There was a lot of cat stuff on the Net. Too much, in fact, to read even if one had nine lives. Instead, Belinda browsed and still learned oodles. Like that she probably shouldn’t have fed Downey the pizza with extra mushrooms, and she might need to check far corners for cat upchuck.
She made a very passable dinner out of Triscuit crackers, salsa, and cheddar cheese for herself, then a la one of the cat discussion boards, beat up a raw egg as a treat for Downey. At some advanced hour, she tired of shopping sites, news sites, and computer games, and searched for mentions of Archer Furniture Company. The search engine returned little beyond product information, but there was a mention of a couple of industry awards, one for a just-in-time inventory system, and one for a specialized shipping container…both developed by James Newberry, CFO. Belinda pursed her mouth. Not too shabby. At some point, the man must have been good at his job.
At the sound of fabric tearing and a subsequent stream of noise that could only be described as cat cursing, Belinda jumped to her feet, rushed to the living room, and flipped on the light. Downey had either pulled down the sheet covering the bay window, or had just happened to be lying beneath it when it fell. Regardless, she was trying her darnedest and loudest to free herself from its folds.
Belinda saved her, and the cat streaked upstairs, no doubt to find solace under the bed. Belinda signed off the Internet, then rummaged in the kitchen junk drawer for safety pins to rehang the sheet over the window until she could afford to have blinds installed, or maybe someday before her mother visited, hang real live curtains.
It seemed she had managed to waste the entire day. It was dark outside, save for the dusk to dawn light. As she climbed onto a chair to pin up the sheet, it occurred to her that she was visible to anyone who cared to look toward the window—if a reporter lingered, they’d be able to get a photo for a mediocre headline: “Murder Suspect Can’t Afford Window Treatments.”
She stretched high to rehang the sheet but stopped cold when she noticed the set of large handprints and smudges on the outside of the window. Her heart skipped and took its sweet time finding a rhythm again. Had the same person left the prints? Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a shadow move in her yard. A reporter, or worse? Belinda grabbed the empty curtain rod to keep from falling off the chair and almost tore the entire contraption off the wall. When she realized the shadow was only a bush moving, she finished pinning the sheet and climbed down, shaking.
The tears came then, the ones she’d been holding at bay all day, all week. Great heaving, hiccupping sobs that tore the air out of her lungs but couldn’t alleviate the primal fear that had taken root in her stomach. Worse than the fear of someone coming to get her was the fear that her lifelong philosophy of strength and independence had backfired. The joke was on her, to be in a situation that had spun out of her control, and forced to face it alone. The worst of it…she was even more afraid of changing, of letting down her defenses. She had let Vince in as much as she’d dared, and look what he’d done to her.
She wasn’t sure she could take that kind of emotional hit again.
The phone rang, and she waited for it to roll over to the machine.
“Belinda, it’s Wade. If you’re there, pick up.”
She picked up. “I’m here.”
“Are you okay? You sound funny.”
“I’m fine.” She sniffed.
“Did you have the phone off the hook? I was about to drive up there.”
He was? “You were?”
“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “I need to talk to you about the case.”
The case. Of course. “I’m listening.”
He expelled a noisy sigh. “I guess you saw the piece in the paper today?”
“Yes. Reporters have been here all day.”
“That’s because things are starting to heat up. The D.A. is being pressured by the mayor to make an arrest. Having a serial killer on the loose isn’t good for convention business.”
She swallowed. “And?”
“And…they’re considering charging you and your three friends with conspiracy to commit murder in the hope of forcing someone to confess.”
Her mouth moved, but no sound came out for a few seconds. “But we didn’t do it,” she finally sputtered.
“You didn’t do it, but are you sure they didn’t?”
Her mind spun as she tried to sort the varied images of the women with whom she’d been sharing a commute. “I can’t imagine it. Kill each other, maybe, but kill Margo…it would’ve had to have been an accident.”
“If it was an accident, and the person comes forward now, the D.A. would probably cut them a deal, perhaps take murder one off the table.”
She shivered. “You don’t think my friends did it, do you?”
“I’m following other avenues. But you should talk to them.”
“Everyone argued on the way home Friday, and we disbanded the car pool. They’re not talking to each other, or to me.”
“Then where have you been staying?”
“Um, see, here’s the thing—”
“You’ve been staying at your place?”
“Yes.”
His sigh vibrated with frustration. “I haven’t been worried about you because you were supposed to be with one of your girlfriends.”
He was worried about her? “I told you, the girls and I argued.”
His silence crackled over the line. “You’re taking a chance with your safety because you’re pouting?”
“I—” She frowned. “I’m not pouting, but I can’t hide out indefinitely. You installed an alarm, and reporters are here all the time. And don’t forget my ferocious biting cat.”
“Belinda, this isn’t funny.”
She sighed. “I know.”
“You need to talk to your friends, let them know what’s on the line.”
“I’ll try.” She hung up slowly, knowing she’d have to think of some way to get them all talking again, for their sakes and for hers. Considering the fact that she was the least photogenic person on the planet, she couldn’t imagine how bad her mug shot might be.
