Fanny turned from the sink. “I was just telling Shelby I have no idea how to use that thing. Computers scare me.”
“That’s not a computer. That’s a…” Blake broke off as he realized she wasn’t listening anyway.
Fanny set the pot on the stove and came through the doorway waving an arm toward the front of the house. “That light out there is harmful to the habitat of my nocturnal friends. I try to coexist with the wildlife around my home. My whole life has been about leaving the smallest footprint on nature I can, so the generations to come will be able to enjoy it as fully as I have.”
“Don’t worry, Fanny. Things will be back to normal soon.”
Fanny directed Blake into the one cushioned chair. “Let me go fetch the stool so I can watch you catch Madeline’s murderer.”
Blake looked at Shelby and raised his brows. “Does she know something we don’t?”
“You told her this would help catch the killer. I guess she’s expecting fast results.”
Once Fanny was perched on her stool, they all three crowded around the screen to watch. Shelby pressed play and the little television screen fluttered to life. There was no sound and overall it was pretty boring. She fast-forwarded to the bits of action. A few seconds of a deer nibbling tall grass in the yard. Two minutes of Fanny situating her cat Ginger into the basket on her bicycle, and riding off down the street. And a quick frame showing a teenage boy on a skateboard.
Fanny pointed. “That’s him. The horrible little creature that shot Madeline’s mother.” She shuddered, her double chin quivering with disgust.
Blake reached out and paused the video, taking a good look at the kid. “What’s his name?”
“Culver Simon. He lives with his father down the street. The house with the Christmas lights still up.”
“Since last Christmas?” Shelby asked.
She shook her head, lips turned down. “Since three Christmas’s ago. Right after they moved in. I think Mr. Simon was newly divorced. But that’s no excuse for letting his son terrorize the community. I caught Culver carving dirty words into the trunk of one of my favorite fir trees, and when I confronted his father about it he just laughed.”
Blake pressed play and let the video resume. The Simon kid definitely made a good suspect. He already had a record of bad behavior and lived close enough to Fanny to notice whether or not she locked her doors when she went out.
“Stop,” Shelby said.
Blake pressed pause again.
She leaned close, eyes narrowed. “Does that car look familiar to you?”
The video time stamp read 8:23 pm. The porch light did little to alleviate the darkness on the street as a car turned around in front of Fanny’s house and went back the other way. The driver was completely in shadow. Even when he enlarged the screen, they still couldn’t tell whether it was a man or woman driving.
Blake resumed the video and asked, “What are you thinking?”
“It looks silver to me.” She twisted her lips, pondering. “Maybe I’m reaching, but…”
“Just say it.”
“I think that’s the fella who’s been sleeping at Cynthia’s house,” Fanny interrupted as the teapot began to whistle. She slipped off the stool and hurried back to the kitchen.
Blake glanced at Shelby and they both got up and followed Fanny.
“Cynthia lives on your street?” Blake asked.
Fanny nodded, busy scooping tealeaves into a porcelain teapot. She slowly filled it with hot water.
He remembered the woman up the street earlier. She’d ducked inside too fast for him to get a good look, but that wasn’t surprising. Women could be funny about stuff like that sometimes. As a detective, he’d had women refuse to open the door and speak with him for any number of silly reasons. They were still in their robe. They weren’t wearing makeup. They had a pimple. The sink was full of dirty dishes. Or they didn’t like the look of his partner, Donny. That one he understood.
Fanny opened the refrigerator and pulled out a banana cream pie. “Look what I got from Luanne. She doesn’t like to have leftover pies the next day so she trades them to me for my special order tealeaves. I do love pie!”
“That’s lovely, Fanny, but we really need to know about Cynthia and this man.” Shelby’s patience appeared to be cracking as she watched the little woman busy herself making tea that neither of them actually liked. She sat on one of the kitchen chairs with her elbows on the table.
