Hiss H for Homicide

by Toni LoTempio

  This had to be the same necklace, but how had Anabel gotten hold of it? I racked my brain. Marlene owed her money. Perhaps she’d given her the necklace in payment. Or Anabel could have stolen it from the house. Maybe after she’d killed Marlene?

  I pulled out my phone and snapped several quick pictures of that too. As I finished, Nick’s head suddenly snapped up and his ears flattened back. He uttered a low growl and bounded over to the window. I rose and followed him. I could see the front part of a convertible parked across the street. The next minute a slim form came hurrying up the drive. I leaned out the window and waved. “Jenks,” I yelled. “Over here.”

  “Nora?” He sounded incredulous. “What on earth are you doing in the garage? What happened to the window?” He paused as his gaze rested on Nick and he took a step backward. “I didn’t realize you’d have your crime-solving kitty with you.” He sniffed the air and frowned. “What is that smell? Is that gasoline!”

  His face paled as he looked through the window and caught sight of Anabel’s body. “Is she . . . is she . . .”

  “She’s dead. It looks like carbon monoxide poisoning. Can you give me a hand out, please?”

  “You broke the window? Why didn’t you just open the garage door?”

  “Someone wedged a doorstop there. I think I should leave it as is for the police. It’s bad enough I broke the window.”

  Jenks cast a wary eye at Nick, who bounded out on his own, then streaked right past the reporter and arranged himself atop a nearby rock. As Nick calmly licked one paw, Jenks helped me out of the garage. “Well,” he said and inclined his head toward the car. “I take it you found the renter?”

  I nodded and finished brushing myself off. “It would appear so. I found a rental slip in her purse, signed Anne Onymous. According to her driver’s license, she’s Anabel Leedson, Marlene’s former agent.”

  “Wow.” Jenks scratched at his head. “So she committed suicide, huh? I wonder why?”

  “Maybe,” I murmured. “Or maybe someone just wants the police to think she did.” I pointed. “There’s another window in the garage, one above a ledge. Someone could have followed Anabel in here, knocked her out, started the car, wedged the door and locked the other window, and then gotten out that way, pulling the window shut behind him.”

  Jenks walked around the side of the garage and came back a few minutes later. “I see what you mean. There’s a tree right by that window they could have shimmied down. But it would have had to be a pretty agile person.” He gave me a wry look. “That isn’t something you can picture Desiree Sanders doing, can you?”

  I shook my head. “Not in the least. Scarlett Vandevere is in good shape, but she’s got an alibi for last night and today. From what I saw, Morley Carruthers is thin and wiry. I haven’t met Sable St. John yet.”

  Jenks pulled a face. “Can you really picture Morley Carruthers shimmying down a tree trunk?”

  “No, but people do strange things in desperate situations.” I glanced around for my cat, who seemed to have pulled a disappearing act. “Would you mind calling it in? I need to find Nick.”

  “Sure,” he said, but I could tell from the way his lips twisted into a half grimace he’d be happier if Nick remained MIA. He pulled out his cell and I looked around for my vanishing kitty, hoping that he hadn’t found any more corpses. I caught sight of him, trotting down the drive toward my SUV. I hurried after him and found him sitting by the car, looking at me expectantly. Something white was in his mouth.

  “What have you got now?” I bent down and retrieved Nick’s prize. It was the corner of a business card I’d found in Anabel’s wallet, with the other numbered piece of paper stapled to its back. I looked at my cat. “You took this from where I dropped it, didn’t you?”

  Nick’s lips peeled back. “Er-owl!”

  I hesitated. “Technically, I suppose this could be considered evidence. We should put this back, or at least tell the police, but since everything so conveniently points to a suicide, we both know they won’t investigate any of this. They’ll just make a note of her purse’s contents and it’ll sit in an evidence locker for God knows how long and then get thrown out. And I’ve got a feeling these might be important, somehow.”

  Nick’s head bobbed up and down. “Yowl.”

