All Murders Final! (15 page)

Chapter 26

After Seth left, I started to fill up the tub. I put my hair up in a sloppy bun and threw my clothes in the hamper. I had resisted Seth's comments about how my tub was the perfect size for two and had pushed him out the door after a long sizzling kiss. A cold shower might be a better idea than a bubble bath. But really, he hadn't pushed me that hard.

I tested the water with my hand before climbing in and sinking into the deep tub. I played with the bubbles, making bubble sculptures, and wondered about Seth. I leaned back, resting my neck on the edge of the tub and floating as much as I could. Seth and CJ were kind of alike. Both had good sides; both, because of their jobs, had things they kept from me. But maybe it wasn't only their jobs. That was the problem: I didn't completely trust either of them. I'd been so shaken by what happened between CJ and me last year that I still didn't trust myself. Margaret had trusted someone too much, someone she had let get close enough to kill her, but who?

I soaked until the water cooled. After putting my plaid pajamas on, I flipped on the TV but didn't really pay attention to the singing competition that was on. I thought again about the connection, if there was one, between the person stalking me and Margaret. The problem was I couldn't picture anyone I knew sending me the pictures or threatening me. James flitted into my mind, but I tried to push the thought away. Yes, I'd thought he might have feelings for me on occasion. Yes, he'd changed since he came back from his deployment. But I didn't believe he'd changed that much.

I sat straight up and turned off the TV. James had said he'd report the most recent photo to the EPD for me. But Seth hadn't mentioned it when he was over. And since Margaret had died, he'd been keeping pretty close tabs on anything concerning the EPD and me. I had no idea what any of that meant, except that I probably wouldn't sleep well tonight, wondering.

Before I went to bed, I still had some work to do on the apartment. Even with the kitchen messy, the place still didn't look like it needed much cleaning. Seth had offered to clean up after we ate, but I'd refused. The sauce splashed on the stove and the dishes in the sink worked for my visit from Frieda tomorrow morning. I got some dirt out of the pot with the indestructible plant a friend had given me a cutting of when she'd moved. The plant had stood up to large amounts of abuse, such as a lack of water. I rubbed the dirt onto the tub with the remaining bubbles until it looked a lot like a soap ring. I spilled a little more of the dirt on the floor and tracked it around a bit, carefully avoiding my oriental rug.

* * *

When I heard a knock on the door at nine in the morning, I gave one last look around the place, a bit proud of myself for the mess I'd made. I'd never had a cleaning lady before, so I wasn't sure of the protocol. Should I leave or stay? There was another sharp rap. I opened the door, and Frieda brushed past me, lugging a bag full of cleaning supplies. She looked very different from her online photos. Yes, her hair still had the purple ends, but she was large enough to be a tackle for the Patriots. Maybe she'd been stress eating since her online pictures were taken.

“We didn't finish discussing your prices on the phone yesterday,” I said.

“Well, if you expect me to be as cheap as that Juanita woman was, I might as well just go.”

“No. I didn't—”

“She undercut me every chance she got and stole my customers.”

Interesting.
“I heard there were a lot of problems with her, though.”

Frieda went into the kitchen and started unpacking her bag of industrial-strength cleaners on the counter. “You get what you pay for.” She looked around the room. “You really can't take care of this place yourself?” She frowned at me, her heavy brows twitching on her protruding forehead. The word
Neanderthal
came to mind.

“Normally, I do, but I'm really busy with the February Blues garage sale on base. Things just got away from me.”

“Compared to most of my jobs, this place is spotless. You wouldn't believe the condition of some people's homes. They drive their fancy cars and wear their fancy clothes, but their bathrooms . . .” She paused and shuddered. “I'm not sure how they can live like that.”

“Would you like a cup of coffee while you work?”

Frieda looked surprised. “Sure, if you don't mind. That's nice of you. Some people don't even want you to take a drink of water. Treat you like the dirt they've swept under their rugs.”

I busied myself making coffee. Frieda sure had a lot of anger built up. “Do you take cream or sugar?”

