Sprinkles of Suspicion

by Kim Davis

  “If you don’t want to talk about him, I understand.” I reached out my hand to pat his but pulled it back into my lap. I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea, especially after my behavior on Friday night.

  “No, that’s okay. For whatever reason, you’re in the middle of Tori’s murder, and somehow, I think her death connects to my brother’s death.”

  “Didn’t they catch the person who killed your brother?”

  “No.” Randall rubbed his face and closed his eyes. “I’ve been hunting her for over two years, and I’m certain Tori was the killer.”

  I almost fell off the sofa. Fun-loving Tori? The Tori who shared my love for jazz, pedicures, and good books? No way. Stealer of husbands? Yeah, I could see that. But a killer? No.

  My mouth hung open for several seconds before I snapped it closed. I shook my head. “No, I don’t see Tori killing anyone. As her friend for almost two years, I’m sure I would have known something was wrong with her.”

  Randall snorted. “You didn’t even know she’d been engaged. Psychopaths can be very convincing that they’re normal people.”

  I shuddered. Had I really been hanging out with a murderer all this time?

  “If I tell you about my brother and what happened, you’ll see Tori for the monster she is. I mean, was.”

  This guy seemed bitter, but if I suspected someone of murdering my sister, I wouldn’t ever forgive them either. Still, I didn’t see Tori killing anyone.

  “Earth to Em? Do you want to hear about my brother or not?”

  “Sorry. This is a lot to process and take in.” I looked straight into Randall’s gorgeous blue eyes. “Yes, I want to know about him.”

  “I guess it is a bombshell, isn’t it?” Randall cleared his throat. “Dylan—that was my brother—was on the vice squad in Florida.”

  “In Miami?”

  “What? No, Tampa.”

  “Sorry. I guess I remember Tori mentioned she moved from Miami, and when you said vice, I thought of Miami Vice.”

  He looked at me like I’d lost my mind… and I probably had. I clamped my lips together and turned an imaginary key with my hand.

  “He worked undercover on drug cases when his fiancée met Tori.”

  “Wasn’t Tori his fiancée?”

  When Randall narrowed his eyes, I decided I’d better stop interrupting.

  “Sorry. I’ll be quiet.”

  The doorbell rang, interrupting Randall again. I glanced at my watch. Eight thirty. Who would drop by unannounced this late? As I mouthed “sorry” to Randall, I jumped off the sofa and went to the door. Before I reached for the handle, I heard a key inserted in the lock. The door opened. Uh-oh, there was only one person who would let themselves into my house.

  “Philip, what are you doing here?” My voice squeaked, and I glanced back toward the family room where Randall sat.

  “Darling, I thought you two needed to work this out, so I insisted Philip come.” My mother breezed in behind my cheating husband, air kissed my cheek, and then froze in place. She stared over my shoulder.

  “What the heck are you doing in my house?” Philip’s deep voice sounded threatening, and his strong, square jaw clenched so hard he could’ve chipped a tooth. His chest puffed up, and his face became red as he turned and scowled at me. “You didn’t waste any time, did you? You’ll be hearing from my attorney.”

  “It’s not what you think!” I didn’t need to explain myself to him any longer, but I wanted to keep my conscience clear.

  “I am so ashamed of you.” My mother’s eyes filled with tears, and she had red splotches on her neck. “Where did I go wrong raising you?”

  Randall edged around us, heading for the open door and sanity.

  “You’re not getting away with cheating with my wife!” Philip yelled, grabbing Randall by the scruff of his neck.

  Philip curled his fist into a tight ball and took a swing at Randall. Randall deftly sidestepped the attempted punch and hightailed it out the front door.

  “Coward!” Philip yelled at the retreating figure.

  Why didn’t my mother call me instead of showing up unannounced? I scrunched my eyes together, trying to wish this entire mess had never happened. When I heard my mother huff in that exasperated way only she could do, I peeked through my lashes and hoped Philip would be nowhere in sight.

  Instead, my mother frowned at me, gave a small shudder, and walked out into the night without saying one word to me. I was sure she would make me feel extra guilty about this scene tomorrow.

