A Dark and Stormy Murder (A Writer's Apprentice Mystery) (13 page)

“Yes. But there’s nothing. The phone is either off or
destroyed. It’s never registered once since she left, so we can’t trace the account. It’s a dead end. It drives me crazy thinking about it, since that phone probably has all the information we need. As does Vic, if she’s still out there.”

His face looked briefly tormented before he resumed his normal closed expression. I realized suddenly why he had probably spent so much time renovating this house. He kept busy so that his thoughts wouldn’t consume him.

“What about the friends you spoke of? Did you talk to them?”

He nodded tersely. “She had lots of acquaintances, and one best friend named Taylor Brand. She’s in fashion, too, and has some annoying blog that I never read. Vic and Taylor spent lots of time together, so I tried to get information out of Taylor after Vic vanished. Taylor blamed me; she said that I was cold, and that Vic had met someone who was good for her, someone passionate and devoted. I tried to get a name out of her, and she admitted she didn’t have one. She said Vic had told her it was brand-new, and she was keeping it to herself for a while, but that she loved how jealous this new man was.”

“Jealous?”

He nodded, his face regretful. “Vic was one of those women who needed a lot of validation. She would try to make me jealous a lot, early in our marriage, and I just—didn’t respond to it. It disappointed her, but I didn’t want to live out some reality-TV-type drama in my own life.”

“But this new man was jealous! There’s a motive right there.”

“I told the police. They spoke with Taylor and said they were satisfied that she knew nothing concrete.”

“There has to be something,” I said. “What about the man you hired?”

“He’s working hard. I give him credit for that. There’s just nothing to go on. All I could give him was one thing—one word I had seen on her new phone: ‘Nikon.’”

“Nikon? Did she have a camera or something?”

He shook his head. “No. She took all her pictures on her phone. And it wasn’t so much the word as the way she reacted when I saw it. Like I had stumbled on some big secret.”

“What did she say about it at the time?”

“It’s just a word I saw over her shoulder when she was texting. She turned off the phone and said it was nothing, that I should mind my own business.”

“So she was protecting some kind of information. Could someone have taken—I don’t know—incriminating pictures or something?”

“God only knows. I didn’t want to keep asking her about it; I figured if she wanted to keep secrets, that was her business. To be brutally honest, Lena, at that point I just didn’t care what she did. I had no idea how important it would be. The things we know in retrospect . . .”

We sat for a moment in the bright and fragrant kitchen, thinking our thoughts.

Finally I said, “She was very beautiful, wasn’t she? Your wife. Could someone—predatory—have lured her into a relationship? That sort of thing happens every day, and not just to unsuspecting teens.”

He nodded. “I tried to get the police to explore that idea. They seemed to think that I was trying to create a red herring. And without her phone, there was nothing for them
to pursue. I think it’s just easier to suspect that I killed her. It explains her disappearance and gives everyone a scapegoat.”

“It’s a terrible situation. I’m sorry you’ve had to go through this alone. Don’t you have family, friends who have stood by you?”

He cleared his throat and looked at his watch. “We should stop talking about this. You came by for a little advice, and I burdened you with my problems.”

“You didn’t burden me; I asked. And they are significant problems. I want to help you.”

He studied me for a moment with his compelling eyes. “Lena,” he said softly, leaning in to touch my hand. His doorbell rang. He got up and went to his refrigerator; from this angle I could see a small box to the left of the fridge that seemed to be a security camera. “Oh, shit,” he said. Then he pressed a button. “Come on in—it’s open.”

Seeing the question on my face, he said, “It’s the cops. Maybe they don’t like the fact that you’re in here. Maybe they fear for your life.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said.

A moment later Doug Heller and a woman in a brown pantsuit were standing in the kitchen. Doug Heller’s face was about as friendly as a wood plank. His voice was almost as hoarse as it had been the evening before. “Mr. West.”

Sam nodded. “What can I do for you, Detective Heller?”

Doug sighed. “The fact is, I’m doing something for
you
. I don’t have to be here, I want you to know that.” He shot a look at me that said he was surprised and a bit wounded to find me at West’s table. “I’m here to suggest that you might want to get on the horn with your lawyer. Let him know that I’m waiting on a warrant for your arrest, at which
point I will be fielding an extradition request from New York. I don’t know exactly when this is going to happen, but it will be soon. I am telling you because I know you won’t run, and because I thought you might want time to—get your affairs in order.”

