Schooled In Lies (23 page)

“Who else have you contacted at Wheatley Financial about your account?”

“I’ve contacted several people and all they tell me is that they’re going to look into it. Until you called I thought they were just telling me what I wanted to hear to shut me up. I’m so relieved to hear that someone is taking this seriously enough to report it because I was about to call the company president, John Howard Wheatley, himself.”

“I’d give him a call anyway, Ms. Easton. He may not even know about your missing money. I can’t imagine that he’d let this go without looking into it personally. His company’s reputation is stake.”

“But what are you and the stock commission planning to do?” She was nervously clenching and unclenching her hands in her lap. I felt awful. It was time for me to go.

“Well, this interview is the first step in a very long process. Someone will be in touch with you about the next step.” I stopped the tape recorder and gathered up my things to make a hasty retreat. I stood up to go and Clair Easton jumped out of her chair, too.

“Do you have any idea if I’ll get my money back?” she asked, standing in front of me and blocking my way. She was looking down at me with such fierce intensity that I realized I’d made a big mistake in coming to see this woman. Just how big a mistake I wouldn’t find out until later. Clair Easton wasn’t wrapped too tight and the theft of her money must have caused her to unravel even further.

“Ms. Easton, if Gerald Tate stole your money, then not only will he be prosecuted, but he’ll be made to make restitution. He’ll have to pay every dime of your money back.” I stepped around her and headed for the front door.

“What do you mean
if
he stole my money?” she shouted as she followed me down the hall. I quickly pulled the door open but she slammed it shut before I could get out. Uh oh!

“Ms. Easton, you really need to calm down. I understand you must be very upset. But I need to go now.” I spoke to her as calmly as I could, hoping she in turn would calm down as well. She didn’t.

“You said
if
he stole my money. You don’t believe me, do you? I can tell you think I made it all up, don’t you?” She was red in the face and ringing her hands. Suddenly, she grabbed me by my shoulders and leaned down so close to my face that I could tell she’d had something with onions on it for lunch. I held my breath and leaned back.

“Let me go, Ms. Easton.” I pulled out of her grasp and reached around her to grab the doorknob. “Of course I believe you. Now, as I’ve told you, someone will contact you. Have a nice day.” I managed to get the door open, shove past her, and rush outside into the fresh air and sunshine.

“I’m not a liar! He did steal my money! He did! Where are you going? Come back here! I’m not finished with you!” She screamed at me as I practically ran back to my car.

I almost collided with an older couple walking past the house. They looked vaguely familiar. But I couldn’t figure out where I’d seen them. I hopped in my car and took off, leaving them staring from me to Clair Easton who was still screaming at me from her front door.

Later that evening, after my class, I waited around for Cherisse so I could ask her about Ms. Flack’s compact, which was still burning a hole in my purse. But she never showed up. I picked up a turkey sandwich from a nearby deli and headed home, resolving to go see her first thing in the morning. After I’d eaten, I poured myself a big glass of wine and settled myself in front of the TV. I was flipping aimlessly through the channels when there was a loud pounding at the door. Knowing it couldn’t be Carl, I opened the door just a crack. Detective Trish Harmon shoved the door open all the way and came in uninvited followed by her partner, Charles Mercer. Both were grim faced.

“What the hell is this all about? What are you doing here?”

Instead of answering me, Harmon nodded towards the pile of clothing that I’d worn earlier to see Clair Easton. I’d shed the bloodstained clothes as soon as I’d gotten home after my disturbing encounter with the crazy woman and hadn’t had time to toss them in the hamper before leaving for my class. Mercer picked them up and pointed out the bloodstains to Harmon.

“Are these your clothes?” Mercer asked.

“Who else’s would they be?”

“Ms. Clayton, you’ll need to come down to the station with us,” she said, grabbing my upper arm firmly. I yanked out of her grasp.

“Why? What is this about?” I backed away from them.

“We need to talk to you about Clair Easton,” said Harmon, reaching out to grab me again.

Crap
! She must have reported me to the police. But I wondered how she’d found out my real name.

I accompanied them to their car, thanking God that Mrs. Carson wasn’t home to witness me being placed into the back of a police car and wondering how much trouble I was in.

Chapter Seventeen

AFTER ARRIVING AT THE Willow Police Department, Harmon and Mercer left me cooling my jets in a police station interrogation room for almost an hour before they finally came in. Mercer sat an ice-filled Styrofoam cup and a can of Coke in front of me. He gave me a friendly smile that I wasn’t buying for a minute. I’d watched enough crime shows to know that they were trying to fill me full of liquids so I’d have to pee, then refuse to take me to the bathroom until I gave them what they wanted—a confession. They weren’t about to get to me though my bladder. I pushed the can away and glared at them.

“Well, Ms. Clayton, I can’t say that I’m surprised. I knew you’d end up here one day,” said Harmon. She looked so smug I was surprised she hadn’t rubbed her hands together in delight. After all, she’d fulfilled a dream by dragging me down here.

“Ask your partner.” I smiled at Harmon. I was happy to see the smirk vanish from her face. “She’s the one who told me that if I could find any evidence that pointed to Ivy Flack having been a blackmailer that she’d look into it. That’s what I was doing, looking for evidence. You told me I could, remember?”