  Unfortunately, Philip still stood in the doorway and glared at me. “Nobody humiliates me and gets away with it.”

  “Excuse me? Humiliates you? I’m the one who caught you in the act with Tori. You lost all rights to expect any respect and courtesy from me.”

  Philip’s eyes narrowed. “Mark my words. You’re gonna be sorry for this.”

  He stomped out the door. I slammed it behind him and made a mental note to change the locks in the morning.

  I decided to bake some butterscotch cookies to take to work the next day. Spending time in the kitchen with the sweet smells of sugar and warm vanilla soothed me. My mind kept seeing Tori’s dead body, and I worried about how I would clear my name. I also worried about how Philip planned to make me sorrier than I already felt. Beating the butter and brown and white sugars in a bowl with a wooden spoon instead of an electric mixer used some of the energy from my angst. Would he keep me from sharing custody of Piper? I regretted not having the chance to ask how she fared. I missed her but knew Philip provided her with a stable home life… for the time being.

  Being curious, I wondered why Randall thought his brother’s murder connected to Tori’s death, especially if Tori was the murderer. Maybe Randall killed Tori in revenge and wanted to steer me away from suspecting him? I needed to get the full story, but I had no idea how to contact Randall.

  I sighed as I measured out the flour and leavening. Instead of sifting them together, I whisked the ingredients vigorously. It wasn’t any use. I couldn’t lose myself in the baking. My mind wouldn’t stop trying to figure out who killed Tori. As I banged the baking sheet holding spoonfuls of butterscotch-chip-laden dough into the oven, I decided I would take Tori’s mother cookies and a bouquet of flowers after work. It was time to pay my condolences and find out how to reach Randall.

  Chapter 12

  Sleep had eluded me for most of the night, so after dumping my purse in my cubicle, I stumbled to the break room for a cup of coffee. The message light on my desk phone had been flashing furiously, but it would wait until I’d had a cup or maybe three of coffee. I had debated about calling in sick, as my attorney had suggested, but after my interrogation yesterday, I wanted to get on with my life. Being overly optimistic, I hoped they’d find other suspects and leave me alone.

  After I placed the plate of butterscotch cookies on one of the break room tables, I arranged cute napkins extolling the hardships of Mondays around the plate. With a full cup of coffee, I stumbled back toward my cubicle. I walked the long way around the floor to avoid the statistics section. Heat flamed my cheeks when I remembered Tori parading me around my office in a sheer blouse and short skirt, the outfit she claimed she bought as an early birthday gift for me. I didn’t know how she talked me into wearing it, and I didn’t think I’d ever be able to look any of those young men in the eyes again.

  My phone rang the second I reached my cubicle. I stared at the phone for a moment and then ignored the call while I booted up my computer. I sipped coffee, willing the caffeine to kick in. Once the computer turned on, I entered my login and password information. It wouldn’t let me in. I tried again, slowing down my typing to make sure I had it right. Nope. Wrong again. After the third try, a message popped up stating the username wasn’t recognized. What? I’d been at this company for seven years with the same username. This Monday couldn’t get any worse. As I picked up the phone to call the IT department, it rang again. Tempted to send the call directly to voice mail
, I changed my mind now that other employees milled around. I didn’t want my coworkers to consider me a slacker, even though I felt like one.

  “Emory Martinez speaking.”

  “Mr. Wilkins wants to see you in his office. Right this minute,” my boss’s efficient assistant, Rosa, practically yelled into the phone. “This wasn’t the day to be late. I’ve been calling you nonstop for fifteen minutes.”

  “I wasn’t late. My computer won’t log in, and I was trying to fix it.” I didn’t mention my priority had been coffee.

  “Well, hurry and get up here. He’s in a mood.”

  Rosa must have slammed down her phone because the disconnected call made me jump. Really, this was the worst Monday ever. Part of me hoped the summons would be about the promotion I had applied for, but that the owner displayed a “mood” didn’t bode well.

  I took the elevator up to the sixth floor and hurried to Rosa’s desk, where she had been a fixture for two decades. “Do you know what Mr. Wilkins wants?”

