Reading Between the Crimes

by Kate Young

  Uncle Calvin encouraged me to take the day off, but I decided that I couldn’t afford to take the day with so much to do for Harper. I’d had a decent night’s sleep. I got myself a cup of coffee, dug out my phone and set it on the coffee table, and opened my laptop. I’d left LJ a message asking if I could come by and have a chat with the family. I figured I needed to have a conversation with Charles Hammond at some point as well. I agreed with Calvin that he probably wouldn’t be much help. I’d lost the card he’d given me during the scuffle; I’d have to ask LJ if he knew what Charles’s number was. If he didn’t have it, I’d have to call Piper.

  My messages began syncing after I booted up. I had a total of fifteen messages and voicemails. I grabbed my phone.

  Quinn must have set it to silent when I’d gone to get my scan, and I’d been so out of it last night that, after I left a message for Brad, I’d fallen into bed and neglected to check messages.

  My finger hovered over the text from Melanie:

  Oh my God. Your attack is on the news! Call me! xoxo

  Melanie had sent me links to the coverage of my attack. I cringed as I hit “Play.” People were scattering as the camera panned the crowd. Oh no! My hands went involuntarily to my face, and I continued watching through my fingers. The cameraman had managed a close-up of my face. The terror on my face as the masked man grabbed me made me shiver. I’d crumpled to the ground mere seconds later. My skirt rode up as my body gyrated and jerked on the pavement.

  Super embarrassing and horrifying. Charles flew at the man. I watched as he reared back and cleaned the perp’s clock. Wow. Charles looked furious. His teeth bared. His eyes were fiery.

  Chills erupted across my skin, and I suddenly felt queasy while I eerily watched Charles cradle me in his arms. He shouted for the press to get back as he lifted my head and began stroking my face. I zoomed in. The act seemed almost intimate, and I swallowed. Why did I feel a bit violated?

  I took a sip of coffee and closed the window. I needed a break. Sighing, I checked my phone—nothing from LJ. I needed to speak with him ASAP. I listened to the long-winded, ranting messages from my friends and parents, who sounded worried. Each said they’d talked to Rosa, who’d relayed what she knew. Poor Rosa had left a message too. I’ shot off a group text to my friends.

  I’m fine. Thanks for checking in. Speak with y’all soon. I added a heart emoji.

  Then I scrolled through my voicemails and decided to listen to Brad’s first. He’d left three. By the third message, he sounded on the verge of murder himself; my finger hovered over the “Callback” button when I noticed a news alert from Sweet Mountain Gazette on my laptop. Tossing my phone aside, I clicked on the link, which showed the attack from a different angle.

  I steeled myself for viewing. As I watched the commotion, LJ had moved closer to Charles before he launched himself my way. LJ attempted to grab Charles’s jacket. Almost like he tried to discourage Charles from coming to my aid. What? I rewound the footage and zoomed in on the frame; then I watched as LJ trotted toward the writer instead of scattering like most everyone else. His head was lowered, and he appeared to say something to Charles, who shrugged him off, reacting like a cat with excellent reflexes. He sprang to the left, leaping atop the attacker right after I dropped to the ground. They grappled, and the masked man got away. The cops chased after him in pursuit.

  Wow. I sat back. LJ had stayed cemented to the sidewalk. Charles participated in several interviews. In the first one with Piper, he appeared camera shy as he said, “I just did what anyone would do. Miss Moody needed help”—he shrugged—“so I helped.”

  Clearly, from the video footage, it was not what anyone would do. “Thanks for nothing, LJ,” I grumbled at the screen.

  I thought back to the perp’s stale breath, the aggression that had thrummed through his body and vibrated as he grabbed me, the violence that radiated off him when he hit me with the taser. I shut my eyes and rubbed them. Maybe Calvin was right. A coma was too good for that man. No, ugh. Enough of this. I didn’t want that in my head. Those thoughts. That emotion.

  Closing the laptop, I rubbed my arms and decided I need a long hot shower. I’d taken one last night before bed, but for some reason I just felt I couldn’t get clean enough. As much as I wanted to put the incident out of my mind, I recalled his low menacing voice in my ear as soon as I got still: “Strike at the shepherd.”

