Fillet of Murder (18 page)

“I can't believe you recruited me for a B and E,” Rachel said wryly. She swiped a tiny napkin over her ketchup-stained lips and squinted at the scrap of paper clutched in her fingers.

“It's not a B, just an E,” Talia defended. “If we figure out the code we're only entering, right? If we don't figure it out, then we won't get in. Besides, it's not a crime scene anymore, so are we really doing anything illegal?”

Rachel waggled her hand back and forth. “That'll be for a judge to decide.”

Talia groaned.

“Just kidding.” Rachel laughed. “This reminds me of the time we snuck into Ms. Zimmerman's class to search for her grade book.”

Talia nodded. “Tenth grade,” she said. Their history teacher's grade book had gone missing one day, sending the woman
into a minor tizzy. Over the next two days, Talia noticed that Todd Tetford, a fellow student and all-around class clown, kept grinning up at the ceiling with a satisfied smirk. Sure enough, when she and Rachel sneaked into the classroom after hours, they found the grade book hidden above one of the panels of the dropped ceiling. They turned it in immediately but couldn't convince the principal that they themselves hadn't filched the grade book. It wasn't until Todd fessed up to the crime that they were finally let off the hook.

“Now, what do you have on your list?” Rachel said. “So far I've got
lock
,
open
,
lamp
, and
lite
—that's L-I-T-E.”

Talia popped the last bite of her third dog into her mouth, savoring the guacamole topping until the last swallow. Deeno's might be a dive, but their pup-dogs were miniature rolls of heavenly, spiced mystery meat on butter-grilled potato buns. She grabbed Rachel's heavy-duty flashlight and shone it on her own list. “All I've got is
light
—the regular spelling—
vintage
,
classic
,
radiance
, and
Caddy
, with a Y.”

They were sitting in Rachel's Jeep Cherokee on Birch Street, each with a list of possible passwords to the keypad at the back of the lighting shop. Outfitted in sleek black leggings, black lace-up combat boots, and a black cowl-neck sweater, her wavy brunette hair tucked into a tight knot at the back, Rachel looked as if she'd stepped off the set of the latest Bond movie. Talia glanced down at her own pitiful version of “spy” clothing—a pair of navy sweats and the army green ski cap she'd had since the sixth grade.

“I still can't believe you snuck in there Thursday night with Jill.” Rachel laughed. “I'd love to have been a mosquito on the wall when you were rummaging around in that sofa. And by the way, you violated the BFF Code by not telling me about it sooner.”

“
Unh
-uh. Technically, I'm still in the seventy-two-hour grace period.”

“Shootski.” Rachel snapped her fingers. “Forgot about the grace period.”

“I have a lot more to tell you, but I want to get this over with first. Besides, it wasn't one of my finer moments.” She crumpled her greasy Deeno's bag and set it on the floor of the Cherokee. “Okay, I'm ready if you are. Why don't we start with your passwords and see how far we get.”

“If by some miracle we manage to get in,” Rachel said, “do we know what we're looking for?”

Talia told her about the photo of the little girl in the orange plaid boots. Jill mentioned Phil had a secret hiding place. What if the child in the snapshot is Phil's biological child? Could he have stashed more photos like it in his hiding place? Was he blackmailing someone? Was someone blackmailing him? But if that were the case, how did Kendra fit into the picture?

“Let's try to find the secret hiding place,” Talia said, “and we'll go from there.”

They climbed out of the Cherokee and made a fast dash to the back door of the lighting shop. Talia shot a nervous glance over her shoulder. Birch Street was dark, and blessedly quiet. The staid old houses that lined the street were hunkered down, their shades drawn against the cold October night.

“Let's try yours first,” Talia said, holding her ladybug light over the keypad. “Somehow they seem more logical.”

One by one, Rachel punched in the words on her list. Nothing.

“They're all a bust,” she said, huddling close to the back door.

Talia tried the words on her list next, with the same results.

“Thwarted by technology,” Talia muttered. “And Jill said anyone with a quarter of a brain could figure out Phil's code.”

“Hmmm,” Rachel said. She punched in another word. This time they heard a distinct click.

Elated and terrified at the same time, Talia pushed open the door. “Good job, Rach! What was the code word?”

“What else?” Rachel said drily.
“Phil.”

“You're a regular Double-O-Seven, aren't you?”

“Double-O-Crazy is more like it,” Rachel said. “Come on, let's work fast and get out even faster.”

They closed the door quickly. In the windowless room, a feeble light seeped from the luminescent clock on the wall. Rachel stared at the clock for several moments, then flicked on her oversized flashlight and bounced the beam around the room. “Ugh. Everything's covered with powder. Must be fingerprint powder, right?”

