Kill the Competition

by Stephanie Bond

  Salyers walked in, peered inside the empty closet, then returned to the hall.

  Belinda led them to the left. “This is my room.” She saw the leopard-print comforter on her queen-size bed through the eyes of strangers and cringed inwardly.

  Detective Salyers pointed to the bed. “May I?”

  For all Belinda knew, the woman was going to take a nap, but she nodded.

  Salyers pulled back the comforter to expose the one pillow in reverse animal print. “Where’s your other pillow?”

  “I only have one,” Belinda said, feeling the splotchiness coming on.

  “Why is that?”

  “Because I only need one,” she said, wondering if she could broadcast her singledom any louder.

  Detective Salyers frowned. “Who has only one pillow on a bed this size?”

  “Ms. Hennessey does,” Wade said pointedly.

  The woman pursed her mouth, then crouched down when something caught her eye. She pulled Downey’s pale blue satin pillow from beneath the bed and held it up by the corner. “What’s this?”

  Belinda stared at the ripped-out threads and grew even warmer. First, Wade Alexander had hand-delivered the pillow to her, and now he was witness to the result of her juvenile rampage. She cut her gaze to him to see if he recognized the pillow.

  He did.

  “Um, that’s my cat’s, um, toy.”

  “What’s this stain?” Salyers turned over the pillow and pointed to a dark reddish smudge.

  Belinda shook her head. “Cat food? I’m not sure.”

  Salyers pulled an evidence bag from her pocket and sealed up the pillow.

  It dawned on Belinda that the woman thought the stain might be Margo’s black cherry lipstick. Her next thought was how contrary Downey was going to be when she couldn’t find her satin sidekick.

  The bathroom was free of embarrassing items, if Belinda didn’t count the birth control pill pack on the vanity, and the little smiley face she’d drawn in the steam on the mirror that now stood out like a flare. Wade seemed to soak in every detail, down to the frumpy peach-colored robe hanging on the back of the door.

  “Do you have a pair of nail clippers?” Salyers asked casually.

  Belinda nodded and rummaged in her makeup bag until she came up with them. Salyers promptly bagged them. In the hallway laundry closet, the woman also seized the lime green cardigan sweater with the red sauce stain.

  “Stromboli sandwich,” Belinda explained, but it went into a bag anyway.

  “Where are the clothes you were wearing when you fell in the stairwell?”

  Belinda fished them out of a bag that was bound for the dry cleaner’s. They went into evidence, along with the shoes she’d been wearing—her best pair, of course.

  When Detective Salyers started downstairs, Belinda glanced at Wade. He gave her a reassuring wink, but his grim expression belied his offhand gesture. As she descended the stairs, her stomach began to roll, and she prayed she didn’t get sick again.

  Salyers was in the living room, rifling through the Goodwill boxes. She looked out the bay window. “Truett, the van from the morgue is here. Are you ready?”

  “Yeah.” Truett came strolling through the hall carrying the rolled-up DOs and DON’Ts manuscript. A dark reddish stain marred the back of the papers—she hadn’t realized what a sloppy eater she was.

  “I’d like to take this if you don’t mind,” he said, then dropped it into an evidence bag. He glanced at the pillow and clothing that Salyers held. They held a whispered conference. Belinda squirmed and looked to Wade for another reassuring wink. She didn’t get one.

  “Ms. Hennessey,” Salyers said, “are you willing to take a polygraph test?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  The detectives walked to the front door. Truett turned. “Lieutenant Alexander, will you keep Ms. Hennessey company for a little while?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The door closed behind them, and Belinda looked at Wade. “What?”

  “They don’t want an audience when the body is moved.”

  “Tell that to the people across the street.”

  He walked to the window and looked to the sky. “Or to Hardeman.”

  The faint whop, whop of the helicopter blades sounded overhead. She joined Wade at the window and looked up. “He doesn’t know this is where I live.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked in a sharp tone.

  She frowned. “Well, I suppose my address is a matter of public record, but to my knowledge, he hasn’t been here.”

  “When Hardeman dropped you off last night at your friend’s house, did he leave immediately?”

  “No. I went inside to talk to Libby for a few minutes, and he waited.”

  “Near your car?”

  She angled her head. “You aren’t suggesting that Julian—”

  “He had access to your car. Did he know about the trunk latch?”

  She put her hand to her temple. “I mentioned having my car repaired today, but that would mean…” Then she sighed. “Look, Wade, I know there’s no love lost between the two of you, but whatever problem you have with Julian—”

  “He had an affair with my wife.” He looked away. “I mean, with my ex-wife.”

  She blinked. “I’m sorry.”

  He waved off her sympathy. “It was a long time ago, and he didn’t force Tania into anything. But the man’s a player and I don’t like him.”

  Tania. What was the woman like who had turned the head and heart of this man?

  And she suddenly felt grubby for falling under Julian’s charismatic spell. “Julian told me last night that he had been sleeping with Jeanie Lawford.”

  “I know. And I was never convinced that the woman’s death was an accident.”

  She balked. “Do you think that Jeanie’s death and Margo’s could be related?”

