Sky High (A Nicki Valentine Mystery Book 2) (21 page)

Twenty-Seven

I noticed a softball sticker on the back of Austin’s car as I passed his house and parked behind Dean. What if Bruce’s blunt force trauma was due to Austin’s bat? He’d said it was in his trunk, and I hoped it was still there, out of reach.

Dean greeted me as I stepped out, and he was holding a small, green box with a gold bow. I hoped it wasn’t for me, and I was glad it wasn’t red. Now wasn’t the time.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“While I was waiting for you, I picked up some Christmas cookies for Betty. I figured it might get us in the door more easily.”

“They’re selling Christmas cookies already?” It wasn’t even Thanksgiving, but I shouldn’t have been surprised. “That was a good idea.”

We rang the bell, and this time, Betty either recognized us or couldn’t resist the box we held up to the door’s window.

“Hi, Betty,” I said. “It’s Nicki Valentine and Dean Summers. I’m sorry it’s late. We just have some final questions about Mia, and we brought you some Christmas cookies.” Hearing
Mia
was less intimidating, I hoped, than hearing
Bruce
.

The door opened, and Betty gave us a warm hello. “Austin’s upstairs,” she said. “I’ll go get him. Please, set your cookies on the coffee table so we can share them. You know where it is.”

I watched her clutch the railing as she climbed the steps, and I doubted it was possible for her to seriously, maliciously hurt someone, never mind throw them over a bridge. But crazier things had happened, and it was certainly possible she was protecting Austin. Maybe she’d gone upstairs to warn him or get their story straight.

Dean and I took the same seats as before, and I opened the cookie box carefully so it would be easy for Betty to reclose, all the while picturing ways the conversation could go, including Austin attacking us and sending shortbread wreaths flying everywhere.

A minute later, he thundered down the stairs, making my stomach rumble with fear and causing us to stand instinctively.

“Hey,” Austin said, reaching out to shake our hands. “Grandma said you’re here about Mia?”

“Right,” I said, “and we brought you some Christmas cookies.” He sat, thanked us, and gobbled a wreath more quickly than Cookie Monster after a cleanse. “We saw Mia today,” I continued, “and she’s doing fine. We’re just wrapping up our case and tying up loose ends.”

“Oh, good. Did Mia mention me or something?”

“Well in general, she says you’re a loyal friend, and that you guys kept in touch by text. It’s obvious you have her back one hundred percent,” I said.

“Exactly,” Austin said. “Exactly.” He rubbed his thighs and popped another wreath in one bite.

“We’re reviewing the night Bruce went missing one more time,” I said. “Double checking stories and making sure everything adds up.”

“Uh huh. I mean, I told you I had a softball game, and then I came straight home and watched the ten o’clock news with my grandmother. Then I went to bed. That’s it.”

Betty was making her way down the hall toward the kitchen, but she paused to say, “We watched the ten o’clock news the night that fellow disappeared, and then we called it a night.” She waved and kept moving. No question she was on “Team Austin.”

“Okay.” I nodded and lowered my voice. “The thing is, the evidence shows you went out later that night.”

Austin frowned and retracted as if he’d been jabbed. “What?”

“We have a witness who saw you at the scene,” I exaggerated. “You
and
your car. No one else drives that model with that bumper sticker.”

Austin crossed his arms and looked around for Betty.

“Austin, everyone understands Bruce was a prick,” Dean interjected. “Someone did Mia a big favor, and Eli got the credit, but in the end, it comes down to you.”

“You were just looking out for Mia,” I said, as if murder was completely excusable.

Betty shuffled in and set teacups on the table. “I’ll be back with cream and sugar,” she said. I thanked her, and everyone was silent until she was out of range.

Austin glared at us and slowly reached into his sweatshirt pocket.

“You guys have it all wrong,” he replied calmly. I held my breath. “And I can’t let that happen.”

“Austin,” I said in my calmest “Mommy is going to talk you out of this” voice.

