With Baited Breath (7 page)

She followed a narrow path through the clutter, being careful not to let any of the trash touch her bare toes, making her way across the room to the fireplace. This hearth hadn’t been boxed in and was framed by a scarred, but still-beautiful wooden mantle and a Victorian tile surround depicting sweet blue flowers that resembled nothing in a real garden. A few tiles were chipped or cracked, but for the most part they were in better shape than the rest of the house. Like the rest of the room, the firebox was full of trash. A part of a curtain rod lay at her feet. Kathy picked it up and poked at the rubbish, trying to dislodge it to get a better view of the back of the fireplace when she spied a worn black leather wallet. It took three tries before she was able to extricate it. The thing was probably rife with germs, but her interest was piqued. She unfolded it, finding it devoid of cash and credit cards, but there was a valid driver’s license lodged in the back behind the picture of two young African-American children. She read the name and address as a wave of cold passed through her.

Michael Jackson, who lived on Resort Road.

#

Anissa had taken one look at the picture in the wallet and burst into tears. She’d recognized the children in the picture: herself and her older brother at ages eight and ten. Jerry had not been pleased when Kathy had called the Wade County Sheriff’s Department to report the find. He wanted to lock up, go home, have a beer, and get ready for the baseball game on TV that evening. It took more than an hour before the lead investigator in the case, Detective Osborn, had shown up at the ramshackle old house.

“You say you found it in the fireplace?” Osborn practically growled. Had he, too, been anticipating an evening home in front of tube? He’d donned latex gloves before handling the wallet.

“That’s right,” Kathy said.

“Did anyone other than you touch it?”

“His daughter, Anissa,” Kathy said, pointing to the weepy woman who sat on the wooden step in front of the house.

Osborn frowned. “You probably obliterated any fingerprint evidence.”

“How was I to know the wallet belonged to a murder victim?” Kathy said in her own defense.

“Can I close up the house and go home?” Jerry asked impatiently.

“No. I need to get a lab team out here to search for any other evidence,” Osborn said.

Jerry glowered, looked like he wanted to hit something—or someone—and stormed off for his car to once again sit in the driver’s seat and fume.

“Let’s go over it all again,” Osborn said.

Kathy sighed. “We arrived at the house.”

“Just the three of you?”

“No, my friend, Tori Cannon, was with us. She went back home—across the street—to start a second coat of paint on the bait shop. Anissa was checking out the attic, and Jerry was standing in the front yard on his cell phone when I found the wallet.”

Osborn looked back at the house. “Were there any windows or doors open when you first went into the house?”

“No.”

“And the house was locked?”

“Jerry had to get the key from the lock box hanging from the front door to open it.”

“Was there a time when any of you were alone in any of the rooms?”

Kathy shrugged. “As I said, Anissa went to the attic. None of us were in this room alone, so you can count us out as suspects, if that’s what you’re trying to infer.”

Osborn’s gaze hardened, then he turned back to look at Anissa. “Do you think she’s ready to talk?”

“You make it sound like she’s a suspect.” Kathy was getting a little annoyed at this guy’s line of questioning.

“At this point, everybody’s a suspect.” He headed for the steps outside. Kathy followed.

“Miss Jackson?” Anissa looked up. “Do you feel up to answering some questions?”

Anissa rubbed her bloodshot eyes and nodded.

“Have you ever seen this wallet before today?”

“Of course I have. I
made
it for my Daddy when I was at summer camp about a million years ago, that’s why he never replaced it.”

“When was the last time you saw it?”

“I don’t know. Maybe a year or two ago.”

“And to your knowledge he never had a different, newer wallet.”

“Not that I know of.”

“Do you know if he had any credit cards?”

“I know he had at least one, but I don’t know what company it was with.”

“Do you know why someone would want to rob and then kill him?”

“You asked me that this morning, and the answer is still the same, no!”

Osborn looked around them at the weedy yard. “What were you doing here with Miss Grant?”

“I’m her general contractor. We were looking at the house to determine if it’s worth saving.”

Osborn turned to Kathy. “Is that true?”

“Well, if I buy the house she just might be. Tori and I asked her to accompany us to check out the place. Home remodeling is Anissa’s business.”

“Yes, she mentioned as much to me this morning,” Osborn admitted. “You actually want to
buy
this place?”

“I might,” Kathy said defensively. “Anissa and I have to discuss the pros and cons. Now, if you’ve got all you need, I’d like to take Anissa next door and buy her a drink. She’s had a terrible day.”

“Go ahead. But how can I get in contact with you?”

“I’ll give you my cell phone number. I have to go back to Batavia tomorrow, but you can call me anytime. I always have it with me.”

He wrote down the number. “And you?” Osborn asked Anissa.

“I’m staying at my Daddy’s house up on Resort Road for the foreseeable future.” She gave him that telephone number, too.

“Come on, Anissa. Let’s go next door.”

Anissa pulled herself up, and Kathy threw an arm around her shoulder, leading her across the yard toward the bar.

Happy hour had already begun, as evidenced by the three leather-clad bikers sitting on the deck smoking cigarettes while they sipped their beers. They eyed the women as they trudged up the wooden steps, but said nothing.

Inside the bar was cool, and the music wasn’t as loud as it had been the previous night. Paul wasn’t behind the bar, but Noreen stood at one end talking to a guy in leathers and a blue bandana. Noreen raised a finger to let them know she’d be with them in a moment, and Kathy and Anissa took seats at the bar. The guy with the crew-cut Kathy had seen the night before was again nursing a beer at a nearby table, looking out over the bay. Outside of fishing, there didn’t seem to be a lot for visitors to do. That would have to change if Kathy was to be successful at running a bed and breakfast. She’d do some research to see what else was available to do in the area and make sure her customers knew about it.

