by Kim Davis
“You mean now, like right this minute?” My voice squeaked. I blamed my foggy, sleep-deprived brain. Of course my attorney wouldn’t show up at the party just to check on me. “Coffee. I need coffee before I talk to them.”
“Well, get a cup, and let’s go.”
“First, I need to tell my brother-in-law I’m leaving.”
I scurried to the kitchen, grabbed my purse, and headed out to find Thomas but stopped short when Randall walked in.
“Can we talk for a minute?” If he had been wearing a cowboy hat, he would have clutched it between his hands.
“Sorry, I don’t have time.” When his shoulders drooped, I took pity on him. “Call me tomorrow. Just not early.”
I didn’t give him a chance to say anything else. Instead, I rushed past him and quickly found Thomas still chatting with Madison and the birthday girl. I whispered my predicament in his ear.
“No problem. I’ve got it covered.” He patted my shoulder. “Call your sister when you can.”
“Sure.”
I found my attorney waiting—quite impatiently, it appeared, if his tapping foot and his looking at his wristwatch were any indications, by the gate. He ushered me to his running car, and before I latched my seat belt, he gunned the engine and peeled out of the parking lot.
I didn’t know what to say to this man who I obviously annoyed, so, for once, I kept my mouth shut and watched the rolling hills whiz by. All the scenarios of what might happen kept flashing through my brain. Were they going to arrest me? Would my mother post bail? And, oh god, would they force me to wear an orange jumpsuit? It was the color that clashed the worst with my red hair. I checked my voice mail and found three messages from Mel, who sounded increasingly annoyed with each one left, and two from a Detective Jackson. I assumed he was the detective assigned to Tori’s case.
Mel didn’t turn music or a news station on. What did liking silence say about a person? A few miles from the police station, I couldn’t stand the quiet anymore.
“I didn’t kill Tori.”
“It doesn’t matter.” He kept his gaze glued to the road. “My job is to keep my client from being charged or get the charge dropped. If that doesn’t work, I need to give a jury reasonable doubt so you can get on with your life. In exchange, I get a nice fee that I split between my ex-wives.”
Ex-wives? I wondered how many he had.
“But I still want you to know I’m not a killer.” I shuddered. I couldn’t even watch the slasher movies Philip liked, and I would never forget the sight of all that blood covering Tori.
“Okay, fine. You do realize, though, that’s what they all say.” He exhaled, like he was sorry he had to take care of my mess. “When we get in there, do not say a word aside from confirming your name and any other identifying questions. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir.” I clamped my lips together, determined not to speak again unless Mel asked me a question.
All too soon an officer escorted us to a drab-looking interview, or as I thought of it, an interrogation room. Beige walls, dirty beige linoleum, and beige plastic chairs. The obligatory two-way mirror lined the far wall. I sat in the chair facing the mirror while my attorney sat to my left. Lights winked in the upper corners above the mirror, while red-and-white signs that read You May Be Recorded hung next to two cameras.
A detective I had never met made his way in and slapped a thick beige folder onto the table next to me. Nerves made my mouth parched, and I licked my lips. He introduced himself as Detective Harper Jackson and appeared to be in his late thirties, with thinning, sandy-blond hair. Although he was clean shaven, his eyebrows were bushy and seemed to encroach on his dark-brown eyes. Thin lips were pressed together in a tight line, like he didn’t want to give them a chance to smile. Or perhaps he didn’t want to smile at a potential murderer. The detective pulled out the chair across from me and sat down.
After confirming my name, age, and other identifying factors, Detective Jackson opened the file, leaned across the table, and got close to my face. “Tell me what happened Saturday, Mrs. Martinez.”
My mouth opened involuntarily to answer when my attorney jabbed my arm.
“Mrs. Martinez has nothing to say,” Mel interjected. “Now, if we can discuss what evidence you have to hold her, you might stop wasting my valuable time.”
