Design on a Crime (15 page)

"They had a tug-of-war going on," she finally said. "I often
wondered if Marge knew something about Ozzie that kept
her from moving forward on the partnership, something
bad, something he didn't want made public. Otherwise, why object for so long? He made her buckets of money over the
years, not only because of all his contacts, but also because of
all he sold for her. He's an amazing salesman. I'd have made
him a partner."

My eyes nearly popped from their sockets. "You think
Marge was capable of blackmail?"

"I wouldn't go that far. I just know something wasn't quite
right, and it held her back."

Movement on the other side of the glass wall caught Adrienne's and my attention at the same time. Todd was back,
beautiful fabric swatches in hand.

Adrienne stood, relieved, and opened the door. "Well, then.
Since you said you had to go, call me and let me know which
goods you'll want and how much of each. I can have them
delivered to you, at home or at the site, the same day you
place the order."

I wasn't about to learn anything more, and Adrienne did
need to get back to work. Besides, I had more snooping to
do, not to mention those fences I was afraid I'd obliterated.
Repair work was called for if I wanted to have a business.

Ozzie Krieger, here I come. Then Noreen ... and maybe
even-did I really have to?-Dutch.

"Thanks for everything," I said, and she understood.

"Be careful, Haley. I ... I don't know that I can stand to lose
you too. I know the Lord says I won't be hit by more than I
can bear, but it's already been so much."

I reached up and hugged her hard, fought the tears that
stung my eyes, made my voice sound even stronger than
usual. "I'll be fine, Adrienne. You'll see. I'm going to be your
best customer in no time flat."

"That's my prayer." Tears filled her almond-shaped eyes.
"God bless you, sweetie. You're always in my prayers."

For a moment, unaccustomed warmth washed my heart,
maybe even a hint of comfort, but then anger rushed back in.

"See ya." I grabbed my samples and fled to my car.

I couldn't think about the emotions Adrienne's prayers had
teased awake. I had to focus on the present, on my problems.
I had to find out who killed Marge.

Maybe then I'd know what to do with all the rage.

"Is your father home?" I asked Hugh Krieger forty-five
minutes later.

The fireplug-shaped man on the roof spit a mouthful of
nails into his hand. "Had an appointment with a family. The
great-aunt is headed for a nursing home. They asked him to
appraise the estate."

"Will the law allow a sale this soon? The auction house
is still in probate. Besides, there's a murder investigation
going on, and it involves the auction house and everything
related to it."

"Murder ... now there's a topic for ya."

I didn't like his tone of voice, and his poisonous stare wasn't
any better. "Yes, one I need to discuss with Ozzie. Do you
know what time he'll be home?"

The bullish man looked at the cedar shingle in his hand,
then at me. He tossed the wood in the air, as if gauging its
heft. He looked down at me again. "I have no idea, but I'm
pretty sure he's not interested in your lies."

"What lies? You don't know what I have to discuss with
him."

Another toss. "I don't care what you want to talk about.
All I know is that Dad's been a wreck since you killed Marge.
You think he's going to want to have tea and cookies with
you any time soon?"

I sucked in air. No one had talked to me like that, not even
Dutch. It nearly brought me to my knees. "I didn't kill Marge,
and Ozzie knows that. Did he say I did?"

"No. Dad hasn't talked, but I can read. It's all over the
papers. The cops are gonna lock you up any day now."

Not if I could help it. "They have no evidence, no proof,
because there is none. I didn't do it."

I took a long shuddering breath, which didn't calm me one
bit, but at least my lungs felt as though they might make it
another minute or five. "I do need to talk to your father, so
please give him the message."

He laughed-not with humor either.

I didn't want to hear another word. "Better yet. Forget I
asked. I'll find Ozzie on my own."

Just like I'd have to find Marge's killer.

"Good riddance," Hugh said. "And don't let the door hit
ya on the way out."

I didn't look back.

My trusty Honda started right up, thank goodness, and I
pulled away, my hands trembling so hard I had trouble holding on to the steering wheel. Funny how one mean-spirited
jerk could ruin your day.

Had his father ruined my life?

As I drove away, I didn't know whether to cry or get mad.
It didn't look as though I'd solve the puzzle of Marge's mur der any time soon, and since both crying and getting mad
wasted too much energy, I did neither. I was going to need
every ounce of oomph I could beg, borrow, or steal. Well, with
all the suspicion coming my way, this wasn't a good time for
me to steal anything, not even a nap.

But that was what I wanted. I craved my bed, my down
comforter, my dog at my feet, the horror far, far away.

Too bad I'm a grown-up.

That thought flew out the window the moment I pulled
into the parking lot at Norwalk's Auction House and saw
Dutch drive up from the opposite direction. Why was he here?
I wanted him gone. I wanted to yell, bicker, stomp my foot,
throw a tantrum. I didn't; I controlled myself. Barely.

We got out of our steel steeds at the same time.

"What are you doing here-"

"What do you think you're doing-"

We stood with legs shoulder-width apart, fists on hips,
glaring, disgusted, and not about to budge an inch.

He blinked-figuratively speaking, that is. He rolled his
green eyes, then muttered, "You first."

"Okay. What are you doing here?"

"That wasn't what I meant, and you know it. You tell me
what the big idea is. What do you think you'll accomplish
here?"

I gave him a smug smile. "Probably the same thing you
do."

