Evil In Carnations (31 page)

“Maybe he’s staying at his house.”

“I guess we’ll find out. By the way, I read through some of the discovery information, specifically transcripts of interviews with Hank Miller, Duke Kessler, and Robin Lennox. Kessler’s and Lennox’s alibis were verified, but not Miller’s, so it’s possible he’s still being investigated. I gave Dave the flight manifests to pass on to the DA, and Dave felt sure it would guarantee Miller a callback, if they haven’t done so already.”

“So it’s possible Miller came back to town for that reason and is with the detectives right now.”

“Possible, yes.”

“If that doesn’t pan out, will those flight manifests be enough to convince the DA to hold off on convening the grand jury tomorrow?”

“I wouldn’t count on it.”

“Did you see the phone records, by the way?”

“Yes, but they weren’t much help. In the month before the murder, none of our suspects communicated with Jonas. He received four calls on the day he died, all pertaining to his business, and placed one to Nikki an hour before he picked her up. That was his last call.”

“That’s not good news.”

Marco reached across the seat to squeeze my hand. “Don’t lose hope, Sunshine. We’ll find the killer.”

As we headed west through town, I flipped down the visor to make sure my hair was tucked inside. “What’s our game plan for interviewing Pamela?”

“Give me a time frame for the speed-dating event.”

“From six thirty to seven o’clock, the attendees sign in and pay. At seven, Carmen goes over the rules with the women. That takes about five minutes. Then the guys enter and find their tables, Carmen reviews the rules once more, Pamela presses a buzzer, and the first nine-minute date begins. That’s when Pamela should exit.”

“Let’s sit at the bar in the main dining area and wait for Pamela to come out. If she takes a seat at a table in the restaurant or a stool at the bar, you approach her first, since she might remember you from last week and be more willing to chat. If she leaves the restaurant, we’ll have to catch her outside and try to convince her to talk to us. We just need to make sure Carmen doesn’t see us talking to Pamela.”

I tucked in a strand and flipped up the visor. “That’s why I wore my hat.”

Marco glanced at me. “You’re kind of cute in that hat.”

“I’d rather be sexy, but cute is fine.”

“You’d be sexy if that hat was
all
you had on.”

“Say the word, hotshot, and I’ll make it happen.”

He gave me a glance with those bedroom eyes that made me tingle way down deep inside. “You know what we’re going to do after we wrap up this case?”

“I can think of a few things I’d like to do.”

“Like go back to Key West?”

With a sigh of pleasure, I said,“Oh, yeah. That’ll do.”

A half mile down Rollercoaster Road, the farmhouse came into view. Marco pulled onto the shoulder and got out to study the house. “No car in the driveway, no lights showing from behind the shutters. It sure doesn’t look like Miller is there.”

“So what should we do first?”

“Let’s go check around back and see if we can find the bike.”

The sky was an ugly charcoal gray, still spitting snow, and the wind had picked up, swirling leaves and debris around our boots. While Marco retrieved his heavy-duty flashlight from the trunk, I turned up the collar of my coat and stuffed my hands in my pockets, still with the feeling of being watched.

Leaving his flashlight off, Marco guided us up the road and in a wide circle around the house, where he spent a few minutes observing the back before moving on down toward the barn. In the distance, across the barren fields and stripped woodland, I could see the model home at Chateaux en Carnations illuminated by the cheery glow of the landscaping lights.

As we approached the barn, Marco switched on the high-powered beam, then swept it along the side of the old weathered building. There was no sign of the bicycle.

“It might be in the barn,” Marco said.

Shivering, I asked, “Is it possible Miller came back for it?”

“Anything’s possible. The problem is, why would he wait until now? He moved to the Keys last year. If it was important to him, why wouldn’t he have taken it then?”

“In that case, maybe it
was
Iris’s bike we saw here.”

“But what would bring her here? What connects her to this farm?”

I gazed out across the field and saw the answer right in front of me. Pointing toward the model home, I said, “There’s the connection, Marco. She could watch Jonas coming and going from here.” I walked to the end of the barn and pointed to an opening cut high into the siding. “Look. A hayloft. The perfect place for her to spy on Jonas.”

