Shoots to Kill (28 page)

Reilly’s gaze moved from me to Marco, his brows drawing together.

“I’ll be at the bar all evening,” Marco said. “Bring Karen by.”

I could tell by Reilly’s expression that he knew something wasn’t right. But, conveniently, my cell phone rang, so I left, hurrying out of the bedroom as I slipped my phone from my pocket. The man from animal control was standing in the living room, so I stepped into the kitchen to take the call.

“This is Tom McDoyle,” the high, reedy voice on the other end said. “I was supposed to call this number after I talked to Oliver.”

He was? Oh, wait. Marco had used my phone to speak to him. Amazing how cooperative Tom had become since his little chat with Marco.

I was about to have Tom hold while I located my erstwhile boyfriend, but then I reconsidered. I was pretty sure Reilly was filling Marco in about Cora’s indictment, and once Marco knew, he wouldn’t feel the need to investigate Oliver any further. I, on the other hand,
did
feel the need.

I moved to the far side of the kitchen and stood by the sink, talking softly so I wouldn’t be overheard. “This is Abby Knight. Are you with Oliver now?”

“No, I couldn’t find him—it was too dark and he doesn’t have his cell phone on. I didn’t want that dude I talked to before to think I’d forgotten, so just tell him I’ll go back to the forest preserve in the morning. Then I’ll call this number again after I find Oliver. Okay?”

“Sounds like a plan, Tom.”

I put my phone away and as I turned, my boots made a crunching sound. I glanced down and saw that I’d stepped in the dirt I’d noticed earlier. Hmm. Where had it come from? There were no pots of flowers or herbs in the kitchen that I could see. No signs of dirt being tracked in, either.

I opened the double cabinet doors beneath the sink and saw a tidy row of plastic bottles—four dish detergents and four glass cleaners, lined up like soldiers. Behind the glass cleaners I saw something that looked like sticks poking in the air, so I crouched down for a look. At that moment I heard Reilly and Marco talking as they came down the hallway, so I went absolutely still, hoping they wouldn’t catch sight of me.

They continued through the living room, exiting through the front door and pulling it shut behind them. Knowing it wouldn’t be long before Marco realized I wasn’t waiting for him by his car, I pushed aside the bottles for a better look. There I saw a twelve-inch clay pot with a leaf design carved into the rim. I knew that pot. It was from Bloomers.

I tugged it toward me and saw the reason for the dirt spill. The pot was badly damaged, with huge cracks down its sides and half of the rim broken off, as though the container had tipped over and fallen onto a hard surface. Inside were the remains of a bamboo plant, the reedy stalks broken off a few inches from the base.

Now I knew where the fourth bamboo plant had gone. Had Oliver broken it, then stashed it away so his controlling mother wouldn’t drop by and discover his misdeed? But wait. Oliver wouldn’t hide a fractured, messy pot in his neat cabinet. And he’d certainly never let a pile of dirt sit on his spotless kitchen floor. Red flags were waving all over the place, but what did they mean?

“Abby?”

I almost fell over. “Marco, don’t sneak up on me like that.”

He knelt down beside me, sending wafts of musky aftershave over me, stirring embers deep inside that I didn’t want to be ignited. “What are you doing?”

“I saw a pile of dirt on the floor and wondered where it came from.” I shrugged. “Just call it my natural curiosity at work.”

“Is that the same curiosity that conveniently found a snake photo in Oliver’s laptop? Yeah, I knew what you were doing. Don’t give me that innocent look.”

Innocent? Not at that moment. Lustful was more like it. “Never mind the laptop. Look what I found in this cabinet—one of the bamboo plants I sold Oliver for Blume’s Art Shop—or I guess I should say the remains of the plant. Someone did quite a number on it. Look at these broken stalks. The leaves have been stripped off, too.”

“So?”

“So look around, Marco. This apartment is spotless. It would be totally out of character for Oliver to stuff a broken pot under his sink and leave dirt on the floor. So who did, and why?”

“You’re assuming that Oliver cleans his own apartment. A better guess would be that a cleaning service takes care of it, courtesy of Delphi. Besides, it’s a moot point. Cora has been indicted in Delphi’s murder.”

I tried to look shocked. “No kidding?”

From behind us Reilly said, “Hey, you two, this is no place for a romantic rendezvous. . . .What have you got there?”

“A broken pot,” Marco said, rising and brushing off his jeans.

