A Grand Murder Page 13

  “Thank you for your help.”

  “Anytime.”

  “We were serious about not leaving to start your new life until we finish with our investigation, Mrs. Carter,” I said. “We might need to ask you some more questions.”

  As she shook her finger at me, her whole body swayed back and forth like a charmed cobra, in perfect time with an emphatic headshake.

  “And I, Detective, was serious about calling a divorce lawyer. I’m not going anywhere now.”

  An odd sense of happiness washed over me.

  At least for Annabeth Carter, Nathan Stanley’s death had been a blessing. His death had freed her from a situation she felt inextricably bound to.

  Since I didn’t believe for one second that Annabeth had anything to do with his murder, that meant someone else felt that Nathan’s death would free them as well.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Louise and I sat across from each other in a red tattered Naugahyde booth at the Downtowner Café. For the last hour we’d stared at crime scene photos and noshed on juicy hamburgers without much conversation.

  I know that Gavin had said no greasy burgers, but hamburgers were my comfort food. Considering the brick wall we were running up against right now, I needed some comfort.

  In an effort to not completely break my promise to him, I asked for lettuce on my bacon cheese burger. As anemic as the single leaf of iceberg was, at least if Gavin asked me later, I could honestly say that I did eat a green vegetable with dinner.

  “Where’s the book?”

  Louise went ramrod straight in her chair. The photo in her hand dropped to the table, and she shuffled through the content lists.

  “What?”

  I took a big mouthwatering bite of my hamburger. Molten hot cheese scorched the roof of my mouth.

  “The book—It’s All About Winning.”

  She slid the picture she’d been studying across to me, and pointed to the wall behind Stanley’s desk.

  “I don’t see the book anywhere. Where is it?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I assumed it was in the mess somewhere.”

  I took another scrumptious burger bite. Cheddar oozed out from the bun and dripped onto my chin and down my shirt. Gavin claims that if there’s no food stain somewhere on my body, I didn’t eat.

  Louise skimmed page after page of the office’s content list.

  “Nope. Plenty of other business books but not one with the title, It’s All About Winning.”

  “Someone probably borrowed the book. Otherwise why would a killer want a business book?”

  I swiped my napkin across my chin to extricate the blistering cheese.

  “What are you thinking, that the killer wanted to pick up a few pointers on getting ahead in the murder biz? What sense does that make?”

  Like there was some John Gotti school of business out there, with special textbooks. I could see the titles, How to Get Ahead in Crime Without Even Trying, Swim with the Loan Sharks without Being Buried Alive, and Who Moved My Cement Shoes?

  Criminal schools sure would make being a cop easier. Just get a list of graduates from the nearest Gotti U and off you go.

  “I don’t know.” She leaned back against the booth. “I’ve been asking myself the same thing but I can’t come up with anything.”

  Louise took a mouthful of her chef’s salad, smothered with blue cheese dressing. Her one wicked indulgence, buckets and buckets of full—fat, blue cheese dressing.

  “You keep thinking about the book,” I said and slipped out of the booth. “I’m going to call Gavin and see what he’s doing tonight.”

  “Again?”

  “Yeah, I miss him.”

  She grinned. “Tell him I said, hi.”

  “Will do.”

  I headed down a narrow dark hallway toward the Downtowner’s bathroom. The ladies room has a large outer lounge area that would be quiet and private enough to make my call home.

  I sat on the shabby yet trendy old couch, which was the centerpiece of the lounge. Speed dial one on my cell phone is my direct line to the only person I’ve ever trusted more than myself.

  He picked up on the second ring.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi honey, it’s me,” I said.

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t know anyone by the name of me,” he said. “I think you must have dialed the wrong number, ma’am.”

  “Very funny, and don’t call me ma’am.”

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  The worry in his voice traversed the telephone line loud and clear.

  “You don’t sound like you. Has something happened, Catherine? Are you alright?”

  “I’m fine. It’s just that I . . .”

  Why should I find it so hard to talk to Gavin? Deep down I knew why, because part of me didn’t want to broach the subject.

  Like a bad houseguest, it won’t go away by ignoring it. I took a deep breath and dove in.

  “Are we okay, Gav?”

  Silence hammered between us for a minute. A woman came into the ladies room, cast a suspicious glance at me, then disappeared into a toilet stall.

  “Of course we are.”

  He was half sincere, and even over the phone, I knew he had his own doubt. Gavin should know he can’t lie to me after all this time.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Earlier when I called, it didn’t sound like we were.”

  I pulled my knees up to my chest.

  “You would tell me if we weren’t okay. Right? You wouldn’t lie to me would you, Gavin. I don’t want you to lie to me, about anything. Especially about our relationship.”

  “I would tell you if something was wrong. I promise.” His tone was purposely light. “I’ve just been frustrated lately.”

  “Me too,” I said.

  “Not having you around is tough. I admit, this is not what I had in mind for a marriage, Catherine.”

  “Me neither,” I said.

  “Don’t worry about us. We’re okay.”

  This time he meant it. Our marriage wasn’t perfect but it was still strong. Tears of relief stung the edges of my eyes.