"I doubt it."

"So why are you here? At least I've helped Marge in the
warehouse more times than I can count. And she trusted me
enough to leave me the stupid place."

"You know, that smart mouth of yours is probably going
to land you in jail faster than any evidence that might show
up.

"True, I can talk myself into more trouble than it's worth,
but you still haven't told me why you came out here." When
he crossed his arms, and his expression grew even more mulish, I figured I'd-again-have to be a grown-up.

"Fine. I'll tell you why I'm here. It's no big deal. I have to
talk to Ozzie Krieger, Marge's assistant."

Surprise wiped the stubbornness off his face. "You're still
playing Jessica Fletcher Jr. after the disaster at Noreen's?"

"I'm not playing. I came to talk to Ozzie. Is there a law
against that?"

"No, but there're plenty against interfering with an ongoing
police investigation. And you're doing just that."

Something in my makeup, probably the pastor's kid gene,
wouldn't let me lie. "I'm not interfering. I just don't see why I
should let someone frame me for killing a woman I love and
miss more each day."

"Let the police do their job. Who knows how much evidence is being destroyed just because you've alerted someone. That is, if you're telling the truth and didn't kill the
woman."

"I just told you I didn't kill Marge." I'd had enough of the
suspicion. I wasn't going to play the game. "Look, Dutch
Merrill, I've a question for you. And it's about something
I've observed."

"Go ahead. At least I won't kill you if you ask another dumb
question. I have nothing to gain by losing you."

"That's what you say. But you're awfully hot on having me locked up. I wonder why. Did you kill Marge for some weird
reason? Is that why you want to pin this on me?"

He dared to laugh. "You know I didn't kill Marge Norwalk. But I'll tell you what. From where I'm standing, you
look pretty suspicious. Not only are you totally paranoid, but
there's good reason to think you-"

"Haley didn't kill Marge."

We both turned. "Ozzie! I'm so glad to see you. And thanks
for telling this wacko the truth."

Ozzie shrugged. "I don't know who killed Marge, but I'm
sure it wasn't you."

Dutch took a step forward. "How do you know that?"

The look Ozzie sent me had a truckload of apology in it.
"Because, Mr. Merrill, whoever murdered my employer was
not only homicidal but also furtive, devoid of conscience,
and secretive. Haley Farrell can't keep her mouth shut even
if someone staples it for her."

I gaped.

Dutch laughed-again.

Ozzie wrung his hands.

I wanted to scream, but that adult thing held me back.
Would Ozzie's less than rousing endorsement stand up in
court? After all, he'd exculpated me by insult.

What was up with that?

Ozzie's pronouncement seemed to convince Dutch that we
were both shy of a load of travertine marble tile. He went to
his ratty truck with little more to add than a nasty, "Hope I
don't trip over you next place I go."

"Not very polite, huh?"

"Few care for the niceties anymore, Miss Farrell." He looked
just like a merry basset hound.

Even while happy, glum.

I was going to have to take the reins in our little chat, but I
wasn't sure how to go about it, since I'd been such a smashing success with Noreen and Hugh.

'Ah ... how about we go inside?" Marge's electric teakettle
and espresso machine would give us something to do. Ozzie
was a tea aficionado, and Marge had always kept a cartload
of choices, both exotic and mundane, at hand. Starbucks, of
course, was a staple.

"Very well, miss." He took a key from his pocket and led
the way in. But then he tripped.

I followed and sprawled all over the poor man.

"Whtw ohvr mrphw!" he mumbled.

"What did you say?"

"Ufh twdtwu dho whtw ohvr mrphw!"

After a mental checkup of limbs and other stray body
parts-they worked-I began to extricate myself from the
awkward position. Ozzie didn't help with all the squirming
and wriggling he did to try to ditch me off.

"Give me a minute. I'm trying to put my feet on the floor
rather than on you." You'd think he'd realize I was looking
out for him.

The moment I eased off, Ozzie lurched up. "Why is this
steamer trunk in the middle of the hallway? I certainly didn't
leave it here this morning when I retrieved an initial-contact
information packet for our new clients."

Had my intuition suddenly mushroomed, or was it that obvious that something was rotten in the state of Denmark?

"Why don't you turn on the light?" I asked.

"I tried, Miss Farrell. The switch did not work."

Uh-oh. No power. A trunk in the middle of the hall. Dutch
in the vicinity when I got here.

"Do you think someone-"

"Call the authorities, Miss Farrell." Ozzie's voice squeaked,
and fear was on his face. "Someone has ransacked the office."

My instincts were getting better.

"I'll get my cell phone. I left it in the car when that slug
of a contractor showed up." And like him, it might be gone
by now.

But no. It was hiding, as usual, in the farthest reaches of
my limitless backpack purse. It took me only seven minutes
and fifty-three seconds to snatch it up this time. I shaved four
seconds off my previous record.

The dispatcher answered right away. "This is Haley Farrell," I said, "and I'm at Norwalk's Auction House, and
someone broke in here, and there's no power, and there's an
antique-it is antique isn't it?"

Ozzie nodded from the doorway, his expression more
mournful than before.

I returned to the dispatcher squawking in my ear. "Hang
on! I haven't told you everything. There's this antique trunk
in the middle of the hall, and Ozzie says it wasn't here when
he came by earlier-that was today, wasn't it?"