“I assume so,” Talia said, “but this time I came prepared.” She whipped two pairs of disposable gloves from her pocket and handed a set to Rachel.

“Ah, perfect.” Rachel looked at the clock again. She tucked her flashlight under one arm while she slid on the gloves.

Talia went over to the gaping doorway that led to the showroom and closed the door. That way they could turn on the overheads in Turnbull's office without fear of any light seeping into the showroom and illuminating the front windows. She flipped the switch to the overhead lights—the same switch she'd flicked on that horrible morning when she'd made her gruesome discovery. Was it only two days
ago? It seemed an eternity had passed since she'd found Turnbull's body.

“Ah, let there be light,” Rachel said. She set down her flashlight atop the stack of boxes near the rear entrance. “On the way over here I got thinking about this catalog Noah has. You know how he collects gadgets?”

Rachel's adorably hunky brother was thirty-one, with an IQ that hovered in the stratosphere. Excruciatingly shy, Noah suffered from extreme anxiety, and rarely left the stately home on Milan Drive that he and Rachel shared with their mostly absent mother. Solely through online classes, he'd earned master's degrees in both German and Spanish, and now worked from home as a translator for an international law firm based in London.

“Of course I do.” Talia smiled. “Noah has more gadgets than the ingenious Mr. Bond himself.”

“You got that right. He has this one catalog that specializes in items with secret compartments. You know, desks, bookcases, coffee tables.” She offered some more examples, and they split up the room and began their search.

For the next ten minutes, they scoured the office. Anything that might conceal a secret opening was poked, pulled, prodded, and pried. The result was a disappointing
zippo
.

Talia plunked herself on the floor in front of a narrow bookcase choc-a-bloc with lighting catalogs. She pulled out each one and shook the pages, hoping to dislodge a photo or letter or anything Turnbull might have tucked away from prying eyes. By the time she'd searched the last one, she heaved a disappointed sigh.

All at once, she noticed a loose strip of decorative wood just below the bottom shelf.
Yes! A secret drawer!
Her pulse zooming into overdrive, she tugged at it. The entire thing
snapped off, and Talia looked at it and groaned. The strip of wood hid nothing more than the blob of dried glue that had been used to tack it in place.

Talia glanced over at Rachel, who was leaning one elbow atop the stack of boxes near the rear entrance—the same boxes Talia had tripped over two nights earlier. Rachel's bright blue eyes were fixed on the wall clock. In the next instant, Rachel swung Turnbull's desk chair around and pushed it across the floor until it rested right below the clock.

“What are you doing?” Talia said, her voice rising in pitch. “Do you think there's something in the clock?”

“We'll find out in a minute.”

Steadying her combat boot, Rachel hoisted herself onto the chair. It shifted slightly to the right, and Talia hopped off the floor and went over to hold the chair in place. “Lord, you're going to break your neck.”

“I saw a clock in Noah's catalog that looks a lot like this one,” Rachel said. “The face is actually a door that swings open.”

“Like a wall safe?”

“Kind of.” With her fingertips, Rachel reached up and began pulling at the edges of the clock, starting at nine o'clock and moving methodically all around. She'd gotten as far as two o'clock when the clock front abruptly flew open, sending Rachel reeling backward. Talia grabbed her, and they both spilled to the floor in a heap of arms and legs.

Talia let out an
oomph
while Rachel came back with a more imaginative oath. “Sorry,” Rachel said. “Did I squish you?”

“No, you mashed me,” Talia said, “but I'll live if you get off me.”

Rachel rolled sideways and heaved herself upward, then
pulled Talia to her feet. Talia was brushing off the rear of her sweatpants when she noticed a folded square of paper on the floor. She grabbed Rachel's arm. “Rach, that must have been inside the clock!”

With the speed of a rattlesnake, Rachel bent and scooped it up. The single sheet of plain white paper had been folded twice. “There's something in here,” she said, unfolding it.

Talia felt ready to leap out of her Keds. “Is it a photo?

“No, it looks like a bunch of newspaper articles,” Rachel said. “Copies of them, anyway. Look at this one. ‘Student involved in hazing death seeks plea deal.'” She fished through the remaining clips and handed a few to Talia.

The articles, from a newspaper in Monroe County, Georgia, dated back to the fall of 1998. Talia flipped through them and felt her mouth go dry. “Listen to this,” she said, reading from a clip dated December 9, 1998. “Susan Benson, daughter of bourbon mogul Claimore Benson, whose involvement in a sorority stunt that left freshman Penny Bachellor dead from alcohol poisoning, has reached a plea deal with the District Attorney's office. ‘While we are sorrowful over Penny's tragic and needless death,' Benson's lawyer, Laurence Atkins, said yesterday, ‘we are gratified that Susan will be allowed to perform community service in lieu of incarceration.'”

