by Ginny Aiken
Not if I could help it. "They have no evidence, no proof, because there is none. I didn't do it."
I took a long shuddering breath, which didn't calm me one bit, but at least my lungs felt as though they might make it another minute or five. "I do need to talk to your father, so please give him the message."
He laughed-not with humor either.
I didn't want to hear another word. "Better yet. Forget I asked. I'll find Ozzie on my own."
Just like I'd have to find Marge's killer.
"Good riddance," Hugh said. "And don't let the door hit ya on the way out."
I didn't look back.
My trusty Honda started right up, thank goodness, and I pulled away, my hands trembling so hard I had trouble holding on to the steering wheel. Funny how one mean-spirited jerk could ruin your day.
Had his father ruined my life?
As I drove away, I didn't know whether to cry or get mad. It didn't look as though I'd solve the puzzle of Marge's mur der any time soon, and since both crying and getting mad wasted too much energy, I did neither. I was going to need every ounce of oomph I could beg, borrow, or steal. Well, with all the suspicion coming my way, this wasn't a good time for me to steal anything, not even a nap.
But that was what I wanted. I craved my bed, my down comforter, my dog at my feet, the horror far, far away.
Too bad I'm a grown-up.
That thought flew out the window the moment I pulled into the parking lot at Norwalk's Auction House and saw Dutch drive up from the opposite direction. Why was he here? I wanted him gone. I wanted to yell, bicker, stomp my foot, throw a tantrum. I didn't; I controlled myself. Barely.
We got out of our steel steeds at the same time.
"What are you doing here-"
"What do you think you're doing-"
We stood with legs shoulder-width apart, fists on hips, glaring, disgusted, and not about to budge an inch.
He blinked-figuratively speaking, that is. He rolled his green eyes, then muttered, "You first."
"Okay. What are you doing here?"
"That wasn't what I meant, and you know it. You tell me what the big idea is. What do you think you'll accomplish here?"
I gave him a smug smile. "Probably the same thing you do."
"I doubt it."
"So why are you here? At least I've helped Marge in the warehouse more times than I can count. And she trusted me enough to leave me the stupid place."
"You know, that smart mouth of yours is probably going to land you in jail faster than any evidence that might show up.
"True, I can talk myself into more trouble than it's worth, but you still haven't told me why you came out here." When he crossed his arms, and his expression grew even more mulish, I figured I'd-again-have to be a grown-up.
"Fine. I'll tell you why I'm here. It's no big deal. I have to talk to Ozzie Krieger, Marge's assistant."
Surprise wiped the stubbornness off his face. "You're still playing Jessica Fletcher Jr. after the disaster at Noreen's?"
"I'm not playing. I came to talk to Ozzie. Is there a law against that?"
"No, but there're plenty against interfering with an ongoing police investigation. And you're doing just that."
Something in my makeup, probably the pastor's kid gene, wouldn't let me lie. "I'm not interfering. I just don't see why I should let someone frame me for killing a woman I love and miss more each day."
"Let the police do their job. Who knows how much evidence is being destroyed just because you've alerted someone. That is, if you're telling the truth and didn't kill the woman."
"I just told you I didn't kill Marge." I'd had enough of the suspicion. I wasn't going to play the game. "Look, Dutch Merrill, I've a question for you. And it's about something I've observed."
"Go ahead. At least I won't kill you if you ask another dumb question. I have nothing to gain by losing you."
"That's what you say. But you're awfully hot on having me locked up. I wonder why. Did you kill Marge for some weird reason? Is that why you want to pin this on me?"
He dared to laugh. "You know I didn't kill Marge Norwalk. But I'll tell you what. From where I'm standing, you look pretty suspicious. Not only are you totally paranoid, but there's good reason to think you-"
"Haley didn't kill Marge."
We both turned. "Ozzie! I'm so glad to see you. And thanks for telling this wacko the truth."
Ozzie shrugged. "I don't know who killed Marge, but I'm sure it wasn't you."
Dutch took a step forward. "How do you know that?"
