An Ear for Murder

by Diane Weiner

  “Here’s my number. I’m staying next door to your house—your old house—until the police say it’s okay to go back. Do you want me to bring Panther over?”

  Mrs. Rossi started crying again. “We can’t have pets here. Condo rules. I forgot about Panther. What’s going to happen to him?”

  “I’ve got him for now,” said Sara. “If you need help with the arrangements, please call me. My parents offered to help as well. Mom says she and the ladies at church already have the food covered for after the service and the church says the basement is available for after the service.”

  “Thank you. This town is a security blanket for all of us. If this had happened in the middle of a city somewhere no one would blink an eye.”

  She’s right about that. At least in my limited experience living in one. “We’re all family here. No one goes it alone. Remember, call if you need me.”

  Sara wondered if Ellie’s parents would ever be able to move on after losing their only child in such a violent way. At the least, her killer had to be caught. As if her thoughts had transmitted themselves, her phone vibrated.

  “Sara, it’s Detective Lambert. I wanted to let you know the crime scene has been cleared. You are free to go back there if you wish.”

  “Is it…is there blood…?”

  “We can send a crime scene cleaning service over if you’d like. I’d recommend that.”

  “Okay.”

  “I have a few more questions for you. My morning is booked, but how about lunch at the diner? By then I’ll let you know when the cleaning service has arranged to come to the house.”

  “Um, okay. I’ll meet you at the diner.”

  “12:30 then.”

  Was her mother right? Did the detective have an interest in her, or was this strictly business?

  Sara stopped at home and walked around back to the shop. She was thrilled to see Grandfather sitting at a worktable making an oboe.

  “Hi, Dad. Grandpa, look at you working like a pro.”

  “Don’t placate me, Sara. I’ve been making oboes my whole life. Why shouldn’t I be doing so now? I’m old but I’m not dead.”

  Her father, working at the table behind Grandpa, simply shook his head.

  “Can I help? I have a few hours to spare.”

  “We can use all the help we can get. Can you work on repairs?”

  “Sure.” She grabbed an oboe case and started working. The screwdriver slipped out of her hand onto the floor.

  “And I’m the one who can’t do this anymore?” said Grandpa.

  “It just slipped out of my hand. No big deal.”

  “Leave her alone, Pops. This is like old times, the three of us together in the shop.”

  She had a flashback to a snowy Saturday afternoon back when she was in middle school. “Dad, do you remember the time the electric went out and you had to finish those two oboes for the principal of the New York Philharmonic?”

  “Sure do. He was coming to pick them up the next morning. If he wasn’t satisfied with the oboes he could have ruined my business.”

  “Mom brought a thermos full of hot chocolate from the house so you could keep working. She sat down and began sorting the invoices. Scott was scared being in the dark, so he came over, too. Grandpa showed him how to polish the keys; remember, Dad?”

  “The boy has two left thumbs. But he managed better than I’d expected.”

  “It was nice working together as a family,” said Sara. “And those oboes got glowing reviews.”

  Her father laughed. “I could barely keep up with the new orders long afterwards.”

  “I picked up Ellie’s parents.”

  “How are they holding up?” Her father kept working while he talked.

  “They’re barely holding it together.”

  Grandpa announced, “I saw young Barack over at the hospital this morning when I had my hip appointment.”

  “Who?”

  “That boy who came around for dinner the other night. I had an appointment with Dr. Peters. I was in the waiting room and I could hear them arguing through the door, even with my bad hearing and all.”

  “You mean Travis. His name is Travis, not Barack.”

  “Whatever. You know who I mean.”

  “What were they arguing about?”

  “He was saying stuff like if you had anything to do with this...”

  “Are you sure that’s what you heard?”

  “Yeah, he said he knew she was happy to be rid of Ellie. Ellie was a threat.”

  “A threat to what?”

  “How do I know? Just sayin’ what I heard. Anyhow, Barack blew right past me, didn’t even notice I was sitting there.” He continued to work.