Detective Jackson seemed annoyed but tried not to show it. I watched the two men verbally spar for close to two hours, all the while keeping my mouth closed. Although the murder weapon belonged to me and technically to Philip, no fingerprints or conclusive proof that would convict me had been found. They only had circumstantial evidence I was the killer. The detective tried to get me to explain how strands of my red hair happened to have been on the front window screen, but my attorney cut my reply off with a steely glance. Finally, the detective told us I was free to go but not to leave town. I should have felt more relieved, but instead, I felt terrified they would pigeonhole their facts to convict me.
Once Mel and I were ensconced in his car, he turned and looked me straight in the eyes. “Now, young lady, suppose you tell me how your wedding cake knife turned into the murder weapon.”
“I truly have no idea.” I briefly wondered if Philip had killed his lover. He hated to be manipulated, and I began to realize Tori had manipulated both of us. There was no other explanation for what happened with Randall and the photo surfacing on Facebook. Still, I couldn’t throw my husband under the bus, so to speak, without any proof.
My attorney’s sharp voice pulled me back. “Emory! I need you to focus.”
“Sorry. I guess my mind drifted. I didn’t get any sleep last night.” I rubbed the palms of my hands on my eyes for emphasis. “What did you say?”
“I asked when was the last time you saw your cake knife.”
A yawn escaped me. “About four months ago. I made and served a silver anniversary cake for Captain Newman and his wife’s celebration.”
“Do you remember what happened to it after the event? Did you take the knife home?”
“I honestly don’t remember. After the waiters served the cake, Philip brought a bottle of champagne to our table. The rest of the night is kind of fuzzy.”
I don’t generally overindulge with alcohol. Chocolate, yes! But alcohol wasn’t my vice. I remembered wondering why the champagne hit me so hard after I had only a couple of glasses. Had Philip slipped something into my drink so he could take the knife without me remembering?
“Mrs. Martinez, please focus.” Mel’s face contorted with the effort of trying to contain his anger. “Who helped you clean up?”
“The country club’s wait staff boxed up the leftover cake for guests to take home. I’m assuming they put my cake plates and knife into the box I had brought for that purpose.”
“But you’re not sure?”
“Sorry, that night is really fuzzy.”
“Wouldn’t you have washed the items and put them away the next morning?”
“Yes, except I had a horrible headache and didn’t get out of bed until noon. Philip had everything cleaned up and put away for me.” The second the words left my mouth, I paused. Philip never did dishes or helped me with household chores. Why would he have cleaned up the cake plates and knife? Was it possible he had premeditated Tori’s murder and then tried to pin it on me?
“You’re telling me you have not seen the murder weapon since you served cake to Captain Newman?”
“Yes, that is correct.”
“Who else would have had access to the knife in your home?”
“Besides my husband, a lot of people. We hosted a barbecue with about fifty guests earlier this summer. Quite a few coworkers from Philip’s station came along with Tori and some of her friends. I suppose any of them might have taken it.”
Maybe Philip’s partner, Amy, took it. I recalled seeing a sour look on her face anytime she saw Tori—or me, for that matter.
“Where did you normally keep the knife?”
“In my
china hutch with my wedding cake topper.”
“And you wouldn’t have noticed it missing all these months?”
“No. It’s stored in a velvet box I keep closed so it doesn’t get dusty.”
“Do you know anyone else who wanted Ms. Carlton dead?”
Oh boy. I couldn’t tell him I considered my husband and his partner as suspects. Without proof, it would only look like I was trying to get back at him over his affair with Tori.
I shook my head. “Sorry, I can’t think of anyone.”
When Mel dropped me off at home, I found my car sitting in the driveway. I assumed my stepdad and mother picked it up from Tori’s for me. My mother would be waiting for a “talk” about my situation, but I wasn’t ready to face the music yet. I hoped she wasn’t inside, ready to ambush me, since I wanted to forestall that conversation as long as possible.