The look Ozzie sent me had a truckload of apology in it. "Because, Mr. Merrill, whoever murdered my employer was not only homicidal but also furtive, devoid of conscience, and secretive. Haley Farrell can't keep her mouth shut even if someone staples it for her."
I gaped.
Dutch laughed-again.
Ozzie wrung his hands.
I wanted to scream, but that adult thing held me back. Would Ozzie's less than rousing endorsement stand up in court? After all, he'd exculpated me by insult.
What was up with that?
Ozzie's pronouncement seemed to convince Dutch that we were both shy of a load of travertine marble tile. He went to his ratty truck with little more to add than a nasty, "Hope I don't trip over you next place I go."
"Not very polite, huh?"
"Few care for the niceties anymore, Miss Farrell." He looked just like a merry basset hound.
Even while happy, glum.
I was going to have to take the reins in our little chat, but I wasn't sure how to go about it, since I'd been such a smashing success with Noreen and Hugh.
'Ah ... how about we go inside?" Marge's electric teakettle and espresso machine would give us something to do. Ozzie was a tea aficionado, and Marge had always kept a cartload of choices, both exotic and mundane, at hand. Starbucks, of course, was a staple.
"Very well, miss." He took a key from his pocket and led the way in. But then he tripped.
I followed and sprawled all over the poor man.
"Whtw ohvr mrphw!" he mumbled.
"What did you say?"
"Ufh twdtwu dho whtw ohvr mrphw!"
After a mental checkup of limbs and other stray body parts-they worked-I began to extricate myself from the awkward position. Ozzie didn't help with all the squirming and wriggling he did to try to ditch me off.
"Give me a minute. I'm trying to put my feet on the floor rather than on you." You'd think he'd realize I was looking out for him.
The moment I eased off, Ozzie lurched up. "Why is this steamer trunk in the middle of the hallway? I certainly didn't leave it here this morning when I retrieved an initial-contact information packet for our new clients."
Had my intuition suddenly mushroomed, or was it that obvious that something was rotten in the state of Denmark?
"Why don't you turn on the light?" I asked.
"I tried, Miss Farrell. The switch did not work."
Uh-oh. No power. A trunk in the middle of the hall. Dutch in the vicinity when I got here.
"Do you think someone-"
"Call the authorities, Miss Farrell." Ozzie's voice squeaked, and fear was on his face. "Someone has ransacked the office."
My instincts were getting better.
"I'll get my cell phone. I left it in the car when that slug of a contractor showed up." And like him, it might be gone by now.
But no. It was hiding, as usual, in the farthest reaches of my limitless backpack purse. It took me only seven minutes and fifty-three seconds to snatch it up this time. I shaved four seconds off my previous record.
The dispatcher answered right away. "This is Haley Farrell," I said, "and I'm at Norwalk's Auction House, and someone broke in here, and there's no power, and there's an antique-it is antique isn't it?"
Ozzie nodded from the doorway, his expression more mournful than before.
I returned to the dispatcher squawking in my ear. "Hang on! I haven't told you everything. There's this antique
trunk in the middle of the hall, and Ozzie says it wasn't here when he came by earlier-that was today, wasn't it?"
This nod looked like a woe sundae with a frown on top.
"Yeah, the trunk wasn't in the middle of the hall earlier today. You'd better send someone out here to investigate pretty quick."
Dead silence.
By now I was shivering so hard I almost dropped the phone. "Hey! Are you there? Where'd you go?"
"Are you done babbling?"
"I wasn't babbling. I just wanted to give you all the information."
"Look, lady, how about if you zip it up and let me ask you a couple of questions?"
"Fine." So much for trying to be helpful and thorough. "What do you want to know?"
"To begin with, who are you?"
Nausea hit. "I told you already. I'm Haley Farrell, who're you?"
The guy groaned, and I realized he sounded familiar. "Chris? Christopher Thomas? Is that you?"
"Yes, Haley," my former classmate answered. "It's me. Now how about we do this the right way?"
