by Lois Winston
Martinez excused suspects One, Two, and Four. Three was escorted to another room, while Five was instructed to sit at a table now occupying the room’s center.
Rene deMornay glared at the mirrored window that kept us shielded. “I’m going to get you for this,” she threatened. “Somehow, some way. You’re gonna pay for messing with me.”
Rafe moved closer as if to protect me from the woman in the other room. “She doesn’t scare me. I’ve received much worse threats.” I studied the woman’s appearance. She looked stylized, like a model or something. “Her clothes look different than the other women’s. Much more figure flattering.”
“I’ve never met the woman, but my guess is her body is her stock in trade. She has a certain look about her.”
Understanding dawned. What a time for my sheltered past to put blinders on me. Rafe, with his worldlier upbringing, was probably right. “She’s a prostitute?”
“That’s my impression.”
I rubbed the tired from my eyes. “Why would someone so put together sell her body to strangers?”
“Drugs, bills, blackmail, thrills—lots of reasons.”
“You’re familiar with hookers?”
“I’ve been approached by a few in my life.”
I glanced at him covertly. “Did you sleep with them?”
“No, my relationships are exclusive.”
My shirt collar felt too tight all of a sudden. The heat in the room intensified. Seemed like we were veering away from the case to our strained relationship.
The door to the interview room opened and closed, admitting Detective Martinez. “Ms. deMornay, I have some questions for you.”
“Call me Rene,” she purred.
“I see several arrests for solicitation in your record.”
I glanced over at Rafe’s face, but he didn’t look vindicated. He seemed to be following the conversation closely. I’d better do that, too.
The woman’s facial expression remained blank. She didn’t respond in any way.
“Do you have anything to say regarding your criminal record?” Martinez persisted.
“What I do with my body is my business.”
Her stilted words made me sit up a little straighter. Whatever this woman was, no way was she ordinary.
“Meaning?” Martinez asked.
“Come on, Detective. Are you saying you never go over the speed limit when you’re off duty? Do you ever forget to renew a fishing license or pay your taxes on time? ”
“Not relevant. This conversation is about you.”
“I disagree. It’s very relevant. Laws keep the powerful strong. They punish entrepreneurs and risk takers.”
“Spare me the philosophy lesson. We have you cold for impersonating Melanie Bean. What’s your association with Ms. Bean?”
The woman shrugged.
“Answer in words for the record.”
“I don’t know her.”
“And yet you pretended to be Ms. Bean. Who put you up to this?”
“No one put me up to anything. I did it by choice, same as I decided how to make my living.”
Her answer silenced Martinez. Me too, for that matter. We were from such different worlds.
“How did Mrs. Taylor’s phone number get routed to your phone?” Martinez asked.
The woman’s Mona Lisa smile froze on her face.
A knock sounded on the door, and Martinez stepped into the hall. The camera feed and the audio feed from the room went dark. “What happened?” I asked Rafe.
“My guess is her lawyer arrived,” he said.
He was right. Nothing further came out of Ms. deMornay’s mouth. We moved to Martinez’s cubbyhole of an office to regroup.
“Given her profession and relatively young age, Rene deMornay is unlikely to be an associate of Mrs. Taylor,” I said after sinking into a thinly padded chair.
“Ms. deMornay is an opportunist,” Martinez said. “We’ll comb through her finances and phone records.”
“If she’s clever enough to steal Mrs. Taylor’s estate without leaving a trace, why would she route the calls to her number? Seems like that would wreck the scam,” Rafe said, perching beside me.
Good point, but there had to be a connection. “What about client records?” I asked. “Can you search her files for the names of Mrs. Taylor’s family?”
Both men looked at me like I’d sprung a leak. “No records were found in her residence. Her cell phone and her computer were free of incoming correspondence,” Martinez added.
“Either she’s tech savvy or she knows someone who is,” I said. “What about deMornay’s family?”
“No living relatives found.”