  “No, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. He’s out for bear this morning.” Her midnight-black eyes examined my silk turtleneck top. She probably wondered about my choice in the middle of summer. Then she picked up her phone and announced my arrival. She bobbed her dark curly-capped head toward the door. “Go on in and good luck.”

  I entered the cavernous room and blinked at the brightness. Two glass walls from floor to ceiling looked out toward the California coastline. Another wall contained bookshelves with a few books, but most of the shelves held trophies and framed photos of Mr. Wilkins with a variety of dignitaries and actors. His massive glass desk sat at the far end of the room, next to the windows, while a small seating area with a comfortable-looking sofa and chairs surrounded a glass coffee table. My boss sat at his desk, his gaze glued to his flat-screen computer monitor, so I tentatively made my way across the plush carpet. He still hadn’t looked up when I reached his desk, so I cleared my throat.

  “I’ll be with you in a moment, Ms. Martinez.”

  Uh-oh. He didn’t offer to let me sit on one of the buttery-leather captain chairs stationed at the side of his desk, so this couldn’t be good. I fidgeted with the button on my blazer. When I realized doing that made me seem nervous, I clasped my hands behind my back. His liver-spotted balding head, rimmed with white hair, intrigued me when it looked like a rabbit-shaped spot peeked out from the fringe of his hair. Bushy white eyebrows that needed trimming flowed over his wire-rimmed glasses, and I wondered if they smudged his lenses. Mr. Wilkins exuded formality and wore a crisply ironed white shirt and a blue tie. His suit coat hung neatly on a hanger on the door leading to his private bathroom.

  Mr. Wilkins finally looked up with a scowl. “Ms. Martinez, you’ve been with this company for over seven years. Wouldn’t you say we’ve treated you with respect and fairly compensated you?”

  “Yes, Mr. Wilkins. I’ve enjoyed working for your company.”

  “Then why would you try to tarnish my sterling reputation with your feeble attempt to blackmail me?”

  A loud buzzing filled my head, and I became dizzy. I gripped the front of his desk to keep from collapsing.

  “Excuse me? I don’t understand.” My voice shook, and I could barely get the words out.

  When he turned his computer screen toward me, I screamed. The horrid photo of Randall buried in my chest stared back at me. Except it wasn’t Randall’s head. It was Mr. Wilkins’s head. “Oh. My. God! Where did that come from?”

  “The question is, why did you think it would be a good idea to email it to me, demanding a promotion? And then threaten my company with trumped-up charges of harassment if I didn’t comply?” Mr. Wilkins’s face turned beet-red. Even though he wasn’t yelling at the top of his lungs, his quiet rage terrified me.

  “I swear I did not email that picture, nor do I have any demands or blackmail plans.” I wiped my sweaty palms on my skirt. “Please, you have to believe me!”

  “It came from your company email address, so don’t try to deny it, Ms. Martinez. I’m considering calling law enforcement to report your blackmail attempt.”

  “Someone hacked into my account. Mr. Wilkins, I’m telling you the truth! I’m being set up.” I didn’t want to be arrested again.

  He glanced back at his screen then glowered at me.

  Not wanting to give him a chance to call the police, I babbled on. “See, my friend, Tori—well, I guess she really wasn’t my true friend—set me up because she had an affair with my husband. Then she got murdered, and I found her and got arrested, except I didn’t do it, and then I found out she might have killed her fiancé, from her almost-brother-in-law…”

  I stopped talking when Mr. Wilkins’s eyeballs looked like they might pop out of their sockets. He inched his chair away from me.

  He snatched up his phone and yelled, “Get security up here. Now!”

  “What? I didn’t do it!” The desk gave me something to steady myself against.

  “I don’t care if you’re innocent or not. That’s for the police to figure out. But I have the reputation of my company to protect, and you’re undermining all my hard work.” He lifted his index finger and pointed it at me. “Effective immediately, you’re fired! Security will escort you to your desk to collect your belongings. Please see that you leave without causing a scene.”