  In the distance I heard the wail of a police siren. Too late now. “Good. We agree. We’re felons together, Nick.”

  I shoved the paper into my pocket and gave Nick’s head a quick pat; then, breathing a silent prayer that Samms was unavailable, I hurried back up the drive to greet the police.

  Eighteen

  As it turned out, there is a God. Samms was indeed unavailable, so another policeman had been assigned to come out and take our statements. I elected not to hang around and wait for Samms and his crew to come out and secure the scene, normal procedure until it was established Anabel’s death was definitely a suicide. Jenks said he’d hang around and give me the lowdown later, so I drove back to Hot Bread. I pulled into the garage and let myself in the store through the back door. Chantal was in the kitchen area, just finishing cleanup. She took one look at my face and paled.

  “No-not another body.”

  I nodded. “Anabel Leedson. As it turns out, she was the mysterious Anne Onymous.”

  “Anabel’s dead?”

  I looked up. Desiree stood framed in the doorway leading up to my apartment. I nodded. “I’m sorry, yes, she is.”

  Desiree placed one hand over her heart and swayed slightly. Chantal took her arm and guided her over to the table and chair by the refrigerator. Once she was seated, she dropped her head into her hands.

  “Oh, Anabel!” she wailed. “Even though you probably framed me for Marlene’s murder, I will miss you! You were such a good agent. Believe me when I tell you good agents are so very, very hard to find.”

  Apparently Desiree had forgotten all about her intentions of the day before to fire Anabel. I pulled out the chair across from Desiree and eased into it. “It appears she died from carbon monoxide poisoning. She was in a locked garage with the engine running. By the time I got there it was too late. She was gone.”

  Chantal frowned. “Suicide?”

  “It would look that way. I had to break a window and crawl through to get inside. The door was wedged shut, and the other door into the garage was locked.”

  “So, she couldn’t take the guilt of what she’d done to me,” Desiree spat. “Did she at least leave a note, admitting her crime and clearing me?”

  “I don’t know. Samms hadn’t arrived yet, so I don’t know if they went inside the house or not. I imagine they would. Jenks stuck around. He said he’d give me a report.”

  Chantal looked straight into my eyes. “Chérie, I get the sense Anabel’s death might not have been suicide.”

  “I’d say that vibe’s right on,” I answered. “I don’t think so either.”

  Desiree turned her startled gaze on me. “But who would murder Anabel?”

  “Well, it’s possible she might have seen the killer, or maybe was in league with him.” I repeated what Scarlett had told me about Anabel and St. John.

  Desiree shook her head. “Somehow I can’t picture St. John as a killer. Then again, before all this I couldn’t picture Anabel as one either. Yet she had to be involved in all this. Oh, dear. I don’t know what to think.”

  I pulled out my phone and called up the photos I’d taken of the necklace. “Does this look familiar to you?”

  “Oh my God!” Desiree cried. “That’s the necklace I saw her with! The very one.” Her eyes narrowed. “Anabel must have taken it after she killed her.”

  “Not necessarily. Who did Marlene know with the initials NE?”

  Desiree’s brow furrowed as she thought, and then she shook her head. “None come to mind.”

  Another dead end. I pulled up the photo of the beauty supply card, then pulled the half card and square of paper out of my pocket and laid them on the table. Chantal picked them up to look at them. �
��This one,” she said and held up the paper with N657 on it, “looks like it could be a claim check of some kind.”

  I tapped at the ripped card. This is obviously half of a business card. She did have cards in her wallet from various bookstores with contact names written on the back. So that does bear out what her admin told you, Desiree, about her arranging a book tour.” I tapped the image of the card from Arlene’s Beauty Supply with the edge of my nail. “This card was tucked in with the bookstore cards.”

  Desiree looked at the photo then shrugged. “Anabel loved those places. She always bought her dye, hair spray, even her hair dryers there. She always said they were cheaper than a department store or drugstore and good quality.” Desiree’s fingers lingered over the paper. “Now this one’s real odd.”