My cell phone rang, startling both of us. I grabbed it and answered quickly, “Hello?” just as Marco took off toward the big double doors on the broad side of the barn.

“Abby?” Lottie said. “Sorry to bother you, sweetie, but ever since I talked to you this afternoon, something’s been eating at me. Got a minute?”

“Sure,” I said, hurrying after Marco.

“You said Dalva Frey told you Iris was at home with her the Sunday evening Jonas was killed, right? But I know for a fact that Dalva was playing bingo that night. She sat across from me.”

“Do you know how late she stayed?”

“We usually quit by ten, and we all leave together. In fact, I remember seeing her drive away. She’s got an old black clunker of a car. Anyway, I thought you should know.”

I thanked Lottie for the tip, then ran to help Marco, who was trying to open the heavy doors. “Mrs. Frey lied about being at home with Iris the night Jonas was killed,” I said breathlessly. “She was at bingo. Lottie sat across from her.”

“Unless she played until one o’clock in the morning, Abby, it doesn’t really prove anything, other than that she lied. Give me a hand here. The doors are barred from the inside.”

Marco managed to get enough play on one door to pry it open a few inches; then he had me slide my arm through the gap and lift the bar. He opened the door and stepped inside, sweeping the flashlight across the straw-covered floor. Hearing things skitter about, I moved close beside him. I wasn’t afraid of mice, but rats, roaches, snakes—not a fan.

The high-powered beam showed a cavernous room with stalls along one wall, a wooden trough in the middle, low pens along the opposite wall, and a hayloft above, with a tall wooden ladder propped nearby for access.

I pointed toward the loft. “Let’s climb up to see what the view looks like.”

Marco maneuvered the tall, unwieldy ladder around so it leaned against the loft floor. “These rungs are old. You’d better let me go up first.”

“So you can fall on top of me? I don’t think so. Hand over the flashlight, hotshot.”

“Then test the rungs before you put weight on them.”

I climbed cautiously up the ladder, then shone the light on the loft floor to make sure I wasn’t stepping into a snake’s next, if snakes had nests. But except for a thin layer of dirty straw, all I saw were old gray boards. I tested the boards before stepping onto them; then, as Marco joined me, I shone the beam around the loft, illuminating a few bales of old hay along one side. But it was the opening at the end I was interested in.

“Look! It faces Chateaux en Carnations. Could Iris find a better place to spy on Jonas?” I picked my way across the floor, stopping a few feet short of the opening. “She even left a blanket up here.”

Marco crouched near the brown wool blanket, felt along one side, then lifted a corner. “Look at this.” He flipped the blanket back to reveal a pair of black binoculars.

“Iris was quite the little spy, wasn’t she?”

“Let’s get these things to the police.” Marco slipped on a pair of gloves from his pocket, put the binoculars onto the blanket, then folded up the corners and tied them at the top.

Carrying the flashlight, Marco climbed down first, then had me drop the bundle into his arms. After I descended, he shone his light around the barn again, halting the beam at a small wooden service door, where I could see a black wool coat hanging from a peg. As I remembered, the door faced the house, and outside it was the wrought-iron bench.

Marco moved the beam from the coat down onto a three-legged milking stool. Next to the stool was a pair of large black rubber boots. And beside the boots was an old blue bicycle with rusty fenders and handle grips with streamers.

“You were right,” I said. “Someone did move it inside. But who? Iris? Miller? A Realtor?”

A chill went up my spine as I glanced around. If it wasn’t the Realtor, then it must have been moved by the bike’s true owner. And where was he or she now?

To think I’d told Nikki barns weren’t scary. Right.

“Take this,” Marco said, and handed me the wool bundle. He strode across the barn floor to crouch in front of the bike, aiming the beam at the tires. “Look. Blue clay.”

He crumbled a piece with his fingers for me to see, then propped the flashlight on the floor and picked up one of the boots, turning it over in front of the light to reveal more blue clay on the soles. Someone had worn those boots to the model home. Were they the killer’s?

“They’re large boots, Marco. I don’t think they’re Iris’s. She has tiny feet.”

“Let’s take these with us, too. Fingerprints, DNA—something will tell us who used them.”

He picked up the boots by the top edge and reached for his flashlight.