I felt Sam’s tension from across the table. “What’s happened? Did you find Victoria? Is she dead?”

Doug Heller’s gaze flicked to me, then to West. “Police have located a significant amount of blood at your New York apartment.”

“Blood?” Sam asked.

“This is ridiculous!” I shouted. “He hasn’t been there, he’s been here! If there’s blood, it must be new, right? Didn’t she disappear more than a year ago?”

Doug Heller looked at the tips of his boots. The woman with him said, “Mr. West has recently visited New York.”

I looked at Sam, who nodded. “On business. About three weeks ago.”

“Come on, Doug!” I said. “Have you ever really listened to the details? She’s not dead! This blood has appeared very conveniently, hasn’t it? Can’t you see what’s happening here? Someone is framing him!”

No one said a word, but Sam West looked at me as though he had never seen me before.

Heller said, “Mr. West? What do you want to do? Officer Dillon here is ready to accompany you to New York if you’d like to go before the warrant comes down.”

“This is crazy! He’s had just about enough of this!” I yelled, and grabbed some pecans from the bowl, which I hurled at Doug Heller and his partner. The nuts bounced off their jackets and landed on West’s polished wood floor. Both cops stared down at them, their eyebrows raised.

“Call your lawyer, Sam,” I said bitterly. “See what he advises. See if this is even legal.”

West pulled out a phone. “That does seem to be the next step. Excuse me for a moment,” he said, and went into the hallway.

“What are you doing here, Lena?” Doug Heller rasped, his face grim.

I shook my head. “I had some business with
Mr. West
. Don’t give me that disappointed look. I’m disappointed in
you
, Doug. You’re a cop. You should care about the truth. And so should you!” I said to the woman, who was still studying me with her mouth open.

“Lena, I told you—you haven’t got the whole story,” Heller said under his breath. He ran some fingers through his hair and then settled both hands on his hips.

“Neither have you. What have you found out about all the texting Mrs. West was doing on the red phone before she went missing? What have you found out about the word ‘Nikon’ that Sam saw on her phone when she was texting some mysterious person?”

Heller looked on the verge of saying something, then sighed. He exchanged a glance with his partner, which, from my point of view, seemed to say, “Don’t acknowledge her—she’s insane. She threw nuts at us.”

Sam West walked back into the room. I couldn’t look at him; I stared at the table, with its bright flowers and the breakfast that had been ruined.

“Give me a moment to pack a bag, and I’ll meet you at the door,” West said. “My lawyer will be waiting at the airport. I appreciate the heads-up. It will be better to go there on my own steam than to be hauled in like a criminal, so thanks. And thank you for being my advocate, Lena.”
He moved toward me and pressed a key into my hand. “Would you look after the place for me? I just have a few plants by the window there that need watering, and if you could take in the mail, I’d appreciate it.” He turned and left the room; we heard him jogging up the stairs.

I had no idea what was going through his mind. What was this fresh blood, this sudden evidence? Why would there be blood now, almost a year after his wife’s disappearance, and why would they assume he had anything to do with it when he had made a new home in Blue Lake?

He had been back to New York, they said—but why did that matter? He was a businessman. He had to do his business, didn’t he?

I was still bristling, clutching West’s key. “How can they dare to demand that he go all the way to New York when this blood could belong to any person or animal? How can they possibly arrest him on such limited evidence?” I asked. I could feel the belligerence of my own face and my weirdly thrusting jaw. I felt a terrible urge to cry.

Heller spoke to me in a gentle voice, as one would to a child. “Lena, it’s his wife’s blood. They’ve had it tested. And it was in his apartment—the one he still owns in New York and stays in when he goes back there. The one they once shared.”

I felt this news viscerally, with a sudden pain in my stomach. “I—it—who had the right to go into his apartment?”

The two detectives exchanged a glance. “The blood was near the door; it had begun seeping under the frame into the hallway. A neighbor saw it and called the police. It doesn’t look good for him, Lena.”

My mouth opened and shut again.

All I could see, for an instant, was blood—enough blood
to seep across floorboards and underneath a door. But what had been the origin of that blood? “A body,” I said. “They must have found a body?”

“No—just the blood. But it’s hers, and it’s fresh. Which means that until recently, Victoria West was alive.”

