The Trouble With Murder (8 page)

“I don’t know what she was doing
there. We don’t know anyone in that building.”

Didn’t the roommate know Stacy was
moving out?

I shrugged. “Maybe she was looking
at an apartment or something.”

“Why would she look at an
apartment?”

Her tone and the cold look in her
eyes caused another red flag—or five— to fly up in my mind.

“I don’t know, but if she didn’t
know anyone in the building, why else would she go there?”

She reached out and grabbed hold of
that thought easily. “That could be, I guess. She didn’t mention it to me. She
could have been there to visit someone she worked with. Maybe someone from the
restaurant lives there.”

“She told me which restaurant she
works at but I forgot.”

“The Olive Garden.”

I snapped my fingers as if I
suddenly remembered. “That’s right. Geez, I just can’t believe this. Do you
know which room she’s in? I think I should go visit.”

“She’s not awake yet, but they say
she can hear us talking to her.” She gave me the room number I already had.

I departed a few minutes later,
returning to the Cushman. The roommate, Tina Shuemaker, hadn’t given me much
information on the boyfriend, Tyler Jay. Despite casting suspicion on him, she
wouldn’t say anything else about him, like where he lived, worked, or hung out.
I wondered if she truly didn’t know. But her credibility had been damaged early
on in our conversation, so I had my doubts. All she’d said was Tyler drove a
black Cadillac Escalade.

Not having snooped quite enough for
one night, I motored over to a different neighborhood and found one of the
addresses I’d come up with for Tyler Jay. It wasn’t the most upstanding part of
town, but it was mostly respectable all the same. I saw no sign of any unruly,
tattooed characters or Escalades around or near the place. Next, I drove past
the house I felt sure belonged to Tyler’s mother. It was in a slightly classier
neighborhood, but I saw nothing helpful or suspicious on my cruise past. A
light was on in the rear corner of the house, in what I imagined was a bedroom.
There were no Escalades on the street or in the driveway. I decided it would be
worth it to make the trip in the daylight so I could ring the doorbell and
speak to the occupant.

What will you do if Tyler
answers the door?
I asked myself.

I still hadn’t come up with a
satisfactory answer by the time I arrived at my next destination.

I buzzed over to my favorite Mexican food place near the mall
in the center of town. It wouldn’t hurt to kill another hour, and I was hungry.
Ellmann wanted me to sign paperwork, but after our meeting at the hospital, I wanted
to put him off. It was paperwork. It would still be there tomorrow.  

The hostess and I greeted one
another by name and chatted as she picked up a menu, probably out of habit, and
led me through the restaurant to a two-person booth in the bar. I sat facing
the entrance and watched as people came and went in the hall beyond. The bar
was full, nearly every stool and table occupied. A soccer game played on every
TV screen. There were regular cheers and jeers from groups around the room.

Gabriella was my waitress, and
after a moment spent catching up, she took the menu I hadn’t looked at.

“The usual today?” she asked. “Or
something different?”

“The usual.”

She smiled and nodded. “Oh, hey,
why do you smell like a man? Is there something you’re not telling me?” She
bobbed her eyebrows suggestively, hope evident in her heavily-painted brown
eyes.

“No. Ran out of shampoo and had to
borrow my brother’s.”

“That is so boring it has to be true.
Who would lie about something like that?”

She left to get my drink, and I
pulled the pile of notes I’d made out of my pocket, spreading them over the
table before me. I munched on chips and salsa while I reviewed them, trying to
sort things out in my head. My attention focused on Stacy Karnes and Tyler Jakowski,
and I made a new note here and there as I worked through the information. I had
just about decided what I would do next when I glanced up.

I’d been keeping a pretty close eye
on the traffic in the hallway, more out of habit and curiosity than anything else,
but I was stunned to see a familiar man walk in and speak to the hostess. My
eyes rolled involuntarily, and I dropped the chip I’d picked up back in the
basket.

Joe Pezzani spotted me over the
hostess’s shoulder and a stupid grin spread over his face. I couldn’t help the
sigh that escaped me. A minute later, he was carrying his to-go bag in my
direction. The hostess watched him then saw me. She did a palms-up gesture and
shrugged her shoulders: an apology and a what-do-you-want-me-to-do message all
in one. An instant later, Pezzani was sliding in the booth opposite me.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he said,
setting his carry-out bag on the table.

“Yeah.” My tone was flat. I leaned
back in the booth and crossed my arms over my chest. “Fancy.”

“You’re not here with someone, are
you?” he asked.

I was saved from answering the
question again when Gabriella returned carrying my dinner. I set the notes
aside, and she put the plate down. She smiled at the newcomer.

“Will you be staying?” she asked.

We answered at the same time. I
said no and he said yes. Gabriella, obviously confused, looked between us then
settled on me.

