Love Inspired Suspense January 2014 (32 page)

If the keys were missing, wouldn't that suggest to Detective Berg and his partner that someone else would have had access to the house and to the trunk of her car? She hadn't looked at those keys for close to a year and wouldn't have known they were gone. Lots of people had second sets lying around that they never bothered with unless there was an emergency.

She righted an upended kitchen chair.
Please, God, don't let those keys be there.
She dragged the chair to the refrigerator and climbed onto it. Holding her breath, she peered over the top of the fridge.

The layer of dust was downright intimidating. Janice's mantelpiece had nothing on the top of Laurel's refrigerator. There was no way anyone could move a set of keys and later replace them without creating telltale marks in the dust.

Laurel let out a long groan. There they sat, mocking her. This ring of keys held access to both the house and the car, and it hadn't been moved. The only other person who had a key to the house was Janice, and even she didn't have keys to Laurel's car. Besides, she was the friend who had apparently lied to protect Caroline and her. No! She wasn't going to start suspecting Janice of dishonesty. There had to be some other explanation. Janice was more than a friend. She was the sister Laurel never had. Janice had proved more than faithful over the years and deserved Laurel's trust.

Besides, there was a worse implication for the presence of the keys, undisturbed, where she always kept them. Only the set of keys attached to the car remote control that was kept securely in her purse could have been used to access both the house and the trunk of her car.

The finger of suspicion pointed squarely back at her or Caroline—or both of them—and Laurel saw no way to prove their innocence.

* * *

“Of all the rotten tricks!” Caroline stood, pale and sober, surveying the keyboard of the small piano in the dining room. “Something sticky has been poured all over the keys.”

Stomach roiling, David looked over her shoulder. In his book, sabotaging a musical instrument was lower than low, but venting his anger in front of Caroline wouldn't help her deal with her feelings. Neither would downplaying the damage.

“You're right,” he said in even tones. “There's a sick mind at work here.” He brushed a finger across a key, then smelled the residue on his finger. “Honey, I think. It'll be a nasty job to clean up, particularly between the keys. You'll need to hire a professional. I'll give my office assistant a call and have her track someone down who won't charge you an arm and a leg.”

“Thanks, Mr. Greene.” A smile touched her face, then faded. “I keep wondering how we're going to get through this. Everything looks so bad.”

David patted her shoulder. “I don't pretend to know how, but I do know Who. In some form or fashion we may not be able to fathom right now, God will bring good out of what someone meant for evil.”

The small smile reappeared. “I've also heard that sometimes we have our part to do in order to make that happen.”

“Then let's get busy.”

Together, they attacked the mess, armed with a dustpan for scooping up broken glass, multiple garbage bags and old-fashioned muscle and effort. Some of the wall art was salvageable, but none of the frames. The television was a goner, too, but the DVD player had been spared. Knickknacks were mostly in pieces.

“I hope none of these were keepsakes,” David said, holding up a decapitated china figurine.

Caroline frowned and let loose one of those expressive sighs teenagers the world over have perfected. Evidently, the figurines of women in elegant gowns—five of them—had been special.

“Those were Janice's. Mom admired them, so Janice gave them to Mom for a birthday present the first year she was our neighbor. Mom thought the world of her ‘elegant ladies' as she called them.”

Heart heavy, David added the figurines to the contents of a garbage bag. “So you and your mother moved to this neighborhood first?”

“We'd been here a couple of years when Janice and her husband bought the house next door. It had stood vacant for a while, but they fixed it up. Mom had to do the same for this place. It was kinda dumpy when we got it. Not run-down, but the decor was totally last century.” The final words came with an eye roll.

David chuckled, then grunted as he righted a tipped easy chair. “Your mom must be handy with a paintbrush and savvy about home decorating.”

“She can even wield a mean hammer—just don't trust her with a cook pot.” Caroline laughed. “Since we're putting things in order, let's rearrange the furniture.”

