sorry, she hung up on me. She’s lying. No way she’s here, or she’d be all up in our faces. She used call forwarding. I don’t think we’ll find Mrs. Taylor today.”

  He regarded me closely. “We haven’t looked in the garage.”

  “I don’t need to. With her car parked inside and the rug gone, I fear for Mrs. Taylor’s life. Did you check the dishwasher and the trash?”

  “We did.”

  “You find anything important?”

  “The crime scene techs hauled that stuff back to the lab.”

  “O-kay.” What was so urgent that I had to come straight from my hospital bed to Mrs. Taylor’s empty house? “What do you need from me?”

  “Just one more place for us to search. The car in the garage. What can you tell me about the 1970 Cadillac Coupe DeVille?”

  “It’s black, with a white top, and a red interior. Gets crappy mileage but the V-8 motor has a mean kick. Mrs. Taylor always wore white gloves when she drove it. My daughters say it looks like the kind of clunker the Blues Brothers would drive.”

  Big, fluffy snowflakes swirled outside the window. I hoped the roads would be clear for us to drive home. I hated sliding around on icy pavement.

  “Follow me to the garage,” Martinez said, rising and opening the back door.

  I trailed him to the detached garage. Martinez’s face was grim as he lifted the garage door. Within moments, I knew why. The smell of death permeated the air. I recognized the aroma from the corpses I’d found over the last six months or so.

  Instinctively, I retreated a step, covering my nose and mouth with my hand. “She’s dead, isn’t she?”

  “See for yourself.” He opened Ms. Kitty’s trunk and the pungent odor intensified.

  Obediently, I stepped forward, my hand across my nose and mouth. Inside the trunk was the missing rug, rolled and folded in half. Gray hair protruded from one end of the rug. Mrs. Taylor’s hair. I choked back a sob for my client.

  And another one for myself. With Mrs. Taylor dead, my memory dicey, and my clothes confiscated, the conclusion was certain. I was a murder suspect.

  FOUR

  Charlie and Jonette were sent home, and Martinez promised to take me home once we were finished at the station. If we finished.

  The next two hours of sitting in the interview room were a living hell. I thought about calling Bud Flook, the lawyer in the family, but I wanted to handle this myself. Cleopatra Jones could handle anything, and I’d better start acting like myself.

  I fielded question after question about Mrs. Taylor. About my business. About taking over the company from my father. About my meager retirement accounts. About offshore accounts.

  “Offshore accounts?” I nearly yelled, but I was too tired to do more than pose the question. “You obviously haven’t been a single mother lately. Between braces, clothes, insurance, and room and board, there isn’t much left over.”

  “I’m being thorough, Mrs. Jones,” Martinez said.

  “Is money missing from her accounts?” I countered.

  “Yes.”

  “How much?”

  “All of it.”

  I swore under my breath. “I didn’t take her money, and I’ve had enough of your questions. Not another word from me until my lawyer Bud Flook arrives. I’d like to call him now.”

  “Have I arrested you?” he asked.

  I said nothing.

  “You are a person of interest, but your personal references check out.”

  Finally, something positive. “Am I free to go?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Lawyer.”

  “Melanie Bean is in the state. We triangulated the call between cell towers south of here, but that’s the best we can do for now. I’m searching for Mrs. Taylor’s relatives. I’ve also called in a forensic accountant.”

  I yawned. “Follow the money. That’s what I always do.”

  “Are you waiving your right to an attorney?’

  “Are you arresting me?”

  “No.”

  Another yawn slipped out, and my head felt incredibly heavy. “Then I’m taking a nap until someone takes me home.”

  “Good idea,” Martinez said. “With a killer on the loose, this is the safest place for you. Do we have your permission to pull your phone records and ping your missing phone?”

  “Sure.”

  ~*~

  “Rene deMornay? I’ve never heard that name before,” I said, sitting up straighter and rubbing a little drool from my cheek. “Who is she?”

  “She’s the woman who impersonated Mrs. Taylor’s granddaughter,” Detective Martinez said. “My officers are headed to Richmond to pick her up from the Henrico County cops.”

  Outside the single window, snow continued to fall. Despite the overcast day, the white snow illuminated the blobs of vehicles and shrubs. I’d graduated from the interview room to Detective Martinez’s office. I wasn’t arrested, but I wasn’t cut loose either.

  On the plus side, Martinez seemed to value my opinions and had been sharing case information with me. “How’s she connected to Mrs. Taylor?” I asked.

  “Still working on that and our accountant is scouring Mrs. Taylor’s finances. According to the holdings she reported in her tax records that your mother emailed us, her accounts should be flush with money. So far, every account in her name is zeroed out. We believe millions of dollars are missing.”

  “There has to be a connection. What about her phone records?”

  “Working on that, too. Can you pick Ms. deMornay out of a lineup?”

  I felt stronger after two naps and a fast food lunch. My head barely throbbed. “With my memory problem, I don’t know. What about Mrs. Taylor’s family members? Are you questioning them?”

  “We certainly will. The neighbor you mentioned with a property dispute might also be a suspect.”

  “What about my missing car?” I asked. “Any luck finding it?”

