Evil In Carnations (28 page)

“Hey, Norm,” Steve said, “this sounds tacky, but is it okay to use the VCR in Jonas’s office?”

 

While Marco inserted the videotape into the machine, Norm, Bob, Anita, Steve, and I grouped chairs in front of Jonas’s new wide flat-screen television set, a purchase made two weeks before Jonas’s death, Norm informed us. That a person’s life could end so abruptly, even violently, was a sobering and chilling thought, and for the next few minutes no one spoke.

Marco used the remote to start the video, affording us a view from beneath the arch up Lily Drive to just beyond the model home. As Steve warned, once the sun set at five o’clock, it became nearly impossible to see anything but the model home, and only then because of the lights placed around the house to illuminate the shrubbery.

“How are people made aware of the security cameras here?” Marco asked.

“We posted signs all around,” Norm said. “Anyone driving through would know.”

We continued to watch for a while, and when nothing happened, Marco said, “I’m going to fast-forward the tape to . . . Abby, what time did Nikki say Jonas brought her out here?”

“Around eleven o’clock,” I said. What I didn’t say was,
If Nikki told the truth.

“We’ll be coming up to eleven o’clock Sunday night shortly,” Marco said, watching the timer in the lower right corner. He slowed the video to a normal speed, and within five minutes, a car came out from under the arch, drove up Lily Drive, and pulled into the driveway. Marco hit the Zoom button. “It looks like a silver Audi.”

“That’s what Jonas rented after his Ferrari was damaged,” Norm said.

“There’s Nikki,” I said as a woman got out of the car.
Right on time.

We watched as Jonas opened the front door of the model home, turned on floodlights, then took Nikki by the hand and led her to the wooden footbridge over the creek. I almost glanced away when Jonas kissed her, but then he yanked his hand from the railing as though he were hurt. Nikki examined it; then they went straight into the house.

“It happened just like she said,” I told Marco, feeling my shoulders sag in relief.

Within ten minutes they left the house, with Jonas switching off the floodlights and locking the front door before getting into the car. As he backed out of the driveway, Marco paused the tape, then pointed to something on the upper left side of the screen. “Do you see that? Jonas’s headlights picked up something. What does it look like to you?”

“The front end of a car?” Bob asked.

“I think you’re right,” Anita said. “You can just make out a reflection on the headlights and a little bit of a shine where a bumper would be.”

“It appears to be parked on the opposite side of the road, along the curve about two lots beyond this house,” Norm said, “and facing this direction.” He got up and went to a window. “You can see the curve from here.”

“Any reason for a car to be parked in that area at night?” Marco asked.

“None,” Steve said. “As I mentioned, the houses under construction are on the east side of the development and aren’t even close to being habitable, and the construction trailer gets locked up when I leave at five o’clock. There’s no reason at all a car should be there.”

Marco rewound the tape to just before Jonas and Nikki arrived; then we watched closely as Jonas turned in to the driveway. “No reflection,” Marco said, “so we know the vehicle wasn’t there when Jonas first arrived.”

He fast-forwarded to when the floodlights went on. “And now the vehicle is there. The light is reflecting off the headlights and bumper. Can anyone tell what kind of vehicle it is?”

“By the shape, I’d guess an old Nissan or Toyota,” Bob said, as we squinted at the screen.

“Does it look like the car you saw driving past?” I asked Anita.

“I really can’t tell,” she said.

“How could that vehicle have gotten into the subdivision?” Marco asked. “We didn’t see it come out from under the arch. Is there another way in?”

“There’s only one entrance,” Anita said. “It’s designed to be a gated community with limited access.”

“I know another way,” Steve said. “I saw it when I walked the land with the county surveyor. There’s a trail through one of the lots on the south side. It leads toward an old barn behind the Miller farmhouse on Rollercoaster Road,” he said, referring to the hilly road’s local name. “It was probably a tractor path at one time.”

“How do I find it?” Marco asked.

“Continue on around Lily Drive,” Steve directed, “past Camellia Circle; then turn onto Tulip Court and drive to the end. The trail comes out there.”