“Your wish is my command, milady.” David winked and Caroline giggled. “Grab one end of the sofa. We'll set it upright and then you show me where you want it.”

Of course, Laurel might pitch a fit and make them un-rearrange, but the extra work was worth it to make the teenager happy for a little while. Actually, he should be honored Laurel had assigned him to work with Caroline. Laurel must have decided he was at least somewhat trustworthy if she allowed him to be in the same room alone with her child.

Progress in one area called for progress in another, but his gut pinched together as he cast about in his mind for a way to fish for information. What kind of a louse stepped in to help so he could get closer to clues? He
did
care about Laurel and Caroline, but he also needed to uncover the truth, and he was a long way from ready to let anyone in on the common denominator between the two dead women.

They wrestled the sofa into its proper orientation. The cushions remained strewn on the floor, but that was an easy fix. He grabbed one and tossed it to Caroline for positioning.

“You're a good kid, smart, hardworking. Anybody can see that. But school can be a pain for other reasons. Do I get the vibe that's what's going on with you?”

Caroline scowled as she scooped up another cushion. “It's not schoolwork so much as people.”

“People? Other kids? You're not being bullied, are you?”

“Nothing like that.”

Her cheeks reddened as she turned and deposited the cushion on the couch. The haste of her answer and the fact that she avoided meeting his eyes suggested otherwise.

“If someone is picking on you at school, you should tell your mother.”

The girl snorted and whirled toward him. “And have the parental tsunami unleashed on every unsuspecting student, teacher and administrator in the place? The survivors would never speak to me again!”

David bent and retrieved the last cushion—part of his strategy not to be caught smiling at the teenage drama. Not that bullying was a laughing matter. Quite the opposite. And it certainly wasn't something that Caroline should continue to deal with on her own. She needed to talk to the appropriate people, and the first appropriate person was Laurel, not him. But he could understand her fears that Laurel might go overboard. He could tell she was a very protective mother, and she wouldn't sit idly by if she thought her daughter was being harmed. She also might not stop to consider that drawing too much attention to herself was the last thing Caroline wanted or needed.

He straightened and handed Caroline the last cushion. She fit it into the empty space and plumped it into place with more violence than necessary.

“You don't trust your mother to be discrete?” he said softly.

She plopped onto the sofa and crossed her arms, lower lip drooping in the suspicion of a pout. “She'll mean to, but it won't turn out that way. She's a crusader and gets hyper when someone is being mistreated, especially if that someone is me.”

David eased onto the sofa beside the girl. “So someone
is
bothering you.”

“Not some
one.
Some
ones.
And it's not bullying. It's more like...pressure.” She kept her gaze averted and her voice to a near whisper.

“Pressure to do what?”

“Go out with a guy I don't like.”

“Your mother allows you to date?” David's eyebrows strained toward his hairline.

“Of course not.” She whipped her head toward him, eyes wide. “But some of the girls meet boys they like at the mall and stuff. They say they're going to hang out with friends, and then they just don't tell their parents that they split off when they get there to hang with a guy.”

“Your friends are pressuring you to do that...and with someone you don't like?”

“Not
my
friends. His!”

Comprehension settled over David, and he sat quietly for several heartbeats. “So this boy likes you and wants you to hang out with him at the mall, but you've told him you're not interested, so he's got his buds pestering you to give in.”

Caroline didn't say anything, just stared at her toes and nodded.

“That's got to be hard to live with every day. Who is this jerk?”

“Just a guy you wouldn't know.” The girl pressed her lips together.

David frowned. “You need to tell your mom. She's your best ally in a situation like this. I'll give you a day or two to spill and then I won't be able to keep it to myself any longer. Your mother should speak to this kid's parents before Thanksgiving weekend is over. And if that doesn't work, she needs to go to the school administration.”

“You're kidding me, right? I'm more likely to get disciplined than he is.”

“Why?”

“Because his dad practically funds our private school.”