“Maybe she still is. Maybe she snuck into her old apartment and somehow hurt herself. They should be checking the hospitals. They should be looking into all the reasons why blood would appear without a body, and why it would appear now, when things have finally died down.” A thought occurred to me for an instant, but then flitted away. It had seemed important . . .

“They are looking into it. The first and best way is to interview her estranged husband, who just so happened to be in town recently. The prosecutor thinks it’s enough to arrest him for, but he needs a judge to agree and to issue a warrant. I’m sticking my neck out telling him this much.”

Something just didn’t add up. Why didn’t Doug Heller see that? Why was he looking at me with that infuriating pity in his eyes?

Sam West appeared, a travel bag slung over his shoulder. His face was carefully expressionless. I could only imagine what he was feeling. He said, “It’s okay, Lena. I’ll see you soon, I hope.”

“Sam—we’ll figure this out. Your lawyer will talk sense into them. They cannot arrest you for this!” My voice cracked on the last word, but I doubt anyone noticed, because they were already moving out the door.

He was escorted to a car by the Blue Lake Police, and I didn’t say another word to him. I stood in his silent house, unable to think. With stiff fingers I picked up our breakfast dishes and washed them at West’s elegant sink. I wiped my
hands on a towel that hung nearby, then scanned the room and saw the nuts I had thrown on the floor, still lying there as reminders of the tiny scene I had caused. I bent to pick them up, crossed the room, and tossed them in a little black wastebasket that sat next to the counter. The garbage was empty except for a receipt I recognized—it said “BICK’S” in large blue lettering at the top. Without thinking, I picked it up and studied it. It was dated for the previous evening at six thirty-two
P.M.
, when West had purchased only one item, listed as “Oster Waff Mk.”

A waffle maker. After agreeing to look at Camilla’s contract for me, Sam West had gone to Bick’s Hardware and bought a waffle maker so that he could make me a special meal.

I stared at the receipt for a moment, then folded it carefully and put it in my pocket. I checked Sam’s plants and did a quick scan of his house, then left and locked the door behind me.

11

Johanna hesitated to show the letter to Loli, the girl who had been such a friend to her, and in that instant, as Loli leaned forward, her blue eyes wide and curious, her fingers reaching for the paper, Johanna realized she didn’t trust the other girl, and never really had. She slipped the letter into her pocket and made an excuse, and she did not miss the bitter expression on Loli’s face.

—from
The Salzburg Train

I
BARELY HAD
time to tell Camilla what happened before she had to leave for her doctor appointment. Her face was grim, though, when I told her about the new evidence that had been found in New York. “Blood?” she said, and then she grew quiet, occasionally shaking her head in disbelief.Her response satisfied me in a way that Doug Heller’s had not.

Rhonda was at work in the kitchen, already making lunch for me and my eventual guest. I couldn’t imagine eating or being a gracious host, and yet Lane Waldrop was going to show up regardless of my feelings. With a sigh I climbed the stairs to my room. I washed my face and combed my hair in the little bathroom, then went to my desk. Lestrade wasn’t in the room; I assumed he had taken
the morning to explore Camilla’s house, which he had started to do on a regular basis.

I took Sam West’s receipt out of my pocket and set it in the top drawer of the desk. Then I pulled out my laptop and tried to concentrate on Camilla’s book and the scene she had asked me to reimagine. I had a good start, but even my scene needed some ramped-up suspense. I felt restless and certain that I couldn’t concentrate, and then suddenly I realized I had written a great deal and that almost an hour had gone by.

Back down the stairs I went, straight to the kitchen, where I asked Rhonda if she needed my help. “Oh, I think just about everything is ready to go,” she said. “Just go see if you think the table needs anything more. I pulled a few of those gorgeous roses out and put them in a smaller vase—it would be crazy to put them all out for your little lunch, right?”

I agreed with her. I went into the little dining room, where she had spread a white cloth and selected roses in two shades of yellow, then tucked them into an emerald vase at the center of the table. “This is beautiful, Rhonda!” I called.

She came in with a tray of canapés and set it down. “Thanks. It’s refreshing to do some entertaining. It’s been just Camilla for so long, and all of a sudden I have a dinner guest and a lunch guest. It’s fun! I think you bring out a more social side of her.”

“That’s nice,” I said absently.

