by Lois Winston
She took another sip of wine and gazed at me impassively over the rim of the glass. “My, you’re clever.”
I didn’t feel clever; I felt sick. “But why?”
“I had to,” she said simply. “Pepper was going to destroy everything I had. Everything I’d always wanted and worked so hard to get.” With a feeble smile, Daria picked up the wine bottle, “Come on, we might as well go outside and enjoy the fresh air.”
I unwrapped the cheese, plopped it on the plate next to the crackers, grabbed my glass and followed her out onto the patio.
“She was having an affair with Jim,” Daria said. “But I guess you know that.”
“Only since yesterday.”
“I found out a month ago when I discovered a note from her in Jim’s shirt pocket. I hired a detective and had them followed. Got pictures and everything.” She cut herself a wedge of cheese and then leaned toward me. “People like that,” she said, in a tone somewhere between disgust and disbelief, “people like that make me sick.”
“People like who?”
“Like Pepper. Rich, beautiful, selfish, used to getting their own way—they think they can just take whatever they want.”
“You’re not being fair, Daria; Jim had something to do with it, too.”
She shook her head. “No, you don’t understand Jim. Oh, he went along with it obviously, but Pepper seduced him; beguiled him with her phony charm and empty-headed femininity. He would never have looked twice at another woman without some pretty strong encouragement.”
I shut my eyes, willing things to be as they were not. The reality that faced me was incomprehensible. “At this point it doesn’t really matter what Pepper did or didn’t do. You killed her, Daria. You murdered someone.”
Her eyes were fixed on something off in the distance, but I could see the glimmer of tears at their comers. Her mouth trembled.
“I know,” she said, so softly I had to strain to hear her, “but I couldn’t stand to lose Jim. To be one of those pathetic, middle-aged women with nothing.” She began to cry in earnest. “Pepper had so much. It wasn’t fair she wanted Jim, too.”
A numbing sadness settled over me like a heavy cloak, and I squeezed her hand, wishing there was something I could say. For some time we sat in silence, gazing at the hills behind her house, golden in the light of the setting sun. Good friends sharing a quiet moment, a bottle of wine—and a terrible secret.
Finally Daria dried the last of her tears. “It’s odd,” she said, “but nothing about that night seems real to me. I can remember what happened, but it’s far away, washed in a pale light. Like a dream or something.”
I poured us both a second glass of wine, figuring we could use a little dreamlike unreality at that moment. “How did you even get into Pepper’s house?” I asked, thinking that maybe if I focused on the mechanics of the murder, the terrible reality of it would remain in the shadows.
“It was so easy. Chris had a key from the time Pepper and Robert were in Hawaii, when he watered their houseplants and fed their cat. He had the alarm code, too. I knew if I turned off the alarm and opened a window I could make it look like a burglary. You know . . . warm night, window open, some drug addict wanders through, steals enough for his next fix, and in the process, kills Pepper.”
“But Pepper always set the alarm. If Robert hadn’t been drinking that night, he’d have remembered it wasn’t on when he got in.”
“I’m sure,” she said in a voice heavy with sarcasm, “that even Pepper occasionally slipped up.”
I ignored her disdain. “She might have heard you, though.”
Daria picked at her nail polish. “That afternoon I dropped off some samples of the fudge I was planning to bake for the festival. I wanted her to taste them, tell me which ones she liked best.”
The details Michael had told me that first morning came rushing back. “And you laced the fudge with sleeping pills,” I said, finishing for her.
Daria smiled self-consciously. “Right I even persuaded her to give Kimberly some, although it was a fight. You know how Pepper was about sweets.” She ran a finger around the rim of her wine glass. “The only problem was, Pepper didn’t eat enough of the stuff. God, she was such a freak about food, I should have laced her carrot juice instead. I expected her to be out cold, but when I bumped against the bed that night, she woke up and began fighting me. She was groggy, of course, and disoriented, but it was enough to throw everything off. It was supposed to be quick and clean—no commotion, no blood—just shove a pillow over her face and be gone.”
