Arson Takes a Dare: The Third Marisa Adair Mystery Adventure (Marisa Adair Mysteries Book 3) (6 page)

“Snowmen?” Mae Rue rubbed her eyes with her gloved fingers. When she opened them, the snowmen were still there. “Where did they come from?”

Her slim figure thickened by the heavy camouflage-patterned coat and fur-lined pants, Mae Rae stared at the quiet tableau. Heaving in a breath of arctic air, she circled warily around the largest, adult-sized statue, fashioned of three balls of snow increasing in size from top to bottom. Her dead husband’s furry hat slid to one side of her head, the ear flaps moving in the cold wind as she wove between the two child-sized snow creatures.

Deputy Blackburn snorted, streams of vapor filling the cold air in front of his disbelieving face. “A grieving widow making snowmen? Did you have your so-called farmhand Coy Mitchell help you? Or do you keep him in your bedroom for other duties?”

Enraged, Mae Rae swung at the smug oxen features of the deputy. A hand caught her wrist. She turned on the sheriff. “Let go! He deserves a thrashing.”

Sheriff Norton’s square jaw tightened. “No. If you hit him, then I’ll have to arrest you.” His teeth gleamed against his brown-sugar skin in a rare smile, a dimple making an irreverent appearance in his stubble-roughened cheek. “He might deserve it, but not here and not now.” He turned his head. “Blackie, Mitchell’s truck is gone and there aren’t any tracks. He must have left before the snow started falling early this morning.”

Mae Rue twisted her wrist free and stared up into the dark, unreadable eyes. “What did your pet lummox mean by ‘so called’ farmhand?”

“Of course, you’d pick up on that from his rant.” The sheriff dropped her wrist as if it was too hot to hold, in spite of the cold air. “Blackie, you know you’re supposed to keep the details of the investigation to yourself.”

“But Coy Mitchell is not a farmhand. Jeremy Brooks was married to Mitchell’s sister Amy less than two months when she died in that freak accident in his grain silo. Mitchell must have taken the job to get close to his former brother-in-law.” The deputy’s bottom lip protruded. “And I’m not a lummox. Is that a type of ox? I have been called a big ox before, and it’s very hurtful.”

“Jeremy told me he’d never been married. You’re lying.” Mae Rue tilted her head back, staring up into the falling snow.
I caught Jeremy in so many stupid lies. Is the deputy telling the truth?
The sky was as gray as her mood, and the clouds were as heavy as her heart.

The deputy’s grin was mean, his blocky teeth and round head like a jack-o’-lantern. “It’s a matter of public record at the courthouse, Mrs. Brooks. Or a simple online search on your computer—”

“Be quiet, Blackie.” The sheriff moved away, staring at the ground around the snowmen.

One cautious eye on his boss, Blackburn inched nearer to her. He whispered, “Jeremy should have married my youngest sister, Beth Ann, the paralegal. She turned down a full-ride law school scholarship to stay near him. After Amy died, Beth Ann started haunting Jeremy’s favorite honky tonks.”

Blackburn watched his boss circling the snowmen. He breathed heavily, his exhales noxious. “Beth Ann was perfect for Jeremy. She can bale hay as well as any man, especially when she’s mad. She can field dress a deer.” He chuckled. “She’s not bad in a bar fight. My sister was there after Amy died, ready to be plucked like a ripe apple off a low-hanging branch. Then Jeremy passed her by for you, a mousy little librarian who can’t even line dance—-”

The sheriff held up a hand, cutting off the disgruntled flow of words. “Quiet, Blackie. Look at the snow around the snowmen. What do you see?”

Blackburn lumbered to the sheriff’s side, his eyes following the pointing gloved finger. “Smooth snow?”

“Exactly! Where are the footprints?”

The deputy shook his head, sending his hat to one side of his huge head. “Footprints?”

Despite her average height, Mae Rue felt short as she joined the taller men. She clenched her fists. “The snowmen builders should have left their footprints. But the snow is smooth. Where are their prints?”

Sheriff Norton shook his head. “It’s still snowing, and it’s windy. The breeze could have scattered fresh snow over the prints.”