“No. Black is good. I can't always afford the cream, so I stick with black so I don't miss it.”

I filled two mugs and handed her one. “I'll work on my computer and move around so I'm not in your way.”

Frieda took a sip of her coffee. “You don't have to stay.”

“Thanks, but it's easier to stay here.”

I went into the living room and fired up my computer. I approved a bunch of new members and banned a couple of people who weren't following the rules. I was glad to see the new members. At first, after Margaret's death, people had left at an alarming rate. But now there seemed to be a bounce back. I wasn't sure if it was the whole “Everyone wants to see the train wreck” or if it was because I was the only online site in Ellington.

I had a request from James to join the group.
Interesting.
I'd be curious to see what he bought and sold. You could figure out a lot about the members just from their buying and selling habits. Who had kids, who liked antiques, who was into fitness, who always said they had money problems. Some really did have financial problems, and some didn't. A lot of people seemed more interested in the bidding game than in the actual item being sold. I called it the “I'm a winner” syndrome—it made people feel good about themselves to get the item.

I'd been toying with the idea of setting up a site that was only for furniture and antiques. Sorting through all the clothing posts and toys to find things I was interested in wasn't easy and the search function wasn't optimal. The group was large enough that members had to scroll through a lot of posts to find what they liked. I just wasn't sure if I had time to manage two different sites. It wouldn't be so bad now, but once spring hit and I was doing more outside sales, it might be a problem.

A couple of hours later Frieda announced she was done. My apartment was filled with fumes, and my eyes were watery. As soon as she left, I'd fling open the windows, heating bill be damned. I wasn't sure it was entirely Juanita's practice of undercutting prices that had made Frieda lose business.

“Would you like another cup of coffee?” I asked her.

“Might as well. I got nothing better to do.” She eased onto one of my two kitchen chairs and rubbed her knee before scooting closer to the table. I glimpsed her swollen ankles before she stretched her feet out under the table. If it wasn't for getting half of CJ's retirement pay and the alimony he'd insisted upon, I might be doing some kind of hard labor myself. Although I tried to stick most of it into savings, over the winter I'd had to use some of it. My dream of returning it all to him someday had faded just a bit.

I poured two cups of coffee and took them over to the table before sitting across from Frieda. She traced one of the flowers on the vintage tablecloth covering the table with her finger.

“Do you collect these things?” she asked.

“Yes. I like them. They're cheery. Especially on a gloomy day.”

“I don't have the money to collect them. It's why I wanted the one like my grandma's so bad.”

It made me pause. For all of Frieda's complaints about money, she had doubled the price of the tablecloth Margaret was selling without batting an eye, as far as I could tell, and had ended up paying far more than the actual value. It made me wonder if that was really why she'd wanted it or if she had just needed an excuse to go see Margaret.

“Why did you quit cleaning for Margaret?”

“I told you she fired me. For all her money, that woman was tightfisted when it came to her own expenses. She might gift this person or organization some huge sum, but she clung to her personal budget like she didn't know where the next dollar was coming from.” Frieda took a long drink of her coffee. “She figured out if she kept changing cleaning companies, she could use their specials and coupons so she didn't have to pay as much.” Frieda scooted her chair back and pushed off the table to stand up.

“Then once she saw Juanita's ad on your site, she kept on using her.” Frieda scowled. “I stopped over once a couple of weeks ago, after Juanita left. I tried to convince Margaret to take me back on. I pointed out to her how much more I did and what Juanita had missed. Let me tell you, Juanita did half the work I did. And the place didn't smell good and clean, like yours does.”

“Have any guesses as to who would be mad enough to kill Margaret?”

“Maybe Juanita. Margaret agreed to take me back.”

Chapter 27

I watched out the window as Frieda made her way down the sidewalk. She was the first person I'd found who had a connection to both Juanita and Margaret. She seemed pretty angry. Had Margaret really agreed to take her back, or had Frieda killed the competition? I knew that the police had spoken with Frieda after the murder, but I wondered if she'd shared any of this information with them. Frieda climbed into a nice-looking black SUV. As soon as she pulled away from the curb, I flung open the windows to alleviate the fumes.

