Design on a Crime

by Ginny Aiken

  "I'm the one who uncovered the subcontractor's rip-off." His voice came out as tight as those muscles. "I pulled the plug on a scam that took in some of the area's major players. They hate to look gullible, so they resent me for naming them as fellow dupes. That kind of thing puts a damper on referrals."

  He could be telling the truth. Then again, this could be the smoke screen he and his lawyer had cooked up. "I reserve the right to doubt you, if you don't mind."

  "That's what the masses in Seattle decided to do."

  I'd hit the nail on the head. He felt he'd been treated unfairly because of what someone else had done. Hmm ... sounded familiar. I could wind up paying for someone else's crime if things didn't go my way.

  "You have a valid point." I resumed my walk toward my car. "But you still haven't said what you were doing at Marge's house."

  He gave me a sideways look. "You still see it as Marge's house?"

  "Of course it's Marge's house. Whose would it be? Steve can't even pay taxes on the place with his teacher's salary."

  "Has it occurred to you that, as Marge's heir, the house will be yours as soon as it clears probate?" Green eyes raked me. "Either you're really, really good, or you're innocent."

  My ears buzzed. I felt dizzy. I swayed, then fought to regain control. I couldn't let him see how he'd affected me. "That house hasn't crossed my mind, not for one single moment. So that makes me really good at what?"

  "At deflecting suspicion."

  "So we're back to your stupid accusation. Maybe it's obsession. I told you once, and I'll tell you again: I didn't kill Marge."

  I didn't know whether his eyes were icy or fiery green, but I did know they gave me the willies.

  He finally said, "You could be telling the truth, but as I said, you could also be a very, very good actress."

  "Okay. This chat's over."

  I ran to my Honda and started it up.

  To my right, Dutch got into a dented blue pickup. Then he just sat, his green eyes boring holes in me. To get away from that stare, I pulled out of my parking spot and into traffic.

  He followed.

  I hurried home. The eau de ripe refuse was getting to me. The thought of a long, sudsy shower exerted a powerful pull. But no matter how fast I drove or how many off-the-wall turns I took, Dutch stuck to my rear bumper like lint to cheap upholstery.

  When I pulled into the driveway, he did the same. His truck blocked the sidewalk. Now I was mad.

  I marched up to the crummy truck. "What do you think you're doing, you lunatic? It's against the law to park your tank in the path of pedestrians. Get it out of here."

  He stepped down from the cab.

  I slammed my fists on my hips, and my backpack purse banged my right knee. "Okay. So why don't you tell me what you really want?"

  "I want you to confess so the cops can lock you up and I can get on with my life."

  I refused to dignify that with an answer. I headed for the porch.

  "You know," he said, "it'd go easier on you if you did confess. I'm sure you could plea-bargain your way out of the death penalty-maybe they'd go for life without parole."

  I didn't pause. But at that point, my lousy luck took another turn downward. A familiar gray streak flew at me and latched on to the hem of my trash-slimed pants. Bali Hai had an unrivaled reputation for dumpster diving. I guess I smelled enough like a dumpster for her to ignore the small differences between a huge metal receptacle and me.

  "Bella!" I hollered. She lived across the street and one house over from the manse. At this time of day, she liked to have a cup of tea in her too-busy living room, and since her windows were wide open, I was pretty sure she could hear me. "Come get your demented cat before I call animal control."

  No matter which way I turned my ankle, the miserable feline hung on for dear life. I was careful not to hurt her, but I also had to look out for my own tender skin.

  I remembered Dutch. "Don't just stand there-do something!"

  Only then did I hear his laugh. Ducky. Just peachy dandy. Every woman should aspire to make a suspicious madman's day more fun.

  "What do you want me to do?" he asked between barks of mirth.

  "You can quit yucking and take this creature off me."

  He laughed some more. "Hey, I told you I have a healthy sense of self-preservation. I'm not messing with that cat. It seems to have found its bliss."

  "Oh dear," Bella cried from across the street. "Bali H'ai, you naughty girl. How'd you get out?"

  She couldn't be serious. "Bella. Your windows are wide open, and half of them don't have screens. What do think a cat's going to do? Just sit there and swish her tail?"