Chapter 29
Libby walked into the ladies’ room and crossed her arms. “What did you want to talk to me about?”
Belinda glanced at her watch, trying to stall. “Um, how was your ride in?”
Libby barked a laugh. “Terrible. Yours?”
“Same.” An understatement, considering she’d spent most of the hour-plus drive hemmed in on all sides by vehicles exponentially larger than the Ford. The hassles of a solitary commute seemed to symbolize all the tie-ups in her life. Alone and racing toward…something, feeling as though she could be crushed at any moment.
Libby averted her eyes. “Listen, I’m expecting a really important phone call, and I don’t want to be away from my desk for long—”
The door opened and Rosemary came in. “You wanted to talk to me, Belinda?”
Rosemary frowned at Libby, who frowned back, but before either one could speak, Carole walked in and added her frown to the mix. “What’s this all about?”
“I think we’ve been had,” Libby said, eyeing Belinda.
Belinda walked over and leaned her back against the door to prevent interruptions (and exits). “We all need to talk.”
“I thought we did a pretty good job of talking Friday,” Libby said, shooting daggers around the room.
Belinda inhaled—this wasn’t going to be easy. “Lieutenant Alexander called me last night and told me the D.A. is being pressured to make an arrest in Margo’s murder to quiet things down.”
“They know who did it?” Carole asked, her eyes bulging.
“They think it’s one of us,” Belinda said, then waited for that sobering tidbit to sink in. Carole and Libby both sent panicked looks toward Rosemary. Were they gravitating to her quiet wisdom, or was their fear a product of something else entirely?
Rosemary leaned into the vanity. “Which one of us?”
“Wade said they were
considering charging us all with conspiracy.”
“Hoping someone will confess,” Rosemary murmured.
Belinda nodded.
“Can they do that?” Carole asked in a choked voice.
“They can do whatever they want,” Libby said. “We all had motive to kill her.”
“Along with practically everyone else the woman came into contact with,” Rosemary said.
“But the four of us had easy access to Belinda’s car,” Libby said.
“And none of us were completely forthright with the police,” Rosemary added, wearing the pinched look that had become her permanent expression lately.
Carole fluttered her hands. “What are we going to do?”
“We’re going to relax,” Rosemary said sternly. “And we’re going to stick together. Didn’t you see the paper yesterday?” She glanced toward Belinda. “Is it true that Julian was involved with you and Margo?”
Belinda flushed. “There was just one encounter between me and Julian. It meant nothing, it was stupid. And I don’t think he was involved with Margo then.” Because she felt sure Margo would have let her know after she’d spotted her coming out of the sauna. “But apparently Julian spent the night at Margo’s the day before she died.”
“The man certainly makes the rounds,” Libby observed dryly.
“He was at the memorial service Friday,” Belinda said. “That’s why I was late coming out. He told me he had been in love with Jeanie, but that she hadn’t loved him back.” She wet her lips. “Wade thinks Julian might have killed Jeanie and Margo.”
“But Jeanie’s death was an accident.”
“Wade said he has never thought it was an accident.”
“Someone pushed Jeanie?” Carole’s eyes swam with tears. “That’s horrible.”
“The newspaper said that Julian skipped town,” Rosemary said. “Has he?”
Belinda lifted her shoulders in a helpless shrug. “All I know is what the paper said. He hasn’t contacted me since Friday.”
“Well, there you go,” Rosemary said, lifting her hands. “How can the D.A. arrest us when they suspect Julian Hardeman?”
Belinda hesitated. “I’m not so sure the detectives and the D.A. share Wade’s opinion that Julian is involved.”
Rosemary gave her a pointed gaze. “Let me get this straight—your boyfriend suspects Julian, but he told you the detectives and the D.A. suspect one of us?”
Belinda swallowed. “He’s not my boyfriend.”
“For all we know, you could be feeding us this conspiracy theory to make things look better for you.”
Belinda shook her head. “Wade asked me to talk to all of you.” She closed her eyes. “He said that if Margo’s death was an accident, the D.A. would take murder one off the table, but the person would have to come forward soon.”
“So you’re doing us a favor?” Rosemary asked with a little smile.
Belinda wiped wet palms on her slacks. “I know that if any one of you had k-killed Margo, it would’ve been an accident.”
“Really?” Rosemary asked, her eyes narrowed slightly. “What about you, Belinda? You look more guilty than the rest of us.”
“And we don’t know anything about you,” Carole said, “not really.”
“You lied about being married,” Libby added. “Who knows what else you could be lying about?”
The weight of their collective disapproval and suspicion struck her hard, flattening her against the door. This, she realized, was why she’d never fostered friendships with women—the emotional intensity was too demanding. Women knew best how to hurt other women, knew the soft tissue points.
The drip in the sink hadn’t yet been fixed, she realized in the ensuing silence. The water plopped into the sink like a ticking clock.
Belinda searched their faces and realized that if she expected them to believe in her innocence, she needed to take the same leap, to trust her instincts that these women were good people despite the fact that her instincts had let her down before.
