Proof of Murder

by Lauren Elliott

  Feather pen from inkwell on desk missing

  Missing laptop? She’d have to ask Marc next time she saw him if it had been recovered yet.

  Rare books and original magazine edition of debut story exchanged for cheap reproductions

  Angle of the desk chair turned toward fireplace

  Books on center display table, disturbed missing price/info cards

  Firebox ashes smeared across hearth and floor

  Faint footprint on throw carpet by desk – stepping in spilt tea?

  My fingerprints on window ledge and pry bar and broken acrylic nail found outside of window!

  Books in shop on floor???

  Paige attacked in the store!

  She smashed the chalk onto the board, sending bits flying.

  “Addie?”

  She spun toward the door. “Marc?”

  “I hoped we could talk for a minute.” He stood in the doorway, cap in hand, a sheepish look on his face.

  “Where’s your partner?”

  “She’s at the hospital, taking a statement from Paige.”

  “She’s awake?” Addie checked her phone for a message from Simon. Nothing. “I’m not sure what we have to talk about. After arresting me, you made it very clear about what kind of relationship we have now: you the cop, me the perp. So unless you’ve come back to accuse me of something else ridiculous like knocking Paige out and are going to haul me into the station again, we really don’t have anything else to say to each other.”

  “I’m just trying to make sense of all this. Of me, what I’m feeling.” His gaze met hers. “Of us? When I held you, I . . .” He slumped back against the doorframe.

  His gaze locked with hers, but instead of feeling what she would once have felt, that shiver of excitement about being captured in his deep brown eyes, she only saw a haunted expression of a man she no longer knew.

  He must have sensed their distance, too, and picked up on the fact that unless what he had to say was related to the investigation. The look in her eyes told him this wasn’t the time or place. She was in no mood for it. His gaze darted away from hers, and his body stiffened. “What are you doing there?” He scanned over what she had written. “Addie, I already told you, you can’t get involved in this investigation. You’re the prime suspect, and all the evidence points to you.”

  “I think I already blew a few holes in that evidence you so smugly thought you had. Tell me, is it your ‘off-duty’ FBI agent girlfriend who’s calling the shots?” Her fingers hooked air quotes. “From how she’s conducting herself, I’d say she’s trying to smear my name instead of finding out who’s really behind what happened.”

  “Why would she do something like that?” Marc pierced her with a glare. “She’s as professional as they come. I’ve allowed her to become involved because she offers a new perspective on investigations from her experience working with the FBI. She’s been very valuable in pointing out some areas we should take a closer look at.”

  Addie crossed her arms over her chest. “She missed the lack of footprint evidence in the soft soil under the window.”

  The tips of Marc’s ears turned cherry red.

  “Plus,” she said, waving her hand at the board, “if you look at this with a logical eye and not an emotional one, it’s clear that someone has gone to a lot of trouble to make it look like I am the thief. A position she appears far too ready to embrace, for whatever reason.” She leaned across the desk, her eyes fixed on his. “I’d say she’s too emotionally involved with this case because she’s emotionally involved with you. This is the perfect way for her to squash any feelings you might still have for me that could cause you to second-guess your commitment to her.”

  “Addie!”

  “Think about it. She knows you’re dedicated to your law enforcement career, and by accusing me of theft and possibly murder, it’s a heck of a way to make sure you wouldn’t have any temptation or thoughts about trying to make things work between us again.”

  Marc’s gaze dropped. His fingers slid across the brim of his cap. “Is there a chance that could ever happen?” he asked, looking up, his eyes searching hers.

  “Look, Marc, part of the problem with us was that as long as I played by your rule book, we were good, but as soon as I didn’t, you had an issue with it and could turn downright nasty, like now. You could never handle the thought that I might have a few rules of my own, and they may not be your idea of protocol but they did get results, didn’t they?” Her eyes flashed. “So that’s exactly what I’m going to do here, with all this.” She waved her hand toward the board. “I think we both knew deep down that it would never work out between us in the long run. We wanted different things in life. And here we are now, and it looks like we both ended up getting what we wanted, just not together.”

  “You’re right.”

  “Yup, and Ryley seems perfect for you.”

  “She is,” he said, squaring his shoulders, “and I’m hoping you and I can move past what happened between us and at least go back to being friends.”

  “Friends?” She snorted. “I wanted that, too, but then you arrested me for theft and possible murder. Not to mention the horrible way you’ve treated me through all this. And now . . .” She shouldn’t have enjoyed Marc’s flinching jaw as much as she did. “I don’t know, maybe we will be friends again in the distant future. Until that frosty day comes, I first have to prove to you that the evidence you think you have against me actually leads to the real thief and killer.”

  “As your friend, I’ll tell you again: Stay out of this—more than ever before because you are the suspect right now.”

  “Then I have nothing to lose, and it makes it more imperative that I do a little digging on my own.”

  “I think I’d better leave now because I really don’t want to have to cuff you again, and if I stay any longer and you say much more, then I’ll have to.” Marc spun around and thumped into Simon’s chest. Marc’s head ticked in a curt nod as he pushed past him.

