Thicker than Water (17 page)

Colin shrugged. “You got a point. Makes no sense.”

“Is it possible she didn't know about this passage?”

“Water under the bridge now. We have to deal with why the perp is doing what he's doing.”

“I know. What's the point?”

“To make you look like you're losing your mind?” he said. “Although he really didn't have to go to these lengths to prove his point.”

I jabbed him. “Funny.”

“The perp could also be stealing things. A few items at a time.”

I thought about Sylvia's ring. “That's pretty silly, though. I mean, unless you know antiques, I don't see how that would be very lucrative. Plus, it's not like he could carry a sideboard or a chest down these stairs.”

We were both quiet again.

“How long are we going to stand in the closet?” Colin said.

“Well, aren't you going to go after him?”

“He's long gone,” he said, stepping out of the closet. “Besides, I'm not going down there without backup.”

“I'll back you up.”

“Thanks, but no thanks. I also don't want to disturb the evidence. Something you don't think of when you go off on one of your tears.”

“Yeah, whatever,” I said. Then, under my breath, “I still get my man, or woman. Usually.”

Colin called for backup while I stood there with the flashlight, staring down the steep, dark, dank flight of stairs. Who could know about this? I hadn't even known about it, and I'd worked in this house for years and lived in this town my whole life.

“Got any idea who would know about this secret staircase?” Colin asked.

“I was just wondering that myself,” I said.

“Guess there's no way to just ask people,” he said. “Then they'd know we were on to them.”

“Elmer probably knows about it. I mean, any of the older residents who are interested in history might know, but then you would think they would have mentioned it at some point,” I said. “Plus, if Sylvia or Wilma didn't know about it, I don't see how anybody else could.”

“Maybe nobody knows about it,” he said. “Except the perp.”

“Possible.”

“I think we should put a guard here and catch him the next time he tries to come through,” he said.

“What if he doesn't try it again? I mean, I almost caught him this time.”

“I can still place a guard,” he said. “Won't hurt.”

A few minutes passed before a very tired-looking Deputy Duran finally showed up. He walked into the room and nodded at me. I waved.

“Duran, what you see here, you cannot talk about to anybody,” Colin said.

“All right,” Deputy Duran said and swallowed.

“If it leaks, it could blow our only chance of catching the guy.”

“I understand, sir.”

“You call Crime Scene Unit?”

“Yeah.”

“I want the panel dusted, and I want the stairs dusted for foot and shoe prints.”

“I'll be outside,” I said.

“Outside?” Colin asked.

“There has to be an exit,” I said. “You think these stairs dump in the basement or to another access outside altogether?”

“Good question,” he said. “I'll go with you.”

We made it to the bottom of the stairs to my office in record time. Adrenaline was pumping, and I felt fairly invincible. We were going to catch this jerk or I'd know the reason why. I grabbed my cell phone from my desk and dialed Rudy to tell him I might be a little late coming home. Then, while I was at it, I phoned my private investigator once more.

“Who are you calling now?” Colin asked.

“Mr. Walker. My private investigator,” I said. “Don't you think it's weird he hasn't called me or your office to see what is going on in the house? He should be out there somewhere watching the house and seeing the flurry of official activity.”

We stepped out onto the back porch.

“Maybe he fell asleep,” he said.

“Great,” I said. “If he's sleeping, his butt is fired.”

“I don't see an access out here,” Colin said as we walked around the house. “It has to come out through the basement.”

“Well, let's not act like we're looking for an outside exit to a secret stairwell or people will know we're up to something,” I said. Mr. Walker's phone was still ringing. “I'm going to leave him one more message. I knew I shouldn't have paid him in advance.”

“You paid him in advance?” Colin asked, as if I were the most gullible person on the planet.

“I was desperate.”

“Wait,” Colin said. “Do you hear that?”

I heard something vaguely, in the distance, like a song on a music box. Then it stopped. Mr. Walker's voice mail kicked in. “Mike, it's Torie. Where the hell are you? Call me.”