“You don't go to public school?”

“Mom thinks I'll have a safer environment at a faith-based school.”

“Which one would that be?”

“Grace Academy, a couple miles from here. For once, I'm glad they don't do bus service. That way I don't have to deal with harassment on the way to and from school.”

“No buses? How do you get there?”

“The parents team together in rotating car pools. Personally, it seems like a pain for all concerned. Sometimes when it's my mom's turn she has a real hard time working it into her schedule. Sometimes she can't. If it weren't for Janice—”

“Did someone speak my name?” Laurel's neighbor, wrapped in her tweed coat, popped into the room on a waft of chilly air.

“Janice!” Caroline leaped from the couch and ran into the woman's open arms. “Did you sell a house today?”

“I think I might have, sugar.” Janice kept an arm around the teenager's shoulder. “We'll hear from the bank about financing right after the holiday weekend. Now I'm free to be your mom's slave for the rest of the day.”

Caroline giggled.

“Where is she, by the way?”

The question was spoken to Caroline, but Janice's gaze settled on David. A part interest, part loathing expression crossed her face.

“She's in the kitchen,” he said before Caroline could answer. “Cleaning up spilled milk.”

He emphasized the word milk and narrowed his gaze. If this woman already found him disgusting, he might as well draw her ire on the milk issue, rather than putting Laurel in the position of antagonizing her friend with suspicions. Unfortunately, he couldn't fool himself about having purely self-sacrificing motives. He wanted answers for personal reasons.

Comprehension flowed into Janice's eyes, and she smacked her forehead. “I can't believe I forgot.”

She hustled toward the kitchen, and David followed, Caroline in his wake. Laurel was sitting on a chair next to the refrigerator, scrub brush in hand, bucket full of sudsy water by her feet, but it didn't appear she'd made much progress on cleaning the floor.

Arms in the air, Janice did a slow turn in the middle of the mess. “Oooee, hon, I am so sorry. If I'd actually taken the milk, at least it wouldn't smell like a sour cream factory in here.”

Laurel rose. “You didn't take the milk?”

“Well, duh!” She gestured toward the empty jug. “I mean, I
did
come in after it, but I got a phone call from a client before I even opened the fridge. Big sale potential. He yacked my ear off so long I wandered on out without grabbing the milk. I
thought
I rearmed the alarm system. It's so second nature, you know, but I must have been too distracted. Can you ever forgive me?”

Beaming, Laurel wrapped her friend in a hug. “With you, I can picture the whole thing happening. I did wonder for a few minutes if you'd lied in order to protect Caroline and me.”

Janice chuckled. “You know I'd wrestle an alligator for you two, but I draw the line at lying to the cops.”

“I'm glad about that.” Laurel clapped her hands. “Of course, you're forgiven, but if you really want to do penance you can help me clean this up.”

“You got it, sugar. Let me run home and change into my grubbies.”

David and Caroline parted in the doorway as the woman hustled out between them.

“I knew it.” Laurel met David's gaze. “A completely reasonable explanation, especially if you know her.”

“That's great.” David smiled.

And it was—for the sake of Laurel's friendship with someone she cared about. But Ms. Realtor wasn't off his suspect list yet. Maybe Laurel hadn't realized it yet, but if no other suspects emerged, she and Caroline remained squarely in the crosshairs of the investigation.

For that matter, he had no way to be sure that this trio of females wasn't in cahoots on disposing of Melissa Eldon. Motive was pretty hazy yet. Dislike of a teacher's personality wasn't sufficient for murder, unless there was more going on than they were willing to say. And how did any of this connect to Alicia? He had to keep digging, but the more he was around Laurel and Caroline the more he
wanted
to be around them. He'd hate to find out they weren't the innocent victims of a devious frame-up.

But if they weren't guilty, who was?

NINE

“T
hank you for your help today,” Laurel said as she walked David to the front door after a delivery-pizza lunch.

