Design on a Crime (6 page)

The silver pen danced on among the rose-tipped fingers.
The sunlight pouring in through the front window sparkled
off its shiny metal sides.

I stood and paced. Talk of Marge's death brought back the
gut-wrenching misery of last night. Dutch's call just made
me mad. The collision of emotions made me itch to go break
some bricks, kick a punching bag, sweat out my pain while I
strengthened my body. I couldn't stand to feel weak.

Helpless.

I faced the still-silent detective. "I didn't know Marge
planned to leave me anything, much less everything. I thought
Merrill was delusional when he called."

"You don't anymore, do you?"

I raised my arms in exasperation. "How could I? After
the charming chat with Contractor Cheat, I got a call from
Barrister Blither. I went into Seattle and was on my way back
when I found you in my driveway. Mr. Harris gave me a copy
of the will. It's all true."

"So now things have changed."

I pushed a bunch of hair behind my ear. In the presence of
the Vogue model detective, I regretted not taking the time to
try to corral my rowdy mane. "I'll say."

"A dead Marge benefits you more than a live Marge,
wouldn't you also say?"

I stared down the detective's hazel eyes. "No, Detective
Tsu, I would not say that. Marge means-meant-a lot more
to me yesterday than her money does today. I can't believe anyone would think anything else. Especially you. Detectives
are supposed to be rational, guided by evidence and facts.
This was just the ranting of a paranoid maniac."

"Merrill?"

"Yes."

The detective's gaze didn't waver when she closed her
notebook. "We haven't spoken with him since yesterday at
the mansion."

My gut knotted up. "Does this mean that Wilmont's PD
now operates on flights of fantasy?"

"Hardly. As you just said, we-I-operate on evidence
and fact."

"Then you can't be serious. You can't think I killed Marge.
You can't have any evidence, since I didn't do it."

Ms. Tsu clicked off her recorder. She stood, her posture
perfect, her stance assured. She seemed taller than before,
and her poise again impressed me.

"That's where I'm afraid you're wrong, Ms. Farrell. We
have evidence that places you at the scene."

My heart thudded. I rolled my eyes. 'About four hundred
people saw me there. Remember? I'm the one who found
Marge."

"Yes, Ms. Farrell. That would account for your footprints.
But how do you account for your fingerprints on the rock
that crushed Marge Norwalk's skull?"

With the speed of a crashing gavel, blackness crushed
me.

The next morning, when I walked into the dojo, Tyler wore
his usual smile on his face and X-ray vision in his eyes. He
reached out to hug me. "Hey there, girl. What brings you
here during the day?"

"Unemployment."

"What do you mean? I thought you'd just opened your
new business."

"I did. But a funny thing happened on my way to stardom
and success. Those in the know call it murder one."

My sensei narrowed his intense dark eyes. "You're going
to have to tell me more than that."

"Can we just not talk about it? I really need to kick something."

For a moment, I thought he'd refuse to let me get away
with my dodge, but I wasn't ready to rehash the last two
days. Then his eyes took a trip over my whacked-out, griefstricken self.

"Okay. Take your time."

I'd have my moment of reckoning soon enough. I'd known
I would, but even though I wished I didn't have to, at least Tyler would give me time and space to get myself together
again.

Marge was the one who'd made sure I could in the recent
past. Even though I felt rotten already, I knew the full reality
of her death hadn't hit me yet. The coward in me wanted to
run, but I knew I could only postpone that moment.

Time to sweat. This was the place to do it.

Tyler teaches his own mongrel mix of disciplines. For endurance and flexibility, he has his students learn Tai Chi; for
strength, he favors Tae Kwan Do; for power, jujutsu; for selfdefense, down and dirty kickboxing.

I changed into a white gi, tied on my brown belt, and hurried to join the class about to start. I had no idea which discipline was on the menu, but I figured I'd take a serving of
any of them. I hoped for kickboxing.

Two women in their late fifties told me we'd be doing Tai
Chi. A seemingly easy and slow martial art, Tai Chi is a lot
more complex than most observers think. To move in the
purposeful, measured, controlled way of the discipline takes
total concentration, muscle coordination, and balance. I've
fallen flat on my face when my thoughts moseyed away from
the exercise more times than I like to admit.

Disappointed, I staked out a spot in the last row. I really,
really wanted to punch and bite and scream and kick.

From my corner, I saw the instructor's back. Tyler teaches
evening sessions so he can handle the business end of the
studio during daytime hours. He hires other black belts for
those classes. This woman was small and slender, and if I
weren't at a dojo, I might have thought of her as delicate and
vulnerable. Here, I knew the white cotton gi hid the kind of power I needed to keep sane and continue to live day after
day. Weakness is unthinkable.

The sensei turned. "We'll start with the usual Push the
Mountain."

My stomach crashed to my toenails. I'd never given much
credence to the existence of devils, demons, and other such
tormentors, but at that moment something told me I was on
my way to becoming a believer; they were having a field day
with me.

Detective Tsu was teaching the class.

If my presence surprised her as much as hers did me,
she didn't show it on her exquisite Asian face. She didn't
acknowledge me but instead went right into the lesson.

As a measure of how far I'd come the last few years, I was
able to focus and forget the detective's presence until everyone
bowed at the end of the session.