Silence greeted me when I opened the front door. Philip must have kept Piper, and I hoped he would be reasonable about sharing custody with her. But for now, with my future freedom at stake, I was grateful he had our fur baby.
I found my keys on the kitchen counter with an elegantly penned note from my mother reminding me to call her. Shivers jittered down my spine. I wanted to avoid that phone call for as long as possible. So, instead of calling, I washed the piles of dishes and wiped up the splattered buttercream frosting left from my frantic cake-decorating session early this morning. When I realized the refrigerator was bare except for buttercream frosting, butter, and an assortment of dairy products, I also made a grocery list.
The second I finished cleaning the last countertop, my cell phone rang. Mother. I groaned inwardly.
“Hi, Mother, I was just going to call you.” I tried to sound cheerful.
“Emory Danae,” my mother said, her sharp voice cutting across the phone. “I know good and well you’ve been home for over forty-five minutes.”
“Sorry. I meant to call you sooner.” I looked around my kitchen. Had she installed a camera to spy on me? “I’m exhausted, and once I saw the mess from decorating the cake this morning, I had to clean before I did anything else.”
My mother knew I didn’t like messes, especially in my kitchen. But seriously, how did she know I’d been home for that long?
“Well, explain yourself, young lady. How did you get involved in this mess?” Her voice rose an octave. “I’ve told you all along that Tori person would be bad news.”
I sighed, kicked my shoes off, and plopped down onto the sofa. Might as well make myself comfortable because once my no-nonsense mother got on a roll, it could take a while. “It wasn’t my fault, and Tori certainly didn’t ask to be killed.”
“Don’t take that tone with me.” Her exasperation marred her polished voice. “You need to tell your attorney to make this whole mess disappear so we can get back to normal. You also need to tell him he is free to keep me updated on his progress.”
So, that was how she knew when I got home. She had talked to my attorney right after he dropped me off. “Um, sure.”
“Your sister is calling, so I need to go.” Of course, the perfect daughter would take precedence over me, the murder suspect. “You get this mess straightened out and make up with Philip.”
The disconnected call beeped in my ear, and then I looked at my phone, not believing what I’d heard. Make up with Philip? Did she not understand he’d been cheating on me? And if I were honest with myself, the cheating had been going on for a long time.
My lack of sleep caught up with me because when I woke up, it was dark. My neck and shoulders were stiff from napping on the sofa, and I fumbled to turn on the small table lamp. I looked at my wristwatch. Eight already. When the doorbell chimed, I jumped. Had my mother come to harass me in person? I chastised myself mentally for even considering it.
I shuffled to the front door, opened it, and let out a squeak. Randall? Oh my god, what was Randall doing at my house?
Chapter 11
I ran my hand across my hair, trying to smooth it down. It was always a disaster when I woke up, and I was sure I looked a fright.
“Randall, what are you doing here?” My voice still sounded squeaky, so I cleared my throat. “You were supposed to call me tomorrow.”
“I’m sorry to barge in on you like this, but I just found out about Tori.” He ran a hand across his stubbled cheek. “We really have to talk.”
My mind whirled a million miles a minute as I noticed his blue eyes, dark hair, and that bandana still tied around his neck. The stubble lining his jaw made him look like one of those rugged magazine models. Letting him into my house was probably a really bad idea. How had he gotten my address? He seemed surprised when I brought up Tori’s name at the party, or perhaps he was a fantastic actor. Could Randall be a killer?
“Can I come in?”
Before I could talk some sense into myself, I opened the door wider. “Sure. Would you like some coffee or a beer?”
“No thanks, I don’t need anything.”
I sat on my sofa and straightened a couple of throw pillows. Randall chose my grandmother’s rocking chair, leaned back, and rocked.
“I’m really sorry about your cousin. I hope you believe me because I didn’t have anything to do with Tori’s death.”
“Cousin?” Randall tilted his head and drew his eyebrows together. “Tori isn’t my cousin. Why would you think that?”