  Bella trotted over. "That's just what she does."

  Bali H'ai wrestled my pant leg. The mega rats at Marge's wouldn't have stood a chance with her. "No way. She goes AWOL all the time. How many times have the neighbors complained about their overturned trash?"

  "That isn't my baby." Bella squatted by my embattled foot. "She's too delicate for such behavior-" She wrinkled her pink nose. "Haley!"

  Yeah, yeah. And Bali H'ai is sensitive. "You were saying? Your cat made a beeline for me the minute she got a whiff of this. And I'm pretty disgusting right about now."

  Dutch howled.

  I glared. "Come on, guys. Have mercy. Not only am I swathed in slop, but I also stink and am sticky, and this cat's ripping my pants."

  Bella backed away, her hand over her nose. "I can't stand the smell. What have you been up to?"

  Dutch smirked. "She went snoo-"

  "I had an accident!" It was rude to interrupt, but Bella didn't need more ideas. "I ... um... tripped over some trash. Now please take the cat so I can clean up. Please."

  Something in my tone must have penetrated Dutch's mirth, because he bent and took hold of Bali H'ai's middle.

  "Haley?" Dad called from the front porch. "Are you okay?"

  Then everything went to the dogs-literally. Midas ran out and spotted Bali H'ai. He barked for the sheer joy of finding a cat on his front lawn. In his opinion, as we'd learned in the past, that made the cat fair game.

  He barreled toward Bali H'ai. The builder got in his way.

  Dutch fell.

  Bali H'ai yowled, puffed up like a soft porcupine, and shot away in a blur of gray.

  I made for the porch. "Come on, Midas."

  Unfortunately, Midas was out for fresh cat. He took off after Bella's monster, his leash trailing in his wake.

  Bali H'ai crossed the street.

  Midas followed.

  A car turned the corner.

  "No!" I screamed, frozen by panic.

  As fast as Bali H'ai had fled, Dutch ran after my dog and planted his big sneakered foot on the leather leash. Midas jerked to a stop inches from the fender.

  Suddenly silence.

  No more cat yowls.

  No more barks.

  No more squealing tires.

  "You seem to have a knack for strange incidents, Ms. Farrell."

  I hadn't noticed Detective Tsu's arrival, but I couldn't miss her now. She stood a mere ten feet away.

  I sighed. "And you're here to make this one even more so, right?"

  "That depends on your answer to my question."

  "Hmm ... was I clairvoyant or what?"

  Her perfectly curved eyebrow rose. "About ... ?"

  "I predicted you'd have more questions for me, didn't I?"

  "It's my job, and I'm good at it."

  I dropped my backpack purse, crossed my arms, and came near. I chuckled when she tried not to grimace. My horrific stench struck again. Maybe it would shorten the inquisition. "Ask away."

  "Here?" She looked from Dad to Dutch, who held Midas's leash and with his free hand scratched a doggy ear, and then to Bella.

  I shrugged. "I told you I'm innocent. I have nothing to hide."

  The detective unzipped her fancy handbag and pulled out her notebook and silver pen. "Where would Marge Norwalk's Rolodex be?"

  Marge's busine
ss relied on the industrial-sized address thingy. "Last I saw it, it sat on her desk at the warehouse. Is it missing?"

  "My question makes that quite clear."

  "Well, I don't know where else it could be."

  "Did you take it?"

  "Why would I?"

  "Because you might want to cull potential clients."

  "I wouldn't need to take the thing. Marge had begun to refer me."

  Detective Tsu tapped the notebook with her pen. "Any idea who else might have an interest in those addresses?"

  "Not really, but I suppose a rival auctioneer might want to lure her regulars."

  "That's always possible."

  "I assume you think it has something to do with the murder."

  "The timing's certainly interesting."

  "Are you sure it disappeared after Marge died?"

  "According to Mr. Krieger, it was there the day of the sale. Two days later when he went to contact absentee bidders, it was gone."

  Ozzie. Again. I took a step closer. "Has it occurred to you, while you try to pin a murder on me I didn't commit, that Ozzie could be the killer?"

  The detective drew in a sharp breath and wrinkled her nose.

  She said, "I'm not trying to pin anything on you, and I'm a thorough investigator. I follow every lead. Unfortunately, the evidence leads back to you."