“She spontaneously appeared as an adult?” My voice rose on the last two words.
Martinez consulted the woman’s file before speaking. “Rene’s birth certificate that she used for her driver’s license indicates she was the only child of a couple who died when she was seven. She spent the rest of her life in foster care, then became active in her current profession.”
Hmm. A very smart woman. An entrepreneur in body and spirit. She’d covered her tracks. This time. Perhaps she’d done this before.
I brightened, the puzzle of the investigation energizing me. “Have there been similar scam complaints from other families?” Martinez and Rafe looked blank, so I hastened to share my thoughts. “If she’s so competent, she might have experience with impersonation, extortion, or blackmail. Maybe in an earlier instance she made mistakes.”
“I see where you’re going with this.” Martinez gave a taciturn nod, his fingers interlaced on his desk. “I’ll have an associate search for similar cases.” He checked the time on his watch. “We have the neighbor with the property dispute in custody and the real Melanie Bean should arrive shortly. I’ll have the neighbor woman moved into the same interview room we used for deMornay.”
So we cruised down the hall again, Rafe and I to the observation area, Martinez to the interview room. The neighbor turned out to be suspect Number Three from the lineup, Ms. Pretty in Pink. I studied her more closely, standing at the window. She’d taken a seat and was admiring her pink fingernails. Each nail seemed dagger sharp. I didn’t know how she got anything accomplished with such long nails.
“Mrs. Browning, sorry to keep you waiting,” Martinez said when he entered the room and sat across from her. “For the record, please state your full name.”
“Cynthia Page Browning, but I go by Page.”
“Thank you.” He did a few more for-the-record clarifications, then shot Page another smile. “We appreciate your cooperation in helping us with the Taylor homicide.”
“That poor woman,” Page said. “What they done to her wasn’t right.”
“Did you notice any suspicious activity over there during the last week or so?”
“I’m not one to keep my nose to the window, but occasionally I’d see a car over there.”
“What kind of car?”
“Sometimes a white one, sometimes a boxy gray one. Other than the meter reader coming around, that was about the extent of her company.”
“Were you close to Mrs. Taylor?”
“Lands, no. Lettie and I had our differences years back and didn’t speak at all. That woman could out-mad anyone in the county. You never wanted to get crossways with her because she could hold a grudge for a lifetime.”
“You never spoke?”
“Not for the past fifteen years.”
“What about the property dispute?”
“Fifteen years ago, and Lettie made it clear I had no claim on her property.”
Martinez busied himself with the file folder for a long moment. “Do you know her family, specifically Melanie Bean?”
“I never heard the name Melanie Bean before today. Listen, I’ve been a good sport, and I want to go home. I don’t like driving home after dark. Too many crazies in this world.”
“Just a few more questions, Page. Were you aware of Mrs. Taylor’s financial s
ituation?”
“She’s rich.”
“Why do you say that?”
“She never gave anybody anything. Every dime that ever crossed her way she kept. Her late husband, Harm, bless his heart, was the same way. They’s two peas in a pod.”
“Did you know Harm Taylor?”
“Sure. Me and Harm were real friendly about fifteen years ago.”
In the viewing room, I quickly did the math. Page Browning might’ve made a play for Harm. Mrs. Taylor, no-nonsense and methodically efficient, would’ve shut that down immediately. I tried to think how long ago Harm had died. Seemed to be the same time frame. Hmm.
I could see Mrs. Taylor holding a grudge for a lifetime, but this neighbor woman was easily twenty years younger than Mrs. Taylor. Had the neighbor also harbored a grudge for fifteen years and then erased Mrs. Taylor from the living? That was a long time to plot revenge.
Martinez didn’t mince words. “You had an affair with her husband?”
“Pshaw, no. We were just friendly. Ms. Goody Two Shoes didn’t want him to have any friends at all, especially the female kind. She kept him under her thumb the whole time. Made me wonder if she wore the pants in the household.”