Then he pulled something hard and black from his pocket, and when I realized it was his phone, I almost grabbed it to call 911 about an attack anyway—the one involving my heart.

As he tapped away on its screen, I took the opportunity to deep breathe, and Betty arrived with tea, which I needed badly but was afraid to drink. I’d read too many murder mysteries to trust it wasn’t tainted. Finally, Austin rested his forearms on his thighs and clasped his hands around his phone.

“I just texted Mia, and she says I can tell you everything.” He paused to look at Betty. “Grandma, please don’t be upset with me. I kept something from you because I didn’t want you to worry. It’s no big deal, though.”

It sounded like a big deal, which was probably why she lowered her tea and looked at him warily. “Go on,” she said.

“The day before the wedding,” he began, “Mia texted me and asked to meet on the Jones Falls bridge, near her hotel, at three a.m. She wanted to talk about second thoughts, but she said I couldn’t tell anyone or text back because Bruce would blow up, obviously. So I drove out there and waited for an hour, but she never showed. Eventually, I drove home and went by the wedding and reception the next day. When I saw everything was called off, I thanked God and figured she’d get in touch when she was ready. Then I heard the news about Bruce, so I shut up about the whole thing so I wouldn’t get myself or Mia in trouble.”

“I
thought
you were tired the next morning when you took me to my ladies’ group, but I didn’t know why,” Betty said, looking relieved. “That certainly explains it.”

Dean and I peppered them with questions and reminded Austin of our last visit, when he wouldn’t show us his texts with Mia.

“Can we see them now?” I asked. “It might really put this thing to rest.”

Extremely unlikely, but hopefully tempting.

“I guess. She sent them from two phones. Sometimes Bruce checks her texts, so she used a throwaway phone to text me before the wedding, just in case. You’ll see both her numbers in my contacts.”

Austin slowly passed his phone to Dean, who scrolled while I took notes.

Austin: Your private eye friends are here. Is it okay if I tell them about our texts?

Mia: You can tell them whatever you want. Thanks for asking, though.

Austin: You’re welcome. Are you sure?

Mia: Yes. I trust them. It’s fine.

That was all they’d said today. As Dean scrolled back further using both contact numbers, everything was just as Austin had reported. Yet Mia hadn’t told us
anything
about their pre-wedding conversation. Since it was personal and potentially incriminating, I partly understood. Mia had been having second thoughts, and Austin was at or near the scene of a crime. But unless Mia was involved in Bruce’s disappearance, she couldn’t have known he’d be found by the river, so why would she hide Austin’s presence on the bridge at first? Had she been afraid that if Bruce were alive somewhere, he’d find out about Austin? Was she protecting Lydia and Frank from her reservations about marriage? Even if that was the case, it wasn’t reason enough to withhold information from Liz, Dean, me, and the police. And why was she okay with us knowing now? Was it because we’d been fired?

I caught Dean’s gorgeous eyes and tried to discern what he was thinking, but it only looked like he was searching mine. I gave him a quick wink and took a risk.

“Okay, well I think this case is closed,” I said, looking from Dean to Austin and wishing I was sincere. I smiled at Betty and turned back to Dean. “Do you have any other questions before we go?” I asked.

“I don’t think so,” he said.

I folded my notes, and we all stood and shook hands—a much sweatier experience with Austin than when we’d arrived.

“Thank you for talking so openly with us,” I said.

That I meant. Because Austin’s story had clarified something: If Dean and I wanted the truth, we weren’t done looking.

“Anyone could have sent those texts,” I told Dean at a nearby donut shop after we’d relived the is-that-a-gun-in-your-pocket episode. I had to get home, but there was time (and desperation) for coffee, food, and conversation since we’d skipped dinner and driven separately. “Austin could have sent them to himself as a cover. Or he could have deleted a whole bunch we didn’t see.”

“It doesn’t fit that Mia never mentioned them before,” Dean added. “Either she didn’t text Austin, or she withheld critical stuff and really screwed us over.”

