Loose Lips (24 page)

My employee and my dog tilted their heads in
identical expressions of interest.

“It’s... I don’t...” I started unwrapping
the paper and tossing it onto another spot on the floor. In
seconds, I had two stacks one of antique treasures that in other
circumstances I would have languished over for hours and one of
discarded paper.

No stocking.

“It’s gone.”

o0o

Ten minutes later, Betty and I were sitting
on the loveseat, staring at each other and once again going over
our options.

“Are you sure there weren’t any other
customers in the store this morning?” I asked for the fifth
time.

“Yes! I’m sure,” Betty replied in a
completely uncalled for volume.

Kiska, who had positioned himself next to
the front door, jerked.

“I have to ask, because if Kristi was the
only customer, then that means...”

“She’s a do–gooding killer,” Betty
proclaimed with more than a little joy.

“Not necessarily. There could be some other
explanation.” I wasn’t sure why I was having such a hard time
pinning the deed on Kristi. No. That wasn’t true. Fingering Kristi
would be as bad as fingering Darrell to some people. Worse, to
some. I’d already gone through the discomfort of naming one of
Helena’s respected citizens a killer. I didn’t want to repeat the
experience unless I was 100% confident.

Betty crossed her arms over her chest. “And
that would be?”

I chewed on my lip for a few seconds. “She
likes stockings?”

“And knew we had one tucked away inside a
closed box?”

The sarcasm was worse than the volume. I
scowled my disapproval.

Betty scowled back. She was better at it
than I was. I dropped my gaze to the hem of my fleece jacket and
picked pieces of white Malamute hair off it and my jeans.

I was trying hard to be reasonable, to
handle this the way Peter would, but Betty was speaking to my true,
reactionary self.

“Okay, she’s the killer,” I agreed and
stood.

Betty grabbed me by the arm and jerked me
back down to a sit. “Don’t.”

I didn’t have to ask what. Betty knew me too
well, knew my growing relationship with Peter was getting in my
head, stirring up guilt and causing me to act in ways I never would
have before.

“He doesn’t need to know. Not yet.”

I waited for the reasons that would allow me
to justify the action, or inaction, that I was already sure I was
about to take... or not take.

She held out a finger and began ticking them
off one by one. “You didn’t tell him when you found the stocking.
So, if you call him now...” She gave me a knowing look.

I nodded. She was right. That wouldn’t go
well.

“You didn’t tell him about the stocking in
the first place because too many people had had access to the box.
That hasn’t changed.”

Again... valid point. “And while we think
Kristi took it, it is possible we left it somewhere else or someone
else came into the shop,” I added helpfully.

She hesitated for a second. Weighing, I
guessed, her annoyance at me offering the possibility that she had
missed some other customer’s entrance and exit today, but finally
she nodded. “True.

“And you aren’t even supposed to know that
the murder weapon was a stocking,” she added.

This was perhaps the best point. This pushed
the whole topic into the category of plausible deniability.

I shared that with Betty. She looked
appropriately impressed.

“Exactly! So...”

“We have no choice...”

“We have to...”

“Find Kristi ourselves...”

“And prove that...”

“She’s the killer!”

Kiska, who had managed to fall asleep during
our exchange, let out a snorting grumble and then scrambled to his
feet.

He was ready. Betty was ready.

Time to catch a killer.

o0o

Betty and I had locked up the shop, packed
up Kiska, and gone to look for Kristi. She’d wanted to take her
car, with the idea that Kristi might know mine, but I didn’t see
how a bright red and white, retro–looking sedan was going to help
us blend.

We were now sitting outside of Kristi’s
church, a small surprisingly unassuming building, hidden behind
what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse.

“Is this right?” Betty asked.

“According to Laura, Kristi does the books
here every Monday.”

Except Kristi wasn’t here. No one was here.
We’d parked, gotten out and walked around. Twice.

I couldn’t even say, honestly, that I
believed the place was a church. There was no sign, no cross, no
anything that said religion to me.