  I knew there wasn’t any use in arguing or pleading, but I couldn’t stop the lone tear from trickling down my cheek. The office door banged open, and a burly man dressed in a uniform strode in, making me jump.

  Mr. Wilkins didn’t give the man a chance to say anything. “Please escort Ms. Martinez to her desk to collect her personal belongings and then escort her out of the building. Make sure you take away her badge and disable her entry access code.”

  The security officer touched my shoulder. “It’s time to leave, ma’am. Please come quietly.”

  I wanted to say something to Mr. Wilkins, but he already had his back turned to us, looking out the huge glass window at the distant ocean.

  The security guy led the way out, and we passed by Rosa’s desk. Her mouth hung wide open. Not one word was spoken between the two of us as the security guy and I took the elevator and then did the walk of shame to my desk. I grabbed a tissue and wiped my eyes before putting photos and a couple of mystery novels into a box I had stashed beneath my desk. A lipstick I’d been hunting for during the previous week was found in a drawer, as was a package of pretzels. I handed my ID badge to the man who stood at attention just outside my cubicle, grabbed the box, and trudged to the elevator. My eyes stared at the carpet, hoping to avoid seeing the look of curiosity mixed with pity from my former coworkers.

  Once I made it to my car and stowed my box, Mr. Security Guy stood and waited for me to start my car and drive off the lot. My limbs trembled so hard it was difficult to drive. The tears pooled in my eyes and made the road blurry. I worried about my ability to stay on the road, but I couldn’t stop. Not yet. I needed to get home, away from prying eyes. I needed the privacy of my bedroom to give in to a complete sob fest.

  Fired? Oh, dear lord, how would I pay my mortgage and bills? Philip, pissed off at me, would probably gloat at my misfortune. My sister had another baby on the way, and I was beyond humiliated at the thought of asking my mother for help. I wouldn’t be out on the street, but to have to consider moving back in with my mother at my age? It was more than I could bear. Now the pity party was heading into full swing.

  Chapter 13

  After fifteen minutes of an uncontrollable crying jag, I pulled my limp noodle of a self from bed. When the horrific image in my mirror threatened to leave me crying again, I ran some warm water over Lipton tea bags, placed them in the freezer for a few minutes, and applied them to my swollen eyes. As I lay on the sofa, waiting for the tea bags to work, I wondered who wanted to set me up for Tori’s murder.

  With all the questions I’d been asking, I’d learned plenty of people might have wanted her dead. But how did they connect to me?
Randall qualified as a suspect, but how did he get ahold of my cake knife? Philip was a stronger possibility. If he found out Tori manipulated him and that I had cheated on him, perhaps he snapped and saw it as a way to get back at us both. I didn’t want to think I’d been sharing a bed with someone who was capable of murder. The best solution would be that the killer was a random stranger from Tori’s past, connected to Randall’s brother. Possibly Tori had swiped my cake knife, and it was a convenient weapon for the stranger.

  I shook my head, knowing full well I was grasping at straws, trying to arrange my limited clues so that they made sense. The more I thought about it, the angrier I became that someone had decided to destroy my life.

  I hoped Detective Jackson would investigate with an open mind, but given his reaction to me during his interrogation, I suspected he only looked for evidence that confirmed I killed Tori. It was time to put the big-girl panties on and do something to rescue my own life. No one else would do it for me.

  I needed to track down Randall and find out why he assumed she killed his brother. My very public catfight with her might have given that random stranger a scapegoat: me! I added talking to the stoner brothers to my list of mental notes and hoped those guys had seen someone lurking around. My visit to Tori’s mother would be the best place to start. She might have Randall’s phone number. I had yet to offer my condolences, although I wasn’t sure she’d be happy to see me, since I was a “person of interest” in her daughter’s murder. My eyes teared up as I wondered what people thought of me. But I shook the tears off and grew determined to get busy with my to-do list.

  I called a locksmith to change my locks because I didn’t want a repeat of Philip wandering in whenever he wanted. They promised someone would arrive within an hour, and they even waived the rush fee. Business must be slow. Lucky for me since my cash flow was drying up, but I knew I would never figure out how to change the locks myself. A handy person I wasn’t.