The article went on to recap the tragedy—a sorority hazing stunt gone horribly wrong. But it was the picture next to the article that made Talia gasp. The photo showed a dazed-looking Susan Benson being hustled out of the courthouse by her attorney. She was younger, and her curly hair was pulled back into a prim knot, but there was no mistaking her face.

Susan Benson was Suzy Sato.

Rachel backed the Cherokee out of its parking slot and headed down Birch Street. “Refresh my memory. Suzy's the gal who owns the bath shop, right?”

“Right,” Talia said, pulling off her ski cap. She tried to process what she'd seen in those articles, but had trouble imagining Suzy Sato taking part in such a thoughtless, deadly act. Not that she knew her all that well, but Suzy had always seemed bubbly and helpful and kind.

“Why do you think Phil hid those articles in the clock?” Rachel said. She flicked a glance at her rearview mirror. “I mean, if all that stuff was in the paper, then it was public knowledge, right?”

“Public knowledge,
if
you know where to look,” Talia offered. “And it was over fifteen years ago. Suzy has a new life now. I'm guessing she doesn't want anyone around here to know of her past. I sure wouldn't if I were her.”

“You'd never do anything so stupid,” Rachel said tightly. “God, what is the matter with people. How can someone . . .” She shook her head.

“I know,” Talia agreed. “And I can't imagine what that poor Penny's family has been through. It must haunt them every day of their lives.”

Rachel stared straight ahead.

“Rach? You okay?”

“Yes, but I'm pretty sure someone's following us.”

A knot of panic rose in Talia's throat. She thought of the creepy guy who'd been watching her earlier. “Then go to the police station. He won't dare follow us there, right?”

“I'm going to try to lose him first.”

Rachel drove another three blocks, until they reached the intersection of Pleasant Street. Without signaling, she took a hard right turn, jerking Talia to the left. The car behind them swerved and stayed hot on their tail. In the passenger-side mirror, Talia saw the driver flash his lights—on, off, on, off.

“I guess he wants us to pull over,” Rachel said, her voice now laced with alarm.

“Yeah, that is
so
not a good idea,” Talia stole another glance at the side mirror. The stalker was practically in Rachel's back end.

Up ahead, the traffic light at Pleasant and Main had just turned green. “Hang on,” Rachel said. She swerved at the light and turned right onto Main. The stalker did the same, still flashing his lights.

“This is crazy,” Talia said. “Who is this nutcase?” She gripped the strap over the passenger-side window.

And then, with the skill of a NASCAR driver, Rachel jerked the wheel of the Cherokee and screeched right into
the now-deserted town parking lot. In the middle of the lot she braked hard, and the Jeep lurched to a stop.

The stalker followed.

“I can't believe it,” Rachel said. “He's parking right behind us!”

Within seconds Talia heard a car door slam, and before she could dig her phone out of her pocket, the wild-looking visage of Suzy Sato was gaping at her through the passenger-side window.

“Talia, it's only me. I need to talk to you!”

“Ignore her. I'm calling the police,” Rachel said. She flipped the switch on her Bluetooth, and a robotic voice asked who she wanted to call.

Talia gawked at her friend. Why hadn't she done that in the first place?

“Please, Talia, just hear what I have to say,” Suzy drawled, her Georgia roots creeping like weeds into her voice.

“Top—” Rachel had started to say, but Talia grabbed her wrist.

“Wait a minute, Rach. I think we should hear what she has to say. Besides, it'll be two against one, right? What can she do to us?”

Rachel snorted. “Shoot us? Stab us?”

Suzy was sobbing now, tears streaming down her face. She tapped on the glass with her tiny fist. “Please, at least roll down the window. I only want to ask you something.”

“Oh all right,” Rachel grumbled. “She doesn't really look very dangerous. More like a rag doll on the run from a toy factory.” She pressed the hang-up button on the Bluetooth.

Talia fumbled for the switch, and then powered down the window about halfway. “Why were you following us?” she
blurted, before Suzy could utter a word. “You're lucky we didn't call the police!”

Suzy sucked in a noisy sniffle. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. After I left my shop tonight I went to Price Chopper to stock up on groceries. I was on my way home—we only live a few streets behind Birch—when I saw you two sneaking into the back of the lighting store. I'd been trying to find a way to get into Phil's office for weeks. Even before he was . . . you know, killed. I couldn't believe you figured out how to get in!” Her entire body shivered, and her face looked as pale as a mummy's.

Rachel sighed. “She may as well hop in the backseat. I can't stand watching her freeze out there.”

“Suzy, get in before you turn into an icicle,” Talia said. She powered her window back up.