  Bob Baron shrugged his shoulders. Without missing a beat, he said, “Pops hears lots of things these days.”

  Sara continued working on the repairs, leaving herself enough time to run by Travis’s to pack her things before meeting Detective Lambert for lunch. She fed Panther, then went upstairs and got to work.

  The coffee had worn off and her head throbbed. She searched her purse. All out of Excedrin. Now what? She tossed the empty bottle in the trash. Panther followed her into the master bathroom on a hunt for aspirin.

  The medicine cabinet was as pristine as the kitchen cabinets. Shaving cream, Tums, Excedrin Migraine, and a small prescription bottle. “Look, Panther. Migraine medicine. Take as needed. Cameron Stokes. “These expired two years ago. Who is Cameron Stokes?” She noted the doctor’s name and instinct told her to snap a photo of the bottle. She shook two caplets out of the Excedrin Migraine and headed downstairs.

  “Panther, I’ve got to get out of here and meet the detective. I’ll come by and pick you up after lunch.” She was probably being overly optimistic, thinking the crime scene clean-up would be done by then.

  She changed into a new pair of jeans and a red pullover, then dabbed on a touch of eye shadow and face powder. Checking herself in the mirror, she turned to the side, then loosened the pullover so it didn’t cling to her stomach.

  Chapter 11

  The noisy diner was beginning to fill with the lunch crowd. Sara pushed past the glass case with cream pies and Greek pastries. She spotted Detective Lambert in a booth drinking a cup of coffee. He stood up when he saw her.

  “Hello, thanks for meeting here rather than at the station. My schedule’s packed but I managed to carve out a lunch hour.”

  “Well, my schedule’s rather sparse at the moment. In fact, there’s no schedule. I’m on vacation.”

  “The snow’s plentiful this year. The nearby resorts are packed with skiers.”

  “I’m not much of a skier. I’m in town to help my family make arrangements for my grandfather’s surprise 80th birthday party.”

  “Your mother says you play in an orchestra. I play a little electric guitar myself. What instrument do you play?”

  “Oboe.”

  “Is that the giant brown instrument with the mouthpiece that looks like a plumbing pipe?”

  “No, that’s a bassoon. It’s the instrument that looks like a clarinet and plays the duck in Peter and the Wolf.”

  “Peter and the what?”

  “Never mind. Did you order yet?”

  “No, but I always go with the lamb gyro.”

  She stared at the menu, searching for a healthy choice. The aroma of fried falafel tempted her as the waitress approached the table. Stick to the plan or these new jeans won’t fit for long.

  “I’m going to have the grilled chicken on pita. Go light on the mayo. And can I get a side salad in place of the fries? Dressing on the side.”

  “Yes, ma’am, but our fries are really good.”

  “She’s not kidding,” said Detective Lambert. He had a million-dollar smile.

  “I’ll just steal some of his.” She handed her the menu. “So what did you want to ask me?”

  “The night of the murder, you said you passed Travis Jennings on your way into town. Correct?”

  “That�
��s right. I’d skidded on the ice after a deer darted across the road and he pulled over to make sure I was okay.”

  “Was he going toward or away from the Rossi place?”

  “He was behind me, so he was going toward it.”

  “And when you got to the Rossi’s, what time was it?”

  “Around 11 p.m.”

  “And Travis Jennings was at his house at the time? Was his truck in his driveway?”

  “Yes. His light was on and I’m pretty sure his truck was in the driveway. Wait, maybe it wasn’t. He has a garage. I can’t remember. Why do you ask?”

  “There were fresh tire tracks in the murder victim’s driveway.”

  “I told you a Buick Le Sabre nearly killed us. The same one that pulled away from Ellie’s house last night. I’ll bet it was those tire tracks you saw.”

  “I had forensics check. They came from a truck.”

  “You think Travis was parked in Ellie’s driveway sometime the evening Ellie was killed? Did you check what you found against his tires?”