  Chapter 20

  “What was that all about?” Simon studied Addie’s heat-reddened face.

  “Never mind him. Did you see Paige? How is she?”

  “I’m off this weekend so I didn’t go into the hospital after we got back. But as soon as I got your text, I went in to see what was going on.”

  “And?”

  “She’s awake. It appears she has a mild concussion and a small contusion on the back of her head. Other than that, there are no injuries but Dr. Phelps wants to keep her overnight for observation.” He glanced into the front of the sales floor as an officer strode past the door. “When I was there,” his said, voice dropping, “Ryley came in to take her statement.”

  “Did you hear any of it?”

  “Yeah, and it doesn’t make much sense. Her head injury might be more severe than Phelps thought, so I’m glad they’re keeping her in a bit longer.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She said she was dusting bookshelves and was keeping her ears open for the door chimes because she didn’t want to get startled by any customers who might come in. She swears she never heard anything, and then out of the corner of her eye, the books along the wall shelves started flying off in every direction. She said it was like something out of the movie Poltergeist, and when she started to turn around to investigate, all she saw was a dark blur. Her head exploded with a sharp pain, and then everything went black.”

  “Wow.” Addie paced back and forth in front to the blackboard. “This isn’t the first time the books in that aisle have been found on the floor, but definitely the first time Paige saw it happening.”

  “What do you mean this isn’t the first time?”

  Addie filled Simon in on the tossed books on the floor that morning before she headed off to the sale.

  “And you have no idea how it happened then?”

  “I thought maybe a truck went by. The building’s so old it shook the books off the shelves, but”—she shrugged—“who knows now.
” Her thoughts replayed finding Paige’s body limp on the floor, covered in books.

  “That’s a good theory, though.”

  “Yeah, the first time it happened, but this time? It seems something else is at play.”

  “Do the police have any theories?”

  “Just that maybe it was an attempted robbery, except nothing was stolen.”

  “Interesting.” Simon rubbed his jaw. “Anyway, what was that whole scene with Marc all about?”

  “I basically told him that I was tired of everything happening to me and, of course, pointed out how despicably he’s been treating me since he came back. I also made it clear, I think, that from now on I was going to start making thing happen on my terms, not his or hers!” She picked up a piece of chalk and underlined Ryley Brookes. “Proving my innocence is number one.”

  “You really don’t think she’s a person of interest, do you?”

  “Yes, I do. The more stuff that keeps happening to me, the more I’m thinking I was set up, and she has the strongest motive for that.”

  “You’re not being realistic. Why on earth would an FBI agent set you up?”

  “Because there’s something fishy going on with her, and she seems to be the one pushing my guilt.”

  “She is that. When I presented the sleep app to the DA, she tried to poke holes in all the cyber evidence I provided. She tried to tell the DA that someone else could have been wearing your watch while you were performing the thefts. I pointed out that the heart rate would have changed. Good thing this particular model stores a record, and I could show him how that night’s heart rate was consistent with the three weeks preceding.”

  “Why is she so bent on me being the thief?”

  “Did you know she was with the cyber security department of the FBI?”

  “No. Isn’t she still?”

  “What I could gather, from overhearing snippets of their conversation from the backseat, is she was transferred to teach at Quantico. That’s how she and Marc met.”

  “Did she say anything about being on a leave of absence?”

  “No, but there were a few unfinished sentences and some glances between the two of them today.”

  “What kind of glances?”

  “I don’t know. Does it matter?”

  “Just wondering. I’m trying to figure out their relationship.”

  “Do you really care about it?”

  “No, I don’t care. Whatever it was that he and I had is over.” She gazed into Simon’s eyes and forced her heart back into her chest. He was her person, him and Serena, the two people in the world who actually got her. “Did the DA give you any indication of which way he was leaning after you presented him with my alibi?”

  If Simon noticed the change of subject, he didn’t show it. Perhaps he was just as relieved as she was not to talk about Marc anymore. “Not really, but my gut says he was going to look into it deeper. All we can do is wait now and see what he decides.”

  “I can’t wait anymore. So far this week that’s all I’ve done, and I can’t help but think that this attack on Paige was a warning.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “All the books that were on the floor that covered her were ghost story books or books about the supernatural. Someone is really trying to make this look like a paranormal event.”

  “Especially given that Paige didn’t hear or see anyone behind her when the books started to fly around.”

  “Yeah.” She pressed her lips tight. “But I just can’t see how they could have pulled it off, though. The police didn’t find any strings running along behind the books. You know, something someone could have planted earlier that they could tug on to make the books fly off, and I can’t figure out another way it could have worked.”

  “The culprit might have taken any trace of the threads or other props they used when they left?”

  “You’re right.” She shook herself. “But regardless of how this was staged, my gut tells me it was a warning sent to scare me off.”

  “Scare you off of what? So far you haven’t done anything except get arrested for robbery and spend the night in jail.”

  “I know. That’s why it doesn’t make sense. Tonight was the first time I’ve even written any of the clues on the board, so it’s not like someone has seen them and got scared because I’m on to something.”

  “But you did have names on there before.”