Rachel clicked the locks open, and Suzy threw herself onto the Cherokee's backseat. Her teeth chattered, and she rubbed her bare hands together. “Thank you. It's nice and warm in here. And again, I'm really sorry if I frightened you. I thought you'd realize it was me and pull over.”

“We couldn't see you in the dark,” Rachel said sharply. “Why don't you tell us what you want, and make it the short version, please.”

Suzy stuck her head into the space between the two front seats. Talia was just turning to look at her when Suzy pulled something out of her coat pocket. Talia jumped.

“Oh for the love of Popeye, it's only my hankie.” Suzy waved a scrap of lace in the air and dabbed her eyes with it. “Phil was blackmailing me . . . kind of,” she said. “Not for money, but to keep something quiet. That's why I had to sign that stupid petition of his. Do y'all seriously think I
cared whether or not that young man opened a comic book store?”

“That's it!” Talia said. “That's what was stuck in my brain. At least twice I heard you say
y'all
. I knew it sounded strange for someone who was supposedly raised in Vermont.”

Suzy's jaw dropped. “You checked on me?”

“Sorry, but I checked on everyone,” Talia said. “I'm trying to keep Bea from being arrested for murder.” She exchanged glances with Rachel. “Suzy,” she said quietly, “we know why Phil was blackmailing you. We found the articles in his office about the hazing death you were involved in.”

Suzy dropped her head against the backseat and closed her eyes. “I wasn't involved, not the way everyone said I was.” Her voice rattled. “Those awful girls . . . they did the same thing to me when I was a freshman pledge. I had to swig down a bottle of cheap burgundy wine in ten minutes or less.” She gave out a tortured laugh. “I think I threw up for a week.”

“So you knew how it felt.” Rachel's voice was brittle. “Is that what Penny had to do? Drink a bottle of cheap wine in ten minutes flat?”

Suzy nodded slowly, her face etched with pain. “They did other things, too—humiliating things. We'd all been through it, survived it. But Penny was a tiny thing, barely weighed a hundred pounds. I told the other sisters to let her be, that there was no way her system could tolerate that much wine. They only laughed and called me vicious names. At one point Penny started shivering—I'm not even sure she was conscious. On the sly, I slipped my quilt over her, the one my grammy had sewn for me when I was a little girl. It
was the main reason the judge took pity on me, because I'd demonstrated ‘remorse.'”

Listening to Suzy relate the hazing story was making the pup-dogs in Talia's stomach want to relocate to higher ground. “Is that why you moved to Vermont? To escape the publicity?”

“Yes, and because my daddy was so angry and ashamed he couldn't look at me anymore. I finished school at the University of Vermont using the name Suzy, with a Z, Benson. That's where I met my darlin' Ken, and how I became Suzy Sato.”

“Every so often your Southern drawl kicks in,” Talia said.

In the dimly lit Cherokee, Suzy looked like a ghost. “I worked hard to lose my accent, to sound like a native-born New Englander. But once in a while, I slip.”

“What about your husband?” Rachel asked, without a trace of sympathy. “Does he know about it?”

“Of course he does. I could never have given him my hand in marriage without coming clean about everything. You've never met my Ken, but he's the sweetest, gentlest man you'd ever care to know.”

“How did Phil find out about it?” Rachel said, her tone noticeably softer. “He must have had to dig hard to dredge up those old newspaper clips.”

“That's the kind of thing Phil did,” Suzy said hotly. “That was his weapon. He collected information about people, not only about me. When I told him I wouldn't sign his silly petition, he showed up a few days later with all those newspaper copies. I tell you, my heart about sank into my shoes. I've worked hard to establish myself here, to become a respected businesswoman.” Tears sprouted on her lower
lashes, and she swiped her crumpled hankie over them. “And now Ken and I are trying to have a baby. You can understand why I don't want any of this to be leaked.” She leaned forward and gave Talia a pleading look. “I love it here, Talia. I don't want to have to move away. Please,
please
give me those articles you found in Phil's office.”

The agony in Suzy's voice made Talia's heart twist. She turned and stared through the windshield for at least a full minute. She was tired of keeping secrets. She'd only wanted to get Bea off the hook, not to hurt anyone else. Besides, Suzy's reasoning was faulty. If someone could find those articles once by digging around online, they could find them again.

Talia reached into the pocket of her sweats and withdrew the folded envelope. “Take it,” she said, handing it to Suzy. “But answer one question for me, and truthfully.”

“Of course,” Suzy said warily, taking the envelope.

“Did you ever have a little girl, Suzy? A little girl with red hair, a bit lighter than yours? A little girl who wears, or wore, orange plaid boots?”

Suzy looked Talia straight in the eye and held up her right hand. “I don't know why you're asking me that question,” she said, “but I swear on my sweet grammy's grave that I have never had a child.”