“It’s not
just
a broken pot,” I said. “It’s one of the four bamboo plants I sold Oliver for Blume’s Art Shop. It was stuffed in the back of a cabinet. I noticed this pile of dirt and took a peek inside.”

“Imagine that,” Reilly drawled.

“You’ve seen how neat this apartment is,” I said. “Don’t you think it’s suspicious that Oliver hid this in his kitchen cabinet? Wouldn’t you think he’d at least have cleaned up the dirt on the floor?”

“Maybe he was in a hurry to leave and didn’t have time,” Reilly replied.

“But Oliver is compulsively neat, Reilly. Look in any cabinet and see for yourself. He wouldn’t have left without cleaning it up. I think someone else put it there after Oliver left home this morning.”

Reilly scratched the back of his neck. “For what reason?”

“I don’t know, but it should be investigated, don’t you think?” I asked.

“You’d better say yes if you want to get out of here anytime soon,” Marco joked.

Reilly pursed his lips. I could tell he didn’t think the damaged container was any big deal, yet he wasn’t ready to ignore it, either. “It wouldn’t hurt to take it into the station, I suppose, to see what the detectives want to do with it.”

“Thank you,” I said. “That’s all I wanted. Now I’m ready to go.”

“So, what do you have going on tonight?” Marco asked as he drove me home.

I gave him a puzzled glance. “Tonight?”

“You told Reilly you had something going on.”

“Oh, that.” I didn’t want Marco to know that I’d made up an excuse to cover the awkward moment with Reilly. In truth, the only thing on my agenda that evening was a pedicure. “I’m meeting up with some old friends. They’ve been complaining about feeling closed in lately, so I’m going to help them paint the town red, so to speak.”

“College friends?”

“We go back a lot farther than that.”

“Well, then, I hope you have fun.”

“Oh, we will.” All eleven of us. Great fun.

As soon as Marco pulled up in front of my apartment building, I opened the car door and started to scoot out, leaving him with nothing more than a quick
buh-bye
, as befitted a former girlfriend. But then I paused.

Dumped or not, I couldn’t leave it at that. It just wasn’t right. So I turned back. “I appreciate your going with me tonight, Marco. I know you had better things to do, but it was comforting having you there as backup. I couldn’t have handled that creature by myself.”

“Luckily, we didn’t have to deal with the snake, but you did keep a calm head, and that’s what’s important in any investigation.”

That wasn’t the creature I meant, but no sense bringing up a sore subject. “Well, anyway, thanks for your help.”

His face was hidden in shadow, so I couldn’t see his expression, but his voice was warm and husky. “I was glad to be there—Abby—so I’ll see you around, then.”

I forced myself to say cheerfully, “You bet.”

Marco waited until I’d let myself into the apartment building; then I gave him a wave from the doorway, and he pulled away. With a sigh, I plodded up the stairs to the second floor. My sunshine days were gone.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

“I’d like to see Matron Patty, please,” I said to an armed guard at nine o’clock the next morning. “She knows I’m coming.”

The guard was sitting at a counter behind a window of bulletproof glass inside the main entrance of the county jail. The old brick building, a stark box of a structure five stories high, was situated two blocks east of Bloomers, an easy walk even in the chill autumn air. Luckily, it was my Saturday off, so I didn’t have to feel guilty about leaving Lottie and Grace in the lurch. I’d taken the precaution of calling Patty earlier to ask if I could see Cora. I wasn’t about to visit the jail unless I had a very good reason to do so.

“Sign in,” the guard said, pushing a form through an opening in the window. “I’m gonna need some ID, too.”

I printed my name, then took out my driver’s license and slid it through the opening. He looked it over, then pushed it back. “Stand over there by the wall.”

I did as told, then had to wait ten minutes before a thick security door opened and Matron Patty came out.

“Great to see you, Abby,” Patty said, shaking my hand with a grip that could have bent metal. She was a dish-water blond, five-foot-four spitfire in a cop uniform, with a fully equipped police belt around her tiny waist.

“You’ve been busy, haven’t you?” Patty said as she took me through the first security door and had me hand over my purse and shoes and empty my pockets. “There’s a congressman who’s trying to get some federal money allocated for a courtroom here in the jail, and I understand we have you to thank for that.”

“That’s great news, Patty, but you should thank that state trooper who mistook me for someone else and stuck me in lockup. That was when I realized the problem existed. And it’s not an experience I’m in a hurry to repeat. No offense, but I wouldn’t be here now if I didn’t have to be.”