  Another minute of silence passed before he said, “Have you eaten yet?”

  “We’re eating now,” I said.

  The sound of a flushing toilet echoed through the lounge.

  “You’re eating in the bathroom? That’s disgusting even for you, Catherine.”

  I laughed.

  The toilet flusher came out of the stall and gave me a dirty look. She quickly washed her hands and left. I think she thought I was laughing at her.

  “The good news is, I found plenty of green stuff in here to eat.”

  “Okay, that’s too much, Catherine O’Brien. You’re a sick, sick woman.”

  “And you love me that way.”

  “I sure do,” he said. “Always.”

  Always would never be long enough. The squeezing in my chest lightened.

  “I should get back to work, honey.”

  I wanted to stay on the phone all night. What I needed for my soul was to go home and be with my husband. But I had a murder investigation that wouldn’t wait. I had to let him go.

  “I love you.”

  “And I love you,” he said. “Catherine, I don’t know what this case is about, but be careful.”

  “I will. Louise says, hi.”

  “Hi, back.”

  “Goodnight sweetie.”

  “Goodnight.”

  He hung up first.

  Marriages were harder than my parents made it look when I was growing up. Mom was home all day and Dad was home by five—thirty, where dinner was waiting on the table.

  That is until Mom got a job of her own, then dinner became take out or weekend leftovers. But we always ate together.

  There were never conflicts. At least none that I saw through my kid eyes.

  Then again, my Dad didn’t own his own business and my Mom didn’t carry a nine—millimeter semiautomatic to her PTA meet
ings.

  My parent’s marriage seemed to be an ideal one. They were the Norman Rockwell image of a happy couple, with a healthy relationship. Jesus, they were like Ozzie and Harriet.

  I guess it’s a good thing Gavin and I don’t have kids. I mean my parents were normal and look how screwed up I turned out. With the way our lives were, there was no telling what kind of damage we could do to a kid’s psyche.

  After a few minutes I slipped my cell phone into my jacket pocket. I checked my hair in the mirror. Yep, just as I suspected, still frizzy. Then I headed back to the table to see if Louise had made any progress on the missing book.

  Louise looked up from tapping on her Smartphone when I slid into the booth across from her. Her salad had been decimated in my absence. Only traces of her precious blue cheese were streaked across her plate.

  “My God, I thought you fell in the toilet and flushed yourself. I was about to call a plumber,” she said.

  I gave her a weak smile.

  “How’s everything at home?”

  “Fine. Gavin said, hi.”

  She tilted her head.

  “Is something wrong, Catherine?”

  “No.”

  She drummed her red—tipped fingers on the Formica tabletop, and raised her left eyebrow at me. Her deep brown eyes challenged what I’d said without Louise having to say a word.

  “Really, everything is fine,” I said. “Did you find anything?”

  Time to change the subject. As much as I liked Louise, certain parts of my marriage I like to keep to myself.

  “I hate to say it, but I think we’re back to Tracy and Mel.” She paused to take a sip of her Diet Coke. “Every other lead we find brings us to an abrupt halt. Tracy and Mel are the only two suspects we haven’t been able to rule out.”

  “Too bad,” I said. “I really liked them. I do have another possibility though. Are you ready to take another giant leap for mankind with me? Or are you locked on Tracy and Mel?”

  If there was one thing Louise and I had in common, it was our overweening curiosity. If I dangled a hook, she’d take the bait and she did.

  “I’m willing.” Louise sat forward and leaned her forearms on the table, encircling her empty plate. “What have you got?”

  I sucked down a long swig of my soda to make her wait. A little pause for dramatic effect. I would have taken a second drink but Louise gave me a look that told me she would slap the shit out of me if I tried to stall anymore.

  “Carter killed Stanley.”

  A single headshake was my answer. I responded with a single drawn—out nod.

  “We saw her gloves, Catherine. There wasn’t any blood on them.”

  “No.” I held up a finger. “Mr. Carter killed Stanley.”

  “Wearing women’s mittens?” Louise wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think so. He really doesn’t seem like a whimsical type of guy to me.”

  “No, no—stay with me here. He wasn’t wearing the mittens. The fiber was deposited on the sword before Carter received it, by the person who stole it from Stanley’s desk.”

  “Who? Annabeth?”

  “Nope.”

  For once I had the possibilities. My brain was working overtime. I’m so glad Gavin made me have dinner. It was the juice I needed to kick my sluggish synapses into high gear.

  “The ex—Mrs. Stanley,” I said.

  She nodded with an impressed smile. “Then who killed Forster?”

  “She did.”

  I could feel my victory approaching. Sweet, sweet victory, waiting for me to claim it with one final triumphant reach.

  “Belinda needed . . .”

  Crap. What did she need? An insurance policy number? A threatening letter? Money?

  “I don’t know,” I finally said. “She needed something from Stanley’s office. When Forster caught her ransacking the office for whatever it was she needed, she killed him.”

  “Okay, let’s say I’m with you on this.” Louise steepled her fingers and tilted her head to the left. “Why did she kill him?”

  I hated that question. “Why” could blow a perfectly good theory right out the window.