As her accountant, I knew Mrs. Taylor managed their finances. It was rare for Harm to make the trip over to our office with her. By the time she decided not to drive to Maryland and we drove to her house for tax preparation, Harm had been long dead. Though, now that I thought about it, I’d never seen a picture of him in the living room or dining room.
“What about Monday morning? Notice any cars in her driveway?” Martinez asked.
“A gray sedan. It arrived about ten. Left mid-afternoon when my soaps were on.”
“Do you remember the make or model?”
“Nope. But a thin redhead got out of the car. I saw her because Andrew Jackson kept his nose to the picture window soon as he heard her car.”
“Andrew Jackson?”
“My little doggie. He’s a Pekinese, but he’s always got the pulse of the neighborhood. Whenever there’s a car on our street, Andrew Jackson lets me know.”
“What color shirt was she wearing?”
“Lordy, I don’t know. That was yesterday. I can’t tell you what I had for breakfast this morning.”
“Think hard, Page. It could be very important.”
“She wasn’t wearing a shirt. I mean, she was wearing a plaid jacket over her clothes.”
A plaid jacket. I owned a plaid jacket. My hair was red. This could be the link that proved I was at Mrs. Taylor’s house. I edged closer to the window.
“She also carried a briefcase,” Page said. “The old biddy seemed thrilled to see her.”
My briefcase. Where was it?
SEVEN
Martinez sent Page Browning home, and Rafe, Martinez, and I trekked back to his office. Outside his narrow window, the sky looked dark. My stomach rumbled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten much today.
“Did that sound familiar?” Martinez asked.
“Sadly, no. I own a plaid coat, so I might’ve worn it over there.”
“We didn’t find a plaid coat in the house, and you weren’t wearing a coat when the rescue squad picked you up. What about your briefcase?”
“Not sure if I brought it over there. I won’t know until I go home and search for it. Same with the coat.”
“Does ten sound about right for the time you might’ve arrived?”
“With no traffic it’s an hour to Mrs. Taylor’s house. I have no memory of driving to Virginia yesterday, but ten would’ve given me time to check my emails and gather my thoughts after I drove the kids to school.”
“Any identifying marks on your items?”
“My name isn’t inscribed or sewn in either the coat or the briefcase, though my Sampson Accounting business cards were inside the briefcase.”
“I need to get Cleo home,” Rafe said. “It’s getting late.”
Martinez nodded. “You may leave soon. Melanie Bean is in the wind, and the officers I sent to collect her can find no trace of her.”
“Sounds like we have three solid suspects,” I said. “The smart lady of the evening could’ve done it, the flirty neighbor has a motive, and now the granddaughter’s on the lam.”
“Those are good case developments,” Martinez said, rising and walking us to the door. “We’re asking about the day Mrs. Taylor died, and people are nervous. We’ll get to the bottom of this soon.”
Rafe and I grabbed burgers on the way home and drove slowly through the slush on the dark highway. Even though the snow flurries were sparse now, I was thankful for Rafe’s safe driving. I stifled a yawn.
“Go ahead and nap,” Rafe said. “I’ve got this.
“Thanks. I’m exhausted. It’s been a long day.”
“I’d like to revisit the engagement.” His volume increased. “I can’t stop thinking about it. I don’t like it.”
“Noted, but I can’t deal with it now. My head hurts.”
“Why the hell can’t you deal with it now? You got engaged with a headache. You can get unengaged with one.”
“Not the right time. Please, let’s revisit this later.”
“Tomorrow.”
“Mmm.” I drifted off to sleep. In my dreams a killer carrying a pink gun chased me through parks and playgrounds.
~*~
Trying to figure out the sleeping arrangements at my house aggravated my headache. Since Charlie slept in my bed and Rafe insisted on staying overnight, I put Rafe in Mama’s room, and I took the living room sofa. Rafe only protested for a moment, then he realized the narrow sofa would prevent Charlie from taking advantage. I kissed each of my sleeping daughters before I conked out on the sofa.