I realized I probably needed to tell CJ all of this. I knew I was being paranoid, but on the off chance that I was the person of interest mentioned in the news report, I didn't want to go to the station. I called CJ but couldn't get through, so I left him a message. I also mentioned the incident on base yesterday, just in case.
Just in case what
? I asked myself.
Just in case James is your stalker? Just in case James hasn't reported it?
I was beginning to think
I
was the demented one. Then I left a message on CJ's cell phone, which I didn't normally like to do. While I waited for him to call back, I updated the garage sale site.

If CJ wouldn't talk to me, I really had to be the person of interest.
Get a grip
.
He's probably busy.
Half the time he didn't tell me stuff, anyway. But just in case, I had to track CJ down. I had to force him to listen to me, in person and alone. That way I'd have a chance to point him in other directions. I looked online. The Ellington Police Department basketball team was playing the Bedford firefighters tonight at Bedford's middle school. I'd go there to see him.

* * *

At eight o'clock that night I sat in my Suburban in a far corner of the middle school parking lot. The basketball game should be over soon. I'd parked out here in hopes that CJ would spot me and that no one else would. People started trickling out of the school. CJ came out a few minutes later with a large group of laughing people. Either they'd won or they were really good sports. I willed CJ to look over in my direction as the group started to break up and the people headed to their cars. If worse came to worst, I'd follow him home, but I preferred not to do that. If I was the person of interest, it wouldn't look good for him to be getting phone calls or visits from me. And I really hoped he was alone. I'd abort the mission if anyone got in the car with him, especially if it was the redhead Carol had mentioned.

As the group broke up, CJ spotted me. But instead of coming over, he shooed everyone toward their cars. I slid down in my seat, hoping no one else would notice me. A few minutes later there was a tap on my window. I popped back up to let CJ inside the car.

“What's with the subterfuge?” he asked as he climbed in the passenger seat.

“You didn't answer my calls, and I didn't want you to have to be seen with me if I'm the person of interest you mentioned in the press conference.” CJ's warm presence seemed to fill the car.

CJ shook his head. “I've been busy. What do you need?” He didn't do anything to reassure me that I wasn't the person of interest.

“Why do you assume I need something?”

“Because that's how it's been between us.”

Was that true? I thought over our interactions of the past few months. He wasn't being fair, but that wasn't why I was here. I held in a sigh. “I'm here because I stumbled across a connection between Frieda Chida, Margaret, and Juanita.” I filled him in. “I just wanted to make sure you knew. And I was worried about how angry Frieda seemed.”

“You can afford a cleaning lady now?”

“That's your takeaway from what I just told you?” I stared at him. “It was a one-shot deal. The garage sale on base is taking a lot more time than I expected. As is the virtual site.” I knew he wouldn't like that my real reason for having Frieda come over was to find out what she knew.

CJ leaned back against the seat and blew out a breath. “Thanks for the information. I didn't know how angry she is.” He opened the door, climbed out, and looked back at me. “I miss you.”

He closed the door and walked to his car. He folded himself into his little red Sonic. Without looking back at me, he pulled out.

“I miss you, too.”

* * *

“He said he missed you?” Carol asked. Her last class had just let out as I pulled up into my driveway. I'd hightailed it over to her shop to talk over my conversation with CJ. We both held glasses of wine and sat in her studio behind the classroom section of her shop.

“Yes. I don't get it. First, he's short, then he's Mr. Official Police Chief, and now this.” I took a large gulp of wine. “I'm so confused.”

“I'm guessing he is, too. You tell him to stay away. Then you look all hot when he's taking you out to dinner. And now you lurk in a dark parking lot to talk to him.”

“Whose side are you on? You're the one that wanted me to go all out the night we went to dinner.”

“I'm on your side.” Carol smiled. “CJ needed a reminder of what he was missing. And it looks like it worked.”

“I envy you and Brad.”

Carol's smile slipped a little.