“Could someone drive the trail from Rollercoaster Road straight into the subdivision without anyone knowing?” Marco asked.

“If he knew how to find it,” Steve said, “although I don’t know how easy it would be to get a car down that path. It’s narrow and rutted. It’d be a bumpy ride.”

“Outside of the county surveyor and all of you, who else would know about it?” Marco asked.

“One person for sure,” Steve said. “Hank Miller.”

Marco thought for a moment, then said, “I’m going to ask you all a question that might make you uncomfortable, so if you’d rather not answer, or would prefer to answer in private, feel free to do so. Do you believe Hank Miller could have killed Jonas, either by accident or design?”

Bob said, “I don’t have a problem answering that. Yes, I believe Hank Miller could have killed Jonas.”

The others nodded in agreement.

“Have any of you seen Miller around town in the past several days?” Marco asked.

No one had, so he asked, “Does Miller have any relatives in the area, do you know?”

“I got the impression he was the last of his family in Indiana,” Bob said. “He mentioned cousins living in the Florida Keys. That’s why he relocated there.”

“Hank Miller’s son, his only child, died in an accident on Rollercoaster Road many years ago,” Anita volunteered. “The boy was struck and killed right in front of their house. And Mrs. Miller passed away last year. My friend Kaye worked at the hospice center when Mrs. Miller was brought in for end-of-life care. Kaye said Hank donated a large sum to the hospice center in her name and wanted the park in Chateaux en Carnations dedicated to her and his son.”

“That’s so sad,” I said, and Anita nodded in agreement.

“Is that the land Jonas labeled as the greens and clubhouse?” Marco asked.

“Yes,” Anita said. “And now, with Jonas’s passing, I’ll bet Miller Park will be built after all.”

I met Marco’s gaze and knew what was going through his mind. Perhaps that was exactly what Hank Miller had decided.

H
ank Miller was beginning to look like our man. Unfortunately, what we had on him was still circumstantial. I knew it wouldn’t convince Greg Morgan to talk to the DA. I crossed my fingers, hoping something on the video would reveal the true killer.

On the television screen, the Audi came toward the arch, then disappeared, obviously to take Nikki home. I turned my attention back to that indistinct shape farther up the block, expecting to see headlights come on to follow the Audi. Instead, the shape seemed to vanish.

“What happened?” I asked.

Marco backed up the tape and we watched that portion again in slow motion. Amazingly, the vehicle was there when Jonas left, and then it wasn’t.

“It might have backed up,” Bob suggested. “Too bad the taillights aren’t visible.”

We continued to watch the video until the silver Audi returned shortly after twelve thirty in the morning. At that point, Marco slowed the tape to watch for the other car to reappear. Sure enough, as Jonas turned into the driveway, his headlights reflected off the vehicle’s front end.

“I’ll bet it never left the subdivision,” I said.

All eyes were on the screen, expecting to see an interior light come on as someone emerged from the mystery vehicle, but instead, after another ten minutes, the car seemed to vanish again. We spent another half hour searching the tape, right up until the moment the first police car arrived on the scene at four in the morning, but the vehicle never appeared.

“I’ll need to turn the video over to the police as evidence,” Marco said. “They can get someone to lighten and sharpen it, and hopefully reveal more. If there’s anything on it that helps solve the case, I’ll certainly let you know.”

“It’s yours,” Steve said. “Good luck.”

 

Back in the Prius, we headed up Lily Drive, found Tulip Court, and turned right, following it to the end. We got out of the car and walked along the curb until Marco stopped and pointed out two narrow ruts in the frozen ground where dead grass had been flattened.

“This must be the tractor path. It heads toward that old red barn way out there—and look, these tire tracks were laid down fairly recently.”

I gazed across the field, following the tracks as far as I could see them. “That must be Miller’s barn. He could have driven this path Sunday night, Marco.”

“Let’s take a drive around to the Miller homestead and see what we find.”

We got back into the car, drove out of the development, and headed south to Rollercoaster Road. Marco turned east and drove up the hilly road until he saw the old Miller farmhouse on the left. He pulled onto the shoulder of the road a short distance from the house, and we both got out.