Blake took the pie out of Fanny’s hands and set it on the cupboard. He put his hands gently around her forearms and held her gaze. “This is very important, Fanny. You want justice for Madeline, don’t you?”
“Of course.”
“Have you met the man who visits Cynthia?”
She shook her head. “But I’ve seen him when he comes and goes. He’s not very tall, but he has nice features. Not Cynthia’s usual type.” She opened her eyes wide and gave a knowing nod. “Much younger in fact. He wears dressy clothes, not jeans and t-shirts like most young men. I heard her call out his name one evening when he was leaving. I think it was Art.”
“Thank you, Fanny. You’ve been very helpful.”
“I have? Goody! Now we can have pie.” She got a knife out of the drawer and cut into the meringue topping.
The cat entered the kitchen, slinking around the legs of Shelby’s chair and glaring up at her. She did not have a good relationship with Ginger. The feline seemed to view her as competition for Fanny’s attention. She turned away, refusing to get in a staring contest with a cat.
Fanny served up the pie and perched on her stool to eat. She’d tucked a napkin in the collar of her gray sweater and leaned forward over the bowl like she was in a race. Smacking her lips at the last bite, she looked around for Ginger to let her lick the bowl. Her eyes narrowed. “What have you got in your mouth?”
Ginger was stretched out on the little rag rug under the sink toying with a bit of red twine. Fanny got up so fast she nearly toppled the stool. She snatched the twine away from her cat, avoiding claws by mere chance.
“What’s wrong?” Shelby asked, curious.
Her lips quivered as she held the twine in front of her between two fingers as though it might contaminate whatever it touched. “The murder weapon. Madeline was strangled with this. I threw it out in the trees for the birds to use in their nesting. But like the tell tale heart it shows back up, screaming for vengeance.”
Blake hid a grin. “Fanny, have you ever been in theatre? You remind me of someone.”
Shelby punched him lightly in the shoulder.
He turned serious, reaching for the twine. “Here, let me see that.”
“Please take it out of this house,” Fanny said, bending down to lift Ginger. “I don’t want to be reminded of the horror that Madeline endured.”
“Okay. We’ll talk to you later, Fanny.”
The wind was picking up outside again. Leaves and dirt, churned up by the neighbor cleaning his gutters, was carried on the wind and pelted them before they could climb back into the truck. Blake hoped Jack was heading home for the evening. The boathouse was quite a long walk for a seventy-three-year-old man and it felt like winter was only a breath away.
When he sat there twirling the piece of twine between his fingers without turning on the ignition, Shelby nudged his shoulder. “What’s up?”
“I feel like we’ve been here before.”
“We have.”
“Not here. Here.” He lifted the twine to eye level.
“Red twine is pretty common. Tucker probably sells it in his store. It could be used for lots of things. Tying bundles. Wrapping presents. Heath had the end of a roll in his…”
“Garbage,” Blake finished softly. He met her eyes. “That’s what I was trying to remember.”
“So it could also be used for tying up kidnap victims.”
“Or dead bodies.” He dropped it in the cup holder and shifted to face her, one arm along the back of her seat. “The police report said Sadie
was strangled after being hit, then wrapped in a blanket and tied with red twine.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
He shook his head. “Detective Jackson decided to trust me and let me see the official report when I brought her the ring. Probably because she thought I’d just given her the key to solving the case.”
“But the ring isn’t the key. The twine is.”
He shifted to see Cynthia’s house in the rearview mirror. “Are you up for a visit to the devil in stilettos?”
“Bring it on.”
<<>>
Blake kept pushing the doorbell in spite of the fact that Cynthia refused to answer. They knew she was home. The door to the detached garage was open and her Toyota Prius was parked inside. He started banging on the door with his fist.
“We know you’re here, Cynthia. There’s no use hiding. Open the door before we cause a much bigger scene and have all the neighbors out in the street.”