  Addie blew out a deep breath. “You’re right.”

  “Do you think Paige’s attack and the book thefts are related?”

  “My instincts tell me they are, just like they tell me Charlotte was murdered and didn’t coincidentally die.”

  “Addie, I still haven’t completed the autopsy, but what I have so far shows no indications of any cause of death other than what I reported to Marc. It appears to have been a heart attack.”

  “Okay, then what can cause a heart attack?”

  “Poor lifestyle choices, hereditary factors, illness, disease. There’s a number of factors that can contribute to heart failure.”

  “Poison?”

  “Yes, but I haven’t found any indication of that.”

  “On the upside that means at least one of Ryley’s theories about me giving Charlotte some tainted tea was wrong.”

  “The woman died, and someone took advantage of her death to steal the books. That’s what happened.”

  “Okay, Sherlock, then how did they get into the library and achieve that?”

  His face went ashen.

  “Exactly. We need to get back into that house without Jerry hanging over my shoulder.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Nothing, come on. It sounds like the police are finishing up out front. We need to take a drive.”

  Addie locked the front door after the last officer left and hopped into Simon’s Tesla Sport Coupe. He drove to the corner, turned right up Main, and then a few blocks down he turned left on the winding street toward Hill Road House.

  Addie glanced at the dashboard clock. She was pleased to see that it was past six. That meant the yard sale had been over for a couple of hours and shoppers would be long gone. Simon pulled into a space in front of the main gate. They started up the sidewalk but stopped midway under a bough of the old maple tree when the front door burst open. Blake appeared, his hands clenching the shirt collar of a short, balding man.

  “I told you to stay away from here!” Blake hauled him out onto the porch and shouted mere inches from the man’s flustered face. “You’ve caused enough trouble for all of us lately!”

  “She was my sister, and that means I now have the legal right to the money you still owe for the work she did.” The man poked his finger into Blake’s chest.

  “Exactly. The work she did. Remember that and get out of here. I already told you that the firm will receive what’s owed to them after the private bidders’ auction is completed.”

  “But that’s not for weeks, and I . . . we have bills to cover.”

  “Your gambling debts aren’t my problem, and they should never have been Charlotte’s, either.” Blake shoved the man and he tumbled, arms flailing, down the stairs.

  The bald man sprung to his feet, brushed off his beige trousers, and pointed at Blake, his finger, thumb and hand mimicking a cocked gun. A sardonic chuckle rumbled in his chest.

  Blake’s eyes smoldered black as he planted his left foot on the top step and pointed his own finger at the man. Addie winced at the transformation in the character of her old family friend. This threatening side of Blake was one she’d never seen before. “Get out of here now and consider yourself lucky that Robert called you a taxi and not the police after that scene you created with him in the library.”

  “Go ahead, call the police,” the man taunted. “I want to report you and him for stealing my money.” He shook his fist in the air.

  “Your money?” Blake hissed and descended another step. “If I remember correctly, your father still holds the contr
olling shares in the company.”

  “Pfftt!” The man sprayed spittle as he wobbled on unsteady legs. “That old coot. He doesn’t even know what day of the week it is anymore. What do you think he’s going to do?”

  “You’d be surprised at what he does remember. One call from me and—”

  “And what? He’ll disinherit me?” A short humorless laugh erupted from the man.

  “If you know what’s good for you,” Blake hissed between clenched teeth, “you’ll shut your mouth now and get in the taxi. Never come near me or my employees again because then you will find out just how far my reach goes.” He stomped across the porch and into the house, slamming the door behind him.

  The bald man whizzed by Addie, his elbow grazing her ribs, leaving both her and Simon in a wake of lemon gin.

  “Who do you think that is?” Simon watched the man weave an unsteady path down the sidewalk.

  “I think that’s Charlotte’s brother, Duane, and I hope he’s not driving and takes the taxi.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s obviously drunk. Look at him, and he reeked of alcohol.”

  Simon peered around the stone pillar gate post. “Don’t worry. He got in the cab.”

  “Good.” Addie breathed a sigh of relief. “Well, shall we go and see if we can find out what that was all about?”

  Simon tucked her hand in his as they ascended the creaking porch steps. She gave him a sideways glance. His chiseled features never failed to make her heart thump a little stronger, and she smiled to herself. After everything she put him through, she was grateful he’d waited for her to be ready for him, and gave his hand a gentle squeeze as they stepped inside. Thankful he had channeled his inner Rhett Butler to her challenging Scarlett O’Hara last year when she struggled to lay David’s ghost to rest and was torn between him and Marc. Now if he would only do what Rhett couldn’t in the end: be patient a little longer. She was coming to the realization of what he meant to her, just like Scarlett eventually did, but for Scarlett it had come too late. Addie gave his hand another squeeze.

  Chapter 21

  The front entry was a buzz of activity. Staff members appeared and disappeared, carrying antiques and collectables from the front rooms to the back of the house. A young man Addie had met before came down the stairs, carrying a Victorian floor lamp. “Jeff, wait! Are you taking that out to the back for the yard sale tomorrow?”