Proof of Murder

by Lauren Elliott

  “How can we be so sure?”

  “Because if you go back and look closer, Agent Brookes,” Addie said, crossing her arms on the table and leaning forward, “you’ll see that it’s impossible. The sash is too old and warped. It won’t open even with this evidence that you think you have.” She pointed to the photo of the damaged exterior window frame. “Someone, not me, has tried to jimmy the window open from the outside.”

  “How do you explain your broken nail being found outside at the base of the wall under the window?”

  Addie wanted to slap the smug look off Ryley’s face but held herself back. After all, Brookes was an FBI agent and not just some regular woman who happened to be marking her territory with Marc.

  “I can’t. But was there any evidence of my footprints in the soil?” Addie’s gaze darted from Ryley to Marc. “Remember, it rained earlier that evening, and if I’d been there breaking in as you are suggesting by all this, I would have left some trace outside other than that.” Addie stabbed her finger on the evidence bag. “You both surprise me. As trained detectives, you’ve missed one crucial element here that even a fiction writer such as Sir Arthur Conan Doyle employed in the writings of his detective character, Sherlock Homes.”

  Marc’s jaw flinched. “And what might that be, Addie?”

  “An acute observation of even the smallest, seemingly unimportant details at a crime scene can hold the key to unraveling the entire mystery, preventing the investigator from being misdirected by following other irrelevant or red-herring clues meant solely to take the investigation in the wrong direction.”

  “What are you talking about?” Marc’s strangled voice rumbled in her ears. Obviously he was losing patience with her.

  “It’s elementary reasoning and deduction. Since none of your photos show a woman’s size-eight footprints outside the window, it stands to reason that the fingernail was planted at the scene by someone who, not wanting to muddy their own shoes, stood on the gravel path running beside the house and tossed the nail below the window.”

  Ryley stabbed her finger on a shot of the damaged exterior of the window frame. “It would be difficult, if not impossible, for the perpetrator to pry the window open from the footpath as depicted in these.”

  “Very true, Detective.” Addie stressed her final word as she thumbed through the photos of the exterior scene. “However, if you’ll notice there are no footprints of any size or shape beneath the library window.” She sat back, crossing her arms over her heaving chest. “Curious, don’t you think?”

  Ryley’s eyes held steadfast on Addie’s. “And what is to say that you didn’t go to great lengths to sweep away the tracks?”

  “Because, there is one important detail missing from these photos. There is no indication that a branch or other object was used to rake over the wet soil to hide footprints. Besides . . .” Addie pushed her chair back, raised her leg, and thumped her left foot on the tabletop. “Do you see any sign of embedded soil in the tread of my sandal?”

  “How are we to know those are the shoes you wore Wednesday evening?”

  Addie dropped her foot to the floor with a thud and met Ryley’s gaze with one equally as penetrating. “Then I guess you’ll have to test them, plus every other pair of shoes I have. Here.” She kicked off her sandals and shoved them under the table with her foot toward the detectives. She gave Marc a saucy grin. “You might also want to examine my pink fluffy slippers since they’re what I was wearing Wednesday night, and perhaps you should also swab the bottom of my bare feet as they were most likely tucked into my bed at the time of my supposed cat-burgling adventure.”

  Ryley choked back something between a snort and a gasp.

  Marc’s lips slightly twisted at the corners as though he was willing himself not to laugh. “Just the shoes are fine.” The tips of his ears turned red as he bent over and scooped up her shoes into an evidence bag.

  “But I think the most important piece of evidence you have regarding the window frame is this particular shot.” Addie pulled a photo from the pile in front of her. “Notice the extensive weathering around the wood scratches and indentations in the frame. None of these marks were made recently. Someone just took advantage of them being there and decided to plant my nail at the scene to make you think the two were recent and connected.” A sense of victory swept through her. “A perfect example of a red-herring clue meant to misdirect you.”

  Ryley reached into her black case. “Then how do you explain your fingerprints all over this?” She shoved another evidence bag across the table.

  “That’s the pry bar Brian used to open the library door.”

  “Correct, and one he later reported as missing from his tool bag, and the same one we found in the bushes with your fingerprints all over it.”

  “My prints are on it because he asked me to get it from his tool bag, then he had me hold it while he forced the study door open. You can ask Blake Edwards and half his staff. They were standing right there.”

  “Did you have reason to go into his . . .” Ryley glanced down at her notepad “. . . tool bag later in the day?”

  “No, I never saw him again after that.”

  “So what you’re saying is that all this evidence is wrong. Yes?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying. Someone is trying to make it look like I did it. Someone is setting me up.”

  There was a knock on the door. Marc opened it and came back with Addie’s phone in his hand. Addie glanced at the mirror. Whoever was on the other side of the glass just provided her with the proof she needed to argue at least one of their allegations against her. Wait a second. Her phone had appeared rather quickly from the time they asked her about it.

  “Did one of your officers already go to Serena’s house and get that?”

  “No, she’s upstairs in the waiting room.”

  “Oh, that’s nice and convenient for you.” Addie grinned at whoever it was behind the glass listening.