“Or maybe the UFO scattered snow over the footprints.” The deputy perked up. “Let’s get to the pond. When I was a little boy, I used to catch frogs in there. If we find a crashed UFO and those weird little men, I bet I can get on television.” He quickened his pace toward the gate in the fence.

In the trauma hospital’s corridor, Marisa took a deep breath and tried to calm her angry thoughts. “If Elizabeth Furlong purrs at Alex one more time, I’m going to scratch out her fake blue eyes!”

“She not only wants Alex’s old job, she wants Alex.” Tara shook her head. “Elizabeth is careful to only ‘act out’ when he’s not present or not paying attention. And she’s really good at pouring on the old-fashioned sex appeal. Did you notice Tom was wearing a tie the exact same shade of blue as Elizabeth’s suit? I wonder if it’s a coincidence.”

“I didn’t notice,” Marisa admitted. “But I have noticed that our meetings drag on nearly twice as long since she arrived. She pretends to ask questions. But the questions are really intended for her to show how much she knows about any subject.”

“I think Elizabeth also craves being the center of attention,” Tara mused. “It’s as if she doesn’t exist unless people are looking at her and talking about her.”

Marisa smiled. “If we stop talking about her and thinking about her, will she disappear?”

“If it was that easy, I’d use that technique on my many enemies.” Tara’s green eyes danced.

“You don’t have enemies.” Marisa focused on the petite body and beautiful face. “Not legions, anyway.” She frowned in thought. “Maybe Elizabeth is an only child. If so, she grew up on center stage. Now she’s like a drooping plant without the nourishment of compliments and attention.”

“Marisa!” Tara’s curls bounced with agitation.

“What?” Marisa feigned innocence.

“Did you forget? I am an only child!” Tara put one hand on her hip.

“New theory,” Marisa said, not bothering to hide her amusement. “Elizabeth is one of a litter of eight piglets. She was ignored by her mother. To get the sow’s attention, she had to dance around the mud and squeal at the top of her lungs.”

Tara laughed so hard that she had to bend over. “And now, she has to stand out from her peers by doing the same things,” she gasped.

Marisa stopped at her outer office door. “Psychology 101, at least of the porcine variety.”

After Marisa unlocked the door, Tara stepped inside. “Why are you still working at the human resources receptionist’s desk, Marisa? It’s been six months since your friend Jonah was murdered in your office. Don’t tell me you’re afraid to use your own office?”

Jerked from her thoughts of slapping the hell out of Elizabeth Furlong, Marisa shot a carefree grin at her best friend.

Tara touched her arm in concern.

Well, poop,
Marisa thought in disgust.
I fell short of the carefree mark. 
She admitted to herself that Tara was difficult to fool. “Of course I’m not afraid. The maintenance staff is still working on it.” She glanced at the closed inner office door. She hastily slid behind the reception desk before the other woman could her goad her into doing something she most definitely didn’t want to do.

Tara put her hands on her hips. Her curves were accentuated by the violet jacket and skirt, cut from stretchy material designed to emphasize, rather than camouflage, her luscious figure. With her legs flowing from the short skirt to the high-heeled purple pumps, Tara could’ve been dressed for a night out on the town, rather than her job as the trauma hospital’s Marketing Director. “I spoke with Carlos earlier today. In spite of his embarrassing infatuation with the gorgeous Elizabeth, he is the Maintenance Director. Your office has been ready for you to move back in for months. He thinks the reason you stay out here in the outer office is because you’re superstitious.”

Marisa held up her hands in surrender. “You got me. I don’t want to move back into my office. There aren’t any vacant offices for me to use, so I’ve been using the reception area.”

“Jonah came to you for help,” Tara said. “You’re smart and resourceful, and he thought you’d have the answer. He didn’t know a killer was close on his heels. He wouldn’t have brought danger into your orbit on purpose…”

Marisa’s face softened.

“…because he was your boy-toy turned friend…”

Marisa growled. “He was
not
my boy-toy!”

“He was half your age,” Tara insisted, “and your relationship was based on sex. Therefore, he was your boy-toy.”