  After I’d thoroughly scrubbed myself down, I stood under the hot spray. The spot on my head was still tender; I hoped the warmth would soothe the ache. The steam was a warm, comforting cloak around me.

  My trust in humanity would be jaded for a time—some random drug-addicted man targeting me out of the crowd, probably excited by the media presence and deciding it would be the perfect time to make his deluded statement. I’m fine. Safe. No serious harm done.

  I concentrated on creating a visual criminal profile for Leonard’s murderer. I’d studied psychology and had always been fascinated with the workings of the criminal mind. I’d even considered going back to school and furthering my education. Not only would a profiler be a great addition to the services Cousins offered, but I could potentially seek to further my career in the years to come. It certainly could have come in handy with this case. The murder didn’t look premeditated by the crime scene photos. But then, because Leonard had been poisoned, it must’ve been. Harper had made it known to her close friends and my mother that she wasn’t happy in her marriage. My body chilled even under the hot spray. If she’d told anyone or if anyone saw, as I had, the connection between Harper and my mother at the charity event, Mother could be called to testify, questioned thoroughly at the very least. The way Calvin had looked at me when I posed the question about the candlestick made me feel like a traitor. But in my opinion, just as he’d said, we needed to know if Harper was guilty in any capacity; I needed to know Mother’s culpability, whatever it might be.

  Someone might have witnessed it. Charles. Perhaps he’d used this leverage to set up that meeting at the deli. Had he verbally twisted Mother’s arm so she’d cooperate? Blackmail for a story? Reprehensible. But he hadn’t seemed like that sort of man to me. And she’d made the statement that he understood everything.

  I let out a groan of frustration. My thoughts were in a tumult. Mel, Amelia, and I had joked about the similarities the Richardsons had with the Leonideses in Crooked House. But now I wondered. The family did seem to stick together, even though they appeared to have a deep disdain for one another.

  I shut off the water, bundled up in my terrycloth robe, and toweled off my hair, then called my mother. Gran said she’d had a bad night and decided to take a nap.

  “Are you sure you’re okay, sugar?” Gran cared so deeply.

  “Fine. Don’t worry. They ran all the appropriate tests and released me to rest at home.”

  “That sure was scary to watch. Your whole body twitched on the ground.”

  My already flushed cheeks heated more. “I know.” I groaned in mortification. “I saw it.”

  “Don’t be embarrassed. You are as tough as nails. I don’t know anyone who’s ever been attacked like that and lived to tell about it. It sort of makes you a hero, I’d say.”

  “I wouldn’t say that.”

  “I would. My phone has been ringing off the hook. Sally Anne at the beauty parlor said she’d never seen anything like it in her life. I told her, ‘And you probably won’t ever see it again. My little Lyla is a force. She can survive anything.’” Oh Lord. “How many people can say they’ve been stunned by a taser gun? And that guy they caught, he looked scary. Like a—what do they call ’em?” Her voice trailed off for a few seconds.

  I had no idea.

  “Oh, I know. A tweaker.”

  I let out a little chuckle. Leave it to Gran to improve my mood by her regurgitation of cop shows. “I’ve got to run. I have a lot of work today. Love you.”

  “Okay, sugar. I’ll tell you about the forensic team later.”

  I sat up.
“Wait. What? Why didn’t you tell me that first thing?”

  “There’s been so much drama to talk about, and it’s hard to get it all in. Exciting times we’re living in. And just think, we’re the ones who discovered the dead man, and the cops scoured the house, hunting for something.”

  “Hold on! Scoured the house for what? Did they have a warrant?” My heart dropped to the floor before it started beating rapidly. I knew exactly what the police hoped they’d find. Why they were still looking for it after the poison discovery, I hadn’t a clue. Unless they believed someone in the house was Harper’s accomplice. It was unthinkable.

  “No warrant. Your father called William, and after he showed up, they gave the police permission to conduct a gentle search.”

  “Of course. Daddy wouldn’t want them tearing the house apart.”