Daria hesitated, and I waited for another round of tears as the memory of that awful night played again in her head. But instead Daria looked almost amused. “Maybe it’s better this way, though. If things had gone the way I planned, Pepper would never have realized I was the victor. You should have seen her expression! For once in her life, somebody had gotten the better of her.” Daria leaned closer and whispered, “She wasn’t so beautiful, you know, without makeup. Her eyes were kind of small, and her skin was splotchy.”
Instinctively, I pulled away, shrinking as much from the image of Pepper’s vulnerability as from Daria’s delight in its discovery. “So you hit her with that rabbit statue,” I continued, for her, “and then hid it in Robert’s closet.”
“No. As I said, Pepper’s being awake surprised me. It threw everything off. When I grabbed the statue I wasn’t wearing gloves. I was afraid my fingerprints were on it, so I took it with me. But then when the police were running out of leads, and you mentioned Robert didn’t have an alibi for that night, well . . . it just seemed to come together. I went back to the house and hid the silly thing in his closet. I washed it very carefully, of course, except for the blood. I wanted the police to be able to connect it with Pepper’s death.”
“No wonder Michael was upset that he’d missed it the first time.”
She laughed, an odd, delighted kind of laugh. “I was hoping you’d persuade him to keep an eye on Robert, search the house again and stuff, but you did even better. Really, Kate, poking around in Robert’s closet, that must have taken a lot of nerve. Weren’t you scared?”
“Frightened out of my wits.”
“Of course, turns out it was all a waste after all. Who’d have thought he’d pull in a bunch of queers as witnesses?”
Standing, she stretched her arms high above her head, as though she’d been seated for hours. “You know, I appreciate your help in discovering the rabbit, but I wish you’d left it at that. Everything would have been fine if you hadn’t gone sticking your nose in where it didn’t belong. This would have been one of those cases that fades quietly into history. The leads dry up, some new crisis hits and the police stop searching. Pretty soon no one even remembers.” She turned and looked into my face. “You really screwed things up, Kate.”
I caught myself on the verge of apologizing.
“It may still be okay, though. The police will have a hard time proving I did it. And if you tell them, I’ll deny everything.”
Just then a faint rustling came from the bushes at the side of the yard. Like young girls at a slumber party, we clasped hands and moved close to each other. An instant later, Michael emerged from the darkness.
There was a moment of absolute stillness during which we both stared at him, wide-eyed. Then a look of recognition flashed in Daria’s eyes. She dropped my hand and swirled to stare at me, her face contorted with rage.
“You bitch, you traitor. You set me up! And here I thought you were my friend.”
Before I could explain, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a gun. A very small, surprisingly delicate-looking weapon that glimmered silver in the twilight. “Don’t move, either one of you,” she said sharply. “Now raise your hands above your head, Lieutenant, and step forward very slowly.”
Keeping his eyes on Daria, Michael stepped onto the brick patio. “Are you okay, Kate?”
“I was until you showed up.”
He managed a faint grin. “Whe
n I realized it couldn’t have been Jim, I got worried about you.”
“Keep quiet,” Daria snapped, stepping around the edge of the table so that she faced us both. “Kate, get his gun. And don’t even think of trying anything.” When I hesitated, she added, “You do have a gun don’t you, Lieutenant? Maybe even two.”
“Just one,” he said. “It’s in a holster on my left shoulder.”
“Go on, Kate, get it.”
I looked uneasily at Michael.
“It’s okay. And she’s right, don’t try anything foolish.”
Was this some cryptic code for “Make a move, but make it a sensible one?” If so, we were in trouble. Maybe if I’d watched more of those macho shoot-’em-ups Andy loved I might have been able to come up with some plan of attack. But whatever cleverness and ingenuity I possessed had deserted me the moment I saw the gun.
Weak-kneed, I inched toward Michael and reached under his jacket. Even through the material of his shirt, I could feel the heat of his skin and the rapid beating of his heart. Apparently his fear was as real as my own, which did not do a lot to reassure me. Finally, I retrieved the gun, holding it away from me the way I might a dead mouse.