  He held up his hand. “I’m just saying that two deaths in six months at the same company is quite a coincidence.”

  “A serial murderer?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “But you think it.”

  He set his jaw. “I think you should be careful. Do you have a security alarm?”

  “No.”

  “I can install sensors on your windows and doors—basic stuff, but it’s better than nothing.”

  “You’re scaring me.”

  “If that’s what it takes to make you cautious, then I don’t feel the least bit guilty.”

  She pursed her mouth, half irritated by his big macho Southern boy routine, half flattered that he cared what happened to her potentially endangered behind. Two news camera vans had arrived, and the bevy of neighbors had increased. She spotted Perry in the crowd and winced—the man would pester her ad nauseam for all the gory details.

  Additional police officers had arrived to keep cars and foot traffic at bay. A gurney sat behind her car, draped with an unzipped black body bag. The body movers, Dr. Janney, and the two detectives used the tarp and their bodies to shield Margo’s removal from prying eyes and camera lenses. Despite their best efforts, though, one of Margo’s arms fell off the gurney and hung down. Cameras went off. Belinda stared at the lifeless hand, and the composure she’d managed to regain slipped. She turned her back to the scene and covered her mouth with her hand.

  Next to her, Wade shifted from foot to foot, and she could feel that he wanted to comfort her. And she wanted him to, but right now she needed his objective expertise more than physical consolation, so she spared him the decision by walking to the kitchen to find aspirin for her pounding head. He followed her and leaned against the counter, watching, waiting, accessible.

  “When will her name be released to the press?” Belinda asked softly.

  “As soon as they notify her next of kin. Do you know who that might be?”

  Belinda shook her head. “I honestly didn’t know her that well.” How sad to wind up in the trunk of someone who doesn’t even know you that well. Insult added to injury. “When will my na
me be released to the press?”

  “The reporters have had time to talk to your neighbors and your landlord. Don’t be surprised to see it on the six o’clock news.”

  Belinda closed her eyes briefly, then tried to smile. “For once I’m thankful that my television is on the blink. When will the detectives question my coworkers?”

  “They’ll probably visit the women you carpool with tonight at their homes to question them separately, Newberry too. They’ll talk to other employees as needed.”

  “Julian?”

  His mouth tightened. “He’s on the interview list.”

  “Will they tell everyone why they’re being questioned?”

  “Yes. Belinda, how well do you know the women you ride to work with?”

  She shrugged. “I’ve only been riding with them for a little over a week. They seem nice.”

  “Did any of them have issues with the victim?”

  “Well…Margo wasn’t the most popular of bosses.”

  “You mentioned something about performance evaluations and jobs being cut.”

  She chewed on her tongue.

  “Belinda?”

  She sighed. “Rosemary was afraid for her job, and Libby and Carole were both denied raises, but the rumor was that almost everyone in the department was denied a raise.”

  “If you know anything else, tell me.”

  She closed her eyes and repeated the story that Rosemary had told them about how she and Margo had once been friends, and how the relationship had eroded. “Rosemary is the executive assistant to the CEO, who is rarely in the office. She thinks Margo was trying to take over the company.”

  “Is there a chance these women could have been in on this together?”

  “You mean a plot to murder Margo?” Belinda shook her head. “No.”

  “If one of them had a confrontation with the woman that ended badly, would the other two cover for her?”

  Belinda stopped. Libby and Carole were fiercely loyal to Rosemary—would their allegiance extend to covering the murder of a women they all detested, and framing her, the new girl? The day Libby had come to her house and suffered the mini breakdown came to mind. “I…don’t know.”

  “How, um, close are you and Hardeman?”

  Her pulse picked up. “Is that relevant to the investigation?”

  “It could be.”

  The front door opened and closed. They looked up, and Detective Salyers appeared in the opening between the hall and the kitchen. Belinda straightened—the woman made her feel as if she had to account for her time with Lieutenant Alexander. Salyers stared, then pointed to the drinking glass Belinda had set on the counter.

  “Did you use this glass?”

  “Yes.”

  “May I take it with me for prints?”

  Belinda swallowed and nodded. “But my prints are already on file.”

  The woman’s eyebrows climbed. “Did you hold a government job?”

  Belinda shook her head. “I’ve handled the financial aspects of mergers and acquisitions for public companies. When a person is privy to insider information—”

  “The company and the SEC perform a background check, including fingerprints,” Salyers finished.

  “Right.”

  “Lieutenant,” the detective said. “May I have a word with you?”

  He nodded and pushed away from the counter, then followed Salyers to the far corner of the room where the table and chairs sat. Belinda walked back toward the front of the town house to give them more privacy to talk about her.

  She stared out the bay window. The body movers slammed the back doors to the van, then climbed inside and drove away with no fanfare, just as if they were hauling furniture to the dump. Was death really so heartbreakingly mundane?

  The police parted the crowd to make room for something large. As she watched, a tow truck came into view and expertly backed up to her car. She pressed her hand against the glass—they were taking her car?

  Of course they were taking her car. It was a rolling crime scene.

