by Vella Day
“Justin.”
“Yes, Justin. Well, he wanted her to have an abortion.”
Every muscle tensed. “Are you sure you understood correctly? Could Justin have wanted to get married, but my sister didn’t?”
“Oh, I’m quite sure.” She tapped her ear. “I know what you’re thinking. I heard them all right, loud and clear. I have to wear these hearing aids when I watch TV. Anyway, he, Justin, called her all sorts of bad names. Why, I had to shut my window. I’ve never heard such filth.”
This didn’t make any sense. “What kind of names?”
She blushed, drained the tea from her cup, and then took a deep breath. “Indian slut.” She immediately covered Raggedy Ann’s ears.
His heart pounded. “Are you sure he said, Indian slut?’“
“Yes.” She clamped her mouth together, acting as if she wanted to wash her mouth out with soap.
This changed everything. Rayne and Justin had fought bitterly, but the argument wasn’t about what Justin claimed. Still Mrs. Anton’s explanation didn’t put Justin at Rayne’s at the time of the murder either.
He was back to square one.
“I can’t thank you enough, Mrs. Anton. You’ve been very helpful.”
The shame on her face seemed to disappear with his compliment.
Mrs. Anton walked him to the door, and then followed him outside. “Oh, Detective, I just remembered something else.”
Derek stopped and turned. “Yes?” He shielded his eyes against the sun.
“You asked if Justin was here at ten, and I said no. But there were two other people outside her house at that time.” She tilted her chin in a rather defiant pose. “I know I’m right because my show had just ended, and I’d gotten up for a drink.”
He swallowed hard. “Did you recognize these people?”
Her gaze shot to Rayne’s house. “No. I really didn’t pay any mind to them. I was still thinking about the terrible fight Rayne had and how hurt she must be. I even debated going over to comfort her, but I decided that ten at night was too late for a social call.” She pushed her glasses up on her nose. “Her boyfriend wasn’t one of them if that’s what you want to know. He was long gone by then.”
His heart sped up at the new information. “Could you tell if these people were two men or two women?”
“One was a woman, but I couldn’t see the other person. My hedge blocks some of the view to your sister’s place,” she said, nodding to the four-foot tall treed wall.
Her hedge? That’s why Rayne had erected the damn thing—to keep out the nosy neighbor.
“Do you know what kind of car they were driving?” he asked. Please let her I.D. the vehicle.
“I’m seventy-five years old and know nothing about cars. It had four wheels. That’s all I can tell you.”
“Just one car?”
“Yes.”
“What color was it?”
“I didn’t pay attention.” She sniffed, acting as if his questions were uncalled for.
“Okay. Do you have any idea of the person’s age?” If she couldn’t remember the color of the car, he doubted she’d be able to identify a person.
Derek pulled out his handkerchief and swiped the cloth across his head. His dad was right. He needed to wear a hat.
“The woman was young, Rayne’s age maybe, with blonde hair, I think. Those streetlights don’t give out much light, you know. Besides, I only glanced out the window before closing the blinds. I didn’t want them to see me, and to be perfectly honest, I wasn’t in the mood for any more arguing.”
Her I.D. might come in handy. “Is there anything else you remember?”
She looked down at the ground for a moment. “No. I do hope you find who murdered your sister. She was such a sweet, young thing. Her son, however, was quite the tear.”
Derek wasn’t in the mood to hear about his nephew’s small acts of terrorism.
“Thank you, Mrs. Anton. Detective Seinkievitz might be stopping by to ask you these questions again. Is that okay?”
“Why certainly. I always like to help the police.”
He handed her his card. “Call if you think of anything.”
What a bitch. Thank God the old biddy was too stupid to recognize one car from another or tell whom Stefanie was talking with. But memories had a way of coming back—memories that could be damning. That wouldn’t do. Loose ends had to be clipped.
The problem would be to find a way to kill her in such a way that wouldn’t tie her death to that of Rayne’s or Stefanie’s. The cops were too stupid to connect an apparent suicide to a car crash, but if a neighbor was shot to death, they might make a connection.
