by Mary Maxwell
“What’s the motive?” she asked.
“I don’t have that yet,” I replied. “But the evidence points toward either Joshua or Rachelle.”
“I’m listening,” Dina said.
“Okay, great,” I replied. “Please hear me out, okay? Alma Tucker came upon a ticket from Briarfield Pawn. It was in a jacket that she found in her son’s room with the name Grainger written inside the collar. And there was a note on the back of the ticket about Rose Whistler’s lockets.”
“And how did Alma get in the mix?” she asked.
“The jacket,” I said. “Plus, Joshua and Rachelle are friends with Angus Tucker. His mother is Dr. Whistler’s—”
“I know who she is, Katie,” Dina interrupted. “I actually heard about the Grainger boy from Alma.”
“Something connected to the case?”
“I suspect so,” Dina replied, “but it’s too early to know for sure. Alma was telling me a story about her son using her car to provide taxi service for Joshua and his sister.”
“Okay, so—”
“Hold that thought,” she cut in. “There are two other people that we haven’t interviewed yet who have keys to Whistler’s place: his brother and sister. But they both live out of state, so it’s a long shot at best. Not to mention that the doctor is on good terms with both of his siblings.”
“Did you talk to Angus?”
“We’re doing that tomorrow,” Dina answered. “His mother hasn’t been what you’d call cooperative on that front.”
“Any idea why?” I asked.
“I honestly think it’s simply a matter of nerves,” Dina explained. “Alma has always struck me as fragile, but I never knew just how sensitive she was until this case. When I dropped by late yesterday afternoon, she started to cry when I mentioned the need to interview Angus.”
“Was that after she told you about him having access to Whistler’s house keys?”
“It was all in the same conversation,” Dina answered. “And I didn’t tiptoe around the obvious issue. I told her that anyone with access to Whistler’s keys could be a potential suspect or accomplice. I had a hunch about that angle following my chat with Alma, so I talked to Missy Girard at the locksmith.”
I instantly recognized the reason she talked to Missy: Did Angus make a copy of Whistler’s house keys? But when I tried to confirm that with Dina, she surprised me with a twist out of left field.
“Copies of the keys,” Dina said. “He had two sets made. And he wasn’t alone at the time. He came into the shop with another guy.”
“Joshua Grainger?” I asked. “They’re like a pack of two, from what I’ve heard.”
“Missy didn’t recognize the other boy,” Dina said. “And there was a third person waiting outside in the car.”
“How did she know that?”
Dina chuckled softly. “Because Missy watched him. She said Angus was acting more anxious than usual.”
“He’s a nervous kid?”
“Must’ve inherited it from his mother,” Dina replied.
“That sounds reasonable,” I said.
“Okay, before we get sidetracked again,” Dina said, “tell me why you think Rachelle Grainger is involved.”
“Well, for starters,” I said, “she drives a Cube, like the one that was ticketed down the street from Whistler’s house on the day of the burglary. It has a Reign Darkness Down sticker on the back bumper. Then there’s the—”
“The what hoodies?”
“Reign Darkness Down,” I said. “It’s a band from Toronto. Kenny Wolf told me that Rachelle and Joshua listen to their music constantly. And they went to a show at Red Rocks with Angus Tucker and some other kids from town. The band’s logo is an inverted gold crown on a black background.”
“Oh, now I’m tracking,” Dina said. “Like the crown on the sweatshirt Eileen’s assailant was wearing when they drenched her with the milkshake.”
“Exactly,” I said. “And even though it’s all circumstantial at this point, don’t you think it warrants bringing both Rachelle and her brother in for questioning.”
“That’s the next thing on my list,” Dina said.
CHAPTER 37
I met Alma Tucker at Tea & Treasures that afternoon at four o’clock. We’d compared our schedules earlier in the day, and the tearoom on Prentice Street made the most sense for a place to have what I’d described as a quick chat about something very important.
“So what is it?” Alma asked as soon as we’d ordered something to drink. “You were so mysterious on the phone this morning.”
“It’s about Rose Whistler’s locket collection,” I told her. “I talked to Brad Marx at the pawn shop in Briarfield. He told me a couple of things that I’d like to ask you about.”
“Like what?” Alma’s cheery tone darkened. “What did he say?”
“Were you aware that Ruth Grainger took the lockets to the pawn shop in Briarfield?” I asked.
Alma responded with a wobbly grin. “Ruth? What on earth are you talking about?”
“I know it probably comes as a shock,” I said. “But Bradley also confirmed that Ruth used your name and produced a forged driver’s license when he asked for identification.”
Alma’s gaze fell to the tabletop. She fiddled with her teaspoon before running her fingers along the side of her face.
“She must be having another episode,” Alma said, finally looking up again. “Ruth has been through so, so much in her life. I mean, by the age of fourteen, she’d already experienced the kind of hurt and pain that some people escape even when they live to be a hundred. Her father was a horrible, violent man. He abused Ruth and her siblings something awful, Katie! If there’s a saving grace, it’s the fact that the abuse was only verbal and with a belt or his hand and nothing…well, nothing worse. Dale was almost as bad during their marriage, although he focused his rage on Ruth and not the three children.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said with a gentle smile. “But I’m trying to understand how Ruth came to possess the lockets in the first place. Someone told me that they saw her going into Dr. Whistler’s house with her daughter. And then the day of the burglary, the witness saw Rachelle return with her brother and your son. They had a key to the front door, possibly the one with your car keys, and they left a very short time later carrying boxes of liquor.”