  “She told us now that Nathan’s dead, her alimony payments were cut off. So why would she kill him?”

  “Well, maybe we haven’t discovered the reason yet. Hell, I don’t know.”

  “I don’t know won’t cut it, Catherine. We have to have a reason. This is your grand plan, so tell me why?”

  “Because . . . Ms. Scarlet with the wrench in the billiard room sounded too easy.”

  I giggled.

  “God, I hate when you’re tired,” she said. “You get loopy.”

  Louise tossed her napkin onto her plate and shoved it to the edge of the table, signaling an end to our meal.

  “I’m sorry, Louise.” I laughed again. “I can’t help it. It just happens.”

  During my fatigue induced fits of laughter, I couldn’t imagine why Gavin and Louise didn’t think my jokes were as priceless as I knew they were.

  “I hate all—nighters with you.”

  Louise turned in her seat and flagged down our waitress to clear the plates and bring us our check. I stuck my tongue out at her and sucked it back in before she saw me. Not very professional, but sometimes a little childishness is what it took to get me through these long days.

  “So what do you think about my theory?” I wrapped my lips around my straw and took a drink to keep from laughing.

  “I’ll admit it has possibilities, but what would be the motive?” she asked. “You never answered my question. Why would Belinda and Carter kill Stanley?”

  I stared out the window at the passing cars and pedestrians on the street and tried to put together a possible motive. Money? Even though she said she’d been cut off, how did we know she didn’t have a life insurance policy squirreled away somewhere, waiting until the heat from the murder was off.

  Then Belinda and her lover would claim it and disappear to a tropical, non—extradition country somewhere. Probably not. There had to be a better reason.

  Louise is better at motives than I am. She was three steps ahead of any prosecutor or jury. Whenever there was a question, she had their answers and then some.

  I took a swig of Coke and watched a dog lift his leg on the tar covered electrical pole out front.

  Then it hit me. Maybe it was divine intervention, or maybe it was just the rush of caffeine and fake sugar coursing through my veins. I turned back to face Louise with a new confidence in my theory.

  “I think Stanley was blackmailing them just like he was blackmailing Carter’s wife with the sex video. Remember Annabeth told us that Stanley had photos of Belinda and Carter together.”

  Oh, yeah. This was more than fake sugar and caffeine. This is what artist called a gift from their muse. I was being spoon fed the answers like manna from heaven.

  “Maybe he wasn’t just using the photos to force Annabeth to sleep with him. Maybe he was using them against Philip Carter and Belinda in some way, too. I doubt he would need to blackmail them for money but he could have been blackmailing them for something else. Like information.”

  Louise’s face was like a sphinx–placid and unreadable.

  “Well, what do you think? It’s a plausible explanation, right?”

  Christ, I sounded like a child asking for permission to go to a slumber party.

  I promise mom, I’ll clean up the dead bodies if my theory’s wrong.

  I tried not to grin. Sometimes I really crack myself up.

  “I think we’re going to need to search the victim’s home and find out who he’s been blackmailing,” she said. “Then we can generate our own enemies list.”

  She nodded a thank you to the smiling waitress who’d brought us our bill.

  “There might be a few other enemies Tracy didn’t even know existed,” she said.

  “Didn’t the uniforms go through the house the night of the murder?”

  “Yeah, but now we know what we’re looking for—pho
tographs, videotapes—anything Stanley could have been blackmailing people with,” she said. “They were looking for a break—in or evidence of a killer.”

  Louise took a ten—dollar bill, and four ones out of her wallet and laid them next to the check the waitress left.

  “You want me to get the tip?”

  I reached into my purse and waded through the old tissues, lip moisturizers, and empty gum wrappers to retrieve my wallet. One of these days I would have time to clean out my purse and maybe downsize to one of the fashionable bags like Louise carries.

  She waved away my offer, just as my fingers brushed the metal brackets of the coin purse attached to my pocketbook.

  “No, you paid for dinner last time. I’ll take care of this one.”

  Hell, I was never one to turn down a free meal. I dropped my wallet back into my purse. Louise paid the bill and we left the café.

  Outside, I waited as Louise fumbled with the keys to her car. A wicked chill racked across me when the wind kicked up and gusted up my suit coat. I rubbed my hands over my upper arms and danced around in place to warm myself.

  “Hurry up.” I stamped my feet to drive the blood down my legs. “I’m turning into an icicle out here.”

  “You should have worn a coat,” she said.

  I probably should have worn a coat, but spring in Minnesota is strange. If you wear a coat, chances were good you’d end up with it slung over your arm most of the day because it was too warm. If you didn’t wear a coat, the day would be bitter and you prayed you didn’t have to spend a lot of time standing outside.

  That’s the situation I was in now. There had to have been a thirty—degree temperature drop since this morning.

  “Just hurry.”

  Across the street, I noticed a familiar figure, bundled against the cold, scurry up the street. Tracy passed through the orange glow of one vapor street lamp after another, as she walked at a fast clip towards the Excel Energy Center.

  “Hey, Tracy!”

  I stuck two fingers in my mouth and whistled to draw her attention. She stopped abruptly and looked around until her eyes found me waving my hands in the air like a mad woman.