Shelby touched his arm and indicated the wood sign beside the porch. The words Happy Halloween and three cartoonish pumpkins painted with toothy grins stared back at them in bright orange and black. It was weeks until Halloween but Cynthia was obviously a huge fan of the holiday. Decorations hung from nearby trees and witches flew on brooms above her garage door.
They heard the sound of the deadbolt click and the door slowly swung open. Cynthia stood in bare feet wearing leggings and an oversized shirt. Her hair was up in a ponytail and she was makeup free. Shelby thought she looked almost normal, like a real live person and not a Bratz doll.
“What do you want?” she demanded, arms tightly crossed over her chest. “You have no right to come here without being invited and force your way into my house.”
Blake put a hand to his ear. “What? You want us to come in? Of course we will.” He pushed past her and Shelby followed.
Cynthia’s anger was palpable. She slammed the door, her lips pressed tight in a thin line. “How dare you…?”
“We’ve been special friends like forever,” Blake mimicked, “so I knew I could come over here and ask you anything and you’d tell me the truth.” His tone hardened. “Right?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about or what that crazy old lady down the street told you, but you really need to take a chill pill or something.” She used her best alluring look on him but without the lash extensions and heavy mascara it didn’t seem to have the same effect.
Shelby glanced into the sitting room. Afternoon light bathed pale cream leather furniture with a rosy glow. Glass and silver end tables and a matching coffee table completed the look of innocent transparency. But a ten-foot gilded mirror reflected the room back at her from the opposite wall. Now that seemed more like Cynthia’s style. She could probably stand in front of that mirror all day.
“I’ll take a chill pill after you tell me why you killed Sadie Dugan.”
Shelby watched Cynthia’s face turn brittle at Blake’s accusation. “How dare… why do you… I never…”
“Can’t find the words? Let me help. Sadie confronted you about playing her husband. You retaliated by hitting her over the head with…” he slanted his eyes toward the dining room. Paints, brushes, glue, wire, and assorted other craft supplies littered the tabletop. She’d been busy painting more of her festive Halloween decorations. Wood signs with witches, ghosts, and bats leaned against the legs of chairs. “Nice touch by the way. Setting up the very man you profess to care for.”
She’d pulled her lips in as though to keep a confession from blurting out, and kept shaking her head. Shelby wondered if the woman needed a reality check. She took the piece of red twine she’d brought along out of her coat pocket and twirled it around in the air. Cynthia watched, her eyes getting wider and wider with the realization.
“I didn’t kill her!” she blurted out. “I hit her, but it was an accident. I didn’t mean to hurt her. Not really. She just made me so mad. I was bringing some things to the house for Pete’s yard and she was there waiting for him. She kept going on and on about what a tramp I was and how I was using poor old Pete. As if! Believe me, he’s getting what he paid for and more.”
Shelby couldn’t believe the woman had the audacity to justify her behavior while confessing to murder. She looked at Blake. He was stony silent; arms crossed, feet spread, lips tight. She had no idea what he was thinking but he was good at keeping his thoughts to himself during an interrogation. He always said it was best to say nothing and let the suspect spill their guts without prompting whenever possible.
She, on the other hand, didn’t always concur with his way of doing things. Keeping Cynthia off kilter and desperately trying to explain away her actions seemed to be working quite well. “So you accidentally hit her with a Halloween sign, right? Now explain how after she’s unconscious on the ground you accidentally strangle her to death with this cord.”
“It wasn’t me!” Her eyes looked like they were ready to pop out of her head. “At first I thought she was dead, and I didn’t know what to do. There was blood everywhere. You know how much head wounds bleed. So I called him to help me... you know… figure it out.”
“You mean, to get rid of the body of a woman you murdered,” Blake clarified.
“Yes… I mean No! I didn’t murder her! She wasn’t dead when he got there. She was just unconscious.”
Shelby felt like she and Blake were playing tennis doubles against a single opponent with half a brain, volleying quick and fast to keep her off balance. She grasped the ends of the twine, and snapped it straight under Cynthia’s nose. “So you took this piece of rope and you strangled her to death to keep her from telling Pete who you really are.”