Maybe I got the address wrong. But since I
was once again questioning our decision to hunt down Kristi and
accuse her of being a cold–blooded killer, I thanked whatever
heavenly power might be looking out for me right now, and put the
Jeep in reverse to leave.

A car pulled in behind me, blocking my exit.
A car I recognized, driven by a cheese–lover I recognized as well.
In seconds, Laura was out of her car and knocking on my window with
her fist.

Suddenly, it occurred to me that calling a
fellow
WIL
er might not have been the best idea. Maybe
Kristi hadn’t acted alone. Maybe the whole “when we left she was
alive” thing was a lie.

And Laura was the one who had told me to
come here, to the empty, deserted church parking lot.

I glanced at Betty. Her eyes wide, she shook
her head.

Realizing we had both come to the same
conclusion, I moved the Jeep into drive and floored it.

We peeled out and away from Laura. She
jumped back. Internally, I chortled. I foiled her plan, whatever it
was. Betty, Kiska and I were free to—

I circled the parking lot. Trees. Building.
Dumpster. Shed.

No other exit.

We were trapped.

I jerked the steering wheel to the left,
sending Betty and Kiska both slamming into the passenger doors and
faced down Laura.

She was still standing where I’d left her,
mouth open and eyes rounded.

I put the Jeep in park and revved the motor.
A clear warning on my part.

Betty righted herself. “What are you doing?”
she sputtered.

Somewhere under my seat, my phone rang.

I looked back to see Laura with her phone in
her hand.

Interesting
. After glancing around
to make sure no one else was about to sneak up beside us, I groped
under my seat and pulled out my phone.

“What are you doing?” Laura sputtered, not
all that differently from Betty.

“Leaving.”

Except I wasn’t because I couldn’t get my
car out, but it didn’t feel like that needed to be said.

“I need to show you something.”

I just bet she did.

“Pull up to the building. It’s inside.”

Without another word, she hung up and got
back in her car. A few seconds later, she rolled past us and parked
in front of the building.

“Now what?” Betty asked. She didn’t seem
worried. Just curious.

Which immediately made me suspect that Betty
had not reached the same conclusions I had.

I carefully explained what she was obviously
missing.

“Hmm.” She nodded. “Let’s see if you’re
right.” She hopped out of the Jeep and bopped toward the building.
Within seconds, she was inside with Laura.

With a groan, I parked the Jeep, put Kiska
on his leash and followed.

The front door opened into a hall. A dark
hall. There was, however, some vague feeling of light coming from
the end of it. I wrapped Kiska’s leather lead more tightly around
my hand and walked toward it.

At the end was a door, open just enough to
let out more hope of light to come. Holding Kiska’s leash in my
right hand, I pushed the door open with my left.

I was greeted by the sight of a desk, lit by
one lone lamp.

There was no sign of life other than Kiska
and myself.

“Hello,” I called. “Betty?”

There was a click and the room lit up.
Betty, Laura, and Phoebe stepped into view. I sucked in a breath
and resisted the urge to bolt.

Betty, completely unaware of the scare she’d
given me, shook her head. “Do they have some tricks to show you.
And I do mean tricks.”

Twenty minutes later, we were in an adjacent
room, seated around an 8–foot long folding table, the kind most
often seen at church buffets and yard sales.

Plastered on the walls around us were
pictures. Lots and lots of pictures.

Laura, it seemed, had been busy.

“Here’s a picture of two Cuties going
into...” She named an apartment building known for housing
not–from–Helena politicians when the legislature was in
session.

“And here’s one of three more at last
month’s...” This time she named a well–known charity soiree also
frequented by politicians and Montana’s elite.

“And here...” Phoebe held another picture,
back to us, tantalizing us with what this one might hold. “...is
Kristi talking with Rachel at 5 a.m. on a Sunday morning.”

The image showed the two women sitting at
what appeared to be a kitchen table drinking coffee. There were
more, of Kristi walking around inside the kitchen, of her leaving,
and finally, of her getting inside her car.