Alma’s eyes narrowed. “Who told you such things?”
“I’d rather not say,” I answered. “I assured the person that I would respect their privacy.”
“Well, if it’s true,” she said, “they never broke in. The police said nobody tampered with the locks at Dr. Whistler’s house.”
“Is it possible that they used your key?” I asked, deciding not to mention what Dina had already learned from Missy at Crescent Creek Lock & Key.
She flinched. “My what?”
“Key,” I said. “Isn’t it possible that someone took the keys to Dr. Whistler’s house from your purse?”
“Not at all,” she said. “I keep them with my own house keys.”
“Is your car key with them?” I asked.
She nodded.
“And does your son drive your car?”
“When his is in the shop,” she said with a shaky laugh. “Which it has been quite a lot these past few months.”
“In fact, I sent him to the locksmith last month to make a duplicate of my car key. I got so dang tired of him…” She hesitated. “Oh, no, Katie. What if Angus made a copy of Dr. Whistler’s house key? That could explain how the house was burglarized without the doors or windows being forced or kicked in.”
“Okay, in that case,” I said, “do you think—”
“Please tell me what this is all about?” Alma interrupted. “It almost sounds like you’re accusing my son of being involved in the break-in at Dr. Whistler’s house.”
“I think there’s a chance he was involved in some wrongdoing,” I said. “I don’t think Angus was involved in the theft of the lockets or
the patient files. But I do suspect that his role was getting the keys to Dr. Whistler’s house so he and his friends could take the contents of the doctor’s liquor cabinet for their party that night.”
“What party?”
“Joshua Grainger was arrested the night of the burglary for driving while under the influence,” I said. “Your son and Rachelle Grainger were in the cars as passengers. At the time, there was no reason to suspect that they’d stolen the liquor from Dr. Whistler’s house. Obviously, he’d already reported the burglary, but he didn’t discover the liquor cabinet had been emptied until the next day.”
“No, none of this is possible,” Alma said. “My son wouldn’t do such things.”
“There’s more about the person that told me about the three of them at Dr. Whistler’s house,” I said. “They were so alarmed by the sight of three teenagers going into the house that she took pictures with their phone.”
“Of my son?” asked Alma.
“And the Grainger kids,” I said.
“Did you see these pictures?”
“Yes. They’ve also been sent to Detective Kincaid at the CCPD.”
Alma gasped. “Why didn’t you call me first?”
“I didn’t give the pictures to the police,” I said. “The witness did.”
“Now?” Alma demanded. “Why didn’t they tell the cops then?”
“They tried to,” I said. “After taking the pictures, the witness thought about calling 911. But they didn’t want to get involved so they sent an email to the CCPD general mailbox. But they mistyped the email address and the pictures were never delivered. The next day, the witness left town and just returned yesterday. As soon as they learned about the attacks, they went immediately to the police station and turned over the images.”
I took a breath. Then I waited while Alma went into her purse for a tissue and pressed it to her cheeks.
“Angus could never…no, would never hurt anyone,” she continued. “He’s a good boy.”
“Can you say the same thing about Rachelle and her mother?” I asked. “The woman who is also your business partner.”
Her shoulders began to tremble as she wept. “What am I supposed to do, Katie?” she asked in a croaky whisper. “It’s like going to sleep after a sunny day and waking up inside a nightmare of thunder and rain. I told Angus that anything can be forgiven if he just told me the truth.”
“About the burglary and attacks?”
She nodded. “And do you know what he said?”
I shook my head.
“He told me about the liquor cabinet,” she said. “But not until I confronted him last night. I had a hunch that Angus and Rachelle had taken the booze. But I never suspected Ruth would steal anything from Dr. Whistler. After my son confessed, I went to Dr. Whistler. I told him the kids just wanted to impress their friends with a bunch of expensive liquor and wine. Angus has been to the doctor’s house with me before, so he knew about the cabinet. Rachelle actually proposed the idea first on the day she went with Ruth to clean the doctor’s house. She and Joshua were getting paid the next day, so they figured they could take the bottles, treat their friends at the party and then replace everything the next day.”
“But that never happened,” I said.
Alma sighed. “Because of that stupid, stupid Joshua. My son told me they were going to party. I made him promise not to drink. And he told me that he wouldn’t. I figured they were walking because the party was just a half mile away or so. I never imagined that Joshua would take his father’s car and play chauffeur to a bunch of kids that night.”
“Okay, so the plan to replace Dr. Whistler’s liquor was thwarted by Joshua’s arrest.”
“Yes,” Alma said. “And I didn’t know about that until last night either.”
“So what did Dr. Whistler have to say when you told him what your son and his friends did?”
A faint smile appeared beneath her soggy gaze. “He laughed,” she told me. “Because he did something very similar when he was in high school.”
