Moving Is Murder

by Sara Rosett

  “Do you have anything on St. Kitts or Grand Cayman?”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “You looking for a vacation or an offshore account?”

  “What?” Maybe this office was empty because the help was kind of loony.

  “Obviously not. Just joking, honey. Take a look at those. Here’s one on BVI. The British Virgin Islands.” She translated for me when she saw I didn’t understand.

  “Sorry. I can only keep up with so many acronyms.”

  “Tell me about it. Here’s my card. Call if you’ve got questions. I’m here every day but Thursday.”

  Back in the Cherokee, I fastened a dozing Livvy in the back and climbed in the driver’s seat. I might as well take time to look through the brochures now. After Livvy woke up I wouldn’t have a chance.

  I skimmed pictures of beautiful people frolicking in sand and surf and read the destination descriptions. One brochure had a foldout map that I spread across the steering wheel so I could study the islands. St. Kitts, St. Thomas, Grand Cayman, Nevis, Cozumel, the Bahamas. Just the names made me think of sand between my toes, lush flowers, and turquoise water. Too many destinations to sort out now. I refolded the map and put the Cherokee in drive.

  I crept down the main road. The speed limit on the base is a whopping twenty-five miles an hour and the Security Police hand out tickets like they’re giving away candy on Halloween. The sky seemed darker than it had an hour ago. I flipped on my lights and edged the heater up a notch. Grand Cayman, St. Thomas, Nevis. I savored the tropical names and the thought that we might escape part of the coming winter.

  Nevis. Where had I heard that before? A memory merged with a conversation. I understood the travel agent’s little joke that I’d missed earlier. I eased off the accelerator when I saw the red needle hovering at 45 mph. I switched lanes and headed back to the squadron with thoughts percolating. Nevis, an island in the Caribbean, famous for unspoiled tropical beauty and offshore banking. I knew where I’d seen the name Nevis and I was pretty sure most folks I knew in the Air Force didn’t have, or need, an offshore account.

  I cruised into the same parking space and looked at the white SUV still parked in the same slot beside me. I reached for my water bottle and took a drink. Then it clicked. I sat still for a few moments. I checked the clock and pulled out my phone. After what I was sure would be an exorbitant call to directory information, I was talking to Abby’s school. “Abby Dovonowski. She’s subbing for a few weeks. I have to talk to her. It’s urgent. Can you get her out of class?”

  “She’s right here, checking her mail. Hold on.” Abby came on the line.

  “Abby. It’s Ellie. Remember when you said Diana was staring at you and Brent during the barbeque?”

  “Yes. What’s going on? You sound—weird.”

  “You said she was holding something.”

  “Yeah. A Coke,” Abby said.

  “How did you know it was a Coke?”

  “Well, I guess I didn’t really know. I just assumed because that was what it said on the side. Are you okay?”

  “Thanks.” I punched END and cut off her questions.

  Now I knew, but I also knew it wouldn’t be enough for Thistlewait. He had an irritating habit of wanting the details and proof. Why did I have to pick today to give that box back?

  I took a deep breath, then said to Livvy, “Just a little peek and I’ll be back.” I left the Cherokee running to keep Livvy asleep, but I put the parking brake on. Then I slipped out and tried a door handle on the SUV. The back door clicked open and I crawled in.

  I hesitated. If I found what I was looking for, I’d call Thistlewait, but if it wasn’t there, I’d save myself a whole lot of embarrassment. Leaning over into the cargo area I pulled the box toward me and flicked the flaps back. File tabs marched from front to back.

  A quick glance out the window showed an empty parking lot with the Cherokee still idling beside me. I turned my attention back to the box. My fingers skimmed over the folders.

  Past the tax returns and pay stubs I found the folder labeled NEVIS BANK and opened it. The top paper was a bank statement. An ornate font beside a crest headed the paper and proclaimed Bank of Nevis, Charlestown, Nevis, W.I.

  W.I.? West Indies? I scanned down the list of deposits and withdrawals. There were many, many deposits of three-, four-, and five-hundred dollars. Along with much larger, but more irregular deposits ranging from a few thousand dollars up to the hundred thousands. Filed behind the statements were incorporation documents complete with copies of Brent and Diana’s passports and driver’s licenses, along with a copy of a money order for a security deposit to open the bank account in the name of MC Corp. An envelope, the large brown kind with a flap and a brad to keep it closed, followed the statements.