Breakfast on Wednesday morning came and went with a flurry of excited kids and a delayed school start. Mama cancelled work for the day saying she had something planned with Bud. That left me, Rafe, and Charlie circling each other in the kitchen. Madonna kept an eye on us from her fluffy bed against the wall.
“Both of you need to go home,” I said. “I’m fine. I know my name, and I only have to walk across the backyard to get to work.”
“I need to check in at the bank, but I don’t need to be there all day,” Charlie said, checking his watch for the third time that morning. “I can take the afternoon off.”
“No need. I’m fine. I don’t need a babysitter.”
Charlie’s gaze flicked between Rafe and me, and then lingered on his ring, which I still wore. “Something happened yesterday didn’t it?” he asked.
“My memory is back, except for Monday,” I said. “Ever since I awakened in the hospital, I’ve been surrounded by people, and I’m grateful for that support. Truly, I am. Today is a new day. My head doesn’t hurt, and I need my space. Both of you know I hate people hovering over me.”
“I remember,” Charlie said. “I’ll get out of your hair for now. Your birth certificate and passport still in the lockbox?”
Where was he going with this? Was he thinking about getting a marriage license today? The thought stilled my breath. “Yes. Why?”
“We need to get you another car and replace your driver’s license.”
I took a deep breath, relieved he wasn’t going to wave the engagement flag in my face right now. “I’m not in a hurry for either one. Tomorrow is soon enough for standing in lines at the Department of Motor Vehicles. The kids have rides to and from school for the entire week. I don’t need a car today. What I need is time alone to regroup.” And to check closets for my plaid coat and briefcase. I turned to the other man in my kitchen. “What about you, Rafe?”
“I’ll zip over to my place, freshen up, and work from home. I want to stay close, in case you need me.”
“Good plan.”
A courier truck pulled up in the driveway. Madonna rose and barked once before laying back down. I lifted the curtain to see who it was. I didn’t recognize the name of the service, but it wasn’t local. “What in the world?”
The men spoke and then Rafe returned, opening the package.
“Something from your work?” I asked.
“No. It’s a cell phone. I want you to have one. For safety reasons.”
“Oh.” I’d forgotten about replacing my mobile phone. Guess I didn’t want to hear shrilling in my ears anytime soon. Rafe fiddled with the phone and turned it on before handing it to me. “Thanks. Wait a sec, and I’ll write you a check.”
“It’s a gift. The number is new. I couldn’t get your old number. If you wish to change it to your other number, take the phone to your wireless carrier.”
Charlie bristled, and I feared a lot of manly posturing would break out. My fingers closed around the sleek phone in a top-of-the-line protective case. I tried to shove it in my pocket but it was too fat. I placed it on the counter behind me instead. “Okay. A new number is fine for now. We’ll settle up later.”
His eyes glittered. “My number is programmed in the phone. Call me if you need anything.” With a spring in his step, Rafe left.
One down and one to go.
“You can’t accept an expensive gift like that from him,” Charlie said.
I didn’t care for his bossiness, and I knew this man could be obstinate when riled. “I already did. For safety reasons. Thank you again for everything. I’m fine now. Please, go to work and let me have a quiet day to putter around.”
Charlie glared at me, snatched up the phone. “His number is in here and so are Charla and Lexy’s.” He punched a few buttons. “I added my number and also texted myself so I have your temporary number. Call me if you need anything. You’re my fiancé, not his.”
The other shoe dropped and so did my stomach. “You want to do this now?”
He took one look at my tight face and stepped back. “No. You need your space. Message received loud and clear. We’ll talk later.”
Charlie left and finally it was me and the dog. Oh, boy. I’d made a mess of things by agreeing to marry Charlie. But Rafe hadn’t left town and Charlie seemed more like his old self. What a time for them both to rise to the occasion.