  “I agree with Chantal,” I said. “It could be a claim check. Maybe for a pawnshop?”

  “What would she have pawned? And that writing on the back makes no sense at all,” stated Desiree.

  We all leaned over to study the writing:

  in’s

  isals

  roy, CA

  5-1738

  “The second word could be appraisals,” Chantal offered. “Maybe she took the necklace somewhere to have it appraised?”

  “Maybe,” I said. “So a jewelry store?”

  “I’ve never seen a claim check like this given out at a jewelry store. Some pawnshops do appraisals,” Chantal said. “She might have wanted to kill two birds with one stone. Get it appraised and get some quick cash. What cities or towns end in roy?”

  I snapped my fingers. “Gilroy. And that’s not too far from here.”

  “So now we need to search for shops ending in in’s, and with those last four numbers as part of their phone number?” Chantal asked. “I’ll bet that’s going to be harder than it sounds.”

  I walked over to my laptop and brought it back to the table. “One way to find out.”

  I keyed “businesses ending in in’s in Gilroy, CA” into the search engine, and groaned as twelve pages of matches came up. I tried narrowing it down by the last four digits of the phone number. This time I was rewarded with ten pages. I scratched at my head. “You’re right,” I said to Chantal. “This is gonna take awhile.” I glanced at my watch. “I still have another suspect to interview. Who knows, maybe he’ll be able to shed some light.” It was almost seven o’clock. I’d wanted to talk to Sable St. John at the bookstore tonight. It was going to be impossible to get there before his appearance started, but maybe I could get him for a few minutes on a break, or hang around till the store closed at eleven. I mentioned my plan to Chantal, who nodded.

  “I’ll stay here with Desiree till you get back. And if our pal Samms should show up, I’ll call you right away.” She pulled the laptop in front of her. “I’ll continue the search. Maybe I’ll get lucky.”

  “One of us should.” I rose and picked up my purse. Nick had risen from his supine position in front of the refrigerator and stood, black tail waving. I pointed my finger at him and said in a stern tone, “You stay here, okay. Help Chantal.”

  His eyes narrowed, and then he let out a soft grr and sprang onto the table. He padded over to Chantal and positioned himself so that he had a good view of the computer screen. I walked over, bent down, and placed a kiss on the top of his furry head. “Good boy,” I whispered.

  He hunched his shoulders and growled softly.

  Boy, was I going to pay for this later.

  • • •

  I didn’t even bother trying to find a spot near the bookstore, I just went right into the Municipal Lot and parked on the deck. I didn’t have to put any quarters in, since it was after eight o’clock by the time I got there. When I went inside the store I saw that the sign in the lobby had changed. Scarlett’s was gone and this was in its place:

  Book Signing

  Seventy Degrees of Heat

  Sable St. John

  7–9 p.m.

  Next to the book title was a headshot of Sable St. John. His dark eyes seemed to stare right through me. I pushed through the glass doors and immediately saw a cluster of women up on the second floor, near the railing where Scarlett had been set up earlier. There was much shouting and laughing coming from that direction, and I could see several women waving their copies in the air.

  Well, fat chance of getting him off to the side. I’d probably have to wait till nine o’clock, although judging from the crowd, I was betting the signing would run later, an hour over at least. I decided to grab a cup of coffee while I waited, so I ambled over to the coffee bar, which was practically deserted. I smiled at the clerk on duty.

  “Slow night, huh?”

  He was a pimple-faced kid, either late teens or early twenties, and this was probably how he put himself through college. His name tag said Alan. He shrugged. “We’re usually busier on a Wednesday. Tonight, though, everyone’s enjoying the show.”

  I glanced up at the second-floor corner and ordered a mocha latte. “I see what you mean.” As Alan made my drink, I attempted some conversation. “I guess today was pretty busy. There were two signings here, right?”

  “Yeah. Usually we don’t have two back to back like this, but he”—here Alan rolled his eyes skyward—“insisted, and our manager didn’t want to say no. Sable St. John sells a lot of books. Even more now that everyone knows Sable’s a he and not a she.”

