5 Windy City Hunter (17 page)

I giggled.

As bad as I felt for Jack at that moment, there was no controlling my emotions. I knew if I stayed there with him, I would end up laughing in his face. I hurried from the bedroom, ran to the bathroom, and slammed the door behind me. I burst out laughing and couldn’t control it for several minutes. Waking up in bed with Jack was upsetting, but the absurdity of the event had triggered the laughter. He looked like Darby, but his look was more mature and definitely sexier. Darby had cool, California beach, surfer dude, good looks, where his uncle exuded the essence of a playboy. The confusion when I first thought I was in bed with Darby struck me as hilarious.

When I was under control, I left the bathroom and saw the two men sitting at the dining room table waiting for the water to finish running through the coffee maker. I sat down in the chair next to the detective.

“Susan, I waited for you before talking with Jack. Are you ok?” he asked.

I looked at Jack and said, “I’m sorry. I’m pregnant, and I seem to laugh or cry at all the wrong times.”

“Ahh, you’re pregnant,” he said. “I thought I felt a bit more tummy than you should have for such a trim girl.” My mouth fell open at his comment. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Your tummy was the only thing I was rubbing.”

Darby adored his uncle, and I wanted to like him, too, but his comments were cheeky and inappropriate. Given the circumstances, I didn’t want to talk about it anymore, and I definitely didn’t want Mick finding out what happened.

Detective Bentley took over the conversation while Jack went to the kitchen to get coffee for the three of us. “The day Darby and Susan arrived, her assistant opened the door and found Mrs. Fisher dead on the living room floor,” he said. “She had taken a hard blow to the head, and it cracked her skull open.”

I looked at the detective and dropped my mouth open again.

“What, Susan?” he asked. He seemed perturbed by my facial expression.

“I didn’t know her skull had been
cracked open
,” I said, emphasizing his words, “and it sounds so cold when you say it like that.”

He shrugged his shoulders and continued with his narrative. “Darby and Susan were in the hallway when Martha opened the door.”

Jack interrupted as he set coffee mugs in front of me and the detective. “Poor Martha discovered the body, did she?”

The detective ignored him and said, “Darby and Susan weren’t the only ones in the hallway that day. Wes Bradley was, too. Do you know him?”

“Sure,” he said. “He’s a good guy. He’s handling the claim for the stolen diamonds from Penelope’s condo a few weeks back.” He looked at the detective and asked, “How did you guys get from Darby being in the hallway to him being the one who murdered her?”

“It wasn’t me,” the detective said. “It was Chicago’s finest. They searched your condo, and found Mrs. Fisher’s diamond necklace in Darby’s room.”

“Oh, shit!” Jack said. “You’ve got to be shittin’ me!”

Detective Bentley frowned.

“Sorry about the language,” he said looking at me, “but how in the world did they ever get a search warrant?”

“Wes was the one who was suspicious,” the detective said. “He thought Darby had too much personal information about Mrs. Fisher, right down to the towels in her bathroom and that all of her diamonds, including some loose ones, were kept in her condo. Detective Malloy asked for a search warrant, and it was granted. Darby was arrested at the cooking competition.”

“You’ve got to be shi-, sorry,” he said. “This is all a terrible mistake. Darby only knew all those things about Penelope because I told him. He had nothing to do with the necklace, and I can prove it.”

He stood from the table and went into the kitchen. He opened a cupboard above the refrigerator and pulled out a cookbook. He opened the book, took out a sheet of paper, and handed it to the detective.

I leaned over to see what it said.

I, Penelope A. Fisher, am handing over to the possession of Jack D. Tapley for safekeeping, my diamond necklace, The Queen, valued at $487,000.00. Attached is a picture of said necklace.

It was signed by both Jack and Mrs. Fisher, and it was notarized. There was no picture.

“That’s a copy.” Jack said. “The original with the picture is in my safe deposit box at the bank.”