  A burly fellow jumped down and proceeded to reduce her beloved Civic to an appendage of his wench. She watched the car—in perfect condition when it left Cincinnati, now battered and violated—be pulled by its ass from her driveway and down the street. She would probably never see it again.

  The only saving grace in the entire predicament was that her parents were en route to the Grand Canyon and therefore less likely to hear how their daughter had made a name for herself in the big city of Atlanta.

  And suddenly, the tears were there again.

  “Ms. Hennessey,” Detective Salyers said.

  She turned, blinking furiously. “Yes?”

  The woman sighed and put her hands on her hips. “I’m not going to lie to you—you’re in serious trouble here. Ordinarily we would take you into custody until we sorted out your story, but Lieutenant Alexander has vouched for you and offered to stick around until we check out this Newberry fellow and run prints on the trunk. If that’s agreeable to you, of course.”

  She looked past Salyers to Wade, who lifted his shoulders in a little shrug, as if to say it was her choice. Her heart cartwheeled with gratitude, but she didn’t want Detective Salyers—or Lieutenant Alexander—to read anything into her response, so she affected a neutral expression and nodded. “That’s agreeable, yes.”

  Salyers smirked. “Good. I need your car keys.”

  Belinda fetched them from her purse and handed them over.

  The detective strode to the door, opened it, and cast a glance over her shoulder. “Remember, Lieutenant, you gave me your word.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The woman walked out and closed the door behind her. Wade retraced her steps and turned the dead bolt, then walked around the first floor, checking window locks.

  “Thank you for staying,” Belinda said.

  He nodded but seemed bent on putting as much space between them as possible as he moved around.

  “On what did you give Detective Salyers your word?”

  He stopped and looked at her. “That you and I aren’t involved.”

  “Oh.” She nodded. “Well…we aren’t.”

  “I know.” He wet his lips. “But I had to be honest and tell her it wasn’t for lack of trying.”

  Her cheeks flamed, and she attempted nonchalance. “That was before you saw me with a black eye and pulling bodies out of my trunk.”

  His gaze swept her head to toe—she couldn’t imagine how she must look after grubbing around all day, throwing up, washing off her makeup, and crying like a toddler.

  “Speaking of which,” he said, holding up his camera with an apologetic expression. “I was instructed to get pictures of your injuries.”

  She sighed. “Where do you want me to stand?”

  “Against the wall in the living room will be fine.”

  She made the short walk and positioned herself against the wall painted with builder-grade off-white paint. “I think these photos just might surpass the one on my driver’s license, which I’m still stuck with, by the way.”

  Beneath the camera lens, his mouth curved. “Can you pull your hair back from your face and turn your cheek toward me? Good.” The shutter sounded twice. “Okay, now your wrist and arm.”

  She pulled up her sleeve and extended the bruised limb.

  “Okay, now turn your arm over to show the scratch. Now your right hand.”

  Her knuckles were still red and tender.

  “Did you sustain any other injuries when you fell?”

  “A bruised rib, I think.”

  “Is there a visible bruise?”

  She nodded.

  “If you’d feel more comfortable with Salyers taking this photo—”

  “No, this is fine,” she said, then lifted the hem of her sweatshirt to the bottom of her bra. He set his jaw and took two quick shots.

  “Is that all?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  He seemed relieved. “You got
any coffee?”

  She nodded and started for the kitchen.

  “Just tell me where it is and I’ll make it. You should sit.”

  She walked to the bar and sat on a stool so she could watch him clang around in her kitchen. Quite domestic.

  “I didn’t know that Southern men knew their way around a kitchen.”

  He laughed, and she was struck by how handsome he was when he smiled. “Coffee, eggs, and chili are the extent of my skills. And I tend to make my coffee strong.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  He had the coffeemaker bubbling in no time. When he set a steaming cup in front of her, he made a rueful noise. “This isn’t the way I’d hoped to get to know you.”

  She swept a hank of hair behind her ear. “Which brings up a point, Lieutenant. It was kind of you to vouch for me to the detective, but you really don’t know me very well. How can you be sure I didn’t have anything to do with this?”

  “I can’t,” he said smoothly. “I’m going on my gut and hoping I don’t regret it.”

  The air was suddenly thick with possibilities. She attributed the wholly inappropriate thoughts she was having about Wade Alexander to a diversion from the current state of affairs.

  “It’s strange,” she said. “How I met you only a week ago and our paths have crossed so many times since.”

  “Fate, maybe,” he said with a smile.

  Fate really needed to brush up on its timing.

  He reached for a notebook. “Unfortunately, Salyers didn’t agree to let me stay just so that I could flirt with you. I need to know everything you know about your coworkers, especially the ones who might have known about your trunk latch.”

  The phone rang, and he shrugged. “Probably a reporter. Want me to scare them off?”

  She nodded.

  He picked up the receiver. “Hello…yes, this is the Hennessey residence—who’s calling, please?” He covered the mouthpiece. “She says it’s your mother.”

  Belinda closed her eyes.

  Chapter 23

  Her mother? Perfect timing. Belinda picked up the phone and used her most cheerful tone. “Hello, Mother.”

  “Belinda, was that a man who answered your phone?”