  I checked the parking lot again. Empty, except for the gray sky and the blacktop shiny with drizzle. My breath had fogged the windows and my heartbeat pounded inside my head. Calm down. There’s no one out there.

  I returned to the folder and emptied the envelope, which contained a stack of debit card receipts. Diana’s perfect handwriting noted on the bottom of each receipt what the cash was for: attorney’s fees, recording fees, office products. The McCarters were big fans of cash transactions, it seemed.

  A large paper clip secured the next set of documents. I waded through the text until I had the highlights. Brent and Diana hadn’t incorporated one company; they’d incorporated two more, Tecmarc, which bought the property from Mrs. Norwood, and Forever Wild. And it looked like Forever Wild was more about protecting money than protecting wilderness.

  The papers trembled as my hand sent out little shock waves. This box was at Cass’s house. Did she find these papers? Did she know the truth about who owned these companies? I couldn’t imagine that she’d give the box to me if she’d known what was in it. Were the possibility that she might have seen the documents and the fact that she was delving into the real estate records what led to her death?

  I needed to take the file and get out of there. I jammed the papers into the folder. I wiped a clear spot on the window and checked the parking lot, but it was deserted. As I scooted around to replace the folder in the box, my foot slipped and I kicked a small plastic trash can, sending crumpled tissues and bits of paper flying over the floorboard. I bit my lip. Diana would notice if anything was out of place in her immaculate car.

  I dropped the folder on the seat, righted the trash can, and grabbed a handful of trash. I shoved it back in the trash can while I plucked gum wrappers from under the front passenger seat. I squished the wrappers down and gave the carpet under the seat a quick sweep with my hand. My fingers connected with a light, round object in the groove between the floor mat and the metal fixture that held the seat in place. I pinched it between two fingertips and pulled. It was a marker inside a tube. I held up the amber tube to read the writing on the thick marking pen inside. The pen had double caps, a small black one on one end and a larger gray one on the other end. “O.3 Epinephrine Auto-Injector.”

  I twisted the amber tube and the words on the pen jumped out, EpiPen. I swallowed. Unless Diana was also allergic to bee and wasp stings, this had to be one of Cass’s missing EpiPens. My hands felt sweaty. Fingerprints. I pulled out the edge of my coat pocket with my left hand and dropped the amber tube into the pocket with my right hand. I snapped the pocket flap closed. I wanted out of the SUV, now! I picked up the folder from where I’d dropped it on the car seat. I tried to straighten the fanned papers with trembling fingers.

  The pages ruffled in the breeze as the door opened.

  Chapter

  Twenty-eight

  Our life is frittered away by detail….

  Simplify, simplify, simplify!

  —Henry David Thoreau

  Brent McCarter blocked the opening. His golden hair, wet with drizzle, sparkled above gray-blue eyes. Today his eyes didn’t look icy, just empty. My heart skidded to a stop, then resumed beating, double time. I stuck the papers back in the folder.

/>   He touched my shoulder lightly. “El. You really are a troublemaker. You should have left everything alone.” His tone was half-regretful, half-joking. I couldn’t move. I almost expected him to give my shoulder a playful squeeze and then tell me it was all a practical joke.

  “I’ll just take these.” He pulled the folder out of my stiff fingers. “Why don’t you go back to your car? That would be best, I think.” I scrambled out of Diana’s SUV and surged into the Cherokee’s driver’s seat, but he was there before I could close the door with my clumsy, fumbling hands. He leaned across me to unlock the passenger door. I recoiled instinctively. “Ah, here’s my wife. She’ll take care of everything,” he said.

  Diana opened the Cherokee’s passenger door and climbed in. She lifted her folded coat off her arm, placed it carefully across her lap, and revealed a gun in her right hand. I don’t know much about guns, but this one was small, sleek, and modern. Its short barrel gleamed even though the day was overcast. She held it low, pointed at my hip.

  “This is crazy.” I took a shaky breath.