“Don’t move a muscle!” an angry voice shouted.

W
ith a gasp, I turned to see a hunched figure with a large head and spindly legs standing in the doorway. “It’s Iris,” I whispered to Marco. As he snatched up the flashlight, I called, “Don’t be alarmed. It’s me, Abby, the underground florist.”

At that moment, Marco directed the beam toward her face. But it wasn’t Iris after all. It was her mother, Dalva Frey—and she was aiming a shotgun at us.

The woman held up one hand to shield her eyes from the beam, revealing a knee-length pink flannel nightgown under a bulky down jacket, skinny bare legs, and black mules. “Put that light down!”

“Stand behind me,” Marco whispered. As he leaned down to put the flashlight on the floor, he whispered again,“Text Reilly an SOS.”

Oh, no!
I must have lost my cell phone when I climbed up to the loft. “I don’t have my phone,” I whispered back.

He patted his back pocket as he called in a calm voice, “No need for the shotgun, Mrs. Frey. We’re not here to harm anyone.”

As Marco continued to talk to her, I put the bundle down, slid his cell from his pocket, opened it, and hunted for Reilly’s number.

“I’m looking for Hank Miller, Mrs. Frey. This is his property, isn’t it?”

“Not while I’m renting here. Put them boots down, I said, and get your hands in the air.”

My cold fingers fumbled on the keypad, but I managed to type;
SOS.
But just as I was about to hit Send, I realized Reilly would need a location.

“I’m a private investigator,” Marco said, raising his hands in compliance. “I’ll be glad to show you my ID. It’s right here in my wallet. Let me just reach into my pocket and get it out for you.”

“Keep those hands in the air!” Mrs. Frey snarled. “Don’t try to trick me. I know you’re after Iris. Miss Nosy-Pants there has been snooping around her all week.”

Oh, great.
Our predicament was all
my
fault.

Concentrate!
that little voice of reason ordered. Trying to block out Mrs. Frey’s ranting, I began to type again:
M-I-L-L-E-R-S—

“Hey, stupid girl, I can see you back there. I want both of you on your knees now!”

My fingers froze. On our knees? Why? So she could kill us to protect Iris?

“Mrs. Frey,” Marco said in his cop’s voice, moving slowly toward her, “put the shotgun down. We didn’t know you were renting here. It’s Miller we’re after, not Iris.”

B-A-R-N
, I typed hastily.

Before I could hit Send, there was an explosion directly overhead, showering us with bits of hay and stinging splinters of wood. Marco dived for me, pulling me down to the ground beneath him, making me lose my grip on the phone. I felt it slip from my hands, but at that moment, with my ears ringing from the blast, all I could think about was covering my head.

When the dust cleared, I looked up and saw a jagged hole in the loft floor. Then I glanced at Mrs. Frey and saw her swing the weapon in our direction. “See what happens when you don’t listen?”

The woman was insane. I had to find the phone before she shot us! My heart raced wildly as I searched the floor, shards of wood pricking my fingers.

“Now, for the last time, get on your knees!”

I found it!

“Get ready to run,” Marco whispered.

I pressed Send just as he gave the three-legged stool a hard kick, sending it tumbling noisily across the wooden floor toward Mrs. Frey. He grabbed my arm and pulled me in a dash toward the open door. But our escape came to a halt just as we reached the first stall, when a match flared in the dark. Instantly, Marco pushed me into the stall and crouched down beside me, just as a lantern began to glow.

“There’s nowhere to go,” Mrs. Frey called in a singsong voice, as the light got brighter. “You might as well come out.”

Suddenly, there was a heavy crunch of gravel outside, and thin shafts of light filtered through cracks in the barn wall, as though a vehicle were approaching. It couldn’t be the police, I thought, not that fast.

Instantly, the lantern light went out. Then, as a car door slammed, I heard rapid shuffling, as though Mrs. Frey were hurrying along the straw floor. What was she afraid of? Who did she think was in the car?

“Marco, what should we do?” I whispered.

He put his hand on my shoulder to keep me down. “Wait.”

The ancient door hinges creaked, and I heard footsteps stop just inside the barn. “Mother? Are you in here?”