Leaving no trace was an art. And art took time, planning, and precise execution.
Hmm. Maybe poison would be the way to go. Certain toxins were slow and could be quite painful. Slow and painful was good, but getting Mrs. Anton to ingest the poison would be the difficult part.
Maybe suffocation would be better.
So many choices, so little time.
12
Kelly left the University Square mall with a new romantic comedy—a book she’d planned to buy for weeks. She needed to get her mind off the constant pain of her sister’s death, even if only for a few hours.
Oh, how Stef loved to read. Science fiction, mysteries, thrillers; you name it, she read them all. The only ones she couldn’t handle were ones that made her cry.
Serial killers? No problem. But child molesters? No way. She wouldn’t touch ‘em for anything.
Her sister used to pass down all her reading material, but Kelly could only stomach the uplifting stories.
Wrapped in a crinkly, plastic bag, Kelly pressed her purchase to her lips to keep from bursting out in tears in public. Each step she took became more difficult as grief slowed her pace.
Don’t do this to yourself. Think of something pleasant—like Derek.
Or not.
The man’s verbal attack at the Casino still stung. What had he been thinking? She was merely accompanying Justin, doing him a favor and being nice. And yet Derek concluded she was dating his sister’s boyfriend. The man needed a life.
Date Justin? Yuk. His lame attempt to kiss her by her front door left a bad taste in her mouth—literally. Once she saw Derek, she’d been in no mood to kiss another man, especially a stranger.
A car honked behind her, and she scooted closer to the line of parked cars. Enough. She didn’t want to use even one more brain cell thinking about Justin Bladen.
Instead, she needed to use her time to find a killer. Kelly refused to accept Stef’s death was an accident. Of all people, her sister drove carefully, especially after the crash that maimed Michael.
Sure, Stef could get distracted if she talked on her cell while driving, but she never exceeded the speed limit. Not ever. And when it rained, Stef took extra precaution, like staying in the right lane at all times.
Michael, however, was a different story. His belligerent reaction to the news of her sister’s death haunted her. Most likely the man didn’t have a hand in her murder, but he certainly had motive for wanting her sister dead. His baseball career had ended before it ever began because of Stef’s poor decision to drive during a downpour.
Lost in thought, Kelly wasn’t paying much attention where she was walking. She stopped in the middle of the mall’s parking lot and look around, searching for her car. The lot was surprisingly full for a weekday night. Could she have parked in the back this time? Hmm.
Ah, there was her Bug. Whew.
Kelly raced to her car and jumped in, locked the doors, and fired up the engine. Safely inside, she sat there, her mind returning to Stef’s former boyfriend. Perhaps he’d wanted to maim her sister like she’d maimed him. Tit for tat so to speak.
Nah. Michael wasn’t like that. At least he hadn’t been when he’d started dating Stefanie. She’d always thought he’d complemented her sister well, but tragedy had a way of changing things, changing people.
The police were convinced
Stef ran off the road while talking on the phone and not because someone wanted her dead. Without any evidence of foul play, they said they couldn’t investigate.
Fine. Her sister had only died three days ago, but it seemed like a lifetime. Grief blasted her in the pit of her stomach, and Kelly dropped her head to the steering wheel and sobbed—sobbed for the fun they’d never again share, sobbed for the loss of her best friend, and sobbed because life seemed so unfair.
Kelly hiccupped as she tried to recall their last conversation, to savor her sister’s last words, to store them in her mind forever. Stef had sounded worried on the phone. She said her friend was feeling so bad she couldn’t even come to the front door.
At the time, Kelly hadn’t questioned her. But if Rayne had been so incapacitated, how had Stefanie learned of Rayne’s condition?
Ohmigod. Kelly sat up straight. Had Justin been at Rayne’s house when Stef stopped by? Maybe he killed Rayne and Stef saw him. She shook her head. No. Her P.I. sister would have called the police immediately.