  She checked her watch, then tucked her hair behind her ears with her left hand. Her fingers trembled slightly, but the gun in her other hand never moved. “Give me fifteen minutes. Then leave. Pick me up at home,” she ordered Brent. Her eyes narrowed as she scanned the ceiling of the Cherokee. “Yes, that should be enough time. We’ll have lunch somewhere in town. Somewhere crowded. Then you can run me back here to pick up my car.” Diana spoke to Brent as if I wasn’t even there. This woman was talking about my murder. Figuring she could squeeze me in between her eleven o’clock dental and her twelve-thirty lunch.

  “Are you sure? I mean …” Brent wheedled.

  “Brent,” she snapped, “I know you’re attracted to her, but get over it. She knows. She’s seen everything. She had it in her car. For weeks!” She gouged the air with the gun toward her car. I moved back, brushed up against Brent, and then scrunched away from him, but tried to not get any closer to Diana. I checked the rearview mirror, but the parking lot was empty. I felt a sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach, like I’d just swallowed a rock.

  “This really isn’t a good idea,” I said.

  “And on top of that,” Diana continued, as if I hadn’t spoken, “she’s asked questions nonstop. We don’t have any choice. Stop arguing. I need to think.” She rubbed her temple. “It would be best if it happened at her house. Can’t do anything with the car. That might look suspicious.” She talked to herself in a low tone.

  “Diana, maybe we should …” Brent began.

  “Shut up!” She licked her dry and cracked lips, then chewed on her index fingernail. “We have to do it now. I hate this!” She tucked another stray hair behind her ear. “No time to plan.”

  Brent opened his mouth to argue, but Diana pointed the gun at him. “Get in there. And don’t forget to pick me up!”

  “All right.” Brent slammed the door and Livvy started to wail. In my rearview mirror, I watched him quickly cross the parking lot. I’d hoped they would forget Livvy was in the back, but no such luck now. She never had been one to let anyone forget she was around.

  I automatically reached back to jiggle Livvy’s car seat. Diana jerked and raised the gun. “I’m just trying to calm her down.” I tried for a soothing tone, but my voice came out squeaky. Diana lowered the gun slightly, back out of view of anyone passing the car. Not that there was anyone out there anyway.

  “Drive,” she commanded and then rubbed her head again with quivering fingers. “Go the back way.”

  Livvy’s cries subsided to murmurs of protest when I hit the road. We passed the point where I had found Cass. The noises changed to grunts. Oh no, not now. We sailed through the back gate. The Security Police on duty glanced our way and then returned to their paperwork. Diana seemed to relax a little once we were on the highway.

  There was a squishy, splattering sound from the backseat, a momentary silence, and then Livvy started crying again, full-force screams. Within seconds, the whole interior of the Cherokee smelled like a combination of stockyard, moldy socks, and rotten eggs.

  “Good grief. Do something about that. It smells awful.”

  I jerked the wheel and brought the Cherokee to a stop on the shoulder of the road. I hopped out and grabbed the diaper bag.

  Cars whooshed past. The air of their wake pressed the back of my jeans to my legs. With my shaking fingers, I struggled to release Livvy’s seat belt.

  “Hurry up,” Diana demanded.

  “It takes a while to get her out.” I gently placed Livvy on a blanket on the backseat to shelter her from the drizzle and the gusts of wind. I checked Diana. She leaned over the seat, watching me intensely.

  Stupid. Stupid, I cursed myself. Why hadn’t I waited until we were in Vernon, or at least at a gas station? There would have been people around; maybe I could have signaled someone I was in trouble. I unsnapped Livvy’s outfit and pulled out a diaper and the box of wipes. I’d been so anxious to get out of the car that I pulled over too soon. I glanced at the flat terrain. Even if I picked up Livvy and ran we wouldn’t be able to get far. Nowhere to hide. No trees, rocks, or buildings, just patchy grass. I should have at least waited until the land started to rise and the road cut a passage deeply through rock, making steep “walls” on each side of the road. Livvy continued to cry. I can’t believe this is happening. I fought down a spasm of laughter.

  Diana’s voice was steadier than it had been earlier. “Don’t even think about it. I’ll shoot. I want this to look like an accident, but if you run, I’ll kill you and cover it up.”