“Did you tell the police?” I asked.
“Not yet,” she whispered. “But I know that I have to.”
I reached across the table and took her hand.
“You do,” I said, squeezing her fingers. “And if you’d like, I’ll be happy to go with you.”
CHAPTER 38
“Could she what?”
Viveca’s face was crumpled into the kind of jumble that often accompanies complete confusion or total disdain: furrowed brow, curled upper lip, eyes tapered into hooded slots filled with doubt and suspicion. I’d walked over to her house while Zack did the dinner dishes to ask if Viveca thought Alma Tucker could possibly be involved in any way with the string of assaults and Don Sterling’s death.
“I trust your judgment,” I said while she continued glaring at me. “And I’m not saying that she’s guilty. But I learned something earlier in the day that made my head spin.”
“Like what?” she demanded.
“Like the person that took Rose Whistler’s antique lockets to Briarfield Pawn was Ruth Grainger,” I said. “Since they’re business partners, I was just curious to get your thoughts about the possibility that they’re also behind the string of assaults.”
Viveca issued a loud, scornful sigh. “Are you tipsy, Katie?”
“I had a half glass of merlot with dinner,” I replied.
“So that’s a no,” she said. “And if you haven’t been drinking, why would you think either of those women could be involved?”
“Facts don’t lie,” I said.
She huffed again. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I sent a picture of Ruth and Alma to the owner of Briarfield Pawn,” I answered. “He confirmed that Ruth came in to hock Rose Whistler’s collection of lockets.”
“Do you know this guy?”
“We’re not best friends or anything,” I said, “but Bradley’s honest and trustworthy.”
“So are most pets,” she said with a snarky twang.
“Maybe I came by at a bad time,” I said. “How about I call you tomorrow?”
She cocked one eyebrow. “And how about you stay right here and tell me why you think Alma and Ruth killed Don Sterling.”
“That’s not what I said, Viv.”
“Close enough.” Her voice coiled tighter. “There must be more than the word of a random pawn shop dude.”
“There’s nothing random about Bradley,” I said. “He runs a legit business. He’s never been in trouble with the law. And he confirmed that Ruth was in his shop twice in the past couple of weeks.”
“Twice?”
“Once to pawn the lockets,” I said. “And once to get them back.”
“What did she do with them after that?” asked Viveca.
“Great question,” I said.
She thought for a moment. Then she said, “What do you think she did with them?”
“I’d probably guess that she squirreled them away for another rainy day,” I said. “I don’t know squat about antiques, but Bradley told me they’re in top condition and worth several thousand dollars.”
“How does that thing work anyway?” she asked. “You pawn something valuable. They give you cash. And then you can go in again and buy it back?”
“That’s the gist of it,” I said.
“So how much did your buddy give Ruth for the lockets?”
I answered her question. Anticipating the follow-up, I quickly added, “I have no idea.”
Viveca giggled. “What do you think I was going to ask?”
“If Ruth needed cash so bad,” I said, “how did she come up with the money to buy them back from the pawn shop.”
“Exactly,” she replied. “But I obviously don’t have the answer to that question either.”
“Mind if I ask you a couple more?”
She laughed. “I don’t mind at all. But if it’s about pawn shops or antique lockets, I’m the opposite of Einstein.”
“I’m
curious about their cleaning business,” I said. “Did Alma and Ruth start it together or did one join later after the other hung out a shingle?”
“Together,” Viveca said. “Their boys are about the same age. They met at a PTA thing when Angus and Joshua were five or six.”
“And when did they start cleaning houses?” I asked.
“Same year they started cleaning offices,” she replied. “You do know that Alma handles residential while Ruth takes care of the corporate clients. She manages the team of part-time employees that they use for both commercial and residential clients while Alma takes care of bookkeeping, marketing and the rest of the administrative details.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I didn’t know any of that.”
“Keeps things simple,” Viveca said. “So people know who to ask for when they have a question and call the office.”
“Is Alice Kellogg still working for them?”
“She loves it there,” she said. “She doesn’t even need to work because her husband earns a boatload, but Alice likes to keep busy.”
“I saw her at Tipton’s last week,” I said. “Such a pretty woman.”
Viveca rolled her eyes. “I know. I’ll never have a flawless figure, but Alice is living proof that they’re possible without plastic surgery and Spanx.”
“Quite true,” I said.
“Was Esmé working when you were at her dad’s store?”
“No, she had the night off,” I said. “I still can’t believe that she works at The Glam Room full-time and has energy left to work at the liquor store.”
“She’s got enough energy for it,” Viveca said. “It’s too bad that she wasn’t there. Maybe she could’ve told you about the knock-down-drag-out that Ruth and Alma had last week.”
I laughed. “Talk about burying the headline,” I said. “What’s the story?”
Viveca shrugged. “You should ask Esmé. If I try to tell you, I’ll probably leave out the most essential details.”
“Can you give me a hint?” I asked. “I always thought they got along perfectly.”
“They did,” Viveca said. “Until whatever happened at the salon.”
“So not even one teensy, tiny hint?”