“You’re lucky Cora agreed to talk to you. She hasn’t been real friendly.”

I couldn’t blame Cora for that. The jail wasn’t exactly a social club.

“How’s your dad doing? He used to come by to visit us, but he hasn’t been here in a while. I always got such a kick out of him, with his quick Irish wit.” As Patty talked, she patted me down, then ran a wand over me. Afterward she pressed a button, and a buzzer loud enough to shatter glass sounded. A second steel door opened, so I followed her through it down a hallway to a row of identical doors. We stopped at the third one.

“You’ve got fifteen minutes, honey.” She opened the door, and I stepped into a cubicle that was barely big enough for a wooden chair and me. The closet-sized space smelled of old wood, pine disinfectant, and nervous sweat. Good thing I’d had a light breakfast.

I sat at a counter facing a pane of glass with a speaker in it, giving a start when the door shut behind me with a loud click. Through the thin, paneled walls on either side of me I could hear the murmurs of voices, and from somewhere in the bowels of the building I heard the hard clang of steel that sent a shudder through me, as memories of my few hours there flooded back.

A few minutes later the door on the opposite side of the glass opened and Cora shuffled in. She was wearing the putrid orange jumpsuit that looked no better on her than it had on me, disproving the fashion myth that tall people could wear anything. Her short, iron gray hair was combed off her face, giving her a manly appearance, and her face, devoid of makeup, showed pockmarks and purple veins.

She sat down in the chair opposite me and folded her arms, fixing me with a fierce scowl. “Wotcher want, then?” she snarled.

“I need some information.”

“Wot? I was told you wanted ter ’elp me. Aren’t you me free counsel?”

“I’m not your public defender, but I do want to help you.”

“Unless you can spring me, there’s no reason to talk to you.” She stood up and called to the guard standing just outside, “I’m done ’ere.”

“Wait, Cora. I’ll give you a reason to talk to me.” I leaned toward the speaker. “I think you were framed.”

Cora turned back toward me, her hostile expression changing to one of wariness. “Wot makes you think so?”

“A gut feeling.”

“Gut feeling, my arse. Why would you believe me when the coppers don’t?”

“Does it matter?”

“ ’Ow do I know yer not a jail snitch?”

“Well, you don’t, really. You’re going to have trust that I’m not here to hurt you.”

“Wot’s in it fer you?”

“I don’t like to see an innocent person pay for a murder she didn’t commit, which is what will happen to you if someone doesn’t find the real murderer soon.”

She frowned at me for a few moments, then sat down and waved her hand impatiently. “Get on wif it, then.”

I got out my notepad and pen and set about to watch her for any signs of nervousness or anxiety, anything that might indicate she was lying. “Did you take a bus to Detroit, Michigan?”

“I did , an’ I ’ave the ticket stub to prove it. It’s in me purse. Ask the coppers.”

“Why did you lie to them about staying in a motel up there?”

“ ’Oo you calling a liar!” she cried, banging her large hand on the counter. “I told them coppers I din’t use me real name and that I wore a knit cap on me ’ead to keep warm, so wot use was there of showin’ me mug shot to anyone, askin’ if Corabelle Finklestein ’ad checked in? But d’yer think they listened? If yer don’t believe me, check fer yerself that I was there. I’ll give yer the name of the place and the name I used for meself, too.”

I wrote down the information as she dictated. “Thanks, Cora. I’ll check it out. Next subject. Tell me about the red wig.”

“Wot about it?”

“Why did you buy it?”

“It weren’t fer meself. All I did was go into the costume shop to pick it up. Oliver drove me there and gave me the money fer it, too.”

Oliver? I hadn’t expected that. “Did Oliver say why he wanted the wig?”

“A secret mission ’e called it, the barmy swine. And there’s another thing—me pocketing money from the cash drawer. I’d just taken payment from a bloke and was tuckin’ it inside, ’n’all, when Oliver says to me, ‘You’ve got three hundred dollars comin’ t’you, Tilly.’ ‘Wotcher talkin’ about?’ says I. ‘Me mum shortchanged you,’ says ’e. ‘It’s owed you, but she’ll never admit it. Take it while you can. The coast is clear.’ So I did, din’t I? Next thing I know, Delphi is screamin’ ‘Thief!’ and threatenin’ to ’ave me deported.”