  I opened the diaper’s tape fasteners with jerky fingers. It was happening, all right. Diana pulled back when I opened the diaper and cleaned up Livvy. I toyed with the idea of tossing the whole thing in Diana’s face and running, but where would we go? Instead I put the diaper in a plastic bag and sealed it. I quickly taped on the clean diaper, my hands moving smoothly through the rote motions I’d already performed thousands of times in Livvy’s short life. I refastened the snaps on her outfit and scooped her up in my arms. I hummed in her ear with my chin pressed against her wooly hat. She hiccuped, sighed, and began sucking her thumb. A car surged past, ruffled my hair, and made my jeans flap against my legs.

  If fear had a continuum like grief, my fear seemed to morph into cold, hard anger. Diana would probably kill us both without a second’s hesitation, but I was determined to fight with everything I had. Livvy needed me and Mitch needed me. There was no way I was going down without a fight. I took a deep breath and put Livvy back in the car seat. My hands were steadier and I’d lost the feeling of sheer panic. I’d settled into determined anger.

  I pulled back onto the road, but kept under the speed limit. Diana shifted around in her seat. “Go faster.” She bit her thumbnail.

  “I can’t. The roads are too slick. It’s the drizzle.”

  We drove in silence for a while.

  “You must specialize in ‘accidents,”’ I said. Diana twisted toward me. We entered Clairmont, a tiny assemblage of gas stations, check-cashing businesses, and pizza places that clung to the side of the freeway leading to the base. Maybe I could distract her.

  When she didn’t reply I went on, “Cass’s death was almost perfect. No one suspected you planned it.” Flattery couldn’t hurt. “But why did you leave the cup in her car?”

  “I’m not stupid enough to talk to you.” The tires schussed through the thin layer of water on the road as fat drops of rain plopped on the windshield. I turned the wipers on intermittent and slowed a little more.

  “It won’t hurt to tell. I’m not going to be around.” My heartbeat seemed to thunder in my ears for a moment and I thought I might pass out, but then I managed to say, “You must have planned to be the first person to reach her after the attack.”

  Diana sighed a sigh of pure exasperation, like a parent discussing their difficult teenager. “She wasn’t even supposed to leave the squadron. She should have stepped on it when she fi
rst accelerated and that would trigger their defense, stinging. Repeatedly, you know. Bees can only sting once, but wasps sting again and again. I’d have said I was calling for help, but delayed. In the confusion, I could have gotten the cup and thrown it away.”

  I glanced down at my pocket. The EpiPen made a faint bulge, but to me it seemed to pulsate. Diana probably took the EpiPen out of the van when she put the wasps in it. Maybe she removed the one from Cass’s purse during the barbeque. It wouldn’t have been hard to take either one, since Cass left the van unlocked and her purse probably sat in the pile of unattended purses and bags near the door of The Hole during the barbeque.

  Joe had mentioned Cass’s allergic reaction last year at the squad’s pool party. Everyone at the squad would have known about her allergy and where Cass kept the EpiPens. And even if Cass was able to inject herself with a spare EpiPen, Diana had the variable of time on her side since the base didn’t have an emergency room.

  “Know much about bees and wasps? Are you allergic, too?” I asked.

  Diana snorted. “No. The Internet is wonderful for research,” she said condescendingly.

  “How did you get the wasps in there in the first place?”

  Diana waved the gun in an off-handed gesture. “I made a trap. Used some soft strawberries to attract the wasps. Then I cooled them in the refrigerator so I could move them. Before the barbeque, I put them in the cup and left it in a small cooler in the basement.” She shrugged. “Not that difficult.”

  No one would have noticed a cooler at a squadron during a barbeque. And I did remember seeing Diana in the hall on my way out of the squadron with an armload of picnic supplies, including a small cooler.

  “But that wasn’t your first attempt. You had something to do with the brakes and steering failing on Cass’s van, didn’t you?”

  She was silent, so I continued, “The Internet again?”

  “Hardly. One of mom’s many, many boyfriends worked on his car while I played. Mom was off on one of her jobs. Was it waitressing? Or maybe that was when she was checking groceries? It didn’t matter. Ted thought I was playing while he showed his greasy friend how to ‘fix’ the brakes and steering on his wife’s car. She’d been fooling around on him.”