Deadly Diaries

by C. E. Waterman

  Heat tingled along his skin, but Greg forced his body to relax. He had to remain calm. “You have my word.”

  Goodman stepped aside, and Grady scooted his chair back to the table, lowering himself into it. But he positioned the chair farther away, out of reach. After searching Greg’s face, Goodman sat as well. He leaned toward Grady. “Tell them what you know, son.”

  “I’ve seen him since then, and I saw him when he set fire to Maggie’s house. He’s the guy who runs the construction company. You know who I mean? Edward Blake.”

  31

  Maggie tried to remain calm. Edward stepped forward, watching her face the whole time. Was it obvious she was afraid of him? A glint flashed in his eye; a tick twitched in his jaw. She glanced toward the door to the backyard. Could she make it? She tensed, ready to spring.

  He pulled a gun out of his pocket. “You won’t make it, Maggie,” he said softly. “I might not be able to run as fast as you, but I can shoot pretty well. Let’s go inside where we can talk.”

  She edged past the washer and dryer, her eyes moving from the gun in his hand to his face. Her face hardened. “Was it you then? Did you murder Aunt Esther?” She couldn’t help the rage welling up in her when she pictured the scene. “Tell me, did she trust you right to the end when she turned her back on you and you stuck a knife in it?”

  He flinched as if she’d slapped him, but he didn’t stop. He shuffled into the laundry room and slammed the back door. “How did you find out? Did your sister tell you?”

  Her sister? Had he arranged the attack on Allie?

  Maggie tripped over a pile of clothes and righted herself. “No, why? She doesn’t know anything. If she did, she would’ve told me already, and you wouldn’t be standing here now.” She continued to back up until he raised his gun. She froze.

  “Where’s your sister? I know she isn’t here.”

  “How do you know she isn’t upstairs?” Maybe if he went to check she could escape.

  “If she was, you wouldn’t have said that. I’ve had someone watching, and they say she hasn’t been here.” He waved his gun forward in a shooing motion. “Let’s go into the kitchen, shall we? And you can tell me everything.”

  “I don’t know where she is.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “You both need to disappear. You’re so upset about your aunt and your house, you ran away.”

  “Both of us?” Maggie sidestepped into the kitchen, not wanting to take her eyes off him. “Greg will never believe it.”

  Edward pursued, the gun never wavering. “It doesn’t matter what he believes—he won’t be able to find you.” He motioned her toward the kitchen table. “Sit down.” She perched on the chair nearest the door, still facing him. “Eventually he’ll understand you’re gone, and he’ll get on with his life.”

  She imagined Greg’s face. “You’re going to kill a cop’s fiancée and expect him to just get over it? How stupid are you?”

  His eyes glittered. “Fiancée, now, is it?”

  She showed him her hand, the huge diamond flashing.

  An ugly smile teased the corners of his mouth. “Does he know?”

  The smile became bigger and chilled her. How did he know they’d broken up? She shuddered. “He won’t stop. He’ll keep hunting, keep at you until you make a mistake.”

  “It doesn’t matter. It won’t be soon enough to save you.”

  Getting him angry wasn’t helping her. If she continued, he might shoot her right here. She lowered her eyes to break the standoff—to let him think he won. Maybe she could keep him talking.

  He cleared his throat. “So how did you know it was me?”

  “I wasn’t sure. Aunt Esther said something in her diary. Nothing specific, but I realized she saw Jonathan the day his fiancée died. I didn’t connect it at first, and then I thought Jonathan killed both of them. But as you know he has an airtight alibi for the day Aunt Esther died.” She wanted to say “for the day you murdered your friend,” but it was better not to antagonize him further.

  He kept his gun pointed at her and leaned against the counter. The ugliness of his expression vanished. He would’ve made a good politician. “Finally, tennis worked for him.” He shrugged. “I didn’t plan it. I helped Esther load her golf clubs, and she told me she’d seen him last Tuesday, but he left before she could say hello. She didn’t know he shouldn’t have been there. She was just making conversation. But I knew she’d put it together, and I panicked.” He moved a box back from the edge of the counter and shifted his weight.