“He’s cute,” she said. “What’s the
harm?”

She turned and left.

He smiled like a thief.

I rolled my eyes.

I didn’t know anything about this
guy. And what he knew about me wasn’t necessarily flattering.

I leaned forward slightly and
lowered my voice. “Are you stalking me?”

He smiled and laughed. “You think
quite a bit of yourself, don’t you?”

I shrugged. “Maybe I just don’t
think much of you.”

He laughed, his blue eyes
sparkling.

Gabriella returned with a fresh
basket of chips. She batted her eyelashes at me with a barely perceptible incline
of her head toward Pezzani before she left. I did another eye-roll.

“It’s kind of a mess over at White
Real Estate today,” he said. “That guy Davis, he doesn’t seem to have a grip on
things yet.”

“It’s his first day and the
circumstances are bad. Give him a minute to adjust.”

He shrugged. “Just what I saw.”

“Why are you here?” I asked.

“For dinner, obviously. I love
their chili rellenos. On my honor, I’m not stalking you. It’s coincidence.”

“No such thing.”

He was looking at me, his blue eyes
searching my face carefully. “I stopped in to grab dinner.”

He seemed to be telling the truth.
But I truly don’t believe in coincidence. Yet, in this situation, what other
explanation could there be?

Pezzani stood and picked up his
carry-out.

“Enjoy your dinner,” he said.
“Maybe I’ll see ya around sometime.”

I was still wondering what he meant
when I left the restaurant myself. As I climbed onto the scooter and buzzed out
of the lot, my eyes inadvertently flitted to the mirrors, watching for signs of
being followed. I saw nothing that appeared suspicious, but it was dark, and
I’m anything but an expert. Plus, I wasn’t exactly inconspicuous on the
scooter; I could easily be followed from a distance.

My phone rang. It was Amy. I fit
the earbud into my ear and answered.

“Saw you called,” she said. “What’s
up?”

I shrugged. “I’m kinda having a
shitty day.” I hit the highlights, catching her up on the latest news.

“What’s this Joe look like?”

“Amy, come on. A girl could die.”

She sighed. “I realize that, but I
can’t do anything to change that. So come on, is he cute?”

We chatted for a while, then she
had to go. Brandon was waiting on her. His family was in town, and they had
plans with them all weekend: dinner tonight and a big family gathering tomorrow.
Amy didn’t really know his family very well, and she was worried about making a
good impression.

It was just as well. I didn’t want
to talk about Pezzani anymore, and she didn’t want to talk about Stacy anymore.
Plus, I’d arrived at my next destination.

_______________

The look on Sandra York’s face when I’d seen her watching me
from the office earlier had continued to flash in my mind. Her self-satisfied
sneer brought with it several speculations I’d initially dismissed because they
were so ridiculous. Now that prison was a real possibility, I was highly
motivated to find the real thief. This led me to follow those early
speculations through to the end. There were some holes, but I thought I’d found
enough pieces to see a picture.  

All I had was a working theory,
though, so I needed to have a conversation with Sandra. I wasn’t going to
prison. I sure as hell wasn’t going to prison for something I didn’t do.

I found the house with no trouble
then parked at the curb. Sandra had thrown a party once and invited everyone
from the office. I’d made a brief appearance, which I’d regretted. Now I was
pretty sure she was going to regret having given me her address.

The house was completely dark; no
one was home. I pulled the recorder from my backpack and tucked it into my back
pocket then made myself comfortable in the porch swing. Inhaling deeply, I
eased back into the swing and rocked gently, sure my wait would only be a few
minutes.

Two hours later I was still
waiting. And I really had to pee. Bad. I was contemplating peeing behind the neighbor’s
large front-yard bush. Then the wind picked up. When the rain started, I’d had
enough.

I hustled to the curb and fetched
the Cushman, steering it up the driveway then manhandling it up onto the porch.

I decided to use Sandra’s bathroom
and continue waiting for her inside. I intended to have a conversation with her
even if I had to wait all night. But if I was forced to wait that long, I might
as well be comfortable.

Getting into the house wouldn’t be
a problem. I hadn’t used those talents in a while, but would be like riding a
bike. Of course, everything would be easier if I could just find a key.

The absence of light helped conceal
my movements and offset the chance of a neighbor noticing me and
misunderstanding my intention. I confirmed the door was in fact locked then had
a look around. But I found no spare key hidden underneath any of the
flowerpots, rocks, or the doormat.

I ran through the rain around to
the backdoor. It too was locked, but there were just as many potential hiding
places for a key on the patio. Under the second flowerpot I picked up, I found
what I was looking for. Smiling, I snatched the key, noticing the mark it had
left on the cement. I let myself in then replaced the key and the pot.