  Marc turned the phone screen toward Addie. “Here, punch in your password, please.” He pulled it away when she reached for it. “I’ll hold it. You just enter your code.”

  Addie pressed the digits and sat back, crossing her arms over her chest.

  Marc and Ryley huddled head-to-head as they scrolled through her photos. “And you have no idea where Kalea is now?” Marc looked up at her.

  Addie shook her head.

  Ryley took the phone out of Marc’s hand and studied the pictures. “I can see now why none of Kalea’s fingerprints were found inside the library around the window.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because,” Ryley flashed the screen in Addie’s direction, “in all these pictures she’s wearing white gloves.”

  “Yeah,” Addie said, “those are customary to wear when handling vintage books, finger oil on the pages and stuff.”

  “So why aren’t you wearing them?”

  “I had been taking my shift doing the data entry on the computer. Kalea was reading off the information about the books to me: publisher date, edition, things like that. We took turns doing the research because there was only one computer.” Addie shrugged. “I really couldn’t have typed with them on. Plus, it gave me a better grip on the window latch when I was struggling with it.”

  “But Kalea didn’t follow your lead and take hers off when she tried, like in this photo?” Agent Brookes showed Addie the photo where Kalea was lying prone on the window seat, feigning death with her attempt to force the window open.

  Addie smiled at the memory, and then her face stiffened. She remembered the conversation her and her cousin had about the gloves. When Addie suggested her cousin take her gloves off so she could get a better hold on the small latch, Kalea changed the subject, and that’s when the silliest photo was taken with her trying to open the window with her foot. Then another memory of the day flashed into Addie’s mind. When they were leaving, Kalea set her handbag on the table, took everything out looking for her cell phone, and then repack
ed it. Had she also slipped in the Beeton’s first edition of A Study in Scarlet? Was Kalea setting me up for the theft of the books all day?

  “Are you okay?” For the first time since her arrest, Marc’s face showed signs of concern for her.

  She nodded. “I was just thinking about how silly we were behaving. It felt like the walls were closing in on us, and I guess we just needed to relieve some of the tension.”

  There was a tap on the glass. Marc glanced questioningly at Ryley and left the room. A moment later, there was another rap. Ryley remained staunch, but the slight reddening on her neck gave away the fact that even she thought this interruption was unusual during an interrogation. Without a word, she gathered up the folder, Addie’s phone, and evidence bags from the table and exited.

  An uncomfortable feeling nestled in Addie’s gut as a headache snaked up the back of her neck and made its home at the base of her skull. Probably a common side effect of spending nearly twelve hours locked in windowless rooms. The only way she did know exactly how much time had passed was because she’d managed to catch a glimpse of the time on her cell phone when she had entered her password. Twelve hours that felt more like eternity. This must be what purgatory was like. She moaned and rested her forehead on the cool tabletop.

  The door flew open and Addie jerked upright. “You’re free to go.” Marc shoved her phone across the table toward her.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean the charges against you are pending right now.”

  She grabbed her phone and stood up. “And you’re done with this?”

  “Yes, we have all the pertinent information from it that we needed.”

  Addie glanced over Marc’s shoulder. “Does your sidekick know I’m being released?”

  “Yes, Agent Brookes is fully aware.”

  “Really?” Addie straightened her shoulders as a sense of vindication shored up her throbbing back. “So, if I have this right, you’re not charging me?”

  “Not at this time.” Marc lowered his gaze. “It’s a pending charge. The DA said when he stopped the questioning that he’d like to see more evidence before he can make a decision on the charges. He mentioned”—Marc’s jaw tightened—“that you had pointed out a couple of holes in the investigation. Therefore, he wants us to take another look before he decides to file charges or not.”

  “You mean Jeff Wilson, the DA, is here?”

  “Yeah.” His eyes held a suggestion of a twinkle. “As you were acutely aware throughout the course of the interrogation, there was someone else watching from behind that glass.”

  “But I thought his office was in Salem?”

  “It is, but when I called last night to have the arrest warrant issued, I guess he took a special interest in learning firsthand how strong of a case we had against his star contract book expert.”

  “He drove here to witness my interrogation?”

  “Yup.”

  “Well, I’d like to thank him for saving me the humiliation of having to appear in court this morning for a bail hearing.”

  “I’m afraid he’s gone now. He had to be in court for a nine a.m. hearing.”

  “Oh, I was hoping I’d have the chance to talk to him.”

  “He wouldn’t speak to you now anyway, Addie. Just so you know, it’s not over yet. Ryley took the investigation team back to the house. If she finds signs of those footprints or an attempt to cover them up, a point you clearly made was missing from our case, or anything else tying you to the book thefts, well, we’ll have no choice but to pick you up again.”

  Addie tilted her chin up. “Can I have my computer back now, too?”

  “We aren’t done with it yet.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, but knew by the look in his eyes it would be no use. “Fine, then. Am I free to go now?” Her voice had an edge to it, but she didn’t care.