She shrieked and shoved Shelby back. “Keep that away from me! I told you I didn’t kill her!”
“That’s just semantics and you know it, Cynthia. You already admitted to hitting her and trying to cover it up. What do you think a jury will believe?”
Blake’s question seemed to be the last straw. She sank to the floor sobbing, hands covering her face as she curled into a ball of hysteria. Shelby felt a tinge of pity for the woman, but mostly she felt disgust and anger. Cynthia had continued to play with Pete’s feelings even after killing his wife and covering it up, and to add sorrow to misery she began an affair with the very man who helped her commit murder.
When her hysterics lessened some, Blake took her arm, helped her to her feet, and led her to a chair. She sat stiffly on the edge, still sniffling and wiping at her face with the backs of her hands. Shelby saw a box of tissues on an end table and handed it to her. They sat on the couch across from her and waited.
Her voice was nasally from crying. “You don’t understand, Blake. You’ve always had it easy. Everybody loved you. You were the shining star of the town. You went away and when you came back again with your pretty, young wife and your medal of valor, everything was exactly the same for you. You’ve never had to struggle, or prove yourself, or make someone love you.”
Blake shook his head slowly and sighed. “Was Heath in on it too?”
“Heath?” Her laugh was sharp, words bitter. “He can’t even help himself.”
“So you called Bart.”
A shudder went through her body. “I called Heath, and Bart answered. I realized he was the one I needed anyway. Heath would never have…” she broke off and looked away.
“Would never have strangled a helpless, unconscious woman?” Shelby asked, lacing her fingers together in her lap to keep from choking some sense into the woman in front of her. Thirty years old and still blaming her tough breaks on everyone and everything rather than herself and her own choices. “But Bart did, didn’t he?”
“I didn’t want him to. I tried to stop him. I did. But he said it had to be done. He said she knew something about him. Who he worked for.” She shook her head, new tears slipping down her cheeks. “I can’t go to prison. Bart told me what they do to beautiful women in prison.”
“There’s still time to do the right thing. Testify a
gainst Bart and the courts may go easy on you,” Shelby said, her voice softening.
Blake shot her a surprised look, but stayed quiet.
“I can’t! You have no idea what he’s really like. He terrifies me,” Cynthia said, bloodshot eyes pleading. “You saw what he did to Fanny’s little squirrel. He wouldn’t think twice about doing it to me.”
“So you’re sleeping with him, but you’re terrified of him.”
“I sleep with him because I’m terrified of him. Don’t you get it? I love Heath. I always have. But if he found out…” She dropped her face into her hands and mumbled, “I can’t believe this is happening to me.”
Shelby had no idea how deep Cynthia’s narcissistic tendencies went until now. It was not an aha moment but an oh crap moment. What good would she be as a witness if she couldn’t forget about herself long enough to feel remorse for killing an innocent woman?
The facts so far were so convoluted the federal government would need to start a whole new coordination team of agencies to figure it out. Cynthia was in a lifelong relationship with Heath who she said she loved. She was dating Pete Dugan. And she was having an affair with Heath’s partner. Bart and Heath were trafficking women and wanted to use Pete’s land to do it. Sadie wanted to warn Pete about Cynthia and ended up being murdered by Bart because he thought she knew something about him that would jeopardize his little operation. The report would read like an afternoon soap opera. If only they had an evil twin to throw into the mix.
Blake pushed up off the couch and strode to the front window, breaking her thought process. He stood looking out at the quiet neighborhood street. Shelby knew he was kicking himself for not speaking with Cynthia before now. But there was no way to know if she would have opened up earlier. Bart had a tight psychological grip on her. The only thing she was more afraid of than Bart Linder was going to prison for the rest of her life. A place without makeup, hairdressers, tight skirts, and heels would certainly put a crimp in her ability to con good men.
Much Ado About Murder (Double Barrel Mysteries) Page 20