“Stop saying boy-toy!” Marisa hunched her shoulders. “You’ve said it like three times. Jonah was my friend.”

“After the wonderfully athletic sex, yes, he was your friend.” Tara’s tones were soothing. “You proved his importance to you when you risked your life to solve his murder. You wouldn’t do that for
just
a boy-toy…”

“Tara!” Marisa could feel the steam pouring out of her ears.

“Forget the…” Tara grimaced. “…you know. BT.” She smiled slyly. “What if Alex realizes you need your assistant back? He may decide to let you rehire her. If you’re out here, where will Janie sit?”

Before Jonah’s murder, the reception desk had been occupied by Janie, the human resources assistant. A cheerful grandmother in her late sixties, Janie had been employed by the trauma hospital for over thirty years. She had ruled the outer office with a smile on her face and steel in her spine, handling visitors who ranged from angry employees to upset family members with aplomb.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get Janie back.” Marisa smiled. “Do you remember how she turned the office into a greenhouse of plants and flowers? Her pride and joy was a rhododendron she had received thirty years ago from her husband on her first day at work.”

Tara glanced up at the bare walls. “Of course I remember. Janie used metal hooks to guide the dark green leaves all along the wall.”

“By the time she left, Janie had guided the growing vine all the way around the room and back to the huge potted base.” She sighed.

“Marisa, I think using your reception area as your office will give Elizabeth more ammunition against you.” Tara was concerned. “What if she calls our corporate office and tells them you’re some kind of nut? I’ll help you move your stuff back into your office.”

Marisa swallowed. “I see your point. I’ll get the stuff moved this weekend.” She avoided Tara’s green gaze.

“Marisa, you’re fibbing. I can always tell. I’ll help you now.”

As they moved the base of operations into the inner office, Marisa brought Tara up to date. She told Tara about her relapse, Alex’s rescue and ultimatum, and what they’d found in her brother Mosely’s room. She pressed her fingers to her eyes to stem the tears. “And Althea’s betrayal still hurts like hell. It was so unexpected. I loved her, and she used my pain to sell her books.” She sniffed.

Tara slid her arm around Marisa’s shoulders. “Have you tried talking to her about it?”

Marisa leaned into the warmth of her friend’s hug. “We haven’t spoken since the night Mosely died.” As the weight of misery bowed her, tears streamed down her face.

Tara pulled her friend’s head to her shoulder. She patted Marisa’s back in soothing circles.

Behind her, Marisa heard smooching sounds. She raised her head in surprise.

“I knew you two were close, but not
that
close.” Elizabeth Furlong posed in the doorway. “This is the most serendipitous moment of my day. You bitches have tried to block me every step of the way. Now if you want me to keep your explosive secret, you’re going to help me.”

Marisa surreptitiously swiped at her tears and exchanged a surprised glance with Tara. “What are you talking about, Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth shook her head in disbelief, sending her asymmetrical hair flying around her head. “I’m talking about you and your lover. Honestly, Marisa, I thought your interest was in a different corner.” She held up her phone. “Regardless, I have a picture of your canoodling.”

Tara snorted in derision. “Who under fifty says canoodling? Did you hear that word from your grandmother? Do you even know what it means?” Her tiny fists clenched and her petite body shook with fury. “You can’t blackmail us. We’ll take that phone—” Tara lunged.

Elizabeth held the phone high above Tara’s golden head. “You’re not even five feet tall. You’d need a ladder to reach the phone.”

Marisa squeezed Tara’s shoulder. “Keep your phone. You’re about fifty years behind the times. We’re not doing anything illegal, immoral, or unethical.” She turned her head from Elizabeth’s view and winked at Tara. She felt her friend’s body jerk in surprise.

Her full red mouth twisted in triumph, Elizabeth glided into the room. “The top leaders of the corporation are conservative males in their sixties and seventies. They may not overtly fire you for being lesbians, but they can surely find a pretext.” She waved her phone. “None of that has to happen. All you have to do is support me. I like it here, and I want to stay.”

“I knew you were after Alex’s job as Chief Financial Officer,” Marisa fumed.