Colin turned to me then with an expression that gave me serious goosebumps. “Dial Mr. Walker's number again.”

“Okay,” I said. I hit the speed dial. The music started playing.

“It's coming from the garden,” he said and pointed.

“What is it?”

“
Take me out to the ball game
,” he sang as he walked toward the garden. “
Take me out with the crowd
.”

Just as I was about to berate him for singing—off-key, no less—at a time like this, I realized what I was hearing. Mr. Walker's cell phone. Colin pulled his gun and motioned for me to stay put. He rounded the strawberry plants and the little patch where corn would grow tall in August. Then he knelt down on one knee and spoke quickly into his radio. He walked briskly back toward me and took my phone and pushed the hang-up button.

In the distance, the music stopped playing.

“What?” I said.

“It's your private detective,” he said and kept walking.

“Is he … is he dead?”

“Not yet,” he said. “But if he lives, I'll stop fishing.”

I clasped my hand over my mouth and took a step backward. Somebody had attacked me at the Strawberry Festival, and somebody was utilizing a secret stairwell inside the Gaheimer House that I hadn't even known about. Now somebody had attacked and nearly killed a private investigator that nobody was supposed to know was on the job.

Now I was afraid.

Twenty-Two

The crowd had gathered, the one that always gathers anytime there's an ambulance and the possibility of seeing a dead body is imminent. I've seen dead bodies. Really, I don't see what all the hoopla is about.

The Wisteria General Hospital ambulance whisked away Michael Walker. The crowd would have to be disappointed today. Shucks, he was still alive. Colin stepped toward me as I watched the ambulance round the corner and head toward Wisteria. “We're not telling the papers what happened. We're telling them a drunk wandered into the garden and fell and hit his head.”

I nodded and hugged myself close. “What did happen?”

“He was bludgeoned,” he said. “At least that's my call.”

“If he dies, it's my fault,” I said. “I hired him.”

“Torie, don't think like that.”

“Was he … bludgeoned right there in the damn backyard, Colin?”

“No,” he said. “Looks like he was attacked elsewhere and collapsed there trying to get to the house.”

“Why didn't he use his cell phone?”

“He might have,” Colin said. “Maybe he couldn't talk. I don't know.”

“What's the point in having a cell phone if it doesn't save your life?”

“Take it easy, Torie. Don't get yourself all worked up.”

“Well, I
am
worked up, Colin! I can't help it, I am.”

I glanced around the crowd and saw the mayor standing there talking with my mother-in-law. Their heads were together as if they didn't want anybody else to hear what they were saying. Hands gestured in my direction. I looked up at the sky and wished for the millionth time that Sylvia had, indeed, been immortal. I wished she had never died. I wished she had never left me her fortune. I wished she had never left me the Gaheimer House. I wished she had never left me shards of her life to decipher.

I had the mother-in-law from hell staying in my home. I didn't need anything else on my plate.

“I gotta go,” I said.

“Where are you going?” Colin asked.

“Home,” I said. “Before I hurt something. Or somebody.”

“Hey,” Colin said as I turned to go. “Talk to your husband. You're leaving him out of the loop.”

“Oh, did he say that?”

“No, I can tell. You guys are never like this.”

I shrugged. “Can't help it. He brought this on himself.”

“Don't alienate the one person who knows you better than anybody and still loves you,” Colin said.

I ignored him and walked all the way back to my house with my head hanging. This was too much. I always juggled a thousand things at once. I thrived on chaos and deadlines. Not this time. My mind was cloudy, my heart heavy, my shoulders aching.

When I entered my house, Mrs. O'Shea was there. So Rudy had already heard the news about a stranger from out of town stumbling through the backyard of the Gaheimer House and nearly killing himself on a rock.

In fact, they were still discussing it when I opened the door. I could hear the voices coming from the kitchen. My mother-in-law's voice was unmistakable, especially when she was riled. “I don't care what that sheriff says,” Mrs. O'Shea said. “That man was beaten.”