  "Then get busy and find new leads. You're wrong about me."

  "I'll do what I have to do. When I'm done, I'll have the killer."

  "Again," I insisted, "you should look at people who might have wanted Marge dead. Like her husband and Ozzie Krieger." And Noreen, but I wasn't ready to tell Ms. Tsu that just yet.

  "We've checked on them, and I can assure you, we were thorough. We now need the Rolodex. If you should remember seeing it elsewhere ..." Her eyes did that laser thing of hers. I didn't squirm.

  She went on. "If you remember anything, don't hesitate to call."

  Who would? "If I find anything that'll prove you wrong, believe me, I won't wait to tell you who, what, when, where, why, and how."

  Like the last time, her laughter surprised me. "I'll just bet you won't, Ms. Farrell. Have a good afternoon." She followed her words with a look that swept me head to toe. "You might want to do something about the salad. It makes a fashion statement, but it's not you."

  Against my better judgment, I laughed. "You know? Maybe Tyler was right. You might not be so bad after all."

  The detective smiled. She stowed her notebook and pen in her bag, then paused to rub Midas behind his right ear. The turncoat dropped and rolled onto his back. She knelt at his side, tickled his belly, and chuckled when his rear left leg waved rhythmically.

  "I should get a new dog," she said when she stood. "Please let me know if you hear of pups from his stock. He's a great guy„

  I watched her drive away, not sure what to make of the enigmatic detective. Was she investigating as thoroughly as she said? Or was she doing the rush-to-judgment thing the media said happened so much?

  I didn't have long to ponder the question. Dutch held out Midas's leash. "He is a great dog. Even though his owner leaves something to be desired in the law-abiding department."

  "Hey! I'm innocent until proven guilty, and I won't beproven guilty, that is-because I didn't kill Marge."

  "The lead detective seems pretty suspicious."

  What was it with these people and their knifelike stares? I turned away. "How do I know you're not accusing me because, for some pea-brained reason, you decided to kill Marge?"

  "Give me a break. I didn't even know the woman. Besides, I need that money-pit house to sell-to Noreen, in particular. Now I'm stuck waiting until the cops let the sale go ahead. I'm the last guy who'd want to kill the auctioneer."

  Dad had obviously had enough. "I normally espouse hospitality, but I have to ask you to leave. You have no idea how absurd your accusation is. My daughter loved Marge like a mother, and she would never have harmed her. Now, Haley needs a bath-"

  "She does," Dutch said. 'And I'll leave, but I have a stake in this investigation. I'm not about to let anyone ruin my chance to get back on my feet. Not your daughter nor anyone else."

  "I heard your first threat," I muttered on my way to the porch. "You didn't scare me then, and you don't scare me now. I have nothing to worry about."

  Sure, I didn't. I wouldn't be the first innocent to wind up in jail. But I wasn't going to give an inch. Not to him.

  I'd talk to Steve tomorrow, Noreen or no Noreen.

  I arrived at the ritzy Carleton-Higgins Academy at 11:50. Summer school ran only in the morning, as I'd learned when I'd phoned the school's office under false pretenses earlier that morning. Sort of. I did want to deliver something, a bunch of questions to a guy who now made my stomach turn.

  Steve had been cheating on Marge, and with Noreen, no less. The entire sexual scenario made me sick, and I knew it'd be hard to face the man who'd treated my mentor so shabbily.

  What about Noreen? Was she involved with Dutch too? How could I work for her now that I knew what she'd been up to behind Marge's back? What she-the other woman-might have done to Steve's wife.

  But I couldn't think about that yet. I had to focus. I had to find out if Steve had really been out of town the day Marge died. I had to find out how badly Steve had wanted Noreen ... enough to kill?

  When kids spilled out the sleek glass doors of the expensive school building, I stepped out of my car and stood in the shade of a tall tree. I wasn't known for my patience, but this mattered. It mattered a lot, so I made myself wait until the suave blond that Marge had married two years ago, to all her friends' shock, came out.

  "Steve!"

  He turned. "Haley. I'm surprised to see you. Did you need me?"