“So, Kristi knows Rachel?” This was
interesting, but I wasn’t getting the importance of this fact. At
least not the level of importance that Laura and Phoebe seemed to
feel it had. “Was she trying to get her to rethink what she was
doing? Go to church? Find God?” Or whatever else a woman of
Kristi’s convictions might do when faced with someone so far off,
in her mind, the moral path.

Phoebe dropped the picture onto the table in
front of me and announced, “She’s the madam.” Then she leaned
forward and stared at me.

Without the box of wine to add that winsome
touch, Phoebe scared me a bit.

“A madam,” I repeated, as if I actually got
what she was saying.

And then I did.

“A
madam
?” Not like
Madam
President
or
Excuse me, madam, may I take your coat?
But... “A
madam
? The madam?”

Betty picked up the picture and then dropped
it down too. “What do you know. She’s running a cat house.”

Out of a coffee kiosk.

Laura and Phoebe gave us a minute to let
this revelation soak in before continuing with their plan. A plan
that now included us it seemed.

“We aren’t sure how long she’s been leading
a double life. Maybe since she moved to Helena,” Phoebe said.

“She’s new to Helena?” I asked.

Laura answered. “Yes, not long before the
kiosk opened. We aren’t sure where she was before that. We aren’t
even sure if Kristi Whitmore is her real name.”

Betty riffled through the pictures of Kristi
with Rachel. “Do you have any more proof than this? This really
isn’t going to hold notes.”

Laura and Phoebe looked at each other. Laura
sucked in a big breath. “We were hoping you did. We assumed that’s
why you wanted to talk to her? Did Rachel tell you something?”

Mirroring Laura and Phoebe, Betty and I
looked at each other too.

I sucked in my own breath. “Not
exactly.”

Then I spilled why we had been looking for
the
WIL
er and what we suspected.

Laura seemed surprised. Shocked even.
“Murder? You think she killed Missy? Why would she do that?”

Phoebe took it more in stride. “I can see
it.”

Betty tapped the edges of the photos on the
table and waited for me to answer.

Fine
. “We thought she was... you
know... angry over the...” I motioned to my chest.

“You thought she’d kill someone over that?”
Laura shook her head. “Then you must have thought all of us...”

I flushed.

She raised her brows.

Again, Phoebe took it in stride. “I’ve been
accused of worse.”

We all stared at her, wondering to the
person, I was sure, just exactly what that
worse
might
have been.

Phoebe lifted a shoulder. “I went to
college.”

Okay
...

“Anyway,” Laura said, bringing us back on
topic. “That is weird. Why would she steal the stocking?”

“And how did she even know it was there?” I
added.

“Where’d you say you got the box from?”
Phoebe asked.

“Darrell Deere. For my window...” I saw
where this was going.

Laura nodded. “He’s definitely a client.”
She slapped ten more photos onto the table.

I didn’t look at them. I’d seen Darrell in
his underwear in person. I didn’t need anything refreshing that
memory.

Betty perked up. “Does Kristi see clients
too?”

Laura shook her head vigorously.

Phoebe was less committal. “At least not
that we’ve seen...”

“But Rachel sees Darrell regularly.”

And I’d seen her near the mansion myself. I
shared this even though I’d already told Laura as much.

“And Kristi’s been there too. I was
following her that day Abi and I saw Lucy there,” Laura said.

The day I picked up the first boxes.

Something occurred to me. “You stayed with
my Jeep that day. Did you ever leave it?”

Laura flushed. “I followed you to see if you
were doing what you said you were.”

So my Jeep had been left open and alone.
“Kristi could have put the pill bottle in my rig then.”

Laura made a face. “Oh.”

“And she could have seen you with the boxes
too. Maybe that gave her the idea to stick the stocking in one
later,” Betty suggested.

She was probably listening to my
conversation with Laura the whole time.

“Wait...” Phoebe placed a hand on Laura’s
arm. “Joe’s.”

Laura’s eyes widened. “Right.” She dug
around in the photos some more and pulled out four more pictures.
All were of Kristi, standing on what I recognized from the TV
report as Joe’s front porch. She had a stack of flyers in her
hand.