  “Our patrol cops are looking for it, and we’ve already had a unit traverse the route from Mrs. Taylor’s place to where you were found. It’s not there.”

  “That’s so strange.”

  “Too bad it isn’t a newer model that we could locate through the nav system.”

  “No such equipment on that old Volvo.”

  “We’re checking junkyards next.”

  Junkyards. Sounded like I wouldn’t be getting the Gray Beast back, ever. “What about my phone?”

  “We’ve had no luck pinging the phone. Whoever took it turned it off or removed the SIM card. The phone could be with the car, but right now we don’t have either one. Thanks to your earlier permission to access your phone, we know you had a brief conversation with someone at Mrs. Taylor’s house around eight-thirty Monday morning. We feel confident that’s where you went, but your trail goes cold at her house.”

  The tightness in my chest intensified. I’d been targeted. I was lucky to be alive. “Will I have to look over my shoulder for the rest of my life?”

  “We’re stil
l assembling the facts in this homicide case. It’s our premise you were in the wrong place at the wrong time.” His phone buzzed. He checked it and then escorted me to a conference room with a sofa at the far end. “Wait here, then I’ll take you home.”

  I sat on the sofa and dozed in the quiet room. I was awakened by a kiss. Slowly I opened my eyes to a brown-eyed, blond-haired man who looked like a young Ernie Els. I recognized him instantly. Rafe Golden.

  FIVE

  “You found me,” I said.

  “I did.”

  Rafe adjusted our position so that we sat side-by-side on the sofa, his arm draped around my shoulder. A soft light bathed the room with a rosy glow. We had the conference room to ourselves, which was nice.

  He hugged me again, being very careful of my head. “Jonette informed me of your accident this morning. I dropped everything and came at once. I would’ve come sooner, but I didn’t know you were missing until she called. I’m sorry you’ve had such a rough go of it.”

  This morning at the hospital Jonette told me Rafe wasn’t good enough for me. That he was a crappy boyfriend, and yet she’d called him. I felt my way along this morass slowly, as if it were a dangerous precipice. “Me too. The cops say it was wrong time and place for me.” I glanced at my bare wrist where my watch usually sat and then at the windowless walls suddenly unsure of the hour. “It is still Tuesday, right?”

  “Nearly suppertime,” he said.

  As if on cue, my stomach growled. “Can I leave yet? Last I knew, Martinez received a call and told me to wait here. I pretty much sacked out until you woke me.”

  “You needed the rest after your ordeal, Red. Martinez mentioned a lineup.”

  I shook my head slowly. “My memory isn’t up to par. I remember everything except Monday morning and afternoon. Even if I saw someone at Mrs. Taylor’s house, I wouldn’t remember the person.”

  “We’ll tell him, love.” He kissed me again, this time on the forehead. His gaze slipped to my hand. He paused then turned serious. “You want to explain why you’re wearing Charlie’s ring?”

  I glanced at my left hand, felt heat sear my cheeks at the sight of that onyx ring. “Oh. That.”

  Rafe raised an eyebrow.

  He wasn’t making this easy for me¸ but in accepting Charlie’s offer of marriage, I’d reached for something I desperately wanted. “I can explain, and I will explain.”

  The silence in the room deepened. I cleared my throat to begin. “Okay, moving right along. Charlie knew I was missing. Charlie searched for me. Charlie kept bugging Britt until my name popped up over here as a Jane Doe in the hospital. Charlie drove to the hospital in the snowstorm, and he was the first face I recognized, the first thing I remembered when I woke up. He spent the night in the hospital room with me to keep me company.”

  “That doesn’t explain the ring.” Rafe’s words were terse, his eyes narrowed. “You’re the mother of his children, but you’re also his ex-wife. His interest in your welfare should only extend so far.”

  “Except this is Charlie. He made a mistake. He said he was sorry, and I believe him.” Somehow I didn’t think Rafe would appreciate knowing that Charlie made me feel safe. “He asked me to marry him.”

  “He asks you to marry him every time he sees you,” Rafe reminded me.

  “I realize that now, but consider this from my perspective. I awakened numb and paralyzed, frightened and alone. No one can explain why I couldn’t move or speak at first. I was overjoyed to see Charlie’s familiar face, ready to trust that he’d keep me safe overnight—and he did.”

  This part was harder, but I slogged forward. “I’ve mentioned more than once that I don’t like being single. I want to be married again. I love being a couple. The routine of waking up next to the man I love suits me. I want to be married.”

  “You want to marry me,” Rafe said. “Not Charlie. He broke your heart and tossed you aside. No one should forgive that kind of callous behavior.”

  “I agree.”

  He didn’t say anything for a long moment. “You did it to punish me?”

  I fingered the large onyx ring and reached deep for truth. “When I said yes, I was thinking of myself and how I hate being alone. In all my years of marriage to Charlie, I never once had reason to doubt Charlie until a con artist blindsided us. Charlie won’t be fooled by someone like her again.”

  “He cheated on you.”

  “He made a mistake.”

  “That’s no reason to marry him.”