“How would you know?” Rudy asked.

“Because Mayor Castlereagh saw the man as they were lifting him onto the stretcher. Even his arms were black and blue,” she said. “Now, I am going to ask you one more time, Rudolph. What kind of town are you raising my grandchildren in?”

“New Kassel is a wonderful town,” he said. “Every town has its problems. Every town has violence. And they are my children first, your grandchildren second. Don't forget that.”

Mrs. O'Shea made some dismissive noise. I couldn't see them, and I didn't want them to know I was there just yet, so I stood in the doorway of my living room with my hand on the door. That way I could pretend I had just entered and shut the door if they discovered I was standing there.

“The mayor says otherwise.”

“Mom,” he said, “there was a college professor killed here last year while working on that shipwreck that happened back a long time ago.”

“What about that man in the abandoned building?”

“That was ruled an accident.”

“And the man floating in the river? Torie's uncle, I believe?”

“He slipped. Another accident,” he said. “Mom, what do you think you're going to accomplish by this discussion?”

“I think you should move,” she said. “That's all.”

Silence.

“Back to St. Louis County,” she added.

I couldn't stand it anymore. “Yeah, why don't you go on back to St. Louis County, Rudy?”

“Torie,” he said, coming around the corner to stand in the living room. “I didn't hear you come in.”

“How could you with Motor Mouth in there?”

“Torie, stop,” he said with his hands up.

“No, you stop,” I said. “She's been after us to move out of this town since we got married. You want to know why? Because this is my territory. She can't control us here. And she can't stand it.”

“Torie, stop!”

“Oh, fine, who cares, anyway?” I turned and stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind me.

Great, I'd just alienated myself from my own house. I couldn't go to my mother's because she'd already made it clear that I couldn't stay there as long as Mrs. O'Shea was in town. At one time I would have gone to Helen's, but now I felt weird about that. After yesterday's events.

And so I walked.

I walked until I found myself staring up at the entrance to the Santa Lucia Catholic church. The church I was married in is white sandstone, with stained glass windows framing the large wooden doors. One large round stained glass window peers down from above the doors like a giant eyeball watching the townsfolk of New Kassel. I pulled on the heavy wooden door, knowing it would be open. All the churches in New Kassel are left unlocked at all times—something you won't find up in stupid old St. Louis County.

The wooden pews spread forward in perfect rows, two rows for each of the Stations of the Cross plaques hanging along the walls. I sat down for a moment, just to breathe, but it didn't make me feel any better. I was still too scared and too angry. I got up and walked over to the confessional and opened the door. I knelt at the window.

“Hello? Anybody there?” I asked.

A rustling noise came from the other side of the mesh window. “Yes, I'm here.” It was Father Bingham. If I hadn't known better, I would have said he had fallen asleep waiting for sinners.

“Father, forgive me, for I have sinned,” I said.

“And what sins do you wish to confess?”

“Well … Father, forgive me, for I am not Catholic.”

Silence. Then, finally, “Forgiven,” he said. “Anything else?”

“Oh, Father,” I said, “I have made such a mess of things.”

Surprisingly, he didn't push me. He didn't treat the confessional like an assembly line for sinners. He sat patiently and waited for me to speak.

“I … Father, it's Torie. Can I see your face?”

“Certainly,” he said. I heard him open the door and come around to the door on my room. He entered and sat down in the chair opposite the mesh window. I stood and then sat in the other chair. A small round table with a candle and some leaflets stood between us. “What can I do for you?” he asked.

I put my face in my hands. “I hate my mother-in-law. There, I said it. I despise the woman. She is so mean to me. She has hated me since the day she met me. She doesn't think I'm good enough for Rudy. She thinks everything I do is trivial—well, it is sort of trivial, but that's beside the point. She's hateful, narcissistic, manipulative … she is poison, Father. Absolute poison.”