“Set it down over here on the table,” Daria said evenly.
I did as she asked, then stepped back. “Someone saw your car that night,” I told her, “by the Dumpster. The police will get you eventually. If you kill us it will only be worse.”
“Shut up, Kate. You’re the one who caused all this trouble.”
Me? I thought. I started to argue with her, but Michael interrupted. “Take it easy, Daria. Think this through.” His voice was soft, calm, almost as though he were talking to a recalcitrant child. I guess in the police academy they teach you how to hide your terror. “Pepper’s murder was clever, but this . . . You’re not going to be able to get away with this so easily.”
“You don’t leave me a lot of choices, do you, Lieutenant?”
“Cooperate with us. Don’t dig yourself in deeper.” He paused and offered her a smile. “Why don’t you at least let Kate go. She didn’t set you up—she didn’t even know I was anywhere near here. She only wanted to help you.”
“Sure. You think I’m going to believe that? Anyway, it doesn’t make much difference at this point.”
“This is crazy,” I squeaked. “There—”
Daria’s eyes flashed. “Just shut up! I need to think.” She bit her lips thoughtfully. “Get his necktie, Kate, and bind his hands behind his back. Better yet, tie him to the basketball pole.” She shifted closer to watch my moves with an eagle eye.
I tied Michael’s hands as loosely as I dared, but I knew it didn’t really make a difference. She wasn’t planning on leaving us unattended; she only wanted to curtail any sudden movement on his part. Michael never took his eyes off Daria and we didn’t speak, but when I wrapped the tie around his wrists, he reached for my hand and squeezed it gently with his own.
When I was finished, Daria inspected my handiwork, then resumed her position across the table from us. I noticed that her hands had begun to tremble and she was breathing hard. I glanced at Michael, but he appeared as unruffled as ever.
“This is going to be kind of hard for you to explain,” he observed.
Daria shook her head. “I’m thinking. I could always claim I mistook you for an intruder, sneaking up through my garden at night. There has just been a murder in town, don’t forget. A lady has every reason to be nervous. Kate will be harder to explain, but I’ll think of something you can be sure.” The edges of her mouth turned up in a quiet smirk. “Maybe I’ll even kill her with your gun.”
I felt suddenly sick. “Daria, please, you can’t do this.”
“Want to make a bet?” With one quick, crazed, glance in my direction, she raised the gun and pointed it directly at Michael. I leaped for her arm just as she fired, but I was a fraction of a second too late. I heard Michael groan and then slump to the ground.
“Damn you, Kate,” she shrieked, kicking me in the shins. She wrenched her arm free and brought the gun down on the back of my neck, sending a wave of pain through my head. “You just couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you?”
As we struggled, we knocked over a chair and I fell, scraping my mouth and cheek on a piece of jagged metal. But I held Daria’s wrists tightly and pulled her down with me, hitting my shoulder against the hard brick. There was a brief period where we rolled and thrashed and clawed at each other. Then she heaved herself up and slapped me hard in the face. I tried to scream, but her knee was pressing hard against my stomach so that I had trouble even breathing. And then, in the soft evening light, I saw the dainty little gun just six inches from my face.
“I didn’t want things to end up like this,” she whispered.
Neither did I, I wanted to tell her. But I thought that part was pretty obvious. Daria’s face was flushed, her eyes dark and glazed. The expression on her face was unreadable, but there was nothing remotely familiar about it.
So this is it, I told myself. Poor Andy, he was going to end up having to be a responsible parent by default
Just then I heard a faint shuffling sound from over to my right. Daria heard it, too, and in the instant that she looked up, I reached for the gun and tried to knock it from her hands. She pulled away, but her reflexes were too slow, and I was able to grab hold of her arm, shoving it sharply back against her chest. There was a loud crack and suddenly Daria went limp, slouching forward so that her head lay on the hard brick surface next to my own.