“Glad to do it. Sorry I have to run off like this. There are a few things I need to handle this afternoon.”

He smiled, and her feet seemed to take leave of the floor. What was up with the teeny-bopper reaction? And why did his gaze dart away from hers so quickly? Was he nervous? That niggling sense that he knew something he wasn't telling her anchored her shoes to the tile.

“'Bye, Mr. Green.” Caroline came up beside Laurel as David stepped outside.

“See you, squirt.” David turned and winked, but it wasn't a playful wink. A searching stare accompanied it.

Caroline suddenly found fascination in the toes of her tennis shoes. More secrets? Laurel frowned as she watched David retreat up their sidewalk. What had her child and David talked about while they straightened the living room and dining room?

Laurel closed the door and turned, mouth open to ask, but Caroline had disappeared like a puff of smoke. Small sounds from the girl's bedroom betrayed her location, but Laurel restrained herself from pursuit. She'd give the teenager a little space and see if she came clean. If not, Laurel might have to kick up some dust with her daughter and with David.

She was alone in the downstairs now. Janice had left for her home office to deal with some work. Heaviness weighed Laurel like a lead mantle. Shoulders bowed, she retreated to the kitchen and began a third scrubbing of the kitchen floor. She might not have to replace the tile if she could get the last traces of egg to fade a bit more.

“Mo-o-om?”

Caroline's tentative, almost frightened tone brought Laurel's head up. Her daughter was standing in the doorway twisting her fingers together.

Laurel rested on her haunches. Wary didn't begin to describe her body and mind. “Did you find something missing or damaged upstairs?”

The teenager lowered her gaze and shook her head. Laurel dropped her scrub brush into the bucket and rose. She mopped at her forehead with a gloved hand and left a wet streak behind to mingle with the sweat she had meant to brush away. No matter. She stripped off her gloves and dropped them to the floor. Whatever this was with her daughter looked serious.

“Come sit down. I'm all ears.”

She pulled out a pair of chairs from the kitchen table. Caroline sat, fingers twined on her lap, gaze averted. Laurel held her tongue and waited, harder to do than one would think when everything within her strained to know what was gnawing at her precious child.

“What would you do,” the teenager began as if treading on verbal egg shells, “if someone who thinks they're all that was trying to get you to do something you didn't want to do?”

Laurel laid a hand over her daughter's. “Sweetheart, you know I believe in standing up to a bully, but I also believe that sometimes we need help to do it. Is someone giving you a hard time?”

“But what if they could maybe hurt more people than just you if you didn't do what they wanted?” Caroline peered up at her with knotted brows. “I know you also believe in protecting the innocent even if it costs you something. I've seen you sacrifice lots of times, especially when it comes to me.”

Warmth spread in Laurel's chest and battled the chill in her stomach. Caroline had taken note of her mother's sacrifices whether she said thank you or not, but now that very ethic, passed on to her daughter, was conflicting with self-preservation. Her mommyness dictated that she go to war with whatever or whoever threatened her child, but Caroline seemed genuinely worried about the potential consequences. Diplomacy might do the job better.

“I need more information in order to answer your question, honey.”

Caroline removed her fingers from beneath her mother's and used them to tuck stray strands of hair behind both ears. “Mr. Greene said I should trust you.”

Laurel's backbone went stick straight. “You talked to David about this?”

“Only a little,” Caroline said hastily. “He's pretty good at asking questions and figuring stuff out, even when a person doesn't say much. Kind of like you, which is why I haven't said
anything.
But he told me if I didn't talk to you, he was going to do it.”

Laurel sat back, air gushing from her lungs. She should want to hug David for fostering a breakthrough, but honestly, right now she'd rather slap him. How irrational was that? He'd given her daughter the proper advice—talk to your mother. But Laurel was pea-green jealous—and hurt—that Caroline had opened up to
him
first.

Laurel swallowed a sour lump from her throat. “Tell me what?”