“Why didn’t you park in the driveway?” I asked, as we hiked along the road. “The house is empty, isn’t it?”

“I don’t like to take chances or announce my presence. Remember, I haven’t been able to reach Miller.”

As we crossed the lawn, passing a FOR SALE sign in the yard, I said, “What a shame Miller didn’t have any family to leave this quaint old house to. Look at that great wrap-around porch and the gingerbread trim in the attic dormers. The house must date back to the late eighteen hundreds. I’ll bet it exudes charm inside.”

“Along with a leaky roof and a rotting foundation. See those old timbers? I’ll bet they’re infested with termites. And see how the shingles are curled back? Some are missing entirely.”

“It’d be a great fixer-upper.”

“It’d be easier to tear it down and start fresh.”

Clearly, we weren’t on the same page now.

Avoiding the gravel driveway, we circled the shuttered house, where I saw raised garden beds, dormant now, with flagstone paths winding through them, a grape arbor, and white trellises. On the side porch were pots that I imagined had overflowed with petunias and geraniums in the summer, and hanging baskets that might have held impatiens. Mrs. Miller had obviously loved growing things.

Behind the house was the old barn, its red paint faded and peeling off the weathered boards. Marco walked to where the driveway ended, then pointed out tire tracks that continued on around the barn and set off to follow them. Because the ground was mushy from melted snow, I stayed behind, keeping to the flagstone path that ran from the back door of the house to a small service door in the barn’s side wall.

I spotted a white wrought-iron bench beside the door with an old bucket underneath and decided to take a look. Inside the pail was a rusty trowel and a pair of faded, moldy green gardener’s gloves. Beside the bench, an old blue boy’s bicycle leaned against the barn as though the owner had left it there only hours ago. The bike had old-fashioned balloon tires, rusted fenders, a worn black leather seat, crusty handlebars with dirty white rubber grips, and faded, multicolored plastic streamers hanging from the ends. A shudder ran through me when I realized I had probably stumbled upon Hank Miller’s son’s bike.

Had the boy been struck while riding it? I wondered. Perhaps Mrs. Miller had insisted it be kept as a remembrance. Perhaps Hank hadn’t been able to throw it out after she died.

“Abby,” I heard, and turned to find Marco striding toward me. “Those tire tracks lead straight across the field into Chateaux en Carnations. I also found five headstones near the edge of the property, with Miller family names on them.”

“A family cemetery?”

“I’ll bet that’s why Miller specified the land be kept as a park, so the graves would be undisturbed.”

“What are the odds those are Miller’s tire tracks?”

“Without making casts of the treads, it’s damn near impossible to say. We’ll have to report it to the police and hope they follow up.”

“So what do we do now?”

“Let’s go have a look at Robin’s car. With any luck, we’ll be able to cross one person off the list.”

On the way to Dunn’s Body Shop I phoned Nikki to update her on our progress, only to find her in tears. “What happened?” I asked.

“I’ve been laid off.”

“Why?”

“My supervisor at the hospital told me to stay home until my case gets resolved . . . but when is that going to happen?”

“Soon, Nikki. We’ve turned up three very strong suspects.”

“When will you know which one it is?”

“That’s hard to say. We’re still gathering evidence.”

“I hope it doesn’t take long, Abby. Dave said the grand jury is convening tomorrow. If they come back with an indictment—”

Before she could finish that thought I said, “You’re not going to be arrested, Nikki. I won’t let that happen.”

After I calmed Nikki’s fears, I phoned Grace to see how things were at the shop, only to hear an unfamiliar male voice on the other end. “Bloomers Flower Shop. May I help you?”

“This is Abby. And you are . . . ?”

“Oh, hey, Abby. It’s Joey Dombowski.”

“Joey! Why aren’t you in school?” I held my hand over the phone to whisper to Marco, “It’s one of Lottie’s quadruplets.”

“Don’t worry,” Joey said. “I’m not ditching class. Today’s an in-service day for teacher training. Wait. Hold on. Miss Bingham wants to talk to you.”

In a moment, I heard Grace’s chipper voice. “Hello, dear. How is everything?”