  “I nosed around to see what they were up to. And the police left empty-handed. What do you suppose they were hunting? Who do you think killed him? I still can’t believe they think that sweet young thing killed her old, shriveled-up husband.”

  “All good questions and observations. I wish I had the answers.” I let out a slow controlled breath.

  “Well, you will. Sally Anne and the ladies at bingo were riveted. Sally Anne is always talking about her granddaughter Piper as if she hung the moon. I told them my PI granddaughter would bust this case wide open. She always gets her man.”

  “Oh, Gran. You didn’t.” I put my hand over my face. That’s how Piper found out about my involvement.

  “Oh . . , I didn’t say anything wrong, did I?” Gran sounded a little upset.

  “No. It’s okay, but let’s not talk about the case anymore, all right?”

  “I’ll keep it hush-hush.”

  She went on to tell me about how the forensic team had been out to the house again yesterday. And she’d seen on the news a nice big shot of the house.

  “If I’d had known they were filming, I’d have stuck my head out and waved. Your mother was horrified, though. I told her not to worry. We didn’t do anything wrong.”

  Sadly, my mother would need to buck up and brace herself for what was coming. Unbeknownst to her, when she opened herself up to Harper, she’d opened herself up to the police, the media, and those like me who were investigating the murder. And although she believed that most decent folks didn’t want to gossip about their problems, a whole faction of the world did and would gladly spread rumors for ratings. For confirmation, all she had to do was go onto social media. Sweet Mountain’s murder at the elite Moody house was big news. And a criminal named Spider who attacked their daughter outside of an Atlanta hospital would only fan the flames.

  “What a mess.”

  “Yes, indeed.” Gran didn’t sound all that bothered. She seemed to enjoy the drama. “I’ll tell your mother you called.”

  “Thanks, and remember no more gossip about the case.”

  “Ten-four.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  An hour later, I leaned back on the sofa, feeling deflated. I’d put another call into LJ, eager to sit down with the family, and had gotten his voicemail again. If he didn’t call me back by the end of the day, I’d take a ride over there. After watching my attack coverage, I had an odd feeling about Charles and did another search, this time using our encrypted software. I wondered where exactly he fit into all of this. What had made him show up to Sweet Mountain when he had, and how had he gotten cozy with Harper and LJ so quickly?

  I came up empty. How in this modern world could so many people have stayed off the grid? Charles Hammond didn’t have a Facebook profile or any other social media presence. He didn’t turn up in my usual databases either. Perhaps Charles Hammond was a pseudonym he’d decided to go by since working on his novel. Gran’s mention of the “tweaker” caused me to search on the drug Haldol. I wondered how easy if it would be to obtain, and decided to make a point to ask my father about the specifics of the medication.

  I rechecked my watch, decided I was done waiting on LJ, and began throwing my things into my bag. I’d take a ride over to the Richardson house now. An odd thought came to me: in the novel Crooked House, the granddaughter of Aristide Leonides tells Charles Hayward she won’t marry him until the murderer is found. Funny, while reading the book, I’d never imagined myself as the character Charles. Yet here I was in the role, with the exception of the betrothal part.

  I shook myself. Still, the answers to the crime would probably reside within the walls of the Richardson home. Maybe Bea would speak to me, and I could determine whether a doctor had prescribed the drug Haldol to anyone in the house.

  My phone rang as I was on my way out the door, and my father’s face came up on the screen. Oh boy. I placed my bag down. “Hey, Daddy.”

  “Hey? Hey? That’s how you greet your father after some lowlife attacked you in broad daylight?” Here we go. I needed more coffee. “I came by your place last night. I knocked and knocked on your door.”

  “You did? I’m so sorry. I must’ve been out cold.” I fiddled with the strap on my satchel.

  “Calvin said he dropped you off, and you were fine. But I wanted to lay eyes on you myself. To look you over.” Daddy, the family doctor, always liked to give us the once-over. It didn’t matter whether his field of medicine differed from whatever illness we were battling.

  “I’m good. Daddy, I—” I heard voices in the background. Lots of urgencies.

  “Hold on a sec.” He put me on mute, then came back. “Listen, Lyla, I have an emergency I have to deal with. But can you come by the house for a chat tonight? We need to talk.” That sounded ominous. I’d planned on stopping by to check out the crime scene again anyway. Having my father’s invitation just made things easier.