Caroline shook her head. “I don't want to name names. I just want some advice about a situation. Haven't you often told me you want me to grow up confident and able to stand on my own two feet?”

“I can respect that, but you need to remember you're thirteen and still need a parent to help with some things.”

Her daughter nodded. “How about this? You give me advice, and I'll try it out. If it doesn't work, then I'll tell you more. Deal?” Caroline extended her hand.

How could Laurel stay grumpy in the presence of such earnest maturity? She smiled and clasped her daughter's hand. “Deal. Now, what's the situation?”

Laurel's eyes widened as Caroline outlined a scenario of a teenage crush that had gone overboard. Of course, she couldn't blame a young man for becoming infatuated with her lovely daughter, but daily persecution wasn't acceptable. The boy must be spoiled rotten and stuck on himself. Unfortunately, Grace Academy was full of kids who fit that description. The enrollment list was a close reflection of the country club roster—the only saving grace was that the quality of education was of the caliber to match.

“How do I get this lame jerk off my case?” Caroline spread her hands. “Telling him no doesn't seem to make a dent in his ego. He thinks I'm playing hard to get.”

Laurel pursed her lips, then cocked her head. “How about this? Take Janice to school with you on Monday and let her give him the royal smackdown.”

She smirked, and the haunted look faded from Caroline's eyes as she let out a giggle.

“That would be way fun!”

Good, her joke had worked to lighten the mood—but now she needed to be sure Caroline understood what was at stake. “Sure, while it lasted, but Janice might land in a pile of trouble.”

“I guess we won't go with that idea.” Another giggle escaped, then faded. “For real now, what should I do?”

Laurel gazed into her daughter's expectant face, and her heart swelled.
David, I owe you big-time.
Caroline hadn't looked at her with such trust and openness in months. No doubt, mother and daughter still had tensions and growing pains to work out between them, but Laurel savored the moment.

“Tell him yes.”

“Huh?” Caroline's eyes widened.

“But here are the stipulations to your agreement. Number one, your mother or your mother's best friend will accompany you on any outing.”

“Mo-o-om, he'll think I'm a dweeb!”

“What do you care what he thinks as long as he lets you alone?”

“I guess.” She sounded half-convinced.

“Number two,” Laurel went on, “his parents are also to be invited, whether they come or not will be up to them.”

Caroline brightened. “I like that, but he's only got one—” She clapped a hand over her mouth.

“Giving away clues as to his identity, are we?” Laurel smiled. “Never mind. These days, a great many kids have only one parent in the picture. Let's stick to business. Number three—and this is the zinger—the only time you two can be together without a parent or Janice is at your youth group meetings at church every week. And if he wants your friendship, he must attend those.”

Caroline's mouth dropped open, then she jumped up with a squeal and threw her arms around Laurel's neck. “Brilliant!” She danced around the room, clapping. “My mother the genius! He'll hate that one worst of all.”

Laurel's heart sang even as it sank. Caroline hadn't given her such a spontaneous hug in a long time, and she was desperately proud of her daughter for resisting peer pressure. But that sorry young man had so many strikes against him. Either a mom or a dad was absent from his life, he clearly had too much privilege without being taught about responsibility and, despite attending a faith-based school, it seemed he had no spiritual roots to anchor him for the storms of life.

Laurel rose. “Someday you'll tell me this character's identity?”

“Someday.”

They grinned at each other and smacked a high five.

The house phone rang, and still smiling, Laurel went to the kitchen extension on a corner of the counter. Caller ID showed the SPC office. Someone among the holiday skeleton crew must have caught wind that she was at home and hadn't reached the site for her speaking engagement. The weather report for the Rocky Mountains would be enough to explain that without any inkling about the trouble in which she and Caroline had landed.

At least, Laurel hoped that was the case. She wanted to break the news about their involvement in Ms. Eldon's case herself, and had been putting off the conversation with Howard, the organization's no-nonsense administrator. Had she waited too long?