  I saw him differently now. Yes, he was GQ handsome, but almost too much so. He styled his hair to perfection-a strike against him in the eyes of someone with imperfect hair. I shoved a wild bunch behind my ear.

  Something about the expensive summer-weight wool pants and the silk shirt also bothered me. I'd never caught on to his extravagance before.

  I shifted my weight. "I've some questions for you."

  His expression changed. "I don't have to answer."

  "You might want to answer mine before they become the police's."

  "What? You're playing cops and robbers now?"

  "I'm trying to save my skin. The lead detective has me in her crosshairs, and I don't particularly want to go to jail."

  "If you did the crime, you'll just have to do the time ... or something like that."

  "Give me a break, Steve. You know I had nothing to do with Marge's death." Okay. Courage, please. With the help of some of Tyler's techniques, I focused. "The philandering husband might have a good reason to knock off his wife."

  He hadn't expected that. With a look over his left shoulder, he took a step back. "I didn't kill Marge."

  "I didn't either, so knock off the stupid blame game. Did Marge, your wife, crimp your style with Noreen? Was she in the way?"

  "That's stupid, and I don't have to answer."

  "You might want the practice. I'm sure the cops'll ask some of the same things." I took a deep breath. "Did you want Noreen more than Marge?"

  "Look, I married Marge. That should count for something."

  "Ah ... counting does come in handy when money's involved, doesn't it? So you decided you wanted Noreen but didn't want to give up Marge's money to marry her."

  Steve laughed. "I don't want to marry Noreen. I'm not that crazy. Pity the man who ties himself up to that shark."

  He got sleazier by the minute. "Then where were you the day of the auction?"

  "At a conference in Detroit. A teacher's conference."

  "Can you prove it?"

  He smirked. "I have an airline ticket, hotel receipt, and registration materials-"

  "Woo-hoo!" a rusty-haired kid called from behind Steve's right. "Mr. Norwalk's got another harem babe. Kissy, kissy, kissy!"

  A sneer did
nothing for Steve's looks. "Robert, that's awfully rude. This is a friend of my late wife. Please apologize."

  "Why? Class's out, and she's just one more of your women."

  Robert looked to be about fourteen and a rotten deal. But what he said caught my attention. "Is Mr. Norwalk a favorite with the ladies, then?"

  "No joke." He ticked off fingers-and ticked off his teacher too. "There's Miss Collins from the English department, and Sienna's mom-she's divorced now-plus, he married the older one." He shot Steve a malevolent leer. "There's the one with the blue eyes, the Jag, and the killer bod, and now you. That's five I know of. Betcha he's got more."

  I watched Steve. "Interesting ..."

  He practically spewed steam. "Nonsense. Robert just flunked his geometry test." He turned to the teen. "This won't change your grade. It'd be better if you applied your mind to your homework and studied for the next test. Don't waste time on tall tales."

  Robert shrugged. "I know what I see."

  "And what would that be?" asked a gentleman in a gray suit.

  Robert gulped. "Mr. Hobart ... I didn't see you there. I A...

  "Go on, Robert. I'd like to hear what you have to say."

  The venom in Steve's gaze made me gasp. Who was Mr. Hobart?

  "Well, sir," Robert said, "it's just that every time I turn around, Mr. Norwalk's got another of his women hanging around. He's a big-time player, ya know?"

  I winced. My opinion of Steve had taken a dive when I'd seen him with Noreen the previous afternoon, but this was embarrassing. Sympathy rose in me-just a little. He was reaping what he'd sown.

  "I ... see ..." Mr. Hobart turned to me. "Let me introduce myself. I'm Edward Hobart, headmaster here at the CarletonHiggins Academy. And unfortunately for you, I know who you are, Ms. Farrell. Your picture's been in the paper a time or two these last few days."

  I grimaced. "Notoriety's a bear."

  "I would imagine." He turned to Robert. "You'd better hurry. Your sister's waiting, and I know she starts work at one."

  Robert took off, a gangly mess of arms, legs, and floppy red hair. Before I could think of a thing to say, Mr. Hobart went on.

  "I'm going to have to say good-bye, Ms. Farrell. I need to see Mr. Norwalk in my office."

  That fast, I took over Robert's place as the target at which my mentor's widower shot visual darts of hate.