  My head began to pound again, but I pushed through the discomfort. “I don’t like the physical and emotional distance between us, Rafe. We have different goals. You claim you aren’t marriage material because of what happened with your sister, but I hoped you’d shed that fear when the facts were revealed. Except you didn’t. I need to know what you’re thinking, because I don’t.”

  “I’ve never had anyone like you in my life before.” Rafe gazed deep into my eyes. “You believed in me when no one else did, not even my family. I miss you. You’re so strong and capable; you don’t need me.”

  “Who said I don’t need you? I do.”

  The door snicked open, and Martinez strode in before Rafe could reply. “Mrs. Jones, I found your car.”

  I disentangled myself from Rafe and stood. Hope flickered. “Where is it?”

  “Sadly, of no further use to you or anyone else,” the detective said. “We checked fifteen junkyards before we matched the VIN. I saw a photo of the sedan as it was towed in. Looked like the front end wrapped around a tree. The Volvo was crushed this afternoon at a place out in Marshall. Lots of real steel in those old cars. The seller gave a fake ID, but we have a photo of the man.”

  My heart sank. That car had been in my family for twenty years. I’d learned to drive on it, and I’d hoped my daughter would drive it. “May I see the seller’s photo?”

  He thrust a piece of paper my way. I perused it, certainty building within me. “I don’t know this person. But I don’t remember yesterday, so it’s a conditional no.”

  “Understood, but the ID isn’t important. All transactions at junkyards are recorded on camera, so we believe this man was a proxy. No personal items were noted in the car when it was brought in. Nothing except this.”

  He held up a photo of a small angel pin. I recognized it at once. It was always in the Volvo, anchored into the upper floor carpeting on the passenger side. “That’s mine. I want it returned.”

  “I’ll get it for you. Meanwhile, you can use this information with your insurance company for your claim.” He handed me several pages of paper.

  Numbly, I took the sheets. Monday was still a mystery, but I was me again. My car fell victim to Mrs. Taylor’s homicide. Suddenly the weight of all that had happened to me was too much to bear. My eyes misted. “I need to go home.”

  Martinez turned to Rafe who stood beside me. “Step outside for a moment, sir.”

  Rafe tensed. I placed my hand on his arm. “It’s okay.”

  Once he’d gone, Martinez leaned forward. His dark eyes sparkled with energy. “You’ve been through a lot in the last twenty-four hours, and I appreciate your willingness to cooperate with our investigation. I need you to do one more thing before you leave.”

  “One more thing,” I repeated slowly.

  “To help us find the person who killed Lettie Taylor.”

  Poor Mrs. Taylor.

  Poor me. Someone stole my memory. They stole a day of my life.

  “That’s it,” he said softly. “Dig deep. You can do this.”

  “Yes.” I sat straighter as a fresh surge of adrenaline spiked in my body. “I can.”

  SIX

  Five women wearing pants and sweaters faced me through a one-way mirror. Each held a number. Their ages looked to be between twenty and forty. Rafe stood at my side for moral support, and it felt good to have backup.

  The gal on the left, Number One, had peach fuzz for hair and a hollow look to her eyes. The overall vibe from her was terminal
illness, but I didn’t recognize her. Number Two sported a bulging pear shape and attitude chips stacked on each shoulder, given the stink-eye she sent my way. Stranger all the way.

  Number Three stood directly across from me. She was a study in pink, from the tips of her manicured fingernails to her glistening snow boots. Her tanning-bed bronze skin would give Mama a conniption. She’d be a wrinkly mess in a few years. Ms. Pink caught my attention, but whether that was due to her colorful appearance or something more, I couldn’t say.

  Four and Five looked to be mixed-race females. Four marched in like a cop, casing the room for suspects and giving off a touch-me-and-you’re-dead vibe. Everything about her screamed no-nonsense. Five sported a halo of curly hair like I’d never seen before. The tips of the ebony strands were white-gold as if they’d been dipped in liquid sunshine. Her clothing appeared subdued and lustrous, classier maybe, though I didn’t know what that meant in this context.

  I scanned the group again. One of them might be a killer. Which woman stole a day of my life? I wish I knew.

  I turned to Detective Martinez. “Something seems familiar about Number Three, but I’m not certain what it is. I don’t outright recognize any of them. May I hear them speak?”

  “I’ll set it up.” Martinez stepped out of the room and signaled the officer supervising the lineup to join him in the hall. Moments later, the officer returned to the room, and Martinez rejoined us. “Turn your back to the mirror,” Martinez said. “They will speak out of order, and each will read the same prepared statement.”

  Which meant I had to listen closely for vocal nuances. I faced away from the window and closed my eyes. “I’m ready.”

  “Let’s begin,” Martinez said. “If someone sounds familiar, raise your hand.”

  The women read from the page and nothing clicked. “Sorry, it isn’t working. Will you ask them to say the granddaughter’s name?”

  A few minutes later, the five said, “I am Melanie Bean” aloud for me. The last one nailed it. My hand shot in the air. “That’s the woman from the phone. The one who pretended to be the granddaughter.” Much to my surprise, it was Number Five. My face fell. I thought for sure that voice belonged to Number Three.