"Just get someone over here, Chris, would you please? You'd think that just the mention of Marge's name would get some action. She was murdered, you know."
I thought I heard him count to ten. "Yes, Haley, I know Mrs. Norwalk was murdered. And if you'd shut up long enough, I bet you'd hear the siren. Now, are you going to let me do my job?"
He was right. A siren wailed closer and closer. Relief made me shake even more, so I sagged against my Honda, and let the tremors win. "Uh ... Chris? Do you think I could tell whoever's on their way that stuff you want to know? I feel sorta queasy."
"You still throw up when you get scared?"
The memory of a mammoth spider in my sixth-grade desk didn't help. "Yes, Christopher Dylan Thomas, I still get queasy when I'm nervous, but I don't throw up anymore. And since talking to you does nothing for my stomach, I'll talk to whoever's here."
I closed my clamshell phone with a click.
An unmarked, plain-vanilla sedan pulled in.
I looked over and groaned. I wasn't getting any breaks.
"Hello, Detective Tsu. Sorry to take you away from your desk."
The elegant woman gave me her by now familiar emotionless look. "It's my job."
I was pretty tired of hearing her boast about her job.
A cruiser arrived. I directed the three cops to the door that led to the office side. Ozzie was in the bowels of the building.
Then it dawned on me. He could've trashed all kinds of evidence while I babbled at Chris. 'Ah ... Ms. Tsu?"
"Yes?"
"Mr. Krieger stayed inside while I came out here to report the break-in. I ... ah ... wasn't with him all this time, and maybe ... well ... he could've-"
"I understand." She strode into the building, her steps surprisingly long for such a petite woman. I felt like a clodhopper giraffe lolloping along in her wake.
After Ozzie and I answered another multitude of questions, the officers pulled out the most impressive kits. They sprinkled black powder over everything, then shone ultraviolet lights on their anything-but-fairy dust. Wherever they found a print, they covered it with what looked like industrialstrength tape, and stored the mess in plastic zipper bags.
I'd only seen this on TV.
Too bad I had such a stake in the investigation. I would have loved to ask these guys all kinds of questions. And even though questions were on today's menu, the only one who got to ask was Detective Tsu.
"And Mr. Merrill drove up at the same time you did. Is that right Ms. Farrell?"
I'd only told her that eleven times. "Yes."
"Could he have been watching for someone to come so that it might appear as if he'd just arrived?"
I grinned. "I like the way you think. The possibility did cross my mind."
"Did you notice anything unusual about him?"
"He is unusual. But if you mean did he have dust all over him or was there a cobweb hanging from his nose, then no. He was no more unusual today than yesterday or the day before."
The graceful eyebrow rose. "You're seeing him?"
"Not like you mean."
"What do you think I mean?"
"Well, I'm not dating the guy, that's for sure. I wouldn't want to." For many reasons, too many to tell the amused Ms. Tsu. "I mean, he's been following me. He has this moronic idea that I killed Marge and sooner or later he's going to catch me doing something that'll give him the clue to break the case."
"Moronic, you say?"
"That's what I said. So if the shoe fits the idea, then I guess you can put it on the police's favorite theory too."
The detective chuckled. "You have a way with words."
I bit down on my tongue before it got me in more trouble. Then, when I was sure I wouldn't say anything for which she'd lock me up, I asked, "Anything else?"
Ms. Tsu ran a neatly trimmed, rose-polished nail down the current page on her little notebook. "I don't think so, but you know the drill."
"Sure. You're going to show up when I least expect you with another load of questions-or maybe even the same ones, just worded differently."
This time she smiled. "I'm glad to see we understand each other, Ms. Farrell. Tyler said you were sharp. Glad to see he wasn't too far off the mark."
What was that supposed to mean? But after a comment or two in my recent past about my mouth and its talent for trouble, I just smiled back.