  She had hoped he would sit down, but he didn’t. He remained standing between her and the doors leading to the backyard and the garage. “I followed her home and rang the doorbell, telling her I needed to talk. She let me in and offered me lemonade.” Sadness moistened his eyes. “I told her what happened, and she seemed to understand it was an accident. But I couldn’t talk her out of telling the police. We argued, but she wouldn’t budge. She picked up the phone, and I grabbed a knife from the block—”

  “And stabbed her in the back.” Maggie couldn’t contain herself. It just popped out. She tensed in her chair. Maybe if she could stall him, she’d find a way to get free. Right now, her mind was blank. She relaxed her posture and evened out her voice. “What happened with Jonathan? Why did he kill Stephanie?”

  “He didn’t mean to.” His eyes pleaded with her to understand, and the words spilled out. “He’d been telling people they were engaged, and he even got his great-grandmother’s ring from Monica. It never occurred to him she might refuse, and when she did, it made him mad. All he could think of was how embarrassing it would be to tell all those people he’d been rejected. So he lost his temper and pushed her. She tripped over the rug and hit her head.”

  Maggie cleared her throat. “And then he called you. But how did he end up down the street where Aunt Esther saw him? And what about Carla and Ginger?”

  “Who?” His face didn’t change. “Esther must have seen him before he went inside. When I got there, we put the ring on her finger and washed the cup he’d been using. I didn’t have to do much because our story was he’d been there the night before and asked her then.” Edward stared at her, his face haggard. “I wish, for once in his life, I’d let him deal with the consequences. Or even before, when he was a kid and hurt the maid, I shouldn’t have intervened. I used to say his mother spoiled him, and it was true—Francine adored the kid.” He fingered the gun but didn’t take his eyes from her face. “I realize I made it worse. I thought if he didn’t get attention doing wrong things, he’d stop. The problem was Jonathan constantly did wrong things. It became a habit. Francine doted on him, and I ignored him.”

  The gun barrel drooped, and a faraway look glazed his eyes. “If I had just told Jonathan to go to the police, none of this would’ve happened. The push he gave Stephanie wasn’t meant to kill her. Maybe we could have done something to reduce the sentence. He’s my only son. There’s no one else to take over the business.”

  Maggie saw her chance when the gun lowered again and his attention was diverted. She jumped out of the chair, shoving it in his direction. Expecting the gun to go off, she exploded through the swing door into the dining room.

  The door swung back and thudded as he hit it when she was halfway through the living room. His footsteps pounded behind her.

  Her phone rang in the kitchen, muffled inside her purse. She hesitated. No way could she reach it. She had to get outside. Could she make it? If she opened the front door, she could make enough noise to get someone’s attention. She yanked at the knob, and it opened a sliver.

  Edward crashed into her.

  The door slammed shut, crushing her between it and Edward’s body. She opened her mouth to scream when pain exploded in her head.

  32

  Greg and David approached the white board while a uniformed officer led Grady back to his cell.

  David stared at the board. “So if Edward Blake killed Esther, who pushed Allie? Esther was his friend, and as far
as we can tell, he didn’t even know Allie.” He wrote Edward Blake on the list. “And he doesn’t fit the description Maggie gave us of Allie’s attacker.”

  “Right,” Greg agreed. “But what if Edward killed Esther, and Jonathan pushed Allie?”

  David circled both names. “It would work as far as their alibis, but what motive would they have? Edward’s a pretty powerful member of the community, to say nothing of his mother-in-law.” He glanced at the door, and Greg followed his gaze.

  Robin walked into the room, and Mark rose to greet her. She must be coming to take him to lunch.

  Sadness speared through Greg. He wished it was Maggie walking through the door smiling.

  “We’d better be sure before we tangle with the two of them,” David continued.

  Mark walked up, his arm around his wife.

  Chief Donovan exited his office and joined them. “Tangle with whom?” he asked.