Kelly leaned back against the headrest and closed her eyes to block out any distraction. If Stef could place Justin at the scene of the crime, he might have decided to get rid of her. A chill grabbed her whole body and stole her breath away.
A woman’s laughter outside her car door jolted her out of her daydream. Kelly cleared her throat and pulled out of her space, determine to find some clue to convince the police to investigate.
Once on the road, a raw ache built in her belly as her determination grew. She would not let the cause of her sister’s death go unknown.
On the way to the Interstate, she passed Chuckie Cheese, the kid restaurant where Stef took underprivileged kids to lunch once a week, and a new wave of pain slammed into her. Stef’s death had been so senseless. She donated her time and money to help the poor. Who’d want to harm a person as good as her?
Kelly grabbed a tissue from the glove compartment and wiped her eyes and nose, refusing to give up on the idea that Stef was murdered.
Maybe she could sift through her sister’s files and interview her clients. Someone Stef was tailing could have decided the private investigator would be better off dead. The problem was that a search would take too much time, and Kelly needed action now.
An eyewitness! That was the key. At ten on a Saturday night, the toll road would have cars—and cameras. Someone had to have seen something. Maybe a person living nearby had witnessed the crash. At that thought, a small burst of hope calmed her.
Kelly came to a halt at a red light and turned on the radio to a soft rock station hoping the music would help get her thoughts straight. Kenny G began to sing. Oh, God. Every Time I Close My Eyes was Stef’s favorite song. Kelly turned up the volume and pretended her sister was singing along, but then like a rock sinking to the bottom of the ocean, despair dragged her down.
The light changed, and she forced herself to stay focused. Kelly jumped on I-275 toward the Crosstown, where Stef had died. Kelly hadn’t been willing to visit the site before now for fear some evidence might remain. Seeing any signs of the devastation would be hard, but she had to search for a clue—for Stef’s sake.
Kelly shoved down her queasiness and rolled down her windows to feel some warmth on her face. The smell of gas filtered in, but at the moment, Kelly didn’t care. Noise from the passing cars drowned out the music reminiscent of her loving sister, but that was just as well.
After battling downtown traffic twenty minutes, she entered the ramp to the Crosstown Expressway, and her stomach threatened to heave. Stef had died on this very road. She wiped away the hot, salty tears that trickled down her cheek.
Don’t you dare fall apart, Kelly Lynn. Stef needs you.
The elevated highway took her through a rich neighborhood, and then through the seedier part of town. As she rounded a bend, she spotted a dented guardrail on the left hand side of the road, cordoned off by orange cones and barricades. The area jumped out at her like a squirrel racing across the road, and a rush of agony stabbed at her heart once more.
Workmen had begun to fix the crumpled mess, but there was no doubt this was where the accident had occurred. Stefanie’s car must have bounced off the metal railing before careening over the edge.
Kelly pulled onto the emergency lane past the accident site and swallowed hard to keep from falling apart. With her emergency lights flashing, cars slowed as they passed her by. Kelly took one last look behind her. Dear God. A car would have to have been doing a hundred or more to flip over the two-foot high barrier.
Her stomach lurched again, and bile rushed up her throat as she thought of the horror her sister must have experienced seconds before her car plummeted onto the lane below. Ready to vomit, Kelly had to leave—had to get away from the horror.
She drove a few hundred feet to the next exit and doubled back on the road below. Two prostitutes resembling stuffed sausages stood on the street corner looking for business.
Kelly shuddered as she drove under the overpass near Stef’s fatal accident. She pulled off to the side to gain control. Her legs shook so hard, she didn’t have the strength to find a witness.
I have to do this. I can’t wimp out now.
When she calmed down enough to think straight, she looked over to where the vehicle must have landed. The last rays of the day hit the road, illuminating sparkles. Were they shards of glass from Stef’s car? Kelly grabbed her stomach and took deep cleansing breaths. Needing to think, the noise from the traffic overhead forced her to close her windows.