  I paid for the latte but stayed at the counter, sipping slowly. “I wonder what the big rush was?”

  “Apparently he’s booked for some European tour, or something, and he’s got to leave by tomorrow night. I’ve got to tell you, Milton was pretty pissed. St. John was originally scheduled for next Wednesday, and then he had to juggle everything around. Must be nice, to wield that kind of power.”

  “Must be,” I murmured. A sudden trip to Europe? Had there really been a conflict at Book Haven, or was it just an excuse to get out of the country? And if so, why?

  As I gazed upward, a tall blond man wearing a three-piece suit leaned over the railing. He beckoned to the clerk at the information desk. “Be a love,” he shouted, “can you find any more copies of my book? I’m running out, and there are at least two dozen more ladies here eager for an autographed copy.”

  I frowned and turned to look at Alan, who was wiping down the counter and shaking his head. “That’s Sable St. John? I thought he was a brunette? The photo outside . . .”

  “Is an old one,” Alan finished my sentence and nodded toward the balcony. “That’s him, all right, although if you ask me, that hair’s a wig. I bet he’s really bald.”

  I frowned up at the man, still leaning over the railing. Of course, I was pretty far away, but that hair color looked the same as . . .

  My cell chirped at that instant. I moved away to answer it. I flipped it on, and saw I’d gotten a text from Ollie. I breathed a sigh of relief at the first line:

  Hair fibers do not match.

  But my jaw dropped at the rest:

  Lone strand is neither male nor female. Strand synthetic.

  I shut the phone with a click.

  Now wasn’t that interesting!

  Nineteen

  I sat down at one of the tables, sipping my latte, my thoughts whirling. If Sable St. John’s blond do was indeed a wig, then there was a good possibility that was where the strand of hair Nick had found at the scene of Marlene’s murder had come from. It was possible he’d been the one Anabel’d seen skulking around the house. Had she confronted him, and he in turn lured her to the garage, killed her and made it look like a suicide?

  Timing. I needed to know the timing. I dug my phone back out and dialed the Cruz Sun, then punched in the extension Jenks had given me. When I heard his harried voice I said, “Hey, it’s Nora. I was just curious what happened out at the crime scene?”

  “Oh, hey.” His tone perked up a bit. “I was gonna call you just as soon as I finished the story. I’m almost done.”

  “Got a few minutes now?”

  “Sur
e.” I heard the sound of papers being shuffled around, and then his voice came again, sounding a bit clearer this time. “It was a good thing you left when you did. Your pal Samms came out about twenty minutes later. Of course, I had to tell him you were there and left. He didn’t seem too happy. I expect you’ll be getting a visit pretty soon. I’m surprised you didn’t already.” More papers were shuffled and then Jenks continued, “He took my statement, asked me a few questions, and then he wanted me to leave. Of course I didn’t. I went back and waited in my car till the coroner showed up, and then I went back to the garage, ducked down behind a bush. I overheard the coroner tell Samms he had to do a formal autopsy, but as far as he could tell, it looked like a case of carbon monoxide poisoning. Samms asked about foul play and the coroner said he didn’t see any visible bruises, which would indicate the victim would have been knocked unconscious before getting in the car.”

  Hm, that seemed to knock my murder theory out for now. “Anything else? Did they look for a note?”

  “Samms and his men searched that garage top to bottom. No note. Then they went into the house. I followed them and hid in the shrubbery behind the rear entrance. They were in there maybe forty, forty-five minutes. When Samms came out he looked pretty grim. He had something clutched in a baggie in his hand. I couldn’t see what it was.”

  “Could it have been a suicide note?”

  “That’s what I’m thinking, because then he called to his men to wrap it up. I didn’t see them put any crime scene tape up, but then again I pretty much had overstayed my welcome. I hotfooted it back here to write it up for the evening edition and then I was going to let you know.”

  “Thanks, Jenks. You’ve been a big help.”