“You don’t have to buy me a drink. I can pay for my own,” Anissa said.

“No, I insist,” Kathy said. “After all, I caused you an awful lot of heartache by finding that wallet.”

“Not if it helps that cop find who killed my daddy.”

Kathy doubted that. But it was puzzling. The house had been locked. Did that mean whoever got inside to dump the wallet in a mountain of trash—with the expectation that it would never be found—have the legal right to be there? Then again, what if the killer had been a former tenant with a key and hadn’t needed to get into the lock box to gain entry?

She didn’t voice the thought.

Anissa was still wiping her teary eyes when Noreen approached. “Hi, Kathy. What can I get you and your friend?”

“I’ll have a gin and tonic—and make it a double.” She looked at Anissa.

“I’ll have the same, thanks.”

“Coming right up.”

They watched in silence as Noreen made their drinks, placed thin paper napkins on the bar, and set the glasses on them. “I haven’t seen you here before,” Noreen said to Anissa. She’d hinted the night before that African-Americans weren’t her usual clientele.

“It was Anissa’s father who was found across the street at Cannon’s the other day,” Kathy explained.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Noreen said with genuine sympathy. “I considered your father a friend.”

“Thank you.”

“We were just next door. I found Mr. Jackson’s wallet inside. It had been discarded there.”

“What in the world were you doing in that wreck of a house?” Noreen asked.

“She’s thinking of buying it,” Anissa answered.

“Oh, honey, no,” Noreen said.

“It’s something to consider,” Kathy said and picked up her glass, taking a sip.
Mmm
. That was one fine G and T.

The door opened and Tori walked in. She was still dressed in her paint-splattered jeans and sweatshirt. “So here’s where I find you two. I saw a couple of cop cars roll up next door and went over to investigate. After he grilled me, Detective Osborn said you were over here.” She looked at their drinks. “Don’t I get one, too?”

“And another,” Kathy said, raising her hand in the air.

Noreen smiled and grabbed another glass. Tori sat down beside Anissa. “Detective Osborn told me about your father’s wallet. I hope this means they’ll soon figure out what happened.”

“Yeah, me, too,” Anissa said and sipped her drink.

Kathy decided to lighten the mood. “Tor, you’ll be happy to know that Noreen doesn’t think it’s a good idea for me to buy the house next door, either.”

“I didn’t say that,” Noreen said, setting Tori’s drink down. “Well, not exactly. I would love to have decent neighbors; people who didn’t throw rocks at the bar, trying to smash the windows; who didn’t dump their trash out the kitchen window and hope the wind will somehow get rid of it. People who didn’t use our hose to fill their toilet tanks when the town shuts off their water for nonpayment. I’d love it if someone actually fixed the place up. We’ve put a lot of money into upgrading the bar. It would be nice if the eyesore next door was either fixed up or razed.”

“Anissa is a general contractor,” Kathy said.

“Oh, yeah?” Noreen asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Not exactly,” Anissa said. “But I’m no slouch when it comes to home renovation.”

“If you’re even half as good as your father, you’d be a tremendous asset. We could certainly use more contractors around here. We used Ed Vines and had to wait months for him to fit us into his schedule for our new deck. Do you have a portfolio of work online?” Noreen asked.

“I’m in the process of putting one together,” Anissa said, which was probably stretching the truth more than a little, but Kathy was willing to cut her some slack.

They sipped their drinks.

Noreen pointed to the paint splatters on Tori’s shirt. “I saw you two working on the bait shop earlier today. Great color.”

“We’re hoping it makes the shop stand out from the water,” Kathy said.

“I’m sure it will.”

“It seems to be working. Gramps had seven customers so far, today. That’s four more than yesterday,” Tori said optimistically, “and the day isn’t over yet.”

Better, but still not nearly enough to make the shop successful. They’d have to work harder on curb appeal. The competition at the other side of the bridge got all the business from fishermen coming east. They had to make sure that Cannon’s would get all the business from anglers heading west.

“Hey, Noreen. Can I have another beer?” the biker guy called from the other end of the bar.

“Duty calls,” she said, and left them.

Anissa drained her glass. “I think I’m going to go home before I’m tempted to order another drink. And another. And another. Thanks.” She got up from the stool.

“We’ll either be down to your place later tonight or first thing in the morning to cut the grass.”

Anissa shook her head. “You don’t have to.”

“A bargain’s a bargain,” Kathy said. She got up and gave Anissa a quick hug. Tori did likewise. “See you later.”

Anissa nodded. “Thanks.”

They watched as she left the bar before they both turned back to their drinks. “I feel so sorry for her,” Tori said.

“Me, too.” They stared at their drinks. “Did you get much painting done on the shop?” Kathy asked.

“The second coat went a lot faster than the first. I’ve only got the bay side to finish and it’s done. That means I can get back to tackling the house tomorrow—maybe get some stuff set up for a yard sale on the weekend. It’s too late to put an ad in the weekly rag, but if I can get a few signs up along the road and list it on Craigslist, we might get a few people to stop by.”

“Then let’s cut Anissa’s grass tonight. I can finish painting the sign in the morning before I leave.”

Tori’s face fell. “I’d put it out of my mind that you were only here until tomorrow. I’m gonna miss you.”

“I can come out next week on my days off and we can do more work around the place.”

“I wish I could afford to hire Anissa to help,” Tori said wistfully.

“Maybe you can barter for her skills. She’s going to need her grass cut again next week.”

“Doing that one job isn’t equal to the work it would take to whip the compound into shape.”