Finding someone who might have seen the accident was key, but the neighborhood didn’t appear safe. The few houses off to the side had boarded up windows. Weeds grew tall along the edge of the road, and two For Sale signs sat prominently in the yards. Her heart sank. No one would have been here to witness the crash or its aftermath.
With her hand on the gearshift, ready to pull out onto the road, she glanced in her rear view mirror. Bedding sat high on the incline up under the overpass, along with some clothing and two garbage bags stuffed to the gills with who knows what. Her heart sped up. Could a homeless person have witnessed the accident? She scoured the area, but saw no one. Surely, he or she wouldn’t have abandoned his possessions.
Kelly made a decision to stay put. When the person returned, she’d try to make some small talk, and maybe ask some questions.
Or would that be foolish?
Whoever lived up there could be mentally unstable, drugged, drunk, or dangerous.
Kelly pulled out her cell, along with Derek’s card and called him. It was better to be safe than sorry.
Derek answered. “Benally.”
She refused to let the sound of his sexy voice affect her and had to place a hand over her heart stomach to calm the fluttery excitement. Why did the man still affect her so?
“Derek. It’s me, Kelly. I need your help.” She flicked on the AC to stop from sweating.
“What’s wrong?” His urgency spurred her on.
“I know you’ll think I’m crazy, but I can’t stop thinking about Stefanie. I think someone tried to run her off the road.”
He didn’t say anything for a minute. “You mentioned that before. Have you found some evidence?”
“Not exactly, but there’s a mattress and some possessions under the overpass near the spot of her supposed accident. I’m hoping whoever is living there saw or heard something the night Stef died.”
“Like what?” Derek sounded interested in her theory. “There wasn’t any paint on your sister’s car to indicate someone rammed her side. It’s not as if—never mind. Tell me your location.”
She was now used to his abrupt behavior and told him the cross streets.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can. And Kelly?”
“Yes.”
“Stay in your car until I get there. The neighborhood’s not the best. Promise?”
“Yes, yes, I promise. Now hurry.”
She checked her watch. Seven thirty. She glanced at the mattress ag
ain. How long before this person returned to his home?
Kelly kept a constant vigilance to see if anyone approached. Five minutes later, a group of four youths on dirt bikes came barreling down the sidewalk to her right. As they passed, one kicked her car—hard, and anger rushed up her belly. Two gave high fives, laughed, and continued on their way. Jerks. Kelly was tempted to chase after them, but the last thing she needed was to get in the middle of some gang fight.
Once they disappeared down a side street, the streetlights began to glow, casting parts of the area in heavy shadows. A large vacant lot to her right held an abandoned grocery cart and a microwave oven in the middle of the uncut field.
Headlights flashed in her rearview mirror and a horn honked. She jumped in her seat as adrenaline zipped through her veins. Her gaze shot to the side view mirror as she clasped her chest. Boxed in, fear ripped her so hard she nearly screamed.
Someone tapped on the passenger’s side window, and she whipped to her right. Her shoulders sagged in relief. Man, was she a mess.
She rolled down the window. “Jesus Christ. Thank you for coming so quickly, but you scared the shit out of me.”
He cocked his brow. She’d never used such colorful language when she was eighteen. Too bad. She’d grown up.
“The station’s not far,” Derek said.
Kelly undid her seat belt needing some air. Glad her knees didn’t buckle, she stepped around her car to the sidewalk, keeping her gaze away from where Stef’s vehicle had landed. She didn’t want the image burned into her brain.
With her back to the road, she faced his mile-wide chest and corded neck. Her gaze lifted to his deep, rich, blue-green eyes. That was a big mistake.
Either the hot air was making it difficult to breathe or it was being close to Derek. Jeans snug over his muscular thighs, Derek’s blue button down shirt emphasized his comforting chest. Right now though, she’d like nothing more than to unbutton that top button—and a few more—and snuggle against him, if only to forget the world and all the bad people. But she couldn’t—at least not now.
Or maybe never.