All Murders Final! (2 page)

Chapter 2

I whipped around, dropping my phone in the snow. I scanned the heavily wooded area across the broad lawn. Nothing moved, but there was a thick stand of trees and evergreens to hide behind. Now I realized how quiet it was up here, how alone I was. Why didn't I hear any sirens yet? Ellington wasn't that big. I strained, listening for any noise that might indicate someone's presence. Branches creaked as they rubbed together in the early morning wind. The silence, the isolation pressed in on me. Not wanting to turn my back or glance away from the woods for too long, I squatted and felt around in the snow until I found my phone. I scooped it up, wondering if I should call 911 again.

Sirens began wailing in the distance, I hoped coming here to help me. I flinched as a hawk burst from the woods. Its wings flapped loudly as it took off, while snow showered down from the vibrating branch it had just left. Was it the sirens that had startled him or the person who lurked out there, snapping photos of me? Was he or she watching now, enjoying my fear? I shook myself. I glanced at Margaret's house. Maybe the photographer was in there, or by now he or she could have circled around back to sneak up on me.

I looked back and forth between the house and the woods. I even managed a quick glance behind me.
Come on, cops. Drive faster.

A few agonizing minutes later an ambulance roared up the driveway. Even though I'd told the dispatcher Margaret was definitely dead, I was grateful the EMTs had arrived. Grateful and safe. Next, a couple of squad cars showed up. Scott Pellner climbed out of the first one. He rubbed his hands and blew on them as he walked toward me. Until that moment I hadn't even noticed the cold. A terrible cold, like an ice storm, raged inside me. I hurried toward him, past my car and the ambulance. I slid again on the ice. He grabbed my arms to keep me upright.

“Is it really Margaret?” Pellner asked. He released me once I was steady.

“Yes.” I pointed to the woods. “Someone's out there.”

Pellner put a hand on his gun as he scanned the area I pointed to. “How do you know?”

“Have you heard of PopIt?” I asked him. The way this particular app worked, the picture had to be sent right when it was taken. And once you looked at it, unlike with other apps, it disappeared forever.

“It's all our daughter talks about. But what's that have to do with anything?”

I remembered Pellner had a high school–aged daughter. Explaining what had happened would be a lot easier. “I got a picture through the app while I was waiting for the police to arrive.”

“And?” Pellner's brow wrinkled.

“It was a picture of me. Looking in the car, at Margaret.”

Pellner scanned the line of woods again, eyes squinted. “Could you tell where it was taken from?”

“I'm not sure.” I pointed to a spot in the woods. “Probably there. See the tallest pine, with the branch that hangs down funny?” I looked at Pellner, and he nodded. “A hawk flew from a tree right over in that area by the pine. Like it was startled. Maybe by the picture taker.” I paused, thinking about the photo. “I guess it's possible it was taken from the house. But I don't think the angle was right.”

While we'd been talking, more officials had arrived. Some looked at us curiously as they hurried up to Margaret's car.

“Stay here,” Pellner said.

I watched as he joined a group of people now gathered near the front of the ambulance and started talking. They all turned and looked at me, and then Pellner motioned for me to join them. I hustled up the drive.

“Can we look at your phone?” Pellner asked, putting out his hand for it.

I handed him my phone. “I don't think it will help. That's the thing about PopIt. It doesn't save any of the information.”

“That's why all parents hate it. And the police.” Pellner took the phone and passed it off to a woman I didn't know. “Do you remember the user name?”

I scrunched my forehead up. “I was so startled by the picture, I don't remember seeing the user name.”

“Show us where you were standing in the picture.”

“You want me to go back up by Margaret's car?”

“No. Do a demo by my squad car.”

Everyone followed me to Pellner's car. I stood by the driver's-side window and bent over a little bit. “This is about right,” I said.

“What did you do after you saw the PopIt?” Pellner asked.

“I turned to see if anyone was watching me, but I didn't see anyone.”

The woman with my phone handed it back to Pellner with a shake of her head. Pellner passed it back to me. Two officers set off on a circuitous route toward the woods.

“Are you okay?” Pellner asked.

My head did a little circle thing when I tried to nod and shake it at the same time. Physically, I was okay, emotionally I was questionable.

“Go sit in my car and warm up,” Pellner said. “I'll be there in a minute.”

“Front or back?” I asked. At least I'd quickly have some idea where I stood on the suspect list.

“Front.”

Whew.
“Can I just sit in mine?” Another test question tossed like a puck onto the ice in hopes that Pellner would take a swing at it.

“No.”

Rats.
That meant Pellner considered my car to be part of the crime scene. Maybe he'd search it, seeking out a stash of vintage tablecloths used for murderous deeds. And the possibility of finding vintage tablecloths in the back wasn't that far-fetched. I often bought and sold them at the garage sales I loved to attend and organize.

I dutifully climbed into the squad car and wondered how long it would be before CJ showed up. He probably wouldn't be happy to find me here. I bit my lip. CJ could think whatever he wanted. We were divorced, and I didn't answer to him anymore. I turned the vents so the heat blasted me, and settled in for what I hoped would be a short wait. I stared at my phone, wondering if another photo would come in. I jerked upright sometime later, when the driver's-side door swung open and Pellner eased in.

“Did you fall asleep?” Pellner asked. His dimples stood out even when he didn't smile, but they didn't really soften his stern face.

I blinked at him. “I guess I did.” Another strike against me. There was a saying in law enforcement that only the guilty slept. “I was up late last night, working on my garage sale site.” I craned my head around. “Where's CJ?”

“Out of town.”