  He opened the door and stood back, allowing her to pass. She heard nothing more after that and raced barefoot down the hall, up the back stairs, and burst through the door behind the information desk. Jerry jumped up, his hand on his holster.

  “Relax, Jerry,” Marc said from the doorway, “she’s been released. She’s not escaping.”

  Jerry sat back in his chair as Serena jumped up from hers in the waiting room. “Oh, Addie, you look—”

  “Don’t say it.” Addie raised her hand as she made her way around the desk. “Please, just get me out of here so I can go home and burn these clothes.”

  “Can I have that blouse? I always did like the tiny pink and white polka dots.”

  “It would clash with your hair.”

  Serena’s gaze halted at Addie’s bare feet. “Where are your shoes?”

  “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you on the drive home.”

  “Okay, and then I’m staying until you’re safely tucked into bed.”

  “I can’t go to bed, as much as I’d like to. I have to have a shower and then get to my shop. I can’t even think about leaving Paige on her own again, there’s too much to do.”

  “Then I’ll wait for you and drive you. There’s no way you should be driving after a night without sleep.”

  “Okay, sure, I’m too tired to argue. Thanks.”

  “But it’ll cost you.” Serena’s eyes danced with an impish sparkle.

  “What?”

  “That blouse.” She grinned as she opened the door.

  Chapter 15

  Addie’s fingers tightened around her steaming cup of elixir. She closed her eyes, savoring the full-bodied aroma that removed the last tainted residue of the night. It was one thing to shower and put on fresh clothes, but her soul also needed to be refreshed. She sipped long and slow, allowing the nutty blend to settle on her tongue and then glide like warm silk down the back of her throat. This would no doubt go down in her memory as the best cup of coffee she’d ever had. Maybe. She set the cup down on the counter. But it definitely beat the police station swill Marc had served her at three in the morning.

  “Addie?”

  Addie swung around on the counter stool and met Paige’s questioning gaze.

  “Sorry to interrupt.” Paige winced. “I know how much you need that coffee right now, but . . .” She leaned her blond, curly head toward Addie, dropping her voice. “Dapper Dan wants to talk to you.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know what his real name is. That’s just what I call him. I see him every morning when I take the sandwich board out to the sidewalk. I think he works up on Main Street because it’s the same time every day, and he always wears his white hat and carries a cane umbrella.”

  Addie chuckled. “I guess I’m off to see Dapper Dan, then.” From her vantage point, all she could see was a woman perusing the sale rack by the front door. “Where is he?”

  “He’s over by the History and Mystery sections.”

  “I should have known. Where else would a suave gentleman be found?” Addie primped her hair and smiled at the woman as she sidestepped around her and made her way to the wall of shelves on the far side of the shop. “Art? How nice to see you again?” She held out her hand in greeting.

  “Good morning.” He closed the book he’d been examining and glanced at his gold wristwatch. “Or should I say almost good afternoon?” he said with a crooked grin.

  “Yes.” Addie rubbed her hand over her middle. “And my stomach tells me it must almost be lunchtime.”

  “That’s exactly where I was headed when I decided that you might just be the one person in town who can help me.”

  “Oh?”

  He gestured with the book in his hand. “I understand from Maggie and Vera that you are the expert on this local ghost legend book.”

  She looked at the copy of The Ghosts and Mysteries of Greyborne Harbor and shook her head. “I would never call myself an expert, but I have read it in depth. Why?”

  “I’m not sure if you’re aware”—he tucked the book under his arm as he pulled a business card from his inside jacket pocket—�
�but I am the listing agent for Hill Road House.”

  “No, I wasn’t.” She turned the card over, glanced at it. “Congratulations?”

  His laugh rumbled in his chest. “Some might not think I should be excited by it, but since it’s my first listing in town, I have to make the best of it. Besides, I’m really under the gun with it to prove myself worthy to Maggie.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, she only hired me because Vera insisted, and then she had to wait until I took the Massachusetts real-estate course and then pass my state licensing. She kept me on as an office employee even when I couldn’t do anything for her but write advertising copy and fetch coffee.”

  “I’m really confused now. I thought you were already a real-estate agent—or did I misunderstand last night?”

  “I am, but each state requires agents to be licensed in their region regardless of the years’ experience I had in Seattle. It didn’t count for anything out here.”

  “I vaguely remember hearing something about all that. But how can I help you today?”

  “You see, in this industry it’s all about the money.” He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. “And so far, I haven’t brought any into the agency. I feel like this listing is a test, not only of my sales abilities but also to prove to Maggie that I’m worthy of dating her mother.”

  “How would it be a test?”

  He leaned in closer. “Because none of the other agents in the office would take the listing . . . It’s considered a tough sell, and Maggie . . . well, let’s just say she made it clear if I didn’t she might not have a position open for me much longer.”

  “I see.” Addie rolled her bottom lip between her teeth. “What does this book have to do with any of this?”

  “Because, my dear”—he waved the book in the air—“I believe I’ve hit on the perfect sales campaign, and this book, and a few of these others about local hauntings and pirate legends, will help me sell a house that is rumored to be haunted.”