Case of Imagination (17 page)

“I hate her! Selfish, evil bitch!”

I thought for a moment she was going to slam the door in my face. “It’s probably not a good idea to talk like that.”

“I don’t care. You realize, don’t you, that she got her wish?
Nobody
won the pageant. There’s not even going to be a pageant, and all the attention’s on
her
. Even when she’s dead, she’s screwing me over.”

I’d been through this kind of temper tantrum before. Backstage at pageants, sometimes all it took was a stuck zipper. “I realize you’re upset. Could I ask you just a few questions?”

“Are you going to find the guy that killed her?”

“That’s what I’m trying to do.”

She opened the door wider. “Good. ’Cause when you find him, I want to thank him.”

The Sanchez family living room was decorated in Early American. Pictures of Donna sat on every available surface. Donna in her cheerleading outfit. Donna in her prom dress. Little Donna holding a kitten.

She flopped down on the sofa. I chose one of the recliner chairs facing the wide-screen TV. Donna in a Christmas dress beamed from the top of the TV.

“I can’t believe this.” She was back to her rant. “I’ve waited my whole life to be in the Miss Celosia Pageant, and that stupid Juliet has to go and get herself killed and ruin everything. Why couldn’t we have the pageant next month? That’s plenty of time before Miss North Carolina.”

I took out the piece of pink plastic. “Recognize this?”

She looked. “Looks like a fingernail.”

“Juliet’s?”

“Probably. She always liked that garish shade of pink.” She handed it back to me and rubbed her hands on her shorts. “That’s kind of gross. Did you take it off her hand?”

“Did anyone else have nails this color?”

“Don’t look at me. I only use shades of magenta. That shade of pink would be too bright on me. There are probably hundreds of these things backstage. I guess you noticed they hardly ever clean up or sweep. That could be a relic from last year’s pageant.”

I put the fingernail in my pocket. “So no one else was wearing this color?”

“If Juliet was wearing it, we wouldn’t touch it.”

***

Randi Peterson wasn’t angry. She was scared. In fact, she was too scared to open the door. She spoke through a crack.

“I don’t want to talk about it. Oh, my God, I could be next. What if this is a serial killer who targets beauty pageant contestants? What if he’s making some sort of weird statement about women? It had to be one of those protesters. You know, they’re not attractive women, and they’re bound to be jealous.”

I held the fingernail at her eye level. “Randi, would you please take a look at this and see if you recognize it?”

“What is it? Is it part of her
tongue?
Oh, my God, take it away! Go away!”

“No, no, it’s a piece of plastic fingernail.”

“That’s horrible! Did you take it off her body?”

“Do you recognize it? Could it belong to someone else?”

She began to sob. “Just go away. I never want to see anything about a pageant ever again.”

“I’m sorry you’re so upset, but we’re going to find out who killed Juliet. You shouldn’t feel threatened in any way.”

“This is Celosia. Things like this don’t happen in Celosia.”

“Things like this happen everywhere. You have to learn to deal with life, Randi.”

She shut the door with a firm click.

Okay. That’s one way to deal with life.

***

On my way home, I passed the TV and radio station. Three police cars were parked in the lot. I parked across the street and got out. The station had also had a break-in.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Maclin,” Chief Brenner said.

“What happened here?” I asked.

Benjy Goins looked with disgust at the piles of videotapes on the floor. “Can you believe this? If somebody wanted something, why didn’t they just ask?”

“What’s missing?”

“Nothing! That’s what’s so screwy. The guys and I counted, and all the tapes are here, they were just pulled out of the shelves and scrambled. It’s taken us all morning just to get them back in alphabetical order.”

“When did this happen?”

“Must have been early this morning. We’re not on all night, like some stations. We sign off at midnight. Elwood locks up. I come back at five for our six AM sign-on.”

Had the burglar been looking for a videotape? A videotape of what? I wondered.

Benjy smacked one fist in his hand. “I swear, if I find out who did this, I’m going to have their heads.”

Chief Brenner said, “We’re going to talk to several people today, Benjy. Don’t be making accusations over the airwaves.”

“I won’t, but I’d really like to.”

“Thank you.” Chief Brenner gestured to me. “Ms. Maclin, if I could have a word with you outside?”

I followed the chief to his patrol car. He folded his arms and leaned against the car. “Ms. Maclin, I’ve just had a call from Mrs. Peterson. Seems her daughter is very upset about Juliet Lovelace’s murder, and you are not helping the situation. Now, I asked you not to get involved in this. A murder and two break-ins in Celosia constitute a serious crime wave. I’d rather not have to worry about your safety, as well.”

“I just wanted to talk to Randi about the pageant. She’s let her imagination run wild about this murder.”

“And I believe you went to Ted Stacy’s office?”

“Ted called me to come over. Your men had already finished.”

Chief Brenner’s little eyes narrowed even further. “Please listen carefully, Ms. Maclin. Anyone involved in this case and any crime scene is now officially off-limits. You see the yellow tape, you stay on your side.”

“Yes, sir.”

After warning me off, he couldn’t resist asking me about my investigation. “Understand you talked with the Mitman girl this morning. Did she have anything useful to say?”

Since he wanted me to back off, then I didn’t see the need to share my information with him. “Just that Juliet wasn’t the most popular girl in the pageant.”

“The other contestants have all been cleared. There wouldn’t be any reason for you to talk to them about this.”

“May I ask one thing? Did the piece of fingernail I found belong to Juliet?”

“That has yet to be determined.”

As I started for my car, Chief Brenner said, “And where would you be heading now, Ms. Maclin?”

“To the Eberlin house.”

“Thank you,” he said. “Good day.”