  “I’ll be by—if not tonight, tomorrow. Go take care of your emergency.”

  “Lyla. Make sure you take some time to ensure you are indeed okay. Sometimes we get overwhelmed with trauma; we neglect to see our struggles. Do you hear what I’m saying?”

  “I hear you. Stop worrying. Bye.” I disconnected the call and looked myself over. I was fine—no visceral aftereffects. Then I noticed my right boot wasn’t zipped up, and there was a stain on my sleeve. As I raised the zipper the rest of the way and used dish soap to clean my sleeve, I considered what I might be walking in on in the Richardson house. The file on Harper was pretty sparse. We didn’t have much background on her. I’d found the last known residence before she married, where she’d lived with her aunt. Her maiden name was Carlson, different from last name of her aunt, who had raised her. I guessed Phyllis Johnson never formally adopted her. I found some school records and one juvenile charge, petty theft. She’d served community service and cleaned up her act. Nothing else was out of the ordinary.

  I’d been able to find a little on Leonard. I’d built a sufficient background on him. But nothing before 1970. Not unusual. Still, the lack of records bothered me.

  The doorbell rang just as I finished running a brush through my hair for good measure; I checked my reflection in the mirror. My eyes had dark circles under them, and the bump on my temple had started to bruise. Carefully I placed the comb aside and fingered-combed my hair into place to cover it. My fingers were far gentler to my injury than the comb. I hesitated a second as I reached for the doorknob. Stop it, Lyla. For safety, I checked the peephole, a little shocked to see Quinn on the other side of the door.

  “Quinn. Hey. I’m surprised to see you.,” I said in greeting as I opened the door.

  “Hey. Calvin said you were working from home.” He dangled my keys. “I brought your car back.”

  Ah. “Thanks.” I took the keys from him and leaned against the door. “I’m heading out. You got a ride back?”

  He nodded. “Yes. A patrol officer is on his way to pick me up. He should be here any minute.”

  “Oh well, come in and wait.” I stepped aside so he could enter. I supposed I could wait a few minutes to leave. Anything less would be rude, and he had gone out of his way to return
my vehicle. “Want some coffee or a cup of tea?”

  “No, thanks. How are you feeling.”

  “I’m fine.” I waved my hand toward the living room. “Let’s sit on something softer.” We went into the living room, and I moved my favorite baby-blue, chunky chenille throw Mother had given me for Christmas last year to make room for him.

  He settled on the chaise lounge side while I folded the throw.

  He glanced at my bag, where my laptop peeked out. “Where you headed?”

  “Just to work.” I had no intention of sharing anything.

  “How’d Harper seem when you saw her?”

  “Quinn.” I pursed my lips.

  He folded his hands. “Fair enough. I do have something I need to discuss with you. And I don’t want you to get upset or to jump to any conclusions. Atlanta PD is still investigating, and we can’t be positive about anything yet. But if you’d like me to wait—”

  “My God, Quinn, just spit it out.”

  He gave me a single nod. “The perp that attacked you is still unconscious, but beat cops scooped up one of his gang members on another charge and leaned on him a little. What came out concerned your attack. The guy claims Spider was paid to attack you.”

  I sat up straight. “Paid? By whom?”

  He shook his head. “He says some guy came into the bar the night before and offered up a thousand dollars to for one of his gang to trail you and enact the attack. Spider took him up on it. The man gave him five hundred up front, plus the taser and ski mask.”

  “Oh.” I felt the blood drain from my face as I sat down on the sofa. I thought of the black car I’d seen outside my townhouse and again at the hospital. Had that person been the one to enlist the gang to attack me?

  “What?” Quinn leaned forward, his eyes intense.

  I told him about what I’d seen and the flashing lights and how I suspected the car followed me to the hospital as well.

  “Why didn’t you say something before?’

  I shook my head and lifted my shoulders. “The car just flashed the lights, and by the time I got back outside with my phone, it was gone. And at the hospital, I couldn’t be sure it was the same vehicle. I had a lot going on.”