“You two are okay, aren't you?”

She took a drink of her wine. “Yes. It's just that between the stresses of both of our jobs and the kids, we don't have much time.”

Brad worked at the Veterans Administration hospital in Bedford. “He must be under a lot of pressure with all the scrutiny and accusations about the VA,” I said.

“That about sums it up. Things have picked up a lot here, which is good, but it keeps me busy on the weekends and evenings, when he's home.”

“Do you want me to babysit the kids or the shop some night?”

“That would be lovely. Why did you go see CJ in the first place?”

I told her about the connection between Frieda, Juanita, and Margaret. “I'm trying to find other connections between them.”

“I might know of one.”

“How do you even know who Frieda and Juanita are?” I figured everyone knew Margaret, so asking about her wasn't necessary.

“With my schedule, I've been using cleaning ladies. Frieda uses too many strong chemicals. I had to air the place out.”

I nodded.

“Then I saw a coupon from Juanita. And who can pass up having your house cleaned for fifty dollars?”

“Did you have any problems with her?”

Carol stared into her wineglass for a second. “It wasn't exactly a problem.”

“What happened? Doors unlocked? Windows open?”

“The bathroom smelled a little like cigarette smoke. But maybe it was just my imagination. Then, a couple of weeks ago, I stopped for coffee at that place off Great Road, Ellie's Deli.”

I leaned forward.

“As I parked, Frieda and Juanita stomped out at the same time. Both looked angry. When I went in, Margaret was sitting at a table in the corner, looking like she was holding court.”

“Was she by herself?”

“Someone else was there, but I didn't recognize her. Why do you care?”

“I think I might be a person of interest. The one CJ called a news conference about. I found Margaret and Juanita. That sounds fishy, even to me.”

“Oh, no. I know how that feels.”

“I flat out asked CJ, and he avoided answering.”

“Have you talked to Vincenzo?”

Vincenzo had represented Carol last fall, when she'd been arrested for a murder. “Not about this. I didn't think I needed to. Yet.”

“Have you asked Seth?”

“No. But he called me this morning and said he'd call back, and he hasn't.”

“The night's still young.”

I looked at Carol's wall clock. “Holy crap. It's almost nine. I should go so you can get home.”

* * *

I pulled up in front of Seth's house at 9:20 p.m. A sleek black sports car that definitely wasn't Seth's was parked in the drive. But at this point I didn't care who he was entertaining and hurried up the drive. The door opened, and Nichole strolled out, looking very satisfied with herself. She stopped short when she saw me walking toward the door. I didn't think she liked seeing me here one bit. Before acknowledging me, she opened her purse and pulled something out.

“Here's my business card. Call me if you need representation.”

She thrust it at me, and I grabbed it without thinking.
Oh, no.
She thought I needed a lawyer. Why did she think that?

“I . . . I . . . I don't need a lawyer,” I said, actually stammering.
Darn it.
If she was right, I'd be calling Vincenzo, not her, anyway. I tried to hand the card back, but she brushed by me and got in her car. I rang Seth's doorbell and turned when I didn't hear the car start. Nichole lit a cigarette.
Yeesh.
I'd never realized how many people still smoked. She rolled down her window and waved as she pulled out.

The door opened behind me. “What now, Nichole?” Seth didn't sound happy. I turned back. He looked tired and none too pleased to see me. That couldn't be good. He ran a hand over his stubbled face. He stepped out on the porch, instead of asking me in, so I knew things were bad.

“Am I the person of interest CJ talked about in the news conference yesterday?”

Seth looked down at the porch. “I can't talk about it.”

“But you could with Nichole? She just asked me if I needed representation.”

He met my eyes this time. “She's a salesperson. She hands out her cards to everyone. Don't let her play mind games with you.”

“You didn't answer either of my questions.”

“I can't talk to you about the first one. And Nichole's good, if you need a lawyer.”

I trotted down the steps and hurried to my car.

“Sarah, wait,” Seth called out.

But I didn't. Tomorrow I had to work even harder to find out who killed Margaret and Juanita.