I followed the detective outside. She unlocked her boring car, tossed her elegant black bag onto the passenger seat, and looked up at me. "You know, Ms. Farrell. I don't believe in coincidences."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means," she said, her face expressionless again, "that too many laws have been broken with regards to Marge Norwalk. What's even more curious is that you're a prominent figure in each incident."
"Just because I was at the auction doesn't mean anything. There were 567 other people there too. And if you'll notice, the moment I realized this place was vandalized, I called you guys."
"True. But you have been present both times."
"Do you know where you are? Have you taken a look around you?" I waved toward the surrounding structures. "This isn't your most exclusive neighborhood, you know. Anyone could've broken in."
She glanced at the building next door whose windows were either missing or boarded up. "Come on, Ms. Farrell-"
"Look. You may as well call me Haley, since you're obviously going to be around a whole lot."
"Very well. But you don't really believe some random homeless person broke into the warehouse, do you, Haley?"
I sighed. "No. But it's crazy for you to think I had anything to do with it."
"As I said, I don't believe in coincidences. You were at the auction and found the deceased. You inherited her estate instead of her husband. You were reported as vandalizing a garbage can at the Norwalk residence-"
"I didn't vandalize the trash! Two of the biggest rats on earth were having themselves a feast. They're the ones that ..."
I'd walked right into her trap. "Okay, fine. I went to talk to Steve, but when I got there I ... er ... um ... found myself in a ... a ... predicament."
"So I hear." She chuckled. "That must be why the cat tackled you."
"You didn't see that. You arrived after Bali H'ai ran off-"
"Tell me you didn't name your cat Bali H'ai."
"That monster's not mine! She's Bella's, the neighbor across the street. Besides, you weren't there when it happened."
"The cat's not important, Haley. I went to your home because I'd received a call about your exploits in the garbage shed. I saw an interesting scenario and pulled over to watch. I saw the cat go for you."
"Not one of my finer moments, I'll admit."
"I knew that." She shook her head. "But I also heard you've harassed Noreen Daventry and Hugh Krieger since the garbage incident."
I went to object, but she held me off with an upraised slender finger. "Hear me out, please. Now
I respond to a call about a break-in, and I find you in the thick of it. You must admit, I have good reason for my suspicion."
"If that's the best you can do to try to pin this on me, then I hope you haven't missed the boat with Dutch Merrill."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, unless you're pretending ignorance, I'm sure you've noticed he's been right behind me every one of those times. Except maybe at the slimy lawyer's office and on Marge's will. But every other time you mentioned, Dutch was there."
„And...?"
"And unless he was doing it for the sole purpose of driving me stark raving mad, then maybe there's a good reason why he showed up at all those suspicious events. Suspicious to you, that is."
"I don't see why you would suspect Mr. Merrill."
"Then you should also not see any reason to suspect me, if your logic's going to hold water." I had a thought. "Have you fingerprinted Dutch? I wonder if you'd hit a match with what you guys got here today."
She sat behind the wheel and slammed the door shut. "I have fingerprinted Mr. Merrill, but I hadn't thought to see if any of today's prints match his. I don't see that he had any motive for killing Marge Norwalk, much less the opportunity to do so. He and Noreen, together with about nine other auction-goers, alibi each other quite well."
I smiled in triumph. "Guess what? I sat with them the entire morning. So that clears me too. Go follow someone else, please. Let me get my business and my life on track."
The car purred to life. "I'm sorry, Haley, but you don't have an alibi for the most crucial time. The people you mentioned saw you get up moments after Marge left the room. They can't place you again until they ran to the scene of the crime. That's where everyone agrees they saw you next."
As surely as it had happened to me years before, my throat closed, this time from fear of what might be, whereas that time it had from the reality of what was. Once again, someone held all the power. Once again, I was a victim.
I had barely lived through the first attack; I didn't know if I would survive the second.
"You don't have to stay and clean up this mess, Miss Farrell," Ozzie said. "I can certainly do it myself."
Sure, and in the meantime, pitch anything incriminating. "That's fine, Ozzie. Since it looks as though I'll have to deal with all of this one day, I'd just as soon get started now."