The last time I'd talked to CJ was four weeks ago, when I'd called to ask him a question about our taxes. After he answered my question, I'd asked how he was doing. His answer had been all business. Arrest rates had gone up, but so had the number of petty crimes, there'd been an uptick in car thefts, the department basketball team was having a good season, a good cop was retiring, and he'd had to hire someone new. After his curt answer and his lack of interest in my life, I'd hoped this was the last piece of untangling our lives after our divorce just over a year ago. At least that was what I'd told myself. But now I wondered where CJ was. I knew Pellner well enough to know that asking for details and getting an answer was about as likely as an eighty-degree day in February in New England.

“Did they find anything out in the woods?” I asked.

“A few cigarette butts.”

“Someone was out there smoking while they were snapping pictures of me?” I felt cold all over again.

“We don't know when someone smoked out there, but they bagged them just in case. How do you know Margaret?”

“Everyone in Ellington knows Margaret.” The local joke was you couldn't go out of the house without running into someone related to Margaret. She was beloved. And apparently behated by someone.

Pellner twirled his hand. “Give me the details.”

“I met her at the first Spouses' Club event I went to. You know, the club on base for the wives and husbands of the air force members stationed on base?”

Pellner nodded, so I continued. “It was three years ago, right after CJ and I were stationed at Fitch. She was an honorary member.”

“So you were friends?”

“Friendly. It's not like we hung out.”

“What are you doing here?” His dimple looked serious. He wasn't asking lightly.

Then I remembered my argument with Margaret last night on my virtual garage sale site. Oh, boy, that wasn't going to look good when it came out. I could delete the thread, but when the police started questioning people, it was sure to be reported. It would look even worse if the thread was missing. And I wasn't computer savvy enough to really, really make it go away. But that was not what Pellner had asked, so I wouldn't bring it up yet.

“Sarah?”

“I'm setting up a February Blues garage sale on Fitch. There's also going to be a silent auction to raise scholarship money. Margaret agreed to donate some items. I was here to pick them up.”

Pellner then walked me pretty much step-by-step through my morning, up to his arrival. I left out the details of my showering and makeup routine but did mention deciding to wear my favorite aqua sweater. If that wasn't enough detail for him, so be it.

“I had an online argument with Margaret last night about the vintage tablecloth that's stuffed down her throat.” I felt like smacking my forehead. Why had I blurted that out? The image of Margaret and the tablecloth made me shudder. And by the surprised look on Pellner's face, my bluntness shocked him. But CJ had been in law enforcement the whole of our nineteen-year marriage. I'd observed his ability to detach himself from a situation all those years, and now it helped me to keep from cracking up.

Pellner pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. “How did you happen to want to buy something from her?”

“She's a member of my Ellington virtual garage sale site.”

“Did she sell a lot of things?”

“Lately, she had been. She called me a few weeks ago and asked how the whole thing worked. I talked her through it, and she immediately started posting items.”

“Did she tell you why?”

“I assumed because it was fun or because she had that thrifty Yankee side so many people do in this area.” I was sure the saying “Waste not, want not” originated here.

“But she was loaded,” Pellner said.

“I never thought about it. Some of the richest people I know here wear ratty clothes, clip coupons, and shop at garage sales.”

“Quirky New England types,” Pellner said.

I paused as I thought about one of my conversations with Margaret. “She once told me she couldn't take it with her, so she might as well sell some of the things she'd collected.” How different that comment seemed now that she was dead.

“From the look of things, she tried her best to take the tablecloth with her.”

I shook my head. “Really, Pellner?”

He shrugged. Pellner turned down the heat, so the air was more like a light summer breeze than hell's furnace blasting through the vents. “My wife talks about your garage sale site. She loves it.”

Good thing I had brought up the argument, because it would have come out sooner than I'd have guessed.

“But I've heard grumblings about your virtual garage sale.”

“Grumblings?” I wondered what that was about. There'd been the odd bit of drama here and there, but not as much as I'd seen on some sites.

Pellner sighed. “Just tell me about the argument.”

“Shouldn't we just wait to go over all this when the state troopers arrive?” In small town Massachusetts the district attorney could ask the state police to take over a murder investigation. And with someone as high profile as Margaret involved, I was positive that would happen.

“The Triple A with guns will show up soon enough. Humor me. I know you didn't kill Margaret, but they won't.” He pointed toward Margaret's car. People bustled around it.

Triple A with guns?
I knew small town police departments preferred to do their own investigations, and they did, in a behind-the-scenes way, but that statement took agency rivalry to a whole new level.

“As you were saying, you had an argument of some sort with Margaret last night.” Pellner twirled his hand again, a “Get on with it” motion.

“Last night Margaret posted a picture of the tablecloth on the site. I wanted to buy it, and we agreed on a price.” I whipped out my phone. “I can show you the whole conversation.”

“Do it,” Pellner said.

“Margaret posted the picture of the tablecloth and the price at ten last night.” I handed him my phone. “It's in great shape, and I liked the cheery pattern, so I told her I'd buy it for her price.”

“What's that?” Pellner pointed at a comment under mine.

“Someone else wanted to buy it, too.” I left it at that.

Pellner scrolled through the comments under mine. I wished he hadn't. “Who's Frieda Chida? Her comments don't sound very happy.”

“It's not Chida, like China. It's pronounced Chee-duh.”

“Her name is Frieda Chida?” Although, with his local accent, it came out like Frieder Chider. Pellner rolled his eyes at the rhyme.

“Yep. She's a member of the group. She saw the tablecloth and wanted it, too. But I saw it first and offered to buy it immediately.”

“But Frieda offered to pay more money. Almost double what you did.”

“It's an etiquette thing in the world of virtual garage sales. The buyer usually sells to the first person who offers to buy it, if they can agree upon a price.”

Pellner pointed to the screen. “She's accusing you of getting advanced notice on things because you're the administrator of the site.”