That was the last thing I remember until I heard the sirens and felt Michael’s hand brushing the hair from my forehead.
TWENTY-TWO
I awoke the next morning with a pounding headache that seemed to reverberate through my whole body. Even my toes throbbed. I didn’t know if it was the scotch I’d drunk when I’d finally got home, the hours of incurable sobbing that had followed, or simply the whack my skull had suffered when Daria had knocked me to the ground, but the pain was enough to make me swear off all three situations for the foreseeable future.
The hour was already late, I could tell by the yellow sunlight that splashed against the far wall. Anna had come and snuggled, and then gone off to watch Saturday morning cartoons. I’d heard her return every so often to stand quietly by the door and peer in. But I remained still, pretending I wasn’t yet awake. What I wanted, really, was to lie there in my bed, shut my eyes and drift back into the warm cocoon of sleep. But the headache made that impossible. Besides, I had an appointment.
Strong coffee and a couple of aspirin helped, and the long, hot shower helped even more. But by the time the awful pounding had subsided, an assortment of other aches had begun screaming for my attention.
Michael had warned me last night, when I’d insisted I was just fine. He’d warned me about the sore spots and bruises, the pulled muscles and scrapes, and about the pain deep inside that nothing but time could cure. He knew about these things, I suppose, except maybe the last. After all, Daria wasn’t just some common thug; she was a friend—my best friend.
I dropped Anna off at Sharon’s a little before eleven and then made my way to the Walnut Hills police department. I’d been there once before, on a nursery-school field trip, so I had no trouble locating it even though it’s on the second floor of a Spanish-style building that looks more like a real-estate office than City Hall. But that’s the way we do things in Walnut Hills.
The sugar coated voice that greeted me was one I recognized from my phone calls to the station, and I experienced a momentary twinge of jealousy, just as I had on those previous occasions. Only this time there was a little resentment thrown in, too. I was in no mood to exchange pleasantries with a voluptuous blonde, particularly one who shared the bulk of her day with Michael.
The body did not match the voice, however, and my ruffled feathers settled back into place. The woman was a skinny little thing with dull brown hair, frizzed on the ends, and a large mole on her left cheek. She might have ha
d a great personality, but she certainly wasn’t going to have Walnut Hills’ finest jockeying for peeks down her blouse.
“Lieutenant Stone,” I said, smiling magnanimously. “He’s expecting me.”
“Oh, so you’re the one!” She gave me a wide, toothy grin which seemed to last for a full minute. It wasn’t clear whether she was referring to my renown as hot-blooded lover or cold-hearted sleuth. Both roles made me uncomfortable. “Down the hall, second door on the right,” she said. I could feel her eyes following me the entire way.
Michael was on the phone, but he hung up when I poked my head through the door.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Shaky. Sore. How about you?”
“Right at this moment,” he said, leaning forward to kiss me, “I feel terrific.”
I stepped away. “We can’t do that here. Are you crazy?”
“Crazy about you anyway.” But he walked over and shut door. “Better?”
“It’s your job,” I quipped, wrapping my arms around his middle. Then we kissed, a long, lovely kiss better suited to a lonely stretch of beach than a busy office.
“I hated having to leave you last night,” he said finally. “I almost called you when I finished here, but it was after two and I thought you needed the rest.” He touched the raw, red skin on the side of my face. “Were you able to sleep at all?”
“Surprisingly well. I thought I’d be awake all night, reliving everything. Guess maybe I got it all out of my system before I went to bed.”
“Maybe. Don’t be surprised if it sneaks up on you again, though. Things like this take time.”
“I’ll be okay,” I told him, so breezily that the artificial tone hung in the air even when I’d finished speaking. Then I hugged him, turning to rest my head against his chest.
Michael winced and pulled away.
“Sorry,” I mumbled, quickly pulling away myself.
“I like it.” A pause and a feeble smile followed. “Except for the blinding shot of pain, that is. But hey, I’m not complaining. If you hadn’t knocked that gun from Daria’s hands when you did, I might not be around to feel anything.”