Since I didn't want her to think she scared the stuffing out
of me or that I had anything to hide, I approached her as the
room emptied of other students.

"Good morning. I'm surprised to see you here."

Detective Tsu arched a brow. "I've taught this class for
three years."

"Well, I usually come at night, but now that I don't have
much to keep me busy..." I shrugged. "I'd rather keep my
evenings free."

"Ah ... an active social life."

Whenever I'm nervous I laugh, so I laughed. Once I settled
down to chortles, I said, "Yeah, right. I have a standing date
with two guys every night."

Her eyes opened wide in obvious shock.

Aha! I'd caught her off guard. "One's a really, really furry
blond who likes to cuddle after cozy Eukanuba dinners, and
the other's my dad."

"Okay." The detective headed for the showers. "I'm glad
we got that straight."

The woman made me antsy. Not only could she ruin my
life if she bungled the investigation into Marge's murder, but
she also lacked a vital personal component-she had no sense
of humor. Fine. I'd try a different, more direct tack.

I followed her into the locker room. 'Any news?"

"What kind of news would you like, Ms. Farrell?"

I stopped pulling pins from my hair. 'Are you kidding
me? You practically accused me of killing my mentor the
last time we spoke, and now you want to know what kind
of news I want?"

The cop shrugged, but her gaze said there was nothing
blase about her. She had the upper hand.

"Fine. You want me to put it in so many words? Well, I'm
no coward." Oh, sure. And if I say it enough times I might
someday believe it too. "Do you have the results of Marge's
autopsy? Have you learned anything new?"

My heart beat so hard I could hardly breathe.

Detective Tsu let me sweat-I really had to be more careful what I wished for. This wasn't the kind of sweating I'd
look forward to when I came to the dojo. She turned toward
the bank of lockers and clicked in a combination. She then
took out a classy leather duffel bag and a soft cream and gold
cosmetics case. Without another look my way, she went to
the nearest shower, set her bags on the bench at its side, and
rummaged through her belongings.

I felt like dumping her fancy stuff on the floor so she could
find what she wanted and then answer my questions. But like
a good little Tai Chi student, I kept my cool.

Finally, with a thick ivory towel hung from the hook on
the wall and coordinated French-perfume toiletries in hand,
Detective Tsu walked into the shower.

That was rude. "I did ask you a question, and in view of
my position, I don't think I'm out of line. The least you could
do is-"

"The least I can do," she said, curtain in hand, "is to remember I'm a professional. I can't discuss an ongoing investigation, and I'm sure you've watched enough TV to know
that. Even scriptwriters don't have a detective share data
with-"

"The prime suspect." Now I knew I had the top of their list
all to myself. "Don't let me keep you. Take your shower. We
wouldn't want even a whiff of impropriety to hang around
you."

Again, her eyes widened, and it was all I could do to keep
from smacking my forehead. How could I let this ice princess
rattle me like that? I had to get a grip if I was to keep myself
out of jail.

I snagged my army surplus duffel bag and left before I
pulled another dumb stunt. Like a homing pigeon, I shot
straight for my car.

I almost made it too. Tyler blocked the dojo door.

"You can't get behind the wheel right now. We have to
talk."

Sometimes being a grown-up is a royal pain. "You're right.
I'm too mad to handle a lethal weapon."

I collapsed into the very American overstuffed couch in
Tyler's office. He loves all things Asian, as the shelf of fabulous carvings and the framed watercolors on the room's walls
shows. But the sensei also loves his creature comforts-he
draws the line at sitting with clients on a mat-covered floor.

He took the corner opposite me. "I won't ask what got you
like this. So why don't you explain that murder one thing."

"It's all the same." A familiar sensation clawed to life in
the pit of my stomach. "Why didn't you tell me you had a
hotshot cop teaching lessons?"

"Why didn't you ask?"

"Okay. You want me to be reasonable, but you know? I'm
way past that. Did you read yesterday's paper?"

He waved toward his desk. "It's somewhere in here. I didn't
get a chance to look at it. Mei-Li fussed all day long, and Sarah
got called in to an emergency surgery."

Tyler's five-month-old daughter is a sweetie, but teething
isn't going well.

"Sorry. As bad as it must have been, it doesn't come close
to the grim content in my last two days."

"So? When are you going to tell me? I know whatever's
got hold of you is bad. I've watched you long enough now
to know when something's exploded on you."

"That's putting it mildly." I fought the nausea, squared my
shoulders, pressed the palms of my hands against my knees.
I took a couple of even breaths. "Someone killed Marge on
Wednesday. And I was the one who found her."

The first curse I'd ever heard him utter ripped from Tyler's
mouth. His eyes turned cold, scary, and the smooth brown
skin on his cheeks tightened.

"Why didn't you call me?" His voice was soft, yet I knew
my failure to turn to him bothered him, maybe even hurt.

My exasperated sigh blew loose hair from my forehead.
"Because I didn't have time to even think. As if that wasn't bad
enough, Marge left me everything-all that money, the business, even that new cedar, glass, and steel house of hers."

"And Lila thinks you did it."

"I guess you know her pretty well."

"I do, but it's a standard thing to suspect whoever benefits most from the murder." He fiddled with the exercise ball
he kept at hand. "It's also common for them to look at the
husband in these cases. I bet Lila's giving Steve Norwalk a
hard time too."