“Well, why in the world didn’t you put the necklace in the box, too?” the detective asked.

“No way,” he said. “Penelope would never allow her diamonds out of the building. Altogether, those diamonds totaled in the millions of dollars, and they were all in her condo. When the loose diamonds were stolen, she became nervous about the necklace asked me to hold it for a few weeks. I put it under a couple of sweaters in a dresser drawer in the spare bedroom. I thought it best not to mention it to Darby, so he wouldn’t worry about having something so valuable in here.”

“How is it that your fingerprints weren’t on the box?” the detective asked. “They only found Darby’s and Mrs. Fisher’s.”

“I was on my way out one Saturday afternoon when Penelope caught me in the hall and asked me to wait,” he said. “She had someone coming from the bank to notarize our signatures on the paper she had written. When we were done, I slipped my coat and gloves on before taking the box and putting it in my dresser. I left the building, went to the bank, and over to a friend’s for the day.

“Jack,” I addressed him and paused for a moment before saying, “When Darby and I first arrived, we were nearly run down in the hallway by a man wearing a gorilla head. I think he was the murderer. I’m sure I saw the gorilla head pop out of Mrs. Fisher’s doorway on Sunday, too. Do you have any idea who that might have been?”

“Not a clue,” he said.

We were all quiet until Jack stood from his chair. “Let’s figure out the bathroom schedule,” he said, “and then, Chuck, how about if you and me head on down to the bank to get the notarized paper and pay Detective Malloy a visit? Maybe we can get my nephew back today.”

My heart jumped at the thought of Darby being released from jail today. Could it really be that easy?

“Chuck, you go first,” I said. “I’ll shower last since I’m not going to go with you guys.”

The detective stood from the table, and headed up to the bedroom for his clothes.

Jack was smiling at me again. Emma was right, his smile was dazzling, and I could see why he was melting her into blubbering puddles of lovesick goo at the reception desk downstairs.

“Jack, why didn’t you take any of Darby’s calls?” I asked. “He found the necklace before the police searched here, and it shook him up. I know he left a few desperate messages for you. The police tried to reach you and so did Detective Bentley.”

He hung his head. For a moment, I sensed some anguish from him. “I was in Tokyo at a banker’s conference. It was fun. A lot of fun.” A smile crossed his face as he paused for a moment. “And by the time I realized a geisha had made off with my phone, it was too late to do anything about it other than cancel it. I didn’t have any reason to be in contact with anyone, so I didn’t replace it while I was there. I figured if there was an emergency, my office would find a way to track me down.”

It had never occurred to me to suggest calling his office, and it obviously hadn’t to anyone else either. On the other hand, since Jack wasn’t directly involved in the murder, there wasn’t any reason to call his office. The police knew he would be back this week, so I suppose it was a waiting game for them.

I smiled at him and said, “Darby won $10,000 with his Grandmother’s Buttercream Coffee Cake.”

“You’ve got to be shittin’ me!” Jack yelped. “His grandmother is my mother, and that was her recipe. She made it every year at Christmas.”

The huge grin, and the pride on his face, warmed my heart.

“It was amazing hearing his name announced as the winner,” I said. “He was really happy, too. At least the police officers waited until he claimed his prize before taking him out in handcuffs.”

The image of Darby in the tan pajamas and handcuffs came to the forefront again. So did the tears.

Jack and Detective Bentley had already left the condo when I stepped out of the bathroom. I felt better, and my spirits were lifted. I dressed comfortably for the day in black leggings, a long black cashmere cardigan, and low-heeled black ankle boots. I made the beds, straightened up the condo, and then packed my suitcase. Whether Darby was released and we all headed for home tonight, or whether he stayed in jail, I wasn’t sleeping with Jack Tapley again. If we had to stay in Chicago, hopefully, Mick and I would be checking into The Peninsula Hotel over on the Magnificent Mile.