  “He refuses to let us take a mold without a warrant. It was sleeting earlier in the evening. Tracks made earlier in the evening would have been washed away with the freezing rain.”

  “Did you talk to Travis about it? There must be an explanation.”

  “He denies being there. Says he was home all evening after 8:30. He’s not being very forthcoming.”

  “Travis was home when I discovered Ellie’s body. I ran to him for help.”

  “So he says. Never mind.”

  “Do you doubt him?”

  “Certain things don’t add up, that’s all. He said he hadn’t ever been in her house, yet we found his fingerprints all over the living room and kitchen.”

  She wondered if his prints were in the bedroom as well. Of course, they were. He followed her upstairs to where Ellie was. Wait, or did she follow him? No. He led her directly into the master bedroom. If he’d never been there, how did he know the way to Ellie’s room?

  “And we found a man’s sweatshirt in her closet. Seattle Seahawks. The neighbor was from Seattle.”

  “The neighbor? By the neighbor you mean Travis Jennings?” Of course, he does. I should have known Travis was a player right from the start.

  “That’s the assumption, though we can’t be sure.”

  The waitress brought the food to the table.

  “That was quick,” said Sara.

  “We try to get the lunch crowd in and out since most work downtown and have limited time.”

  “Did you ask him where he was earlier in the evening?”

  “He said he was out of bread and ran to the store.”

  It was true that he’d run out of bread She’d made a sandwich on a stale English muffin for lunch. I’ll bet the store closed early due to the weather. She took a bite of her sandwich.

  “How is it?”

  “Delicious. Haven’t had Greek food for a while.”

  He made a symmetrical circle of ketchup and arranged the fries around it with his fork.

  “Here. Try this.” He stabbed a fry and offered it to her.

  “You’re right. These are good.” She alternated a bite of salad with a fry from the detective’s plate.

  “If you notice anything that could possibly link Travis Jennings to the murder, would you give me a call?”

  “Of course, Detective Lambert.”

  “Phil. Call me Phil—unless we’re down at the station.”

  “Okay, Phil. Let me treat you to some Baklava since I ate half your fries.”

  “I’m pretty full. Let’s share one instead. Enough shoptalk. Tell me about you. What do you like to do when you aren’t working?”

  “I’m fortunate that playing the oboe isn’t something I consider work. I like to read.”

  She couldn’t remember the last book she’d read.

  “Do you like snowboarding?”

  “Haven’t tried it. I did a little skiing growing up, but like I said earlier, I’m not very good at it.”

  “We’ll have to give it a try sometime. It isn’t hard. Easier than skiing.”

  She’d made a habit of avoiding any activities where she could possibly injure her hands. Should she even worry about that anymore.”

  “By the way, the crime cleanup service finished. You can go back to the Rossi house now.”

  “Finished already?”

  “It’s not like they had a lot of work ahead of them, and there wasn’t much blood. They almost sounded excited when I called to arrange it. I’d better head back.” He grabbed the check and left a generous tip. “Thanks for meeting me. We’ll have to do it again.”

  She wouldn’t mind seeing him again. It was nice to talk to someone her own age. Someone pleasant and with manners. Should she trust Travis or not? She’d trusted Brandon and see where that left her. Her gut wanted to believe Travis was on the up and up, but there were some discrepancies in what he’d told her, not to mention the earring she’d found. And why wouldn’t he allow the police to take a mold of his tires unless…she didn’t want to go there. Just because he’s private doesn’t mean he’s guilty.

  She stopped at Travis’s house to pick up her things and to get Panther. The more she thought about it, the happier she was to get out of that house. For all she knew, she’d been staying with a killer.

  “Panther, you’ll be happy to be back in familiar territory, won’t you?” She grabbed her things, then noticed a text from Travis. Locksmith came. New key is on kitchen table. She’d almost forgotten. “Well, Panther, should we do a little investigating before we leave?”