Mercer looked at his partner with a raised eyebrow and Harmon flushed. “What I told you, Miss Clayton, was that I knew you would do what you wanted regardless of what I said, or thought, which is why you’re here.”

We glared at each other and I again noticed that she was looking much more put together than usual. She was wearing an expensive-looking navy pinstriped pantsuit, that I’d never seen before, with a grey silk shell and high heeled pumps. She was also wearing makeup, and she’d dyed her short hair a rich brown. But it wasn’t just the new clothes and the dye job that were different about her. She seemed much more alive and vibrant than I’d ever seen her. Unlike her usual gloom and doom expression, she actually looked happy, and not just about having dragged me into the station. I didn’t have much time to speculate on the reason for her transformation because Mercer was talking to me again.

“And just what did Clair Easton have to do with your theory that Ivy Flack was a blackmailer?” he asked calmly, always playing the good cop to Harmon’s bad one.

“And why were your fingerprints found on the pair of hedge clippers that were used to stab her to death?” interjected Harmon, before I could say a word, causing Mercer to sigh and sit back in his chair and cross his arms.

I, on the other hand, sat bolt upright in my chair. I opened my mouth to speak, but the only thing that came out was a loud gasp. Clair Easton was dead? Killed with hedge clippers? The only hedge clippers I’d seen were the ones Mr. Diaz had left behind. The same hedge clippers that I’d picked up and carried into her house. My fingerprints were on those clippers and were on file at the police station because of another murder case I’d been involved with last year. Plus, I had bloodstains on the clothes I wore to her house. No wonder they thought I’d killed her. I had to clear this up and quick.

I filled them in on the details of my visit. I explained why I’d gone to see her. I told about Mr. Diaz cutting himself, his blood staining my clothes, and why I’d touched the clippers. I explained Clair Easton had told me that Gerald Tate had stolen money from her, about her getting upset when she thought I didn’t believe her, and her screaming at me as I left her house. My mouth was dry and I was out of breath when I finished. I opened the Coke and poured it over the half-melted ice and took a long drink, while Harmon and Mercer looked at each other.

“Do I need a lawyer?” I asked after draining the Styrofoam cup. I poured in the remaining Coke and took another sip.

“I don’t know. Do you think you need a lawyer, Ms. Clayton?” replied Harmon.

“I didn’t kill Clair Easton. When I left her house, she was alive. There was a couple walking past the house that saw her yelling at me as I left. The person you need to talk to is Gerald Tate. I had no reason to want Clair Easton dead,” I insisted.

Harmon opened her mouth to speak when the door to the interrogation room opened and a chubby, balding, black uniformed officer poked his head inside the room and gestured for them to come out. I saw that he had a piece of paper in his hand. Mercer got up and walked out of the room, and with great reluctance, Harmon started to follow him. Before she could get out of the room, I stopped her as an all too familiar, and extremely unwanted, sensation crept up on me.

“Hey! I need to go to the restroom,” I told her.

“Tough,” she said, sailing out of the room, smirk firmly intact.

Damn
. They got me.

Two hours later, I was finally allowed to go home after Mr. Diaz had been questioned and backed up my story of cutting himself and his leaving his clippers at the house, and the couple that had seen me leaving the Easton house had confirmed that Ms. Easton was alive and screaming when I left. Of course, during this time, I had to pee so bad I’d have confessed to anything at that point, including shooting Tupac…and Biggie. I wondered how long it actually took them to find out the information they needed to clear me. I suspected they’d left me in that room for two hours on purpose, which is why I ultimately grabbed the empty Styrofoam cup, crouched in a corner and took a whiz in it.

I left the cup in the center of the table. When Harmon came in and told me I was free to go, she grabbed the cup too quickly and the warm contents sloshed on the sleeve of her pretty new suit. She got the strangest look on her face and I high-tailed it out of the room before she realized what was in the cup. I heard her loud exclamation of, “Jesus H. Christ!” all the way down the hall as I practically ran out of the station wondering if assaulting a police detective with pee was a felony or a misdemeanor?

I didn’t have my car with me and was on my cell phone calling for a cab when I saw the couple that had been walking past Clair Easton’s house and witnessed her screaming at me. They were going to their car. They had another younger man with them and I suddenly remembered why the couple looked so familiar. They were Dennis Kirby’s parents, and the man with them was Dennis. Great. I quickly headed in the opposite direction for the bus stop when I heard Dennis call my name. I stopped and turned to see him lumbering across the parking lot towards me.

“Do you need a ride?” he asked, shocking the shit out of me. Was this the same man who had threatened me earlier? I even looked around thinking he must be talking to someone else.

“No. I’m serious. You don’t need to take the bus. I can give you a ride home.”

“Why would you want to give a blackmailer a ride home?” I asked, trying hard not to sound pissed.

“I’m sorry, okay. I was just mad about not getting that trainer job I applied for. Then Audrey called and was crying on my shoulder about you accusing her of killing Ms. Flack. Then you showed up and I just took it all out on you. I’m sorry. I really am. Honestly, I didn’t mean any of that shit I said.” I had to admit he did look contrite. I hoped it wasn’t just an act for his parents, who were watching us from the car.