“Betty’s expression reminded me of when the kids are about to confess something. I know something’s coming, I just don’t know what. It could be ‘I swallowed a battery’ or ‘I just spilled some juice.’ It’s intense.”

“She looked relieved, actually,” Dean said. “Like maybe she expected something worse. He has a clean criminal record from what we know, but maybe there’s something else in his history.”

“Maybe,” I said. Then again, as a parent, I was always expecting something worse—and thankful when everything was okay, although there were those occasional “Sophie’s stuck in her doll’s high chair” moments that tempted me to assume the fetal position.

Dean recited Mia’s contact numbers from Austin’s phone. The number with recent texts matched the one I had for Mia. The number Austin said was from a “throwaway” phone didn’t match anything we had. It made sense that Mia wouldn’t text from the phone Bruce checked, even if she’d put a passcode on it. Bruce worked for a tech company, for heaven’s sake.

“Why would Mia let Austin be honest with us now?” I mused.

“This afternoon, we told her the case was basically closed. Austin’s not a good liar, either. Maybe she knows that.”

“If everyone thinks we’re off the case, I’m hoping they’ll relax.”

“I’m hoping the same thing,” Dean said. “Meanwhile, we gotta tell the police what we know, and at some point, we have to let this go.”
We
surely meant
you
. “I’ll call the police again tonight. I’m assuming you’re going to call Mia?”

“If they don’t, I will.”

“You know who else deserves to know about this?” Dean asked.

“Eli and his lawyer,” I said. “I know. Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it.”

Poor choice of words.

Something about wearing pole dancing “underwear” and surviving two imaginary near-death experiences made me want to linger extra-long with Dean (like forever), but Kenna was waiting, so we spent a few cozy moments in his car before I dragged myself away and asked him to check in with me before going to sleep.

“No problem,” he said. “I’ll text you from bed.”

Uh. Torture.

On the way home, I thought about Mia’s commitment to virginity and public support of the cause. She’d been in at least two serious relationships during college, and living in accordance with her beliefs must have been challenging, to say the least. I’d visited NUVA’s website briefly, and I couldn’t help thinking maybe she was onto something. I hadn’t considered choosing pre-marital abstinence—or not—before Dean.

My thoughts turned to Lydia, and I prayed she’d heal from this unimaginable time in her life, with or without Dean’s help as a donor. I had to believe that knowing who took her son’s life would be part of that.

I put in a familiar Gospel music CD and let my mind drift, hoping I’d arrive home with personal or professional revelations. No such luck. Maybe Kenna could help.

“Andy’s not done with his interview yet,” Kenna said when I apologized for leaving her with the kids. “And Sky’s asleep in your guest room.”

“Oh,” I said, looking at my phone. “That’s one long interview.”

“I know. I heard them talking about this weekend’s games, so hopefully they’re in the wrap-it-up phase. Also, I ordered pizza, so you’re stuck with me.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” I said. “It’s been a long night.”

“Well, I’ve been working on a routine for you, and I’ve got the disco ball and music all ready. Also, I moved the pole out of the basement. It’s too cold down there for our outfits.” I looked around in fear. Where had she put it? Knowing Kenna, it was on my kitchen island, surrounded by stools and Monopoly money.

“Where is it?”

“I’m almost done setting it up in the living room. There’s a lot of room in there for spins and stuff. It’s an InstaPole, remember? It’s portable. They could call it ‘PortaPole.’”

“Cute, but I can’t risk having the kids walk in on us, and the music would probably wake them up.”

She didn’t have a comeback. “I guess I’m used to Sky sleeping through anything.”

“Right. Like I’ve said a million times, you don’t know how lucky you are.”

“Fine. I’ll move it back to the basement. I’m getting good at installing this thing. You get ready for our lesson and listen for the doorbell.”

“Kenna…”

“Just do it. You’ll be glad you did.”

That remained to be seen.