She stopped halfway back into the kitchen and said, “I heard you two maybe had a visitor last night.”

“What? Oh, yes. That seems like a long time ago.”

“I hope the cops are on it. It’s not a happy thought, that
someone is targeting an older woman who—for all they know—lives by herself.”

I had not thought of this. No one in town knew that I was living with Camilla—just a handful of people, really. Allison, Doug Heller, Sam West, the people who worked for Camilla. And yet there had been those people in the diner who had seen me sharing a table with Sam West. He had assured me that I’d be the talk of the town. But what if I wasn’t? What if, as far as any miscreant knew, Camilla was just an elderly writer who lived at the top of the hill? Might she be a target for hooligans? If so, why?

“Anyway, I’ve got a nice cold lunch laid out for you here, and a little dessert in the fridge. I have to leave early because my son has a doctor appointment. You’ll be okay, right?”

“Of course. Thank you so much.”

Rhonda shrugged. “No big deal. Like I said the other day, this is a great gig.” She disappeared into the kitchen, then came out with her purse. “Just keep things locked up, okay? I don’t like leaving you here alone, but—”

“I’ll be here with two large German shepherds,” I said, laughing. “And multiple telephones if I need to call the police.” Although Doug Heller might be on the way to the airport—or would he let “Officer Dillon” do that alone? She seemed appropriately capable and even a bit mean. Would she go all the way to New York, or just make sure Sam West got on the plane? If she went, would Heller go, too? He certainly couldn’t risk letting West get away, not after he broke protocol by telling him of the imminent arrest. Why had he done that, anyway?

“Well, good. We can’t forget that a murder occurred here, way too close for my liking,” Rhonda said.

This gave me a chill. For a while there, Blue Lake had seemed idyllic; now it seemed that every part of the town was tainted, and every person somehow cursed.

“Are you okay?” Rhonda asked, looking concerned.

“I’m fine. It’s been—a weird couple of days.”

“No joke. But when things get back to normal, you’ll love it here. I promise.” She gave me a maternal pat on the arm and a reassuring smile, then moved swiftly to the front door. “Have a nice lunch,” she said and opened the door. Lane Waldrop stood on the other side, wearing a pair of brown wool pants and a cream-colored cowl-neck sweater with a long necklace of little pearls dotted with rhinestones. I was wearing the blue jeans and brown turtleneck that I had worn to Sam West’s house.

“You look nice,” I said. “I’m afraid I’m underdressed.”

Lane laughed. “No you’re not—I’m overdressed. But I’m so excited to be away from my kids, I can’t even tell you. And I never get to wear nice clothes because of baby puke and stuff, so I figured hey, I’m going somewhere nice, I’m going to dress nice.”

“Well, you look great. Rhonda made us lunch.”

“Don’t I get a tour?” Lane asked, her eyes on the stairs.

Her eagerness was surprising. What was it about this old “monstrosity,” as Camilla called it, that fascinated people so much? Adam had wanted a tour, too, Camilla said.

“Well—I don’t actually know the place that well. And I don’t know if Camilla wants us upstairs. I can show you the rooms down here.” I led her to the study, with its crackling fire, and the living room to the right of the main door, and then the kitchen and the dining room, with the breathtaking view of the bluff.

If she was disappointed not to see the rest, she hid it well. “This place is great,” she said, gazing at a framed photo that sat on Camilla’s hallway table. “It’s got great bones.”

“Yes—I’m not sure how old it is. I’ll have to ask Camilla. The house came to her through her husband’s family.”

“That’s cool.” Her eyes were still wandering, soaking up the scenery.

“Would you like something to drink?”

Her gaze came back to me, and she smiled. “Oh, just a pop or something. What are you having?”

“That sounds good. Let me see what she has.”

I dug two Diet Cokes out of Camilla’s refrigerator, and we settled at the table and started munching on Rhonda’s delicious little bites.

“Mmm! What’s this?” Lane asked, biting into one and rolling her eyes with pleasure.

“I forget what Rhonda called it. Some sort of little cracker with mascarpone cheese and sprouts and something something.”

“It’s awesome. The best hors d’oeuvres I ever make are Ritz Crackers and Cheez Whiz.”

“That’s good, too. Rhonda seems to have a special gift for these fancy things.”

“Obviously. Ooh—I have to try one of those little stuffed mushrooms. Yum. Clay would be so jealous.”