I stopped in the first bathroom I
came to, drying myself on a borrowed towel and pinning back my wet bangs with a
hairpin from my pocket. Then I looked around the house.

I’d been struck last time I was
here by how expensive Sandra’s furnishings were. Far too expensive for what I
know her income to be. This confirmed I’d at least come to the right place;
Sandra knew more than she was telling. The chances were good some of what she
knew pertained to the missing money.

In the master bedroom, I found a
king-size four-poster bed covered in silk sheets and down comforters.
Everything was tidy and neat; even the bed was made. I guessed Sandra had a
housekeeper who made regular appearances.

Since I had to wait, the bed was as
good a place as any to do it. Forgetting about my wet clothes, I climbed onto it
and sighed as I gently sank back into the mattress and closed my eyes. In that
moment I thought Sandra was the biggest witch I’d ever met, and I no longer
felt bad for never liking her. Nice people don’t have beds like hers.

Almost an hour later, I heard the
garage door. I lay still, listening. The kitchen door opened and closed, then
sharp heels clicked against the floor. A light went on and then off again after
a few minutes. Then I heard footsteps on the stairs. I sat up.

Sandra came into her bedroom and
flipped on the light, now carrying her shoes in her hand. She took several
steps before she finally saw me. She gave a start, and a mean look colored her
face.

“What the hell are
you
doing
here?” she demanded.

“I know, I know, you thought you’d
finally gotten rid of me.” My tone was sympathetic, as if I understood her plight
perfectly. “This bed is
so
comfortable. Wow!”

“I’m calling the police.”

“I wish you would. It will save me
the time.”

“You were going to call the police
because you broke into my house?” she asked, moving into the doorway of the
closet where she dropped her shoes. 

Her hair was a tangled mess, her
makeup smeared, and her clothes wrinkled. The late return home and the state of
her appearance left me with one conclusion.

“How’s Barry?” I asked casually. “I
hope I didn’t scare him.”

She scoffed and shrugged
indifferently. But not soon enough. “How should I know?”

“Because you were still at work
with him after I left. Or were you with him after hours tonight? Putting in a
little overtime, there, Sandra?”

I could see I’d struck the nail on
the head.

“You don’t know what you’re talking
about. I’m calling the police.”

“What’s stopping you? I just wanted
to give you a chance to explain your side of the story before I called them
myself.”

She took a step toward me. “What
story?”

“The story of how White Real Estate
came to be missing twenty thousand dollars.”

Her eyes widened slightly and she
gaped at me. “You don’t actually think
I
stole that money, do you?” Then
the corners of her mouth tipped up in a smile. “Everyone knows
you
did
it.”

I smiled and winked. “You and me,
we know the truth, don’t we? You’ve got some pricey stuff in here. Especially
these linens,” I said, rubbing a hand over the soft down comforter beside me.
“These are
great
, by the way.”

“I like nice things, so that proves
I stole the money?”

I shrugged. “If you say so. Like I
said, I only wanted to give you a chance to explain.”

“You won’t really call the cops,”
she challenged.

I laughed. “Of course I will. I’ve
got nothing to lose now. You saw to that.”

“Oh, please! You were so miserable
in that job; everyone could see it. I did you a favor. You should be grateful.”

“I don’t hate the job,” I
countered. “I hate Paige.” And the memories the job regularly brought up. “Sending
me to prison isn’t a favor. Besides, this wasn’t about me. You needed a fall
guy for your crime. Someone must have started to get suspicious, and I was
perfect. Like you said, it was no secret how much I disliked Paige. Everyone
would believe an embezzlement story; it’s the ultimate revenge. You falsified
documents, forged signatures, successfully pointed the finger at me. But it
won’t work.”

A horrible smile spread over her
face. “Oh yes it will. Checked your bank account lately? The cops will, if they
haven’t already. They’ll find the couple thousand you held on to after
transferring the balance to an offshore account they’ll never be able to look
at.”

I smiled back at her, just as
wickedly. “This isn’t your first time, is it? A look at companies you’ve worked
for in the past will likely turn up other embezzlement cases. Once the police
establish a pattern and trace that deposit into my account back to your
computer at work, or maybe Barry’s, it won’t take much more for them to figure
out what really happened.”

“Don’t you ever give up?” she
snapped. “It’s over! Everything is airtight. Everything points to you. The cops
won’t look past all the nice, neat little pieces.”

“Maybe not. But I will. And they’ll
pay attention when I put together just as many nice, neat little pieces
pointing back to you.”

“From your prison cell? I doubt it.
I’ll be set up in a new place, a new company, living off the money you stole,
while you make license plates or whatever prisoners do.”

“You’ll have to be more careful
next time. You stole twenty thousand dollars, but you’ll probably only take
away ten, maybe twelve, after all the cleanup is said and done. Framing me is
costing you.”