  David pointed at the board. “Edward and Jonathan Blake. Our suspect identified Edward as being at Esther’s house the morning she was killed, and he says he saw him start the fire at Maggie’s. It fits the timeline we have for her murder, but we don’t know if we can trust Grady’s word. We were trying to figure out what their motive would be if Edward killed Esther and Jonathan pushed Allie.”

  Greg perched on the edge of the nearest desk, still staring at the board. “We know Jonathan has a temper. It’s come up several times in our investigation. But why would he push Allie?” He turned to Donovan. “It would’ve made sense if he’d somehow killed Esther and then pushed Allie because she was there. But he has a solid alibi for Esther’s murder.”

  David put the cap on the marker and moved over to his desk, staring at the board as if he could force it to give him the answer. “I can’t imagine Edward Blake killing Esther Campbell. I mean they were on the same boards together, and Monica was Esther’s friend. Why would he?”

  “I can answer that.” John Lister entered the room. “Maggie told me she thinks Esther saw Jonathan outside his fiancée’s apartment the day she was killed.”

  “What? Why weren’t we told about this?” Blood whooshed through Greg’s ears as his face grew hot.

  Lister strode forward until his puffed-out chest was inches from Greg’s. “Hey, don’t yell at me. I did the right thing. I sent the information straight to Denver.”

  Greg held his ground and tried to swallow his rage. If he smashed the smug jerk in the face like he wanted to, the chief would take him off the case.

  Mark dropped his arm from Robin’s shoulders and shifted in front of her, breaking Lister and Greg’s staring match.

  Robin’s expression echoed Greg’s fury, and he wasn’t sure whether Mark was protecting his wife from a fight or keeping her from starting one.

  “It’s their case,” Lister continued in a self-satisfied whine. “Besides, it was ruled an accident—why do you care whether he was there or not?”

  Mark’s hands clenched into fists, but he held them at his sides. “Because he lied. Jonathan told the police he was at his cousin’s house in Wyoming, and the cousin verified it.”

  “OK.” Donovan raised his hands, palms out. “Everybody calm down. John, catch us up on what’s been done.”

  Lister stepped back. “I gave the information to the Denver police, and they said they would double check the alibi.”

  Mark relaxed his hands, but his face still showed the frustration Greg was feeling. “Have they gotten back to you?”

  He checked his phone. “Not yet.”

  “Call them again.” Donovan glanced at his watch. “We have enough to ask some questions, but, Greg, I don’t want you involved.” He stared directly at him. “I don’t even want you here. You’re too close, and Blake’s lawyer will try to take advantage of it.”

  He was right. Even if he controlled his emotions, Blake’s attorney would push him hard and twist anything he said.

  The chief nodded to Peter. “Why don’t you go and pick him up. Find out where he was when Esther was killed and tell him he was seen, but don’t tell him by whom.” He tapped the desk with his fingertips. “Grady isn’t the best witness, and we want Blake to admit being there if we can.” He smiled at Peter. “Use your natural charm and finesse him.”

  Peter grinned as he headed out the door. “OK, chief. I’ll let you know what I find out.” Everyone dispersed, and Mark motioned to Greg. “Since you have to leave, why don’t you come to lunch with us?”

  Robin tilted her head and smiled at him. “Unless you have other plans?”

  Greg took his cell phone out of its holder. “No, but I wish there was something I could do. Let me check my messages, and I’ll be right with you.”

  “Yes, by all means, check your messages first.” Robin was almost beaming. What was up with her?

  When he glanced at the screen, he knew. There was one from Maggie. He hit the Call button and glanced at Robin. “What’s this about?”

  “What’s what about?” She had a frustrating, I-know-something-you-don’t-know look on her face.

  “There’s a call from Maggie.”

  “Really? Why don’t you call her back and see?”

  No answer. He hung up. “What do you know about this?”

  “Nothing.” She pivoted toward the doorway. “Let’s go eat.”

  At the restaurant, Greg hit the End Call button on his cell phone again. Why didn’t Maggie answer? He had to believe she’d called for a reason, and judging from Robin’s smirk, it seemed positive. He couldn’t get any information during lunch, even though he practically begged. Afterward, he climbed in their backseat and dialed the number again. Four rings, and it went to voicemail. He hung up, not wanting to leave a message.