“Clay—that’s your husband? How did you two meet?”

She sat back and savored her food for a moment, then wiped her fingers on a napkin that Rhonda had set next to the plate. “He and I were high school sweethearts. Got married a year after we graduated.”

“Wow. That’s romantic.”

“I suppose.” She shrugged. “I love Clay, but I think my mom was right when she said we were marrying too young. You only see these things later—like when you’re twenty-four and you already have two kids.”

“They’re great kids.”

“Yeah. I can’t complain. They’re both healthy and beautiful, and Clay is beautiful, and we mostly get along great. So that’s better than what most people have, right?” Her eyes were flicking around the dining room, noticing small details.

“I think it is better. And it doesn’t matter what age you get married as long as you have a good relationship, right?”

“I like to think so. There really couldn’t ever be anyone for me but Clayton. That’s just how it is.”

“Is he a good dad?”

“Oh, yeah. He does all sorts of stuff with the kids. Lets them ride on his tractor when he’s mowing our yard, and takes them to the lake with their little life preservers on. Little Tommy has this inflatable duck that he rides on—it’s just hilarious.”

I munched on another cheese canapé, then sat back in my chair. “So you two went to Blue Lake High School?”

“Yup.”

“Did you go there with Martin Jonas?”

Her eyes widened. “That’s funny that you would know that. Yeah—Marty was a year ahead of us. Clay knew him because they took wood shop together. And I knew him because I was always with Clay, and Marty and he hung out together. I think Marty had a thing for me at one time.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Her face was blank. “What do you mean?”

“You’re a pretty girl. I’m sure lots of guys at your school had crushes on you.”

She blushed slightly and shrugged, barely concealing a pleased smile. “I suppose. But they couldn’t get anywhere near me. Clay’s always been sort of possessive.”

“So Clay must be upset—about Martin’s death.”

“He is. Although he and Marty didn’t see each other much after high school. I wasn’t interested in having my husband going out every night with those idiots, hangin’ at the bowling alley and tellin’ their tall tales and gettin’ drunk.”

“Does he have any suspicions about—what might have happened?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. He was so shocked when he read Marty’s name in the paper, you could have knocked him down by blowin’ on him.” She studied me for a moment, and her gaze moved to my left hand. “You’re not married?”

“No.”

“How come?” she asked. Somehow the question wasn’t rude the way she asked it—it was rather flattering because her tone suggested it was impossible that the men of the world would have let me get away.

“I don’t know. There was someone serious, but that ended almost a year ago.”

“Yeah? What was he like?” Her naked curiosity was a surprise, and perhaps a refreshing change—but I imagined it would get old fairly quickly.

“He was two years older than I am. Dark hair, dark eyes. Handsome. Kind of brooding and aloof. And he was distracted, all the time. He was always absorbed in his job.”

“Huh. What was he, a lawyer or doctor or something?”

“He’s a botanist. He works as a researcher.”

“A botanist. So that’s—like—some kind of scientist?”

“A plant biologist, yes.”

“Oh.” She looked disappointed. “So how did it end?”

I shrugged. “One day I realized that I wouldn’t ever be as important to him as I wanted to be. Or if I was, that he would never be able to show me. He didn’t—express emotion very well.”

“Wow, what a jerk. Clay is always grabbing me in these big bear hugs that go on forever. I couldn’t live without those.”

Now it was probably my face that looked envious, and the surge of jealousy that ran through me at her words was another surprise. Hadn’t I just told Camilla that I wasn’t interested in romance, and that I was happy just where I was? And yet the thought of a relationship in which one could find joy and security in a daily, heartfelt embrace—that sounded good to me.

“He sounds very devoted,” I said. “Let me get our lunch.” I stood up, taking the empty canapé tray with me. I claimed a new tray from the refrigerator, which held a graceful assortment of tea sandwiches that Rhonda had marked with tiny cards—cucumber and cream cheese; ham, brie, and apple; mortadella and watercress.

I brought it back to the table, along with a pre-labeled salad Rhonda had prepared, and listened to Lane’s predictable oohs and aahs. She helped herself to some salad and said, “You know, my granddad was in this house a few times. He was a mechanic, back in the day, and I guess Mr. Graham’s family hired him now and then to fix things. He knew how to fix everything. And at one time or another he was probably in every house in this town, just about.”