Elizabeth shook her head. “Wrong. I don’t want the CFO job. I want the CEO job. I want to be the top leader of this hospital. Then, I’m going to climb the corporate ladder.”

Tara stepped away from Marisa. “Elizabeth, that’s a paradox. If the corporate leaders are so narrow-minded they’d fire Marisa and me over a romantic relationship, they wouldn’t put a female in a position of power.”

Elizabeth danced in place with her cell phone. “You don’t think yours is the only incriminating picture on this phone, do you?” She stopped and glared at them. “And stealing my phone won’t help you. Everything is backed up in my email.”

Tara advanced on Elizabeth. “Forget trying your games on us, Elizabeth. Thanks to Marisa, one administrator is in jail. Also because of Marisa, the man who replaced him was fired and is being divorced by his powerful wife. If you cross Marisa, what do you think will happen?”

Elizabeth stalked from the room and slammed the door.

“Tara, I don’t think it’s entirely my fault the two previous administrators were let go. You make me sound like a Machiavellian manipulator.” Marisa fanned her hot face. “Plus, it will take more than me to scare Elizabeth Furlong.”

Tara slid her behind onto the desk. “We need ammunition!” She pivoted and fell into the desk chair. She rolled to the computer and her fingers flew over the keys.

Marisa laughed. “You should have your own tumbling act in Vegas. I’m sure it would beat Elizabeth’s favorite show,
Prancing with the Stars
.” She rounded the desk to peer over Tara’s shoulder. “Ah. Ammunition. I see.”

“Yep. I’m googling the bitch.” She rubbed her hands in glee and tossed her blonde curls out of her porcelain face, shining with anticipation.

* * * * *

Marisa scooted her behind onto the desk and swung her leg. “Don’t you think it’s odd we only found information on the internet about Elizabeth in the last twenty years or so?”

“We know she’ll be forty years old on her birthday this year. That leaves a huge blank in her life.”

Marisa rolled her eyes. “You know her age because you hounded me into looking it up in the system.”

“All’s fair in love and threatened blackmail, Marisa. That leaves the first half of her life with zero search results.” Tara propped her feet on the desk. “Add to that everything in the past two decades is squeaky clean. What if she blackmailed someone, just like she tried to blackmail us? The blackmailer tried to kill her to keep his secret safe. Then, Elizabeth killed him in self-defense.”

“If it was self-defense, then she wouldn’t get prison time or end up with a criminal record,” Marisa mused.

“I could ask Dreamus to do a search for a criminal history. He is a police lieutenant.”

“He wouldn’t abuse his power to satisfy our curiosity.” Marisa shook her head. “Regardless, I had a criminal check run on her when we found her through the headhunter. It was perfectly clean, without even a parking ticket.”

Tara shrieked. “No one has such a pristine record! I know she has a secret past.”

Marisa was skeptical. “She’s risen in the for-profit ranks, and she has a stellar work record. She couldn’t climb the corporate ladder with a major scandal attached to her ankle like her own Pandora’s box, clanging against the rungs.”

Tara pounced. “That proves my theory. She’s a very ambitious woman. If Elizabeth does have a sordid past, she’d do anything to erase it so it wouldn’t interfere with her ambitions.”

“I could see her doing anything to promote her agenda,” Marisa admitted.

“Not just her agenda.” Tara leaped to her feet and slapped the desk top. “What if the family of her victim is on her trail? He or she is determined to exact bloody vengeance. When he catches up with Elizabeth, he’ll kill her in a particularly bloody and painful way! He’ll torture Elizabeth. Perhaps he’ll cut off her feet and end her dancing days forever—” 

“Tara!” Marisa wasn’t sure if her friend’s theory was funny or appalling, or both.

“Our search and the criminal background check didn’t show a thing,” Tara said. “What if Elizabeth is using someone else’s identity?”

Marisa frowned, trying to keep up with her friend’s conversational leapfrog. “Do you mean Elizabeth Furlong isn’t her real name?” She shook her head in defeat. “How could we prove it?”

“Easy! We get her fingerprints and her DNA. Then, I use my womanly wiles on my police lieutenant boyfriend.” Tara batted her eyelashes.