She picked up the handset. “This is Laurel.”

“Don't come in to the office until the media attention dies down,” Howard said without preamble. “You should be able to work from home well enough.”

“Media attention?” Laurel's stomach plummeted to the floor.

“You didn't watch the noon news?”

“I've been a little busy and haven't had access to a television. While Caroline and I were away, someone broke in to our house and trashed the place.”

Howard sucked in an audible breath. “I'm sorry to hear it, Laurel. The police didn't say anything about that. They were here this morning asking questions. Didn't give us much information except to say that a dead body was discovered in the trunk of your car. The noon news supplied the woman's identity, and the newshounds are on the scent of a sensational story—camping out on SPC's doorstep already. I'm surprised they haven't been to your house yet.”

The doorbell pealed loud and long.

“Mo-o-om!” Caroline's cry carried from the living room. “There's a news truck outside, and some guy with shaggy hair and a camera on his shoulder is walking around our lawn.”

“I think they're here,” Laurel said to Howard as tremors swept through her bones.

* * *

On the drive over to Gilbert Montel's estate on the outskirts of the city, David mulled over his morning spent cleaning up the results of savagery. He'd overheard Laurel calling contractors, hoping to find someone willing to come that day to fix the sliding door to the patio and change the locks throughout the house. So far, the project was a no-go until after the holiday weekend. Even the security company couldn't schedule a system upgrade until next week sometime.

David wasn't surprised. It looked as if Laurel and Caroline would make Janice's house their home for the next few days.

At noon, relaxing into easy camaraderie over steaming slices of delivered pizza, he'd realized he was enjoying himself too much for his peace of mind. Why did he have to like Laurel and Caroline so much when he couldn't allow himself to fully trust them? Even Janice seemed to have put her reservations about him on hold and was downright funny with a wacky sense of humor that cheered Laurel and Caroline no end. He'd found himself feeling grateful to the woman.

Not that he could trust
her
either. Naturally, Laurel would buy any explanation approaching reasonable that her friend supplied, but to his way of thinking, her response to the milk issue was both too vague and too pat. Then again, the subjective nature of Janice's explanation could be the best argument that it was genuine.

Pain shot through his jaw, and he commanded himself to cease grinding his teeth.
God, I need to find answers pretty soon, or I may have no teeth left!

As David pulled up at the gate of Gil's acreage enclosed behind high walls, he forced from his mind the troubling issue of his relationship, if one could call it that, with the Adams females. He rolled down his window and pressed the button on the communication box. A full minute passed, then finally a brisk female voice laced with a vague brogue inquired who he was and what he wanted. Housekeeper, most likely.

“David Greene,” he answered. “I'm an acquaintance of Gil's. I'd like to offer my condolences in person.”

A beat of silence followed. “That's most kind of you, I'm sure,” the woman said. “But Mr. Montel and young Grant have gone out of town for the Thanksgiving holiday.”

Grant? Oh, yes, that was Gil's son. The man had mentioned his boy a couple of times during their emotion-laden encounter in the hotel bar after a day of sessions at an investor's symposium in Dallas.

“I'm sorry to have missed them.” Disappointment tasted foul on his tongue. “I'll come back another time.”

“You do that. They will be home on Friday.”

At least he didn't have to wait until Monday to make contact with Gil. Just another lonely Thanksgiving Day to endure between now and a face-to-face encounter with a guy who should know something meaningful about the murder victim.

What next? Grace Academy would be locked up tight throughout the holiday weekend, so no point in stopping there in hopes of talking to someone today. That left Melissa Eldon's apartment complex.

David found the place—a three-story, redbrick structure sprawling over an acre of land. Each unit sported an air conditioner poking from the outside wall and a pint-size balcony. He was able to open the outermost door and enter a cubicle where the mailboxes filled one wall. He'd be surprised if the police hadn't been here to interview the manager and gain access to the victim's apartment, but M. Eldon still graced the label on mailbox number 212.