  “What are you doing?” Robin twisted in her seat. “Leave a message!”

  “I don’t want to sound desperate. If she wants to get back together, she knows where I am.”

  Mark found a space in the station lot and parked. “So calling her three times makes you look less desperate?”

  Greg stared at the back of Mark’s head. “I didn’t think about that.” He snugged the phone back on his belt.

  “Oh, get over yourself,” Mark shot over his shoulder. “Who cares whether she knows you’re desperate…you are.”

  Robin elbowed her husband. “Why don’t you go see her? She’s at Esther’s place.” Her voice was silk. “You can’t go into the station yet anyway. Tell her you were worried about her.” She opened her door and stepped out. “That should save your manly pride.”

  He climbed out, ran to his truck without answering, jumped in, and fired it up. Robin may not realize it, but he was worried. Maggie just had her house burned, for heaven’s sake. He’d like to watch her 24/7, but it would border on stalking, even if he did have the best of intentions. What would he say when he got there? Then he had an idea. Perfect. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? He would go home and get her dog.

  33

  Edward Blake stood over the crumpled form of a woman for the third time. Now what would he do? These erratic actions had to end now. Pistol whipping Maggie was spontaneous, but he had to admit it was brilliant. If he’d shot her, the neighbors might have heard it, to say nothing of the mess it would make.

  He reached down and felt the base of her neck. A slow pulse thrummed against his fingertips. He went to the kitchen and searched until he found what he was looking for—duct tape. If she woke up, he didn’t want her making a fuss and alerting the neighbors. He wrapped her wrists together and then her ankles, putting a piece over her mouth for good measure.

  The new plan came to him quickly. He would take her to his cabin, wait until dark, and then push her and the car off the cliffs. Didn’t Esther keep a set of keys hanging next to the back door? He remembered the many times he’d sat in her kitchen having coffee and a pastry. The last time flashed into his mind. Her body twisted after he’d stabbed her, and the look on her face before she fell haunted his dreams. Her eyes, he couldn’t forget those eyes, sad
and accusing, but not pleading. She never said a word, the breath catching in her throat, before she’d tumbled to the floor.

  Pushing the disturbing thoughts out of his mind, he hurried to the kitchen. Sure enough, the keys were there, swinging from a wooden peg. He hit the button to close the garage door and cleared a path through the clothes. The trunk popped up with the remote. Slipping the keys into his pocket, he dashed into the kitchen. He’d have to move Maggie’s car, too. Digging through her purse, he put her keys into his pocket with the others.

  Back in the living room, he bent down, slipped his arms under her shoulders and knees, and heaved. Ooof, she was heavier than she looked. Her body bent at the waist, and she thudded to the floor. Man, he hoped the car wreck covered the bruising she would have. Bending down again, he placed her taped wrists behind his head. Lifting again, he was able to carry her. Backing into the kitchen, he maneuvered along the path through the clothes into the garage.

  He eased around Esther’s car and lowered Maggie into the trunk. Every emotion told him to throw her in and slam the lid, but her arms around his neck prevented it. Disengaging his head, he bumped it on something—the trunk release. If she woke during the drive, he didn’t want her opening the trunk. After all, he didn’t want her to hurt herself. He snickered as he slid out his pocketknife, cut the cord, and slammed the trunk. For the first time since he arrived, some relief oozed through him. Don’t relax now. There’s a lot more to do.

  Taking Esther’s car was a stroke of genius. If anyone came looking for Maggie, it would seem as if she’d gone somewhere in her aunt’s car. He’d originally thought about hiding his in the garage but changed his mind. If someone did show up, it would be a dead giveaway. He’d park it on the street among all the others. A Mercedes would stand out more than he wanted, but there was nothing else to be done. He could move it before anyone came looking.

  He parked Maggie’s car in front of the house and his farther down the street. He walked back, head up, arms swinging, as though he didn’t have a care in the world. If her neighbors glanced out, or heaven forbid came out, he’d tell them he was helping her sell the car. Hopefully, no one would even notice him.