The thought of seeing Darby filled me with joy, but there was a nagging doubt in the back of my mind. The necklace was the one piece of evidence they used to arrest him, but what if they felt the circumstantial evidence Wes had provided was enough to continue to hold him. It was like that on television. They could hold you until they were one hundred percent certain you weren’t the right guy, and I knew they didn’t like releasing any suspect.

Gorilla head popped into my mind. The guy wearing the gorilla head should have been a suspect. We didn’t ask Wes about him with regard to the murder, we only asked him who he was with at the restaurant, and Wes lied when he said they were exchanging money for football tickets. If he was Martha’s brother, then Martha definitely knew more than she was saying when I spoke to her on Sunday.

The two men wouldn’t be back for a few hours. I decided to pay Martha another visit, but first I was going to have another piece of Detective Bentley’s quiche.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

A moment before I rapped on Martha’s door, I heard a dull thud from inside her condo. Sounds of soft, muffled grunting could be heard, and then silence.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. I stood back from the door and contemplated walking away, but it only took a moment to change my mind and knock. This might be my last chance to find out what Martha knew and further clear Darby’s name.

There was no answer. I waited another minute and gave the door a couple of hard knocks. It opened to an out-of-breath and disheveled Martha.

“What do you want?” she blurted out.

“Martha, I have to talk with you,” I said. “Darby will probably be cleared of Mrs. Fisher’s murder today, and I know your brother is going to be the prime suspect. Please can I talk with you for a few minutes?”

Her eyes flew open wide, and she looked behind her toward the bedroom as if to be sure there was no one there.

“Are you alone?” I asked.

She nodded a yes and opened the door for me to enter. I stepped into a smaller version of the condo we were staying in, but there were no steps down into a living area. Her rooms were all on one level. The living room was in disarray. She quickly bent over to pick up newspapers and magazines and place them on an end table. A statue of the queen of diamonds, like the playing card, was on the floor. She picked it up and set it on a shelf in a bookcase. She smoothed her hair and sat down on a loveseat as she motioned for me to sit in a chair.

“I’ve been moving furniture and doing some rearranging,” she said as an explanation for whatever was going on in here. “Why do you think my brother is a suspect?”

“Martha, I know he was the one wearing the gorilla head,” I said. “I saw him the day of the murder, and I saw a man with the same build and clothing the next day at Ditka’s Restaurant. He was with Wes Bradley, and they were exchanging something. Do you know what they would have given each other?”

She slumped in her seat, threw her head back, and covered her face with her hands. “I don’t know what to do,” she said. “This is all my fault.”

“You said that the other day,” I said. “If you didn’t murder Mrs. Fisher, why would any of this be your fault? Do you know who did murder her?”

Her eyes went wide as she said emphatically, “Wes Bradley murdered Mrs. Fisher.”

I sat speechless for a moment. My initial instinct when we first arrived was that Wes was the killer, but after finding out he was an insurance investigator, I assumed he was innocent.

“How do you know that?” I asked her. “I thought they were friendly.”

“Oh, Susan, I don’t know what to do. If I go to the police, Wes will either kill me or have me killed, but Mrs. Fisher didn’t deserve to die like that, and I don’t know what to do.”

“Tell me what happened,” I told her. “I have a detective friend here with me. He’s not with the Chicago Police Department, so he can’t do anything in an official capacity, but he’s a smart man, and he can tell us what to do. He can help with whatever trouble you and your brother are in.”

“My brother has fallen on hard times,” she said. “Penelope had more money and things than she could have ever imagined to use in her lifetime. I asked her to help my brother, and she said no. She didn’t help the poor. She thought they needed to pick themselves up by their bootstraps and take care of themselves like she did all her life. Humph! She wouldn’t know a bootstrap if it hit her in the face.”

Martha twisted in her seat and looked toward the bedroom again. Because of her nervousness, I was certain someone was in there. My guess was it was her brother.