  She listened to be sure they were alone, then went to Travis’s closet in his bedroom. Half a dozen shirts and pants, a three-piece suit, and a bath robe hung from the bar. No woman’s clothing. Then she opened the drawers, one by one.

  The boxers were neatly rolled and sorted by color. Going through the t-shirts, she found the holey one he’d been wearing the night of the murder. She unfolded it. There was a dark stain at chest level. Could it be a blood stain? She trembled.

  “Let’s check the bathroom, Panther.” She opened the drawers under the sink. Amongst the neatly arranged shaving cream, razors, and deodorant, she found a curling iron. Surely that didn’t belong to him. Ellie used to love to curl her hair when we were in high school…

  She looked at her watch. Travis might pop in at any moment. She scooped up Panther and scurried downstairs.

  It took longer to load her things into the car than it took to drive next door. She stood on the porch, trembling. “We can do this, Panther.”

  She walked into a ransacked mess, exactly like the last time she’d been there. She picked up the couch cushions and tossed them on the sofa, clearing the path to the stairs. She trembled going up the steps, picturing Ellie on the floor.

  She pushed open the bedroom door, expecting the worst, but the bedroom was devoid of any traces of the murder. The carpet looked brand new. Not a trace of blood anywhere. She could detect the faint odor of bleach, but other than that, you’d never know a crime had taken place here.

  She went to the dresser. Ellie’s brush…a cosmetics bag…deodorant. All traces that Ellie had indeed been here. Her eyes teared.

  Ellie’s watch and gold necklace are sitting right here on top of the jewelry box. If this was a robbery, it wasn’t valuables they were after. What did they want?

  She’d have to have Ellie’s parents come get her things when they felt up to it. On top of the jewelry box, she spotted a gold hoop earring. The match to the one she’d found at Travis’s house.

  Caught off guard, she felt heat on the back of her neck a second before feeling a hand clamp over her mouth. Strong arms pinned her own arms against her body. Travis! He caught me snooping. He followed me and he’s a murderer! She struggled like a bear in a hunting trap. Her heart punched and tried to rip its way out of her chest. How could I be so stupid as to trust him?

  “Stay still. I’m not going to harm you. I have to talk to you.�
�

  She continued to struggle. Now his gloved hand partially covered her nose. She couldn’t breathe. With all her energy she flung forward, but might as well have stayed still. The vise around her torso tightened.

  “I didn’t kill Ellie. I loved her. You have to convince the police to look in another direction. Shake your head if you’re willing to listen to me.”

  He loosened his grip. What other options do I have? It’s agree or suffocate.

  He peeled his hand off of her mouth. She turned and faced him, arms like Jell-O, legs numb.

  “You’re not Travis.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  She caught her breath. “You’re Preston Montague, right? How did you get in here? The locks were just changed.”

  “The back door was unlocked. So much for security. If you know who I am, then you’ve done your homework. You should have concluded I’m not a murderer.”

  “If you’re innocent, why have you gone into hiding?”

  “Because no one will believe me. I’m not getting locked up for something I didn’t do.”

  “Are you going to kill me too?”

  “Of course not. How many times do I have to tell you I’m not a killer? I just want to see justice done; I want to find whoever did this to the love of my life. I owe it to Ellie.”

  “Let me go. I’m friends with the lead detective investigating this case. I’ll talk to him.”

  “Don’t run right to the police. Dig further. Ellie and that neighbor were involved. I saw them together. I think he killed her. Just look into it, that’s all I’m asking.”

  She found herself being swayed by his sincerity. “Okay. I’ll keep searching on my own. Will you leave now?”

  “Give me your phone.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll leave it on the front stoop. Stay here until I’m gone. Promise, or you’ll be coming with me.”

  “Okay. I promise.”

  Chapter 12

  She flopped on the bed and heard heavy boots clomp down the steps. She waited to hear the front door close. She didn’t hear a car, but hadn’t seen one parked anywhere near by when she first entered the house.