“You don’t know me well enough to believe anything I say,” Belinda agreed, then bit down on her tongue to quell the sudden swell of emotion in her throat. “And that’s my fault, because the three of you have been nothing but kind to me since I arrived.” She swallowed. “But I didn’t kill Margo, and for what it’s worth, I don’t believe that any one of you did, either.”
Shoulders eased and mouths softened.
“Do you think it was Julian?” Libby asked finally.
“Possibly. But his fingerprints weren’t on my car.” Belinda shook her head. “I just don’t know.” She straightened and gestured between the women. “But one thing I do know is that the three of you were friends long before I came on the scene. Don’t let me or anything that’s happened because of me come between you.” She gave them the best smile she could summon. “Y’all are going to need each other’s support to get through this.” She turned and put her hand on the doorknob.
“Belinda…wait,” Rosemary said.
She turned back.
The three women exchanged contrite glances. Rosemary looked up and returned a shaky smile. “All four of us are going to need each other’s support to get through this. I…don’t think it’s over.”
The surge of warmth Belinda experienced was tempered by the woman’s ominous last words. “What do you mean?”
“I believe someone was in my apartment over the weekend.”
Carole gasped. “Was anything stolen?”
“That’s the strange part—I don’t think so. Sunday afternoon when I came back from shopping, I just had the feeling that someone had been there.”
“Just like Monica Tanner reported,” Libby said. “And my friend.”
Belinda’s heart pounded. “Why do you think someone was in your apartment?”
“There was a scent in the air…maybe cologne. And I found grass clippings on the living room rug, as if someone had tracked them in.”
“Could the police have done it when they searched your place?”
“It’s possible,” she conceded. “They left the place a mess, but I cleaned top to bottom when I got home Friday.”
“How would a burglar have gotten in?”
Rosemary sighed. “I burned something in the oven, so I left my kitchen windows open to air it out. I was gone for only a little while.”
“Did you call the police?” Belinda asked.
“I couldn’t prove anything, and since nothing was stolen, it seemed silly.” She rubbed at the furrow between her eyebrows. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”
“No,” Belinda said. “In fact, I’ve been thinking that if we put our heads together, we might be able to help the police instead of spending all our time defending ourselves.”
“How?” Libby asked. “We’ve already told them everything we know.”
Belinda put her ragged thumbnail between her teeth. “But have we told each other everything? There must be some detail we’re overlooking. Did you ever notice anyone around my car? Even if it looked innocent.”
They each thought for a few seconds, then shook their heads.
Belinda put her hand over her mouth as her mind spun in numerous directions, sifting all the bits of information. The door bumped into her from behind.
“Give us a few minutes,” Libby yelled, irritated. Then she leaned in conspiratorially. “Belinda’s right—I’ll bet we can figure this out, girls, we’re just missing something. Let’s meet for lunch downstairs at the burrito place to hash it out.”
“How about the salad bar?” Rosemary said with an arched eyebrow.
Libby opened her mouth to argue, then a magnanimous smile encompassed her face. “Okay. I’ll even treat.”
Despite much hashing and thrashing of the facts, though, the women left the food court with no new theories or leads. They did, however, cheerfully bury their respective hatchets and agree to reinstate the car pool. And Libby offered to drive the following day since she had indeed retrieved her repossess
ed SUV.
The news reminded Belinda of the conversation she’d had with Libby about coming into sudden cash the very day that the money had disappeared from Clancy’s desk. She pushed away the nagging questions, however, because she had a more pressing matter on her mind: the discussion she needed to have with Mr. Archer about the Payton acquisition, which she had postponed until his return, hoping the contracts would show up.
They hadn’t.
And she’d decided she simply couldn’t carry the burden on her conscience any longer. According to Rosemary, Juneau Archer had arrived midmorning and would see Belinda at 1:30. As she climbed the stairs, she shot a prayer to the heavens that the contracts miraculously would be lying on her desk when she got back to her cubicle.
They weren’t.
Might as well get it over with, she decided as she practiced deep breathing techniques to calm her nerves. On the way to the CEO’s office, she passed Margo’s eerily empty office, and a chill passed over her. Brita paused to look over the top of her glasses, then looked away. The woman had a frantic, lost look about her. Belinda experienced a pang of sympathy for the giantess—she had probably cared for her boss in some…unexplainable way. She walked over to the woman’s desk. “Brita.”
The woman typed for a few more seconds, then stopped and looked up with wounded eyes. “What do you want?”
“To tell you that I’m sorry for your loss. You were probably closer to Margo than anyone, you must have known she wasn’t as severe as everyone thought she was.”
Brita blinked, and her thin lips parted slightly. “Oh. Well, I suppose I did understand Ms. Campbell better than most.”
“I’m on my way to speak to Mr. Archer. One of the things I want to discuss with him is how to transition Margo’s workload until her position is filled. I was hoping I could tell him that you’d be willing to help me with that task.”
High spots of color stained Brita’s cheeks. “I…think that would be fine.”
Belinda smiled. “Good. I’ll let you know what he says.”
Kill the Competition Page 30