“Wait, what? Tori told me.” This was getting worse by the minute. I had kissed a stranger? “Well, who are you? What is your relationship with Tori?”
Using Tori’s name in the present tense made me wince. It was hard to accept she was no longer alive.
“Ah, Tori. I see she tangled you in one of her sticky webs.”
“What do you mean? We were friends.” Yeah, that friendship was in the past tense, even without her murder.
Randall let out a harsh grunt. “Tori didn’t do friends. She had marks.”
I shook my head and twisted a few strands of my red hair around my index finger. “I don’t understand. We were good friends until, well….”
Randall sat there, rocking back and forth, not saying anything.
“Okay, so she wasn’t the best of friends, especially after I caught….” I didn’t need to be spilling my guts to a man I didn’t know. “How do, I mean did, you know Tori?”
“She was engaged to my brother.”
Okay, I didn’t see that one coming. Tori? Engaged? I had a hard time picturing the party girl wanting to settle down.
“Why did they break up?” I assumed the brother had gotten wise to the real Tori.
“My brother was murdered.”
Me and my big mouth. Why did I need to ask questions? “I’m so sorry for your loss, Randall. How long ago did it happen?”
“Two and a half years ago.” He scowled and brushed some imaginary lint off his blue jeans. Or maybe it was one of Piper’s hairs floating around. “Tori disappeared right after his death. I’ve been looking for her ever since.”
I scooted farther away from him. He seemed to blame Tori for his brother’s death. Could he have killed her?
Randall must have noticed my movement because he chuckled. “I didn’t kill her, and I’m pretty sure you didn’t either. But for some reason, someone threw us together, and I need to find out why.”
He tugged on his bandana, and I glimpsed a dark-red mark. Oh great.
“I’m sure Tori orchestrated this because of her affair with my husband. She wanted him to leave me, and she used you to make him think we were having an affair.”
“For being married, you were quite amorous Friday night.” He tugged at his bandana again. “Tori told me about your nasty divorce.”
“No, no divorce. Tori made that up.” Aware of my own bandana, I scratched my neck. “I’m sure I was drugged because I don’t remember anything except having a glass of chardonnay. When I woke up, I had this on my neck.”
I wouldn’t have dreamed of considering divorce on Friday, but today it was a defini
te possibility.
“Tori! She must have drugged us both at some point.” His tan face seemed to go pale. “You pounded mojitos after the glass of wine. That’s when you crawled all over me.”
“Please believe I’m sorry because I’m never like that.” I pointed at his neck. “That’s not something I remember doing to you.”
“I don’t remember either, and I don’t remember reciprocating the, uh, favor.” He shook his head. “Everything seemed fine when we dropped you off here, and then Tori talked me into getting a cup of coffee to reminisce about my brother. That’s the last thing I remember until I woke up yesterday at home with a raging hangover, which made little sense because I only had two mojitos.”
“But what about the photo of us at Villa Havana? Why did you half undress me and let Tori take a picture?”
“I didn’t undress you so there can’t be a photo.” He tilted his head and looked at me. “I would never, ever take advantage of a woman, especially when she’s intoxicated.”
“How the heck did a photo show up on Facebook with your face buried in my half-undressed chest?”
“Tori!” we both said in unison.
“She was really good at Photoshop back in Florida and must’ve marked our necks after drugging us.”
Why did Tori feel such a need to humiliate me? Why did she post the photo all over Facebook? All she needed to do was make sure Philip found the photo on my phone, and our marriage would have been history.
“You said you drove me home? Did you help her bring me inside?”
“No. She said she’d manage you.”
Yeah, she managed me all right. Bit my neck and dumped me on the bathroom floor. But at least that explained how Randall found out where I lived.
I rubbed my face. “This is such an awful mess, and I’m sorry you got dragged into it. I don’t understand why she wanted my husband so desperately.”
“It was one of her flaws. That’s how she hooked my brother.” Randall went quiet for a moment.