***

When I stepped inside the Eberlin house, I didn’t recognize the living room. Gone was a trace of anything gray, from the light blue walls with white molding to the shiny wood floors. The old draperies had been taken down, so clean windows let in air and sunlight. Curved invitingly in the center of the room was a white sectional sofa with a scattering of blue cushions. Elegant lamps sat on end tables. A glass coffee table shaped like a large square was parked in front of the sofa. A new entertainment center gleamed from the corner by the fireplace. Over the mantel hung a modern art painting of multicolored flowers.

Jerry grinned. “What do you think?”

“It’s gorgeous.”

He picked up a remote control from the coffee table and aimed it at the entertainment center. A dramatic bass voice began singing something operatic. “We’ve got cable, too.”

“And who’s paying for all this?”

He flopped down on the sofa. “Mr. Credit Card.”

“Eventually, you have to pay him back, too.”

“Once the Eberlin house gets going, that won’t be a problem.”

I joined him on the sofa. “Come on, Jerry. Tell me what’s going on.”

“Nothing. I just wanted to fix things up.”

“I thought this was supposed to be a haunted mansion, not the cover of
House
Beautiful
.”

“Now I’m thinking this will be perfect for a New Age retreat center.” He pointed to the painting. “Recognize that?”

I’d been too dazzled by the transformation to pay much attention to the painting. I took a closer look and shook my head in disbelief. “You kept it.”

“It’s my favorite.”

I approached the painting, now remembering each brush stroke, each layer of color. As a last touch, I’d added a blue crescent moon in the corner. “Blue Moon Garden,” I’d called it. Yes, there was the title, written very small in the bottom right hand corner, along with my name and the date. I remembered the day I’d finished the painting and proudly documented my achievement. It had been a hot sunny day like today. The art room windows had been open, adding smells of fresh paint and wet clay to the breeze. Jerry had leaned in one window. He’d been playing softball, his hair damp under his cap. I remembered how the sun on his face made his eyes almost transparent.

“That’s the best one yet, Mac,” he’d said.

I was going to be an artist.

“Fine,” my mother had said. “Throw away a perfectly good pageant career.”

I let my hair and my clothes go wild, but even then people would approach with offers. Miss Collegiate Queen. Miss All-Campus Cutie. I politely refused, wanting to scream. Was “Beauty Queen” tattooed somewhere on my forehead?

My first art show was that fall. I had to do what I vowed I’d never do again. I needed money for canvases and frames and money to rent the exhibition hall. The only way to make real money real fast was to enter and win the Miss Parkland Pageant. The pageant was a huge success; my art show a complete critical disaster. My mother didn’t say anything. Her satisfied smirk said it all.

“Come on,” Jerry had said. “Let’s go to Bermuda.”

We had the Fairweather beach house to ourselves. Jerry went fishing and practiced bending spoons. I took long, soul-searching walks on the beach. I picked up shells and admired the shades of the water. No one asked me to be Miss Bermuda.

Then someone asked me if I’d seen a diamond watch. By listening and asking the right questions, I found that watch and a new purpose. Maybe I didn’t know what I wanted, but I could help other people find what they wanted.

At night, Jerry and I sat on the deck and talked about life. He was very supportive of my new direction.

Why didn’t I see it then? Jerry was always there. A safety net. An airbag against the crashes of life. I’d taken him for granted so long, no wonder a woman like Olivia could flirt and charm him. She saw the man. I saw a pal.

I thought of all this now as “Blue Moon Garden” bloomed in front of me.

Jerry had been watching me. “You know, the light’s pretty good in the upstairs parlor.”

The upstairs parlor. My office.

No. My studio.

I felt a thrill of excitement. For an instant, my fingers ached to hold a paintbrush, to spread color and catch light. I shrugged. “It was just a phase. I’m over it.”

He looked as if he wanted to say something else. Then he said, “Come check out the kitchen.”

I followed him into the kitchen. The old linoleum had been peeled off, and Nell was putting down new white tiles with a faint pattern of blue leaves.

“Nice, huh?” Jerry said. “I’m going to get a new stove and refrigerator, but we’re leaving the table and chairs. Nell says they’re in good shape.”

Nell agreed. “Won’t find nothing better.”

“Then we’ll start on the upstairs.”

She chuckled. “What’s this ‘we’ business? You’ll stay down here.”

I had to know what was going on. “It looks wonderful, Nell. Would you excuse us for a minute?” I took Jerry by the arm and led him back into the living room. “A New Age retreat center? You’re going to charge people a couple a hundred a week to gaze at their crystals and go ‘om’?”

“Why not? They have to do it somewhere. Why not at the Eberlin house, which is known for its special vibes?”

“There are so many reasons why not, I don’t know where to start.”

And I might have started listing the reasons, but Olivia chose this moment to arrive. She stood in the front door and stared. She had her cell phone to her ear, but she put it away. I thought she’d be critical of the new décor, but she surprised me.

“Jerry, this is beautiful! I love it!”

“Does it look New Age?”

“I don’t know about that, but it looks fantastic. Did you do this yourself? You couldn’t have.”

“Nell helped me.”

“Well, it’s such an improvement.” She paused. “Why does it have to look New Age?”

“Because I’m planning to turn this house into a retreat center.”

Olivia said what I would’ve said. “Oh, no, you are not. These mindless schemes of yours go nowhere.” Then she seemed to catch herself. She paused and frowned as if she’d just thought of something. “You’d be much better off running a bed and breakfast.”

“A New Age bed and breakfast?”

“Well, it doesn’t have to be New Age, but people enjoy staying in old country homes. It might be very nice.”

Wait a minute. Was she encouraging him? Didn’t she want Jerry back in Parkland?